#now i’m like eh fuck it if people can’t stand it that’s fair but just don’t be weird and make fun of someone for something they can’t change

[aimseytv]

one thing that always makes me 0_0 is when people claim to be supportive of people being neurodivergent up until said person displays neurodivergent traits and then it’s a whole whirlwind of just “this person is annoying because of (insert neurodivergent trait here)”

#growing up in school and listening to people use my normal speech patterns as reasons to actually dislike me put a dent in my heart #13 year old aimsey was crushed when they found out people found them annoying for stuff they couldn’t figure out how to stop #now i’m like eh fuck it if people can’t stand it that’s fair but just don’t be weird and make fun of someone for something they can’t change #life is too short #be nice

[theminecraftbox]

Eldritch Confessions AU: Who, out of everyone on the server, would you consider most similar to you in terms of morality?

/dsmp /rp

(Previous.)

(Dream is eating a piece of steak in carefully spaced-out bites. Quackity, saving half of his pack of cigarettes, is back to clicking his shears as loudly as possible. Sam rubs his temples.)

Quackity: Huh.

Sam: I… don’t know, actually. I’d thought Bad and Antfrost, maybe. Hannah? Or Boomer? Or maybe Sapnap. But now I’m not so sure about any of them.

Dream: That’s like, you know, you just named like half the server.

Sam: Well, I did say I wasn’t sure!

Dream: You think you and Sapnap are similar?

Sam: He’s one of the only people who took your jailbreak seriously.

Dream: Fair enough.

Sam: Actually, maybe Tommy. Yeah. Tommy.

Dream: Oh my god. You literally let him die!

Sam: He stands up for what he believes in! I think we’re not so different.

Quackity: Whatever, man.

Dream: So, Quackity, what’s your answer, then? I’m kinda interested to hear who else you think is a—a psychopath.

Quackity: (laughing) Well, that’d be a different fucking question, wouldn’t it!

Dream: Eh.

Quackity: But to answer, well, I’m honestly not fucking sure. Not Charlie, heh. Not Foolish either. Maybe… fuck that guy, but it might be Wilbur. He knows what it takes to fucking win, at least.

Dream: Wilbur? Really. Interesting.

Quackity: He hates your fucking guts, too. Even after you brought him back, which is impressive.

(Dream shrugs and stays silent.)

Quackity: What’s yours?

Dream: Oh. I’m not answering.

Quackity: Guess you can’t think of anyone who’s as much of a fucking piece of shit as you are, huh.

Dream: Alright.

SCORE: 78-80-84 (max 93)

#au: eldritch confessions #prison trio

[xxlittle-miss-horrorxx]

I think I may make a side blog just for Helluva Boss

Now it’s not really gonna be so much of a critical blog (even if I may critique things here and there) but idk I still have a very love and hate relationship with said series. It’s actually more of a blog of an AU of how I would change things. Like redesigns and such.

I don’t fully hate it since I had fond memories with season 1 but idk something about season 2 misses the mark for me… the last episode was so bad that even my friends who love the series thought it was too much. (Actually like me, they also can’t stand season 2)

Also, I don’t wanna discuss these spindlehorse allegations. I feel like it’s not fair to jump the gun since there’s more sides to the stories and I keep seeing screenshots that provide no context at all. And just talking about that is super exhausting… like sorry guys, I rather not have people bother me about that.

However, I still like the characters I just wish season 2 didn’t assassinate them. I actually love Blitzo being an cynical asshole and he’s a favorite of mine BUT ahhhh I would prefer if he faced consequences. I’m very mixed with Stolas, I enjoyed him through season 1 since idk the morally grey with him was entertaining but eh…. The woobification happened and once again being neglectful to Octavia :””) so yeah but I had ideas I have in mind.

I think the issue with Helluva Boss, is that it should had stayed as an episodic edgy adult cartoon than forcing it to have a plot driven story. A thing with cynical characters CAN work but you should let them face consequences when they do dumb stuff. It’s kind of why I enjoy MTV’s downtown so much since that show too has cynical characters but don’t always get things easily handed to them. But now it’s like giving me the odd feeling I had with Aggrektsuko and SVTFOE when they force a ship to show that it ruins all logic 🙃🙃🙃

That being said, I have issues with the fandom and hatedom.

I really don’t wanna engage to much with the fandom since holy shit there’s so much toxic positivity there, i remember people getting angry at me for disliking Loona. (When I had my reasons) and I had to give my reasons why the show had a misogyny problem with women. Because god forbid a fan can’t have different opinions.🙄🙄🙄 I am nervous to share self ship art of my oc with Bl*tzo since oooof st*l*tz shippers may take it personal. (Even tho I plan to have blitzo and Stolas be in a friends with benefits relationship since I think that makes more sense with them )

And while I don’t really 100% believe these allegations since I think there’s missing truth, I hate how these Stans would attack Erin and Ken like guys please fucking stop. We need to have innocent until guilty, not just with Viv okay? I’ve detached myself from Viv since I’m not fond of her childish behavior but I don’t wanna jump the gun with her still. (Please don’t bother me about this I’m aware of Ken and I do hope they recover, it’s just that’s so exhausting )

As for the hatedom and antis… oooof I’ve seen antis go too far and would harass Viv and her writers and such because of a bad episode and all of that. Don’t get me wrong, I know Viv enables bad fandom behavior and even shit talks people that review her stuff and I am against that… but sometimes these haters stoop to her level. Hell one “critical” blog even went on how Viv blocked them and was all “suspicious I think not” well when you constantly got o their pages to harass her and her team, well no shit they’ll block you. And idk this person just has a very unhealthy extreme hate for Viv…. They watch her every move and look way too deep into things…

It’s just idk I hate because these people get lumped with criticals. Some critic blogs are fine I just hate they’re now lumped with antis that go too far.

Also maybe it’s me, I’m planning to create an Indie project soon and I just rather make a side blog for this stuff. I think it may be unprofessional for someone like me to dwelve into the hatedom and fandom and it’s better to surround yourself with small friends you trust.

So yeah don’t expect me going anti or Stan, it may be a bit critical but it’s also me doing fun AUs and enjoying things I do like about the show. The more you stay in toxic positivity or toxic negativity, it’s gonna eat you alive.

I’ve been encouraged by friends to just do my own thing you know :3

So I just rather be the casual fan who just forms her opinions on things so I don’t have to interact with fandom as a whole :””)

#helluva boss critical #vivziepop critical #yeah I think I’m general I’m just not gonna go to the anti bandwagon #and I sure as hell don’t wanna surround myself with stans #besides I got my own original project I’m wanting to make into a webtoon #so I can’t really dwelve too much drama

[variousqueerthings]

Part 2 of the trailer breakdown

 I talked about some overall Stuff in the trailer + went briefly over some of our ladies, so I’ll talk about some more Stuff + the lads now

Last post I went through how I’m into the structure of the show/story (s1-3 and s4-6/7 are like a part 1 and a part 2, meaning I have made some light predictions based on that structure but let us See + s4 cannot really be gauged absent of s5) 

Here I might want to say a bit about the Feel of the story. And I don’t think everyone’s going to agree with this, because not everyone has a lot of faith in the story that’s being told, which, fair enough, but I am having a really positive reaction

1. are there things that the show has done which has made me go... no -- yes there are

2. have I overall enjoyed the storytelling thus far -- yes, again, I think it’s going really well, I think its story beats are being met, I think -- for the most part (Carmen you will never be all I envision for you) -- that characters are being done good service, I think it’s (as many people have described) a live-action sports anime soap opera fanfiction, with stuff that makes me go “oh I can read the heck into that and I will!” which is exactly what I want it to continue to be

and I think the tone of season 5 is looking really really cool and consistent with the rest of the show, which has been a heightened reality since season 1. The main differences lie in the amount of characters and universe building, which can make a structure like that very unwieldy. I have no doubt that some of that is going to be handled better, and some of it worse, but there’s no real point in speculation on that front

(also a note, in my last listing of characters I forgot that Tory’s brother and mother aren’t present, nor is her aunt, and neither is Stingray.... I think now that’s everyone relevant??)

to get into some dudes though

1. Terry and Kreese -- I mean, I’m not reading this any differently than I was in s4, everything Terry does in some way relates back to Kreese (and to Daniel, but he only met him because of Kreese, so it’s still related). Opening up Cobra Kai and swallowing the Valley? Part fuck-you to Daniel, part destruction of Miyagi-dos memory, and very large part “this is what we were meant to do JOHN, but seeing as you’re distracted I’ll get it done without you + now you’re in prison and can’t run off again!”

On top of that I expect we’ll get more backstory on how he and Kreese trained, linking in Kim Da-Eun (sorry was writing her name sans dash to begin with) to the wider narrative + homoerotic karate sparring... does Terry care about any of these kids? Eh I don’t think so. I think he knows Tory was a favourite of Kreese’s, so whether he wants to break her or shape her, that’s all in service to him

whether he wants to hurt/kill Johnny this season (I don’t think there’ll be a massive scene around that, but I could be wrong... feels like something to save until s6 or even 7, but they’ll likely hint at it/build towards it) is obviously because he’s hurt at Kreese “choosing” Johnny over him.

Meanwhile I am waiting to see what Kreese in prison is like. I think he’s going to figure out for himself that he wasn’t ever “The Good Guy” and that he really fucked up with Johnny and may be looking for some kind of redemption in his way + he’s in therapy which should be fun. I also keep saying I think Kreese is the only person on earth who belongs in prison, only because it would be a calming structure for him + always a bed + fights. Is he healthy? No obviously not. Is he thriving? In his own way, sure.

Anyway they’re just as toxic and unwholesome as always, I hope Terry visits him at some point I want to see the deep betrayal and anger and love and hatred

2. Daniel -- I don’t want to write too much about Daniel because there is so much to say! The exhaustion? the black eye? the bloody knuckles? the despair?? the slight hope and fear and need when standing with Chozen and Johnny???? it’s everything I wanted, there’s so much going on, I couldn’t possibly cover it!

3. Chozen is giving me all the vibes I want: Gay, Disciplined, Rowdy, Pragmatic, similar to Daniel I don’t want to say too much, because it would be too much to cover, but suffice to say that I am so pleased that he and Johnny seem to be coming together around Daniel, I’m interested in whether there will be some thinking around his relationship with Miyagi-do karate + Miyagi’s ideals of pacifism -- because Miyagi’s ideals came from his life, and while Chozen’s isn’t the same, I could see him coming to similar conclusions.

I also would love to see him clashing with Kim Da-Eun, we have the scene of him clashing with her henchmen + him going in and causing a ruckus with Johnny, which all feels like he’ll be the one to fight her/the first time we’ll really see her fight

Anyway, like I said, stop writing or I will write forever.

4. I hazard the Mexico trip will be maximum two episodes, and the question is whether we see Johnny as an uber driver before that, or if he and Robby head straight there. I Hazard he and Robby are going to be on the ropes still and he’ll be worrying about Miguel and so he’ll suggest a father-son bonding trip based on those two facts, because smart (not smart). Also... Shootfighter references, we will see....

Beyond that we’re finally really getting the reverence! that was promised! the way he looks at Daniel in that callback-to-s3 shot??? Fuck! And I’ve said a lot about him being harnessed to find ways of dealing with what’s happening with Daniel, he’s going to be following Chozen’s lead I hope! I’m excited to see him willingly going with Daniel’s needs, rather than fighting them (I also wonder if the bruise is a callback for him....)

5. Hawk and Demetri seem to be somewhat absent from the original promo stuff. I think Hawk will imprint on Chozen (green hair and outfits) + he’ll be squaring off against Kenny, which will lead to Robby pushing him into a pool. Beyond that am unsure. We left both him and Demetri feeling... fine? End s4 wasn’t such a bad place for them, so maybe they’ll fall back into more secondary roles this season? there are a lot of characters, if anyone gets less screentime I think it’ll be them.

6. Kenny and Shawn + Anthony I put altogether, because we’re at what I think is kind of weaker -- potentially! Kenny is most interesting in connection with Robby in my opinion, and Robby’s relationship with Shawn (who may not be appearing this season, but I’m putting him here anyway, because he relates so heavily to Kenny’s motivations). Anthony hasn’t really had much growth -- sure he apologised to Kenny + got threatened by him, but I’d be far more interested in how he connects with his family, with Sam in particular (who is, after all, the golden child of the family). Neither Kenny nor Anthony are featured really in the trailer, we know Kenny is still with Cobra Kai (of course) and that Anthony is with Miyagi-do

7. Robby and Miguel are in such potentially interesting places, now their narratives have gotten rid of the noise and centered on one another properly. Robby kicked him over a railing!! Let’s talk about that! And about how they can share one disappointing dad, seriously, Johnny has disappointment enough for them both (and maybe even the ability to be... better). As someone said, kind of ship them suddenly -- this isn’t because I technically do ship them, it’s indicative more of their dynamic getting more and more interesting!

+ Robby’s feelings around being an older brother/caretaker for Kenny and how that reflects on his relationship with Shawn is fascinating -- I think we’ll get more of the former and less of the latter, but it’s all there, vibing. It seems like he and Tory will still be friends in s5, despite him rejoining Miyagi-do/leaving Tory to fend for herself at Cobra Kai. I wonder if he’ll express worry about how she and Kenny are going to be treated over there...

and Miguel will be back with Miyagi-do as well, so we know his ambivalent feelings about karate won’t last forever. I think he’ll be doing some kind of shootfighting in Mexico (I’m calling it shootfighting for now... illegal fighting anyway). I’m technically less interested in his dad, because I think he has a perfectly great mother right there (except for when the show fucks up about letting her have agency in how she raises her son), but it may work well, I simply have few thoughts about that until it happens. He’s also shown next to Sam, so I presume they’re still dating (sigh), but maybe... they could be friends???

Regardless it seems like the fighting between him and Robby has stopped the faux-dress of having anything to do with the love square. We’re over it, they’re over it (please).

8. Miyagi-do boys aren’t very present. This makes sense, I don’t think Miyagi-do will be whole again until at least a few episodes in (I predict maybe halfway through), so they can’t show them in that space. We see them at the pool + a couple of shots at the dojo, so we know the training will recommence at some point

9. Stingray, Tory’s brother (and mother + aunt), Kyler, Kim Da-Eun’s henchmen, Louis and Anoush -- the various background and secondary characters. Of These Kyler is the only one super present in the trailers (makes sense, a lot of it is Cobra Kai) and he’s still an asshole I think is the takeaway. Dare I say it... I’m curious about Stingray... he’s a loose end and he’s got a big mouth. What will Terry be doing with him?

Also, with Kim Da-Eun’s henchmen: I kind of love them, I doubt they’ll have much in the way of personality but because of their design they’ll have a wonderfully anime/comic minor boss feel about them!

None of Tory’s family... see I did think they’d be content to leave them in the background, but then s4 introduced her aunt, so... Tory is nearing 18 isn’t she? I wonder if that’ll more come to play in s6, but youknow. Tory also has a brother

No Louis and Anoush... I have nothing to say there, they may appear!

I do notice that apart from the known Cobra Kais -- Tory, Kenny, Kyler, (now) Devon, possibly Piper, there are I believe no consistent background Cobra Kai students in the way that Miyagi-do has some recurring faces? I may be wrong about that, but I think in this case the facelessness of Cobra Kai might make sense -- Terry isn’t building a safe place, or even a space for intimacy/family (even if that family is fucked up a la TKK Cobra Kai). He’s building a faceless monstrous business, devoid of heart... that’s a very Terry move. He’s a void. Even if he’s doing this for Kreese, he’s doing it in all the ways Kreese would hate, not, I think, out of malice, but because that’s what Terry does: he devours the things people love (and the people he loves)

10. Mike Barnes was someone I expected to see in the second trailer and was surprised not to. I guess they’re really keeping all theorising under wraps. The single picture is him looking angery, but maybe that’s a red herring. Anyway, I want him to be a mean bastard, I’d appreciate it

A thing I notice, vs making the post about the women, is that most of the men and boys listed have some kind of internal motivations/drive the narrative in some way. I’ve made a crude list of numbers of men/boys vs women/girls on the show, leaving out anyone who’s not important to the narrative (so including people like Tory’s younger brother for example) and I’ll make a little breakdown of that, but for now, some initial thoughts to build on at a later point

#cobra kai #daniel larusso #johnny lawrence #chozen toguchi #terry silver #john kreese #robby keene #miguel diaz #cobra kai spoilers #cks5 #cobra kai s5 #cobra kai season 5 #ck #long post #people gasping about the shortness of my daniel (I say as if there are any) the THING is there's too much to say about him #just pure too much Stuff #he needs his own post #i BET ive forgotten someone there ARE a lot of characters whew

[sortyourlifeoutmate]

Another thing we’re seeing crop up in the news with a fair amount of regularity is reports on the ease of access children have nowadays to pornography, and how this is A Bad Thing. I’m not even being flippant about that, it is transparently a bad thing with the sort of consequences you can’t reasonably measure but which just sort of sink us all into a sucking mire of unpleasantness.

Like, what’s this:

“Almost half of young people say girls expect sex to involve physical aggression, such as airway restriction, the [children’s] commissioner’s report says.”

Fucking wow. And immediate followup:

“One 12-year-old told Dame Rachel her boyfriend had ‘strangled’ her during their first kiss. He had seen it in pornography ‘and thought it was normal’.”

Yikes. Fucking yikes.

(Also kind of baffles me that apparently Twitter is the top choice for finding pornography for the young people they asked. Twitter? Really? Man, shows what I know.)

See, that’s bad. But what I don’t like about all this reporting on the subject is that it broadly isn’t leading to calls for, you know, more comprehensive PSRE sort of education with emphasis on the importance of consent and all that, and a general drive towards open communication and education. No! Of course not!

They want the Online Safety Bill!

You know! Have some government spiv decide what you can and can’t see online! With no oversight! Just some knacker in a room somewhere saying yes, no, maybe, hmm no, no, no, yes.

Now look, a lot of shit online is demonstrably vile, but that is the low hanging fruit for this particular argument. They’ll point to a disgusting cesspit of misogynistic nonsense or a profusion of pro-suicide horror and say that that’s what they’re going after, and I’m sure they will, but you’d be an idiot to think that’s where they’d stop. Where will they stop? Who knows? Will it be your toes that get trodden on? You who gets told you’re a danger to the children and so are getting shut down? Who knows!

Like, look, I don’t trust anyone at any point in this chain. I don’t trust the people making horrible stuff online, I don’t trust the people looking at it (with a bit of leeway given to the kids, you know), I don’t trust their parents, I don’t trust the services hosting it, I don’t trust the government. Everyone involved is an idiot. But that doesn’t change that this is a big problem! And doesn’t change that the proposed solution – making it harder – is really fucking stupid.

I do not trust any proposed age-verification measures, I don’t trust the companies standing to make money from their age-verification measures, and I don’t trust that it won’t go wrong and won’t get misused.

But, like, what do you do? A lot of this stuff is genuinely nasty.

Man, I don’t know, but my first thought wouldn’t be “Cover their eyes so they can’t see”, because they will see somehow, and when they do they won’t have been told how to handle it, because apparently we all live in terror of education kids on this stuff THAT THEY FIND ANYWAY.

I don’t know, man. But it boils my piss that they keep dragging out the most horrendous examples just so they can point at them and go “Eh? Eh? We should give the government more powers to do stuff about that whether you like it or not, eh? Eh?” and the thought of better education never crosses their mind because a bunch of pearl-clutching nutbags would shit the bed if their child was in the same room as the word ‘penis’.

Fucking wasters.

[tommyspeakycap]

omgg write something about playing or braiding jack’s hair

oh em gee I love this !!!!! I loved his hair braid too omg

Jack had a very specific barber he liked to go to to get the same quality haircut he always got. He trusted that specific barber and his appointments were always made in advance to absolutely ensure he could get it done the way he liked by whom he liked at the right time so it never got overgrown or hard to manage. Jack was very specific about his hair and about keeping it the way he liked it to be. It was part of his image, part of him really. The Brummie boy hated when anyone else touched it. Be that joking team members giving his head a teasing push or his dad ruffling his hair each time he walks in the door, it irks the living daylights right out of him.

So it seems as though it’s Jack’s own personal nightmare now the barbers are shut with absolutely no sign of opening up for at least another month and Jack can’t seem to take one minute more of training with his hair getting all up in his eyes, dropping into his face and blowing wildly in Birmingham wind even with a headband in. It is driving him absolutely insane. It’s all he can think of in this moment.

And that is because he currently has your fingers tangled in it completely absentmindedly as he lays in between with your legs with his legs stretched out along the L section of the L shaped couch. Your eyes are fully focussed on the storyline evolving throughout an old episode of Greys Anatomy. Jack’s arms are around your torso as his head rests comfortably on your lower stomach with his eyes peacefully shut. He would usually engage in the TV with you, but the preseason after an unexpected break that had him doing less exercise than he definitely should have been doing had him absolutely shattered.

It was rare for even you to touch the locks he took so laughably serious, but it felt like the most soothing experience he’d maybe ever had to feel the gentility of your finger massaging over his scalp in the most relaxing manner he’d ever known. Even his sports massages after long matches weren’t this relaxing.

“Mmmhm, feels so good.” He murmurs, his voice ticking your stomach as he speaks against it, the sigh that leaves him making you giggle in response. “So annoyin’ in training.” He adds tiredly, but not lacking in the obvious irritation he feels towards it. Jack tends to feel a lot and often, and even seemingly small things like his hair getting in the way of his play was unimaginably irritating for him.

“I could cut it?” You suggest.

“Yeah,” he snorts, “And end up like the poor dog? I’ll pass love.”

“Aw come on! It wasn’t that bad.” You retort

“He looked like a street rat with curls, sweetheart.” He laughs, despite the disappointment he feels for your hands leaving his hair for the first time since he lay down tonight.

“Cheek.”

“Sorry baby.” He lulls, finally looking up at you for the first time, lifting his face to offer you a smile that strained him. Holding his head up like that was too much for his already tired muscles, so he’s quickly laying his head back to its resting place. You can’t think of anything else to retort with, knowing full and well the incredibly poor state of affairs that occurred in your household three weeks into Lockdown 1 after you attempted to give the dog a haircut out of pure boredom and lack of open dog grooming services. The state of affairs being Jack crawling to the bathroom on his knees and one hand with the other hand holding onto his crotch because he was trying so hard not to wet himself from laughing at the poor pup who looked so confused that his dad hadn’t been able to greet him as normal when he returned from the weekly food shop.

Jack very nearly did piss on your good cream carpet that day, so it was fair for him to not trust your barber skills either. Especially being the way he is about his hair.

“You know the old episodes make me miss Derek.” You announce after a moment of only the television speaking between the two of you.

“He the one with the hair?” Jack mumbles. You snort a laugh.

“They’ve all got hair, Jack. Go on, say it then?”

“Fine,” he huffs indignantly, “The one with the good hair.”

Your giggle makes his heart erupt into butterflies that dance through his stomach and chest just like it does every single time he gets to be lucky enough to hear it. Jack doesn’t like to admit when others have hair he likes. He prefers to live in a world where his hairstyle is simply the best, and truly he usually does. He tends to live in his own world anyway. The world where his hair is fantastic, he gets to do what he loves for a living and come home to you each and every day. That’s his world and fucking hell does he love that world.

In reality though, part of that world is that however fictional Derek Shepherd may be, his hair is fantastic and always looks rather immaculate. Something Jack can’t quite relate to at this current moment in time. “You know this episode is kinda about his hair,” you note softly, hands smoothing back over your boyfriends brown locks. He knows by the tone of your voice that you’re going to go into more detail about the episode currently playing through on Amazon Prime TV. Some people may well have been annoyed listening to their girlfriends recounting entire episodes of TV shows that they weren’t exactly inclined to watch, but Jack was not one of those men. He didn’t care what you were talking about, just the sound of you talking was enough to make him listen intently. He loved to hear you talk, and if that was the only thing that he ever got to hear for the rest of his life then he’d still be happy.

“They adopted a little girl and he hasn’t quite figured her hair out yet but everyone’s shocked ‘cause his hairs pretty good. Like you, a little. You got good hair, just haven’t learned to manage it yet eh?” You explain, weaving your fingers in and out of those stands of hair that make him hum in both understanding and enjoyment. He isn’t sure what you’re doing, but the weaving of stands, pads of your fingers dancing over his scalp carefully, softly feels like what he might imagine heaven to be. “Yeah?” He asks, “And what does he do then?” His voice is filled with genuine interest for what you were saying. It was the first time you’d ever known that in a relationship. He heard you snigger softly to yourself. “He learns from someone who knows a bit more about hair than he does.” You state pointedly, prompting him to roll his eyes even if you can’t see him.

“I’m not letting you cut my hair, (y/n). Not happening, I’m sor-“

“Alright, Jack. I bloody know! That’s not what I meant.” You grumble. Jack can immediately imagine your disgruntled pout already, with those irritated narrowed eyes and the playful scrunch of your nose. “Sorry.” Every time he sees that look on you, he moves to kiss that furrow out of your nose. It makes his heart smile each and every time he sees it. You are simultaneously the most beautiful, more adorable and hottest woman he has ever laid his eyes on. “Sorry baby,” he reiterated, “Go on.”

“I could braid it for you?”

That earns a belly laugh from him that reverberates through your body, jostling with the force of his whole body laughter. “So you will,” he bellows in breaks between the ever comedic gasping from breath after each loud laugh. “Not a chance.”

He pushes himself up to sit back on his knees, trapping your legs between his as he looks down at you with a huge grin still stretching his lips and creasing his eyes, yet they still sparkle in adoration for you. “Oh yeah?” You muse with a giggle to follow despite the firm attempt to seal it behind clenched lips. The giggle sets those dimples into your cheeks, his eyes just drinking you up as you lounge back on the huge couch there in front of him, sinking back into the pillows just like he had been sinking against you in comfort for hours only moments ago. “Yeah.” He repeats firmly, the playful jest of his words not lost on your ears as he leans forward.

With the emission of only a small, surprised yelp from you that turns the head of the dog in his bed for only a moment, Jack has grabbed your legs to tug you down so you were laying flat on your back on the L of the sofa. He leans over you, hands and strong arms keeping him above you with ease. “Realllly?” You tease, one eyebrow quirked. Jack loves it when you do that, mostly because he can’t and he finds it beautifully funny.

Your hands reach up to his face, cupping over the beard on his cheeks to bring his face down to peck his lips before letting him press back up like a simple press up over your body. This was a common occurrence between the pair of you and Jack had always loved to show off. “Not cuttin’ about with a braid in my hair baby, sorry.”

He dips down for another kiss and you break out another giggle that parts your lips from his. “You already are, bub.”

“Ya what?” He pops straight up, sitting again back on his knees. “Not falling over your face now eh?” You taunt with a cheeky grin that makes him furrow his brows. Jack removed his hands from beside you to run one after the other over the top of his hair, a weird mix of a grin and disbelief washing over his face. Your sweetheart smile warms his heart as you lay there looking up at him with tired eyes and a lazy smile, cheeks flushed and one of his old cotton shirts keeping you warm long after his body raises from yours.

“Wait there!” He yells, bounding off the couch to all but leap through the living room until he reaches the mirror in the hall just outside the door. “Babe!” He cheers through the house, appearing back in the doorway of the room. “Nah it’s kinda cool, you fuckin’ smashed that!” You sit up and turn around towards him with your hand covering your mouth in a giggle that makes him stride forward and tug your hand away so he can see that beautiful smile. He jumps back again. “And look; stays in when I move around like-”

An immediate howl of laughter breaks out of your mouth with your head tipped back in hysterics as you watch him run on the spot, jump on the spot and then shake his head around like your puppy when he had a cone on his head. You laugh so hard your laughter looses its noise, simply existing as a elongated wheeze and a sudden gasp for desperate air to aid and allow for only more laughter. “Why you laughing for?” He yells, his words split by his own laughter as he tugs you to your feet, standing taller than him when your on your feet on the couch. Jack wraps one arm around your waist and moves the other down to the bend of your knees to sweep your legs from beneath you, perching you on the edge of the back of the couch.

“It,” kiss, “is,” kiss, “perfect.” Kiss.

“Just like you, baby.” He rumbles lowly, “Perfect just like my girl. Gonna wear it to training. Keep hair out my face, remind me of you, perfect.” He just keeps talking, keeps praising you between kisses while he brings you closer and closer to him until you can wrap your legs around him. Locked in place, he takes your face in his hands.

“So you’ll let me braid it again?” You chime, eyes lighting up. Jack chuckles, thumbs smoothing over your cheeks with a kiss pressed to the tip of your nose. “Course baby. Every day.”

True to his word Jack Grealish is. Every night he comes home from his training, he’s laying on the couch letting you massage the days stresses out of his mind, letting your fingers weave the tension out of his scalp. Jack’s never let anyone take care of him so much. He’s never felt comfortable to be taken care of like this, but you are his exception. His one single exception. And every morning he sits in the floor at the foot of the bed while you sit with a leg on either side of him, fingers weaving the strands into place for the day and tighter for match days. People make comments but Jack doesn’t give even half of a shit. His hair is how he likes it; out of his face so he can concentrate on his game and it gives you more of a reason to actually be up in the morning when he leaves before the sun rises above you. That’s perfect for Jack.

Until his next haircut, the only time that footballer doesn’t have a braid through his hair is when your fingers are tangling in it while he’s between your legs for another very enjoyable reason.

#jack grealish imagines #jack grealish imagine #jack grealish x reader #england national team imagine #england national team #jack grealish #jack grealish blurb #jack grealish prompt #footballer fics

[emwritesfootball]

On The Wall | John Stones

Also you should write a piece about John coming into the pub where the reader works and hitting on her and making fun of her for having his picture on the wall and you can go from there 👀

Word Count: 1,612

Warnings: unprotected sex, oral (Female receiving), fingering, drinking

A/N: an idea I pitched to @bluemoonstonesy who said I should write this myself. Enjoy x

- - -

“We’re closed,” you say automatically when you hear the little bell at the top of the door signal that someone’s come in. You’re wiping the sticky surface of the bar down, not paying attention to anything but making sure the wooden area is spotless for tomorrow.

“Oh, sorry, I must’ve missed the sign,” a familiar voice chuckles and you look up to find none other than John Stones in your family’s pub. John freaking Stones, whose picture happens to be on the wall of your family’s Manchester City-themed pub right next to Aguero and Grealish.

“I-” You don’t know what to say at first, speechless as you just stare at him. You let out a nervous chuckle, ducking your head to hide the embarrassment that you knew was plainly spelled out across your face.

“I can leave if you’d like,” he says when you still haven’t found your words.

“N-No,” you stutter, shaking your head rapidly. “It’s fine. What are you drinking?”

“Virgin of whatever’s your favourite,” he responds, giving you a saucy grin.

“No,” you reply, falling easily into your role behind the bar. “As your bartender, I can’t let you drink a virgin anything - footballer or not.”

John places his forearms on the bar, leaning forward. “And what if I’m an alcoholic?”

“I’d think the media would have let me know,” you retort, smirking.

“You got me there,” he chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m out of excuses, and we just won earlier today-”

“You did, and you deserve a drink, so what’ll it be?” You don’t reply, mixing up your favourite cocktail and garnishing it, setting it down in front of him. “After the way you played today, this one is on the house.” You realize you actually hadn’t flipped the sign from OPEN to CLOSED, doing so as he sips on the drink. You can feel his eyes on you, watching as you finish your checklist of things to do to close the pub down for the evening.

“So, how’d you get this job?” John asks, making idle conversation as you continue to clean.

“My family owns the place, so I didn’t get much choice,” you shrug, starting to wipe down the tables. “Doesn’t matter, though - pay’s good even if the hours are shit, but at least I get the luxury of telling my bosses to fuck off without being fired.”

“Yeah, not many people get to say that, I suppose,” John said, wincing a little as the alcohol went down.

“Could have worse jobs than dealing with drunks, honestly. I could spend my days getting yelled at by drunks who think they know more than the refs while I get paid millions of pounds to kick a ball.” You shot him a wink to let him know you were kidding, your stomach dipping when you made him laugh.

“Fair enough. At least I don’t have a framed picture of myself where I- wait, nevermind. My picture’s everywhere at the Etihad.”

You walk back behind the bar, making him another drink - two mojitos this time. “Both of those aren’t for me, are they?”

“Only one of them is, unless you don’t wanna pay for your second drink.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” John laughs, shaking his head but motioning for the drink. “Give it to me.”

You hand him one, your fingers brushing his. Your breath hitches at the contact, your eyes meeting his, and you know he’s heard the sound.

“Who’s your favourite City player?” He asks, his voice barely a whisper.

You bite down on your bottom lip, flicking your gaze down at the bar before your eyes meet his again. “If I tell you it’s you, would you think I was lying because you’re the one in front of me right now?”

“Well, now that you’ve said it: yes,” he jokes, smiling. “But you’re so beautiful and sincere that I’m inclined to believe you.”

“Calling me beautiful to try to get out of paying for that second drink?” You tease in an attempt to ignore how fast your pulse is racing and how turned on by him you are.

“Maybe,” he smirks, reaching out and touching your face. You lean into his touch, his thumb brushing across your cheek in a way that makes you yearn for him to touch you in other places. “But it’s also true.”

“You shouldn’t press your luck, Stones.”

His eyes darken. “Call me John.”

“John.” You sound out the syllable, loving the way it feels coming out of your mouth. You’ve said his name a thousand times - screamed it when he’s scored, cried it when City’s lost, casually thrown it out to your friends or anyone when you’re talking about your team - but this feels different… intimate, even.

The pads of his fingers press into the sensitive skin on your neck and you let out an involuntary whimper. John swallows hard, his tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip. “If I kiss you right now…”

“If you kiss me right now, I’ll end up begging you to fuck me on this bar,” you say, barely recognizing the words as the leave your mouth. You’re not usually this bold, but this man makes you do things you wouldn’t normally do, the least of which is beg him to fuck you in your family’s pub.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” John growls right before latching his lips onto yours. Your stomach presses painfully into the wood as you lean across the bar, matching him kiss for kiss.

“Wait,” you gasp, breaking the kiss as you pull back so you can walk around and stand in-between his legs, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Much better,” you smirk, leaning in to kiss him again.

“Wearing my kit, eh?” John murmurs between kisses, his hands sliding up your waist and underneath the material. “Sexy.”

The word travels out of his mouth and down your spine, your clit throbbing as it responds to his praise. He lifts his kit over your head, letting it fall to the floor. Your jeans are a little trickier and you kick off your shoes before wiggling out of them while he sheds his own shirt and joggers, toeing off his own trainers. For a moment you hate that your bra and panties don’t match, but you also weren’t expecting to get your brains fucked out by your favourite footballer tonight, so it’s definitely not going the way you’d planned.

“Let’s see how wet you are for me,” John rasps, his hand trailing up your thigh before settling between your legs, nimble fingers pushing your panties to the side to probe your slick folds. Your hands fly to his shoulders, a moan ripping from your throat as he slides a thick finger as deep as it’ll go inside your pussy, curling in to your g-spot just right when the heel of his palm grinds against your clit.

“Oh, God, John!” You cry out, a needy whimper leaving your mouth when he pulls out his finger, his eyes glued to yours as he licks his finger clean.

“You taste so good,” he praises, kissing you again so you can taste yourself off his lips.

“Please, John, just fuck me already,” you beg, reaching between the two of you to stroke his cock.

“How do you want it?” He asks, his eyes fluttering closed as you pump his shaft, your thumb brushing over the tip that’s now leaking precum. “I don’t have a condom so pullout will have to do.”

Your pussy clenches around nothing in anticipation, the thought of John fucking you raw and pulling out making you that much more turned on. “Pullout is fine - just fuck me already, John.” You pull yourself up so you’re sitting on the bar, spreading your legs so John can get the perfect view of your already-dripping pussy.

He lines his dick up with your entrance, letting out a groan as he slides the tip into you. You let him go slow so you can feel every inch of him, finally picking up the pace once he’s balls-deep inside you. Your legs are wrapped around his waist, your hands bracing yourself on the wood as he thrusts into you rhythmically, his fingers leaving marks on your hips.

You’re on the verge of an orgasm when John pulls out, pumping his dick a few times before spilling his seed on your stomach and letting out a groan. Without a second thought, you’re swiping it off and sticking your index finger in your mouth, tasting him like he’d tasted you earlier, making a big show of swirling your tongue around your finger.

“Did you cum?” He asks, and for a moment you think about lying to him, but you decide not to, shaking your head. “Lean back,” he orders before kissing up your inner thigh and putting his mouth on your pussy.

Your hands immediately tangle in his hair, grabbing the curls as he licks at your core. It doesn’t take long for you to cum around his tongue, his name on your lips as your orgasm races through you and you grind your pussy on his face.

His lips are shiny with your juices when he comes up, grinning at you before pulling you in for another kiss.

“When do you close next?” He asks a few minutes later as you’re both getting dressed.

“The same day as your next match,” you reply.

“Good,” is all he says, giving you a knowing smile before vanishing out the door, leaving you all alone with your thoughts as you begin wiping down the bar again to remove all the evidence of what you’ve just done.

#my writing: john stones #john stones smut #john stones x reader #john stones imagine #john stones imagines #john stones one shot #john stones oneshot

[tarosin]

The great adventures of y/n, Tommy, Jack and Tubbo

Requested:yes/no

Pairing: Platonic jack/tommy/tubbo/reader

Summary: another day another adventure

Content warning: cursing / I didn't proof read

An: reader has bright unnatural hair I wrote a lot, I can't figure out how to add read more on mobile I'm sorry

The music you were currently listening to was interrupted by the discord group notifying you that you have a new message.

Tommy: Y/N HOW BUSY ARE YOU TUBBO HAS COME TO VISIT AND JACK IS HERE

y/n: I mean I've currently got hair dye on but it’s being washed off and dried in around 20 minutes, why?

y/n: WAIT TUBBO?!?!

tubbo: oh yeah I forgot to tell you

y/n: how did you forget you know what nevermind, I’m glad you’re here :]

jack: we should be here in an hour so you have plenty of time to get ready

tubbo: what colour dye y/n

y/n: you’ll see soon enough as apparently, you’re all showing up at my house

Tommy: I suggest you wear comfortable shoes

y/n: I am terrified

Tommy: you have nothing to fear... for now

•••

luckily it had only taken you just over 40 minutes to get ready giving you roughly 20 minutes to prepare for the adventure ahead. or so you thought, as soon as you sat down ready to check your phone the sound of Tommy and tubbo laughing could be heard from your room, jack sent a message “hey we got here extremely early I’m sorry there’s no rush the others have been distracted by dreams music :)”

grabbing a backpack from next to your bed you had quickly chucked your phone and purse into the bag unsure as to what you’re going to need today.

•••

as soon as you opened the door you were met with an ecstatic tubbo who instantly pulled you into a hug unable to contain their excitement of seeing their friend

“I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN AGES YOUVE CHANGED SO MUCH LOOK AT YOUR HAIR”

“I look exactly the same”

“Now I’m no genius y/n but last time we spoke you didn’t have unnatural hair”

you paused for a moment as tubbo had a point the last time you and tubbo were on face time your hair was classed as a natural colour however today as a fuck you to your school which didn’t allow unnatural hair you decided to dye it your favourite colour.

“you raise a fair point now if you don’t mind releasing me from your grasp I have to lock the door so no one gets in”

•••

“Tommy unlock the door let tubbo and y/n in”

“Y/N YOU'RE HERE- HOLY SHIT YOUR HAIR! JACK ARE YOU SEEING THIS”

“Hello to you too Tommy”

“well if we weren’t going to get noticed at the shopping centre earlier y/ns bright fucking hair will definitely cause people to notice us”

“oh I’m sorry I didn’t expect to be going shopping with a bunch of Minecraft streamers today”

“don’t you stream Minecraft?”

“This isn’t about me jack”

the trip to the shops was surprisingly relaxing y/n sat at the front listening to jack sing along to songs playing on the radio, however, it was clear the boys had something they weren’t telling y/n which became evident through Tommy and tubbo bickering in the back of the car about who was going to tell them. it was a relatively short journey due to the fact you lived close to the city centre

•••

“let’s go shopping boys” Tommy practically yelled to everyone, tubbo held his phone in your direction then looked towards you, nodding at him you grabbed his phone and began recording

“I'm vlogging”

Tommy walked over “YEAHHHHH”

walking past cex you had to put up with Tommy making sex jokes until you made it to game, you stood holding back your laugh as you filmed Tommy and tubbo fighting about who’s paying whilst jack went off to buy a Minecraft squishy and mug despite everyone’s arguments against it. soon enough fans came over asking for photos with you all once the group of fans left jack took over recording for tubbo whilst you went off to quickly buy some games that you could play on stream.

•••

“want a wig bro? jack!”

the four of you walked into the shop, you couldn’t help but stand in awe looking at all the bright colours already questioning what colour to dye your hair next the sound of Tommy and jack being amazed pulled you out of your thoughts

“Gogy goggles, I’m actually buying them”

“i wan’t a pair”

“no, you’re getting a wig jack”

“I don’t want a wig I want George”

“y/n has bright hair and they’re not complaining”

“what do you have against people with colourful hair jack hmm?”

•••

“I'm not happy”

“you look lovely jack”

“we’re getting so many looks”

tubbo stopped everyone to ‘fix’ jacks wig which resulted in everyone laughing once you had finally stopped laughing you noticed tubbo had walked off and you were convinced jack had randomly decided to record strangers until you saw tubbo going up and down escalators

“oh there he goes again”

“pov you’re thinking about bees”

“where to next boys?”

Tommy pointed towards the lift

“Is this a lift for us”

Tommy noticed the safety sign and automatically made comments about it

“keeping us all safe is what I would say if I wasn’t carrying a knife”

“oh same Tommy”

“look you can see me”

taking that as an invitation to join the vlog you stood behind tubbo and pointed at the sign again and looked at Tommy and jack

“keeping us all safe is what I would say if we weren’t about to do this-“

the three of you went to jump up and down

“NO”

the four of you quietly left the lift however you were convinced that the public heard Tommy comment on having a knife and you threatening to jump as once the lift opened everyone was staring at you but it could also be due to the fact you had brightly coloured hair and somehow convinced jack to keep the wig on, you all spent a long time trying to convince Tommy to get a new outfit, eventually you went into another shop a certain keyboard caught your eye

“I’ve found my home, ill stay here at the gamer bunker”

you decided now was the perfect time to sneak off to buy the keyboard that had caught your eye, once tubbo noticed it was too late you stood holding the bag with your purchase leaving you stood in the middle of the shop defending your purchase to him claiming that it was a business expense and not just because you thought it looked cool.

“you told me you wanted to save your money”

“it lights up tubbo and it fits the vibe of my room”

Tommy placed his arm on your head treating you as an armrest as you were shorter than him and he knew it annoyed you

“they have a point tubbo it lights up”

once the recording ended you made your way back to the car

“say y/n you wouldn’t mind if me Tommy and jack stayed the night as tomorrow we were thinking-“

“sure thing”

“YESSSSSS”

•••

the next day you were woken up at 9 am by Tommy stood at the foot of your bed

“hi y/n”

“WHAT THE FUCK- oh hi Tommy Jesus christ do you know how horrifying that was to wake up to”

“Sorry bout that but if I didn’t wake you up now you’d only wake up in the afternoon and we need to go soon I’ll leave you to get ready”

you noticed a note was next to a jumper on the floor ‘hi, thanks for letting us stay the night I really liked your hoodie so I decided to wear it today here’s mine in exchange- Tubbo :D’

normally you’d be concerned that someone stole your hoodie as you live with your parents however today was an exception once you were all ready you set off jack pulled into a McDonald's drive-through so you could all get breakfast

“nice hoodie y/n”

“Thanks, someone took mine and decided to make a trade”

“you’re welcome”

the journey was quiet again you sat next to tubbo in the back Tommy sat at the front screaming at jack and trying to distract him and people around you decided to took a picture with tubbo who now had his arm wrapped around you as it was rather cold in the car and posted it to Twitter ‘@ ranboosaysstuff wish you were here :D’ less than a minute later you received 2 notifications ‘ranboosaysstuff replied to your tweet: same’ ‘ ranboosaysstuff has tweeted: *the spongebob gif*’

•••

soon enough you all arrived at mint golf to say you we’re excited would be an understatement

“can I get the shortest club you have”

you stood hiding your face in the jumper tubbo left you whilst you laughed a few minutes later you received a call from ranboo the others said they’d sort everything for you whilst you answered

“what’s up tall one”

“stay safe okay”

“ranboo it’s mini-golf I’m not fighting criminals”

“yes but I know how clumsy you are”

“first of all rude second of all fuck you third of all jealousy isn’t a good look on you” you managed to say through laughter

“jokes aside please come to the UK boo”

“oh sure I’ll go book a plane ticket now” *ranboo ended the call*

ranboo made jokes like that before however this time sounded a lot more serious and you had no idea why he called you so you made a mental note to call him again later. once with friends again you were met with Tommy telling the worker all about you all

“yeah we’re big on the influencing”

“What on earth did I walk in on”

“no time to explain let’s go golf”

you were handed a club and a ball and were dragged away by jack

•••

tubbo joked about getting a hole on one as soon as it was his go, you bet £10 with jack he wouldn't

“hand over the money y/n”

you looked at Tommy who was now recording you handing jack the money “so today we have learnt to not underestimate your friends and that gambling is bad. you lose your money to a tall bald guy”

to put it politely you and Tommy found out that mini golf is not your calling in life

“ill stick to streaming“

“you’re both losing by the way”

“yeah well- why and how does tubbo have soup”

tubbo stood cradling the soup as though it was a child

“Some things I can’t explain to you”

you stood tilting your head to the side questioning where the hell he got soup from

“eh”

“soups like a small child I take care of it as if it was my own”

you couldn’t contain your laughter at this point the confused faces of your friends alongside tubbos happiness of soup sent you over the edge so you decided to just sit down before you fall as your knees were already weak from laughing too much

“where did you get the soup from”

“I manifested it”

•••

after a few solid minutes of arguing over soup you and Tommy dropping the phone you all continued with bowling.

“tubbo get out of the way of my dream ball”

you stood recording jack cheering him on tubbo had different plans and kicked the ball away resulting in jack giving up and copying what you had been doing most of the rounds, after missing the hole 3 times each go, picking up the ball and placing it in the hole however again he missed

“you can’t be serious”

“golf isn’t for everyone big man”

Tommy took the phone from you to record “pov you’re me golfing”

•••

“how do we get across there”

“probably the bridge”

Tommy pulled to rope moving the bridge across the gap

“Why thank you, Tommy, wouldn’t have been able to do it without you”

you laughed

“you're extremely welcome y/n it was extremely easy because I’m a big muscly man”

golf was finally going well till you hit the ball a bit too hard causing it to go over the fence tubbo was able to get the ball back

“I’ve been watching a lot of doctor shows” you stood amazed at how far you made the ball go

“see the issue is its mini golf. if this was regular golf I'd have got a hole in one I'm telling you”

•••

“I'm never being in your vlog again”

jack looked at you and tubbo who was now laughing at you pretending to worship the can of soup in the hole

“Tommy please come back”

the rest of the game was chaos, you kept missing the hole then claiming to rage quit golf tubbo and Tommy kept making jokes jack left his drink somewhere then had to go back and find it, no one had been paying attention to you which allowed you to take the score sheet and make it so you had won the game eventually he game was over you had declared yourself the champion of golf despite the fact everyone was better than you including Tommy

•••

the journey back was chaos you called ranboo who claimed he only called you to plan a video/stream with you however it was clear that wasn’t the reason tubbo whispered to you so no one could hear

“I think he wants to be here with us I think he’s jealous”

you laughed and nodded

“of course”

eventually, you all made it back to yours, ranboo said goodbye to everyone then ended the call now it was time for you to say your goodbyes. since your love language was physical touch you hugged everyone. As you walked into your house Tommy yelled “Y/N HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT PLANES”

#tommyinnit x you #tommyinnit x y/n #tommyinnit fluff #tommyinnit imagine #tommyinnit x reader #jack manifold fluff #jack manifold x y/n #jack manifold x you #jack manifold x reader #tubbo x you #tubbo x y/n #tubbo fluff #tubbo imagine #jack manifold imagine #tubbo x reader #mcyt reader insert #mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt imagines #mcyt imagine #mcyt fluff

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

chained, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: You ever fuck someone wearing a collar and a chain... that's attached to the hot girl with the demonic grin? No? Just Min Yoongi? In his defense, he really likes a bad bitch.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; yup, there are Marilyn Manson and Slipknot references; D/s smut (fem reader, black leather collars and a chain leash, [a lot of] choking, saliva everywhere, handjob, m-receiving oral, slight edging, hair pulling, penetrative sex); non-idol!AU - rapper, sub!Yoongi x goth (also kinda his manager? lol) dom!reader; kinda PWP; Yoongi's POV

--

feel like I'm hexed, yeah, that bitch bad collar on her neck and her ass real fat

Most people would say, “Nah, dude, don’t mess with girls like that.”

Most people would say, “She’s fucking scary, why the hell would you think she’s hot?”

Most people would, but Min Yoongi wasn’t most people.

“I want to play a game.”

He tilted his head. “Then let’s play a game.”

She grinned, wild hair over her left eye. “Yeah?”

The first time he met her, he was at a bar and a woman was chatting him up, engaging him in conversation he didn’t want to be in. Fuck. The only reason he came was to accompany his friends, but they were all much more extroverted than he was and had already wandered off with potentials of the night. He didn’t want a potential. He just wanted a damn shot of whiskey and then he was going to slink into a corner and pretend nobody existed.

He minimized his responses to, “Mhm” and “Yeah,” but the woman wasn’t getting the hint and the bartender was busy. Sigh.

All of a sudden, a short man with a white, mannequin-like mask appeared. The white mask was painted with black streaks. He had stringy, long black and red hair and was wearing black coveralls.

Yoongi and the woman jumped away from each other, disconcerted by the appearance of the strange, tiny man.

“Bartender! Hey, real quick, can you get my friend here a drink?”

And then, fuck.

Black leather jacket, silver hardware. Tight fitted white top, so shredded the black bra underneath was visible. Short black pleated skirt. Ripped tights. Thick black boots with chains. Yoongi felt his eyes widen, looking up and down at this curvy frame. Wild hair, lush tits, juicy thighs, an ass that could put anyone in a trance with the way those hips swayed. Dark makeup, playful grin with red-stained lips.

A black choker with at least eight-centimeter spikes.

A pure white contact lens in her left eye.

“Hey, you can’t cover your face here,” a patron interrupted. “That’s creepy.”

The small man in the mask didn’t reply. The woman in black, however, swatted a hand like she was whacking away a fly.

“He’s part of the entertainment. Buzz off.”

“Oh, yes, you’re the band’s drummer, right?” The bartender rushed over. “Sorry, sorry. What will it be?”

The masked man said nothing.

“Double shot whiskey on the rocks,” the woman replied for him. “Did I get it right this time, Hana?”

A single nod from that stringy head.

“What about you?”

Yoongi jumped, startled the woman in black leather was addressing him. She cocked her head to the confused bartender. “You’ve been standing here ignored for the past ten minutes. I noticed because I was waiting for the guys to suit up to bring Hana to the bar.” She waved her hand. “Come on. Give me your order. I got you.”

“O… Oh. Same thing.”

She nodded. “Ya heard him. And don’t just only pay attention to cute girls, bartender.”

The bartender’s cheeks flushed. “A-Ah, I apologize! I’ll have them ready right away.”

The woman sighed and shook her head, completely ignoring the chatty woman who was making eyes at Yoongi, trying to get near him again. Yoongi pretended not to notice, stepping closer to the short, creepy man. The white mask didn’t move. The woman leaned down a bit because the man was shorter than she was with her height and platform boots.

“Don’t be takin’ nothing with the whiskey now. I’m treatin’ ya,” she chuckled under her breath.

Yoongi noticed the slight satoori. It made her voice a little deep and gruff.

“Shut it.”

She snickered. “Made you talk, Hana.”

The white mask went back to being silent.

She sighed and stood back up turning her attention to Yoongi. “Sorry about my friend here. He doesn’t like talking or people. I’m trying to get him to be more personable. Is it working?”

Yoongi blinked.

“Uh.”

Damn, every time she smiled, he felt a thrill shoot up his spine. White teeth showing, pink tongue peeking out between them.

It just seemed a little psychotic, a little mischievous, and a lot sexy.

“I know it’s not working. Can’t say I didn’t try.”

The masked man might as well have been a mannequin with how still he was.

“You’re his manager?” Yoongi found himself asking.

She shrugged. “Kind of? I actually just own the studio space the band records. But I like coming to the gigs sometimes if I can. Good excuse to get a little drunk, eh? Plus, I’m trying to find musicians to rent out the other spaces.”

Fuck.

Was it his lucky day or what?

“I’m looking for a studio space to record my music, actually.”

Her eyebrows raised. “No shit? You wanna talk some business?”

Oh, they talked business to bass and drums thundering the bar.

Later, they talked about some… other things too. What could he say? Yoongi liked a bad bitch. She wore leather, she owned cluster of studio spaces – “well, they ain’t mine, they’re my dad’s, but he’s never here, he’s off gambling and chasing booty, I think” – she gave him a fair price, and she loved to suck dick.

Yoongi didn’t find out about that last bit until later.

Right now, she was clipping the end of a silver chain to the collar around his neck.

It was heavy, probably metal. The collar he was wearing was thick black leather, with a steel ring resting against his collarbones. Yoongi was pretty sure she was doing a number on him. He wore a lot of black, yeah. He liked leather jackets too. But being around her presence was messing with his head and he was pretty sure he was being influenced by her energy. He used to hate his eye shape and his dark circles, but when he saw himself in the mirror with her tangled around him, riding his dick, he found himself thinking he didn’t look so bad after all. He looked good standing with the woman with the white contact lens and the demonic grin.

Maybe he was a little crazy, but everyone was a little crazy. Yoongi wasn’t worried about something like that.

Right now, she licked her teeth with that lithe, pink tongue of hers.

The other end of the chain was connected to the collar around her neck.

“You wanna play?” she drawled.

Fuck, he loved that shit. Her voice got slightly deep and throaty when she spoke in satoori. He wasn’t sure if she noticed it or not. It must be from her father. She mentioned that she had been raised by her dad – “sporadically, he liked to travel and, by travel, I mean gamble and chase ass, although surprisingly he didn’t come back with more kids, so I guess he learned his lesson” – but she was kind of the same way.

Not the gambling bit.

He didn’t really mind it though. She didn’t try to hide anything and he encouraged her to be herself. Plus, no one was getting the treatment he got. Yoongi was pretty sure about that, because when she fucked around, she did it in public. He had to be the one to tell her to take it upstairs and go for the throat.

Alright, not the throat. The dick.

In some way, Yoongi felt that was her way of asking if he approved, because she never took it upstairs and out of his sight unless he gave her the go ahead.

Right now, her tongue extended and wiggled in the air, glossy and slick with her saliva.

He smirked, open-mouthed and with a flick of tongue at the edge of his teeth.

She gripped the chain and yanked him by the neck to her face, crashing that demonic grin to his lips.

Like an injection or a spell, it gave him a rush, the firm leather snapping against his neck, chained to her, both wearing the collars, but she was always in control, always, and he liked it like that, liked the way she traced his lips with her powerful tongue, her saliva his aphrodisiac, before she captured his lips and rolled her body into his lap, skin to skin, moving like a snake, his gasp against her devouring mouth, her bare ass sliding on his thigh, fuck, so sexy, so soft, so bouncy, one hand on his face and another on his shoulder, fingers spread out and tendons flexing.

He liked to say she was the angel that held up her blinding halo with devil horns.

She yanked on the chain and Yoongi sucked in a breath, closing one eye as she licked his cheek, ending with a kiss on his brow. Cold air chilled his wet skin, making him shiver.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ hot, Yoongi.”

Pretty sure neither of them believed in a god but it got the point across.

He raised his hand and she smacked his wrist down, pinning it to the bed.

“Nuh uh.”

Yoongi wasn’t really expecting her to let him.

He raised his other hand. It was immediately swatted down onto the bed, her eyebrow cocking.

“Naughty, naughty.”

He cocked an eyebrow back, defying.

She leaned down and snatched the chain in her mouth, tugging on it with teeth and neck, narrowing her eyes. The white contact lens on her left eye gleamed under her lashes. She always wore it except right before sleeping. He once asked her why and she had shrugged.

“Mental security, I guess.”

Now, she growled like an animal.

“Down.”

She looked like she was about to headbutt him. He wouldn’t put it past her.

He lowered himself slowly, her mouth holding the chain taut until he was laying on the bed. She grinned, pleased at his obedience. Yoongi was quite sure that she was probably the closest being to a succubus that he would ever encounter with the violent thrill of arousal she was giving him with those plush lips and white teeth around the silver chain, pink tongue circling around the metal to tease him.

Maybe he was the crazy one for being turned on by it.

She dropped the chain on his chest. He flinched, the wet, heavy metal thudding onto his sternum, right against his pounding heartbeat. She rubbed her thigh against his balls and hardening cock, raising her head, chain following, higher, higher, letting go of his hands, arching her back, tits up, until it was fully taut between his neck and hers, the sides of the collars forcefully digging into his neck and hers. Yoongi did not lift his head from the bed to reduce the tension. Her devilish smile widened. A chain tug-of-war between collar to collar, both of them choking the other.

She lifted her hand and licked her palm, saturating it with saliva.

She reached down and wrapped her long fingers around his stiff length.

Didn’t say he could touch her though, so Yoongi didn’t.

“Think you can last longer than last time?”

He clenched his jaw. “Maybe.”

She pulled harder and he locked his neck and shoulders, clutching the sheets with a sharp gasp, pleasure shooting up his core, firm, strong strokes up and down his cock, fuck, fuck, every damn time, that second of cold as her saliva soaked his skin and then it warmed up fast to hot, slippery ecstasy, hard and getting harder, his pre-cum mixing with her saliva, staring at her hard nipples and juicy hips, knees around one of his thighs, shaking her ass when she noticed him looking, changing the pace, addicted to the feeling of her hands. He could feel the bones and the hard muscle of her grip and, sure, that didn’t sound sexy, but it felt incredible, adding stimulation in that inescapable hold and paired with slickness, choking his cock slightly and he craved every second of it, thighs tense and hard, growling in his throat as he dug his head into the mattress, pulling the chain for all it was worth, lightheaded now, the leather cutting in, probably leaving a mark, locking eyes with mischievous orbs and an impish smirk, the sides of her collar also cutting into the sides of her neck, choking herself as she was choking him while jacking him off.

Black haze threatened the edges of his vision.

He was going to pass out or cum. Yoongi didn’t care which happened first.

“F… Fuck!”

Yoongi snapped his jaw shut and shot up her forearm and down his length, strained groan of her name leaking past his teeth, bolts of pleasure invading his nerves all the way up to his scalp, blossoming into an erotic haze. She snapped her head forward. Oxygen flooded his brain, his jaw going slack with a moan, his eyes rolling back, high so high his whole body shuddered, barely registering her movement, hearing the lewd slurps of her drinking up his cum.

Wet.

Hot.

“Shit!”

Her mouth enveloped his twitching length, burying it deep into her throat, slathering tongue and satisfied hiss, chain clinking against his stomach and hitting his trembling balls, twisting her head so the chain wouldn’t cause any damage to them as she began to suck, flashes of tongue flickering out of the edges of those plush lips, grazing his crotch and scrotum, pointedly staring at him with an arched eyebrow.

She bounced her hips when she noticed him looking, shaking her ass as she sucked his dick.

Yoongi grinned.

His vision was barely focusing, trying to recover from orgasm in the midst of the intoxicating pleasure of her soft and tight mouth, tongue rubbing under the head of his cock, causing it to jerk and swell in the back of her throat and then she thrust it all the way back in there, taking him impossibly deep, sinfully moaning around his cock, vibrating it with lust. He glanced at her hands, fingers spread out and joints locked, tendons flexed, pointed black fingernails clawing into the sheets.

The heat flaring over his abdomen and hips was rising to his limit once more.

Yoongi panted her name, hoarse and breathless, realizing his Daegu satoori was suddenly more prominent in his disheveled state.

“I’m gonna cum–”

She popped her mouth off his cock and he snapped his teeth, snarling.

“You bitch.”

She grinned, wiggling her tongue, thick plops of saliva dripping down and hitting his flinching hips and throbbing cock, the head an angry purple-red from being so roughly stimulated after orgasm. The white contact gleamed alongside the devious glint in her right eye, black pupils blown out, a little psychotic, a little mischievous, and a lot sexy.

It didn’t matter who was on top because she knew she was always on top.

To be clear, Yoongi didn’t take shit from anyone without a fight. It got him in trouble sometimes, but this particular brand was trouble was the kind he liked. She gave him a long period of two seconds to roll the condom down before tangling one hand in the metal chain and the other in his black hair, pulling both in opposite directions. He hissed dangerously, plunging his hard cock into the wet, waiting heat, scorched by her roughness and his desire, one of her legs on his shoulder and the other around his waist, smacking their bodies together with violent force.

The tip of her tongue traced her teeth, grinning demonically.

“Come on, you said you were gonna play the game with me, Yoongi,” she chuckled, naughtily mocking him, voice deep and rough from her satoori.

“Let’s see if you can keep up,” he growled in kind, low and gravelly.

She pulled on the collar much harder than his hair, but both were equally arousing, prickling pain on his scalp and circulation cut short once again, brief flashes of oxygen bleeding through with his aggressive thrusts, the excess chain knocking against her collarbones, just another layer of sound along with slapping hips and squelching juices, her velvet walls clenching around him with every descent, not going fast so he could last, burying deep and hitting her hard. She winced, guttural growl at the base of her throat and the side of his lips quirked up.

“Too much?” he taunted.

“I’ll tell you when it’s too much,” she grunted, jerking her hips up and brutally squeezing the head deep inside.

“Fuck…”

He knew she wouldn’t let him do anything she didn’t want, so he kept going, her wrist flicking up with every thrust, leather collar snapping into his skin, thinning his breath to gasps at the stinging pain, the hand in his hair releasing him, messy black strands invading his vision, but he had no time to complain, groaning as her nails dug into his back and dragged up, inflamed hot lines that shot into his system and fed his adrenaline. His fists bunched the sheets, locking his shoulders, clenching his jaw, flexing his neck, and now he was being choked again, consistently this time, oxygen thinning out once more, barely able to keep his eyes open.

Her smile sent thrills up his spine and they split at the base of his head, tendrils of vicious desire numbing all sensations except lust, gluttonous for the pain that nourished more pleasure, greedy for everything she forced him to take, too prideful to ask her to loosen her hold, desperate not to give in to her wrath, usually slothful but now using every fiber of his strength to push himself to the limit, high getting higher knowing that anyone would be envious of how good he got it from that fiendish playful grin and hot delicious body under him, collared together in joined sin.

She let out a low moan, basking in him, feeding his need to satisfy hers.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot, Yoongi.”

He managed to get out half of a breath, staring into those irises, one real, one covered in white.

“Fuck, your voice gets me off every time,” he hissed.

He slammed his hips down and she clamped around his entire length, releasing the chain, both of their heads tipping back, his in the air and hers into the pillows, moans in unison as he shot into the condom and she released onto his twitching length and skin, coating him with slickness. The scent of sex permeated the air, his previous orgasm soaked into the sheets already and hers smearing with it as their hips descended, his throbbing cock pulsed by her flinching walls, her thighs tense around his waist and his hard ones against her ass, making sure to lean forward so he didn’t fall out, savoring every second of their joined bodies.

The hotel room was certainly getting some important use.

Yoongi remembered he had been annoyed when she said he should rent one since the potential gig was rather far away and transportation so late at night was going to be a bitch. He almost didn’t do it, but she rolled her eyes and booked it anyway, triumphant when he sold out the venue. Not a huge venue, but bigger than he had ever performed before.

He still said she had to make it up to him for making him travel farther than he originally wanted.

As usual, Yoongi was not disappointed.

“Housekeeping is gonna be pissed,” she chuckled. “Smells like sex.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“How’s your throat?”

“Pretty sure rapping strains the inside of my throat, not the outside.”

She chuckled. “Now you hurt all over.”

“Good.”

Yoongi closed the distance and kissed that smirk, metal chain sandwiched between their hot, sweaty skin, the steel rings of the black leather collars clinking against each other.

--

masterpost

-

the lyrics in the beginning are from hot demon b!tches near u!! by CORPSE ft night lovell

#yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x you #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #min yoongi smut

[bunnykawa]

hungry (osamu miya x f. reader)

summary: You have a big crush on the handsome owner of an onigiri shop. He thinks it’s annoying. Or does he?

a/n: eh idk what this is. timeskip love haha. but this might be a triggering so please keep that in mind and read the warnings

warnings: 18+, yandere themes, noncon/dubcon/rape, raw sex, kinda public sex?, some degradation, little bit of spanking and hairpulling, abusive language, violence, stalking, mentions of past sexual abuse, you vomit but it's not sexualized it's trauma-induced, timeskip!osamu :)

The energy of the restaurant is oddly calm tonight. Nights are almost never tranquil at Onigiri Miya with the constant parade of people coming in, so you hum in satisfaction when you scan the restaurant and there's barely anyone here. You stare down at your half-eaten onigiri and the loyalty stamp card that you filled up from how often you come here. After nine visits, you get a free onigiri on your tenth one as long as you show them your stamp card. 

This is your hundredth visit—you remember because the first time you entered Onigiri Miya was ten stamp cards ago. The staff already know your name, if not by your face and your timid behavior that makes you stutter when ordering the same thing every time they see you. As peculiar as they think you are (for coming to Onigiri Miya at the same time on Fridays and Saturdays for the past six months and sitting alone quietly until they close), they warmly welcome you.

It's only you in the dining area tonight. The few employees that Onigri Miya has must have left earlier than usual. You suddenly tense up in your seat and grip onto your cup of freshly-poured hot tea tightly between tremulous fingers. The familiar male figure, standing at over six feet tall with beautiful broad shoulders, passes by the front counter, disappearing as he makes his way to the back. 

After you let out a harsh breath, you adjust your phone from behind your purse on the table. Your phone is propped up behind it, the camera lens slightly peeking over the faux leather. Butterflies form in your stomach when you see that you were still recording and you caught him on camera. 

Yes, you go to Onigiri Miya because the food is amazing. Somehow, they make a dish as simple as a rice ball so delectable and appetizing and you adore them because of it. But hyperfixation is a fucking bitch, your thought process is a little flawed, and the real reason why you frequent the establishment is because Osamu Miya is absolutely gorgeous. Every time you see him, you're left wondering what it would be like to run your fingers through his dark hair or how his lips feel pressed against yours. Your thoughts run wild. How does he like his eggs in the morning? What's his family like? Does he sleep on the right side of the bed? Left side? In the middle? Does he have space for you on his bed? 

How does it feel to be loved by Osamu Miya?

Every time you visit the restaurant, visibly nervous with anxiety beating in your chest and your throat closing as you try to speak, you feel that you're one step close to finding out. And maybe you did feel it once. Just once. You're unsure if that one special moment you shared with Osamu was genuine from his heart with good intentions, but you would do anything for that feeling to last forever. And if that made your whole being feel as if you were floating, then why wouldn't it be the same for him?

So, that's why you're here. To relive that special moment in the way that you fantasized about—something that can become a fond memory instead of a dream deep inside your head that leaves you yearning for physicality. Desire is the only sensation that you've felt for the past six months and it's torture to watch the man that you've fallen in love with barely acknowledge you as a person even if he's seen your face in his restaurant consistently every week since you first met. Since he saved you. 

Six months later. Six months to move on. Six months to get help and yet you're still digging your hands into your panties and biting onto your sheets to gag yourself because of one man after every visit to his restaurant.

"Hey."

Oh, that voice makes your thighs tremble every time you hear it. As stoic and impassive as it is, it's the same voice that gave you solace when you were beaten down in the dark to bleed on concrete. You're gritting your teeth—nearly moaning at the sweet sound—as that voice almost breaks you out of your thoughts. Almost. 

"(Y/N), are you okay?" Osamu asks in a deadpan tone from his place behind the counter. You jolt suddenly. For someone who's so obsessive with small details, you sure don't pay much attention to your surroundings. You quickly shake your head when you realize that he's talking to you. 

"Y-yes. I'm...I'm fine, O...samu," you squeak in embarrassment. You don't realize it, but you're clutching onto your stamp card with white knuckles. His gray hooded eyes seem to be staring right through you, as if he knows why you're here tonight, what you're looking for. But whatever he does notice, he doesn't mention. His eyes dart down to your purse before he maintains eye contact with you. 

He places his hand on the counter to lean on it. The small action makes your mouth dry. He's so fucking beautiful. "It's almost ten-o'clock. I'm gonna close up. You should leave soon." 

But you don't want to leave yet. Tonight was supposed to be the night that you finally made your dreams come true. It's only him and you in the restaurant tonight, so it must mean something.

"Where...where's the rest of the c-crew?" you ask shakily. Fuck, get yourself together. You just need an excuse not to leave. And he might know your name, but he doesn't know you. Not yet.

He raises a thick eyebrow at your question before answering, "Left early tonight. Just me taking care of the shop." You should have noticed. This is why you leave your phone recording while you're there—you don't want to miss anything in case you get distracted.

But does he want you to leave? Your heart aches at the thought of him not wanting your presence when you've been craving his for so long. "I see," you mutter awkwardly.

What do I do now?

"You've got a lot of nerve, you know that?" he says after a few seconds of awkward silence. You haven't moved from your seat and neither has Osamu moved from his spot to "close up" as he said he would. You wonder if the door is already locked.

"What do you mean?" Your heart is thumping more now than it has in the past three hours you've been here. Osamu lives in your brain rent-free yet you can barely breathe around him. Now he's speaking to you. Actually speaking to you.

"You know exactly what I mean," he calmly accuses you. The unexpected shift in his tone makes your blood run cold. "Wonder if your phone has run out of storage yet. Funny you go out of your way to come here twice a week just to record me."

"What?!" you cry out, suddenly shooting up from your seat. Your chair skids a few inches across the floor behind you before it tilts and hits the ground with a crash. The quick movement causes the table in front of you to shake and make your phone to fall back as well, the screen smashing against the wood and the camera lens facing up towards the ceiling. You feel like you're about to have a heart attack. Your vision goes blurry from tears suddenly threatening to overflow because were you that obvious?

"I noticed. A long time ago. Remember you from that night back in the alley. Very unique face you got there," Osamu hums. He steps around the counter to make his way towards you. You cower into the wall beside your table, your eyes darting from your phone and Osamu's threatening figure.

Back in the alley. The image of the back alley behind Onigiri Miya flashes in your mind. Dark, wet, and sadly gray. That's where you first met him.

"Didn't expect to see you back here. Thought you might've developed PTSD or something with how you were crying. Now you're stalking me." 

"No," you loudly plead, shaking your head side to side, "I don't know what you're talking about!" You're lying straight through your teeth. That's funny—you've been coming to his restaurant for a chance to see him again, but he's coming closer and closer and you're terrified instead of happy. Your knees buckle as you press your back against the wall. You squeeze your eyes shut as the memories come flooding back into your system in vivid detail. 

He continues on, "Don't even lie to me. Stalking me like a crazy bitch. I wasn't sure what I should do about you. I felt bad for you and let you continue doing this, even thought about calling the police for a little bit, but…"

Osamu almost never talks to you, maybe a few times where he's handling the register and the orders and he has to talk to you, but he's always in the open kitchen where you can freely admire him when you want to, always an arm's length away. When you would think about what your first conversation together would be like, you always imagined his words to be kind. Sweet. Maybe he'd say he admired you—

"...you're a little fucked up in the head, huh?" 

His tone is hostile. There's no love laced in any of the syllables falling from his tongue. He's annoyed. He hates the fact that you want him—it's that obvious but you don't want to believe it, especially when you think you worked so hard. It's not fair.

Your mind is hazy as he's coming closer and closer to your trembling form. You see his lips moving and the calm expression on his face turn into hard evil, but your ears can't decipher what he's saying. His words have faded into white noise. And you've seen him multiple times, traced his face through the screen of your phone, admired him from afar at the same spot in his restaurant for months, but his face is sharper, harsher, and almost unrecognizable. Is this really the man that saved you? Is this really Osamu Miya?

Your blood is pumping loudly in your ears. It's the only sound that you can make out other than your heavy breathing. God, if he gets any closer...

Then, the adrenaline kicks in and you're lunging at him with your arms outstretched towards his large frame. You don't know what you're going to do and sure as hell you're no match for him, but your body is screaming at you. Your senses are running wild, like the aura that Osamu is emitting is lighting you on fire and making you act on primal instinct. It's telling you to fight. 

To fight him. To bash your tiny fists against his handsome face because he should have fallen in love with you the moment that you fell in love with him, but he has the audacity to leave you hanging for half a year and call you a stalker.

And it's painful. You're not sure which hurts more, but at this moment, the physical pain is excruciating. You can't breathe anymore, not when his calloused hands (from years of training on the court, which you found out from the internet, and in the kitchen) are wrapped around your throat. You can't think straight either—your head hit the ground a little too hard and the world is spinning. Osamu's face is contorted in anger and even if your world is spinning, his features are as clear as day. 

Your memories start crashing down inside your brain in fragments. The pain, frustration, and sadness hit you all at once—it’s nauseating. It’s as if Osamu can sense this, too, because as soon as he notices your sick expression, he flips you over to force you on your knees with one arm around your waist, his hand in your scalp to hold your head in place towards the floor and then you’re heaving and gagging out the rice balls you consumed earlier. Your throat is on fire and you're still coughing up pieces of rice.

“You gross bitch,” he mutters.

You gross bitch.

It's bouncing around in your ear drum until it fades into cotton, a familiar set of words that cut you deep that you were able to pick up on easily among the other curses he's been throwing at you. The same words from six months ago. A trigger? Yeah, that's what the internet calls it. You almost died, or at least that's what it felt like. That's the only way you can describe it, the only way you were able to make sense of what happened, because you feel that you might as well have. 

It was from someone else's mouth—a disgusting, grimy man whose face haunted your dreams for months, a man with greasy fingers that put his hands on you, who beat you until you were nearly unconscious with blood dripping down your chin, who ripped you away of your pride and worth until you were nothing. The concrete was wet and cold, scraping against your sensitive skin and breaking through layers as he rutted into you. His breath fucking stunk and for fuck's sake, you don't know if you've seen anyone uglier, but as fucked up as it is, he made you feel ugly. 

You thought you saw an angel that day. The backdoor to Onigiri Miya opened up and when you finally opened your eyes and looked up, there he was—with blank gray eyes that stared down at the scene before him in slight disgust, and then he ripped the repulsive body off of your half-naked form. You were too weak. 

While you were weak and scared and incoherent, Osamu saw you and didn't hesitate to protect you. At the end of every dream you've had since then, Osamu always came to help you. 

And that should've been the end of it. That should've been the last time. You can't go through that again. No, no, no. You don't deserve to go through that again. 

You don't deserve it.

You don't deserve it.

You don't deserve it.

You're more responsive and awake once Osamu bends you over the table you were sitting at, then your senses are overloading, telling you to resist, to keep fighting. You're so tired, at this point you're completely heartbroken, but you can't—you can't just give up yet. He's holding you down, restraining your wrists with one hand while his other hand is at your waistband pulling your shorts down your thighs. You're kicking at him with whatever strength you have left even if the taste in your mouth is vile, he's much stronger than you, and your head is pounding from the anxiety. You're grateful that you can even breathe.

But it feels like your body has failed you, once again, and for a second you think that you do deserve it. The adrenaline is almost gone, you can barely lift a finger, you feel like passing out, and—fuck—you're so stupid, so dependent on one person to make you feel high. With Osamu...you don't even know what to think. The image you dreamed of is long gone. It's sad that reality can crash over you so easily and ruin everything. 

"Get off of me!" you scream. Over and over again. Until your voice cracks and your throat is on the brink of bleeding, coughing out your poor lungs. Until it's nothing but the essence of your torment. Your cup of tea, now warm, has spilled all over the table and is slowly seeping into your hair as your cheek rubs against the wood. And there's nothing else you can do, because Osamu is still behind you with your hands trapped by his. Your shorts and your panties are around your ankles. His jeans are unbuttoned and it's out. 

You don't want to fight anymore, you're fucking terrified. So terrified that you can't bring yourself to move. As soon as you stop fighting, his breathing becomes steady and he's using less force on you. Sobs rack through your body hysterically when you feel it.

It's throbbing against your thigh—warm, leaking precum, long, and thick. The skin-to-skin contact in such an intimate area is making the hairs on the back of your neck rise. That tiny voice inside of your head is telling you to look back at it to see if his dick matches the image you made up in your head. Is it exactly how you pictured it? Is it as pretty?

He's wiping his precum against your tense skin. When you flinch at the tip of his cock rubbing against you, he bites his lip and kneads one of your ass cheeks with his free hand, spreading your holes open and ever so gently brushing his thumb over your pussy. 

"You're...wet," he comments. You hear it. He dips his thumb between your folds and swipes it up and down and you hear the squelching of your cunt over your heavy breathing. That's—that's not right. No, you shouldn't be feeling this way. He pushes his thumb deeper into your cunt and slowly pulls it back out. You flinch and arch your back slightly at the sudden sensation, making you push your ass towards him. He lets out a breathy laugh at your reaction. 

His thumb disappears for a second but it's instantly replaced with his dick probing at your entrance. With a roll of his hips, he breaks through your squishy flesh with some difficulty. 

A loud yelp and a slurry of protests falls from your wet desperate lips. You wriggle your bottom, trying to create space between your two bodies, jerking away from him with whatever strength you have left. However, Osamu keeps going until he's completely bottomed out, filling you up until his tip is flush against your cervix. He lets go of your wrists so he could keep a firm grip on your hips instead. Whenever you moved, it burned.

Stop.

The stretch is unbearable—it's been half a year since you've had someone else inside you. The burn of having your hole forcefully split open wide again against your will has your head going delirious with so many mixed emotions. Fuck's sake, this isn't right and it's been heavily engraved in your brain for months that you have every right to fight back. Although you haven't been thinking straight for a long time, you're still lucid enough for your ears to work and soak up information like a sponge. He's moving, rutting his hips into your hot cunt cruelly. You can still fight him off, maybe you'd win if you tried again. 

But this is Osamu. Your heart fucking aches for him and you want to get away, but it's Osamu drilling into your heat and it's just not fair. It's not fair because your body is still responding to his malicious touch. It's not fair because even if it hurts—and fuck, it hurts so damn much—you're involuntarily grinding your ass into him. It's not fucking fair because you can't hate him.

Why is life never fair?

"No," you sob, "No, no, no. It hurts. It hurts. Please stop." Your hot tears are mixing with the puddle of tea that's pooling underneath your cheek and your tongue still tastes foul from your little episode. You’re scared you might start gagging again.

"Stop?" he muses, "Haven't you been loitering in my restaurant because you've been craving my cock? You wanted this for months and the one time I give it to you, you're telling me to stop?" Osamu slams into your poor little cunt despite your pained cries and babbling. Your pussy is clamping around him, your body trying to accommodate his length and girth breaking into you so suddenly.

"Osamu." His name would've tasted so good if the situation was different. Little did you know that you pushed him passed his breaking point a long time ago. But Osamu knew that you were beyond yours ever since he met you. If only you weren't so fucking weird, maybe then he would've pitied you—maybe he would've genuinely felt something for you. 

What a shame that you fell in love with a man who wouldn't be able to understand you. 

"I'm tired of you coming into my restaurant," he grunts, snapping his hips against yours roughly, "-and treating me like I'm some kind of animal. Do I look like a fucking animal to you?"

You choke, “No. You don’t—that’s not why—please. You don’t understand.” 

“Then tell me," he coaxes. But how do you tell him? Are you supposed to be honest? You're afraid that if you are honest, Osamu will treat you just as badly as he is now. It's also hard for you to collect your thoughts and find a sincere explanation that he could listen to—you're too focused on the many sensations pulsing through you. He raises a bulky arm only bring it down instantly to smack your ass with rough hands. The sudden impact forces you forward for a split second. Then he brings his hand down a few more times, until he's satisfied with the dark red hand print with tiny splotches dotted across your skin. 

Is this a punishment for everything that you've done within the last six months? Punishment for admiring him through sneaky videos and pictures? Punishment for thinking about him all the time? You feel like a criminal, caught red-handed and forced to go through torture and suffer for your ungodly sins. Each time he hits you, you're twitching from the painful sting and praying for forgiveness. 

"Stop it!" you beg through tears, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It hurts so much." Apologies start spilling from your sore throat impulsively. 

I'm sorry, Osamu. 

Please stop, Osamu.

It really hurts, Osamu.

But nothing that comes out of your mouth convinces him, and after awhile it's more like you're trying to convince yourself more. Suddenly the burning in your sensitive cunt is replaced with the inebriating desire and hunger for more friction between your two bodies and it leaves a shameful tint to bloom over you. You're salivating over his dick—you wanna see it so bad even if you're scared—and the guilt is eating at you on the inside. It feels good, actually enough to have you gripping onto the edge of the table and sucking Osamu into your cunt so that he doesn't pull back too far. 

"Don't tell me that it hurts," he groans, "Your pussy is creaming all over me. You can't lie to me anymore."

He's right. You're lying more to yourself than him, though. You don't tell him to stop anymore, settling with swear words and a chorus of Osamu! Osamu! Osamu! It's amazing, intoxicating, and it also makes you feel disgusting. The way his cock fills up your tight pussy perfectly and how his balls are consistently smacking your clit and stimulating it—you're drooling from the pleasure.

"Does it feel good?" he huffs, "Is this what you wanted? To be a cockwhore for me?" 

Your body betrays you and you're left moaning and crying at the same time with breathy words that Osamu can't decipher because you're a complete mess, but he swears he can hear you agree without hesitation. "Y-yes, fuck yes! Your cock is s-so amazing," you cry out, "Hurts so good, Osamu!"

It's not enough. Although you're gradually submitting to him, it's still not enough for the sadistic side of him. He wants to hear more of you, to push you until you're braindead and nothing more than a hole to stretch and tear apart just for the hell of it. He leans over you just to grab you by the disheveled hair on your scalp. Another scream leaves you as he pulls you up to be able to growl in your ear.

"Tell me everything, you whore," he breathes, softly yet maliciously. You try to answer him but the angle he has your neck at from the grip on your hair is choking you. 

"Why'd you keep coming here? Obsessive little bitch. Why're you still here?" It's like he's laughing in your face even if his voice and expression say otherwise. He's mocking your pain, making you relive your trauma as if it was all a fucking joke. As if you’re incapable of feeling pain.

This isn't even supposed to feel as good as it does, yet it does. The way he calls you an obsessive little bitch has your stomach doing flips and your cheeks to flush even more. Then you're confused. You're enjoying his cock forced inside you and it's damn confusing. 

Fuck, it’s enough to further damage your overstimulated psyche and turn you into someone you never thought you would be. An empty shell of the person you used to be because your body doesn’t even fucking feel like your body anymore. Nothing feels real anymore, like you're shifting through universes and living lifetimes but you're stuck in one place at the same time. Why do you always come back here? 

You turn your head to the side, enough for you to see his face. His eyebrows are furrowed, probably from concentration on your slick pussy, and then he notices you staring at him. You don't utter another word, you might just choke and spew if you even open your mouth to attempt to (and holy shit, you don't want to embarrass yourself anymore), but your eyes—they answer his question in heavy silence. It’s enough for him to understand and see right through you. Loud and clear although you don't speak. 

Because you saved me.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you let out another sob, but this cry is full of guilty pleasure instead with barely any tears. It has you nearly passing out and feeling sick to your stomach and just please—make it stop hurting. But it feels so damn good at the same time, to have the tip of his swelling cock kissing your cervix every time he slams into you, grinding his hips against your sweet cunt. Your body contracts violently as you release your liquids all around Osamu's cock, pushing your ass against his pelvis and knocking your empty tea cup and purse off the table. Intitially, the loud crash makes you jolt but it's nothing compared to how your orgasm crashing over you has you screaming and thrashing around pathetically. 

You're cumming. You're cumming. You can't believe you're fucking cumming. You've never felt this way before and you always believed that sex was painful but you're still cumming long and hard on Osamu's cock. Your juices are being forced out of you.

And you didn't even want it.

You're embarrassed and oddly satisfied at the same time. Your cum is dribbling down your legs and there's no doubt that it's dripping down Osamu's pelvis and thighs, too. He lets go of your hair and your head drops forward onto the table with a thump. You wince at the contact, but you don't move.

After a few silent minutes (silent other than your audible panting) exhaustion finally hits you, and with a heavy breath you completely collapse against the table. You finally stop your death grip on the sides of the table to let them dangle off the edge. Your scalp is sore, it makes your head pound when you move your head even slightly. 

A soft tired gasp escapes your throat in surprise; you feel little pecks going up your back and across your shoulders.

Then there’s feather-light kisses tickling your shoulder that leaves an agitated tingle in your nerves and—why? Why bother being gentle at this point? But the fluttering in your pelvis doesn't stop. He slips out of you just to turn your weak body over so you're laying on your back. You instantly move your eyes further down and—

It's pretty. Prettier than you imagined. His cock is fucking pretty. It's hypnotizing as you scan the vein running underneath the skin and the pink swollen head oozing clear liquid. It's glistening, dripping, with juices. 

Holy shit, those are your juices. 

It dawns on you that you both connected. Although not in the way that you had hoped, definitely not, but...you connected in the most physically intimate way possible. You felt him, his warmth, his damp skin, everything. Your eyes drift upwards. He's breathing heavily, his chest visibly moving. He has a firm grip on your thighs to keep you in place—you're not going anywhere. You don't want to go anywhere. Examining his face, you can see everything, every single detail. His lips, his lidded eyes, his cute nose, the shape of his face, and—wow—Osamu is pretty. So pretty. He's nearly angelic when you take a closer look. You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to him before.

You hope you're not imagining it, because you see something different behind his blank stare as if he's in as much of an awe as you are while you look up at him lovingly, like he didn't just hurt you. He took you against your will and yet you're staring at him like he just told you that you were his world. Are you a fucking idiot? Are you delusional?

"Do you love me?"

The question leaves him before he realizes his lips are forming the words. Osamu looks down at you, no other emotion laced in any of his handsome features except for distaste and...curiosity? With parted puffy lips and despair etched onto your cheeks, you slowly nod. The glazed look in your eyes draws him closer to your face, scrutinizing every part of your soft skin. He braces his hands on both sides of your trembling form. One part of your cheek is still wet from the tea that spilled earlier and your hair is disgustingly moist from a mixture of sweat and earl grey and you feel anxious again. 

"Okay," he says, voice as monotonous and dead as usual, but also worn out and accompanied with heavy breathing. You tense when he leans even closer, but quickly relax when you feel him kiss your forehead. It's a delicate kiss that makes your heart flutter. Then he trails further and connects your lips. It's short, but wet and sweet. He hadn't kissed you on your mouth the whole night, it probably would have been too weird for him to kiss a sad stalker he didn't know, especially when you vomited on his otherwise spotless floor. The taste of him is lingering on your skin—you're almost afraid to lick your lips in case this'll be the last time you ever have his against yours.

He pulls you into his chest. Your heart might just jump out of yours. His cock is brushing against your shuddering core, hard and sticky, but he doesn't enter you. Osamu simply holds you close, one of his hands in your hair and the other flat against your back. You weakly bring your arms up to wrap around his shoulders and dig your face into the crook of his neck. 

Then you cry. You let out a harsh breath and let yourself cry again, shoulders violently shaking and your chest tightening uncomfortably, for the thousandth time tonight even if you're tired and yearning for the comfort of your bed. Slowly, wet tears seep into his t-shirt. Osamu smells good—musky, sweaty, like a man. You don't understand what just happened—it brought you back to six months ago yet it feels entirely indifferent. He smells like a man, but he doesn't smell dirty like the last one who destroyed you.

He continues to hold you as you break down. Osamu thinks he understands, but you—you're more confused now more than ever.

#osamu miya smut #miya osamu smut #osamu smut #yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyuu x reader #yandere osamu miya #yandere miya osamu #yandere osamu miya x reader #osamu miya x reader #miya osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #yandere haikyuu imagines #yandere haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu smut #yandere osamu x reader #osamu #miya osamu #osamu miya #hq imagines #hq smut #yandere haikyuu fics #yandere hq #yandere hq imagines #tw noncon #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw dubcon #tw rape #tw: rape

[lokislastlove]

Come One, Come All (dark!Loki x reader)

Summary: A girls night out to the fair takes an insidious turn.

Warnings: Noncon/Rape, knife play, oral (m&f), smut, bondage, kidnapping.

This is a dark fic! 18+ ONLY! Explicit Adult content. Please READ THE WARNINGS! Do not continue if these matters upset you!

Authors Note: I wrote another one! No idea where this came from, but it was fun to write. Still working on improving my smut, huge thanks to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor for some tips and editing the shit out of it. 😘 also I know there is a creepy clown in the pic but I feel like I have to say there aren’t any clowns in the fic. I hate clowns.

Chapter 1:

It was the kind of summer night you dream about, warm enough to keep you comfortable in your shorts and peasant top, but with a light breeze that keeps you cool enough to fight the flush of alcohol in your veins. You look forward to these moments when you are able to go out with your girlfriends and let loose, forgetting about all life’s responsibilities, if just for a single night.

“Come on!” Ash calls over her shoulder, her hand tight around your wrist pulling you impatiently.

“Aww but that looks so good” you groan as you press your face longingly against the glass barrier of the hand dipped corn dog cart.

The sweet scent of the frying corn dough wafts tantalizingly through the air making your mouth water. You friends laugh at your theatrics, having just helped you scarf down a large sugary funnel cake and a platter of nachos, the evidence of which still stains the corner of your mouth. Really, it was their fault for getting you tipsy before taking you to the county fair, everything just smelled heavenly and if you could you would try one of everything.

“Just a slushee?!” You beg as Jen steps behind you and pushes you out of the food court, giggling the entire time.

“Come on, fight the drunchies! You promised you would try that new funhouse,” Jen whines, looping her arm through yours, Ash doing the same on the other side.

“Oh yeah,” you grumble.

“Oh stop it” Ash scolds playfully. “Everyone at work keeps talking about it - it’s like a mini escape room! And I’ve always wanted to do one, please.” She rants excitedly before giving you her best puppy dog eyes.

“Ugh that’s cheating. No one can resist those big brown eyes” you pout, but yield as easily as they knew you would.

“I know” Ash smirks, tossing back her long silky black hair over her slender shoulder.

“This is gonna be so much fun, I promise” Jen bumps your hip, giving you a wide encouraging smile.

You manage a strained grin as you let them lead you through the crowd. It’s not that you don’t like funhouses or the idea of doing an escape room, having always loved solving riddles and doing puzzles. It’s just you don’t like clowns, and every funhouse in your experience has at least one.

“Oh damn there’s a line!” Jen moans as you all stop in front of a large structure covered in flashing lights, the ominous ‘Tricksters Trap’ bathing your face in a violent red glow.

Garish contrasting colors somehow both attract your eye and make it hard to look at. Your pupils dilate with the lines of fluorescent bulbs burning into your retinas. The stereotypical circus music blares through the cheap speakers, reminding you of one of those old Jack in the box toys. And of course, without fail, was the obligatory clown statue hanging over the entrance, like some creepy sentinel there to guide you to your inevitable demise.

“Ugh fucking clowns” you grimace as you pass by the entrance, heading toward the end of the line.

“Yeah they definitely nailed the creep factor,” Jen agrees, her eyes shining with nervous excitement.

“I know isn’t it great?!” Ash squeals.

You stand there taking in the horrific detailing painted on the side of the metal structure. You are thankful when Ash explains there is a time limit, only ten minutes to complete the puzzle or else they kick you out and you have to try again. If you figure out the puzzle you get to leave through the mirror maze and you earn the coveted “I tricked the Trickster” sticker.

“Gotta get that sticker, or else that bitch Katie at work will never let me forget that she got one and I didn’t” Ash complains, causing you and Jen to share a look and snicker.

“Hey! Don’t laugh, this is serious! We gotta be smart and figure this out, failure is not an option” she urges dramatically before collapsing into drunken giggles with you and Jen.

“You ladies seem eager to prove yourselves,” slithers a low voice.

Startled you gasp and spin around quickly. The three of you look up at the tall lean figure standing behind you. He wears a perfectly tailored black ensemble, that matches the color of his slicked back hair. His eyes practically glow green against his alabaster complexion. His sharp cheekbones and angular jaw make your breath hitch, causing his thin lips to curve into a sinister smirk. He is stunning.

“Um, yeah. Well this place has the whole town buzzin’. Seems like everyone is talking about it” Jen is the first to speak.

“Ah I see. Wouldn’t want to miss your chance to take a stab at it” the mysterious man surmised, eyes focused on you.

“We got this shit. Right guys?” Ash assures him as she playfully smacks you and Jen.

“Well, I guess we’ll find out. Good luck,” he challenges with a raise of a brow.

You stare after him as he saunters away without another word. His hips and shoulders sway smoothly, his soft footsteps giving him a dangerous almost feline vibe, like he could rival even the most deadly of predators. As he turns to round the corner of the ride he takes one last look over his shoulder at you. Your eyes lock for only a fraction of a second but it’s enough to send a chill down your spine.

“That was weird, right?” You mutter, eyes still transfixed where he disappeared.

“Eh, just another creepy dude. If I had a nickel for every weirdo who tries to chat me up…” Jen jokes.

“You’d have like a whole 50 cents,” sasses Ash.

You are finally broken from your daze when Ash is pushed into you. You laugh and try to brush off the lingering effect of the handsome stranger, shifting your focus back to your friends. The line goes by quicker than expected, with only one group out of the three ahead of you making it out with stickers. The losing groups return to the line from a back door, bickering about where they went wrong.

Finally it is your turn. Ash claps her hands excitedly, dancing up the metal stairs to the costumed man at the entrance. His red and white stripped suit is expertly torn and painted with fake blood to make him look as intimidating as possible. With a tip of his top hat he welcomes the three of you and begins to explain the rules in his well practiced accent.

“Come one come all to the Tricksters Trap, if you’re feeling lost, just go find the map.” He sings with flair and a perfectly timed bow, directing you to the inauspicious black door.

Taking a deep breath you follow your squealing friends into the darkened hallway. Pausing to look back as the door creaks shut, cutting off the jovial sounds of laughter and chatter with a sudden slam. You flinch at the loud noise and turn back to the dim hallway. The short corridor is lined with wall to wall green velvet curtains barely visible with the green rope lights running along the ceiling.

“Guys?” You whisper when you don’t see them next to you, causing your heart rate to quicken

You call for them again, this time louder, your feet unwilling to move from the spot. It has only been thirty seconds and you are already about to call it quits. Get a grip. You take a hesitant step forward.

“You guys?!” You call shakily.

“Hey! Come on we found the map!” Jen pokes her head from around the corner at the end of the hall.

She disappears just as quickly, waving her arm for you to follow. You breathe a sigh of relief and rush after her. You enter a large room filled with all sorts of random objects. It’s as if it is designed to overload your senses. The green from the hall carried on into the room, more velvet green curtains hung on the walls that were not obstructed by shelves of books or other oddities. You saw everything from perfectly aligned glass jars filled with alien looking creatures, grandfather clocks, to treasure chests overflowing with grizzled toys.

Jen and Ash are hunched over a table with a map spread out smoothly. It was easy enough to see it was a map of the room and hallway, with what appeared to be three small rooms hidden along the wall behind the heavy green drapery. You go over and pull back a curtain and find a locked door, the other two also hiding a locked door.

“Ok so it looks like we gotta find a way to open these doors” you offer, your anxiety calming a bit as you focus on the mystery at hand.

“Hey look there is some sort of code over here by the lock on the door.” Ash hollers excitedly.

You each pick a door code and frantically search the room. It doesn’t take long for you to figure out you need to use the books on the large shelf along one wall. The first number tells you the book the second refers to a specific page. You find a slip of paper in the book with a riddle written in a blood red ink.

“I make two people out of one” You read aloud.

“You can hold me in one hand, but I’m used to fill the room” Ash reads hers, her face twisting in concentration.

You both look to Jen, “I have two hands, but I can’t clap.”

“Damn no wonder so many people failed, definitely wish I wasn’t drunk right now” Ash laughs.

“No no we can do this, it’s probably items in the room so let’s just focus. We’ll do one at a time.” You assert, pacing the room and trying to take in all the random objects.

“Two hands…” you mutter as you stop in front of a large grandfather clock. “Clocks have hands!” You yell excitedly and open the narrow door.

The heavy pendulums swing inside and you see a shining silver glint off the rounded golden end. You pull off the small silver key, stuck on by a tiny magnet, and jump in excitement.

“Holy crap! You’re a genius!” Jen exclaims running over to take the key and try it in the door.

The key slides in smoothly and the door opens with a gratifying click.

“Woo! Keep going, you are on a roll!” Ash claps as she cheers you on.

“Ok, ok” you giggle before taking a deep breath. “Two people out of one… maybe a camera? Or wait…” you realize as you stare at Ash currently checking her makeup in an antique mirror hung between two curtains.

“Ash! Try pulling on that mirror!” You yell pointing frantically at the mirror in front of her.

Her brows knit together briefly before understanding, grabbing the frame and tugging gently until it swings open, revealing a key hung on the wall.

“Yes!” You all shriek together.

Suddenly, the lights flicker and a loud maniacal cackle reverberates through the surround sound speaker, turning your elation into yelps of surprise.

“Two minutes left” a familiar polished voice echoes forebodingly throughout the room.

“Shit, that scared the crap out of me” Jen laughs clutching at her chest.

The warning gives you pause, managing to shift the spirit of the whole room. Ash giggles nervously as she watches the lights of the room transition from their previous dim yellow light to a menacing red hue. The mood lighting in addition to the increasing volume of the horror soundtrack playing over the speaker helps to put you back into your initial anxious state.

“Seriously? Is this fucking necessary?” You curse, shaking your head.

“Ok let’s get the last one guys! We can still do this!” Jen yells through the cacophony of sound effects.

“Yeah what can we fit in our hand but somehow also fills the room?” Ash reiterated the final riddle.

“These red lights make it so much harder to see” Jen complains bitterly as she rummages through the items inside a large chest.

“Lights… Jen that’s it! A lightbulb!” A smile breaks out on your face as you figure out the final clue.

“Look up there!” Ash points to a solitary darkened light bulb screwed into the ceiling.

“I got it.” Jen jumps onto the table and reaches up, unscrewing it quickly. “There is a key inside!” She shouts.

She unscrews the bottom of the fake lightbulb and received the key before handing it to Ash. Each of you run over to the corresponding doors and turn the key, squealing in delight when they all slide open.

“Is that it?” Jen asks looking into the cramped dark space behind the door.

It was little more than a closet. Barely enough room for each of you to stand in. You were at a loss. You could have sworn that would be the end.

“Guys there is a lever here on the back wall of mine, how about yours?” Ash’s muffled voice calls from inside her closet.

“Oh yeah mine too!” Jen replies.

“Do you think we have to pull them at the same time? ‘Cus mine did nothing when I tried it” Ash says poking her head out to look at you.

“Thirty seconds!” That haunting voice booms again as a tick clock sounds through the speakers, counting down your final moments.

“Ok let’s try it together!” You nod at both of them, before stepping into the tight dark space.

“THREE! TWO! ONE!” You shout, mirroring your friends calls, pulling down your lever with a snap.

There is a moment of silence as the lights of the room behind you suddenly go dark, the music and sound effects cutting off instantly.

“Did we get it?!” You yell.

You don’t get the chance to hear your friends response as the wood door slams behind you, locking you into the small space.

Tags: @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @caffiend-queen

#dark fic #dark Loki #dark loki x reader #tom hiddleston #come one come all

[pricklynoodle]

real or not real

Itadori Yuji/Fushiguro Megumi pairing | Squid Game AU | Rated T | warning: implied character death | ANGST

( yes, writing instead of doing school lol, squid game ruined me so if you want to read this then be warned of SQUID GAME SPOILERS. There's no graphic death, but its sad as hell either way TT)

---

“The player who takes all ten marbles from your partner wins.”

Megumi had always kept to himself, never saying anything unless spoken to, never stuck to groups, and never took the choice to attach himself to something. Everything had an expiration date. Unnecessary things like friendships had never appealed to him. He only needed his sister, and it wasn’t like she had the choice to have him as her brother. But the fact that she still stuck around caring for him until she worked herself to a coma.

So honestly, it’s a surprise why he feels his heart drop when the announcement tells him he has to go against … whatever 310 is to him.

He hardly knows 310, and doesn't know anything about his life actually. Other than that he’s crazy strong, has an impressive pain tolerance, but also the loudest kid he’s ever met. He's always around him, sticking to Megumi like a persistent piece of gum stuck to his shoe. But he doesn't dislike him, but he can't say he's thrilled with him either.

But would Megumi kill him?

Stupid, he tells himself.

“Oh, fuck, I honestly didn’t see that coming,” 310 says with a grimace, looking at Megumi guiltily as if he was the cause of Megumi’s inner turmoil. He sits down on one of the stone benches. The whole setup was supposed to mimic a typical neighborhood, something Megumi wasn’t fortunate enough to grow up in. The bastards even made the effort to add in the sounds of cicadas from the fake trees, as if this was a completely normal summer for a couple of teens.

Megumi doesn’t say anything, he feels dizzy. He drops down to the bench, away from 310 as possible.

“I’ve always wanted to say this,” 310 says as he rests his elbows on his knees, looking at Megumi seriously, “This whole thing reminds me of Hunger Games.”

Megumi looks at him with furrowed brows.

“You know, Jennifer Lawrence?” 310 pushes. Megumi says nothing. “...Tall girl, big ass? The one with the arrows?”

“Can you shut the fuck up,” Megumi deadpans, then he shakes his head. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He counts to ten, then glances down at his hand. 10 marbles. “Just tell me how to play this game.”

“I don’t know either,” 310 admits, sounding sheepish. He shrugs carelessly, “This is more of the games my gramps used to play, but he was too busy being sick to teach me though.”

Megumi looks up at 310. He looks tired, but nostalgic. Like he was thinking of a good memory.

310 perks up, grinning at Megumi brightly, “though they said that we can make our own rules. I’ll think of something.”

Megumi nods solemnly. The silence stretches until 310 lets out an ‘aha!’.

“Let’s bet everything and just play one around,” 310 says, even dropping his fist down onto his hand as if it were the best idea ever.

Megumi freezes, staring at 310, was he going to trick him? He doesn’t even know him. They’re not friends. Of course, everything still is a death tournament at the end of the day.

310 seems to pick up Megumi’s reluctance, he jerks his head to the side. He points towards the pair of men competing against each other, looking frantic and panicked.Their faces are sheened with sweat, t-shirts drenched in sweat. It’s… it’s a pathetic sight.

“Fine,” Megumi relents. “What are we playing?”

“Calm down,” 310 chuckles, “are you that excited to kill me?”

Megumi stays quiet.

“We have a lot of time left,” 310 says breezily, pointing towards the timer mounted on the wall. “Let’s do it at the last minute.”

“What do you suggest we do till then?” Megumi asks with a scowl. “Sit nice and pretty, twiddle our thumbs and shove these marbles up our asses?”

“Jesus, man,” 310 laughs, “no just… talk.”

“Talk,” Megumi repeats.

“Talk,” 310 smiles, looking down at his hands. Megumi looks at them too. He remembers the hard calluses on them, when they shook hands. They’re thick and sturdy, and hold a lot of power. He really could have killed Megumi before, just wrap his hands around his neck and it’s all over.

Megumi also shakes away the filthy thoughts of what else those hands could do. Get a grip, Fushiguro.

“Things we couldn’t tell other people,” 310 says, smiling wistfully. “One of us is going to die here anyways.”

Megumi swallows the lump in his throat.

310 smiles wider. He’s always smiling, Megumi notes.

“There’s no reason to feel embarrassed if that’s the case,” 310 tells him, “I promise I won’t laugh when you blush like a tomato.”

“I don’t,” Megumi denies, but he can feel the heat already rising up to his cheeks.

“You do,” 310 says, “but I think it’s cute.”

Cute.

“So, uh, you have someone back home then?” 310 asks.

“Yeah,” Megumi says.

“...like a girlfriend or something?”

“Sister,” Megumi says quickly, “no...never a girlfriend. Impossible for me.”

“Ah, okay,” 310 says, nodding. “Just your sister?”

“I had a dad, but he … never came back.” Megumi confesses, “he was a shitty dad. He was never really home, but he gave us shelter and food. He had a bad temper, but he never hit us. He never liked to be around me especially. I … used to think he hated me.”

“What changed?” 310 asked.

“I… I became him. I understand why he did what he did,” Megumi says, fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket. “Doing dirty jobs, stealing, never at home. Hiding from danger. Hiding us from danger. Protection.”

310 nodded, he slid closer to Megumi. Thighs brushing. Silence continues.

“He came here,” Megumi says, looking up at the ceiling. It’s painted a pink-orange gradient, like a sunset. “I found half of that business card in one of his jackets. The last two digits were cut off. I dialed every possible number until I got here.”

“For what?” 310 asks.

“Find him,” Megumi says, “punch him. I would have killed him, I think, if I found out that he left us to rot. Then steal all his money to pay for my sister’s medical bills.”

“Oh, she’s sick?”

“Coma,” Megumi clarifies. “Some rich bastard from work hit her on her way home. He got off easy because of money.”

“I see,” 310 says, clenching his fists. “That’s terrible.”

“Yeah,” Megumi says gruffly.

“You’re still getting money though,” 310 says. He doesn’t say but you don’t get your dad back. “What would you do with it?”

Megumi doesn’t even hesitate, “pay for my sister’s medical bills. Buy a nice house for us to live in. A car, if I can.”

“If you can?” 310 says, “where would you drive your car?”

“school,” Megumi says simply. “I would use my car to drive to school.”

310 blinks. “You know, you can do much more with that 40 billion. You really don’t want anything else? Don’t have a destination?”

“I’d go to Sendai.”

“Wh—Sendai? I’m from Sendai. Are you kidding me? Are you going to drive there with a shiny new Toyota Yaris?”

Megumi blushes furiously, “enough about me, ugh, it’s your turn anyways.”

310 shakes his head, but he’s giggling like a schoolgirl. “You really have to think bigger. Have you ever been to the beach?”

“No,” Megumi says.

“You should, one that’s got nice soft sand and blue water. With palm trees too. And you should get piña coladas.”

“What?”

“C’mon man, you don’t get to be frugal with 40 billion. I’ll teach you how to splurge once we get out—”

Ah.

“Right,” 310 breathes out, laughing to himself all silly. “Only one of us leaves.”

Megumi grunts.

Silence.

“...Ever seen a dead body?” 310 asks.

“...I’ve been answering all these questions. You haven’t answered at all,” Megumi points out, feeling far too exposed for running his mouth.

“Ah you’re right! Uh, I don’t have anyone.”

“But your grandfather—”

“He’s dead. For a while now. My mom and dad. Also dead. My brother is on the run. He’s, uh, killed a lot of people. He got the death penalty, so yeah, haven’t really seen him around.”

Megumi looks at him.

“I don’t think he counts,” 310 says, scratching his face. Megumi realizes the scars on his face aren’t from the previous games. They looked healed, puckered and faded from time.“He looks a lot like me, though. A lot of people can’t tell us apart. He hated that. He’s only a bit taller than me, and he loves to brag about it. He has a huge ego.”

“I see.”

“Yeah,” 310 says, but he doesn’t look awkward about it. Just mildly inconvenienced. “Oh, have we really been talking for that long?”

Megumi looks at the time. They have less than 2 minutes.

310 stands up, swiping the dirt off his pants. He pats around for his marbles. “Okay, so you see that wall over there?”

Megumi nods mutely. It’s quite far, maybe around 2 meters.

“Okay, we throw one marble, and the one closest to the wall wins, okay?”

“Okay.” Megumi nods, easy enough.

“Okay, you go first.”

Megumi scowls.

“added rule, we do it together,” he says, jaw clenched.

“Eh?” 310 looks at him, confused.

“I’ve been doing things first, so it seems rather fair if we do it at the same time, with our best effort, okay? I have the blue marble, you get the red one.”

“... okay.”

“Don’t give me a weak ass toss, alright, that doesn’t count,” Megumi says gruffly, narrowing his eyes at him. “Do your best.”

310 nods, giving him a thumbs up. “Okay!”

“On three,” Megumi says.

“Okay!”

“Three.”

“Two,” 310 continues, positioning his arm.

“One,” Megumi does the same.

They both throw their marbles. Megumi’s heart leaps out of its chest as he watches his marble in the air.

Clack!

Clack!

Clack!

Megumi looks down on the marble that lands right next to his shoe.

It’s red.

“Ahh, shoot, I threw it too hard,” 310 says with a pout.

Megumi sees red.

He shoves 310 against the wall. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Whoa! No, you won f-fair and square, man,” 310 stutters. “I did my best shot, like you said!”

“Any idiot would know that shit would bounce right back if you threw it like that!”

310 laughs, “I must be some one of a kind idiot, then.”

Megumi shoves him further into the wall. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“You can’t kill me if I’m gonna be dead anyways.”

“THEN I’LL KILL YOU IF YOU DIE.”

“See, that doesn’t really make sense—”

“Shut the fuck up! Why did you do that?!”

310 slumps against the wall, body lax. Not looking at him.

“Answer me!”

“You… you have a lot more to live for than me,” 310 says quietly. He looks up at Megumi, tears in his eyes, “what kind of asshole would I be to deny you for a life?”

“You have a life!” Megumi snaps.

“I don’t, not anymore,” 310 sobs, a wobbly smile on his face. “Before my grandfather died, he told me that I should help others. That when it was my time to go, I would die surrounded by others and not end up like him.

“I should use my strength to help others, that’s what I’ve been doing here. Out there, no one wants me to help them. No one wants the face of a killer to help them. No one wants me to be around them. I can’t go to places, I’ve… I’ve always hated what Sukuna did to me. Made me carry his sins, his crimes. The way people looked at me as if I was him. I can’t move forward, not like you.

“I… I never went to school either, y’know. Or I never graduated. When Sukuna became a wanted man, I became a target. I stayed in my room. The doors were locked. The curtains were always down. It was like this for years. I received no support. The only way I could get by was doing interviews with journalists, feeding the narrative. Making people hate Sukuna more, making them hate me more. That’s no way to live.”

Megumi felt the back of his eyes burn, his teeth aching from being clenched too tight.

“Even if...I had the money. I can’t erase what my brother did. I can’t erase my existence in the world. I would just keep doing the same thing everyday. I don’t… I don’t want a bigger house, not when it’s just me who lives there.”

“You and I are not so different,” he says, looking up at Megumi.. “I think that’s why… I want you to win. You get to experience all these normal things, and feel… happy. You have a chance.”

Megumi wipes his eyes harshly, “Shit.”

“That’s true.”

“... What’s your name?” Megumi asks.

“Itadori Yuji,” 310—no, Yuji says. “My name is Itadori Yuji.”

Megumi takes a shaky breath, he raises his hand for him. “Fushiguro Megumi.”

Yuji grins, he clasps his hand onto Megumi’s. “That means blessing, right?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“I’m glad then, Megumi. That I’m friends with you even through this hell. That itself is a blessing in a disguise.”

“Shut up,” Megumi punches his shoulder.

A guard suddenly arrives, carrying a gun in his hand. Waiting.

Yuji looks behind Megumi’s head. “Ah, I wish we had more time.”

Megumi bites his lip. “I wish I’d… met you sooner. I don't know anything about you.”

Yuji jaw drops, “Okay, I’ll … summarize this in ten seconds! I’m twenty-years-old, my favorite color is green, my favorite manga is Bleach, my type is tall people with big butts! Uhh, I really like watching action films—”

“Not … whatever, nevermind,” Megumi says softly as he listens to Yuji ramble on about himself.

Yuji pauses from his ramble looking winded, “uhm, Fushiguro, can I hug you?”

Megumi freezes.

“I just haven’t had a hug in a long time—” Yuji trails off before he gets cut off with Fushiguro hugging him desperately, clinging to him.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot!”

“...Hey, Fushiguro Megumi, live a long life, okay?”

Megumi lets go.

He turns around.

Eyes burning as he stares unblinking down the path. Footsteps. Silence. Breathing. He feels something salty on his lips when he licks them. It's not sweat.

He... he got attached. He stares forward, he doesn't regret it. Not at all. He got to know Yuji Itadori, the real him, and the pain in his heart is the best he can give back. A reminder that he was more than what people saw him. Yuji Itadori didn't deserve what the world gave him, they did not deserve his cries. The fact that... no one would shed a tear for him.

...Ah.

Megumi notices the dark wet spots on the dirt.

“Thanks for playing with me.”

#my writing #itafushi #itadori yūji #fushiguro megumi #fushiita #squid game au #squid game spoilers #angst #fanfiction #im sorry everyone lol #it just broke me #i m gonna go lay down and cry now bye

[yikesharringrove]

It’s a book Steve’s actually read.

Well, Nancy kinda mostly read it to him. Which really just makes the whole thing hurt a little bit more.

His speakers were crackling and he had turned the bass up high enough that the song was distorted, vibrating through his car.

It was embarrassing. Scream-singing to Kate Bush while sobbing into your steering wheel in the high school parking lot.

He’s just got a lot of feelings, and Nancy dumped in that alleyway, he can literally see it and Heathcliff, it’s me, I’m Cathy. I’ve come home, I’m so cold.

Which, it’s all just bullshit. Pardon the word.

Because, Catherine and Heathcliff don’t even fucking end up together. There’s something about family difference and he remembers Nancy saying socioeconomic like that word meant anything to him and Catherine winds up dead of bad brain-itis and Healthcliff is a dick so they never should’ve been together anyway.

But, whatever.

He’s feeling very much like Catherine right now. Standing on the moors with a broken heart.

Because fuck Heathcliff. And fuck Nancy.

Kate Bush is the only one he can trust anymore. 

Her and her red dress and Steve’s insides feel like that red fucking dress in a way he can’t explain and Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window-

He just about jumped out of his skin when the passenger door opened.

One too-tan hand reached out to crank the volume down on the song, and a too-pink tongue slid across too-white teeth and

“Harrington, I’m obligated to tell you that you’re acting like a pussy.”

Hargrove.

Y’know, he’s the top of Steve’s Fuck List. Right there with Nancy and Heathcliff, and everyone else who sucks shit and makes people feel bad.

“Can it, dickhead.”

To be fair, Steve was ugly crying to Kate Bush by himself in his car, but he’s allowed to be a pussy by himself in his car.

Hargrove just gave Steve a look that Steve’s pretty sure meant I’m resisting the urge to punch you in the face right now, but was undercut by that stupid fucking tongue of his lolling around like some kinda hyper-sexual golden retriever.

Meanwhile, Kate Bush was still singing and Steve was still Cathy on the moors.

“I’m fucking sad, or whatever. Let me be a pussy.”

“Oh, come on, Harrington. You really this cut up about some prissy little princess? She’s not even the best this town has and that is saying something.”

“Y’know, for a guy that’s constantly calling all the girls in town ugly, you sure do fuck a lot of ‘em.”

“At least I’m getting some. When was the last time the princess put out, eh? Or was she savin’ it for marriage? I could see her bein’ one of those types.”

He said those types like he wasn’t wearing a saint’s pendant around his neck. Like Steve didn’t see his family all sitting uncomfortably silent together in the diner after mass every single Sunday afternoon.

It was weird, seeing Billy in a nice shirt. All buttoned up properly with his hair looking all respectful. Especially since Steve was usually high off his ass and slurping down a strawberry milkshake with cheese fries like he’d die if he didn’t.

“I’m not gonna talk about my sex life with you, Hargrove.”

“Aw, why not, Harrington. Don’t wanna compare body counts? You embarrassed or something?” Billy was grinning that shitty sharp grin of his, still waggling his fucking tongue as he leaned closer to Steve. “You still a virgin, King Steve?”

The song ended. Steve rewound the tape. It started up again.

He needed Kate now more than ever.

“Of fucking course I’m not. I’m just not some gross asshole that goes around telling everyone who’ve I’ve fucked. It’s called being a decent guy.”

“It’s called being a prude. Now, c’mon. Tell me who’ve you fucked. Maybe we’re tunnel buddies.”

Steve wanted to throw up. Kate was on the moors again.

“You’re disgusting. Tunnel buddies. How gross can you even get?”

“I hope that’s a rhetorical question.”

“I don’t know what that means and you’re a shithead.”

Hargrove tossed his head back and laughed, showing off those teeth that looked like they could take a chunk out of Steve’s flesh if Billy got close enough to try.

You had a temper like my jealousy. Too hot, too greedy.

“Seriously, though.” Billy had stopped laughing. “What is this shit?”

“She’s Kate Bush and she speaks to my heart.”

Billy just stared at him.

Yeah, that was a pretty pussy thing to say.

“I just got fucking dumped, dude. Let me be sad about it,” Steve backpedaled.

And then Billy did something very unexpected.

Well, he did something very normal for his character, and then he did something unexpected.

He lit up a cigarette.

And then passed it to Steve.

Steve filled up his lungs with a thick drag of smoke. He held it for as long as he could.

Which was really long.

Swimmer’s lungs. And that.

He blew out the smoke. Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window.

“Is this fucking song based on Wuthering Heights?”

“Yeah, you dumb dumb. It’s fucking called Wuthering Heights.”

“Okay, dumb dumb, I clearly don’t even know this song.”

“Maybe you’d be less of an ass if you did. Dumb dumb.”

Billy lit a cigarette for himself, letting the smoke trail out of his mouth like he was some kind of dragon.

Billy probably fancies himself a dragon. Thinks he’s this big scary creature that just goes around breathing fire and ransacking villages for their gold.

Ooh, it gets dark, it gets lonely on the other side from you. I pine a lot, I find the lot falls through without you.

Really, he’s probably like a dog of some kind.

Domesticated.

“You’re staring at me.”

Yeah. Steve was staring at him. Watching him smoke while Kate Bush played loudly. The speakers still sounded like shit even though Billy had turned down the song considerably.

Steve didn’t know when he had stopped crying.

Probably right when Billy had let himself into his cave of self pity, but his face was still wet.

He wiped it off, not pointing out that Billy had been staring at him too.

“Why are you here so late? Practice ended like, an hour ago.”

Billy shrugged lamely. He kinda looked like a little kid.

Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window. 

“Bored. Didn’t feel like being home.”

“So you came to sit in the break-up mobile with me. How nice.”

“Mostly I just wanted to make fun of you for listening to this garbage. I could hear it across the lot.”

And sure enough, Billy’s car was parked a good ways down from Steve, about as far away as their two cars could be from one another.

Steve doubts Billy heard Kate all this way, but what’s he gonna do, bring that up?

No. He’s rather sit in this weird silence that settled between them, feeling awkward about himself and his body and listen to Kate.

I'm coming home to wuthering, wuthering, Wuthering Heights

“She’s not worht it, y’know.”

Steve had to do a double take to make sure it was still Billy sitting in his passenger seat, and not some cheap imposter wearing a Billy-suit and saying almost nice things to Steve in a not-mean voice.

“What’d you say earlier? Plenty of bitches in the sea?” Steve would’ve laughed at that comment when Billy made it if they weren’t naked together.

There’s something things you don’t do while naked with another guy, and laughing just isn’t one of them.

Plus, he had been a little too focused on figuring out why Billy’s nudity had given him that same hot feeling that nearly seeing Rob Lowe’s dick in The Outsiders movie gave him last year.

“I mean, it’s true. Don’t sweat this break-up. She seemed like an uptight bitch anyway.”

“Hey.”

Steve was still a little too sore, a little too fresh from the split to trash talk Nance like that.

“Whatever. Get high. Look at some porn. You’ll be fine.”

Ooh, let me have it. Let me grab your soul away.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Silence again.

Kate was back to the chorus.

The song was almost over.

“You could always go on the rebound. get her out of your mind with someone that’ll actually put out.”

Hargrove had barely even said it before he was yanking Steve forward, giving him no time to prepare as their mouthed smooshed together in something that was very very awkward, and very very sloppy.

Steve still had tears on his cheeks, and his cigarette was getting dangerously close to the filter, threatening to burn his fingers, and Kate was still singing, and Billy was kissing him, and dear God Steve’s at least a little bit gay.

Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window. 

They drifted apart from one another just in time for Steve to rewind the song again.

“So, uh, yeah,” Billy said, and his cheeks were this wonderful shade of red, and Steve couldn’t stop thinking about Kate’s red dress and that fucking kiss and he was on the moors again, but this time he and Billy were making out in the grass and oh fuck, oh fuck-

“Yeah. Good.”

“Good?” Billy raised on of those dark eyebrows at him, his cheeks still burning.

“Good. Very good.”

Billy nodded a few times, sucking on his cigarette. Steve suddenly remembered he had dropped his on the floormates and tried to stamp it out before it got singed to bad.

“Okay then. Good.” Billy opened the passenger door, stepping out and flicking away his cigarette. He seemed to think for a moment, before turning around, leaning his upper body into Steve’s car.

Steve thought they were going to kiss again.

He was ready to go for it, ready to let his eyes close and maybe let it lead to more. He was Cathy and he was ready for some action.

But Billy just grinned again.

And skipped the song.

#yes i know when nancy and steve break up billys only been in town for like three days but its my fic and ill make up a timeline if i want to #yeah i call people dumb dumb all the fucking time so i had to put it in #this idea came from me listening to this song on a loop for fifteen minutes in the parking lot before work and crying before going in to wor #k #also i've never read wuthering heights everything i know abt it is from the song and this one fic i read that mentioned it #also the way that this is probably technically a song fic #i hate it #yikes writes #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #this is so self indulgent omg

[ultraimaginez]

My Love Is Not A Joke - [Mammon x Reader]

Fandom: Obey Me! Ship: Mammon x gn! reader Word Count: 1.9k Rating: T A/N: just thinkin about the amount of effort it would take to convince mammon you actually like him and you’re not just being an ass to him like everyone else made me feel a lot of thiiiings and then this was born lol.

Mammon lives in a liminal space between fear and a love so fierce it threatens to consume him. It’s a hell of his own making-- too cowardly to tell you how he really feels and too devoted to let you go. 

And so you are forced to exist in this hellish space with him. Each time you try to get close he pushes you away, afraid he’ll be the butt of just another joke. Each time you try to give him space he pulls you back in, terrified you might leave him. It’s an exhausting game of tug of war between his ego and his heart and, frankly, you’re sick of being the god damn rope.

Eventually you reach your breaking point. 

You are lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying another days worth of back and forths between you and a certain white haired demon boy. This has become as much a part of your night time routine as putting on pajamas or brushing your teeth. Every flush of his cheeks-- be it in anger or embarrassment or affection-- every dumb argument, or sweet sentiment, or stupid joke. They all play like a never ending feedback loop in your mind. But tonight a thought strikes you as you roll over to finally try and get some sleep-- as long as Mammon is engaged in this endless war against himself you’ll be stuck in it right along side him. He’s never going to give himself peace. He’ll fight until there’s nothing left of himself. So if the two of you are going to get out of this mess it comes down to you.

It’s a scary thought, the idea you might have to be vulnerable and make the first actual move. Scary enough that you try and let it go. Maybe you can just sleep on it and think about it more in the morning.

But now you can’t think of anything else. The thought begins to ruminate in your brain and there’s no way you can sleep at this point. You stay awake all night wondering if there’s any other solution. Any other way out of this mess. It turns out you also exist in the liminal space between fear and love. The idea of telling Mammon how you feel is paralyzing. And so you go to school the next day not having slept at all.

This pattern continues for nearly a week. Each night you stare at your ceiling going round and round in circles. And maybe Mammon can take this awful tug of war but you certainly can’t. You don���t have millennia to stay away pondering this shit. You’re a mortal and you’re being driven in-fucking-sane. So finally, on the seventh night of nearly no god damn sleep, you fling off your covers and irritably begin stomping down the hall. 

You ignore Beel who is hip deep inside the refrigerator cleaning it out of whatever the hell is left inside. You passively wave to Levi when he sticks his head out of his room to ask you to play games and mumble some lame excuse. You’re on a mission to resolve this once and for all and nothing will stop you.

You make a beeline to your destination and once you reach Mammon’s door you begin to pound on it aggressively. 

A familiar voice rings out from inside. “Jeez, cool it, Lucifer. I told you, I’m working on it. I’ll have all these late assignments done by tomorrow just gimme some time.”

“It’s me.”

There’s a pause and you can’t practically hear the gears turning in Mammon’s head as he registers who is speaking.

“Oh well why the hell didn’t ya just say so? Come in.”

You open the door to his room and find Mammon sprawled out in one of the arm chairs in the center of his room. His feet are propped up on the table and his leather jacket is flung over the couch opposite of him, leaving him in his normal jeans and black shirt. You can tell he’s been running his fingers through his white hair in frustration as it’s mused and messier than normal and his brows are knit in concentration as he looks down at his notebooks. 

“Stupid Lucifer. Makin’ me do all this damn work in one night. It’s not fair.” He says, tossing the books onto the table as you shut the door behind you and approach him. 

You have a rebuttal about how it’s not exactly ‘unfair’ since all of that work had been assigned weeks ago, but it dies on your lips when he looks up at you. You can feel you heart jump into your throat as your eyes meet, the normal façade of the student mode dropped here where he is comfortable and alone. People often attribute fastidiousness with appearance with Asmo, but Mammon is usually just as put together. Seeing him so relaxed is special, it’s something you know he reserves for only people close to him. 

Your not sure how long you stand there at the edge of his chair looking down at him but it must be longer than normal because the sound of Mammon clearing his throat pulls your attention. “Eh? Do I have something on my face? You’re staring and it’s weirding me out.” His cheeks are pink and he looks absolutely anywhere but your face. “Anyway, what the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night? Couldn’t wait to see me until tomorrow, huh?”

Well.. It’s now or never. You’ve plucked up enough courage to make it this far so you might as well commit.

“Mammon, I like you. A lot. And I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable but I just... do. So. Yeah... Do with that what you will.”

If you weren’t borderline unhinged from the complete lack of sleep and frayed nerves and being so vulnerable, you would find the way his eyes quadrupled in size fucking hilarious. 

“Wha? What do you mean? Is this some sort of dumb prank.” You can see him looking past you at the door. He’s searching for his brothers, searching for a camera, searching for the evidence that this is all some elaborate joke at his expense. You can already hear the derisive laughter he’s waiting for playing in his head. ‘Stupid, Mammon.’ ‘How could you think they would ever like you?’ ‘Got you good, huh?’ ‘Actually thought that they might like you? You’re even dumber than we thought-’

You cut off whatever string of insults he’s playing in his own hand by gently touching his face, cupping his cheek with your hand. 

“It’s not a joke, Mammon. I like you. And I understand if you don’t feel the same way but... I need you to know that.”

It’s clear that the moment you touch his skin his internalized war rises into a crescendo. It breaks you open to see his eyes soften with a vulnerability you’ve never seen before, blue gold shimmering with an emotion you can’t quite place but sends your heart hammering harder than it ever has before... and then immediately they harden again. “Do you have a fever or something?! Jeez, leave it to a human to get sick right when I’m supposed to be doing something else. I don’t always have time to be-”

He begins to rise from the chair and it’s clear he wants to run, wants to hide, wants to lick his wounds before they can even form. You can tell he’s already written this off as another joke at his expense. If you let him get away from you right now you’ll lose that look you found in his eyes just moments ago for good.

You push down on his shoulders, seating him in the chair again, and then wordlessly climb on top of him, pinning him beneath your weight. Surely he could pick you up and yeet you across the entire god damn room if he wanted to, but the action seems to break the string of negative self talk long enough for you to actually speak to him. 

“Mammon.” You grab his face between your hands and force him to look at you. His expression is wild-- scared and hopeful and completely unguarded. “I. Like. You. And it’s not some joke. If you don’t feel the same way just tell me. But if you do-”

You don’t get to finish the rest of the sentence.

Mammon kisses you like you are oxygen and he’s on the verge of drowning. One hand shoots up to the back of your neck, pulling you close, tangling his long tanned fingers in your hair. The other comes to rest on your thigh. It’s all you can do to twine your own fingers through his soft white hair and pull him closer as he rocks into your body. You feel tears begin to well in the corner of your eyes as a surge of emotion races through you. You’ve never felt so much for one person in all your life. It’s enough to make you feel like you’re being crushed under the weight of it all. 

At some point you physically can’t keep kissing him because you’re afraid you might actually suffocate. You pull back to take in a breath but he continues to hold you close, keeping his hands in your hair, lips still only inches from your own. You look at him, his eyes are more gold than blue now and you feel like you might catch fire if you look at him too long. You let out a breathy “Oh...” 

Apparently he’s decided you’ve had enough time to breath and he’s on you again, pulling you close and making desperate little noises every time you part lips even briefly. You wonder if maybe you can die from catching on fire internally because every part of you feels like it’s engulfed in flames.

Eventually you manage to part again, long enough to put a hand on his chest and keep him from chasing your lips. You’re breathing heavily, trying to suck in air but finding it hard to do so when Mammon is looking at you like he’s just waiting for the chance to devour you again. 

“So..” your voice comes out an octave higher than normal and your face turns scarlet, clearing your throat so you can try to speak somewhat normal. “Uh.. I take it... we’re on the same page then? Y’know... about... stuff...?” You’re not exactly eloquent but Mammon just kissed you to the point of ceasing brain function so, really, who can blame you? 

There’s a beat of silence, and then Mammon speaks, voice deeper, quieter, and more serious than you’ve ever heard it before. “Don’t leave, okay?” 

You’re not really sure what he’s referring to. Leave this chair? Leave the Devildom? Leave him? But he’s raw and real and so fucking perfect staring up at you perfectly kissed like that and the answer comes to you without thinking. 

“Never. I’m never leaving. I’m here for as long as you want me.” 

Suddenly both of his arms are around your waist, drawing you close. Your face is pushed into his neck and his into yours. You breathe in the smell of his aftershave and shampoo and you’ve never felt more at home. Your hearts are pressed up against one another and you know you’ve never felt more right than in this moment. 

The last thing you hear him whisper as you drift off to sleep for the first time in nearly a week is a whispered. “Always... I’m always going to want you, silly human.”

#obey me #obey me! shall we date? #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon x mc #mammon x reader #mammon x oc #obey me imagine #obey me imagines #obey me fic #fic #0-2k

[dottielovegood]

ASMR - chapter 2

Elriel fanfiction

About this fic:

Azriel can’t sleep Elain has an ASMR channel Match made in heaven (or you know, on youtube..)

______________________________

Since a few people seemed to enjoy the first chapter, I decided to continue this story.  You can find the first chapter here And you can read the story on AO3 here.

_______________________________

CHAPTER 2

Flower Girl ASMR 1 day ago I am so happy that I could help you sleep, @Shadowsinger <3 ASMR stands for Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response. It is that tingly feeling you might get from certain sounds. You can also have visual triggers. Supposedly, if you find the right triggers, they will help you relax and they can even help you sleep.  I hope that sleep treats you with kindness from now on.

Azriel stared at his screen. She had responded. She had actually responded to his message. He had scrolled through her comment section again to see if she replied to all her messages, but she didn’t. She liked most comments, but she only replied to a few. It made him feel special, which was absurd. Why did he feel special because some girl on the internet had replied to his comment? She had probably already forgotten about it.

But Azriel carried it with him for the rest of the day.

He also carried with him the annoyance of some of the comments he had seen. This girl really needed to learn how to block some words. Especially: boobs, nudes, cock, jerk off, and cum. Azriel made a disgusted face when he thought about it. If they knew each other, he would help her with that.

But they didn’t know each other, so Azriel didn’t have to think about it. Those comments shouldn’t affect Azriel in the slightest. He had read way nastier things on the internet and never cared.

What was it about this girl?

Azriel was sitting at his desk. He was working at Velaris Times – a web-based newspaper that his best friend Rhysand had started a few years ago. He hired Azriel to work in IT and their other friend, Cassian, as a photographer. It was a pretty small newspaper, so they all felt like family there.

Azriel was feeling naturally energized for the first time in his life. He didn’t even need to down his usual three cups of coffee this morning. Cassian was sitting next to him, editing some photos for an article that their co-worker Mor had written.

“You wanna grab some lunch later?” Cassian asked.

Azriel’s eyes didn’t leave his computer, but he nodded in agreement. “Sure. Should we invite Rhys?”

Cassian snorted. “Nah, he’s on that weird health-cleanse, remember? Feyre probably packed him a kale juice and some broccoli.”

Azriel chuckled. Feyre was Rhys’s wife and since they decided to get pregnant, she had been all about healthy eating, to Rhysand’s dismay. He wasn’t even allowed coffee - it was all about the green tea! Some days, Cassian and Azriel ate their lunches at the office which always lead to Rhys staring longingly at their food. It felt like having a dog begging for scraps underneath the dinner table.

“So that’s still going on, huh? I thought he would have given up by now. There’s only that much kale you can eat,” Azriel said.

“Yeah, but he’s whipped. Remember when they first started dating and she served him soup from a can and he ate it like it was a gourmet meal.”

“Fair enough.”

“You know that I can hear you, assholes?” Rhys called from his office. They had been very aware of this fact. Rhys strode out of his office, wearing his usual uniform of a dark suit and a crisp white shirt. Azriel was happy that he worked in IT so he could get away with just wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt - and maybe a hoodie on cold days.

“Are you telling me that Nesta doesn’t have you wrapped around her little finger?” Rhys smirked and leaned against the doorframe.

Cassians ears turned red. “She could never get me to drink kale-smoothies every day.”

Rhys shook his head. “You were pining for her for two years before she even agreed to go on a date with you. She could probably tie you to your bed and get you to call her mistress if she wanted to.”

Cassian leaned back in his chair and gave Rhys a purely male grin. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he said and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Azriel groaned. “Too much information, Cass.”

Cassian shrugged. “Don’t be so sensitive, Az.”

Azriel glared at him. “I’m not sensitive just because I don’t want to hear about your sex life.”

“That’s because you don’t have a sex life,” Cassian muttered under his breath, which elicited a burst of laughter that sounded more like a snort from Rhys.

Azriel shook his head and tried to concentrate on his work, which was almost impossible when his two friends were still staring at him. He could almost feel them scheming.

“Hey, Az. How’s the dating going?” Rhys asked.

Azriel didn’t answer, mostly because the answer would be that it  didn’t. He didn’t date. He was tired of going on dates with people he didn’t know. He wasn’t very talkative, so dates were basically his nightmare. And it was even worse when he agreed to download Tinder on a drunken night a few months ago. Dating like that just wasn’t for him. He didn’t want to meet someone on the internet like that.

“You want me to set you up on a blind date?” Cassian asked, and Azriel pretended not to hear him.

“Nesta has some great friends,” he continued. “What about Gwyn?”

Rhys nodded. “Yeah, Gwyn is a nice girl.”

Azriel stared at his friends. “I’ve met Gwyn.”

“So?”

“If I’ve already met her, it’s not a blind date.”

Cassian thought about it for a second and shrugged. “Eh, semantics. Should I tell Nesta to give her a call?”

“No. She’s not my type.”

Truthfully, Gwyn was a very sweet girl. She was cute and funny and determined, but she just wasn’t for Azriel. They had met a few times but there had been no attraction - no sparks. Azriel wanted to feel something from the start. He didn’t want to be in a relationship just to avoid being lonely.

“So, what is your type exactly?” Rhys asked.

An image popped into Azriel’s head. Usually, he couldn’t imagine what his type would be, but now, he saw someone in his mind. She had golden hair and cute little freckles on her nose. She was gentle, kind and calm.

It was Flower Girl ASMR.

Azriel closed his eyes, trying to get the picture of her out of his head. What was wrong with him? He didn’t want to date someone he had only seen in a few videos. That made him as creepy as those assholes in her comment section. He didn’t even know her. He didn’t even know her name.

“I don’t know,” Azriel muttered. “Could you please let me get back to my work?”

And after a few more suggestions of people they could set him up with (he kindly, but firmly, declined), they finally let him work.

That night, Flower Girl ASMR was hosting a livestream on YouTube. Azriel wondered if they might live in the same time zone since the live stream seemed to coincide with a reasonable bedtime for him.

Azriel joined the livestream just a few minutes after it had started.  A few hundred people were already logged in. Flower Girl ASMR was sitting in front of a background that looked like the night sky; dark blue and full of fairy lights. Her hair hung in waves around her face and she was wearing a pink top that matched her complexion. Not that Azriel noticed such things, why would he?

She was brushing her camera with a make-up brush, making it look as if she was brushing his face. “I am so happy that you all could join me here tonight,” she whispered into her microphone. “As promised, I was going to host my first livestream when we reached one hundred thousand subscribers, which we did last week.” She smiled at the camera, one of those smiles that reached her eyes. Azriel could feel himself smile back. Which was stupid. She couldn’t see him. “Tonight, you can make requests or ask questions in the comments, and I will answer a few of your questions,” she continued. She was still moving the brush over the screen. The combination of her whispering voice and the visual trigger of the brush made Azriel tingle all over.

Most comments were very nice; telling her that she helped them sleep, or wanting her to say hello to them. People asked her about her favorite color and if she had any pets (lilac and no). One person asked her to do something called hand sounds, and Azriel had never in his life appreciated hands rubbing together as much as he did at that very moment. Maybe it was something with the setting on her microphone, but the sound was like a wave of pleasure in his brain.

He could feel himself relax. But then, of course, the nasty comments started.

HybernCoolKid Show a little skin babyyyy. Those tits look perky af

MortalGraysen Trying to look so innocent when you’re a fucking slut

Amarantha_utm I would honestly rather watch paint dry

Azriel could feel his blood boil. He recognized the names from the video he had watched last night. Why didn’t she just block them? On the screen, he could tell that Flower Girl had seen the messages; her face fell for just a second. And one second was all it took for Azriel to suddenly feel very protective. He was just about to go tell them to go fuck themselves when he saw that he wasn’t the only one with that idea. The comment section was flooded with love for her and in just a matter of moments, the mean comments were drowned in a sea of heart emojis. Flower Girl smiled at the screen, silently thanking all of her followers for the love. But she didn’t address the hate. She just kept going as if nothing had happened. There were a few more nasty comments during the livestream, but the same thing happened every time; her followers love-bombed her. Azriel was happy to see that most people seemed decent enough, but god, she really needed to learn how to block people.

Before he could think about it, he clicked the link in her description that led to her Instagram. Her username was the same on that app, and it was mainly used to tell her followers when a new video was uploaded. Azriel quickly looked at his own feed, making sure that there was nothing embarrassing. There wasn’t. He didn’t post very often, and when he did he usually posted pictures of food.

He clicked the button for her DMs, and before he could talk himself out of it, he wrote her a message.

Shadowsinger Hey! I just watched your livestream (it was great!) but I couldn’t help but notice some really rude comments. I hope you don’t find this weird, but have you tried blocking them? If you don’t know how, I could send you a link that will describe how to do it. God, this is weird, isn’t it? If this message makes you uncomfortable, just delete it. I’m sorry. But if you need help with blocking those douchebags, please tell me.

He sent it without even reading it and as soon as it was out in cyberspace, he groaned. What the fuck was he doing? She wasn’t his friend. She wasn’t his anything. Yet, there was something that drew him to her. Maybe it was the fact that she helped him sleep? Yes, that had to be it. It was either that or witchcraft, and Azriel didn’t believe in the occult.

Azriel was just about to put his phone in another room and go die from embarrassment when he saw that she had answered his DM. He was afraid to open it. What if she told him to fuck off? He would never be able to watch her videos again, and then he would never again feel rested.

FlowerGirlAsmr Hello! I recognized your username from one of my videos! I’m happy that you enjoyed the livestream :) I have blocked them multiple times, but they keep coming back. But thank you for offering to help me. That is very sweet!  Ps: The lasagna on your feed looks delicious.

Azriel stared at the message dumbfounded. She had answered him. And she didn’t tell him to fuck off. She had remembered his username. And she thought that his food looked delicious. He didn’t understand why he suddenly felt so nervous. Should he tell her that after watching her video he had the best night’s sleep of his life?

Probably not. That might sound creepy.

Shadowsinger Yeah, I commented last night. Have you tried blocking words from appearing in your comments? If you did that, you might not have to endure such nasty comments.  (Yes, the lasagna was very delicious)

He was staring at his message. Did he sound stupid?

Yeah, he definitely sounded stupid.  The lasagna was very delicious ? Why did he add that?

Stupid, stupid, stupid

But despite his stupidity, she answered.

FlowerGirlASMR You can do that?? I had no idea! I am not very good at computers. Honestly, I have to google every single thing about YouTube because I understand nothing, haha. How do I block words?

Shadowsinger I’ll send you a link that describes the process!

He sent her the link and waited for a few minutes, feeling happy to help her.

FlowerGirlASMR I hope you don’t think I’m stupid, but I understood absolutely nothing :( Is there a link for dummies?

Azriel laughed at the last part of her message.

Shadowsinger Unfortunately not. But if you want, I could help you.

She didn’t answer him for a while after that. Azriel was staring at his phone, trying to will a message to appear. Did he cross a line?

FlowerGirlASMR I won’t give you the details to my account. We don’t know each other.

Oh god. She thought that he was trying to scam her or something. Fuck.

Shadowsinger I don’t need to log into your account.

He sent the message quickly.

Shadowsinger I could guide you if you like? I work in IT so I’m used to just guiding people through these things.

FlowerGirlASMR How could we do that? I’m not very good at understanding instructions when they are written…

Azriel had an idea and it was both brilliant and idiotic. He typed quickly before the logical part of his brain told him to stop helping this girl he didn’t know.

Shadowsinger I could give you my number and guide you through the phone? I could share my screen with you so you could follow along like that if you are more of a visual learner. You could call me with a hidden number.

He added the last sentence to make her feel safer. And because he didn’t trust himself to have access to her number.

Again, he had to wait for a small eternity before her message popped up.

FlowerGirlASMR That would be great! Could I call you tomorrow at 10.00?

He didn’t even check his schedule before typing “Yes.”

She answered with a smiley.

Azriel sent her his number and she said that she would call, and that was that.

“What the fuck am I doing?” Azriel muttered to himself and got back to bed.

He opened the youtube app, and one of her videos was the first one he saw. His finger hovered above the video. Would it be weird to watch her now that they had messaged each other? He decided to click another ASMR video instead. And then another. And then another.

After 2 hours, he realized that all ASMR was not equal.

So he gave in and clicked on one of her videos. Flower Girl ASMR’s face filled his screen. “Hello my lovelies, lovelies, lovelies,” she whispered, and Azriel thought that she was the loveliest person he had ever seen.

Five minutes later, he was fast asleep.

#elriel fanfic #azriel x elain #elriel #elain archeron #azriel #acotar #acotar fanfiction

[gallavictorious]

Gallavich Week Day 2: Fantasy AU

Summary: Prince Ian is offered up as a sacrifice to appease one of the dragons that haunt his father’s kingdom. Rather than being burned alive or eaten he is inexplicably left to wander the dragon’s lair in peace, as long as he never tries to leave and never enters the mysterious tower chamber. Then he meets fellow prisoner Mikhailo and starts to wonder if maybe this whole sacrificial gig isn’t such a bad deal after all.

Or, Ian Gallagher tells a bedtime story, and Mickey Milkovich is himself.

Fair Warning 1: There’s some Mickey-typical homophobic language in this one.

Fair Warning 2: I wrote all ridiculous 5K of this today (work? what work?) and it’s a little bit of a curious mess. Like, the sort of curious mess you get if you take Lip’s Hall of Shame, @gardenerian’s lovely bedtime stories, the novel “Dealing with Dragons” by Patricia Wrede, the Swedish picture book “Bröllop i Marsipanien” by Lena Karlin, the Greek myth of Andromeda, a bunch of folk tales about shapeshifting lovers, and the questionable old practice of MSTing fics, and then you stuff them all into a Kee and shake her around for a bit and then you pour it out into the shape of a 12 hour long and highly inadvisable speedwriting session.

Read it at your own risk, below or on AO3.

Very Important Note: I make fun of fic writing in this fic. Please note that I’m only making fun of myself and general tropes; any and all allusions to actual fic in the fandom is entirely coincidental.

---

Lest They Say, Here Be Dragons

Hush now, child; settle down. Close your eyes – yes, just like that – and listen:

Once upon a time and elsewhere, there was a kingdom. The people there were no happier than people anywhere else, and poorer than most, but they made do and lived and danced and grieved and died as people have always done.

Jesus, that’s gay.

That is, until the dragons came.

Okay, now you’re talking.

Like a plague they swept the land, winged beasts with fire for breath and ice in their hearts. Every night the fields burned, and the villages burned, and the cattle burned and was eaten. Many a brave people took up arms and went to confront the monsters, and then they burned too.

Heart-broken and terrified, the people went to the king to plead for aid. “Send an emissary to the dragons,” they said. “Reason with them and strike a bargain, or else we are sure to perish.”

What a bunch of pussies. What they should do is, they should use a bunch a cow shit to build a bomb and nuke the hell out of those dragons. Problem fucking solved.

Now, this king was a scoundrel and a drunk and the queen had an unfortunate habit of turning herself into a bird and flying off to more interesting lands whenever the mood took her. They had six children but rarely paid them any mind and fair Princess Fiona, eldest of the six, was left to raise her younger siblings as best she could. False King Francis would have been perfectly content to turn his desperate subjects away if it weren’t for the fact the dragons unchecked rampage threatened the production of the spirits the king so enjoyed. So, donning a mask of compassionate concern, for he was a skilled liar, he promised the people that he would help them. But as soon as they had left, comforted, he turned the task over to his children.

The second oldest child, foxy Prince Philip—

Foxy Prince Philip?

Yeah, you know. Foxy. Like clever.

Why not just say clever then?

‘Cause it’s not alliterative.

Alliter—

Starts with the same sound. Foxy – Philip. Fair – Fiona.

Oh, I get it. Like, Ian – idiot. Ow!

Foxy Prince Philip was known far and wide for being the cleverest in all the land, and by using all his cunning he managed to strike a deal with the leader of the dragons.

“By using all his cunning.” Skimming over the details a bit there, huh?

You really want me to turn this into a Prince Philip story? Hear me go on and on about what a genius he is?

…

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

It was agreed that the dragons would spread out over the kingdom, each one building their own place to live near a village, and that the villagers would bring them food and drink. In turn, the dragons would refrain from casual pyromancy and protect the villagers from harm.

Protection racket, huh. Classic. Starting to like these dragons, man.

In addition, the cruel leader of the dragons demanded that each dragon be offered a child of the land in sacrifice. No matter how Prince Philip bargained he could not change the dragon’s cold heart on this—

Guess he wasn’t so clever after all.

—and so, with heavy hearts and much lamenting, each village drew lots to determine which poor child would be sent as an offering to their new resident dragon. However, in the village nearest to the castle the people grew angry when the beloved blacksmith’s only child, a small girl of just four, was selected, and they went to the king and they said:

“It isn’t fair that some people are asked to give up their only child to appease the dragons while you, who have six children, are exempt from the lottery.”

King Francis, fearing an uprising as much as he feared the dragons (since each was as likely as the other to leave him without a drink), quickly nodded.

“That’s true,” he said. “And fairness must ever be the true monarchs first and most important concern. Though it breaks my heart, I can’t in good conscience watch my people sacrifice their own children without offering up my own. You may take Prince Ian and give him to the dragon.”

At this, the other princes and princesses raised their voices in furious protest, for they loved their brother even if their father did not. But industrious Prince Ian—

Industrious? That really the best you can come up with?

—stepped forward and declared that he’d be happy to give up his life, so that the child of the blacksmith might be spared. And so, as the sunt set, he was taken away to the lair of the dragon that had made its home near the castle.

So let me get this straight… The king is happy to toss Prince Ian to the wolves ‘cause he hates him, and his siblings are all sad and shit but they still let him go off to get fucking eaten by dragons?

Yes.

Uh-huh.

What?

…

Oh, fuck you. It’s just a story.

Totally.

Stepping into the lair, with heart a-hammering but on stubbornly steady legs, Prince Ian set eyes upon the beast that was to be his destiny. He was momentarily relieved to see it was not the terrible leader of the dragons, as he had feared, but a smaller monster he did not recognize. Black was its hide, its eyes a cold sparkling blue—

Gallagher, I swear to god, if you turn me into some lame ass henchman dragon—

Keep interrupting, asshole, and it’ll be a pink fucking unicorn. And hang on, you’ll show up in a little bit.

Setting his jaw, Prince Ian prepared to die a heroic death—

‘Course he did, the stupid motherfucker. Hey, if Prince Philip was so fucking smart, and if he gave a shit about his brother, shouldn’t he have given him, I dunno, a knife or something?

Prince Ian prepared to die a heroic death, because unlike some other people he was not a selfish prick and he actually cared about the people of the kingdom, but much to his surprise the dragon did not burn him. Instead, it just stared at him for a good long while, until suddenly it declared:

“You must never leave the lair, and you must never set foot inside the tower chamber. Abide by these rules and you may live. Break these rules and I’ll rip your heart out and eat it while you watch, and then I’ll burn the castle down with your beloved siblings inside.”   

You tell him, dragon.

With that the dragon took flight and disappeared, leaving Prince Ian to stand alone in the great hall of the lair, confused but alive. The young prince remained where he was for a few minutes, thinking that the dragon might come back, but when it did not he set out to explore his new home. It was big, with endless rooms and nooks and crannies, but it was badly kept, with strange bits and pieces cluttering up the hallways and chambers. Prince Ian found some old blankets and he used those to set up a pallet in one of the nicer rooms, one that had a view over a small, overgrown garden. And then, because it was very late and he was not dead, he went to sleep.

The next day he continued his explorations and managed to find the kitchen. It was full with the meat that the villagers brought the dragon once a month, and remembering that the beast had only forbidden him from leaving the lair and going into the tower chamber, Prince Ian helped himself to a piece of pork that he cooked over a small fire.

Hang on, was there a fridge in the kitchen?

No. This was the olden days.

But the villagers came once a month with the meat? How did the dragon keep from rotting?

That’s not really—

Was it dried? Like a Slim Jim?

… sure. It was dried.

As he was eating, Prince Ian heard a sudden scraping noise behind him.

The hell did he cook it over a fire for then, if it was dried?

He looked up and spied another young man standing in the doorway.

I’m just saying, it doesn’t make any fucking sense, man. Wait, is this me?

Prince Ian frowned. “Who are you?” he asked. “Are you a prisoner of the dragon too?”

The boy shrugged. “Uh, yeah. I guess. I mean, I do some work around here. Clean up and shit, in exchange for not getting eaten. Name’s Mikhailo.”

About fucking time. Only, how is it fair that you get to be prince and I’m a fucking cleaner?

Prince Ian tactfully did not mention how the lair was impressively dirty for a place with a fulltime cleaner but invited Mikhailo to share his meal. As they ate, Prince Ian studied his new acquaintance. He was the same age as but shorter than the prince, with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony.

Hair as black as— The hell was that?

Nothing.

Yeah, okay, then why are you smiling? Eh, fuck you. Prince Ian’s fucking thirsty for Mikhailo, I get it.

Though his manner was somewhat brusque and uncouth, Prince Ian could not help but feel himself drawn to Mikhailo. The boy was funny and easy to talk to, even if he seemed reluctant to say too much about himself or where he came from. Prince Ian tried asking him about the dragon, but despite apparently having lived there ever since the dragon moved in, Mikhailo couldn’t tell him much.

“Hardly ever even see it, man. At dusk and dawn mostly, so I guess it spends the night flying around with the other dragons, terrorizing the peasants or whatever. During the day it holes up in the tower chamber. Guess dragons must sleep too, huh? Don’t fucking go up there,” he added sternly. “It ain’t fucking kidding about killing you if you do.”

Having found a friend, Prince Ian found that life at the dragon’s lair wasn’t all that bad. He missed his siblings and being outdoors and practicing with the soldiers at the castle, and he resented the loss of his freedom, but he enjoyed the peace and quiet, and enjoyed spending time with Mikhailo. However, one thing he soon grew very tired of was eating nothing but meat. The dragon didn’t seem to require anything else, for it was the only thing the villagers ever delivered, and Mikhailo – whose tasks included receiving the monthly tribute – just gave Prince Ian a weird look when Ian suggested he ask the people to bring some vegetables next month.

“That ain’t the deal they’ve got with the dragon,” he told Ian. “Ain’t nobody gonna listen to me if I go trying to change it.”

Yeah, real Prince Charming there, wanting Mikhailo to risk his life so Ian can stuff his face with fucking cucumber.

Undeterred by Mikhailo’s lack of enthusiasm and courage—

Fuck you.

—Prince Ian decided to take it up with the dragon himself. In the weeks since he arrived at the lair, he hadn’t met the creature again, not even once; he’d just heard the powerful swoosh of its wings when it came and went at dusk and dawn. Now he went up the stairs to the tower chamber and there he waited until night had fallen and he noted the scraping of claws against stone inside the room. Then he knocked at the door.

There was a long silence. Then the door slammed open with enough force to nearly undo it from its hinges.

“What are you doing here?!” the dragon roared, terrible in its fury. “I’ve told you to never come here!”

“You’ve told me to never set foot inside the room,” Ian reasoned, fighting to keep his voice calm. “And I’m not. I just wanted to ask if I may have the use of the small garden just outside the lair. I miss being outdoors and I could grow vegetables for Mikhailo and me.”

Jesus Christ, man, again with gardening? Thought you were over it.

“You may never leave the lair,” the dragon, a garden-hating meanie, snarled, and then he closed the door in Prince Ian’s face.

As he fucking should.

“Probably worried one of the villagers will spot you and, I dunno, mount a rescue,” Mikhailo said shortly the next morning when Prince Ian told him of his failed attempt. “Anyway, you’re a fucking idiot for going up there like that. You get it won’t hesitate to kill you, right?”

“Right,” Ian agreed. “But,” he added with a frown, “why hasn’t it yet?”

“You fucking complaining?” Mikhailo snapped, and then he stalked away, and Ian didn’t see him again for three days.

Listen, you get that I get that Mikhailo is the dragon, right? You’re not fooling anyone, Gallagher.

Then, one day, fed up with the dragon being a really annoying prick, Prince Ian grabbed a huge sword he conveniently found lying around in a cupboard, because the lair was a fucking pigsty, suitable for a pig like the dragon, and he went up the stairs and kicked in the door and he cut the dragon’s throat while it slept, and then he went off and found himself a nice prince to marry.

…

…

That’s not how the story ends.

…

Hey, where are you going? Come back- Jesus, I’m sorry, okay? Gallagher, I’m sorry. Just come back here. Tell me what really happened.

Prince Ian woke with a start on his pallet in the lair. He’d had the most vivid dream about killing the dragon—

A dream? That’s the lamest fucking— Ah, fuck. Sorry.

—but for some reason it hadn’t felt as satisfying as he had thought it would. For all that Prince Ian often fantasized about strangling the beast, it seemed he didn’t actually wish to see it dead. With that disconcerting realization in mind, Prince Ian went to break his fast, resigned to doing so on meat and yet more meat. But in the kitchen he found Mikhailo, and on the table in front of him was a pile of cabbage and carrots and onions. 

“Guess the dragon must have talked to the villagers after all,” Mikhailo muttered, refusing to look at the prince. “And, uh, there was this thing I wanted to show you.”

Without waiting for a response, he spun around on his heel and walked out the door. Curious, Prince Ian followed, through doors and up and down stairs he never knew existed. Eventually, he found himself standing in what appeared to be an inner courtyard. It was small and the walls surrounding it very high, but up above the sky was blue. Prince Ian turned his face towards it and for the first time since he came to live at the dragon’s lair he felt sunlight on his face.

“It’s a shithole,” Mikhailo said. For some reason he sounded a little nervous. “But if you wanna go outside, you can come here. And there’s dirt in those bins, so I guess you could grow stuff in them? Just gotta wear this hat. Anyone sees you, they’ll just think it’s me.”

Privately, Prince Ian wondered who’d ever be able to see him behind walls that high, but he wasn’t going to argue. Wearing an ugly had was a small price to pay for being able to go outside, and to have a garden.

He gave Mikhailo a small smile; Mikhailo smiled back.

“Mikhailo smiled back.” Yeah, you bet he was laughing his ass off, ‘cause he thought Prince Ian was a huge fucking dork.

Things were good for a long while after that. Prince Ian spent his days in the garden and in Mikhailo’s company, and though he still resented being locked away from the world it was easy to ignore that when he had something to do and when his plants started to grow and when he was with Mikhailo. The two young men became closer and closer with each passing week, and soon it seemed to Prince Ian as if they had always known each other. He could no longer imagine a life without his friend.

He suspected that Mikhailo felt the same. It was there in the way he laughed at Prince Ian’s jokes; the way he sought him out to do nothing but talk; the way his gaze sometimes lingered on the prince, the look in his eyes unreadable.

Prince Ian suspected that Mikhailo too wondered what it would be like to press their lips together and hold each other tight. Sleep together; map every inch of each other’s bodies.

Hang on a minute, you’re telling me they haven’t fucked yet? The hell they’ve been doing?

I told you. Hanging out. Talking. Laughing.

Jesus Christ, that’s so fucking gay.

Two men not fucking each other is gay? Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. One day we really need to talk about all your internalized homophobia.

My interna-what? Ah, shut the fuck up. Continue with the story. All these interruptions ain’t doing much for the flow, you know.

Really? I hadn’t noticed.

Prince Ian became determined to find out if Mikhailo felt the same way as he did. He realized that he needed to be careful, however, and not push too hard, lest he spook the other boy. Even though he was almost sure he could see longing in Mikhailo’s eyes, there seemed to be some invisible hand holding him back. Every time Prince Ian was convinced they were finally getting somewhere, Mikhailo would suddenly pull back, as if stung.

Or as if remembering something. Himself, maybe.

Bu then came a cold, clear autumn day almost exactly one year after Prince Ian had been taken to the dragon’s lair.

Whoa, wait, now you’re telling me they’ve been hanging out for one fucking year and they still haven’t banged?

What can I say? Mikhailo’s a pussy.

Whatever. This story is unrealistic as fuck.

Prince Ian and Mikhailo had spent the afternoon together in the garden, as they almost always did whenever Mikhailo wasn’t busy with any of his mysterious chores (which he still refused to tell Prince Ian much about, but which sometimes took him away from the lair for days at a time). Once it started getting dark they went inside and dined on chicken and potatoes from Prince Ian’s patch, and as so often happened they started bickering and play fighting.

If that’s something that happens a lot you might have mentioned it earlier. Established it or whatever. Those mysterious chores too. What’s that all about?

Oh, my bad. Maybe I should start over? Once upon and time—

Nah, man, you’re good. Just a suggestion for next time.

Thank you.

You’re welcome.

They were chasing each other around the kitchen when Mikhailo tripped over the muddy shoes he’d lazily left there the night before and fell to the floor.

You know these meaningful little comments ain’t actually clever, right? They don’t actually add anything to the story.

I like them.

Prince Ian, ever chivalrous, grabbed hold of his friend’s arm to break his fall, but ended up going down with him instead, pinning Mikhailo to the floor with his big, strong body.

Fucking finally.

Their eyes met and Prince Ian felt his heart starting to beat faster. He could see a faint blush spreading over Mikhailo’s face. Neither of them spoke; neither of them moved. Then, slowly, slowly, Prince Ian leaned in to brush his lips over Mikhailo’s. Mikhailo lifted his head to meet him in a kiss to end all other kisses, a kiss to inspire a thousand love songs.

Uh-huh, and then…

And then they went to Prince Ian’s room and had sex all night long. But when Prince Ian woke the next morning—

Wait, wait, what? That’s it? “They had sex all night long.” How about some fucking detail, man?

Fine.

After having great sex using lots of good lube all night long, Prince Ian woke up alone in his bed.

I hate you.

He went in search of Mikhailo but couldn’t find his friend anywhere. He looked in the garden and in the kitchen and he went to the sad little cellar chamber Mikhailo called his room even though Prince Ian had never actually seen him sleep there.

Because he’s the dragon and sleeps in the tower chamber. Great hint, Gallagher. Real subtle.

Fuck off.

A week passed and Prince Ian was starting to suspect that Mikhailo was gone for good this time. Perhaps the dragon had found out about their tryst and had sent him away? Or maybe Mikhailo was disgusted with what had happened and wanted nothing more to do with the prince? Prince Ian wondered and worried and feared, and when finally Mikhailo returned, stepping into the kitchen like nothing had happened, Prince Ian was so exhausted with terror and regret that his relief immediately transformed into fury.

He yelled at Mikhailo, called him names and demanded to know where he’d been. He named him a coward and—

…

Hey, what’s the matter? You okay?

Yeah. Yeah, man, I’m fine.

You don’t look— Listen, Prince Ian’s just being an asshole, okay? He saying a bunch of stupid shit ‘cause he’s sick and tired of not knowing if he means as much to Mikhailo as Mickhailo means to him. He doesn’t mean it.

…

Mick?

I mean… He probably means it a little. He’s not wrong.

No, he’s— Fine. He means it a little right then. But he is wrong, okay? He doesn’t really understand what’s going on with Mikhailo, but he’ll get it later. He’ll know he wasn’t being really fair.

… yeah?

Yeah. Okay?

Okay.

Great. Maybe we should speed this bit up a little—

Once Prince Ian had finished shouting, Mikhailo just stared at him for a long moment.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” he spat, and then he spun around and disappeared through the door.

Prince Ian was immediately overcome with regret, yet he was still too angry and hurt and stubborn to run after the other. He went about his day in a very foul mood and when he went to bed that night Mikhailo was still gone. Prince Ian slept fitfully and in the middle of the night he woke to a loud crash, soon followed by several more. He realized it must have come form the tower chamber and after a moment of hesitation he grabbed his nightgown and rushed up the stairs.

So, he brought a nightgown with him when he thought the dragon was going to kill him?

Of course not. He found it in one of the rooms.

Yeah, okay, but why are there so many rooms in this fucking lair anyway? What’s with all the old stuff there? Didn’t the dragon build the place to live in like right before Prince Ian was sent there?

Mickey. It’s getting late and I’d really love to wrap this up and go to bed. It doesn’t really matter about the rooms. Can I just continue with the story?

Whatever, man. Just thought you should know there’s a bunch of plot holes in your little fairy tale.

 Once he reached the door to the forbidden room, the crashing noises had stopped. Instead, Prince Ian heard whimpers and moaning, as if from someone in great pain. It could only be the dragon – something must be wrong with it.

Yeah, ya think, Sherlock?

Prince Ian knocked on the door. There was no reply, other than more whimpers and moans. Steeling himself, he tried the handle. The door was unlocked.

That’s awfully convenient.

Stepping inside, Prince Ian found the dragon on the floor. It was clearly hurt, for there was dark blood pooling underneath it. As Prince Ian entered, the great beast lifted its head but said nothing and made no move to attack him. It seemed it was too badly hurt to pose any threat.

It occurred to Prince Ian that he could kill the dragon. He could go down to the kitchen and fetch the biggest knife there and then he’d be free and he could go back to the castle and his siblings and—

The dragon made a low, pained sound and let its head fall back to the floor, closing its eyes.

Prince Ian went down the stairs, but he didn’t fetch a knife, he fetched bandages instead. Though part of him cursed himself for a fool, he knew he couldn’t bring himself to kill the dragon, monster or not, and couldn’t bring himself to let it bleed to death either.

That’s a huge fucking mistake. Maybe the dragon never hurt him but it still kept him imprisoned. Prince Ian should be getting the hell out of there when he has the chance.

Hmm, yeah. Choosing to be locked up just to be the person you love does sound like a pretty insane thing to do.

Oh, fuck off. That’s totally different.

Sure, Mick.

By the time Prince Ian returned to the tower the dragon had lost consciousness. The prince set to cleaning and bandaging his wounds, having learned the art of it while training with a medical witch who lived at the castle. It took a great long while; the dragon was large and heavy and the cuts in its side long, if shallow. But Prince Ian was nothing if not determined and eventually he had the beast wrapped up.

As Ian moved to rise, the dragon stirred.

“The hell are you doing?” it muttered, blinking up at Ian. Then it spotted the bandages, and the ice blue eyes widened. “What the— Are you fucking insane? This is a... is a… real bad fucking idea… ”

It sounded… strange, and not just from the pain and blood loss, Prince Ian thought. Sounded not just slurred but softer somehow, in spite of the uncharacteristic cursing; sounded almost familiar; sounded like—

“Mikhailo,” Prince Ian whispered.

Ooooh, big surprise! I’m so shocked right now!

You know there are other uses for plot twists than to shock the reader, right? Or actually, I guess you don’t know, but if you picked up a book once in a while—

Yeah, yeah, whatever. What happened after this great and totally unexpected reveal?

The dragon lost consciousness again so Prince Ian went to bed and slept soundly and when he woke the next day he spotted Mikhailo leaning against the wall of his room, looking tired ad unhappy. He was even paler than usually and there was a stiffness to his posture that suggested quite a bit of pain, but other than that he seemed well enough.

“So,” Prince Ian said, trying for casualness as he sat up on his pallet. “You’re a dragon.”

Mikhailo shrugged. “Seems like it.”

“But only by night.”

“Yeah… We turn when the sun sets, and turn back again when it rises.”

“I didn’t know that about dragons.”

“No one around here fucking does. People realize how helpless we are during the day, they’d kill us in a heartbeat. My dad says— “

“Your dad?”

“The leader of the dragons. The really big, white one? This whole terror and extortion thing was his idea, once he realized that no one in this kingdom has a clue about dragons.”

“Oh.”

“He hates humans. Thinks they’re useless and weak. If he knew I kept you around instead of killing you, he’d have murdered us both.”

Jesus fucking Christ, laying it on a bit thick with the metaphysical shit there, don’t ya think?

You mean metaphorical?

I mean it’s fucking stupid, that’s what I mean.

Might be closer to allegory anyway.

Uh-huh. Nobody fucking cares, Shakespeare.

“So, anyway,” Mikhailo continued, “you should probably try to go as far away from here as possible. Find a ship and go across the sea or something.”

Prince Ian blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, man, you won’t be able to go back to your castle. No way to stay hidden there. I know this guy up in Dikno, he might—”

He fell silent as Prince Ian jumped up from the bed and crossed the space between them in two long strides, and then he gasped loudly as the prince’s lips found his.

It was another one to inspire love songs.

“You idiot,” Prince Ian said fondly when eventually they broke apart. “Of course I’m not going anywhere. Unless,” he added, suddenly shy, “you want me to.”

Mikhailo made a face. “No, you fucking moron, I don’t want you to go,” he finally said. “But my dad—”

“We’ll find a way to deal with him. We’ll figure out how to sort it out and set things right between humans and dragons. We’ll find a way, together. Okay?”

And Mikhailo the dragon looked at his prince for a long moment and then he smiled. “Okay.”

At his prince, huh. Surprised you got room for all those big words in your head when your ego’s taking up so much space. All right, then what happened?

They organized a rebellion against the leader of the dragons, I guess. I don’t really know. That’s another story.

What do you mean, another story? Is this it? You spend all that time setting it up but when you get to the good part with the fighting you just stop?

Yeah, it’s getting really late. Kid’s asleep anyway.

Kid’s been out cold since, like, before the dragons even showed up, man, don’t fucking pretend this story was for her. … you really not gonna continue?

Nah, I’ll continue. But for the next scene I figured we might try a little show, don’t tell…

Oh, really? What’s the next scene?

Make-up sex. Prince Ian fucking Mikhailo’s brains out. And hey, spoiler alert: Mikhailo comes four times.

Four times, huh.

Yeah. So… wanna know how it happens?

Okay.

Okay. It starts like this—

---

So, yeah. There we have it. The things we write for Gallavich Week… XD

I am halfway outraged that this is the longest fic I’ve ever written for Gallavich, but I’m rather pleased I managed to write something for this theme! Guess I’ll go to bed both proud and embarrassed and dead tired tonight. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Where I am, we’re half an hour past midnight, but seeing as it’s still Monday somewhere, I have decided that I’m posting on time. Yay me! @gallavichthings

#gallavich #gallavich week 2021 #gw2021 #fic #what have i done #my stuff