#now my hair is dyed! another layer of customization

[nonhuman-swag]

HELLO. ima, this is gonna b a post about like. how i experience gender, or ig lack there of (LOL) and other shtuff. other items and things about ME. yahoo! yippee!!!!! if this is unreadable sorry its mostly for me. teehee

anyways. to start off rq hellooo i am ezekiel (aka zeke :] ) and im agender n a lesbian (?) (this is questionable for now, as im feelin less and less at home with this label in a way.)

to be Real, personally, and for myself, i hate the idea of gender. not a fan! ik its important to other folks n i get it but for me i just. i dont know. nothing feels correct or what can be used to describe. nonbinary, female, male, etc just dont. work. i dont see myself in that. i see myself as a mass of flesh n bone n blood who lives and creates n thats about it. sometimes even that view is hard to realize and be at home with.

also my ideal body is the ken doll. nothing 👍 that dude has Nothing n i WISH that was me

im not sure if this is because of growing up the way i did, bein neurodivergent, the internet or whatever else but thats how things went so now im here with a weird outlook on myself or what have you. simply, i just done feel real a lot. like i Know im real, factually, i know that i live, that other people percieve me and interact with me n like, i have emotions i have memories i have things its just. sometimes it just feels empty. like watchin a video game of whats supposed to be your life. things r just kind of set out for you and ur doin tasks or whatever. its funny when i like, realize "holy moly this is real! im real!" n like. im just sittin there driving or whatever. i HEART driving btw. good stuff. there was a hot second in time where i didnt like lookin in the mirror cause i felt like the person staring back was Not Me. uncomfortable fr fr! shout out to that dream i had where me and myself (2 of me) where in like, the bathtub and we fought. like i fought myself and like. tried to drown myself but like in beautiful dream magic it didnt hurt it didnt feel like anything it was just Happening. i think about this dream a lot.

i think there is One Cool Plus about bein weird n kind of disconnected from urself n that is: i LOVE playing dress up. i love wearing cool n epic clothes. like yes ough. body... i wish it was something else but also, these clothes i have look good on it. its a good body, it has some problems that surgeries can help later down the line but not perfect but yea. i like feeling pretty or handsome or whatever in clothes. i think fashion is epic. i think the same about makeup. i enjoy just treatin myself like a paperdoll and just looking Cool. same goes for tattoos. ive gotten 4 of them n i love them, and i have plans for more. its just. i think despite it all, customizing ur character model is like. the coolest shit ever. it helps i think too, in a way of like "dude... i Am cool" or whatever. idk. explosion.jpg on my MIND

#from the drafts... #brain moments :] #wrote this.. not very long ago but it still holds true #now my hair is dyed! another layer of customization #the disconnectness has gotten a bit worse in some ways #but it fluxuates so its okay. i also think its because of startin back at school and having to move multiple times from different dorms. #hell world. but we live and im going to make pancakes for me and my friends for dinner. the positives are nice. #ummmm peace and love on planet earth. vash style. i think he says love and peace tho so. wawa.

[goldencuffs]

untraditional

@lamenweek day five: traditions

Damen doesn’t think he’s supposed to feel so bone-weary at thirty-one.

Everything in his body aches, and he’s already greying at his temples. Last night, he had gone to bed at eight.

Theomedes doesn’t look up from the Ios Financial Times when Damen enters the Drawing Room. The table already has been set: Damen’s seat is, as usual, is to the left of his father, exactly fourty-seven centimetres apart. Damen’s food has been already served, because his father got here before him, and everyone gets served the same time as Theomedes.

Damen’s entire life has been dictated by these traditions, guidelines and precedents.

Some of them are good, but most of them are like this: nonsensical and elitist.

Even Theomedes’ and Damianos’ tea is prepared via strict protocol: one teaspoon of loose tea leaves per cup, heated to a hundred degrees celcius (seventy for green tea), with a tablespoon of organic, raw honey added straight to the teapot.

(It’s amazing tea, though).

Theomedes says, “Your food is cold.”

Damen stares at the pile of mash potatoes and salmon. “I’m not hungry.”

He also hates salmon, but Theomedes is the only one who sets the menu for the week with the head chef. Last week, they had roast beef and vegetables four times.

“You’re not still sulking are you?” Theomedes finally says, three minutes later.

Damen grips his table fork. He forces himself to do the breathing exercises Makedon had taught him.

In an ideal world, he wouldn’t reply, but in this one, everyone answered to the King.

“No, sir,” Damen says, and shoves a polite bite of food in his mouth.

“You haven’t had a meal with me in three weeks,” Theomedes says, and he sounds hurt and disappointed.

“Hmm,” Damen says. “I’ve been busy. You know I’ve been working on the preservation of Marlas with Nikandros.”

Theomedes crosses his fork and knife over his plate. Instantly, three different staff members rush forward to clear the table.

Damen’s plate is cleared too; no one eats after the King has left. Another useless, bane tradition.

“You know I did what’s best for you,” Theomedes says, looming over Damen.

When Damen nods, Theomedes kisses his temple. “You’ll realise it sooner, rather than later.”

“Yes, sir,” Damen says quietly, and rises only after Theomedes has left, as is protocol.

*

An hour later, the itch under Damen’s skin becomes unbearable, and he finds himself burrowing under the left corner of his mattress for certain… supplies.

He pulls on the red, shoulder-length curly wig with little care, and then the faux-leather beret. It’s peeling and terrible, but Damen doesn’t care.

The rest of his outfit is just layers: sunglasses, two coats, scarves, and a muted shirt, to hide as much of his body as possible.

He normally doesn’t leave so early in the day, when he’s being patrolled by guards and the Kyros.

Luckily, it’s only Nikandros who catches him, right outside his door.

His expression is flat. “You’re not serious. You’re leaving now? We’re in the middle of drafting the Delpha treaty!”

Damen shrugs. “I have to go.”

“You don’t have to—” Nikandros cuts himself off with a sigh. “Whatever. Can you please bring me back those caramel slices?”

Damen grins. “You got it, boss.”

Once he’s past the Main Foyer, the rest of the journey is easy: Damen takes an hour and a half train ride from Central Ios to Andris, and then a fifteen minute bus ride on the eighty-six. And then finally, an eight minute walk to the Andris Office District.

There’s a small bookstore there called Pocket Bookmark, painted emerald green, the lettering done in gold.

Inside, it’s not too busy: it’s not quite the end of a business day, and the customers in here are high school students, skimming the Shakespeare section, and a man hovering near the new releases.

Damen keeps his head down, weaving through the aisles.

Nicaise, the mouthy teenage cashier rolls his eyes when he sees Damen approaching, lifting up the wooden flap on on the bench, allowing Damen to duck through.

“Thanks, kid,” Damen says, mussing his hair.

“Ah, fuck off,” Nicaise grunts, but fondly. He’s warmed up to Damen ever since Damen bought him his first car. (Nothing too flashy, obviously).

Damen hurries all the way to the back, opening the door marked, No entry, and then goes up the narrow steps, which always make the worst creaking noises.

There’s another door a the small porch upstairs, and Damen fishes out the key in his pocket to open it.

Instantly, he’s hit with the smell of butter chicken simmering on the stove, and his mouth salivates. He dumps his entire attire by the small settee in the hallway, inhaling gratefully.

The second thing he’s greeted with is Wendy, who meows and claws at his leg.

“Come here, baby,” Damen murmurs, picking her up and holding her to his chest. She purrs and curls up, like a big ball of fluff and he kisses her head. “I love you so much.”

She meows in response, and snuggles closer.

Laurent turns off the stove in the tiny kitchen. He looks over his shoulder for just a second and scrunches his nose. “Ugh, she’s such a slut. I’ve been petting her for the last hour, but apparently I’m just not good enough.”

Laurent is in his after work attire: which means he’s as half dressed as possible. The shirt he’s wearing is one of Damen’s, and his shorts are the pair that shrunk in the wash; they ride too high up his thigh.

Laurent’s just come out of the shower: the hair at his nape is still wet, and his skin is pinked and glowing. Even with the curry, Damen can smell jasmine and coconut.

Laurent has got this sweet, soft smile that lights up his eyes.

It takes Damen’s breath away: not just Laurent, but this entire picture of domesticity. It’s all Damen’s wanted his entire life.

He means to make a snarky comment about Wendy, but what comes out is: “Marry me.”

Laurent drops the wooden spoon, eyes wide.

Damen grips Wendy too tightly and she lets out a shriek and jumps out of his arms.

They stare at each other for a moment. Damen’s heart is racing.

Laurent blinks. “Oh, sorry. I think I hallucinated for a minute.”

Damen steps forward, smiling. “It wasn’t a hallucination. Marry me.”

Laurent makes a small noise in the back of his throat. “Are you asking me or telling me?” He swallows, eyes darting all over Damen’s face, his body. “I don’t see a ring,” he says quietly.

Damen groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Shit, I know. I had this whole plan, I was going to propose with the Queen’s ring, but obviously I’d have to talk to my father first and—” He sits down at the kitchen table, pulling out his phone. “There’s a courthouse ten minutes from here. It’s Thursday night, so they’re still open. We just need to show up with a signed ‘Intended Marriage Certificate’. It’s like three pages, we’ll be fine.”

“…Oh.” Laurent has gone very still. “You’re looking up courthouses. You’re serious.”

“Shit,” Damen says, watching him. “I’m so sorry. You—Do you want to marry me, Laurent? Because I’ve been dying to marry you since I first saw you. Er. No pressure, though.”

Laurent glares at him, affronted. “Of course I want to marry you, you fucking idiot!”

Damen leaps to his feet, grinning and flushed. “Fuck yeah! Let’s go print this form and—”

“Damen!” Laurent laughs, looking a little crazed. “We can’t just—Just wait a minute.”

“Alright. Shoot, baby.”

Predictably, Laurent flushes pink. “Is it even legal? Aren’t there special ceremonies for royals? And—and the King still thinks we broke up!”

Damen winces a little at that.

After an entire year of sneaking around, of meeting up in discreet hotels, and making plans to move in together one day, Damen had fucked up three weeks ago.

Drunk and enamoured, he had kissed Laurent outside his bookstore after a date. There had been photos—and the only saving grace had been the fact that Laurent’s face had been inscrutable.

But the fact that he was a commoner had been enough for Theomedes to unleash his rage. He had ordered Damen to break things off with Laurent, and Damen had pretended to, but… Well, Laurent had been hurt. It had been the first time he had realised how shaky their entire relationship was, how quickly it could come crumbling down.

Damen had spent days convincing him otherwise, and Laurent had finally agreed, but there had still been shadows in his eyes.

Now—now, though, Damen realises exactly what he can do, what he should have done months ago, to make Laurent realise he’s it.

“Fuck the King,” Damen says. He finally closes the distance between them, gripping Laurent’s hands. “Laurent, listen. I can still get married legally in a civil ceremony.”

“But—” Laurent bites his lip. “I don’t want you to get into trouble. And,” His voice grows small. “I know there’s so many rules and traditions you have to follow. I’ve read about the whole tradition where your father is supposed to gift you a diptych piece.”

Damen’s heart is warm. He smiles down at Laurent, smitten. “You’ve read up on royal wedding traditions?”

Laurent colours even more. “Of course.”

Damen kisses him hard, unable to bare the love swelling up inside him. Laurent flings his arms around Damen’s neck, his mouth emitting small, sweet gasps.

When they pull apart, Damen presses his forehead to Laurent’s. “Fuck the King,” he repeats. “Fuck the customs and rules and traditions. You are the only thing that matters to me. Just forget everything for a moment and answer: do you want to go downtown and marry me?”

Laurent’s smile overtakes his face, his eyes shining. “Yes,” he says softly. “I want to—so much.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you in a better way or give you a ring or—”

“Stop. This was absolutely perfect.” He sighs. “You’re perfect.”

Damen kisses him again, pressing him to the counter. “I want you to have my mother’s ring.”

Laurent buries his head into Damen’s chest, overwhelmed. He nods.

Damen drops a kiss to his hair. “Get changed, baby. We’re getting married.”

Laurent looks up at him in wonder. “We’re getting married.”

#yes this is rushed what about it!!!!! 🤧😤 #just kidding i still hope u enjoy #lamen week 2021 #captive prince #my writing #my fic

[lazarettta]

Misthios III

Characters (Mother Miranda, Alcina Dimitrescu, Reader)

Word count (2k)

Rating (T)

Warning (straight zooted, none)

Countess Dimitrescu takes you home.

Any mistakes you find, blame it on the herbs.

Only taking a few steps from your holding cell, you were startled with what awaited you.

You weren't sure what to expect when you were about to meet Lady Dimitrescu but what you got wasn't on the top of your list; her inhuman beauty or her height. She was taller than tall and for a split second you actually gawked at the woman before remembering yourself and thankfully your jaw snapped shut inaudibly but she'd already caught you.

“This is (Y/n), take her to your castle and keep her there until I call.” You frowned at her words, you weren't some goddamn pet to keep and she had another thing coming if she thought that you were just going to sit around twiddling your thumbs. Miranda stopped next to the tall woman near the door and a small torch light, “Not a scratch, Alcina.”

“Of course, Mother Miranda.” She seemed amused and she clearly wasn't as human as she portrayed herself to be. You'd place a bet wagering that she is one of the myths you haven't yet tracked down...but which one?

Miranda didn't spare you another glance and she was gone within a blink of an eye, leaving you two alone, you cleared your throat bringing the woman's honey eyes to you again. “But you will refer to me as lady Dimitrescu.”

Keeping up with Alcina's long strides down the dreary pathway wasn't an easy feature especially given that the hallway itself was narrow and you didn't really have any interest in touching the walls. They were wet but it did not look or smell like water. Eventually the woman came to a stop, right in front of an iron door that turned out to be an elevator shaft—a bit like the ones used when mining was still a thing.

Prison cells in some abandoned underground mining tunnels, Miranda? Always so dark and mysterious...

The silence between you both was thick and a bit awkward and you could feel her caution and curiosity rolling off of her in waves and you knew that she was occasionally glancing at you because you were doing the same thing while you both waited for the elevator shaft to come down. This place just continued to get more and more curious—what other wonders was this village in the mountains hiding away from the rest of the world? But you were quick to chastise yourself for the thought, curiosity always killed the cat, (Y/n)...

“Yes,” her voice was low and deep this time opposed to the thunderous tone she was using earlier, “but satisfaction brought it back.”

You hadn't been aware that you spoke out loud. Having allowed yourself to be distracted with your thoughts that you failed to take notice of how much more observant the other woman became towards you the minute you both loaded onto the old shaft. Though the old thing hardly made a sound under lady Dimitrescu's weight despite the fact that in order to enter she had to duck a little for herself and her large brimmed hat.

Shoving your hands in your pocket, you turned slightly to look up at her making sure to keep your eyes above those pearls wrapped around her pale neck and accenting that decolletage—no doubt purposely done. “Ah, I haven't had that recited back to me in a very long time.”’

“Then you’re not keeping the right company.”

Your mouth twitched around a smile before you schooled it away, “That would be true if I actually had any friends...or family.”

Lady Dimitrescu raised an eyebrow, not that you’d see it because of her hat casting a shadow over a majority of her face, “Handsome thing like you without friends or family? Doubtful. Surely you have someone waiting for you? You seem like the type to have a maiden or two at your feet.”

This time you couldn’t push back your smile, you knew that she was fishing for some answers about your character—and no doubt trying to figure out why Miranda thought you were special enough to be placed under her word of protection, as if you actually needed it.

But that was all fine because you’d do the same thing, in fact you already were but you’d give her something—an inevitable piece of information that will come to light soon enough. She was already suspicious so it really was just a matter of you beating her to the punchline.

“Nope, none of the above. People just have this pesky little habit of dying on me.”

She chuckled, low and deep and you felt it a bit (and fuck was this the longest elevator ride you’ve ever been on), “Oh I know of that nuisance all too well myself.”

“Do you now?”

“Oh quite dear.” There was a bit of a sinister flare to her tone behind that innocent smile and shrug she tried to sell you. “One could even say it's my favorite pastime.”

And right as you were about to press another question the shaft came to a screeching halt, oh…how convenient. You swore you saw Lady Dimitrescu outright grinning before she ducked out ahead of you, if you didn’t know better you’d say she read your mind.

The moment you stepped out of the shaft and through the opening of the alcove, you were severely unprepared for the harsh winter wind or how well into the evening it’s become and the conversation earlier was placed on the backburner.

Less than two hundred feet away there was a stagecoach waiting with four black horses attached. The stagecoach was all black with gold trimmings, a style fit for royalty—you’ve seen enough of them in your lifetime to know.

There was a young man half frozen next to it as he waited for Lady Dimitrescu’s approach, nearly stuttering out all of his teeth to greet her but she hardly paid him any attention, gracefully ducking inside. The young man gawked at you as you entered the coach behind his employer but was quick to close the door after you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, the tips of your ears heating up when you had to brush past her crossed legs to sit on the bench across from her and she made no effort to move, only watching you while smoking from her cigarette stick.

The stagecoach had a bigger interior than the exterior let on, accommodating the dark haired beauty perfectly. Though she was sitting at a sideways angle she seemed very comfortable and she was easily dumping the ashes outside of the cracked window.

“Is there anyway to get my things back…it had a majority of my clothes in there.” Or get back to your camp—it was probably ruined by now, either by wild animals or nature itself.

“We will accommodate you at the castle.” Her gaze was on you again but you were busy looking out of the window down at the village, now that it was nightfall everyone had their lights on—it was bigger than what you expected. “I don’t suppose you like dresses?”

~~

As you suspected, the inside of her castle was just as massive and beautiful in it's antiquity as it was on the outside. The estate was kept in pristine condition and you were honestly impressed with what you saw. But it was really warm though not uncomfortably so. You two had barely stepped into the lobby of her castle with you mostly admiring how easily she was able to bend at the waist without batting an eye to get through a door that wasn't custom sized for her. She seemed used to it but you wondered why she didn't correct the doors.

“Hmm. Nice castle but why is it so warm? I might have to sleep with a window open.” you joked, still taking in everything and you had yet to notice how your words affected your host.

She stopped dead in her tracks and turned on you so fast you actually did run into the taller woman. Your entire face was lost in a world of firm fluffiness and your senses were filled with the very essence of Lady Dimitrescu. Though before you could scramble away with an apology on the tip of your tongue, Lady Dimitrescu was moving before you and she had reached down and she fisted the back of your parka and kept you right where you were, close and trapped.

You were forced to look up at her between her bust, or let them suffocate you, and she was already looking down at you with a hard look but you had no idea what the hell you did.

“You open a window in my castle and you won't be sleeping at all, guest to Mother Miranda be damned.” she snarled, her tone steely and you had no choice but to listen—even if she didn’t have you in a death grip, “The windows are off limits. Do not open them. Do not touch them. Are we clear?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, still struggling against her unyielding hold and against your rising temper, “What the—”

“Do you understand?” she tightened her grip on the back of your clothing, forcing the collar of every layer you wore to constrict around your throat at an alarming fast rate.

“Understood.” you gritted, your blunt nails digging her soft flesh beneath your hands that was her stomach but you doubted that your nails were as deadly as hers. You didn't bother to tell her that it was a joke and you were quick to straighten yourself out as you caught your balance when she released you with a bit of a pull against your parka forcing you away from her. You cursed her in your native tongue but her attentions were now focused on something to your left—no, on someone.

“Ah, good! Servant, come here,” a young girl no older than twenty quickly came over, bowing her head awkwardly.

“Y-yes Lady Dimitrescu, how may I serve—”

Alcina cut in quickly as if she had better things to do, and she did, “You're not serving me tonight, girl. This (Y/n). She will be staying in the guest room to the left of the wine room and you will be tending to her every need for the duration of her stay, and I do mean her every need.” though her tone was cheerful there was an undertone of a threat if her instructions went under-performed. Alcina winked at you as she hadn't almost choked you out in the middle of her foyer.

“Yes ma'am, I understand.”

The maiden nearly nodded her head from her shoulders. She was so terrified. If you were blind you would've assumed it was her first day, but a good portion of you knew that it was something else—you remembered quite well how Miranda preferred to run her own kingdom and you weren't surprised that this woman had similar tastes.

“Keep your pleasantries. Just show me to my room and leave me before I really lose my fucking temper.” you snarled at both of them, namely the Lady of the castle. You were able to physically restrain yourself from starting a brawl with this woman but your mouth has almost always gotten you into more than half the situations that left marks all over your body.

Lady Dimitrescu looked back to you, tilting her head back slightly as if she was just finally taking notice of how hard you were glaring at her. She did not know why as it could've been for a number of things that have happened within the last five minutes.

Alcina's eyes shifted from you to the trembling maiden between the two of you, then back to you again, “Are we going to have an issue, (Y/n)?” and clearly misunderstanding the reason for your ire.

You scoffed knowing when to pick your battles and how she handles her staff was not one of them. But how she handled you was, “Manhandle me again and we will.”

The maiden gasped at your audacity and flinched sharply when Alcina chuckled while setting her hand on her hip. She found more and more curious and she was starting to see why Miranda liked you so much before. There was a spirit that burned inside of you—strong and rattling in its cage, she could see it in your eyes even as you restrained yourself.

The maiden opened her eyes when she didn't feel the whoosh of Lady Dimitrescu slapping you through the wall, she was surprised to see you still standing there alive. The maiden looked at you in awe before bowing her head, “P-please follow me, ma'am.”

Alcina still stood there with her hand on her hip and another one of her cigarettes was lit, watching you follow the little maiden through one of the side doors when a familiar buzzing made itself known until Bela was standing next to her, snuggled close as she wiped the blood from her mouth with the sleeve of her black shift. It needed to be washed anyway.

“Mother, who is that? Another meal?”

“No,” Alcina answered softly, reaching down with her free hand to push back Bela's hood so she could comb out a few tangles in her eldest daughter's blonde hair, “But she is very interesting, isn't she?”

“Yes, but who is she?” Bela asked again, this time looking up at Alcina.

“Perhaps a friend, or foe, that has yet to reveal itself. But for now, go and collect your sisters dear and meet me in my study...I wish to talk to them about something more pressing.”

Bela was gone in an instant, the synchronized buzzing of dozens of blowflies disappearing quickly leaving Alcina alone with her thoughts.

Here is a link to the Ao3 version of this story...if it's easier than tumblr...

#resident evil village #mother miranda x reader #alcina x reader #resident evil 8 #mother miranda #lady alcina x reader #resident evil miranda x reader

[luffles424]

Tips & Teases

☼ Pairing: Seokjin x reader

☼ Genre: fluff, smut, pwp (with some plot), skating carhop!reader, diner cook!Seokjin, coworkers 2 lovers

☼ Count: 13.1K

☼ Warnings: 18+, teasing, dom!Seokjin, brat!reader, some possessiveness, big dick!Seokjin, manhandling, mirror sex (sort of, it’s actually a window, but it’s still a reflection), semi public sex, clothed sex, dirty talk, degradation (lots of use of the word slut), spanking, spitting, assplay, pussy spanking, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, hair pulling, ass worship, ass eating, orgasm denial, oral (f receiving), squirting, choking, unprotected, creampie, aftercare

☼ Summary: Jimin’s annual Halloween costume party presents you the perfect excuse to tease Seokjin, using the party as an excuse to wear flirty costumes to work to try to provoke a response in the man. Are you really prepared for what happens when he snaps?

☼ a/n: This one got a little bit away from me lmao But I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! My ask box is always open ~ 💙💙💙💙

☼ Written for @btsholidaybingo​​​​ to fill the square costume party

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

You glance up at the exclamation, seeing Seokjin leaning against the counter in the pass through, brows furrowed as he takes in your seated form. You hide your smirk by ducking your head to finish tying your skates. It’s not fully the reaction you were hoping for but you’re hoping that’ll change once you stand up and he sees it fully. You thought long and hard on what you were going to wear. You have backups, but you decided to start easy on him. But you were fully prepared to escalate. 

Skates tied, you push yourself up and give a little spin to fully show off your outfit. And to maybe let the already fairly short skirt flair and rise a little higher as you move. You come to a stop facing Seokjin once more, innocent smile tugging your lips as your toe stop presses into the ground to keep you in place. You smooth down the skirt, though the layers of tulle keep it from laying completely flat.  

Seokjin’s eyes drag over your form and you wait with baited breath for his reaction. This was all part of your plan to tease and fluster him. “Again, what the fuck are you wearing?”

You pout. That’s still not what you were expecting, though you think you can just make out the tips of his ears turning red. You put a hand on your hip. “It’s October.”

His head tilts. “Yeah and Halloween isn’t for another two weeks. It doesn’t explain this getup.”

You scoff. “Halloween is all month, first of all. And Jimin’s costume party is coming up and I couldn’t decide on what to wear so I decided to try them out at work first.” You bat your lashes at him, forcing down a smirk. “Does that mean you don’t like it?”

His mouth opens then snaps closed as his cheeks dusted with pink. “There’s no way that Namjoon approved that,” he deflects. Interesting.

You look down at the costume. It’s a fairly generic ‘sexy’ waitress costume. Red with yellow stripes that matches the overall aesthetic of your little drive in diner. The skirt hits above midthigh, puffed out by tulle, so the skirt bounces a little more with each movement along with a small ruffled apron with a pocket that isn’t actually usable. The buttons stop at the right point to give a more than ample display of cleavage. And you’ve paired the whole thing with a set of thigh high socks, leaving only a tantalizing glimpse of your thighs on display. 

You look back up and quirk an eyebrow, smirking. “Joonie was with me when I bought it.”

A ding sounds and you both turn to look at the wall where the board for the all parking spots sits, a light glowing beside the number 12. You swipe one of the order pads and a pen from the counter and move to the door to outside. You give him a wink before nudging the door open with your hip and skating out to the waiting car. 

Seokjin scowls after you and then pulls out his phone, dialing Namjoon’s number. 

Namjoon picks up after a few rings. “Is someone dying or is the building on fire?”

Seokjin frowns, watching as he watches you laugh as you speak with the people in the car. “What?”

“Is someone dying or is the building on fire?”

“I… well no-”

“Then why are you calling me? Jin, it’s my only day off and I know you’re at Omelas right now, so this is clearly a work related call.” Namjoon sighs. He sounds a little tired and Seokjin suddenly worries that he woke him up even though it’s 4 in the afternoon. The manager works far too much for his own good.

“Did you really tell Y/n she could wear a waitress costume to work?”

There’s a pause and then Namjoon chuckles. “Wow she really wore it? Man, her tips are going to be great today.”

Seokjin’s about to respond when he catches sight of you leaning over to speak to another car, back facing him, and the action causes your skirt to rise further up your thighs. He swallows and jerks his gaze away, glaring at the grill and cursing that it’s slow and he has nothing to keep him busy right now. He needs a distraction to keep from just watching you longer. 

Namjoon continues when Seokjin remains silent. “Yes, I said she could wear it. It’s the season and I’m sure it’ll appeal to customers to see them skating in costume and it’ll boost business. Hm, I should probably make up some rules cause I worry what Jimin will wear,” he finishes, seeming to be speaking more to himself. 

“I think it’s dumb.” Seokjin mutters petulantly. Dumb is definitely not how he’d truly describe it. It’s more frustrating, maddening, distracting. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to focus on work when you’re flitting around looking like that. Maybe he can switch future shifts so he doesn’t have to work the same time as you. 

Namjoon snorts. “Noted. Is that all?”

Seokjin mutters a yes and Namjoon hangs up with a warning to call again only if there’s an emergency. His hand drops back to his side in defeat. Namjoon was the only one who could save him and he apparently is more worried about Jimin’s costume than yours. He stares at the grill, he had really hoped that Namjoon would back him up. He’s not ready for this shift. Maybe he can call Taehyung or Yoongi to come cover and he can fake being sick or something.

The door opens and he looks up, deflating slightly when he sees that it’s just Jungkook, who immediately flashes him a sheepish smile.

“You’re late,” he snaps. He knows he’s not really mad at Jungkook. They’re all guilty of being a little late, but he has nowhere else to channel the feelings simmering just under his skin.

Jungkook grins and tosses his bag into the cubby behind the counter along with his boots before moving back around to sit to put his skates on. “I’m not that late. Besides,” he glances out the glass front doors to where a group of guys have sat at one of the picnic tables under the awning. You stand with a hip cocked, giggling at something one of them has said. “Seems like Y/n’s got everything handled right now.”

“Just get to work before I tell Namjoon you were late again.”

Jungkook stands, shit-eating grin firmly in place as he glances out the window pointedly. “Pretty sure you wouldn’t do that.” And before Seokjin can respond, he skates out the door to see who you want him to take.

Seokjin doesn’t know how he’s going to survive this shift. 

The next time that Seokjin works a shift with you, he encounters Jimin first. A very shirtless Jimin who’s back is to him when he enters the building. 

“Jimin, what the fuck?”

Jimin turns and grins, quickly moving around the counter so Seokjin can see the full extent of his costume. Or more accurately, his lack of clothing. Because the only thing on Jimin right now that counts as clothing is the tight pair of black shorts that barely even really cover his thick thighs. The only other things on him are a pair of suspenders, a green tie, and two black x’s that cover his nipples. 

Seokjin blinks. “What the fuck are you even supposed to be?”

Jimin adjusts the thick black glasses on his face with a grin. “Class president,” he states proudly. 

Seokjin scoffs. “What fucking class president looks like that?”

Jimin pouts. “Well I was class president. So me.”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Does Namjoon know you’re wearing this? There’s no way he allowed this.”

 “We compromised.”

Seokjin lifts a brow, looking over Jimin’s “costume” once more. “Where’s the compromise?”

He points proudly to the pasties. “These are. And I have a jacket for when the sun goes down and it gets colder.” He turns and grabs the two drinks he had been working on and moves towards the door. “Isn’t Y/n’s costume idea great?” he adds before exiting the building. He also very much does not like your costume idea. He can already feel his sanity fraying with just the thought of working another shift with you in that little waitress getup. 

“That’s… not a compromise.” Seokjin says weakly as he turns to put his bag away, knowing that even if Jimin did hear it, he wasn’t going to respond. 

However you happen to enter and catch what he said and you giggle. “You don’t want to know about the rest of the compromise, Jinnie.”

He’s about to respond; say that he can certainly imagine what the compromise was because Jimin has never been shy about telling everyone how he managed to talk Namjoon into very not Namjoon situations. His words die in his throat though when he catches sight of you as you begin to get some drinks. Nothing about last time prepared him for this. Because you’re not wearing the waitress costume tonight. Oh no, apparently that would have been too simple. You have a different costume on. 

You have thigh high socks on, though these are thicker than the other ones you had worn. There’s a lot more thigh on display as well thanks to the short, white athletic shorts you’re wearing, paired with a cropped white jersey emblazoned with ‘Tune Squad.’ And finishing off the look is a pair of tan and white bunny ears perched on your head and what he discovers when you turn to grab something and much to his horror, is the matching fluffy tail settled right on top of the swell of your ass. 

When you turn back, he has to quickly jerk his gaze away from staring at your ass longer. There’s a knowing smirk when his eyes finally meet yours, like you knew what putting the tail on would do.

Seokjin clears his throat. “And what are you supposed to be?”

You gasp in mock horror, hands coming up to rest over your heart like he’s physically hurt you. “You can’t be serious!” When he doesn’t say anything else, you shake your head in disappointment. “Space Jam is a classic and you’re a heathen for not recognizing Lola Bunny. Shame on you,” you tut. You gather your drinks on a tray and move towards the door, pausing as your back presses against the glass to cast Seokjin an appraising look. “Suppose I’ll have to look for a Bugs Bunny then, hm?” 

And with a wink, you’re nudging the door open and skating out to a table full of guys and Seokjin bristles at the way some of them blatantly stare at your ass. His mind belatedly catches on your parting words and he wonders what you meant. Was it directed at him? Did you want him to be your Bugs? He doubts that, he can’t recall a moment of you ever expressing interest in him as anything more than a friend. Maybe you were making a joke about how you needed someone else to help your costume be more recognizable. Though Seokjin knew what your costume was when he saw it. He just didn’t know what else to say without saying something incriminating.

A snicker has his head whipping around to see Taehyung standing over the grill, eyes trained on the food in front of him.

“And what do you find so funny?” Seokjin asks, tugging his apron off the hook on the wall to put on. 

“You,” he answers simply, flipping one of the burgers in front of him.

Seokjin makes a face. “I don’t recall making a joke.”

Taehyung looks up at him with a boxy grin. “Oh, no. Your jokes aren’t funny. But the way her ass made you so stupid that you forgot a movie is hilarious. I know for a fact that you’ve seen it at least once because we’ve watched it together.”

Seokjin feels his cheeks heat. Taehyung’s not wrong. He probably would’ve recognized the costume as Lola a lot faster if he hadn’t been almost immediately faced with your ass stretching the fabric and the way the cottontail perched just above it in a way that could only draw you to stare. He scowls, he can’t let Taehyung know he’s right. They all tease him enough as is, this would just be one more thing to add to the pile. He moves over to the younger man and tugs the spatula from his hand.

“Aren’t you supposed to be off work now? Go enjoy your freedom.”

Taehyung only takes a few steps away, perching on the stool they keep behind the counter with a smug look. 

Seokjin sighs. “What?”

He gestures to the food before Seokjin. “That’s my food.”

Seokjin blinks for a moment before groaning. He really played himself here. Now he has no choice but to finish Taehyung’s food.

Seokjin’s positive that he’s prepared for the next time he sees you. He knows to expect something different. And honestly, nothing could be worse than those shorts. Jungkook is there first and Seokjin groans when he sees him. 

“She got to you too?” He whines, looking over the younger man. 

At least his shorts are a more acceptable length than Jimin’s were. And he’s wearing an actual shirt. Really the only thing that signifies that he’s wearing a costume is the pair of bunny ears on his head. Actually, Seokjin’s positive that they’re the ones you were wearing for your Lola Bunny costume. Which confirms that you’re going to be wearing something else. But it’s fine. Seokjin can handle it. 

Jungkook grins and glances out to where a table full of giggling girls sits. “I mean, she had a pretty good idea. The tips have been really good lately.”

“Don’t listen to his grumpy ass, Kookie. You make an adorable bun.” You grin, walking through the door. Seokjin’s eyes trail over your frame immediately, greedy to see what you’re wearing, but all you’ve got on is a thigh length trench coat. “He’s just jealous that no one gets to see his costume.”

Jungkook chuckles as he leaves and it takes Seokjin a moment to realize that he should respond. He frowns. “I’m not wearing a costume.”

Your mouth forms an ‘oh’ of exaggerated surprise, hand coming up to your chest. “You’re not?” 

Your gaze slowly drags over his form and Seokjin suddenly feels a little self conscious that he’s just in sweats and a white shirt. It’s not much, but no one really sees him in here so he just went for comfort today. The way your eyes linger where his apron is tied, accentuating his tiny waist before trailing up to where his biceps stretch his sleeves has the tips of his ears coloring red quickly. He wishes he had longer hair so that you couldn’t see them right now. Then your lips quirk up into a teasing grin.

“Could’ve fooled me. You’ve got the perfect Bob Belcher look going on here, Jinnie.”

Seokjin’s face twists. Bob Belcher? Seriously? That’s how you see him. He scowls, looking over your outfit. “And just what are you supposed to be? A flasher?”

You giggle at his statement, pulling something golden from your bag. A moment later, you’re placing it on your head and he realizes that it’s a short, 4 pointed, gold crown with 4 alternating blue and red gems that sits on a headband so that it stays in place. It looks so familiar but he can’t place why. 

You give him a wry smile. “No, of course not. I had to run to the store so I threw a coat on.”

He rolls his eyes. “Is your costume that-”

He cuts himself off as you slowly slip your jacket off, head tilted as you watch him closely. Now he realizes why the crown looked familiar. Because it’s Princess Peach’s crown. Because apparently you’ve decided to dress like every fantasy he had when he was young once he discovered the Mario games. 

The dress is much shorter than Peach’s is, your’s sits high on your thighs and dips low to show a generous amount of cleavage. You have thigh high white tights one that only accentuate the sliver of thigh that you have on display much the same way your waitress costume did. But this is somehow worse and Seokjin suddenly very much regrets wearing sweatpants today of all days. At least he’s got the apron on.

He turns back to the grill, but the image of you dressed like that will be burned into his brain forever. He might actually die. 

You giggle and he hears the sound of your skates as you move towards the door. “Just have to find a Mario. We’d be so cute together.” And with that you skate out.

Seokjin’s thrilled that it’s finally the day of the party and that it’s finally Halloween. It means he won’t have to deal with you in your costumes anymore. He honestly doesn’t think he can handle anything else after the Peach costume. Or even seeing the Peach costume again. He has no idea what you’ll be wearing tonight and he is torn on which he wants you to wear. 

Yoongi is manning the grill when Seokjin gets there because it’s a Friday so their shifts overlap for the dinner rush before Seokjin will close down for the night. And he saw Hoseok out taking care of a few customers, but he’s unsure if Hoseok was working the earlier shift or if he took Jimin’s shift so the younger man could set up for the party. He hopes it’s the latter, he worries who would come to replace him if he worked the earlier shift. 

He gives him a nod of acknowledgement before focusing again on the grill as Seokjin gets ready for his shift. He had seriously considered skipping the party later since he’s closing and it means he’d get there late. But it’s Jimin’s party and not only would the younger harass him until he came, he also knows it’ll go late into the evening and so his closing shift won’t affect anything. But the late time does mean that he decided to wear his costume to work, well one of them. He has a second one in his car, a stupid idea just in case you happened to wear Peach again. He knows it’s fairly unlikely, but he supposes that the Mario costume sitting on the car seat is at least a little comforting. Maybe an easy way for him to possibly ask you out. Or just embarrass himself. At least it’ll be at a party and he can drink himself silly when he gets rejected. 

But for now, he’s content with his costume. It at least won’t get a snarky comment from you comparing him to Bob Belcher. Because he actually put a little thought into this costume and he’s pretty proud that he managed to pull together such a good Geralt costume. His hair currently being bleach blond also helped give him the idea. The wig for proper accuracy and sword are in his car, they seemed a little impractical to work in, but the rest of the costume was pretty comfortable. The higher waisted pants are different but he thinks they’re pretty flattering and form fitting and the shirt is just billowy enough to give the illusion that he’s a little buffer than he really is. 

The most telling part of the costume is the wolf head medallion hung around his neck. Which he hopes people recognize for what it is and don’t just think he’s wearing some fancy, period style clothes. Plus wearing it now meant that he didn’t have to change either at work while trying to close or show up to the party and change there. And he’s incredibly thankful that Jungkook, nerd that he is, not only had a sword for him to borrow, but actually had a replica specifically of Geralt’s sword. 

Seokjin tugs his apron from the rack, back to the door when he hears it open. He hears Yoongi let out a low whistle. 

“I don’t know who’s attention you’re trying to catch, but consider it caught.” 

Seokjin turns, curious as to who and what Yoongi is talking about and he feels his breath catch in his throat. Because apparently fate is cruel and has decided that you of course would pick up Jimin’s shift and would be the one who closes with him. He licks his lips as his gaze slowly trails over you. 

He doesn’t even know what to take in first. Your black dress is low cut and short, your legs covered in lacy floral tights. But the most distracting part is the glittering body cage that sits over your dress. It cages your breasts in and accentuates them even more than the dress, extended up your chest to form a collar around your throat. Thinner strips cover your shoulders and upper arms, forming a parody of sleeves. The strands curve around your hips, the ends coming together to form a point that just touches the hem of the dress. 

A medallion hangs at your throat, the circular bronze marked with a starburst. You grin at Yoongi as you slip a lace mask on that sits delicately over your eyes. He realizes that you’re dressed as Yennifer. God and not just any outfit, a much skimpier version of the outfit from the orgy scene of all scenes. How is he supposed to survive this shift now?

There’s no way that you knew what he was wearing. This just has to be all a weird coincidence. A very very weird coincidence that has rendered him completely speechless. You glance at him with the ghost of a smile on your lips as you take a seat to swap your ankle boots out for your skates. He gets another brief glance before you’re skating out to join Hoseok outside.

“You’ve got it bad, dude.”

Seokjin jerks at the words, tearing his gaze from your ass to glare at Yoongi. “What are you talking about?”

Yoongi gives him a flat look. “Come on, everyone can see your massive crush on her.” Seokjin shoots a worried glance to where you stand talking to a car and Yoongi gives a chuckle and shake of his head. “Okay, maybe everyone but her. But dude, come on. How long are you going to pine for? Just go for it already.”

“But-”

“There is no but here dude. It wouldn’t make work awkward and it’s very clearly not one-sided. Just ask her.” 

Seokjin huffs. He wants to believe Yoongi, he really does. But he worries that you only flirt with him to see his ears turn red and to tease him. You flirt with the others too and it’s hard to tell if you are just flirty in a friendly way or if you truly want more. And he’d hate to make you uncomfortable at work by making a move on you. He turns and chooses instead to ignore Yoongi for the remainder of their shared shift. It’ll get busy anyway so it’s not like he’ll have to try too hard to avoid any further conversation on the topic of you. Something Seokjin would very much like to keep out of his mind given if he thinks about you for too long, it’s going to go straight to your outfit and he doesn’t really need to pop another boner at work while trying to cook. 

Seokjin gets through almost his entire shift with his sanity intact. There’s 30 minutes until close and there’s only one table here. They seem interested in only getting some drinks, so Seokjin takes the opportunity to slip his apron off and begins cleaning up and getting some of the closing duties out of the way so that he can get out of here sooner and go get very drunk at Jimin’s party and try to pretend that he didn’t nearly see your ass tonight when you bent over in front of him earlier. There was a flash of skin from beneath your skirt and Seokjin had to go spend a few minutes in the freezer. When he came out you looked far too amused.

Seokjin glances out the window, realizing that you haven’t been back inside for a little while and worrying that maybe something happened. But all he sees is you chatting with a table of guys. He’s about to get back to cleaning when one of the guys reaches out to run his fingers down your arm. There’s a coy smile on your face and Seokjin clenches his jaw. He glances at the clock. 5 minutes. 

He debates just kicking them out now. It’s not like Namjoon would fire him for it. He doubts they would even bother complaining beyond making a fuss before they leave. But then your hand comes up to touch his shoulder, just for a moment, and Seokjin’s resolve snaps. He snatches their receipt from the counter where you left it and stalks out of the building. 

You glance up at the sound of the door, smiling a little when you see Seokjin exiting. You and the group of guys startle slightly when he slams his hand onto the table, revealing the bill when he pulls away. 

“We’re closed,” he snarls, grabbing you and directing you back inside. 

You stumble slightly, skates leaving you slightly off balance for the sudden movement but you manage to steady yourself by grabbing Seokjin’s bicep with your free hand and allow him to pull you along inside. He leaves you at the counter as he stomps to the back, muttering something under his breath. You look back outside, seeing the guys exchanging confused looks but they place some money on the table and shuffle off, likely not wanting to see what else Seokjin does when he gets angry. 

You squirm slightly, you’ve never seen him so angry, it’s incredibly hot. Especially with him dressed as Geralt tonight. You wait patiently, watching as the outside lights are shut off and then most of the inside ones as well, casting the kitchen in a faint blue glow from the auxiliary lights that remain on no matter what. 

A moment later Seokjin returns, face set in a harsh look of displeasure. You fight down a grin at pushing him far enough to finally get a reaction. He pauses in front of you, glancing behind you briefly, likely to check that the men have actually left. There’s a soft hum from him that makes your lips twitch up in a small smile and when he catches sight of it, his eyes darken. 

“Something amusing to you, sweetheart?” His cold tone sends a shiver down your spine. 

You blink up at him with faux innocence. “Nothing at all, Jinnie.”

His gaze trails slowly over your face and then he’s reaching and removing the delicate lace mask from your face and tossing it to the counter behind you. 

“I don’t think you’re being honest with me,” he murmurs. He leans forward and your breath catches in your throat, thinking he’s going to kiss you, but he bypasses your mouth, lips brushing your ear as he continues to speak. “I think you did this on purpose and you find it very amusing.”

Your body tingles at his tone, at the way he laces a threat into the seemingly innocuous words. He leans back and you only get a second to admire his smirk before he’s spinning you around and pushing your upper half down against the counter. It takes you a second to get your feet under you with the skates hindering you slightly, but you manage to get yourself stabilized and balanced on your toe stops. 

You plant your hands on the counter to keep stable and glance over your shoulder, only to have your face roughly turned forward once more towards the window. It’s dark out and you know it would be hard to see into the dim windows from the street, but if anyone happens to walk closer, they’d be able to see everything. The thought sends a thrill through you. A hand lands on your ass, cushioned by your dress, but the sudden impact still draws a gasp from your lips. 

“I think,” Jin pauses, fingers trailing lightly across the curve of your ass, “that you have planned all of this with just me in mind, hm?” You don’t know whether he actually wants you to respond or not, but he continues before you can voice anything. “I think someone has been a very bad girl,” the hand on your ass stops and his fingers dig into the flesh harshly. “And that someone needs to be punished,” he finishes with a hiss. 

His hand lands another smack on your ass, a little harder this time, and you feel the slight sting heat your skin. You feel your panties dampen and you squirm as well as you can given the way you have to hold your feet still lest you slip. His hands grope at your cheeks before they slide down enough for him to hook his thumbs under the fabric and he tugs the hem of your dress up and over your ass. 

The hands pause then tighten around the fabric of your dress and you hear him swear under his breath at the sight of your ass clad in black lacy panties, ones that closely resemble your mask, and framed by the lace garter straps of your tights. 

“Fuck… You really did plan this all out…” His hand leaves you again before coming down with a resounding smack, no longer padded by your dress and your thin panties do little to cushion the blow. A moan slips from your lips and Seokjin lets out a dark chuckle. “Oh, are you enjoying your punishment? Well, we’ll just have to fix that, hm?”

He spanks you again, harder this time and you whimper. He hums in approval, hand smoothing over the smarting skin for a moment before he spanks the other cheek just as hard. Your toes curl in your skates at the pleasure-pain that shoots through you. 

Seokjin tsks. “Hm, this just won’t do.” He mutters, seemingly more to himself because you have no idea what he could be thinking until his hand grabs the back of your panties, gathering a fistful of the fabric. It elastic pulls tight across your hips, digging into the skin to the point of discomfort. You whine, trying to push your hips up to relieve the sting but Seokjin just moves with, keeping his grip tight. Then he’s pulling harder, the elastic digging painfully into your skin followed by the sound of seams ripping. A final tug and the fabric tears completely, leaving your ass and pussy bear to Seokjin’s gaze. 

A shudder ripples through you at the display. You can’t believe he just ripped your panties off. You can’t believe how much the action turns you on too. 

A pleased noise rumbles in his chest as the scrap of lace is slipped into his pocket. “That’s much better.”

His hands are back on your ass, no barrier to keep you from feeling the warmth from his palms and the slightly roughened fingertips as they skim across your skin. You push into the touch, greedy for more of the soothing strokes. He chuckles, fingers slipping beneath the garter straps. He tugs them away from your skin before releasing them to let them snap against your skin. 

“Seokjin-” you start, only to be quickly cut off by a sharp smack. 

“Bad girls don’t get to speak unless spoken too, slut.”

You swallow, pussy clenching at his tone. Of all the things you imagined, you never quite imagined something like this. His hand smooths across your skin for a moment before delivering another spank. 

“How many more do you think you deserve, slut?” he muses, hand remaining where it landed with his last smack. 

“I-”

Another smack. “That was rhetorical. I don’t actually take the opinions of sluts.” His hand rubs at your warmed skin for a moment in thought. “I think 20 sounds fair. For all your little stunts with those costumes. For flirting with other guys where I can see. For teasing.” He pauses for a moment and when he speaks again, the harsh edge is gone. “Green means continue, yellow for slow down, and red I stop. Okay?”

It takes you a second to realize what he’s said and then you’re quickly nodding, excitement mounting at what could possibly be to come.

“I need words, princess,” he murmurs, voice softer than it has been since he brought you inside and it makes you melt a little. 

“Yes, I understand.”

“That’s the first time you’ve been good all night, sweetheart.” You can hear the smirk in his voice and it makes you clench at the mean implications that come with such a simple statement. “But now let’s see if you can keep your good girl streak going while you get punished.” Both hands leave you and you want to turn around and look at him, see what he’s doing, but you feel it will only prompt further punishment. “I want you to count. And if you miss one, then we start all over again, got it?”

You’re nodding before he even finishes speaking, trying your best to keep from squirming. “Yes, sir.”

He chuckles. “Such a good girl now,” he coos.

And then his hand is coming down on your ass, softer than his previous smacks and the gentleness makes you gasp. He pauses and waits and you belatedly let a 'one' slip from your lips. He hums in approval and delivers a smack to the other cheek, still just as soft and you murmur a quiet 'two.'

You squirm. You'd expected more harsh hits and the contrast has you aching for him to go a little rougher with you. He smacks again and again. Every slap of his palm against you only adds to the growing pleasurable sting that radiates across the whole surface of your ass.

He stops when he gets to ten, hands rubbing over the warm flesh. "Color?"

"Green, so green," you whine, pushing your ass back into his hands.

He chuckles. "You're so eager for your punishment that I'm starting to think that it might not be a very good punishment." His hand comes down, much harder than any previous spank and you cry out. "Ah, there we go."

Seokjin sounds so indifferent when he speaks, like he's not even bothered by your bare ass and the noises that slip from you with every connection. You wish you could see his face, see if there is any reaction he has. You want to see the indifference as he’s faced with your bare, dripping pussy and spank warmed ass. The next four spanks are just as harsh and tears gather, threatening to fall. It's so pleasurably painful that you can feel yourself dripping down your thighs. He gives you another small reprieve, hands ghosting along your smarting skin as you pant against the counter.

"Hm, there we go, that’s much better. Color?"

You squeeze your eyes closed, taking a moment to try to gather your foggy thoughts. You feel a few tears drip down your cheeks. "G-green."

His fingers dig into your ass then and you whine as you try to squirm away from the sudden flare of pain. Seokjin just chuckles again and digs his fingers in more. He pulls your cheeks apart and you gasp at being suddenly far more exposed. You clench at the burst of cool air across your asshole and pussy, and Seokjin just holds you like that for a long taunting moment. And then he surprises you further by spitting, the glob of spit hitting just above your asshole and beginning to slide down your crack.

You shudder, a moan slipping from your lips as Seokjin halts the spit from sliding too far by pressing his thumb to your hole. You feel yourself go boneless at the pressure. He hums in delight at the way you relax at only a little prodding.

"Oh? Do you like something in your ass too? My, what a naughty girl," he teases, mocking edge making you whine and press further against his thumb.

His thumb circles, pressing lightly against the tight ring of muscle, slowly spreading his saliva around. He plays with your hole, massaging it for a few moments before he's pulling away. He spanks you again and you tense up at the sudden flip from soft rubbing back to the harsh slaps.

"Didn't think I forgot about the rest of your punishment, did you?"

You quickly shake your head. You actually had forgotten that he said twenty and that you still have five left. But you can't let him know how distracted you had been by him playing with your ass. That you forgot you were being punished. That didn’t seem like it would go over well with him. Tears gather in your eyes as his hand lands again, breath punched from you as the pain builds with each swat of his hand.

Your throat feels rough when you finally croak out, 'twenty.'

His hands completely leave you and you tremble against the counter, struggling to keep yourself upright with your legs nearly boneless. You feel warm and floaty all over. 

"Fuck, you look so good like that." You preen at the praise but he’s quick to laugh. And the mocking, mean edge of it has you whining. "You're absolutely dripping. Did you even learn anything from your punishment? Or did you just enjoy it?"

You jolt when his fingers brush against your tender ass before they trail down to your pussy, running the length of your slit and gathering some of your wetness on his fingertips. His fingers leave you once more and a second later you hear him suck his fingers clean.

He groans. "Fuck, I wasn't planning on doing this as part of your punishment but you taste far too good to not give myself a little treat. It is Halloween after all." You can hear the growing smirk when he continues. "Oh, I have a much better idea now anyway."

His fingers trace your pussy lips and you shift, mindlessly trying to get them where you want them. They pull away and Seokjin delivers a quick smack to your pussy, jolting your body at the sudden burst of pain across your sensitive cunt and forcing a surprised yelp from your lips.

"Behave."

You pout, though you assume he can't see it. That is until you glance up at the storefront and see your reflections in the window and the predatory way that Seokjin stares at you. His grin is feral when you make eye contact, like he's been waiting for you to finally look up and realize that he can see your face as well. He keeps staring at you as his fingers slip through your folds again before he lets one slide inside you.

You moan at the intrusion, but it's not enough. You want more already, body warmed from the teasing and spanking already. He’s barely touched your pussy and you’re already so desperate for him. You clench around his finger, hips pushing back to try to get him deeper. He removes his hand again to land another smack to your pussy, dangerously close to your clit. You moan.

"Fuck, you're so dirty. You like getting your slutty pussy spanked just as much as your little ass?"

You nod, desperate to get more of something, anything he's willing to give you. Simply hoping that by agreeing will get you something. Seokjin spanks your pussy again, this time directly over your clit and you cry out, legs nearly giving out beneath you as the pleasure-pain sensation alights your nerves. His finger circles your entrance slowly before slipping inside once again.

"Seokjin please..."

He drags his finger out slowly before thrusting it back in just as slowly, letting you feel every inch of the digit. "What is it? Please what? If you're going to beg, you're going to beg like a proper slut and use. Your. Words." He punctuates the last three words a harsh thrust of his finger after each one, leaving it buried once he's done speaking.

"Please... Wan-" Your voice breaks as his finger presses searchingly against your walls, finding your g-spot quickly and rubbing against the bundle. The action robs you of all thought, losing track of what you had been saying.

"Yes?" He questions mockingly, like he's not distracting you and making it hard for you to form a coherent thought. "Please what?"

You groan, head dropping forward to press your forehead against the cool countertop. The slight chill that seeps through your sweaty skin grounds you a bit. Enough to string together some words. "Want... Wanna cum, please let me cum..."

Seokjin presses more firmly against your spot and your whole body trembles at the wave of pleasure that washes through you, pushing you closer to orgasm.

"Oh? Do you think you deserve that?"

You nod quickly, squeaking when Seokjin removes his finger to slap your pussy again, the only reminder you get to speak. "Yes, yes... Was good and counted the whole time."

He hums thoughtfully. "I suppose you did. So you want to cum, slut?"

You squirm as his fingers tease alone your folds. It’s maddeningly light, nowhere near enough to push you over the edge. "Yes, please, wanna cum, Seokjin..."

His answering hum should send up red flags but he slips two fingers into your pussy, rubbing immediately across your g-spot with each thrust of his hand and you sink immediately into the pleasure it sends through you. You writhe and his free hand comes up to press against your back, pinning you more securely to the counter. It just makes you writhe more, push the boundaries and feel him press you just a little harder into the unmoving counter. 

His thumbs slips forward on the next thrust to brush against your clit. Your belly tightens with every thrust and stroke of his fingers, orgasm rapidly approaching.

“You’re tightening around me so much. Is my little slut close?”

Your nod jerkily, hips twitching as you rock against his fingers. “S-so close…”

Seokjin stops with one last harsh thrust, switching instead to rubbing incessantly at your g-spot while his thumb circles your clit. “Then be a good fucking slut and cum,” he growls. 

He grabs your hair, tugging your head up so that you're forced to stare at his reflection once more. The look on his face makes you shudder and your pussy clenches around his fingers. Your mouth drops open at the feral look in his eyes and the way he seems wholly consumed by watching your every twitch and reaction. One more twist of his fingers has you crying out his name, toes curling in your skates as he pushes you over the edge. His hand releases your hair, a look of warning keeps you from letting your head drop, and his hand comes down in another spank against your ass and you jolt at the added sensation as your orgasm floods your body.

His fingers work you through your orgasm, slowing only marginally as you shake beneath him. You whine when overstimulation starts to take over but you make no moves to stop his movements. The extra sensitivity only adds to the pleasure that still licks away at your veins.

"Wow, too much and you're not even gonna stop me? Fuck, you really are a dirty, needy little slut."

You whine again, pushing your hips back onto his fingers, drawing an amused huff from him. He thumbs your clit roughly, causing your knees to nearly give out, before he's removing his fingers entirely and you pout at the sudden empty feeling you're left with. His hand slips back into your hair, tightening and pulling your head further back so your chest lifts slightly from the counter and you gasp as your attention is pulled back to his reflection. He smirks at you for a moment and then he's releasing you once more. You collapse against the counter, struggling slightly to keep your footing. 

You're suddenly very much regretting the fact that you have to wear skates at work because it's proving to be very dangerous. You wish you could stop and take them off, but you’re certain that Seokjin wants them on for the fact that it keeps you nearly immboile against the counter. You can’t deny that for the struggle to remain upright aside, being forced to stay like this because of your footwear is just another layer to the arousal that has yet to leave you. 

Seokjin's body blankets your's for a moment as he leans over to press a kiss to your shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll give you exactly what you need."

You have no time to question him because he's straightening once more and then his reflection disappears entirely as he drops to his knees behind you. Your throat feels dry as you wait for him to touch you again but the seconds stretch and he does nothing. You squirm, imagining what he must be seeing from his new position behind you, your pussy spread and dripping, hole twitching with the last vestiges of your orgasm. The way your thighs quiver as you force yourself to remain upright.

Embarrassment heats you at being stared at but the moment your legs start to close to attempt to hide yourself, Seokjin's hands grip your thighs, keeping you spread for his gaze to consume. He hums in appreciation, thumbs brushing your folds as he pulls your lips apart to get a better look at your dripping cunt. His breath ghosts across the sodden skin and you think that he's going to finally put his mouth on you but he surprises you when he lips brush gently against your ass.

"S-seokjin?"

He ignores you, peppering kisses across both cheeks, tongue slipping out occasionally to lave across areas made more sensitive by his spanking. He releases your pussy, hands sliding further up to cup your ass, massaging the flesh while his lips move across. It's nothing short of worship and you find yourself quickly getting lost in the attention.

By all means, it shouldn't be as hot as it is. He's barely even doing anything. Just kneading the flesh softly as his lips and tongue ghost across your skin. But every touch sends a spark of electricity up your spine. You wish you could see him, how he must look on his knees, the look on his face. Whether his brow is pinched in concentration like it does when he’s working or if it's relaxed as he takes his time with you.

The first pass of his lips over your asshole draws a soft sigh from you and you can feel the smile that tugs at his lips with his next kiss to your cheeks. He takes his time, only putting the lightest of touches to your hole as he showers attention across your ass. Your mind feels foggy, equal parts on edge for his next move and lulled into complacency by his gentle movements. You trust him to give you what you need, even if you don’t know what it is yet. 

His tongue darts out, circling the tightened ring of muscle with more pressure than he's used before and it causes your entire body to shake. He drifts away again and a whimper slips from your lips at the loss. He moves back to your hole quicker this time, each pass and circle of his tongue coming closer together as he goes.

His fingers dig into your ass, drawing a hiss from you at the flare of pain, and he pulls your cheeks apart. He stops there for a moment and you feel your hole clench at the focused attention.

Seokjin chuckles. "Needy little slut," he coos and then he spits directly onto your hole again.

You moan, feeling as it slowly slides down your ass until it meets your pussy and gets lost in the mess of your slick. He blows cool air where he spat and goosebumps break out across your skin. He blows again and then his mouth is closing over your hole, the sudden warmth has you crying out. Seokjin just hums, tongue tracing your hole.

You shift and Seokjin tightens his grip on your ass, keeping you still and you clench at the casual display of power. He keeps the pressure of his tongue light, enough for you to feel it but keeping you aching for more. And god do you ache for more, his teasing keeps the fire in your belly at just a simmer and you want to be consumed. Your previous orgasm is proving to be nowhere near enough as your clit throbs with need. Seokjin continues his slow pace despite your weak attempts to get him to do something.

He pulls away slightly, breath ghosting over you as he speaks. "If you need something slut, you know how to ask."

And then he dives back in, tongue continuing it's tortuously slow path around your hole. You open your mouth to speak, but Seokjin's tongue dips just inside your hole and you groan at the sudden change. He alternates between slow sweeps of his tongue around your rim and wiggling his tongue just a little deeper into you. The stretch isn't enough to hurt, not with how relaxed his previous attention has left you, and you find yourself wishing that there was just the slightest bit more stretch.

Seokjin's words come back to you and you swallow as you try to articulate your needs to him. "S-seokjin... Need more, please..."

He hums but makes no move to do anything about your whining. He's methodical and it's almost worse than the spanking in how torturous it is.

"Please... Fuck, Seokjin, please, please, please..."

Your begging seems to be what he was waiting for because one of his hands slides from your ass to trace along your slit. You moan at the contact, not expecting him to go for your pussy but you let out a happy noise as a pleasurable shiver runs through you. His fingers find your clit and he runs his fingers around it for a brief second before he’s pinching the sensitive bud. 

You cry out, thighs trying to close instinctively, but Seokjin’s body prevents you from moving them closer than an inch. You feel his smirk against your ass as he pinches again. You whimper, the pain sending sparks of pleasure through your body. He switches to circling your clit, soothing the painful throb he created and it lulls you into a false sense of security for when he thrusts his tongue as deep as he can into your ass. 

You choke on a moan as he thrusts his tongue in again, pairing it with another, slightly more gentle, pinch to your clit. You press your face to the counter, struggling to catch your breath amongst the assault of sensations that Seokjin lavishes upon you. But your attempts are nearly useless as he constantly changes what he’s doing, giving you no time to get used to anything and managing to surprise you with every single twist of his fingers and every thrust and curl of his tongue. 

While you struggle to keep yourself upright, you can feel your orgasm steadily building from the constant attention of his mouth and the abuse to your clit. It’s only a matter of time before you cum again. But you know you can’t, not without his okay, although the thoughts that flit through your mind of possible punishments for cumming without permission are incredibly enticing. That can wait for another day. 

“G-gonna… Gonna cum, can I cum? Please, Seokjin… p-please let me cum…” you babble, feeling that knot inside you continuing to tighten and you can only try to stop it for so long. 

He pulls away, teeth nipping at the underside of your ass while his fingers continue to play with your clit. His mouth drifts a little lower and his teeth dig into the meat of your thigh. 

“Please!” you shudder, the added pain pushing you much faster towards your end.

His tongue traces soothingly over where he just bit, but he remains maddeningly silent. You blink away tears, though you’re not sure if they’re from the pain, frustration, or pleasure. 

“Please…” you whimper. 

He shifts to the other cheek, biting down again and you’re so close to cumming now. His tongue soothes the spot once more and you feel your body tensing with the first inklings of orgasm.  

But just as you reach the edge, nearly toppling over into the pleasure, Seokjin is pulling his hands and mouth away from your body, stopping your orgasm in its tracks. 

You let out a sob, a pitiful, whiny ‘no’ slipping from your lips as a few tears slide down your cheeks as your orgasm slowly slips through your fingers. 

“I don’t recall saying you could cum.” His hand comes down on your ass, right on top of where he bit. 

“I a-asked… Please, I was good.”

“You asked, but I didn’t say yes, slut.” His hand swats at your pussy next and you nearly cum from the action with how on edge you are. 

Seokjin seems to notice if his dark snicker is anything to go by. “Oh? You liked that? Seems you liked it a lot, you made such a mess of my fingers.” He slaps your pussy again and it jolts you closer to orgasm again. “Think you could cum just from me spanking your slutty little pussy? Fuck, I want to try. Do you want that, dirty girl?”

You nod without thinking. You’d do just about anything if it means you get to cum. And the sting only makes the pleasure feel all the better. “Please…”

You hear him shuffle for a moment, the sound of fabric rustling, before he’s nipping at your ass again, leaving teasing stings until his tongue can swirl around your asshole once more. His hand slaps your pussy the same time that his tongue slips back into your tight hole. You gasp and he starts alternating thrusts of his tongue with smacks to your clit.

Your body feels wound tight, every sensation that Seokjin showers on you sending you so much closer to the edge. It feels like you and Seokjin have been doing this for years with how well he seems to be able to read your body. You cry out as Seokjin pinches your clit once more, thighs quivering with the effort it takes to keep you standing.

Seokjin's tongue slips from your hole, but he remains close, lips brushing the sensitive furl as he speaks. "Come on, slut. We both know you can cum from this. Be good and let go for me."

His tongue circles your hole slowly and then it's slipping back in and he picks up a fast pace of fucking you with his tongue, interspersed with slaps and pinches to your clit, seemingly using no method and keeping you on your toes in guessing what will come next. Your high crests from the mixture of pleasure and pain and you cum with a sob, pussy clenching around nothing. Seokjin's fingers press to your clit as the first ripples of your orgasm rush through you and he skillfully draws your orgasm out for as long as possible. Your body feels electrified, pushed into overstimulation but your breath has been completely robbed from you with how good everything feels too, at the way Seokjin so easily manipulates your body to his every whim.

Slowly, he pulls his mouth and fingers from you, sitting back on his heels. You pant against the counter, hot air blowing back into your sweaty face but you're too exhausted to care. You kind of just want to slide off the counter and lay down on the floor, even though it's the kitchen floor and is probably gross. Seokjin pats your ass and it somehow feels condescending and you feel your pussy give a weak twitch.

"Enjoying yourself, slut?" All you can muster is a pitiful whine, which draws a snicker from him. "I certainly hope you are, because we're far from over."

You whine again. You honestly don't know if you could take more. Your body has never been so worked over without actually being fucked too. You don't even know what else he could do short of fucking you finally. Which had been the goal of this whole game to begin with, but he's far surpassed your expectations. Maybe you should push his buttons more often if it results in being so utterly ruined. You definitely know that no one else will ever be able to make you feel as good as he has. Seokjin's hands rub soothingly at your thighs and the action is so grounding that you feel a little dizzy.

"Color, sweetheart?" His voice is soft and gentle, so different from the mean tone that's been coloring it until now.

It takes you a moment to be able to speak, but you manage to get out a raspy 'green.'

"Need any water or a break?"

You think about it for a moment. You could take a break. Maybe take your skates off. But you really don't want to either. There's something about not being able to move that makes it even better, makes you feel powerless even though Seokjin has plainly handed you all the power here. You just want more. 

You shake your head. "I'm good."

His hands massage at your thighs for a few more moments before his fingers dig harshly into the newly relaxed muscle. You gasp and he gives a chuckle. "What a good little slut you're being now."

"Yes... 'm good."

Seokjin chuckles darkly. "That remains to be seen. You haven't even gotten my cock yet and you can barely even speak properly anymore. Not so cocky now, huh?"

He gives your ass a quick swat, it's far more teasing than meant to cause you any pain. His hands slide up your thighs until they just meet your ass and then his thumbs are pulling your soaking folds apart with a groan. Mirroring his earlier actions, he blows cool air across your pussy and you shudder at the way it feels against your heated cunt. His tongue lightly traces your folds and he lets out a contented noise like he’s tasting the most exquisite dish he’s ever eaten. 

Then he’s licking a wide stripe up your slit and you cry out, pussy so sensitive after two orgasms already. Seokjin eats you out like a starving man, tongue working over every inch of your pussy, mapping every spot that makes you twitch and moan. You writhe, or at least you try your best with Seokjin’s hands holding your ass and keeping your lower half mostly immobile. 

Seokjin pulls back with a smack of his lips. “For such a little devil, you certainly taste like heaven.” He snickers before diving back in. 

His plump lips wrap around your clit, tongue flicking lightly at the nub before he sucks. Fire simmers in your veins and you’re surprised at how quickly your orgasm builds again when he’s barely done anything just yet. He suckles lightly, pleasure surging through you. Releasing your clit with a pop, his tongue drags agonizingly slowly up to circle your entrance. He’s methodical, tracing around your hole with just the right amount of pressure before dipping back down to mouth at your clit and then back again. 

You feel yourself dripping, Seokjin noisily lapping up all that you have to give him. Seokjin’s fingers massage up to your ass, digging in and sending a spark of pleasure through you from the sting his grip brings. A hand abandons your ass, finger joining his mouth on your cunt. They work in tandem, fingers toying with your clit while he licks into your pussy. Then they switch, two fingers slipping deep inside you as his lips wrap around you clit once more. 

Time slips away from you, your mind hazy and body on edge as Seokjin plays with your pussy to his heart’s content. His tongue presses at your hole with a little more force and then his teeth graze the sensitive skin and you moan. You feel his smile when he presses his lips against you next and then his tongue is sliding into you. You moan as his fingers pinch at your clit at the same time. 

Heat pools in your belly as he starts fucking his tongue into you and you babble as you feel your orgasm rising as his fingers circle your clit, begging to cum again. He gives you a gentle pat on the ass with his free hand which you assume is meant to be his form of permission since he seems to not want to remove his mouth from your cunt. His fingers move faster and you teeter on the edge. You’re so close. So close that it’s driving you delirious with pleasure. But you just can’t quite get there, missing something that you can’t even fathom let alone ask for. 

Seokjin, ever perspective, seems to know exactly what you need as he slips a finger in with his tongue, pressing down on your g-spot and making you cry out. The insistent pressure combined with the fingers on your clit and tongue still thrusting into sends you over the edge. Bliss floods your body and you feel yourself gush around Seokjin’s tongue and fingers. He drinks up what he can before he’s pulling his mouth away with a curse. 

“Fuck, what a messy fucking slut. You made such a mess squirting, you little whore. I just cleaned these floors. I should make you lick them clean.” You clench around his fingers at his words and he lets out a dark chuckle. “Fuck you like that? Of course you would, you wouldn’t be my dirty little slut otherwise.”

His fingers continue their ministrations and you whine that it’s too much. Seokjin pays you no mind, slipping another finger into you. 

“Come on, slut. I know you can cum again.”

You shake your head. “C-can’t… not… No more…” You squirm, trying your best to get away from the relentless pressure against your clit and g-spot. 

His fingers slow for a moment. “Color?”

You swallow. It hurts, but not necessarily in a bad way. It doesn’t feel like it’d be too much to go on. You’ve never been pushed so far and there’s a thrill that runs through you when you think about discovering what exactly your body can take, even more excited that Seokjin is the one to test the bounds and that he makes sure to check in, to remind you that the safe words are there if it’s too much. You trust him to listen if you need to slow down. But you don’t want to, not right now.

You can feel your wetness literally dripping down your thighs and seeping into your tights makes you feel warm all over, overcome with a need to see how soaked they could get. “G-green, please…”

Seokjin hums, fingers picking their pace back up. “There’s my good little slut. Come on, cum for me like a good little whore.”

His mouth latches onto you again and you shudder, body still worked up from your squirting orgasm that it takes so little effort for Seokjin to push you over the edge again. Your mouth drops open on a soundless scream, pussy convulsing as you gush around his fingers, wetness dripping down his hand and to the floor. You whimper and Seokjin carefully slips his fingers from you. He laps gently at your folds, just enough to send tingles of pleasure up your spin.

He pulls away with a groan. “I could eat you out all night.”

You’re torn between imagining the idea and fearing for your poor pussy if he were to actually do that. He stands and you lift your head enough to look at his reflection when it comes back into view. Your breath catches in your throat when your gaze is met with his bare chest. You have no idea when he had stripped his shirt off and you mourn the fact that you didn’t get to see and appreciate the sight more. He shifts slightly and his chin and chest glistens and you feel your body heat with embarrassment when you realize that you were the cause of that. He meets your gaze and winks.

“Think you’re ready for my cock, slut?”

You whine. You honestly don’t know how much more you can handle, but at the same time, you absolutely have to have him inside you. “Please, Seokjin, please… want it.”

His hands give your ass a quick squeeze before they’re leaving you and you can see him focusing on his pants. You curse your current position and the fact that it keeps you from being able to see his cock in all its glory. You know it’s got to be beautiful. It’d be criminal if it wasn’t. 

He smacks your ass with his cock, leaving a smear of precum across the skin. God, how long has he been hard for? How did he hold out for this long? You squirm and he chuckles. 

“Beg a little more, slut.”

You wiggle your ass, pouting. “Please, Seokjinnie… Please, I want it. Want your cock, wanted it for so long… Please I-”

Seokjin cuts your begging off as he roughly thrusts into you. You cry out, hands scrambling for purchase against the counter as his cock stretches you out all at once. He’s huge, so much bigger than you ever dared imagine. Long and girthy and so perfect to fill every inch of your pussy. You’re honestly not sure how he fits, you feel full to bursting with him buried to the hilt in your cunt. You wished you’d gotten to take your time with it, had him stuff it down your throat. The thought makes saliva pool in your mouth. You’re definitely going to repay the favor and worship his cock when you get the chance.

He swears. “Fuck… your cunt…”

His fingers dig into your hips as he holds himself still for a moment. Then he’s pulling out until just the tip remains before slamming back it, jolting you forward against the counter. Seokjin starts a fast pace, immediately overwhelming you and giving you almost no time to adjust to him. 

His grip tightens on your hips, enough to feel like it’ll be a bruise by morning. “Think you can cum again for me, slut? Cum on my cock for me, baby?”

You whine and shake your head. “N-no… please, can’t…”

Seokjin slams into you, draping himself over you and letting a hand snake around your throat. He waits, giving you a chance to say no to this and when he receives no denial, he squeezes lightly. You gasp and he squeezes a little tighter. You feel lightheaded and if it wasn’t for Seokjin’s body pinning you to the counter, you’d probably slide to the floor. Keeping his grip on your throat, he grinds into you, savoring the way your pussy clenches around him.

He loosens his hold slightly and meets your gaze in the window. “You’re going to cum for me again. And your pretty little cunt is gonna milk every drop of cum I have to give you. How does that sound, baby? Want me to fill your slutty little cunt up?”

As much as you don’t want to, you honestly have no idea if your body is even capable of having another orgasm, you want to find out. And the thought of Seokjin fucking you full on top of it has you nodding to his words almost instantly. “Yes, please… Seokjin, please, fill me up…”

His hand tightens again and he gives you a pleased smirk. “You’re so well behaved now. Hard to believe how much of a naughty little brat you’ve been lately.” 

He switches from grinding to thrusting again, though his position over you means that his thrusts are shorter but no less rough. His other hand slides around to your front, fingers brushing your clit. You clench around him and receive a low moan from him as his grip on your throat loosens again. His fingers circle your clit and you can feel your orgasm quickly creeping up on you. You briefly wonder if it’s possible to die from too many orgasms. But then Seokjin nips at your neck, drawing your focus back to the way his cock drags along your walls and the filth he’s murmuring into your skin as his fingers work faster. 

It washes over you and you cum with a cry of his name, pussy convulsing around his cock. You feel his breath puff against your skin as his forehead presses to your shoulder. His hand falls away from your clit, planting itself once more on your hip as his thrusts pick up speed now that he’s chasing his own end. 

Seokjin’s hips stutter to a stop as he cums with a groan pressed to your skin. His cock twitches inside you as he empties himself in your pussy, filling you up. You sink against the counter, praactically purring in contentment at the flood of warmth that he releases within you. He pants against your skin for a long moment and you let your exhaustion slowly wash over you. You’d give anything for a bed right now and to never have to move again. 

Seokjin pushes himself up and then slowly slips out of you. You whine at the loss and you get a soft chuckle. His hands rub soothingly at your back before they come to rest on your waist. He gives you a squeeze.

“I’m gonna help you stand and get you sitting on the counter, okay?”

You groan. “Don’t wanna…”

Seokjin huffs a soft laugh. “I don’t care. I need to make sure you’re okay and we need to get your skates off.”

He starts moving you, though you know you aren’t much help with how jelly-like your limbs feel. He finally gets you seated on the counter and it takes all your remaining strength to stay sitting upright. You blink hazy eyes at Seokjin; he’s tucked himself back into his pants but they still remain undone, giving you the faintest glimpse of his cock. You pout, you’d wanted to see it. 

His hands cup your cheeks, directing your gaze to his eyes and you blink slowly at him. He gives you a soft smile. “There you are.” His thumbs stroke gently across your cheeks, wiping away the last bits of your tears. “Can you stay sitting up for me? I’m going to get you some water, okay?”

You nod, frowning when his hands leave your face. You want him to keep touching. He turns, grabbing a cup and quickly filling it with water. He hands it to you, helping you when it almost slips through your lax grip. He makes you drink half before he lets you set the cup down. He leans down and makes quick work of your skates, tugging them from your feet. You sigh in relief, feet flexing at finally being free from their confinements and a surprised noise leaves your lips when you feel his thumbs dig into the soles of your feet. He rubs each foot and you nearly fall asleep from the relaxation that slowly spreads through your system.  

Seokjin stands, his hands coming back up to cup your face. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” you croak out, lips pursing at how wrecked your voice comes out.

You can see Seokjin fight down a prideful grin as his thumbs stroke your cheeks. It’s silent for a few moments before he’s gasping and you give him a questioning look. He tuts, though you don’t know if it’s directed at you or himself.

“All that and I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

You giggle, he does all that and is worried about the fact that he didn’t kiss you at all. He tilts your head up, soft smile pulling at the corner of his lips. You blink at him for a moment, not expecting him to follow through with fixing that. But when he leans in, you let your eyes slip shut. The kiss is sweet and chaste, the complete opposite of everything that just happened. It lasts for just a moment and you ache to have more of the feel of his plush lips pressed against yours. 

He grins as he pulls away and then busies himself with finding your shoes and your bag, helping you into them. He presses a kiss to your forehead and presses the water back into your grip with the instruction to finish it. He slips his shirt back on, tucking it back into his pants and then he’s darting out the door. Which confuses and alarms you for a split second before you realize that he’s grabbing that money that then men had left on the table. 

He’s quick to cash the ticket out, slipping the hefty tip they left you into your purse before taking the drawer back to the office. He’s gone for a few minutes and you sip slowly at the water while you wait. Now that you’re alone, you wonder what all of that meant. If it was just a culmination of sexual tension and frustration or if there was something more there. Hoseok and Jimin have regularly pushed you to tell Seokjin how you feel. But you’ve always kept that hidden, not wanting to make work suddenly weird when this job and your coworkers are the best you’ve ever had.

And the costumes hadn’t gotten Seokjin to ask you out or offer to be the other half of the pair costumes despite the hints you tried dropping. Maybe he just wasn’t interested in that and just wanted a quick fuck. But some of his actions disprove that. Maybe he was just as nervous as you to ask. 

He reappears, pressing another kiss to your forehead as he takes the empty glass from you and sets it aside. 

“Think you can stand now?”

You shake your legs out experimentally. You certainly seem to have a little more control over them. “I can try.”

That draws an amused snort from him and he helps you down from the counter, hands not leaving you until he’s sure that you’re safe to stand on your own. You adjust your dress, pulling it back down and wincing slightly as the slightly rough material drags over your ass. Your bare ass. You glance around the floor. 

“Hey, where are my underwear?”

Seokjin’s back is to you as he wipes down the part of the counter you were just sitting on. “Oh, they’re completely ruined.” He glances at you over his shoulder with a smirk. “And mine now.”

You squirm, feeling some of his cum drip from your abused cunt. Well at least you’re just going home. You can make it that far. Not that they would’ve been much use to you ripped anyway. Maybe you should make him buy you a new pair. That request might come after the feelings talk though. 

Once he’s done, he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his chest and pressing a kiss to your hair. “Ready to go?”

You hum and nod. You are seriously ready to sleep for a day. You’re glad that you don’t work tomorrow. You don’t think Seokjin does either. Maybe you can entice him to stay the night and you could cook him breakfast before the two of you talk. 

Seokjin leads you out of the building, locking the door as you go, and guides you towards his car. Your’s is at home, though you’re not sure if Seokjin already knew that or is just directing you towards his car because he doesn’t trust you to drive right now. To be fair, you don’t think you could actually drive if you had to. You’re glad that you’d been planning to drink at the party and so you were just going to either catch a ride, stay at Jimin’s, or get an Uber so that your car isn’t left in the lot overnight. 

Once settled, he starts the car and pulls out of the lot. You frown watching him turn. 

“Seokjin, I live the other way.”

“I know.”

“And you live the other way.”

He smirks. “I know.”

You swallow. “Where are we going?”

“Well, it’s a shame for you to get all dressed up for a party and to not even go to show it off.”

“I can’t go to a party like this!” You only briefly caught sight of your full reflection but you know how fucked out you look. He can’t seriously be taking you to the party right now. 

Seokjin’s hand lands on your thigh. “You had no problem going to work like that.”

You whine and squirm, immediately squeezing your legs together when you feel another dribble of cum slip from you. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Seokjin just hums, driving the rest of the short distance to Jimin’s house in silence. You try your best to fix yourself up in the mirror so you don’t look completely ruined. It’s only slightly effective. You wish you had Yennifer’s powers, then you could just magic your way home. Would serve Seokjin right. 

He parks and helps you out of the car before reaching into the back for a wig and a sword. He adjusts both items and you look him over appraisingly. 

“At least you’ve got Geralt’s brutish personality down.” You tease. 

Seokjin takes your hand and presses a kiss to it before using it to lead you to the house. “I’d like to think I’m far more charming than him.”

You giggle. “That remains to be seen.”

The party is in full swing when you enter and it takes the both of you a few moments to find your friends. When you do, they all are quick to take in your appearance and the way Seokjin’s hand is wrapped around yours. Jimin crows victoriously, slapping Taehyung on the back.

“I told you! You owe me!”

You bury your face in Seokjin’s shoulder to hide your embarrassment. You just wanted to go home and cuddle. Seokjin’s lips brush your ear.

“If you promise to stay a while, we can get revenge on him and go fuck in his bed.”

#btsholidaybingo #bangtanarmynet #hyunglinenetwork #btsguild #kwritersworldnet #thekimlinenet #ksmutclub #magicshopnet #btswriterscollective #bangtanhq #bts x reader #bts smut #bts fanfic #seokjin x reader #seokjin smut #seokjin fanfic #jin x reader #jin smut #jin fanfic

[blazing-emblem]

FEH Height Chart (Book 1-4, Summoners)

Here I am, after 2 years?, finally back with an updated height chart!! These heights are based on if the character is standing straight up and with heels. If they’re slouching or bent over, that is not taken into consideration. For example, Helbini is slouched over in his art. How tall I put him in the chart is how tall he would be if he stood straight.

DISCLAIMER: While I do have proof for why most characters are as tall as they are in this chart, a few are still pretty vague about their heights, so I have given them estimations instead. These characters with vague heights are: Surtr, Hel, Eir, Freyr, Freyja, Plumeria, Triandra, Mirabilis, and Peony. Feel free to change these up to your liking!

Below are the proof and reasons of these heights. You don’t need to read it, but it’s here if you’re curious of what I have to say, like for example, why Loki and Thorr aren’t here, or why the cast of Book 5 was omitted, and others.

Any evidence I have taken is only of when characters are right next to each other, enough so that you can see their height differences without much distortions from perspective or weird angles.

Askr and Embla

I was lucky to find a FEHkoma chapter where these three are standing together. Anna is not present in any of the animations, so she was the hardest to figure out how tall she is for the longest time. In Three Houses, Anna is 168 cm (~5'6"), but since the Heroes cast has no definitive height listed like in 3H, it’s hard to compare. So this shot from one of the chapters was a good find. From tallest to shortest, Alfonse>Anna>Sharena

Now this might seem a bit of a stretch, but the reason why I took this as canon is that all of these heroes are drawn by different artists, thus giving them different proportions because they were drawn by different people. But IntSys scaled these artworks like this for a reason right? I had to move Lif and Thrasir a bit lower because their feet weren’t on the same level as the others, but other than that, these heights look valid.

Another evidence can be found in Dragalia Lost where both Alfonse and Veronica are right next to each other. In the Valentine’s Day screenshot, Veronica is around where Alfonse’s eyes would be, and in the screenshot below, that is about how tall she ends up.

Here are for Lif and Thrasir (clearer version), and one for Bruno and Veronica.

As for Alfonse and Sharena, it was noted in Book 2, that Sharena was quite short. But in Book 3, it seemed she grew a bit taller, so I took the latter version as the one being canon. You might say that’s Lif’s Sharena, and thus should be different than our Sharena, but the FEHkoma chapter above makes Sharena the same height as the one shown in Book 3.

The results of the Askran and Emblian height differences was interesting. Gustav is the tallest character, with Bruno following next, and then Lif. Among the adult ladies, Henriette is tallest, then Thrasir, then Anna.

Nifl and Muspell

This is the screenshot that shows how tall Fjorm is against the Askran siblings. Since Alfonse and Sharena are pretty much a solid place to compare heights to, it makes Fjorm’s height a good place to start for comparing the heights of the Book 2 characters.

This is also how tall Sharena was before Book 3.

These two artworks below were drawn by Shigeki Maeshima himself. As the artist of Book 2, how tall he draws his characters would be pretty valid. A nice thing that both Laevatein and Laegjarn were drawn against Fjorm.

And the last of the remaining Book 2 characters were luckily found in the FEHkoma.

Hrid and Helbindi are both taller than Leagjarn, however, both are a bit vague on how much exactly taller they are, so I made them both as tall as Lif. It works out because Ylgr, who is as tall as Helbindi’s chest area, is as tall as Gunnthra’s chin. And Gunnthra is a bit taller than Fjorm, who I have said before is a good place to start comparing heights to. 

As mentioned before, the only one who doesn’t have proof of their height is Surtr. It’s shown in the Book 2 trailer that is he quite tall, and even his sprite is the largest humanoid, biped sprite in the game so far. But that is all that’s known about his height. How tall he is to Alfonse, Sharena, or Fjorm is not clear. So I made him as tall as Gustav, who is the tallest proven character in the game.

Hel, Ljósálfheimr, and Dökkálfheimr

Now these characters...most of these are vague comparisons. Most of them have scenes together, but there are not against Alfonse or Sharena, hence why I said they have vague heights. Take these as a grain of salt.

Like with Surtr, I made Hel as tall as Gustav. Her body proportions in her art shows that she’s quite the lanky lady, which means she is tall. In the only scene she has with Alfonse with them "standing” (they are bent over), she is tall. Though how much exactly isn’t clear.

What we can know from Hel and Eir, is that Eir is as tall as Hel’s chin.

Same problem. These two have heights compared to each other, but not to either Alfonse or Sharena. So as a “base”, I just made Freyr as tall as Lif.

At least these next characters have some base, still not solid though.

In Dragalia Lost, Sharena mentions that Peony is nearly her size. Which backs up this scene in the Book 4 animation where Sharena walks in front of a mirror and Peony shows up instead of her reflection. You could say that this is to show that they switched places in the past, and the Sharena now could not be the true Sharena. Even in the Book 3 ending animation, when Veronica switched to Thrasir, their models were the same height, when it is now clear that Veronica is shorter than Thrasir. This was to show that they were the same person. That reasoning could apply here as well with Sharena and Peony.

But it’s something for Peony, so I went with it. I made Peony as tall as Sharena.

Now that we have some base for Peony, her scenes with Mirabilis and Triandra shows how tall they are in relation to the other characters.

In this scene with Mirabilis and Peony, there’s a bit of an angle and perspective that needs to be taken into consideration, but it wasn’t too drastic that I couldn’t use it. Because of perspective, Peony appears to be taller than Mirabilis, hence why I made Mirabilis as tall as Peony instead of shorter than her. 

And lastly, Plumeria. Other than the Book 4 ending animation, there isn’t much material of her for me to use. But I couldn’t use the Book 4 ending animation because the perspective and angles were making it hard for me to compare her to Triandra. All I got from it was that she looked taller than Triandra. 

So I made Plumeria as tall as Henriette. But Plumeria could be as tall as Frejya, who turned out to be a bit taller than Triandra. As long as Triandra is the shortest dokkalfr, you are close to canon.

Unmentioned Characters

Loki and Thor were omitted because it was very hard to find how tall they are in relation to the other characters. Even in Dragalia Lost and in the FEHkoma, they are seen by themselves, with each other, or hard to decipher because of the angle/perspective. I could have just put them in like I did with Hel and Eir (I didn’t include them at the start), but what made me include them in the end was because we know Hel is very tall, and that was enough to give me a comparison. Oh Hel’s tall? Let’s make her as tall as the tallest guy.

What we do know is how tall Loki and Thor are compared to each other because of Shigeki Maeshima. If Loki were to straighten up, she appears to be the same height as Thor, or she might be slightly shorter.

For the Book 5 characters, since there’s barely any content with them currently, so I have decided to omit them from the chart. We know they are short though since we were told, but I forgot where exactly. Reginn is shown to be as tall as Sharena, so Otr and Fafnir might be as tall as Alfonse or shorter.

Dagr was drawn taller than Nott in the promotional art, but in the Book 5 trailer, Dagr was shown to be shorter. Sooooo I am confusion

Summoners

I’ve been asked by @charlie-darkheart-roxas​ to include the custom Summoners in here too, so here they are. I didn’t include them in the overall chart though. Photoshop was already dying with the characters I have put in, and to add 7 more? Photoshop will kill my laptop. They’re compared to Alfonse anyways, so if you want to compare how tall a Summoner is to someone else, compare that character to Alfonse too, and there you go. 

How did I manage to get heights from the different summoners even though most have never appeared in an animation? Simple.

Hooded Kiran is already shown to be taller than Alfonse in the Book 2 trailer, I think around Henriette’s height. Now selecting all the layers (in Photoshop) the Summoners are on, and scaling everyone at the same time, it keeps everyone in proportion to the Hooded Kiran.

And then I put them on the same “floor” so that they are on even ground. Surprisingly, the Summoners do have different heights. I’m surprised how short the white-haired Summoner is, and that the orange-haired Summoner is taller than the Hooded one.

Though of course, how tall the Summoner is, is up to you as the player in the end.

And that’s all for my updated height chart! I hope this helps you creatives out there with whatever you need this height chart for. I’ll do this again in a couple of years (maybe), or someone else do it for us ahaha

#fire emblem #fire emblem heroes #feh #fe heroes #alfonse #sharena #anna #veronica #bruno #lif #thrasir #fjorm #eir #peony #reginn #I'm not tagging everyone I'm lazy #too many characters to tag #text #reference #HMS Fire Emblem

[fictionbyafangirl]

Tundric Heart

//Hi, all! After becoming absolutely *obsessed* with the new Mortal Kombat movie, as well as being a fan since the games began, and being a fan of JoTa since I saw The Raid: Redemption when it first came out and since then, I decided my flagship fic shall involve Bi-Han/Sub-Zero. This takes place prior to the film, having nine tournaments been fought. This is a POV-shifter and involves our favorite chilly boi with an original character. Naturally, I own no rights to the franchised character and only write out of my own fun.  I hope you enjoy!\\

Nothing phased him anymore. Bi-Han had lived many centuries, each reinforcing his growing lack of humanity toward the world, whether it be Earthrealm or Outworld. Due to his “gifts”, Bi-Han had become a favorite champion for Shang Tsung in the Mortal Kombat tournaments, successful in more than not and ultimately becoming an attack dog at the sorcerer's will. Despite Bi-Han wanting the Lin Keui to be free-agents once again, himself, primarily, he obliged, knowing he owed Shang Tsung his fealty for the many favors he performed for him in the past. The Lin Keui had been an elite group of assassins for those who could afford them. Either born into the organization or kidnapped as a youngling for the cause, its numbers were always plentiful. Bi-Han and his brother, Kuai Liang, had served the clan well, rising through the ranks. Bi-Han, though, had become the face of the group. The fierce fighter had gained notoriety for defeating the one and only Hanzo Hasashi, as well as the Shirai Ryu, a noble competitor clan in their world of crime. Over four hundred years had passed, yet a looming whisper of a threat still hung in the air from the very fatality that put Bi-Han on the map. Ever the paranoid ruler, Tsung tasked Bi-Han with finding the last remaining Hasashi blood heir and executing them. To the cryomancer, there was simply no point in doing so. He had ended the lineage himself many lifetimes ago. The Hasashi family fell to his hand, and he knew it, first-hand. Still, the soul-eater feared the prophecy of the uprising of Earthrealm defenders to thwart the imminent takeover, if the last tournament should be victoriously won by the mortals with an arcana gift. Nine circuits had been finished in the favor of Tsung, only needing two more to claim supremacy over the mortals. Begrudgingly, Bi-Han found himself in his home-realm on a reconnaissance mission to find out if the myth was true. One thing the warrior loathed was to be undermined, especially by Tsung. His employer had a knack for sending in the reinforcements if the smallest of setbacks occurred. Bi-Han was more than confident in his skill and ability to successfully fulfill his duties. To send in those that were inferior to him was simply a slap in the face. Not a day went by that the assassin didn’t think of a world where he no longer served Tsung.

The man was ageless as he sat across from a run-down diner, concealed in darkness. Darkness had always been his friend, even in the glory days of the Lin Kuei and the chaos they inflicted on their world. Darkness cloaked him in secrecy. Darkness gave him advantage against his opponents. Darkness felt almost as familiar and second nature to him as the cold. It had been a rainy evening, the spray of dingy gutter water spraying up from beneath the tires of those driving muddled the sidewalk. Bi-Han, looking not a single day older than he had when he terminated Hasashi, watched the neon sign that indicated that the diner was “open” flicker against the night. Dressed in black athletic jogger pants, a black zipped-up windbreaker jacket and a black hat with the bill curved and pulled down low to conceal his other-worldly eyes, the man watched from outside an abandoned building that sat adjacent to the diner. Arguably, the only physical trait that had changed about him was the hue of his eyes, shifting from a deep brown to a starkly bright  blue so pale that it nearly looked like ice had formed in his irises. These were the attributes of a cryomancer, and bastard Edenians, alike. Those of Edenian nature aged much slower than humans, living so long that tens of thousands of years was still considered to be in one’s youth. His hair remained raven in color though his skin did grow more pallid as though encrusted in frost, but not. The cryomancers had been banished from Edenia long before Bi-Han’s birth, but the genes that descended from the gods still carried on through himself and his brother, Kuai. Down the block, a group of young men were approaching the corner door of the diner, rowdy and raucous as they walked before ducking into the establishment. Taped hands rose from Bi-Han’s sides to bring the hood of his skim jacket up and over the top of his head, further obscuring his identity. He waited a few minutes to allow them to settle into their normal places to not rouse suspicion before crossing the slick city street. In all of the years of Bi-Han’s life, he had tuned his tracking abilities to be imperceptible.

His intel told him that a group of men, one that bore the mark of the dragon, frequented the very location nightly, as though a ritual amongst the friends. Bi-Han’s head never lifted as the bell on the handle of the door jingled to alert a new customer, and luckily, neither did theirs. His gaze remained to the lower-half of the room to not allow his face to be seen. The fluorescent lights that lined the ceiling in panels glared harshly in contrast against the natural darkness of the night he had waited in. Slipping into a corner table, the plastic-covered stuffing of the seat gave out a subtle hissed as it depressed beneath his weight. The group of men continued their merry occasion, joking and talking with elevated volume. The more attention they brought to themselves and detracted from himself, the better. It didn't take long for the waitress on shift to approach them, seemingly having a report with them as she used their names, engaging in banter with them as they shamelessly flirted with her. Her kind and clever rebuffs and deflection to their order inquiries showed that this was an occasional thing they did. She clearly wasn’t in the business of seeing any of them casually, yet they pushed the envelope with hope. Their nonchalance toward her left little disgust in Bi-Han’s mouth, but still, he surveyed. The fighter spared a moment to take in the new environment. The faded color scheme and furniture showed that the restaurant had not updated in some time, clearly struggling financially to keep afloat to bother with aesthetics. The tables were uneven as they stood and the seating creaked under pressure. The artwork that laid scarcely among the walls were drab and unappealing. Virtually everything that had been a polished metal before now rusted with weak infrastructure. The location was dying out, most likely kept in business by the nightly patronage of the subjects he followed in. 

Bi-Han focused all of his senses on the men, discreetly, as to not be noticed. He eavesdropped on their conversations, watched as they removed their outer-layers for any sign of the marking. He even committed bits of things they said to memory in the off-chance that it would aid him in his mission. His focus was solely on the group and everything they did. His gaze, though hidden beneath the bill of a hat, was fixated without any breaks, that is, until the image of an apron filled with pens and order tablets slid into his view. Bi-Han held his breath as the tell-tale spiel was about to be given to him. 

“Hi, there! I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. My name’s Jill and I’ll be your waitress on duty tonight. What can I get you?” No matter where you went, every restaurant had the same, generic greeting. 

Holding his breath for a moment to consider his response, Bi-Han decided to play it cool, not wanting to garner any awareness of his existence. The woman was polite enough for him to not care about the disruption. While she had been tending to the object of his assignment he had been able to get a good look over on her. She was attractive with cream-like skin and smoky hazel eyes and hair the color of maple that sat in delicate, loose curls that cascaded down the sides of her face. She dressed semi-comfortably in a baggy button-up flannel shirt that she tucked into the waistband of her tapered jeans that clung to her ankles and simple shoes with her apron and a name badge in place. She kept her makeup natural and modest, which was a pleasant thing to come across with women. With an errant hand, Bi-Han, without tipping his face at all, flipped the menu on the table over to quickly peruse the refreshments section. Quickly, his eyes settled on his selection before speaking it aloud to her, though in a low, hushed tone.

“Green tea. Iced.” His tone was short and cold, as per usual with him, and he offered no opportunity to continue the conversation. He was there for a reason, after all.

With a curt nod, Jill fished a dense book of ordering tickets from her apron and a pen to scribble down the table number and order to keep her tabs in-line. Bi-Han could hear the sound of the ball-point pen against the paper, attuning himself to his surrounding once more.

“Iced green tea, coming right up. What’s uh… a name I can put on this order?” The waitress inquired with an arched brow as her teeth found the corner of her lips, nibbling gently in a nervous gesture. Bi-Han took another moment to contemplate his response. His true, given name was something that was well-known. Instead, he improvised.

“Brian.” He was blunt again, cutting to the chase without any inflection to invite casual conversation.

“Right. Iced green tea for Brian, coming right up.” Jill relayed before bouncing away from the table to fulfill his request. She caught on to his tone quickly and read it loud and clear.

Naturally his order was the first one to be completed. Jill returned with his drink in-hand, along with a wrapped straw and a saucer of potential add-ins for the beverage. Bi-Han offered a small nod to thank her, fixating his senses back on the group of men across the room. Absently, he unwrapped the straw and slipped it within the glass, taking absent sips through it to not reveal his face. The preparation in the States certainly didn’t do the authentic drink justice as it did in his native China, but still he managed to swallow it down as he kept his eyes on them. Although the drink had ice in it, it didn’t suit him. His hand reached around the cylinder, his fingers releasing their icy powers to chill it even further, finally making it satisfactory to his liking. Bi-Han sat with his back pressed against the glass window that separated himself from the outside world. The rain continued to fall, pelting against the window pane. He could just as easily end the waiting and watching. He could turn every plunging bead of water into a lethal bullet to litter all of the men in holes, taking care of every lead. Still, he blended into the foreground, motionless and silent.  He wasn’t sure how long the men would lounge in the diner but he would be observing for as long as they would be. Someone was bound to slip and reveal themselves, reveal their arcana… something. If Bi-Han was anything, he was patient.

#Tundric Heart #fanfiction #Mortal Kombat #Mortal Kombat 21 #Bi-Han #BiHan #Sub-Zero #Bi-Han x Original Character #Sub-Zero x Original Character #Bi-Han x OC #Sub-Zero x OC #MK21 #Chilly Boi #chapter 1 #Mortal Kombat Fanfiction #Mortal Kombat 2021 FanFiction

[princeanxious]

Okay stupid tumblr didnt tell me you said yes but HERE ARE MY QUESTIONS :DDD

When did they become vanpires

How old are they

What year were the vampires born

How long has V been locked away, what has he missed

Does V immediately latch onto the grunge/emo aesthetic because it matches the whole vampire theme

Is Roman a himbo™

What is the twins relationship like

Anxciet is the main pairing, are there any side pairings?

How does Janus react to the whole "oh yeah vampires are real" thing

Were any of the vamps around for any big historical events

Were any of the vamps big historical figures

Do they end up going to highschool/uni with the humans

What does everyone look like

Do any of them have really strong opinions about something useless (eg. pineapple on pizza, a certain colour, double denim, etc)

:)

Virgil became a Vampire sometime in the 17/1800s?? Logan is from around the 1500s, and Patton claims he lost count a long time ago.(Patton’s probably at least at least a thousand years old though? But he looks more like a young 25 y/o whose attire choices change day to day but generally always gives off that Parent vibe), Virgil was turned by Patton, Logan was born Vampire, Patton was assumably born vampire. Remus and Roman are 27, Janus is 25.

Virgil was locked away for about 150 years, give or take? He missed the entire shift in society and the human experience, from how relationships are viewed/treated to longer lifespans, to cleaner hygiene, convenience, and technology, hell, even the more open existance of the lgbtqa+ community! A /lot/ has happened in the past 100 years, and now Virgil has alot of catchup to do.(and don’t worry, Patton & Logan help Virgil catch up pretty quickly, they share flashcards and Virgil gets h o o k e d on social media when he gets a phone)

He absolutely does. Its a weird adjustment, what with the now wildly varied different textiles and styles and change. Especially the lack of layers, he misses those. (And finds immense comfort in the jacket that Janus gifts him, as its big and oversized and feels oh so very soft and warm.) But no yeah, he gets his hair cut(it still grew for those years locked away, albiet still rather slowly from malnutrition) and rocks the fringe, even gets his hair dyed purple to match his eyes, all the grunge/punk/emo aesthetic! Some of his favorite new things are makeup, piercings, and so much black fabric to chose from!

You’ll be surprised to note, that Roman is sadly not a himboTM in this au, as Virgil has already taken over that roll 💜💜💜

Remus and Roman’s relationship? Honestly ride or die chaos, the kinds of siblings that play pranks on one another and insult eachother but god forbid some poor outsider steps in to try and say the same thing they said abt their sibling, that outsider will have regreted it. The kind if ‘The Only one allowed to call my brother a Bitch-Ass Idiot is ME’ kind of siblings? Look they grew up in a area filled with people who dont like things out of the norm and befriended the local bullied kid who is half-covered in snake scales and speaks with a lisp due to his split togue. Remus himself suffers from intrusive anxiety and Roman suffers from chronic(?) depression. They’re all a bit ride or die, through and through.

Anxceit is the main pairing, and while it’s not entirely set in stone, Logince and Intruality are probably the other two.

Technically its not a secret in their world?? Like magic is a thing in their workd, its just usually left out of humanities bloodline. Humans like Janus are pretty rare bc of that. Vampires are still p rare to meet but not unheard of.

Yes, the vampires were alive for many major historical events. No we are not going to talk abt any of them. Same goes w/ historical figures.

Yes! Infact, Roman and Logan share college/uni theatre classes together! Logans currently an astronomy major, Roman a theatre arts major(i think thats what its called?) Logan is a formidible lyrical rival and Roman finds himself constantly losing to his rival in the form of slam poetry, though every day Roman always gets a little closer to winning(Logan adores the challenge, and the passion Roman has to beat Logan at his own game is riviting to experience. Logan would def consider Roman a perfect companion, but would have never acted on it if virgil hadnt been rescued by said companions twin brother, thus gettig both trios heavily involved w/ each other.) Patton’s been alive so long that he doesn’t care too much for academia, and instead focuses on tactile learning, like pottery and woodworking. Remus himself is an arts major, known for making really hyper horror or grotesque creature sculptures/doll customization, so he kind of just laches onto this man who seems to be larger than life and is far from bothered by Remus’s ‘not safe for common convos’ way of talking and its nice not to have someone run away. (Honestly, the feeling is mutual between the two)

As for what everone looks like, I kinda just want to leave that up to interpretation? If I end up drawing any of them they’ll probably be reflective of the way that I usually draw the sides, just human or vampire-ified, and maybe have a trait or two tweaked specifically for the au? The only real thing standing out to me is that i might give Remus or Roman Albinism? Idk yet.

Uhhhh i’m sure they have alot? Logan hates modern mirrors, bc they are usually not made w/ a silver backing. Let me tell you the first time Logna passed his full blown reflection out of something he’d never been able to use before, its clear, consise, ans ge hates it bc he can now very easily stare into his own eyes clearly and question existance.

Patton, despite being the oldest ever, is still v afraid of soiders despite knowing they cant hurt him too horribly.

Virgil is under the strong opinion that memes are hilarious and hoodies are amazing.

#anxceit #intruality #logince #mvv au #sanders sides #virgil sanders #janus sanders #vampire!virgil #vampire!patton #modern vampire vee au #luka’s aus #luka answers #ask to tag

[tooomuchtofu]

It’s denial at first, Tubbo thinks in retrospect, that kept him upright where he sat. Denial, along with a healthy dose of the same sort of emotional vacancy that’s gotten him through the past few years in this fucked up world. 

He sees the message on his communicator—of course he does, so does everyone—but his eyes skim over it. It’s just another accident. A bit too long of a fall. A friendly spar. An argument gone sideways. It didn’t stick, surely; whoever’s name he just read in chat felt the death slither down around them like a shed layer of snakeskin, stepped into another life just as easily as taking another breath. Whoever that was is probably sitting up in bed right now. 

It’s fine. It’s alright. Never mind the buzzing that’s started at the base of his skull. Ranboo cracks a joke and he laughs. Jack pokes his head out the doors of the Big Innit Hotel, shooting Tubbo a wary look. Tubbo nocks another arrow and the door slams shut. He puts the bow away. 

His hand drifts back to his communicator, because of course it does. He picks it off his belt, flicks it on and glances at the messages. Did he see that right?

Tubbo has to blink before the screen focuses, his eyes blurring. He’s never been a great reader, really. Even after he’s picked his way past every letter, though, the message above Jack’s most recent death blurs still. The words have flipped themselves on their heads, twisted into monstrous glyphs. Maybe Ranboo sent something in enderspeak. Maybe he’s asleep. 

“Guys, I think Tommy just died,” is what he hears himself say.

Maybe he did read that wrong. Maybe he did. Ranboo’s hand on his shoulder—out of nowhere, wasn’t Ranboo just on the other side of the path?—is the only thing aside from the letters. He still can’t make them out. He blinks again. That might help. 

“Oh my gosh,” Ranboo says, and for a breath, the death message might be real. He can feel his fingers shaking, can feel the cold edge of the communicator where he holds it. 

“Wasn’t he like, your best friend or something?” It’s Jack Manifold. Tubbo doesn’t know when he came outside. 

Tubbo stands, then, from where he’d, at some point, sat on a stray piece of scaffolding. Everything is all bright colors. All of it. There’s sun in his eyes. He thinks it might hurt. He’s looking at it. The white is better than the red or the blue or the green or the tawny, rough oak beneath his feet, because all of that is real. And this isn’t real. 

Ranboo is in front of him. He’s taller. Tubbo can’t see the sun anymore. A shame. It was nice and bright. 

Ranboo is real, too. Black and white like a panda or a cookie or something. Red and green, black and white, rumpled suit and prickly ears. Tubbo giggles. Maybe Ranboo isn’t real; his whole face is speckles with black, swimming and swirling. That doesn’t usually happen. 

“Tubbo, are you okay? Tubbo, why are you laughing?” Ranboo’s brows are all drawn and furrowed. He looks so worried. But that’s okay. That’s okay. 

“Ranboo, you silly… silly man…” Tubbo reaches up, lets his hands find his husband’s, his friend’s, ears, feels the weird fuzzy spots at their bases. 

Ranboo flinches back, grabbing Tubbo’s wrists and pushing them down. “No—Tubbo, why—” He makes a weird hissy sound. Silly funny enderman. “Do you need to sit down?”

“No, it’s fine! I’m alright, big man.” He rubs his hands down his face, pulling at the scar tissue across his nose and jaw. He remembers when he got those scars. Tommy was there. He sat in Tubbo’s room in Pogtopia every night after for weeks. He always woke Tubbo up whenever Tubbo started screaming. That was a permanent death, the festival was. Tubbo is one slip away from dying. So is Tommy. But they’ll be okay, because Dream is in prison. It’s all okay now. Tubbo’s palms are sweaty and sticky, so he takes them off his face. 

“What the hell happened?” Ranboo mutters, fiddling with his communicator. Tubbo isn’t sure he’s ever heard Ranboo say “hell” before. That’s kind of funny. They’ve pretty much spent the entirety of the past few weeks together. Ranboo doesn’t seem to swear much. Tubbo hasn’t done anything but hang out with Ranboo since Tommy finished his hotel. They’ve barely left each other’s sides. Ranboo and Tubbo, Tubbo and Ranboo. 

“Tubbo. Hey, Tubbo.” Ranboo’s hands are on his shoulders again. “Tubbo, where are we?” 

Tubbo hums under his breath. “We are on the Prime Path, big man.” Outside the Bee and Boo. It’s very bright today. Everything looks a little blurry, though. 

“Sam says he’s at the prison,” Ranboo says. “Do you want to go talk to Sam?” 

“Sounds good.” Tubbo looks over at the prison. It’s just past Skeppy’s mansion. The prison, where Dream is. Something… something is wrong. He thinks. 

As he follows Ranboo down the path, he frowns, trying to remember what it is. Something… wrong. At the prison. 

“Wait, but Sam hasn’t died,” he says. “Sam is still there. Dream is still in Pandora’s Vault.” As long as Dream is in prison, they are all safe. Everything is fine. Everything is perfect. They won. They have the discs. It is okay now. 

“Yes,” Ranboo says. 

The approach is long, with the path he walks stretching into infinity. It seems forever that they spend walking towards the prison’s hulking shape. Sam is waiting for them when they get there. 

“I made a mistake,” he says in a shaking voice. “I’m so sorry. Tommy is… Tommy’s dead.” 

And Tubbo is seventeen years old. He is standing in the world he calls home near the path his best friend built out of oak, standing next to his friend-husband-business partner, and he is not crying, because Tommy cannot be dead. Because Tommy does not die. Because Tommy survives. It is what he does. 

And Tubbo did not spend the last week his friend spent in prison falling in platonic love, building a hotel, playing chess, singing and cracking jokes and making pancakes and playing his ukulele. Because Tommy is not in prison, because there is no reason for him to be, and if he is, there’s nothing Tubbo can do anyway, is there? What is there, really, for Tubbo to do, aside from forget what has him curled up in his bed some nights, hugging himself as tight as he can so his stomach will stop eating itself out of helpless guilt? And now everything is fine, because the time is up, and Tommy is fine, because Tommy is always fine, even when there’s lava and holes and fireworks and Dream. 

Tubbo is not crying. That is not a lie, but maybe it is wrong nonetheless. 

xxx

To Tubbo, Dream has not taken all of Tommy’s lives until Tommy is standing outside the hotel the next morning. 

He does not remember falling asleep, but it must have happened somehow, because he has just woken up. He has a splitting headache and an aching heart and dry, blurry eyes, and he thinks he’s seeing things at first. 

Tommy is staring up at his own hotel, but he turns around when Tubbo opens the door, grinning when he sees him. 

“Big man!” he shouts. “You seen this thing yet? Pretty proud of it, I am.” Tommy’s grin is glinting white, his face greyish, his hair silvery pale. He is soft and fuzzy and not-all-there. Tubbo blinks once. Twice. And then he is crying. 

Sitting on the path, crying. His face is in his hands and Tommy’s touch on his back is cold and staticky. Tubbo remembers when Tommy’s touch was warm, like fire, glowy and bright and wonderful for a cold winter’s night.

“Tubbo? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

Tubbo gasps in a breath, chest spasming for air. His face is drenched and raw. There is a gaping hole in his chest, his ribs shattered into jagged knives. It is Technoblade with withers and fireworks and TNT laying waste to his heart. Tubbo does not move when someone cold and full and real picks him up, cradles him in too-long arms, and lays him on a bed. Tubbo does not move. Tommy is not fine.

xxx

“I didn’t come,” Tubbo forces out one day when everything is numb again. He’s sitting in the Big Innit Hotel’s lobby, slumped in a chair beside the front desk. He’s still wearing his Snowchester jacket, fiddling with the strings of one of the buttons. He’s vaguely aware of red concrete stone bricks and Tommy’s faint form somewhere in his periphery, but it’s mostly just the button and the string. “I’m sorry. 

“What do you mean?” Tommy asks. He’s sitting behind the desk, ready for customers. He’s usually ready for customers these days, when he isn’t committing arson or wandering up and down the Prime Path or sitting on a bench on a hill, hands fidgety and unsure, like he’s missing something. That is, if he’s to believe Ranboo: Tubbo hasn’t left the Bee and Boo much. Ranboo says that’s what Tommy’s been doing, though. 

A few people have even stayed in the hotel. People will stop by to visit, to see if it’s true, to say hi to Tommy or to talk to Tubbo or just to gawk, even, and usually end up staying in a room at Tommy’s insistence. 

Tommy always acts like he’s going to charge them for it, but he never actually does. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t need money. Maybe he just forgets. He forgets a lot of things. 

“In prison,” Tubbo mutters. “Sam might’ve let me in. I didn’t even try.” There are tears at the corners of his eyes, suddenly, but he rubs them away. He’s sick and tired of having a wet face. It’s sticky and awful and he always ends up with a headache and a stuffy nose. 

“...What are you on about?” Tubbo glances up. Tommy is giving him an odd look. “Prison? Dream is the only one in prison. We put him in there, remember? I kicked his ass with the—with—” He frowns, making a swinging motion with his hands. “With—with that axe. You know?” 

Tubbo sighs. “Yeah, I know.” He goes back to his button. 

xxx

Ranboo comes for him later that evening, when the sunset has just begun to filter through the windows. Tubbo hasn’t moved from his chair, even though Tommy went somewhere below the desk a while earlier. 

The vest’s button came off. It’s still on the floor where it fell, and Tubbo’s started on a new one. 

“Tubbo,” he says when he walks through the double doors. Tubbo glances up at him. “Tubbo, can we go home now? You’ve been here all day.”

Tubbo doesn’t say anything. Maybe he doesn’t have to. Maybe they can just leave. 

Ranboo walks over. Sinks down in front of Tubbo. He looks away.

“Tubbo.” He takes Tubbo’s hands in his own. “Hey, Tubbo. Can you look at me?” 

Tubbo does not look at Ranboo. Tubbo squints his eyes shut and ignores the prickly wetness. It is not there. It has already been there too many times in the past however-long-it’s-been.

Ranboo sighs. “Tubbo, you can’t do this forever.” He squeezes his hands. A tear trickles down Tubbo’s face. “I know it hurts. I know it hurts. It’s going to hurt. It always will. But you’re not alone, I promise. He might not be here anymore, but you’re not alone.” 

Tubbo breaks the breath he’s been holding to gasp in a new one. It shudders against his lungs, painful and loud.

“Can you talk to me?” Ranboo asks. “Please, Tubbo. It’s been weeks. Please.”

And that’s where he breaks, where all the air comes out in a fragmented sob, where the tears are back again, and he throws himself at Ranboo, collapsing into his chest and tucking his face into Ranboo’s shoulder. He must be startled, Tubbo notes absently, because his hands take a moment to find Tubbo’s back.

“I’m sorry.” Tubbo gasps. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? It’s okay to be sad.” Ranboo is rubbing circles. It’s an awkward, stilted motion, but there’s heart.

“I can’t—” He blinks hard, swallowing a knotted lump. “I can’t. I can’t. He wasn’t supposed to leave me. He wasn’t supposed to be the one who left.” 

Tommy was the queen, and Tubbo the pawn. This directionless pain that festers at his core isn’t supposed to be here. Maybe if Dream had just killed him none of this would have happened. Tubbo would be dead and Dream would be free and Tommy would be in prison but he’d be alive, and maybe Tubbo could visit him as a ghost and keep him company. And neither of them would be this confused because Tommy always knew what to do. He’d get out of the Vault and he’d tell Tubbo what they needed to do next to take down Dream, and it’d be them against the world, the two of them, together always, Tubbo and Tommy, Tommy and Tubbo. 

Ranboo has always ran a little cold, which Tubbo found unnerving at first, but right now, his cool skin is soothing and better than anything else could have been against Tubbo’s face. His head is aching and it feels like it’s burning from the inside. 

“It’s okay,” he’s murmuring. “I’m here. I’m here.”

What am I without you? Tommy asked one day, in a vault swamped in glimmering darkness. And Tubbo said, yourself. It’s an easy solution to the question that leaves Tubbo paralyzed now, but one that hurts and aches and doesn’t help at all. 

He’s been here before, back when he was still president. Back when there was still a nation to be president of. Back when nothing was okay and Tubbo was a monster, the next Schlatt, a tyrant who had only doomed a nation that was doomed from the start. Back then, nothing was okay. 

Everything was supposed to be fine now. And it isn’t. So Tubbo cries.

xxx

A few days later, Tubbo goes out. 

Ranboo is with him, at his side, holding his hand. Tubbo is wearing a green button-down shirt that’s only a little bit green at this point, holey and worn. Tubbo is hazy-headed with tears. Nothing is okay. But today, he has decided to try. 

The sight of the prison made him break down once before, a week or so ago, so when they walk out of the hotel, he fixes his gaze firmly to the right. Stares at the planks of the Prime Path, puts one foot in front of the other. They’ll maybe go to the Community House. Stop by Captain Puffy’s place, or visit Eret, or something. Both of them have a sort of calming presence Tubbo can’t deny wanting to feel again, and Ranboo mentioned something about Puffy wanting to talk to him. He isn’t really sure. For now, it’s easiest just to walk. 

Step by step by step. Tubbo watches the edges of all the builds on the path scroll by. A pattern of blood vines webs its way across the grass. He’s glad there’s none on the path; he’d probably trip. 

The Targay is somewhere on the edge of his vision when he hears it. Plattering, bouncy notes, dancing through the air. He hasn’t heard this song in a while. He isn’t even sure he’s hearing it now. But each step up the staircase has weight, suddenly, as he makes his way towards the embassy. 

He sees it when he crests the hill, of course; it’s hard to miss. Someone cut down the trees that used to stand in the way a while ago, and now it’s just grass and flowers and the bench. That and Tommy, sitting there, staring out at the view, with one arm over the back of his seat just like always. Cat is in the jukebox, spinning just the same as it always has. Tommy must hear him or something, because he turns around, face lighting up when he sees Tubbo.

“Tubbo!” he cries. “Ranboo! You’re here! Come sit with me!” 

Tommy. On the bench. Waiting for him.

Breath caught somewhere in his head, Tubbo stumbles over, feet only kind of there. The grass is soft and the sun is bright and the view is beautiful and he sits down and Tommy is there and there’s music and oh, he thinks he might be crying again. Ranboo sits in the grass to their right. 

Tommy slings an arm around Tubbo’s neck.

“Hey Big T,” he says. “It’s good to see you again.” It’s almost easy to pretend like everything is the same. “You doing okay?” 

Tubbo looks over at him, blinking hard and mustering a smile. “I’m fine,” he says. “How have you been?”

“Good, good!” Tommy says, flashing a grin. “It kinda sucks being dead, though.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tubbo swallows. “Why’s that?”

“You never hang out with me anymore!” Tommy complains, kicking his shin. “And when you do, you’re always so mopey. I know you didn’t want me to die, but like… you could at least spend time with me, eh? There’s no point in just forgetting.” 

Tubbo remembers a muttered rant a few months back, something about Jack Manifold and a trident accident and a joke that turned real (count from ten backwards, don’t let this ruin your life), and he exhales. Leaning into Tommy’s touch, he tries again at a smile. “You’ve gotten a lot wiser, haven’t you?” 

“Nah, I’m just dead,” he says. “Seriously, though, Tubbo. It sucks, really, it does. But you can do this. I believe in you. You are—quite possibly—the coolest person I know. And you will be okay.”

Tubbo can’t see past his tears. “I—I just—” He stops. Takes a deep breath. “I feel so lost without you. It was always for you, all of it, I don’t—”

“No, no, Tubbo—” Tommy catches his hands where they’ve flown up to rub away the tears— “Thank you. Please. Thank you. For everything. I would have never made it half as far without you. So please. Keep going for me.”

Cat ends, the final note ringing out into the midmorning air. Tommy stands, grabbing the disk from the jukebox and giving it a spin on his finger. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, alright, Tubbo?” he says. “I’m gonna go put this away. And then I’ve got to go make sure I haven’t missed any cli-enteys.”

“Okay,” Tubbo whispers. “Okay, Tommy.” 

Tommy starts off down the Prime Path, whistling a senseless tune to himself. Ranboo wraps his hand in his cool grip. Tubbo takes a deep breath.

“And Tommy?” he calls.

Tommy looks over his shoulder. “Huh?”

“I love you.”

“Ew.” Tommy squints at him, but he’s grinning. “That’s gross. You’re gross. You’re really—you disgust me sometimes, Tubbo, you know that?” 

Tubbo laughs, then, for real, for the first time in weeks. And he thinks, then, that maybe, maybe, it’s going to be okay. 

#tw death #dsmp #dream smp #dream smp fic #my fic #tubbo #ranboo #tommyinnit #grief #:( #wrote this in one sitting #/p #/rp #tw abuse #tw violence

[yandere-wishes]

Ill-Fated //Yandere! Leona Kingscholar X Reader X Yandere! Malleus Draconia//

A similar request was made by @permanentlyexhaustedowl​

TW: Mention of Suicide

🦁 🐉🦁 🐉🦁 🐉🦁 🐉🦁 🐉🦁 🐉🦁 🐉🦁 🐉🦁 🐉🦁 🐉🦁 🐉🦁

Downpour indignantly splattered against the window. Each droplet hitting the glass with a sort of destructive grace. How fortunate they were, you thought wearily,  to be able to control the spam of their existence. To be birthed into this world and then decide for themselves if they wished to stay or not. To have the liberty to impale themselves on nearby walls and casements, on the off chance that they decided to dislike this reality. After all, reality was subjective...for those who were free to choose their realities that is. Some unfortunate few weren't as lucky as those raindrops, nor as free as regular humans. No some were destined to an isolated, dreary existence. Reduced to playing "damsel in distress" for two unhinged monsters. Doomed to be "cherished" by the sinners of this world.

It was invariably evident when Malleus was near, his body radiated a suffocating heat akin to those of a forest fire. His un-seeable flames would always scorch your flesh, always conveying the pain but never the marks, never the charred pinkish marks that were a custom of regular fires. The dark moved silently through the darkroom, his footsteps barely reaching you're ears. Never once did you bother to turn to him, to smile at the prince of thorns, and greet him. Instead, you remain stoic, peering out at the hectic world through your glass barrier. Only flinching when his leather-covered arms folded over you're abdomen, his head rested on you're Trapezius inhaling you're sweet sent like a little lost puppy. 

"I missed you, my love. Classes are so tedious when you aren't with me"

"Than perhaps you should permit me to return to my class,"

"Now darling, don't be foolish, I've made it clear that you are to remain in this room so that we can better protect you!" 

He attempted to keep his voice delicate, as one in the event that they were conversing with a harmed animal. Be that as it may, the malevolence moved through, dribbling into each syllable. Emphasizing the golden rule.  Remain in the room, never venture beyond that door, it's for your own protection. 

No matter how many times you heard it, it still sounded like a lie. A fable made to scare little kids like the boogie man or the monster under the bed. What neither of the dorm leaders realized was they were in no way "protecting" you from danger. Instead, they were keeping you locked up with the danger. They were worst than any boogie man or horrifying monster. At least those ghouls had the decency to kill off their victims instead of making them suffer for so long.

For a brief instant, you broke your emotionless expression. The pain from where his chin met your skin had become excruciating. It was as if a branding iron was melting into your flesh. You sucked in a flimsy breath, just to let out a fit of aggressive coughing.  With all fire there comes, smoke, and although both Malleus' flames and smoke were invisible to the human eye, their essence still had the same effect as a visible one. Malleus' eyes cracked open, peering up at you, his grip tightened keeping your shaking body pinned to his chest. "Would you like some water my little crow?" All you did was nob you're head as the hacking fell from your lips. Almost instantly Malleus let you go and jogged out of the room to retrieve some water. With the evil fae gone, the smoke slowly vanished leaving you gagging for a second before finally regaining your breath.

When Malleus returned offering you the cup of cold water, you practically snatched it and downed the icy liquid in one quick gulp. You turned your head to look up at him, eyes scanning his delicate features, even if he was your tormentor you couldn't deny just how beautiful he was. How every part of him seemed to have been carved by the most skilled sculptor. It was in that moment you realized something, there was meant to be another, another monster prowling around you're prison, one with ears and sharp claws. "Hey, Malleus where's Leona?"

At the mention of his "partner in crime's" name, the raven-haired fae's mouth twisted into a snarl, his fang-like teeth glistening in the light made by the glowing green candles. He puffed one of his cheeks as he looked away with eyes that harbored murderous intent. "That overgrown cat got caught but with something..." he let his voice trail off, as he dramatically plumped down on the black leather couch. His green eyes trailed over you, studying your face for any reaction. There's none...or at least you try to hide under a sheet of detached interest. But Malleus knows better, knows you better then you think. He can see the curiosity bubbling behind your irises. Apathically you walk over to the horned man, sitting stiffly on his lap and turning your torso to face him. "Malleus...where is Leona" there's a sharp, knife-like edge to your voice, but much like your worried expression that too his hidden under a coy, aloof layer. That's how everything is with you three. Every death threat, order, and painful remarks are hidden under a pillow softcover. Play nice

The three of you are always forced to play nice.

"Someone from Ignihyde was looking into your disappearance once more. Trying to play detective. So Leona volunteered to....help me out"

"Well that was nice of hi--"

The old wooden door burst open, just as you came to lay your head on Malleus'. Standing behind the thresh hold was blood-soaked Leona, his dark rugged features blending into an annoyed expression. "Oi, the hell are you two doing? I waste my time to actually protect you and our little secret over there and how do you two useless bottom-feeding herbivores repay me? By getting all lovey-dovey and leaving me to do the dirty work!" 

His voice was more so a lion's roar than any human shout. Each word bounced off the walls and hit you with an impact that felt like a real punch to the gut. Furiously Leona stalked into the room, his nails seemed to grow longer and sharper with each step. When he reached the couch pressed his knees into the leather, caging you under him. One of his claws dangled dangerously close to your face. Only to be slapped away by Malleus. "Are you done roaring kitty cat?" jade eyes glared at emerald one. A silent fight breaking out.

Leona was the first to steal his gaze away. Instead, he slowly started kissing the side of you're neck, softly, almost bordering on lovingly. That was until his sharp fangs pierced your skin so deeply that crimson droplet began to slip out. "Why must you be so messy, you degenerate?" Malleus leaned forward a scowl over his face as his fingers busied themselves with combing through your locks. "Well not all of us are as fragile and spoiled as you. We can't all be princes after all" in a fit of anger Malleus lifted his unoccupied hand, ready to slap Leona. But right before the fae could hit the younger boy, Leona grabbed his wrist and brought it over to his mouth. Playfully he kissed his knuckles before delicately taking one of his fingers into his mouth...

and biting down harshly. Malleus let out a surprised yelp as you attempted to suppress a laugh. "You really are an ill-mannered rough aren't you" Malleus snapped. Leona didn't bother responding instead he just though his head back and laughed maniacally. mumbling under his breath about "what a useless king Malleus would make". Forcefully Malleus grabbed your chin between his fingers, permitting the blood to drip down, even having droplet mix with your own wound. The prince of darkness lowered his lips, pressing them against yours. Robotically you closed your eyes as Malleus continued to glare at Leona.

Disliking the absence of concentration on him, Leona leaned in closed pressing his forehead to the side of your head as he trailed his tongue down your neck, lapping the blood from the open wound. You shivered from the sensation, letting out a moan, creating an opening for Malleus to slip his tongue into your mouth.

Another game they loved to play, see who could get the most reactions from you...

For a split second your eyes fluttered open and stole a gaze at the window. Envy coursed through your corpse. Sure enough, the storm was still raging outside. And those cursed fortunate raindrops were still freely dying voluntarily. Flaunting their freedom, to the poor cursed princess locked inside her gloomy tower with the two cruelest beasts in existence.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland x you #twisted wonderland malleus draconia #twisted wonderland malleus draconia x reader #twisted wonderland malleus draconia x you #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia x you #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus draconia x reader #yandere malleus draconia x you #twisted wonderland leona kingscholar #twisted wonderland leona kingscholar x reader #twisted wonderland leona kingscholar x you #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar x you #yandere leona kingscholar #yandere leona kingscholar x reader #yandere leona kingscholar x you #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yancore #yandere imagines

[justatiredpotato]

Set Me Free | Chapter 6

Chapter List

Pairing: hybrid!Yoongi x human!reader

Genre: Angst, fluff, coffee shop AU, hybrid AU

Word Count: Chapter: 3,000~  Total: 40,000~

Updates daily at 10pm MST

Warnings: cuteness and maybe sorta suggestive content (idk man I tried), misunderstandings, hurt feelings, big sad

Summary: Yoongi, a cat hybrid, has been hurt time and time again by a world that would have him believe he’s worthless. One day he finds himself in your protective care, and gets a new family to boot. But is it really that easy to escape the past and embrace a new beginning?

Author’s Note: In this fic the reader’s name is Yeoji

Another Author’s Note: This is a small chapter because the second half is from Yoongi’s POV and being posted separately. There is a lot of potentially triggering content in that section. You can totally skip it and just pick up on the next chapter if you want to!

When most of your boys were sick, everyone involved was miserable. They required near constant attention from either you or one of the other guys, and whined like they might actually be dying. The only exception to this rule was Jimin, who just got extra sweet and cuddly when he was ill; and now, Yoongi.

Just when you thought the cat could not get any cuter, he managed to do it. With his sleepy, puffy eyes, extra pink button nose, and need to be near you all the time since he couldn’t seem to get warm, he was just about melting you into the ground at every interaction. It had taken a lot of willpower to drag yourself away from him that morning. After several long minutes of coaxing you’d managed to untangle yourself from him and the mountain of blankets on your bed (which he had at some point started sharing with you almost every night.)

When you went back to check on him in the afternoon you found him shivering with a chill. You made him take some cold medicine in hopes he could sleep off the worst of it. Then you tucked his blankets tighter around him and he leaned into your warm touch.

“Noona, m’cold,” he mumbled, face half obscured by his covers.

“I’ll be back soon, sweetheart.” 

He whined pathetically as you pulled away from him, catching your sleeve and holding on like a lifeline. “Don’t go,” he said. He nuzzled into the bed further, attempting to drag you with him. 

You sighed, willpower quickly failing you. It was the middle of the week, and business had been slow all day. What’s the harm in quitting early? “Okay, let me go tell Jungkook I’m done for the day.” You thought you heard a happy chirp, as he released you. Yoongi was less conscious of hiding his more cat-like traits when he was sleepy, drunk, or evidently, ill.

You returned to Jungkook out front, taking off and hanging up your apron.

“How is he?” Jungkook asked.

“Not so good. I think I need to go back and keep an eye on him. You okay to finish up on your own?”

“No problem, we’ve only got an hour til closing anyway. Go take care of him.” Jungkook shooed you towards your apartment with a smirk. 

You frowned at him. “What’s that supposed to mean? What’s with your face?” you asked, spinning to face him.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he answered innocently as he pushed you through the door.

You rolled your eyes, but ignored him. As quickly as you could you warmed up Yoongi’s tea, helping him sit up so he could drink it. The medication seemed to be taking affect, his eyelids getting heavy and his speech a little slurred. Yoongi was cooking you alive these last couple nights in his attempts to stay warm so you changed into a tank top and some sleep shorts. He handed you his now empty mug and you set it aside before crawling under the covers next to him. He immediately curled into you, wrapping his arms around your waist, tangling your legs together, and tucking his face into your neck just below your jaw. 

He hummed contentedly when you wrapped your arms around him and stroked his hair and ears. You laid like that for a moment, his breathing slow and hot against your neck. You actively tried to not think about how his body was pressed up against yours, or how soft his lips felt brushing up against your throat with every intake of breath. 

It was going okay until his lips pressed against your skin with a little more force. You stiffened a bit. He was asleep though, didn’t even know what he was doing. You brushed his hair away from his face and scratched his back. 

“Yoon?” you said softly, hoping he’d wake up a little. Instead, he pressed his lips to your neck again, and this time you felt the slight brush of his teeth as he placed an open mouthed kiss over your pulse. A gasp escaped your lips as the kisses became stinging. What the hell? Was he just biting you?

“Yoongi!” you yelped, pulling away from him a little. He whined and moved after you. His large hands gripped the soft flesh of your hips and pulled you back to him, continuing to kiss your collarbone in a way that was sure to leave bruises. This was a cat thing, right? Jimin bit you once when he got a little too chilled out while you played with his hair. Yoongi wasn’t even conscious right now; didn’t even know what he was doing. The boy in question hummed happily, a purr rumbling through his chest as he settled in, warm and safe in his medicated haze. Your fingers gripped the back of his sweater tighter as you felt his tongue peek out to soothe the marks he’d made.

It seemed that every time you tried to escape his grasp you only made your situation worse. If you could really call it that. Part of you, a pretty big part in fact, was enjoying this. After a couple more attempts to detach yourself from the groggy cat, you gave up, holding him close and trying to ignore the heat that rushed through you as his hands kneaded at your hips.

After what felt like hours he finally fell still, purrs fading to the silent, steady breaths of sleep. Once you were sure he was out you managed to escape him and quickly fled to the living room. You glanced at the mirror by the door and ran your fingers through your hair, pulling it aside to evaluate the state of your neck. Yep, he definitely left some marks. You were going to have to pull out a turtleneck or a scarf to wear for work tomorrow. Grabbing a hair tie off the end table, you tied your hair into a messy bun. It was way too hot in your apartment all of a sudden, so you went to the kitchen and opened the window. As you got started on dinner you found your thoughts drifting back to the man in the next room. Shaking the image from your head, you grabbed your laptop and put on a show on Netflix.

You took some soup into Yoongi and got him to finish a whole bowl before he passed out again. After putting away the leftovers you grabbed a hoodie, then crawled back under the covers with him. Again, he clung to you like he was magnetized. You were cooking in the sweatshirt, but at least you weren’t at risk of a heart attack with Yoongi’s drugged-up mischief. His grabby hands kneading at your body and the brush of his thumbs over the bare flesh where your top rode up were still very distracting though. Needless to say, you didn’t sleep much.

The next morning you woke up from an hour or so of dozing and got up to get ready for the day. You were soaked in sweat from too many layers and the anxiety of a needy cat glued to you the whole night. You took a shower and tied your wet hair into a bun, not wanting to wake Yoongi with a hair dryer. You tried to be quiet as you rummaged through your closet and pulled out a black turtleneck top with tank sleeves. Not exactly spring fashion, but it covered the marks on your neck. You paired it with a black pencil skirt and your comfortable flats, did your makeup and slipped out of the apartment into the cafe.

Jimin was already waiting at the door. As usual, he slipped through the door and immediately wrapped you in a hug, nuzzling into you. He pulled away and looked you over, a brow raised.

“What?” you asked, returning the questioning look.

“You smell like Yoongi-hyung. Like, even more than usual.”

“Of course I smell like him. He’s sick, so he’s been glued to me trying to stay warm.”

Jimin smirked, but didn’t press the issue.

You went about your normal routine for the morning. It was a Friday, so most of your customers were commuters hurrying to work, leaving the shop relatively empty once the rush faded. At around noon Taehyung and Jungkook stopped by. They had the afternoon off so they agreed to come and stay with Yoongi for you. Movie night was still on, provided Yoongi was feeling up to it. Both boys hurried behind the counter to greet you, and they reacted similarly to how Jimin had. Tae sniffed at the collar of your turtleneck suspiciously.

“Oh my god!” he cried as he pulled away. He looked at the other two for agreement. Jimin chuckled, while Jungkook blushed and looked away. Tae reached for your shirt collar and tugged it down a little. “Oh my god!” he shouted again. Jimin burst out laughing and Jungkook blushed even redder, if that was even possible, when they saw the marks on your neck. 

“I told you,” Jimin said. “You owe me twenty bucks.”

“For what?” you asked, already not liking where this was going. “What were you betting on?”

“When you and Yoongi-hyung would get together,” Taehyung said. “I thought you’d take at least another month to figure it out.”

“I didn’t bet, noona,” Jungkook said, but even he was smiling mischievously. “But I am happy for you.”

“What are you talking about? Me and Yoongi aren’t together.”

“Noona,” Tae whined. “Come on. You can’t hide it from hybrids. We know he’s the one who marked you.” He nodded at your neck.

You scoffed. “These? He was barely conscious from the cold medicine I gave him last night. He didn’t even know what he was doing.”

The boys looked at you, incredulous. “You can’t be serious,” Jimin said.

“Of course I’m serious. There’s nothing going on between Yoongi and me! And never will be. I don’t look at him that way. Don’t make things weird,” you scolded. The boys glanced over your shoulder and you turned as you heard the kitchen door bang shut. You just caught the back of a blond head disappearing back to the apartment. You looked back to the boys with a deer-in-headlights expression.

“Well, s***,” Jungkook said, accurately expressing your feelings at that moment. “You should go talk to him.”

Mind racing, you followed Yoongi.

“Yoon?” you said as you entered the apartment. He had his shoes and jacket on, standing by the door. “Hey, where are you going? You’re still sick, you shouldn’t be going out.”

“I’m fine, noona. Just need some air.”

You approached him slowly. “What’s going on? Is something wrong? Was it something I said? I really don’t want things to be uncomfortable between us.”

“No, it’s nothing you said. It’s me. I’m such an idiot. I’ve been so stupid.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it anxiously.

“What? No. No, sweetheart. You haven’t done anything-”

“I thought- I actually believed-” Cut himself off with a quiet, bitter laugh. It wasn’t malicious; it was empty, as if all the soul had drained out of him. “Stupid.” 

And with that, he turned the handle and stepped outside, the door clicking shut behind him. You stood for a moment, dazed, then ran to the door. You slipped on your shoes and hurried after him, but by the time you stepped onto the street he was already out of sight. You ran to the street corner, scanning for his blonde hair and black ears, then ran to the other when you didn’t see him. He was gone. You ran a hand through your hair and returned to the apartment. 

A quick once over of the place revealed that he took his phone and his wallet. That, at least, was a relief. Jungkook poked his head through the door.

“Everything okay?” he asked uncertainly.

“He’s gone. Said he needed some air and then he just ran off,” you said.

Jungkook cursed again. “Why’d you have to say that, noona?”

“What are you talking about? Do you know what’s wrong? If you do you’d better tell me right now!” Your voice was rising as you started to panic. What had you said. What if Yoongi didn’t come back. “He kept saying he was stupid, that it was his fault. What did I say? Why is he so upset?”

“Noona, I love you,” Tae chimed in, emerging from the door behind Jungkook. “But you are an idiot sometimes.”

“Tae, this isn’t funny-” you cried

“He’s in love with you,” Tae said. His face showed that he was entirely serious.

“What? No, he isn’t,” you said.

“Why are you arguing this? You love him too,” Jungkook said.

“Of course I love him! But he can’t know that. You didn’t tell him, did you?” The boys looked at you, clearly confused. “I never want him to feel like he owes me anything. He doesn’t have romantic feelings for me, and that’s okay.”

Jungkook groaned, clearly getting frustrated. “For someone with so many hybrids in their family, you really have no clue. The way he treats you, touches you, looks at you; that’s how we treat our mate. He clearly chose you months ago.”

You blinked, not comprehending. “I-”

“Marks like that,” Taehyung added, pointing at your neck. “It’s instinct. He wanted other guys to know that you guys belong to each other. The medication might’ve made him brave enough to do it, but he definitely meant it.”

“Oh god. I’ve gotta call him.” You pulled out your phone and dialed his number. It rang and rang and rang before finally going to voicemail. The second time, you only got one ring before it went straight to voicemail. “He rejected the call,” you said. Tears were gathering in your eyes. “What do I do?”

The boys looked at each other, obviously worried. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” Tae tried to reassure you, but his tone only made you worry more.

You sent at least a dozen texts begging Yoongi to pick up, but he didn’t even read them. You called Namjoon, and he hurried over immediately after he got off work. All the guys arrived for your movie night, but Yoongi still wasn’t home. It was getting dark and you truly started to panic. What if someone hurt him? You thought back to that night you found him, beaten and terrified, in the alley behind the cafe. You all sat around the table trying to think of a way to reach him. The guys all tried calling him, but he rejected all of their calls too.

“Wait a second!” You all jumped as Jungkook suddenly spoke. “What kind of phone does he have, noona?” 

“The same as mine,” you said, holding up your phone.

“You’re on the same family plan, right?” he continued. You nodded. “We can use find my phone on your device to track his.”

You unlocked the phone and shoved it into his hands. He worked quickly, pulling up the app and pinging Yoongi’s phone. A minute later, you had a dot on the map where his phone supposedly was. 

“Someone should wait here, in case he comes back,” you said. Jin, Hoseok, and Tae volunteered to stay. You, Jimin, and Jungkook followed Namjoon and piled into his car. He drove as you used the little dot on your map to direct him. It led you a couple blocks away, near the park Yoongi liked to take walks in. You opened the door and jumped out before the car was even totally stopped. Ignoring Namjoon’s scolding, you looked around frantically calling Yoongi’s name. 

“He isn’t here!” you cried. “Is this thing wrong?”

“Maybe, or maybe he dropped his phone. Let’s look around a bit,” Jungkook suggested. You spread out, scanning the sidewalk and looking under benches for Yoongi’s phone.

“Over here!” Jimin called a moment later. You ran to where he stood, holding a phone. You looked the device over.

“It’s his,” you confirmed. The screen was cracked, but when you checked the lock screen it was a picture from your movie night several weeks ago. “But this isn’t right. He takes such good care of his stuff. And you should’ve seen his face when I got him this. Even if he dropped it, he’d never just lose it.” You looked around the surrounding shadows of the park, calling out for Yoongi again. Namjoon looked around as well, eyes settling on the convenience store across the street.

“This spot should be on that security camera.” He pointed. “Maybe we can see which way he went from here.”

You nodded, already stepping to cross the street. Jungkook caught your arm, stopping you from stepping out before you checked for traffic.

“Noona, careful!” he said as a car passed a moment later. You pulled your arm free and glanced both ways before darting across the road. You burst into the convenience store and made a b-line for the register. The cashier looked confused and a little terrified as you blurted out your request.

“Do you have the recordings from that camera?”

“What…? I mean, yeah. Why?” the young man asked.

“We’re looking for a hybrid.” Namjoon stepped forward and placed a hand on your shoulder. “We found his phone across the way.” He pointed to the spot. “Your camera should’ve caught him, right?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess. I’m not sure if I’m allowed to just show you…” he hesitated.

“Please,” you begged simply. The boy must’ve seen the desperation in your eyes. Either that, or he thought you were hot. Regardless, he relented and waved you toward the back room.

“Alright, but if my manager hears about this I’ll deny it.” You frowned, wondering how he’d deny it since this whole exchange was on the indoor cctv, but you opted not to point out this flaw in his plan. You and Namjoon crowded into the small back room as the cashier opened the video file and stepped aside for you to watch.

Starting from a few hours prior you watched the tape in fast forward, people zooming by in either direction on the sidewalk.

“Wait!” you cried. Namjoon stopped the video, jumping back a few frames and playing it at regular speed. You watched as Yoongi slouched into frame, head down, hands in his pockets. His blond hair stuck up at odd angles. He hadn’t fixed it after he woke up that afternoon. He sat heavily on the bench where you found his phone, dropping his head in his hands. His shoulders shook and your heart broke because you knew he was crying. After a moment he sat up and just stared into space, head leaned back to look up at the sky. 

A black car pulled into the frame, stopping just in front of Yoongi’s spot on the sidewalk. Your blood ran cold as you recognized the man who emerged from the rear passenger-side door.

“Oh god, no,” you breathed.

“What is it? You recognize this guy?” Namjoon asked. The man on screen walked over and Yoongi visibly tensed as he spoke. He glanced at the guy, then immediately trained his eyes on the pavement. They seemed to have a conversation, Yoongi’s side of things mostly consisting of nods and head shakes. The man gripped Yoongi’s shoulder, and he winced away from the touch. After another moment of conversation Yoongi stood and the man guided him toward the car. Yoongi hunched in on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible, as if he could disappear from the situation altogether. But he didn’t, instead he let the man guide him into the car, and drive away.

“That was Kwon Hyunjoong. Yoongi’s old owner.” A sob tore from your throat before you could stop it and you were left gasping for air in the tiny security room.

#yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #suga fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #hybrid!au #cafe!au #hybrid!yoongi #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #suga #bts #bts suga #bts yoongi

[adie-dee]

Midsumma Festival

As I stumbled down the hallway to my apartment I tried to pull my keys from my pocket, catching a swear on my lips as they tumbled from my hand to the ground almost right outside my door. Tonight had been a bigger night than I’d anticipated - the afterparties for the Midsumma Pride March were always massive, but the one at the Espy had gone off, and had their liquor licence not expired I probably would have still been there.

But I was home now and I needed to get inside without waking Blake or the shouty neighbours, which I wasn’t sure I’d be able to manage. Prior to my phone dying I’d seen the time was twoish, and while I had no idea what the time was now, I was pretty sure they would all still be in bed.

Holding onto the wall of the spinning hallway I slowly leaned down to pick up my keys, stumbling once again as I straightened up. At least I hadn’t lost them completely this time - Blake’s concerns over security meant my spare was no longer hidden in the hallway, and I really didn’t want to wake him if I didn’t have to.

The key slipped from the lock as I tried to insert it, scratching the paint on the door to reveal another layer of dark brown paint underneath. Which I knew my landlord wouldn’t be happy with, but if he wasn’t going to fix the mould problem then I saw no reason to care about the door.

I bit back a squeal of delight when the door swung open. The lights were still off in the living area which meant Blake was still asleep, and if I treaded carefully then I’d be able to get in bed without waking him.

Delight turned to dismay when I flicked on the lights. Blake was awake and on the couch, watching me through bleary eyes, though the dismay I was feeling vanished when I saw he was wearing nothing more than the donut-print pink trunks I’d bought him for Christmas. It was a really good look on him, almost as good as my sequin playsuit was on me.

“Did I wake you?” I asked. I was sure I’d been quiet, even with the key mishap, but apparently not.

“Nah,” he replied. “Was just about to get ready for a run when I heard you attack the door. You have a good night?”

“A run? Already?” I unclipped the blue, purple and pink extensions from my hair. “But it’s it like three am or something?”

“Gonna take it you had a great night, then,” he said with a smirk. “It’s almost six. Surprised you didn’t see the sun coming up on your way home. But then, you were probably blinded by your outfit.”

I glanced down, confused at what he was saying. My neon yellow stiletto boots were bright, but they weren’t in my field of vision, and my playsuit was made up entirely of dark purple sequins, so it wasn’t distracting either. As for my fluffy white jacket…

The realisation of what he was saying suddenly hit me. “Isn’t it amazing?” I stated, posing to better show off the flashing LED lights built into it. “I found it in Vinnies. Can you believe someone just gave this away?”

As I stripped it off, his face twisted in a way that suggested he could.

“I got you something better,” he told me, throwing a parcel in my direction, only for me to fumble the catch. I cringed, hoping the contents weren’t breakable.

Thankfully, upon picking it back up I discovered it was squishy, and given his comment I figured it was probably clothing.

“Spotted a market after I dropped you at Faith’s,” he told me as I tore the package open. “Was branded as being part of Midsumma and--”

“You bought me a present for Pride?”

“Um. Yes.”

I nodded with approval. Presents for Pride was a great idea, and I was totally going to have to get something for Faith too.

“Anyway,” he continued on like I hadn’t just interrupted him, “I found that.”

I let out a little gasp at the sight of the t-shirt in the package. It was grey marle and decorated with a cartoon dragon with bisexual-flag coloured wings, making it identical to the one I used to own.

“You said you liked that tee,” he stated, “and I haven’t seen you wear it since--” he cut himself off, suddenly looking concerned while he traced the edges of the brand on his arm. The brand he’d gotten the last time I wore the old shirt. “It’s just occurred to me that maybe you stopped wearing it because of that day.”

“I couldn’t get the blood out,” I replied, my voice sounding distant even to me. That attack was the first time I ever felt pain, and I never wanted to experience that again. “Tried my hardest because I loved that top, but the stains wouldn’t budge. That’s why I stopped wearing it.” I hugged the t-shirt to my chest. “Was my favourite, too. And now I have a new one!”

Relief washed over his face. “There’s another one in there too. A different one.”

I put the dragon tee to the side and pulled out the other, a pastel purple racer back singlet.

“The guy was doing custom prints,” Blake explained. “So I had him do that.”

The front of the singlet had the bisexual flag printed on it, and on top of the flag was the bicep emoji. I looked from it to him, confused as to what it meant.

His face fell. “You don’t get it, do you.” When I shook my head he continued. “It’s a biceptual flag. Because you’re bi and you…” the concerned look reappeared again, “like… biceps,” he finished lamely.

I clapped my hand over my mouth again and stared at him, wide eyed.

“It’s bad, isn’t it,” he grumbled. “Knew I shouldn’t have done it.”

A snort escaped my nose and I dropped my hand from my face. “This is hilarious,” I told him, trying to hold back a laughing fit. “And true! I love it!”

The shouty neighbours started banging on our shared wall so I buried my face in the top, hoping it would muffle my laughter. I didn’t need them spoiling this unexpectedly perfect morning.

“So you really like it?” Blake asked.

I nodded, not trusting myself to stay quiet.

“Good.” He stood and came over to me then stared at my feet, suddenly confused. “Just how tall are those heels?”

I grinned down at him. “Eight inches. Don’t like being short?”

“It’s—” he glanced down again then back up at me, his eyes burning with a look I knew so well. “Fucking hot, actually.”

Gods, could this night get any better? “Then how about you skip your run and get your cardio another way?” I suggested with a wink.

“On one condition,” he told me, his hands already at the zip of my playsuit. “You keep the shoes on.”

My grin grew bigger. Tonight was definitely going to get better.

#my writing #Lily drabble

[blue-slush-writing]

𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐦𝐬

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 1

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.2k

𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐩: 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮 𝐱 𝐈𝐳𝐮𝐤𝐮

𝐏𝐨𝐯: Izuku has finally been able to get out of an abusive relationship with Todoroki but can't seem to full escape, especially when all of their friends are trying to force them back together

Katsuki thought his life was perfect, but as soon as his daughter was unexpectedly born his girlfriend left, leaving him to be a father on his own. He's trying to make it through college while taking care of his 3 year old.

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: 𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠

Chapter 2

Izuku could roughly hear his alarm going off next to his bed and he could feel the sun's light shining in through his window. The bright rays were piercing through his tightly shut eyes, and he groaned, squinting. It was a Tuesday morning and he had class in about an hour, but despite the continuous beeping, he only rolled over, prepared to go back to sleep and skip class. His comforter was practically begging him to just stay in today. Along with his awful headache, it seemed like reason enough to ditch for one day. Part of him wanted an aspirin, but sleep felt more important. He shifted uncomfortably as his bare skin rubbed against the sheets. Somewhere in his mind he was vaguely aware he was naked, but the situation didn’t quite click into place until he felt an extra pair of arms wrap around his from behind. The warmth of another person pressed up against his back, and he rolled over, coming face to face with a smiling duel haired man. his eyes opened in surprise, and he began to speak, only to find the words caught in his throat.

“Morning sunshine.” The boy muttered, trying to lean in for a kiss, but was instead met with Izuku’s hand pressed tightly between their lips. Even this early in the morning Shoto still looked stunning, but that wasn’t quite what was on his mind.

“Did we… again?” When he had invited Shoto over, he had sworn to himself wouldn’t get high enough to sleep with him, but it seemed his self control was more of a figment of his imagination. It hadn’t been too long since the two of them broke up, but it felt way too soon to be considering getting back with his Ex.

In response to his question Shoto only laughed. “You really can’t hold your liquor Izu.”

“We were drinking?!” The man was a known lightweight, which was why he rarely drank, especially in combination with weed. For the life of him he couldn’t piece together what happened last night, but here he was, for the second time that month, laying naked in bed with a guy he had sworn not to see again. Maybe he had slipped something into his drink. Izuku tried to move out of Shoto’s arms and sit up, but was immediately pulled back down into a tight hug.

“Come on. Don’t be like that. You were so nice to me last night” He planted small kisses along his collar bone.

“I was nice because you got me drinking until I forgot what a dick you are.” He snarled, pushing him off. Izuku rolled out of bed, dragging one of the blankets with his as a robe. Their clothes were scattered across the room, and no matter where he looked he couldn’t seem to find his boxers.

“They’re s on the couch.” Shoto turned over on the bed, Obviously not planning on leaving his apartment anytime soon. What worried Izuku more is that he was probably going to have to wash the entire living room. With his luck they probably hadn’t gone for only one round. He grabbed a pair of booty shorts out of his dresser and pulled them on, throwing a thin white T over top. It was way too early for this shit. His head was pounding and everything felt very bright and harsh. Just how much did he drink? He was trying to act nonchalant, but he had a really bad feeling in his gut. Even if he hadn’t been in his right mind, he felt like he was leading Shoto on. Izuku knew he didn’t plan on getting back together with him, so doing this made him feel dirty. He never used to do one night stands, but the more time he spent around friends, the more time he woke up in situations like this. his friends were his Ex’s friends which meant they were all trying to push the two of them back together. Even now, he was sure that they had all purposefully ditched the party last night just to give them some time together. Those bastards.

Still feeling incredibly tired, he walked drearily into the kitchen, bumping into the counter on his way to the coffee pot. With a hangover like this he was going to start with a minimum of three mugs and an aspirin. He popped the last instant brew cup into its place and added water before pressing start. He could have just stood there and watched, but he felt the overwhelming need to brush his teeth, so he made his way down the hall to the bathroom, and was met with a very unseemly sight. He looked like a total wreck. His makeup from the day before streaked down his face and his green dyed hair was an absolute mess. He looked like he had just walked out of hell.

He splashed some water onto his hands and slowly massaged a puff of soap into his dry face. It stung his eyes, but he rubbed his skin clean till he was satisfied, and rinsed, wetting his hair in the process. He was in desperate need of a shower anyway , but that would have to wait until after he got an explanation. He felt like his heart was racing faster than it should, and he could see his hands shaking as he opened the cap to the tooth paste. Maybe it was the drugs still working their way out of his system, but he got the feeling he was afraid of the things he might have said the night before. The promises he might have made. Hell, with the way he acted when he was drunk he might walk out this just to be told they were already back together. Part of him longed for that. Wanted to be held again and shown affection. Wanted to taste Shoto on his lips when they-

But the other half of him knew that was impossible. He had already had his heart broken once, and he didn’t know if he had it in his to go through that again. Shoto was the one who had got him started on pot in the first place when they were back in high school. Izuku was stressed and anxious, and had been easily convinced it was just a way to “chill out”. His relationship quickly went from best friend, to dealer and customer, and when he didn’t have the money for weed, he would pay with... favors. This continued into college, but soon he was able to make other friends who hooked him up and he became a resident stoner. Weekends, parties, and now apparently Monday nights, he would get togethers to get lit. Everyone seemed to like him and he got invited out a lot. He was just a typical college kid with some extra problems.

Somewhere along the way his favors for Shoto got more and more serious, until he just asked him out. Izuku had probably mistaken what they had for love and immediately said yes. They would fight, make up, have sex, and pretend like none of it happened. Maybe he could have realized earlier that something was off, but the blonde just had a way of doing things that always brought him back. Like after a long day of work he would sneak the two of them onto their apartment buildings roof, and they would spend the night in each other's arms, just watching the stars and talking about nothing. When they did finally break up it was because Shoto had cheated. Behind Izuku’s back there had been a girl named Momo who seemed to be nothing more than eye candy, but had taken up his time nonetheless. When he found out what was going on he had been devastated. After a long fight that lasted days of on and off screaming, they decided it would be best to just part ways. To Izuku it had been the end, but Shoto seemed to think they were just on some kind of break.

Swishing water around in his mouth, the greenette spit out the last of the minty paste and left from the bathroom. He could hear his Ex getting dressed in the bedroom as well as the beep of the coffee machine, signalling that the pot was done brewing.

Once he had poured himself a mug, he couldn’t be bothered to add creamer and just decided to drink it black. he didn’t have the patience to search all around his kitchen for whatever ridiculous spot his friends had left his milk and sweeteners. He had only just taken a sip of his steaming drink when Shoto walked in wearing one of Izuku’s hoodies, and prosmuidly nothing underneath. He slowly tried to approach him, but every step forward warranted two steps back.

“Are you serious Izuku? We’re not five. You can’t just back away from your problems.” He moved closer. “We still have something. We always did. I already apologized didn’t I?” His voice almost sounded sincere, but there was a layer of malice dripping behind every word. This was one of his tactics. Say sweet words laced with just enough poison to scare his into submission. But he had grown too much since their breakup to fall prey to his lies once again. He never wanted to go back to being Shoto’s plaything.

“You cheated on me with some bitch you met on tinder. You lost me the day you started sleeping around behind my back.” He knew he must have a dark glare on his face, and he hoped it got his point across. He wanted him out immediately. “I’ll show you to the door .” He tried his best to sound warm, but it was clear that he was about ready to lose it. He wasn't sure why he was so angry, but a swarm of memories was clouding his mind and he felt as though he was on the verge of tears. If Shoto stayed any longer he might collapse and give in again.

“Can I at least take a shower before I leave?” It was so clear this was not a question but a demand, but Izuku was not having it. With no words left to say, he simply grabbed a jacket from the front closet, shoved it at Shoto and pushed him out the front door. He honestly couldn’t care if it was winter, and that he was wearing barely anything, but his new house was close enough for him to not have to worry. And Even if it wasn’t, why should he care? The man was no longer his problem.

Once he was alone in his apartment he immediately collapsed down onto his bed, wondering why he had let this happen to himself. His first class started in close to 30 minutes, but he definitely did not feel like going. He would write his professor an email saying he got sick and hope that he didn’t think his getting sick for the 13th time that semester was strange. He probably hated him, but it was just a general language class. He had dropped English in high school and now had to retake it at 9:30 in the morning every Tuesday and Thursday.

Despite having taken a bath the night before, Izuku felt filthy. His skin was crawling and he wished he could run away any memories that might resurface the night before. Before he tried to figure out anything for the day a shower was in order. He once again pulled himself from bed and picked up his phone from the nightstand. He had been in such a daze last night that he hadn’t even plugged his phone in and it was now at a dwindling 13%. he connected it to his charger, not even bothering to look at his string of notifications. Who ever needed his could wait until after he was clean.

He had just put his clothes on, but easily dropped them to the floor and carefully made his way to the shower. There were red solo cups littered around his living room, and the whole place wreaked of drugs and sex. This is why he never let people party at his house. He was surprised to not find puke in the bathroom, but at least that would be one less thing for him to clean up. He clicked the water on and stepped into its spray, not waiting for it to warm up. It felt so good to have the cold droplets covering his back and dripping through his hair.

As the water heated up he felt like his problems melted away. Thoughts of past love, lust and affection, the after taste of drugs. They slipped down the drain with all of the sweat from the night before. When his and Shoto had broken up he had replaced all of his soaps so that the house would stop smelling like him. So he would stop smelling like him. Now all of his senses were filled with the smell of white chocolate and strawberries. It was the same body wash that he had used in middle school before all of his problems had come barreling head first into his life. It reminded him of his mother, Inko. The soap had originally been hers, But Izuku had stolen it and didn’t change the scent he used for years. He had only switched it in highschool when his friends told him that he should switch to a brand that was better for the environment.

As he stood in the shower, he could feel his legs lightly quivering and he had to steady himself against the shower bar. It hadn’t been immediate, but the effects of an eventful night were finally hitting him. He relentlessly scrubbed hisself, wishing he could magically erase himself from existence. The worst part of all of this was he already didn’t want to be sober anymore. He had made a catastrophic mistake under the influence, but he knew he could forget if he just let himself go a little. Being addicted to something was incredibly annoying. As long as he could guarantee Shoto wouldn’t be there, he would probably call up his friends and ask them to come over later that night.

When he washed his hair, streaks of green hair dye bled down his arms and torso, drizzling down the drain like a sad stream of sludge. The bright color was fading and it was close to time to redye it. Those were a multitude of colors he could go for, but he always found himself dying it green to match his eyes. At the very least he was on brand.

With the last bits of soap leaving his body, he cut off the water and stepped out of the shower. Water dripped off of his onto the floor mat and he rang his hair out with a towel, not letting the moisture cling to his roots. The entire room was filled with steam and he couldn’t see himself in the mirror, but it was safe to say he felt vastly better. Whatever had happened was in the past and all he could do now was move on with his day. Maybe he could call up his friend Uraraka and they could watch movies instead of doing their work on campus. She was kind of an idiot, but She always managed to make him feel better.

Izuku wrapped the towel around himself and opened the bathroom door, letting out a ploom of smoke. The rest of his apartment was cold and he instantly regretted leaving the warm confines of the shower. He quickly ran to his bedroom and found a comfortable sweater and a pair of sweatpants. The two clothing items didn’t match at all, but who was going to see him? He might as well have put on some fuzzy socks too. Once he was bundled in warm clothing he reached for his phone and began to scroll through his alerts.

Those were tons of messages from his friends apologizing and checking in on him, an email from his boss, even a message from one of his close classmates asking if he was coming in today. He checked the email first, worried he might have forgotten about a shift. He worked at a fast food chicken hut, and he had thought he didn't have work until tomorrow, but with the way his day was going he was better safe than sorry. He skimmed it quickly, only noticing the key details. To his relief it was just notifying him of what hours he would be working so he wouldn’t be late...again. His boss liked him because he did his work while on shift, but he wasn’t the most reliable when it came to actually showing up on time. He usually did the four to nine shift but tomorrow he was working overnight.

His last notification was from Uraraka . She used a long string of emojis to accompany a message apologizing for leaving him alone last night. She seemed genuinely upset and said that Iida had dragged her out before she had even realized what was happening. Both Uraraka and Iida were Graphic design majors and lived together on campus. There was a good chance the two of them were dating, but Izuku never pressed the subject. He decided he might as well message her just to see if she wanted to come over. She most likely wouldn’t respond, but it was worth a shot. His fingers flicked across his keyboard and he sent him a simple text that got his point across.

‘Come over. I’ll get snacks and a movie. Just bring something… strong. Makeup for leaving me alone last night by giving me something to forget about Shoto.’ he knew he would regret saying this even as he typed the words, but he longed for an escape. Not only just from his Ex, but more from his situation. Somewhere deep within himself, Izuku felt like he was missing something. Like he didn’t belong. It was as if he was yearning for a place he had never been, whose he would finally feel whole. That “place” certainly wasn’t his one bedroom apartment.

Izuku decided it was worthwhile to put some concealer on, so as not to look like a total wreck for his friends. He didn’t care much about his appearance, but at the very least he wanted to cover up the redness of his tired eyes. His head still throbed from the past nights drinking, and every time he would turn his head too fast clusters of black dots would cloud his vision. Sighing heavily, he let himself fall back against his pillow, deciding he would just take a short nap until someone responded. He had no idea how late he had been up yesterday, but he could feel his fatigue dripping from him. Not even bothering to cover himself with the comforter, he rolled over, burying his face into the warmth of his cotton heat.

~~~

A ding on Izuku’s phone stared him from his sleep. He had his ringer all the way up, and the loud beep echoed through his room. Groaning, he turned over grabbing his phone from his night stand. It was later in the evening now, nearly Five o’clock, and the sun was no longer at its peak in the sky. Among other notifications, he had a message from Uraraka.

‘I’m in class, but I’ll be over in a bit. I get out at 4 so close to then.’

Four? It was an hour past then. Izuku sat up in bed, worried that he had missed her. He would feel so stupid if she had actually shown up only for his to fall asleep. Just as he began to worry, he heard quiet talking coming from the living room. He couldn’t quite make out what was being said, but it sounded like the TV was playing, as well as small laughs that bounced around the apartment. He sat up, clutching his head and stumbled out of his bedroom. Sitting thoughtlessly on his couch was Uraraka, watching his TV as if it was her own house. She had her feet kicked up on his coffee table and her school bag was sitting next to her. She had clearly come straight from class. He certainly hadn’t been quiet when he barged into the room, and she looked up from where she was sitting and looked at him as if he was the one who seemed out of place. She had a smug grin, and he was sure he must look ridiculous from sleeping on his face.

“The front door was open so I invited myself in.” She said nonchalantly, leaning her head backwards on the couch to stare at him. He definitely should have warned her-

“I wouldn't sit thise if I was you. Pretty sure I had sex there last night.” He said, sighing. Normally it would have been funny to see the look of utter disgust on Uraraka's face, but he was still feeling guilty about what happened. The brunette quickly leapt up from the couch, shaking herself off as if he had gotten an STD just from sitting there. He looked at her with regret at having spent the last hour laying down on the sofa. As bad as his mood was, it did brighten him a little bit to see the idiot running around trying to whip the cooties off of herself. Slowly his frown turned up and he began to laugh, walking forward and throwing a clean blanket over the cushions and taking a seat himself. “Honestly I don’t really remember what happened last night, but Shoto did say some cryptic things about the living room.” He said, giggling at Uraraka’s reaction.

After a few more minutes of flailing and laughing, she finally sat down, smiling brightly. She was glad to see that he wasn’t an absolute wreck. When Izuku did things he regretted, he tended to be a mess for days. She had been especially worried today when he asked for hard drugs. He rarely did anything more than pot, so he knew he must be really upset.

“You promised snacks, but I have yet to see any food.” She commented, gesturing dramatically around the room that was still covered in trash. Izuku wished he had had the chance to clean before she had come over, but to be fair, he wasn’t even awake by the time she arrived.

“I swear you only ever come over for my food.” he muttered, standing back up and walking over to the cupboards. He almost expected them to be completely empty, but to his surprise those were still a few bags of chips amongst the others food. Maybe his friends had just missed them the night they were over, or maybe this was their way of apologizing for leaving him with Shoto. Either way at least this was food left to offer in return for whatever Uraraka had brought over. He grabbed some ruffles and what was left of the takis and threw them down in front of Uraraka. “This is the best I can offer, so eat up.” He slumped down next to her and sighed. He already felt better being in the company of one of his friends.

Uraraka immediately opened up the bag and began to scarff down the food as if it was the last meal she would ever eat. If she kept up like that she would probably end up puking on him. While she made quick work of the chips, he snatched his backpack and began to dig around, looking for whatever he could to calm his racing mind. Being in Uraraka’s presence was nice, but he needed something a little… stronger. Her mess of a bag had crumbled up papers, day old food wrappers and a variety of notebooks. Her computer was the one clean looking thing in the whole black hole, and he definitely didn't see any drugs. She had flaked out on him. Shit. He dropped it to the floor and let his head fall back, looking straight at the ceiling. It was stupid feeling so dissapointed over something like this. Asking his friends for drugs definitely wasn’t a healthy way to cope with whatever this was, but at some point in his life it was like he had just given up. Given up on being a good son, on his school work, on making something out of his life.

When he was a kid his mother would tell his that he was his brightest star and that he just needed to find his home. He thought he had found it with his Ex, but all he had come out with was addiction and depression. He had become so codependent with him, that the last couple months alone had felt like hell. Everyday he almost gave in and unblocked his number, just wanting to be able to have someone to lean back on, but his mothiss words stuck with him. As much as his kind touches and loving whisper would sing him into his sweet fantasies, it was hard to look past all of the time he would get mad or violent. He was so good with his words, and he used them as a weapon, bleeding Izuku of his indiscretions. It was hard to win a battle against someone who knew your everything. Shoto was his weakness and it was easy to exploit that.

Truth be told he would kill to just be able to sit down and talk to his mother, but he hadn’t seen her in person in over two years. It wasn’t that they hadn’t been close, but when he moved out his mother had moved to Europe. She never came back to visit, and Izuku never asked. If he called her right now and really wanted her to come home, he knew she would catch the first flight back, but he never said anything. Inko had had Izuku when she was only 19 and he had always felt guilty for taking away the prime of her life. His mother never showed it, but he had the feeling that she was missing something. This was always this longing look on her face, especially after his father died.

He barely remembered his dad, but everyone who knew him talked fondly of him. Inko always said that they were deeply in love and that she wouldn’t give up the time they had for the world. After he had passed away he said she felt very distant living at home. That’s why after Izuku had moved out for college she had gone to England.

He only realized he had been spacing out when he looked up to see Uraraka pulling a small gum tin from her pocket. “You looked so zoned out just now I thought you might already be buzzed” She said jokingly, sliding the lid off the container. Inside was a small pile of white paper strips with hearts on them. That was definitely stronger than weed.

He had only taken LSD once before and had a rough trip that felt like it lasted forever. his friends assured him it was only around seven hours, but it had felt like days. He had almost walked into a busy street towards the end of it, and hadn’t really tried it since. He wasn’t sure if he really felt like doing this, but at this point he felt bad refusing Uraraka when she had come all this way for him, not to mention she was giving it to him for free. Maybe it was out of obligation or self pity, but he opened his lips, sticking out his tongue and placed a tab in his mouth. It tasted like nothing and disintegrated instantly, leaving him waiting patiently for it to kick in.

He looked over at Uraraka who sighed and smiled at him. “It’s probably going to take at least 30 minutes to kick in. We should probably just settle in with a movie.” Without waiting for confirmation he grabbed a remote off the table and clicked on the tv. After a bit of scrolling through netflix they settled on the ring, a safe choice.

G

Izuku had settled into the couch and was deep into the movie when he thought he heard someone whispering behind his back. It almost sounded like the wind whistling in his head and it made his skin tingle. He ignored it at first, playing it off as his imagination but the words seemed to come closer, until they were right in his ear, mumbling nonsense he couldn’t make out. He whipped his head around, looking for the source, but was only meant with the empty apartment. He looked over to Uraraka to see if she was experiencing the same thing, but for some reason only half of her was sitting on the couch. From her waist down was right where she was supposed to be but the rest of her was nowhere in sight. This should have been alarming, but instead he found himself giggling, covering his mouth with his hand so Uraraka’s legs wouldn’t get mad at him. The closer he looked the funnier it became to him, and soon he was breaking out into a fit of laughter.

As he laughed he could see the sounds tumbling out of his mouth in bright colors that painted the whole room into a rainbow. All of the hues seemed to seep together into a psychedelic collage. He slowly stood, trying to gasp them between his fingers, only to stumble over, nearly face planting into the beer stained carpet. As he stared at it the ground seemed to boil and pop beneath his. He felt a pair of arms wrapped around his hoisting his back to his feet. He turned his head, to come face to face with Uraraka, who was back to being a whole person.

“I found the rest of you!” he said with triumph, a bubbly laugh erupting from his. Izuku could see her lips moving, but couldn’t hear any of the words she was saying as she slowly set him back down on the couch. He was about to protest and stand again, when small black dots began to spot his vision. He blinked a few times, trying to get them to disappear, but they only seemed to grow, slowly clouding his vision.

He looked around for Uraraka, wanting to ask for help, but she was nowhere in sight. He began to shake his head violently, not understanding what was happening, but everything kept getting darker and darker. He was vaguely aware he was screaming, but he couldn’t seem to hear the sound. His throat began to get soar and he felt like he couldn’t breath. He began to take deep gulps of air, but it only made him more dizzy. Just as the last of his sight blacked out, he felt himself falling backwards, losing his strain of consciousness and collapsing into sleep

#bakudeku #bkdk #writing #bakudeku fic #bakugou x deku #fanfic #original writing #single parent #abusive Ex #angst #drugs #oc #Bakugou is an amazing father #izuku needs a hug #ongoing #will be updated.

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 12

happy Chronicles update! I know I waited a while to post this one, but I feel like I’m in a good place to share it now. so, I hope you like it! it’s... an interesting one.

from: itsdjbubbles 29 July, 19:30. La Tortue. you and your group got a setlist?

to: itsdjbubbles i… could have a setlist. and we’re more of a band than a group.

from: itsdjbubbles hell yeah, dude. you’re in.

–––

just saw adrien agreste in person. In Person. i don’t think i can even afford his aura. or, like. the CO2 he’s breathing out?

no, i’m not going to say where. i’m not a total dickwad. just sometimes. mostly because my sister would come for me if i didn’t say so.

also, fellow parisians, who hopefully are not or have not been as much of a dumbass as me: watch this space for an announcement, maybe.

Adrien Agreste is right. There. In all his swoopy-blond-hair, thousand-euro-smile, million-euro-clothing glory. Hanging by the doorway, and seeing him standing at the register like an actual human being, and laughing like an actual human being, and paying with a debit card like an actual human being, is like looking into the goddamn sun. Or like standing in the weird static, plasma dimension that exists between the TV screen and real life. Or both.

Okay. Luka will admit that, for a time that now feels both distant and delirious, he… probably entertained a celebrity crush on Adrien Agreste. But it was short-lived, and it felt more like a warm fuzz in his stomach whenever he passed by those radiant advertisements for perfume, men’s clothing, even underwear. Really, the more he thought about it, the more he was just admitting that Adrien Agreste had a certain charm and attraction because he, like many people in Paris, had a functional pair of eyes.

It was… fantasy, really. Self-indulgent. The way most infatuation tends to be. Observation with a cause; he heard it once in a song.

Adrien Agreste is still standing right. There. At the register. And Luka hasn’t moved from the entrance. Not even when the door hits him unceremoniously in the back and the bell above it mocks him as it announces his arrival.

And then Adrien Agreste turns on his heel, slipping his wallet into his back pocket with one seemingly perfect hand and gripping a pastry box with the other, and Luka’s body reminds him to step aside. He does, still dumbstruck despite how Adrien Agreste literally smiles at him and says good morning, and the door closes behind him again, and not for the first time in his life, Luka forgets what words are or how to string them together.

When he comes to his senses and makes peace with the fact that he just shared the same breathing air as a real-live supermodel, he notices—even from this far away—that Marinette is wearing that expression again. The one from the park. The one he wishes never existed—because even if this is another observation with a cause, he at least has the good sense to know that Marinette Dupain-Cheng does not deserve to look so sad, no matter how many smiles she layers on top of it.

Until now, it seems like Marinette’s only been looking past him, but when her eyes finally settle on him, she perks up a bit from her place at the register. “You dyed your hair,” she says by way of greeting, and he swears her face starts to glow. Or maybe it always was glowing. Maybe it wasn’t because of him.

“Uh,” he replies, because when has he ever been smooth when she’ s looking at him like that? or at all? “Technically, Jules did.” He says it hurriedly, so neither of them has to worry about it or talk about it, but then she has to go and tell him that it looks good on him, and his words have to get stuck on his tongue again when he says, “Thanks, I grew it myself.”

Kill him. Now. He’s ready. Juleka can have his guitar.

“So,” he goes on, a little perkier than he means to, but it’s probably for the best. “That was, uh… that Adrien Agreste guy, huh? You know him or something?”

Marinette’s expression is almost unreadable. It is hard to tell if she regrets knowing Adrien, or if she thinks Luka must be living under a rock because everyone knows who Adrien Agreste is. She snaps back to herself soon enough, and she’s browsing the pastry cases as though it’s her responsibility to find something good for him. “We used to go to middle school together,” she explains. “Just for a while. I even used to have this mondo crush on him. Can you imagine?”

“Yeah,” Luka says, because he can’t count how many times he’s imagined her in love, much less how many times he’s imagined other people in love with her. “Huh. I pegged him as the type to get homeschooled or something.” He tosses a glance behind him, just to see if the limo is still there, but it’s long since peeled away. “What… happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“You…” He pauses. “You said, ‘used to?’”

“Oh,” she says, half-flippant, with a sheepish laugh to match. “Y’know.”

Luka narrows his eyes. “No, I don’t,” he says. “That’s… why I asked?” Even though he maybe, definitely shouldn’t have because it maybe, definitely isn’t his business.

Marinette shrugs, busies herself with boxing up a selection. He doesn’t even have to ask. (Is it good that he doesn’t have to ask?) “I switched schools. That’s all. Turns out absence doesn’t really make the heart grow fonder after all.”

It doesn’t sound like that’s all, especially if the bittersweet look on her face has anything to say about it, but who is he to push? Who is he to do anything but peek into her life and feel grateful, privileged, for what she’s allowed him?

“Anyway,” she goes on; it’s mesmerizing, watching her multitask. The grace with which she can open herself up, so clipped, while taping a box shut. “Our friend is making this music video for a summer class he’s taking. He’s really into film, you know? And we’re playing opposite each other in it. I guess he wanted to come by and chat about it, but I think he had something else in mind.”

Luka’s brow furrows.

When Marinette turns, box in hand, her lips scrunch up awkwardly. Like she’s the one who doesn’t know what to say this time. “Now he’s the one who…”

Oh. Well. Fuck.

“I turned him down,” she adds with a shrug. “In high school. And we’re still… sort of friends. We text and stuff, have a couple of mutual friends. I just get the sense those feelings—his, I mean—never really went away. There’s just… something I can’t shake. Do you know what I mean?”

Does he know what she means? Does he feel? He nods, dumbly, and maybe this moment separated by a counter and a cash register isn’t supposed to be as deep and twisted and thorny as it is. But it is, and it feels that way because he feels, and he wonders if she feels it, too. If there are parts of her that never went away, either.

“Sorry,” Marinette blurts out once the moment ends—too soon, as far as he’s concerned. “You didn’t ask to hear all that.”

“I don’t mind.” Luka offers her a smile because it’s the best thing he has on him. “Life stories, remember?”

She smiles back. It’s slow, and knowing, and it makes him melt in his shoes. “Are you gonna make a song about it, Music Man?”

Okay. Okay. Wow.

Maybe it was worth staying alive for literally this one moment.

“I could write a song about it,” he says; it’s a miracle he doesn’t stammer. “Would you come and listen to it?”

“In the park?”

“At a gig.”

Marinette looks surprised, and then impressed, and damn if he doesn’t want to keep doing things that make her make that face. “Maybe I will,” she says, almost demure, like he asked her on a date or something. (Did he? Ask her on a date?) She looks just past him, and when he follows her gaze it lands on a bulletin board by the door. “Maybe you should swing by with a flyer or something.”

“Maybe I will.” Wow, two for two. He takes the box, reaches for his wallet. “I’ll watch that video, too, we’ll call it even—”

Her hand is on his before he can even pull out his card. And it isn’t until after she’s pushed his wallet back toward him that it finally registers that she’s touched him. “Don’t worry about it,” she says. “It’s on the house. Just bring the flyer, and then we’ll call it even.”

Luka looks between her and the box a number of times, too many questions on his tongue to get any of them out. Why is she being so nice to him? why does she insist on giving him things he hasn’t worked for, or finding loopholes to prove that he did work for it? Is she flirting with him? Or does she pity him? Or is she just being nice because he’s one of her parents’ regulars? Or does she… does she, maybe…

He holds his breath, and searches her eyes, and gets lost in the music he’s still sort of trying to place. He slips his wallet into his back pocket all the same, and he takes the box from her, and it’s ridiculous how fiercely he wishes he could feel her fingers brush the back of his hand again. “You got a deal,” he murmurs—mentally kicks himself for sounding so out of touch. He backs out of the store like it’s illegal to tear his eyes away; it feels like it is, when she’s smiling at him like that. The Not For Customers smile.

Admittedly, he wonders if she ever gave Adrien Agreste that smile, once upon a time.

Maybe he shouldn’t have wondered, because his back bumps right into the door, and the bell above it jingles as though it’s annoyed. But Marinette isn’t; in fact, she giggles behind a hand, and she gives him a little wave like she’s going to keep the memory safe in the pocket of her apron. He manages a weak laugh, and a wave of his own, and then he’s stumbling out the door and walking his bike to the first open bench he can find. He needs to sit down. Put his head in his hands for a while.

Because he thinks she just flirted with him. And he thinks he flirted right back. And he knows she just touched him, in spite of everything she told him about Adrien, in spite of him being right. There. And it’s all finally, finally sinking in, and the world is spinning in a way he’s not really used to, and…

Maybe he just needs a sugar boost.

Shaking his head and sighing, he pops the seal on the pastry box, fully prepared to find a half dozen napoleons inside. There aren’t—only two pastries.

One napoleon.

And one pear tart.

His heart stutters. Makes up for how he didn’t before.

That’s how it gets him.

hey mom? mr. president? deity of indeterminate gender?

how do i go about legally changing my name to Music Man?

you know. hypothetically.

#miraculous ladybug #lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #fic: chronicles of a parisian dumbass #oh boy.

[solynaceawrites]

IDLE HANDS

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, fem!Reader Rating: Explicit A/N: This is my first foray in writing reader inserts in a long time, and it was fun to come back to this style! I want to give a huge thank you to @maybeishouldwait​ for encouraging me and helping me finish this one-shot, and I hope you enjoy reading it!

»»————-　⚜　————-««

You’re not quite sure how you’ve wound up here. Logically, of course, there’s a chain of events you can follow that starts with answering an advert in a newspaper to being at your physical location—the Devil May Cry, housed in a historic heritage building—but how that had led to your current predicament of having your boss’ hands fumbling with your skirt while your own try to untangle the layers of leather separating his skin from yours you couldn’t say. Not that you’re complaining; Dante Sparda is, perhaps, the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, and the greedy way he nips and tugs at your neck lets you know you’re in for a really good lay. If someone had ever told you that taking a job as a secretary-maid-bookkeeper for a handy-man shop would lead to this, you’d have laughed them off as reading too many raunchy paperbacks.

Or watching too many cheesy pornos.

Dante lifts his head, his piercing blue gaze like a physical touch on your face. There’s frustration within it, and his voice, but he’s grinning as he gripes, “Yer clothes are way too complicated, darlin’.”

You don’t think they are. Nothing you’re wearing is out of your usual limits: a simple button-down blouse, a black A-line skirt, tights, pumps with little kitten heels. Laughing softly, you reach to cover his hands with yours, guiding them to your hip, where a hidden zipper rests. “You just have to know where to look.”

“Uh-huh.” He tugs it down, and you shimmy the fabric over your thighs and kick it to the side. “Maybe I’ll make a new rule about ya workin’ here.”

“Oh?” Deciding to take mercy on him, you’re already halfway through the buttons of your shirt, and you pause to tilt your head, studying him curiously. 

“No clothes.”

You roll your eyes with a smile. “I can’t work naked, Dante.”

“Sure you could.”

“If you want every potential customer who comes through to see my ass.”

He considers that, and you watch the gears churning behind his narrowed eyes and smother another chuckle, letting your shirt join the pile on the floor. “No underwear,” he counters, after a moment.

“Or,” you argue playfully, “you could learn to be patient. Besides, when you’re wearing something like that,” and you nod to the coat and chaps and spurs that you’ve spent twenty minutes fighting with, “you don’t get to say my clothes are complicated.”

“Fair enough,” he muses. 

To your surprise and dismay, he steps back, but your protest dies when he shrugs the jacket from his shoulders. You watch with a dry mouth as he unfastens the holsters and drops them—Ebony and Ivory still sitting on the desk is probably the only reason he’s so callous about it—before doing the same with his vest. Each layer of clothing he peels away only sends your already heightened senses into overdrive; it feels scandalous, somehow, seeing the broad expanse of his chest with the dusting of silver hair, or the trim line of his waist, probably because you’ve never seen him in anything less than sans coat. Dante pauses to gauge your reaction as he unhooks the chaps from his belt, and you nod to let him know you’re still onboard with where this is going. The way he smiles then is bright and soft enough to soothe the worst part of your nerves, and you giggle when he hops from foot to foot while trying to take off his chaps, boots, and spurs in one go.

He straightens with a grin and his hands on his hips. “There,” he proclaims. “Better?”

“Much,” you agree. Then it’s a race to see who can get the rest of their clothes off first, and the only reason he wins, you think, is because he’s got less to worry about, particularly as he’s going commando, a fact that makes your mouth water. You do your best not to get distracted as you let your bra, panties, and tights add to the ever-growing pile of discarded clothing, but, Jesus Christ, his thighs are like tree trunks and the cock dangling between them is the largest you’ve ever seen. Is that even going to fit? 

Dante moves closer, caging you between his bulk and the wall, and you let out a little gasp when his hands cup your chest. Then his mouth is on yours, and you part your lips for him as he kisses you greedily, drinking from your mouth like a man dying of thirst. Your fingers twist through his hair while his own squeeze your flesh, thumbs rolling over your nipples until they’re hard and you’re arching against him, craving more; he grunts when you give a particularly harsh tug to his locks before releasing your breasts to grab your waist. You lock your legs around his hips as he carries you to his desk, and you wince when he swipes his arm to clear a spot to set you down, sending a day old box of pizza and a magazine to the ground. “You sure about this?” he asks against your throat.

You swallow thickly, fighting through your nerves. Sleeping with your boss is probably not the best idea you’ve ever had, but there’s an air of reverence to Dante when it comes to you that makes you feel safe. “Yeah.”

“Good.” His mouth trails over your neck, pausing to lavish the skin of your collar until a mark blooms there, and the scratch of his stubble against your sensitive skin has you panting already. Dante gives each of your breasts a kiss before continuing down until he’s kneeling between your legs, and your thought of scolding him disappears with the first press of his lips to the top of your mound. 

If there’s one talent you always suspected Dante had, it was oral. You’d never had a basis for this suspicion, other than the fact that he was always mouthing off to, well, everyone, but the moment he parts your folds with his thumbs to kiss your weeping sex, you know that you were right. He is relentless, alternating between tracing patterns over your clit with the tip of his tongue and moving lower to thrust it within you, and the groan he lets out as he tastes your body sends a blush from the roots of your hair to the tips of your toes. 

Reaching for his hair, you hold on tight as he works. It's been five years since you've had a mouth between your legs, too fixated on your boss to even try dating, but this is an entirely different level. He practically drinks from your body, humming against you encouragingly as you start to grind against him. Dante fixates where you guide him, and in the last thought before he sends you over the edge, you wonder if you've ever came so fast.

You pant as he eases up, slowly licking along your labia as he gently releases his grip on your thighs. Sagging on the desk, you press the back of your hand on your forehead and try to gain control of your racing heart. "You ready now, babe?" he asks.

"Ready for what?"

He grins at you, the expression equal parts eager and predatory and making your toes curl. "For me to fuck ya, obviously."

You blink, then let out a laugh as you wrap your still trembling legs around his waist. "I'd be upset if you didn't."

Dante nods, bracing one hand next to your head as the other works between your bodies; from how his knuckles graze your folds, you assume that he's stroking himself, and butterflies set to swirling in your stomach. Part of it is that he's your boss, sure, but the rest is the pre-sex jitters you always get with a new partner: will they enjoy it, will you enjoy it, is there going to be awkwardness between the two of you after or will the relationship continue on as it was? You reach up to drape an arm over his broad shoulders and pull him closer, pressing your lips to his cheek.

He turns his face to find your lips, brushing against them as you feel him press against your opening. Your mouth opens in a gasp as the head pushes inside. He is thick and hard as a rock, and as he works to fill you up it just keeps going. Your limbs shake as Dante pumps his hips slowly, the arm around him tensing as you dig your fingers into his shoulder

His cock hits a spot inside of you that sends a shock of pleasure through your body. As you throw your head back, his mouth moves to your neck, grazing your pulse. But he doesn't stop, just teases you with teeth and tongue as he stretches your body. 

"You okay?" he murmurs.

"Yeah, it's just . . ." Your voice melts into a moan as he thrusts his hips and smacks against the back of your thighs.

"Okay," Dante pants, his mouth moving lower as he waits for you to adjust.

You're half-convinced that you're going to come the second he moves. You've never felt so full in your life, and every inch of him rubs snugly against your walls in a way that has your head spinning, and he hasn't even really gotten started yet. "Holy fuck," you whisper, staring over his shoulder at the ceiling. What have I gotten myself into?

"Mm," he groans, in agreement you think. "Remind me, why didn't we do this sooner?"

"You weren't wearing chaps," you mumble.

Dante laughs as he kisses the inside curve of your breast. "I'm wearing them every day, then."

He plants his palms face down on the desk and starts to pump his hips in a quick, shallow rhythm. It keeps his cock deep inside you, and for the next several minutes, the only sound is his panting and your quick, needy cries. Your fingers trace his chest and his arms until you can feel the next orgasm building. Dante thrusts hard into you, grinding his hips, and the friction of his body against your clit has you groaning his name.

He curses when you put your hands over your head, weak from the pleasure. "Fuck, fuck, you look so hot like this," he gasps, and that gives you an idea.

Keeping one hand curled over the edge of the desk, you quickly snake the other down to brush your fingers over your clit. He pauses, his eyes narrowed as he watches you draw little circles over the bud, and you wonder if you've somehow made a mistake before he growls. Dante grabs your thighs, pressing them up towards your chest, and the first thrust of his hips at this new angle draws a cry from your throat. "That's it," he rumbles. "You gonna come for me, darlin'?"

"Yes . . ." you moan. "Watch me."

His brows draw together as you do your best to put on a little show: it's difficult with his cock driving in and out of your body to stay focused on him, but as you start to stroke your clit with one hand and tease a nipple with the other, you can tell it's working because Dante gives a low groan. "Shit, come for me, I can't hold on . . ."

You close your eyes; it's a pity to lose the sight of his pleasure-screwed expression, but now you can focus on the press of his body and your own playful touch. Because you can't see him, you jolt when he mouths at your breast, panting hotly against your skin. Then he seals his lips around your nipple, sucking it with quick, sharp tugs, and your voice locks in your throat as your orgasm crashes over you.

Dante hisses your name through the haze of bliss. Moments later you feel him come, thick gushes of seed filling you as your release rocks through your body. You swear you can feel every pulse, almost as if his cock is rippling inside you. Your head is spinning from the intensity, but he doesn't stop. You reach up to grab his hair, shoulder, something . . . and gasp when his skin feels like heated metal and his fingers on your thighs go momentarily sharp, digging into you like claws.

It only lasts for a second, and his skin is soft and smooth and covered with stubble when you brush your fingers over his cheek. His hips slowly still, his lips whispering along her shoulder, until the two of you are simply locked together with his body a comfortable cage around your own. The way he nuzzles you is soothing and, on the heels of such an intense orgasm, makes you more than a little sleepy. But the question of what just happened pricks at you. 

"Dante?" 

"Hm?"

"Did you . . . transform? Just now?"

He clears his throat, a noise you know means he's flustered. "Almost." You nudge him with your knee to prompt him, and he groans and presses his face to your neck. "Part of being half-devil. Sometimes, if I get too wound up, I'll, uh . . . trigger."

"Oh." You consider that. "Okay."

"Does it scare you?"

If you weren't riding a post-coital high, the words you say next would have never left your mouth. "No. It's pretty hot, actually."

"Oh yeah?" His mouth captures yours for a slow, sloppy kiss, and when he pulls away he slides his cock out of you, leaving you sensitive as you stretch on the desk. "You ready for round two yet?" Dante grins.

You make a show of thinking, leaving your arms above your head and rubbing your thighs together, and you don't miss how his eyes darken as his gaze zeroes in on your chest. "Do you think you can handle it?"

"Me?!" Dante shouts, and you laugh as he lifts you and swings you over his shoulder. He carries you easily up the steps, giving your backside a smack as he teases, "Let's see who outlasts who."

#dmc #devil may cry #dante sparda #dante/reader #dante x reader #dmc dante #smut #reader insert #writing #oneshot #idle hands

[parksseonghwas]

espresso martinis and red hair.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

part one!

a/n: there is some wording that, now that i read it, implies???? seonghwa drugged the reader.

i promise he did not!!! for those who aren’t very knowledgable in drink/alcoholic beverages, vodka is a really strong alcohol no matter what it’s mixed with (oftentimes it’s >=30% alcohol) so if the reader has a particularly weak alcohol tolerance it won’t take much vodka to make them very drunk!

that’s how i’ve intended for it to be written! this kinda turned into seongsang x reader sorry :\

another point is that the alcohol names? they’re from irish pubs or bars haha, i’m irish and yeah,,, please don’t joke about the stereotypes

i’m so sorry to the requests i put off to write this

ೃ❅,. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ ┊͙ w/c: 2,316

—

park seonghwa was skilled at his job. he grabbed the bottle of kahlua—topped by a speed pourer, of course—with his index and middle finger, flipped it to pour the intoxicating liquid into a metal, double-sided cocktail measure, which would soon flip into a shaker made from the same material. alongside other ingredients, he threw in vodka, espresso, and a handful of ice. the top was shoved onto the container, slapped, and there was a rough shaking sound emitting from the metal as he wasted no time with theatrics or shoddy cocktail shaking. his movements were oddly poetic though.

once he was satisfied with the amount of condensation gathering on the metal, he slowed his rigorous motions and his hand smacked the side of the cups, loosening the top and setting it aside to be washed. he disappeared for a moment to grab glasses that steamed and were surrounded by cold smoke, having been in the refrigerator. a strainer came into view, and the deceivingly shallow glasses were filled with what was known to many as an espresso martini. seonghwa delicately placed two coffee beans in the centre of the drink, and the display was complete.

you didn’t order this. you were about to order, but your ever-so-knowledgable friend told you that “seonghwa makes a drink that he knows you won’t be able to resist”, but... an espresso martini? one of the most basic cocktails? there would have to be a fucking bunny rabbit appearing from the glass for you to be impressed or found to be unable to resist it.

your mouth opened to make a snarky comment, but the bartender’s eyebrow raised in a “you dare to challenge my intuition?” manner, and you found yourself sheepishly accepting the drink. the knowledge that he made you weak would later make seonghwa’s ego inflate like a damn balloon.

the man was all chains, piercings, and cockiness. the bar was a small joint, cosy, but not too comfortable. dimly lit, not dark. it felt shady, but homely. he was free of customers after he made your drink so he danced to the beat of the music pulsating through the speakers, hips swaying and his body completely under his command. his dyed red hair fell over his eye as he watched you take the first sip. a smirk grew on his face as he saw the look of surprise, confusion, and awe overtake your features.

another point to hwa, he laughed internally. really, he’d lost score of how many customers he pleased.

“okay, what the fuck did you do to this drink? why does the martini taste so good?” the snappy words were in the open before you had a chance to filter them, and the previous cheeky smirk was replaced with a laugh and a warm smile. he guessed the reaction, he’s used to it.

the last thing you remember him saying is, “a magician never reveals his secrets.”

NIGHT TWO

the next morning you woke up alone, thankfully. nonetheless, his words echoed in your head, no matter how loud your music blared and wrecked your head. the crimson red colour of his hair would come to your memory every so often, and you hated that he had such a magnetic presence. if you weren’t so hungover, you would have considered going for a second round of drinks with your friend. you guessed he used a higher quality vodka, or a better coffee liqueur because damn just a couple of those martinis made you paralytic.

to your dismay, a magician would never reveal his secrets.

the sound of ice and alcohol mixing in the shaker. the almost kaleidoscopic vision of his hands gripping the metal. the scent of intoxication with a faint coffee undertone in the air. the taste of pure heaven on your tongue as a new style of a basic drink flowed from the opening of your lips right down the back of your throat.

fuck seonghwa.

fuck seonghwa!

his cocky attitude, the smile on his lips once he noticed that his prediction was correct. you could kill him, really. you could kill your dear friend too, she probably told him about the drink, the fucker.

your mind was made up. when the bastard hangover shifted, you made your way to your wardrobe. not long afterwards you were dressed up, not to the nines or anything fancy. it was a bar, not a nightclub or an upscale restaurant. you were trying to prove a point to a skilled bartender who just happened to put a satisfying spin on a drink you hadn’t tasted in months.

high heels emitted a muted clack against a sticky floor, a constant reminder that the owner of the bar probably didn’t give a fuck who dropped their drinks. similar music blurred into the background, the bass vibrating below the soles of your feet as you made your way to the remaining empty barstool.

a cloth squeaked and twisted against a glass as seonghwa cleaned the remnants of beer from it. he wore a white and red patterned shirt, the sleeves rolled and crunched at his elbows. his forearms tensed and flexed as he cleaned, his voice low and smooth as he converses with his fellow bartender, who you knew—or rather... your friend knew—as hongjoong.

the pair discussed whatever topic came to mind, and they seemed comfortable with each other. the elder of the two lifted his head as though he sensed your presence, and swivelled on his heels to face you with a devilish smile. hongjoong simply went to serve another over-eager customer who was practically begging to be slapped.

“espresso martini girl. i’ll assume you’re wanting the same drink again?” a barely there glint in his eye meant that he was enjoying this, revelling in the thrill he got from knowing you were getting more and more flustered.

“i’ll have you know i do have a name.” the words came out sharp, snappy, snarky. you hated that he brought out this nature in you, but you really couldn’t help it. his playful attitude combined with his stunning looks was an equation that equalled you being an internal mess.

a mirthless laugh filled the short space of air between you and the mixologist. either he was impressed by the balls you thought you had to speak to him in such a manner, or he was pissed off. the second option sounded rather terrifying, though.

“i know your name. you were wasted last night and shouting it at the top of your lungs while you ordered rounds for the whole bar.“ the sharp clunky against the bar signalled that seonghwa was satisfied with how clean the glass was.

a flash of a memory came at his description of the night previous.

a loud cheer resounded from your lips as your friend tried to quieten you down, and you mimicked her shushing action overdramatically. “a round of shots for everyone in the bar!” you cried out, brandishing your empty shot glass in the air. seonghwa himself suggested that shots may be a better option since the martinis were loaded with vodka.

“really, i think you were lucky i knew you were fucking wasted and didn’t mean a word of it.” he pulled out a footed pilsner glass, tilted it, and pulled the lever on the coors light tap, then poured the drink with an expert hand. with little foam gathering at the top, seonghwa gave the drink to an older man who seemed knowledgeable in his alcohol taste; judging from the cold glass of coors light sitting in front of him, you knew different.

your eyes rolled instinctively, and your blood boiled with the knowledge that he was right. or... was your blood boiling because you were too hot in the small bar? you weren’t wearing heavy layers or large coats, so what was the explanation for the amount of heat rushing through every inch of your skin?

“fuck you, i wasn’t wasted!” you retorted weakly. both of you knew it was false though.

“wasted or not, did i get your order right last night?“ he leaned over, arms crossed and propping him up just mere centimetres from

you. the scent of various drinks cling to him like a newfound lifeline, and inhaling felt like taking a new drug.

“no, i drink cosmopolitans. but it was a nice shake-up, if you’ll excuse the pun.” cheeky smiles warped your features, knowing you had outsmarted the apparently all-knowing bartender. you watched his own expression contort into one of confusion.

how did he get it wrong? how did he manage to fuck up the one thing he thought set him apart from other mixologists and bartenders? he’ll admit that the pun was mildly amusing. however, if it was to be paired with the fact that he messed up that badly? he was never going to forget it.

you were never going to let him live it down either, and the hours of relentless teasing made the minutes slip away into nothing. you didn’t even feel the time pass, or maybe that’s because he made you a couple more martinis, and you were tipsy once again.

though... you couldn’t really tell if it was the alcohol or his presence that was intoxicating you. maybe it was a mixture of both.

before long, hongjoong was gone and replaced with a completely different presence. the new worker was threatening, yet he seemed comforting. sharply contrasted hair, large numbers of piercings, dark makeup and outfits made him seem... too scary. he smiled at his coworker, seonghwa, and his lips curled to reveal a smiley piercing, almost complementary to the bar that ran through seonghwas bottom lip.

“yeosang, you look like a fucking ghoul mask with that makeup.” seonghwa laughed, a smooth sound you had become all too accustomed to.

imagine hearing it when he’s teasing you relentlessly in bed.

woah. where did that thought come from? you screwed your eyes shut and your hand came too sharp to your forehead with an unflattering smack. maybe it triggered more lewd thoughts, but you’d never tell them to the stranger across from the bar, especially when you weren’t totally sober.

pulled by an invisible thread, yeosang took seonghwa’s place in your line of sight. he got to be centimetres away from your face, and he was almost mocking you. you were tipsy from little to nothing. hell, you even asked seonghwa to “slow it down!” when he was pouring the cîroc. you knew your shit, that was 40% alcohol and 100% a bad decision if you weren’t intending on getting wasted.

he picked up a glass and poured water into it, pushing it back across the bar to you, “i think we can safely cut you off there, hm?” he teased, knowing full well he had no control over how much a customer can drink. still, the gesture sent a fluttering feeling to your chest. he was all piercings and hard exterior, but god he seemed soft.

the aftercare must be godly if he’s like this when you’re sober.

maybe you need to get away from the bar. the bartenders being pretty and your mind being intoxicated was doing nothing to stop any new thoughts from flooding in unwarned and unannounced. yet, the horror on your face after four futile attempts at turning on your phone alerted yeosang that something wasn’t right.

“what’s happened? you look worried.” his features warped and his previously stone cold expression changed into one of pure concern. you laughed mirthlessly, and you watched as the mixologist tilted his head in confusion. what was so funny to you?

“my phones dead. i was about to call a taxi and get out of here but my phone battery clearly had other plans.” your elbows came to rest on the surface of the bar, your chin in your palms and your head shaking in pure disbelief. this night was fantastic, you were bantering with the pretty bartender who blew your mind, and now there’s another equally pretty bartender pitying you as you lamented the loss of your one connection to a way home.

“what phone do you have? one of us might have a charger we can lend you.” after he finished speaking, one of your hands went into your jacket pocket and feebly threw the phone on the bar. yeosang inspected it under the lights—or lack thereof—and huffed out a breath of air in exasperation, “fuck. not the same charger we have, sorry.”

you raised your eyebrows with a flat expression, unfazed by the unfortunate news.

“we don’t have a freephone yet, so is there anything i can do?”

“unless you can personally drive me home, there’s not much you can do.”

maybe yeosang would regret his next words, maybe he wouldn’t. he didn’t really know because he was so used to being teasing and relentless in his mocking ways. if he was to wreck his image over a cute bar-goer, so be it!

“well... where do you live?”

#ateez au #ateez x reader #ateez imagine #seonghwa #seonghwa au #seonghwa timestamp #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa drabble #seonghwa imagine #ateez yeosang #yeosang x reader #yeosang #yeosang smut #seonghwa fluff #bartender!seonghwa #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #seonghwa fanfic #seonghwa scenario #please #bartender au #yeosang au #seonghwa series #yeosang series

[into-crazy]

More to the Madness Pt. 9

Ledger!Joker x Female Reader series

Summary: You see J's bare face for the first time before helping him carry out his attack on the Mayor.

Warnings- Cursing, mentions of violence & murder, incorporated elements from TDK, a dash of J being self-conscious about his scars

I'll admit, that last warning was a bit of a challenge. I might've ruined everything with this & got it all wrong, although I sure hope not. Also, I'd like to add(because I freaking CAN) that I personally adore his scars💜 I find them beautiful, attractive, and sexy as hell

You can find the other parts RIGHT HERE and through the “More to the Madness” tag lovelies💞💞

7:01 am

You read the time on the wall clock in the empty apartment that belonged to some man named Melvin White. The late commissioner Loeb's memorial service will start soon. Mayor Garcia is scheduled to speak in precisely 2 hours, on the street right outside this very building. Everything's falling into place. Joker and his henchmen had successfully kidnapped the Ceremonial police. Stripped the officers of their guns and uniforms in order to infiltrate the ceremony. This is really happening. Joker's going to assassinate the Mayor.

Your eyes shift to watch J, standing over by the officers- bound and gagged to a sturdy structure inside the residence. Terrified, the men are drenched in sweat, shaking in their restraints. Neither try to mumble or attempt to free the binds in fear of getting themselves killed. Little do they know that's not on the agenda. Still, their frightened state entertains J. That is obvious.

The only one's in full attire in the room are you and J. His men were previously instructed to ditch the clown masks. The area is on a high watch alert, no use in having some amateur blow the job if they're easily spotted. Even though it wasn't negotiable, you're the only exception. Given your stealth skills and the couple lookouts perched down the hall.

The henchmen gather together in their disguises while J is now peering through a telescope onto the street. Angling the scope in a spot to his liking as he mumbles quietly to himself. You slip close beside him, leaning on the frame, glancing down in search of what he's looking for. Which is difficult considering the blind is lowered halfway. Without interrupting his train of thought, you patiently wait. There's no denying that the way he works fascinates you. Given his nature, he can be very precise when it comes to certain things. Since this is a situation which requires precision, he delivers impressively well.

Finally, he gives a soft hum, "annnd.. right there." Still peeking through the lens, he removes his hand from the scope, waving it in a gimmie motion towards whoever's presence he felt next to him. "Timer." You grab the small timepiece put off to the side, placing it in his hand. "Thanks a bunch doll." He gave with a appreciative tug of his lip upwards.

You didn't respond. Instead you caught the gazes of the henchmen looking in your direction. Couple relatively new faces, observing how close in proximity you stood by the Joker. Clearly the sight was unusual to them, like they'd never seen anyone comfortable enough to be within a 6 foot reach by J. Let alone a woman, currently perched the mere inches you were beside him. Intrigued as you are. They didn't have to say what they were thinking, you knew from the judgment flickering of their eyes- what the hell is wrong with her?

That doesn't bother you. Why should it? Why would you care what they think of you? The cowards. You're also not going to let them belittle you. If you let that happen, they're going to think it's okay. That you're too weak to do anything about it. Too weak to stand up for yourself.

Raising your chin, you stare down back at them. Daring them to say what they're too scared to admit directly to your face. You don't need J to stand in and protect you. You can do that on your own, no problem.

Come on. Come over here and say it to my face you fucking cowards.

As expected, they don't. Your message was received. They get right on with the job without throwing another glance your way. Serves them right.

Bringing your focus back to J, you ask, "what were you looking for?"

He turns the knob on the tiny clock, setting a time. His blackened gaze flashes up to meet yours, "where the duck'll be sittin' at." J places his contraption before collecting an officer's uniform and a duffle bag. "Tick-tock doll," he motions for you to follow him, "we're on the clock."

Exiting the apartment, he leads the way to another apartment down the hall. Barging through the front door, it appears this residence is just as deserted as the previous one.

Handing you the large bag, J works on removing his plum trench. Slinging the heavy fabric atop a counter in the vacant living space, it crashes hard against the surface with metallic clinks of the various objects he hordes in that coat. You watch as he continues to strip himself of the remaining articles- blazer, gloves, tie, vest, and suspenders. All in that exact order. The many layers that help complete his look. That join together to make him Joker.

He begins undoing the buttons at the top of his dress shirt, catching the dumbfounded expression on your face while you observe him. "Enjoying the show, aren't we? Getting a ah- good look." A tilt in his head promoting his mocking tone.

"I- uh what- um," You blink a couple times trying to refocus, "sorry, I don't mean to stare." You admit, now remembering you're supposed to place his items in the bag. "You make it a little hard to concentrate sometimes." Cheeks glowing a shade of red, turning your attention towards the pile on the counter, hoping you didn't offend him in any way.

"Never ah, said I didn't like it," he claims, shedding the shirt from his broadly sculpted torso. Displaying a vast of scars adorning his body. J wasn't the largest man in the world with huge, bulging muscles. He's actually rather lean, fit. With the perfect amount of muscle to compliment his arms, chest, and back. Oh, but his legs- those strong, thick thighs of his. Now those are whole other impressive matter on their own.

To keep your mind from straying deeper into building up excitement, you get to work. Get ahold of yourself, keep your head in the game. Tossing the duffle on the floor, you grab his trench. Huffing at how heavy it is, you comment, "Damn J, this coat weighs about fifty pounds! What the hell have you got in here?" Attempting to fold the thick fabric before shoving it in the bag.

"Just the usual knives and grenades," he shrugs nonchalantly.

"Woah, woah, hold up-" startled, you back slightly away from the bag, "you mean to tell me that there are explosives in that coat!?"

"Yeah."

"So you've been walking around with a bunch of hand grenades in your pockets? This entire time!" You continue.

"Uh, most of the time. Yeah." He repeats as if it's something you should've already known. It bewilders you that this is something so casual- so common- for him to keep dangerous explosives, ready to use, on his person like it's nothing. Regular people carry their wallets and cell phones. Better prepared citizens also carry a concealed weapon for precaution, be it a pocket knife or small handgun. Meanwhile, Joker's norms are knives and grenades- and he's never shy when it comes to flaunting his custom modified, fully automatic Glock 17.

"Well, you must carry a lot for it to weigh this much then." You let out a breathy laugh, bagging the other articles.

J was on the verge of removing his pants, when he opted not to. Instead, he collected the police uniform, thumbing towards the door behind him. "Gonna ah, finish in the other room." He promptly tells you, "wouldn't want ya getting too distracted."

"Okay," you manage, a roll of your eyes which he didn't see but very well heard. He went into the room and shut the door.

You finished packing everything, minus his pinstriped slacks and shoes. So you left the bag open for those. J wasn't enclosed in there long, however it felt like he was. This is a little unusual, for him. The eerie silence only prolonging the suspense. What could possibly be taking him so long?

It gave you a brief moment to ponder. All he has left to do is get dressed and remove the greasepai- Ohh.. Right.

The greasepaint.

That must be what's holding him, then. You'd imagine it takes a lot of effort to scrub off the many layers he had previously applied. Especially since his disguise is going to require a bare face. Funny how that works.

As if on cue, the door to the room swings open and he emerges. Your head swings up to find him, walking out the room with his head held down, green dyed curls covering his face. His hair is draping his features, yet through the gaps could you see that he is indeed, without the makeup. Purposely avoiding your gaze, you catch on, he's doing it intentionally. He doesn't want you to see his face. The reason, being one or many, you are unsure of.

He reels past you to the bag, nearly bumping into you, he shoves the remainder articles inside. You go to help him zip the overloaded pack, but he pulls it from you, twisting farther away.

You frown, "J, would you let me? I could do that for you." No answer. You try again, "the pants are going to get wrinkled if you put them in there like that. Here-" you carefully go to reach for the strap, lightly brushing your fingertips over his gloveless digits, which are tightly clamped around the band. "Let me fold them for you." His whole demeanor is tense, you're hoping your gentle touch coaxes him to ease. It helps, least a little bit. He allows you to slide it towards you, but his face remains turned.

You're not fond of this behavior. It doesn't seem like him. Could it be a reason similar to yours from before? Hiding his facial features to protect his identity. No, that can't be it if he's willingly revealing them to his goons and the public. So with that being the case, why not simply show you?

For one, you sure hope it isn't because he's self conscious about his looks- about his scars. You can't have that, no. You will not have that. He has nothing to be ashamed for when it comes to you and what you think of him. You didn't find him repulsive at all before. Why would now be any different?

He stands, "where- where's the ah, cap. I need the cap." Frantically searching the room, barely able to see past his own hair.

You don't utter a word as you neatly place his pants and shoes into the bag, sealing it with a loud ZIP! You want him to look at you, but you don't want to push it. Wanting him to feel comfortable with showing you rather than pry at it harshly. Standing fully, you go to the counter where the police cap sat. There sparks an idea. "I got it," you pluck the hat, waving it in his view. He extends an arm for you to hand it to him. "No," you shake your head, "come over here so I can put it on you."

Irritated, he huffs, "just give it- give it to me. I've got no time for this." Beckoning his arm impatiently.

"Yes you do," you return, "will you please just come here?" Nothing. He rakes his hands through his locks, choosing to grumble to himself. Alright, now you're starting to grow frustrated.

"Joker," you almost demand, the full use of his name gets him to freeze. Still staring in the other direction. "Look at me, please." Your tone is firm, yet underlined with a sense of plead.

Ultimately, he decides to look at you. As he does, you have to be careful refraining an admirable gasp in fear that he'll take it the wrong way. Don't make a big deal about it. You mentally apprise yourself as you see his face- bare- for the first time. Easier said than done. If you thought he was breathtaking before, you'd go back in time just to slap that lady across the face, and tell her she hasn't seen his beauty in all its form yet. With those handsome features adorning his face. The same features you already noticed, ridden of the greasepaint. Out on proper display. There have been occasions where you thought about what he'd look like underneath. He's even more gorgeous than you could've imagined. The area around his eyes hold black shades, skin stained from the greasepaint.

J's stoical eyes stare at your face. Searching for a trace of resentment, horror, hate, disgust. He doesn't find either of those, yet he's not sure what he finds, he can't tell.

Your eyes meet his in a deep stare, and your breath hitches in your throat as you fight to hold back what you desperately want to tell him. Baby steps. Giving a soft smile, you inform him, "you still got a bit of white and black by your eye." Pointing to a spot under your own to show him where. He gives a breathy laugh in return. May it be of relief or genuine amusement, he wouldn't tell you, you're unsure at this point. But it's something.

You jump to sit atop the counter, putting you almost eye level with him. "Can I put it on you?" You retry with the hat. He thinks for a fleeting moment, then nods. You quickly remove your gloves as he goes to stand between your parted legs, placing his hands to rest on your hips, keeping a mindful distance. It's respective.

Carefully, do you bring both your hands to his head. Combing your fingers through his locks, pushing upwards, so that you could easily tuck the green strands under the article. Though he's allowing you, if he were to swat your hands away, it actually wouldn't be a surprise. You keep that in mind. He draws in a slow, steady inhale at your delicate touch. His eyes are on you the entire time, taking in the calmness in yours. And wait- is that.. is that adoration he sees? Nevertheless, he remains there, an emotionless look on his face.

"Don't do that." J speaks abruptly. Pulling you from your dream-like trance.

"Do what?" You ask innocently, "I can't sit for a moment and admire you?"

With an exaggerated sigh and a roll of his eyes does he react. "You can stop trying to convince me with the uh, false flattery, doll. I already know I'm not the most ah, prettiest sight to look at."

"It's not false," you frown. "I'm being serious." It hurts that he doesn't believe you. You speak with truth, why won't he at least try to accept the fact that you really do find him drop-dead gorgeous, incredibly handsome, utterly attractive?

"Ha ha," he mocks a laugh that lacks humor in favor of distaste, "Now that was a bad joke." Instead of going on, he chooses to remain quiet. Taking in the feeling of your nails lightly scratching through his scalp. You're being so gentle with him, like anything harsher could ever hurt him. He smiles at the amusing thought.

Once his hair's pushed up enough, you place the police cap atop his head. Completing the disguise. Tucking stray strands that fallen, under the hat. "There.." you draw back to take a final gander. He looks so different, almost unrecognizable. But his blackened eyes, his nose, his chiseled jawline, and the uneven scars protruding the flesh in his cheeks, distinctive features that remind you of how much he is still, him.

Still J.

And damn you. Damn you for allowing it to tug at your heartstrings seeing him this way. You're not supposed to start feeling like this. You're not supposed to start caring. What started out as physical and psychological attraction, is progressing into something more, in-depth. And fuck, are you diving in deep. You know this probably isn't a path to go down. It'd be risky. Although you haven't even scratched the surface of knowing him, you know yourself. Going down that path would result in you growing attached- catching feelings. Which could leave you wandering down a one way road, alone.

Much as you hate to admit, you crave a connection, a real one. And Joker isn't the man for that. He's far too busy carrying out his destructive schemes, he doesn't have the time nor mind for you. Perhaps you should pull out, before everything eventually comes crashing down onto you. Leaving you in a heaving pile of regret. Or in a pool of your own blood once he grows bored of you, realizes he doesn't want you around anymore.

However, once your eyes lock with his in a deep gaze, your rampant thoughts are put on hold. Then you are reminded of how far you've come, and you are not backing down. Let's just keep this going. We're getting too touchy feel-y. Too sentimental. Let's just focus on what's happening right now, and right now, he's gorgeous. You don't mind his scars. You actually think his scars are rather beautiful. Much like a precious work of Japanese kintsugi art. The once severely torn flesh healed together in a way that enhances the tear that used to be there. Visible repairs on his cheeks that give more meaning and strength. Whoops- your sentiment is still showing.

You know what? I don't fucking care anymore. Look at him!

"Well hello officer," you purr flirtatiously. Trailing your hands up the properly done jacket, stopping to rest on his shoulders. "I usually don't take kindly to police officers, but I'd let you frisk, cuff, and arrest me any day."

The suggestive joke brings a sly smirk to his face. Grabbing ahold of your wrists, he sets your hands down on your thighs. "Distractions, bunny." His jeering articulation of the word distractions let's you know that he's back. "Ya sure are good at 'em. Now, we can play officer later. You ah, remember your instructions?" He asks, checking over himself to make sure everything's in order.

"Yeah, I got them down," you return.

"Remember where to wait?" He presses.

"Yeah, yeah.."

" 'Yeah' me like that one more time, an I'll slice that pretty tongue right outta your mouth. Got it?" He warns with a bite of snarkiness.

You can't help but stifle a snicker at his false threat. Um actually, you'd hope that it's false. "Yes sir."

~~

Your part is relatively easy. All you had to do was rid yourself of your outfit- including the makeup- and take J's stuff to the getaway car. Being your car. Oh boy. He gave you a set location to park and wait with his belongings. He mentioned that if everything went in the direction he's striving for, then he'd make it to your car soon after the crowd breaks into a panicking frenzy. If not, then you'll just have to meet him back at the warehouse. Which if course means more improvisation on his part.

You sat in your car, not too far, and not too close in proximity to where Mayor Garcia currently spoke on behalf of Loeb. It wasn't long until you heard the first round of shots ringing through the buildings, then the next, recognizing it to be the 21-gun salute. You braced yourself for the third round of shots, since this would undoubtedly be Joker's point of attack. The moment he and his henchmen turn their guns and fire at be Mayor.

Soon as the third rounds are fired, they are followed by even more shots and loud shouts. That's your cue. Quickly starting the engine, you glance in the rearview mirror, you could see the chaotic riot of people behind you. Rushing and screaming in different directions to get away from the area, escape the immediate danger. Seconds later, there were many running past your car. Citizens and cops alike. Citizens desperately searching for cover and the cops trying to get control of the situation. Madness. It was pure madness. Far from anything you're used to.

The sound of harsh knocking on tbe driver's window startled you. Looking directly at the source of the noise, you instantly recognized it to be J. Clicking the button to unlock the back door, he swiftly moves to get into the car. Shutting the door and motioning for you to go. You didn't have to wait for him to tell you that, as you promptly slammed on the gas before he even shut the door.

Putting as much distance between you both and the scene as possible, while Joker's catching his breath in the backseat. Checking him through the mirror, you see that he's not looking back. Didn't even bother to take a final glance at his work as you drove away. You wondered why, but you didn't ask.

"We missed." J hissed behind you.

"What?"

"We missed the shot." He clarified. "Ole Gordon decided to play hero and jumped in the line of fire." Snickering as he recalls.

"Bummer," you pout while he searches for the bag, "your items are down there." You point to the floor behind the passenger's seat.

He instantly reached inside and pulled out three tins of face paint. Wasting no time in popping open all the containers, dipping his fingers in, and slathering the paint accordingly in his face. Doing it with such a pace as if he couldn't wait to have done it any sooner.

"Please try not to get paint on my seats," you turn your head slightly to smile at him. You expected him to throw a sarcastic remark back, so you weren't prepared when he suddenly reached around, and placed his hand- fingers wet with fresh paint- snug around your throat. Making a showing effort to rub the remains onto your silky skin.

He leans close to where you feel his warm breath on your ear and neck. You find delight in his touch. He relishes the smirk that pulls across your lips, leaning closer to whisper huskily in your ear. "No promises, bunny."

End of part 9. I hope this part wasn't too rushed😭 There's still more to come. So the part in here where I made the comparison of his scars to Japanese kintsugi art, it's something that came to me but I do recall seeing something similar(on the first account that I had before this one) but I don't remember where. I appreciated the reference. If anyone knows where, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know. I'd like to give credit!

#More to the Madness #joker #heath ledger joker #ledger joker x reader #joker x female reader #joker x y/n #ledger joker x y/n #ledger joker x female reader #the dark knight #fanfic