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holycryptid · 3 months

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Tears of Blood

König x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 3.0k

Tags/warnings: unprotected sex, light choking, mentions of murder/blood (look who we’re working with), mentions of ghostsoap (yay!), explicit language, some fluff, dry humping, friends with benefits…? (let me know if anything was missed!)

Summary: König reveals a very compelling detail about himself while you prepare him for tomorrow's deployment—also inspired by this post/ask and bluegiragi’s art <3

Notes: this has been posted on AO3 for over a year and i just straight up forgot to post it here, too…oops

The barracks are eerily quiet after curfew. So quiet, in fact, that a ghost couldn’t even float around without being heard. Sometimes there is one, he’s just not of the conventional sort.

You’ve learned that Soap gladly let’s his room be haunted most nights.

König never says a word about it. If he did, he’d be a hypocrite. Especially now, as he drifts to the door of your room: after curfew.

By now, you know to leave it unlocked for him. You don’t know when it started becoming habit, but it did. A mindless gesture that makes his lips quirk under the hood when he turns the knob and feels the door give in with no resistance.

You’ve grown used to seeing his figure loom in the doorway, but sometimes your brain forgets it’s just him, and your heart instinctually stutters a beat out of fear as you see the shadows from the dim lighting hug around his broad, towering form—just as imposing and threatening even without the gear.

You’ve mentally noted that not everyone that casts their gaze, usually a fearful and watery one, upon him lives to do so again. But you are fortunate. You never let yourself forget what he’s been trained to do—what he does. He doesn’t like to indulge in it much, if at all, and his hesitance to do so makes you think it’s better if you don’t know the complicated details anyway.

KorTac has quite a different reputation than the 141. König helped make sure of that.

You finish folding the rest of your civvies, tucking them away in their small drawer, and toss a look over your shoulder to the man lingering in the doorway. “See any ghosts?” you muse, prompting König to step in and lock the door behind him.

A breathy chuckle fills the room. “Didn’t see anything, but I wish these rooms were soundproof.”

“Oh, no.” You hold a cackle, hand slapped over your mouth as you meet his amused eyes through the rough-edged holes of his hood.

“Well, that’s just Soap for you. Not even Ghost can shut him up, I guess.” You plop onto your bed with a sigh to compose yourself.

You know Soap will indulge you later.

“So, how may I be of service to the king?” You offer a playful smile as he stands at the foot of your bed. The unexpected nickname making him more interested in the flooring.

He brings a finger up to the black hood, hooking it in by his jaw and pulling to reveal a sizeable gash in the fabric. A close call with a knife if you ever saw one. “Needle and thread.”

He unhooks his finger and drags the worn material off of his head, then the plain black balaclava that hides him further under it follows. He drops both onto your clean sheets in front of him, rounding the corner of the bed and joining you.

Dark red hair flops over his forehead and hangs in thick, wavy strands. It hasn’t quite reached his shoulders yet, but it’s long enough to have a mind of its own. It’s a colour you don’t come across too often; maybe comparable to a chestnut, or old leaves in autumn before they disappear under a blanket of snow.

“Jeez, you ever gonna cut this?” You turn to face him and run a hand up the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in the dense locks and lightly scratching his scalp on the way down.

Soft blue eyes glance to you, still outlined in black from earlier. “Probably not. Can’t find the time.” His accent gently rounds out the vowels as he leans into your touch.

“Let me braid it for you, then. To hold it back. I know you deploy again tomorrow.” You tuck a strand behind his ear, following with a fleeting kiss right above his cheekbone. A faint blush creeps over his temples and the barely-there freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks.

“I promise it won’t be the worst thing ever,” you gently plead. “You can mend your hood in peace while I do it?”

You’ve definitely done worse together. But worse always seems to be easier.

“Okay.”

Usually these nights don’t go like this.

3 days ago

“Oh, that’s good—right there. Yeah. Yeah,” you nearly sob. König holds you against him, left arm reaching across your chest and hand comfortably gripping your throat as you try to roll your hips back against him harder.

His other hand is between your thighs—on your clit—which are dangling over his own to keep you spread. You’re trapped there; under his arms and over his legs as he jerks his hips up to meet your disjointed riding on the rickety office chair.

An empty briefing room. Not really smart, but Soap passed on that it was “out of service” until next week, not knowing that you’d end up in there sat on König’s cock later that afternoon.

The fabric of König’s hood rubs uncomfortably against your cheek, making you drop your head back onto his shoulder to escape it.

A breathy moan rushes past his lips as you arch your back. “No, no. You’re staying right here.” He tightens and corrects the grip he has across your chest, sliding his gloved fingers up under your jaw to keep you locked in place.

His cock slides itself in and out of you with little resistance, which would usually be slightly embarrassing if it was anyone else inside you, but the way he’s been massaging your clit with such attentiveness and grinding his hips into yours makes you forget anything you could be worried about.

The only thing you can think of right now is how good this orgasm is going to be.

Your hands snake themselves up his arm that’s pinned to your front to grip his wrist, holding on for dear life as his small thrusts become rougher. “You get much, much wetter when you’re close,” he observes. His index finger holds a steady rhythm on your clit as it works counterclockwise over you. “Fuck, I can hear it…can you?”

A whine bubbles in your throat. The zipper of his cargo pants bites against your ass on every downstroke, and you can feel how wet you’ve made the front of his pants. That’s what he gets for only caring enough to pull his cock out while he ripped your cargos off entirely.

“I—fuck. Yes, I’m close, yes,” you choke out, daring to cast your gaze upon where your bodies are connected.

You’re swollen and slick and you can hear it, too. The quick, sharp slaps of his hips against your ass does little to hide the hungry squelching of your cunt. You’ve probably dripped all down his balls at this point. He’s always happier with a big mess in the end anyway.

“Cum when you’ve had enough, Schatzi,” he chirps in your ear, breathless and lost in the wet, suffocating warmth of you—all his doing, of course. The result of far too many minutes spent with his thick cock gently sliding between your folds and nudging itself over your throbbing clit, just to be annoying, before he moved you both to the chair.

You drag in a heavy breath, focusing on the stretch of his cock deep inside your walls as the chair creaks with every desperate drop onto him.

Schatzi. “W-what does that mean?”

You’ve naturally picked up a few German words and phrases here and there from time spent with him, but this one was new. A term of endearment? A degrading nickname? Either could be possible in this moment. The sound and pronunciation couldn’t be more ambiguous to you.

“König?” It came out as a whisper, quickly silenced by the release of your orgasm throughout your body as he forces you down to the base of his cock.

—

You haven’t brought it up since. Neither has he.

Even now it sits in the back of your mind as you divide his hair down the middle into two parts. You remain on your bed, he sits on the floor between your knees with a needle and black thread in hand that he retrieved from the bedside table (stashed there specifically for him).

He lays the hood over his left arm and begins to stitch it quietly as you wind three generous strands of his hair between your fingers at the front of his scalp, pulling taught at the root. You carefully thread more hair in from the sides to have it lay perfectly against the top of his skull when finished. You’ll do a matching one on the right side.

“Let me know if it hurts at all,” you warn as you begin tugging more hair into place.

“Ha, I’ve faced adversaries far worse than your little hands,” he laughs, adjusting the hood in his hand as he pokes the needle in again.

The long vermillion markings under the eye sockets stare back at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, I don’t doubt that.”

It’s hard to not be curious about all of the parts that make up “König”. The mask is one of them.

“Why the tears?” you ask confidently while you establish the first braid.

“Hm?” He quirks his head to follow your voice, pausing the followthrough with the thread as you give an accidental yank to his hair.

“Your mask…under the eyes. Why tears?” You figured it was either something symbolic or just his personal taste. Everyone’s got a gimmick.

It seems like every aspect of his existence is a test of one’s curiosity, and you may have just failed.

He focuses his attention back on the stitch he was occupied with. “Fear tactic.” Oh.

Short and sweet. Simple and straightforward. It makes sense—

“I make them with the blood of my targets.” Oh.

Your fingers lose their rhythm for a moment, caught off-guard by the admission. Not so much surprised by the fact that he would do something like that, but rather that he confessed such a thing…to you.

“So you do that…presently?” How could you resist following up about that? It’s the perfect snare. This is the most you’ve gotten from him in weeks.

A beat of measured silence, yet it’s not uncomfortable. He likes to think about what to say, how to say it, before speaking his thoughts spontaneously.

“Only if I believe it’s truly deserved,” he explains. His tone doesn’t reveal if he’s displeased with the topic of work. “The blood actually doesn’t hold up against the black on its own, so Horangi suggested using bleach underneath so it will show better. If needed.” He runs a finger over a washed-out tear track. “Less maintenance with the chemical.”

It’s…it’s morbid, obviously, but you’re not sure if you expected anything less from someone in this line of work. And, of course, leave it to Horangi to feed the fantasy. They are nearly inseparable, besides the times that König’s with you.

Sometimes it’s hard to imagine him as murderous or malevolent—König, who has the most gentle, innocent blue eyes that have offered nothing but kindness to you, even in moments of fierce, consuming pleasure. König, who you’ve never seen, or heard, raise his voice at anyone in anger. König, who despises small talk because he can’t stand the awkwardness.

König, who enjoys the vibrant red sunsets on base and thunderstorms. König, who prefers blueberries over strawberries. König, who is obsessed with entomology books.

But there’s still another part of him that can take out entire platoons of enemies and have no more than a rip in his beloved hood afterwards.

The man under the facade of a callsign and reputation is someone who you may never truly meet, no matter how much he reveals. It feels like you’ve only met half of him despite knowing as much as you do about him, and that fact has settled as an ache in your chest.

“I see…I know it’s not really my place to ask about that stuff, but it’s hard to not wonder about you sometimes.” You’ve reached the end of the first braid, leaving the tail to sit at the crown of his head amongst the uneven layers he has going on.

You tie it off with a small black elastic. It’s a little messy considering the awkward length of his hair, but it looks like it’s meant to be there.

“It’s fine. I’m a big boy, I think I can handle it.” He gives a comforting laugh, amused at your timidness.

In every facet, he’s right. You can’t help but nod your head in agreement with a small smile, despite the fact that he can’t see your expression. “Well, I can’t disagree with you there.”

You begin the start of the second, and final, braid, grabbing the three strands at the front and twisting them into place as he speaks again. “I know it was my size that drew you to me in the first place,” he states confidently, shoulders shaking in amusement at the tease.

Your mouth gapes in feigned offence. “Wow, okay. Is that a crime?”

“No, not in my eyes. Look, look,” he brushes past the sarcasm, holding and stretching the now intact hood out in front of him to see the effectiveness of his handiwork. The seam is near invisible in the sea of black fabric (a ratty t-shirt).

It’s definitely better than the last one he did a few weeks ago. “Damn, that’s pretty fucking impressive. I’m almost done, hold on.” You hurry to tie off the hair, gently holding the sides of his head to see how even they came out. “Looks good, from up here at least. Come sit, let me see the front.” You pat one of his shoulders, freeing him from the cage of your legs and scooting further onto your bed.

“Danke. My spine didn’t love that, though,” he says with a theatric exhale.

He folds the hood in his lap, setting it on the bedside table with the needle and roll of thread. He all but tumbles back onto the soft sheets, groaning as he stretches his neck and shoulders out and lays comfortably on his back, long legs hanging over the side of the mattress.

His eyes flutter shut from the homely feeling of being in—or on—your bed. “Mm, I think I’ll stay here tonight.”

You acknowledge his thought with a small hum as you lean over his restful form to quickly assess his hair, dragging your fingertips along each side lightly. The shaggy hair will always suit him. It frames his cheekbones and jaw perfectly.

König opens his eyes at your touch. “So how does it look, doc? Will I survive deployment now?”

Another smile from you with a slight roll of your eyes. “I think it’ll do the job. Now go clean the black off your eyes if you’re staying. I don’t want it all over my pillows again.”

—

Soap saw the braids in König’s hair the next day before they deployed. An accident or purposefully, you’re not sure yet.

And now, two days later, he still won’t shut the fuck up about it.

“Would ye do that for me?” he asks, playfully quirking a thick brow.

“Probably not, no.”

An arm shoots out accusingly at you in disbelief. “That’s my point! I—”

“Wouldn’t be able to anyway with that fucking landing strip you call a mohawk.” You poorly stifle a laugh with a tight-lipped smirk.

“Away n’ bile yer heid, I’m just trying to help!” He rubs a hand over his eyes, trying to stave off his laughter too. It’s hard to be in his presence and not be overcome with a state of lively energy.

You’re in Soap’s—and sometimes Ghost’s—room, for no real reason other than company while König is at a (delayed) briefing.

Soap’s sitting on his—and sometimes Ghost’s—bed hounding you about the complex being that is König just because he can. You move about the room, finding things to tidy and organize to busy your mind.

“Have ye gone to town on each other yet?”

“Dude!?” You rip a pillow from under him and whack his head. Hard. His infectious cackling now muffled through the thick pillow.

“You’re insufferable. How the fuck does Ghost put up with you?” You try to suppress your giggling as you drop the pillow and join him on the bed in defeat.

A mischievous grin lines his lips at the question. “Well, he t—”

“No! No. Nope. I don’t need to know. It was rhetorical.” You hold up a hand to silence him, bringing it to cover his mouth. His day-old scruff pricks your palm as he tries to talk through your hand.

“Whatever you say next better be insightful or profound or else I’m gonna suffocate you with your own pillow.”

Soap, in fact, didn’t have anything insightful or profound to say about the situation.

—

König wanders into your room again that night, and he’s filled with a gluttonous desire to consume you in any way that he can.

It’s the least he can do for you. It’s the most you can do for him.

You rut against his clothed cock, straddling his hips tightly while your hands keep a death-grip on his hair. Once again, you find yourself on your bed with him under you, the clock on the bedside table glaring the angry red 12:56am.

His large hands have found their home on your ass, encouraging your pussy—still covered by your underwear—to rock harder over his length, which is still trapped in his briefs.

He breaks away from your mouth when you give a rather forceful roll over him, a surprised gasp slipping through his now rosy lips. His grip on your ass slides down to your quivering thighs, rubbing over them soothingly as you work.

A harmony of softs whines and rough groans dance around the room as your pliant bodies move together. “This is somehow better than sex,” König mumbles, mostly to himself. “I don’t want to admit it, but I can cum like this if you don’t stop,” he adds with an overwhelmed huff. “Fuck, I will cum like this if you don’t stop,” he moans.

You let him, and he holds you tight as if you were something other than casual.

#konig x reader #könig x reader #könig mw2 #könig smut #call of duty smut #call of duty x reader #call of duty imagine #call of duty fic #könig imagine #konig smut #konig cod #konig imagine #konig x you #konig x reader smut #konig x you smut

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anpanham · 5 months

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Hazbin Hotel character thoughts / impressions (Episodes 1 & 2)

1/12/24

UM. what a weird first actual post for my blog for this year... this is long, and i miss making ACTUAL blog posts instead of small threads... And i've explained on my twitter my thoughts on Hazbin / Helluva from a critical standpoint and artist from art separation, yadda yadda yadda---

ANYWAY... Episodes 1 and 2 of Hazbin are (Officially) out now, and i have some thoughts on the characters i wrote down after watching (In bullet points, because most of these are fresh-from-the-brain thoughts i wrote on my tablet from my bed)

(Spoiler alert, Sir Pentious isn't ruined and I AM SO GLAD. my snake babygirl... ilu)

Read on, if you wanna, spoiler warning btw!!!!!

CHARLIE NOTES

-Charlie is good., Charlie is cute, but i fear for her safety, not everyone can new redeemed. she's like steven universe at points i stg 😭 (not a jab but i think it's funny)

-i like how they gave Charlie bags under her eyes a lot, she is a tired princess just like all of us

-She gives off elementary school teacher vibes but in a wholesome way

-Charlie's hair is SO CUTE MESSY..

-PERFECT voice /gen

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- VAGGIE NOTES

-GIRLBOSS (still, but more)

-Vaggie is still cool, she just loves her gf and is sick of everyone's bs but is still supportive...

-If she doesn't get into a bloody death match with Alastor (and win) i will be disappointed /hj

She doesn't seem to have as much of a temper as she did in the pilot, but seems more dead inside

-Good voice!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ANGEL DUST NOTES

-Angel... hm. Angel. he's Angel, for sure. Hi, Angel!

Insecure about a lot, but also YOU CAN BE THE CHANGE YOU WANT!!!!! if vox doesn't kill val angel should. please and thank u.

Also his voice is alright, just need to get used to it a little more

Also i hope he's not too bratty jealous of sirpent / whoever else charlie praises because again, it's ON HIM TO COOPERATE WITH HER CAUSE MORE??? ignoring his other stress sources (Val)

-Waiting for him and Husk to kiss. I know it's coming

-Just fucking block Val's number and rip up the contract (YES i know it goes deeper than that...)

-NUGGS. I SCREECHED IRL /POS

THEY GAVE HIM A HEART ON HIS BUTT!!!!! S TIER REDESIGN

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ALASTOR NOTES

-At first i was kinda Eh about his voice but it's grown on me, the radio filter is a little more subtle than the pilot but it's still there which i'm glad for

Delightfully passive aggressive

-Weird magic still, there doesn't seem to be any limits to it... we need to know what his weakness is...!!!!! please (maybe that will come later??) ....... i theorize he has underworld contact (Shadow-world, because of the shadow imagery?) , the underworld might be different from Hell maybe? (Where do those fucking tentacles come from, also weird monochrome demons)

-Interesting he was gone for 7 years. 7 is an angelic number. HMMMMMM (sealed away by angels somehow??)

-Punchable (Vaggie please)

-Weirdly enjoyable and not genuinely hateable like some of the other characters, but i also want to see his demise, maybe his sadism is rubbing off on me, but i want to see it badly...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

SIR PENTIOUS NOTES

-Sir Pentious... u are so good.. probably has some of the best writing so far, maybe... he's my favorite so. hhHHmm

his voice is different but at the same time it's what you'd expect, i like it a lot... so silly, i pat him and his silly hat

-Pathetic old man. You win my heart (50x as much)

-Only one egg spoke so far, i wonder if they'll all have unique voices this time (the Japanese dub of the pilot did that lol)

-Genuinely a joy every moment he was onscreen (Too fucking cute... GRRRR)

-How did he get into contact with Vox? Why would Vox want anything to do with him if he thinks he's a loser? (I guess easy access into the Hotel) ...Fuck em either way (DON'T BE MEAN TO SNAKE MAN)

-Cool temporary stunning hypnosis, maybe we'll see him coil and bite next, the snake attack traits are fun

-His autism vibes grow stronger and it's canon in my heart

-We LOVE a redemption song. please stay in the hotel with everyone, don't fuck it up!!! you're a good noodle.... 😭 The song was genuinely so cute... it's probably going to be the highlight of EVERYTHING for me, besides Nuggs..

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

HUSK NOTES

-i luv u kitty

-His voice is different but captures "Grumpy old alcoholic" perfectly

-His heart needs to be melted...

-Him holding the script in front of the camera was great

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- NIFFTY NOTES

-Niffty is a BIG COWARD. you can still love a "Bad boy" who's a redeemed bad boy!!!! just because he's not morally bad doesn't Not make him a Bad Boy. fuck u (i still like you)

-Her voice is really cute, also her nightgown.. though finding out she doesn't have dark bug limbs but is just wearing gloves and stockings surprised me more than it should've... put them back

-Also autism vibes, love it

-She still frightens me a bit

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V TRIO NOTES

VOX -----

-Seems to carry the team, voice has grown on me

-I can't stop looking at his weird finger claws, they almost look like

he's just wearing things over his fingers, i dig it

-Interesting hypnosis power, i assume Alastor is immune

-Why can't Alastor and Vox just compromise and create a podcast?

-Hates Val (sorry shippers) ,,... kind of expected it since in old official sources it's been shown that he's been abused by Val too

-This isn't a note but everytime Alastor said "THE TV IS BUFFERING~" in their duet, the player kept fucking up 😭

-Decent song, I like seeing him and Al argue

-I surprisingly don't hate him! i'm glad. i wanted to like him (though, it's only been 2 episodes so far...)

------

VALENTINO ---------

-More manchild vibes than i expected tbh

-Voice is alright but his accent is weirdly inconsistent for some reason???? interesting direction

-His manipulation is shown well in the voicemail scene with Angel, he's literally got the "Nice Guy" energy

-Surprisingly didn't order Vox around as much as i thought he would

-Why does he have girl Fizzy bots...

-Die?

------

VELVETTE

-Fashion design isn't something i expected, but then again i didn't know that much about her prior other than she's obsessed with social media

-British is also not what i expected but cool

-Uh. she didn't really stick out to me that much...sorry..... she's fine tho

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ADAM & LUTE NOTES

-Personally do not like how these angels look so menacing, i get that they're technically bad, but... make them look more angelic besides halos and wings??? they could easily be mistaken for hell residents. Also again, i feel like angels should swear less and drop swears in critical / good timed moments, it would be funnier... subtlety is not a thing i guess

-Adam's guitar solo was good tho, not really feeling his character tho, he's just an asshole but that's the point

-Adam looks like the fucking dress meme. I can't unsee it

-Lute is pretty...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

KATIE KILLJOY & TOM TRENCH NOTES

-Brandon Rodgers

-They sure were there for a second!

-i luv tom

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

All in all...

Episode 1: 6-7/10

Episode 2: 8.5/10

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bless-my-demons · 1 year

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Redamancy: Chapter Three

Jasper Hale x Reader

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: None

Notes: So sorry last weekend’s chapter was late this week, I’m back to my regularly scheduled posting! I’m so excited so many of you like this series so far!!

Word Count: 1131

Series Masterlist

• January 25, 2005 • Forks High School •

Reader

My second day at Forks high school started much smoother than the first. It was pretty much uneventful until I decided to eat lunch alone outside on the picnic tables in the quad. It was an overcast day much like all the others and maybe a little chilly, but still decent enough since it wasn’t currently raining. It made for the perfect condition being that no one else really wanted to eat outside.

That is, until I spotted none other than Jasper Hale headed in my direction.

“Mind if I join you?” He asks, pointing to the opposite end of the table I’m currently occupying.

“Not at all.” I respond, idly tidying my area self consciously.

“Sorry, sometimes it’s a little overwhelming inside and I come out here to get away.” He says by way of explanation, laying down the sketch pad he carried with him along with a few pencils and a smudge stick. “Mostly I just come out here to draw uninterrupted.” He sits and flips to an empty page, tilting it a little away from my view.

“I get it, large crowds aren’t my thing either. Plus in the two days I’ve known Emmett I can already tell that he probably creates a hostile drawing environment.” I finish with a light chuckle, turning my attention toward the unfinished apple in my hand.

“You draw too?” He asks, eyebrows lifting as he begins a rough sketch on the blank paper.

“Oh heck no, I don’t have any artistic abilities like that, as much as I wish I did.” I frown, taking a bite of my apple.

“I didn’t think I had it in me either, but I took some classes, watched some videos online, and doodled around a lot. Finally got the hang of it although I still don’t really think I’m that good.” He trails off, concentrating on his pencil strokes. “It helps with the stress though, especially when there’s a lot going on.”

“That is… actually kind of neat. Having an outlet that’s also inspiring, creating art and it centering you in the process.” I muse out loud, watching a face beginning to take shape on his paper.

I’m about to ask who he’s drawing when the bell signaling the end of lunch rings out in the empty air surrounding us. I gather my trash and stand while he tucks his supplies away.

“Thanks for keeping me company today.” I tell him as I gaze into his beautifully golden eyes, not quite ready to part ways with him.

“Thanks for allowing me to disturb your peace and quiet.” And as if reading my mind, “Mind if I walk you to your next class?”

“Oh um, sure.” Trying not to seem too excited by the proposition of spending more time in this gorgeous boy’s presence. I tuck some loose strands of hair behind my ear and walk towards him.

“Lead the way, darlin’.” He announces, sweeping his arm in the direction of the main school building, a smirk on his lips.

I laugh and shake my head at his antics, a blush creeping up my cheeks as I walk past him in the direction of my economics class.

Ditching my trash in the trash can as we leave the quad, I miss the way he grins at the accomplishment of making me giggle. I also fail to notice the astounded looks of his adopted siblings as we pass them unaware of their presence through the windows of the cafeteria. Faces reflecting their shocked thoughts at seeing their brother openly flirting with a female compared to his normal stoic facade.

“How did you do it?” Emmett asks, leaning against the locker next to mine.

“Could you be a little more specific?” I ask, a little confused by his blunt question.

“You’ve been here less than a week and my brother is wrapped around your little finger.” He says, holding up his pinky to wiggle in my face.

I laugh and shut my locker, “Emmett, I’ve had all of like two interactions with Jasper, you’re looking into this a little too much.”

“He usually keeps to himself, this isn't the normal Jasper we’re talking about.” He falls into step slightly behind me on my way to the last class of the day, his large build not moving through the throng of students as quickly as I am.

I turn to look at my new friend, “I literally have no clue, it’s probably nothing Em!” My heart picking up speed at just the thought of Jasper. Is he actually interested in me? Is that what Emmett is getting at?

There’s no way, beautiful people like him don’t go for people like me.

I turn and leave Emmett behind in the hallway as students finish rushing through the halls, the tardy bell ringing.

American History, the class I share with Jasper Hale and it also happens to be the last class of the day. Unfortunately though, his assigned seat is on the other side of the room. At least it’s more forward than mine, leaving me to observe him for most of the class period without him seeing.

History is also my worst subject; whether it’s world or US history, I hate it all the same. So many mistakes and atrocities, I wish I could let it flow in one ear and out the other without having to remember it for tests.

Today though, I get the sense our teacher has had a difficult day since he’s decided to let us work together freely. Seeing as I don’t really know anyone yet, I’m forced to work alone.

As if he could feel my discomfort and irritation with the assignment, Jasper Hale appears at the edge of my peripheral vision, claiming the abandoned desk next to mine and turning a few heads of our classmates.

“You’re thinking so loud I could practically hear it from across the room.” He mutters lowly without looking up from his worksheet.

“I’m thinking too loud?” I respond defensively as I cut him a look that would normally skin boys alive.

“Would you like some help or not, doll?” He asks, a grin sliding across his lips as his eyes meet mine in challenge.

“I-uh, I hate history.” I manage to blurt out, a little flustered that he so easily bypassed my frustrated facade without a blink.

“I do want that explanation eventually, but we have work to finish and only,” He breaks eye contact to glance at the clock above the board, “thirty seven minutes left before you’re on your own.”

“Alright Hale, what did you get for number four?” I deflate and accept his offer to save me from the misery of suffering through this stupid assignment alone.

#jasper hale #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock hale #twilight fanfiction #twilight #jasper hale fanfiction #jasper whitlock #bless-my-demons #redamancy series #slow burn #female reader insert

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rafyki · 9 days

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Part two of the Goth! Nico/Surfer! Percy!! @neo-kid-funk liked it so much I couldn't not post another part so soon!! That's what your art does to me!! Pure inspiration!!!

This time it's Percy's turn to be a huge loser with a huge crush lmao

Part one, if you haven't read it~

~~~

Percy threw himself on his beach towel, trying his best not to spill his precious drink even in his excitement.

“Annabeth, he smiled at me!”

His friend looked up from the huge book she was reading, a skeptic but fond look in her eyes.

“Percy, he works in retail, smiling at customers is literally his job”.

Percy groaned, took a sip of his drink - not alcoholic, but maybe it could make him forget his huge absurd crush on a boy he didn't even know.

The prettiest boy you've ever met though, his brain usefully supplied. What did it even matter that they didn't really know each other and that they had exchanged perhaps a total of twenty words to each other? Nothing, not when said boy had the prettiest features Percy had ever seen, the most enchanting eyes, the deepest and most beautiful voice, and the most charming shade of pink coloring his nose and cheeks. And, finally today Percy could add to the list that he even had the softest and cutest honest smile ever - because Percy could tell the difference between a “customers smile” and an honest one, and the way Nico had smiled today? It couldn't have been anything but honest, and it had made warmth bloom into Percy's stomach, made his heart grow ten sizes.

“No, Annabeth”, he said, at the cost of sounding like a petulant little child. “He smiled for real! He even laughed a little!”

“Did he?”

“I'm telling you he did!”

She seemed to consider it for a long moment. Percy waited with as much patience as he could muster for her opinion. He could always count on Annabeth being horribly and unapologetically honest with him; he could definitely trust her to be the one to offer him a cruel but needed reality check to bring him back to earth.

She had been the main witness of Percy’s fall into the hopeless (or maybe not so hopeless?) rabbit hole that was his crush for the kiosk boy, had been listening to him ranting on and on about him for probably almost a month now, and had been dragged on the beach way too many times against her will for Percy to ignore her valid as always opinion.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean he likes you, Seaweed-brain, you know that, right?”, she said, and Percy knew, but his heart fell anyway. “Still”, she added, and Percy couldn’t help but perk up at the tone of her voice. He knew that tone - it was the tone she used when she was about to say something optimistic even against her better judgment.

“I guess it is weird for him to smile like that at customers - at least, I’ve never seen him do it - and we do spend a whole lot of time on this beach and at the kiosk”.

She said the last part with just a tiny little bit of annoyance - but Percy knew her well enough to know that she would forgive him eventually.

“I need your support, Annabeth, you know that!”

“You could take Grover with you next time”.

“I did once, remember? He was even more nervous than me”, Percy said. “Not exactly the best wingman”.

Annabeth rolled her eyes at him. “It’s not like you’re doing much but staring at him and daydream anyway”.

Well, that was a low blow, but true.

“That’s not true”, he still said, just for the sake of it. It earned a raised eyebrow and the most skeptical expression he had ever seen on his friend’s face.

“Percy”, she said, slowly as if she was talking to a kid. “Showing off your surfing skills and hoping he’ll find you so incredibly hot he’ll fall on your knees for you is not doing something about this”.

Ouch. Alright, maybe Annabeth’s reality checks were a little too honest and harsh sometimes.

“You can’t know it won’t work”, Percy said.

She was right, of course - she always was, and Percy hated and adored her for it.

He sighed, setting aside his drink and looking at the kiosk, his eyes finding Nico right away with practiced experience. He was serving someone, and Percy’s first thought was I wonder if he’s smiling like that at them too - which was stupid, and he knew that too, but knowing it didn’t really change anything. Percy was perfectly aware of how ridiculous he was being, but despite what Annabeth might have said about it, knowledge wasn’t always all that mattered.

He sighed, forcing himself to look away.

“What do you think I should do?”

“Well, you really only have two options”, Annabeth said.

It wasn’t exactly hard to guess what she was referring to.

“Either giving up or finding the courage of asking him out?”.

“Precisely”.

“Ugh”, Percy groaned. “You’re not much more helpful than Grover, you know?”

Annabeth laughed. “You know I’m right, Seaweed-brain”.

“I hate you”.

“Hating me won’t make you date the boy of your dreams”.

The boy of your dreams - oh, he really was, wasn’t he? Percy didn’t even know when exactly he had started to be unable to think about Nico, to want nothing more than to talk to him and get to know him for real; things had degenerated pretty fast - one moment Nico was just the cute goth boy working at the beach, and then the next he was Percy’s newest obsession.

It was weird - Nico wasn’t exactly his type; he seemed to be all dark and sharp edges, cloaked in black like he was constantly trying to hide in the shadows even under the bright sun. He looked like the kind of person that kept everyone at arm's length, and it only made Percy want to get closer and closer.

He realized his eyes had turned to him again, following his every move. He was talking to his friends, his words accompanied by wide hand gestures - Percy had noticed this habit of his before; it was adorable, really. Percy wanted to talk to him and see it from up close.

“He’s so pretty Annabeth, I’m gonna die”.

That was probably the thousandth time Annabeth had heard him saying that, so the roll of her eyes was definitely justified.

“Then go talk to him and ask him out”.

Percy groaned. She made it sound so easy.

He got up, took his surfing board again. “Maybe”, he said. “But first I’m going to see if my plan of being too hot to resist is gonna work”.

“You’re ridiculous”.

“Thanks, I didn’t know that”.

Annabeth rolled her eyes again and went back to her book. Who even preferred reading a book on a beach instead of going into the water? Percy would never understand that.

He walked towards the water with his mind still fixed on the same thought. He wondered if Nico liked the ocean - maybe they could enjoy it together, maybe Percy could teach him how to surf.

Maybe. If he could actually find the courage of asking him out.

#percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackon and the olympians #nico di angelo #percico #pernico #nicercy #at this point maybe i could just start posting it on ao3 lmao even tho i dont like starting to post when the fic is still unfinished #but oh well #NEO I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!! just some loser Percy absolutely head over heels for Nico!!!#this whole thing is making me so excited you know ;A; ily ily #goth/surfer percico

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foggycrusadepenguin · 21 days

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Sometime you just have clowns so much on your brain you see two cats and it's suddenly the only thing you can think about.

There also this which I have I just had to do, they only had one ship art and it's just to hilarious not to.

But it also sprang ideas which is always fun, sooo here I go.

It all starts when Buggy is around twenty two he is in the north he just suffered his first mutiny but he is dandy not like his ex crew at least who he saw being eaten after they left in him his little lifeboat so duck them anyway.

He has a bit of money, his juggling and little clown act gave him a little more money and he deserves a treat, a alcoholic treat so to the bar he goes and he is having a great time.

He drinks a bit to much but everything is great...

So great he doesn't notice the rather notorious leader of the Donquixote pirates that is having his own good time with some booze and pretty ladies.

Of course this is until his great luck comes into play and he may have done something rather flashy that may have inquired the joker ire.

To which things may have taken a interesting turn when Doflamingo tried to cut him into ribbons which earns him a funny result thanks to Buggy devil's fruit.

I thinks it would have sparked a new interest for Doffy towards the clown (Or more like what he can do with the clown, Doffy probably would be over joyed being able to split Buggy to pieces with his strings and Buggy would probably like the bonuses of having a little affair with Doffy particularly the he won't kill me card)

So that's the start of a there relationship (if you can call it that, I actually have a few more ideas for this but no patience to write it out so maybe later)

Relationship that would actually end with him meting Corazon in the flashiest way posible.

So it all starts after a rather rough night with Doffy one which Buggy enjoyed a lot and a Corazon searching for his brother.

So he goes to Doffy room just to find a dismembered body laying on the bed, bits and pieces everywhere and he is in his second in command this can't bother me mindset, he can't let Doffy see weakness and it would be the worst his brother has made him do to try and test him.

Which is why he starts cleaning the room ignoring the lack of blood (maybe the boy was cut post Morten) he would do his job, he would stop his brother from doing this again.

It's when he grabs the head to throw it out that he finds black eyes opening blearily before the head yawns and he is pretty sure his heart stops.

So he does the most sensible thing throws the head away, trips and smashes against the floor.

Meanwhile Buggy is just waking up from his nap and woah does Doffy look different this morning, just to be thrown like he was a ball, which rude.

Doflamingo comes back to his room just to see it all unfold and he finds it hilarious.

Finds it even more hilarious when he notices they get under each other skin.

Which ends up of course with him pushing them together whenever Buggy visits the north.

And that's the end of this times little rant, I had a au idea that kind of follows this but more detailed but I'm feeling lazy and I just found the idea of how Buggy meets Corazon and Doffy being the first Corabug, not shipper he doesn't ship them he just likes there disdain of each other,influencer hilarious and wanted to share it.

Apart that Doffybug? Is just really under appreciated, I like weirds ships sue me ╮⁠(⁠＾⁠▽⁠＾⁠)⁠╭

Anyway have a nice night, day or whatever!

(⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)/

#corabug #buggy the clown #one piece #one piece fanart #one piece rosinante #rosinante corazon #donquixote doflamingo #donquixote rosinante #doflamingo x buggy #Doffybug

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goodluckclove · 2 months

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Hey It's Me!

How are you? I've realized that I've taken up a habit of just forcing my way into the inboxes of other writers, so it would probably be helpful if I had a pinned intro.

I'm Clove Gardener! I'm a writer-type! I've written for fifteen years, and in that time I've made novels, produced plays, published short stories, written a column in an online arts website, ghostwritten a bunch of nonsense, and worked as a copywriter for a miserable marketing company. You can say I'm a working writer, and boy business is okay, I guess.

My new job is self publishing, specifically starting with the first book in the Songbird Elegies, coming out this summer. I actually started this blog to market, and to an extent I'm still kind of doing that sometimes. But there's a chance that's now the side-hustle to my true passion of directly befriending and talking with struggling word-handlers (writers) until they are able to properly handle their words (write).

A while back I went as far as to give my real email address to the internet so you can either send me what you're currently writing or like hack my accounts or whatever. If you chose to do the former, I would respond with praise, stray insights, and honest curiosity about your work. Guess what? I'm still doing that. But in the name of maybe not giving too much away, I've changed the email to the very classy [email protected]. If you send your current writing that you need a shot of motivation on, send it there and I will read it with my eyes and heart. I will talk about it more than you are probably prepared to handle.

My inbox is also fully open! If you reblog one of my writing call-out posts and I spot some nonsense about how you don't think you can write or share your writing, I will probably message you and ask why. But if you want to message me directly, skip the small talk and get straight to business. I'm down to party. I'm also down to give insights on what I know of indie/trad publishing, as well as starting a career in professional, non-fiction writing. Both technical and lifestyle! The latter makes much less money than the former, but the former also isn't as boring as you might think!

So yeah - I'm Clover Gardener. Read my books when they come out if you want. Scroll through and you'll find excerpts from what I'm working on. If you draw fanart I will cry and die and pee myself in that order. I love you.

#writing community #writing #on writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #queer writers #actually writing #writers of tumblr #writer community #writers #authors of tumblr

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yuzukult · 1 year

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crush 03 | jww & oc/reader

title: crush 03 / part of the attacca series pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader/oc (ft. seokmin) rating: 16+ (mentions of sex, but no act of sex) genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, racecar driver!au, mechanic!au wc: 7.4k summary: all he knows are fast rides, drag-strips, and speed ovals until he meets you, someone that’s got his heart racing instead of his car. warnings: explicit language, smoking, suggestive content (but nothing follows through), mentions of sex a/n: sorry i actually finished this weeks ago but forgot to post it.. embarrassinng frfr

This place looks… a bit shady.

The address Wonwoo sends you doesn’t show a brief description on Google Maps as it normally does, and it’s missing a preview picture of what the location is supposed to look like. When you pull up into the driveway, the asphalt fades into a dusted dirt road with cars of all ages, models, and manufacturers that line up against the fencing before you notice a building with an open garage on the opposite side.

That’s where you spot Wonwoo, crouched over in a white tank and torn up black jeans with a soiled rag over his shoulder. The driver’s window of an old Chevy is down, and Wonwoo has his forearms resting against the panel, casually conversing to the operator of the vehicle. He’s… got nice arms. But that’s besides the point.

He taps against the door. “Tell me when you need me to take another look at the ventilator. Should be workin’ this time around, but if not, Imma have to advise you to get ‘nother car.”

At first, you didn’t get to make out the facial features of who was inside. The reflection of the beaming sunlight hitting the front windshield made it arduous to identify the driver, but when she peeks her head out just barely, you could pinpoint the owner of those pearly white teeth anywhere. It’s the cute flag girl that Seokmin took home that one day.

“Why? When I could just keep coming back to you instead?”

But in lieu of reacting decrepitly to those pretty lashes that brush against her cherry tinted cheekbones like Seokmin does, Wonwoo is a major contrast when he slaps the top of the car with a charming smile. “Sweet, but it’s better to see your mechanic less and not more. Head home now, and only call if something happens to your car.”

With a failed sigh and pout, she waves goodbye to Wonwoo who watches as her car takes off.

Although when his eyes lands on you and your shitty ass Toyota, a show stopping grin tugs on the corners of his mouth. Wonwoo gestures for you to come to where the flag girl was earlier, and part of you feels a bit… special from the way he looks at her then at you. He seems happier, excited, even.

Why couldn’t Seokmin look at you in that way?

Hopping out of the car, you puff your cheeks. “When I said I’d let you take me on a date, I didn’t think it would be here at your shop.”

“I know girls like you,” he begins, crossing his arms before leaning against the doorframe of the garage. Raising a brow, you’re not sure where he’s going with that, but you remain silent to let him continue. “You probably get asked out often and have the most boring dates. What’s the last date you've been on?”

That required some thinking. Maybe it was that guy you met on Tinder and took you out for a candlelit steak dinner. Or even that one dude who took you to that art gallery.

You don’t respond though because Wonwoo seemed to have wanted to guess himself.

“Steak? Dim lighting, candles, maybe? Museums? How about even a walk by the river or waterfront, letting the cool breeze hit your face? Bet he tried to get into your pants after, which was why you didn’t call him back.”

That last one got you. You’ve been on that one before too, and had the same scenario happen. “What are you getting at here?”

He leans over to open your door wider, and you step aside. Reaching to pull the tab that pops the hood of your trunk, it only confuses you more on what he’s going to do next. “Well, I wanna be memorable, not some guy you went out with. Imma teach you how to change a flat.”

“I don’t have a flat.”

“Make believe, doll,” he chuckles, slamming your door shut. He walks to the back of your, pushing the trunk up, and his eyes skim the contents of the back. That term of endearment from Wonwoo is a new one, and for some reason, if it came from someone else, you’d be disgusted. But from him? It’s… kind of alluring? “Why you got so much junk in here?”

You flinch, immediately rushing to his side when the memory of what’s in your car comes to mind. “Oh shit, I—”

“Emergency one night stand kit?” He quirks a brow, lifting up a little tote back with the words woven into the canvas fabric. “You don’t look like the type.”

“It was a gift!” you exclaim, heat rushing to your cheeks as you snatch it back from him. “The contents inside don't match what the writing insists the purpose is for, I promise. I don’t do one night stands.”

“I know.” Wonwoo watches you in amusement, adoration swirling in his pools of chocolates he calls eyes. “You're one of those hopeless romantics. It’s taking a lot for you to even come on this date with me.”

You roll your lips in response, avoiding his loving gaze as you shuffle the stuff to make way for the lid of the compartment at the bottom of trunk. “How would you know that?”

“Because I see the way you look at Dokyeom, and it’s kind of the way that I look at you.” You choke on your saliva. Were you really that open of a book? Surely, it was true, but you didn’t think you were that obvious.

Dokyeom. It’s weird how Seokmin is your supposed best friend and yet there was so much about him you didn’t know. There was something underlying that he was hiding, and you want to dig deeper. Who was Dokyeom as this version of himself that he never once shared before?

You clear your throat, warmth rushing to your cheeks. Wonwoo is rather bold. “Um, so… are you gonna teach me how to change my tire or what?”

Wonwoo knows he caught you in that moment, but he doesn’t pry for more. “Aight, well roll up your sleeves and let’s get our hands dirty, love.”

He shows you the compartment to find the spare and tools, the latch that you’ve always looked over is the one he pulls to expose another layer of your car. Was that what it was for? You sort of just threw your shit on top of it and hoped for the best.

“Here, you’ll find your spare tire. I highly recommend that you don’t just ride it forever just cause you got it on. It’s a spare, it’s temporary. Don’t ever use it for long, it’s not meant for it.”

There’s a long, metal tool he brings out that resembles a cross. “This is a wrench,” then he grabs an unfamiliar mechanism in the shape of a diamond with a flat top, “the jack,” and finally, he points to the tire that peeks out just barely. “Lastly, the tire. Kinda heavy, but I can help you—”

“I got it,” you state daringly, shoving him to the side.

He chuckles at your boldness with that look of veneration on his face like you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. “Okay, well, grab that—” Wonwoo gestures at the tire, watching carefully to make sure you don’t hurt yourself, “and just… lay it on the ground. And we’re gonna put the jack under the car.”

Oddly enough, Seokmin never really wanted to teach you how to change a tire. You’ve mentioned it to him once before—you found yourself on the side of the road on a highway, phone up to your ear as you frantically called your best friend to be your knight in shining armor.

And when he arrived twenty minutes after your cry for help, he slammed the car door behind him with that smug look on his face as he said, “You rang?”

But that was when he was more reliable.

These days, your calls are missed and you rarely see him as often as you used to. He’s so caught up in his new life, his career, and all the girls that you’ve only become a sliver of importance to him.

Somehow, you end up with a smear mark on your cheek from moving all the equipment around. Wonwoo thinks you’re cute like this; admittingly, you were just a girl he found attractive with an amusing attitude. But that night. That night the two of you exchanged numbers—it was the first time he ever met someone that tugged on his heartstrings in this way. How’d he get looped into talking to a girl over text for hours?

“Like this?” You query, looking up at him from below. The tire lock is fastened onto the lug nut of your rims with a socket wrench in your hand. “So, I just…”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo leans over, hand on yours as he shoves the head of the tire iron to fasten against the lock. “Then you just…” he drifts off, and instead of pushing you aside to do it himself as Seokmin would’ve, he guides you with his movements. Thrusting his weight and yours against the wrench, he turns it multiple times before the first one releases and drops onto the floor with a clank. “The first one is always hard because it’s anti-theft, but the other ones are a bit easier. If you can’t get it out, just… put your hands on the hood of the car and jump on it. Wanna finish it off?”

Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.

Getting the lug nuts off was easier than you thought (were they on tight enough to begin with?) The tire tilts over to you, and you’re quick to catch it and set it aside. Wonwoo rolls the spare in your direction, watching as you puff your cheeks with a layer of sweat on your skin. You don’t seem bothered, despite the droplets that stream down the side of your neck, and he sort of expected you to confront him about this being a first date. Who takes a girl to learn how to change a flat for a first date?

Not many guys, that’s for sure.

With Wonwoo, he doesn’t act like a savior. When you’re struggling with pulling the tire off, he doesn’t come in and take over—he asks if you’d want his help, and when you’d reply with ‘no,’ he stays put.

“Okay, next, you should put the spare where you took off the flat. Then secure it with the nuts, and put the car down with the jack. You should be good to go after you use the wrench to tighten it some more.”

“Hold this for me,” you drop the wrench in his palms and he’s fast in abiding. Aligning the spare tire to the bolts, you mount them by tightening the lug nuts into their initial spots by hand. Finally, stepping back, you lower the vehicle with the jack as he advises, snatching the tool back as he snickers at how focused you’ve become.

You use all your strength—practically the entirety of your weight impeling into the wrench to secure the bolts in place. With a puff of exhausted air, you shove it back into Wonwoo’s hold. “Okay, done. Check it.”

He eyes you impishly, making his way to the spare that you proudly installed yourself, casually popping the head of the wrench to fit the lugs without much difficulty. Wonwoo does it with ease; everything happens so fluidly, from the way he checks the tightening of the lugs to the kick of the tire to see if it would slip out in any way. Your breath gets caught in your throat, a bit anxious of the results, but when he turns to you with a soft smile, your chest releases the tension.

“Wow, impressive for the first try. You sure you’ve never changed a flat before?”

“Promise,” you cheekily grin back. He’s sort of… cute. He reminds you of those flakey croissant pastries, expectant on the outside that the dish you pair with a cup of coffee would be just buttery. But taking in a bite, the strawberry jam spews from the insides, the fruit preserves leaving a candied taste on the tip of your tongue.

This was just part of the date, you soon learn, because after Wonwoo helps you wash your hands in the sink in his garage, he leads you behind the building where a field of green lies.

His auto shop was located on the borderlines of the city and the suburbs—just a couple blocks over, if you took a step to the left, you would’ve been on the outskirts of the city lines but one move to the right, you’ll find yourself in the heart of the crowd of skyscrapers. Farther back of the property, the dusty road fades into a green field (well, sorta. It’s got patches, definitely needs some TLC, but you digress), and although it’s not the prettiest with scattered pieces of car junk across the lawn, his setup that he has displayed makes it… cute. He’s got this red and white checkered blanket that lays on the grass, boxes of screws on either corners and a hammer thrown at the other.

You glance over at Wonwoo.

He’s quick to shove it off the blanket, dropping the wicker basket where the hammer once was.

“Were you premeditating a murder?”

“If the night doesn’t go well, maybe,” he jokes. “I’m kidding, I had a feeling it was gonna get windy and I didn’t want the two of us spending half the day trying to get the thing to stay still. I did it myself before you came.”

He’s kinda cute.

“I couldn’t dress as nicely, I realized I don’t think I own any pairs of pants without a grease stain on it,” Wonwoo admits apologetically, plopping down on the blanket in his raw hemmed black jeans and the short sleeve button up that he doesn’t bother actually buttoning up. Part of you is tempted to ask him if he bought those jeans like that or if he cut it himself (you think it’s the latter).

Seokmin always had a thing about his appearance. The cleaner and slicker you seem, the more name brands that decorate your clothing, and the type of vehicle you drive says a lot about you.

But to Wonwoo, it’s clear that those things don’t matter.

He’s not rich in terms of the money stashed in his pockets or the digits in his bank account, but his wealth resides within his personality and knowledge. As you slice off a piece of cheese to pair with your cracker and prosciutto off a charcuterie board he attempted to make (you give him props for this as he humbly mentions he gives all the credit to those moms on forum websites posting their recipes), you learn more as to why Wonwoo never went to college—both willingly and unwillingly. And yet, he harbors so much wisdom in terms of cars and racing, earning all your respect that he chose a non-traditional route and remains successful.

You recall that night over the phone how he wished he could go to college, but he doesn’t have the means to. Wonwoo dropped out of high school during his senior year, just months before graduating, and although he didn’t fully explain why, the admiration in your gaze when he mentions he’d gotten his GED several months ago is evident.

Wonwoo isn’t what you’re used to; growing up, it was established that you were to meet a man with a bachelor’s degree, and the bonus is if he obtains a master’s. When your hands are stained, whether it be grease from the stove, oil from a car, flour from dough, or paint off a canvas, it’s recognized as a labor intensive job and the more physical work you do, the less intelligent you are.

This was not the case.

Admittingly, he doesn’t know anything about kinematics or conservation of energy, but he knows what to do when your carburetor is failing or if your water pump leaks. Analyzing the works of Shakespeare or reading a novel without dozing off wasn’t quite his forte, but he’s better in other fields and there’s so much admiration for that. “I like jobs that give back to society,” he said that night, and it gifts you the perspective that there is more to the world beyond being employed at a corporate company. Wonwoo sets a different standard for you, but even on a sweet date like this where he’s pouring a glass of moscato for you as you watch the sun setting in the horizon… you can’t help but let your thoughts flood with Seokmin once again.

When Wonwoo’s eyes curl into moon crescents with a laugh so buttery and deep, you discern a lot more clearly how much Seokmin has a hold on you. A great guy sits before you and you can’t get your head unwrapped from Lee Seokmin.

“When’d you get into racing?” You ask, deciding that maybe if you get to know him better, you’d stop thinking about the guy who’d rather be at a rooftop bar downtown with a girl he just met fifteen minutes ago. “I’ve never seen you at any of the tournaments.”

“Mmm,” he hums, brushing his hands off each other from the crumbs. “About a month before that cup. One of the sponsors of the stadium saw me racin’ on the streets a couple months ago. Once he found my name, he got me a competitor’s license and forced me on the track. Said somethin’ like he’d help me pay for everything, including two months of mortgage on my shop.” Wonwoo shrugs, reaching over to grab another cracker from the bag. “Two months is a lot. Plus, if he’s paying for everything else and all I needed was a crew, not a big deal. It’s really just a money game.”

You purse your lips. “Any reason for him to want you to race?”

“It’s probably gettin’ boring watching Dokyeom win all the time.”

Oh. You never really thought of it like that. “But he won the circuit,” you clarify. “I don’t get it.”

He grabs a handful of the crackers and lays it across the wooden board for you, adjusting himself on the picnic blanket as he tilts his head to the side. “Yea, but I also came in second with milliseconds on the clock. Not to mention that this is the first of the series–I think they just want somethin’ new to the competition ‘cause there hasn’t been any fresh meat lately. Or, if there are any, they ‘un really last.”

You quirk a brow. “You’re not fresh meat–you raced on the streets.”

Wonwoo winks playfully. “You know that, but they don’t.”

There’s a lot to unpack–the recruiting of Wonwoo into an industry that he didn’t really see himself in, only to be lured to race with a bribe because it was getting boring to watch Seokmin win so frequently? You have a never ending list of questions, ones that Wonwoo couldn’t necessarily answer, but one you were suspicious enough to keep digging. But when Wonwoo lifts the honey dipper made of turned wood to collect the honey from the jar and onto your chunk of cheese, he says one last thing that erases all your curiosity.

“Dokyeom almost got a monopoly on stock car racing. No new consistent racers in the past two years entering this category, instead they’re headin’ off to Formula 1 or drag. They’re losing all potential new money ‘cause there’s nobody that can match his potential. Thinkin’ that the guy just wanted me there to get the ball rollin, let people know that it’s not impossible to beat the Lee Seokmin.”

Popping the piece of parmesan into your mouth, you roll your lips. “Well, you didn’t beat him either,” you tease, and he rolls his eyes with a smile tugging on the edges of his lips. He’s got the same sense of humor as you do, and he makes it a little hard not to get enticed by his charms. “So what of it?”

“I didn’t have to beat him, I just had to get close enough,” he grins. “Why? Are you not impressed that I didn’t beat him?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Mm,” he nods slowly while feigning a frown. “Damn. Should’ve told me earlier, maybe I would’ve actually tried beating him then.”

How did this conversation end up looping right back into Seokmin when you asked to distract yourself from him?

“Do… Do you even like racing, Wonwoo?”

“Honestly?” he glances over at you before looking back at the sunset. The hues of warmth that radiate the ordinary star is a pretty sight as it shines on his face, and it’s evident why he’s enamored by many. “No. I like cars, and I love the speed, but I prefer being under the hood than behind the wheel. Knowing how the gears turn and what’s the reason for the black smoke and why your car stutters is more appealing to me than burning rubber on asphalt.”

“Hm,” you hum, remaining silent to bask in the fresh air. You say it often, but Wonwoo is…different. He indulges in the present moments in life; he doesn’t dwell on the past, in fact, he embraces it and learns from it. The type of person that travels with a loose agenda, a couple locations and hot spots in mind to touch, but never abiding by what’s written as if it’s set in stone.

He’s carefree. Flowing like linens hanging dry on the clothesline on a warm, breezy day.

“And what about you?” he asks, those chocolate swirling orbs just full of adoration and interest. Wonwoo looks at you in a way that you could only dream for Seokmin to do the same, but he’s slowly easing you into the idea of it being someone else. “Do you like cars? Racing?”

“Have you seen my car?” you laugh, quirking a brow. “To me, a car is just something that takes you from point A to point B. Otherwise, it means nothing to me.”

“Funny, isn’t it?”

“What is?” Tilting your head to the side, it’s your turn to gaze at him with intrigue.

“You just… see cars differently than I do,” he says with a soft smile. “It’s not bad, but it holds so many meanings for me, left core memories, and for you, you blatantly say that it’s a means of transportation.”

You feel bad for saying it like that but… it is just a car.

“It may seem like just a car,” he begins, and you think for a second that he reads your mind. “But every meaningful moment in my life had a car involved in it.”

Maybe Wonwoo has a point—it’s like how some people just view a croissant as just a flaky pastry you could have with coffee in the mornings or tea in the afternoons. But others, the aroma of freshly baked croissants imbues the kitchen, creating a wave of nostalgia sweeping over them. The residual butter left on their fingertips when they tear into the crisp, crescent shaped pastry is a sign that it’s been made with the utmost love, just as their elder relatives baked it.

“Do you have something like that?” It’s… a good question. Truthfully, you’ve never thought about that before, and maybe it’s from the way you live your life, but you’ve hardly stopped and just immersed yourself within a moment. “I… I don’t think I do. I’ve been so caught up in preparing for what’s next that it’s never crossed my mind.”

“Well,” he begins, taking a bite from a cracker. “Let that be something you figure out before the next time we meet.”

You quirk a brow in amusement. “You’re already thinking about another date?”

“Aren’t you?” He mimics your expression. “I thought you’re always thinking one step again. Unless, you don’t view me in that way and decide that there wouldn’t be a next time?”

There is definitely a next time.

Actually, there ends up being a lot of “next times.”

In fact, meeting with Wonwoo has become a routine.

There’s excitement that runs through your veins, similar to the adrenaline rush that Seokmin raves on about when he races, except this is simply because of your eagerness to see Wonwoo after work. Once the clock strikes five, your bag is already slung over your shoulder with the door shut behind you.

Some nights, you find yourself drowning in projects with deadlines, stuck in the four walls of your office that feel like they’re closing in. It’s suffocating—spending more than the required eight hours in what feels like an enclosed space, wishing that you could be anywhere else but there.

That is, until you and Wonwoo grew closer.

You never thought of yourself as someone who would find comfort in the sound of tools clanging against each other or on the concrete ground. Wonwoo likes to blast a mixtape he made back in high school—which basically was just a list of songs that you’d know the lyrics to because you used to have it on full volume with your whole emo getup back in your rebellious and angsty teenage years.

When you started to spend more time in his shop, he made a note to build a make-shift desk for you–yes, it was basically a tool cart with a long piece of a wood plank, but with the wheels locked, a swivel chair he used to run reports at his shitty computer (that was also on another tool cart) and a lamp he bought from Walmart (it has a pink base, he thought you’d like that), it felt welcoming. After a long day at the office with work still not done, this change of scenery is nice, especially since Wonwoo makes it crystal clear that he wants your company.

Some days are more uneventful than others, but nonetheless, they’re nice. You liked the calmness–there was something soothing about that roar of the engine when Wonwoo would lean into the open window to turn the key in the ignition for a test run.

Today, though, falls a bit outside of that placid routine.

You drop by, mostly because you’re bored and you don’t want to be alone in your apartment, plus it’s almost guaranteed that Wonwoo would be at the car shop (well, also because his place is literally… connected to it. You opened the wrong door trying to find the bathroom once, only to see this huge backroom that looked like a loft. Wonwoo loves work so much that he lives in it).

As you enter the garage, eyes glued to the screen of your phone, your car keys dangle from your fingers as you’re tapping away. “Do you wanna order dinner? I heard there’s this Chinese place a couple blocks down–they deliver so we can just call–”

“Ehem,” Wonwoo clears his throat, arms crossed over his chest. Attention now on him, that’s when you notice the other four men in the shop, casually sitting on the couch, leaning on a car, and standing beside Wonwoo. “Um, so these are my friends.”

Friends. Wonwoo introduces you to them; Mingyu, Minghao, Seungcheol and Vernon are their names, and from what you recall, they seem to have been the same guys that were on his crew back at the track. They’re all car guys, you learn, knowing Wonwoo from way back and it makes you wonder if they knew Seokmin–or well, Dokyeom–at the time but you don’t probe for more. If Seokmin wants to remain mysterious, then he can stay that way.

“So,” Mingyu, who is definitely over 6-feet tall, begins cheekily, pushing himself off the car. “Are you the reason why Wonwoo won’t come out with us to drink? We’ve been asking him for the past month to come out and he keeps giving us bullshit excuses.”

You blink blankly. Was… Wonwoo turning them down to see you?

“I’m sorry,” you turn to stare at Wonwoo for a brief moment before turning back to Mingyu. “Was… Was he doing that? I didn’t even know.”

“He must like you,” Seungcheol chimes in, snickering as Wonwoo smacks Seungcheol’s chest with the back of his hand. “What! I’m just sayin’. You never reject us. Except for that one time your mom came into town, but other than that, you’re basically always comin’ with us. Did a surprise drop by… lo’ and behold. Jeon here's got a girlie.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes as he twists around to snatch a carton of cigarettes off the shelf of his supplies. “You came for the cigs, bro. Stop saying shit. You’re gon’ scare her.”

“Ohhhh,” Minghao chimes in teasingly. “So you care about what she thinks of you–thinks of us. That’s cute,” he hops up from the couch before coming over to you. “If Jeon gives you a hard time…” with a wink, he then gestures to the other boys to follow. “Just lemme know. Or any of them. We’ll be back around, so we’ll catch you later. Nice to meet you, cutie.”

When they leave, you’re left alone with Wonwoo once again.

“Am I holding you back?”

Wonwoo stares at you blankly with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the red tool cart roller. “Holding me back from what?”

You shrug, putting down your phone onto the make-shift coffee table (it’s just a creeper parked on a cardboard box). “I don’t know. They made it seem that way—I mean, we’re not really dating, so I feel bad if I’m… holding you back from anything. You should see your friends—whether or not we are together.”

“I can make that decision for myself,” Wonwoo shoots back, pushing himself up as he makes his way to the car in the garage. “They’ll see me around, not a big deal. And yeah, I’m down for Chinese. You tryna get me the vegetable lo mein?”

You eye him carefully. The thing with Wonwoo versus Seokmin is that he says it straight up—no hesitation, no crazy maze where you need to probe for clues to reach the end, and he doesn’t expect you to figure him out in a heartbeat. Wonwoo inspects your actions, and if you give it away that you don’t understand, he’s transparent with how he answers.

Wonwoo doesn’t feel like the game of cat and mouse.

“Do you want to share sweet and sour chicken and maybe some wings?”

“Of course. And make sure they have Coca Cola—not Pepsi.”

When you’re both sitting on his secondhand couch of the garage, utilizing one of the ULINE tool cabinets as a more sturdy table, there’s boxes of Chinese food that’s sprinkled all across. His carton of lo mein is now empty, remnants of the grease left on the sides with bits of bean sprouts too small to grab with his chopsticks and the bones of the chicken wings are left on those crappy napkins that you’d find in fast food joints and coffee shops, saturated in the oils and probably leaving marks on the cart. Wonwoo eats fast but he always stays seated until you finish your meal despite being done his.

He used to keep his garage cold, the overhead rolling door made of metal and not including much insulation from the weather outside, but ever since you’ve kept him company more frequently, he’s installed some ceiling mounted unit heater to keep the area warm. The humming of the machine is what breaks the silence between the two of you, but Wonwoo doesn’t fail to bring it up, nonetheless.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, brows furrowed in confusion. “You usually are babbling about your day right about now. Didn’t you and Sunny go shopping yesterday? She didn’t spill any gossip?”

You roll your lips. Are you normally that talkative around him? And if so, are you really that comfortable?

“Um, yeah, we did,” you begin, placing down your carton of rice. “And sorta. Not really. Mostly complained about work.”

He makes a sound by sucking in his teeth before sitting up to rest his elbows on his knees. “Alright, what’s up? Tell me.”

Normally, you’d just… tell the other person to let it go. Even with Seokmin, when he pries, you’re quick on your feet to tell him to ‘not worry about it’ and that ‘this unreasonable feeling will pass eventually.’

But Wonwoo is great at breaking barriers that you never thought you’d do.

Placing down your chopsticks, you let out a sigh along with the drop of your shoulders. “Okay, okay. I just feel bad. We’re not official—and that’s entirely on me, and I really do enjoy spending time with you—whatever this may be—but I also don’t want to be the one to hold you back on things like going out with your friends, meeting other girls, or just… I don’t know. Seeing those guys just made me think of that. I know that you might like me and—”

“Mm, hush.”

You blink blankly.

“Listen,” Wonwoo begins, hands together stiffly in semblance to this situation. “That’s on me too, right? I don’t think you’re leading me on, in fact, I think you’re establishing boundaries—like you are now. I went on a date with you, and it didn’t work. So be it. But—let’s make this clear, we are friends. I’m good with you coming over here whenever you want. And yea, I do like you. You gimme a lot of reasons to, but that don’t mean we can’t be friends. And if it makes you feel any better, I do hang with ‘em, they’re just bein’ dramatic because I spend my weekdays with you the most.”

“Oh,” you reply doltishly. “I didn’t think of it like that.”

“Well, start,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Look, I know that you and Seokmin have these unspoken feelings and I’d rather you resolve them if you decide to take anything further. I’m cool with just chillin’ as friends, and we’re not doing anything wrong by it. I just may be a lil’ sweeter for you is all, only cause I got a crush. But my feelings aren’t hurt by it.”

This is… different.

Although you constantly say that Seokmin and Wonwoo are opposites (well, duh, they’re not the same person), it’s almost become repetitive and annoying how frequent you come to these “realizations.” Wonwoo has evidently seen a lot in his life, endured a lot, and due to that, he’s… emotionally mature.

As for Seokmin—well, need you say more?

Somehow, the end of the evening isn’t awkward. He makes you laugh with a story about how a client came over, exclaiming on the top of their lungs how the backseat wouldn’t prop itself up, only for Wonwoo to find the seat belt covering the opening that holds it up. Although it was very tempting to smack a $300 invoice to his customer, he chose the better route of just telling them upfront what the issue was.

Although he’s understanding, prioritizing the friendship he’s created with you, he doesn’t make it hard to consider him as more than a friend.

“Well, you look giddy.”

“Hmm?” You respond dumbly, looking up from your phone full of texts. Wonwoo ended up feeling bad that his friends thought he’d been neglecting them, so he agreed to go to a bar tonight with them and maybe hit a club afterwards–but that doesn’t stop him from constantly messaging you. “Me? Or Sunny?”

P flicks your hand. “You, you idiot.”

“Oh.”

Sunny snorts in amusement, placing another strip of meat onto the grill. It sizzles from the impact of heat and the fat content of the beef, steam filling the air for a brief second before the ventilator sucks it up. “You didn’t tell us about that date with Wonwoo. You dodged all the texts in our group chat.”

You shrug, grabbing the spare tongs to help Sunny add more meat onto the grate. “Um, because it’s kind of weird.”

P raises a brow. “And how is it weird? Was he strange?”

Sunny’s attention is off of cooking now, diverting toward you. “OMG. Did we make you go on a date with a weirdo?”

You glance over at the two. “Wait-what?” Pretending to resume to the grill, you poke a couple of the raw pieces that lay across with another set of tongs. “No, no. He… He’s honestly great. I haven’t felt that connection with someone in a while–he taught me how to install a spare tire–”

P blinks blankly. “He taught you how to change your spare? What kind of date is that?”

And for a moment, a wash of judgment appears across Sunny’s face but it softens when she finally realizes. “... Because you told him that Seokmin promised to come and “save the day,” didn’t you? Then Wonwoo probably thought for a first date idea… teaching you how to change a spare…”

Then it clicks for P; her shoulders loosen and fall when she’s aware of the meaning behind the date. “He… didn’t want you to depend on Seokmin anymore.”

Sunny frowns, flipping over the meat on the grill. “If that’s the reason… Why’s that weird? Sounds sweet. If anything, I kinda give him props for that. Did he at least take you out to dinner?”

You chew on your bottom lip. “Well, he made a whole picnic basket.”

Both Sunny and P glare at you. “And what’s wrong with that?”

“He’s… not Seokmin.”

Gross. It sounds pathetic leaving from your mouth.

The looks that Sunny and P give you are full of pity. How could you be so weak for a guy that doesn’t even respect you enough to hide when he has flings? Someone who claims that they’re yours, but they spent most of their time pursuing anyone but you. It’s a constant recurring thought, and the reminders are always smacking you in the face and yet, you’re here, sitting in front of your two best friends after going on a date with someone who could potentially give you the world and more yet Seokmin still remains on your mind.

“Listen,” P begins, placing down her chopsticks by the side of her plate. Sunny clears off the grill and lowers the fire, mimicking P’s actions with her tongs. “Sunny and I talked about this, and we realized that yes, although we really don’t support this unrequited love between you and Seokmin, it’s still your life and your choices to make. We want you to know that we’re by your side, and behind you through it all, even if you end up with Seokmin, but we’ll say this one last time.”

“We think you should move on, love.”

Your phone lights up beside you, Wonwoo’s name on display with the preview of his text. He asks if you like mint chocolate, a debate that he and his friends have had since God knows when, and it may determine if he wants to keep chasing you. When you unlock the phone, Seokmin’s chat is pinned to the top with your message being the most recent and sent two days ago. He just… disregarded the picture you shared of the two of you in college, his arm over your shoulders with smiles stretched across your faces.

“It’s… It’s hard,” you admit, and this time, it feels like the weight on your chest releases. “I think… I’d already had this idea that he and I would end up together engraved in my brain that I can’t seem to let go.”

“Well, how about this? You at least keep giving Wonwoo a shot if he does make you happy or if you’re even remotely interested. He seems sweet, and he also seems to know where you stand with Seokmin, which makes it easier to not have to explain to him the situation.”

You roll your lips. “I–Okay.”

Just then, your screen lights up again. Speaking of the Devil.

Wonwoo [11:54PM]: You can hold off on that political question for later. Since you’re still awake… my other friends wanna meet you. Wanna come out and grab a bite w us?

Quickly, you show your phone to the girls.

“Fuck yeah, tell them to come here,” P nearly shouts, and you hush her. “Forreal, give Wonwoo the address. We’ll get more chairs–switch tables if we gotta. I’m tryna see him in person.”

Sunny starts touching up on her makeup in her compatible mirror. “Get them to come! It shouldn’t be too far from where they are, right?”

It wasn’t.

In fact, Wonwoo and his friends were a couple blocks down–when you sent him the text of where you and your friends are, he eagerly sent a screenshot of Google Maps to show how close he was.

When they walk into the BBQ joint, it’s very hard to miss them. For one, you spot familiar faces—Mingyu, Minghao, Seungcheol and Vernon from the shop, followed by three other guys you never met personally before, but you remember them from Wonwoo’s pit before the tournament. It makes you wonder—did he just hire all his friends to be his pit crew members? And if he did, that’s… impressive. You don’t think you could name any of Seokmin’s friends that would spend their Saturday rushing to change his tires—not to mention that they probably aren’t even trained to do it.

Then, you spot Wonwoo. He pushes through the group, shuffling to see where you are, and when your eyes meet, his smile doesn’t fail to stretch across from ear to ear.

“Hey,” he says breathily, probably from all the shoving. “It’s… Good to see you. Kinda thought you were avoiding me after the mint chocolate question. It can be a touchy subject for some people.”

You let out a laugh; it’s so genuine and warm when it releases from your chest that it causes both P and Sunny to raise a brow at you before glancing at each other.

You’re different around him.

It’s so clear to both your best friends why Wonwoo is the choice you should make, and you’re displaying it right now. The comfortable body language, the laugh, and how you introduce them to him without any nerves. He’s so sweet when he offers to cook (only for one of his other friends to snatch the tongs from him with a hiss to take over, it’s still the thought and attempt that counts).

Wonwoo takes the seat next to you. Of course he does, he likes you, but there’s something inside of you that has trouble with swallowing that information. And truthfully? It wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy his company or want to reject his feelings—if anything, you’ve caught yourself imagining the what-ifs.

Then, Seokmin’s face shows up in those fantasies.

It’s a reminder of why you need a remedy for your lovesick symptoms, mostly because if a guy like Wonwoo is here with his rowdy friends, unable to keep his eyes that are full of adoration for you, then why would you waste your time with someone else right here?

You could… You could see yourself falling for Wonwoo. It’ll take time, that’s for sure, but you don’t think it’s impossible.

“How do you like your steak?” He asks, tongs in hand as he turns his head away from the grill to look at you. “Medium? Fully cooked?”

“Medium rare,” you answer, and Wonwoo serves you first before kindly asking the same question to your friends. P and Sunny are impressed, rolling their lips to suppress their giggles and teasing, wiggling their brows in your direction.

“So,” P begins, putting down her chopsticks. “We heard you’re a racecar driver.”

He chuckles, rubbing his nape awkwardly. “I–I wouldn’t necessarily say that. Was a temp thing.”

Seungcheol nudges Wonwoo. “Don’t act all humble. It’s aight to say it, you’re a racecar driver now. You got to compete with Kyeomie, I’d say you deserve the title.” He winks teasingly, but you know he says it to give Wonwoo the push he needs. Seungcheol naturally leads their group of friends; you’ve seen him gesture to Mingyu to grab the tongs and start cooking when he sees plates empty, tell Minghao to ask the server for more drinks when the liquid in the glasses get low, and even just now, when he encourages Wonwoo to be a little bolder. Wonwoo’s pit crew wasn’t just his “pit crew”... they’re his friends. You admire that.

The night runs smoothly. P and Sunny are so impressed and smitten with Wonwoo, constantly encouraging you to make moves on him. Quite frankly, you even… forgot about Seokmin for a moment.

That is, until your eye catches him entering the restaurant.

← last chapter | next chapter →

#seventeen #seventeen fics #dk x reader #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fanfic #dk fanfic

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swifty-fox · 2 months

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yo you post your fics on AO3? if so please share your user babe

omg yes I do! you can check my swiftywrites tag but

Masters of the Air:

Kingdom for a Kiss - WIP (60k written, 55kk Posted) Long-form Postwar exploration of Clegan's relationship and their trauma. Updates weeky. Explicit.

“I wasn’t the one all but begging to be shot by the guards for months on end there Bucky.” Buck shakes his head, laughing sharply. His anger was a living thing now and he aches with it “Nah, nah, not me. No, I was the one dragging your crazy ass back from the brink time and time again. Trying to convince those fucking Germans your sorry carcass was of more use alive than dead, trying to keep the men busy and motivated while you fucked about. You're welcome by the way.” He jabs a finger in John's direction, who stares at him taken aback. “So’s I don’t see much of a reason why I should let you come up into my home and cast your judgments around.”

Bucks chest heaves, great gulps of air like he’s once again racing through snow-covered German trees. He can tell he’s shocked John into silence, the other man's eyes darting back and forth. Buck averts his gaze, brushing his hair back from his face. That’s twice now he’s lost himself at the people he cares about. Twice now he’s bitten a hand reached out in kindness.

Gale takes a deep breath to compose himself, tucks the jagged angry edges of himself back to face inwards. “You said you would write.”

Little Beast: Ongoing. Porn with a bit of Plot modern au of Burnout John and Priest Gale. total of 30k of them fucking and arguing. Three Parts so far. NSFW to the max

“It’s such a shame you’re cooped up in here like Rapunzel there Buck.” John drawls lazily. He makes a show of looking around “Is Mother Gothel nearby?”

Buck has to fight back against another smile, wouldn't give him the satisfaction or the encouragement “Father Huglin is away at a conference today.”

“All alone without a chaperone.”

press your tired hands against my lips darling: Finished. 3K word re-write of the Bucks final conversation in the cockpit. Loose prequel to KfaK but with some minor inaccuracies Mostly SFW

Gale takes John's hand, brings the scarred knuckles to his mouth and holds it there, turns their hands over til he can place his lips to the pulse point at John’s wrist. It’s not a kiss, there’s no press or pursing of lips, but tender nevertheless, intimate in a way that makes Gale shudder. Cautious of whether John will even allow this.

“I ain’t prayed in a long time,” Gale says whisper-soft. He feels John’s pulse skip a beat, “but I prayed every day you were safe and alive and coming back to me. Every morning, and every night.” He lets himself cry again, tears hidden against the scarred skin of John's hand.

The Old Guard:

in another life maybe you and i would be walking down an aisle in white: Finished Joe/Nicky (18K) Art Professor Joe & Art Conservator Nicky reconnect after ten years. This one is uh. Sad. Mind the tags. It's an incredibly personal piece to me and probably one of my favorites .NSFW

Dear Joe, you have always been the brave one and I wished every moment for even a drop of that. Perhaps that is why I claimed you as mine, out of a desperate need to have even an ounce of what made you, you. I desired you but I would not, could not ever let you in. I loved you and kept you and hurt you, keelhauled you against the impenetrable ship that was my heart and when the ragged pieces were left behind I still asked of you your silence.

It is no wonder our love was left in bloody tatters on that lawn.

Make me a Saint: Finished (8k) Nicky and Nile mete out some justice to a corrupt priest. NSFW for violence. Mind the tags. As of right now, my most popular fic

“ I was a priest before your bible was even written old man ” Nickys voice thunders in the tiny room, crackling over the walls like fire. Even Nile flinches at the sudden volume. He takes another step forwards, bracketing Father Marcus’ arthritic twisted feet with his own.

His voice does not shake.

“I preached the word of God before your language was even invented . I have known the church for longer than you can comprehend. I have seen great men and evil men take up the word of the Lord and I have seen them all rendered dust. I have seen you and I have judged you, Father Marcus. The Church may practice restraint but I do not. The diocese may have turned a blind eye I but I do not. The courts may have found you innocent but I do not .

Calcification of a God: Finished (4K) Nicky has a lil Menty B and then Joe gives him a bath. Mostly SFW if I recall correctly

“I think,” Nicky says “If I were God, it was you I modeled humanity after. I think if I were God I would have left my throne in heaven to walk beside you and I would have been richer for it”

Yusuf chuckles “Death makes you sentimental my darling.”

Wolfstar:

Oh Captain, My Captain!: Finished, 1.6k Drabble of Wolfstar cuddling and reciting poetry. SFW

He cups the back of Remus’s head, presses him further into the safety of his body with a hand on his mismatched, misaligned rib cage and rocks them slightly. Remus grunts slightly. Sirius hides the teeth of his smile against the follow of his own neck and allows the curtain of his hair to cover them both for a moment. He listens to the two of them breath, always slightly out of sync, out of rhythm. Remus quick and labored, Sirius racing to catch up only to find himself charging ahead only to drop back behind when he tries to slow down.

“ If I vibrate with vibrations other than yours, must you conclude that my flesh is insensitive ” That doesn’t fit quite right, so he tries another, brow furrowed and fingers tracing the knobs of Remus’ spine like the knots on a tree, with reverence and a little hint of greed.

#swiftytalks #swiftywrites #my fics #wolfstar #clegan #joe x nicky #the old guard #masters of the air #just thought i would take this chance to compile all the links

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burntheedges · 2 months

Text

Passing Notes: Ask

Marcus Pike x gn!reader | 1.2k words | Passing Notes masterlist

summary: You've made a new friend on tumblr.

a/n: happy gift exchange, @katareyoudrilling! I’m really glad we found each other on here and that we’re friends. 🧡 This is sort of inspired by your Marcus-as-your-assigned-FBI-agent fic, sort of inspired by your year of asks… for the @swiftiscruff gift exchange 💕

tags/warnings: flirting, banter, reader walks around their apartment and is otherwise not described

...

You sigh as you drop onto your couch. It’s Friday, finally, and you sink into the cushions with relish. You let the comfort coax you into relaxing and close your eyes, trying to think about anything but the week behind you.

It helps.

But as soon as you stop thinking about your week, you start thinking about something else. Someone else. In the back of your mind you can feel the excitement building, now that you actually have time to consider it. After just a few moments of rest you’re leaning forward to reach for your laptop.

He might have sent you a new ask, after all. It’s been three weeks. He has to be back by now. You have to check.

You feel your heart rate pick up as your laptop whirrs to life and you take another deep breath. It's ok if he didn’t, you tell yourself. He might not be back yet. And you don’t even know him.

But as soon as your tumblr homepage loads you’re grinning, wide. There’s a single notification next to your inbox.

You click, trying not to hope too hard, but you see the messy paints of his profile picture and let out a delighted laugh. He’s back.

Hey! Sorry I was MIA, had that work trip. But I did have time to come up with some new questions. :) First, if you had to pick any famous painting to take home from a museum and hang over your couch, which would you pick? I ask because I was thinking about this yesterday when I saw an ad for a new exhibit at the art museum downtown. In the ad they had a Renoir hanging over a bright red couch and it looked so bizarre I couldn’t stop thinking about it and I need your opinion. I hope you’re doing well!

The opening lines make you bite your lip. He was thinking about you on his trip. He came up with questions, just for you, in the three weeks he was away.

Part of you tries to tamp down the excitement – you don’t even know this guy. All you know about him is that his name maybe starts with a P and he’s in his 40s. His profile says just that: “P | he/him | 40s | art nerd” and that’s it. You know that he likes art and stories about art and has amazing taste in art… and he seems to enjoy sending you asks. And answering asks from you. About art, and anything and everything else.

And just before he left on his trip, he started… well. There’s only one word for it.

Flirting.

He started flirting, in his asks. And then he even sent you a message, not an ask. The message was about a book you’d just finished, carrying over your discussion from the replies on a post to a private chat for the first time. You grinned like an idiot as you bantered and joked and flirted with him.

give-me-arts: I can’t believe you didn’t like that book! you: It was slow! Soooo slow. give-me-arts: but that’s what made the payoff so good! you: but what good is it if I have to slog through all of that to get there? I’m too impatient. give-me-arts: sometimes patience is worth it in the end 😉

But then he broke the bad news — he had to go on a work trip, probably for at least two weeks, and he wouldn’t be able to get online at all. You rolled your eyes at yourself, a bit, for how sad it made you. But whatever. It doesn’t matter now. He’s back!

You start to type your answer to his ask, but your eyes stray towards your messages. You bite your lip. What could it hurt?

you: Welcome back! Just saw your ask. How was your trip?? give-me-arts: Hey! Way too long. I might have come up with a long list of asks for you in my down time 😉 you: Just for me? I feel special. ha give-me-arts: You are.

Your eyes widen. That is definitely the most direct he’s been so far, with flirting or anything else. What happened on that trip? You take a deep breath and ask about something else, shying away from his reply for the moment.

you: Did you finish the book? give-me-arts: I did! I liked it. I supposedly have the next one in the series waiting for me but I haven’t picked up my mail. you: Go get it! Read it tonight! give-me-arts: haha ok fine. Let me go grab it.

You smile and turn back to your draft of your answer to his newest ask. But before you can really get going there’s a knock at your door, just a few minutes later.

You open it to find Marcus Pike, FBI agent and your (very attractive) neighbor, waiting on the other side. He looks tired and a bit rumpled but he has a light smile on his face, as always.

“Hey neighbor. Here for your mail?” You invite him in as he nods.

“Yep. How have you been? Thanks again for grabbing my packages.” You wave a hand at him and shrug.

“It was no big deal. And I’m fine, nothing new around here. Did your trip go long?” He told you he would be away for at least two weeks, but it was closer to three. He nods.

“The case took a bit longer than we thought. I’m glad to be home.” He sighs, clearly tired from traveling.

You gesture towards the small pile of packages next to the table by your door. “Well, I piled your mail over here–”

You are rudely interrupted by a notification from your laptop, and you feel your cheeks heat when you realize it was from tumblr. You glance over and see that your screen is angled towards the door and the page is clearly visible. Your eyes dart back to meet Marcus’ but to your surprise, he’s smiling. “Tumblr? I have one, too. It’s great.”

“Really?” Your eyes widen and you tilt your head at him in surprise. “Are you in any fandoms?”

He shrugs, a bit sheepish. “Is liking art a fandom? But you already know how much of an art nerd I am. Comes with the job.”

You laugh, and nod. “I like tumblr, too. It’s fun.”

Marcus nods and starts gathering his mail into the tote he brought with him, smiling. “Yeah, and I’ve met some cool people on there. It’s nice to just talk to people about art and books and movies, even if I don’t know them in real life. Helps me relax after work.” He straightens, bag full, and smiles at you again. “Thanks again for this. Can I buy you dinner sometime this week? To say thanks?”

You bite your lip. “Sure, Marcus. That would be nice.”

He grins, and it’s as attractive as always. “Great, I’ll text you. But I’ll let you get back to your messages. Have a nice night, neighbor.”As you sit back on the couch after Marcus’ visit, your tumblr messages catch your eye, and yor thoughts turn to P again. How funny, you think, that I have a neighbor who loves art and I seem to attract the same kind of internet friend. You shrug and dismiss the thought before reopening your draft. You need to respond to P’s ask.

#PPCUGiftExchange2024 #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x gn!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike fic #x reader #bte friendship exchange

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veliamore · 2 months

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hellooooooooooooo! I really like your posts. I see you opened a request and..umm..can I place a request for Teru, Akane,Mei (tbhk) x reader who likes to draw and always draws anytime, anywhere. If you don't like it, it's okay…anyway, have a nice day :333

hi anon im glad u like my writings, so sorry for the wait hope youʼll like this post as well, have a nice day / night

teru minamoto

he finds your hobby really interesting and adorable, you have a lot of talent and itʼs good that you practice everyday.

sometimes, when you have nothing to do, he invites you to the students council room and makes you sit beside him, he likes the silence thereʼs in the room while you draw whatever is on your mind while he finishes his work.

his grades are excellent so of course he shines in art class, he gives really good advices on how you can get better with your art, drawing / painting with him is really fun and relaxing.

if you gift him a drawing of him or you two together heʼll make sure to put it in a frame, beside the pictures with his siblings so he can see it everyday; heʼll praise you a lot and maybe gift you a drawing as well, as a thank you.

akane aoi

heʼs literally your number one supporter, always been since the start, he definitely takes pictures to every single drawing u make, even if itʼs just one doodle on the end of your note book or on your arm.

talking about doodling on someoneʼs skin, he will scream like a fan girl if you ask to draw on his arm, it could be anything really: smiling faces, lil shining stars, flowers.. he will cherish them till they completely faid away when heʼs washing himself up he will be sad about it too.

i wouldnʼt try to ask him for suggestions on how to make your art better though, he will always compliment whatever you draw, even if itʼs just a literal stick men, he cannot manage to criticize you and your art.

believe me when i say he will go feral if you draw him or both of you together. Imagine handing him a small drawing of you two holding hands w little hearts as decorations, and each second his face gets more and more red.. heʼll probably stick it to his ceiling, right in front of his bed so that it will be the first thing he sees in the morning and last thing he sees before closing his eyes to sleep.

mei shijima

i think she'd be really amused about the fact that you both like art and spend most of your days drawing, you both support and help eachother when the other needs help or suggestions.

since you two share the same passion, expect to do some works together with shijima, maybe like you both seat in front of eachother and draw the other or draw shared parts of a singular painting, you know things like that if you understood.. where you both have fun.

more than one time, she definitely chose you as her subject for various drawings / paintings for her school's art competitions, and every time she would win, sheʼd give you her art piece for you to keep it.

if you ask her for suggestions on how to get better at drawing, you better be ready cause she will say everything that is on her mind, she doesnʼt say it in a mean way of course but you asked her for art criticism and thatʼs exactly what sheʼll give you

i missed writing for tbhk to be honest, i hope this is what you were waiting for anon ^_^

#anime #jibaku shoujo hanako kun #toilet bound hanako kun #reader insert #x reader #tbhk x reader #teru minamoto #teru minamoto x reader #teru minamoto x you #teru minamoto x y/n #akane aoi #akane aoi x reader #akane aoi x you #akane aoi x y/n #shijima mei #mei shijima #shijima mei x reader #shijima mei x you #shijima mei x y/n

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rosedforbes · 12 days

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I've been working on this for an embarrassing amount of time, but i finally mustered the courage to post it! this a gift for @galvanizedfriend , my favorite autor, moot, and dare I say friend, on tumblr! Yokan, I'll never stop saying that your fictions are the only thing keeping me sane at the moment, and they've always been a tiny lantern during some tough periods of my life. I really hope you'll like this little Drabble about Kleve 🙏

DISCLAIMERS: Eve is NOT my character, she's from Yokan's series The Wolf ! also, this is my first time ever writing a fan fiction, and English is not my native language, so please, have mercy.

maybe there's a god, after all.

That's the thought that has been crossing Klaus' mind for sixteen years ,every single time he looked at his little girl.

After his experience with Marcel, Klaus has realized that raising a child into his own reflection is not a smart move. In fact, if Eve had turned out like her father, it would've been the very end of the whole human - and inhuman - species. Luckily for everyone, his beautiful princess is essentially the mini version of the only woman who shares the custody of his immortal heart with her: Caroline.

They couldn't be more similar if they tried. Like mother, like daughter.

If it wasn't for some specific.details that Eve couldn't have taken from anyone but him, Klaus thinks that people would start questioning if Caroline made Eve by herself, without the contribution that is usually required to create another living creature.

Even if he's quite proud – and grateful — about how Eve's turned out just like her magnificent mother, Klaus can't help but smile when he witness the appearance of one those details he mentioned before: the fondness for art, the passion for swords duels — a voice in the back of his mind reminds him of something Caroline said about this specific factor, "it's called fencing, Klaus. You don't need to kill your opponent anymore to prove your victory." or something along those lines — the constant presence of dark humor and sarcasm in any of her conversations, and her gigantic, stormy blue eyes that are accompanied by a pair of dimples and a wicked little smile whenever she got something on her mind.

That, is all him.

Something that Eve clearly hasn't taken from him though, is her way of showing emotions. Just like his wife, Eve wears her emotions like a second skin, which leads to her being a terrible liar. If she's happy, then the room will light up as soon as she enters it, and everyone can't help but be drawn to her joyful behavior. On the other end, if she's feeling sad, angry, or any other kind of negative emotion, then... Well, she would keep her mouth shut and open it just to make salty remarks, keeping an annoyed — yet adorable, if you ask him — little pout on her face.

That's how Klaus knows that something is wrong.

As soon as he sets foot in the compound, he's greeted by a very common view: Freya and Eve, sitting around the table of the living room, reading and chanting spells.

Normally, Klaus would walk towards them just to make them aware of his presence and to steal a kiss on his daughter's cheek as a brief salute, but he soon realizes that Freya is the only one writing down something in witch gibberish, while Eve is just quietly looking at her aunt, with a frowned expression all over her face.

His little wolf is so caught up on Freya's doing that she doesn't notice him until he's behind her, trying to understand what kind of spell his sister is casting, with a hand gently touching her shoulder. Eve tenses up at the touch, turning her head to look at him almost as fast as a regular vampire. As soon as she sees him though, she relaxes a little bit, offering him a tight lipped smile.

"Hey, Daddy," she says, voice so quiet and hoarse that he probably wouldn't have heard her if it wasn't for his vampirism. " 'm sorry, didn't hear you coming in."

Hearing Eve talking with such a tired and low tone makes his heart explode with concern. She's pure sunshine, hisdaughter, this cloud of negativity does not belong to her. Nonetheless, he tries to mask his thoughts with a tight lipped smile, looking down at Eve, "Don't worry, sweetheart," He says, moving his eyes to his sister, who hasn't left hers from the grimoires spread around the table even as he introduced himself, "Freya, care to explain what's happening or do I have to guess?" He asks with a tone that indicates nothing but irritation.

Freya finally looks up, if only to send him a not-so-friendly glare, but before she can snap right back at him, Eve takes word, looking at him like she's about to have a nervous breakdown "Apparently, I'm on house arrest until the Jury," she indicates Freya with her eyes, before turning her attention back to him, "tells me otherwise." She concludes, and the exasperation of her tone is almost touchable.

Klaus arches his brows in confusion, his gaze switching between Eve and Freya, as to ask for one of them to elaborate what he just heard.

It's Freya the one that, with a sigh, steps in. "Some witches have been messing around with a kind of magic way too difficult for them to understand, leading to an imbalance that covers all New Orleans." She explains, rubbing her hands on her temples. "Long story short: right now, every witch in New Orleans is having trouble controlling their magic, especially the younger ones like Eve. In addition, being the tribid gives her an enormous amount of power which is hard to control on a good day, so it's better if we keep her under control, in a limited and safe space."

Eve rolls her eyes as soon as Freya concludes, shifting her position to show him the magic-restraining bracelet on her wrist. "I haven't seen this freaking bracelet in years. I thought I was finally free, but no, some dumbass witch thought it was a good idea to mess with something way too big for them to understand, turning me into a fu-"

"Language." Both Klaus and Freya interrupts her, giving Eve a warning look.

she glares at both of them, visibly annoyed.

Christ, Klaus thinks, he's losing points as the cool parent.

"turning me into a freaking bomb." she grumbles, looking down at the pages of the grimoires.

Klaus takes a long sigh, pulling out his phone from his pocket to send a message to Caroline and the rest of the family. It takes all of his willpower to not storm out and look for this gang of inconsiderate witches, accompanied by nothing but his fury, showing them the treatment that is reserved specifically to the ones that put his daughter in a bad mood, but he recognized the fact that this situation is already unsteady, and there is no space for his impulsiveness, yet.

"Dad?" Eve says, looking at him with an arched eyebrow, like she's expecting something from him. "Are you still here? You haven't threatened anyone since you heard of this, and it's more concerning than a bunch of low-level witches messing around." She concludes.

Well, the sarcastic remarks are only funny when they're not directed at him.

"Trust me, Eve, I have lots to say, but none of it is appropriate in the presence of a child." he retorts, switching his attention back to Freya. "I've sent a message to Caroline and to our siblings, they should all be here in about 40 minutes."

Freya simply nods, gathering all the magic stuff from the table. "I'll call Vincent." she stands up, giving a kiss on Eve's head. "I'm pretty sure he's more informed than us at the moment. Besides, another witch would be helpful."

"what am I? a ghost?!" Eve snaps when Freya disappears in her own bedroom. "I can't use magic, I'm on house arrest, this handcuff is back around my wrist and I haven't even had my daily bignets!" she explains desperately, curling on herself, resting her chin and arms over her knees.

Klaus can't help the low chuckles coming out of his mouth, something that earns him a dirty look from his little wolf.

"I'm glad you find my misery amusing. Father of the year, really." Eve says, enunciating her pout even more.

"Not at all, sweetheart. To be completely honest, I would love nothing more than to go fetch those witches myself and show them what happens when someone dares to upset my daughter," Eve promptly rolls his eyes at that, but he sees how she's trying to bite back a smile.

"However, Your mother would eviscerate me if my impulsiveness took place in a delicate situation such as this one."

"Then what do we do while waiting for mom to come home?" Eve says, and truth to be told, patience has never been a strong suits of her.

"Well, I did get that new painting set you've mentioned lately." He says with a grin, observing how Eve's pout changes to a wide smile between record time.

"The pink one?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

"You're the best!" she chirps, jumping from her chair to wrap her arms around his waist, the bad mood evaporating completely from her body. Klaus can't help but smile when he looks down at his daughter, holding her close to him. Oh, how he wishes time would stop, just to remain like this for at least a decade, with his little girl safe, sound and happy in his arms, where no bad intentions can reach her.

"Come on, sweetheart," He says, grabbing her hands "let's see if those colors actually blend on their own." he concludes with a wink, leading her towards the art studio. He knows this happiness is going to be short-lived, but the least he can do is to keep Eve's mind occupied, distracting her from the stress of this situation. As he enters the room, Klaus notices that he's running out of dark red acrylic.

Well, it appears those witches are going to be useful, after all.

#how DO YOU EVEN TAG THIS STUFF #this is kinda embarrassing #let's see how im going to feel about this tomorrow morning #CHECK YOKAN'S AO3 PAGE RIGHT NOW #best autor out there hands down #drabble #fanfiction #oneshot #klaroline #klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction #klaus mikaelson #caroline forbes #freya mikaelson #eve forbes mikaelson #the vampire diaries #the originals #the wolf universe

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