#“This is a taste test of what i hate less”

[evilbubu]

nobody cares but i just want to say thank you to twenty one pilots song; next semester for giving me the strength to drop out of University after it absolutely crushed me mentally, emotionally and physically. So, thank you. I'll try again, next semester.

[sunderberry]

thinking about... diluc ships...

[janitorhutcherson]

olderbfyandere!mike schmidt

surprise, bitches!!! im giving yall a lil taste of some more writing. im not really on hiatus (obvi, i post every 5 minutes) but i've been sooooo busy that i haven't been able to post half as much. with that being said, here are some more in depth headcanons ab yandere!mike. :p could not have done this without @futturmand literally helping me (coming up w/) most of these. thank u bae.

warnings: drugging, violence, sex, daddy kink, abusive tendencies

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olderbfyandere!mike schmidt was kinda an asshole. to his coworkers, random customers at the mall, anybody who came too close to you, and yes, even sometimes to you. he was the kind of guy who had a semi-permanent grimace on his face. the corners of his mouth would turn into smiles typically only when he was with abby or you two were alone and he could let his guard down. of course, even then, the moment you caught an attitude, that grimace would appear right back on his face. his demeanor was typically gruff. he was the kind of guy most people didn't want to mess with. this meant any male coworkers around you would be tested their fate to even glance at you the wrong way and god forbid mike saw one of them brush something off of your shoulder. that would truly be the end of them.

olderbfyandere!mike schmidt is very obsessive over safety. after losing garrett, he has this urge to do nothing but to protect. this means that mike is the type of guy to want your location at all times. not only that, but he wants to know what you're doing, who you're with, and what time you'll be home. he expects a text when you leave, a text when you get there, an hourly check-in, then a text on your way home. it brings him a sense of peace, knowing where you are. he watches life360 obsessively when you're not in his sight, watching your little bubble move through wherever you may be. he's constantly checking the speed of the car you're in, occasionally stalking your friend's instagram stories to see where you are. he's overprotective to the extent that it can be overbearing, but at the end of the day it's endearing knowing he cares that much.

olderbfyandere!mike schmidt uses the fact that you're younger than him to manipulate you. he's less about violence or anything physical and instead uses his words. he will constantly remind you how helpless you are without him, how he has so much more life experience than you. he'll point out randomly when you mention not knowing how to do something, saying something like, "see, babydoll, where would you be without me? that's right, nowhere. you need me to take care of you." he's also the kind of guy to eventually make you financially dependent on him if he could ever afford it. he would never put you in that spot until he was comfortable enough to do so, though, meaning it might be a loooong time before that ever happened.

olderbfyandere!mike schmidt treats you less like a partner and more like a little sibling, kinda like he treats abby. as strange as it is, he also feels a paternal instinct to protect you. it comes from his deep-rooted feelings of abandonment. he lost garrett, his mom, his dad, and sometimes he feels like abby hates him. he loves that you listen to him, that he can command you to do something and you'd be so good for him. he absolutely adores being able to control different aspects of your life, making you completely reliant on him. it makes him feel special and needed, which he hasn't felt in a very long time. he loves nothing more than when he gets to scold you almost like a parent, your eyes falling to the ground, that adorable wounded puppy look he loves so much taking over your face.

olderbfyandere!mike schmidt is incredibly clingy and touch starved. he wants to have a hand on you 24/7. forget having personal space, because you are not getting it with him. he'd follow you around, watching you everywhere you'd go. his hands would grip onto your hips so tightly sometimes it'd feel like they were glued to them. he'd always have his arms around you, kissing at your neck, nipping in a way you felt shouldn't be shown in public. mike didn't care, he wanted everyone to know you belonged to him in every single way. he controlled you, and if he wanted to embarrass you and turn your face red by leaving purple marks on your neck in the middle of a shopping plaza, then so be it. you would take it or be punished.

olderbfyandere!mike schmidt who of course uses his sleeping pills on you when you're being a little brat. he isn't violent with you for the most part except for the rare occasion when he will hold you down onto the bed until you'll listen, but otherwise he opts for something simpler. when you're being a little too frustrating for him, going against his every command or you're not feeling like being held, mike will simply crush up his sleeping pills, slip them into your water. he's careful with you once you doze off, never abusing you in any way. all he will do is tuck you into your shared bed and hold your body in his arms, whispering sweet nothings as you're off in your own sweetly drugged up world.

olderbfyandere!mike schmidt would most definitely have a thing for being called daddy. sorry guys, it had to be said. hot take, i guess. considering he did want to protect you so thoroughly, he loved when you'd call him daddy. it made him feel like your protector, like you knew he was the one that did everything for you. it was so crazy how such a simple word could change his whole day. he loved hearing it fall out of your lips as he'd brush through your hair or wash your body off in the shower. "thank you, daddy," you'd hum and he'd grin ear to ear. "you're welcome, babydoll," he'd always say, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

[zephrunsimperium]

Ford is a jerk to Fiddleford McGucket in Journal 3. Let's talk about that.

First I want to preface this post by saying that I adore Ford. He is a wonderful character who has influenced my life in countless ways for the better. All of the things he does in this list a) stem from his own insecurities that he's projecting b) are symptoms of Ford's narcissistic defense mechanisms c) or come from Bill's influence on him. However, just because there are reasons for his actions doesn't excuse them, especially considering just how many there are.

Here's the list of things he does, I'll analyze at the end of the post.

Let's get the petty things out of the way first.

The cubic's cube: I think it is just straight up an absolute jerk move to scramble this thing that's clearly a comfort to him and think it's funny.

Being in shape: It's obvious his comments here are from his own insecurity but on a deeper level it just speaks to how Ford sees him, I think.

Not telling Fidds about Bill: Obviously Bill was feeding him a lot of paranoia but it's the reasoning that he writes down that gets me. It's so condescending.

The Gremloblin & The Shapeshifter

Something I think that's worth taking note of is the way Ford illustrates both of these instances. He brushes off Fiddleford's concerns multiple times and then Fiddleford pays the price and Ford sees himself as some kind of hero and Fiddleford this helpless victim. It just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

And then afterwards the way he handles not just Fiddleford's anxiety but the genuine trauma he went through. I know he's an old man, I know that's how he was treated, but Fiddleford is supposed to be his friend.

The Portal Test

Specifically their interaction at the diner and Ford's reaction to Fiddleford quitting the project. Fiddleford SELFLESSLY spends untold hours on this thesis for Ford because he cares about him and sees him burning out, even though Ford hasn't been great to him and Fidds has been going through his own hard things - not just with the gremloblin and the Shapeshifter, but things with his family as well. Ford does not match that selfless devotion at all. In fact, he sees it as an insult.

Analysis

The reason I've been thinking about this is because of Book of Bill and how that's influenced the shipping atmosphere. There's this weird notion that FiddAuthor is a less toxic ship but I think that's absurd. Besides their hug at Weirdmageddon, these journal entries are pretty much all we see of Ford's relationship with Fiddleford and it doesn't paint a pretty picture. Yes Ford is excited to have Fiddleford come to see him, yes Ford has that sweet conversation with him under the stars, but I don't think it's a stretch to say that all the above evidence outweighs hat. At the very least it shouldn't be ignored.

That doesn't mean Ford is a terrible person and we should hate him. I believe strongly in nuance and Ford is a character that requires nuance. I don't think he's an evil person, but I also don't think he should be babied as this perfect wittle guy who can do no wrong either. Both readings do a disservice to him.

Ford clearly had a hard childhood. He's isolated himself his whole life and he's been severely traumatized by Bill. But that doesn't mean that he deserves Fiddleford's forgiveness - Ford wasn't really that kind to him and his actions inadvertently led to the memory gun/Fidds' exposure to Bill. Ultimately it's Fiddleford's choice to make; I wouldn't fault him if he didn't want to ever see Ford again, but I think it's a testament to his goodness that he still cares for Ford as much as he does.

So what do I personally think? Man. I'm just sad we don't know more about Fiddleford McGucket than we do. He's so essential to Bill's defeat and to Ford's past and he's such a cool character but we know so little about him. I want to know what his childhood was like, I want to know how he ended up in Backupsmore, I want to know why he cares about Ford as much as he does, I want to know why things ended so poorly with EmmaMay. But we may never know those things for certain. So with the things we're left... Yeah, I think FiddAuthor is a compelling reading, one that I certainly enjoy. I just worry about the fandom babying Ford.

[luvjunie]

— headcanons. what life is like for miles!42

a/n: i honestly didn’t mean for these to get so angsty oopsies!! i kept adding on so they’re also very lengthy wc: 1,751

contains: mentions of grief

Everyone thinks he’s rude and impossible to approach—but that’s a common misconception. In reality, he’s actually quite shy and simply prefers to keep to himself. His quiet nature often causes him to come off ill-mannered, which is completely unintentional on his end and partially the fault of those who assume what he’s like instead of actually getting to know him.

He used to be open to making friends and spending time with peers, but after everyone found out his dad died— which was impossible to prevent considering the man who used to drive him to school now had a giant mural made in his honor— he began receiving a ridiculous amount of pitied stares in the halls, began hearing hushed whispers about how hard things must be for him at home now. And even though they were, he hated that he was being treated differently by those he once kept close to him, like a charity case. As if he were fragile and would break— like he often did when he was alone.

His old friends were supposed to be his distraction, something to take his mind off how he now had to grow up faster than he’d liked. Something to remind him that his trauma hadn’t aged him as much as he feared; that he truly was still a kid at heart. But instead, they served as a constant reminder of the worst thing he’d ever had to live through— skated around him like he’d blow up the second they said the wrong thing; responded with heartfelt condolences instead of laughing with him whenever he’d tell a funny story about his dad. So eventually, he drifted away from them and began keeping to himself all together.

Don’t put him in a box because of his prowler side hustle, this boy is smart as hell!! Especially with one parent now being gone and his mom struggling to pay the bills? He takes his academics very seriously, he has no choice. He has to get it out the mud somehow and he doesn’t have the privilege of skipping classes as much as 1610-miles does. He’s working two years above his grade level in AP Calculus and AP physics, and has been accused of cheating on his tests a couple times due to how fast he completes them, as well as the fact that he has never once asked a question from the seat he chose in the back of the room.

It’s not something anyone would expect, but he enjoys baking a lot and he’s damn good at it too. When he was younger, he’d spent one summer with his Mamá Lena (Rio’s mother), who had him in the kitchen helping her cook and bake almost everyday and it just stuck. It’s a secret talent of his that never really comes up in conversation, and that you wouldn’t know about unless you’ve seen him doing it. His banana bread muffins using a recipe he took months to perfect taste like the gods themselves made them, and he’ll slip one into his mom’s work lunch whenever he makes them because he knows they’re her favorite.

He’s a lover boy at heart, if you were to look into his playlist, the songs you’d find in there probably wouldn’t be what you’d expect. Listens to bobby bland, which was heavily influenced by his uncle, old school rap, and he really likes love songs from the 90s because they make him feel calm, and allow him to imagine what his life would be like if he could have something like what they’re singing about. He’s terrified he’ll never be able to experience that due to his inability to open up to others. And often, he doesn’t even try to express the emotions that are tough to swallow, a firm believer in the saying that ‘once you’re down, it’s hard to get back up.’

Keeps his room pretty clean. It’s probably the one and only thing he has control over in his life, a constant for him. His room is his safe-haven so he treats it as such. It’s basically the same as 1610’s, just with a more matured look, a lot less color and less expression. He unfortunately lost that spark for a lot of his interests, so you won’t see more than a small punching bag, some boxing gloves hanging from the doorknob and few stragglers in the form of posters he didn’t feel like taking down.

He doesn’t like to argue, at all. He hates fighting with anyone he loves and he’s very quick to forgive them or squash the disagreement all together now that his dad is no longer here. When Jeff died, they were still on rocky terms from their previous dispute and even while years have passed, Miles still has yet to forgive himself for that. So now, he usually lets bygones be bygones, and never lets a conversation end on a bad note.

Continued growing his hair out once he realized it was a way for him to bond and spend more time with his mom. Within the little availability they do have, between her working doubles at the hospital, him being pulled in every direction now that he’s the ‘man of the house’—uncle Aaron’s words— and having to do things he’s not proud of to assist her while still going to school during the day, they make the time. Miles only gets it braided by her, and he enjoys the talks they have when he’s sat on the floor between her legs with his back to her. And when she’s done, regardless of how ridiculously embarrassing it is, and how he’s now over a head taller than her, he always lets her pinch his cheeks and call him her ‘handsome little man’. He hasn’t looked at a pair of hair shears since.

On that note, he is very, very defensive when it comes to his mother. Miles is not the kind to go around beating people up just for kicks; mostly because he’s not that kind of person, but also because even if he wanted to— he can’t.

In preparation for stepping into the prowler role Uncle Aaron put Miles into boxing/m.m.a classes when he turned fourteen, and he took to the skill very quickly. So well, in fact, that his hands can now technically be considered deadly weapons in the eye of the law due to his extensive training— which means he could get slapped with a ridiculous assault charge that would have him doing some time in a juvenile correction facility over a simple fist fight. (if he’s not masked as the prowler obviously).

But, some kid in his history class thought it’d be funny to make a slick comment about how Mrs. Morales was ‘single’ and ‘up for grabs’ now that his dad had passed, and the situation ended with Miles suspended for a week after he’d basically thrown his desk over to get to the kid, his knuckles bruised, and a tirade of complaints from the boy’s mother about his now-rearranged nose. However, after hearing the disgusting comment he had made about Miles’ mom, she was kind enough to not press charges and forced her son to apologize to the both of them.

That woman is his saving grace, literally. She stepped up in ways he didn’t even know were possible after his dad died, barely taking time for herself to grieve because she wanted to make sure her little boy didn’t fall apart. He doesn’t let anyone disrespect her and that’s always made known by him. He’s a mama’s boy.

They kind of have a titfortat thing going on, him and his mom. Like how she always stops in to ask him how his day was, if school is going well or if he needs anything, even if the time isn’t ideal and she’s talking to a sleepy Miles at 1am in the morning who can barely keep his eyes open. Or how his uniform is always freshly ironed and laid out for him in the morning, regardless of how exhausted she is and how badly she wants to crawl into bed after her shift. Or how when he’s sick, she’ll drive all the way across town to one of the only fresh markets that sells yuca root and white yautia so she can make him sancocho (a traditional puerto rican dish). It’s the one thing she knows always makes him feel better.

And Miles does nice things for her, too. Like draping a blanket over her sleeping form when she dozes off on the couch in front of the TV. Or making sure her phone is plugged in, so her alarm goes off in the morning, because sometimes she knocks out before she can bring herself to do it. He even goes as far as to secretly slip some extra cash he’s made from a recent job into the ‘RENT’ jar she keeps on her dresser— dropping a hundred in every now and then when she’s not there to see him do it. She’s never once asked him for help, but the one time he took it upon himself to offer it, he was shot down in seconds, and was made to promise her that he wouldn’t worry about it ever again. Her exact words being “You’re too young to worry about something like this mijo, okay? You take all the money you make from your after school job, every single penny, and you save it. Mama’s got this.”

But sometimes, she doesn’t. And Miles knows that she wants to be strong for him. For them. But it takes two, he knows that as well, so he helps out anyway.

And with prayers that they’re not short— Rio counts everything in the rent jar towards the end of the month, and a string of celebratory whoops and hollers will always sound from her room when she realizes they surprisingly have some extra cash that’ll allow her to take some days off and relax for once, and maybe even do something fun together. He’ll listen from his room with a knowing smile, more than happy to let his contributions remain undisclosed to affirm her efforts of providing for them the best she can. With her energy so depleted from how demanding her job is, she’s never suspected it was him discreetly assisting, and chalked it up to her forgetting how much she’d mindlessly dropped in there after each paycheck.

[personasintro]

Mutual Help | #05

𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭: @kithtaehyung

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it mutual help

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fake dating au, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, mature content

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.9k+

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢ 

"Kook, you're drunk." you choke out, shivering when you feel him peppering kisses to your neck.

You have no idea how the hell this happened. One minute, he's calling a cab since everyone has called it a night, and then the next, his hands are all over you while shameless gasps and moans escape past your lips. It feels so fucking good. What started with innocent touches in a cab led to the two of you kissing in the elevator, until you got inside of Jungkook's apartment and now he's ready to devour you.

"I'm not drunk," he pulls away, frowning a little bit at your statement. "I'm slightly buzzed." he corrects, grinning at his amazing joke that makes you roll your eyes.

Okay, maybe he's not completely wasted and was totally fine with walking to his place, but still. His eyes are slightly hooded, a taste of alcohol lingering on his tongue and lips, and his words come out more lazily and slurred. You're definitely more sober than he is, but you can still feel the basic symptoms of having alcohol flowing in your system.

It's safe to say that it left you and Jungkook hot and craving for some touch from one another.

He dives in, lips catching yours once again as he starts kissing you with so much eagerness that makes you moan into his mouth. Your cheeks are flushed, half from alcohol and half from the fact you just freaking moaned into his mouth – again. Luckily, he doesn't point it out, too busy trying to devour your lips.

It feels so fucking good, enough to leave your panties to stick to your core and you kind of hate yourself for that. This is your best friend. You haven't been this aroused because of anyone. The fact that it's Jungkook himself, should make you feel uncomfortable but all you can focus on are your fingers tugging his longer hair. He groans, pulling you onto his lap and it makes you squeal, before he's catching your lips once again. His hands rummage over your back, slowly gripping your hips before he lightly touches your lower back. He's testing the waters again, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable and cross any boundaries. You still have a lot to talk about, setting a basic rules on how this whole thing is going to work.

But you could care less about rules right now, especially when Jungkook's lips are irresistible. The whole thing is out anyway, Kiko knows, and Jimin and Taehyung as well. Their reaction is still clear in your mind.

"Actually, we're dating."

For a solid minute, they just stare at the both of you, eyeing you both with even more shock written on their faces. Jimin's eyes fall onto Jungkook's arm around your shoulders while Taehyung keeps glancing between you two.

"You--what--the two of you--you guys are--you are dating?" Taehyung stutters, trying to break the awkward silence. 

Poor Taehyung looks like he's about to lose his mind, trying to put the pieces together as he slowly reaches for his drink, sipping on it. 

Well, you both were always super clear about your friendship and how it is important for you, too important to ruin it by trying to date. Plus, you were clear about not seeing each other as a partner and sharing the same love life. It makes this lie way more harder and you begin to panic.

"How did this happen? I mean... you guys were pretty persistent where both of you stand." Jimin frowns, still not believing you as he carefully eyes you and if it weren't for Jungkook next to you, you'd shrink in your seat. 

"We've decided to try it out. Y/N has always been there for me and I think she's what's best for me," 

You're not being subtle when you whip your head in his direction, staring at him with confused gaze, hiding your real shock behind it. You search his eyes, but he's making it hard for you to see through them when he just stares back at you, smiling down at you. You're not sure whether the smile is fake or real, but you go along with it and smile back.

Damn, he's a really good actor.

"Anyway, this is still new for us. Can you guys not make it weird for us?" he asks, looking at your  friends as they quickly nod, apologizing for their blunt reaction.

"Oh, fuck." you curse, head leaning backwards when Jungkook sucks at your neck. Jimin and Taehyung out of your thoughts as soon as you feel his lips on the new spot.

He licks the skin of your neck before he goes back to sucking, skilfully twirling his tongue making you gasp into the air. You've never felt something like this. Your ex boyfriend was never this touchy and straightforward, and Jungkook is showing you what you were missing out on. He's so damn good with his mouth, it makes you think what else does he know and why the fuck Kiko left such a man.

His hardness is poking you, it's hard to tell if he's fully hard but you can still feel it, even though it's hidden underneath his black jeans. The ache between your legs is strong, needy for any touch that makes you see stars and your body reacts naturally, shifting on his lap that makes him gasp in surprise. He feels you grinding on him, hands grabbing your ass for the first time and he even checks your reaction, only to find your eyes closed and teeth biting your lower lip.

Your lipstick is smeared, almost none of it left and your make up isn't fresh, but you don't care about your appearance. All you can focus on is Jungkook – and only him.

When he squeezes your ass, encouraging you to keep grinding onto his clothed length, your hand outstretched on his chest as you pull away just a little bit. "Stop." you tell him breathlessly, trying to calm down your beating heart.

You can feel his own heart beat against your palm, the rhythm identical to yours, while he stares at you with those doe eyes that are glistening from the alcohol.

"You wanna stop?"

The disappointment behind his voice doesn't go unnoticed by you, but you don't dwell on it too much, wanting to get things out of your chest. Your friendship is still the most important thing here.

"We're both drunk, Kook. I don't want us to regret it when we wake up tomorrow." you tell him honestly, because the thought and different scenarios of tomorrow morning makes your stomach uncomfortable scrunch.

"We don't have to have sex," he tells you, leaning his head back as he slows down his breathing. "But if you wanna stop, I'm fine with whatever you want."

This causes you to smile, appreciating the honesty in his voice and even the look on his drunken face. But you don't want to stop. Maybe it's not the right thing to have sex with him, tonight or even, but you just want to keep kissing him and see where it brings you. You don't want to plan anything and the way your whole make out happened in the elevator, continuing in his small living room is exactly what you want. Rather than you wanting things to happen spontaneously, you want them to happen naturally.

And it's that one look at his neck, a faint vein poking out of his honey skin and disappearing underneath his black dress shirt that reveals some of his collarbones, drives you crazy. You've got only one month to experience anything you and Jungkook want. And now you want him.

Shaking your head, you cup his face as you shift on his lap to make yourself comfortable, smirking when he groans and glares at you. "I want to continue." you assure him, giving him a green light and before you can properly look at him from this close proximity, he's already chasing your lips again.

The kissing is heated, his hands all over your ass again but this time he makes sure he squeezes your ass cheeks and gives them a proper attention, while you grip the back of his head and starts to grind on his clothed jeans.

"I--fuck, I don't think I can cum like this," he tells you, the mention of anyone cumming tonight makes you all giddy inside. "Let me take my jeans off." he says, but still searches your face for permission.

He must be uncomfortable in those tight jeans and quick 'sure, take it off' leaves your mouth right away, shifting off his lap before he quickly takes them off. You're not surprised by his usual Calvin Klein boxers, this time in white color, but your mouth hangs open as you see the visible outline of his length.

It looks massive and you're not even sure if he's fully hard. He pats his lap, inviting you in again and you don't waste a second, already scurrying to sit down on his muscular thighs.

You go back straight to kissing, your dress hiking up and he carefully slides his hands underneath it, feeling your lacy panties with his fingertips. And you grind on him, moaning at the way he visibly starts to visibly hardening after a few strokes, your underwear rubbing against each other. Your clit is aching, greedy for his cock and you're close to pull off his boxers, just to see and feel what's hiding underneath it.

Jungkook's firm hands are helping you to set up a fast pace, pushing your ass against his hardened length that feels massive and you almost salivate just from the feeling of it. Your face is buried in his face, inhaling his musky scent while you keep gasping into his skin. It feels so fucking good, it's something you've never tried before. You're needy, almost pathetically humping him like a bitch in heat but your body reacts on its own. Your mind feels clear, not filled with overthinking or any thoughts.

"That's it, baby. Grind on me, make yourself cum." he suddenly speaks, voice breathless but raspy at the same time. Baby.

It makes you whimper, not ready for any dirty talk but it's just another step to get you closer.

You knew he's great with his mouth.

"Jungkook," you whimper, feeling yourself getting close and clenching around nothing. You wish you could feel him inside of you and it makes you so flustered, but you know you can't stop. This is what you wanted.

"You're doing great, that's it. Fuck, baby. Keep rubbing your pussy over my cock."

Fuck, is this the same man that drinks banana milk?

It all seems to fast. But the feeling of Jungkook's cock brushing against your clit and filthy words leaving his mouth, you're gasping and clutching onto him tightly, before you let go. You're cumming, his name leaving your mouth as a chant, while your whole body grows even more hot.

Before you know it, Jungkook groans and his whole body tenses, his head throwing back as he suddenly relaxes.

"Fuck," he rasps out, caressing your ass as your whole body is thrown over him. "I've never thought I could cum in my pants."

You pull away, shakily glancing at him before you look down. There's a stain wetting the white material, his cum drenching his boxers. You wait for him to grow embarrassed or shy, but he grins cockily and amusingly at the same time, staring at his softening clothed cock.

Your panties feel sticky, but you don't move away. It felt incredible, yet you still crave for more. You know you could experience much more intense orgasm with Jungkook.

And rather than thinking that you've just made each other orgasm into your underwear, you just think about one thing only.

You can't wait for more.

[joelsmochi]

Diet Mountain Dew

rating: E 18+ only pairing: f!reader x bfd!joel miller (tv + game series) summary: your boyfriend has been cheating on you, but his uncaring, selfish, and very flirtatious father wants to make it up to you the best way he knows how... warnings: AU (no apocalypse, no sarah), infidelity, 30+ year age gap, asphyxiophilia, dacryphilia, a little rough housing, hair pulling, spanking, oral (m receiving) | let me know if i've missed any! wc: 5.5k a/n: thank you for 500 followers!!! let the record show that i do not condone or endorse cheating at all, this is purely for entertainment purposes!!! i tried something a little bit different with the writing style so please let me know if you guys like it or not!

masterlist

you’re no good for me, but baby i want you…

He couldn’t help his filthy mind. Even if he wanted to. Being around you was always a test of his willpower.

He kept as much distance as respectfully possible, not wanting to give himself away. Still, every night he managed to find himself lying in bed fisting his cock while entertaining the daydreams he often had of fucking you into the bed.

It wasn’t the age difference that deterred him from you, but the mere fact that you were dating his son.

He hated himself for it, but he hated it even more when he would be painting his stomach with white streaks and barely whispering remnants of your name.

And now, as he sits across from you and his son at the dinner table, he hates himself for finding you so pretty.

His eyes keep lowering to look at your grey and white striped tank top — not because he was trying to look at your cleavage but because it fits you perfectly. You kept fidgeting with the top hem of your shirt as if you were ensuring it wasn’t shifting too low. He thought it was cute.

Your voice left him in a trance; he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation, but he enjoyed hearing you rave and ramble about the movie you just went to.

The real mood killer was Jacob — “Okay, we get it. It was a good movie,” he snapped.

“Jacob,” Joel scolded. Though the pout you absentmindedly wore told Joel that it was pointless.

Jacob made an incredulous face and slightly shrugged. “What? She’s been talking about the movie for ten minutes. I feel like I saw the damn thing.”

“Well, I happen to like spoilers.” Joel meant it as a joke in hopes of lightening the mood, but once he saw the slight smile on your face, he felt a sudden rush of protectiveness.

How he could appreciate you more than his son did was beyond him. Joel just hoped it wasn’t a more significant issue behind closed doors.

Over the next few months, Joel had been seeing less and less of you and even managed to overhear some of the times Jacob had been arguing with you over the phone.

From the only half of the conversation he could hear, Joel gathered that you were upset that Jacob was spending more time with “friends” than you, which led Joel to believe it was more of an indication of cheating. He stayed tightlipped about it because he had no desire to stir up any unnecessary drama, but his curiosity grew as time passed.

So when he saw you grabbing some cereal in the grocery store on a random Tuesday, he wasted no time approaching you.

You seemed surprised at him calling your name but gave him a welcoming smile nonetheless.

“Hi, Joel, how are you?”

“I’m alright, how ‘bout you? Feel like I haven’t seen you around lately.”

Your smile nearly dropped completely. “Yeah, uh. Jacob and I are just going through a tough time right now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Joel said softly, not really meaning it. “My son aside, I do actually enjoy your company. I mean, you’re the only twenty-four year old I know that likes U2.”

That made you chuckle. “Oh, is my seasoned music taste the only thing I have going for myself,” you bantered.

He tried to contain his blush as if it were even possible. “No, not at all,” he sarcastically replied. “You also don’t use like or totally after every other word.”

You laughed harder at that, maybe a little more than necessary, but it was nice to be complimented on things other than how ‘good you give head.’

A few minutes later, you told Joel you have to get going, and for some reason, he took it as the chance to say, “Next week, they’ll have that new Daniel Craig movie in theaters. I was wonderin’ if you’d want to go. I remember you said something about it.”

You smirked up at him and narrowed your eyes slowly. “Are you asking your son’s girlfriend on a date, Mr. Miller?”

Kind of, he thought.

“No! No, fuck,” he hissed, pinching his nose bridge and squeezing his eyes shut. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it sound like that.”

And there’s another cute laugh coming out of you. “I’m teasin���. I think it might be a little weird, y’know?”

“Jake can come if you want. Doesn’t have to just be you and me.”

“Mmm… I kinda don’t want him to,” you admitted. “He’ll just complain the whole time. We’re friends, right? Let’s go, just you and me.” Your optimism plastered a smile on his face, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t think it was cute. He agreed, and you both said your goodbyes.

As you walked away, you felt a pang of guilt for some reason. It wasn’t a date, but it felt like one. This sudden need to impress Joel Miller (formerly anticipated father-in-law) made you feel weird.

But you thought of all the nights you spent home alone watching movies because your boyfriend was out late again. And again. And again.

After a long and stressful internal debate inside a bath with some Epsom salts, you decided not to care.

So what if you wanted to dress up and wear a little makeup to (hopefully) catch your boyfriend’s dad’s attention? It's not like your boyfriend didn’t spend time doing body shots off of some random girl at the furthest bar across town.

A little male attention wouldn’t hurt anything, right? 

Besides, you didn’t think Joel would actually care. Pretending it was a date was purely just for your entertainment.

So when the day came, you practically ran outside the second you got a text message from him saying he was there. He chewed on his bottom lip to restrain his grin as he watched you walk towards his car, wearing a denim mini-skirt and a white babydoll top.

Your hair was neat and tucked behind your ears, and you were visibly wearing more makeup than usual.

He felt flattered, entertaining the idea of you putting in a little extra effort just for him.

The ride to the theater wasn’t as tense as you had anticipated. You both spent it to talk about the previous movie and the theories you both had for the new one.

While you both were excited to see the actual movie, neither of you could stop noticing the small details about each other.

He smelled your lotion. You smelled his body wash.

He noticed your new earrings. You caught him smiling a lot more.

He looked at you every chance he got. You waited until he looked away to look at him.

He insisted on paying for your tickets and food at the theater, then led you to the “best seats” in the viewing room. Not a date, your ass. He even looked like he put effort into buying a new pair of jeans.

The tension inside you grew as soon as the movie began. And fucking hell, you didn’t know you could get so horny so fast. It was stupid little things that made you clench your thighs occasionally.

No fingers brushing. No elbows touching. Nothing like that.

Instead, it was the sound of his fingernails scratching the thick layer of scruff along his jaw, how he occasionally readjusted in his seat and seemingly spread his legs a little more, and when he would look over at you to ensure you were enjoying the movie.

This had gone a little further in your head than you intended, but you didn’t fucking want it to stop.

Maybe halfway through the movie, he realized you hadn't opened any of your candy. You always ate candy during a movie; it was something Jacob found cute when you first started dating and something Joel grew accustomed to long before his crush even developed. Joel even made it a point to keep a stash for when Jacob had you over for movie night.

He felt a little silly for hyper-fixating on such a weird and relatively small detail, but then he saw your legs clench together. He tried telling himself you were only readjusting your position, but then you sighed in a peculiar tone. The sigh that Joel always let out when he was sexually frustrated.

He would have continued telling himself he was reading too much into it, but another soft sigh left your lips, and suddenly, all he could think about was having you beneath him making the same pretty noises.

All the signs were there, but who would initiate it, and how? He worried he bit off more than he could chew by inviting you here. It only got more difficult to ignore when his cock stiffened inside his jeans, rolling his eyes at the fact that he wasn’t in the comfort of his own home to take care of it.

You noticed his hand palming his jeans and glanced over at him, only to see his erection throb against his pants, hard.

Knowing you’d probably regret it, you put your hand beneath the armrest and suddenly rested your hand high up on his thigh. His body tensing made you halt any more sudden movements, but nothing suggested he wanted you to stop.

He searched for the strength to push your hand off and tell you to stop, that this was wrong, and to remind you of your assumed loyalty to his son.

But he didn’t want that at all.

He liked having your hand on his thigh where it felt like it belonged, painted nails drawing small circles along the denim.

What he truly needed was for this fucking movie to be over. Once it finally was, he wasted no time getting you back into his truck.

“Joel?” Your voice was fragile and soft, and you wondered why he hadn’t made a move yet or at least started the engine. “Should I not have done that?”

“What were you thinkin’?” Was all he could think to ask.

“Guess I wasn’t.”

“No. You shouldn’t’a done that.”

“I’m sorry…”

“You will be.”

You don’t remember who initiated it or climbed in the backseat first. All you knew was that you were looking at the back of a building, the mall, or something, and you heard Joel grunting next to your ear while his hips slammed against your ass.

You felt a soreness forming around where his rough hands were holding you, but you didn’t flinch or pull away. You leaned into the meanness of his grip, allowing it to satiate all of that burning desire running along your flesh.

“Oh my God, Joel, ye-yes.”

His name dripping so effortlessly from your lips only urged him to fuck you even faster, his truck no doubt shaking violently because of it, some metal underneath made that obnoxious creaking sound to verify.

“You like that, huh,” he groaned; his fingers wrapped around the cuff of your elbow to meet his body halfway with the thrusts. “Needy fuckin’ girl. Takin’ me so well-agh!“

“So deep,” you huffed out.

“C’mere.”

Joel carefully turned your body around, sitting you back against the door before sliding his cock back inside of you with ease from how wet you were.

“Joel,” you moaned without reason, eyes fluttering shut as the curve of his shaft continued to rut into that sensitive spot.

He pulled the strap of your tank top down to find you braless. Of course. He smirked and licked his thumb and index finger before giving your stiff nipple a soft pinch.

Your breath shuddered at the surge of pleasure, and then he did the same thing to your clit with his other hand.

“Oh my fucking-“ You cut words off with a deep moan, finding it a little silly that such a slight squeeze to your clit could make you melt the way it did.

“Tha’ feel good, baby?” He asked, voice hoarse from choking back his own moans.

You hummed and nodded, something he thought was cute and began to rub your clit forcefully with his big thumb. Your mind felt numb from all of it, so much pleasure releasing itself.

Looking up at Joel made you feel so small, protected, and cared for. Looking down between your legs, he looked so focused on making you feel good.

“He doesn’t fuck you like this, does he?”

You shot your wide-eyed gaze up at him, surprised at his sudden appraisal of his son.

He chuckled and took his hand from your breast to softly hold your chin. “You gettin’ all shy on me now, girl?” Suddenly, he fell to an achingly slow rhythm and curled his hips into yours instead of his previous thrusting. “…I thought you had a bit more confidence than that.”

You scowled at his taunts, not sure what to say back. You just wanted to fucking cum. Noticing your lack of response made him chuckle again.

“What? My son don’t fuck you stupid like this?” He whispered onto your lips.

“…No,” you finally whimpered.

You felt a weird rush of emotion pass through you; the father of your boyfriend talking down on him while simultaneously fucking you didn’t turn you off like it maybe should have… If anything, it pushed you closer to the edge.

Joel raised his eyebrows in amusement and half smiled at your flushed face. “No?” His finger still made loops around your clits, his cock drenched in your heat. He wanted you to feel all of it.

“You make me feel so good, Joel.” You reached up to give him a chaste kiss.

“You take me so well, honey,” he said against your neck. “I want you to cum for me. Can you do that, baby? Hmm?”

You whispered out your confirmation and grabbed a hold of his greying hair. You wanted to memorize this moment thread by thread. His hair smelled of cheap shampoo and his beard of coffee, but his arms and chest smelled like him with the hint of sweat that made your eyes roll to the back of your head. God, how you could just bathe in him, cumming and unfolding in his strong arms. 

“Oh- Joel, I’m cu—I’m cumming,” you choked out. He said something about how good you were that you couldn’t quite process.

You held onto him tightly and cried out at the sensation of your knotted-up tension unraveling inside you like a Christmas present just waiting to be opened up. It fluttered and filled every corner of your mind, all while you moaned his name. You couldn’t even confuse it with his son’s. Joel.

Joel just worked better in your mind than Jacob ever could. Joel worked your body better, too. Maybe even a little better than you.

Your mind was so fucking blank that you almost didn’t feel Joel collapse onto you as he finished himself, moaning your name and running his hands all over you as if to savor it. He kissed you softly, slowly pulling out of you, and discarded the condom somewhere.

“So pretty when you cum.”

You lazily giggled at the compliment and sat up to grab your panties, but Joel snatched them from your weak hand. He took your legs and rested them in his lap to slide the fabric up your calves and thighs. You just watched and smiled at his further appreciation for your body as he did the same with your skirt.

“You really know how to treat a lady,” you playfully cooed, reaching for another kiss that he returned, savoring it.

He bashfully smiled, like his mind was elsewhere. “You know we can’t do this again, right?”

“We will,” you quipped, confidence returning; he glanced over at you and frowned, confused at the sly grin you wore proudly. You climbed onto his lap and ran your nails over his facial hair, trailing over his pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows. “The more you fight it, the more you’ll need me, Joel.”

And fuck, were you right.

Weeks. He waited weeks after that encounter to see you. Weeks, he felt disappointed when you didn’t attend the weekly dinner that Joel and Jacob agreed upon him moving out.

He no longer felt guilty touching himself to thoughts of you. He was angry. Why couldn’t you just say you agreed with him instead of letting him know there was an opportunity to do it again? Why make yourself available to anyone other than his (shitty) son?

That anger turned into thirst when you finally decided to show up for Jacob’s small birthday dinner. Aunts, uncles, and cousins gathered to wish the only child a happy birthday. Meanwhile, Joel couldn’t tear his eyes away from you the second you walked in — partially because he wasn’t expecting you to show up after not seeing you for a while, but he’d never seen you wear something so… Short.

As possessive as he wanted to be, he knew he had to keep his composure not to reward you the satisfaction and keep his promise to himself. What he hadn’t considered is that you would not make those same promises.

While Joel finished preparing the food, you told Jacob you’d help bring everything else out so he could sit around the living room and talk to his family and friends.

You took the unnecessary route and grazed your chest against Joel’s elbow as you reached into the refrigerator to grab some drinks before taking them to the other room. You made as many sly little trips like that, not looking at or towards Joel whatsoever but making sure he was looking at you.

You saved Joel’s beer for last. You always brought him his beer once you realized he usually had one before eating dinner any time you were over. It wasn’t anything malicious or sneaky until now.

You grabbed the brown glass bottle and stood next to him. Finally giving him the satisfaction of looking at him, you twisted the cap off and wrapped your lips around the cold rim, tilting the glass up and tasting some of the orange-flavored liquid, lips coming off the bottle with a pop.

Those lips. That noise. It filled his mind with the image of you a second ago, only instead of a beer bottle, he imagined his hard cock.

He watched carefully as you licked up a running droplet from the side of the neck; you held the bottle up for him to take, and tensely, he did so.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” His usual response but in a more sultry tone.

It made you blush and stare at him like he hung the stars and moon every night for you. “You’re welcome, Joel.”

He kept his eyes on you as you walked away for the last time, thinking about everything he wanted to do to you.

His hands were firm, clasped tightly around your wrists. His body pressed into your back while he pushed you against the wall. He hated that you were laughing. That you thought this was a funny game.

He thrusted into your ass without care, hurting you slightly with the pressure. He grabbed a hold of your hair and yanked it. He almost smiled at you, yelping out.

“Where’s that little fucking smile at now, huh,” he gritted. Then he planted a hard smack to your cheek, not bothering to soothe it the slightest bit. “You think you can just tease me and test me and fucking treat me however you want? Hmm? Think you can walk around with your ass damn near hangin’ out of this fucking dress?”

A tear rolled down your burning cheek as you whimpered, “I’m sorry, Joel. I w-wanted your attention.”

“You got what you wanted. Don’t fuckin’ cry about it now.”

Feeling your panties fill with a warm desire, you felt pathetic and weak.

Do I like that, you wondered, feeling used and being hurt?

You got your confirmation from the dumb little whimper you let out when you felt Joel’s body release from you. He boots thumping against the floor a few times before the bed creaked from his body weight.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered.

You pushed away from the wall and tiptoed to him. He almost felt bad for making you cry, but you were pushing his fucking buttons all night long. You sank to the floor, sitting on your bare feet and looking at him through wet eyelashes. Joel was more than glad that Jacob decided to go to a party with his friends and even more pleased that he didn't ask questions when you said you'd stay to help Joel clean up.

“I’m sorry, Joel-“

“You will be.”

You softly smile at him, repeating those words, knowing this time he meant it.

His eyes were cold and shallow when they stared into yours as his hands worked to undo his belt buckle. The metal teeth clanking together made you shudder, and you tried your best to keep your eyes locked with his.

“You misbehave once, and this belt goes ‘round your neck,” he warned, “we clear?”

You bashfully nodded, thankful he accepted it as an answer. Though you secretly hoped he would do it already, knowing you were bound to back talk him at some point.

Joel began to undo his jeans, and he made a ticking noise behind his teeth, ruminating on how you played with him at the table.

“Playin’ with my cock under the table,” he grunted, pulling his jeans down to his knees, “what kinda girl are you?”

“It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, felt you,” you said, glancing down at the growing erection beneath his plaid boxers. “I was being needy.”

“Yes, you were,” he simpered, “but you know I like that.”

You hesitated for a second before jumping into his lap and kissing him. Thrown off, it was a moment until he relaxed into your body, grasping the sides of your waist and hungrily kissing you back with a groan emitting from his throat.

He tasted like a man. He smelled like a man. Beer and body wash and perspiration drowning your senses. Your pussy ached when he slipped his beer-coated tongue into your mouth, sloppily licking around the ridges of your teeth and lips, tasting your chapstick and that one sip of alcohol you stole from him a couple of hours prior.

He felt your shaky hands reach to pull his cock out of his boxers; you pumped it slowly with one hand between your bodies, causing his moans to fall into your mouth.

He got a hold of your tits and massaged them gently before giving your nipples both a hard pinch, making you yelp and pull away from him. After chuckling at your pouty face, he grabbed hold of your hair and pulled it to his liking, almost treating you like a rag doll.

“Need you to suck my cock,” he choked out, sounding almost as if he were pleading of you to do it.

“Are you asking?”

He tugged your hair a little harder to signal he was not asking.

“Yes, sir.”

He watched intently as you stripped down to your panties and sat back in your previous position on the floor, taking his pants off and propping your arms on his burly thighs. He leaned back after unbuttoning his shirt and watched your tongue lick up a thick bead of precum from his tip, and you swallowed it without a second thought.

You drooled and spit all over his cock, wanting to make it a little messy for him, and even spreading some around his balls which made him incandescently moan.

And finally, you took him into your mouth, slobbering and sucking and moaning away around his girth. Your hand pumped to the sane rhythm of your mouth while gently squeezing and twisting it to add to his pleasure.

Joel’s head fell back in ecstasy; he couldn’t hold back his moans even if he wanted to. Your mouth was so warm and inviting, and it felt so fucking good. Your tongue lapping away as you sucked drove him crazy, and he found himself wondering why the fuck his son was cheating on you.

“That’s it, baby—mnh, fuck,” he encouraged. “Just like that. Ohh, just like that.”

His hand stroked your hair, and you looked up at him from the touch. Those eyes of yours made his thighs twitch and his stomach contract.

He wanted to punish you for making him wait, for teasing him, for being so fucking irresistible… But he couldn’t. Not now, at least. He felt weak beneath you, out of control. And he loved it: watching you take control of him, his dick. The slurping noises coming from your mouth not only suggested that you knew what you were doing but that you fucking loved it.

Your lips humming around him and creating webs of spit and precum made his dick harder than he had ever felt it. He was so close already, dire for his release, and it didn’t help when you surprised him with a rough thrust into your throat.

It hurt a lot, but that’s what you wanted. To ruin yourself for him. Show Joel what he could be getting every fucking night. Tears ran down your cheeks as you put him further down your throat until your nose was buried into the black and grey hairs surrounding the base of his cock.

He cried out your name and obscenities, saying, “Please,” for something, but you were not sure what exactly. His trembling thighs began closing around your head, not aiding in the lack of oxygen you had left, but he tried to fight it. You refused to let up on him, only swallowing hard and gagging harder, waiting for him to shoot his cum down your throat.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck! Oh fuck, no one- agh—no one’s ever fucking gone that deep-“

That’s what he was pleading for: he wanted you to quit. He didn’t want to cum so soon. But he tasted so good, and you had gotten him so fucking close, you couldn’t see yourself quitting now.

You pulled your head up to mess with Joel’s head, making him think you were listening. But you only went back down, making him pull your hair to stop you from disobeying him. Your lips departed from him with a pop, the same pop that he'd heard when you took a sip of his drink. It made him all the more desperate.

Despite your coughing and choking, he slipped his belt around your neck and looped it, not saying anything to ridicule you and simply tugging at the belt roughly. You choked a little more and then smiled at him, drool dripping down your chin onto your breasts. The sight was purely pornographic. Your lips were puffy, your face red, eyes dark and welling up, tears streaks on your cheekbones.

“Since you wanna fucking choke on something so bad…”

He tugged at the belt once again to emphasize his point. He stood up and yanked the leather to guide you where he wanted, yet that proud look never left your face. You were on all fours on the bed as if you were on display for him, and he stood behind you, pressing his thumb to your slit and spreading your juices around lazily.

You hummed at the small amount of friction and arched your ass up for him. Wiggling your hips in desperation, he smacked your ass hard enough to sting, the echo in the room ringing against your eardrums.

Joel smacked his fat tip against your asshole smirking when he felt it pucker; he took his wet cock in his hand, pumping it a few times before allowing it to sink inside of your needy cunt. You found yourself burying your face into the sheets as he began fucking you, the tug around your neck digging deeper as Joel maintained his grip on it.

“Such a fucking slut, so wet from just sucking my cock,” he spat, watching his cock disappear into your swelling pussy over and over and over. “S’it feel good, baby?”

You nodded, arching your back even more to feel him reach deeper and whimpering whenever his tip brutally bumped your cervix.

Suddenly, you felt a firm yank against your neck. “Use your words.”

“Feels so good, Joel,” you answered.

A swell of desire fills your belly, growing each time he thrusts into that sweet little spot inside of you. You’re clawing at the bed, reaching your neck forward to apply the satisfaction of not being able to breathe.

His free hand pressed against the swell of your ass, gripping it tightly as his hips snapped against the back of your thighs, making a clapping sound fill the room. You moaned into his duvet, slobber trailing out of the corners of your mouth. His balls hitting your clit with every thrust gave you the added pleasure you needed to finish if he kept this rhythm, but his voice was what you needed to send you over the edge.

"Such a pretty fucking pussy," he groaned. "Love how you squeeze my cock with it. Ohh, yeah, that's it, baby. You need to cum? Hmm? Does this pretty pussy need to cum?"

Your moans, muffled by the sheets, resulted in him pulling the belt up enough to make you lift your head so that he could hear you more clearly. "Yes yes yesss, Joel- MNH, oh fuck yes, please please."

He never forgot how your body gave away when you needed to cum; your body heaved with anticipation, your knuckles turned pale from your tight grip, your walls clung to him tighter than what was comfortable (which he fucking lived for then and now), and your moans heightened in pitch and volume. He couldn't punish you when you sounded so sexy screaming his name, it was his biggest weakness.

"I know, baby, I know. You can come," he encouraged sweetly, massaging the dip in your back to help relax you. "Cum for me, sweetheart. Need to feel you- fuck- cum for me."

And a few seconds later, you were convulsing beneath him from the tight coil inside of you finally breaking into shreds. The belt being pulled tighter around your neck rendered you helpless as it created the euphoria of what felt like nearly passing out. The fuzzy vision and the black spots sent your mind into a daze, or it could have been the lack of air. Your eyes grew heavy as your orgasm persisted from Joel's lack of mercy for your cunt. He just pounded away like you were made for him and his enjoyment only, and it thrilled you even more.

He grabbed your shoulder gently to bring your back to his chest and let go of the belt. You breathed heavily, and Joel kissed your jaw endearingly, his beard scraping your skin.

"So good f'me, you know that?" He moaned against your ear. His eyes fluttered shut when his hand went to cradle your chin, and he felt all of the saliva and tears coating your face. 

"Can't take it," you mumbled.

Your cunt was aching and sore, still pulsing from the harsh climax you had to endure with him not easing up at all. Your lips were swollen from his rough pounding, and your ass was burning from his hairs scratching against you. His cruel laugh filled your ears and made even more tears fall from your eyes.

"Fucking ruined you," he chuckled, earning another moan from you. "You can take it, baby. I know you can. I know you can be a good girl for me. Gonna fill you up with my cum- mmngh... Make sure this pussy knows it belongs to me."

"It does," you huff out, reaching to hold onto his forearms. "Not anyone else. Not even me. Just for you, Joel. It's all yours. Not even Jacob's."

That sent him over the edge. A pathetic whimper followed by a moan left his hoarse throat while he gave you one last powerful thrust. That cold feeling of guilt flooded his body and turned him on even more; he relished in the confidence you reclaimed, knowing that the guilt and secrecy of it all also turned you on in the darkest of ways.

"Fuck," he shouted as the last of his spend poured inside of your sore pussy. He placed a gentle kiss on your lips and slowly pulled out of you to sit beside you on the bed before you climbed to straddle his thighs. "You're amazing," he whispered against your lips whilst unraveling the belt from your neck. "You know you really are gonna help me clean up," he teased, sending you into a short fit of laughter.

"Only if we get to make one more mess, Mr. Miller."

dividers by cafekitsune

[arabellas]

It’s a taste test of what I hate less I don’t want to be here Start fresh with a new year

TWENTY ONE PILOTS - Next Semester (2024)

[stxneflxwers]

unpalatable.

⋯⁂ summary. suffering with disordered eating, you try your best to brush it off as being picky (as many others in your life have done before.) but, your beloved doesn't think it's mere pickiness anymore.

⋯⁂ a/n. short and sweet post here; so im not really worried about small grammar errors, word count, formatting, or what have you. i just need to get this icky feeling off my mind, ok? for the record as well: i'm writing all of this on tumblr post editor and not in gdocs like i normally do. so there's gonna be things lacking compared to my normal, "formal" works.

⋯⁂ characters. neuvillette. zhongli. wriothesley. gn reader.

⋯⁂ cw. reader has disordered eating (this is different from eating disorders, pls read further about it online if you want/must!) reader has poor self-esteem. characters being very very sweet. fluff. might be some hurt/comfort and panic. reader's weight is NOT described. there might be occasional OOC moments, but i tried my best to avoid it lol.

neuvillette.

he doesn't think anything of it at first. he understands the life of being..."picky" as some so rudely put it. he prefers his foods very moisturized, any dryness can be too much for his senses at times (most of the time.) the texture when it comes to something dry or even spicy can be very unpleasant; he swears if he ate sandpaper, that's what it'd taste and feel like.

when he starts noticing the worse..."quirks" about your eating habits, he's not sure how to word his concerns to you. he gets around to it and he can only hope he isn't too horribly late about it. he isn't, but he feels like he's late to saying something anyway.

once you both talk it over, he's already helping out. even if he's not quite sure exactly what he's doing. he's the type to fill your head and heart with sweet reassurances and even sweeter praises for doing your best, his smiles are the sweetest treat of all when he tells you these things, though.

even if he's stiff or awkward about the subject and tackling the problem at the root, he's as supportive as he can be. although, don't mistake this support as letting you get away without eating for long periods of time. he can and will pester you frequently about whether you've properly ate (and hydrated) recently. do your best to not damage his lover, alright?

zhongli.

believe it or not, he entirely gets the feeling of uneasiness and the occasional nausea behind a lot of dishes. fish is his worst enemy, for starters. his species doesn't really require tons of food to live off of, unlike your average human. so, when he first started "indulging" in more human dishes, he soon discovered what a gag reflex was. he won't admit to it, but he really hated it back then.

of course, that was so many centuries ago. he's adjusted fine enough to more dishes these days. and when you tell him about your struggles with eating, you initially write it off as you being childish.

he thinks not.

he doesn't let you get away with calling yourself childish—or any sort of derogatory statement that spits out of your mouth.

his hand slides up to yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. and a promise that he'll do his absolute best to help you conquer these problems with food and eating. even when you start to branch out and eat a bit more than you usually do, he feels so proud of you.

he gives you a shining smile, a peck to the forehead, and holds your sweet, cute face with his big hands; while also filling your mind with praises and affirmations about how well you're doing so far. he loves you so dearly, don't push him away.

wriothesley.

you try your absolute best to hide it from him, the man who is maybe the least bothered by most foods. at least, the one man from fontaine, that is. he really doesn't care too much about what he's eating, as long as it's edible. call it a habit from being an orphan. of course, he has his preferences, but who doesn't?

so, when he catches you eating less or being a little too selective (he's observant enough, don't test him), he brings it up right away in private—he makes sure it's with only you two in the room. he'll ask if you're feeling sick or anything lately, promising you that sigewinne can help out.

when you skirt around the subject, he pouts just a little. it's enough to get you to break down in front of him. you call yourself some nasty things over being rather selective about food, feeling incompetent and weird compared to him.

and he really can't believe what he's hearing at first.

his icy eyes go wide and he blinks on repeat like a broken record. he's still registering what you just said about yourself—his darling cutie. he smiles bittersweetly and shakes his head, it's the most he can muster at first. he's still in disbelief.

your heart sinks into the depths of your gut at the response, burning alive and leaving behind literal heartburn in your throat. before you can leave the room, he scurries up behind you and wraps his arms around you, imprisoning you in the softest way.

he tells you he'll help out if you want it and allow him to, mentioning that he hates to see you suffer. he gives you a loving but tight squeeze (one that's perhaps a little suffocating.) he promises to you to help you suffer, at least, less than before.

he loves you too much to see you in any type of pain, external or internal.

you're a prisoner of your own mind while also a cruel warden to yourself. and if it's the last thing he'll ever do, he swears he'll change at least that much.

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

three | chapter list

Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you. 

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Julianna is a real princess. As the niece of the Queen, her title is official. She’s been a princess all her life, and it’s a detail you can’t miss. 

James’ hand is hot but amicable against your shoulder blade. He hasn’t stepped away from you since Julianna arrived, though what threat she poses has yet to be seen. She doesn’t seem particularly volatile. You can’t imagine her in all her dewy skin and fine clothing lifting a finger, let alone her fist. 

“Mama says you’re an artist,” she drawls. 

“Not really.” How her mother knows anything about you is a mystery. “It’s a hobby, is all.” 

“And you didn’t finish university?”

“No.” You don’t owe her anything. You know you don’t. But it’s not just her you want to defend yourself to, not when Remus is sitting by the window of the parlour and James is close enough to hear your heartbeat. “I tried to, obviously, but I couldn’t, uh, afford to not work.”

“Ah.”

You don’t expect her to understand it. You know most people don't. Studying and working, the majority can handle both. You’d been ashamed of yourself for failing, but you’d come to the realisation that it was sink or swim. You could sink —hate yourself for being a little more fragile than others, for needing more time, more space, more accommodation— or you could swim. Accept your ‘shortcomings’. Make the most of what you have. 

Find yourself in a foreign country surrounded by the highly educated and the ridiculously wealthy. People who might never comprehend why you’ve struggled, or how. 

In that moment, you decide to treat this heart-wrenching trip as nothing more than a holiday. James is nice to you. The food is free and apparently plentiful. The grounds… 

Fuck, the grounds. The scenery. The royals aren’t currently living in their most famous residence, Loswell Castle, but are instead mourning the Prince at the more private and more subtle Bellaverden House. Subtle, yet gorgeous. The grass is green and stretches as far as the eye can see in all directions, broken up only by the silhouette of the alps to the east and the shimmering Lake Orlo to the west. The palace itself is nothing like you’d expected, and so far from the capital city of Genovia it is no surprise to find that the royals let their personal tastes bleed into every corner. It’s tasteful, silent wealth, no crystal chandeliers hanging from the eaves but instead a Rembrandt in the hallway. No solid gold cutlery, but instead Noritake porcelain tea cups and their matching exorbitant saucers.

“Loswell is the gaudier of the two houses,” James had said, evidently pleased by your wide-eyed surprise.

A nice boy who’s being paid to spend time with you and his funny friends. All you have to do is survive the paparazzi (check!) and your suspicious possible relatives (less so).

Any hour now, the paternity test will come up negative and they’ll be shepherding you home in search of the actual princess, wherever she may be. 

If she exists at all. 

“You haven’t eaten anything today,” James says softly, for your ears only. “Should we go down to the kitchens?”

It’s hard to describe the true and daunting scale of the palace, but James’ use of ‘kitchens’ rather than ‘kitchen’ sums it up nicely. 

Julianna rolls her shoulders, reaching for a black telephone on the side table. “No need. We’ll have it brought up. What do you like? They have yards of fresh pasta prepared by now. Doesn’t matter, I’ll ask for some of everything.”

“Oh, no,” you say, stepping out of James' reach. “I don’t want to be an imposition while I’m here.”

“That ship has sailed,” she says neatly. 

Ouch. You look back to James without intending to, an automatic movement. He’s become your safety net too quickly. His job is to protect you from harm, not your catty maybe-cousin’s mild disdain. 

“Sit,” Julianna says. “James, you can take up station in the hallway. Go on.”

Her voice possesses all the snobbish airiness you’d expect it to. She’s regal, elegant, and rude. James’ hand stretches toward yours, but your skin never touches. You think it might be his silent way of saying he won’t be far.

He gives you a reassuring look, not quite smiling. “If you need me,” he says. 

“Tutor,” Julianna adds once James is at the door, “you can leave us.”

“Remus, please.” You smile at Julianna appealingly, piping up before she can steal your last lifeline. “I need him to tell me what silverware to use. If I have any hope of catching up, I’ll have to start learning about proper etiquette straight away.”

You look to your tutor to make sure he’s on board. Remus gestures for you to sit and crosses the hardwood floors between you, his soft shoes barely making a sound. Julianna sniffs, your suggestion agreeable but tiresome for her, and pulls the telephone receiver to her ear. 

Remus settles into the chair next to yours at the table. 

“Don’t worry. We won’t leave you for wolves,” he says.

You’re grateful. You nod to the book in his hands. “What are you reading?”

He turns the book around. A Comprehensive History of Contemporary Genovia. 

“I’ve never had to educate someone who didn’t already know a very specific, very intricate history of our country,” he says in his rough voice, the barest hints of his accent peaking through. He says our country like you already belong as he does, not native but citizen anyhow. “Honestly, I provide supplementary education for the well-educated, I… I’m like a second chance for rich slackers. You’re neither, and so I’m unsure how I can make this easy on you.”

You admire his thinking. You’ve been lucky to find yourself in the care of people who put your comfort first. Remus, James, Sirius, even the ambassadors of the country, and the matron you’d been introduced to upon your arrival here, they’ve all been so conscientious. 

But it won’t matter. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says. 

“You do?”

“You’ve made it clear how much faith you have in the current situation. I believe…” that you’re who we suspect you are, you think he might say, but he parts his legs to bump his knee into yours. “I believe we’re going to be good friends.”

That is… “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

He nods.

“So, what’s with the bruise?” Julianna asks abruptly. “And the bad makeup. Mean boyfriend back home?”

Her cavalier attitude rubs you the wrong way immediately. “I was a little too close to the door when someone opened it.”

“Ah.”

Again with the Ah. Extra syllables must be at cost. 

Positivity, you remind yourself. This is a vacation. This inane and insane need to constantly prove yourself to the people around you is going to make you crazy, especially when all of this is temporary. Who cares what princess Julianna thinks of you now when, in a day or two, she’ll remember you as nothing more than the girl who they brought by mistake? And wouldn’t it be nice to just… not care? Who cares what Julianna thinks. 

You stand and walk to the door where James is standing, because calling for him would make you feel like an entitled dick. He turns his head to you obligingly. 

“Would you come back inside?” you ask. “The painting is giving me the heebies.”

“That’s a portrait of your great great grandmother.”

“She’s scary.”

He claps your shoulder, giving it a tender squeeze. “If the test comes out negative, princess, I’ll happily commit royal espionage for you and fix the results.”

“That is not a joke you should make,” Remus calls mildly. 

“Probably not. I’ve made it now. Sit down, princess, the food’s arriving.”

The food they bring up to you is incredible. Genovian cuisine is actually mostly stolen from the Italians, and how fortunate you are for that. You have no clue where to start, surrounded by rich smells of broth and stewed vegetables, the spritely aroma of white wine and tomatoes so fresh their roasted skins split under the gentle bottom of your spoon. 

James refuses to eat with you, as he’s on the clock, but Remus sits down at the table as promised to guide you through the fascinatingly awful etiquette of a new royal. 

“That’s Cioppino,” Remus says, pointing to a dark red stew bragging large pieces of crab, smaller chunks of a white meat you’re unsure of, and the distinct dark brackets of mussel shells. “It’s actually an Italian-American dish. It’s served with sourdough or french bread, but in our case, where you can’t necessarily use your hands, we’ll go without.”

“Well, there’s nobody here I need to impress, right?” you ask quietly. 

You swear you can hear Julianna twitching. 

He ignores your comment, but his voice is riddled with amusement when he says, “It’s more common for the crab to be served in its shell, but I don’t suppose they want the royals using crab forks and crackers." He points to a second bowl. “This, from the looks of it, is a variation of stufato di capra e fagioli, Italian for ‘stew of goat meat and beans’. Self explanatory. It’s very popular here in the winter, it’s,” —his voice drops to a lower register— “Sirius’ favourite. Shoulder meat, onions, carrots, celery, white wine and white beans. I don’t suppose I have to tell you what that is.” He nods to a heaping bowl of gnocchi coated in a green, buttery sauce, and its familiar wingman — fettuccine alfredo. 

“Now there’s one I know,” you say with a smile. 

“I think they’ve gone easy on you,” Remus says. “Given you something they knew would be familiar. The head cooks, Marl and Marsha, hardly ever serve fettuccine without ragù di pollo. Chicken ragù. It’s a sacrament in Marlene’s eyes to separate the two.”

He moves so easily from English to Italian. You wonder if he speaks Genovian. Is there a Genovian language? You’re too embarrassed to ask, and instead pile some unadventurous fettuccine into your bowl. 

Julianna picks up the telephone again and you let yourself relax as her conversation begins. She picks at her food and talks in Italian down the line, staring straight at you as she says the word, ‘principessa’. You don’t have to be a linguistics expert to know she’s talking about you. Eventually, her attention fades. Remus relaxes with you. 

“This spoon,” he corrects, before opening his book and sagging into his seat.

You're famished, but now all this rich food is making you feel sick. You pick at your fettuccine alfredo and a little of the cioppino. Weirdly, you miss the ordinary smells of your kitchen. You think you might prefer a white bread sandwich and a packet of crisps.  

A figure moves behind you, James shadow shifting to cover your hands. “Unladylike it might be,” he says, “but you’ll regret it if you don’t try the bread, princess. Freshly baked, pretty much soaked in pesto, it’s what us peasant folk fight over at the end of a shift.”

You hold your hand to a beautiful sliced baguette, “This one?”

“That’s the one.”

You pull the bread apart and enter a stodgy, olive oily sort of heaven. The only thing better than how it tastes is James' happy sound when you set aside a huge slice in a napkin and usher it behind your back, as inconspicuous as you can possibly be about it. He has no choice but to take it. You don’t look, but a telltale crunch comes quickly and poorly smothered. 

Julianna excuses herself, and a maid, maybe, comes to take her plates and dirtied cutler on a silver cart. You lean toward Remus with a hand over your mouth. “What do you call them? The ladies in uniform.”

“Princess, you could call them whatever you wanted to,” James butts in. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and sits in one of the chairs facing the door and windows. He’s always on the alert.

“But what’s nicest? I don’t want to be offensive.”

“You’ll learn their names in time,” Remus says easily. “You’ll be fine. Officially, they’re ‘attendants’. Maids, cleaners. Oh, you’ll have a lady in waiting–”

“A what?” 

“A personal assistant,” James says. 

Your face heats up like an instant flush, all hot pinpricks and embarrassment, “No,” you beg, standing up, “please, that would be entirely unnecessary, it’s not like I’m some sort of–”

“Princess!” A familiar voice shouts. Sirius has weaselled inside the door and closed it tight, his back pressed against it for a moment like he’s keeping someone out. He wears an exuberant smile and a brilliant dark ensemble with fine pinstripes that mess with your eyes as he approaches. He’s practically running. “I’ve spoken to Delilah who’s spoken to Bella who’s spoken to Lily who’s been in contact with the legal team in charge of Y/N’s care here in Genovia, and they’ve heard from the medical team who have been fighting tooth and nail to be put in talks with you,” —he looks at you now, and there’s something about his expression, part wide-eyed awe, part sympathy, that freezes you to the spot— “because it’s technically your care, and–”

“Sirius, mate, just put her out of her misery,” James says. He’s looking at you in a different way. Like he’s waiting for you to fall over. 

“Your father,” Sirius says, promptly deciding to start again. “The paternity test came out positive. Your DNA is a match for the Prince, may he rest in peace. You’re a princess. You’re the princess, by blood. You’re a Thermopolis.”

There’s a stretching silence. You wrap your hand around the back of your chair and stare at the velvet upholstery of the seat. 

“Terrible last name,” he adds sympathetically. 

You don’t want to be the girl who faints. That would be ridiculous, to fall over and crack your head. So, though you hate to ask for anything, you mumble, “James?”

He wraps a shapely arm behind your back and under your armpit before you lose the feeling in your legs. 

“I think I need to sit down again,” you say. 

“Reckon you do," he agrees, as he pulls the chair out with his foot and arranges you in it efficiently, the tip of his thumb pushed into the pulse point on your neck. “We’ll get you something cold, princess. You can breathe.” He gives you a little shake, hand spreading wider as it drags down your collar. The pressure is like the safety release of a suction cup. You take in a huge breath. “Breathe. There’s a good girl.”

“I’m fine," you say meekly. 

“It’s alright,” he says, with his impossible softness. He’s unafraid to be kind, even when there are people watching. 

“I’m fine. I–” You can’t finish your sentence. You’d wanted to say you’ll be okay. That this is just some melodramatic episode, but it isn’t. This is a human reaction to unbelievable news. Because you’re a– you’re a princess. 

You cover your face with both hands and curl in toward your thighs. Silence pervades, your ears abuzz with white noise. You aren’t sure how long you sit there paralysed, but soon James’ gentle murmuring and shushing cuts through the ringing. “It’s alright,” he’s saying, his hand at your elbow, “I swear, it’s alright. You take as long as you need.”

“Mickey’s at the door,” Sirius says. 

“Good. Tell him to radio in a level two security detail and stay by the door. Who else knows, Sirius?”

“By now? Everybody in the castle. Including government officials.”

“And you’re sure?” 

Sure said severely. 

“Of course I am.”

You’re trying very hard to keep your pasta down. This can’t be happening. It can’t be right. Their test is wrong. They swabbed the inside of your mouth wrong, or got it mixed up with some other person test, or the doctors are lying. Not once in your whole life has there ever been any indication that you are more than the nothing you’ve always been. All your worst insecurities rip to the surface. Not me. Not me.

“Level two isn’t as bad as it sounds,” James says gently. He’s been talking to you again. “All it means is that I’m not at full attention, and I need someone else to watch the room. That’s all it is.”

“I’m not,” you say. 

“You’re okay.”

“I’m not a princess,” you say, peeking at him through your parted fingers. 

His hand curves around your arm. He pulls it toward him. Encouraging rather than demanding. You let him. 

“Whatever it is that you are,” he says, meeting your eyes, “I’m here to take care of you. Okay? Try to calm down for me.” He nods, hoping you’ll nod back no doubt. You worry at your lip, your teeth scratching delicate skin. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“No one’s expecting you to feel a certain way right now,” Sirius says. The urgency in his expression has departed completely. He has an air of regret about him now, an uncomfortable set to his jaw. 

It’s not just James in the room witnessing your wobble. You cover your face again and try to become one with the furniture. 

James stands off of his knees, having seemingly decided that you aren’t in any mental peril. He stays hovering behind your chair. You think you might’ve found them all at a loss for what to do. 

The door opens. You imagine a nightmare, Julianna coming to play nice, but it’s the British ambassador Lily once again. She looks as perfect as she did when you saw her last with an immaculately straightened sheet of hair fluttering behind her, her steps hurried. Despite her speed, she doesn’t look unhappy. She’s smiling. Genovian ambassador (in particular, the ambassador that facilitated your movements between the two countries and the establishment of your dual citizenship status) Emmaline follows behind her. 

You try to straighten up. 

“We have wonderful news,” Lily says.

“You’re the princess!” Emmaline squeaks, her tiny stature no bounds for her excitement. “Welcome home!”

She begins clapping. It slows when nobody joins in. 

“What?” she asks cluelessly. “Has something bad happened?”

That’s what you’re trying to work out.

—

James can hear you sniffling.

He rests his shoulders against the wall by your bedroom door and sighs. You'd held it together for hours now after the announcement, but Sirius' last amendment had toppled you over. 

You have to meet your grandmother tomorrow to begin preparing for your father's funeral. 

James thinks you might have reached your breaking point. He can't imagine the grief of losing a father you didn't know you had, and the stress of being pulled out of your life so suddenly, carted across Europe and left under the judgemental eyes of royals and officials with little direction. Now that the paternity test has been conclusively positive and checked by many, many professionals, your confirmed identity should hopefully provide a more stable schedule. From James perspective, the days ahead will be easy. For you, they are going to be very, very hard. 

You'll meet the Queen tomorrow at breakfast. The plans for your permanent residency in Genovia will be decided. Your entire life is about to change, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. 

Well… James doesn't really want you to stop it, but it's not entirely true that you can't. You could reject your heritage and go home to your flat, your art, your degree equivalent classes. Maybe you're crying because you're scared you don't have options. 

James thinks about knocking on the door to talk to you. He meant it when he said he has a duty to all aspects of your health, the mental as well as the physical, but it's difficult to define the line between professionalism and being friendly. He's already crossed it. 

He sighs and rubs his weary head. He's fucking tired. Today has been the longest day ever. You'd slept for an hour in the car from the airport to Bellaverden Castle, and James had watched you half jealous and half enraptured. He won't mind looking after you no matter how you look, but your being easy on the eyes is a brilliant plus. Well, when ignoring the huge bruise staining your cheek. 

"Fuck," he says. 

He hasn't been doing very well. Honestly, his failure to keep you from harm in your flat (even if the harm had been him) and then his screw up with the paparazzi… 

He pulls out his pager. He should swap with one of the night guards now and he trusts them all, having picked them himself, but he wouldn't feel right walking away while you're crying. 

He clicks in Remus' code and waits until he hears it back. It's shorthand between them. If he wasn't awake or didn't want to see him, Remus could've ignored James' page and there'd be no hard feelings. But he answered. Tonight, once James has made sure you're okay, he'll crawl into Remus' bed like when they were kids in a cold dormitory and missing home and sleep for a glorious eight hours. He might even tell Remus how stressed he is. He knows his friend will listen. 

He'd invite Sirius, of course, (and that's assuming he isn't already there) but it's well past ten. Sirius is definitely asleep. 

James hasn't had a proper night's sleep in a week. He feels poorly. He misses his mum. He's hungry. This job is great, he loves what he does; he gets paid to take care of people. It's also too much. It eats at him. 

"Fuck," he says again. 

"James?" 

He flinches hard. 

There it is, his third mistake. He's very lucky that the chief of royal security is busy making funeral arrangements, because if Mary were here she'd gut him. 

You've crept up on him in his distraction and that is so fucking dangerous. How could he not notice your footsteps across the floor, or your door handle's heavy metallic thunking?

"Princess," he says, biting his tongue when you wince. He'll have to call you something else. "I'm sorry, I–" James squints at your sore eyes. 

"It's okay. I just wanted to ask… are you alright?" 

His shoulders hunch slightly. "Am I alright?" 

You fluster. "I just heard you and I wanted to make sure you were doing okay. You sounded… stressy." 

"You don't have to worry about me. That's my job." He frowns at the remnants of your tear stains, dampness shining at the corners of your eyes and your lashes sticking together in darkened triangles. "I was just about to come and see you, actually. I know today's been hard, and I know I haven't helped you. I'm so sorry, again, for your cheek. And at the airport, I know the scuffle with that photographer didn't help your nerves. I know," he stresses, "this is hard. I swear things will be smoother from now on. You have my word." 

You rub your elbow wordlessly. He's about to backtrack, or perhaps dig himself a bigger hole, but you look up at him and give him one of the softest smiles anyone's ever given him in all his years. 

"It's forgiven. Believe me, James, this is the least of my worries," you say, gesturing to your cheek. It only takes a second for shame to stick its hooks in you, yanking your gaze to the floor. You're wearing an expression he's seen a thousand times on the people closest to him. 

He flicks you under the chin gently. 

"Things are gonna get easier. I swear it," he says.

You plaster a smile on. James figures he can push it some more and wipes the smudgy shine of old tears off your cheek. 

"There. Looking good, angel." 

Definitely unprofessional. He keeps getting this weird feeling like you're his friend and not his charge. It's fleeting and it's making him stupid. This and the sleep deprivation. He swears to himself he'll be better tomorrow. 

You bid him goodnight. He listens to your night time motions until another guard comes to release him from duty. James rushes to his room for a shower and a cereal bar, giving his teeth a half-hearted brush before setting off for Remus' room halfway across the castle. Remus and the other scarcely employed scholars don't have to sleep in the servants' quarters like he and Sirius do. Schmuck. 

He finds the door unlatched. Mercifully, James decides to spare them both the safety related lecture. He tries to be as quiet as he can, but a head of sandy brown hair turns his way. 

"James?" Remus asks, his voice thick with fatigue. 

"Sorry. You can go back to sleep." 

"I was waiting for you. Drifted off." 

James scrubs a hand through his damp hair and knocks off the light. He can find his way in the dark. 

"Sirius isn't here?" 

"James…"

"What, are we still pretending?"

"James."

"I'm sorry. Forgive me, Moony." 

"Yeah. Don't lean on my left side. I'll move over." 

"What's wrong with your left side?" 

"I don't know. Maybe from carrying the bags. Maybe not." 

James slides into the warm space Remus has made for him and tries not to go into overprotective mode. Loving someone who's constantly in pain can be confusing. You don't know how much love you're allowed to give before it starts to look patronising.

Remus can take care of himself, but he doesn't need to. 

"Anything I can do?" James whispers. 

"Tell me what's bothering you." 

"Oh, you know… Everything. Nothing. I'm so happy we're all together again, I mean, what are the fucking odds? How long has it been since I could come and see you guys after work without making an appointment? And I didn't love the Prince, but I hate that he's dead, and I…" 

Remus turns his head to James. They're a pillow apart. When James looks at him, he can't remember what he looked like when they were young, but he can feel the years of knowing one another stretching out between them. A straining curtain of yellow light from the hallway catches the edges of Remus' features. James can see the corner of an uneven smile. 

"Go on," Remus says quietly. 

"She's nice. She's really nice. I don't want her to get hurt."

"James, you don't want anyone to get hurt." 

"I thought this was a demotion." 

"Isn't it?" 

"If it is, it's one I deserve. I deserve another one. Once Mary sees the mess I've made…" 

Remus reaches across the sheets to pinch James' bicep. "Nobody is good at their new job. Sirius didn't touch up the princess' bruise when we got off the plane, and while they're paid off for now, someone who needs the better payout is going to publish those photos, and soon. Sirius should've been doing his job, but he was too busy looking after me." 

"I tried to cover it–" 

"I know. You did a good job and I'm not blaming you, Prongs, anyway. My point is that he made a mistake. Does he deserve a demotion?" 

"Ew. Hate you." 

"And I should've better prepared her for meeting Princess Julianna. It was my fault that she felt embarrassed. I tried my best to fit in some coaching for breakfast tomorrow but the poor girl doesn't know a butter knife from a paring knife." 

"That's not true." 

"No," Remus agrees. "I'm making her seem less educated than she is to prove my own point… James, she isn't a princess. She has the blood, and soon she'll get the official title, the land and the money and the education and maybe some of the bad bits, as well. But right now, she's new to being a princess, and she's not very good at it." 

"I get it." 

"Yeah, I know." 

Remus readjusts in bed. James almost misses the pain in his friend's exhale under the sound of crunching fresh sheets. 

"Are you sure I can't do something for you?" 

"I wish," Remus says. He isn't depressed. The opposite, he sounds way too spritely for the time. "You could stop hogging the blankets, for starters." 

James feeds Remus some more blanket and sighs. The mattress is heavenly. The quilts and sheets and pillowcases are soft and thick. By all means, James should've fallen asleep the second his head touched anything mildly comfortable. 

"You've asked Mickey to look after her tomorrow, right?" Remus asks. 

James had radio'd Mikkelson after his shower to put the early morning shift and protocols in his jurisdiction temporarily. That means James will hopefully be able to sleep until his body feels like it can hold itself together again. He doesn't like leaving you to face the Queen by yourself, but it's not as if she'll hurt you, and Sirius will see you bright and early to help you get dressed. James isn't worried. 

"I have. How did you know that?" 

"You're the only one of us who knows how to properly take care of themselves," Remus explains easily. "Good. I'm glad you did. You haven't been sleeping."

"How do you know that?" 

"I love you. I know everything about you." 

James smiles at the ceiling. Beams. There is nothing quite as valuable to him than his family. He would do more to keep them all safe and healthy than he should admit on the record, so he keeps it all tucked inside and out of view. It's terrifying and freeing at once to look at someone you love and know you're going to do something awful one day if it means they'll come out on the other side of it alive. 

"Not everything," he murmurs. 

"Everything, James."

"Yeah? How many fingers am I holding up right now." 

"One." 

"Which?" 

"Middle."

"Lucky guess." James laughs at their childish squabbling. "I love you too. I'm really glad we're in the same place again."

"What did you say? What are the fucking odds?" Remus quotes, so tired now that his words are running together. "I'm not sod enough to do the maths, I think it's gotta be deep in the decimals. Lily's and Mary's involvement definitely helped, but to have someone come along who needs security detail, special education, and a lady in waiting is unfathomable." 

James laughs and feels his abdomen shaking. "I'm telling Sirius you called him a lady in waiting." 

"Sorry," Remus says, and James knows his friend is genuinely repentant, even though Sirius would've laughed himself if he'd heard the joke. "I'm not trying to put him down. He's worked so hard, he– He's working so hard. He thinks it's easy work because he's good at it. He doesn't realise it's easy because he worked very very hard to be good at it." 

James has to chew it over for a moment to understand what Remus is saying. Once he understands, he vehemently agrees. Sirius is skilled in so many areas. He can style both a model and their wardrobe spontaneously. He's a media liaison, a sleuth, a sweet talker. He understands the inner workings of Western media — Sirius can deduce the honesty of a smile from a precursory glance. He may not always trust what he's seeing, but he sees it undeniably. 

"He's the best of us," James sighs agreeably, stretching down the length of the bed until his spine pops and his calves burn. "Shit. I need to start working out properly again now we're here." 

"Tomorrow. We'll figure it all out tomorrow, James. Go to sleep." 

James is obedient. He falls asleep, and doesn’t wake until the sun is warming his cheeks. His hair is still damp and he feels awful in a new way. Better for having slept with someone close by, and catching up on the hours he’s been missing. But his back is stiff. 

He goes back to his room. His neck aches as he brushes his teeth. He does a workout in the small space of his room and stretches out his rigid limbs until he feels human again. 

The black telephone on his nightstand starts to ring. He hates them. He wishes the royals would go back to bells. 

“Hello, sir,” Lily says cheerfully down the line. James can picture her sweet smile. “I couldn’t help but notice your absence this morning.”

“How did it go?” he asks, trying to tug on a new pair of socks one handed. 

Lily hums. “It wasn’t awful. It wasn’t good, but it could’ve been worse. Her majesty liked her. Y/N was quiet, she was awkward, but we all know they prefer quiet to mouthy. The last thing they wanted was another Julianna. I felt kind of bad, really. Like I was handing her over.”

“She…” James sighs. “She didn’t seem upset, did she, Lils?”

“No, I actually think she was feeling good. Your boys took good care of her.”

“Brilliant. Oh, and to answer your unasked question, I’m being slovenly. I’ll be back on duty by noon.”

“Slovenly,” she repeats. “I’ve never known you to be any sort of lazy.” She laughs. James is happy that the sound doesn’t break his heart anymore. “Alright, James. I’ll see you later.”

He appreciates what she’s doing, letting him know you’re okay while he’s away. It’s uncanny how fast the people in charge of your care can band together. 

James gives himself a minute to wipe away yesterday and prepare for today. He closes his eyes and shakes his head ferociously, his hair flying every which way. He sorts through all his worries one by one, letting that anxiety eat at him methodically —he’s a bad bodyguard, he’s a bad friend, he doesn’t call his mum enough, he’s chicken shit scared of dying alone, the works— and then pushing it away. Today is a new day with new opportunities. He can prove to you and to himself that he’s good at his job, he can make sure his friends are doing alright, he can call his mum tonight before dinner, and dying alone? He isn’t dying today. So that one’s on the back burner. 

He makes his way from his room in the quarter and into the main building, wary that he might come upon a duke or duchess. His radio, clipped as it always is against his left shoulder, chirps with chatter. He bites back a scolding about keeping the line clear and looks out the huge glass windows at the grounds below. A marble water fountain spurts proudly at the foot of the stairs, and an elaborate hedgework stands at pruned attention. It’s a nice day. He wonders if you’ll be up for walking. 

He looks for you in the secondary parlour, the den, the library, the dining room. He swings by your room, and when you aren’t there he admits defeat and unclamps his radio, cutting through an inappropriate joke unapologetically. 

“Afternoon. Location on Princess Y/N?”

He imagines his subordinates scrambling to answer, embarrassed by their unprofessionalism, but it’s likely they just don’t know where you are. 

“If I don’t get an answer in the next five seconds, you can all expect to be running laps tonight. That includes you, Mikkelson, I don’t care how much overtime–”

“Sir, this is Daniels. Me and Roma are with the princess in the south wing.”

“Why?”

“She wanted a pencil sharpener.”

James grins to himself. The south wing (or, as James might put it, the guest wing), houses the scholars, the ambassadors, and whatever government official the royals are trying to butter up at the time. He’s feeling positively joyful when he finds you, sketching away with your face pressed to the window. The genovian mountainscapes take shape on your page one confident stroke of graphite at a time, a small leather bound sketchbook pressed flat to your knee.

“Settling in?” he asks. 

You raise your head but not your eyes. “You could say that.”

“How was meeting Her Majesty?”

You frown. 

“That bad?” he asks. 

“No, I mean. You know. She’s a queen. It was terrifying.”

Despite your unhappy mouth, you look as relaxed as you have since the moment he met you. You’re in what’s clearly a casual Genovian dress, what with the subtle but remarkable stitching a shade darker than the dress itself and the squared neckline. Your calves are out and glossy in the daylight. They’re rather distracting. 

“You look good,” James says carefully. 

“I’ll miss the fancy lotions,” you say. Your pencil scratches away. 

James’ hands falter where they’re clasped behind his back. “What?”

You meet his eyes properly. He hadn’t realised you’d been avoiding his gaze until you weren’t, your face ringed with guilt, an explanation slow to come. 

“I’m not staying. I can’t be a princess, James.” You shake your head mildly. “I’m going home.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thanks so much for reading! oh no, you want to go home!! rest assured, james and co aren’t letting you go too easily. i hope you enjoyed, reblogs are always appreciated, a thousand kisses for all of you either way <3<3

[wooahaes]

taste test

pairing: non-idol!jun x gn!reader

prompt: soulmate au series. 11/13

word count: 3.9k~

warnings: major food mentions throughout the entire fic!! mentions of reader being impulsive at some points.

daisy’s notes: i love when i get to write jun just being a sweetie btw

summary: Jun has grown accustomed to the way his soulmate eats. He hopes they don’t hate him for the way he snacks and sneaks bites of his cooking, or for the way he experiments in the kitchen sometime. But running a restaurant means he’s constantly evolving the menu… So if it leads the two of you together, then that’s good, right?

Jun turned ten years old and was… upset, to say the least, that he didn’t have a soulmate. His mother had smoothed his hair back gently and told him not to worry. If he didn’t have a soulmate, it would change nothing about him. He was still the smart little guy she had raised so lovingly, and it took nothing away from his worth. And if he did have a soulmate, then hopefully he would find them one day if so he chose. She supported him wholeheartedly, and Jun would look back on the memory with nothing but undying love for his mother for handling the situation so well. Of course, it took a few days for Jun to realize that the flavors he kept tasting on the back of his tongue were more than just cravings and his imagination… but that didn’t change the gentle comfort his mother had given him. She’d held his hand at the doctor, too, and throughout the tests to make sure that all was well with him.

His doctor had straightened up the papers on his desk—results of said tests, no doubt—and looked at Jun’s mother. “It’s the most common sign,” he said, and relief crossed her face immediately. “But it still happens.”

His mom had questions. Jun just focused on the lemon-flavored lollipop he’d been given, mind wandering a bit. Apparently, it was common enough for doctors to hand them out to kids to soften the blow of whatever came next in visits like this. Soulmates were normal enough, but Jun knew as much as his mother that some people had… less ideal soulmate marks. One of his classmates felt her soulmate’s pain (sometimes so bad that she cried, the feeling so new to someone with only so many years of life lived). One of his teacher’s had yet to meet her soulmate at the beginning of the year, only for sparks to literally fly when she ran into a new member of staff an hour later. None of his classmates had been hurt by the slight shock, but Jun couldn’t imagine having a mark like that—even if his teacher swore that it just felt soothing. Adults lied to kids all the time just to put on a brave face, after all.

It’d been a lie to say that Jun’s sign had no influence on him and his life. He had learned to cook alongside his mother and step-father so that he could take care of himself in the future, yes… but it did help him when he was trying to figure out what his soulmate was eating. His taste buds matured more and more with age, and eventually he liked to think he had a pretty solid understanding of what his soulmate was eating. He could pick out the sweetness of vanilla ice cream on apple pie, the buttery crust and cinnamon and ginger and nutmeg pointing him in the right direction. He knew the umami of different meats and the savory sauces they were cooked in. He had to adapt sometimes based on what he had available… but Jun would meet those cravings he felt, just to understand his soulmate a little better. Not that anyone complained when he did: his family adored his cooking, his friends loved a free meal, and his coworkers weren’t going to turn down leftover cookies and whatnot when he brought them in during his work study job in college. What was the point in making so much food if he couldn’t ensure the people he cared for were well fed?

That was what led him to dropping out of one school (sorry, dreams of being an actor) and pursuing culinary school in the end. He went through years of long hours and endless studying just to end up where he was now: standing in front of an empty building, arms folded across his chest. A few of his friends stood there with him, admiring the place he was officially renting out. It had taken a while to save up and get approved for loans and square away all of the business side of things (and even still, he had orders to make and so, so much more work ahead of him)... But holding the keys in his hand made it all real. 

This was step one of many for finding his place. And if it led his soulmate to him, then he would be happy.

Everything was wrong, and Jun couldn’t figure out what the problem was.

The restaurant was doing well, thankfully. He wasn’t in the red, although business could be better. People liked having authentic Chinese cuisine, and Jun was more than happy to provide it and share more of his heritage… and occasionally pack a takeout container a little more full for the college student who looked on the edge of a breakdown. But the restaurant could be doing better, making more money, and that meant he needed to make adjustments. He’d gone over survey cards, trying to figure out what needed to be fixed, and that was what led him to now. He’d been cooped up in his apartment for days now, trying to perfect a dish from his childhood that he couldn’t get right. Mingyu was sitting at the counter, muttering something to Minghao as the two (alongside Seokmin) tried to figure out what element was missing from it all. Seokmin suggested something sweet, but Jun had shot it down when Seokmin suggested a little more sugar: he’d already tried adjusting the amount, sorry. He’d even tried brown sugar, honey, and plenty of other alternatives, just to see if maybe he’d been going in the wrong direction.

One of his arms was draped over his eyes as he laid across the couch. What was missing…? He could call his mom, but part of him wanted to figure it out for himself. The answer was right there on the tip of his tongue, his lips almost tingling in the strangest way.

“It feels like it should be obvious,” Seokmin sighed, toying with the bracelet around his wrist. “Shouldn’t it be?”

It was. It had to be. That was why it was so infuriating. Jun turned over with another sigh, shutting his eyes. It was as if the answer was burning within him now, yet still out of reach. 

“Maybe it isn’t sweet,” Mingyu picked up another piece of chicken, holding it up to the light for a moment, as though it’d give him the answer. “It’s already sweet as it is… I don’t think making it sweeter would help.”

That burning had traveled to the back of his tongue now, and he jerked up. Wait a second. What the hell was his soulmate eating? He knit his brow together, frowning. This wasn’t the time for them to be messing around with some spice challenge—and judging by the cold, mild taste that subdued that heat, that must have been what they were doing. Yet once the taste of milk had disappeared, the burning was already back. What the hell was his soulmate doing? That mild taste washed over his tongue again after a moment, only to be followed again by a heat that nearly made his eyes water.

Jun tore off of the couch, immediately rushing to the cabinets. That cooling sensation hit him again, and the burning never came back, but Jun could see great, big neon signs when they were right in front of him. He’d added a little to begin with, but maybe…

“Jun?” Minghao watched as Jun pulled a container from the cabinet, making his way over to the pot. “What are you?”

He mixed in more red pepper flakes, far more than he’d done the first time. “It’s not spicy enough.”

Seokmin blinked in confusion, looking from Jun to the other two friends present. “I thought it wasn’t supposed to be that spicy.” 

“It’s still supposed to have a kick,” Minghao said, sniffling. Of course Minghao wouldn’t have caught it: the poor guy was still recovering from a cold. “Jun, I thought you—”

Jun tested the sauce, shutting his eyes… and there it was. How the hell did you…? Maybe you were like him and understood food, too. Or maybe you remembered the previous times he’d eaten this dish and realized it wasn’t burning your mouth enough. The only real question that remained was what the hell did you decide to eat? He paused, wondering if you were out there, eating raw peppers or squirting hot sauce into your mouth just to send him a sign. He paused, looking down at the bottle of red pepper flakes. Now that he was thinking about it, the taste was exactly what he was looking for—

No. You didn’t. No. He looked up, brows raising as he processed this new theory. Some people could handle red peppers well, but apparently you couldn’t (at least not raw) considering you had to douse the capsaicin with milk or something quickly to try and spare yourself that pain. All of it was just to send him this signal that something was missing and you knew what it was. He found himself smiling. He hadn’t even met you yet, and already he was a little endeared to you.

He returned the favor to you later, though. The cravings hit him in that weird way that made him feel like you were taste testing, and Jun didn’t think twice before shoving half a lemon into his mouth. He’d recognize the dish you were making later, but he didn’t care about the weird looks that the others had given him. Minghao, who knew the deal, had given him this look that was a mix of understanding and downright disgust. 

Seungcheol had sighed, getting up from the table. “You’re so weird,” he said, making his way to the kitchen to get the other lemons. “Those were supposed to be a palate cleanser…”

He’d apologized profusely afterward, not realizing that people had paid him any attention, but he hoped you appreciated his help. Maybe he couldn’t help you directly in the way he’d begun yearning to… but he was fine with making a fool of himself like this to help you in return. After all, that’s what a soulmate was for… Right?

“Jun.”

So maybe it was another one of those nights. And maybe Jun messaged the group chat to see who wanted to come with him to get ice cream this late. What was so wrong with that? Soonyoung sat across from him, a cup of sorbet in front of him that he kept pushing around with a pink plastic spoon. Jihoon’s lips were closed around a bright blue one, his frozen yogurt melting in its cup as he watched Jun carefully. And Wonwoo sat beside him, phone in one hand as he held a cone in the other. Jun had carefully picked out every single part of the little sundae that sat in front of him now: the flavor from the back of his tongue, the toppings what he thought you were out there eating on your own sundae… Was this your favorite? Or was it just what you wanted today? He recognized some of the flavors from past times, and yet today the craving was strong enough to drag him out of bed.

“Hm?” A bright green spoon hung from his own mouth, and all he could taste was plastic now. His mind had wandered a bit too much again, but… that was normal when he had his soulmate on his mind. All he wanted to do was meet you and know you. “Yes?”

“You’re thinking about them again,” Wonwoo said in a low, calming voice. There was no accusation in it, no teasing jab at him for getting caught up in silly, sappy thoughts again. Not that his friends teased him for it often—they did, but their teasing was usually saved for Mingyu and Chan and Seungcheol. “Is something on your mind?”

There it was. That’s what they’d all been wondering, after all: the concern was written on their faces, plain as day. Jun pulled the spoon from his mouth, “I’m okay. Just… thinking.” 

“About?” Soonyoung’s foot nudged against Jun’s in an attempt to prod more information from him. “You can share if you’d like.” 

He pressed his lips together, trying to figure out where to start. He had a lot of thoughts about you—the same as anyone would, right? He knew that you most likely wondered about who he was as a person. “I hope they’re kind.” 

No one said anything yet, just to give him more space to speak as he processed his thoughts.

“I think… I used to have all of these ideas for what I wanted in a person. I wanted them to look a certain way, to act a certain way…” He trailed off. “And… I think now I can’t help but think that all I want is someone I can be happy with. Someone who accepts me for me.” He scooped another bit of his ice cream up, pausing for a moment before eating it. “Someone who I can accept, too.” 

“You will,” Jihoon spoke up immediately. “Accept them. I think… I think you’ll be happy with them.” 

Soonyoung’s eyes crinkled in delight, “They’ve burned their taste buds for you before. I think they’ll be perfect for you.”

It earned a warm chuckle from Jun, smiling to himself again. He always found himself smiling when you were on his mind, and he hadn’t even met you yet. How was he supposed to go through his days when he did meet you? The same way the others did after meeting their soulmates, he assumed. Was it strange to wonder if you were like him? A little odd at times, but warm and caring and silly?

“He’s gone,” Wonwoo gently teased, smiling to himself. His phone lit up a second later from my love and Wonwoo, too, was gone with that bashful look on his face. Wonwoo had never been the kind of person who yelled his love from rooftops, but showed it in the way his eyes always seemed to sparkle a little more, heart fluttering smiles and rosy cheeks to define it. 

“You are, too,” Jihoon chuckled. Yet it was Jihoon who quietly loved his soulmate, too, always mindful of their limits in the way they were mindful of him and his limits. Jun had seen them interact a few times, and he saw the way he’d wordlessly take his soulmate’s hand when the crowds were thicker, and didn’t let go when they were through it. Little displays of affection that he’d never comment on, just to spare Jihoon the embarrassment of being called out for it.

Jun watched Soonyoung for a moment, just to be aware of him. Soulmate talk went fine with him most of the time, but everyone knew that Soonyoung (just as Seokmin did) had his moments of insecurity with his own lack of a sign. Yet he was smiling to himself, and immediately jumped to teasing Jihoon for something that he’d said about his soulmate not long ago. It turned the latter’s cheeks bright red as he complained, waving him off. So what if he liked his soulmate? That’s what they were there for, right? They were supposed to be someone that he liked. And yet Wonwoo had chuckled, joining in on the teasing as well.

Jun just smiled to himself, savoring the sweetness of the moment and the ice cream.

For the most part, being friends with Jun meant they had special privileges. When Seungcheol asked if they could all meet up close to closing so he could share some special news (with the promise that at least he would help close up for the night), Jun had agreed easily enough. Not everyone could make it, but Jun carried out a tray of dishes to set in front of those present. Seungcheol had been talking about how different his life felt now that he could see color, no longer relying on which light was lit for traffic lights or asking people for the right color apple. He'd pulled over a chair, breaking into a pair of chopsticks so he could reach out and snag a dumpling while he took a few minutes to rest.

"Also... All of you are terrible!" Seungcheol huffed. "I told Seungkwan first and he immediately started sending me pictures of myself in ugly outfits you all swore went together!"

It earned a snort from Jeonghan, who'd been busy typing something out on his phone. "We didn't do it all the time, you know."

Seokmin was staring at his watch the entire time, and Jun reached out, fingers brushing his bicep. "Are you okay?"

"Just waiting for something," he said. Then he looked up, the realization dawning on him as he shook his head. "Sorry! Sorry, I'm fine. Just..." He looked at the door again. "Waiting."

Seungcheol changed the topic away from the outfits he was debating with Joshua (no, he did not like that neon shirt, thank you), "We're going out on Tuesday, actually. I think you guys will like them..."

Jun smiled to himself. It was nice seeing Seungcheol so at ease. The idea of never meeting his soulmate had been weighing on him for a while now, and even more-so since everyone else seemed to be finding their soulmate over the past year. Before he could join the conversation, he saw Seokmin getting up and heading toward the computer right as the door opened, a little bell jingling. Jun excused himself from the group as Seungcheol continued on about his soulmate, making his way over to the counter.

"Sorry," the customer had said, and Jun had slid the menu across to you without much thought. "My friend, Minho, came here with a couple friends and said you might be able to help?"

Jun just blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry. With...?"

"My soulmate had this dish a few days ago," you rested your hands on the counter, "and I've managed to narrow it down based on a lot of Googling. But there's a couple things I'm not sure about, but Minho said what I kept describing sounded like Chinese food, and--"

Jun waved a hand. "I understand," he said. "I have the same sign."

You sighed in relief. "Good. It's not the rarest sign, but people don't always get it since it’s still uncommon, y'know? Your soulmate must be lucky, though," you drummed your fingers against the counter. "Also... Sorry about coming in this late. I saw you're closing in an hour, and—”

Jun stopped you there. "It's okay," he insisted. "It's what I'm here for. Just tell me what--"

"Jun," Seokmin called out, looking up from the monitor. "There's a request for takeout. I'm gonna confirm it, alright?"

Jun waved him on, and turned back to you. "Sorry. The food...?"

You'd started to rattle off what you'd tasted days ago, saying something about how the craving never fully left you. Jun helped square you away, telling you to sit wherever you'd like and he'd have your food out as soon as he could. He made his way to the computer where Seokmin stood, brows knit tightly together.

"Is everything okay?" He asked, keeping his voice low. "You seem... different."

Seokmin shook his head. "The ticket's on the line," he kept his eyes glued to the screen. "Just... thought I recognized the name."

Jun shrugged it off and went to work, Mingyu having already made his way back into the kitchen to help. Soon enough, several orders have been made and plated. Mingyu walked away, making his way to greet you while Jun uncapped a sharpie with his teeth. Seokmin watched as Jun drew a little cat onto the corner of one of the lids, and then a little flower next to it.

"Someone else could pick up the order," Jun said after capping the marker again. "If you don't want to go."

"No!" Seokmin paused, waving a hand. "I mean--The money is good, and my bike is outside. I'll try to be back to help clean up." He tied the bag after throwing in a few utensils and fortune cookies, pausing before he turned away. "Jun?"

He looked up from where he was tidying things up behind the counter. "Hm?"

Seokmin went to speak, and then turned, gazing at where you sat alone. He shook his head, turning back to Jun. "Actually... Don't worry about it."

Jun was definitely going to call Seokmin in the morning if he didn't make it back before they all left. He watched as he made his way out of the restaurant, waving to the others before going out for a late night delivery, and Jun sighed. Maybe he was having an off day. He'd mention it to Minghao if nothing else, and maybe he'd check on him tonight. He turned, grabbing a rag on his way back into the kitchen so that he could start cleaning up again, only to catch himself freezing once he recognized something.

That blend of spices. The sauce on your meal. He turned, staring at you as he watched you eat in peace. You. He dropped the rag, body moving on its own as if you were a magnet drawing him in. He slowed to a stop, unsure of what to say. You looked up, confused for a moment.

"I think..." His voice came out hoarse and quiet, and he cleared his throat. "I... I was perfecting this recipe a few days ago."

You stared at him. "Huh?"

"This is—This is the improved version," he said, hands curling around the back of an empty chair. Just say it, a voice in his head said. All he needed to say were those three words, and yet they felt lodged in his throat.

"You're...?" You dropped your chopsticks with a gasp, standing up. "You?!"

Jun didn't know whether to be hurt by that or not. "Would you rather I not be—”

"I have eaten so many stupid things for you!" You said, loud enough to get the attention of Jun's friends. "And--And you kept eating stupid things for me when I couldn't get the recipe right!"

He laughed. "I know—"

"Oh my god," you said. "No wonder you were always right. I mean, sometimes it didn't really help because I didn't have the ingredients, but—but you still tried!" You'd laughed, warm and vibrant. "Oh my god—I'm sorry, I just—No wonder you knew what I was talking about."

Jun caught a glimpse of his friends all silently watching, and he waved them off. "I..." His face was burning, and he started patting himself down to find his phone. "I really don't want to talk more in front of my friends."

You glanced over to them, and then nodded. "Yeah! Yeah, sorry, I just—I really should have come with Minho that time, huh?"

"Maybe..." He'd plucked his phone from his back pocket. "I could buy you dinner? If you want—”

"I'd like that," you said, accepting his phone. You punched in your number before adding a little heart emoji by your name. "Now I can go straight to the source for my cravings."

He laughed softly again, holding his phone closer to his chest. "Whatever you want," he said. "Just say the word."

With a smile from you, Jun felt his world change entirely. "I'll hold you to that, chef."

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @synthetickitsune @staranghae @porridgesblog @weird-bookworm @bangchansbae @laylasbunbunny @bewoyewo

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Back for More

Written for @steddieangstyaugust - days 9 (Upside Down) and 11 (Temporary Character Death). They just happened to merge and I didn't stop them.

It was eerily quiet in the Upside Down. The rustling of demobat wings had died down, black tendrils lied still as their master fled to God knows where to lick his wounds. Only the constant storm that would never bring rain loomed over them.

Steve's vision was still blurry after the near strangulation at the Creel house, and Eddie? Well. Eddie was dying.

"Wait here until we can find help," they'd said. "Keep him safe. Keep him alive and talking." Robin and Nancy dragged Dustin away, screaming, crying, and Steve made a reckless promise to make sure that his favorite twerp of the twerp troupe (also known as the Party, the most annoying kids known to mankind) was out of danger. Or at least as much as one could be when the world was ending.

So, the promise? Keep Eddie from dying.

That was easier said than done. Demobats made Eddie their free buffet - Steve hated himself for thinking that, but maybe he could blame it on the dizziness - and now Eddie was even more full of holes than a golf course. Minus the flags.

Yeah, maybe Steve was panicking a little. But hey, who wasn't?

"Come on, man," he muttered as Eddie's hand dropped, letting go of the blood soaked cloth. "Keep it on the wound. I'm not an octopus, I can't plug in all of these, uh…"

Eddie laughed, but it made such a horrendous gurgling sound that Steve hoped he hadn't done that. "New entrances to the temple that is my body, Harrington?"

Steve's brow furrowed in disgust. Which was funny because, you know, they were covered in blood and grime, so this shouldn't have even fazed him. It still did. "Ew. Don't…just don't."

He still reached out and repositioned Eddie's hand to cover the less severe wounds. Which really weren't less severe, all were gnarly and jagged, but at least Eddie could reach them. Steve's hand didn't leave the most dangerous looking one on his neck, pressing down and slowing down the bleeding.

"Aww. Harrington is shy," whispered Eddie, but obediently used the last of his strength to cover the wound on his side.

"Am not. Your innuendos just suck. Where did you get those, in a history class?"

Eddie's mouth twitched into another smile. "Nah. In front of the mirror, like all proper men. Which might be…why they don't work. On other men."

Other men. Huh. Steve had never suspected anything.

His eyes were starting to close, his breathing more shallow, and yep, this was the moment that Steve would normally get up, get punched, get in the harm's way so the others could escape. But this time it wouldn't work. It was just him and Eddie and so much blood that just wouldn't stay on the inside where it belonged.

Keep him talking. That's what he promised to do.

He nudged Eddie with his knee. "Hey. Hey, Munson! Now I'm curious. How do you know they don't work? Have you tested them?"

Eddie groaned, but one of his eyes opened again. "Jesus H Christ, Harrington. Can I just die from blood loss and not embarrassment?"

"Nope. No dying either way. Tell me."

Another groan, another gurgle. "Didn't trest anything, man. This is Hawkins. I never even told anyone. Shit, I didn't even want to tell you, but I'm feeling kinda lightheaded…"

Not good. Not fucking good at all. "It's fine, we're bonding, right?" But Eddie didn't respond, and Steve didn't have a third hand to slap him awake, so he just went for the conversational jugular. "I mean. I kinda get it. I saw a lot of stuff in the locker rooms and I've always thought Tommy has some nice shoulders and back. And…below."

That got Eddie's attention. His eyes opened again, and the bloodied grin he showed Steve was worth the mortifying admission. "Well well well. Who would have thought we have the same taste in men, King Steve? Type, I mean. Hagan's an asshole. But jocks…hmmm. Good for you to…have such a nice view."

Now he was talking too much, and his breath was getting even more shallow. Shit. "You'll get it too, man. Not all places are Hawkins. So stay awake, keep pressure on your…ugh, fine…new entrances to the temple of Munson, and I swear that when you're all healed up, I'll drive you to wherever you feel more comfortable, and we'll get you a jock to smooch or admire. Or both."

"Sounds nice," whispered Eddie. Then, after a pause: "being smooched, I mean. It's so lame, dying without being kissed. Ever."

Look, Steve was running out of options. There was no sound, no indication of help coming, and he had to keep his promise. The world was ending anyway. "Would you like not to?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"I mean," said Steve and even attempted his signature hair flip, which earned him a weak chuckle from Eddie. "I know I look like shit now, but I was a jock. And I'm pretty sure I'm a better kisser than Tommy."

"…have better ass too…"

Steve burst out laughing, and perhaps he managed to hide the slowly rising wave of hysteria. "Yes, thank you! I knew someone would eventually have good taste and say it out loud. But seriously, uh…I'm offering. I mean, as far as first kisses go, this whole scenario will be pretty memorable."

Eddie smiled at him from the ground, and it was so sad that Steve wanted to punch Hawkins, his younger self and everyone who made Munson look this self-deprecating. "You don't have to, Steve. Pity isn't a good look on you."

"It's not," he said quickly, with more force than he'd intended. "Seriously, Eddie. It's not. It's…curiosity for me too. And maybe I also need to take my mind off things, because this whole week has been so incredibly shitty, more for me than you, but still, and it's not like we have anything better to do anyways. So I'm asking again, a bit more tactfully this time - may I kiss you before you change your mind and stop liking jocks?"

"Not gonna happen," whispered Eddie, but his smile was wider now. There was a strange sheen to his eyes, but Steve was only focused on buying just a bit more time, a few more minutes, even seconds. "Come on, big boy. Deflower my lips. Or something."

"You just had to make it weird."

Steve leaned down and inspected Eddie's face. It was covered in drying blood, so were his lips, but it didn't matter. He moved even further, still maintaining the pressure on Eddie's neck wound, and pressed their lips together.

It wasn't much, he was careful not to obstruct Eddie's breathing, but it felt nice. He imagined what it might have been like under different circumstances - Eddie's stubble against his chin, maybe taste of his cigarettes instead of blood, hand in his wild hair and around his slender waist. He winced as Eddie's tongue darted out and licked the cut in Steve's lip, but he met him halfway without hesitation.

As he started pulling away to give Eddie more space to breathe, Steve had a sudden realization. Despite his loudness and abrasive behavior, Eddie deserved the gentleness, the caution. Steve wondered if he could have given it to him in another time, another life.

"So," he asked, still hovering over Eddie, "was that everything you dreamed of?"

Eddie's voice was barely more than a sigh now. "Bit…less blood in my dreams. But…yeah. I really wish…"

The hand on his wound was slipping again. Steve moved it back. "Yeah?"

"I really wish I could have come back for more."

His hand dropped again, and this time, no matter how much Steve threatened, argued or pleaded, it wouldn't rise again.

"Eddie." Steve nudged him again, but his body was still. "Hey, Eddie. Wake up. You can come back for more anytime you want. Just…just hold on, get better and then you can have as many kisses as you want. Come on. Don't…"

When Nancy and Robin finally made it back with supplies, they found Steve still covering Eddie's wounds, not leaving his side. When they tried to move him, to make him let go of Eddie's body, Steve could only say one thing - "I made a promise."

..

Two weeks passed. The world was still ending, Max was in a coma, and Eddie was gone. It felt wrong, being able to summarize so much pain in such few words. Steve couldn't look Dustin in the eye, grateful for the return of the California crew so that Dustin had someone to support him apart from Lucas. He broke two promises in the same day, probably the most important ones he'd ever made.

His body functioned on autopilot. Donations, disaster relief, he did it all to keep busy. He slept very little, but when he did, he no longer had the intense, terrifying nightmares. Instead, he dreamt of Eddie, alive and well, meeting him in a bar, at Skull Rock, kissing him again and again.

Every day he woke up, had a blissful moment when reality was hazy, and then it hit. Eddie would never kiss him again.

It was yet another night full of tossing and turning in his bed. When Steve finally fell asleep, he was in a familiar dream. Sweet and soft kisses, Eddie's hair tickling his face. But this time, his lips felt more rough, and there was sharp pressure on his lower lip.

When he woke up, he thought he was still dreaming. His head was gently cradled by slender hands, long hair was tickling his face…and Eddie was in his bed.

He was dirty, covered in crusts of dried blood. His clothes were torn and the unnatural sheen in his eyes that Steve had noticed back in the Upside Down made it seem like the whites of his eyes were glowing. His nails were sharp, his canines were peeking out from under his upper lip, but it was him, in flesh. In scarred but miraculously healed flesh. 

"Eddie?"

"You said," he whispered, and it sounded raspy, rough. "You said I could come back for more."

It might have been a dream - or maybe not, Steve would find traces of mud and a familiar looking bandana in his bed the next day. But Steve didn't know that yet. What he knew was this - even if it was a dream, even if he was about to have yet another painful realization the next day, he'd take it. Because Eddie was worth every single second of that pain.

He wrapped his arms around the dream visitor's neck and pulled him back into his bed. "I did say that. And I'm a man of my word."

[seonghw4ffles]

daydream

" it's your world, and i'm just in it. "

playing boy in luv, after school, happy fools ...

hongjoong x fem!reader

au: highschool

genre: grumpy!reader x sunshine!hongjoong, pure fluff, bad test score comfort, hongjoongs cocky but not really, first kiss

w/c: 1.4k

summary: you don't understand what went wrong. you're known to be the winner of these competitive exams, as the top a-grade student of the entire school, and it seems like your reputation has now been crushed. as the scoreboard was displayed, your name didn't fit in second place. your eyes, widened, follows north to the victor, and you're now in greater shock at who it is. kim hongjoong? how is he there?? he's absent less than half the time, class clown, and a jerk. he is the last person you could ever guess who held the capability of defeating you.

tw: ice cream, especially mint chocolate if that tells you anything, drenching rain, skibidi toilet idk

note: yeah if u could guess yea i got an ass test score and its the WORST when ur a perfectionist yeah this is just pure comfort, its NOT proofread cuz i just rambled on and on w this, and its so rushed for A REASON chat oh and also i wanna get back at him for hating my favourite ice cream flavour.

"heyyyy…"

hongjoong stands as he listens through the bathroom door, hearing the sobs of his nightmares. his ears instinctively presses to the gap between the door and the wall.

"hongjoong, go away."

"that's not nice."

he is genuinely inexperienced in this type of situation. he never cared, because he had nobody to comfort anyway, but at this moment, he wishes he spent his whole life studying therapy. he lightly trembles on his feet only listening to you cry. he does not know what to say.

"do… do you want to talk about it..?" he asks gently.

"you already know."

"yeah, but…"

hongjoong's fists clench. he always thought it was easy to comfort someone, but he now realises how impossible it seems to be. he strikes the restrictive, annoying door with his fist out of irritation.

"stop crying."

"get lost."

hongjoong loudly groans, slumping against the bathroom door downwards to end up sitting on the dirty floor. despite the crowds walking around the corridors to leave the school like escaping from a torture chamber, he can hear your crying way too clearly. he knows he probably looks crazy to be sitting against the door of the women's bathroom, but it is quite literally the last thing he is concerned about. you cannot ruin your own reputation if you never had one at all.

"come onn, 82% is not bad at all," he whines, really trying his best to convince you.

"compared to my other test scores, it looks disgusting."

your voice cracks, and so does hongjoong.

he slowly turns to look at the door. "hey… if it makes you feel better, wooyoung got 59%," he says, gently and affectionately, in hopes that it would comfort you.

"i don't care about wooyoung."

hongjoong slams his fist against the door once again.

"you're being annoyinggggg!! just come ouuutttt!!!!!!"

"no."

he groans again, loudly, leaning his head back. the stubbornness is killing him, and hongjoong is not one for patience. he never understood why a boy would want to sit against a public womens bathroom all for a girl… until you. however, all that frustration suddenly dissolves after he hears you giggle.

his head snaps up, and his heart flutters.

"y/n, if you come out, we can go to the park and get ice cream. i'll pay. to make you feel better."

˖ ࣪⭑

"there were 15 choices, and out of every single flavour, you chose mint chocolate??" he mumbles, looking sickened by the strange green coloured ice cream you're grasping. he sounds as if he did not intend for you to hear, as if he was merely saying aloud of what's on his mind.

"you don't like mint chocolate??" your head snaps as you reply, more than surprised.

"i don't understand why people would like such a thing."

"i don't think i can continue talking to you anymore."

"why would you like something that tastes exactly like toothpaste?"

"toothpaste?!-" you repeat loudly, now leaning your head lower to investigate him as he mindlessly consumes his ice cream, rising in astonishment the longer this topic is being talked about. your friend, seonghwa, has the same view and oftenly uses the same point against you. you sometimes wonder why everyone that knows you is always against you in almost everything. 

"you're literally eating rainbow flavour. you can't be more shallow than that," you rebut.

"what?"

"mint adds personality. rainbow flavour... what are we? five??"

he is bewildered by what you said.

"EXCUSE ME?!?>>!?!>?!?!!??!>?!" hongjoong exclaims. "i got the highest of the whole school, thank you very much, little miss smarty girl or whatever."

being the competitive person you are, the topic brought up annoys you. you're still tremendously salty about the outcome of that event. you really expected to be first, like all those other times.

he is one great child of mischief. he listens to no one, and is involved in every physical fight. schoolwork is nothing to him, considering his awful reports of missing assigments. however, you are the complete opposite. sure you're straight a's but you also work hard, hence the term 'lazy genius' throws you off the most.

hongjoong seems visibly amused by your silence, as if nothing was funnier.

you huff. "how did you get FULL MARKS on that damn test??"

"oh," he laughs. "math is easy."

"go away from me," you immediately respond.

"heehee~~"

but despite that, you never felt so easily reassured after such a plight like that until now. sure, you're disappointed, but the stroll with hongjoong strangely makes everything okay.

the conversations turned into silence, enjoying the outside, appreciating the beauty of the city. and maybe, just subtly, each other as well.

nothing felt more fulfilling.

you walk across the city, greatly dazzled by a few paintings displayed on the exterior of a building. "you like art?" you ask hongjoong, witnessing the way he immerses in them. he never appeared to be one with a passion for such things. "yeah. i can't create art, though, which is a shame."

unlike him, you liked creating art a lot. you were known to be a good artist by many. in fact, there was a temporary art exhibition held at your school not long ago, involving pieces developed by countless students, including yours. you remember him being the last one there as a guest after everyone left satisfied, although couldn't recall a piece with his name.

"you spent a lot of time at the school's exhibition."

"it's really cool that i'm within a community of many great artists."

it's indeed very odd for a clown like him to appreciate something so much, especially one that involves the most patience, such as art.

"hongjoong, which painting was your favourite?" you ask, your eyes gazing at the public creations drifting past as you walk.

"truthfully? yours," he says with no hesitation.

you slowly turn towards him, quite unexpected of that answer. "huh?"

"yours. whenever i observe them, i feel like i'm somewhere else. a dream, perhaps, rather than mere paint on a canvas."

he catches you surprised, and he smiles.

you never really felt this flattered. nobody complimented your art with such sincerity. maybe this hongjoong guy in your class isn't as bad as you depicted him to be.

the walk continued, and it was wonderful.

˖ ࣪⭑

"it's OKAY that you're upset! it's a GOOD thing!!"

he laughs, breaking free from under the umbrella to spin around in the soaking rain. hongjoong turns to you with an invincible, illuminant smile.

all you could do was dread school, everything, after that test score.

but despite the desperately falling rain, the cold breeze and the faded sunshine, he remains happy. it seems as if there is truly nothing he fears. he stands out in the darkness. he has the glamorous ability to make an environment so suffocating into a moment so beautiful. before hongjoong, you never noticed the refreshing smell of dew that blooms in wet weather, or the raindrops creating beautiful rings on the puddles of the ground. yet, you still cannot decide if hongjoong's mysterious enthusiasm was rather impressive or just infuriating.

"can you just… stop being so… you, right now?"

you stop walking, tightening your grip on the umbrella while staring right at him, watching him pause and turn around.

you both stare in silence at one another, your surroundings of the threatening winds and rain now feeling louder than before. in merely a few words, the adrenaline mood that hongjoong has constructed has now vanished within the harsh winds. the sudden tension causes you to instantly drown into deep regret.

"hongjoong… i just-"

you are cut off by his large, sudden step towards you. he holds out his hand, and you flinch at the sudden touch from your cheeks to your soaked hair. he hides a stream carefully behind your ear as he gazes. his fingers felt so soft and gentle, despite that it is the hands of your greatest academic rival. he smiles, and you feel as though he has reached through you and mended your stone-cold heart.

he brings his face closer, now inches away.

"i know," he mutters. it is the only few words you needed to recover.

"as much as i like you, y/n, i'm going to kindly decline that offer."

he was quiet, but was close enough for you to listen to every word he says and every detail of his voice. his voice sounds treasuring, his words felt soothing, and the way your name leaves his mouth makes you a little happier.

and he kisses you.

he kisses you like there was nothing else in the world. like the rain wasn't pouring, like the cars weren't tumultuous. you felt warm.

you were unable to fully comprehend this entire situation before he already stepped backwards. his smile remains wide, despite his completely soaked frame, continuing to be a target for the clouds to rain on.

"now, if you continue to waste time, i'm dragging you home before you catch a cold."

[yurislotusgarden]

“YOU NEVER HAD A HANGOVER!?”

ʚїɞ Separately! Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya x Reader

ʚїɞ format: short headcanons

ʚїɞ Keep in mind English is not my first language, so you may find mistakes!

ʚїɞ word count: 449

ʚїɞ Tw’s: None! Just pure fluff, pet names used, reader’s gender is not specified in any way

ʚїɞ Posting this on my birthday wooo! I'm 18 now therefore old /j. This comes from the fact that I was not hangover the day after my 18th bday party on Saturday (Fuck the fact that my bday is on Monday this year, literally the week day I hate the most LMAO)

ཐིཋྀ One of the times he was genuinely surprised

ཐིཋྀ Like tf you mean you never had a hangover?

“You mean never? Like not even after your 18th birthday party?”

“I didn’t.”

“But you said you drank enough to have one if you barely drank alcohol before! Which is exactly what you did! You barely had any in your life before the party!”

“Yeah, and I didn’t have any problem the next day.”

ཐིཋྀ Bro is jealous that you never experienced the pain of having a hangover but also happy because that means less pain for his belladonna <3

ཐིཋྀ If you’re a person who drinks quite often or from time to time, he will make sure you don’t drink enough to be hungover the next day by accident

ཐིཋྀ If you’re a person who doesn’t drink, or barely ever because you don’t like the taste, he still looks out for you, but less because he has more confidence that you won’t have a hangover even by accident

ཐིཋྀ If you do get it after that convo, the fucker will straight up laugh at you but will give you water, pills, and anything else you might need

ཐིཋྀ And if you ask him to give you alcohol and drink with you to actually experience it at least once, well who is he to say no? :)

ཐིཋྀ When you told him you never had a hangover he looked at you in disbelief and thought you were lying😭

ཐིཋྀ At first, he thought you were lying about how much you drank at your 18th birthday party because he was thinking that there’s no way that you were completely fine the next day

“So you’ve never had a hangover before?”

“Nope.”

“No matter how much you drank?”

“I never drank THAT much, thank you very much.”

“But you drank enough that someone else would have it.”

“Yeah, once I was drinking with my friends, we all drank the exact same amount, and yet I was the only one who was good the next day.”

“Doll, wanna give me your alcohol tolerance?”

“I’d rather keep it, thanks, dear.”

ཐིཋྀ The ginger didn't believe you until, one day, he got you both two bottles of wine from the same brand, the next day he had a hangover and you had to help him as you were fine

ཐིཋྀ He never doubted you on that topic again You guys tested how much alcohol it takes to get you to have a hangover and you cussed him out for the idea the next day when you did have it

ཐིཋྀ He’s lowkey jealous because he has hangovers so often

ཐིཋྀ You guys definitely used your alcohol tolerance to win bets between you and your friends more than once

Notes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated

[crow-aeris]

Okay but like, imagine:

a little phoenix!Tim finding out that Jason died, and goes absolutely balistic. He sneaks out in the middle of the night and into the cemetary. He brings a shovel, a crowbar, and gets to digging.

in the dead of night, illuminated by only the glowing orange-red light of his wings, Tim pries open a wooden coffin with dirty and splintered hands before peering down at the resting body. It was bruised, burned, lifeless, and Tim could feel some part of himself SHRIEK at the wrongness. Tim assumes it’s beacuase he’s desecrating the resting place of his personal hero… but little does he know…

Why does he feel this unsettled? He’s seen dead bodies before, so why does Jason’s make him feel… disgusted?

with shaky hands, tim plucks out one of his primaries, a beautiful glowing thing capable of bringing back dead rabbits and dogs. he gingerly places it on the center of jason’s chest, waiting with baited breath, but…

Why wasn’t it working?

WHY WASN’T IT WORKING?!

Panic seizes Tim’s throat, but h forces himself to remain calm. Surely there’s a reason for this, right? He’s only ever tested his feathers on animals, and- and animals don’t wear clothes, so that must be the thing stopping him, right?

His hands are shaking, trembling and twitching as he tried to undo the suit Jason was buried in. Tim knows he’d hate this- both the suit and the dying- but what can a dead kid do to stop what happens after death?

Nausea rises in his stomach and bile burns the back of his throat, but Tim forces himself to continue. Goddamnit he’ll continue, even if it kills him. As long as Jason comes back, he’ll continue.

The sound of fabric tearing fills the air, but Tim could barely hear it over his rabbit-quick heart pounding in his ears.

Tim tries again, resting the feather onto Jason’s cold, unmoving chest…

But- but there was nothing.

Nothing- why wasn’t anything happening?!

The plucked feather was slowly losing its glow the longer it was severed from Tim’s body. If it had been used, then the feather would’ve glowed brighter before shattering into hundreds of smaller sparks and being absorbed into the creature’s skin. The light would disperse from the original point before settling and healing the wounds from the level of most, to least lethal. The smaller the feather, the less the effect the healing took…

He’s tried to heal the dead before, and it always worked on animals, so why. Wasn’t. It. WORKING?

Tim clenched his jaw, eyes narrowed with frustration before bringing his wing closer to to chest. He reached up for a handful of feathers before YANKING.

The sharp and metallic taste of blood coated his tongue as tears blurred his vision. A fistful of bright glowing feathers lit of Jason’s peaceful expression. Tim felt his breath hitching with the pain, but he shoved past it. Instead, Tim forced his handful of primaries, coverts, and down against Jason’s chest…

And yet, it refused to work.

It refused to work.

Why was it refusing to work?!

He wailed.

“WHY. WON’T. YOU. WORK?!” Tim screamed, tears staining his cheeks, rolling down his chin and splashing against the fading feathers. The familiar tingling sensation spread from his back, reaching his brusied and battered hands before coalescing in his bloodied lip. He sobbed, collapsing into the disturbed earth as his tears stained Jason’s suit jacket. Tim’s throat ached from the scream, but he managed to sob out, “Why won’t you work? I just want Jason back… Please, I just want Robin back…”

Distracted and drowning in his grief, tim didn’t realize the assassing clothed in darkness creep up behind him. Pressing a damp cloth against his nose and mouth. He tried to fight, a strangled scream fleeing his lips for the barest of seconds before everything was engulfed in darkness.

=====

Hey y’all… if enough ppl show support for this little story, I’ll continue to write ;]

I’ve already thought out how tim’s healing works :3 (please ask me, I’m literally going feral here)

Part two is up, and it’s here! (I literally love hyperlinks so much)

[thegoldencontracts]

Hullo! If you're taking fic requests, may I politely ask for an 'x Azul' one involving Azul getting really invested in market research for something a little pointless? Maybe it's trying twenty different kinds of olive to see which makes the best garnish, maybe it's minor variations on their standard cloth napkins as sorted by softness, who knows? Just something he makes the MC test for him and he's very lucky MC loves him enough to put up with it.

Of course, something has to go wrong eventually. Maybe teaming up with the tweels to end the constant stream of tests? Shenanigans are always welcome~ hehehe.

Thank you for your time!

Of course! Azul my belovedd <3 Anyways, thank you for the request, and a little note to anyone reading that I appreciate any and all requests!

Of Much Importance

Summary: Azul is a man of business, even when that business-matter involves making his dearly beloved test out dishes for him. Except, he's making you test to see how many flakes of chili is optimal? Flakes?

Unless you do something, you're going to be here forever - or until your stomach bursts.

Notes: Fluff, and some humor, a bit of flirting

"Darling," Azul - your lovely, lovely boyfriend you who you were on the verge of murdering if it weren't for the fact that he had superstrength, and the twins were actually surprisingly protective when he was badly hurt, and you loved him too much - said, holding yet another plate of the same guacamole but with one more chili flakes. "Does this one taste better?"

You were at a seat in the currently closed Lounge, which would've meant no one would hear him scream if you punched him, but of course, the twins were sitting at the next table, being subjected to the same thing as you.

It tastes the exact same because this is literally the exact same dish with one more chili flakes. You think anyone'll notice that, Azul? You wanted to say.

Instead, you just tried to appease him. He seemed pretty stressed, and for good reason. Finals were coming up, and that meant a surge of new contracts for him, and a surge of sleepless nights, if the way his concealer had gotten heavier said anything. He was zoning in on every little detail, and you understood why. That didn't make it any less frustrating.

"I'm sure it's fine-"

"No." Azul said, sounding way too intense for someone talking about a singular chili flake. "This is sub-optimal. I must conduct further research. I apologize, but I will temporarily leave."

"Bye," you said, trying not to sound too happy.

Finally, a break for your stomach! Your poor, poor stomach. You still remembered how this all started.

"Darling, would you mind taste-testing a few new recipes for me?"

"Of course not!"

You thought it would be easy. You were so, so wrong. Because those 'few' recipes were actually over a hundred. And those recipes were the exact same guacamole with one more chili flake each time.

You hated guacamole now. The next time you saw an avocado, you'd have an aneurysm.

As you lamented, the twins entered your field of vision. Here to float, you guessed.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh at me," you said, but neither of them were laughing. Jade had his polite smile, but it was strained. His eye was twitching.

Finally, Floyd spoke up.

"I can't take this anymore!" He said. "You gotta find a way to make him stop!"

They were suffering too? You guys were companions in misery?

"Jade?" You asked.

"I'm afraid I must agree," he said. "This is becoming much too trying for me to bear. I fear my stomach may no longer be able to contain this food."

So, you really were cohorts in misery. The question was, now what? What did you do? Azul could come back any moment.

"Do you have a plan then?"

Please let them have a plan, please. You couldn't take this anymore.

Silence. You were beginning to lose hope when Floyd spoke up.

"Flirt with him," he said, sounding way too serious considering what he was suggesting.

That was his best idea? Flirting?

Wait.

Azul was great at being suave, but maybe he couldn't take what he dished out. In fact, he probably couldn't take what he dished out.

"Floyd."

"Yeah?"

"Has anyone told you you're a genius?" You asked.

"All the time," Floyd said, though he didn't seem smug. "Hate it. They keep telling me to apply myself. Usually the thing they're telling me to do's super boring."

Oh, right. Floyd was actually a savant.

"Get back to your seats. We can't look too suspicious," you said, and the twins nodded, scampering back to their seats.

Just in time, because at that moment, Azul walked back into the restaurant, carrying another plate of guacamole with him.

"Is this one better?" He said, but this time, instead of appeasing him, you stood up, leaning in close. It was time for you to use that dating-sim knowledge.

"How do you expect me to focus on the food when I've got the most gorgeous man this world has to offer staring at me?"

Azul flushed, turning away with a huff.

"Regardless of the falsehood of that statement, it is entirely irrelevant to this conversation," he said. That wouldn't do. You weren't going to let him get out of this.

"Now, now," you said, hooking an arm around his shoulder. "Don't deny it, darling."

In an attempt to maintain his composure, Azul looked away. You just hooked a finger under his chin to combat that.

"Don't deny me the privilege of watching you lose your composure like this, Azul," you said, enjoying every second of this.

"I, er-"

You leaned in, puckering your lips. Azul scrunched his eyes shut in anticipation.

But nothing happened. After a while, Azul finally opened his eyes, and you couldn't help but burst into laughter.

"You- you looked hilarious!" You said. "All red n' blushy. I should really do this more often."

Azul scowled, swatting you away.

"Leave at once," he said, though there wasn't any bite to his voice. "I shall go to my room and continue this endeavor in private."

No more guacamole? No more guacamole! Yes! Victory, at last.

"Of course." As you left, you could see Jade and Floyd give you a thumbs up.

Back in your room, but you couldn't help but smile. As irritating as this whole endeavor had been - and as bad as it was for your stomach - you couldn't deny that this new side to Azul was one you enjoyed.

You really would have to do this more often.