#**I used this rather than satisfied cause I read it in a confessions of a shopaholic book 😄

[camileeon]

SPARKS FLY!

🍵- TO 500! THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE AND SUPPORT EVERYONE!

🦋- (GN!Reader x Camilo Carlos Madrigal)

🍊- i just made something unexpected.. ANYWAY- A SPECIAL ONE FOR ALL OF US! Not gonna say anything else other than i love you all so much and im literally so grateful to have such an audience here on tumblr! ENJOY!! 💗

[•••]

Alright alright.. he was gonna do it. Though what if he messes up? Their name echoed in his head as his flustered thought swirled into a hurricane that never seemed to end, they were so pretty and he needed to tell them that but the problem was he couldn't bring himself to or even know how to.

Y/n, the best friend of the infamous Carlos Madrigal had found a way to strike one of the "feelings" arrow into his heart. Their friendship was confusing as others described, he would always be messing with them and tripping them over his foot so they could fall face first on the pavement. Or they would find a way to get a hold of the madrigal's maroon ruana for him to wear a completely different colored one for the day which they knew absolutely irritated him just by the thought of it.

The two also loved to playfully hit on eachother with weird statements and secretly tried to make one another blush that one time but it was totally platonic.. right? Reminiscing back to that one short but humorous conversation..

“ Tell me I'm pretty y/n, take this as a chance where you can admit how you feel about me.” the madrigal proudly puffed his chest while standing side by side with them, nudging them slightly.

“sure..~ you're pretty.. pretty fucking annoying, satisfied? you better shut up now.”

“Shut me up with those lips of yours.” He retorted,

“you're gross.”

“no you are.”

It eventually ended with them smacking him on the nape of his neck, tolerated by how he was or not, he was getting to their nerves.

Jumping back to the present, he had very little of a confidence whenever it came to the feelings and sappy stuff with romance. Sure he was good at flirting and flustering other people but he never actually dealt with it's reality. Zipping his lips about how he actually felt but had to tell someone eventually, spilling the news to a few of his friends but got nothing out of it other than teasing remarks and comments on him actually being a big softie when it came to them.

Even making the effot to going to the town's library to find a something that can give him a start on what to do to confess, looking through romance novels weren't his usually forte but did and would do anything when it came to them. But in the end feeling stumped or rather defeated, not having a clue on what to do before realizing that they would've appreciated something simple and less extravagant than the useless books he read stated. Working up to just be direct and straightforward about how he felt, nothing bad is going to happen if he gets rejected anyway, it may cause a hole in his heart that could be hurt for awhile but know would eventually get over it in due time.

Carlos had ambled around looking for them around the town square just to spot them with some other friend of theirs they had mentioned, feeling a slight burning flicker inside of him once he saw them with them. The madrigal knew nothing was wrong with that but why does he feel this way? he bit the skin inside his cheek and had waited for their friend to walk away so he could finally get to them, feeling rather restless and fidgety as he walked up to them having a smile on their face from the previous interaction. All the pining and denied emotions just for this.. hopefully it was gonna be worth it.

“F/n? Huh?”

“yeah they wanted to hang out for the day, what's up?” they questioned calmly, having all their focus on him. He seemed a bit odd, wasn't like his usual asshole-ish self.

“but why you..” his eyes wandered elsewhere as he mumbled under his breath, a silence intervened for a few seconds.

“why me? is there supposed to be a right answer for that..? Jealous?” they suggested as a joke before nudging his arm

“ he could've hung out with someone else, why does always everyone pick you to hang out with when you're the only one supposed to spend time with me.?” speaking sternly as he balled his hands into a fist.

All he said was true, though he never thought he would've said it out loud. Right in front of them. Blurting out all the things he said in one breath which left a flustered yet surprised expression on the other's face, picking up the puzzled pieces from how he acted and why he did so.

“Do you perhaps like someone.?” they continued to step on the sidewalk as the sky's hues alternated with orange to darker hues as it has gotten late.

Carlos stayed silent, nodding as a response to their answer “.. yes i do, they're very very.. close to you.” Speaking in a shy but loud tone just enough for the both of them to hear.

“wonder who it is..” they pondered playfully before a smile lit up their expression, feeling his hands on their shoulders before being pushed on the wall behind y/n and for him to near them. His face risen to a tinted glow which was now noticable to their face as well, the distance between them felt ecstatic. Like how sparks and fireworks flew to blur the world around them, only being the two who mattered at that moment.

“I'll save your wondering up for something else.. I'll tell you who though.. it's a secret only the both of us are supposed to know.” Carlos leaned closer to their ear to whisper as a smile appeared on his lips once he had gotten a good look at them.

“it's you.”

Bonus!!--- 🍊

“oh i know it's me, i've known ever since.” they spoke back with a triumphant gaze that was laid on the boy in front of them, his expression turning back into a slight bashful one. Not really surprised because he surely was obvious, that was also one of the reasons why they're his best friend. They could see the things that other people can't see when it came to him.. a sly smug expression joined his face, scoffing to respond

“ i hate how much i love you.”

“you have no idea, i love you most.” they responded, feelings the tips of their noses brush as they fell into eachother's arms once more, finally putting an end to the electric space with a kiss.

TAGLIST!:

@destinydrawssometimes

@camilolovesroxiie

@i-more-need-books

@aphrodicts-imagination

@s1mpystuff

@dai-tsukki-desu

@pepasfavorite

@kaxiaowow

@azrielxx

@l-e-m-o-n-g-a-y

@astroddon

@try-cry-why-try

@lolalee24

[blackswaneuroparedux]

I read Nietzsche years ago, but now - because we've come to live in a woke world, and wokeness, as Nietzsche himself would doubtless have pointed out, is so palpably derived from Christianity - he seems infinitely more shocking than he did.

- Tom Holland, Dominion: The Making of the Western Mind

Holland’s point is a simple one, our sense of ourselves - our Western identity - is derived less from Greek or Roman origins than from Christianity. Our language, our morality, our ethics, our sense of right and wrong, our sense of justice and so and so forth are all nourished from Christian roots. In our Western society, the language with which we debate secularism, atheism, human rights, or any other controversial subject are knowingly or unknowingly shaped by a uniquely Christian ethical world view.

It’s hard not to see a similarity to wokism (or wokeism or woke-ism, hmmm)), which contends that society is grotesquely unjust and, in fact, white supremacist. Those with power are privileged and perpetuate systemic racism, while those who are indigent and/or without social status are noble victims of the oppressive order. In the woke narrative, though, god has been replaced by the secular justice of the anti-racist crusader. Their efforts, not the intervention of a deity, is what will usher in an era of justice, overturning the corrupt world now inhabit. Although the puzzle Nietzsche sought to solve in “Genealogy of Morals” was not, of course, the origin and rise of wokism, his analysis of the triumph of Christianity is illuminating and quite useful. According to Nietzsche, the weak were bitterly envious of the powerful, but incapable of actually conquering them physically. Therefore, they created the conception of a deferred justice, one in which the wrongs of the world would be righted and turned the concept of “bad” into “evil.” They were not actually weak and impotent, but noble and oppressed. And the powerful were not righteous and aristocratic, but brutal, evil, and exploitative. We see here the basic narrative of apocalypticism and the basic outline of a psychological explanation for its appeal. People who have low status, whatever the cause, are generally reluctant to confess that they deserve their lowly position in society. And they will be attracted to narratives that claim that, in fact, they are not lowly because of they deserve to be, but rather because of some fundamental corruption in the universe, some deviation from the “right.” Wokism, like other apocalyptic narratives (e.g., some extremist strands of Judaism and Christianity, communism), thus attracts people who are or were low in status because it explains that they would/should be more elevated. But, Wokism, like Christianity after the imperial Constantine, is also an elite phenomenon. And this is where Nietzsche’s analysis, I think, sputters. Many hyper-educated people are also attracted to and ardently articulate and defend the doctrines of wokism. Surely, they aren’t bitter about their lack of status?

Instead, I think they are attracted to wokism for two reasons: One, because it functions as as a status system to distinguish educated elites from hoi polloi and two, because, like other religions, is provides a powerful justification for distinctions in status. It’s an elite form of virtue signalling. Status disparities cause tension in society. This, in fact, is the chief observation behind the appeal of apocalypticism for those low in prestige: It satisfies their grievances by suggesting that they will, in a just world, be elevated over the corrupt who now have status. Therefore, those who have status need to justify it to others and perhaps especially if they are egalitarians to themselves. Wokism serves this function by suggesting that their status is cosmically just because it is congruent with their righteousness. This happy thought also likely soothes their own vexatious reflections on the massive disparities between hoi polloi and themselves. No reason to feel guilty if status is earned through spiritual purity. Like any good ideology, wokism appeals to multiple factions in society at the same time. It appeals to those who have low status because it contends that the poor, the lowly, the “last” are actually noble victims of an intolerable evil. And when the just world of the future arrives, those who are now last will indeed be first. And it appeals to educated elites because it provides a rich signaling vocabulary that they can use to distinguish themselves from relatively uneducated whites while also justifying their status to others and to themselves.

Wokism, therefore, is both a philosophy of ressentiment and an elitist apologetic. No wonder it has proliferated so rapidly amongst the misguided middle classes intellectualised on emotion and grievance over reason and experience, truth and history.

[hiroshikoi]

Your Romantic Partner Cheating On You - Pile Three

I couldn’t copy-paste the rest of the readings in one post, so I have separated the rest of the piles into individual text posts.

Here’s the link to the original pick-a-pile post for you to choose from 3 piles if this isn’t yours!

3 • Pile Three

:. How would they cheat?

They would tell you about them feeling like there’s something missing in you guy’s relationship when it comes to them. They didn’t fully talk about it though, like there were three lines of dialogue from them and used that ‘conversation’ of yours as a “pass” to allow them to cheat on you 😶‍🌫️. Its like they were itching to get what they need (from you) and they “took initiative” and got it from someone else. “I told you we needed a break” they would noticeably spin this around on you when they just had to be patient, be more upfront, and tried harder with you rather than doing this. Its like they took the “easiest” solution out to their problem but was obviously not the best. I only seeing them doing this once and with one person though, and they’d tell you/show it in front of your face. I see them kissing someone else in front of you in a party and them literally video-calling their side-person right beside you, beating it 🤡, while you’re both in you guys’ shared bed or them doing it in you guys’ bedroom while you’re out but making sure you hear them doing it (exaggerated skin slapping, i also hear the person going along with it and purposely trying to anger you by moaning loudly). As if saying “this is your fault, so i should be allowed to do this, its your doing” (the person they’re f*cking might also flat-out say that to try to anger you too “its your fault!!!”)

Also i keep on sensing it so I’ll say it, your partner may be quite social and extroverted that they got a person so quickly its as if they already got a person in their phonebook labeled “person to cheat on my girl/man with” 🤡 (they don’t, this would just be a random person. i’m getting a random person they may have got from a mall.. not even a club or some typical place you’d get romantic interests from)

:. Why would they cheat?

I touched on this in the previous question, but from an outside looking in perspective… they would cheat because they didn’t try hard enough. They were impatient, and didn’t choose to talk to you more to resolve this problem of theirs. There would be little things that would annoy them/“test their patience” with you that it all came together and caused him to do this. They lack the skill of dealing with their own inner troubles inside. They’re not very contemplative… not enough to avoid such “outbursts” such as this. They may not always say exactly what they want or what is bothering them, therefore again, their issues become unresolved until they can’t take it anymore. Looking at the picture you’ve chosen… metaphorically.. rather than taking a stormy weather as an opportunity to play in the rain or play indoor games with you, they focused on the fact that they can’t be doing outdoor activities.

🎶 10-20-40 by Rina Sawayama || They may be more social and extroverted and because of that, it may have helped with them getting into a romantic relationship with you (or with anyone for that matter). They’re upfront about the obvious and predominant emotions they would feel for someone else, and therefore confess to them and do all those things that comes with liking someone. But… because they don’t know themselves well, then they don’t know the core things that they want or need for them to be satisfied in an emotional connection. It may have been okay with the beginnings of the relationship (especially with their personality being more social & extroverted & upfront), but as it goes deeper.. it becomes a problem. The reason why they would cheat on you is because they didn’t go deep into themselves and help you help them.

:. How will you find it out? Will you find it out?

Again, I mentioned this previously but you’d find out by them telling you or literally showing it in front of you. It’d probably be more troubling if you didn’t know about it, because they’d be taunting you in the way your partner would go about it. Even though its not all the way as if they’re blowing on air trumpets with the signs “I’m Cheating On You!”, there’s definitely not really room for… much doubt lmao. Its like if you were to ask them where they’re going with perfume on and such, all dressed up at 9pm, they’d be like “I’m gonna go see someone” 👁👄👁.

🎶 I Know Places by Taylor Swift || Ohmygod… you know they’d probably be on the phone with their side-person with you in the room somewhere with them and they’d be all like “oh yeah, that’s fine. I know what time she/he leaves for work, we can just do it in here by the time actually.”

their side-person *mouth agape and confused probably*: “are.. you sure??”

your partner: “yeah”

Where’s all this openness go when the time comes where its the most needed? I’m trying to make this a bit longer to try to matchup with the lengths of the other piles but its just so straightforward that no other explanation is needed. “Shameless” would probably be the word for your partner, “the audacity”.

[diedbutterflies69]

Cars- Bang Chan imagine

Contains: explicit sexual contact, chan as hot rich hotel owner, car sex, slight degradation, blowjob, fingering, etc

Minors don't interct.

Working in one of the most expensive hotels in the country was something you never expected. You were just a normal student who was struggling to meet deadlines and pay for tuitions and so doing many part time jobs. A law student washing dishes in random restaurant and drooling over food, observing the way those chefs used to work with wok , deep fried food, the process fascinated you so much. Even though you were familiar with cooking since a young age it was rather more like responsibility, a chore. And that's how you learned cooking by slowly observing the chefs and utube videos, as changing the entire career dreams at the last year was little too wild and impossible. But struggles eventually leads to happiness, the owner of one of the restaurant you used to work at got surprisingly close with you ,her name lucy a single divorced hot milf she thaught you many skills and tricks with cooking. Your last straw before quitting the law school was getting failed . And just like that a blessing in disguise. She noticed how dishearted you were and then decided to give you the greatest opportunity in your life.

Working in God's menu was every chef's dream, and Lucy made your dream come true. The owner and main chef of God's menu Bang Chan was close with Lucy and just by that using some connections you got yourself inside that paradise, but Chan was a total boomer with you, he didn't wanted to give you job at the first place as you lacked experience and knowledge but he valued friendships way too much to deny Lucy.

Chan was always hard on you, constantly making you work with him, teaching the mystery behind flavours, making you memorize foreign cuisine recipes, you sweared you didn't even struggled that much in law school as there was no one lecture you and expect from you. He acted all tough just to make you perfect and eventually became close, you fell in the pit of one sided love the moment Chan agreed to hire you. What you adored most about Chan was how he always made sure to not make you panic while being near fire, never told you to hurry while cutting vegetables. His this small gestures meant so much too you. And in span of 7 months that baby was finally your boyfriend. Chan was someone who followed his heart and just like that, he confessed in the most cheesiest way possible. And here you are today a great chef with lot of knowledge and a handsome, caring and loving boyfriend. 3 years of loving relationship.

"baby~~ " you said while hugging your boyfriend from the back who was too invested in making a 4 tower cake for his best friend's wedding even though he wasn't much experienced with baking whatever he tried doing was no less than perfection.

"yes, baby? Need anything?", Chan asked you. Even though you have been listening to his sweet honey voice since years it never failed to make your heart flutter.

"stop working now, it's 2:30 am let's go home now", you whined slightly tipping on toes and kissing Chan's neck. Getting a small hum from your boyfriend.

"just few more minutes babe", Chan said turning back and softly giving pecking your forehead . You huffed in response being too tired of your boyfriend's night owl tendencies, you went back to the table and singing a good night in most extra way possible. Chan just smiled at his girlfriend, he too wanted to go home and just cuddle with you but work was trash .

Finally looking at clock it was 3 :15 something, his work finally done. After cleaning up every thing,washing the dishes and shoving the massive cake into refrigerator carefully, Chan happily made his way to you. He too saying baby~ in most extra way possible, he was an true night owl no matter how much he worked at nights without you being by his side he wasn't able to fall asleep. A habit he picked up 3 years ago.

"get up, it's 5 am", Chan whispered into your ear while aggressively moving you to make you leave your dreamland.

"aggh, good morning the love of my life", you said slowly leaving your subconscious world. Even in slight unconscious mind you were flirty and cheesy.

"good morning, it's 5 A.M ", Chan again told you a wrong time just messing up with you.

"what the fuck", you yelled being angry on your boyfriend's crazy work habits , you were glaring at him till he bought his his wrist infront of your face . His watch reading 3 : 08 , being confused and worried for your wrong vision you looked at the wall clock that to read 3:07 am.finally realising you have been scammed.

" you fucking lier", you yelled at Chan for pranking you, but you were glad that he finished the work soon.

"heheh", Chan laughed, he was too cute for you.

"let's just go home", you said trying to keep a poker face, packing your stuff then gripping Chan's hand and walking out of the space.

Going down through the elevator, Chan unleashing his 50 shades enthusiast.

"What is it about elevators?" Saying this and immediately pulling you into a deep kiss, he tasted like chocolate probably from the previous cake flavours, his tongue feeling so good while exploring your mouth, one hand at the back of your neck and the other interlocked with yours. His lips always felt like heaven.

He broke the kiss as the door opened, he adjusted your hair and outfit and locking his eyes with you giving you a warm smile, fully a contradiction to his previous action. This man's duality always suprised you.

"let's go baby~", Chan said getting out of elevator with you, hands interlocked moving back and forth, if someone saw you both they would probably think that you both are possessed, smiling and jumping like kids finally reached the car.

"let me open the door for you", Chan said with a smirk while opening the car door for you , there was not a single human present in the parking lot, creepy vibes but perfect for your both future activities. Chan entered the car and stared at you in the most innocent way possible.

"what?", You asked him giving him the same innocent eyes.

"babe, the kiss made me hard", Chan admitted almost shamelessly his eyes pointing at his pants , and yes it was a great hot site too notice.

"will you melt, till we reach home?", You asked Chan looking into his eyes hands slowly creeping to his thighs dangerously close to the not so safe zone.

"I would rather burst here than melt till we reach home", Chan said holding your hand bringing it straight over his memeber, you blushed deeply at his actions.

"Come on babe, we had done Car sex multiple times", Chan said making you blush and wet down there even more. You got a little too needy as the memories of Chan fucking you ruthlessly on the back site of the car came to your mind. Your hand still palming his cock through pants.

"hop on the backseat", you said almost breathlessly, Chan smirking at your needy , horny State. You both went on the backseat to make a great mess over there .

"aaah" , you moaned loudly as Chan slapped your left boob while sucking your neck. His teeth never failed at marking you all over, his touch was heaven especially whenever he squeezed the back of your neck or roughly groped those boobs. Detaching himself from your neck he gripped your neck in an erotically painful way and forcing you on your knees.

"Suck, use that mouth atleast one time for a good cause", Chan said , his degrading voice mixed with heavy lust. Nodding at his words , without wasting any time you bought your hands to undid his belt and zipper . Palming him through his boxers and finally releasing it from all restraints, you slowly put hs cock inside your mouth, he was really really hard. A fucking long and thick cock he had, you not being able to take him even half way as the position was slightly painful but nevertheless you started bopping your head up and down and palming the remaining with your hands. His loud groans and moans indicated that he was satisfied enough, you increased your speed, occassionally hollowing your cheeks to take him deeper every time. He gripped your head as he was close , he started to move your mouth as he pleased making you gag non stop, it hurted but you liked it so much. " You feel so fucking good, all mine", Chan said breathlessly after a final thrust and empting himself inside your mouth, his cum feeling your mouth in escasty. You sucked off every single drop not wasting anything.

Chan lifted you up from the car floor and made you sit on his lap. You looking fully fucked out, with clothes misplaced and mouth dripping with saliva and his liquid , black mascara tears running down.

"My precious slut", Chan said while making his way to your panties, your jeans were already removed a long ago.

"you want my fingers? Hmm?" Chan said as his fingers were slowly entering your pussy , his cold hands making you shiver .

"yes please sir" , you begged voice laced up with pure desperation and needily grinding on his fingers and thighs. Chan smirked again at you.

"what you want more, my fingers or my cock?" Chan made gave you 2 choices both of them heaven.

"your cock, sir please" You begged again. He finally smiles at you pure ill intention smile.

"Since you are too good girl, I should give you whatever you want", Chan said and finally bought his cock towards your tight leaking cunt slowly entering himself inside you.

"ride", Chan said and you felt like being on cloud nine. Slowly moving your hips up and down in decent speed . His cock fitted so well inside of you, it was pure bliss for you.

But without a warning Chan bought his hands towards your clit and pinching it making your whole body jolt in overstimulation.

" babe,you are too good, so deserve my fingers too", Chan said with a sadistic smile.

It's gonna be a long morning.

[stylistiquements]

Day 9 : Scronch'love.

𐐪𐑂 Pairing : Sapnap x fem!reader {Playlist}

𐐪𐑂 Summary : a lovely afternoon and an ancestral question; when are you going to join the dream smp?

𐐪𐑂 Word count : 1.5k

𐐪𐑂 Warning : swearing

Masterlist | Previous | Next

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

“Have you been here for a long time?”

“Have you been here for a long time?”

“Have you been here for a long time?”

Time bends and twists into unknowns shapes when well spent. So, you’re so not sure. Long enough for your fairy garden to start looking like at least a proper garden, long enough for your feet to start fidgeting, brushing against the soft fabric of the blanket ever so slightly and softly.

“Can you share your screen?”

“I’m just picking flowers, there’s nothing much to see,” you warn but it never does the proper job.

“That’s fine, I like watching you play.”

“Oh, do you now?”

“Yeah. You’ve been playing for years and you’re still dog water. It's almost soothing,” you hear him grin through the silkiness of his voice.

You smile evasively, palm gripping the mouse and executing on memory. Soon, Sapnap’s satisfied noises hovers and everything is just how it’s supposed to be. You spend a while humming the music of days and nights of the game while building your project. Sap helps from time to time, giving advice when his attention is there and leaving trails of compliments on his way. You don’t think the garden is necessarily that good, you don’t mind either.

“Do you think the tree should go on the left or the right of the pond?” You ask, fingers drumming back and forth between the two options. Right he says. "What about the roses, do I plant some or not?"

“It’s just a detail, don’t hurt your brain too much on that,” he says in a light tone, but you disagree.

“Details are what make things important. Like when you remember I prefer warm pillows so you give me yours, it’s just a detail but it makes me happy.”

“Of course I do; you’re a baby,” he murmurs teasingly.

With an arched eyebrow, you retort, “says you,” and silence follows for a second as you plant the tree on the right of the pond.

“Yeah, Dream already made sure I was aware of that.”

“Not sure why the piss baby thinks he’s qualified to have this conversation, buddy,” you note and Sap chuckles are as vivid as contagious. “Why would he call you a baby anyway? What have you done?”

“I-I’m not telling you.” As soon as the mumbles fades, your phone sends loud vibrations on your desk. You abandon your character to the night and the wildness, picking the phone as you murmur a low oh, okay. Whether it’s to your phone or Sapnap, that, isn’t really clear. Still, Sapnap’s words sound more distant, more of what wonders are made of. On the screen, a twitter notification of a certain Karl Jacobs.

“You’re not even listening to me anymore,” Sapnap whines.

“I don’t listen to whiny babies, sorry.”

“We’re on the verge of divorce, yn and it’s your fault.”

A scoff skitters out through teasing lips, “But you still talk about me all the time, don’t you?” Your voice drags through different lands, unknown and musky.

“So what?” He splutters all awkward like it’s some kind of confidence that shouldn’t have left his thoughts and, somehow, you’re surprised the almighty confidence has left the game. “Who said that?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re obsessed with me, admit it,” you demand and though you don’t notice it, too tangled with the moment, the atmosphere is tinted with a different nuance like it’s suddenly dawn at the end of a summer party.

“So are you.”

Now, your heart drums a strange yet familiar rhythm. Something made of secrets and uncertainty, something you decided to leave unnamed a long time ago. Sapnap, you reason, can’t be lied to. He knows better than words half meant, half made up and it’s annoying, really, but he just does somehow. If you dare to lie, he would know and then it would be even more annoying.

“Yeah, you’re living in my head rent free but at least I’m not trying to hide it.” No answer. You peek at the game, you’ve been slain by a spider. “Karl said that,” you resign yourself. “He said he was about to join the vc by the way.”

Before the conversation can carry on, the sound of Karl joining the call resonates. Being in this Discord server is like living in a house with 10 siblings, that’s what you understand from the way Sap exhales heavily.

“Oh, I am interrupting something?” Karl says, struck by a peculiar energy.

“Besties time Karl, besties time,” Sapnap mumbles beneath his breath and it chimes a little like disappointment.

“Well, too bad I guess,” Karl exclaims. “It's about time I meet miss Bunnyshow.”

Karl is like that gif of a cat sitting in a tiny box with the caption “if it fits, I sit”.

“Does that mean our passive aggressive subweet arc is over?” You ask, faking the dejection when your smile grows wide.

“Oh god, I hope not. That’s my favorite part of the day.”

"It means a lot to me. Especially coming from my comfort streamer Karl Jacobs," you confess.

Satisfied, your attention gets back on the game; flowers rooting gracefully into the dirt and hives ready to host the beloved honey bugs as Karl and Sap catch up on time being apart. Everything is quiet and peaceful like the end of an afternoon well spent.

“I like your garden,” Karl points out and you hum a thank you beneath your breath.

“So you can take Karl’s compliments but not mine.”

“We’re besties you’re honor. Sapnap you can leave now, thank you,” Karl giggles and you follow along.

“Sorry Karl, there’s only room for one man in my heart and that has to be Sapnap.”

He fakes a cry to keep the theatrics before adding without transitions, “You know if you asked Dream he’d probably let you on the SMP.”

“No thanks,” you grin.

“Sapnap, your girl doesn’t want to play with us.”

“She’s already been whitelisted for months now,” Sapnap informs but fails to comment on the first part of the complaint.

He’s not lying, but you feel like it says more about Dream’s stubbornness than it says about you. As for your best friend, he understands better than anyone that wish for privacy and it’s something made of respect like yours for his career. You’d rather see him shaped by all the light than being touched by a glimpse of it. He does, after all, deserves it all. So, that’s the contract you made with yourself because it made sense; being a supportive shadow. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that you’ve never considered streaming before. It’s that it’s his world more than yours.

Karl, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to think the same way, “This is unacceptable, I gotta send a few texts.”

“Lost cause, dude, lost cause,” you grin but stubbornness seems to be a pre required trait for those mcyts.

Before you have time to find a suitable comment about the newborn group chat, a new person joins the call and Sapnap's annoyance is even more palpable, "No fucking way dude. We can't even have a second of peace on this server."

"Why would you be in a discord call if you want peace. You're just dumb," Quackity retorts with an energy he and he only can ever own.

Then George joins and Dream follows on his heels and soon your ears are filled with conversations that are as loud as scattered. Your shoulders sink in the back of your chair as soft fingers try to brush the upcoming migraine away. This is why you can't join the SMP; -not really but still- too much energy that has to be processed at all time. And you should know better, being friend with a very chaotic boy for the last 15 years, but you're not somehow.

"No, fuck that," Sapnap mutters. "I'm out."

"You can't leave now we have things to discuss," George exclaims. "Bunny, explain to me how Sapnap's proposition is more appealing than mine."

"Because I know her more than you do," he defends, and he's right. Money isn't of you interest. Love, on the other hand...

"Because she's like scronch'love," Karl giggles mindlessly.

"The fuck does scronch'love mean?" You ask, amused.

"It's very simple," Quackity intervenes. "If I offered you the same thing, would you even consider it?"

"Of course I would. What kind of question is that?"

"Fine. So, if Sapnap keeps his offer, here is mine; you become the president of Las Nevadas in addition to what he said."

"What?" Sapnap takes offense.

The call brims with an agitated confusion as you smile deviously, heels rooted into the floor to make your chair spin lightly and your fingers drum on your desk.

"I don't think you wanna do that," George corrects.

"Yeah, you absolutely don't," you confirm.

"Fine," he retorts. "So Sapnap's offer plus a Las Nevadas citizenship. How does that sound?"

"Like an offer I'll confider," you sigh. "So who's scronch'love now?"

"Still you," Dream answers. "Except you're also a big dummy."

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

A/N : helloooo,, how are you??? this part very self indulgent and I think this fic will be in general but I hope you liked it anyway. I love the idea of c!quackity always being too much and always having something to add to be even more over the top. I'm having more trouble than I thought about Bunny's and Sap's friendship because I want them to have a very special friendship but I hope it appears as such. idk. lmk what you think and thank you for reading it it makes me very happy <3 Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

Taglist : @open-minded-chip-101 ; @itsoakaa ; @gaysludge ; @tinyegg ; @qnfdnf​ ; @paintingpetalsforyou ; @notjennaleigh ; @victoria-a567 ; @washy-washy ; @moneybagmarvel ;

[merakiui]

HiiiIi! Your work is great! ^^! I love it soo much! May I request a oneshot or headcannons (your choice) with Scaramouche with a s/o who is abused? What would he do to her abuser? Thank youuuu^^

Scaramouche Finding out That You’re Being Abused HCs

cw: mentions/descriptions of (physical and emotional) abuse, violence/torture, injuries **please proceed with caution and do not read if this is triggering! note - keep the scaramouche requests coming! I love that short fatui man >:) ofc I’ll also write for the other characters; don’t be shy to send in requests for them as well! :D

You don’t see Scaramouche often due to his time-consuming job as a Fatui Harbinger, but when you do it feels like a breath of fresh air. His schedule doesn’t allow him much free time and you’re always flitting around with work from the Adventurers’ Guild.

So when you do meet with him, the two of you use the time wisely, going out to eat or sitting at the harbor to catch up on any trivial matters happening within your lives. It’s during these much-needed meetings where Scaramouche begins to notice a few facets of your appearance and personality that seem off (for lack of a better word).

He knows something is up when he points it out rather bluntly, not wasting any time in tiptoeing around the subject. He’ll ask about why you seem so unfocused and tired lately and why new marks seem to form upon your arms and legs.

Scaramouche is going to pry endlessly until he gets the full truth from you. You can hide those marks with makeup or long sleeves, but it won’t prevent him from continuously asking. He’s aware of how uncomfortable you get when it becomes a consistent topic of conversation between the two of you.

You know you’re stressing him out and the fact that he can’t be with you 24/7 drives him insane with worry. Normally, he’d hold himself in higher regard, reassuring himself with the obvious fact that he’s just better than everyone else and shouldn’t worry over a simple adventurer.

But the tipping point is when you begin to avoid your usual meetings, refusing to show up at the quaint café you normally visit. You’re almost close to cutting all forms of contact with Scaramouche and that’s when he realizes it’s getting to be a serious issue.

He has an inkling as to what might be going on, but he never could’ve imagined what he’d find when he decided to drop by your house on one of the days where work wasn’t suffocating him.

After nearly two weeks of zero communication, you open your door and are thankfully alive. But your appearance is even worse than before and you’re just about ready to shut the door, fearing his opinion, when he stops it with his foot.

He’ll demand you explain at once, noting that the puffy, bruised injury around your eye is absolutely worth fretting over. There are other surface injuries on your arms and wrists: small bruises and shallow cuts, some of which are fresh. And your throat is absolutely horrible, bruised and battered as if you just emerged from a battle.

The part that’s most wounding, aside from your obvious injuries, is the fact that you have the audacity to lie about it, saying it was just a commission gone wrong.

Scaramouche calls you out immediately, demanding to know the real story. And he won’t leave until you confess. He’s very intimidating when he gives you such a stern order and that harsh expression has you breaking down at once, no longer strong enough to keep everything inside.

You feel so guilty for hiding this from him, but you didn’t want to burden him with your own personal business. He’s absolutely enraged to hear about your abuser, holding no form of sympathy for them.

He’ll console you and get you to one of the best healers in Teyvat so that you can rest up. He’s with you every step of the way, constantly assuring you that you’re safe and that no one will ever lay a hand on you again. It’s during these moments with him where you begin to see a softer and caring side to the normally haughty Harbinger.

While you’re busy recovering, Scaramouche devotes every ounce of his spare time to finding your abuser. He’ll send his underlings all over the continent if he has to and once he finds them there will be no mercy. Not even the Archons can save them from the harsh torture Scaramouche will subject them to.

He’ll return everything they did to you tenfold. A single black eye becomes two and simple cuts and bruises become broken bones that are nearly puncturing organs and causing internal bleeding. Throughout the torture, he’ll have a healer chase away their fatal wounds with a soft touch so that he can interrogate them.

It’s a vicious cycle of torture and regeneration, one that will last however long Scaramouche deems fit. He may dispose of your abuser once he’s satisfied with the damage, but that won’t happen until after he thinks they’ve gotten an authentic taste of what you had to go through.

You won’t know what became of your abuser, as you refuse to give them anymore thought, and Scaramouche now looks out for you ten times more than he did before. You’ll find yourself in the company of his underlings when he can’t be there to protect you, and if you ever have any self-deprecating or depressing thoughts related to the abuse he’ll be quick to chase them away.

[walkswithmyfather]

“You will show me the way of life, granting me the joy of your presence and the pleasures of living with you forever.” —Psalm 16:11 (NLT)

“Find Joy In All Things” (Day 1 of 5) Devotional By Melissa B. Kruger - “Our Greatest Longing.”

“Money, fame, relationships, and success—these things we chase after— are really just means to an end. Our greatest longing is for joy. Peace. Contentment.

We’re hoping money can buy us peace or relationships will bring us joy. But life doesn’t work as we think it should. Stuff piles up all around us and fails to satisfy. The closest relationships can bring the greatest turmoil. So often these longed-for good desires—joy, peace, contentment—seem just beyond our reach.

You and I both need something much greater than we can muster up on our own. We need something outside ourselves, something stronger, something secure. This thing we’re searching for, this thing we’re hoping to find? Well, it’s not really a thing. It’s a person.

Spoiler alert: it’s Jesus.

I know that may sound simplistic. It’s too easy, right? However, there’s so much more to Jesus than we realize. He’s the creator, sustainer, and source of every good thing, and in His presence is “fullness of joy” (Psalm 16:11). The more we know Jesus, the more we know joy, peace, and contentment. Studying Philippians helps us understand how knowing Him more makes such a difference.

Philippians is an invitation to joy, written by an imprisoned apostle Paul to believers in the early church who were suffering from opposition. His continual refrain throughout the letter is “Rejoice!”

His joy was unshakeable. His peace was secure. His hope was abounding. Where did he find such depths of riches in the midst of such dire circumstances? From what source did he drink that filled him so fully? How did he learn the secret of contentment? Can I learn it too?

All these questions linger in my mind as I read Philippians time and again. The more I study, the more I recognize how different Paul’s joy was from the happiness I usually seek. Too often I set my heart on fool’s gold and false treasure rather than on the riches found in Christ. Worldly items—the perfect home, a dream job, an amazing vacation, or financial security—may provide momentary happiness but repeatedly fail to satisfy. It’s not wrong to enjoy any of these items; they’re simply insufficient for lasting contentment. All too quickly, they lose their luster. My hope and prayer is that we will become women of abiding joy. What brings you the most joy in your life right now?”

“Think about what we have in Christ: the encouragement he has brought us, the comfort of his love, our sharing in his Spirit, and the mercy and kindness he has shown us. If you enjoy these blessings, then do what will make my joy complete: Agree with each other, and show your love for each other. Be united in your goals and in the way you think. In whatever you do, don’t let selfishness or pride be your guide. Be humble, and honor others more than yourselves. Don’t be interested only in your own life, but care about the lives of others too. In your life together, think the way Christ Jesus thought. He was like God in every way, but he did not think that his being equal with God was something to use for his own benefit. Instead, he gave up everything, even his place with God. He accepted the role of a servant, appearing in human form. During his life as a man, he humbled himself by being fully obedient to God, even when that caused his death—death on a cross. So God raised him up to the most important place and gave him the name that is greater than any other name. God did this so that every person will bow down to honor the name of Jesus. Everyone in heaven, on earth, and under the earth will bow. They will all confess, “Jesus Christ is Lord,” and this will bring glory to God the Father.” —Philippians 2:1‭-‬11 (ERV)

[aperrywilliams]

Pour Some Sugar On… Me? (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

(Not my gif!)

Masterlist

———————

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.

Summary: What if Reader and Spencer want to try something new in bed?

Word Count: 6522.

Warnings: Smut (NSWF); 18+ (please respect that!). Sexual talk. Fingering. Oral (male/female). Spanking. Penetrative and unprotected sex. Food play.

A/N: This fic was written to my dear friend @spencers-dria in the 3rd Fic-Swap from @imagining-in-the-margins Discord Server. For reference, the song alluded here is this one.

——————–

Days off are a blessing and a curiosity in your job. It's not that you hate it; on the contrary, you couldn't be happier doing what you do, but there are times when you need to take a break. Working at the BAU is something you always dreamed of, and once you got it, you were still willing to give your 100%. But the last few months have been intense and stressful. So having a day off was welcome. Most welcome if you could spend time with your now-boyfriend Spencer. Wow, how weird that feels to you. After working at the BAU for almost five years with Spencer, it was only four months ago that you dared to confess your feelings for him. To your delight, he also admitted that he had feelings for you. Of course, the whole team already knew that, except for you two. But hey, as they say, better late than never, right?

The first date was almost dreamy. Like a real gentleman, he picked you up at your apartment. He took you to dinner in a nice and quiet place where you both could talk. You guys had a lovely time chatting and laughing at how blind both of you were for so many years being friends and not admitting that you liked each other. At the end of the date, at the door of your apartment, you saw how nervous he was, and you took your chance: you kissed him first. After that, things flowed the way you always wanted them to. Spencer was the most caring, loving, and amazing boyfriend you've ever had. All of your previous relationships didn't even compare to this. You were sure you loved Spencer, but neither of you dared to say the three words until the first time you both had sex. It took you longer than people say. You guys didn't do it after the fourth date or the fifth. It was after a case. At that time, you had already been dating for almost two months.

It had been a difficult case. It took more than eight days to find the unsub. The entire team made superhuman efforts to identify and catch the killer. But you were one of the most affected because the case was in your hometown. You knew some of the victims or their families. That had you on the brink of collapse, but you managed to stay focused, and it was even you who managed to connect the dots and arrest the unsub. All the case tension showed in you when you guys flew back to Virginia, and you burst into tears.

Spencer was the one who sat next to you and hugged you, holding you in his arms throughout the flight. Whispering words of reassurance to you and stroking your hair and back. That night you asked him if he could stay with you. You didn't know if you were okay enough to be alone. He, of course, accepted. Neither of you both was thinking about anything other than being with each other. Still, the kisses on the forehead became kisses on the cheek, then kisses on the lips, neck, collarbone... that's when the three words came out.

"You're the bravest woman I know. You're the best in your job, you care about people. I'll never stop to amaze by that quality of you. I love you, (Y/N)," Spencer whispered, his lips brushing yours. And maybe you kissed him for the first time, but he was who said to you 'I love you' for the first time, and you lost your mind.

You said it back almost instantly, throwing yourself into his arms to kiss him and repeat those three words over and over again. You got up from the couch and took his hand, guiding him to your bedroom. That first time was slow, loving, gentle. It was the living definition of 'making love.' It was unique, and you never felt more loved in your life.

Spencer could agree with you on that. He always told you that accepting the fact he wasn't a man with a lot of experience in sex, he felt that time was the first time he knew what it was like to make love and not just fuck someone. Maybe he didn't use those identical words, but it was basically what he meant.

After that first time, many followed. And saying 'many' may even be an understatement. Not long after, you realized that Spencer was always eager to touch you and to have sex with you every time he could. It wasn't something that bothered you, quite the opposite.

Sex with him was always great. He always cared to satisfy you and make you come before him at least once or twice. Even when the time was limited, Spencer never allowed himself to leave you without an orgasm.

Thinking about that, there was something about that passion on him that led you to wonder what the limits would be for Spencer in bed - if he really had them. Sure, everyone might have thought that sex with Spencer was mostly vanilla and innocent - if the word 'sex' and 'innocent' were allowed to be put in the same sentence. But something inside told you that he could be into other things, that he maybe could be into experimentation in bed. You didn't know if Spencer could be a kinky guy. He never talked about that. But you could feel that maybe he had something like that in him. You promised yourself to find out.

But that afternoon of your day off, you weren't exactly thinking about that. Instead, you were focused on replicating a recipe that Rossi had shared with you last week. The last time you went to his house for dinner, you fell in love with the dish he made on that occasion. Spencer had offered you to call for some take-out instead of cooking, but you were hell-bent on replicating Rossi's recipe.

While you were cooking, Spencer was in the living room reading a book. He had offered you help, but you decided against it. You'd rather make a mess in the kitchen without him seeing you, and besides, he had the right to spend his afternoon off without having to cook.

You liked to cook. You didn't do it frequently for lack of time. And because you weren't a very efficient person at cooking: you always used more utensils than necessary, spilling as much as could be spilled on the floor and on the counters. That meant every time you embarked on something in the kitchen, you had to spend a lot of time cleaning everything afterward. But it was your day off, so it didn't matter. Thus you connected your phone to the speaker you had in the kitchen, put on your favorite playlist, and got to work.

You lost track of time when you realized you were almost ready. Tasting the sauce at its temperature and flavor, you were satisfied with the result. So satisfied that you started dancing and singing as you began the arduous task of cleaning up your mess. Coincidentally, one of your favorite songs started on your playlist. That encouraged you to dance and sing more animatedly.

You have always been quite eclectic for your musical tastes, but you can't deny that your guilty pleasure was the '80 glam. Which you have only allowed yourself to enjoy in the privacy of your home, doing tasks as domestic as cleaning the kitchen, in this case. The best part of the song was playing, and you couldn't help but pick up the broomstick to dance around it.

[You got the peaches, I got the cream. 

Sweet to taste, saccharine.

'Cause I'm hot - hot, say what, sticky sweet

From my head -head, my head, to my feet

Do you take sugar? One lump or two? 

Take a bottle - take a bottle - shake it up - shake it up - 

Break the bubble - break it up - break it up 

Pour some sugar on me. 

Ooh, in the name of love. 

Pour some sugar on me. 

C'mon, fire me up...]

Singing wasn't enough, so you didn't save energy to put a show dancing into the music's rhythm. You were at it when you turned around and saw Spencer watching you from the kitchen entrance. The blush rose to your cheeks immediately, you stopped dancing and singing, but you still didn't let go of the broomstick.

Spencer stood up from the couch because he wanted to check on how you were doing and if you needed any help. He could hear the music and how you sang, but he didn't think he would find you dancing using a broomstick as a pole. Because that's what you were doing, an authentic pole dance in the kitchen.

Moving your hips sensually, up and down, with sweat running down your body. Your wet shirt clinging to your body accentuating your nipples - because, of course, you weren't going to wear a bra on your day off. The scene itself made Spencer freeze staring at you. Worse yet, when you added the music to the stage, it brought Spencer into the hot dimension. He could feel beads of sweat accumulating on his forehead and how his lower half began to reveal a particular need for attention.

"Spencer, oh my God. I didn't see you here," you apologized. But he didn't say anything or moved from where he was. Because undoubtedly he was lost in thoughts. About what? Well, not of you sexy dancing in the kitchen. Not him imagining you dancing naked in front of him. Not him imagining you naked over the kitchen's counter whit spread legs. No, he wasn't thinking about how your body could taste with sugar on it.

"Spencer?" you repeated.

Shit. What's that? Someone is calling his name. Oh yeah. You.

"Uhm?" he barely replied.

"Something is wrong?" you asked hesitantly. You didn't know if Spencer was shocked in a bad way.

"Uh- no. Everything is okay..." Spencer assured you.

"You zoned out, you sure are you okay?" you insisted.

"Yeah. Perfect. More than okay," Spencer said, trying to regain some composure.

"Did you want to ask me something?"

"Oh. I - just if you needed help," Spencer offered, remembering why he was there in the first place.

"No baby, I'm okay. Thank you. I'm sorry for the show by the way," you stated with a grimace and a blush in your cheeks.

"What?"

"I'm not a good dancer as you could see," you joked. He smiled and looked at you from head to toe.

"I wouldn't say that... I wouldn't say that at all," he stated with a minimal perceptible smirk. You took his response as a cue to relax.

"Okay, well. I'm done with dinner and cleaning. I think I need a shower now. Could you set everything in the dining table?" you asked.

"Sure," he replied. You passed by his side, stole a peck from him, and headed to the bathroom.

Spencer stood in the kitchen doorway for a few more seconds before reacting. His mind wandered into the world of possibilities of things he could and want to do to you. His erection agreed with each and every one of them. He was amazed at himself at the things that went through his mind. Not that he has never thought of 'different' things to do in bed, but he had never been motivated enough or found a partner to do them. Maybe you were the one for that. Why not? Spencer promised to test waters with you when he got the chance, but for now, what he was clear about was that he wanted to fuck you hard after dinner.

Not only were you satisfied with the result of the dinner. Spencer congratulated you for replicating Rossi's recipe so well, even giving it your own special touch.

After the dishes, you both sat on the couch to watch TV. But Spencer was distracted enough to pay attention. You were curled up next to him with your arms around his torso. He had an arm around your neck, stroking your arm. Slowly he began to kiss your head while his free hand caressed your cheek. You raised your head to look at him and found his eyes fixed on you. You smiled at him, and he leaned to kiss you. You kissed him back. As the seconds passed, the kiss became more intense and passionate. Without thinking twice, you changed position to straddle him. Thus you guys started a making-out session. You could feel Spencer's eagerness matching with your own. That intensity transformed into moans and dancing hands on both of you.

"God (Y/N), you feel so good," he whispered in your ear.

"Uhm. You too, Spencer. So so good... so so sweet," you added.

Spencer couldn't help but bring to mind the moment he saw you dancing in the kitchen.

"Like sugar..." he mumbled in your neck, grabbing your ass with both hands.

"Sticky sweet..." you said offhand, grinding your hips forward, looking for some kind of friction.

Your intention was not to bring the song you were listening to previously. Still, it was in your unconscious and apparently, in Spencer's too, because when the words left your mouth, he emitted the deepest groan you have heard from him in a long time.

"Oh, you liked that, uh?," you teased. Spencer nodded.

"Yeah... that show of yours in the kitchen did something in me," he confessed.

"Uhmm... and you think you would like to try something like that?" you probed, biting his earlobe.

"Try what?" Spencer replied, massaging your breasts over your shirt.

"Pouring some sweet on me?... and taste me?" you asked, and another groan left Spencer's throat.

"Yes. Yes. Surely yes," Spencer hastened to reply with his lips nibbling your collarbone. You smirked. Spencer Reid was showing the experimental side that you wanted.

You were about to suggest the first experimental activity when both of your phones started ringing at the same time. That only meant one thing: a new case. A growl of frustration came from both of you. Spencer looked at you with longing eyes, and you could only shrug.

"We'll have to put this on standby until we get back," you said after a sigh, pecking his lips.

"Okay, but I need a quick cold shower anyway," Spencer replied. You agreed.

The case took the team to Alabama. You and Spencer sat apart on the jet, both of you still feeling frustrated by the sudden interruption.

You tried to focus on the case and managed to do so. However, Spencer had a harder time doing it. Not that he was repeatedly thinking of you, imagining you naked in your bed, inviting him to taste your sweet body. Of course not. Damn, these days would be torture for him.

One of the first things you guys noticed once you got off the jet was the infuriating heat in the area. It was summer, and the town where you landed seemed to be the driest in the region.

Worse was realizing that the air conditioning was under repair at the police station. The entire team in a room trying to focus on the case, trying not to think about the place's heat.

"How uncomfortable! I feel so sticky and we haven't even been here four hours," you complained at one point. It was just you, Spencer, and Emily in the meeting room, going through files.

"Yeah, this heat barely allow to work," Emily agreed.

"Indeed, I'm sweating as I were in a sauna," you added. When you looked at Spencer to ask his opinion, you saw him flustered, with pink cheeks. You frowned, but you didn't want to say anything to him. His eyes barely met yours.

In Spencer's mind, only one verse was repeated over and over: 'Cause I'm hot - hot, say what, sticky sweet. From my head - head, my head, to my feet'. 'Fuck' he thought when he realized where his brain had gone. That was one of the moments where Spencer Reid hated his eidetic memory. He roamed your body with his eyes in the most subtle way he could. Spencer fixated on the sweat running down your forehead and down in your throat. That clearly wasn't helping the erection that began to show under his slacks.

By the second day, you guys had barely managed to get a few clues to locate the unsub. The good thing was that at least the air conditioning was fixed. You were with Morgan and Spencer in the meeting room. At the same time, Spencer wrote something on the board to illustrate a mathematical formula. Suddenly the marker stopped writing.

"What...?" Spencer wondered in frustration, looking at the marker.

"Baby, shake it up," you suggested. Spencer turned to face you, mouth agape.

"What?" he asked. Again you could see his cheeks all flushed.

"The marker. You need to shake it up," you replied. Morgan furrowed. He didn't know why Spencer was suddenly so nervous. But you started to find it out, and the thought made you smirk.

In Spencer's mind, another verse was repeated again: 'Shake it up. Break the bubble - break it up.' Along with that, he could see you in your apartment's kitchen, lowering your butt to the floor and moving you sensually. His mind went beyond, and he remembered the first time you gave him a handjob. Spencer froze when he saw Morgan and you looking at him. Then he turned, shook the marker, and kept writing. Jeez, what's wrong with me? he thought.

By the third day, you guys had already managed to deliver the profile and were in search for the unsub. After a round of interviews, you were in the station's kitchen making yourself a coffee. Spencer arrived with the same goal, apparently. He smiled at you, moving his mug in your direction since you had the pot in your hand. You put the precious liquid in his cup and left the coffee pot in its place. Spencer was adding his usual unhealthy amount of sugar to his coffee, and you couldn't help but make a comment to teasing him.

"Do you take sugar? One lump or two?" you teased. Spencer's eyes almost popped out of their sockets when he recognized the verse coming out of your mouth. You couldn't help but laugh, confirming your theory. Spencer was about to say something when Hotch came into the kitchen to put coffee in his mug as well.

"Are you two okay?" Hotch asked. You nodded yet chuckling. Spencer just nodded, focusing on his coffee.

You took the cream and put some into your coffee. Before you put it on the counter, you made the last move to finish off Spencer.

"Oh, sorry. I got the cream, do you want some? This one is so sweet to taste," you offered. And Spencer gave you a look that could have knocked you down right away.

If another day had passed, Spencer would surely lose his mind. Fortunately, on the fourth day, you guys managed to arrest the unsub and fly back to Virginia that afternoon.

You arrived at the BAU almost at dinner time. You hadn't had a chance to tease Spencer that day, and you thought it was for the best because as soon as you grabbed your things to go to the elevator, Spencer followed you from behind. You both entered the elevator without anyone else from the team. As soon as the doors closed, Spencer's lips were on yours, kissing you like he imagined doing it for the past four days.

"Tonight we are not going to cook, we are going to order take out, but after catching up, understood?" he clarified. You only nodded, feeling the heat between your legs.

As soon as the door to your apartment closed, Spencer dropped his go-bag and cupped your cheeks to begin kissing you. Almost as passionately as in the elevator. You moaned and dropped your go-bag as well. Your arms around his neck bringing him as close to your body as possible. Spencer began to kiss your neck while his hands danced between your sides and your hips.

You would have accepted that Spencer to fuck you in that moment and place, but you had an idea in mind and wanted to put it to test, no matter how eager both of you were at that minute.

"Baby, wait," you breathed out. Spencer stopped and looked at you with concern.

"What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?" He panted.

"No, no. Quite the opposite, but... I need you to ask you to wait a moment, okay?, could you do that for me?" you asked. Spencer let out a sigh.

"To wait?, yeah. I can do that. But, are you okay?" Spencer asked again.

"Yeah. I promise you this will worth it," you replied, pecking his lips and heading to the kitchen. Spencer looked at you confused, but he didn't say anything. He sat down on the couch, waiting for you.

You took your time, and Spencer started to worry, but you called him from your bedroom before he could ask something.

"Baby, can you come to help me?" you asked. Spencer stood up from the couch and walked towards your bedroom. The door was ajar, and he pushed it open. He wasn't ready for what his eyes found. Oh boy, he wasn't prepared. Or maybe he was. Too much prepared, you could tell: four days prepared.

You were lying in bed, your body barely covered in matching black lace. And even 'barely' could be too much. But to Spencer, that wasn't a problem at all. He enjoyed every time you took your time to surprise him with those details. He scanned all your body at the dim light of the bedroom.

"Wow... (Y/N). I thought - I, you... needed help?" Spencer stuttered. He couldn't move from his spot in the bedroom entrance. You smiled and played along.

"Yes. I do, actually. You can come closer?" you asked flirtatiously.

"Yeah. Yes. Of course," Spencer replied, taking a step forward, feeling his heart pumping hard. That wasn't the only thing he wanted to pump hard, though.

"Would you help me with something here?"

"Any- anything." You grinned at your accomplishment: Spencer in awe and speechless. So you pointed to a white bowl with honey in the nightstand. Spencer tilted his head.

"Would you... pour some sugar on... me?" You kept your voice seductive.

And... he lost it. His brain stopped working. All his bloodstream focused on that part of his body that wouldn't stop shrieking until its complete satisfaction. Like a small computer, his remained neurons only could process a simple string of commands: clothes off/ jump to the bed/ taste you / eat you / fuck you. Simple.

The first command was successfully completed in no time. You never saw Spencer peeling off his clothes so fast before. You couldn't deny how much his eagerness turned you on. You felt your wetness coating your panties. So warm. So hot. You didn't know if you would be capable of ending this foreplay without coming. But, who cares anyway? You surely would enjoy this.

Spencer was kneeling in front of you on the bed. You didn't think twice and started putting on a show. Still making eye contact with him, one of your hands took the bowl from the nightstand. You put two fingers into the bowl and took out a little amount of honey, which began to drain through your fingers. You slowly brought those two fingers to your mouth and started to suck the honey from them. A moan of satisfaction came from your throat at the sweetness. But what really made you lose your mind was seeing how Spencer, with his lips parted, licked them with his own tongue without taking his eyes off you. Another thing that worked perfectly as motivation for you was seeing his hard cock twitching at the sight of you. What a confidence boost.

When you finished cleaning all the honey from your fingers, you repeated the same. Putting two fingers inside the bowl, removing a little of its content, but now you offered the delicious treat to your excited boyfriend.

"Do you want to taste it, doctor?"

Spencer couldn't release any word but nodded and leaned, catching your sweet fingers with his mouth. Both of you leaving scape a deep moan when Spencer started to suck your fingers to remove all the honey from them. You closed your eyes, feeling his hot tongue around your fingers.

When there was nothing left to remove, Spencer's mouth released your fingers in search of your lips. When his lips found yours, he began to kiss you as if the world was going to end. It was a passionate, lustful kiss. You moaned into the kiss. He took the chance, and his tongue started exploring your mouth. The taste of honey on him was intoxicating.

When both parted for some air, you opened your eyes to see Spencer looking at you as you were the most gorgeous and sexy woman on earth. Well, you were for him. You blushed a little, his gaze was intense, and he hardly blinked. Spencer leaned to kiss you again, and when you parted, the only words that came from his mouth were...

"Did - did you know honey is associated with love and sex in both the Bible and the Karma Sutra? At traditional Indian weddings, the groom is often offered honey to boost his stamina," Spencer explained. He reached your cheek with one of his hands and stroking it. His lips latched in your neck. You chuckled mischievously.

"Well, it's good to know that. But I was thinking of using it in another way, you know?" you coyly stated. Spencer parted and saw you, smirking as well.

"Oh yeah?" You nodded as you get some honey from the bowl and spread it slowly onto your stomach. You took some more and smeared it in the column of your throat. You left the bowl on the nightstand and beckoning to Spencer to step closer.

"Do you want to taste it, doctor?"

"Oh God, yes," he hastened to reply. His hands roaming your legs.

"Then taste it, all of it," you invited.

Just a second took Spencer latching his mouth on your stomach. He started sucking and licking the honey from your body. His hands grabbing your hips and yours tugging his hair.

"You taste so good," he said, muffling his words on your skin. "I thought about this all-time we were in Alabama," he confessed.

"Did you? What did you think about? Tell me..." You asked. Spencer now nibbling and licking the column of your throat. A load moan escaped your mouth, feeling Spencer's hot tongue against your skin, moving to your neck. That sweet spot that drives you crazy.

"I thought about kissing your soft skin, about brushing you with my tongue, about... the sounds you do when I touch you, and you're aroused," you let out a moan, and Spencer smirked in your neck.

"Yes, those moans that I love so much. I thought about your breasts. God, your breasts..." he muttered as one of his hands unclasped your bra, taken and tossing it to the side. With your breasts on display, his mouth moved from your neck to the south. Before stopping in your bosoms, Spencer reached the bowl with honey, grabbing some with his fingers, and smeared it in your nipples. The substance was cold, and you hissed a little.

"Easy love, I'll take care of it," he said. His voice low and sexy. God, you sometimes had a hard time trying to understand that the shy guy you pinned for years was so hot in bed. You don't complain, though. You love it.

Spencer put his fingers in your mouth, and you wasted no time sucking them. He let out a groan of satisfaction and clasped his lips in one of your nipples, swirling it with his tongue and flicking the nub up and down, removing all the honey from them. You let out a howl, muffled with Spencer's fingers in your mouth, pressing your tongue.

"Fuck (Y/N), you indeed taste so sweet," he praised, letting out his fingers from your mouth and moving it, tracing a slow path to the hem of your panties. He slid them under the thin fabric, searching your clit massaging it gently.

"Spencer, oh God. That feels so good." He moved from one breast to another one, repeating his motions.

"Yeah, you feel so good. Your are so good for me (Y/N). I could stay here all night. You have no idea how much I thought about that stupid song and doing everything on you," he whispered, releasing your nipple to move his lips to your navel.

"Please, please Spencer..." you whined. If you teased him before, now you just wanted him to fuck you mercilessly.

"What do you need sweetheart?" he asked.

"You. I need you to fuck me," you replied, feeling Spencer's tongue in your navel traveling south.

"Yeah. And I need to fuck you. That's I'm going to do now. You want that dirty girl?"

"Yes!"

"So... you teased me all these days. You knew what you were doing. Don't you think I need to repay you for that?" Spencer said as toying with your panties' waistband.

"What? Are you going to punish me? Doctor?"

For those who said kinks don't fit in all relationships, maybe they were right. But in Spencer's view, this was not the case. In the most pleasant way possible, he discovered that the kinky side of him fitted perfectly, and you seemed pleased too.

"Oh, do you want that, my dirty girl?" And before an answer, Spencer slid your panties down your legs, tossing them to the floor. Now, his goddess laid naked on her bed, ready for him, waiting for him.

Spencer grabbed your thighs and pushed them open, revealing your core for him.

"What a beautiful pussy we have here," Spencer coed. Picking some more honey from the bowl, he smeared it in your inner thighs, tracing a path to the spot where you needed him most. You wanted to scream. Before you do so, Spencer started washing the honey from your thighs. He did it from down to up, brushing your clit with his tongue in every licking.

"Fuck Spencer, I know I teased a lot these days but please..."

Spencer smirked between your legs, but he kept doing what he was doing. When he was sure he removed all the stuff from your thighs, his tongue focused on your clit.

"Yes!... oh God," you cried.

He moved one of his fingers between your folds, coating the wetness, and the pleasure was indescribable. His tongue still focused in your clit, circling and licking. Spencer put a second finger, curling them and reaching that spot inside of you that had you whining in no time. Your moans encouraged him to speed up his motions. Your hands were on his hair, eyes fluttered shut, lost in pleasure. Moans filling the room while his hands kept your hips onto the mattress, stopping you from buck forward.

"Spencer, oh my God. Please, don't stop!" you begged. His fingers never stopped thrusting you in and out, and his tongue having a feast with your clit. You could feel the knot down in your belly about to explode.

"Cum for me, dirty girl," he mumbled yet with his mouth on your clit and his fingers thrusting mercilessly. Then you cried, feeling your orgasm hitting you like a train.

When you descended from your highs, you propped yourself in your forearms to look at Spencer. His mouth coated with your arousal and smirking at you.

"C'mon baby, I need to taste you too," you demanded with a lazy voice, still dizzy from your orgasm.

"As you wish," he replied, sitting on the mattress with his back resting on the headboard, looking at you. Eyes full of lust. You kneeling in front of him first admiring his big-hard cock, tip coating with precum. You replicated his same motions: grabbed some honey and smeared it into his cock. Spencer moaned at the simple sight.

"Now I'm gonna taste how sweet you are baby," you announced. 

Resting on your elbows, you took the tip in your mouth, tasting it slowly. He groaned hard. Of all the times you gave him a blowjob before, for Spencer, this was undoubtedly the most amazing of all.

You moved your tongue, swirling around him, making sure of licking the pounding main vein. Spencer's breathing was sharp and unsteady. 

"Oh shit (Y/N)… you take it so well, your mouth feels so good," he groaned. You keep your task hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head. You set a steady pace that made Spencer jerk with each movement. He tried to keep his eyes open to see how you were working on him, but when you speed the pace, he couldn't help throw his head back, closing his eyes in uncontrollable pleasure. Spencer was sure that if you kept doing that, it wasn't going to last much longer, and he was aiming to cum in another part of your body, not your mouth.

"(Y/N)… I need to fuck you right now," he panted. You released his cock and looked at him with a full satisfaction grin. "Knees and hands on the mattress," he commanded, still gasping. You happily complied. With your ass on display, Spencer hardly thought about it and instinctively spank your buttocks with his open hand.

You hissed to the sharp feeling, but it was pleasant. Spencer had never spanked you before, and the very fact had you turned on. Spencer hesitated a little when he realized what he did, but your words lifted any doubt he can have.

"Again! please!... do it again," you begged, and Spencer complied, spanking you again now in the other buttock. You moaned, and Spencer groaned.

"You like that, uh?" he teased.

"Yes!" And he did it again. The sharp pain was nothing compared to the pleasure that followed. You could feel the head of his hard cock in your entrance. Slowly but with no hesitation, he pushes into you. You could feel every inch of him, and it was glorious. A loud wail left your mouth. Spencer hissed, feeling your walls clench around him. Spencer bottomed out, and he took a moment to catch his breath.

"(Y/N)… shit. You're always so tight. You feel so good," he praised.

"Yes, baby, all for you," he grabbed your hips tighter, pulling out his cock almost to the tip and then pushing again into you as he started a slow but intense pace.

As you searched for the perfect rhythm, only moans, praises, and your names came out of your both mouths. Spencer pounded to you harder and faster. You were both a bundle of moans and sighs. You could feel beads of sweat running down your body. The skin-to-skin slamming sound was lustful and wild but delightful. You were both lost in the single goal of pleasing each other and reaching your orgasms.

"Fuck Spencer! I'm gonna cum!" you cried.

"Yeah, sweetheart, me too. C'mon, give me your sweet cum, and I'll give you mine," he commanded.

Spencer moaned, on the edge of his own pleasure. His words did the trick. He thrust you once, twice, and in the third one, your impending orgasm exploded in you, running through your entire body. You curled your toes at the pleasant feeling, moaning Spencer's name and another sort of lost words. Your walls clenched around him tightest, you still in your high, feeling his cock twitched before he expulsed his warm release into you. Your eyes squeezed shut in delight, feeling how he rode out your both orgasms.

You guys stilled for a moment, trying to catch your breath. Spencer was the first to move, pulling out of you, as you turned to your back in the mattress. He rolled to your side, both of you looking at each other with a huge grin, still panting.

"Wow... that was..." he trailed off, setting a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"Yeah... I know. Amazing," you replied, giggling.

"Why we didn't do this before?" Spencer wondered.

"Well, I don't know. But I wanted to," you confessed.

"Why you didn't tell me then?" he asked, stroking your cheek.

"Maybe I didn't know if you wanted to try things like these?" you hesitantly replied. Spencer looked at you lovingly. He could stay and admire you forever if he could.

"I must confess I didn't know exactly if this kind of thing could like me, but with you... I'm sure there is nothing that could dislike me. If you want to try anything, I'm more than willing with you," he replied, leaning to kiss you. You smiled into the kiss. 'How could you be so lucky to have someone like him?' you thought. The funny thing is that Spencer believes the same about you.

"Well, I think this experimentation went quite well, don't you think?" you said, beaming.

"Yes, I do. But now we're sticky, we need a shower," Spencer acknowledged.

"Sticky sweet," you corrected. Spencer chuckled and offered his hand to you to stand up.

You both went to take a shower. Needless to say, the shower served not only to clean up the remnants of your previous activities but to add new ones. You guys came out of the bathroom exhausted, changed the sheets, and plummeted onto the bed.

You snuggled into his side, resting your head on his shoulder. Spencer hugged you and kissed your forehead. Both ready to fall into a deep sleep.

"Please, remind me tomorrow emailing to Joe Elliot to thank him," you mumbled, nuzzling into Spencer's neck. Your eyes flutter shut and dozing off.

"Who?" Spencer asked, confused. You chuckled, almost falling asleep. Of course, Spencer didn't know who he was.

"Let's say we both practiced today what is pour some sugar on me, thanks to him," you giggled. Spencer breathed a laugh.

"Oh. Okay. Thank him for me too," Spencer said, smirking.

"I will,” you replied, snuggling more close to Spencer. “Spencer?" you asked him, a few seconds far to fall knock out.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he mumbled, almost in the same condition as you.

"I love you," you blurted out. Because it was true. Your love for that man grows any second passed, and you didn't care to admit it now.

"I love you too, (Y/N)... sticky sweet," Spencer replied. You both giggled, groggy with sleep. "And (Y/N)?" he added like he forgot something important to tell you.

"Uhm?"

"Can we listen to your playlist tomorrow? I'm curious about what are we going to do next." You didn't remember if you replied to him, but you surely would think of something new to try next in your dreams.

———————

AN2: I’m sorry but I’m a sucker for 80′s music.

I’m tagging some moots around here!: @andiebeaword @blameitonthenight21 @dreatine @sierraraeck @paulaern @calm-and-doctor @spencers-dria @safertokiss @hopefulfangirl24  @reverdevivre  @matthewstiles1912 @goldentournesol @psychedellic-phase @psychicdonuts​

[side-writes-fanfics]

Late-night talks || One-shot

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x fem!reader

Word count: ≈2000

Genre: it was supposed to be angst but it's really just fluff

Tw: Sukuna is kinda ooc, ngl

Summary: usually, you'd talk to Yuuji during the nights you felt restless but today, it was very much different. One night started a habit that definitely shouldn't have started.

Feel free to leave a or two or more request in my asks!

Masterpost | Asks/Requests

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(Y/N) walked down the long dormitory halls, her insomniac brain refused to allow her to rest after the hard day she’d had. On one hand, it was fantastic, filled with thrill and learning opportunities! On the other, however, the girl had gone through so much intense training and failure that she wanted nothing more than a good night's sleep. And yet, the thoughts in her head flew and a high speed and there was no way in hell that they would stop any time soon. So, as any sane person would do, instead of reading a book or being productive and taking the time to practise some techniques that wouldn’t blow the entire room up, (Y/N) decided to knock on Itadori’s room door and mess his sleep up as well.

Her hands made contact with the wood once. Then quickly twice. Then three times before the door opened to reveal the figure she had been anticipating. Only something seemed a little off. While she wasn’t thinking Itadori would be wearing a shirt as it is the middle of the damn night, the markings on his entire body suggested that it wasn’t Itadori who stood in front of her. Rather, Sukuna had taken over his body for the night and wasn’t planning on leaving the boy alone.

“You really want him to be dead tomorrow, huh?” (Y/N) whispered to the curse, chuckling at the thought of Yuuji not being able to hold his eyes open for long enough to get out of bed, let alone all the “fun” activities Gojo said he had planned for us. Now, you might be wondering why the absolute fuck were you not shaking in your boots at that very moment? I mean, you’re talking to the King of Curses, the man himself. This guy could probably snap you in half with one movement if he wanted to. Well, for one, you had no boots to shake in as you were walking in the stupidest pair of slippers money could buy. Secondly, Sukuna was well aware that if he hurt you, or any of the students of Jujutsu High for that matter, his life would be cut much shorter by the president of the school without any hesitation. Even Gojo couldn’t do anything about it because he cared for you just as much as Itadori. He cared for all of the students the same, no matter how much others thought Yuuji was the only one who got his love. (Y/N), of course, knew this and took advantage of it as much as she could, without pushing the limits and getting herself into danger.

“You’re the one talking, pipsqueak,” Sukuna said, shooting the girl an unamused glare. “Coming in the middle of the night to wake up this brat isn’t much better than what I’m doing.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes, walking past the curse and into Itadori’s room. Sukuna stared at her confused but before he could continue further, (Y/N) cut him off.

“Get in the room and close the door. If Gojo catches me out of my room at this ungodly hour of the night, I’m gonna be dead and if you get caught with me, it isn’t going to be taken lightly by the higher-ups.” The girl made her way over to the bed, making herself comfortable while Sukuna listened to her orders, even though he didn’t want to.

“That sounds like you’re the one who causes all the trouble here and not me.”

(Y/N) smirked, letting out a little chuckle. “And yet, I don’t care about that much.” She propped herself up, now in a sitting position. Sukuna rolled his eyes at her, sitting on the opposite side of the bed.

The two stared at each other in silence. What were you even expecting? Neither of them was used to being in each other’s presence. They barely interacted due to reasons outside of their control. (Y/N) went on missions a lot, barely spending any time in the presence of Itadori. When she did have time to hang out, Sukuna never actually spoke or came out and showed his presence. Sukuna didn’t want to talk because he did enjoy the company and anything he wanted to say at first would have just made her leave. (Y/N) didn’t want to speak up because of her poor social skills. Everything she knew about socialisation, which wasn’t that much, had been thrown out the window by the lack of contact she had with other people. To be frank, even if they sat in silence (Y/N) would have sat there until the moment she was tired. It was better than being alone in her room staring at the ceiling.

“Why’d you even come here in the middle of the night?” Sukuna spoke up, not wanting to leave the room silent. Unlike (Y/N), he hated the silence. He could not take it. When the curse was on his own, whether it be in the form of Itadori or inside of his domain, Sukuna didn’t mind it. He was left alone to his own devices and was able to do as he pleased, but being around another person in complete silence drove him crazy.

“Uh… I couldn’t sleep.” her body positioned herself in a sitting fetal position, resting her head on the top of her knees. “Yuuji lets me come to his room when that happens and we just chat about random things until I feel tired.” Both of them stared at each other, waiting for who was going to speak next. It was hard to keep the conversation going as of now, both of the participants carefully thought about their words as to not upset the other. Still, (Y/N) said something to fill the silence: “What about you? Why are you in control of Yuuji’s body?”

“I felt like it.”

(Y/N) blinked at him, not believing her ears. “That’s… that’s it?” she said in disbelief.

“Are you not satisfied with that answer, pipsqueak?” The man crossed his arms and lifted a brow. The girl crossed her arms as well, pushing her back against the wall behind her. She contemplated once more all the choices she could make at this moment, though, to an outside view, (Y/N) looked as if she was scared to say anything at all. Sukuna’s chuckle broke her out of her contemplative daze. “It’s boring inside of where I am for days upon days upon days. Sometimes I need to feel alive, even if it’s just switching with this brat and walking around his room.”

The girl let out a ‘hm’ sound, nodding to indicate she understood his reasons. Slowly, the two began having normal...ish conversations without the awkward pauses between topic and sentences. They began to slow as if they’ve been long term friends with natural progression. And as all natural progression goes, this became a regular thing. (Y/N) couldn’t sleep more often, Sukuna wanted to walk around the world more often, them talking happened more often. Though, these little meetings in the middle of the night that consisted of senseless trains of thought being put into words stayed secret between just the two of them. Not even Itadori knew that (Y/N) snuck into his room as often as she did. Yuuji knew and welcomed her coming to his room to speak to him when she needed company. There were times where she snuck in and Itadori was in his own body. The girl hated to admit it but she felt sad when she couldn’t speak to the curse inside his body. Indeed, she should have felt ashamed but something just didn’t let her. (Y/N) liked Sukuna’s company. Even with the… talks about not so good things he’s done that were bound to come up at some points in time.

There came a day where (Y/N) realised it. Realised that she, as a jujutsu sorcerer, shouldn’t feel the way she feels about him. He's done so much wrong. Why does it not bother her that much? She stared at the ceiling. Her thoughts haunted her throughout the day, not letting a moment pass without her thinking about it. It was obvious she wasn’t going to sleep tonight. Leaving to go talk to the curse, however, seemed to be a tiny bit paradoxical. Her worries were caused by him. She didn’t want to end the friendship they had built. Then again, was this really for the best? Were the talks really a smart idea? Was continuing to see him and forming an emotional bond going to bring anything but pain and sorrow?

Knock, knock, knock.

‘Who could be knocking on her door at 3 in the bloody morning?’ the girl thought to herself, getting up to answer the door. As soon as she opened it, she mentally slapped herself for being stupid. I mean who else could have it been other than the curse himself.

“I see you’re awake,” he said, “though, you decided not to come and talk to me.” A brow lifted on (Y/N)’s face.

“And you decided to come to me instead, huh?” she smirked at the man, moving to give him space to enter the room. “Have you started caring about me? Have you softened up to little old me?” she poked and teased him, trying to forget what she’d been thinking about moments before. Sukuna entered, only to stop in the middle of the room.

“I need to talk to you about something…” her heart stopped. ‘Shit shit shit and shit.’ her thoughts became quicker and her heart raced as if it were running a marathon she was not ready for. Why would she have said what she said? Was it that she got too comfortable around him. “What you said… about me caring about you…” he paused, trying to find the words to say. (Y/N) looked at him turned away from her, anticipating his next words. “It’s true… I am softer towards you than anyone else. In these past two months you... You’ve made your way to my heart. You make me feel. You make me feel,” he said quietly, fiercely, making (Y/N)’s heart skip a beat or two. He turned towards her, his face more serious than you’d want it to be in this moment. “and I don’t like it. I want it to stop. Now.”

(Y/N) blinked. Absolutely taken aback at his words. “I’m sorry, what?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He confessed that he cared about her. That she made him feel a certain way. And yet somehow he’s rejecting her? Nothing makes sense. She didn’t even confess to him and she feels hurt. “I… don’t-”

“Why do I feel like this?” Sukuna cut her off and stared at her, hoping she would solve the problem with a few simple words.

“I- I don’t know why you feel like you do!” she squeaked out, still unsure what was happening, “I mean I don’t even know how you feel.”

“I don’t know either.” (Y/N) paused, lifting her hand towards his. Her eyes flicked towards his, silently asking permission to hold his hand. He squinted at her. For a man who claims to be a genius and has years and years of life experience, his social skills seemed to be lacking when we’re talking about kindness. The girl kept quiet, putting her hand closer. It gently touched his, sending a clearer message of what it was she wanted. Sukuna let out a slight ‘oh’, before embracing her hand into his. Her heart skipped a beat again. She cursed herself silently, understanding that she was feeling the same way as he was.

“What are we going to do, pipsqueak?” Sukuna asked her, confused out of his mind. It was rare that anyone saw him as bewildered as he was right now.

“We’ll… figure it out I guess…” a smile tugged at (Y/N)’s lips. It was terrifying, there’s a lot in their way and a lot of things they have to set straight, but for now, this seemed to be the most they could do.

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[allthefilmsiveseenforfree]

Dear Evan Hansen

You may have seen some ~online discourse~ about the film Dear Evan Hansen, an adaptation of the 2016 Broadway musical, and you might have wondered what all the hubbub is about. I mean, it’s a feel good story about a senior in high school, Evan Hansen (Ben Platt), who has some pretty severe anxiety and depression. While trying to fulfill an assignment from his therapist to write a letter to himself, his letter gets picked up by another student, Connor (Colton Ryan) - and later that day, Connor kills himself. Connor’s grieving parents and sister Zoe (Amy Adams, Danny Pino, and Kaitlyn Dever) are desperate to learn more from the boy they think was Connor’s best friend - after all, Connor’s suicide note was a letter addressed to “Dear Evan Hansen.” And, as you can imagine, Evan tells them about the unfortunate mistake and sits with them in their grief as they struggle to pick up the pieces of their lives. 

Just kidding! He lies to them, repeatedly, elaborately, expansively for months, constructing an entire false friendship with Connor that never happened, and ingratiating himself into the wealthy nuclear family he never had, in large part because he wants to get into Zoe’s pants! THIS IS THE PROTAGONIST OF THE STORY. Oh, and it’s a musical so there is a lot of singing and crying and singing WHILE crying and sometimes crying and not singing at all. But the #inspiration, you guys. 

Things I liked:

Pretty much everything but the story and Ben Platt’s performance. The supporting cast is stacked, and all of them do a great job at elevating material scraped directly out of a diaper worn by someone who just chewed their way through a copy of the DSM-5. 

A couple of the songs are damn catchy - “Waving Through a Window” and “You Will Be Found” are standouts for a reason - and here’s the thing, Platt sings them well. But as you’ll discover, there’s a lot more to a movie musical than just singing your part. 

Stephen Chbosky, the man behind every deep thought I and a lot of people in my generation had in 2006 after he wrote The Perks of Being a Wallflower, is a pretty good director. I particularly enjoyed the fanvid-type cuts in “Waving Through a Window” in conjunction with the lyrics, and his use of interstitial shots to flashbacks (and sometimes flashforwards!) is a neat little bit of shorthand that I thought was used sparingly enough to be effective. 

Amy Fucking Adams. She’s holding on so hard, so desperately to the idea of who her son could have been, rather than the reality of who he was, and she is full of such deep pain that is masked by an almost endless supply of patience with Evan and relentless positivity. All this made me want was Enchanted 2 even worse than I already did. 

Super into everything Zoe wears - the costuming department did a great job, and now all I want to do is live in mom jeans and baggy sweaters.

Did I Cry? I teared up a couple of times because I’m not a completely heartless bastard and when Amy Adams offered Evan Connor’s college money, my heart broke for the lie Evan had thrust upon her, and Julianne Moore’s song got me good, because she’s just a single mom to Evan who is doing her goddamn best. 

Things I hated more than the time I dropped a frozen gallon container of fruit cocktail on my pinkie toe in my parents’ garage and it turned black and I thought it was gonna fall off:

Ben Platt is 28 years old. He originated the role of Evan Hansen on Broadway, so in many respects it makes sense that he plays the role in the movie, except for the one kinda sorta important thing where he looks like a wizened old crone standing amongst a sea of children doing his best twitching, cringing Hunchback of Notre Dame impression. If you want someone to convincingly play 20 years their junior, hire Paul Rudd. Otherwise, please don’t ask me to believe that this supposed 18-year-old has crow’s feet. 

And that twitching nervous energy is a huge part of the black hole at the center of this film - he’s playing to the cheap seats and walking through the halls of his high school like a wet chihuahua. It’s an excruciating acting choice to watch - he doesn’t just have anxiety, he is on the verge of a nervous breakdown seemingly every second of every day. Like honestly, where is only-mentioned-never-seen Dr. Sherman, because this young man’s meds are NOT WORKING DR. SHERMAN. 

There’s such a lack of self-awareness on behalf of the writing, directing, and performance by Platt. There’s one song, “Sincerely, Me,” that offers the only glimpse of commentary about what Evan is doing, by pointing out the malicious ridiculousness of him writing a series of fake emails as proof of his and Connor’s friendship. 

Also what high schoolers email this much?? I know this was written in probably 2014 or so, but has a bitch never heard of a text? Even a DM? This whole plot is constructed around the premise that high schoolers are just constantly, constantly emailing each other. 

Everything - and I mean EV-ER-Y-THING - about Evan’s relationship with Zoe is so creepy and disturbing that with a soundtrack change, this could easily be a horror movie. He attempts to get her to like him by describing to her all the things her brother noticed about her - oh wait, I’m sorry, all the things HE noticed about her while he was skulking in the shadows following her around for years, watching every move she made, and it ends with him singing repeatedly “I LOVE YOU” because following a girl around and never having a conversation with her or knowing her at all is love, right? This was clearly written by the same people who chose “Every Breath You Take” as their wedding song because Sting is hot and they never actually listened to the damn words. 

And it gets about 10 billion times worse when Zoe goes to Evan’s house alone, takes him up to his room, and sings “I don’t need reasons to want you” and that was the moment I was that person I hate in a movie theater and I pulled out my phone to Google who wrote the music and lyrics to the musical (we were in the back row of the theater no one was behind me THIS WAS AN OUTRAGE EMERGENCY) and of motherfucking course it was written by Benj Pasek and Justin Paul, 2 men who heard about meeting an actual human woman from a friend one time but otherwise are unfamiliar with the concept. 

Lastly, enormous serial killer vibes from Evan sending unlabeled flash drives anonymously through the mail with no note in an attempt to right his wrongs. That’s not catharsis, that’s how the next installment in the Saw franchise starts, with Evan in a Billy the clown doll mask showing up on the screen and asking if you want to play a fucking game. 

Also, I know it’s not possible for the narrative to justify this in a way that could be satisfying based on Evan’s actions, but what is with this thing where single working-class mom Julianne Moore is turning down rich people’s money for Evan to go to college? Like, obviously we can’t have that happen in the movie but in real life, fuck your pride! Take those rich people’s money!

I also know how movies work but nothing annoys me more than a giant group of high schoolers all getting beeps and boops to indicate text notifications all at the same time because I don’t know a single person under the age of 55 who keeps their ringer on. That shit is on vibrate AT MOST, and I feel like that’s a millennial thing. 

The emotional climax of the film is obviously Evan’s WAY TOO LATE confession, but the idea that it’s prompted by Connor’s family suddenly getting a lot of internet hate is, frankly, laughable. If Sandy Hook taught me one thing, it is that no tragedy is immune from trolls who live only to cause other people devastating emotional pain on the internet. That shit starts day 1. Apparently no one involved in this production has ever been on Twitter?

Also it feels like there should have been a dog somewhere in this movie and there was no dog, so points off for that too. 

Perhaps Dear Evan Hansen isn’t nearly as deep as it aspires to be. Perhaps it’s a morality play, a simplistic message of “Don’t lie, kids, lying is bad!” Major studio movies wrap themselves up with a nice bow at the end so everyone can feel good about themselves and leave with a happy ending, but the moronic cruelty on display here makes that feat feel impossible. We’re left with Evan in an orchard, reading Connor’s favorite books and staring into the big blue sky with all the self-actualization he’s earned now as a lil treat. And if Evan Hansen looked like an actual 18-year-old, it would be a lot easier to extend more empathy to him and his not-fully-developed prefrontal cortex, but it’s a little harder with this fully-grown, weathered man who was old enough to remember seeing Liar Liar in theaters. 

Dear Evan Hansen, 

Get some actual help and a haircut and maybe you can grow up enough to have an actual healthy interaction with any other living person, ever.

Sincerely, 

Me

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[dysfunctionalmaki]

Agent Broke

Masterlist

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: A title you earned for spending half of your money on a stuffed toy for your adorable girlfriend.

Warnings: none just purely fluff.

"Baby, come here! Don't be a killjoy." Wanda said as she ushers you to come closer to her, hands and fingers intertwined while she pulls you closer to her. "Win me that huge Scarlet Witch stuffed toy." Wanda chuckled, your arms making their way around your lover's waist. Resting your chin on her shoulder while you watch other people play in the stall where there is a Scarlet Witch toy. "You love yourself that much, huh?" You teased her then she playfully slaps your arm. "Besides, I already have my very own Scarlet Witch. The original and the only one in the whole wide universe." You added before placing a peck on her cheek.

"Geez, Y/N. Just say you can't win me that toy, no need to melt me with your words." You raised an eyebrow at what she has mumbled. "Me? Lose? Watch me, Maximoff." You unwrapped your arms on her figure now heading towards the stall, you pulled a dollar out from your wallet. "Three bullseyes and any toy you'd wish for is yours." The man at the stall spoke, you nodded before positioning yourself. Looking back at Wanda to make sure she is watching, you looked at the dartboard. Then you threw your first dart it is a bullseye, without looking back at Wanda you did your second shot but it only bounced off the board. You pouted your lips making sure you'll have to shoot the last two perfectly, now on your third try it is bullseye once again, and to your last shot, you missed pretty bad. Now looking back to Wanda she is giggling softly when she saw the last dart, you pulled out another dollar.

You took countless tries and always ended up winning small animal plushies, probably spent more money playing rather than just buying the toy. Wanda stepped in placing a hand on your shoulder, you sighed in defeat then heading behind your girlfriend for her to try, her first dart was bullseye so are the next three darts she has on her hand. You looked at her suspiciously thinking that maybe she is using her powers, but she isn't. You puckered your lips when the man at the stall handing Wanda her Scarlet Witch stuffed toy, you both went to the nearest empty bench, both of you taking a seat. "I know what you are thinking and I didn't use my powers." She scooted closer to you, resting her back against your body. Your arms subconsciously wrapping themselves around her waist, lips still puckered due to your loss. "Y/n, baby, don't tell me you're still upset that I was the one who won this stuffy?" Wanda spoke, slightly tilting her head to look at you. "Quite- not really upset but, hmm, embarrassed? I boasted for a bit then ended up spending more than half of my money..."

"Oh, baby..." She faced you, hands on both sides of your cheek. She pulls both of your hoods up, before gently pressing her soft lips against yours. You couldn't help but smile once she takes a good look at you, her eyes never left yours but her orbs slowly getting distracted now having her attention on your lips. "Eyes up here, Maximoff." You chuckled, she rolled her eyes then you quickly gave her a peck. You stood up first offering your hand, Wanda gladly took your hand her fingers intertwining with yours. "Let's go to the Ferris Wheel? Our last ride for our date, hmm?" You asked her, she only answered with a nod. The lines weren't that long since it is almost closing time for the amusement park, both of you quickly got on the ride with your very own private seat. It is opened both of you welcoming the cold air once the ride has started moving, your eyes glued to Wanda's face, causing her cheeks to heat and hinting colors of her blush. "Do I have something on my face, Agent Broke?" You squinted when she called you a new nickname. "You have a beauty of a Goddess on your face and Agent Broke?" You replied.

"I was reading your mind when you had your final shot while you were trying to win Scarlet for me and exactly $15 left." Wanda says, now your seat at the very top of the ride, your lover motions her hand causing the wheel to stop. "Perfect." She mouthed before settling herself on your lap, she was facing then you run your hair through her locks, caressing her cheek then Wanda leaned on to your touch. This view would be probably one of your favorite, your girlfriend looking like a living Goddess and the moon just right behind her. "You are breathtakingly beautiful, baby." You spoke before placing your hand at the back of her neck, slowly pulling her close. Your lips finally touched hers, both of you matching each other's rhythm, exchanging more kisses. Her hands are placed at the back of your head pulling you incredibly much closer, after a little bit more kisses. Wanda was the first to pull away, motioning her hands, red tendrils coming out of the tip of her fingers, and suddenly the wheel is moving once again. "You're already satisfied with only that many kisses?" You said making her giggle.

"Because we'll have to save it for later, baby. Also..." She wipes the side of your mouth with her handkerchief, both of your lipstick smudged due to your little makeout. "Gosh, how do you manage to make me fall for you every day? I love you, Wanda Maximoff." You confessed.

"I love you too, Agent Broke." She replied with a quick peck on your lips while she's at it.

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

been a while since i posted a fic update! anyone wanna read some cowboy au nonsense? sure you do! well here it is

The blinding, unforgiving midday heat is enough to raise blisters on the skin. Looking out over a crowd of folks booing him, calling for his demise, probably should have had some kind of emotional impact. On the occasion of one’s death, after all, one does expect tears. Flowers, laid out in lace, dark veils and coal black clothes, a few muffled sobs from those further back in the funerary procession, unable to contain themselves. Instead he’s met with the dusty faces of former neighbors and strangers alike, all eagerly waiting to hear the exact tone and pitch that his neck will make when it snaps.

Bored, he turns his attention from the crowd, and watches a lizard scurry across the wooden planks of the gallows, as a man to his right fits a rough bit of rope around his neck. It scratches, but he doesn’t react, not feeling frightened or even especially interested. A similar rough twine is binding his hands together behind his back, keeping him from having any viable way to save himself. The crowd is calling for blood now. Hangings generally are not gorey affairs, but he did once see a drop too sudden and a rope so long that the fella wasn’t just hung, he was decapitated. Beetlejuice glances back down at the crowd, tries to imagine what direction his head would roll if that happened here, and smirks, because it seems to him the last thing he’d see would be the view from inside the skirts of some of the women standing front and center. Not the worst last sight a man could have. “You think you could hurry this along?” he asks the man fitting the noose around his neck. “Sun’s beatin’ down somethin’ fierce an’ I ain’t got my hat.” His personal possessions are back at the sheriff’s office- hat, bandana, silver plated, pearl handled pistol, and his custom belt buckle, just about the nicest, and maybe only, thing he ever paid for. God damn corrupt lawman’s probably gonna pawn his stuff as soon as he’s swinging. Maybe before. Maybe his last worldly possessions are already gone. S’not like he’ll need them, where he’s goin.

A face he recognizes is led up from the crowd, an ancient wizened body tanned for years by the all too eager sunlight and scorching sands. It’s the local preacher, who he remembers from his formative years. The old man used to give him bread and plain, unseasoned chicken in return for listening to him talk about god, and if he hadn’t been nearly starved to death half the time, he might have spat in the old man’s face. Shouldn't charity be done for the sake of charity, not proselytizing? He’d said so once, and that was the last meal the old miser had given him. Jackass.

“Beetlejuice,” the preacher begins. His name is said with disdain and a curled upper lip. It’s one of the reasons he chose it, honestly. “You still have time to repent, young man. I remember you, as a child, bright eyed, curious about the kingdom of heaven.” Well now, that’s the very definition of taking artist liberty. “Now, here, you have one more chance to repent, to accept god’s mercy, and avoid the lake of fire.” The crowd is watching, waiting to see if he will confess his remorse. Beetlejuice hums, rocks on the balls of his feet, and then sighs. “.. C’mere,” He mumbles, jerking his head to indicate the old man should step closer. The holy man does. “I got a lot to confess to, preacher man, an’ not much time.” His voice is soft. The ailing man can’t hear him, steps closer, if only a little. “So much to confess to, in fact, I oughta just… Skip th’ whole thing an’ go straight to hell!” And Beetlejuice reels back, and then slams his forehead into the old man’s face. The sickeningly satisfying crunch of cartilage tells him he’s broken the preacher’s nose, as the elderly man falls back, crying out in pain, blood gushing from his new wound. The crowd roars, furious, and he grins, and laughs. “Ain’t no good extendin’ your pious pity to me!” he calls, gleeful, as he’s pelted with whatever the people watching can get their hands on, and the old man is helped, taken away, led off of the platform. “Enough, enough, we will have order!” a lawman cries, coming up the gallow steps, to stand in front of the outlaw. It’s enough to get the crowd to settle, or at least stop throwing things. There’s still a bad energy in the air, which Beetlejuice can taste on the tip of his tongue. His smile is rictus, he’s delighted to be the cause of it all.

“This man has been tried and found guilty,” the lawman continues. The trial had been very short, and his incarceration shorter. He understands he’s being made an example of to other outlaws, bandits, and trouble makers. They intentionally didn’t give him any time to plan anything, or for any coconspirators to come and assist him. Joke’s on them. They could have taken all the time in the world. Ain’t nobody alive who cares for this outlaw. Not a soul who would dare to come and stage a rescue. He’s utterly alone. “He’s allowed his last words. Clearly,” the lawman turns, eyes Beetlejuice, who smiles flirtatiously. The other man’s expression shifts from annoyance to disgust. “He’s disavowed the advice of Pastor Neighbors.” “M’not so sure you’re usin’ that word right, friend,” Beetlejuice snorts, but he’s ignored. “Any last words?” the hangman to his right asks, his hand itching to grip the lever that will drop the floor and finally, finally, release the outlaw from the confines of mortal life.

Beetlejuice grins.

“If any of you have a message for th’ devil, give it to me!” he shouts, with a cackle, and he watches in rapt and morbid delight at the way the faces in the crowd twist. “I’ll carry it down to hell for you!” The crowd is furious enough it almost seems to him they’re going to storm the platform, and maybe beat him to death. The wave of gasps from the women folk is particularly amusing.

“Enough of this!” He hears the voice of the lawman, disgusted, and the hangman must agree, because the last thing he hears is the lever being thrown, and the floor gives out under him, and he’s falling, falling, falling.

His ass hits a chair.

There’s a moment of blinded confusion, because he's gone from the unbearable dusty sun of midday California, to a cool, dark, musty smelling interior. His eyes need a moment to adjust to the change. He’s sitting in a room he doesn’t recognize. The chair under him is plush, but just thin seated enough to be a tad uncomfortable. He squirms in it, confused, and finds his hands are still tied behind his back. He turns his head. Seated across from him is a young woman.. Well, little girl might be more accurate, she’s maybe fourteen. There’s a wicked looking hoofprint emblazoned on her right temple. The blood that’s leaking from the wound has gone a sickly old color. They stare at each other. “Did that hurt?” she asks, first, and he squints, because he’d been about to ask the same question. Her hand has gone to her throat, as she looks at him, and he looks down, pressing his fat face into his fat neck to create an unflattering double chin as he does so. He can feel the rope around his neck. He follows the line of it with his eyes, and turns to look up. The rope travels up from him, into the ceiling. It’s still taught, like he’s suspended by it, but his ass is touching chair, his boots are on the ground, and he doesn’t feel choked by it’s presence. He tuts. “Didn’t feel a thing. That hurt?” he tries to gesture to her wound, but again, he’s reminded his hands are bound behind him. She stands. “Hurt a bit, but then I got so dizzy I didn’t hardly feel it, after,” she tells him, and then, like the good little frontierswoman she is, she produces a knife from inside some pocket in the volume of her skirts, and gratefully, he leans forward. She rests a knee on one of the chairs, to get a better angle, as she uses her bowie to cut through the rope at his wrists. “Awful kind of you, half pint,” he tells her, and she smiles. “Ain’t nothin.” She settles into the chair next to him, which is a little surprising, but he doesn’t mind, over all. “You’re an outlaw, then?” she asks. He grunts, and then turns to face her, with a grin. “You probably heard of me. They called me Th’ Ghost, on occasion, cause I could slip away without bein’ caught-” he watches her eyes travel up the line of his noose, and then settle back on his face, a little less impressed than she ought to be. He responds by pinching her nose, and she swats at his hand, and laughs. “I do think I heard of you,” she concedes. “I’m Presley.” “Presley, alright. You got a clue where we are, kiddo?” “I just was told to wait.” “Told by who?”

Across the room, a window he hadn’t registered as being there slides open. This place vaguely resembles a bank, he realizes, and so that means that’s the teller’s window. A woman with a tired expression on a pretty face peers out at him. “Hey, dead beat,” she calls, her accent thick around the words. “Juno wants to see you.” He motions to himself, questioningly. She raises an eyebrow in silent confirmation. “Should I care?” he asks, and her upper lip curls in the most beautiful version of a sneer he’s ever seen. “You’re real funny. Get in there before she loses her temper.” And she reaches up, and slams the window shut.

He looks to Presley, and they both share a little shrug, before he stands, and takes a step. The rope going through the ceiling moves with him, not along any visible track, that he can see, but seeming rather more like a toy balloon on a string, bobbing along as though after a child winding their way through the crowd of a state fair. There’s a door by the teller’s window, and he makes for it, only for the window to slide open again, and that beautiful face to reappear. She looks him over, not seeming particularly impressed, but also not outright cruel. “Where’s your handbook?” she asks. Beetlejuice tilts his head. It lolls a little comically to one side, presumably because his neck is broken. She sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. “You can’t be serious. You didn’t bring your handbook?” “Listen, lady, even if I had whatever book you’re talkin about, I couldn’t read it,” he counters, and she pauses, at that. “Illiterate. Of course. What’s even the point of the handbook when so many folks can’t read it?” she mutters to herself, and then she waives him at the door, the conversation apparently over. Alright.

The door, predictably, leads to a hallway, a bit unlike anything he’s ever seen before, in terms of sheer length of the thing. It twists around like a snake, and the number of doors along the hall leads him to believe wherever he is, it’s massive. The hallway is empty, save for a man at the far end, mopping, and there doesn’t seem to be anything around for him to tuck into his pockets. Too bad, he mopes, as he carries himself down the hall, boots clacking in a way he finds tactile and pleasant. He passes the custodian, who stares at the floor behind him and sighs, and Beetlejuice looks back to see a mess of dusty footprints he’s left on a previously slightly damp but otherwise pristine floor. With a snort, he spits into the bucket of mop water, and the other man jumps back, disgusted, as Beetlejuice cackles, and continues his leisurely walk down the hall.

At a certain point he realizes he’s got no idea where he’s going, but it doesn’t especially matter. Wherever he is now, whatever version of the afterlife this is, because clearly, that’s what this is, it doesn’t seem to be fire and brimstone and all that bullshit, so he takes it easy, opening doors at random and peeking through. The things he sees don’t always make sense to him, feel like they’re out of place from the world as he knows it. He opens one door, and suddenly he’s staring at what must be a city, but the buildings are so tall they’re touching the sky, going up past the clouds, up into the heaven he doesn’t believe can really be up there. The people are dressed strangely, men and women wandering around in little more than underclothes, which he likes, instantly, and the streets are black with painted yellow lines, instead of dust and earth. Some kind of metal.. Something, a trolley without a track, moves on it’s own down the street, and he catches a glimpse of faces inside. He gets lost in the contents of this door, staring for a long time, entranced, and then it’s slammed suddenly. He turns, catches sight of the custodian with his hand on the door, and growls, an animalistic sound he didn’t know he could do. And then he stops, and turns to look, because the custodian is still a ways behind him, mopping with spit water. It’s the same man. “You don’t need to go poking your snout into places it doesn’t belong,” the man says, simply, and then in a blink, both versions of him are gone from the hallway. Maybe that’s just an… afterlife thing.

He reaches, after what feels like a boring and dragging eternity of twenty whole minutes, a set of saloon doors, the swinging kind. There’s a void of blackness behind them, but the draw he feels is unmistakable, and he pushes them open, and walks through. Instead of a room black as ink, he finds himself… standing on the wooden porch of a bar he remembers frequenting fairly often, in his younger days. At least, he has clear memories of walking into the bar. How and when and why he ended up outside of it, well… whiskey has a hell of an effect on a man’s memory. It’s a fairly chilly desert night. The chirping of crickets and the long ways away lonely baying of a dog is a sort of familiar comfort, but god damn it, he’s just left this world. He wasn’t intending on coming back to it, ever. The dusty streets are dim, illuminated only by the moon, the stars, and the few lamps still burning in windows. The town is quiet.

On the dirt road in front of him is a woman, staring at him. She’s small, older, nicely dressed, with hair shorter than he’s ever seen on a lady, and a mouth sort of like a toad, long and downturned. There’s an unlit cigarette between her fingers. She’s watching him, curious and apathetic all at once. He returns the look. “Juno, then?” he grunts, stepping off the porch. No dust lifts when his boots hit the unpaved road, which he notes. Maybe he’s not really here. Maybe he’s a ghost. Fitting.

“Lawrence “Beetlejuice” Shoggoth,” she says, as he comes to stand in front of her. “Took you long enough. You realize I’ve been waiting here for days. You get lost, or something?” Her tone is sharp, like a schoolmarm with too much on her hands and not enough energy for it all. He feels a little sheepish, if only because no, he hadn’t realized that. “Gimme a break,” he says, instead of an apology. “I just died.” “Like that makes you special,” she huffs, and then, waving her unlit cigarette in his face, machine rolled, not hand, he notes, she asks, “Have you got a match?” He produces one from one of the many pockets of his moss green duster, strikes it on his thumb, and holds it up for her. She has the decency to look grateful, as she leans in, cigarette to her lips, and lights it from that little flame. “So,” she exhales smoke, and it curls from the corner of her lips, and out a previously unspotted slash to her throat. No wondering how she died, then. Speaking of, he glances up, to see that his noose is no longer floating above his head, and turning, he catches sight of it dragging on the ground behind him, long and snake-like in the way it’s twisted and coiled. Juno snaps her long red nails in his face, brings his attention back to her. “You weren’t supposed to die, you know. You’ve mucked things up for me.” “Whut?” he grunts, a bit thrown. She rubs her temples. “You were supposed to go in your seventies. Catch tuberculosis and wither away in obscurity. How old are you?” “Thirty four, or abouts,” he croaks, and she takes another drag. “You let yourself be caught,” she accuses. Well.. yeah. But how the hell does she know that? “I got pinned down in a shootout. Lucky they didn’t blow my head off, right then.” “You’ve gotten out of worse.” She looks almost.. Disappointed. “And then you put down your weapons, instead of fighting it out.” “I was surrounded.” “You were sloppy.” “What’s it to you, anyway?” he growls, again low and animalistic, which Juno ignores, as she walks circles around him, studying him. “You let yourself be caught, and you let yourself be hung. You didn’t even try to get away. You might not have killed yourself, but you let them kill you, for you,” she says. “And it’s giving me a hell of a time, both because it’s changed you, and because I have to put you somewhere, Beetlejuice, and now no one knows where you should go.” “So what does that mean?” “It means, my little statistical outlier, that you’re going to be staying up here, probably a lot broader a time than it would have taken you to just live your life and die at seventy,” she sighs, rubbing at her forehead. “Which is a shame. Because.. I was looking forward to.. To you. And now we both have to wait longer,” and here, she finishes her circle of him, to stand face to face with him again, and she flicks his ear, the way he always imagined an frustrated mother might. “Because you gave up. You weren’t supposed to give up.” “Wasn't much worth livin’ for,” he says, and it’s got more emotion behind it than he meant to give it. Juno’s hand goes to her throat, and she looks pained. “I guess that’s an inherited trait,” her voice is soft, and he squints at her, confused. Instead of giving him any context for that, she points down the dusty main road. Shining under the moonlight, he can see, vaguely, a dark shape suspended in air, near the gallows. “Go put your suit back on,” she says dryly. “And try not to cause enough trouble that I have to come up here and get after you, understood?” “What part of outlaw ain’t you gettin?” he snorts, and she responds by giving him an affectionate pat to his scruffy cheek, before she takes another drag, and vanishes inside the swirling smoke. He’s left standing on his own.

His “suit” is still hanging, he notes, looking up at himself. He’s strung up on a tall pole by the platform, leaving it free for more use, if need be, with his body on display as a gruesome reminder for potential criminals that this is a hanging town, and they’ve even hung their most despised son. His neck is bent at an ugly angle, a little bulge at the side betraying how exactly his bones had shattered, and his skin has gone a bad color, gray and foul looking. But aside from that, he’s not rotted the way he would think he ought to be. Juno’d said she’d been waiting for days, presumably meaning it has been days since his death, but his body is looking remarkably unbuzzard pecked and unrotted. He shimmies up the pole he’s hung from, his ghostly noose trailing behind him, and the moment he touches his own boot, the world spins, going upside down and inside out in a way that’s too painful to try and perceive.

“Gahh-” says Beetlejuice, because he’s back in his body, which is still being hung by that god damn noose, and he realizes, annoyed, that he has no way of cutting himself down. He kicks, pointlessly, one hand going to the rope at his neck, to clutch it and try to keep it from choking himself again, and the other grabbing at the rope further up, gripping it to pull himself up, give himself some slack, instead of hanging taught. It’s not the most coordinated he’s ever been. At least there’s no one around to watch him struggle.

“Holy shit, the body’s movin!” he hears someone holler. Oh, come on.

Read the rest, right over HERE

[goodwriterwithbadhabits]

Want Me

This is, a lot more than anything I've ever written, but I hope you like it.

Master List

~~

When Chan had told Stays he had a gift for them today, you had anticipated something like the valentines date. Maybe even Hyunjin’s surprise appearance. What you definitely weren’t expecting was your boyfriend to basically strip in front of literally the whole world.

“Oh. My god.” Your reaction was subconscious, and totally not something you wanted your roommate, Sungmi, to hear. Your eyes were the size of saucers as you stared at your phone.

“What’s up?” Her interest was piqued the second you made a sound, and being you, you did the one thing you could think of.

You threw your phone as far from yourself as possible.

The two of you watch it sail across the living room and land safely in the dirty clothes hamper neither of you had moved from the hallway to the washer.

“Uh, you good?”

“Wow, look at that laundry!” You exclaim, “Someone should go do it.” You can’t even jump up from the couch when her hand is wrapping around your ankle, pulling you onto the floor.

“Was it Chan’s performance?” Your face immediately goes crimson. “No,” You lie, poorly. “What performance? I didn’t even know he was performing. I should go do the laundry.” You’re talking like you’re the flash, and while she’s attempting to figure out what you said, you attempt to wrench your leg from her grip. Unfortunately her brain power is faster that you can get your arms under you, though you do manage to yank her off the couch with you.

“Get back here!” She huffs, yanking you closer to her and somehow managing to sit on your pelvis. “You saw the Wolfgang performance didn’t you?” She demands, but your answer is more struggling to knock her over. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/n.” She drops forward, pinning your arms by your head, and if she were literally anyone else, you would probably think this was super hot.

“Curse your shockingly strong legs.”

“Nine years of waterpolo.” She explains.

“Really? Damn, I should start playing.”

“You’re stalling.”

“No I’m not.” You lie, again. She rolls her eyes, dropping her head a little more to knock her forehead against yours. “Ow.”

“Be honest with me.”

“I am.”

“No you’re not.” She bonks your head again, “Stop lying.”

“Will you get off me?”

“When we’re done talking.”

“Then yes, I saw Chan’s Wolfgang performance.” She nods, letting go of your hands to sit up properly and crush your pelvis a little more.

“I thought it was pretty hot.” She confesses and you feel something bubble in your chest. You can’t help the slight twitch in your brows and of course she notices. “Ah! Jealousy!”

“I’m not jealous.” She taps your forehead, aggressively enough to hurt a little. “Ow.”

“You can’t lie to a Psychology major.”

“I’m not-” She raises her finger again and you relent. “Alright, fine. Maybe I’m not a huge fan of someone telling me they think my boyfriend is hot to my face.”

“Did you think it was hot?” Your face grows warm and you have to bite back an embarrassed smile.

“I’m not answering that.”

“You don’t have to. You’d be stupid to think otherwise.”

“Especially when he was in the white shirt.” You admit, and she nods.

“You should see if he’ll wear something like that next time you two decide to get all hot and heavy.” Your face flushes again, not really wanting to discuss your sexlife with someone you’ve only actually known for about seven months.

“Um yeah, totally.”

“Oh my god. You guys don’t do stuff!”

“We do stuff!” You defend, immediately regretting it.

“Oh really? Ever used handcuffs?” On him, or me?

“I don’t have to answer that.”

“So that's a no. How about, have you ever sent him a nude?” Oh, if only you knew.

“Get off me.”

“Another no.” She grins, “I’m shocked, he seems like such a feisty boy, you’d think he’d do stuff.” “Seriously, get off.” There’s no humor in your voice now. It wasn’t her place to tell you about your own boyfriend, and you were getting sick of her forcing her way into your love life.

“Oh come on Y/n.” She doesn’t get another word out before you grab her leg and wrench her sideways. Instead of just tossing her onto the floor, you find yourself slamming your hand into the floor by her head, now leaning over her.

“Stay out of my love life, do you hear me?” You practically growl, “I don’t need your help to please my boyfriend.” Her eyes go wide at your words, and you instantly become aware of your positions when a smirk paints itself on her face.

“My, my Y/n. I didn’t peg you as someone who’d be on top.”

“Clearly.” You reply. “Now are you quite done?”

“Have you ever topped him? He seems like the kind of guy who wouldn’t like that.”

“Once again, I don’t have to answer that.”

“You should try it. Something tells me you’ll like it.”

“Shut up.”

~~

“I hate you.” It had been hours since your rather sexually charged conversation with her, and here you were standing at her doorway seeking advice. You hadn’t stopped thinking about what she had said, but in all honesty, Chan was your first, so you had no clue what you were doing most of the time.

“Oh? Is that why you’re looking all lost and confused at my door?” Her voice is sickeningly sweet as she looks at you in the mirror. “What up?”

“I need advice.”

“Wear black, it looks good on everyone.” Her gaze shifts back to her reflection, where she’s curling her hair for a date.

“About Chan.” Her attention turns back to you in an instant and you’re tempted to run back to your room.

“In what sense?”

“What you said earlier.” A wicked grin spreads on her face. “Have a seat darling.” You trudge over to her bed, sitting on the trunk at the end to watch her. “First off, tell me this, who initiates sex usually?”

“He does.” You admit quietly. “Babe, if you want my help, you gotta be able to talk about sex without turning into a tomato. I mean, how are you sexually active and still blushing like a virgin. Next you're going to tell me you only do it missionary with the lights off.”

“Well…” Her mouth drops open in horror.

“Oh my god.” She gasps. “No wonder you’re all annoyed these days. You’re not satisfied.”

“Hey, he gets me off,” You defend, “And he’s very good at it.” You practically swoon just thinking about it. She raises her hands in surrender, but smiles at your answer.

“Have you ever asked him for oral?”

“How the hell do I bring that up in casual conversation? Just “Hey babe, you did wonderful today, do you want to eat me out’.”

“Well if it works.”

“No.”

“Okay, have you ever worn lingerie for him?”

“No, but I did buy something to wear a few months ago.” She nods, approving.

“How come you’ve never worn it?”

“Between Kingdom and the fact that he lives with seven other men, there hasn’t exactly been a time and place.”

“That’s fair. When do you guys usually do it? What’s it like? Just broad details.”

“He tells me he wants to spend the night. I usually get a hotel room, since my parents are still sending me money for rent, and we arrive at separate times. Its usually really sweet and slow.”

“And after?” She prompts.

“We shower, and cuddle. He usually leaves first cause he has practice or something.”

“Ever done it in the shower?” You shake your head, shoulders slumping as you realize how lame everything sounds.

“I really like him, but I think, especially since you said he seems like a kinky type, what if he’s not as into me?”

“I don’t think that’s the case.” She turns her chair towards you, setting a hand on your knee. “I think you’re both too nervous to broach the subject. I know this is your first real relationship, and it might be his too.”

“So, what should I do?”

“Start simple.” She turns back to her mirror, “You should book a room, and jazz it up a little. Rose petals, candles, maybe that set you bought. That way its obvious you want him.”

“That's not a bad idea.”

“Even better! I will go halfsies on one of the fancy hotels with you. I know one that has these huge bathtubs so you can take one together, and the shower has a stone floor, so its not slippery. Oh! We can get you a pretty silk robe, so you can do the dramatic reveal.”

“This sounds like a lot. How about for now, I just do the candles and the set?” She laughs, clearly embarrassed by the way she fiddles with her necklace.

“Sounds like a plan. You can do the big one for your anniversary.” You nod, agreeing with her.

“I can do it tonight, he’ll probably want some stress relief after that performance.” You offer her a sly smile, jumping up to leave the room.

“Where are you going?” She calls after you.

“I gotta go buy some candles.”

~~

Hey lover, come meet me. *Y/n shared her location*

You glanced over at the message again as you adjusted the black lace garterbelt. Sungmi had been right, black did look amazing on everyone. He had read the message, and if you were lucky, he was too busy driving over to text you back. You slid the black skirt up your legs, loving the way it stopped just under the edge of the thigh highs. The last piece was a simple t shirt, it was a little ripped and hung off one shoulder, just giving a slight peekaboo of the bra you had spent way too much money on. If Chan didn’t combust from seeing you in this, you were going to have a fun night.

Carefully you moved your things out of the main room, tucking them in the closet for safe keeping, and began lighting the candles. The sweet aroma of vanilla and lavender wafted through the room as you shut the lights off. You settled on the edge of the bed, taking a few risque selfies to show Sungmi and maybe send Chan later.

And then you waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Babe?

Three hours, that's how long you’d been waiting before you finally texted him again, having run out of excuses for the man.

“Sorry babe, I was working. Do you still want me to come to you?”

Not really, after this long, the wonder had worn off, and you just felt stupid and hurt. Of course he wasn’t going to come if you asked.

No. Its fine.

Actually, I want to talk to you. Are you still at the studio?

You set your phone down, turn the lights back on and begin blowing out candles. You don’t bother changing, just grab your sneakers and your bag before heading out, tucking your key and phone in your bra as you leave the building.

With some take out in hand you make your way to the JYP building, not at all surprised to see several lights still on.

“Woah, hel-lo Y/n.” You instantly smile at Jae’s greeting, which is followed by Brian’s whistle. “You look like a full course meal, girl.”

“Hey boys, what had you here so late, its past midnight?”

“Oh we were just-” Jae glances over at Brian who clears his throat.

“Just working. What about you?”

“Chan’s still working, so I brought some food.” You shrug, heading towards the elevators, “Have a good night.

“You too.” You have to bite your lip so you don’t laugh at Brian smacking Jae’s shoulder, earning a whine from the taller boy.

The lights from the studios are all off when you arrive, but you can see the glow of the computer shining from Chan’s. You knock as you open the door, making him jump and yank his headphones off when the light from the hall hits him. His face lights up in a smile when he sees you. Of course, he’s wearing super tight jeans and a black button up, neither of which were not helping you relax.

“Oh hey baby, I didn’t know you were coming.” He stands to greet you, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

“I texted you.” You tell him, which has him looking guilty.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear it when I’m working.” You smile reassuringly at him.

“That's okay, I know, that’s why I just came over.” You hold up the bag of take out, “I also brought food since you forget to eat when you start working.”

“You are the light of my life.” He sighs, kissing you properly this time as he takes the bag. Your heart flutters from his words, some of the butterflies in your stomach coming back from the dead. You sit across from him, stealing his work chair as he spreads the food out on the table and digs in. It takes him a few minutes to notice that you’re just staring, and he finally stops eating to say something, “You okay? How come you aren’t eating?”

“I already ate.” You lie, but he sees right through it, setting his chopsticks down to look at you properly. You watch his eyes rake across your body, finally seeing the lace stockings and the matching bra.

“That’s not it. You’re disappointed.” He realizes, “You looked the same way when you saw I.Ns grades.” He explains before you can even open your mouth to answer. “I know its not our anniversary, and your birthday already passed.”

“Its nothing babe. I just had a stupid idea for tonight.” The words come spilling out of your mouth before you can stop them. He looks at your outfit again and a cheeky smile begins to grow on his face.

“Were you-? But you never-” He lets out a deep breath, followed by a small giggle, which doesn’t make you feel better.

“I should head home.” You spring up, heading towards the door. “Enjoy your dinner.” He catches your arm before you get too far, pulling you back to wrap his arms around you.

“What did you have planned, baby girl?” Your heart flutters at the pet name, and the low tone his voice had taken on. “You wouldn’t have gotten all dressed up like this for nothing.” HIs free hand trails down your side, coming to the edge of your skirt, where his fingers find the skin just above the top of your stockings.

“Maybe I just wanted to make sure you want me as much as I want you.” You confess.

“Baby girl.” His voice is soft now, “Of course I want you.” His lips brush the skin of your neck as he speaks, sending shivers across your whole body.

“Then how come we never do anything interesting?”

“Like what?” Your confidence grows as you turn to face him, looping a finger through the choker he wears.

“Maybe I don’t want to do the same thing every time we fuck.” You can see from the way his eyebrows hike up that he’s startled by your words, hell, you were startled by them. “Maybe I want to see you.” Your other hand moves up to his face, trailing your thumb over his lips. “Maybe I don’t always want to be in a bed, in the dark, on my back. Maybe I want to be in charge.”

“I don’t think you could handle that baby girl.” He bites at your thumb as he finishes his sentence.

“Try me, Chris.” You challenge. His hands come up to your cheeks, pulling you in for a searing kiss. For a few seconds, your brain forgets what you had just challenged. He doesn’t help as he pulls away from your lips, his trailing across your cheek and down your neck.

“Sit.” You order, pulling away, trying to keep your breathing steady and not let on how affected you were.

“Excuse me?”

“Sit. Down.” You order again, shoving him lightly towards his computer chair. He backs up slowly, collapsing into it, eyes never leaving you.

“What are you doing?” He asks as you turn away from him.

“Proving a point.” You declare, the click of his lock emphasizing your words.

“Oh?” You turn back to him, finding him relaxed as ever, watching you with his legs spread wide. You saunter towards him, standing between his legs, hands on the arm rests. “You really think you can handle this baby?”

“If I impress you, you’ll save your work and we head over to the hotel.”

“And if you don’t?”

“You save your work and we head over to the hotel anyway.”

“Bet.”

“You might regret that, baby.” You push on the chair, sending it back until it connects with his desk.

“Oh really?” He asks, as you push his knees together slightly so you can straddle his lap. Your fingers trail from his shoulders down to the buttons on his shirt, popping them open one at a time.

“You talk too much.” You tell him, leaning forward to press kisses along his neck. Just as you hit his pulse point, he hisses, hands coming to rest on your thighs. “Ah ah ah.” You chastise, pulling away from his neck. “No touching.” You pull his hands away, dropping them on the arm rests instead. “Hands to yourself.”

“Oh you are in for it when we get to the hotel.” He groans as you nip at his skin.

“That’s what I’m hoping for.”

[seriouslysnape]

Hopeless Romantic

__

Lucius Malfoy x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Implications of sex, Language.

Word Count: 1,634

“I see you found one of my messages.”

__

Even Lucius would admit, he wasn’t very in touch with his romantic side. The love language of Lucius Malfoy was physical touch, have no doubt about that. He felt that if his hands were on you, then he was displaying his care and adoration in the only way he knew how. However, after spending more and more time with you, he learned that there were other ways to show his affection.

Words of affirmation were definitely one that stunned him. You were always telling him how you were proud of him and how you admired him. At first, he tried to ignore the way his heart did a little leap whenever you spoke to him this way. It made him feel warm and fuzzy inside, which wasn’t always normal for him. He’d find himself going back to those moments, smiling off into space at how it made him feel. 

Lucius had never been a “flowers on Valentine’s Day” kind of guy. His hands being on your body or his fingers running through your hair or even just brushing by you when he walked by was his way of showing his love. While that was always great and appreciated, he just didn’t understand yet that you needed more than that. 

You had mentioned it a time or two before that you needed to hear his love for you and see it. Lucius became rather irritated, thinking that you were just being overly clingy and ungrateful. Lucius was a VERY proud man, and it was rare for him to ever doubt the way he did things. If you weren’t satisfied with him, then that was a you problem in his eyes. 

While it was incredibly frustrating that he never showed his devotion any other way, you understood that Lucius didn’t know how to. Over time, you were able to identify that his lingering touches and passionate kisses were his way. So, you accepted it and moved on.

Despite this, Lucius began to notice something new. You had accompanied him at a dinner party of sorts, enjoying the company of others and taking that much deserved social time. Lucius had been standing with you, his hand on the small of your back when he caught the conversation you had been having with one of the guests. She was telling you about how her husband had started writing her love notes, and leaving them around the house for her to find later.

Lucius almost audibly scoffed at the thought of such a cheesy idea, but he stopped himself when he saw the way your eyes brightened in a not-so subtle way. You gushed and gawked with your friend for the next ten minutes, going on and on about how romantic that was. Lucius was surprised that you had such a reaction to the idea, and he suddenly began to see just what you had been talking about. 

He spent the rest of the evening thinking about it, wondering if he could pull off the same exact thing. He was confident at first, because how hard could it be to put his love into words? He didn’t realize just how challenging it would be until he had been sitting at his large desk for almost thirty minutes, quill in hand, and the paper completely blank. He was surrounded by crumpled pieces of paper that had been discarded, none of them proving to be successful drafts.

He couldn’t think of a solitary thing to say, or even how to say it. It seemed that his penmanship skills were less than perfect. He was growing more and more aggravated with each passing moment. This shouldn’t be this hard. He was crazy about you, so why couldn’t he string together a damn sentence?

He tossed his quill back onto the desk, ready to give in to defeat. He sighed harshly, his eyes roaming over his previous attempts that were scattered in front of him. His gaze wandered to a gold-framed photograph that he kept at the front of his desk. He picked it up, letting out a soft chuckle as he remembered the day it was taken. 

It was a rather candid picture, which was much different than any of his other images of you, but it was his favorite. It was a bit of a secret hobby of Lucius Malfoy, but he had a glimmer of interest in photography. You were often the subject of his pictures, sometimes they were fully staged and sometimes not. He might take pictures of you just cuddled up next to him on the sofa, or sometimes he’d have you model for him to take more sultry, provocative pictures (that he kept stashed away in a locked drawer in his desk for his sole viewing pleasure).

He glanced over the finer details of the framed picture. The way you looked so glowy and gorgeous. Your eyes sparkled a little more and your skin looked heavenly. His mind wandered to how he loved to touch you as a reminder that you were there with him. How he cherished the way you snuggled up next to him when you were cold or wanted attention. Before he knew it, he was thinking about all the things he loved about you. Exactly the things he wanted to put into words.

He quickly picked his quill back up before he lost his stroke of genius. He wrote like a madman, writing one to three sentences on each piece of parchment before moving on to the next one. He used a lot of the things that you said to him on a daily basis to help him along. He was on a roll after a few minutes, pushing out at least five or six little notes to leave around the house. He planted them in various places, and considering his residence was massive, he had plenty of spaces.

He was proud of himself, but hoping that you would find them endearing. He wasn’t home when you found the first two. The first had been stashed into the novel you were currently reading, falling onto your lap when you opened the book. You raised a brow at the parchment that you identified as Lucius’ personalized stationery. You opened the folded note, reading it so many times because you were sure that you were dreaming.

[Y/N],

Your heart is as pure as the words written on these pages. I love you for being my greatest story.

Lucius.

You were totally shocked. Surely, this wasn’t YOUR Lucius that had written this? The same Lucius Malfoy that sneered at anything even remotely commercially romantic? This was a textbook definition, straight out of a romantic Muggle movie that he would never be caught dead watching. You were filled with joy, an amazing feeling of care rushing over you. It was a wonderful surprise, one that you would keep close to you. 

While the first one was a shocker, the second one was three times that. An hour or so later, you entered the bathroom to take a shower when you caught a glimpse of the small piece of parchment tucked into the corner of the mirror. You plucked it into your grasp, a blinding smile appearing on your face.

My love, 

I hope you find this with a smile on your face, the same one that I have undoubtedly fallen in love with. I love you for being the light of my life.

Lucius.

This one caused tears to prick at your eyes. You were overwhelmed with emotions. You had watched Lucius become “soft” over the years and watched him comply with your needs. Seeing HIS handwriting, writing THESE words that he put together was a gorgeous thing. You wiped away at the happy tears streaming your face when you heard someone enter the connecting bedroom. Sure enough, the man in question appeared in the doorway. A grin appeared on his face when he saw you holding the note.

“I see you found one of my messages.” Lucius said, approaching you at the bathroom counter. 

“I’ve found two...how many are there?” You asked, even more gleeful that you might have more to find.

He hummed thoughtfully.

“Quite a few,” He admitted, snaking an arm around your waist. His smile disappeared when he saw the faint tracks of tears on your cheeks; “Have you been crying, darling?”

He swiped at your damp cheeks, a soft giggle escaping your lips.

“Yeah, but happy tears. I wasn’t expecting this at all, Luc.” You confessed, resting your hands on the collar of his shirt.

He felt his heart melt. He never knew how something so simple would touch you like this. You deserved to feel worshipped and appreciated, and if this was the way he needed to do it, then so be it. 

“I meant everything I said. I do love you. Even if I don’t always say it.” He said, holding your face in his hand.

“I love you, Lucius. I’m proud of you.” You said. 

Oh, there it was. His favorite words of encouragement. He smiled again, listening as you carried on.

“Even if you don’t say it a lot, you always show me,” You said in a seductive tone; “And, oh, do you show it well.” 

His smile faded into more of a smirk. His first instinct to pick you up and place you on the counter, stepping between your legs and leaving hot kisses on your neck. Before he progressed further, he stopped.

“Wait, don’t you want to find the rest of them?” He asked, figuring you’d rather do that instead.

You shrugged. While you did totally want to, you could spare a few minutes for this. You kissed him in response, replying before making sweet love with him.

“Yeah, but I want you more.”

[thefanficmonster]

Phone Call Anxiety

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: When wanting to make quality merch, one needs a quality team there to produce and work on quality ideas. Great minds think alike. Great eyes see alike and great hands make alike - the three keys to the formula of creating a clothing line that will be fashionable and up to his brand. Luckily, Corpse knows just who to call.

Requested by Anon. Hi hun! Thank you so much for your wonderful request, I absolutely loved the idea! Sorry you’ve had to wait for it to be turned into a fic for so long, but I still hope you come across it and give it a read in which case I hope you enjoy it! Love, Vy ❤

He’s not a fan of phone calls. Anyone who knows him even remotely is very well informed on Corpse’s distaste for phone calls and upholding a conversation over the phone. He’d even go as far as to say talking to a person face to face is less stressful for him than that previous option.

But still, seeing as how the person he’s trying to reach lives in a different state and is rather busy all the time, arranging an IRL meeting is basically impossible at the moment, and sending her a text results in running the risk of having the text overlooked or completely lost in the sea of notifications she probably gets on the daily.

Therefore, a phone call was his only proper way of reaching her. And it’s what’s got him pacing the room with his nervousness peaking.  He doesn’t know anything about this girl, nothing concrete at least. He was referred to her by Jack who brought her up in their passing conversation when Corpse mentioned how paranoid he was regarding his upcoming merch project. He specifically stated he doesn’t want anything basic and he wants the clothes to be fashionable, suitable for anyone no matter the age or gender and to be endurable. With all the love he has for his fans, he doesn’t want to give them anything less than what they deserve - the best.

“My friend’s the person you’re looking for.“ Jack said enthusiastically and confidently, “She helped me design the latest merch line I put out and I’ve never been more satisfied with my own merch. I’m planning on offering her a position in Cloak for her birthday. Make sure not to let that one slip out if you give her a call though.“ He warned half-jokingly. 

Bottom line, with that kind of intro, Corpse couldn’t help but let his interest be piqued. And so, he asked for this girl - Y/N’s contact info from Jack before he went to surf through her social media where she thankfully posted plenty of pictures of her creations, never failing to mention specifications in the caption of each picture so the viewers would get the perfect and most detailed idea of how high the standard for her work is.

And so he’s finally managed to talk himself into dialing her number that’s been sitting in his phone for weeks now. As he paces his living room, his nerves chewing him out like a dog would with a toy, listening to the ear piercing ring of the dial waiting to get picked up by the girl he’s trying to reach. 

Just then, Corpse’s head turns so that his eyes meet the glowing red numbers on his digital clock on his desk and he damn near hangs up the call right away - it’s half an hour past midnight. Fast as lightning, he removes the phone from his ear, his thumb flying over to press the red ‘end call’ button. Just then, a faint ‘hello’ reaches his ears, coming from the phone’s speaker. She’s answered the call.

He hurries to put the phone back up to his ear.

“Hey, sorry for taking so long to pick up, I ought to clean my desk eventually cause my phone was literally BURIED under a pile of papers.“ A cheerful sing-song voice rattles his stale and sleep deprived consciousness, as if awakening him from a half-dream state. “You’re either a wrong number caller or a last minute client, aren’t you? Need something done urgently?“

Corpse is taken the hell aback by her strong and downright awing first impression. Not to mention her energy at an hour unsuitable for calls. Lord knows he wouldn’t have picked up if her were in her spot. With the intention of not wasting any more of her time than necessary, he hurries to explain his situation. “Y/N, right? Um no, I’m neither actually. I was told about you by a friend, he said you were a real miracle-doer with fashion design.” He trails off for a second, not completely sure of how to hold this conversation, “Uh, sorry for the odd timed call, I lost track of time. I’ve been meaning to call you for hours now but I...I was nervous.” He cringes the second the word leaves his lips, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He doesn’t know why he wants to leave her with a great, better than realistic impression of himself but he does and as of now he deems his attempts as ultimate failures.

He hears her giggle from her end, rifling through what sounds to be papers, “Yeah, I’m her. And boy is it refreshing to get someone who’s calling with an actual purpose.” She sighs as if a weight’s been lifted off her shoulders, “And don’t worry about the phone call anxiety. Makes two of us, to be honest.”

This catches him off-guard. The last thing he’d expect is for this girl to have phone call anxiety. In fact, she appears to be a natural, God-given talent at carrying conversations and upholding chit-chat with people. Maybe he’s a little too quick to judge - probably, considering he’s ‘known’ her for less than five minutes and knows nothing but her occupation, her name and the state she lives in - but that bubbly persona she greeted him with gave off the impression that it’s immune to any and all kinds of social anxiety - or anxiety in general. To hear such an honest and counter-to-assumptions confession on her part rattles him a tiny bit. In a good way though.

“How does that work for you? Isn’t your whole job depending on your phone conversational skills?“ He doesn’t mind that he didn’t phrase that too perfectly or that he straight up blurted it out. He knows he’ll be understood. She’s obviously a person who understands. Not just something specific, but everything. She simply understands. How he drew this conclusion and how accurate it is, he may not know until further notice.

“Well...“ she sighs as if genuinely looking to give him a proper answer, “You see, after doing it for so long and having been caught off guard quite a few times with some absolutely absurd orders, I’ve grown prepared of literally ANYTHING and I have a line prepared for anything the caller has to say. I just no longer let them catch me off guard and it’s fine. Helps avoid any possible awkward silences.“

Corpse’s eyebrows shoot up, her explanation only raising more questions rather than providing answers. But he’s not gonna be the annoying dumbass asking those questions at close to 1AM and bugging her. After all, if she agrees to this partnership, they’ll be hearing and potentially seeing a lot more of each other soon. “Impressive, honestly. You’re gonna need to teach me sometime.“ He’s unaware he’s smiling until he catches his reflection in the window. However, he doesn’t bother hiding it. This conversation is actually making him feel good, serving as a reminder that he’s not the only one who periodically goes through turmoil over small things. 

She giggles again, this time the sound manages to draw a blush out of him, coating his cheeks, “I’d typically stray for revealing my secrets to professional success, but I’m willing to make an exception for you...” she pauses for a second as though she’s just now remembered something, “Oh shoot, I don’t even know your name.”

He wheezes out a nervous laugh, realizing he never introduced him, “Oh yeah, sorry, that’s my bad. My name’s Corpse, nice to meet ya.”

“Nice to meet you too, Corpse.“ Y/N replies, sounding pleased but teasing simultaneously, “Now tell me, you didn’t call me about my phone call secrets, did you? What may be the real purpose of your call?“

Oh shoot, he himself almost forgot what he was calling for. Luckily, the reference designs displayed on his computer screen remind him. “Right, well, I’ve been thinking of launching a new merch line either this month or the next, depending on how long the procedure will take, and I needed someone great on my team to make some merch actually worth the money people are paying for it. And, as I said, I was told you were in that ‘someone great’ category.”

“Told by who, if you don’t mind me asking?“ She briefly cuts him off, her voice now giving away the fact that she’s half-absent-minded in this conversation, added evidence be the ruffling of more papers on her end.

“Jack. I mean, Sean. You know, Jacksepticeye.“ Corpse explains, contemplating whether he should’ve ratted Jack out like that. Hearing the sound of delight Y/N lets out eases his worries ASAP though.

“Oh Gosh, I haven’t seen that cutie in so long! He’s like a brother to me so a friend of Jack’s is a friend of min-“ this time she cuts herself off so abruptly Corpse thought the line was cut or she hung up on him. She doesn’t let him wonder for long though, “Wait, wait, wait....Merch? And you’re friends with Jack?“ She pauses for a second once again, once again not a long enough second for Corpse to speak up. “You’re a famous YouTuber, aren’t you?“

He was completely unaware of the fact Y/N hadn’t realized he was someone famous yet. In fact, he didn’t think of it because he thought it wouldn’t be a big deal to her considering she’s friends with Jack-fucking-septiceye! In his mind, his ranking is far lower than Jack’s - despite that mindset being absurd - so the last thing he expected was for her to have some sort of impressed reaction to have been talking to him on the phone this whole time. Hell, she doesn’t even know his full YouTube name or what kind of content he produces.

“WAIT!“ She shouts urgently, startling him a tiny bit, “You’re Corpse Husband, aren’t you? Oh my God, yes you are, how didn’t I put it together sooner? Ah crap, I really need more coffee for this.“

“No! No, you need more sleep.“ Corpse hurries to correct her but is very clearly ignored or overlapped with the many sounds that are coming from her end, “What are you doing?“

“You’re getting the first rough sketch of a design by tomorrow morning.“ She says, taking a sip of whatever beverage she’s acquired for the purpose of keeping her awake, “You go ahead and get some sleep, I know exactly what I’m doing. Don’t worry about it.“

“I’m not worried about the design.“ He hurries to say before she, God forbid, hangs up on him, “It’s 1AM, woman, you need sleep! I don’t need those designs done by tomorrow. Hell, I don’t even need them this week!“

“You don’t, but I do.“ Y/N says, sounding almost breathless because of what seems to be overwhelming excitement, “You don’t get it - I’m designing merch for Corpse fucking Husband! You have any idea how crazy that is?“

“I personally would say it’s underwhelming. I mean, I’m no Pewdiepie, after all.“ He says, now sat at his desk with his free hand rubbing his temple as he stares at the designs he’s pulled up on his screen, ones he probably won’t need given that he’s now working with a professional.

“Oh, shut it.“ She chuckles, “Shut it and get some sleep, ok? I’ll talk to you in the morning.“

“Noooo...“ He leisurely stretches the word, “Tell me, Y/N, do you have Discord?” She clicks her tongue instantly, giving him a signal that the question he’s asked is bordering into the territory of ridiculous. He playfully rolls his eyes, “Alright then, lemme find you. If we’re partnering up on this, we’re both staying up.”

“You know you can just straight up tell me you don’t fully trust me with this? Like, I won’t be offended, I get it.“ She murmurs in-thought, the sound of clicking evident on her end. 

“You know you can just straight up tell me you don’t want me bothering you and want me to leave you alone?“ He mimics her statement, smirking to himself as he pulls up Discord, knowing he’s already won.

She huffs and tells him her Discord info, quickly adding a small comment, “...but only because great minds think alike. I know we’ll be getting along on this design pretty nicely.”

“Yeah, yeah, right, sure, whatever you say.“ He laughs, “Accept my friend request and let’s drop this phone call.“

“Hey! - um, before we do that, I just wanna say a quick thank you.“ Y/N murmurs quietly, as if half-hoping he doesn’t hear her.

“For what?“ Corpse asks, his brows furrowing, unsure if they’re on the same page about this gratitude.

“For never once triggering my phone call anxiety.“ She admits, “I mean, I know I said I have lines prepared for every conversation scenario possible, but you totally caught me off-guard.“ She giggles a tiny bit, now sounding dangerously close to nervous, “But, not in a bad way, if that makes sense. Sorry if it doesn’t, I need more coffee.“

“No, no, it does!“ He hurries to reassure her, “It really does. And thank you too. Thank you for, you know, tolerating my BS at this hour. God knows I would’ve ignored your call if our roles were reversed.“

He hears her scoff and can’t help but laugh, “Huh ok, I see.“ She says, sounding greatly triggered and mock-pissed at his confession, “I’ll make sure to think of that next time you call me after midnight. Or at all, ever.“

Laughing his butt off, the only thing Corpse can think of in this moment is:

Damn, this girl and I are gonna get along

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[solarwonux]

31. Why haven’t you kissed me yet?

college!wonwoo x reader

w.c 1.4k 

warnings: angst, mentions of alcohol

note: haha hey I’m laura and I like writing angst. Tbh this took a turn I did not expect, but also this might be part of something bigger that’s coming later on this year. Let me know your thoughts please all kinds of feedback is helpful and I read everything. I hope you like it <3 

ps. I edited this in a rush so I’m sorry for any mistakes.xx

masterlist || drabble game

It was stupid.

Joshua’s idea to play truth or dare was stupid. You should’ve pretended to walk away to get another drink in order to avoid the embarrassment you were currently facing, but sadly the odds were never in your favor. And the small room you were currently in with the last person you ever wanted to be stuck in a room with, was becoming stuffy and overwhelming. 

It’s not like you hated Wonwoo per se. He was simply someone you didn’t care about, your feelings towards him were indifferent, didn’t matter nor did they exist. 

At least that’s what you told yourself. 

The unfortunate truth was that he had been someone you were secretly crushing on for all three years that you had known him. And Joshua knew this, which is why he had decided to play matchmaker when Wonwoo had picked dare over truth. 

Your heart started pounding when instead of protesting he accepted his faith and extended his hand for you to take. He led you towards the vacant room at the end of the hallway, your friend’s hollering and making all sorts of incredulous comments. When the two of you were finally safe inside the simple tiny room, the only sign of life was the small black duffle bag next to the wooden wardrobe; Wonwoo let go of your hand and sat down on the twin-sized bed. While you stood by the door gripping the sleeves of your tie-dyed long sleeve, a gift from your best friend Vernon, wishing you could leave. 

Five minutes had passed and only an awkward thick air of silence filled the room, until Wonwoo decided to break it. “Are you just going to stand there the entire time, you can sit down you know?” 

“Oh, right.” You nodded uncrossing your arms from in front of you and sat down on the floor with your back against the door. Wonwoo scoffed and leaned back on his elbows eyeing you through hooded eyes. 

“That’s not what I meant but suit yourself.” He said smugly before rolling his eyes and shifting his attention to the wardrobe on the far left off the room. 

Fourteen minutes. 

All you needed to do was endure fourteen minutes of this torture and you’d be able to go back to ignoring each other and pretending like your feelings for him were nonexistent. 

So far only six Mississippi’s had gone by.

“How long do we have to be in here for again?” Wonwoo broke the silence again, the tension was thick and so far it seemed like you were the only suffocating in it. 

“Um...only eight more minutes.” You brought your knees up to your chest and hugged them tightly. He was now looking at you and you couldn’t tell if it was indifference or disgust. After three years of knowing him...barely you couldn’t differentiate between the two and it always plagued with you a wave of anxiety. “I mean I’m not counting or anything it’s just...um yeah I think eight more minutes maybe seven now.” 

If you could rip your tongue out of your mouth to keep yourself from embarrassing yourself any longer you would. 

“Alright.” Wonwoo mumbled and sat up again resting his elbows on his knees in a poor attempt to close the semi large gap between the two of you. “Why have you kissed me yet?” He smirked before placing his chain against his thumb. 

Your eyes grew wide and the air your lungs stopped at the base of your throat. He was only playing with you. That was all he was good for, but you couldn’t deny the soft palpitations of your against your rib cage, “I...um I thought that was your dare not mine?” You quirked your head to the side and tightened your arms around your legs. Your fingernails dug in your clothed shin and the panic started rushing through you when you noticed that he was now making his way towards you. 

“You’re kind off making it hard for me when you’re all the way over here, so I’m giving you the reigns on this whole stupid game, but time is ticking and I’d rather get this over with sooner rather than later.” He finished and sat down in front of you, copying your position and resting his chin against his knees. 

Sometimes you wondered why you harbored such stupid feelings for the boy in front of you, especially when he opened his mouth. Nothing good ever game out of it but then again he never stayed in your presence long enough for you to decide otherwise. He always left as soon as he saw you enter a room or approach the same table your mutual friends were sitting at. The few times he did stay and it was very few, everything he said got under your skin. More so if it was directed towards you. 

“It’s a game right?” You questioned resting your back against the door. He was now too close to you and although he looked adorable you wanted to get away from him as soon as possible. Five minutes left. You breathed out, “And no one can see us, so we don’t have to kiss. They’re not going to ask because they’re too drunk and have probably forgotten by now.”

“Ashk, you’re no fun.” He blew out a raspberry, fogging up his round glasses and blowing his bangs away from his forehead briefly. “Just like you said...it is a game but I also don’t want to end my night without kissing someone.” He leaned back on his hands and extended his legs on either side of your body trapping you in. “Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen on parties and friend trips? There has to be at least two people hooking up.” He winked, tapping the toe of his sock covered foot against your side causing you to move away slightly. 

“I’m sure you can find someone else to satisfy your needs then.” You shrugged and tore attention away from his soft deceiving brown eyes and focused them on the stupid brown wardrobe. It had become the star of the night. 

“I want that person to be you though.” Wonwoo whispered his calloused fingers had found their way to your chin and turned your face carefully to look at him again. Your knuckles had gone white from how hard your grip was on your legs. 

“W-Why? You don’t like me, hate me for some unknown reason so why show an interest now that you’re a few to many drinks in?” 

Wonwoo laughed lowly, his thumb caressing your cheek and slowly traveling to your parted lips. You weren’t gonna lie if you had had a few more drinks in your system you would’ve given in to his touch and worshipped the ground he walked on. But you knew your limit and had stopped taking bitter tequila shots an hour ago. 

“You’re wrong, unfortunately I don’t care enough to hate you. Frankly, I don’t see what my friends see in you but you’re cute...kinda enough to satisfy me for a night, atleast.” He tilted his head to the side and retreated his hand letting drop to his side. 

He looked better when he kept his mouth shut, you concluded. 

Thankfully you were nearing the one minute mark. Now after his confession and the utter jabs he had made towards your heart made you realize the thing you should’ve realized a long time ago. Jeon Wonwoo was an asshole hiding behind his god given looks and he didn’t deserve your attention or your heart. 

“Find someone else then.” You pushed yourself off the floor using your entire strength. You could feel his glowing glare watching your every move as you opened the door to the room, kicking his foot in the process. Forty six minutes were left but you couldn’t stay in his presence any longer.

Six pairs of eyes were on you as soon as you came into view, obviously waiting to see what or hear of what had happened behind the closed door. Thankfully for you and unfortunately for them nothing had had happened and you had never before gotten the urge to kill someone as much as you wanted to murder the one and only Joshua Hong. 

“You guys wasted your time.” You said before walking past them and down the hallway listening to their curiosity take over before the questions started up again. You didn’t care the only thing in your hazy state was the burning feeling of tequila as it traveled down your throat. Alcohol wasn’t the best way to deal with a heart break; it only led to a piercing hangover, but it would help in surviving the remainder of the night and keep you from crying. The last thing you wanted and needed was to cry, Wonwoo didn’t deserve your tears so you weren’t going to give him that feeling of instant gratification. 

At least not now.