#I’m starting to do better I’m working on it c:

[onlymingyus]

Deny (Teaser)

pairing; kim mingyu x f!reader x jake sim (enhypen)

genre; smut (minor dni), mild angst, toxic themes, fluff, comedy

summary; When your boyfriend's stepbrother spends the summer with you things get a lot more interesting for you and a lot more complicated for him.

content warnings; reader is around the same age as mingyu, jake is younger, college au, stepsibling au, poly themes, "cheating" themes, teasing -- eating/drinking, alcohol, sunghoon/heeseung side characters, other cameos mentioned.

smut warnings; Dom!mingyu, sub!reader, sub!jake, mild stepcest, some mild mlm, semi-protected sex, unprotected sex, double penetration, pet play (names and degradation), fingering, oral (m & f receiving/giving), masturbation, accidental exhibitionism/voyeurism, purposeful exhibitionism/voyeurism, choking, impact play, cum eating, praise/degradation, pet names/degrading names, dumbification, panty fetish, sub/Dom themes -- patreon bonus has it's own warnings

w/c; 27.1k and some change (34k ~ patreon) [3.2k this teaser]

a/n; thank you to @junkissed for proofreading for me and as always giving me the courage to finish something when i feel like it's going to crash and burn. this one is a lot and i didn't mean for it to be as long as it is. it's very dirty and heavy on kinks. if this isn't for you, i completely understand. i just let myself enjoy writing and getting into a story, but i do hope if you read you enjoy it!

this fic will be released 1/13 to read it now subscribe to my patreon and click here

You weren’t exactly sure what you expected when you got home. Mingyu was bound and determined that you were not going to change your routine just because Jake was staying with you and him, but you couldn’t help feeling a little nervous as soon as you stepped through the door and saw the extra pair of shoes. Taking a deep breath, you shake out your hands and nod once before dropping off your purse like you always do and jogging up the steps, only stopping long enough to glance towards Jake’s room, seeing the door closed. 

Another thing you had promised to do was not to crowd him or make him feel like anything was expected of him. If he wanted to hang out with you and Mingyu, he was welcomed to, but neither of you would force it—but as you looked at his closed door, you couldn’t help but think of the sweet boy that you had last seen before he started college. Swallowing hard, you press your lips together and work up a bit of confidence before letting out a breath as you turn towards your bedroom. “Hi, Jake! I’m home.” 

Glancing up from his laptop as he hears your voice, Jake’s eyes widen when you say his name. He has to instantly fight the urge to slide off the bed and go find you, but that wouldn’t be very chill of him and Jake Sim was a chill guy—at least that was what he was reminding himself as he steadied his breath and stared at the video on his laptop screen. “I—ok!” 

You’d take it. That was better than nothing; at least you knew he was alive behind the door. Mingyu said he wasn’t your doll, that he wasn’t a child you were taking care of, but right now he could have fooled you into thinking he was the same kid that you knew back when you first got together with Mingyu. “‘Kay…cool. Gyu will be home in like an hour; he’s bringing home some dinner. I’m gonna shower and then watch something downstairs.”

What did you want him to say? What was Jake supposed to reply to after learning that information? He already knew that his brother was picking up food, but learning that you were going to shower and watch television—did you want him to watch something with you? By the time that Jake decides that maybe that’s what you were hinting at, it’s been long enough that he’s heard the water turn on and then turn off; your shower finished before he is on his feet and pacing at his door and opening it, trying to keep his mouth closed.  

Fuck. Holy shit. No picture could do you justice. Especially not when you were standing in the hall in short cotton shorts that barely peeked out from under what was probably one of Mingyu’s shirts as you ran a towel over your head to dry off. 

Seeing movement out of the corner of your eye, you hum in surprise and out of happiness that Jake decided to come out of his room, but it’s short lived when you see him for the first time. What happened to the awkward, almost geeky-looking kid that you knew? This wasn’t that kid; he had been replaced by someone who had grown into his features and his looks seemingly overnight—Mingyu had been right, he wasn’t a kid anymore. “Oh… Hi—hey Jake. How was the bus here?” 

Taking a breath to get over your nerves, in an attempt to push past the shock of seeing Jake all grown up, you toss the used towel into the hamper and flash him a sweet smile before heading towards the stairs, not waiting for him to answer you. It was better than staring at him like an idiot and you could hear him following behind you down the stairs, his accent a bit thicker as he swallows hard, letting his eyes travel along your backside. 

“It was alright. Uh, thanks—thanks for letting me stay here and for all the stuff in my room.” There was more that Jake wanted to say but as he worked his eyes back up your legs, moving into the living room, you turned to sit on the couch and he had just made it back to your stomach before looking away quickly.  

“No biggie. I wanted you to be comfortable while you were here with us.” You pull your legs under you as you reach for the remote on the coffee table. Tilting your head, you watch Jake stand awkwardly between the living room and the kitchen as you pat the couch beside you. “You can sit. Here, or if you want the recliner. Your brother loves the reclin—” 

“Here’s good, Y/N... Thanks.” Plopping on to the other side of the couch, Jake holds his phone tightly in his palm as you study him for a long moment before finally looking towards the television and scrolling through apps. When you finally settle on a show, Jake lets out a breath and relaxes into the cushions, biting at his bottom lip as he scrolls through his phone, seemingly not paying attention to the television in front of him. 

Jake: I’m not gonna make it dude. SOS 

Hoon: What’s up? 

Clearing his throat, Jake glances at you from the corner of his eye as he shifts on the couch so that he can rest in the corner to get more comfortable. Watching you over his phone, he carefully takes a picture of you letting out a breath before switching his phone back over to his messages, sending the picture to Sunghoon and waiting for his reaction. 

Hoon: Nothing can be done. RIP 

Hoon: Where's Mingyu? 

Jake: Not home yet. She wanted me to watch something with her. He’s gonna kill me right? Seeing her dressed like that with me here

Hoon: In the ground, 6 fuckin feet 

Jake: Worth it… 🥵

Pushing the door closed, Mingyu leans his head towards the sound of the television as he balances the takeout bags in one hand and his work bag in the other. Normally you’d be at the door saying hello to him but maybe you just hadn’t heard him come in? “Baby?” 

Jake watches, a small disappointed breath slipping from between his lips when you jump up from the couch so fast for his brother. Of course you would; it was stupid for him to think otherwise. You had been with his brother for years; his family was expecting Mingyu to put a ring on your finger at any point now, but that still didn’t make it any less disappointing to watch you whine his name as you moved through the kitchen towards him, leaving Jake behind. 

“Hi! Oh my god, the food smells so good, I’m so hungry.” Moving to your toes, you kiss Mingyu before taking the takeout from him. “I missed you.” 

Mingyu doesn’t even try to hide the grin on his face when you fawn over him. You acted like his pretty little wife already, even without a ring on your finger. He loved getting a kiss from you when he got home from work and hearing about your day, but today was already different as he followed you into the kitchen after putting his bag with yours in the foyer. Nodding to Jake on the couch, Mingyu’s brow raises as he lets out a soft breath, sliding a hand over your hip. “Hey, Jake. Hungry? I got pasta; it’s Y/N’s favorite.” 

It was clear that you and Mingyu, but mostly you, were trying to keep the vibe chill and not let any tension build, but that felt almost impossible. Swallowing hard, Jake runs his fingers through his hair, drawing your attention to the longer length ending at the nape of his neck. 

"Uh, yeah, I’m hungry. Pasta is great.” Sliding from the couch, Jake puffs up his cheeks with a deep breath before sitting at the kitchen island while you work to plate some of the pasta for each of you. “How—um, was work okay, Mingyu?” Jake wasn’t great at this, and neither was Mingyu. It wasn’t either of their fault, just a product of their mistimed relationship. 

Jake had another brother; he lived with his mother back in Australia. Mingyu’s little sister was his pride and joy, even if he rarely got to see her as she studied abroad. To you, that meant that Jake and Mingyu should have tried to make the most of their situation, but it wasn’t something you’d ever really understand. It was easier for them to talk about sports, music, chicks—nothing deep like real brothers, and that was okay for the most part in both of their opinions. 

“It was good. Same shit, different day.” Smirking a bit at his own words, Mingyu sighs when you give him a disappointed glance. He knew what it was about; he wasn’t trying hard enough. “I mean, I—it’s just a lot of office politics and shit, dude. It’d bore the fuck out of you. Tell me about school. How are your friends? How’s the girls?” 

That was more like it, and yet at the mention of girls, you can’t help but roll your eyes. Sliding a plate in front of Jake, you almost coo in appreciation when he smiles at you and thanks you under his breath. “‘Course Jakey. Eat up…” Putting a plate in front of Mingyu, you pick up your own fork, trying to keep up with their conversation, even as Jake stumbles over his words hearing you call him the nickname you used to call him before he left for college. 

“It’s—ya know, school. It’s okay.” Pushing the fettuccine around on the plate, watching the sauce spread along the ceramic. “I—my friends. They’re good. Sunghoon stayed close for the summer too. He might come by some time if you guys don’t care.” 

Before Mingyu can even speak, his mouth full of fettuccine alfredo, you wipe your lips and hum in appreciation. “Of course. It’s your house too, Jakey. As long as you are staying with us, you don’t have to ask things like that, okay?” 

That was going to be easier said than done, especially when Mingyu sighs and gives you a long look before faking a smile at Jake. “Yup, what Y/N said.” Taking another bite of pasta, Mingyu sighs out of his nose as he chews, wanting to keep the conversation lighthearted. It was almost as if Jake was avoiding things and like he was embarrassed. He had never been embarrassed to talk about girls before. “Glad classes are going well, but that’s not all uni is for. Spill, dude, got a girlfriend we should be worried about you inviting over too?” 

Jake had been doing okay with the conversation. You were so sweet,besides being incredibly distracting by just existing. He was able to eat and when he had started to take a big drink of his water, that’s when Mingyu asked him that question. Coughing as he feels the water start to burn his chest, Jake shakes his head and blinks moisture from his eyes as you look at him with concern, while Mingyu just chuckles and leans over to smack him on the back hard. 

“Breathe… Jesus christ. You alright? The conversation that difficult to—” 

“No! I—no, Mingyu. I don’t have a girl—girlfriend. I wouldn’t invite a chick over here anyway. That’s not—that’d be rude to Y/N, right?” Shaking his head, Jake looks down, avoiding Mingyu’s eyes, but mostly yours as you tilt your head. 

“‘Kay, no girls. I’m picking on you, Jake.” Picking up the beer in front of him, Mingyu takes a long sip before clearing his throat and sitting back to watch his stepbrother push his food around a bit more. "But I appreciate you worrying about Y/N and if she’s comfortable with who you might bring around. You know—” Meeting your eyes, Mingyu sits forward, resting his forearms on the countertop, even though he hears you sigh, having a feeling where this is going. “This might be a good time to go over the house rules.” 

Jake should have known it wasn’t going to be as easy as just showing up and getting a room. Swallowing hard, he nods before taking another sip of his water, hoping it will calm his growing nerves. 

“Cool. First, like Y/N said, you can have guests over; we apparently don’t care, however—” 

It sounded a lot like Mingyu cared and it was making Jake wish he could crawl into a hole. 

“Just don’t have parties in our house. I know I sound like Mom and your dad, but sorry to be an asshole. You don’t pay the mortgage, and once you do pay one, you’ll get it.” 

Leaning your head back briefly, you sigh and slide off your chair, feeling full from not only the food but Mingyu’s bullshit. You loved him completely, but you knew this whole dominance act was coming and it was the one thing he asked for you not to get in the way of. It was taking everything in you not to call him an old man and to tell him it was probably getting close to him for him to take out his dentures and crawl in bed. He treated Jake more like a child than you were. 

“Two, I know you have your part-time job. I don’t expect you to pay for anything while you are here, however—” 

Oh my god. Jake was literally sinking down in his chair as his stepbrother kept saying however with each rule. Glancing towards you, he says how you were mocking Mingyu and that was the only thing keeping him sane, though it was almost causing him to crack a bit of a smile. 

“If there are special things you want to eat, buy them yourself. If you see something with my name on it, or Y/N's, use your brain.” Furrowing his brow at Jake’s shit eating grin starting to spread across his face, Mingyu glances in the direction that his brother keeps looking only to see you mouthing along with him, mocking him. “If you two are done? I’m trying to be the fucking responsible one and lay some foundational rules so this house doesn’t become chaos and my girlfriend and brother seem to think I’m a jo—” 

“No! What! No, man. I’m listening. No parties. Get my own snacks. Don’t eat shit with your name on it. See!” Sitting up quickly, Jake slides his hands over his knees and grimaces into his smile as Mingyu stares at him. 

You, on the other hand, just laugh and hold up your hands as if you are surrendering. “I’m sorry, baby. Go back to your rules. I’ll leave you and Jake to talk and finish cleaning up.” 

Watching you move out of the room with a smirk on your face, Mingyu sighs and shakes his head. “Brat… Anyway, I’m glad at least one of you was listening to me. That brings me to the most important rule, alright?” 

Jake had been watching you leave too. He couldn’t help it. You were in those little shorts and they hugged your leg right under your ass cheeks. God, how was Mingyu okay with you wearing them with him around? This was crazy! Hearing Mingyu say his name, Jake blinks and meets his brother’s eyes, nodding along with him. 

“Don’t make Y/N clean up after you, got it? She already is trying to baby you. She thinks you’re still a kid.” Waiting to see the acknowledgement in Jake’s eyes, Mingyu nods and sits back in his seat, bringing his beer to his lips and taking the last couple of sips. “If anything, I don’t know, show a little respect and appreciation and help her—us out? I like that you’re here, okay? I really do. I’m just not babysitting. I’m spending time with you.”  

The other rules had made sense to Jake, but this last one got to him. He really understood why Mingyu had needed to say it. If the situation were reversed, he probably would have done the same thing. Nodding, Jake slides off his chair and picks up his plate, using his foot to open the trash can so he can slide the last of his pasta into it. “I’ve gotten pretty good at taking care of myself, Mingyu. I’m not gonna take advantage of you and Y/N. I’m thankful you all are letting me crash here, alright? Seriously. I know I’m not a kid.” 

Watching Jake move to the sink with his plate and glass, Mingyu sighs into a nod, feeling like his words made the impact he wanted them to despite your reaction. “Good, and like I said, happy you are here, man. Looking forward to the uh—what did Y/N call it?” 

Glancing over his shoulder as he opens the dishwasher, putting his dishes into it like a puzzle piece, Jake can’t help but smile as Mingyu makes a face recalling your words. 

“Our brotherly bonding time over the summer.” Shaking his head, Mingyu finally gets to his feet and starts to take care of his dishes when Jake reaches for them, muttering he’ll do it. “Thanks… You don’t have to.” 

“I don’t mind. You worked all day and like you said, ‘help out’ and shit.” 

Smirking, Mingyu ruffles the top of Jake’s hair and sighs into a long breath, feeling the length of the day weighing on him as the silence of the house starts to set in, knowing you are upstairs. “Alright. I’m heading up. I need a shower and as lame as it is, we turn in kind of early since we get up early.” 

Carefully fitting the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, Jake snorts out a laugh and pulls his head away from Mingyu’s hand before glancing towards him as he gestures towards the stairs. “It is lame; you sound like our parents... but I get it. I’m pretty tired today anyway. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Gyu.” 

It had been a long time since Jake had called Mingyu anything other than his name. Hearing the shorted version of his name made Mingyu’s lips pull up into a bit of a smile as he rolled his eyes at the parent comment. “Yeah, night Jake.” 

By the time that Jake made it back up to his room, it seemed like everything was pretty quiet. Either Mingyu had taken the quickest shower possible or he had changed his mind. Settling back on his bed, Jake sighs, propping the pillows under his head as he balances his laptop on his stomach, getting ready to press play on the video he had been playing earlier when his brows furrow. He had to be hearing things. There was a linen closet separating your and Mingyu’s room from his but as another moan and the sound of the headboard smacking into the wall reach his ears, Jake knows it’s not his imagination. 

Wrapping his hand around your throat, right under your jaw, Mingyu groans low against your lips as you whimper underneath him. He hadn’t taken the time to prep you, but after fucking you this morning, you didn’t need nearly as much help to take his cock as you usually did. “Being so fucking loud, baby.”

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[ubeb0nes]

Sevika x Fem!Bar Owner!Reader - The One Who Pours the Drinks

Pt. 3 (can be read as standalone)

༇ ༇ ༇

Summary: After their (very homosexually-charged) estrangement a few weeks ago, Angel tries to bury the sour Sevika left in her heart. Sevika does the same, dismissing any meaning to be found in how she still makes sure to walk by the Five-Copper Furnace at least twice a week.

But one thing remains true: No one threatens the one who pours the drinks.

a/n: i'm a dirty filthy liar, i finished pt. 3 for bar owner reader before i even started my warmup for writing sevika's character LMFAO. will still do that prompt at some point!!

w/c: like 4.3k ish

༇ ༇ ༇

The world doesn’t stop spinning because of one person.

It’s a sentiment you were forced to be fond of in your life before the one you had now. People had always come and gone, it was the nature of the crime life, and it was certainly the nature of the Zaun one too. To stop and mourn for too long was to die.

And you had a business to run.

You did your best to count your lucky stars every night, reminding yourself as you wiped down the bar that there were other people. Plenty of women with smokey laughs and eyes like the moon. You were a good-looking bastard, you’d find the next one. You had all the time in the world now, away from the strife that used to follow you like a shadow.

Pay no mind to how you always swiped harder at the bar as you had these thoughts, slamming tumblers and plates into their places beneath the bar with extra vigor. Nor to how Zaun was about as different from Bilgewater as steel to iron.

Sevika’s men and their presence started to dwindle with hers, albeit more slowly; many of them almost seemed hesitant, apologetic. You caught one of them on your way into the bar to open it for the evening.

“I’m real sorry, Angel,” he’d said.

“I’m sure she’s got other work for you,” you said, waving him off as if it was- and indeed, it was- nothing personal. You only had problems with one ex-frequent of your bar. You weren’t even all that inclined to include the heavy muscle she brought in with her on the last visit.

“Always other work where the boss is concerned,” he affirmed, “But… this has been one of the better gigs.” You stayed static outside your bar for a moment as he walked away, your key still stuck in the lock.

It’s not like you needed protection in the first place, you were more than capable. Not that Sevika knew that. You grumbled to yourself as you organized the prep area behind the bar; you hadn’t had to give much mind to security the past several months, Sevika handled the matter in its entirety without you so much as having to ask.

It’s a sentiment you were forced to be fond of in your life before the one you had now. People had always come and gone, it was the nature of the crime life, and it was certainly the nature of the Zaun one too. To stop and mourn for too long was to die.

You’d have to add that back into your list of tasks. Along with putting all the stools up at closing time. And what were you supposed to do with all these damn cigarillos you had behind the counter? You didn’t smoke nearly as much as she did.

You smacked a hand that wasn’t yours away from the aforementioned stash, smirking when you heard a small, “Ow, jerk!”

“You’re not old enough to smoke.”

“It’s Zaun, babies would smoke if they could,” the boy, a little tail of yours named Kix, retorted, pouting as he hopped up on the counter. You sighed. “I finished that book you gave me.”

“Yeah? How was it?”

“Pretty good! And, I think, as a reward for finishing it, I should-”

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you right there,” you said, stepping away to move the lemons you just sliced into a container. Your tail, of course, followed.

“Fine, can I at least finally get a knife?”

“When you can wield one of those batons without smacking yourself in the face, yeah. ‘Til then, hell no.”

“That’s a bad word!”

“Like you care!” You could only breathe out a laugh. The children of Zaun were sharp, often leaving you deeply amused and incredulous.

“Ugh,” he said dramatically, flailing against the bar. You shot one of your patrons an apologetic look at the antics of Stray Wet Cat #1. “But you have so many, Angel!” He exclaimed, “How’d you get those anyway? Did you kill somebody?”

I killed a lot of people, you wanted to say, but something told you that wouldn’t have been appropriate. “I told you before, Kix,” you started, voice gentle like a teacher’s, “Zaun isn’t the only place in the world where you need to defend yourself. The world is way bigger.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” he muttered to himself, pushing away from the bar and trudging back to the lounge area connected to the kitchen, where a few of the other kids spent their time. You frowned as you watched him walk away, then looked down at the paring knife in your right hand.

For the children of Zaun, life depended on which end of the knife you found yourself on, and oftentimes nothing more. How much were you really doing for them, giving them sandwiches to eat and rudimentary lessons on how to hold a blade? They all had to leave the bar at the end of each day, stepping back into the streets waiting to swallow them whole on their treks back home.

“Don’t be so hard on ya’self, Ang’,” the patron you’d shared a look with earlier interjected. You looked up at him in a daze, quickly putting on a thoughtful smile.

“I’m okay,” you replied simply.

“And so are those kids, thanks to you,” he said, “A little bit goes a long way in Zaun. These kids can stretch an inch of kindness, always have been able to.”

You saw eyes like slate in your mind as the gentleman went back to nursing his drink, and your smile faltered.

Weren’t these the kids Sevika claimed to be doing her righteous work for? What could she tell them as she chipped away at their safe haven, showing up bi-weekly just to take away a little more? You growled lowly as you swiped a cigarillo from beneath the counter, abiding the thought to linger in your mind- as if you could condition yourself to hate her faster.

You were busy staring down the end of the cigarillo as you lit it, almost too busy to notice how a wave of quiet had washed over the Five-Copper Furnace. Your eyes flicked to the door just in time, though.

Your busy mind halted all thoughts more trivial than the now, a low voice reminding you of the shotgun beneath your bar, the knives in your sleeves, and the preeminent experience in violence that scarred your skin. Four men wearing all manners of weapons, and gleaming belt buckles of meridian silver, stalked into your bar.

𒀭 𒀭 𒀭

Sevika was, for whatever reason, a woman well-versed in the department of odd and unwanted talents. Being weirdly good with kids was at the forefront.

“Oh! Captain-General Metal Arm Lady!” Well, she knew which kid that was*.*

“Why is my name so long?” She muttered to herself as she stopped anyway, and turned on her heel to face him. The boy, one of Angel’s little henchmen named Kix, skidded to a stop in front of her. “What is it, kid?” She asked gruffly.

“Where’ve you been? Are you and Angel having a lover’s quarrel?”

Isn’t he like twelve?? Sevika picked her jaw up from the ground as quickly as it’d fallen. “Who the hell even taught you what that is?” She asked incredulously.

“That’s a bad word. And I read it in a book. Are you coming to the Five-Copper?”

“No, I’m busy,” Sevika said flatly. Her brow furrowed at the way his face fell. Not like a child who’d been told no, but a boy who had something to fear. “…Why?”

“Well, uh… m-maybe you could just stop by?” He rocked back on his heels, looking over his shoulder at the bar in question. He’d caught Sevika so close to the place, he just needed to get her through the door… “I think Angel might… u-um…”

Sevika sighed. “Before tomorrow, Kix.”

“I think Angel might need you.”

Sevika scoffed, turning with a small flare of her cloak (drama queen), “She’s a big girl, she can handle herself just fine, kid. I gotta go.” A small, surprised grunt rose out of her when she felt a tug on her metal arm. She looked down at the boy, shooting him a glare that lacked even an inch of fire.

“Please, Miss Sevika! A bunch of guys just walked in and I don’t know them, a-and they have really ugly, scary faces, and-”

“Okay! Okay. C’mon, let’s go,” Sevika rattled her arm out of Kix’s grasp, sweeping it back beneath her cloak. The boy let out a small cheer as her broad form turned in the direction of the Five-Copper Furnace, and he fell into step under the cover of her shadow. “And don’t call me ‘Miss Sevika’. Just Sevika is alright,” she made a small, grossed-out sound.

“Okay! Does that mean we’re friends?”

“No,” she replied, giving his head a small nudge as they walked.

“Ack! Bully!”

The smile that began to flicker across her features promptly melted back into her perpetual frown as she watched almost half a dozen patrons leave the Five-Copper in succession. “How many of them were there, kid?” She asked in a low voice.

“Uh, I think four?”

Sevika hummed, stopping beside the entrance. She pulled Kix aside by the collar with her, as even more patrons filed out. “Are your friends in there?” She asked. The boy nodded. “Okay. Go get ‘em through the back. And go home.”

“But-!”

“Uh-uh. She’s already pissed at me enough, can’t imagine how mad she’d be if you brats got hurt once this goes down.”

“So…” Sevika felt a few grey hairs grow in at the same time Kix’s frown faded into a grin, “…it is a lover’s quarrel?”

“Kix!”

“Okay, bye Sevika!” He hopped up and down as if to charge himself up before sprinting off. Sevika watched as he nearly tripped over himself when he quickly halted again. “Uh… you won’t let them hurt Angel, right?”

“She’ll be fine,” Sevika said. She sighed as his feet stayed planted in the ground. Her voice was softer when she spoke again, “You have my word, kid. Angel will be okay.” He gave her a final grin, before darting off. Sevika cracked her neck as she zeroed back on the entrance to Angel’s bar. “Guess collections is early this month,” she muttered wryly, before pushing the door open.

𒀭 𒀭 𒀭

“These people don’t even know, do they?”

You breathed out tendrils of smoke from your nose, lowering your voice in line with the bounty hunter’s. His friends had stayed mute, opting to survey your patrons and the bar itself like three angry lighthouses.

You smiled slightly at those who hadn’t left yet, whose postures were coiled tightly like metal springs.

“I can’t imagine it’d change a thing,” you replied. You picked up the wanted poster (old fashioned, you were aware) he’d thrown on the counter, giving it another flippant once-over. Your likeness had been- rather skillfully- illustrated in the center, with meaningless words like ‘Wanted’ and ‘approach with care’ swimming around it.

God, I’m good-looking, you thought with a smile and a nod.

“And yet you have ‘em call you a different name. Bury your old one with the rest of your money, huh?”

“Oh, that isn’t buried. Not one bit,” Your face spread into a grin, wolfish teeth crushing the filter of the cigarillo. You saw the hunger that flickered in his eyes, a greed so romantically entwined with the people of Bilgewater that men died for it. Like this one would.

“Well, good to know! Between that and the hundred Golden Krakens on your head, you’ll make a fine cashout,” the rancid man said, “Angel.”

Your eyes widened slowly, mockingly. “A hundred Golden Krakens?” You echoed, “…Can I turn myself in?” Your eyes flicked casually to the door as you heard it open once again.

“Very funny. Now…”

Whatever the hunter had to say ceased to matter as you watched her walk in. Wide shoulders curved inwards, entering with the same intent your remaining customers all had. Sevika met your eyes immediately.

On one hand, not only was your safety further secured, but a return in a casket to your old city was all but out of the question now. Sevika wouldn’t let you die, at the very least, you knew that much.

On the other hand… Sevika was in your bar. Your eyes narrowed at her, and you gave her a look that practically screamed ‘piss off’ in spite of your other senses relaxing. She shook her head at you, matching your rising agitation with an annoyed curl of her lip.

Kix, she mouthed. Oh, thanks, kid. What a wingman.

You would’ve found it silly the way she stuck to the walls as she moved through the bar. Trying to get closer to you, you realized. A hand slamming down on the table and another grabbing your collar brought your attention back to more pressing matters.

Sevika felt her heart jump higher in her chest, and she resisted the urge to rush right to you and pluck that man’s head from the rest of him. A firm hand on her shoulder was all that prevented her, and she leveled her gaze with the fool who’d stepped in her line of view.

“We called dibs on this job, you’re too late,” the hunter said. Sevika furrowed her brows in brief confusion, but the pieces came together quickly in a mind as sharp as hers.

Bounty hunters? For you?

He gave her shoulder a shove, and Sevika let herself be moved. Some distance to deploy her left arm’s blade, good. “Go on,” he growled.

A scream from the bar counter swiveled all heads in that direction.

Sevika’s eyes widened as your name started to rise in her throat, until she saw the main perpetrator sink like a stone in water… his hand left behind in your grasp. You wiped the knife on your apron, throwing your still-burning cigarillo at him as he writhed on the floor.

Sevika threw her cloak to the ground before her sensibilities turned to steel.

𒀭 𒀭 𒀭

You would’ve made a fine alchemist, if you hadn’t chosen the more profitable industry of alcoholism instead.

You also would’ve been far less likely to have ever encountered Sevika and the all-consuming rage she inspired in you if you’d started an Apothecary. What with her- very much expected- aversion to seeking out any medical assistance of any sort.

“Ow.”

“Stay still.”

“Ow.” Sevika hissed when you pressed the tonic-doused cloth to her wound with the exact same vigor as before, thrashing away from you. You sat up straight, leveling her with a look that seethed with your indignance.

“You’re acting like a wuss.”

“And you’re acting like a child who didn’t get her way,” she snapped. Your eye twitched, and so you closed them to take a moment to gather yourself.

You missed the way Sevika’s gaze fell slowly to your lap, eyes creasing as she frowned at your battered hands. You hadn’t had time to pull your gun from beneath the bar before shit went down, and so you’d resorted to hacking with hand and blade. Sevika had been at your back like a magnet, sticking to you and letting the hunters come to her. You’d held your own valiantly.

She only serviced you a lukewarm glare as you moved back to her, this time gently easing the cloth onto her wounded cheek. You held her in place by the other side of her face. “You can take a punch but not a wound disinfectant,” you quipped.

“I took more than just a punch recently, princess.” Sevika side-eyed you when your touch faltered, letting out a shallow huff from her nose.

“Unbelievable…” you muttered.

“Who the hell were those guys? What could they possibly want with you?” Sevika asked. You jutted your lip at her in annoyance when her movements shifted the cloth.

She looked down to ponder the fight from a few hours ago (the lower floor was still an absolute wreck, but that was a problem for you to deal with tomorrow). Silver teeth; and weaponry not at all reminiscient of anything you’d find in Zaun, or Piltover. They had moved with an erratic tick to their attacks, not completely unlike the Shimmer-dependent henchmen Silco kept; although their addiction ran strictly red.

“They weren’t Zaunites,” she mused aloud.

“…No. They weren’t. They were from Bilgewater.”

You freed your other hand to reach for your wanted poster you’d nabbed before heading upstairs, and handed it to Sevika. There was a hanging silence between you as she read the same words over and over again.

“They got your likeness wrong,” she said. You pursed your lips, waiting. “Your head is bigger than that.”

“Shut up.”

Sevika chuckled; or at least gave a limp attempt at it. Her hand holding the poster fell with a soft crunch as she sighed. You let your own hands rest in your lap as she closed her eyes, and leaned her head over the back of your couch.

She had such a pretty neck. The lines of that strange scar were like wisps of blue smoke on her skin. You wanted to reach out to touch them, to thank her sweetly for defending you even as you spat fire on her wounds. You wanted to kiss all the smooth and rough patches you could see, lull her into a soft sleep-

“This is gonna get back to Silco in a couple of days tops.”

You scoffed. “What, is he gonna raise my rent? Doesn’t he have a revolution to claim to run?”

Deep down, you were impressed with what Sevika let you get away with saying to her. Inadvertently discounting her life’s work was no small thing, and you’d seen her put others on the ground for less. It was even more surprising when she gave a real answer to your poor-faithed question.

“You should’ve kept your head low. And let me deal with it. Not- cut a guy’s hand off.” She shook her head, rubbing her forehead. You opened your mouth to refute your lost honor, but she beat you to it, “You’re too… competent. He’ll wanna bring you in now. And you’re no good to the Undercity if he pockets you.”

You’re about to ask her why the hell does she work for him then, but another piece clicks into place before the words surface. Sevika watches the realization cross your face. “So that’s why you…”

“Trust me,” Sevika took hold of your wrist as she raised her head to stare scrutinizingly at your wall, and guided you to press the cloth back to her face. “The collections I take from you are cheaper than really being under his heel. You should see what he takes from that Sheriff up in Piltover.” She breathed out a humorless laugh. Your eyes widened, as the scope of Silco’s reach did too. **

You were a fool. Had going straight truly dulled your cunning mind? (Or was it just the handsome woman sitting in your living room…)

“That’s the discounted price too, by the way,” she muttered. You were pulled from your thoughts with a soft laugh.

“I knew you were fond of me.”

“I like what you do for the kids.”

“It’s nothing,” you said softly, surveying the injury on her face and deeming it sufficiently stabilized to move onto the next. You were glad, at least, that the brunt of the pain had been inflicted on you two rather than your good-willed customers.

Sevika’s brow furrowed as she watched you go through the motions of prepping her next injury. Truthfully, she didn’t know why she let you drag her upstairs in the first place; the way you coupled your attentive- if not presumptuous- touch with barbed jabs at her gall for walking into your bar should’ve pissed her off. But she let you move her like you were a breeze.

Your movements were practiced, like you’d spent a whole lifetime sweeping up the broken pieces of stupid, pointless fights. Sevika looked down at the wanted poster again. “…How much is 100 Golden Krakens?” She asked.

You hummed as you tried to think of the best comparison in Zaun’s economy, “Probably eightteen months’ worth of what I make running the bar.”

“Janna-”

You laughed heartily as you carefully peeled the wax paper from a bandage. Subconsciously, you rubbed over the wound once it was patched to soothe the ache, not noticing how Sevika’s gaze immediately went to your nimble hand. “Why, you thinkin’ about turning me in?” You teased.

“Funny,” she deadpanned, “Would be one less pain in the ass for me, though.” She gave you a pointed onceover. Her feigned exasperation melted into a grin when you slapped her leg (albeit very weakly).

“You just said you like me!”

“That isn’t what I said,” she said, still feigning dismissal so smugly. You hated how well she wore a petty smirk, or how pretty her teeth were when she gleaned a real smile.

(You wanted to kiss that stupid look right off her face.)

Instead, all you did was roll your eyes, collapsing on the opposite end of the couch. In Sevika’s mind, she just won that encounter.

“You mind if I smoke?”

You waved your hand, looking out the window of your kitchen, “Worse has happened in my house today.” She didn’t pull your gaze back to her until you heard her shifting around for a longer amount of time than it should’ve taken for someone to find a cig and lighter. “Lose your lighter?” You mocked, taking in the cigarillo hanging out of her mouth as she patted down her pockets with mild frustration on her face.

“One of the bastards must have knocked it out of my pack,” she said with an agitated sigh. Her eyes perked up at the metal clink of… your lighter. You laid your head back against the arm of the couch, resting the open lighter slightly above your abdomen. Sevika’s breath caught as she realized how close she’d have to get to you- how close you’d make her get to you- to get a light.

Her eyes narrowed into a glare as they slid up to meet your gaze. She wasn’t about to make a coward of herself now, though. She held your expectant stare as she leaned down between your legs, one of her hands boldly bracing on your shin with a slight squeeze. She cupped her hand protectively around yours as she lit the end of her cigarillo. The way your eyes widened and your chest stopped rising with breath wasn’t lost on her.

I take it back, Kix, she thought, I don’t think she’s all that pissed.

She turned her head to the side as she blew smoke from her mouth. “Tell me something,” she said, her voice nearly a purr. You had to fight with your own goddamn eyes to tear away from the small puffs of smoke that left her mouth as she spoke. You cocked a brow. “Were you a pirate or something?” She asked. Her eyes widened slightly when you met her with silence. “Oh, sweet hell…”

“Don’t laugh!”

She laughed. You loved that she did.

“That was… a long time ago,” you waved your hand like you could bat the memories away, but they’d never felt more with you than today. You had nearly forgotten how easy it was to snatch someone’s life away. You’d made a fortune on it once, and yet… the muscle of ruthlessness had grown weak and disoriented with lack of exercise. You frowned to yourself, shaking your head. “I did a lot of things I’m not proud of.”

Sevika shrugged, taking another drag. “We don’t choose where life puts us,” she replied. You shouldn’t have been surprised by such a… thoughtful sentence leaving her mouth. But your brows still raised slightly as you looked at her. “I’m not gonna be the one to judge you around here.”

You frowned, guilt jabbing in your gut. “But I did you.”

“Maybe you weren’t wrong for it,” she retorted softly. Your eyes widened. She inhaled softly before continuing, swiveling her gaze to meet yours again. “I used to try an’ push Silco to do more for the kids. Get books smuggled in in between all the Shimmer requisitions,” she scoffed, shaking her head. Your heart squeezed as you watched her carefully begin to pull the curtains around her true self back- for you. “Give people resources, just… something. I didn’t realize I let four years go by ‘til I saw you doing all that for the kids the moment you touched down here.”

You sighed, swinging your legs over the edge of the couch to rub your face with both hands. “You really think I won’t be able to help them at all once Silco comes knocking?” You asked, biting your lip as you felt like what was the only answer was slowly enclosing around you.

Immediately though, Sevika shook her head. Your mouth opened slightly in confusion as she stood up from your couch. “No. I’m gonna handle this,” the determination in her step would have been beyond adorable if it weren’t for your utter bemusement. “I… owe you,” she said slowly. You wanted to laugh at how her fierce bravado seemed to come to a skidding stop the moment she had to make an admission on her pride.

“Oh yeah?” You teased.

She rolled her eyes as she pulled her cloak back on over her shoulders, concealing that absolute unit of a figure from your prying eyes. You smiled at how her broad shoulders were still very apparent, and the beginnings of her v-line peeked out with that damn cropped vest- get it together, Angel. “He’s gonna know I was here anyway, might as well make something out of it,” she explained (right, you bought that…), pausing again to scrutinize you, “You’re all good?”

Trigonometric equations started floating around in your head as you tried to decipher what she could possibly mean with that question, until her arched brow turned judgemental at how long you were taking to answer.

Oh. She was just asking about your… general wellbeing. Aw!

“O-oh, yeah, I’m all good,” you said. Truthfully too, you were more used to fighting the Bilgewater types than her, and had come out of the confrontation mostly unscathed. Your jaw stuttered as if to say more when she hummed and took a swift step forward, tilting your head up with her index and thumb.

“You’re not lying?” She asked lowly, turning your head gently from side to side.

“E-even if I was, it’s none of your business,” you snapped defensively. Dumbass. Did you have any idea how red your face was?

With an amused exhale from her nose, Sevika gently let go of your chin, fleetingly brushing her crooked index over your cheek. “Whatever you say, princess,” she said. She didn’t even give you a chance to shoot back something clever (as if you had something prepared) before she was sweeping towards the door, fixing her cigarillo in the corner of her mouth. “Your bar’s a mess,” she quipped over her shoulder, just to be a dick.

“Fuck you!” You called after her, the smile on your face crystal-clear in your tone. The last thing you saw was her pretty side-profile as she half-glanced at you with smug amusement lining her face, before she closed the door behind her.

You slumped back on the couch, letting out a heavy sigh. “That goddamn woman…” you muttered, “Fuck.”

[bunnithechubs]

insecurities out in the open.

transcript below.

C: Now what are you doing down here so early, mi amor. K:I couldn’t go back to sleep after feeding Mae. C: And your shirt? K: It got too hot so I took it off. Do you mind massage my back for me? C: Anything for you, mi amore. Least I can do after my son is putting you through it this pregnancy. K: laughs Mae’s pregnancy was so smooth. Hopefully it calms down.

C: You look beautiful like this. K: Like what? Exhausted and sleep deprived? C: No. You look beautiful when you don’t hide. You’re always wear clothes that hide this beautiful body. K: I’m … still getting used to seeing it change. I didn’t pop until third trimester with Mae. I’m already showing and we’re not even at the second trimester. C: Mi amor, you’re growing our child. Give yourself some grace and credit. K: I’m working on it with my therapist. C: And I will be here to support you and call you beautiful every day until you believe it. Hottest mom on the block. K: laughs Thanks, my love.

C: How does your back feel? K: Much better. I think I have to strengthen my back and core before giving birth. C: I can help you with that. I’ve got a few ideas. K: smacks head playfully I’m being serious! C: laughs okay, okay. We can do it whenever my dad comes over to help with Mae. K: Thank you… speaking of your dad, are you dreading seeing Vinny and him today? C: Abso-fucking-lutely. Those two are an echo chamber of bad ideas. K: I wish I could be there but I have a deposition today. If I wrap up early I can come by. K: No worries, amor. I’ll have Mae there to soften their defenses.

K: Just remember that even if they don’t listen you tried at least. C: sighs I just wish they would actually listen to me instead of thinking I’m trying to tell them what to do. I just want this fucking cycle to stop before it’s passed down to the next generation. K: Even if it doesn’t, you stopped it for Mae. Your mother would be proud of you and I think we’re slowly getting through to your dad. C: He only listens if you say something… Me? He acts like he knows what he’s doing.

K: I love that your dad is scared of me. I’ve never even given him reason to be scared of me. C: I think he’s more scared of the power you hold. If he does anything even the slightest bit toxic you would encourage me to cut him off and he knows I would do anything for you. Which means he would also lose Mae and we both know how much he adores her. K: Well tell him he either gets Vinny in check or I will be mad. C: Oh he’ll start actually parenting then.

K: Whatever the outcome, be proud that you put in that hard work and broke the cycle of broken men raising broken kids. Mae and all our future kids will not suffer the way Vinny and you did. If Vinny decides to follow that path then at least our nieces or nephews will have us to protect them. C: It’s moments like this that I thank whatever is out there that they sent you to me. K: You give me a lot of credit. C: I owe you my life, I just wish I could show you how much I love you…

K: Then how about you let your body do the talking. C: We have about an hour before Mae is up, mi amor. We’ve done nastier in less time- I have faith in you. C: I love pregnant horniness. K: Shut up and take your pants off.

[f1ora1f1owerswrites]

then and now

Summary: Jake Seresin and Bradley Bradshaw’s rivalry turned into a friendship over the years. You, Jake’s high school sweetheart, watched their bond grow from complaints about Bradley’s mustache to mutual respect, showing you how much Jake had changed.

warnings: established relationship, she/her used, no use of y/n, character growth (???), FLUFF!

a/n: happy new year!! my first fic of 2025...wow! i have had so much fun with this blog and thank you for all the love!! :) i hope you enjoy this cute little read!! <3

w/c: 960.

***

Jake Seresin’s career had taken him to some amazing places, but coming home to you was still his favorite.

He stood in the doorway of your shared home, his bag dropped on the floor with a thud, his khaki uniform slightly wrinkled from the long trip. The moment he saw you coming down the hall with that familiar smile, everything else faded.

“Missed me, sweetheart?” he drawled, the corners of his mouth lifting into a grin.

“Always,” you said, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. Jake chuckled, gently rubbing the small of your back.

As you stepped back, brushing his hair out of his face, you caught the tired look in his eyes. “Rough trip?”

Jake groaned, tossing his keys onto the entryway table. “Rough doesn’t even begin to cover it. Do you know who I got stuck with the entire time? Bradley 'stupid mustache' Bradshaw.”

Your brow furrowed and a grin lifted onto your lips at the newfound nickname. “Bradley? Goose’s son?”

“The very same,” Jake replied, running a hand through his hair. “He’s so smug. He acts like he’s God’s gift to naval aviation. Walks around with that stupid mustache like he’s in an ‘80s movie.”

You laughed, patting his chest. “You mean like you walk around acting like God’s gift to, well, everything?”

Jake’s jaw dropped in mock offense. “Hey, that’s different. I actually am God’s gift to everything.”

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head, but your smile gave you away. “What’s he done that’s got you so worked up?”

“Besides thinking he’s better than me at literally everything?” Jake started pacing, his hands gesturing wildly as he ranted. “He called me Hangman like it’s a bad thing, said I don’t have anyone’s back. Can you believe that? I’m a team player!”

You stifled another laugh, biting your lip. You’d known Jake since high school, long enough to know that his bravado was often just a cover for how much he really cared—about his work, his teammates, and, even when he wouldn’t admit it, his newfound rivalry with Bradley Bradshaw.

“You’re a lot of things, Jake,” you teased, “but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to actually try getting along with him?”

Jake scoffed, waving you off. “Not gonna happen.”

***

But over time, you watched that stance soften.

Years passed, and Jake’s stories about Bradley became less irritated and more… amused. By the time they were assigned to the same mission (and not just the occasional practice) in San Diego, the exasperation in his voice had been replaced with something suspiciously close to respect.

You caught on early, especially when Jake started calling Bradley by his callsign, Rooster. The first time he casually mentioned, “Rooster actually had my back in the air today,” you nearly dropped your mug.

“Wait, wait,” you interrupted, setting your coffee down. “You’re telling me Bradley ‘stupid mustache’ Bradshaw had your back? And you’re not complaining?”

Jake shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was trying to suppress a smile. “I’m just saying, the guy’s not entirely useless.”

“Wow,” you teased, leaning against the counter. “High praise coming from you.”

Jake rolled his eyes, but you could see the shift. By the time he was recounting the mission where he and Bradley worked seamlessly together to save their team, you knew something had changed.

“You know,” you said one evening, as Jake lay on the couch with his head in your lap, “I think you like him now.”

Jake groaned, covering his face with a pillow. “Don’t start, sweetheart.”

“I’m serious!” you insisted, laughing as you tugged the pillow away. “You two are practically inseparable now. Admit it—you’re friends.”

Jake peeked up at you, his green eyes soft. “I didn’t say we’re not friends. But don’t go telling him that, alright? I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

You laughed, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

***

The first time you saw Jake and Bradley joking together in person, you almost didn’t recognize them. It was during a barbeque on the beach in San Diego, the whole squad and their partners gathered around the fire pit.

Jake was standing beside Bradley, both of them laughing as they recounted some ridiculous story about their mission. The easy camaraderie between them was a far cry from the complaints you used to hear.

“Unreal, isn’t it?” Phoenix said, nudging you with her shoulder as she handed you a drink.

“What is?” you asked, though you already knew.

“Those two. They were at each other’s throats when this started. Now? Thick as thieves.”

You smiled, watching Jake throw his arm around Bradley’s shoulders, tugging him closer in a playful headlock. “It’s definitely been a journey.”

When Jake caught you watching, he grinned and motioned for you to join them. “C’mere, honey. Rooster’s trying to convince me he’s the reason we’re still alive.”

“Because I am!” Bradley called, holding up his beer.

You walked over, shaking your head fondly. “I can’t believe this. Jake Seresin, willingly standing this close to Bradley Bradshaw? I think I need to sit down,” you say, dramatically feeling your forehead with the back of your hand.

Jake rolled his eyes, pulling you into his side. “Don’t let it go to your head, darlin’. I’m just humoring him.”

Bradley smirked. “Yeah, okay, Hangman. Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

As they launched into another round of playful banter, you leaned into Jake’s side, your heart full. Watching their friendship grow had been funny, sure, but it also reminded you of just how much Jake had grown over the years. From the cocky high school boy you fell in love with to the man standing beside you now, he’d built something meaningful—not just with you, but with the people who mattered most.

And if he occasionally complained about Bradley just to keep up appearances, well, that was fine by you.

[sunny-sourzii]

hii! I think it’s REALLLYYY cool how you’re like this good at art at just 15!! Like?? I love your art, I don’t use Tumblr much anymore but I found your page earlier and WOW?? Such scrumptious art you have there… but anyways, I was wondering if you had any tips on improving in art? I’ve really wanted to improve and get better, but I’m not sure how and I’m always demotivated. Is there somewhere I could start? If you have no idea how to answer or anything that’s totally fine, but I have no idea what I’m doing :c

p.s: I am going to eat your dandy’s world art

THANK YOUUUUUAHAHAEE

Ive been asked that many many times and I never know exactly how to respond because I have my own style so the only tutorials I would be able to make would be just how to draw in MY style

I think everyone has a different style or just hasn't found their own style yet so I don't really know how to help 😭😭

The only thing I know works for EVERYONE is practice practice practice practice!!!!!

If you have a passion for art and enjoy making it then practicing all the time and trying different things won't feel like work (because people tend to complain about that)

BUT obviously still give yourself breaks because even if you have a passion for it, you still need to give yourself breaks and not force yourself to draw constantly everyday, just draw when you want to ❗❗

[sagethegremlin]

ok so this is kinda rambley and a tad venty but uh yeah long post about my mental state lately ig? idk tldr im gonna get sillier c:

ok so this is weird but i think getting all my thoughts out on a post will help me out through this but anyway i think ive had like really bad anxiety i think? about my fics lately. ive found myself being way too scared about what other people might think of them (way more than the usual voice in the back of my head at least) and i think ive been really scared of i guess no one caring, like the only way someone would care about one of my fics is if its this huge professional thing that means something. ive found myself overhyping or underhyping my wips when i shared them with friends, losing confidence in them entirely even if my friends said something nice, like it was always gonna look stupid so long as it wasnt in my head anymore.

i think the reason these feelings are so frustrating is because something as simple as writing fanfic shouldnt give me this much anxiety, to the point where im losing sleep and procrastinating important things over however good i am at writing something silly thats supposed to be for fun. and it hasnt just been about fanfic either, ive been so scared of how people perceive me online, feeling like i always have to type like im some big blog and constantly being scared of what other people think of me, which is the wrong attitude to have in a fandom space. this is supposed to be fun, and it hasnt been, and i want to change that.

ive really been wanting to say something for i think a few months now. ive noticed how much ive felt like i needed to overhype myself, and just how bad my confidence has been destroyed. theres been a person in my life for a while now that i havent been distancing myself from as much as i should have been, but now i want to try and work on finding ways to enjoy fandom spaces again. im tired of being scared of being expressive and enjoying myself.

im going to start writing more fics that i just enjoy, fucking around and just having fun, and I’ve been starting to doodle a little bit too c: i dont mean to make a post to like say anything big i guess i just kinda wanted to air out my thoughts a little bit (and i do have to admit it feels amazing to just get this all off my chest) but i guess if you read all this i wanna say i love you and i want you to do something good for your mental health today because its so hard to recognize when something is hurting you and even harder to try and fix it especially when it feels impossible but I believe in you and I love you :3

[grimmweepers]

i really do self sabotage when it comes to irl dating 😭💀

[mutalune]

really wish there was a tag that separated “I’m having Big Angry and/or Angsty Opinions about Star Wars” from “I’m goofing off with Star Wars I’m playing in the sandbox none of this is real so yes I will make my blorbo and this random glub shitto go on an adventure that makes no logical sense” posts because there’s too much of the former and not enough of the latter for my current mental state

[deus-ex-mona]

it’s ✨okay✨, right~?

[rafey-baby]

bf!rafe making his girl feel better after a particularly long day...

18+ mdni!

c/w: rafe being big and comforting, cockwarming, use of daddy

wc: 480

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

She's been particularly emotional and sensitive for the entire day because life is so hard and sometimes she just feels so hopeless; feels like a complete failure who can't do anything right.  

“Rafe, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just feel so fucking miserable sometimes. And I’m just so tired all the time,” she sniffles into his chest.

“Shh, there’s nothing wrong with you, alright? Just feeling a little overwhelmed, yeah?” He’s murmuring softly in her hair as she sobs, crocodile tears soaking his shirt.

“You’re all good. I’m here, Sweetheart. It’s just me, Rafe, alright?" His gentle voice reassures her, making her nuzzle her face into the crease of his neck, breathing in his comforting scent.

"There you go, just let it out, I’ve got you,” he settles a warm palm on her back, drawing lazy circles and smoothing a warm hand over her thigh. Big strong arms cage her to his body and he just holds her as she weeps, all exhausted and forlorn.

“I know, Sweetheart, I know. Just needed a cry, hm?” His steady heartbeat and breathing is starting to calm her down some as she rests her head on his chest, listening. And when she stops crying for a bit he mumbles tenderly. “There we go, just needed your Daddy, yeah?” 

“Rafe…” she whines out, still so restless he’s not sure how to pacify her until he feels her rocking in his lap, mindlessly rutting against the bulge in his pants. Soon enough he’s hard because how is he meant to help it when she’s gazing up at him with tear soaked eyes and swollen lips?

She just looks so pretty that he gets a desperate itch to squeeze her weakened form in his solid hands all over until she’s squealing, begging for him to stop with hearty giggles bubbling out of her throat.

"Don't worry that little head of yours so much, alright? Breaks m'heart. But I'll make it better for you," he mutters as he takes himself out; tucking his cock in her needy cunt, making her despondent crying come to a halt. He's always such a snug fit between her gummy walls and now he just stays there, stretching her out and making her feel so full.

And it works.

Her eyes cloud over some, erratic breathing evening out as she turns into something mellow, placid in his firm hold, making him smile. “That’s what you needed, huh? Just needed Daddy to stuff his cock in you, yeah?”

And she’s humming, whining, brain mushy as she wraps her hands around his sturdy abdomen and rests her head on his chest; his measured respiration and the steady beating of his heart soothing her, making her sleepy.

“There you go, Sweetheart. You’re all good. I’m right here, not going anywhere, alright?” he placates her as her eyes finally flutter shut.

[tired-biscuit]

i want to ride yuuji so bad and then start crying cause he’s so thick and big and then have his strong arms wrap around me and then he starts thrusting up and we’re both drooling and moaning that would be a dream

18+ MDNI, fem!reader // cw: good girl, good girl, GOOD GIRL!

he’s cooing at you while caressing your cheeks and wiping your tears away, and it’s all so goddamn sweet that it outright hurts; in a good way, though.

always in a good way when it’s with him.

especially because he does it so effortlessly? being kind is like second nature to someone like yuuji and it’s hard not to melt into a puddle of gooey emotions and spill even more tears when he’s looking up at you with hearts in his warm honey-coloured eyes and there’s this prominently lovestruck look on his face that makes him look even dumber than he already is.

but he’s also cute, awfully so. his hair is an absolute mess, his lips are in the colour of dark pink from all the kissing, his cheeks are flushed, and his skin burns so hot that he’s sweating like crazy underneath the thick hoodie that he’s still got on. you’ve been in such a rush to get him inside you that you’re both still completely dressed, aside from the bits of clothing that have been tugged down and pushed to the side in order to make the entire thing easier for you, of course.

however, having all these layers on is simply excruciating. the heat makes him pant and causes his chest to heave in a faster rhythm than normal; and all those breaths make it somewhat hard to get all the praise that he feels for you out of his system.

but yuuji is no quitter. so he swallows the runny saliva that keeps on gathering in his mouth between sentences and threatens to spill past the corner of his lips. it’s audible and it makes his adam’s apple bob in his throat, and yet he still manages to thank you in hushed, trembling whispers and broken grunts and moans.

he thanks you for being such a good girlfriend; for being so willing to give it a chance when it comes to riding him and taking him in all the way, despite the fact that it’s only been a couple of days since he’s taken your virginity and your most sensitive parts are still sore and tender from all the gentle pounding — but pounding nevertheless — he had done after getting his first taste.

you feel heat sear your face as you listen to the jumble of gratitude he’s putting before you and look at him from underneath your lashes, trying to not pay mind how tears still cling to them as stubbornly as ever.

this entire thing has not gone the way you’ve imagined it to go at all and it’s frustrating as hell. and how couldn’t it be? i mean, you’ve known how big he is, have known how it feels to have him inside you, but jesus fucking christ, this position is nowhere as easy as missionary had been — and even then you’d struggled a great deal.

because now, you’re the one who has to do all the work while he sits there, looking pretty, sometimes eyeing how your arousal glistens on his pubic hair, even though your clit hasn’t come anywhere near to kissing the spot from how much of a hard time you’re having when it comes to sitting on his dick entirely.

if only you could just—

“hey,” he says the word with such care as he cups your cheek that it sends butterflies twirling in your belly. his hand is just so big, it urges you to pet yourself against it like a little kitty. “you okay?” yet another look that’s brimming with concern is thrown your way. “we don’t have to do this if it’s too much, you know… just tell me.”

“did you really mean all that?” you mumble the exact moment his hands reach for your hips, clearly aiming to manhandle you into a position that you’d be able to endure a bit better.

“mean what?” he asks, glancing downwards just for a second as your hands stop his own. his cock twitches in response — he’s always been such a sucker for hand holding and this time is no exception. when your fingers intertwine, his heart sings in answer.

“that i’m a good girl?” the eye contact that you initiate in return is determined instead of anxious all of a sudden and it makes his pupils visibly dilate right in front of you.

it seems like you’re no quitter either.

“‘course i did,” yuuji replies in a heartbeat, cherishing how you squeeze around him whenever he gives you his approval, his praise. “you’re such a good girl, my good girl, the goodest girl to ever walk the good girl planet... they should make you mayor of goodie town.”

you giggle at that and his smile quivers with pleasure from how it makes your pussy tighten even more. he’s doing everything he can not to grab you, press you against his chest and just follow instinct and start slamming away.

maybe next time… maybe you’ll be ready for it next time.

“you’re so silly,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him again, though this time on the forehead. his skin tastes salty, and while it may be wrong, knowing that you’re not the only one that’s having a hard time right now makes you feel just a little bit calmer.

unbeknownst to you, the fact that you’re more relaxed allows you to take yet another inch of him inside you. your muscles slacken and his fat cockhead drags against your walls as a result, slipping and pushing in, in, in. the ring of cloudy white slick forms just a little below the lower half of his cock now, stretching you further and making your tummy feel hot and tingly.

it’s definitely progress.

and it makes poor yuuji moan straight into your mouth.

[clockwayswrites]

One birdritch, two stones.

part idk, 10? I'm so tired. masterpost

“Mr. Drake-Wayne, do I want to know why you’re here?” Lucius drawled without looking up from his desk.

Tim plastered on a smile anyways. “Well, in an effort to learn the business as part of my internship, I thought that it was about time that I took a proper look at R&D.”

“Yes, it would be good for you to see R&D,” Lucius said as he signed something with a flourish before he folded his hands and looked up at Tim, “but you are not going to.”

“No?”

“No.”

Tim let the door close behind him and came to flop into the seat across from Lucius. “Uncle Fox—”

“That worked much better when you were small and doe-eyed.”

“Okay, let’s be honest,” Tim said with a sigh, “I’m still small and doe-eyed. None of them will let me live that fact down. I have to use what I have, Lu.”

Finally Lucius cracked a little bit of a smile. He leaned forward and pressed a discrete button on his desk. Tim knew that the button would make the office soundproof, an effect that Tim felt in the back of his ears.

“Danny Fenton— and let me be clear, it is Danny, not Daniel— Danny Fenton is one of the best people I have in R&D. I will not have you all losing me one of my best because you lot do not know how how to be subtle.”

“Lucius, we can be subtle!” Tim said, honestly offended. “We do subtle all the time. You know how well I do undercover.”

“Exactly,” Lucius said severely.

Tim tilted his head.

“Undercover you is subtle. Tim Drake-Wayne you is a menace,” Lucius said. “That last name is a pox upon common sense.”

Tim opened his mouth to argue before he slowly closed it and slumped back into his seat.

“I had been considering bringing him as the engineer for the other side of you all,” Lucius said, almost idly, “but whatever happened spooked him. He booked the end of the week off. Mr. Fenton never takes time off. Whatever you are after it will wait until after he returns, understand?”

“Understood,” Tim said with resignation.

-

The only reason that Danny didn’t screech and drop the component he was holding was because he was used to ghosts. The person who had appeared sitting on top of Danny’s cabinet like they had always been there wasn’t a ghost, but the behavior was close enough. Danny took a steadying breath and set the part carefully on one of his work benches.

“Hello.”

The off person smiled cheerfully and brought their right hand up into an almost salute.

Danny tilted his head for a moment before he brain kicked in and he repeated the motion back before pointing to the person then tapping his index to his chin and then next to his ear while purposefully screwing his face up into confusion.

They shook their head and brought their hand to their throat, turning it like they were locking a key, before making a so-so motion with their hand.

“Oh! Okay, I’m Danny,” he explained as he pointed to himself and brought his right hand in the sign for d up along his flat left hand.

They repeated Danny’s name sign with a cheerful smile before they pointed to themselves and moved the cupped hand of C over their flat left hand. They repeated the point before finger spelling out ‘Cass’.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Cass. I’m rusty at ASL, but if you can go slow for me, I’ll try my best.”

“Thank you,” Cass signed with a bright smile.

“Are you lost, or do you mean to be up there?” Danny asked.

Cass shook their head. “Comfortable. What is that?”

“Oh, what I’m working on. Well… nothing yet, not if it doesn’t work. It’s supposed to be something for improved water filtration though.”

“Explain?”

“Sure. Tap twice on the cabinet if you need my attention or have a question and I’m not looking your way, okay?” Danny asked. He waited for a nod before he grabbed what he was working on and started explaining the idea.

Thankfully the fact that WE was working on a way to further reduce industrial water pollution was no secret so as long as Danny didn’t get particularity technical, he shouldn’t get in trouble with with his NDA. Besides, whoever this was was inside a secure part of WE and did have a badge, even if it wasn’t colors that Danny recognized off the top of his head.

Cass was oddly fun to chat with and the two of them got into a rhythm of him explaining something and following it up with a question of his own. Cass did give verbal responses or reactions occasionally, but mostly Danny settled into a position where he could both work and watch them sign in his periphery at the same time. He wasn’t perfect at understanding what Cass was talking about, but they seemed happy enough to repeat things for him or finger spell when he was really lost.

“A lead role? You should be really proud of yourself, Cass! That’s amazing,” Danny said with a bright smile as he fought a stubborn tapper.

“You will come?”

Danny blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“The recital,” Cass finger spelled out before repeated, “You will come?”

“I don’t know, Cass honey,” Danny said, the endearment slipping out without him thinking about it. “That would really depend on what your adults have to say about the idea. I don’t want them to freak out because you’ve decided to befriend a random R&D flunky.”

“Luckily Cass is a very good judge of character,” said someone from behind Danny.

Fucking hell, what was it with people just appearing today? Danny gave himself a second to close his eyes before he set down his tapper and turned around.

Ancients that’s Bruce Wayne.

“I hope she hasn’t been bothering you. Cass was supposed to wait in my office while I dealt with the emergency,” Mr. Wayne said with a pointed look at his daughter. “Even if it did take longer than expected.”

Right daughter, because Danny had been talking with Cassandra Wayne for the last few hours.

“Oh, no, not at all Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Bruce. And don’t worry, she’s great company,” Danny said.

Mr. Wayne— Bruce chuckled and stepped into Danny’s office. He’d hardly moved before Cass was flinging herself off the cabinet and into her dad’s arms. As soon as she was set down, she started signing rapidly at him and Danny looked away to give them some privacy.

“Well, that is up to your new friend,” Bruce said in that sort of tone that Danny knew he was being included in the conversation now.

“Danny Fenton, but just Danny is fine,” he said.

Cass signed Danny’s name sign.

“Or that,” Danny agreed with a nod.

“Well, Danny,” Bruce said with a smile that made his eyes crinkle a little, “if you’d like, Cass would love to have you at the opening so you can see what she’s been telling you about, but if you’re busy we’d understand.”

Cass’ pout said otherwise and Danny caved quicker than a paper cocktail umbrella in a tornado. “If you can send me the date and where to buy a ticket, I’ll be there.”

“Nonsense, the ticket is on me,” Bruce said. “I’ll be sure to send you the date and time, I doubt Cass will let me forget.”

“No,” Cass signed with an overly angelic smile.

Danny chuckled and couldn’t help but wonder if all of Bruce’s children had him so thoroughly wrapped around their finger like that, or if Cass had only daughter privileges. “Well, I look forward to it. And it was very nice to get to meet you, Cass.”

“Yes! Goodbye, Danny,” Cass signed.

“Goodbye, Cass,” Danny signed back and returned the little nod Bruce sent him before they left Danny’s office.

Danny waited until they were out of sight to let out a breath. Ancients, well, that was something. Who would have thought that the first time he actually spoke to the owner of the company would be because his daughter decided water filtration was interesting an that Danny needed to learn all about ‘Swan Lake’ in return?

-

“Cass, darling,” Bruce said with a pointed look at his too smug daughter.

“He’s nice,” she explained with a shrug.

Bruce just sighed and shook his head. At least that did seem true. Bruce had watched some of the exchange between Danny and Cass and he was patient, respectful, and attentive even despite the occasional communication issue.

But that hardly answered any of what was going on.

“Just don’t overwhelm him, alright?”

Cass nodded and crossed her heart.

Bruce didn’t believe her for a moment.

---

AN: I did my best to describe the signs right/use the right ones but my knowledge is only very, very basic conversational skills so if I have anything wrong, please let me know! (I write Cass very to the point response wise when she verbally speaks, so kept that same sort of cadence here.)

Oh, since someone asked Danny is just slightly older than he would be it canon time continued normally, so late 30's. Bruce is early 40's.

[kisses4reid]

scare | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,, (part 1)

synopsis - you’re in a relationship with some one else and have a pregnancy scare, both your own reaction and spencer’s makes you realise that you’re not happy.

genre - bau!reader x spencer, friends to lovers, multi-part, pregnancy scare, reader has sort of a douche bf, one sided love (at first), angst and fluff

warnings - pregnancy talk, mentions of sex, unhealthy relationships, stress, sickness

w/c - 1.4k?? take a guess cause that’s mine.

a/n - i’ve got 9 weeks free. yeah, i have a job. and yeah, i have about 6 other hobbies i enjoy. but am i gonna make promises i can’t keep about writing more?? yeah. i am. here, enjoy. (pls lemme know abt mistakes it’s rlly late at night rn.)

The plane whirrs, small chatter from Morgan and who you assumed to be Penelope over the phone humming along with the music you try to distract yourself with. It isn’t working.

Because every song has its own special and quirky musical instrument that happens to sound like a message notification. And you keep getting your hopes up.

Your left leg started to bounce, your fingernails found their way to your anxious teeth. And Spencer noticed.

He noticed about halfway through the case, when you stopped talking as much, started drinking an influx of water, started discreetly taking pain medication. At first, he thought it was a simple stomach bug, and he knew your stomach didn’t agree with a lot of travel. But then you started getting nervous.

Spencer glanced at you a few times before moving, sitting next to you (attempting to be discreet). He can’t be discreet though, because every time he’s around you, his body does this weird thing where it can’t decide whether it should be instantly calm or instantly more nervous. Your presence stopped his fidgeting hands, his tired thoughts. But god, when he looked at you, it’s like his heart wants to see you for itself.

And right now his heart hurt, why were you scared?

You barely noticed Spencer sit down, usually you would, but your phone was annoyingly blank, silent. You turned it off and on three times, and re-entered the plane’s wifi password five times.

And now your stomach was grumbling, and not in the way that those nice small sandwiches can help out with.

“Are you okay?”

You jumped, taking your earphones out and staring at Spencer surprised. You laughed nervously, quietly, “Spencer! Sorry. Yeah, I’m fine.”

His warm eyes searched yours and for a second you could ignore the tight feeling in your chest. It made you think back around 8 months ago, when Penelope, your childhood best friend and now co-worker, created a pros and cons list for both Lloyd, and… Spencer.

It was unprofessional and inappropriate, especially when you decided to listen because you had nothing better to do. And especially when she started making some good points.

He squinted his eyes, and you sighed.

“Sorry, I’m just a bit antsy. Feeling a bit… off.”

You felt sick, and stressed, and like your thoughts were going to be the cause of your death. Because you’ve never been sick like this. And to your overworked brain, it only meant one thing.

Spencer’s a great profiler. And although the team collectively agreed to not profile each other, it becomes hard for Spencer when the girl he’s in love with is so obviously in distress. Even worse when he can’t be the hero.

“I can leave you to sleep if you want.” He says, getting up to leave.

“Oh, no. That’s okay. Honestly, I think sleeping would just make it worse.”

Ah, right. Travel sickness, Spencer thought. He gaps his mouth slightly and nods. He relaxes into the couch and looks over to you, heart picking up slightly as pieces of hair fell from your loose ponytail.

You looked over to the table he was previously sat at, the book you gifted him last Christmas open and nearly finished. You smiled to yourself, but it was bittersweet.

“You’re actually reading it?” You asked, looking back at him with slight surprise.

“Of course. I’ve read it 6 times already, it’s a great pallet cleanser- Just like you said in that Christmas card!” He smiled childishly, like he was recalling the first snow.

“I know right! It’s so simple but interesting, I mean I’ve only read it three times but to me I always found it to clear my head.”

Spencer angled himself towards you, “Did you know that the author actually interviewed his daughter’s teachers to see what ages teachers were more invested in compared to class sizes? He said in an interview that depending on a students intelligence, there’s an underlying emotional connection made between student and teacher,” he took a breath, “It plays into the intelligence to ego ratio that so many people claim isn’t true. Which I’m not trying to say you have a big ego, or that I do-“

You waved you hands, “Woah, woah. Why would I think you’re talking about me?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Well, you’re very intelligent.”

“Oh!… Thanks for thinking I’m intelligent, or smart.” You shrugged, “But I think you insulted yourself. You don’t have a 187 IQ for nothing do you?”

“You remembered my IQ?” He laughed nervously. His smile warms your chest like a candle. Like that candle he got you randomly in April, after you mentioned your favourite one being used up by your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend. Ugh.

You smile falters for only a second, “Of course. You only mention it to every person that second guesses you.”

He nods and smiles, “Must be my ego.”

You laugh, subconsciously bumping your shoulder with his. But- Jesus. Your stomach is queasy.

“Hey, uh, do you want some travel sickness pills?” He reached over for his satchel but you grab his forearm and smile as convincingly as you can.

“No, no. We’re landing soon, but thank you.”

You’re overreacting.

That’s what he said. When you texted your boyfriend of a year and a half that you thought you were pregnant he said, You’re overreacting. Two words, two hours after your first text, on his day off.

Maybe you are. You started feeling sick on a slightly more gory case, it’s lasted ever since the case started, you get travel sick as well.

The headaches are from the computer screen and stress. The stress is from fatigue. The fatigue is because of the lack of sleep. The lack of sleep is because of the headaches.

Why do you always do this? Always thinking that there’s something wrong with you. Always being the biggest person in your own life, selfish.

But… what if?

There’s a sudden squeak from behind you, and you instantly snapped out of it. You took a deep breath and looked at your surroundings. You were at your desk, standing, the strap of your bag clutched in your hands - god, your knuckles were white. Your eyes darted in surprise and confusion, and you jumped once again when Spencer spoke into the silence.

“You okay?”

“Um…”

You didn’t look back at him, only looking down at your shoes and taking a deep breath. You plastered on a smile despite the bile collecting in your throat.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve gonna go, the bus leaves at um…”

You took out your phone. He didn’t even respond to your text asking him to pick you up.

“I’ll drive you home. But uh, I gotta pick up some groceries. I hope you don’t mind.”

He curved to your desk and gently took your bag from your hands, glancing at the way you traced your knuckles and how the leather strap now had slight wrinkles in it. He smiled, warmly. And he started walking like you rejecting the idea wasn’t an option.

Which is wasn’t, because he knew you too well.

“Well, a cucumber actually has 3% more water than watermelon. So if you really want a refreshing snack, cucumber is your man.”

You smiled and raised your eyebrows in interest. He’s had many vegetables and fruits in the basket, not a lot of protein. Explained a lot.

My man, you thought with a smile.

My man, you shivered.

“I don’t like cucumbers.” You said like it was distraction, and he nodded, picking up some kewpie mayo as he you around to the next aisle. He glanced at you,

“I know. You say it’s tasteless. I like it.” He shrugged.

“I know.” You smiled, and he smiles back.

God, you wish you could bask in it, the warmth. But your chest was still tingly, and your heart hadn’t stopped aching ever since you got excited about an email notification.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay? I noticed you’ve been tense for like… a week.” He grabbed some pasta sauce and put his hand on your shoulder to turn you around - you obviously looked too far into your own head.

“Yeah, just feeling-“

“Y/n.” He turned to you, stopping your venture into the dairy aisle. His eyes were hard, worried. The fluorescent lights swayed slightly. A worker walked by the end of the aisle with a trolley full of food.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t,” he lifted one arm, wanting to rest his hand on your upper arm, to help you, “Don’t say sorry. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I have been feeling sick. That’s true. And I’ve been stressed and, thinking a lot. A lot.”

It felt weird to nearly tell Spencer about your relationship problems. It was like complaining to a doctor about healing crystals. It was like a slap in the face. Maybe that’s why you never did tell him about it, because it was facing your fears.

It was the pros and cons list made by Penelope.

But I’m overreacting.

“It’s nothing.”

Spencer sighed. You had that habit, of nearly opening up, and then shutting the door just as he was about to walk in.

You heard his sigh.

“Okay. I gave Lloyd my car because he has the day off, and he likes going to his friends houses on his days off. And, I told him something that should probably freak him out. But he doesn’t really care. I don’t think he really cares, about anything. At least about me.”

You started walking, because holy shit you’ve never said that out loud before, and Spencer followed you,

“Y/n, if you want to tell me something-“

“I think I’m pregnant.” You stopped, and started picking at your fingers, acting as if it was admitting to not knowing your left and rights, or that you don’t really like coconut.

His eyes widen, and his heart drops. It was like his worst nightmare coming true- jesus, how could he even think about himself right now? The girl he loved felt trapped with a man she thought might be the father of her baby.

Spencer gulped, “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

You looked at each other, scared, you more than him. And then you cringed,

“God, I’m sorry Spencer. I shouldn’t have said anything-“

“No- Y/n, it’s fine. I’m glad you told me-“

“I haven’t even, like, taken a test yet-“

“Wait so-”

You spun on your heel and looked at him exasperated.

“So… let’s go get some tests.” He said (he hopes) calmly. He was really trying, to pretend to be calm and collected. That’s what you needed, a clear head to replace yours.

He paid for everything, even the 5 pregnancy tests and the over sized lollipop you put in the basket to ease your nerves later on.

The moon was high, you were about three hours late to get home now, and your head was attacking itself with rambles and aches and honestly, you were sick of it.

You shivered, huddling in your jacket and drawing only slightly closer to Spencer. His silence was like a hook, drawing you in closer and higher and taking every word you had been thinking that day to the tip of your tongue.

You looked up to him. His hair fell into his eyes, the breeze reddening his cheeks slightly.

It’s Spencer. You’ve known him for nearly 6 years, but it feels like you’ve known each other for ever. You know everything about him, and he knows everything about you. Well, not everything. He doesn’t know how you feel in your own apartment, how every anniversary had been forgotten even when it was the ‘1 year’ mark, how you felt like you were raising an over grown child who could drink.

He knows you’re strong, but admitting all that? I’d look weak.

You have looked weak in front of Spencer. He stayed overnight in your hospital room, he held you when you watched a little girl die, he wiped your tears when you watched a sad short film during your break.

You couldn’t hide anything from him.

“I don’t think I’m pregnant- Well, I mean I might be, but there’s a very low chance,” You started, Spencer’s jaw clenched for a millisecond, “I’ve just been feeling sick and… it could be because of stress from work, or just general stress- like, I don’t know.”

Spencer moved the grocery bag to his other hand.

“Kids are great, don’t get me wrong. Some people don’t get the chance to have kids. I mean…” You gulped, and Spencer finally looked down at you. But now, all you could do was stare at the car park’s concrete floor. Speaking out loud was like clearing your brain, the fog was lifting. “Lloyd doesn’t want kids. I do, at least in the future, not right now. I just hope it’s not with-“ You cut yourself off, and slow down a bit. Spencer matches your pace.

I just hope it’s not with him.

He gulps, and clears his throat, looking down at you with understanding eyes, “With everything that’s going on.”

“Yeah… yeah. You know, my job, my…” It’s no use lying to Spencer. He knows. He’s known, for a long time.

Your chest was tight, and you made eye contact with the pregnancy tests lying on top of Spencer’s groceries. The thought of going home, rushing to the bathroom, avoiding your boyfriend who was already waiting angry, made your throat close up. Because only now, when you were three hours late from work and ignoring his one attempt at a phone call, Lloyd texted, ‘I think you need to calm down.’ It was a bare minimum, and finally Spencer could see you realizing it.

No, ‘Wre you okay?’, ‘What’s making you think this?’ ‘Where are you?’

No. He was making you out to be the crazy one, the one to be over thinking, over bearing, too much.

You were confused. To put it blankly. And scared. And questioning your life decisions. And honestly you just wanted to curl up in a ball and to have Spencer make you bad cucumber salad at his warm apartment.

You looked up to Spencer but he was already looking down at you, reaching for his keys and nodding, “You can come to mine, it’ll be okay.”

taglist (open) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna @laurakirsten0502 @cultish-corner

[noyasmashing]

𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀 𝐊𝐎𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐄 ˖ ࣪ ∗ ❀

cw: pegging, hair pulling, crying, sub!kenma, gn!reader

a/n: draft from forverrrr ago but i have to post it in honor of the haikyu movie

He hated it. He despised sensation of sweat trickling down his body as his back arched to meet your thrusts. Kenma had always detested physical activity, which is precisely why you relished making him work for it, watching him bounce uselessly on your strap as you mocked the way his cock slapped against his stomach.

Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes, and moans escaped his chapped lips. His voice came out as horse cries as your hands gripped his hips, rather harshly. “Apologize, Kozume,” you commanded sternly, looking up at him. He shook his head, his bottom lip trembling. Yet he continued bouncing on your lap, sloppily and uncoordinated, squirming under your grip.

“Oh? So that’s how it’s going to be, huh?” you mused, searching his face for any emotion. He refused to apologize, knowing any sort of speech would bring on the tears he hated. But you didn’t care about that now. Roughly, you flipped him onto all fours, now getting to see the breath taking sight of his ass. Despite his slurred protests, he arched his back, presenting his pulsating hole for you to use.

“P-put it back in,” he pleaded, wriggling his hips toward you for more friction. “Not until you apologize,” you replied, choosing to tease him by running your slick strap between his cheeks. His body felt hot, the tips of his ears reddened even with his face hidden. “’m sorry,” he whined into the pillow, but you clicked your tongue, unsatisfied with his weak apology.

“Louder,” you urged, knowing the volume he could actually reach. He hesitated, then looked at you, his Adam’s apple bobbing as your stern glare conveyed everything. He stifled a moan as you teased him with a gentle thrust near his hole. “I-I’m sorry for being an ass, please [name], f-forgive me,” he forced out, trembling under your grip.

You hummed, pausing for a moment that felt like an eternity to Kenma before finally ramming your length back into his wet ring of muscles. He moaned in satisfaction, thinking he got what he wanted. But the pleasure soon turned to overstimulation as you continued pounding him roughly. Usually you would keep a slow pace, showering him in praise as he got adjusted to your girth. But this time was different. His hips tried to escape your merciless pace, but you quickly stopped him. A string of nervous gasps escaping his cracked lips.

“Where do you think you’re going? If you can’t apologize properly, I’ll make you wish you could.”

“It’s too much—it’s too much,” he whined, gripping the sheets below him in a desperate attempt to ground himself. Despite his words, you saw the way he looked back at you with his mouth agape, eyes half-lidded, his cock surely weeping on his abdomen.

“Touch yourself, baby,” you encouraged warmly, but he just shook his head. You sighed, trying to be nice, but he was being such a brat. Maybe he’d learn his lesson if you were rougher. Releasing one side of his hips, you reached up with your free hand to pull his hair.

He gasped sharply, then whimpered as you pulled back. His moans were no longer muffled, and he could hear the lewd sounds of skin slapping together more clearly now. It all added to his pleasure, and the coil in his stomach started to unwind. Even in his delirious state, he knew better than to come without asking. “C-can I…” You cut off his plea, already knowing what he was going to ask. “No, only good boys get to come when they ask.” He sobbed at that.

Covered in sweat, he couldn’t bring himself to protest. You tightened your grip on him, continuing to pound relentlessly. He was fully crying now, hands shaking as he resisted the urge to fist his cock. But he was so needy, pre-cum leaking uselessly from his tip. You could tell what he was thinking and smirked. “Go on, touch yourself, and I’ll let you come.” He looked back at you, wary of your leniency.

“You mean it?” he asked shyly. You nodded warmly. “When have I ever lied to you?” With that, his hand found its way to his puffy tip, small nervous strokes causing his whole body to shake with pleasure. Your grip on his hips lifted his lower half practically off the bed. He felt weak, coming without hesitation when a “go on” left your lips.

He moaned loudly, his voice cracking into the pillow as his milky white release sprayed onto himself and the sheets.

To his disappointment and pleasure, you didn’t stop. In fact, it felt like you sped up your thrusts, maintaining their rhythm without faltering.

“We can’t stop now. I have to make sure my baby learns his lesson.”

[luveline]

carmy! i have a request, it’s so basic but everything you write is golden. him and r are pining coworkers, and maybe someone else yells at her or upsets her or whatever and he’s like but i’m the only one allowed to shout at you and he hugs her (because you know… arms 👀)

—Carmy tries to make you feel better after a customer upsets you. fem, 1.5k 

“Fucking asshole,” Richie mutters as the door swings closed. 

Carmy would cringe if he had the energy, or a lack of self-awareness —it’s not as though he doesn’t swear like a starved sailor every other sentence. 

“Who’s the asshole?” he asks, feeling down his side for the bump of a box of cigarettes he doesn’t find. 

He’s taken to hiding them in the office. He’d love to pretend it was an act of lent, but in actuality, he never told Ritchie that the box of cigarettes left near the burner, that gave them their C-army rating, wasn’t Richie’s at all, but Carmy’s. He isn’t ever planning on having that conversation, so he’s trying not to carry a box around and leave it somewhere stupid again. 

“Fucking– you didn’t just hear that guy?” Richie asks, scowling. 

Carmy scowls back. “Yeah, that’s why I’m asking. What the fuck do you think?” 

It’s slightly too much aggression off the cuff, but Richie brings it out of him. “Some asshole just came in here and started shouting like a motherfucker because he forgot his stupid napkins. I thought Sunshine was gonna cry her eyes out.” 

Carmy clocks back in fully. “What?” 

Sunshine is the mildly sarcastic nickname Richie gave you before Carmy ever step foot in The Beef. It’s not that you’re moody, but you’re always tired, and you give these little shy smiles out to anyone who asks how you are. I’m fine, you say every time, followed by something deflective like, I’m just tired. Lack of vitamin D from working in this place. 

“Where do scumbags get off, making girls cry like that?” 

Carmy's eyes widen. “She’s crying?” 

Richie is capable of seriousness, despite himself. “Yeah,” he says, his anger swapped out for a low remorse, “I told her to go sit in the office until she’s feeling better.” 

Carmy pauses. “Should I go look in?” he asks. 

“Duh, Carmen. You’re the only one who can make her feel better. Which I resent!” He brings a rag end from his shoulder to wipe his forehead, which is gross, but whatever. “I’m fucking excellent at being a shoulder to cry on.” 

Carmy doesn’t know what that means. Richie says it like it’s obvious, but since when is Carmy the only person who can make you feel better? You’ve known everybody here far longer than you’ve known him, and sometimes Carmy thinks you probably don’t want a thing to do with him, does anybody in the kitchen? You’re smart, and you’ve been working here as long as anybody, started when you were genuinely too young and learning everything you know from the other. You have potential, like everybody here. You just didn’t get the right training, and you’re defensive (again, like everybody here). 

Carmy’s almost positive you’re gonna tell him to fuck off when he knocks the office door. He doesn’t know why he does it, nobody knocks in this shithole, but he does. Maybe he’s buying time; you’ll be feeling better when he pushes the door fully open, and he won’t have to navigate the treacherous depths of his feelings for you while he’s so busy trying to work himself out.

You sniff, muffled, like  a sleeve is held over your face. “Hello?” you ask. 

Carmy gets a burst of energy and doesn’t ask before stepping into the room. You can’t say no if he doesn’t ask, and you don’t, looking at him from the rickety office chair with distrust, and then sheepishness. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be in here.” 

“No, no, you can come in here,” he says. He has a bad habit of pausing too long and looking too close, hands clenched in front of himself. “You can come in here. Some asshole made you cry?” 

You shake your head with tears still wet on your cheek. You’re at home in the office, all the chaos and posters and paper trails a match for you dishevelled appearance. You’ve pulled your foot onto the chair, showcasing a shoe that’s falling apart and two pairs of socks pulled to uneven heights. Your hands are a riot, none of your jewellery but a mismatch of different coloured band-aids over a multitude of wounds. And your face glows with tears, shitty light of the desk lamp casting yellow onto your teary cheeks, your lips bitten raw. 

“I’m fine,” you say. 

Carmy doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he was hoping for a better confession. “Over napkins?” 

“Said I’m s’posed to put napkins in the bag,” you say, a monotony to your voice that’s forced and weak at once. “‘Cos I’m a fucking idiot, right, who doesn’t put napkins in the bag?” You sniffle. “Whatever. Richie said he can’t come back.” 

“He can’t,” Carmy says quickly. 

He fails to follow it up. There’s an idiot in the office, for sure, and it’s not you. 

Your mouth crumples and you look away from him, something achy about you as another tear falls down your cheek to curve into the skin above your top lip, making a home at your cupid’s bow. “I’m fine.” 

“You can be upset,” he says. “This job’s… hard enough, without people making you feel like shit for shit you didn’t do.”

You respond to his warm(ish) tone with a small smile. Your tear slips down your lip. Carmy wants to wipe it off. 

“What can I do?” he asks finally.

He wishes he could make you feel better without asking, and there are parts of him that want to turn tail and run, too, but Carmy stays standing in front of the half-open door watching as tears make their way to your chin. He doesn’t know why you’re still crying. 

Maybe he does. Carmy doesn’t usually cry. He just watches things go wrong without stopping them, or keels over in the alley for long, too fast minutes as his heart pumps a bruising rhythm against his ribs. 

“I’m fine, Carmy,” you say, wiping your face roughly as you stand from the chair.  

He scratches a hand through his hair. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” 

“You don’t have to anything.” 

“Richie said I’m the only person who can make you feel better.” 

“You’re just the only guy who ever shouts at me,” you tease, sniffling softly as you do. 

Carmy shouldn’t yell at anyone, but he does. You’ve never cried. He wouldn’t yell at anybody if he thought it would make them upset like that, it’s just that yelling’s like talking where he comes from, and the kitchen doesn’t help. 

“So what? Am I supposed to beat that guy up?” Carmy asks. 

You laugh through what he hopes to be the last of your tears, scrubbing at your cheeks ineffectually. “Like you could beat somebody up. You’re all bark and no bite, Berzatto.” 

Sure. And he’s a loser, he’s more than aware of it; Carmy knows fifty seven different ways to prepare corn for eating and he doesn’t know a single way to make girls feel better, so he tries something he saw on TV. 

“Come here,” he says, holding his arm out insistently. “C’mere.” 

He leans in to grab you. You hold your arms out, but you still when he touches you like you're shocked. He’s a little shocked too. 

“Richie knew the guy, right?” Carmy asks. 

“He said he’s banned for life.” 

“Okay, great.” Carmy feels up your back slowly. Your arms are hesitant behind him. He’s the braver one for once, feeling at the dips and slopes of you with a greedy hand.

You smell… really good. He has a good sense of smell, can pick apart a meal's ingredients by scent alone if he’s awake enough, so he can tell you’re wearing that little solid perfume you keep in your cubby, gentle enough to not bother anybody in the kitchen, ever so slightly milky and sweet. He can also smell the salt on your cheeks. So weird to be able to smell your tears. 

Carmy pats your back and leans away. Your hands fall to your side. 

He wipes your face hesitantly, pinky to your soft cheek, until your tear stains are dry and you’re looking at him steadily.

“That was really weird,” you say. 

He panics, stepping away from you, “Fuck. Fuck, sorry.” 

You shake your head. “No, I’m just kidding. Thanks, Carmy.” 

“Dick,” he says. 

You smile brightly. Okay, his heart fell into his ass when you said it was weird, but you can tease him all day if it makes you feel better. 

“I better go tell Richie I’m okay,” you say. “Don’t you have a stock to reduce?” 

“Oh, you mean your stock?” he asks. 

Your smile makes him wanna grab your wrist, and it makes him wanna chase after you. You slink out of the office, waving a quick goodbye with your fingers, and Carmy stares at the place you’d been sitting while you cried for a couple of seconds to get a grip.  

He puts his hand on his chest and feels his pulse racing. 

“Fucking asshole,” he mutters, not sure if he means the customer or himself.