#Like guys from the discord you know what happens when I think about him too much

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

I think I need that "Wow, I haven't stubbed my toe in five months! I was then shot fifty-seven times." Audio again

[iamthetruestrepairman]

I am a cheetah and Troy and abed are the dogs they put in my enclosure to keep me from going insane

[gingerhastoomanyobsessions]

Things that actually happen in hunchback of notre dame, in no particular order

The book mostly is told from the POV of Pierre, a self-insert who is failed author and, I cannot stress this enough, utterly pathetic 

Quasimodo damaged his hearing as a teenager from years of bell ringing and now uses sign language whenever he can

There is a scene where Quasimodo and a fellow deaf guy have to have a conversation without using sign language because they’re in a courtroom and the jury doesn’t know sign. It goes about as well as you’d expect 

Frollo has a little brother, Jehan, who he raised after their parents died. Jehan is now a frat bro in college whose hobbies consist of getting drunk and being mean to Quasimodo. In his first scene Jehan complains about college DEI because an Italian guy got a scholarship he wanted. 

Esmeralda is accused of witchcraft because she taught her pet goat Djali how to do math

Djali may or may not be sapient. He can and does imitate human mannerisms to make fun of people on purpose. He does this while on trial. 

Yes. They tried the goat for witchcraft, too. 

Pierre writes a whole play riding on the pun of dolphin/Dauphin. Nobody likes it. 

Frollo is an alchemist and has a secret mad science lab where he writes on the walls

Jehan literally pulls a “buy my silence” and frollo gives him money to make him shut up

There’s a trio of catty girls who bully Esmeralda like it’s Mean Girls

Quasimodo and Frollo literally have Cryptid Status— Parisians circulate rumors that Quasimodo is either a familiar, a homunculus, or the result of demonic mpreg, and that Frollo is a wizard with wizard powers and/or a ghost

There is a little old woman who lives in a hole and shouts slurs at people. She has a tragic backstory. 

There is a homicidal con man/king of thieves named Clopin Troillefou (surname translation: The Fool of Fear) who deserves tumblr sexymanhood.

Pierre learns how to carry chairs with his teeth 

There’s an entire chapter dedicated to the layout of the streets of Paris in painstaking detail

There’s another chapter that is a rant about interior design 

Esmeralda and Pierre get platonically married due to Clopin’s murderous shenanigans. Pierre tries to make a move in her but ends up being more emotionally attached to Djali the goat than to her. I think that should be grounds for divorce

There is a scene where Pierre has to choose between helping Esmeralda escape or helping Djali. He picks Djali. 

Frollo hides from his own brother by laying face down in mud and playing dead. Somehow this works 

There is a Plot Significant Tiny Shoe. A Tiny Shoe Chekhov’s Gun. And Victor Hugo will not stop telling you just how Tiny this shoe is. 

There’s a soap opera style plot twist that involves a false accusation of cannibalism and the woman in the hole who shouts slurs

Quasimodo makes up a stupid little song that doesn’t even rhyme to confess his love to Esmeralda, who remains oblivious

He then attempts to demonstrate his affection via convoluted metaphors that involve props. She doesn’t get it. Boy please say what you mean

Frollo pulls the classic discord groomer tactic of threatening self-harm if Esmeralda doesn’t give in. 

Jehan rolls up to a party/rescue mission scheming session in Clopin’s secret hideout in full plate armor (how did he get that???), drunk off his ass, and acts like he owns the place. Everyone finds this so ridiculous that they just let him

Hugo goes on and on about how innocent and naive Esmeralda is but then casually reveals that Esmeralda carries a dagger on her person at all times to fend off assault. When Frollo attacks her and Quasi intervenes, she takes Quasi’s knife and almost kills Frollo (fair!) but he flees. She contains multitudes?

Frollo has a psychotic breakdown in the middle of a field surrounded by chickens and hallucinates skeletons everywhere 

For the first half of the book Esmeralda is like 70% sure Frollo is a ghost, not helped by his aforementioned Cryptid Status

Jehan eats a moldy piece of cheese off the ground 

Frollo tries to send Pierre on a suicide mission in drag. Pierre objects to the suicide part but not the drag part  

Clopin’s preferred weapon is a scythe, he’s very good at using it, and he sings when he fights. Again: sexyman potential. 

Victor Hugo has a foot fetish. I initially dismissed it as Frollo having a foot fetish until Victor Hugo included a foot fetish torture scene without any Frollo in it. So I can only conclude that the foot fetish is authorial in nature. Unfortunately the foot scenes are important to the plot. 

Frollo is canonically 36, he just aged like shit and is bald. The narrator will not stop telling you just how bald he is.

Despite being in full plate armor, Jehan gets splatted like a bug

Almost every named character dies. Djali the goat lives. 

[ace-turned-confused]

sickening desire

joel masterlist | read on ao3

pairing: stepdad!joel miller x f!reader summary: you and your stepdad don't have much in common, but you always try to keep things friendly. back home for college break, he's not making it very easy. word count: 2,7k warnings: 18+ only, reader is able-bodied & wears a skirt, big ol' age gap (reader is nineteen), food mention, joel is big & beefy, stepcest, cheating, fucked morals all round, pet names, joel's a disgusting dirty perv (i'm so serious), smut, grinding, mentions of m & f masturbation, unprotected p in v, cockwarming, 1 spank, creampie, dirty talk, sprinkle of daddy kink, praise kink, panty kink a/n: written for @beefrobeefcal's MARRIED JOEL SITS ON YOU prompt - i got to witness the birth of this on discord, and thought how can i make this cute idea deranged instead, so here we are. idk how all this happened. this is stepcest, you have been warned. if it's not your thing then pls scroll on, no hard feelings in here <3 not beta'd

After weeks of phone calls, texts and endless hounding from your mother, you caved and decided to come home for your college break. She was missing you like crazy, and apparently you had aunts and cousins who were just dying to see you after so long, no doubt ready to bombard you with questions about the life of a college girl as if you were the first of the kind.

So, you came home to your mom and her new-ish husband, Joel Miller. You can count the number of times you’ve met him on one hand, one of those occasions being their wedding. You’re not sure how they make it work, but then opposites do attract…

Marriage has been good to Joel, his mental health and financial stability have improved, and overall he seems a happier person — not that you could tell from looking at him, with a permanent scowl etched on his face. The only ‘drawback’ seemed to be the effect it had on his waistline — his jeans now too tight around his thighs, the seams visibly strained, and his tummy poking out past his belt. They no doubt add to his eternal pissed-off facade, but he’s far too stubborn to admit he needs to buy new ones.

Your mom reminds him, often, how much he’s filled out in recent times, and judging by the bitterness in her voice, she clearly doesn’t approve. You’re not sure why she disapproves, but you’d never admit that.

From what you know, he’s neither an overly good nor a bad guy, he’s just… Joel, and the two of you have nothing to talk about, so you keep your distance out of courtesy. At least, you try to.

Since you’ve been home, you’ve caught him staring a few times but pin it down to aged eyesight. Most days he greets you in the kitchen with a husky ‘mornin’ sweetpea’, and makes a point of brushing up against you, half hard and warm in his threadbare sweatpants. He’ll place a hand on the small of your back when he stands beside you, pinky wandering down to toy with your waistband.

You cover up the way your breath catches and stop yourself from clenching your legs together every time — either he doesn’t have a grasp on personal space, or he’s doing this on purpose. The way he watches you move around once he’s sat down says all you need to know. You try not to think about it.

-

You’re flicking between channels one night when the front door clicks open, the heavy stomp of workboots echoing down the passage and into the room. Joel waltzes in, dumping his keys and without a word, sits directly onto you.

“What the fuck?”

“This is my chair, sweetpea. Not my fault you’re in it.”

You try pushing him off you, a losing battle with the extra kilos he’s put on since tying the knot with your mom. He mumbles something to you, his words lost underneath the TV and your strained grunting.

“What?” You huff at him, growing more and more agitated.

“I asked, you gettin’ off on this like you did sittin’ on my lap?”

Your mind swirls as you try to pinpoint what he means. It’s just when you’re about to give him lip and ask him what the fuck he’s on about, that you remember — and suddenly you wish the world would just swallow you whole.

-

During Sunday’s roast lunch, you were surrounded by extended family, filling in the blanks and avoiding the painfully personal questions; Joel spent the day with his standard disgruntled look and your mom was overzealous in her storytelling — everything and everyone just how you remembered.

Everyone broke off into smaller bubbles after lunch, and you stared at Joel as he unbuckled his belt and slumped back on your aunt’s couch — he stared right back at you, head cocked to one side as he weaselled his way into your mind with just a slight smirk and a wink, large hand resting teasingly over his crotch. You left the room, intentionally distancing yourself from him the rest of the day.

It was late afternoon by the time you begrudgingly hugged each family member goodbye and settled in the backseat next to Joel, some extras tagging along for the free ride back to your neighbourhood. With your headphones in and all other passengers occupied, you tried to nap the rest of the way home and regenerate the energy siphoned from you throughout the day. You had no complaints, up until now.

You sat up when your mom stopped off at a different house with just over half the trip still to go. Her heart of gold meant she’d offered a lift home to too many people for her one car, so being the youngest, she suggested you just squash up or sit on someone's lap… Which is fine when you’re nine, not nineteen.

And not just anyone offered up a place, no, Joel lifted his hand in the air and said you could sit on him — with no other way to get home, you pinched your eyes and cringed, but did it anyway. You were fine for the first 15 or so minutes until the road became uneven, and you realised just how fucked this whole thing was — when you first sat down on Joel, he wasn’t hard. You took a breath to try to steady yourself without drawing extra attention.

It was just a… natural response? God, that doesn’t make it any better.

You shifted forward, tried to reposition your weight over his legs and knees and told him you were just getting stiff — wrong fucking choice of words as you became even warmer than before.

Your mom stopped off to refuel along the way, everyone climbing out of the car to stretch, and you made a beeline for the bathroom, splashing yourself with water to cool down.

Joel watched as you came back to the car and you tried not to stare when you saw he was fully hard in his jeans; you felt mortified when you saw the damp patch you’d left on the fabric.

Back on Joel’s lap for the rest of the trip, everyone else was asleep with your mom still driving, radio turned up and blissfully unaware. You’d be able to forget about this, lock the memory away and move on if you hadn’t been so fucking turned on.

What’s worse, you making your stepdad hard, or him making you wet?

-

Joel snuck his hands onto your hips and you tensed, caught off guard by his touch.

“Keep ya steady,” he muttered, fingers digging into your skin.

Holding onto the seat in front for balance, he felt you were trying to lift your weight off him. He tightened his grip on you, slowly pulling you down onto him completely. There was no going back — he was fully hard by now, so he may as well get the most from this.

He pulled you to lean into his chest, his voice quiet in your ear, “S’alright sweetpea, almost there.”

Your head was turned to watch your mom the whole time, and Joel should have cared, but he just couldn’t, not when you were all warm and sweet on top of him. You stayed taut the entire trip home, Joel’s hands on your hips and bulge pressed deliciously against your core. He shifted you atop him every so often, and you desperately wanted to hate how good it felt.

When you finally arrived home, you clambered out of the car and left everyone to fend for themselves, darting for your room. You were about to close the door when you caught Joel staring again, the front of his jeans damp and darkened from where you were perched. You unpacked your clothes, sorted out your washing, and even took a shower but the incessant ache was still there. You finally gave in and shoved your hand between your legs.

-

A loud advert plays on the TV and brings you back into reality, Joel still firmly on top of you.

“Don’t act all fuckin’ innocent on me now, I know those panties of yours were gettin’ all wet with you grindin’ down on me like that.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were real quick to run off to your room that night, you had to stick your fingers up in that cunt of yours to get yourself off?”

“Fuck you, Joel.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d love to. I know you dream of gettin’ fucked real good by your daddy, huh?” He twists to look at you, the motion pushing more of his weight onto you. “No point in arguin’ with me, I heard you that night… I’ve heard you on a lot of nights since you been home, always callin’ out for me.”

You don’t talk back as you keep pushing to get him off of you — he has enough leverage just from hearing you at night, he doesn’t also need to know that you are enjoying having his weight on you like this, unable to fight back or do anything about it.

“Now you got nothin’ to say?” He lifts himself slightly and gestures for you to get up, grabbing your wrist before you can walk away. “Did I say I was done talkin’?”

He faces you towards the TV, standing you between his now spread legs. Skating his hands up the back of your legs, goosebumps rise on your skin as he moves higher and higher, lifting the hem of your skirt as he goes. He kneads the swell of your ass, sliding his thumbs under the edge of your panties.

“These the ones you had on that day?”

“Huh?”

“Barely touched you and you already can’t think straight. Are these the panties you had on when you sat on my lap?”

“Uh, no? I don’t know, Joel.”

He pulls your panties up to expose more of your skin, smacking a hand down on the side of your ass. You jolt forward at the impact, a fresh wave of arousal seeping out between your folds.

“‘S a real shame, I bet they were soaked right through, huh? Soakin’ ‘em right now, the way you’re droolin’ for me. You wanna know somethin’, sweetpea?” You don’t bother answering, lost in the feeling of finally having his hands on you. “Never used to enjoy doin’ laundry before you came to visit, but now… Well, now I get to see all the pretty panties you have. And I always know when you’ve been thinkin’ of me, they get extra dirty.”

He reaches up to grip your hip, his other hand twisting to push in between your legs. Your hips jerk as he traces his fingers along your damp panties, pushing up into you against the fabric.

“Seems like you actually were gettin’ off on havin’ me on top of you…” You crane your neck at the clink of his belt buckle and watch as he drags his zipper down. He stares up at you the whole time. “But now you’re gonna sit on me again.”

Pulling you backwards by your waist, he keeps your skirt lifted and hooks a finger into the gusset of your panties, tugging them aside. He runs his fingers through your folds, already sticky with need. You clench your legs when he pulls away again, and he sighs, frantic and satisfied; turning around again you see he’s taken his cock in his hand, thick and hard, coating himself in your slick.

He guides you down onto him and a gasp slips from you as he drags the head of his cock through you to line himself up. Your gasps turn to a strangled moan as he pulls you to sit, sheathing himself completely — it’s a delicious stretch without any prep, and again you find yourself wishing you could hate this, hate him for doing this.

He lets your skirt drop down again as you settle on his lap, and picks up the TV remote with one hand, the other a vice grip on your waist. He flips through the channels, ignoring the fact you’re sitting firmly on him.

“What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like? We’re watchin’ TV, sweetpea. And you’re gonna be a good girl for me and sit still. With all the starin’ and whinin’ you do, this was only a matter of time.”

“And all the staring you do?”

“As if you don’t fuckin’ love it.” You clench around him at his words and he sniggers at you. “You’re real tight, sweetheart. Now sit still.”

-

You’re not sure how long you sit like this — Joel staring deadpan at the TV with his hands wrapped around your waist, and you aching for relief as you hold back from squirming on top of him. The initial sting has subsided, replaced now with a steady and simmering burn as you leak around him.

Your breathing deepens as you fight with yourself — do stay composed and try to win, or give in and let Joel make you feel good?

“Won’t lie, sweetpea, I’m impressed. Didn’t think you had it in you.” His low voice draws you from your inner conflict. “‘Specially now that you got me in you.”

You can practically hear the shit-eating grin on his face, and he punctuates himself with a lift of his hips, rolling you on him. Fuck it, just give in. Whimpering as he repeats the motion over and over, it’s the most he’s done the entire night.

“You wanna know somethin’ else?” He keeps grinding your hips against him, the stretch of his cock and the strain of your panties against your clit bringing you closer and closer. “Dunno if you’ve ever noticed your panties go missing? S’cause I took ‘em, sweetpea. I take your pretty panties and I use ‘em to jerk off, dirty or clean, doesn’t matter to me, s’long as they’re yours. I smell ‘em, I wrap ‘em around my cock, I picture you wearin’ ‘em when I come all over ‘em.”

At some point in his rambling, he’d snaked a hand around to your front and under your skirt, and shoved his fingers in your panties to circle your clit. Just like a lot of things lately, you’re trying to hate how much you love it.

“That’s it sweetpea, come all over your daddy.”

Your legs tense, trapping his hand as he works you through your high, murmuring praises in your ear as you writhe on top of him — unfortunately for you, it’s the hardest you’ve ever come. He doesn’t give you time to think, wrapping his arms around you to lift you up and bundling your arms behind your back.

“Stay there, ‘m not done with you.”

Steadying yourself by leaning on his jean-covered thighs, he starts pistoning up into you, over and over as he uses you for his own high. Squeezing your hips, he pulls you down to match his thrusts, the room filled with his grunting and your whining and the obscene squelch from between your legs each time he fills you. It’s not long before he starts shuddering underneath you, pulling you down hard as he spills into you with a groan.

He holds you, almost affectionately in his arms as he relaxes, warm breath being puffed into your neck as he nuzzles against you and his hands smoothing over your clothes. Turning to look at him, his lips are just parted and his pupils are blown wide. You try to discern the emotion behind his eyes, surging forward to press your lips to his instead, afraid of what the truth might be.

It’s soft, it’s sweet, it’s almost pure, the way he kisses you back, the hairs of his beard and moustache prickling your skin as a hand comes up to cradle your face, the other still held around your waist. You pull back from him, and he has that usual deviant glint in his eyes when he opens them again.

He stands you in front of him, just like you were before this, and he pulls your panties back over your core. He waits and watches as his spend starts oozing out of you and gets absorbed into the already damp cotton.

“Definitely gonna make good use of these ones, sweetpea.” He winks as he stands up, tucking his softening cock back into his jeans, still sticky from both you and himself. “Next time you can wear ‘em, just like I told you.”

tagging some friendos from the wip wednesday snippets, Imk if you'd like to be taken off <3

@luxurychristmaspudding @whocaresstillthelouvre @milla-frenchy @clawdee @burntheedges

@greenwitchfromthewoods @yopossum @evolnoomym @mountainsandmayhem @bubble-pop-eclectic

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[aviradasa]

hey! I stumbled upon your work, and instantly loved it. would it be ok if you could do a Sal fisher x flutter shy! like reader? Im sorry if this doesn’t make sense, but reader who has the same personality as flutter shy and is also good with animals?

Awww, love fluttershy this is a bit short and sweet and lightly proofread i apologize!!

Sal x fluttershy like reader HC

(Art from Pinterest)

You guys most likely met in school.

Sal almost instantly wanted to try and be your friend because you seemed so sweet.

But you were really, really shy.

So when he first tried to talk to you and you kinda seemed scared or uncomfortable, he automatically figured it was cause of his appearance.

He was kinda sad about it, honestly, but at this point, he was used to it.

But then he found out you were really close with Ash, and he decided to ask her about you.

After sal told her what happened, she burst out laughing. He stood their for like 3 minutes, waiting for her to calm down as she leaned against the locker catcher, her breath with a big ass smile.

"Oh god dude no no no. It's not that she's scared of what you look like she's just scared to talk to people in general. She actually thinks you're pretty dope she just struggles to talk to people. But don't worry, I'll help you." Ash says, patting his back as she continues to chuckle.

It reassures him a little. Ash said she would introduce you guys, which was nice but also a little scary. He did not wanna freak you out.

But once ash does Introduce you guys shit lights up.

You all are besties.

The first time you came to his apartment and saw Gizmo, you almost ran to that cat. Picking him up and talking to him. To sal it was almost like Gizmo understood you.

A lot of the time you guys hang is sal playing games or playing guitar while you play with Gizmo.

It's the only time that cat gets any exercise cause whenever sal tries to wave the shoestring in his face, Gizmo looks at him stupid.

After some time of hanging with Sal, you start to come out of your shell more. Opening up a bit and starting to chat more with others without being as easily spooked off.

And he also learned that you liked to sing. Alot.

He will catch you sometimes. But he knows if he mentions it, you'll stop, and you have such a nice voice, so no way he'll do that.

One day you mentioned how much you wanted to be a singer but didn't have the balls and he convinced you

Somehow

To sing while he plays guitar. It's a nice little bonding moment.

Ash has a picture of you that she just loves so much of you holding gizmo while singing with Sal in the background just looking up at you.

She gave you both copys.copy's.

It was really embarrassing for you. Sal, on the other hand, put that shit in his locker, and it's his favorite picture

Now you are full of surprises. One thing sal didn't expect was for you to have so much build-up rage.

Now, it was the day Travis punched sal, and you weren't having that shit. As soon as Travis's fist collided with sals prosthetic, your backhand made contact with his bare face.

Nobody was expecting you to bitchslap him. After you stuck your finger in his face, almost yelling at him as you back him up against a wall before you actually manage to scream at him.

Jesus Christ.

Once Travis was gone, you went up to sal and Ash back to your normal self.

You never spoke of it again. And they were kind of too scared to ask.

With Sal, you are more open, and the group loves you to death.your love of animals is deeply loved by sal and your hidden anger. (While being a surprise) He kind of found cute cause he never thought you could be capable of it.

If yall do end up dating, expect to end up running around in the woods looking for demons and or raccoons.

We won't get into how you befriended the ghosts or how the red eyed demon won't attack you. ( it's like a little discord fluttershy situation like how they became friends)

Sal gets freaked out when it appears in front of you the first time, and you waved to it while he was trying to figure out how to escape.

After that you had some explaining to do lol.

But back on track, you guys dating is the fluffiest,cutest, toothrotting, lovely, type of relationship you will ever see.

[ofswordsandpens]

Am I the only one who thinks about how The Lightning Thief would have gone if instead of Grover, Percy picked Luke to go with him and Annabeth on the quest? Luke, who was sick of the idea of doing quests that had already been done was just picked to go on a unique quest by this demigod who he was planning to manipulate, and the quest was unique because he helped to make it so. And while he'll likely be plotting to hide the fact that he's a lightning thief, reworking things to take heat off himself, one of his quest mates would be Annabeth, the half blood he personally saved and brought to camp, whom he would have to work like hell to hide his deeds from.

listen I'm loving the comedic potential of this because in my heart of hearts, I feel like Luke's too enamored with the idea of razing Olympus for him to doubt what he's doing, but balancing that razors edge where he's actively trying to sabotage the quest and kill Percy while not tipping off Annabeth, and also trying to plant seeds of doubt and discord both between Percy and Annabeth and also about the gods while trying not to be too obvious about it because maybe, just maybe he can convince Annabeth to side with him.

except as usual Luke's nefarious plans are constantly being foiled by 2 tweens and its embarrassing cause they're not even trying. Percy's not wearing the shoes and keeps making up polite reasons on why he can't without seeming like he's rejecting Luke's gift (cause that would be rude) and Annabeth's like "well I'm gonna wear them then" and Luke's panics like "NO" but he also can't wear them so then they just stay in the bag untouched. then Luke keeps directing them into the paths of monsters in the hopes Percy's gonna get taken out but holy hell this kid just won't die. Like literally just escapes mortal peril by the skin of his teeth and doesn't even realize it. It's like an old silent film where the entire front of the house falls off and the guy survives because he just happened to be standing right where the open window is.

Then Luke's also trying to stir up some anger at the gods, testing the waters with Annabeth, but she's so in the height in the idealization of her mom it's getting no where. Luke's trying to be subtle like "hey... don't you think it's kinda of fucked up that the gods are..... uh... blaming? percy for this? and that he has to do this quest to set things right" but annabeth's like "what do you mean by that? 🤨 this is what heroes do this is how we prove ourselves" and unfortunately Percy is the only one vibing with the "hey don't you hate your dad" comments that's Luke's throwing down and that makes him fond of Percy against his better judgement but he's still gotta kill him so you know, bummer

anyway, in this quest AU Percy perceives Luke as the Responsible Adult cause he's 19 (lmao) and thus feels a little less pressure to be responsible for things himself and so when they get to the Underworld, Luke's like smirking, grinning, cause a. he's in in the Underworld and how many heroes have achieved that? b. the shoes in Percy's bag are about to drag that kid to the depths of hell or c. the lightning bolts about to appear in the bag and Luke will throw Percy under the bus to Hades (he's been practicing his betrayal speech) except wait "Percy... where's your backpack??" and Percy's like "oh I forgot it at the hotel 👉👈" and Luke loses it and picks him up to throw him into tartarus himself (he is unsuccessful)

[dominarava]

Angel

Ghostface × Female!Reader

CW: Dub/Non-Con, Blood, Stalking, Breaking & Entering, usual fucked up GF stuff

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: The quiet guy in your discord server decides to chat you up in the general vc, and as expected, has a lot more to unpack than you ever expected.

Notes: I was lazy and just posted the ugly default AO3 link when I first posted this, so I'm coming back and making it look nicer with new and improved tags lol

This piece doesn't specify who is really behind the mask, so whoever you want is up to you~

I had fun with this and left light references to the movies, Dead By Daylight, and Mortal Kombat to honor some of my favorite appearances of him-- hopefully it doesn't ruin the immersion lol

I don't usually leave notes, but it's been a while and I've adored all the comments and kudos I've gotten in my absence, cause at the end of the day, that's what will always bring me back. I love all your support and time reading this and hopefully I have more soon to come for you all!

Thank you again so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy! 🔪💕✨️

AO3 Link

This had become the nightly habit: get off work, make dinner, chill with the lads in a Discord call until bedtime. Mindlessly playing a game, you weren't surprised by the sound of someone joining the call, however you were surprised by who it was. He was a rando that had joined a while back, was nice enough, but didn't have much to say as he relegated himself to really only short replies or emoji reactions. You could have sworn he posted a thirst trap without his face in the #selfies channel, but you weren't 100% sure. When he would join calls he would always stay muted, opting to reply in the text chat or not at all, merely listening to and enjoying just being around the good times happening. All the same, you felt it rude to not say at least a little hello. 

“Hey! How’re you doin’ tonight?” 

“Hey there~” 

The voice on the other side was low, having a bit of a flirtatious twang in the sigh of his greeting. Your heart skipped a beat, you weren't sure if he had ever spoken to you, much less anyone else in the server. And if you were being honest, he sounded kind of hot. Letting the giddy feeling ride, you tried to keep him talking since it was just the two of you. 

“Woah–” You poked cheekily, “I dunno if I've heard you say anything before.” 

“I'm more of a one-on-one kind of guy,” He offered smoothly, “But I enjoy listening to everyone having a good time.” 

“Fair–” 

The air fell dead as you wondered what to talk about next, letting him cut into the silence with a question, “So.. what's your favorite scary movie?” 

Having just finished a server horror movie night not too long ago, the question felt like a natural segway into your interests, “Hmmnn that's actually a good question– I think if we're just talkin’ horror in general my first and favorite would have to be Silence Of The Lambs. The back and forth relationship between Clarice and Dr. Lecter was probably one of the most challenging to my mind at the ripe age of twelve, since then I've loved horror that has a female protagonist that is put under pressure by the killer to make difficult choices and solve the puzzle he left for her.

“But– that's not to say pieces like Substance or Midsommer aren't incredible mentally challenging works of art to me, I love both, along with movies like The Empty Man, Smile, It Follows, The VVitch, The Void, V/H/S–”

He cut your train with a light chuckle, “I definitely want to know which you thought was better, Smile or It Follows, but I meant to ask, what’s your favorite slasher movie?” 

You gave this one a lot more consideration as your heart swelled with a damning excitement at the thought of your favorite killers, “That's such a hard choice! Of course Micheal Myers from <i>Halloween</i> is like everyone's big daddy– but I think if I had to choose it would have to be Stab! Ghostface is just a lot more fun, playful, and let's be honest– horny.” 

“Oh yeah?” He hummed, “Why's that?” 

How his tone seemed to curl at the end of his words made your chest tighten and a heat rise to your cheeks, “I mean, at the heart of it.. the voice actor responsible for his voice changer in the movie said that his tone is flirtatious, beyond that– between the fact that the first Ghostface seemed to get off on the idea of causing his object of obsession, Sidney, the most pain possible by the mocking of her mother being the town bicycle and it's even pointed to at the end of the movie that the two who were behind the Ghostface killings were the same two that brutalized Sidney's mother–” 

“Goddamn–” Nearly groaning his words as he cut you off, he cleared his throat and pressed, “Good girl~ You sure do know your stuff.” Praising you with words that melted like chocolate over your tongue, your mind tilted at his words, ‘Good girl’. 

Good girl?!

“Excu–”

“I fuckin’ love girls like you–” He went on, swearing you could hear the ache of him through the call, “Your type always knows how really appreciate us..” 

‘Us’?

Before you could get a word in, he went on, “Buuut it looks like that's my cue– I hope you're ready for some fun this evening.” Leaving the conversation with the disconnect sound chiming through your ears in silence to process what just happened. 

The sound of him leaving the call let a wash of relief run over you, only lasting for a moment as the floor creaking caught your attention with arms wrapping you in a winding embrace. Having your arms pinned at your sides, your hands flailed looking for any sort of way out. Only, the way your grip seemed to find his length caged behind his pants before skirting over to the long hunting knife strapped to his leg, making your struggle against him stop with a gasp.

“Yeah.. that's all for you Babe, whatever you need– so.. let's behave.. alright..?” The same voice that was lingering in your headset only moments ago was in high definition against your back. 

Firmly pressing his hand over your mouth, you froze as someone else joined the empty call with you, “Hey you there?” 

Your headphones loud enough for him to hear, an uneasy pause passed between you two as his hold over your lips lessened, “Yeah-” He let you breathe through his nitrile gloved fingers.

“Good, kinda glad he's gone, he's chill and all, but it kinda bugs me that he's just in here just dead-ass silent all the time. Fuckin’ weird.” 

Looking over your shoulder a bit to get any sort of a look at him, you were only met with the deep black drooping eyes framed by a gasping bone white mask. Familiarity of the visage made your heart drop into your stomach, forcing you to chew on the harsh fact that that same familiarity you knew to fear, also brought the flutter of butterflies in with it.  

A rough bump of his hips to your back-end snapped you out of your own mind and made you bark out, “Uh– Same– he is kinda weird, I've– talked to him a little bit and he just– seems like a bit of a creep..”

“Oooh shit whaddaya mean?” 

He peered over your shoulder to look at you, curious to see how you would pull this along as his other hand pushed at the elastic of your pajama bottoms, “He uh– waited for everyone to leave– and then started hella chatting me up–” 

“Are you good? It sounds like you're doing something.” 

Eyeing him, the slight nod of his head coaxed you to keep talking while his fingers made their home in exploring your heat, “Yeah I'm fine– I think I pulled a muscle and I–”

“Oh shit– sorry, one sec– groceries are here, I'll be back in a minute!”

At the sound of her disconnection he lifted you up with a near effortless toss onto the bed, wasting no time crawling on top of you to get at what little clothing was left with his blade. Watching the fabric dance away from your frame, he gripped your wrist as you tried to switch your mic off.

“Go on.. stay in that call.. let ‘em all know what a stagy little whore you are.” He pushed, lifting the hem of his hoodie above the glimmer of the silver button hiding his length behind the black denim. 

No time was wasted getting into you, making himself at home between your legs with a few rough thrusts and shivering grunts that made your mind twist. Squirming under him the grit falling off his boots into your blankets made you buck against him in frustration, earning a low sigh from him as his beat picked up. 

“Mmn if you keep fighting me.. I'll gut you like a fucking pig.” Groaning into your ear, the delicate touch of his knife teased itself between your breasts. 

Defiance sparked in you to bite back, “If we're– oh god– following the rules, you'll just do it anyway–” 

The blade pulled its edge against your skin, splitting you like a ripe peach under its cut, “True.. but the killer's favorite little slut never dies.. she's gotta make it to the sequel, the trilogy, hell! Maybe a whole fuckin’ saga..”

Suddenly ringing in your ear the sound of the bluetooth assistant chimed,

Battery Low.. Please Charge Soon.

You held your lips tight as the length of him pushed to the hilt over and over, letting the air in the call stay dead as your friend and others passed through, thinking you were away from your keyboard. 

“What’s wrong? Suddenly have nothing to say? I thought you liked the idea of being yanked around by a big man with a knife? Little different than on the big screen, ain't it Babe?” 

You could practically hear him purring behind the mask, his pace slowing to deep grind as you felt the rub of his metal pants zipper dig into your skin like a threat.

“Mmmm– remember a couple weeks back– we were all watching that scary movie– when you wouldn't shut the fuck up about how you wanted to ride that slashers cock like a carnival ride– fuck you don't know what that did to me– hearing you get all giddy about bouncing on dick after a kill– goddamn you don't have a fuckin’ clue– how bad I wanted bust through that fuckin’ window and tear you apart–” 

Gripping his palm across your eyes to pin your head to the bed, the unrelenting barrage of what came was less of a kiss and more of a hostile takeover of your senses. You couldn't tell how long you were left to his devices, using you with the excitement of a new sex doll he'd been waiting months for. The fight in you began to fade with the swipe of your tongue to his, earning the zeal of him rutting into you harder. 

“See.. I knew you'd love it..” 

Battery Low.. Please Charge Soon.

Dipping down to your chest to kiss the fresh wound that lay spilling blood around your breasts, taking in the heavy scent of your rubies like a jewel thief making his biggest heist. Slipping his free hand over your chest to the slick of your nipple made you gasp as a perfect distraction before pulling his mask back down. Adorning his usual visage now laid a smeared print of your life in blinding crimson, letting that be the first and only thing you saw as he let you have your vision back in the darkness. Against the blur of your eyes readjusting from the pressure of his weight on them, the dip of his frame dropping against yours with his hands gripping the sides of your head in a vice made you dizzy with a feral beat between your legs. Throughout his treatment you didn't feel that familiar latex rub of a barrier between you, forcing your stomach into a twist as his panting behind the mask got heavier. 

The first grace of the evening came when you finally heard the powering down beeping of your headset giving its last bit of juice before cutting out. Unbound by the fear of being heard, your voice let out a moan that vibrated the silence of the dead air room. Relaxing a little under him, he pushed your rear up, angling himself better to pump deep before running his fingers over the tacky blood joining the fresh on your chest in a macabre mess. Having the dig of his fingertips into the open wound weeping from you was a new kind of violation before he breathed out a shaken manic pleasure from the mask that captivated you. 

“Oh fuck– I'm going to smear your blood over my every  fucking pore!” The bubbling frenzy in his tone gave away his devouring bliss as it promised to swallow you whole. 

Honestly, you weren't long for the session either way as he found just the right spot to rub his tip into the soft warmth of you hugging his length and perfect grind of his mound against your bud aching to come undone. Seeing him watch you in those last moments before you went over the edge was enough to send you there as you trembled and cried out under his grip. Moaning and reaching to touch him in any way you could, you couldn't get enough of him as your body craved the closeness it needed. Expecting swift punishment for the affection, he surprised you by taking your hand in his, slowing his pace. Lacing your fingers as one, the gentle caress of his thumb to your skin had your rose colored glasses as red as they could be. Watching with a affectionately hazed gaze while he pinned you down, your skin when cold as his words dripped from his lips like sweet poison: 

“You think you're getting away that easy? I'm just gonna cum and that be that? No.. I prepared for this all day. You're not goin’ fucking anywhere.”

[lggy]

I’m on both and every time I go back over to aphtwt it’s like that guy with pizzas going into a room on fire

its a long ass story thats been going on since the reveal of s7. here's just a recount of what's been going on lately for anyone curious i guess. its just to answer why a lot of people are icked out by laurance right now and why people are saying "i cant enjoy laurance anymore"

bascially laurance's va doesn't know how to properly manage his image,

ive been following him long before, he would have a few old tweets and tiktoks where he gets really annoyed towards aphmau fans, and reasonably so

...after the reveal of s7, he tried coming back to make his brand Laurance except he's using his NFSW bdsm account. after people started trying to link his nsfw links to his aphwiki page i made a twt post asking people to stop doing that. thats when we realized seb is obsessed with searching himself up on twitter and he proceeded to QRT me and make a few response posts reiterating what i said and apologizing for interacting with minors on his nsfw account. he made a new alt account for interacting with fans on aphtwt.

that was back around september-october

he searches himself and laurance up constantly to QRT and pick fights and stuff. its clear he's going through mental shit - he talks about it a lot. but it took him months to realize hes not fit to be running an account to host his image/brand that he wants to be about Laurance. he picks up on any drama around himself and kinda has a villain speech every time someone doesnt like him. im kind of starting to feel bad for him.

this is all while lowkey begging Jess to contact him again to bring him back for VA work, cryptically referring to her sometimes as "The Creator". I forgot to mention he had this whole "Guys im having a huge reveal, Im coming back to VAing for a very special charater.." thing. me and a lot of people picked up on him being kind of.. fake? basically, he shit on aphmau before, equated VA work to a MLM, then had a total sudden switch-up as soon as s7 was announced and realized he can renew his role. he had a video saying he wants this job to get a new tattoo.

^ 'What's wrong with wanting money?' the thing is being a VA means you need to have a good image and thats usually generated by having a good fanbase. all that really said was that he's just hopping on a bandwagon to get paid and thus his fan interactions just came across as desperate and bait-y and fake as hell. think about how other VA's interact w their fans then compare it to this,

what happened yesterday was that garroth's VA announced he was doing a mystreet rewatch with much of the og cast!... then sebastian QRT'd with this

someone even asked if he can join them too

then he joined the discord. then got banned after 10 minutes.. then crashed out about it on twitter, posting that garroth's va blocked him. not posting the massive paragraph he had because its kinda the sameburger poetry. i genuinely have no idea why he would post this than to like, try to get people to turn on garroth's VA. severely inappropriate behavior for someone trying to come back to being a VA

allegedly, seb had livestreamed a while ago where he said something along the lines of, (quoting from oomf's memory) "I don't recommend you contacting or asking any of the old VAs about me, I don't know if they still think about me the same bc of how I was back then. Bipolar Disorder was really bad for me back then, it made me so edgy." and how other VAs had issues with him and tension. - i dont have a source for this but it lines up with this tweet :

where he very inappropriately and for no reason mentioned he had issues with another VA. the problem is he had NO reason to bring that up and had the situation he was referring to was about gene having a fill-in on a cocomau video and nothing to do with seb himself or any drama or anything.

aaand i think thats all. that's the laurance downfall crashout chronicles , i didnt want to get too detailed but i can ask questions and whatever

personally, i nevr really beleived this guy would ever get hired again. all because he uses his real/brand name for his porno stuff. the company does background checks yknow

[irisinluv]

Careful What You Wish For

TW: Depictions of violence, toxic relationship, slight nsfw themes at the start, magical bargaining, and not proof read

You know, when you have a deadbeat boyfriend, you think that surely, the worst thing that can happen has already happened. He forgot our anniversary, asked me for money on my birthday, punched my uncle at a family barbecue, the list goes on. But sacrificing me to a demon is an all time low.

I really should’ve realized something was off when he asked if we could spice it up in the bedroom…. And that he’d do all the work. This, coming from the guy who thinks missionary is too much work. But hindsight is 20/20…. I eagerly agreed. He tied me up with some itchy nylon shit, and while his knots were sloppy and didn’t feel sexy in the least… I still was so unbelievably excited at the initiative. I was completely bound to the bed, he had slipped a blindfold over my eyes…. This was new, exhilarating, and completely out of character for him.

As I listened, holding my breath as the anticipation built, I could hear him muttering to himself, heard the nightstand drawer open, and I shivered as my mind flashed to thoughts of the vibrator I kept in that same drawer. I felt the warmth of his body as he climbed ontop of me, sliding my shirt up ever so slowly. This was the same man who spent all day raging as he played Fortnite against 9 year olds, I really couldn’t believe it, I was soaked already any he hadn’t even touched me properly yet.

I squirmed at the agony of waiting, and then a knife sliced my chest from my sternum down. Burning pain crashed over my body. As I screamed in shock, fear, and pain, struggling uselessly against the ropes, he started chanting. It was some unknown language that commanded more respect than the stuttering pronunciations falling from his inexperienced lips. He fumbled over the words, his cadence was off, and yet; despite his less than stellar performance, a low pitched hum filled the room.

A sound like grating stone followed soon after, my ears straining to locate its source. I screamed the safe word, sobbing as I felt hot blood dripping down my body and pooling on the mattress beneath me.

That’s the first thing the demon saw when he appeared. My bloodied form yanking at the ropes, panicked sobs and pleas that oddly enough included the word “avocado,” and then the one who summoned him. A greasy man who appeared to be wearing a Minecraft t-shirt, now splattered with blood.

“Belial! Lord of the fourth hell! I, Matt, Duke of discord, present to you this soul sacrifice in exchange for my hearts desire!”

The throbbing pain from my chest, coupled with the blood loss made me lightheaded, and so it took me a moment to realize he was talking to someone, offering them my soul.

The demon remained silent, assessing. Matt continued,

“In exchange for this mortal soul, my wish is to never have to lift a finger again, to have all the money I could ever want, I want to be treated like royalty!”

If let out a frustrated scream at that, I’m bleeding out on the bed, the woman who’d been providing for him financially, making all his meals, doing his laundry, giving him below the desk support whenever he wanted it, and this is what I get in exchange? He’s sacrificing my soul, for what? So he can rot online for the rest of his life?

“Matt you lazy fucking asshole let me go!”

The demon watches silently as the I thrash and scream at Matt, and how Matt only rolls his eyes and says,

“I’m sorry about her. This is why I can’t wait to get rid of her, I mean really, I’m suffocating over here!”

I’ll show him suffocating…. But that’s when the demon finally speaks.

“I will accept your bargain. In exchange for this mortal soul, all your wishes shall be granted.”

Matt’s pimpled face breaks out into a grin and he pumps his fist in the air as if he’d just won a match. I sob in terror, still unable to see the figure, but his voice was deep and eerily calm. The demon snaps his fingers, and suddenly I feel the gash on my chest knitting itself back together. I gasp and take a few sniffling breaths as I assess what is going on, confusion wracking my brain. Aren’t I supposed to be damned to eternal torture or something now? Why is my head no longer pounding from blood loss? Why are my wrists no longer raw and throbbing from yanking the ropes? A hand reaches over and lifts the blindfold from my face, and I blink against the light.

The demon is tall and imposing, dark jagged wings and horns clashing with an eerily beautiful face. He strokes my face gently before turning to Matt, who is looking equally confused,

“You end has been fulfilled, allow me to uphold my end of the bargain.”

He snaps his fingers, and Matt screeches as his limbs snap to his side, immobile.

“Your first wish, to never lift a finger again.”

Another snap of his fingers, and gold coins begin raining down around Matt, thunking against his head and causing him to yelp and curse as the heavy disks continued their assult, pooling at his feet and slowly starting to swallow him up.

“All the money you could ever want.”

With one last snap, Matt’s prone form begins to be wrapped in bandages, his panicked screeches muffled at it wrapped around his face. A beautiful sarcophagus materializes, and Matt is lowered inside, the sounds of his terror cutting off as the sarcophagus sealed shut, standing silent and still amidst a pile of gold coins.

“And finally, to be treated like royalty…. Enjoy the pyramid, Matt, Duke of Discord.”

And with that, the sarcophagus and gold all disappeared, leaving me alone with the demon. Unsure of what to expect next, I was silent, terrified. He flicked his wrist and all the blood disappeared from my clothes and skin, the ropes securing me to the bed unraveled. He took my hands in his own and lifted me from the bloodied mattress, and then he smiled.

“Finally…. You’re mine.”

[hoseoksluna]

THE BALL OF LIGHT, ii. | jjk

pairing: friend!jeongguk x fem!oc

genre: angst

word count: 4.2k

summary: inside jeongguk's apartment is where you meet the possibility of life.

pin: ball of light / taglist: join / discord: join / masterlist: run

cp: ao3 / wp

warnings: mentions of smoking and vaping, described nudity, oc feels a lot of emotions and she's overwhelmed, guilt.

note: i really enjoyed writing this chapter and it opened my eyes actually to where it's going. i hope you like the chapter as well. writing about jungkook is my biggest comfort. i feel at home. i love you, guys. happy reading. don't forget to tell me what you think. i'd appreciate it if you tell me ur expectations. <3

side note: i also want to update my taglist because i feel like most of the people i tag haven't allowed themselves to be tagged on this app. if you want to be tagged in my works, let me know. in comments below or my askbox.

It seems as though Jeongguk is still turning your words over his heart once you arrive at his apartment and the sullen grayness of his personal space greets you. A certain pensive look, embellished with a wrinkle between his brows, paints him in the shades of stark reclusiveness, the unapproachability of that façade the blue highlights that make the current inertia of his usual hyperactivity uncannily animated. It’s an oxymoron, the stillness of his being, despite the fact you very vividly sense the turmoil happening inside his chest.

Turmoil must be second-nature to him. Almost like a friend.

You don’t know what to say. The downturned corners of his mouth are so engraved into your vision that when you look away, you can still see them. Sad and pouty, caused in most probability by the truth you uttered. War happens, Jeongguk, if Yoongi and I see each other outside of the walls of our home. Those were the most heart-felt, authentic words that were flung out of the chambers of your heart because—yes, if Yoongi were to know that you smoke one cigarette a day with a boy with a nicotine-addiction, a motorcycle and a tendency to go back to people who have spread agony down his lungs like the white fumes of his cigarettes, he would get up from the kitchen table and grab the nearest knife, start a war for your dream that, according to him, got interrupted by temporary, meaningless things.

But Jeongguk isn’t meaningless. You thought for the longest time that he was temporary, but his lingering presence through high school and now through uni convinced you of the opposite. You believe now, now as he bends at the waist to place a pair of pink, fuzzy slippers with a yummy fried egg on top in front of your icy-cold, socked feet, that he has more shape—the eyes of an angel born wrong, born human, the mouth of a saint that fears to say the wrong thing—than your dream does.

Your dream doesn’t have a face.

Your dream doesn’t have a meaning, either.

Yoongi knows this, pretends he knows the contours of that dream when he tells you to go study. Pretends he knows the color of its flesh, all the greens, purples and blues, when the only words he throws your way are of commanding nature. Come eat. Go shower. Go study. Don’t. You can’t recollect the last time you had a genuine conversation with him that did not include those very words.  

It’s exhausting. Your bones are burdened by it—by being treated as a student and not as a human being. But you ignore this because you respect him, hold him in high regard because of his own burden, laid heavy across the length of his shoulders that have become too thin, too skeletal, that have once been broad, beautiful and ogled by those, who had the luck to encounter him. 

He doesn’t go to the gym anymore, to fill the mass of his muscles with exercise. He works long hours doing food delivery to fill your tummy instead. 

And it’s hard—balancing your respect for him and your ostensibly inner desire to go in search of the things you read about in your books. You can’t help but expect to dig them out, selfishly, in Jeongguk. The kind, now somber, boy who has been by your side for so long. With words and simultaneously without. 

Would Yoongi understand? Doesn’t he, also, have a need for company? 

You push those thoughts away and focus on the clandestiny. On Jeongguk’s frown, on his adorable pout, on his emotions. Because perhaps in it you shall find your destiny. 

Jeongguk walks forward and you swell with the guilty need to fix what you’ve broken, to glue back the pieces that put together his traditional cheer. The tree in you shivers in cold. Your own bones are still frosty like that bus stop you both escaped from. But glancing at the span of his shoulders, drooped and rolled forward, the guilt expands, making you think that maybe you shouldn’t have said something, despite the fact the truth made a dent in the birdcage you have been dwelling in since the death of your parents. 

He empties out his pockets. Wallet, keys, phone, a pack of cigarettes, lighter and a pink, fat vape that you’ve never seen him smoking before. He places those essentials on the kitchen counter, stretching his hands backwards and ridding himself of his beige hoodie. The T-shirt he wears underneath rides up, exposing the smooth and muscled skin of his back, and your throat dries up at the sight. The tree stills, pacified by the movement of his shoulder blades. It puts a spell on you, this innocent yet consumingly heated view of a male’s body, one that continues burning down your body even when he grabs a hold of the hem of his T-shirt and pulls it down. 

Somehow, the act made it hotter. 

Your fingers wrap around your throat, a habit of yours that helps you compose yourself, ground yourself in the severity of the moment. Jeongguk reaches his hand towards the kitchen counter again and as you swallow with great difficulty, he fills his lungs with that scented fume before discarding it.

It isn’t until your breath comes out in pathetic staccatos that he turns around. Large eyes heavily lidded, clouded by that white smoke as he exhales. He purses his lips, dimples on full show, in order to make the smoke thinner. And that, the eye contact while blowing out the fumes, his full attention on you, the element that you’re here—in a boy’s apartment, all alone, for the first time, that warms up your bones, the frost melting away. You feel your body form little pearls of perspiration, overwhelmed and so suddenly overheated by his boyish beauty. 

He’ll never know—just like Yoongi. He’ll never know what he does to you. 

“I’m gonna make you some tea so you can get warm,” he says, softly, and shuffles his feet towards the brightly lit kitchen. You hear the water running, the clapping noise of the kettle being shut and then the boiling bubbles, but you’re frozen—red-hot and frozen—in the place you’re standing, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to be a normal human being. “You’re free to take a shower if you want.” 

A headache pierces through your undeveloped frontal lobe. Nothing about this is normal to you—being over a guy’s place, using his shower and his towel, drinking his tea. Being at home all the time never prepares you for this and while you feel so out of place, it also evokes the feeling of thrill. 

This is thrilling. 

And it should stay feeling that way, but your guilt eclipses it so quickly. Your guilt and your self-pity. Due to Yoongi, due to the fact that this should feel normal and that you should act normally. How many girls must’ve been in your place and how well they were able to talk to him and accept his kindness and hospitality without being weird about it. 

You run a hand down your face. Feel like crying. Feel like screaming. Feeling like slapping yourself so you snap out of it and act normal. Yoongi flickers in your chest, however, and you’re reminded that you should let him know where you are. Usually, at this hour, you’re settled in your cage. Right there in the corner, the only warm spot because you sit there all the time. But you’re not there. You fit your body through the slivers, your feet rubbing against the different, more warmer floor than the one inside your birdcage, while your wrist remains chained to the center. 

Your bus, the number 59, never came. Jeongguk’s, number 60, was the last one that came due to the thickness of the snow and he said that you should get on with him so you don’t freeze on the bus stop. I’ll drive you home on my bike, he promised. I got a helmet for you. And you agreed, despite the fact your thumb was ready to dial Yoongi’s number, because it came natural to you to follow a male’s order. 

You scratch your fingernails through your scalp, waking yourself up from the stupor, and you take a deep breath. You’re here and you’re safe. Jeongguk is the safest person you can go behind Yoongi’s back with. These are the words you internally repeat to yourself as you lift one leg and the other, watching where they take you. 

You wind up at the very edge of the counter where all of Jeongguk’s essentials lay scattered. You go to study all the charms hung over his keys when your fingers, somehow instinctively, take a hold of his pink vape. Light and pink, fitting just right in the palm of your hand. Your clandestine habits are invariably seen by Jeongguk, however. 

“Don’t puff on that,” he says, pouring the boiling water inside the kettle over your cup of tea. A Christmas-themed one, evidently for adults only. The taupe Gingerbread man has a raging, bare boner that sticks out to the side whilst his hands are lifted, cheerfully, in the air. Your mouth parts, blush coloring your cheeks in dusty pink, and your brain, bizarrely, connects the Gingerbread man’s emotion to Jeongguk—both emotions, in fact. So bizarrely that anger begins to grow in you because a picture of Jeongguk’s own happy boner pops up before your eyes. Big, hard, leaking. Your stifling heat descends to your lower regions and you have to rub your eyelids in order to stop seeing it, your cheeks scalding, embarrassingly hot. “It’s not good to mix it.” 

Without asking, he places one spoon of sugar inside that obscene cup, stirring it diligently. And the clinking noise rams a clapping monkey inside your brain. 

You’ll die. From this headache, from the heat, from how irresistible this boy is. 

You’ve never felt this way before towards him. Never seen him in this lustful light before. And you don’t know what to do—it’s towering you, so much bigger than you and you have very little strength to stand up to it. 

It’s not good to see your so-called friend like this. 

Jeongguk brings the cup over to you, placing it before his stuff. The Gingerbread man faces you, smiling ever so gleefully, and the blush of your cheeks deepens within this proximity. Jeongguk takes his vape from your hand and puffs on it—and your brain remembers what he just talked about. 

“But you mix it,” you say, your words dripping with confusion, and Jeongguk places the device back into your palm, the tips of his fingers brushing against your flesh. You regard it as intimate, that brief physical contact, and it speeds up your heartbeat. 

That touch-starved you are. 

“I shouldn’t, but I do,” he responds, his pretty eyelashes static, unblinking, those macadamia chocolate pools of his penetrating your pupils. “I try to stick to just one from time to time, but my nerves are asking for more.” 

You look down at the pink device, imagine it’s his hand that you’re closing your fingers over. Think his explanation has zero backbone, and so your confusion drips on. 

“Nerves?” you inquire, a wrinkle appearing between your brows akin to his, even though his has been smoothed out. It seems his act of service to you is slowly easing his sombreness. 

Jeongguk doesn’t want to elaborate, though. He flicks his eyes towards the cup and nods, just once, encouraging you to drink. You let out a quiet huff of a scoff. Consider it strange that he’s so unwilling to expand on this matter when he has shared with you in the past the reason behind his smoking habit. Trauma from his relationship with Ka-eun and the difficulty of his field. What else is behind those nerves of his that you can’t know about? 

You follow the trace of his gaze towards the cup, feeling smaller than you are. Incompetent, inexperienced for the vivacity, immensity of his life that looks nothing like yours. Your pointer finger pokes out, clicking against the emerald green handle. 

“Am I supposed to really drink from this?” you murmur, meaning it as a joke that would fix what you cooked in this situation, but it comes out much sadder than you planned, the hollowness from all of your lacks coating your vocal cords. 

Jeongguk scowls and turns the cup around, his brows springing upwards as he glances at the naked and aroused Gingerbread man. You begin to anticipate his laughter that would make you feel worse about yourself, but it never breezes through. 

Actually, Jeongguk apologizes. Makes a big deal out of it. 

“My God,” he sighs, adding your name, running his fingers through his hair before he puts the cup away, but you stop him by enveloping your fingers across the warm, naked skin of his forearm. His eyes widen en route to yours and he holds the misting cup in his hand, immune to its hot temperature. The good ones don’t get burned, your mother would say with hatefulness whenever your fingers would get burned by steaming cups and hot running water in the sink, and she proves you right in this moment. You bet she smiles in her grave, seeing from the afterlife that you are indeed bad while the others are good. “I didn’t notice. I have one just like this, but he’s dressed. I thought I’d pulled out that one. I’m sorry.” 

But you’re not scandalized by it. As a matter of fact, you like the little Christmas man—there’s something oddly comforting about his own comfort in his sexuality, smiling as gleefully as he is. What you said was a stupid joke, one that shouldn’t have left your mouth. 

“No, I don’t mind. It’s fine. It was just a joke,” you say, hurriedly, sweeping your eyes over his in the same pace whilst he remains calmly staring at you, a steady stream of thoughts filtering through those features of his that you wish you knew the contents of. 

You always said you’d die for knowledge, and right now you’d die to discover what he’s thinking about, looking at you the way that he is. 

He flattens his lips. “I’ll make you another one.” 

He turns around and you yelp your disagreement, cupping your hands around his. And the greater intimacy of this physical contact consumes you whole. 

The heat grows, your spine wet with perspiration. Jeongguk swivels his head back, the shorter pieces of his hair swooshing past his forehead, landing on those pretty, pretty eyelashes. And it’s his turn to part his mouth, for blush to creep up his pale cheeks, and your heart—it melts. 

You’ve never held hands with a boy before. And right now, you’ve come very close to doing it. In fact, the tender grip bears the resemblance of hand holding and you can’t take it. 

A pained, indistinct pout quivers on your lips. A characteristic expression of yours, which conveys that something has hurt you. Your mother would give you a hard time because of it and that’s how you learned that you do it. That’s how you learned how to fleetly hide it, too. 

This is the closest you’ll ever get. 

Tears rush to your waterline. You blink it away, stretching your lips into a little, neutral smile. The scent of cinnamon and cloves from the tea hits your nostrils and from the edges of your palms, you feel how hot the cup really is. It sobers you up quite rapidly. 

“It’s hot, set it down,” you breathe and don’t let go of his hands until Jeongguk complies, the pensiveness back to shadowing his face, but he’s not unapproachable, not at all. The entirety of his dispirited and contrite aura is welcoming, pastel blue instead of that grayish undertone, and he looks at you as if you held the entire world in your palms and he was content with just being near it, silently hoping you show him grace and give it to him. 

But that’s not you. You’re too small to cup this world. Too stupid, too unfledged. 

It’s him who’s flown around it, deeply acknowledged with it. Who’s smart, who’s a full-fledged bird, unlimited and unhindered. 

It’s you who should be looking at him like that and drinking from his vulgar cup. 

And you shall. 

“I’ll drink it, it’s cute.” 

He doesn’t trust it, though, and that’s the scar Ka-eun carved into the flesh of his mind. You brush the pads of your fingers across it, however, when you take the scalding cup to your lips, blow on it and take a small, hesitant sip of it. And the wintry taste of cinnamon and cloves, it is the sap to your tree. 

You hum in delight, taking another sip, even though the temperature burns the tip of your tongue. You watch as Jeongguk’s brows twitch and as a certain glimmering glint of endearment laced with unbelief fills his eyes with the canvas of stars. He straightens his spine while you swallow, his lungs inhaling and exhaling slowly but surely. 

It is a sight to behold, the entirety of his boyish beauty. And you hate that you regard him this way, that your forced visit caused this because you’ll walk out of this door with a longing entwined around your heart.

A longing for him to be yours. 

You set the cup down, cradling it in your palms, your sweat clinging to your body. Jeongguk averts his gaze and rubs his chest, roaming his eyes everywhere but on you, landing on the pink vape you placed on the counter before almost-holding his hand. 

But he doesn’t take a puff of it. Not this time. 

And you want to heal that scar of his even more. Only because he pushed you very close to the things you read in your books and always wanted to experience. 

“I think the tea tastes so good because you made it in this cup,” you chirp, tenderly, giving him a genuine smile, one that Jeongguk doesn’t reciprocate. That one corner of his mouth doesn’t lift, the long cleft of his dimple doesn’t appear. Your heart trembles for a brief moment. In a foreign kind of emotion that feels like fear but isn’t because the turmoil in him rages on and you’re useless. Completely and utterly useless in your efforts. 

His stare is deadly, marked by the depth of his thoughts. 

“Why did you say war happens if you and your brother see each other outside?” he asks, his tone low and grumbling. 

A frightening question. Because no one has ever asked you that. Because you’ve never had the chance to answer such an intimate, personal question. Because no one has ever cared about your home situation. 

The trembling of your heart reaches your entire body and you hide your hands behind your back. Lament that you can’t cradle the cup. Lament that you can’t drink it and postpone your response. Lament that you don’t have a normal life. One worth talking about happily, that is. 

You don’t know what to say. How to begin, how to string the words together in a way that he would understand. And it’s not that you fear that he will judge you; it’s that you fear that the way he looks at you, regards you will forever change. 

You were never the cool girl and you never were the weird girl, either. Somewhere in the middle you stand, solitary and detached, regardless. 

You open your mouth, willing the words to spring out of you on their own, without any careful thoughts to cover them. 

“Yoongi wants me to live a life that doesn’t look like this,” you start, mirroring his tone, unable to look him in the eye. You sense the demons of your guilt and your ungratefulness cornering you, coming closer and closer—and you can’t walk away, you can only speak.

Jeongguk, however, is quick and curt with his following question.  

“Like what?” 

The pearls of your perspiration thicken on the planes of your throat, which constricts. You blink, thinking that you don’t wish to offend him with any formulation of your sentences. So you go around it, hoping he understands. The demons inch closer—and you can’t breathe. 

Jeongguk doesn’t blink, focused intently as he is on the emotions written on your form. It creates a delicate, yet protective ring around you that keeps the demons outside. And he lessens your strange fear owing to that.

“He wants me to focus on school and focus on my dream while he takes care of everything else. It was a deal he made between us. I study, he works. Nothing else,” you continue, and Jeongguk bites his lip, nodding in understanding as he glides his eyes down your face to your sweat-coated neck. For some reason, that little act of his acknowledgement dispels those demons—and you no longer feel guilty, you no longer feel ungrateful because Jeongguk validated those emotions, didn’t scrunch his nose at them. And that heals, little by little, your wounded, flightless bird wings. 

“What does your dream look like?” he asks once again, and you wonder at the formulation of his question. It’s not what’s your dream; he’s asking for a description of the biggest mystery of your life. 

And you chuckle, humorlessly. Jeongguk flicks his gaze back to your eyes, seemingly not knowing what to expect.

“That’s the thing,” you say. “I don’t know what it looks like, and Yoongi doesn’t know either.” 

The roundness of his eyelids spasms, as if the truth you just uttered irks him. The validation grows and buds of blossoms sprout open, in the middle of this sunless winter, upon the twigs of the tree within you. 

“He doesn’t know what your dream is and yet he decided how you should live,” Jeongguk scoffs, shaking his head, and you marvel at the light bursting in your sternum. It is the sun to your growth, to your tree’s growth. 

A moment of bliss that is too brief, for you begin to sense an uncompromising responsibility to stand up for your brother. He means well—he’s doing it out of the love and kindness of his heart as the root of this declared problem is literature. 

And literature is your life. It’s all you know. 

You begin to say these words, but Jeongguk interrupts you. 

“I understand, but you need to live a life that you want to live,” he rasps, standing taller than he was a minute ago, greater and powerful than he ever was. That confident and assured he is in his opinion and you gawk at him as if he were a cult leader, about to change the course of your life. Maybe, just maybe, the cinnamon tea was the kool aid—and you want to drink again, but you’re ashamed of the trembling of your hands. “And if you feel like you’re indebted to him, you shouldn’t. You’re an adult. It’s your life, it’s not his just because he’s older.” 

Your throat dries and you risk it all, enveloping your fingers around the cup. Jeongguk’s all seeing eye notices your movement and his powerfulness drops. He sighs, rubbing his eyes. 

Bare, bare you are all for him to see. For anyone for the first time in your life—and at this point, you don’t even know how it makes you feel. 

Where light and so many emotions were inside you, emptiness falls like fine dust. You’re reminded of that one sentence in White Nights and, quietly, you reflect on it while your fingers tremble on. 

My God, a moment of bliss. Why isn’t that enough for a whole lifetime? 

Jeongguk makes space, like the ring of protection he created around you, by taking a few steps back and leaning against the counter. He crosses his arms over his chest and simply looks at you, reads your body language, and lingers at your hands. At the fact you don’t drink. At the fact you don’t speak. At the fact that nothing will ever be the same after this conversation. 

When he asks his last question, he softens his voice. His demeanor, too. Allows his arms to plummet down to his sides. Sags against the counter. 

“He doesn’t know we’re friends, does he?” 

Something that resembles a cry leaves your mouth and you’re so shocked by the freedom of your emotions that your hand leaps to cup your mouth, as if to hold back any more outpouring. That is your reaction. 

Jeongguk’s is more earth-shattering. 

By his instinct, he lengthens his spine and his hand… his beautiful, strong and veiny hand jerks towards your direction, as if to catch your hand, prevent it from hiding your outpouring—or as if to catch your outpouring alone. 

And it is so heartbreaking to you that you mutter the first thing that comes to your mind and run away. 

And you don’t realize where you are until you get a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. A mascara tear stains your cheek in blackness, and the smallness of the bathroom encloses around you. 

You want to wash it away. Feel like the decision is yours to make, a right one at that. Feel like it’s the first step in the new way Jeongguk bestowed over your life by his wise words. And so you undress. 

And you don’t lock the door. 

And you don’t hear your phone ringing ten minutes later. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @jjk7k , @tkslovechild , @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl , @ririkookiemonster , @perfectiondazesworld , @https-mei , @bangtansonyeondanue , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk , @parkinglot-nights

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

BACK to masterlist | BACK to series masterlist

[ayyy-pee]

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝟣 - 𝒲𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒽 𝒾𝓉?

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Series Masterlist - Next Chapter

Pairing: Hotel Heir Satoru Gojo x Club Heiress Female Reader

Genre: Fake Dating/Arranged Marriage AU/Rivals to Lovers

WC: 4.4k

Summary: One unforgettable night out leads to a lifetime tethered to the one man you absolutely can't fucking stand. The feeling's mutual, but now you both have to find a way to make it work in your favor.

or

You and Satoru's parents give you an ultimate that you both quite literally cannot afford to refuse.

Story Warning: Fake Dating, Arranged Marriage, Profantity DUH, Gojo and Reader being fucking bratty and annoying, Slow Burn, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior. Smut Maybe? (probably), No Y/N usage here

Art by: nameissiyo on X

A/N: I don't even know how this happened because yall know I don't write Gojo LMAO. But here it is! Not sure how long this will be so bear with me because it's just gonna be a fun lil ride!

“It’s easy,” the man across from you hums from his end of the table, lips curled in a mischievous grin that has your skin crawling. “Then, after a year, we’ll announce that it just…didn’t work out between us.” He motions between the two of you with his finger. “You and I both get off without a scratch on us.” He shrugs, leaning back in his seat, confident as ever as he picks at his fingernails.

Disgusting. 

He adds, “Everything works out for us both in the end. My parents are off my back. Your dad is off yours, and they both get what they want. It’s a win-win to me! What do you think?”

You can’t trust this guy as far as you can throw him, and you know that’s not far. The man’s like ten feet taller than you even with your highest heels on! But what choice do you have in the matter? You have to do this. 

”No funny business,” you demand, eyes narrowed at the man. You mean it to come out more as a question, but the rise of your partner’s brows lets you know he’s aware that you’re not fucking around with this. 

And then his head falls back, a loud laugh bursting from his chest and you are tempted to sink into your seat when other patrons in the restaurant turn to glare at you both. He’s enjoying this far too much for someone who has everything on the line here, just like you.

“None at all, princess.” You ignore the pet name, rolling your eyes. It’s a promise that you’re not sure he’ll be able to keep. But again, you just have to trust him.

“You have a deal,” you finally agree.

The man leans forward, his elbows resting on the table, and you can’t help but to sneer in disgust at his clear lack of manners. How could someone raised in high society, the same as you, act in such a way? You wish you could wipe that cheshire cat-like smirk off of his face, but you keep it cordial. You can’t enter into this with bad blood already on your hands. This arrangement will benefit you both at the end of the day. You just have to remember that.

‘One year,’ you tell yourself. ‘One year, and you never have to see this man again. This will be easy.’

He reaches into his shirt pocket, pulling out an obnoxiously expensive pen, the signature Gojo Hospitality name written in a fancy gold font along the body. He sets it down in front of you, on top of the stack of papers you’ve spent the last two hours tearing apart meticulously, marking out anything you don’t agree with. He’d nagged endlessly about how long this was taking, like he had anywhere more important to get to. 

You’re sure he took you for some bimbo ready to jump at the chance to marry the only son and heir to the Gojo fortune. But you’re not an idiot. You’re an heiress yourself, so he doesn’t impress you. And your father raised you to know that when entering a contract, it’s important to read the fine print. It’s important to find any loopholes, anything that can screw you in the end, anything that can make your life hell on the off chance things don’t work out. Make sure you’ve crossed all your t’s and dotted all your i’s.

But you don’t see any here, you don’t think. So you reach forward, taking his pen in hand.

“On the dotted line, then,” he instructs. “Sign away…future Mrs. Gojo.”

𝓣𝔀𝓸 𝓦𝓮𝓮𝓴𝓼 𝓔𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓻…

Daylight peeks through the curtains of your room, the midmorning sun beckoning you awake. The birds chirp loudly outside your window. And you are hiding the best you can beneath your blankets to try and drown it all out. It’s far too bright. So damn bright that the sun is somehow managing to penetrate the fabric of your linens, and your head pounds each time a sliver of light touches your skin. To top it all off, your mouth feels dry, yet sticky somehow at the same time, like it’s packed with cotton balls. 

Water. You need water, badly. 

You attempt to shift beneath your blankets, only to find that your body feels like it weighs a ton. Even wiggling your toes feels like it takes more effort than you’d like to exert. Your brain frantically sends panicked signals to the rest of your body that if you don’t hydrate soon, you may die, so you manage to find the strength to crawl out of your bed.

Your eyes are barely open enough to navigate around your enormous room, enough to see that you’re in a hotel suite. You don’t actually remember coming here, but you’re not all that surprised. You had quite a night of partying and drinking with your friends. The occasion? Well, you don’t really need one do you? For you and your friends, it’s a regular Wednesday night. Either way, you must have gathered your wits enough to book a suite instead of trying to get back home to your apartment in Tokyo.

And honestly? You’re proud of yourself! Better than stumbling your way home, or trying to figure out how to call your driver to pick you up.

Clumsily – and through squinted eyes – your hands feel along the walls until they reach the refrigerator, where you hurriedly yank the doors open and practically rip the lid off of a bottle of water. The cool beverage breathes life back into your dehydrated body. You feel like what you’d imagine a raisin would feel if it could be turned back into a grape. The drink is so refreshing, your eyes are practically rolling into the back of your head as you guzzle down the icy cold liquid.

When the bottle is empty, you carelessly toss it aside, crossing the threshold to the sofa in the common area. But just as you’re about to flop down, the muffled sound of your phone ringing pierces through the air. It’s usually set to silent or vibrate, because you don’t particularly care to be surprised by the loud noise. However, there’s only one person in this world who is allowed to bypass those settings, their tone always set to blare loudly should they ever call. You follow the sound back to the bedroom as quickly as you can manage. Tossing your clothes from last night around and shaking out your garments, digging through your clutch until you finally hear the tone get louder as you approach your bed. You lift your blankets, shaking them around until the device falls to the floor, still screaming that damn ringtone. You press the answer button, putting the phone to your ear.

”Hi, Daddy,” you sing into the receiver, hoping technology hasn’t advanced enough that he can smell the vodka on your breath, hear the way you’re struggling to catch your breath.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Your dad’s deep voice hums from the other side, and you breathe a sigh of relief when his voice sounds at ease. “Where are you?”

You frown, pursing your lips together. “What do you mean?”

You can hear that your dad is out from the commotion on the other side. If you had to bet, you’d say he was at a restaurant given the way he’s quietly muttering something to someone. 

“You were supposed to—“

It clicks for you then.

”Meet you for breakfast,” You finish his sentence. “Oh my god, Daddy. I’m so sorry. I’m late! I can be there in like…” you check your phone for the time. “about an hour if you give me time to get home and change!”

Your dad sighs, long and hard, exhausted. That safety you felt only a moment ago has now dissipated. And you know you are in deep shit, for whatever reason. You close your eyes, trying to calm the pounding against your skull.

“Perhaps transportation has advanced overnight,” he hums. “Can you make it from Seoul to Tokyo in an hour?” He questions bitterly.

”Seoul?!”

You scurry over to your hotel window, wincing when you pull the curtains wide open and the sun smacks you painfully in the face. When your vision clears and the urge to vomit isn’t as strong, you’re finally able to make out the foreign symbols along the skyscrapers and businesses of Seoul, South Korea.

The events of last night flood back to your memory.

You and your friends at your usual booth at one of your family’s many Tokyo nightclubs, Club Echo - Roppongi. Bottles on bottles of alcohol being brought to your table. Flashing lights. Sweaty bodies on the dance floor. Free food and drinks for everyone, the perk of being the daughter of the man who owns this very club.

“We should go somewhere!” Your best friend Shoko slurs into your ear as she leans across your booth. You hook a finger into the loose strap of her dress and pull the neckline up. Her breasts are one wrong move away from being on the front page of the Jujutsu Social tomorrow morning.

Beside her, your other friend Utahime nods excitedly, downing her drink. “Yeah! We should go somewhere else!”

You nod too, your brain sloshing around in your head, right along with the liquor. “Okay! But where, though?” 

Shoko and Utahime huddle together, whispering and giggling drunkenly and you wait, eyes roaming the club. It’s packed to capacity and for some reason the sight fills you with a sense of pride. Not that you had literally anything to do with it. No, that was all dad. You show up with your friends, get some pictures snapped of you, eat and drink to your heart’s content and then check to make sure any photos of you that ended up on whatever gossip blog look good.

And any that don’t, well, they’d be speaking to your attorney very soon.

The life of an heiress is so hard sometimes.

Shoko and Utahime spin around in tandem, large smiles beaming on their faces. “Seoul!” They cry in unison.

“Like…Korea, Seoul?”

“Yes! We can finally check out the new Club Echo there! We haven’t been yet,” Utahime whines. Her pink cheeks practically glow in the dark as she sticks her bottom lip out in a pleading face. It makes you want to laugh because it’s just so cute. But still! You’re not going to give in that easily.

“It’s like one in the morning!” You argue, your mind trying to fight the liquor that’s trying its damndest to make you give in. “By the time we get there, it’ll be closed.”

Shoko sighs your name, the disappointment clear in her voice. “You own the place, ___. All it takes is one call from you and you’re good! You know management is new and will be practically begging to score points with your dad! The staff will wait for you!”

“Also!” Utahime practically screams. Then she lowers her voice, leaning closer to you and Shoko as she whispers. “What if you run into Jungkook there?”

Shoko gasps, like it’s a scandal waiting to happen. “I heard he has the biggest crush on youuuuu,” she sings.

Your lips purse together, doing your best to let what Shoko says sink in. The sober part of you in the very deepest and darkest depths of your mind is fighting for its fucking life to get to the surface, screaming “Don’t do it! Dad is going to kill you!”

But the drunk part of you is fighting back just as hard, and it came ready to beat your ass. “But Jungkook! Also…chartering a private plane would be so fun!” Your brain argues. “That’s the point of having all this money, right? To do what you want! And to see Jungkook!”

The bumping of the music is making you feel dizzy, and the giggles and chants to “do it, do it, do it” coming from your two friends aren’t helping. If anything, it’s just making the alcohol set in even worse.

It’s just one night. Your pilot wouldn’t mind getting up and flying you and your friends out. You already know he’d be happy to get a call from you this late at night. In fact, you’re pretty sure he’d be thrilled because despite him being married with two kids and one on the way, you’re positive he’s got the hots for you.

“Call me any time, Ms. ___. I’d happily pick up the phone for you,” he’d told you with a wink after you’d made him fly you last minute to Coachella. You’d apologized profusely because you had no idea his daughter’s dance recital was happening at that time. To be fair, he didn’t tell you until you’d landed in California either!

So you pull out your phone, grinning wide as you tell your girls, “Looks like we’re going to Seoul!” They cheer happily, chanting “Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook!” before ordering another round of shots as you make a call to your pilot and driver.

It’s just one night. You’ll be back tomorrow. How much trouble could you possibly get into anyway?

- - - - - -

Turns out you could get into a whole lot of fucking trouble. 

You stand in your father’s office, squirming in your designer heels that cost a fortune, squeezing onto the handle of your designer bag that cost even more of a fortune as your father stares you down. You don’t dare meet his hard gaze, eyes glued to the chevron patterned hardwood floors in shame.

This tension couldn’t even be cut with a chainsaw, you think. The silence is absolutely deafening, and you think that if someone focused hard enough, they would hear your heart hammering in your chest, and the vein in your father’s neck throbbing.

The flight from Seoul back to Tokyo was long and terrifying. The closer you came to approaching the city, the more sick you felt. And by no fault of the liquor. Shoko and Utahime’s drivers picked them up from the hangar space, both of them about ready to keel over and having to be practically carried to their cars.

You on the other hand, your chauffeur was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Nanami?” You ask the flight attendant waiting at the end of the plane’s steps. Your brows pull together in confusion as you scan the area. Your driver is never late. It’s one of your pet peeves about each other, really. He’s meticulous, always on time, while you’re always running behind because why not? Sometimes you get caught up in things! It’s literally his job to wait for you, anyway.

But still, this is strange. The young blonde man is usually standing beside your car, with the door held open for you while he mumbles about how you need to work on being more punctual and considerate of others, that he doesn’t get paid enough to be waiting on you.

It’s a lie. You and Nanami are around the same age, and you know damn well he keeps this job because it’s easy and you pay him more than well enough. You even grab drinks together some nights. He’s more than your driver, he’s your friend (sometimes).

And your friend is nowhere to be seen. It’s just you, the flight attendant and the pilot who is on his way to park the plane. You could really use the support of Nanami at the moment, because you have a terrible feeling settling into the pit of your stomach. Which is justified when a car pulls into the hangar space, a car that you know is not yours, and the flight attendant gives you a smile that offers a silent “I’m so sorry,”  before she speaks and tells you, “Mr. Yaga has come to retrieve you Ms. ___. Your father would like to see you.”

Your father’s chauffeur and a longtime family friend. He’s loyal to your father and your father only. 

That’s when you knew you were screwed.

The sharp intake of breath from behind your father’s desk makes you flinch, and your teeth dig into your bottom lip to keep yourself from trembling when he finally breaks the silence.

“Do you enjoy your trip?” He questions, voice flat.

You’re too afraid to answer, because you know he doesn’t actually give a single shit if you had fun or not. He’s irate. There’s no other reason he’d call you here. You do not come to the office to see your father unless you’ve severely angered him. Which is almost never, because your father just sort of lets you…do you.

“Well?” He asks again after a few seconds go by with no response from you.

“Yes, Daddy,” you answer quietly, fingers tightening around your bag strap.

“Did you enjoy the food at the club?”

“Yes, Daddy. It was very good.”

Your father hums, leaning back in his chair, and the creaking sound makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“Good, good. And the staff? Did they treat you and your friends well?”

Every answer you give feels like you’re inching closer to your demise. You wish he’d get to the point. What is the meaning of dragging you here?

You nod anyway. “They were wonderful, Daddy. Your management did an excellent job selecting employees.”

You try to tug at his heartstrings, the ones that aren’t attached to you, but to the other love of his life – his business. Your father is a hard man who loves very few things. You, your mother, and his company. But not in that order. You’re fairly certain that at this particular moment in time, he definitely loves his company more than both you and your mother.

“I know they did,” he affirms. “The Seoul team is so great, they remained open for you and your friends to stay until the early hours of the morning –” Your father’s voice rises, echoing off the walls of his office, and you squeeze your eyes shut. “Until you finally stumbled your drunk asses to bed! Imagine my surprise when I woke up alerted to the fact that your plane was taking off in the middle of the night, jet setting to wherever the hell you deem appropriate or fun at the time. But no…no, ___,” your father spits your name like it’s bitter. “That’s not the best part here.”

You hear his menacing tone, can practically see the anger raging behind his eyes in your head.

“Imagine my surprise when I get a call from management of the Seoul location letting me know how much they enjoyed having you and your friends. You all were splendid guests, and they were grateful for the opportunity to serve you, the heiress to the Club Echo business…”

You finally gather the courage to look up at your father, a bit of hope in your eyes that quickly gets crushed when you see the tick in his jaw.

“Until seven in the fucking morning!” Your father is full on yelling now, and you see the vein in his neck protruding, hard and pulsing. He’s about to blow a gasket, do something irrational. Now’s your chance to speak up for yourself!

“Daddy, I can explain–”

“Quiet!” He barks, and you zip your fucking lip.

Your father stands, taking his time coming around to stand in front of his desk where he leans against the edge. He folds his arms across his chest, not a hint of forgiveness in his eyes.

You’re so fucked and you know it.

What’s your punishment going to be? Is he taking away your black card? It would be a struggle, but you could survive. Banning you from the club for a month? Sure, that would suck, but you’d survive! Firing your pilot? Honestly, that would be a plus. Make you return that really expensive painting you just had delivered last weekend? Okay, no big deal! All of these punishments are reasonable, you think. As long as you got them back – minus the pilot, you’d be fine!

Your father stares you down with more anger and frustration than you’ve ever seen him aim towards you. Your knees threaten to buckle beneath the weight of his glare and you wish you had worn more sensible shoes. Not that it would make much difference. WIth the way your father doesn’t seem to be giving into your pout and watery eyes, you think you’d be shaking even if you were barefoot.

Your father pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing harshly as he closes his eyes. “You know you’re on the Jujutsu Social?”

Jujutsu Social?

That shitty blog that posts about nothing but gossip, drama and socialite’s lives? You’ve never paid it much mind. You’ve been on there plenty of times.

‘Club Echo Heiress’ Walk of Shame! Cast Your Votes on Who the Lucky Man Was!’

‘Spotted! Club Echo Heiress seen getting very cozy with up and coming rock star, Suguru Geto. Could they be the new it couple?’

‘Does She Ever Get Tired? Heiress of Club Echo Seen Partying in Bangkok!’

Blog posts about you are nothing new. You read them like the morning newspaper, then go on about your day. But it must have been something particularly awful for your father to be so upset about it.

“That blog is a piece of shit,” you tell him, trying to calm his temper even a little. “I’ll send those posts over to the lawyer and I’ll own the blog by this afternoon, if you want.”

Your father scoffs, his anger rising again. “Why? So you can drag its name through the mud like you’re doing mine?”

Okay, so maybe that was the wrong move. “That’s not what I meant, Daddy. I just meant–”

“You know what they’re saying about you now?” Your father chuckles dryly. “I don’t typically pay any mind to these blogs, you know? But I think they hit the mark on this one. Want to hear what they said?” 

Tears form along your waterline, the fake amusement in your father’s tone, making you want to crawl into a hole. 

“You are a spoiled brat,” he tells you anyway when you don’t reply, emphasizing the insult. “Keeping your pilot on standby so you can fly from one country to another overnight just because you feel like it,” he lists. “Going to the new restaurant your daddy opened, because of course you can. And this one’s my favorite,” he whispers angrily. “Taking advantage of the employees that have their own lives and families to go home to, overworking them so that you and your friends can drink and dance to your heart's content. Just the three of you.”

“I’m so sorry, Daddy,” you whimper, biting down on your trembling lip as you step closer.

Your father tilts his head, seemingly confused at where these tears are coming from and it stops you in your tracks. “Oh no…No, sweetheart. Don’t cry...” His soothing tone…you almost want to fall for it, but you know your father. He’s not done. “Don’t cry now, just because you’re in trouble.”

He stands from his desk, closing the distance between you two. He takes your hand in his, hard and calloused, his hard work over decades evident as he holds your soft and smooth one that has never seen a hard day's work in its life. “I’ve been waiting, hoping that my only daughter finally gets her shit together. Hoping that maybe you’ll want to learn the ropes of the business. But that doesn’t seem so. Doesn’t seem like you want to do anything but spend the money that I’ve worked so hard for.” He sighs, just so tired of you and your antics. 

He gazes into your eyes, almost in pity and you see your dad there. Not your father, who is the strict businessman that was just standing before you. But your dad, who held you and kissed your cuts and scrapes, who helped you learn to read and tie your shoes, who gave you all that you could ever ask for. Then he’s gone, replaced by your father who drops your hand and leaves you standing in the middle of his office as he wanders over to the floor to ceiling windows of his office. He holds his hands behind his back as he takes in the Tokyo skyline. “The blogs are right. I’ve been far too easy on you. Given you everything so that you’d want for nothing, and you consistently take advantage of me and your privilege. It’s time for you to grow up.”

You can’t bring yourself to speak up this time, afraid that just like all the other times, you’ll be putting your designer heels in your mouth. 

“I didn’t want it to come to this, sweetheart,” and it’s your dad once more, peering over his shoulder like it’s paining him to get these next words out. “I’ve been in talks with Gojo Hospitality…”

You narrow your eyes, moving closer to your father, because you’re praying this isn’t what you think it is.

“I’ve proposed a merger of Club Echo to CEO Gojo.”

“...Okay? What does that have to do with me growing up?”

Your dad looks you over once more, and you can see the love he holds for you in his eyes once more before the switch happens again, and he’s back in business mode. “He’s interested,” he states simply, but you know that’s not all.

“Again…What does that have to do with me growing up?”

Your father stares out the window again, not daring to glance in your direction. “You and his son are to be married in order for this merger to go through. Club Echo will be built into Gojo Hotels across the world.”

You think you may jump straight through that window and let your father watch you freefall all the way into the Tokyo streets if you truly heard him correctly.

“Married?”

He nods.

“To…Gojo?”

If it’s who you think it is – and you’re pretty sure it is – it’s that asshole that you despise from the very bottom of your heart. Insufferable, flaky, annoying, the list could go on and on for how you feel about Gojo, but there’s just not enough time for that.

“Satoru,” your father corrects you, confirming your fears. “Get used to calling him by his name. It would be strange to refer to your husband by your shared last name, don’t you think?”

Yeah, you’re gonna jump.

[gamerbunny1996]

Jschlatt x Famous reader

The Singer and the YouTuber

It's finally here I finish the first part of this story I hope you guys enjoy. sorry it took so long a tone of stuff happened and I started a new job but I'm going to try and finish a lot of my half written work now

Readers text is just black

Pips (sorry just picked a name for the readers friend you can change it) is red

Ted's is blue

Schlatts is orange

“Welcome back to two idiots on a couch, Pip what is today's topic” I say into the mic looking over to my best friend. “I personally think we should talk about this little crush you have,” she tells me. I roll my eyes. “And this is why I don't tell you things” I mentioned. Pip laughed. I lean back into the couch bringing my mic closer. 

“I don't like today's topic,” I said.

“Too bad I'm the one who chooses them and that's what I want to talk about,” Pip said.

“Fine what would you like me to say about it”

“Who is it”

“I'm not saying that don't need them finding out”

“Oh come on your lame”

“Says the one who has a boyfriend and I can't tease you about a crush”

Pip rolled her eyes.

“I will say is we have never talked before I don't even think he knows who I am”

“How do you know that he might know you”

“At least from what I can tell he doesn't, he doesn't follow me on any social medias”

“Wait really that's lame your like super famous”

“We are super famous”

“Can we just say you have like a big big crush on this man”

“He's cute what can I say and he's close to my age if we want to talk about crushes I got a huge thing for Andy Biersack”

“Everyone has a thing for that man”

“You don't”

“Fair”

“ Come on, tell the audience at least a hint of who you like. Y/n you are like head over heels for this man”

“Fine I'm going so basic there is no way anyone can figure it out he has brown hair and brown eyes”

“That could be almost any guy that's so lame”

“I don't want them guessing who it is that fast”

“Can you at least give them one more hint”

“He doesn't do music he is a YouTuber though”

“But that doesn't narrow it down by much”

I roll my eyes “that's the point”

“Please give them a good hint”

I groan “fine this should really narrow it down I have never talked to him before but I have talked to one of his friends who also does YouTube that friend does follow me in Instagram and I follow back”

“Now that's more like it”

“I swear if they figure this out your dead”

“Worth it”

I roll my eyes. We continue the podcast for another hour talking about coming up music we have been working on. Once we stopped recording I went to my office and started to do some editing for some music. Trying to get my mind off today's podcast, my mind kept drifting to the fact I pretty much exposed who I like. I'm just hoping no one can figure it out. To my luck in the other room Pip was texting Ted about getting me on to his podcast so I can talk to my crush. Pip was laughing to herself the whole time texting. 

After a few hours of working I walked out of my office locking it up. “Going home,” Pip asked, laying on the couch staring at her phone. “Yeah it's late and we have lots to do tomorrow." We both say our goodbyes and I walk to the elevator heading down.

A week later I was working on some projects in my office when I got a text on discord. I saw it was from Ted. I opened the message.

“Hey Y/n I was wondering if you wanted to be on next week's chuckle sandwich podcast”

My eyes widened, I wasn't expecting to be on his podcast. Deep down in my gut I knew there was a reason. I just typed sure and went back to work but was having a hard time focusing. I'm about to be on the podcast with my crush. I soon got a text back saying the record Monday that's in three days from today. I went onto my calendar and marked it in. Sighing out I lean back into my chair staring at the ceiling. 

Monday came around and I woke up early enough to actually do my hair and makeup for once. I just put a sweater on and shorts because I still wanted to be comfy. I got into my car and drove all the way to the office. Once I got there I made it up to the third floor and got into my office turning everything on. I texted Pip to grab me a dr pepper with cream in it. I was so nervous I forgot to pick it up today. 

I opened up discord and waited to join the call. I turned my face cam on. While I waited I started to work on other projects I had to do before the end of the month. Soon the ding of someone inviting me to a call happened. I opened discord and saw Ted invited me to the group call. I clicked in and soon I was met with three faces. “Hello” I wave. “I didn't think you'd join,” Ted said as I rolled my eyes. “I wouldn't have said yes to being a guest on your podcast if I wasn't going to join” I tell Ted. Ted laughed. “Fair enough anyway Y/n this is Tucker and Schlatt” Ted introduced the other two. “Nice to meet you two” I say.

We talked about what the podcast was going to be about then we started to record. They did their introduction. After they introduce me.

“Well Y/n tell us a little bit about you so the audience knows who you are” Ted spoke

“Well hi I'm Y/n if you don't know who I am that's a little shocking but I'm the lead singer of the band Nightmare. My best friend is my drummer. I think we have like over 50 million subscribers on that channel. And yeah that's me” 

“Lame” Schlatt soon spoke

“What's so lame about being in a band”

“A lot actually”

“Your lame”

“Alright you two let's not argue”

Soon a knock can be heard. I look away. Pip walked in with my large drink. I smiled and grabbed it. She nodded and walked out.

“Ooo look someone got a special delivery”

“Oh shut it Schlatt I need my caffeine for the day”

I take a sip from my drink and put it down. 

“I got to know what is the most expensive thing you own,” Tucker asked.

“Hold on let me grab it” I took my headphones off and rolled to the side out of frame now grabbing my guitar. I rolled myself back into frame and put my headphones back on. Holding my guitar up.

“This baby right here probably cost more than your worth. I want to say she costs about 4.8 million dollars. Why so much no clue probably because it's mine and I'm expensive.”

“That guitar is gorgeous”

I laugh a little from Ted's responses. “She is a custom white and gold 1968 stratocaster my uncle got it for me when I was ten. My first ever electric guitar.”

“How much did it cost before now”

“Well if I wasn't famous and how much it did cost it was close to 2,000. My red grand piano is a close second to most expensive”

“Are you just trying to show off at this point?” Schlatt said.

“No if I wanted to show off I would play my guitar but I'm not going to”

“Shhhh Schlatt I want to hear more about this piano” Ted butts in.

“It was a gift I got, if I could I would bring it to the grave when I die”

The podcast went on and we kept changing different topics until one came up I wasn't expecting to come up.

“So y/n I watched your podcast about a week ago and I got to know who this crush is” Ted smirked. I can tell he knew something and I knew it was pips doing. 

“I have no further information on that” 

“Oh come on Ted can't bring this up and you just push it away” Schlatt said.

“Well I got nothing to say about it”

“Oh come on, that's a lie. I know some hints to whom it may be come on tell us at least another hint”

Schlatt raised an eyebrow “what were the hints before”

“lets see what I can remember I know she said it he doesn't do music and he has brown hair and brown eyes”

“That's like no hints”

“That's what I'm saying”

I roll my eyes “those are so hints do you realize how many people that are musicians that I talk to”

“Didn't you say he doesn't know you”

“Kinda yeah”

“What does kinda mean”

I just shrugged. “Who knows”

“Can you tell us another hint”

“I don't even know what a good hint would be”

“I got one where does he live”

“Not California”

“Okay that's like one out of thousands of places”

“Fine he lives in America”

“Okay so we have 49 states to choose from”

“Yep”

“Can't you tell us what side of America”

“East? Maybe”

“Maybe”

“I don't know I know it's not west”

“That still doesn't help much”

“I'm not saying the exact state that will really narrow it down plus it's more fun watching people try to figure it out”

“Can we at least get another small hint”

“I don't even know anymore at this point that won't give it away”

“Why are you being so secretive about it”

“Because I don't need people know”

“It can't be that bad”

“It's not like that I just don't need my little heartbreaking when they don't like me back”

“How would you know they don't if they don't even know”

“Because I'm scared of rejection”

“Alright I think that's going to do it on today episode thank you so much for the queen herself y/n”

“Thank you for having me this was fun even with Schlatt's attitude this whole time”

“I do not”

And right then they ended the podcast. I said my goodbyes and said I really had to go but in all honesty I didn't think I was going to last much longer talking to Schlatt. I lean back in my chair and sigh. I think I made it obvious by the way I talked to Schlatt that I liked him. Well the fanbase will know because they know how I talk to certain people. 

I got up from my chair and walked out. The office wasn't full as it usually was. It was kinda weird but I just ignored it and walked to the elevator. I went down to the first floor and walked to the kitchen grabbing out some pizza rolls for my lunch. As I waited for them to heat up I played on my phone. I soon saw that Schlatt started to follow me on all my social media. I raised my eyebrow in confusion and followed him back. 

I didn't think much more of it and put my phone in my pocket. Grabbing my plate from the microwave I went back up to my office. I sat and ate my lunch while working on some projects. I had a huge album dropping in a month and I was trying to finish the last bit of editing. I was about to start on the next song when a discord call came in. I was confused. I clicked in and saw it was from Schlatt. I answered it not really knowing why he wanted to talk to me.

“Um hello”

“What's up toots”

“Is there a reason you called”

“Yeah actually I was wondering if you wanted to join me and the crew for chuckle week”

“Well depends on when it is I'm kinda super busy with a lot of stuff”

“It's in two weeks there in LA so you don't even have to travel far and it's only one day you have to do.”

“So like what is it you do for this chuckle week”

“Well you will be joining us on a couch for a podcast but that same night Ted wants to do a drunk cooking video with you and your friend she is also invited for the podcast”

“Ill have to ask her but let me check my calendar” I bring up my calendar on my other monitor. I looked at the day he was thinking and I noticed it was Nightmares annual Halloween late night talk we do that night.

“I can do the podcast part but I don't know about the drunk cooking me and Pip have our Halloween late night talk thing we do for Halloween”

“Oh what time do you start that”

“Like midnightish”

“We should be done with the drunk cooking by like 10 so two hours before that”

“Let me talk with Pip and I'll let you know alright”

“Sure sounds good I'll leave you alone now”

“Alright bye”

I ended the call and stood up. I walk out of my office I walked over to Pips. I open the door and she was there working on editing a video.

“Hey Pip I just got a call from Jschlatt asking if we want to join them for some podcast thing and to do a drunk cooking video in like two weeks it's the same day as our Halloween special.”

“Sure I'm down”

“Cool I'll let them know don't forget to mark it on your calendar”

“I won't”

After that I walked back out. I sigh and walk back to my office. Sitting down I brought discord up. I clicked onto Schlatt's icon. I just stared at the screen, not sure what to say. My nerves are going crazy. I started to tap my foot. Anxiety comes over my body. I put my hands over the keyboard. I just typed fast, she said yeah so yeah. After that was sent I shut down my computer not really wanting to see his responses. The next two weeks are going to be pure torture waiting for this day.

(I hope that wasn't too bad I kinda rushed it towards the end just wanting to get this out)

[justpeaxchy]

I love your stories httyd ……and I have a request, a headcanoon if you don't mind, maybe about "Hiccup and a reader after an argument", what if they argued and took some time, how would Hiccup take it?

A/n: hello <3! I hope I got this request right, lol. May be fairly short!

Warnings: mentions of arguments (obv), a little bit of distance between Hiccup and reader for a bit, Hiccup kind of lashes out - he's a lil angry guys 🤷🏼‍♀️.

'But I Crumble Completely When You Cry.'

First off, Hiccup wouldn't be one to get in an intense argument so quickly with you. He makes sure to always hear your side of the story and try to rationalize things out with you.

He hates arguments with you of any kind, purely because he doesn't want to hurt you or say something out of line that he'd later regret.

Sure, he's sarcastic, but he knows when to stop and be serious when it's needed, although he would much rather prefer for everything to be in a lighter mood, he knows that he can't ignore some of the downs of a relationship and only acknowledge the ups in it.

"Everyone has their ups and downs." He'd say, "But we'll work through that together, okay?"

That's what he had told you, and it's what he stuck by. He didn't want to risk damaging his relationship with you because he didn't speak up about something that was necessary, so if there were ever anything to cause some discord between you two, he's quick to try and get to the bottom of it and solve whatever problem occured.

It's very - and I mean very - rare to see Hiccup run off in that much frustration after an argument. The only reason why he'd go and separate himself from you after an argument is if you caught him already in a bad mood. Even then, he strives not to do anything irrational, and it worked for a long time.

For this one time, however, he was too drowned in the responsibilities of becoming the future chief, getting negative feedback from Stoick, and having the weight of the familiar anxiety come upon him once again the more he thought about taking on his father's role in the future.

You'd notice right away that he was a bit on edge, stuff in his movements, and not bearing the usual smile he displayed for you. He thinks he's hiding the fact that he's angry and upset, but everyone knows.

You find a way to gently confront him about it, but he finally cracks and he doesn't know how to handle it; "Look, I just need to be alone. Can you give me that for one second, please?" After seeing the look on your face, he'd bolt out of the place you two were in, getting on Toothless to fly somewhere else.

You knew that, sometimes, space was needed in order for one of you to calm down, but he hadn't done something like that before - not in a very long time. It hurt, yes, but you weren't going to push it out of him. So, you waited until he was comfortable enough to share. If he took too long, then you would intervene and speak up about it.

Hiccup, on the other hand, felt an immense amount of guilt for what he'd done. He snapped at you when you merely asked him if he was alright - which he definitely wasn't now.

After cooling down and reflecting on what he did, he made it a mission to apologize to you as quickly as he could. And I mean quick.

Once he found you, Hiccup immediately embraced you in a hug. After a minute or two, he hesitantly pulled away, not knowing if you were angry at him for what had happened.

"I understand if you're upset with me.. I, I was overwhelmed with everything going on and I lashed out at you - which was totally unjustified - and-"

"Hiccup, calm down. It's alright.." You murmured, gently rubbing his hands as he kept his gaze on the floor. "It happens.. but please don't run away from what's hurting you.. it won't make it go away. Tell me what's going on.. please?"

He still felt really bad even after you had to tell him multiple times that you've forgiven him.

You both are quick to recover from this, though. He makes sure that you know he's truly sorry for what happened and that he doesn't plan on doing that again.

Overall, Hiccup isn't one for arguments, he likes to settle things before they can arise to a bigger problem that he doesn't want for the both of you. The last thing he wants is for you to be upset because of him. So, he'll do everything in his power to avoid that.

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

[urlocalmultigroupfan]

ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀꜱ 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 (양정인)

pairing: yang jeongin x fem!reader

summary: loosely based off of strangers by kenya grace

tags/warnings: suggestive (kissing in car) kinda angsty, no good ending

a/n: hihi guys!! i think yall have noticed that i haven't been as active on here anymore sigh. atp its basically js bc i used to write based off of what i wanted to happen, but now its more like im actually experiencing it with my gf, so its kinda different for me!! its also bc ive js been talking to my friends mostly recently 😭😭 so yep!! (on discord tho add so_dxnbi if u want to talk 😋! also i might not be active during the summer so this will be one of the many oneshots and stories i have prepped to come out over the summer <3 tysm for patience!! love you guys <3

also sorry for the kinda bad ending sigh 😓

credits to @hyuneskkami for the dividers

masterlist!

You never thought you’d end up here. In the backseat of his car, the world outside reduced to a blur of neon lights and rain streaking across the windows. His hands are everywhere, touching your skin, pulling you closer, leaving a trail of heat that’s impossible to ignore. Your breaths are shallow, uneven, caught somewhere between urgency and uncertainty. It’s messy, fast, and you know it’s never going to last. But in that moment, it doesn’t matter.

You had been strangers once. You never imagined it would go this far. But here you are, both lost in the feeling of each other, and yet… it feels like you’re miles apart.

ᡣ𐭩

It all started when you didn’t expect it.

You remember the night you first met him. It was one of those nights where you had no plans, no real intentions. The party was loud, a blur of faces and music that pulsed through the walls. You didn’t even know why you were there. Maybe it was because your friends had dragged you along, or maybe it was because you were just looking for something—something to fill the quiet spaces inside of you.

The first time you saw him, he wasn’t anything special—just another guy among many. Tall, dark hair, a smile that you couldn’t quite place. But when you bumped into him, spilling your drink all over his shirt, you immediately froze, mortified.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” you blurted out, fumbling for your words, trying to wipe the spill from his chest.

He laughed. Softly. “It’s fine, really. No harm done.”

His eyes were warm, and for a brief moment, you felt like he was the only person in the room. You barely noticed the music anymore. There was something about the way he looked at you that made everything else fade into the background.

“I’m Jeongin,” he said, offering you a hand.

You introduced yourself, and that was it. A simple exchange of names. But there was something about him, a kind of energy that lingered after the conversation ended. You didn’t think much of it at the time, just another stranger in a sea of faces.

ᡣ𐭩

But things have a way of changing, don’t they?

The first few weeks after the party, you didn’t think much about Jeongin. He was just another person in your life. You’d pass by him in the hallways, maybe exchange a quick smile, but that was it. But then, one evening, you ran into him in the library. He was sitting alone, flipping through a book, looking more relaxed than you had ever seen him before.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”

He glanced up, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. “Hey! Just studying. Want to join?”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, but you nodded. “Sure. Why not?”

You sat beside him, the quiet of the library settling around you as the minutes stretched into hours. At first, it was just small talk—talking about assignments, the classes you shared. But before long, the conversation shifted. You found yourself laughing at his jokes, talking about things you’d never shared with anyone elseyour hopes, your fears, your childhood memories.

It was easy. Too easy.

And that’s when you started noticing him more. Not just his smile or the way he made you laugh, but the way he made you feel—like you mattered. Like you weren’t just a passing thought in his life. You started texting him more, meeting up for coffee after class, spending your weekends together in a way that felt so natural, so right.

You didn’t think much about it at first. He was just a friend, right? But even then, you could feel something shifting between you both, something you couldn’t name, something that made your heart beat a little faster every time he looked at you.

ᡣ𐭩

The moment it happened, you didn’t even see it coming.

One evening, it was just the two of you—sitting on the balcony at his apartment, the city lights flickering in the distance. You’d just finished dinner, and the conversation had slowly shifted to more personal things, things you had never dared to say aloud before.

“I think you’re one of the few people who actually listens when I talk,” Jeongin had said, his voice quieter than usual, his eyes soft.

You couldn’t help but smile. “I’m always listening.”

He was looking at you differently now, his gaze more intense, more focused. The space between you seemed to shrink, and your chest tightened. You wanted to say something, anything, but your words caught in your throat.

You felt his hand brush yours, and it was like the world stopped. Your breath hitched as he leaned in slowly, hesitating just a moment before his lips met yours.

The kiss was everything you didn’t know you needed. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, just the overwhelming rush of wanting and being wanted. His hand cupped your cheek, pulling you closer, and you responded eagerly, the taste of him lingering on your lips.

But even in that kiss, you could sense something shifting inside of you—this wasn’t just a fleeting moment. You were both crossing a line, one you weren’t sure you could come back from.

The next few days passed in a haze, the thrill of being with him clouding your thoughts. You were officially more than friends, but neither of you spoke about it. It felt like an unspoken agreement between the two of you—no labels, no expectations, just the feelings that both of you kept buried deep down.

But it wasn’t long before the cracks began to show.

ᡣ𐭩

It was one of those nights when everything felt a little too much. The air was thick with tension, and the heavy weight of unspoken words hung between you both. You were both drunk, but there was a certain clarity in the way you looked at him.

You’d been out with friends at a club, and now you were in his car, parked in an empty lot, the sound of the rain tapping against the windows. His hand was on your leg, drawing lazy circles on your skin. He was leaning close, his breath warm against your neck, and you couldn’t deny that you wanted him. You needed him.

You let him kiss you again, this time deeper, more desperate. His hands were everywhere—on your waist, your back, your thigh. You could feel the heat building between you both, the need, the desperation, as if this moment was the only thing that mattered.

In the backseat, it was all about chasing that feeling—the feeling of being wanted, of being seen. His lips were on your neck, his body pressed against yours, and you could feel every inch of him.

It was reckless. It was messy. But it was you both searching for something—something you couldn't name, something you couldn’t hold onto.

But even in that moment, you knew it wouldn’t last.

ᡣ𐭩

Things between you both became complicated after that night. The chemistry, the passion—it was always intense, but it wasn’t enough to keep the distance from growing. Jeongin pulled away more and more, his texts shorter, his responses slower. You tried to ignore it, but the cracks were undeniable.

You wanted to talk about it, to ask him where you stood, but every time you tried, he’d shut you down with a simple excuse—“I’m busy,” or “I’ve got a lot going on right now.”

But you knew. You knew what was happening.

One evening, you sat in his apartment, the silence between you unbearable. You couldn’t ignore the distance anymore.

“I can’t do this anymore, Jeongin,” you said, your voice trembling despite yourself. “I’m tired of pretending everything’s fine.”

He looked at you, his expression unreadable. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this,” you gestured between you both, your hands shaking. “This… whatever this is. I can’t keep doing this if you’re not here with me. You’re not really here, Jeongin. Not anymore.”

There was a long pause. You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet. “Maybe I’m not, then.”

That was it. No apology, no fight. Just a simple acknowledgment that you both knew things weren’t working. You both had been drifting for so long, it was only a matter of time before it ended.

ᡣ𐭩

After the breakup, you tried to move on. You went to class, you hung out with friends, you kept yourself busy. But every time you saw him—whether on campus or in passing—there was a part of you that ached.

He didn’t reach out, and neither did you. The silence between you was louder than anything you could say.

Months passed. You both moved in different circles, but every once in a while, you’d catch a glimpse of him. He never looked at you the same way again. He never even looked at you at all.

You were strangers again.

And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.

You never saw him again after that day at the coffee shop. He was just another face in the crowd, another memory.

A stranger.

hope yall enjoyed <33

todays playlist....

bills by enhypen, dadada by mad tsai, like by bts, feelings by lauv, love scenario by ikon, voices by stray kids, banana shake by hus, busy woman by sabrina carpenter, bed chem by sabrina carpenter, feels like summer by childish gambino, butterflies by stray kids, run bts by bts, mama said by kickflip, ssick by stray kids, drama by aespa, deer hunter by &team, like that by doja cat and gucci mane, start a war by jennie, fall in love again by p1harmony

*bold is explicit*

taglist: @rockstarkkami @sirloncelot-of-bananas @jisunggy @me-on-a-archive @hyunjiiza @hyuneskkami @hvseunq143 (im pretty sure i missed somebody 😭😭)

taglist is open! please comment if you would like to be added <3

[gallavichfanficlibrary]

Hey guys, long time no see! Just want to share some recent fics that I enjoyed lately, both WIPs and finished stories.

invited intruders - A canon-divergent story from 3x08, where Mickey and Mandy are taken into foster care. Love stories where the Milkovich kids are getting help.

i'm not the way i was - s6 rewrite: what could have happened if mickey didn’t go to prison. Angsty but very healing.

all your perversions - A fun smutty one-shot AU of Ian not being able to resist Mickey even while in a relationship with another guy.

Little Serious Tone - A very lovely camboy Mickey + EMT Ian AU with a twist that Mickey's a local barista too.

Another Day, Another Life - It’s a random Tuesday when Ian decides to take Mickey to the cemetery.

Linked - Ian can't stop thinking about that cute guy from the other night. And if he looks at his LinkedIn profile over and over again, it's not like the guy will ever know, right?

a man in uniform - Some post-canon husband loving with a uniform kink twist.

A Series of Unfortunate Dates - A little bit drunk, a little bit high, and a little bit lonely, Mickey realises he wants a relationship, not random hook-ups. When he reaches out to a handful of people from different parts of his life and asks them to set him up on blind dates, he ends up on multiple awful dates with Ian Gallagher.

Tomato Season - Ian owns a house and Mickey steals tomatoes from his garden with a little hybrid twist AU that feels strangely canon. Or, "taking in the guy stealing from his garden is the stupidest thing Ian’s ever done."

The last two fics are from this year's round of Shameless Big Bang stories. I sadly haven't had time to read many of them, that's why I'm only mentioning the ones I read. Please, go check out the other stories!

And just to catch you up on the upcoming fandom events, Gallavich Gift Exchange fics are about to be revealed this month :) You can await the Gallavich Week themes from the lovely @gallavichthings next month!

Also pay attention to the Gallavich Summer Camp, it will be a fun summer event and they have a discord server ;)

[luvfy0dor]

Heyy, I was thinking about a concept with Fyodor (or whoever from BSD) having a streamer bf, but like, one of -those- streamers where every word they say can be quite questionable (in a “good” way/ironically). For some reason it amuses me to imagine it with Fyodor and Reader occasionally teasing him, calling him their ‘discord kitten’ or streaming for 5 hours (or more lol) saying nonsenses or playing video games instead of paying attention to Fyodor. What do you think?

“Get Off The Game ♡⁠˖” BSD x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

╰┈➤ Fyodor Dostoevsky, Dazai Osamu

Warnings;

Description; BSD men with a streamer!reader

A/n; these are in headcannon form, I hope that's alright!!! I think Dazai or Nikolai would be a better person to have this occupation w so I also did headcannons for one of them

Fyodor Dostoevsky ★

• Fyodor thinks it's stupid at first, but when he realized you made money from it he learned to tolerate it. He wasn't too fond of the noise, though.

• I don't think he was too fond of the nickname 'discord kitten', always raising an eyebrow when he's called that, he also strongly dislikes brainrot cause what do you mean you're so sigma? No you're not, you're y/n. That's unrelated, but I thought I'd add that in there.

• "A discord what? Kitten? What even is that? I am nothing of the such."

• Catch him dead before he makes an appearance on camera, he much prefers to keep his business private. He doesn't mind you talking about him though, he loves that. He loves that people know you're already taken by him and that all those losers in your chat don't have a chance with you.

• Sometimes he'll watch your streams from a different room in attempt to understand your work and the art of gaming. He enjoys when you play horror games, especially the ones that get you thinking. He sometimes finds your facial expressions when you get jumpscared funnier than anything else in the stream.

• When it comes to the duration of your streams, Fyodor can entertain himself for as long as you need him to, but he can't help but feel like he'd rather be spending that time with you every now and again.

• He usually just takes the time to work on his DOA stuff, and occasionally he'll get so lost in it that he doesn't even realized you've finished with your stream and whenever that happens, you make some tea and go to fetch him to spend some quality time together, whether it's you laying in his lap while you both read a book or having a conversation about whatever comes to mind

Dazai Osamu ★

• Dazai is your #1 supporter since day one. There's a conversation going on about content creators? He's immediately bringing you up. You need new items for your set up? He's manifesting that said items go on sale ASAP!

• Oh my god, and he LOVES it when you get recognized in public. He's very prideful of you and likes that it's only him and a select group of people that get to see the real you outside of the camera frame.

• He, unlike Fyodor, does have an issue with the long hours, so he busies himself with the ADA and otherwise to keep himself from walking in and talking your ear off while you play your games for umpteen thousand people.

• He doesn't despise being called a discord kitten, but it does confuse him a little bit. But whatever, as long as you have 'my' in front of any name he doesn't care.

• Dazai watches your old streams when he's bored and can't help but giggle at the out of pocket or questionable things you say. He likes to watch the compilations of you on YouTube, too.

• Sometimes he'll quote you out of the blue.

• He doesn't like people trying to flirt with you or talk to you on the Internet as any partner wouldn't, so he is in the comment section of every post reading through individual comments. Type guy to see '❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥' comments on your posts and reply '🧯🧯🧯'

• All in all, Dazai is well received by your fanbase, especially the ones who don't try to romance you and are normal. They think he's funny and a good match for you.

A/n; I hope it wasn't to short!!! I thought it was a cutsey idea, I think Nikolai would be pretty similar to Dazai in this scemario.