#as long as it isn't distracting me from customers it's okay

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Can I make a one shot request of Ena Dream BBQ, Meanie Ena x Fem Reader when Ena is jealous for Reader?

Reader can be a human that somehow got in this unique world so she tries to socialize with the other NCPs ending up getting along with many of them as she always makes new NPC friends this might make the work more easy but also a distraction as well

I hope the idea isn't too long, if you want to change something I'm totally Ok with it 👌✨️

Hope it's okay that I made these headcanons! Writing characters being jealous is always fun haha

..........

Ena isn't one to get too distracted from her job.

Although ever since you two began your mission in the Lonely Door, she noticed something.

It was happening a lot more frequently--something that, with each instance of it occurring, gave her Meanie side feelings of unpleasantness.

It became hard to stay focused. Even her Salesperson side had trouble acting like nothing was amiss and maintaining her charm.

The problem? It's that 99.5% of the people you've met so far were more eager to speak to you rather than her.

At first you didn't see any issues with this (not that your girlfriend gave you any signs that there are to begin with).

Despite being a human, and therefore being an anomaly in all of their eyes, somehow they are more comfortable conversing with you.

You figured that since you're stuck here, you might as well socialize with whoever you meet--and since language barriers didn't exist in this world, you had no troubles or miscommunications.

Ena said something about how maintaining connections was essential to completing your job, so you didn't see anything wrong with talking to a few clients so casually, especially as it helped you get the work done faster and line more chocolates into your pockets.

You made friends out of strangers fast, all of them wanting to know more about your human culture, and you'd share little stories here and there.

Salesperson Ena didn't mind this so much, although she'd lose her typical sales pitch tone and feel a little disheartened if she got ignored. But anytime you asked her if she was alright, she'd perk right back up.

Meanie Ena, on the other hand...wasn't one to express any emotion that wasn't anger, sarcasm, or strictness. But for a while she stayed unusually quiet, so you had no idea.

Or at least until the moment a client outright dismissed her, pretending she's not there when she's trying to conduct serious business.

"We will do our utmost to assist you, valued customer! Could you direct us to where we may perchance find-?"

"Quiet! Can't you see I'm talking to [y/n] here??" They snap, scowling at her deeply, before turning to you with a smile. "Oh, do tell me that story again. I haven't had a laugh like that in eons!"

"Haha, well..I believe I've spoken about it two...three times now? And besides, I have a good idea about where to go. So whenever you're ready.....Ena?" You turned back to her, only to see that she froze up.

She was stuck in an odd pose, geometric fingers twitching, mouth agape in shock with static white noise filling her eyes.

Of course, you knew that she wasn't exactly...a stable entity. She'd have sporadic movements here and there or do something incredibly insane and act like it's totally normal--or you'd have to deal with Meanie yelling out of nowhere.

But this was new. And rightfully alarming.

A snap of your fingers is all it takes to "reboot" her, in a sense, but that's when you see her paler half's scowl.

Deep down, those unpleasant feelings have finally clawed their way to the surface--and like a volcano, her emotions explode in the face of the customer. As though they called your services a scam and prayed to the Genies themselves that you got fired.

"Your business is no longer welcomed! We're terminating this stupid contract--EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY!! Have a horrible, no good, very bad day, jerkface!!" She grabs your arm unexpectedly and drags you off, bringing you somewhere out in the desert, away from all the people you could possibly interact with.

"Ena! What the hell was that all about?" You dust yourself off, looking annoyed. "We just lost out on a good deal-"

"Screw that!! We have deadlines! Deadlines that were, and deadlines that have yet to exist!! But you're just LAZYING around! Cozying up to these ungrateful shits!! We can't get distracted when we're trying to find the Gen--bathr000-oom." She paces around, trying to keep her head from literally spinning out of control.

"....I thought you said having a friendly demeanor was great for boosting our services." You frown. "Unless...you think I'm being too friendly with them?"

"......that's...irrelevant.." She mutters, but this time she doesn't sound so sure of herself.

Judging from the way she hugged her torso and glanced away from you, you had a feeling something else was going on.

And just like that, it suddenly clicks in your mind.

"Wait. Ena, are you....jealous that they're talking to me more?"

She says nothing, although her small huff gave you the answer you needed.

Well, it made perfect sense. She's had quite a negative reputation--one so bad that people acted rude and were more than okay with ignoring her presence--yet she didn't wanna elaborate on why that is.

But you loved her regardless of what others think. She was the one who showed you this wacky world and all it could do, doing everything in her power to make sure you felt welcomed here, and you've put your trust in her.

And you trust that in due time, she'll be comfortable enough to explain everything.

For now, business calls...but apparently she was battling a distraction of her own, one that you are now aware of.

"Oh, why didn't you tell me that sooner, honey?" Pouting, you pat her humanlike shoulder. "I'm sorry. I would've eased up and kept things strictly professional had I known. I didn't mean to make you feel ignored."

"It's...It's fine. I-I got carried away, too...so it's not all on you." She mumbled, fidgeting with her hat. "'m not gonna stop you from making friends.."

You've never seen Meanie so quiet and flustered before--this was a rarity.

And in all honesty, it was quite cute, but you didn't wanna say that out loud-

"Cute?!! Did you just....I'm not...!!!"

You blink, having forgotten that sometimes she could hear your thoughts. Yet you weren't ashamed. "Hey, I stand by what I said--erm..thought. It's cute how jealous you easily get. But I feel really bad, still. So....lemme make it up to you." You kiss her paler side, watching as she glitched out a little, her scowl faltering into a look of shock.

Luckily she didn't have a total system crash.

That's right...she was also getting used to this whole "affection" scene.

"Am I absolved?"

Her reply is a very glitchy and distorted "yes".

Froggy called a few moments later, but you picked up the phone instead as she was still simmering in her embarrassment.

"How's the mission coming along? This smoke is clogging my eeaaaaars..."

"I know it sucks, but we're making good progress."

"That's a relief. But where's Ena?? She should be picking up!!"

"She's fine." You glanced back at Ena, who was now sitting on the ground, her Meanie side staring down at the list of tasks--only to hide her face behind the paper when she caught you staring.

But you just shake your head in amusement. "We're just...taking a short break."

"Eh?? I can sense you smiling. What's so funny?"

"Oh nothing. Nothing at all."

[quiet-out-there]

Please

summary: When Finnick notices how the reader's drink has been spiked with sex pollen at one of President Snows Balls, he and Peeta make a plan to save her from the special services the victors sometimes provide for the capitol. Finnick causes a distraction, while Peeta makes sure to take the reader away to safety, only the plan doesn’t go accordingly, and ends up with a sex crazed reader stuck on a closet.

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x Reader

Warnings: sexual content, slight dubious consent, fingering, lots of praise, dom!Peeta??, reader under sex pollen

Notes: This is my first attempt at a shortfic about Peeta Mellark, as I have been quite obsessed with him lately This story is a short fic with little to no plot, so, enjoy the smut ;) For any weird grammar mistake, feel free to correct me for as inglish isn't my first lenguage!

Word count: 6.6k

Giff: @xiaolanhua

Finnick cursed out loud, grabbing the attention of some of the most important and exclusive people in Panem who were nearby. They began to chuckle and whisper among themselves in return, clearly enjoying the sudden outburst of District’s four beloved victor. Peeta, on the other hand, quickly realized something was wrong, politely ending the conversation with an all too eager sponsor who was in the midst of trying to convince him to go back to her room together. She was old, caked with so much makeup her features were almost unrecognizable. Staring at her for too long made Peeta feel uneasy, as if he were in a fever dream, where everything was washed in an eerie distortion, almost normal but not quite. 

“Are you okay?” was the first thing he said once he got to Finnick’s side, standing beside one of the absurdly food collapsed tables at one of the ballrooms corners. He was holding a glass filled with sweet smelling liquor, his hand so tightly wrapped around it his knuckles were turning white. Peeta was sure it was going to burst into pieces in just a matter of seconds, so he quickly reached for Finnick’s hand, surprised to find little to no resistance as he took the glass away and set it on the table. The motion seemed to snap Finnick out of whatever trance he had been in, blinking at Peeta as if he were just now assessing his presence there.

“What?” was all he could manage to say, his eyes returning their focus to something far away, the feather of a muscle twitching as he grounded his jaw.

“What's wrong?” Peeta pushed, following the man's gaze in an attempt to understand what he was seeing that was making him so mad. Finnick had a temper, Peeta knew that, but it was always tightly concealed in that calm and easy-going facade he portrayed, his armor against everything. It took quite an effort to make him lose his composure.

“(y/n)” He answered, voice made of steel. Peeta frowned, eyes desperately trying to find what was going on, his chest tightening at the mention of your name, “They dosed her drink with an aphrodisiac powder.”

Peeta’s whole body froze, his eyes snapping back to the man beside him. 

“What do you mean aphrodisiac powder, what the hell even is that?”

But Peeta could already imagine what it meant, what they were doing it for. Anger rose in his blood like fire, pumping into his heart, beating so fast it was starting to make it hard for him to breathe -

“Finnick” He managed to get out, hand coming up to grab the man’s arm, turning him to face him.

“I recognized this man talking to Snow earlier” Finnick began, his eyes closing as one of his hands came to massage his temple, as if a piercing headache was making it hard for him to think “He is the one who arranges the customers for-,” he took a deep breath before opening his eyes to meet Peeta's wide ones “ the special services from the victors the capitol sometimes provides”

His stomach churned in a way that threatened to make Peeta vomit every expensive item of food he had ingested tonight, right on the pristine marble floor. He knew exactly what Finnick was talking about. Haymitch had told him about this business Snow ran, a way for him to further control the victors, make them pay for whatever rule breaking he deemed was done on their game, threatening their family’s life as a cost of it. But (y/n) had won fair, she had outsmarted the players, not the capitol, she didn't deserve this, she-

“I have been watching this man all evening, analyzing his moves, trying to figure out who Snow had sold to him,” Finnick continued, interrupting Peeta’s running thoughts. “It was easy enough to discover, with the way he has been practically stalking (y/n) all night.” An exasperated sigh escaped his lips “But something is different this time. He hasn't come up to talk to her and she is completely oblivious to him, as if she doesn't know what Snow has done, as if she hasn't been warned what would happen if she denies”

Her family, massacred. Peeta swallowed, his throat painfully dry all of a sudden. 

“That’s when I noticed what he was doing” Finnick’s hands bawled into fists by his sides, his eyes returning to scan the room before returning to Peeta’s, “They are drugging her, filling her with aphrodisiac poison that will make her unable to think of anything more than sex. They are making her into a puppet so they can take advantage of her, avoiding the resistance, the threats, the compromise on her part.”

“That is sick” Peeta breathed out, feeling lightheaded and utterly disgusted.

“People here in the capitol are absolutely rotten” Finnick spat, “I have been a victim of that drug before. It is so potent, it makes it physically painful to deny sex, it forces the body to need it on a primal level, triggering an almost survival instinct.” 

Peeta cringed at the thought of Finnick, barely a teen, being a subject to all this.

“We have to do something, we have to save her” Peeta rushed through whispered words, his eyes looking around them in search of anyone who could be eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Yes” Finnick agreed, “But we must do it inconspicuously, or they could end up hurting her even more.” 

“What is your plan?” Peeta’s breathing eased a little, his chest loosening at the reminder of Finnick’s clever mind. 

“Once the effects of the drugs kick in, she will quickly excuse herself to the bathroom. There, I will intercept the man, distract him. Make a big scene if I must.” The ghost of a smirk pulled at Finnick’s lips at the thought, before it was quickly wiped away as he continued “You will find (y/n) and get her the hell out of here, but not to her room. They will be probably expecting her there” Peeta shuddered at the thought, nodding at Finnick.

“Where is she now?” Peeta inquired, his eyes returning to the crowd, unable to find the girl in question.

“Near Snow’s fountain, to the left side of the room. She is talking to a man with a neon green top hat.”

Peeta found you instantly then, the loud pounding of his heart in his ears drowning any other sound. You looked so beautiful, he couldn't help to notice, with your hair pulled away from your face in an elegant updo, filled with colored jewels that caught and reflected every light on the ball room, like a beacon. Your dress was made of black jewels as well, hugging every hill and dip of your body in an exquisite way, a slit on the side of your hip revealing the tan skin of your right leg. And your smile, so bright as you laughed at some joke the man before you had uttered, it took his breath away- until he realized how your chest was moving rapidly, as if the air entering your lungs wasn't enough, at how your skin was covered in a sheen of sweet, some stray away hairs curling around the nape of your neck and around your face, and at the way your hands had begun to tremble, hiding the away by clasping them tightly behind your back.

“It is starting,” Finnick commented, straightening his shoulders as if preparing himself to move. Peeta did the same, struggling to calm his fast beating heart.

You offered the man another smile, this one polite, apologetic. The man dipped his head and moved out of your way, allowing you to begin moving into the crowd of people dancing on the dance floor, towards the other side of the room, where the bathrooms were located. Finnick nodded at Peeta, signaling to start moving the same way as you. They got to there first, and Finnick leaned forward to whisper right on Peeta’s ear, in a gesture that seemed like a warm goodbye from a friend to the ignorant eye. 

“I will go for the man, you grab (y/n) and leave right away, don't waste time on explanations until you are both alone and safe.” 

Peeta nodded, clasping his back as reassurance. He could do this, he told himself, willing his body to calm down, to gather his anxious thoughts. 

Before Finnick finally pulled away, he added in a tense, almost somber tone, so lowly his words almost got forgotten among the chattering crowd.

“Do what you must to help her, she’ll be glad it was you and not someone else.”  

Peeta’s brows furrowed in confusion, but before he could ask what Finnick meant by that, he was already being swallowed by the crowd, disappearing among the vibrant colors, the moving bodies, the discordant music that made Peeta’s teeth greet in discomfort. 

Peeta moved onto the side of the bathroom door, acting as if his shoelace had been untied and crouching down to fix it, avoiding anyone starting a conversation with him that could complicate his inconspicuous escape. 

It only took a couple of minutes before he heard your voice,

“S-Sorry, excuse me please” You sounded breathless, words tight in your throat, as if the mere effort to get them out was painful. 

Peeta got up then, instantly identifying you making your way out of the crowd in a desperate attempt to get to the bathroom. He walked up to you just as you took the door handle in your shaky hand, grabbing your wrist in a secure grip before pulling you along with him, without stopping to say anything. You gasped in shock, stumbling slightly over your feet before you could manage to keep up with his fast pace. You pulled at his hand in an attempt to be let go, but he ignored you, mind only focused on one thing-

The exit door, only a couple of steps away

 “Peeta!” you exclaimed as you finally recognized him, struggling to maintain a composure, smile wavering between a frown and a grimace of pain “What the fuck are you doing?” you whispered, feeling as though your vision was shaking, not being able to see people anymore, just shapes and colors merging together in a sickening spin-

You were going to throw up.

“I’m going to be sick” you pleaded, arm now falling limp on his firm grip, deciding to leave fate in his hands- unable to do anything to resist, and knowing deep down Peeta would never hurt you.

Peeta’s heart squeezed on his chest as he heard you, and he opened his mouth to explain -what? he did not know- anything to make you feel better, to help you understand what was going on,

But then a crushing sound vibrated across the room, making people gasp and scream in shock, their attention now focused on the other side of the room. 

Finnick

Peeta let out a sigh of relief as he got to the entrance door, which was luckily open, not a peacekeeper in sight.  He didn't waste a second to pull you out towards the main hall, where the elevator to the victor's rooms was.

“It will be alright (y/n), I promise�� Peeta finally spoke, his voice just above a whisper, as he continued his way with unbreakable determination, both of your steps resonating against the glass floor the only sound in the spacious room “just trust me, okay?”

You felt as if Peeta’s voice was coming from underwater, muffled and far away- But still managed to understand.

“Okay” You replied, unable to voice any other word running through your dizzy brain - Your heart, you realized, it was beating so fast you couldn't catch a breath, and your skin, it felt so uncomfortable, so tight against your body- you wanted to rip it out. And the heat, the fucking heat

Peeta’s hand freed your wrist as he pressed the elevator’s button in a frantic pace, his other coming up to grip your hip, pushing so you stood in front of him, blocking the view of your body with his. 

You were so close now, bodies almost pressed together. His smell invaded you like the most intoxicating, addictive perfume you had ever sensed, tightening your chest in a silent hitch of breath - And his touch- so firm and strong, fingers pressing down on the overly sensitive flesh on your hip witch was barely covered in the thin material of your jeweled gown- it set flames through your veins

Peeta heard the rush of voices coming down the hall, right from where you had come, before he felt their quick heels clad steps coming closer. Whatever Finnick had done, it had set a commotion enough to make people begin to retreat to their chambers in a hurry. 

His eyes snapped to the elevator, the bright gold number still stuck on the 7th floor, and he realized it wasn't going to come by quick enough - They were already nearing the corner, they were going to catch the both of you, they were going to take you away and hurt you-

He secured your hand in his before he began to pull you further down the hall, your feet struggling to find their footing but managing not to stumble over them as you followed him. There was only one door in the hall, right on the end of it, a black metal block painted in bright gold. Peeta didn't bother to knock on it as he grabbed the handle, twisting it at the same time he pushed the side of his body on it to open it- and to his surprise and utter relief- it did. He didn't waste a second to push you inside, head twisting back one last time to see down the hall, where he noticed a couple of people beginning to appear, their vibrant colors striking against the pristine white walls and gold floor details. 

He closed the door behind him, leaving out the light from the hall, engulfing you both in complete darkness. He let out a long breath, his head dropping back against the door frame, a chuckle leaving his chest before he could stop it.

You tried to blink back the darkness, but your eyes were still struggling to adjust. Something was very wrong, you realized, as you couldn't seem to make the air from the space enter your lungs. You stepped back from the man in front of you in an attempt to gain some distance and ground yourself, but you felt the cool jab of metal meet your back- you twisted on the spot, freeing your hand from Peeta’s as you extended your arms in front of you. And you felt, to your utter horror, how on every side you were met with metal railings or the cool feeling of painted concrete walls. 

The space was tiny. A closet, of some sorts, you figured with a leap of your heart.

 “I can't” you gasped aloud, one hand coming up to clutch your chest, pulling at the absurd number of necklaces that had been wrapped around your neck- it felt as if you were choking “I can't breathe.” 

Peeta’s hands were instantly extended in search of you, his eyes wide in an attempt to see something, but only being met with darkness. 

“It is okay, hey, I’m here” He whispered, one of his hands brushing your shoulder. The contact made electricity run down your body, and you twisted in an attempt to get away from his touch, managing only to bump into the railing so hard, their contents began to fall onto the floor-

Peta cursed under his breath at the loud sound of stuff crashing against the glass floor, his heart drumming onto his chest as he felt the footsteps from outside alarmingly close. 

“Hey, hey calm down” He tried again, his hand grabbing your shoulder this time. And you tried to twist away again, desperate to get away from the warmth, the heat of his body, his burning touch-

it was too much, too much 

You pushed into the railing again making it crash against the wall in a loud bang. 

“(y/n)” Peeta rushed, his voice tight on his chest in anxiousness. But you didn't hear him, wouldn't hear him, needing to get away, desperately trying to do so-

Peeta felt the voices outside begin to wonder what those noises down the hall were, their loud cackling dimming down as if to hear better. He knew it was only a matter of seconds before somebody came up to investigate,

“Calm down” He ordered, voice low, almost a murmur. You could feel it vibrating on your chest, “We have to stay quiet, or they will find us.”

You tried to reason with his words, to obey, to understand what the fuck was going on - but then a pang of pain shot down your belly, taking the air from your lungs in a rush of a breath, before settling in a tight coil of aching between your legs. It made a whine fall from your lips before you could stop it, eyes closing as you hugged your body tightly.

Peeta’s heart stopped when he felt nearing footsteps, arms shooting forward when he heard your loud whine of pain at the same time, determined now to make you quiet. One hand found your hip as the other your arm, and he didn't waste a second to twist your bodies, so you stood with your back pressed to his chest. One of his strong arms circled your waist, locking you into him in a grip so tight you couldn't move an inch, as his other hand came to your face, palm pressing onto your mouth to silence any noise. 

And just like that, your senses cleared, they sharpened, they focused and circled on only one thing-

Him.

The way his warm body was pressed to yours, the feeling of his strong muscled arm wrapped around your waist, the way his chest pushed against you in every intake of breath, the feeling of his heart pounding so loud and fast against your back- and his god damn smell, so sweet and dark and intoxicating- it made the coil deep within your core tighten painfully, breath hitching on your throat.   

Peeta strained his ear to hear whatever was going on outside, the footsteps stopping just inches away, its shadow casting beneath the door frame. But it was so hard to concentrate on anything else that the way for body felt pressed to his - so warm he thought you might be having a fever-  and the way you were breathing so hard and fast, you were panting against his hand- but he could notice, he could see how much you were trying to do as he said, to stay still and be quiet, even if you were in so much discomfort 

“That’s it, calm down” He whispered, lowering his head so his lips were pressed to your ear, making sure only you could hear him. “You are doing so good” he praised, the words warm against your skin. 

The way he phrased those words was enough to make a shiver run through your spine and make your head spin with desire. You hadn't noticed the way you had begun to press further onto him, almost as if desperate to be closer, to feel him even further. And his hand, his fucking hand had begun to rub the side of your waist in a comforting way,

You were melting. But you wanted more, you needed more-

Peeta tried to ignore the way you had begun to move against him, how your breathing had changed to something deeper, how your mouth let slip little whines and moans against his hand. He knew it was the drug's effect, he knew you couldn't help it, he knew he had to maintain a clear head, to take care of you and make sure you stayed safe.

And then you felt it, as you ground your body against his, you felt something hard begin to press against your ass. It made something in you snap, a need so desperate and maddening, it made fire rush through your veins as if boiling from the inside out- it made your brain drunk and fuzzy with desire- and the pain, the excruciating coil tightening between your legs, it was too much, too much.    

Peeta felt your hand suddenly grip his, moving his arm away from your hip. He felt almost in a daze, as if unable to stop you as you moved it down your body. His breath hitched in your ear as you pressed his hand right between your legs, where you needed him the most. The thin material of your jeweled gown was the only thing standing between his fingers and your pussy- he could feel how warm you were, and cursed aloud when he noticed also how wet. 

“We can't” He whispered; voice slightly breaking as he felt you increase the pressure of his fingers “They have drugged you with an aphrodisiac. You are not thinking straight-”  

A moan slipped through your lips, muffled by his hand still pressed against your mouth. Peeta's eyes strained on the doorframe, noticing the shadow gone. He almost sighed in relief, until he felt the loud chuckles coming from outside-

they were still there.

Your brain couldn't comprehend anything else but the need for him. A need that was becoming so strong, the pain was unbearable. You could feel tears swell in your eyes as you gasped, your other hand coming up to push away his own from your mouth. 

“Please, Peeta, I can't take this anymore- I” you choked on a whine when you felt his other hand slip from away from your body “-I need you, please, just help me.”

You pleaded, head dropping back against his shoulder in utter defeat. 

Peeta cursed again, eyes tightening shut as he searched for the will to contain himself, to find a way to reason with you, to make you understand how this was so wrong-

But then he remembered Finnick's words. ‘Do what you must to help her,’ what did he even mean? Was this the only way you could go through this? You would hate him for it, Peeta thought, taking advantage of you like this- but you were in pain, you were literally crying and shaking in his arms, he couldn't stand seeing you like this, it was breaking him-

“Please” you whined, your own hand coming between your legs to relieve some of the pressure there in a futile attempt- you felt absolutely nothing.

“Okay” he murmured against your ear, telling it more to himself than to you, making up his mind. “How can I help you, (y/n), just tell me how.” 

You sigh in relief at his words, closing your eyes in anticipation.

“Touch me” you whispered, breathless “Please.”

Peeta felt lightheaded with the way you were so desperate, so needy for him. In any other circumstance, he would have given away with the first please ever uttered from your beautiful lips- because you were always so composed, so strong, so unwavering- hearing you like this was making him almost as desperate for you as you were for him.

“Please what?” Peeta couldn't help to reply, his voice just as breathless as yours, beginning to move his arms, tentatively resting his hands on your hips.

You groaned in frustration, beginning to push yourself away from him so you could turn around to face him when you felt one of his strong hands spread across your abdomen, pushing you right back against him. He was so strong, you couldn't help but think, imagining his hands pushing and pulling other parts, handling you as if it were nothing-

“Please, Peeta” you begged.

Peeta melted at the sound of those tight words in your throat.

“So polite” he praised, finally moving one hand to the side of your hip where the slit of your gown began. His callous warm fingers met your bare skin there and you sighed in content “Such a good girl” he whispered, mouth pressing down just below your right earlobe, in that sensitive spot that felt to good it sent tingles down your body and made you moan out loud before you could stop it-

Peeta’s other hand instantly moved to cover your mouth once again, roughly pushing your head back against his shoulder. 

“What was that?” A woman’s voice exclaimed from the hall outside, filled with delight “Sounds like someone’s having a good time!”

Peeta cursed on your ear, the words sounding even more coarse coming out of his mouth. 

You whimpered, unable to take the pain between your legs any longer- your heart was beating so fast, it seemed as if you couldn't catch your breath, your skin so taut you thought it might snap over your bones, and the heat- you thought you might pass out 

“Shh it’s okay” Peeta tried to calm you, his eyes glued to the shadows now outside of your door. Had they figured someone was inside here? “Be quiet doll, you can do it.”

You nodded your head in a haze, desperate to show him you would do anything he said. 

Peeta knew you couldn't take it any longer, practically limp in his arms, trembling in his grip. He took in a shaky deep breath before he began to move the hand on your hip underneath the surprisingly thin material of your gown. Your skin was so smooth and soft, and so, so warm- Peeta had to take a minute to just caress between your hip and upper thigh, savoring the feeling of your tender flesh beneath his rough fingers - before he heard your impatient cry from within his hand covering your mouth. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed the shadows beneath the door begin to move away, using the courage to finally dip his fingers between your thighs. His breath hitched when he noticed you didn't have anything under your gown, being met with your bare pussy right beneath his finger, hand freezing in place as the realization of what he was doing, and to whom, dawned on him.

He was about to fuck (y/n), districts four beloved 73rd hunger games victor.

“You are killing me” you mumbled against his palm, desperately pushing your hips forward in an attempt to increase the pressure of his fingers where you needed him most. So, he dipped his hand further, his muscled arm tensing over your belly as he did, bringing you flushed against him. And his fingers, ever so slowly, began to part your folds, his eyes closing as his head dropped down to lean on your shoulders at the feeling of your slick coating his fingers, smoothing his entrance. You bit his hand in an attempt to quiet the moan bubbling on your chest, head pushing back against his shoulder in an attempt to get a grip on yourself.

“So good” he murmured, lips tightly pressed to your ear “So good, so quiet.” 

You could feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as he began to rub your wetness up and down, right over the bundle of nerves that send electric waves of pleasure down your body. One of your hands came down to grip his arm, pushing it down with further force- Peeta instantly knew what you wanted, what it meant- and he obliged, increasing the pressure and pace of his fingers. 

The people outside began to cheer for something, the noise followed by clapping. Peeta didn't waste a second to remove his hand against your mouth, moving it down to your chin as he pushed your head further back, adjusting so his ear was right over your mouth-

“Let me hear you doll” He breathed, his fingers quickening their pace almost desperately so- feeling so good it made your toes curl and your thighs squeeze around his hand. And you moaned, so desperate and needy it would have embarrassed you if it weren't for the fact that that was exactly how you felt for him. 

“Peeta” you choked out in a gasp right on his ear, and that was enough to make Peeta lose his mind, a low groan escaping from his own lips, the sound so deep and hoarse it vibrated on his chest.

You could feel his erection pressed on your backside, so hard you knew we wanted you just as much at the moment. And you wanted to feel him, God, it was all you could have ever wanted, so you started to move your hand to your back- until you felt his hand suddenly stop, making you freeze in place. You could hear his ragged breathing, feel his heart pounding against your back-

“Look at me,” He whispered, interrupting the sudden silence. You opened your eyes, surprised to notice how they had adjusted to the darkness, able to see the outlines of the door, the metal railing filled with cleaning supplies- you were in fact, in a closet. And then you looked up, finding his beautiful face before you. 

He was so handsome; you had noticed that the first time you saw him. With his big, deep brown eyes and breathtaking smile. And now, with his messy blonde hair, his parted soft lips, his completely darkened eyes-

He looked delicious.

“You are absolutely beautiful” he murmured, the hand on your chin moving up to cup the side of your face. “(y/n)” he continued, a deep breath leaving his lips, fanning your own. You wanted to taste him so badly “You are not on your right mind, this is not what you want.”

You shook your head, exasperated.

“I want you so badly” you voiced in a shuddering breath “If you don't touch me right now, I think I might die.”

You used his stun position to free from his grasp, finally turning so you were face to face. He looked completely disheveled, his white tux discarded on the floor, and his matching shirt completely wrinkled, the first buttons torn and revealing a slit of tanned skin. 

“I-” He began but you couldn't resist any longer, shutting him up with a kiss. 

His hands were on you instantly, pulling at your hips to position you flush against him, to then wrap his arms around your waist to lock you in place. Your hand snaked to the back of his head, where you tangled them on his hair, slightly pulling it just to hear him groan again- it felt like fuel to the fire inside you. You used the moment to deepen the kiss, meeting his warm tongue inside his mouth. The kiss was desperate, hungry, lips moving feverishly against each other.

Peeta forgot about everything else, about the people on the other side of the door, about getting caught- he could only think about you, about feeling you against him, your lips on his, your tongue on his mouth- he wanted more. His hands began to roam your body, testing, feeling, kneading your soft flesh in a grip so strong you knew would certainly leave bruises. And then they were on your ass, squeezing so tight you moaned against his mouth- and he was lifting you up from the ground, your legs wrapping around his waist-

“I need you” You panted against his lips, finally breaking the kiss. The coil in your lower stomach feeling even more unbearable, the pain was making you see white dots in the corner of your vision “I need you inside me.”

Peeta leaned his forehead to yours, attempting to regain control of himself, to think straight. He sat your body against the railing, separating enough so he could see your face, meet your eyes.

And he stared at you, almost in awe before he spoke again, dropping his head back as if to force himself to stop doing it any longer.

“Your eyes” he breathed out, “they shine so black when you are hot for me.” 

You cupped his face between your warm hands, forcing him to face you as you once again begged-

“please”

Peeta wanted nothing more than to oblige - he would have lifted your gown and fucked you right there against the railings- but he knew he couldn’t. He couldn't, not when you were under the effects of a drug that altered your senses, your reasoning.   

So, he compromised. Not doing anything was torture to you, or so he told himself, moving so one of his arms could fit between both of your bodies while the other began to lift your gown and gather it just over your hips. 

“Are you going to be a good girl and stay quiet?” He panted, his ears once again registering the commotion outside. Seemed like they moved the party to the hall, he realized, glad that the noise had gone louder, hiding what was going on in the little storage closet down the corridor.

“Yes” you whimpered, unable to contain the tears swelling in your eyes due to the pain, and the excitement- 

Such a wreck for him, Peeta thought, brain drunk in desire.

“You are the one killing me, (y/n)” he murmured, holding your gaze with eyes so intense you thought he might be looking through you. 

And then his hand was between your legs again, slowly rubbing your wet folds, surprised at how they were more so than before. He quicken up the pace faster this time, taking his time in enjoying every sinful sound falling from your lips, your head falling back to lean against the railing- you gasped when you felt his other hand grip your chin, thumb and index finger pressing against your cheeks and forcing you to open your eyes

“Look at me” he panted, and you thought you might cum just by the way he was looking at you with so much hunger-

And then you gasped in shock as without a warning two of his fingers slipped inside you, his thumb continuing to rub on your sensitive clit. Pleasure shocked through your body making you involuntary shake against the rails, the pressure on your lower abdomen coiling impossibly tighter-

“I'm gonna-” you whined, head leaning forward to try and find somewhere to lean on, but Peeta’s grip held you there on place, forcing you to face him. 

“Say please” He breathed, lips hovering over yours, his fingers moving in and out of you with the perfect pressure, the perfect pace, and his thumb-

“Peeta” you whimpered.

He could feel how close you were, how your walls clenched around his fingers in the most delicious way- he thought he was close himself to climax, just by the way your face scrunched with pleasure, how your body became undone under his touch-

“Come on doll, ask nicely” He encouraged, needing to hear you beg, just one more time.

 “Please” you managed moan.

And he was merciless about it, plunging his fingers into you harder, faster, his thumb rubbing against your clit feverishly, curling his fingers and hitting just the perfect spot-

You become undone with his name on your lips, waves of pleasure erupting from deep within your tummy as the tight coil finally released, toes curling and body jerking. He slowed the pace of his fingers as he continued to ride you out of your orgasm, your shaking body finally collapsing into his, blind with gratification and exhaustion.

Peeta panted against your ear as he finally removed his fingers from inside you, proceeding to hold you tight against him before he lowered you from the railing back onto your feet- until he quickly realized you couldn't stand on your own, arms wrapping securely around your waist and across your back to hold you in place, your own coming up to snake around his neck in a solid embrace.

“Are you alright?” He whispered, his breathing still ragged, heart pounding loudly against your chest pressed to his- you on the other hand, were completely crashing, blood pressure dropping, white stars dancing in the back of your close eyelids. 

“hmm” you hummed, struggling to remain conscious.

“I think they left” Peeta voiced his thoughts, frowning in concentration as he listened for any noise outside- but it was completely quiet, he soon realized. 

You didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, brain completely fogged with satisfaction, body finally out of pain and completely relaxed on his arms, as if meant to be there all along.

“(y/n)” Peeta shook you, his tone finally above a whisper “Hey, I need you to stay here yeah? stay with me.”

You tried to nod but your head just fell limp against his shoulder-

He smelled so fucking good.

“Thank you?” He replied, amusement clear on his breathless words.

You hadn't realized you had voiced your thoughts out loud, a soft chuckle scaping your lips.

“You are completely out of it, aren't you” He sighed, leaning over you so he rested his chin on top of your head, attempting to calm himself down.

You frowned at the height difference, moving your feet, and realizing you were barefoot, heels completely lost somewhere in the tiny closet.

Once Peeta finally could catch his breath, heart in a slightly normal pace, he stepped closer to the door, your almost limp body secure in his strong arms. He pushed the side of his face flat against the cool metal, concentrating on identifying any sound that could indicate someone on the other side but-

Nothing. Silence.

“Okay” He murmured, nodding “Okay, we are going to come out, yes?”

You mumbled a reply, what? you didn't know, but it was enough to make Peeta nod again. You felt him loosen his grip on you making you react on clinging to him with all your strength, desperate to avoid the loss of contact.

“Hey, I’m here, I won't leave you” He assured you, hands pushing you by the hips to create some space between the two- and you were so completely weak, barely registering your body at all, that you couldn't avoid the separation. 

You frowned, opening your mouth to try and object, when you were suddenly being lifted from the ground and up on his arms again, this time in bridal style, with one of his arms holding under your knees as the other secured around your back. 

“Romantic” you gushed, chuckling again.

Peeta rolled his eyes, sheepish smile tugging at his lips, as he adjusted his body so his hand could twist the handle and open the door. He loosens a breath he didn't know had been holding as he registered the hall with quick assessing eyes, noticing it completely deserted.

You tried to blink at the sudden light, but it took just a couple of blinks before your eyes dropped closed again, as if the weight of them was impossible to overcome. 

“Your room is not safe” He murmured, beginning to make his way to the elevator with you tightly held on to his arms “We will go to mine.”

You nodded, the pull of unconsciousness so strong you were sure it was only a matter of seconds before you were out- so you snuggled closer to him, wrapping your arms across his neck and positioning your face right at the nape of his neck, where his smell washed over you and his warmth seeped to your skin.

And just like that, you were out with a content smile plastered on your face.

[dilf-docs]

Misery Reigns My Lonely Neon Nights

old man!logan x younger fem!reader

summary: logan should've said no. should've just drove the pretty waitress home. that's his job. hers is to serve his cup of coffee to the brim. so why is he riding you to his house?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (cause we have a small daddy kink going on here.. hence the blog name BUT I DO HAVE A GOOD DAD), smut, this reeks of corruption kink for no reason other than me being a virgin whore, like he gets stalker-ish for a second but its logan howlett so we forgive him<3 ya está viejito, brief mention of suicide, sub logan edging on praising kink (if u squint), no protection but u gotta put the hat on the cowboy to ride the horse alr, riding, breeding kink??? angst (the depressing vibes are there cause they follow my writing like a shadow ijbol)

word count: 6,102 words (at the v crack of dawn.. i think i've gone insane FR it's 02:07 am and my brain its eating itself like im gonna start seeing logan in the corner of my room)

side note: newbie here after reading so many fanfics on tumblr but never publishing my own!! its hugh's birthday (well, its past midnight so no more but still!!! it was a couple hours ago) so i figured i should give it a try today cause that man does things to me ESPECIALLY as old man logan i can't lie and say the thought of him fucking me good and slow hasn't crossed my mind too many times 😩 we love sad hot old people in here so naturally my inaguration fic had to be done by him. also, i'm tired of scrapping for votes, comments, and interactions on wattpad so please treat me well during our first:// it's me moving to tumblr it's me hi i'm the problem it's me. i'm a feedback whore so pls leave tons of those!! also, english isn't my first language so if i make a grammar mistake pls do not tell me bc i have no respect for this language ―it just makes me cringe less to write smut on a language that isn't mine lol<3 but if there's any other mistake yes pls do tell me thank u OKAY BYE i needa quit yapping ENJOY dilf town<3

So it started something like this.

It was another simple nightshift for Logan. The weather humid, uncomfortably sticking the fabric of his white button shirt onto his skin. Even with the windows down. Those nights that the driving dragged on for long, like those cigarettes that now made him cough more than relax. The roads felt too long; his eyes too heavy.

Nothing new. Just about what to expect: money short, clients and traffic equally annoying. But that was the problem; nothing was new anymore.

He'd just finish dropping a customer close by, and since the tiring feeling didn't seem to leave his body just yet, a coffee wouldn't hurt. As a matter of fact, the need for a boost to make it home makes him get out of the car and limp his way into the first place his tired vision sees.

The rim of his recently adquired reading glasses slips as he climbs the stairs into the decades old diner, the decoration outdated. He understands; he feels the same way.

Neon lights flash his face when he enters the place and sits in the farthest booth he can find. The air is impregnated in grease and cheap coffee, but he waits at least fifty minutes to order, giving his body some time to rest. In the meanwhile, he tries to distract himself with the newspaper resting on the table, but God knows his eyes are too tired and his mind drifts every two words.

He hopes he doesn't get kicked out, judging from the attentive look he's receiving by a waitress resting on the bar. She looks as bored and tired as he does.

Maybe that's why he chooses her, raising his hand with order in mind. A black coffee. The waitress slides from her position and takes some steps to where he sits.

Her voice is sweet when she introduces herself, and Logan finds himself asking her again what her name is, pretending he's half deaf just to listen to it again.

"It's y/n" you repeat, oh so sickeningly sweet, he might have to skip on asking for sugar.

"Y/n" he savours the name on his lips, trying the tender sound, his eyes darting to the name tag, like he's confirming it. Testing to see if the young woman in front of him is real. Maybe his eyes linger a little too long, and the tip of your ears start to heat. Its the way he examines every feature on your face, like memorizing it in a sense, that makes you squirm. But maybe, just maybe, it's the small―brief, peak he gives to your exposed cleavage, pushing itself against the tight fabric of your uniform what truly gets your heart beating fast.

He looks like what your parents would warn you to stay away and your friends would talk behind your back. Rugged in a way that screams heartbreak, rough around edges your kind nature wishes to soften. It's unresonable to feel this way about a client you just met, but his aloof demeanor peaks your interest, so different from your usual costumers and familiar faces that pop up at the diner.

"Can I order you, darling?" his voice comes out deep, almost passing as a grunt. Just what you imagined it to sound. Why he's acting as his past self so effortlessly, after closing himself off to the point of going by entire days without talking more than three words, is concerning. Why the cute waitress who looks at him with doe eyes, expectant to take his order, is making him break the promise he made to himself not to get attached again―just live by enough to make it to the sea and put a bullet in his head.

"Well, that's just about my job" you joke, feeling confident for no reason. "But you can't order me".

"A damn shame" he chuckles, the sound deep, rumbling on his chest. It's been so long since he's laughed like that: carefree, without that pressing weight on his chest, that despite the sinking notion, sometimes feels more like a hole carved where his heart is supposed to be.

"So..." you trail off, unsure where to proceed after that sound that jolted your entire system awake, "what will you take?"

The banter dies, and Logan is dissapointed when she scribbles the dark coffee on her pretty round letter and walks away. He doesn't miss the sway of her hips, and almost calls her back just to hear her voice again. But he stops himself, because it's getting pathetic.

When she returns with her order, he almost regrets the comeback of his enhaced senses, her honeyed perfume mixed with the bitter smell of the freshly brewed coffee, creating an intoxicating mix.

His lips burn when he sips it, but that doesn't stop him from emptying the cup. Again. And again. All in the name for asking for more coffee, a magnetic force pulling him to the ground, making him forget he's a 200 and something year old man begging like a starved man for at least a fraction of her attention. He feels unworthy of your warmth.

He feigns interest on the newspaper when you return again (he's been stuck on the same paragraph ever since he sat down), the pot in your hands. If you've noticed he's emptied the cups faster than a normal person, you don't ask questions. He's thankful, but can see the amusement and confusion laced across your pretty face.

"More?" you ask, but it's unnecesary. He only nods, and you miss the chatter.

The closeness it's a challenge itself, the uniform's neckline practically shoved down his nose while she fills the cup to the brim. He hears his own heartbeat, the sound averting his attention from another "brief" glance at the cleavage. Is it intentional? Is your goodwill and act? Are you this cruel, playing with an old touch starved man like that?

God knows it's been long since he's had a helping hand during his relief hours.

He can't help it; he's a man, after all. So he seizes the moment and steals a glance. But his eyes meet yours, the wary green clashing with the cozy chocolate. There's warmth on your eyes, and he's looking at your tits like an animal. He pulls away, ashamed. The shirt feels a bit suffocating, and there's sweat on his forehead again. Great, you'll think he's a perv.

"Excuse me" you say, leaving his table. Logan is afraid of having fucked it up for thinking with this dick and not with his head. You were messing too much with his head, and now he'll pay the price. Fair, he thinks, for a perverted old man trying to woo a girl younger and far more innocent than him.

There's benevolance on her smile and blood on his hands.

The whole situation is stupid.

But then he's thinking of excuses (like saying it's his failing eyesight's fault) and something close to an apology, as if he cares a little too much about what you think. And then you come back.

"I forgot to bring you a napkin" she lies, leaving the piece of paper in the middle of the table. You laugh, and Logan let's you because 1. He deserves it, and 2. It's a sound as saccharine as the smell the freshly heated pies emit on the table across him.

You leave before he can even open his mouth, so all he's left with is the napkin that seems to have something written on it. Pervert, he reads, on the same calligraphy you scribbled on your bloc. He can't help but laugh, even with your watchful look on him.

That's how it continued.

Even if he had other rides and more energy to drive, he kept coming to the decaying diner just to see you. Almost as if he was forgetting his desperate need for the money, the boat goal further and further.

"You've forgotten about me" complained Charles, although his tone lacked of bite. "But I'm not mad that you've had".

He'd go on, rambling about living life but Logan just laughed. Yet, maybe he was right. Didn't even need his powers to know it.

Now, you? you simply couldn't get enough of your favorite costumer. Of his late stays until you closed, sometimes not muttering more than necessary, yet his company, even if curt, proved to be what you needed to make it through work, giving you a legitimate reason to yearn the before tedious night shifts.

Despite this two month weird relationship, Logan is as a stranger to you as he was the first day, no matter how many times you've tried to get him to talk. In the end, all your conversation efforts feel more of a monologue than a chat.

He knows about your mom and your dad, one strict the other dead. He knows most of your friends names, what you're studying and what you wanted to. Your dreams and your hopes, your aspirations, failures, and some other things you'd never say to anyone else out loud. All and nothing. And he listens, sometimes asking questions, but never about himself. He never takes the lead.

So frustration from the Logan enigma pours into you, the puzzle pieces layed out over your mind, consuming your thoughts. So now you're stubbornly cleaning the same grease spot on a table you've already wipped before, and that, coincidentally, it's the booth in front of Logan, the permanent resident of your head during these past weeks. You might as well make him start paying rent by now, his power and hold over you ridiculous.

"It's not going anywhere. Take it easy" he mocks you.

There's a bit of annoyance when you reply back, although it's mostly superficial. "Don't know what you're talking about" comes out your dry response, earning a low chuckle from him.

"How about you sit for a moment?" he offers, ignoring your apathy. "You're almost done cleaning up".

If his ever changing attitude isn't enough, closing this night's shift is as tiring.

Logan doesn't expect you to obey, but now you're sitting across from him, and a voice in his head says you maybe feel sorry for this lunatic old man.

You're so close, he can see the eye bags and sorrow you are far tired to try to hide.

"I have to finish cleaning" you explain, "we're about to close".

He doesn't know why he says it, or what takes over him when he says:

"I could wait for you"

He surprises himself and surprises you too.

"No need" you assure, and why does he feel so dissapointed. It's stupid. "My friend picks me up".

Ah, yes. The friend with the perfect stupid smile that picks you up every night. Not like he parks his car until you leave and sees the scene unfold each time, his white knuckle grip on the wheel a bit too much when the young boy opens up your door. Makes him see red, knowing he's your age and maybe the breathe of fresh air you need. Not a man far older, who bears too many sins and scars in and out.

"I see" he says after some minutes in silence, retracting his impulsiveness. "I'm sorry if I made you-"

"No!" you clarify hastily, "it doesn't bother me".

He smiles unconsciously in relief.

"Well, me neither. I insist. If you change your mind" he's practically begging, despite his monotone tone.

But you don't.

The place closes and Logan is forced to get in the car. He lights a cigarette, in no hurry to return home. The lighter lights up while the diner's light goes off. You and your boss come out, biding each other goodbye. She leaves and you're is left alone, hugging your body in the early morning cold. 

He sees you wearing particular clothes, for the first time. He takes a slow drag on his cigarette, eyes running up and down your bare legs, the fragile fabric of the skirt fluttering in the wind. He exhales, watching as you dials your phone several times, getting no response, obviously frustrated.

He mutters something under his breath, and maybe there is a God after all. He starts the car, approaching her, who has already noticed it, probably because of the noise of the engine.

She looks scared, but Logan rolls down the window so she can see it's him.

"Need'a ride?"

Just by his reverberant sound you could accept. But you try to play cool for a while, despite your aching bones and need to get home.

"He doesn't answer" he was right, "my friend".

I know, he wishes to say, but he's the same hot headed asshole who walked through the doors of the X mansion for the first time, so his tone will be laced with irony. He doesn't want you to see him as an intense hot blooded mouth.

I could take you. His head pounds but he shuts the emotions down.

He shoves the knot on his throat down and asks as casually as possible, "do you live close?"

"Just around the corner" you answer. A beat, your frame bending so he can see your face from the driver's sit, the cleavage saying hello again. How considerate of you. "Do you really want to do this?"

Do you really want to do this?

The question rings on his ears. It holds more than just the favor. Logan knows they have a certain tension between them that he no longer wants to ignore. For the first time it seems to be reciprocated; palpable, and he is surprised to hear his heart beating loudly, so accustomed to hearing others' with his sharp senses, constantly forgetting what his own sounds like. Yours also beats erratically, despite your calm composure.

You arch an eyebrow, amused. "I can't believe you waited for me. Your family must be worried."

Logan realizes you're trying to test waters. So he raises his hand discreetly and places it on the door, so you can see the lack of a ring. As expected, your eyes travel to his free finger, and he can swear he sees you breathe with relief, which is funny, because in case you hadn't picked up until now, Logan is very much fucking alone.

"In case you changed your mind," he answers. "I have nowhere else to be."

That is enough of an invitation for you to get in the car.

"I was going to open that door for you" he protests.

You only laugh as you buckle the seatbelt. "It's not that big of a deal, really. You've already done enough for me by doing me the favor".

"It's not that big of a deal" he repeats your words, "as long as I'm of help, that's enough for me".

He smiles wistfully, remembering better times. A part of him still aspires to be that hero everyone loved and remembered, something that clearly doesn't happen anymore (or if it does, it's rare), given the lack of recognition of his former identity in El Paso. He shakes his head, focusing back on the street in front of him. It's too late to get fucking sentimental.

"I like to help too…" you confess, meekly. Logan sighs, how could he not know? "My father used to say that I had the kindest heart he'd ever met. I hope it stays that way, and that when he looks down on me, he's proud".

It hurts Logan to see you be so hard on yourself, as if he didn't do the same.

"I bet all the customers in the place would say you're the sweetest thing they've met", he sees you smile from the corner of his eye, and can't help but emulate it. "Believe me, you're their favorite".

"Thank you, Logan" you say sincerely. However, the affliction that he hates to see crosses your face. So gloomy that you don't even seem the same person.

You wipe away an unexpected tear, but Howlett is faster and notices. You turn around, looking towards the window. Then, you catch a glimpse of his license.

"So… you're a driver" you try to break the silence that Logan has put without knowing why. Maybe to give you some space after being sentimental and opening up again to this closed off wall name Logan, but he knows it's a lie. He's scared. After wanting so much to be closer to you, he cowers, not trusting himself and what he would do trapped in a small space with such an attractive woman. Besides, the tension from the previous conversation was still there.

"You judging me now, honey?" the pet name rolls off his tongue before he catches it. He tries to play it cool, continuing the banter, carrying the same tone. "The only thing necessary to make you trust me was to give you a free ride?

"I'm in your car, Logan. I got in without thinking" you laugh. "I believe that's enough trust"

"Then, I'll keep doing you favors. Maybe if I do…" he trails off.

Your voice drops an octave, provocative. "Maybe what?"

His knuckles grip the steering wheel until they turn white.

"Maybe…" he hesitates, "maybe…"

"It's here" you point out. Shit, Logan curses, braking abruptly without meaning to.

"See you tomorrow" you bid as a goodbye, getting out of the car. Logan misses your smell.

So he sticks his head out the window, like a begging dog.

"How about now?" he says a bit forcefully.

Your face shows surprise and something else.

"You're getting attached" you reply, and he doesn't know why there seems to be sadness in your voice.

"I just keep coming back for the coffee" he defends himself.

You laugh, shaking your head "Now, then. For the coffee, clearly."

"I can leave" he says. Yet, makes no move to leave.

You sigh, giving him one last look. Surrender, he reads.

"You're a driver, right?" he nods, taking in every word coming of your pink plush lips. "Then let's drive off. Anywhere" your voice trails off, and you're just so tired of everything, you'll just let go yourself with the flow. "I'll go wherever you go..."

And this is how it ends.

When you wake up, it's almost dawn.

Logan had suggested you to sleep, claming the road where he was taking you to be long. He had covered you with his jacket, even if your body was burning from nerves.

Why had you agreed? Your mom would probably smack your head in search for some sense, and your reckless friends would encourage you to do it for the sake of a story. But something about Logan makes you feel safe, despite not knowing anything from him. It's sort of a sense of protection―like he would never hurt you, that envelops him. Everyone else would call you crazy; only you can understand that.

When your eyes adjust to the light, you realize you're in a line of cars.

"Did you bring me to the border?" you exclaim groggily, still in a sleepy voice.

"Good morning" he answers instead.

You rub yoou eyes, settling into the passenger seat.

"You're not going to kidnap me, right?" you question, half joking half serious.

Logan laughs, "Not only that. I'm also going to throw your body in a mass grave"

"It's not funny," you pout, although you're laughing too.

Once you've crossed the border, Logan drives a few more minutes, until he reaches a restricted area.

“I live here” he answers before you can ask, “saves rent and questions”

After opening the locks, you can better appreciate the place. Well, appreciate may not be the right word.

“It's an abandoned smelting plant” you voice out loud.

Logan just nods. You realize that he didn't like the comment, so you try not to talk about it anymore.

“Come” he gets out of the car, going to open your door. He offers you a hand, and you fail to hide your smile.

“You didn't miss this time, huh? Quite a gentleman” you praise. Then, add jokingly, “if you choose to kill me, at least I'll die taken care of".

“Stop talking nonsense and go inside” he scolds but smiles.

Inside, the abandoned plant is exactly what you expected.

"We're alone" Logan says, after leaving to check. He opens the door to his room, letting you in. There's not much inside, just a bed and scattered things. A yellowish light begins to filter through the broken glass. "I'mma change. Be right back".

You begin to explore your surroundings, to avoid thinking about the impact of the situation. Two things could happen: leave or stay. Maybe everything was going too fast, but you prided yourself on your spontaneity, often confused with impulsiveness. Others would say it was your naive nature: too innocent for your own good.

What had led you to accept without further ado? Was trust enough, that you had even fallen asleep in his car?

"S'rry for the wait"

You notice that Logan's gotten rid of his formal attire, leaving him in just slacks and an old white tank top. His muscles flex with every movement, making you swallow involuntarily. He still retains his extraordinary physique, despite his greying hair. She can't help but stare at the scars that cover his exposed skin, her fingers itching to trace them.

"Haven't they told ya' t's rude to stare?"

You look away, embarrassed. Logan walks over to the bed, bumping into you in the process, bodies barely touching. Still, an electric shock runs through you. You hug yourself, scared, aware of the effect he has on you.

"Logan" she dares to ask, "what are we doing?"

He finally looks at you. You feel naked under his intense gaze.

"What do you want us to do?"

His voice comes out low, like a growl. You stand in place stiff, unable to form a word.

"Come on, honey", the nickname comes out of his lips so easily, it hurts. "Are ya losing your voice now? Got into my car a while ago without thinkin', what's changed?"

You slowly approach Logan, each stride calculated. He watches you in silence, a silence as hostile as the wind hitting the broken windows, watching you remove your clothes, until all that's left is your bra and that skimpy skirt, as if you knew he liked it.

"Logan…" you whisper his name like a prayer, letting yourself fall on his legs. He holds you with his hard calloused fingers, like a promise.

Don't let me fall. Don't let me go. Don't leave me.

"Use your words, sweet thing" the trepidation condenses between, "we're grown up now, aren't we? Use your words"

If by words he meant feeling your lips against his, it's enough to have Logan following his impulses, using his strength to embrace your body until they feel like one, the scars on his hands feeling like your own. Your lips move in sync, and it's almost so casual, so learned, so meant to be, that fear appears in Logan, soon forgotten with the symphony of moans that come from your lips.

"Tell me" he pauses, breaking away from the kiss (something you don't like and express in the form of a pout), "what do you want?"

Logan tastes like cigars and whiskey, a combination you hate and the reason you quit your old job at the bar, but on his lips, it's an intoxicating taste.

"I want you, Logan" you whisper, hot breath against his skin, “you”.

He resumes the kiss, an electric shock of hunger and need between you: lips parted, colliding, teeth almost clashing against each other.

His fingers hesitate with a delicacy that belies his rough touch, the tips of his worn fingers lifting the fragile cloth of your skirt first, revealing soaking wet panties he goes crazy just at the sight of. The smell is sugary, sicklingly, so now he's hard and pulling at the clasp of your bra first, exposing your nipples, which he rolls and pinches mercilessly. A gasp escapes you—then another, and another as Logan pushes his thigh between your legs. The friction is delicious, almost painful against your pulsing center.

His hand firm up his position, securing itself onyour bare legs as you digs her nails into him. His labored moans turn into a guttural growl.

“You think I’m not capable?” he mocks, stealing another moan from her, “that I can’t keep up with you, you pretty young thing?”

You deny it, but Logan takes it upon himself to show you that he can take you like he's in heat, the ghost of his old self taking over in his almost animal way of fucking you, hips arched, muscles flexed and tense, his teeth appearing every time he opens his mouth, reminding you of fangs. They dig into your exposed skin, leaving bruises that will take time to disappear from your shoulders and neck, marking what belongs to him.

The hardness of his skin meets your soft when he grabs you by the waist.

"Look at you" it slips from his tongue, ecstatic. He's a goner, saliva dripping from the messy and sloppy kisses he leaves through your collarbone, "so good and so pure. I bet you're innocent, that you haven't seen what I've seen..."

His pupils darken, a strange mix between torment and desire in his gaze. Hungry and violent.

"Will you let me show you how's a real man s'ppossed to treat a woman?"

He feels shame settle in his belly, the hunger to possess her almost virgin body fueling his dark desire of errasing her sweet smile until she's an unintelligible mess of sobs. To show her what she would complain about, so she'll never slettle for less. So you can feel what it's to be taken care of―handled. And then he'll fill you up with his seed, so no other man will take what's his. His sweet little thing. Oh, he's so going to hell for this.

But maybe he likes pain.

"That's it, honey" he plays with the fabric of your wet panties, pulling at the loose threads in the delicate fabric. "Let me show you".

You take it off, and Logan lies back against the bed, spreading his legs and unbuttoning his belt and pants―a clear invitation to repeat the previous position, except this time, his hands are on top of your hips, squeezing the soft skin. He doesn't take his eyes off you, his gaze reserved only on you. If the adrenaline from before pushed you, now the confidence gained motions you to finish the task. It's just the push you need, remembering that this is what it feels like to be with a real man as you throw a leg over his hips, sitting your ass right on top of the bulge marked on his underwear.

“Right… there…” he barely manages to formulate a coherent train of words, the years of lack of help in attending to his needs leading to overstimulation, “good girl.”

The compliment makes you increase the pace of your hips, his labored breaths a sound so rich and so manly it makes you squirm.

You need it desperately, rubbing your increasingly wet clit against him, riding the fabric. His scruffy beard barely hides the smug smile that graces his lips.

“Like this?” she whispers, and Logan can no longer contain himself, staring at his sweaty, ripped body failing to please her completely. It feels so good it aches, and he can't believe this is how he's ended. But if that means having your pretty face on top of him, covered in his marks, dripping on your joint sweats, well maybe it isn't so bad.

“How can I repay you, honey?” he pleads. He'll try he's best. He just wants to give you a glimpse of the way his whole world has light up ever since he stumbled in that greasy diner.

“You said you were going to show me” it comes out almost as a purr, expectant, “and I’m waiting”.

Logan takes it as his cue, pulling down his underwear until his member is exposed, chuckling darkly when you swallow at the sight.

"Don't tell me you're scared already" he teases, "look how you have me… you can't leave me like this…"

You stifle a scream as you feel every inch of his thick cock enter your sensible walls, trying to fit his member inside of your needy body.

"So tight for me" he stammers, using his hands to keep you in place, on top of him. The only sound in the silence of that place that smells of death is that of their skin colliding―vulgar, the obscenity highlighted by being the only thing that can be heard in the small room.

Even though his stamina has dropped over the years, he thrusts into you relentlessly. Logan fucks you senseless, his balls buried deep in your dripping pussy, a constant rhythm of avid suction with each entry to your walls.

He takes a moment to see you as you take something from the nighstand he doesn't remember putting there.

"Look what I found" you whisper in the middle of your moans. Logan recognizes the shine of metal in front of his eyes, "so Wolverine?"

You say it so easily, like it's not the first time. With acceptance; it scares him.

Do you recognize him? Are you not scared? Why haven't your eyes go from curiosity and kindness to cold and rejection?

He should panic, rip off his dog tags from your hands and pretend he doesn't know who he used to be, but he's so deep inside you and so enraptured, he can only manage to gently take them from between your fingers and put them around your neck, the cold metal against your warm, bare skin creating an electric shock.

"I want to see them on you"

He likes to watch it hang over his face while you're on top, panting heavily as she repeats his name, slurring her words. It dangles with every thrust, the silver glistens in the seeping sun, just like the sweat that adorns her skin.

"Are you that needy of your old man? " he teases, caressing her. He smacks the curve of his ass, “You want more?”

His veiny length makes quick work of your needy hole, more moans escaping your lips.

“Shit,” you curse, wincing at the pain that begins to increase. “Yes, Logan. Just like that. Nobody ever treated me like that, nobody's made me feel like this-”

He moans, pleased with the praise, seeing he isn't as lacking as he thought. Making you feel good is his priority, but he won't lie and say he doesn't want to feel it too.

In an attempt to distract yourself, your eyes try to focus on him: searching his features, memorizing every scar, every wrinkle, every little grey hair.

“You’re perfect, Logan,” you mumble through a moan, the confession hiding more than you want to say and more than he cares to admit.

Before he can process it though, the fire in his stomach signals the arrival of his impending orgasm.

There's something delightful about the way you can barely speak, a mess of moans that sound like his name, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen alongside your messy hair.

He feels almost sick to be consuming something that doesn't and shouldn't belong to him. He doesn't deserve to have such a beautiful, young woman riding him while she clings to him like he's the last thing in this world, him: a worn, old man who can't keep up with her.

His member spasms, and it's got you feeling it all inside your walls, causing him to close his eyes in the process as well.

It's too soon, Logan thinks in shame, but it's been so long and you feels so good, he let's it go:

Thick whips of his cum shoot out of his member, drawing out more than you would've imagined. You don't have much time to think about it, for the orgasm hits you immediately, fingers curling and eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

Logan feels his tip getting wetter, and the extra lubrication is a nice finishing touch.

“God,” he gasps, “what a mess…”

You avoid looking at him, taking one of his hands in yours, kissing the red and violet painted knuckles. If you do, you'll give away what you feel, the same way her memory burns in Logan's chest, more now than ever, as his mouth tastes just like you.

Dependency.

Devotion. Absolute. Sick.

Maybe that was what he felt. This weird feeling. That abyss piercing his chest but never killing him (so much for regenerating...), pressing his heart with a crushing force whenever it threathened to beat again. Logan was content with rather nothing, always a man who didn't ask for much, and since the death of his family―the X-men, less.

"You should go" he mutters in defeat, the shame washing over. Even if he'll miss your warmth, even if he doesn't want you to leave at all. "It's for your own good, y/n. Pretend you don't know me and turn around. Go away" he insists yet gets stuck on his words, "you're not stupid. Then you'll know it's good for you and you'll never speak to me again"

He looks at the ground, cowardly, because he wants your lust filled warm look to be the last memory he remembers. Not whatever look you're giving him now.

So Logan closes his eyes and counts to ten. When he opens them, you'll be gone. It'll be a dream, something too good to be true. Short lived, like every good thing in his life.

"Logan..." you calls his name. So softly it seems like a breath.

You're still here.

"Logan" you call again, more firmly.

"Logan" you don't give up, cupping with one hand his face gently, "look at me".

When he looks up, he comes across a heartbreaking vision. You cry, tears falling like waterfalls down your cheeks. But that's not the most devastating thing, no: it's the look in your eyes, as if you've shared his pain. As if you've had suffered the same things he had suffered; a twisted reflection of him.

"Of course I understand you" you take his hands, and Logan feels that same strange warmth he felt the first time when your hands brushed his with the diner's menu. "I've also lost people… people I loved. Don't you think it hurts me to see the world go on as if nothing happened? Everyone forgets, Logan. But I can't; there's not a day that goes by when I don't think about them"

For a moment, you stop crying, and the hidden internal turmoil he tried so hard to decipher finally makes sense.

"I don't know what you've been through either, but I can promise you, that I understand you more than you think…" it seems like you'll say something else, but you stop and say instead. "Think, Lo: would these people want to see you like this?"

"It's what I deserve" he murmurs barely, his voice constipated but without shedding a single tear.

"It's not what we want, Logan. Please" you sniff, pained "stop being so hard on yourself".

"I'm not who you think I am" he insists. You're still naked on his bed, and he feels dirty for having you like this. For taking you to his home and fucking you raw out of your innocence. "I'm not a good person."

"No, Logan" you seem hurt by that statement. You trace one of his most recent scars with a touch so compassionate, that he feels your fingertips burn, "you are a hero".

Your words were so sweet, so comforting. He wanted to sink into your lap, which smelled like flowers and tasted like safety. A home; a life that had been taken from him. He wanted to believe everything you said―feel who you believed he was. Not this pathetic, tired and apathetic version of himself, but the old version: the version that inspired respect, that despite his tough exterior, had a family he loved. Because he had a heart. Now he feels like he has no soul: no purpose, nothing.

But maybe you are the answer.

Before he can change his mind, you blurt out “can I stay?”

That morning, in that old bed that creaks under his weight, Logan discovers that feeling alive again isn't so bad.

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @userparamore

[moth-basement]

𝗹𝗶𝗹' 𝘀𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗱𝘂𝗱𝗲 🧽

An ask meme with a bunch of lines from my favorite Spongebob episodes. This isn't meant to be too serious, I just really love spongebob and haven't seen an ask meme for it.

"I wumbo, you wumbo, he, she, wumbo."

"Wumbology! the study of wumbo!"

"AND THEN THERE'S A GIANT FIST!!"

"Remember, licking doorknobs is illegal on other planets."

"He was number one!"

"Well, it may be stupid, but it's also dumb."

"I know of a place where you never get harmed. A magical place with magical charms. Indoors! Indoors! Indoors!"

"Oh boy! Holographic meatloaf! My favorite!"

"And what's better than serving up smiles!?"

"Being dead, or anything else."

"See, no one says 'cool' anymore. That's such an old-person thing. Now we say 'coral', as in 'That nose job is so coral.'"

"Long, tan, *licks teeth* Handsome"

"Are they laughing at us? No, they are laughing next to us."

"Excuse me sir I hope my horrible ugliness doesn't distract you from the movie."

"I'm ugly and I'm proud!"

"Oh these aren't homemade. They were made in a factory.... a bomb factory."

"the boy made you a sweater of his own tears, and you kill him."

"goodbye everyone, I'll remember you all in therapy!"

"I order the food, you cook the food, the customer eats the food. We do that for forty years, and then we die."

"you're good, you're good, you're good, aaaaand stop."

"Don't worry captain we'll buff those scratches out."

"All those wrong notes you played made it sound more original."

"We're not cavemen! We have technology" *smashes the computer*

"Hey pal, you just blow in from stupid town?"

"You used me....for��LAND DEVELOPMENT! That wasnt very nice!"

“This isn’t your average every day darkness. This is....ADVANCED darkness”

“Assertive, not insertive, ya twit!”

*sticks finger in pocket* "beep beep"

"He's just standing there..... MENACINGLY!"

"don't you have to be stupid somewhere else?"

"What is today but yesterday's tomorrow?"

“I will dismantle this oppressive establishment BOARD BY BOARD!”

"Well maybe we would sound better if some people didn't play with BIG MEATY CLAWS"

"Oh good luck out there. I hope the audience brings lots of ibuprofen."

"You won't catch me when I shift into maximum overdrive!!"

"It's not just a boulder! It's a rock!"

"shut your mouth you mediocre clarinet player."

 “You don’t pay me. We don’t even exist! We’re just a clever visual metaphor used to personify the abstract concept of thought.”

"I only know fine dining and breathing."

"oh you mean like a weenie? MaY I TaKe YoUr hAt Sir?"

"the best time to wear a striped sweater is all the time."

"Can I be excused for the rest of my life?"

"You mean you've never heard the story of the... hash-slinging slasher?"

"The sash wringing... the trash thinging... mash flinging... the flash springing, bringing the the crash thinging the..."

"And then the walls will ooze green slime!? Oh wait they always do that."

"You know, if I were to die right now in some sort of fiery explosion due to the carelessness of a friend well, that would just be okay."

“C’mon you lazy Mary, start rubbing me with that chocolate!”

"East? I thought you said weast?"

“We’ve been smeckledorfed!”

"Whatever doesn't kill you, usually succeeds in the second attempt."

[itsmarsss]

Scandalous (Blitzø x Fem!Succubus!Reader x Stolas) [Helluva Boss] pt. 2 - How to Make Friends

How the mighty do fall. (Getting into a weird three-way situation with an imp and a succubus isn't exactly considered classy, Stolas)

Meet Blitzø.

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | 1st bonus | pt. 6 | pt. 7 | pt. 8 | pt. 9 | 2nd bonus | pt. 10

Word count: 2,415

Warnings: surprise surprise! the series is actually non-linear! Some hints of trauma regarding feeling used/objectified, a glimpse into a little more context, mentions of sex as usual, i told y’all i can be a fun writer

dividers by @cafekitsune <3

Things had been running rather smoothly at Ozzie’s before some idiot decided he could just come in.

Sneaked in, you assumed, since he didn’t seem to be accompanied, and, frankly, didn’t exactly look dressed for a fancy dinner night at Ozzie’s like other customers always were and he had the nerve to come up to you and ask for some minutes of Asmodeus’ time as if it were nothing. 

This wasn't the first time this has happened, of course- for some reason people seemed to think that speaking somewhat confidently about having an appointment would somehow distract you, the person whose job was to strictly keep track of Ozzie’s time, from… well, doing your job. 

At this point, he’d gotten past the whole ‘I have an appointment in five minutes´ thing and started trying to convince you that you had to let him talk to the Sin. 

“Uh. I don’t know what you want me to say, dude. You can’t just like… ask to see Asmodeus. It’s… kinda not how it works. At all.”

“Why not?”

You sighed. “Who are you supposed to be again?”

“I’m Blitz. The O is silent.” He offers his hand for you to shake, but you only raise an eyebrow, unamused. He retracts his hand. 

“Is that supposed to ring a bell or…?”

“Not to you maybe. But his little bitch boy knows who I am.”

“What?”

“I know Fizzarolli, okay?”

“Okay, and?”

“And? And I need to talk to the big Oz!”

“Yeah first off- you could just be bullshitting me. And second off… that doesn’t just automatically give you any priority in Ozzie’s very, very long list of important meetings.”

“Important meetings? What’s he doing right now, discussing dildo prices with some fuckface from Greed?” He raises an eyebrow in defiance.

You do your best to conceal the look on your face as you glanced at Ozzie’s schedule, which confirmed he was, in fact, discussing dildo prices with a manufacturer from Greed.

It wasn’t enough, though- the imp seems to realize it. “He is, isn’t he?” He grins.

“That’s confidential information.”

He leans over your desk, planting both his hands on top of it in front of you and getting his face closer to yours. “What’s a hot piece of ass like yours doing in a dump like this anyways?”

“This is… Ozzie’s, dude.” At this point, you don’t even have an excuse as to why you were even entertaining this guy (at least none that aren’t ‘things are slow right now and I’m really fucking bored’).

“Yeah, I’m usually at some shitty bar with cum and blood on the walls when I pull this one.”

You actually laugh. “I’m sure you are. Anything else I can help you with?”

“A… meeting with Asmodeus maybe?”

“Definitely not.”

“Eh, worth a try. How ‘bout a drink?”

“Are you offering to buy me a drink or asking me to buy you a drink?”

“Hey I’m up for whatever one you want,” he puts his hands up in surrender.

You roll your eyes, unable to contain a smile at the dumb conversation. At least he was entertaining you. You had to give it to him, he was a little funny. “You know what. Get yourself a drink, Blitz with the silent O. You probably need it.”

“Oh, really? Well if you in- hey wait what’s that supposed to mean?”

You just shrug. “Ya want the drink or not?”

He pauses. “Yes.”

You laugh again. “Just look for Maru by the bar and tell her you got a drink on me, she’ll make something for you.”

“Oh you’re not… you’re not gonna be… joining me?” He asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. He almost looked actually disappointed, just a little bit. Almost.

“Nope. The hot piece of ass is still at work.”

“Riiight. I’ll uh- I’ll be right there! At the bar. Drinking my drink.” He says, awkwardly walking backward.

“If you try to sneak into Ozzie’s dressing room I will find out.”

“And what would you potentially do if you found that out?”

“You don’t wanna-” Suddenly, Ozzie’s voice makes itself known in your earpiece, your voice dying off as you focus on what he says, saying the words that signaled things had gotten a bit heated during the meeting and you need to send in someone to escort the imp out of his office (something you had implemented after the third meeting in two months that had ended with him either slightly injuring or straight-up incinerating someone). “Yeah I wouldn’t recommend doing that, sir,” you tell him, quickly looking for and pressing the emergency buttons that signaled whoever was working security they were needed at Ozzie’s office. 

“Oh, sir, huh? I can work with sir.”

“Huh?” Realizing you hadn’t given the imp guy any sign you’d been talking to Ozzie, and not him, you feel your cheeks burn the slightest bit, getting caught off guard. “No, uh- earpiece.” You awkwardly point at your right ear.

Blitzø’s eyes widen, taken by surprise for a second before trying to keep his cool- and the little dignity he had. “Yeah I knew that. Just some good old teasing. Gosh you’re so uptight!”

“Okay, please get in before I change my mind.”

“Yup. Will do. I’m just gonna… stop by the bathroom real quick-”

“It’s the bar or out, man.”

“Fiiiine,” he exaggerates, dragging himself out of your sight.

“Y/n, you there?” Ozzie’s voice comes from the comm again, and you realize he’s probably been saying something already. 

“Shit, sorry. Someone was holding me up here. Did they get him out?”

“Yes. Do I have anyone scheduled right now?”

“Hold on, let me see,” you look at the screen, crossing out the meeting he’d just finished as done and finding the name written for the one under it. “Yeah, you have that meeting about the beach accident with those Inccubi in Pasadena.”

“What is a Pasadena?”

“Living world matter, sir,” you simplify for him. 

“Living world?”

“Yup.”

“When does he get here?”

“Eight minutes.”

[. . .]

“You sure you’re fine?”

“Yes! All of my meetings are done, performances are going fine and Aro owes me a lot of hours anyway. Now if you don’t mind, I have some alone time with my Froggie to attend.”

“Ugh, that nickname makes me sick.”

“I don’t pay you to judge me.”

“Yeah you pay me 'cause you loooove me. See you on Monday?”

“Yes!”

“If you need anything ‘till then-”

“I will let you know, y/n. Now, I granted you an early night, didn’t I? I expect you to enjoy yourself.”

“Fine, boss,” you teased him, making sure he saw you rolling your eyes.

You walked out of Oz’s office, inside of which you’d seen no sight of Fizzarolli, which was strange. You obviously wouldn’t pry, but wondered if the incident with his hearing aid that Ozzie had had to take a break for earlier had been more serious than what Ozzie made it sound. 

There was no use thinking about it too much, though. You and Asmodeus were close, but there were boundaries you still kept between you and respected. You were pretty much the only person Ozzie ever forwardly told about his relationship with Fizz (even though basically everyone else in all seven rings suspected it in some way) and he knew of many personal things of yours, too, but things such as Fizzarolli’s own personal life and the identity of any people you told him about in conversation usually went unmentioned. 

So, to the bar it was. When Ozzie told you he’d gotten someone to cover you for the last hours of the night so you could be free, the very first thing you’d thought to do had been to go straight home- but even thinking it to yourself made that sound depressing. In truth, Asmodeus was the closest thing you had to a real friend- the closest you’d had in a really long time. And although you did feel grateful to be free of work, it wasn't really much fun to think of the fact that, not being able to hang with Ozzie, you didn’t really have much to do. Or anyone to do anything with. 

So you decided maybe you’d have a drink or two, and enjoy the last performances of the night before bouncing. Couldn’t hurt, right?

To your surprise, when you sit down at a stool by the bar, ordering yourself a blackberry frozen margarita- in your opinion, the best drink on Ozzie’s drink menu- you’re startled to see the imp you’d talked to earlier that night sliding next to you, taking a seat on the stool right by your left. 

“Sooo. The hot piece of ass ain’t working anymore?”

“You’re still here?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

You shrug. “I dunno, I kind of imagined you would’ve managed to sneak into Ozzie’s dressing room and gotten yourself kicked out by now.” Of course, you were only taking the piss at him- you’d know if that would have happened. Obviously.

He furrows his eyebrows together. “Wait I actually could have sneaked into his dressing room if I tried?”

You laugh and decide to answer his first question instead of that one. “No, I’m not working anymore.”

“Does that mean I’m allowed to flirt with you now?”

“Oh, that thing you were doing wasn’t flirting?”

“Depends. Was it working?”

You drink the rest of your margarita in a single gulp instead of answering. “Hey, Maru? Would you get me another, please? You can put it under Blitz here.”

“Hey!”

“What? I thought you were trying to flirt. Buy me a drink!”

[. . .]

“So you’re the one who manages this whole thing?” Blitzø motions around to the restaurant, almost spilling the shot of tequila he was holding.

“Well not exactly,” you toy with the little umbrella from your third drink of the night. “I’m more focused on managing Ozzie’s business. I mean. The guy, not the place. You know, meetings to attend, places to go, personal errands, everything.”

“That’s… lame.”

“What do you do for a living then that’s just so fun?”

“Well, I used to be a circus clown.”

“What? Wait that is cool.”

“Only a little cool. I’m planning something big next. But uh. Right now I’m kind of doing anything I can find to support my daughter.”

“You have a daughter?”

“Yeah. Loona. The love of my life.”

“That’s cute.” You smile. Examining him with this in mind once again, you take he does sort of have a bit of a dad energy to him. It looks a little unconventional on him considering the… everything else, but it was there. “How old is she?”

“Nineteen.” He finally downs his shot, slamming the glass on the counter.

“Oh, wow.” 

He seems to notice all the processing you were doing in your mind to try to gather how old he was. 

“I adopted her like a year ago.”

“Oh. That’s cool. What’s she like?”

Conversation with him came to be strangely natural. A few drinks in, and, from an outside perspective, it would probably be hard to figure out the two of you had never seen each other before up until a few hours prior- cracking jokes and playfully flirting, sharing bits and pieces of your lives and drinking a little more than you should together. It was weirdly comfortable.

And, much to your surprise, Ozzie didn’t come up in conversation again. Not in the way you were certain he would eventually, anyway. After all, it all seemed too nice to not be a way to get you drunk and tell him something personal about Ozzie, or ask you again for a meeting with the Sin. Right?

By the end of the night, Blitzø tried a half-serious attempt at getting you to take him home with you (because apparently he rented a one-bedroom place, and gave up his bedroom to his daughter when she moved in with him, so he wouldn’t be able to take you home with him), to which you laughed, but stopped for a second to seriously consider.

You did find him attractive. His style was hot and his personality was fun. It was all certainly working for you.

You’re sure you could have a fun time with him if you did agree, and, honestly, atop of feeling like you deserved this, you kind of needed it. Nothing like a nice, meaningless one-night-stand with a barely-decent man to distract you from from being alone all weekend. Right? 

But for some reason, you stop yourself. Maybe not this time. Because, even though you weren’t sure if that was really you or just the alcohol talking, at that moment you found yourself thinking that maybe you could actually become friends with this guy. 

And though you weren't sure if he would want that, it would be nice to have a real friend other than Asmodeus, for a change. 

“Um, I gotta work really early tomorrow,” you lie, giving him an excuse. “But I could give you my number? You’re really funny and I had a lot of fun tonight. Even though you definitely crashed the place,” you joke. “I think we could be… good… friends? Maybe? I’d like that.”

“You… want to be friends? With me?”

Fine. That’s where this ended, wasn’t it? He realized he wouldn’t be fucking you and so the interest disappeared. That’s fine. You were prepared for that. “It's alright if not.”

“No, give me- give me your number. Yeah. Give me your number.” He fishes his phone out of his pocket and gave it to you.

Oh. “Okay.” He probably only said that in the hopes to fuck you in the future. 

Still, you grab the phone from him and type in your number and he immediately sends you a ‘hi’ and a smiley face so you can save his contact too.

“Just to be clear, like, we’re not gonna- like I really mean it, I wanna be friends.”

“Okay I got it the first time, you don’t gotta rub it on my face.”

Maybe he could be genuinely fine with just being your friend? 

“I don’t mind some flirting with my friends, though,” you comment, and he smiles. 

“Tell that to me when I’m sober, sweetheart.”

No harm in trying, right? And if sober you thought differently, you could always just block him. 

Why not? Maybe this is just how to make friends as an adult. 

“Okay but seriously where does the ‘O’ even go? Like how do I even save your contact?”

A/N: this wasn't even supposed to be out today but i got too excited so here it is. also im serious abt this being non-linear... there's shit mentioned here you'll only find out more about in like chapter 5 or so but i hope i wrote it in a way thats exciting enough to make it worth it! hope yall like it, share ur thoughts w me! luv yall <3

[once-i-stay-in-neverland]

Minsung fic recs Part 1: Pure Fluff (Smut-free and mostly Angst-free)

as I promised a few months ago, here's the first installment of minsung fic recs. These should be mostly or completely angst-free. Additional comments by me will be in brackets and italics [like this]

No Touching by Iknowyouknowleeknow | 3'405 words | Not Rated

“I bet you a whole month of convenience store runs that you can’t go a week without touching Minho.” Jisung scoffed, pushing his bangs off his forehead as he stared at Seungmin, “If you wanted to buy me food that bad, you could have just told me. No need for a stupid bet.” “Yeah, yeah,” Seungmin smirked. “Are we on or what?” “Oh, it’s on,” Jisung extended his hand to Seungmin and his friend grasped it, pumping it twice. “I can’t wait for a month of free ramen.” “You sure are cocky for someone who can’t seem to walk down the street without holding Minho’s hand.”

2. Debunked by luway | 2'049 words | General Audiences

Minho gets home late from practice, and doesn't seem to remember that they switched rooms around the day before. So maybe he accidentally ends up in the wrong bed, but Jisung isn't exactly complaining. aka dumb fluff inspired by the 9th s4e4

3. lyrics of an improvised love song by orphan_account | 28'408 words | Teen and Up Audiences

Minho is behind the counter, taking orders and misspelling names. Since it’s a university, the coffee shop is fairly full, with a constant background noise of people talking. Then, out of nowhere, the talking stops, and the thing happens, one of those moments where everybody just collectively decides to fall silent, but one unfortunate soul doesn’t get the memo. In specific, a guy with brown hair and a blue t-shirt sighs into the dead quiet, “Dammit, somebody date me.” There’s a second where the guy doesn’t realize anything is wrong, but then his expression freezes, and he shrinks down in his seat. Minho is amused, embarrassed on his behalf, all normal reactions. And then the impulse kicks in, the urge to pick the most idiotic and unconventional choice just because he can. “Okay,” Minho replies, and everybody in the room looks at him. “I will.” [It isn't fake, but it isn't real, either. Until suddenly, it is.]

4. even in a chocolate shop, you're the sweetest thing i've ever seen by natigail | 32'916 words | Teen and Up Audiences

Jisung was weak to hot guys, he would be the first one to admit it, but he was even weaker for hot guys who were also smart and kind and approved by his friends. Lee Minho walked through the door and Jisung didn't stand a chance. As if pining wasn't enough of a distraction, Jisung also feared that his little adored work family was coming apart. He wanted nothing more than to keep them together, and perhaps to get Minho to join as well.

[this one isn't completely angst-free afair, but mostly; and it has a meet-cute + found family, super adorable]

5. serendipitous by stellalunar | 8'446 words | Teen and Up Audiences

"Hi, how can I help you this evening?" Jisung's exchanging his practiced customer-service greeting almost robotically before his brain even catches up to what's going on.  The guy's wearing a long coat and his ears are cherry red from the cold, but he's kind of cute. Well, more than that, Jisung just has an inferiority complex and immediately doesn't like the fact that he's handsome.  "I'm going to pre-apologize for my blatantness," the customer leans forward slightly and tucks his hands in the pockets of his coat, "but could you write 'fuck you' on a cake?"

6. Cozy Gamer Boyfriend by AlphabetMinusQ | 14'938 words | General Audiences

Youtuber Jisung has been keeping a secret. Intentionally, but not maliciously – its just a lie of omission, to keep everything running smoothly. It wasn’t going to last forever though, and slowly his fans are piecing it together.

[this one is set during the 2024 olympics with athlete Minho; AlphabetMinusQ has such a wonderful writing style]

7. fist that helps you survive by orphan_account | 12'104 words | Teen and Up Audiences

“What do you think of gay adoption?” Jisung asks again, taking a mouthful of cereal. “I mean,” Minho furrows his brows, “I am gay, right? You do know that.” “Of course I know that. I wouldn’t move in with a hettie if it killed me,” Jisung grimaces at the mere concept. “But I mean, for us.” Minho closes his eyes and purses his lips, “come again?” aka Minho and Jisung adopt a Dracaena and then some.

8. growing pains by Asgeir | 33'333 words | Teen and Up Audiences

Minho has never hated himself more than he does in this moment, because the first thought that crosses his mind once his eyes land on the face in front of him is please, please be the roommate, please be the roommate. “Thanks a lot for letting us stay here,” the taller of the two says with a smile that’s courteous, yet still seems genuine. “I’m—” not the roommate, not the roommate, Minho pleads silently “—Seungmin. It’s nice to meet you. Seungmin. The roommate. Minho smiles anyway, gives him a quick, polite handshake, and then turns back to who can only be his cousin’s boyfriend. “That makes you Jisung, then?”

[Felix brings his boyfriend Seungmin and his roommate Jisung home for the holidays and Minho is convinced that Jisung is Felix' boyfriend, chaos ensues]

9. Bad Apple by velooscuro | 13'594 words | Teen and Up Audiences

Jisung has the power to resurrect things from the dead with just a touch—but if he touches them again, they'll be gone for good. Minho has the power to kill anything with just a touch—and he decides to view it as a gift, even if he thinks it might be a curse. Wherein Jisung wants to use his ability to bake delicious fruit tarts, Minho wants to use his ability for good, however twisted, and the Universe wants to force them together for the sake of balance.

[a dash of angst, a dash of fantasy, some morally gray minsung and a whole lot of fluff, I like this fic a lot]

10. heal with thyme by luckyday | 70'572 words | Teen and Up Audiences

Minho's used to silence. He's used to the way the villagers avoid his eyes when they visit him asking for help, the way they look at him with fear and distrust when they think he can't see. He's used to his world being the sprawling garden within the old ivy-covered iron fence and the familiar warmth of the cottage. He's used to it just being him, his cats, and the old journals. It isn't until a villager somehow wanders into the garden despite the enchantments that he's faced with how unbearably isolated he's become, or how hard it is to open up to someone after years of being alone— or how freeing it is to know someone understands him. - Or, the one where Minho is a lonely village witch and Jisung is a plucky village boy who's determined to befriend him.

[this deals with grief quite heavily, so even though it's very fluffy and there's not really angst, it's something to look out for if you're not in the right headspace for it]

more fic rec lists:

Minsung:

Part 2: Asexual Character

Part 3: Fake Dating

Part 4: "Straight" Character

Part 5: Friends with benefits to lovers

Part 6: Some more Masterpieces

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Fics to Make You Smile (2) Masterlist

part one

An Evening in the Phouse (ao3) - p4stmybedtime

Summary: Phil turned around to dry his hands on a tea towel and saw Dan gently swaying to the music when he got an idea.

"Wanna dance?" He asked and reached a hand out to the other man.

Dan chuckled shyly but took Phil's hand in

his own, “Now who’s the soppy one?” He asked.

“Shuddup, I hate you” Phil mumbled into Dan's neck as he felt Dan's other hand splay out on his back, holding him close as they stepped in time to the slow beat (and occasionally on one another’s toes).

Phil wracked his brain for a place he felt safer than in Dan's arms but came up with nothing.

Everyone's a feminist until there is a spider around (ao3) - skygremlin

Summary: Dan and Phil are wrapping up their North American leg of the Terrible Influence tour on the east coast, getting ready for a show in a basement dressing room backstage. Dan notices that Phil's acting really suspicious, trying to keep Dan distracted from whatever he's doing. As it turns out, there's pretty good reason why.

I need you to save me (ao3) - itsalwaysaphantime

Summary: Dan calles Phil from the bathroom in the middle of the night.

i’m electric, a romantic cliché (me and you were meant to be in love) (ao3) - nardfx

Summary: “i really don’t know if i can do this.”

“you can do this.”

“okay, but what happens when everyone’s eyes are on me and they all know all of my secrets?”

or

dan and phil go to prom

iPads and Tour Bunks (ao3) - dnpangels

Summary: Phil tries to watch Netflix on his huge iPad in his tour bunk, but it falls on his face and causes him pain. Dan is there to make fun of him but also to comfort him.

Basically, it's just pure tour bus fluff.

Knick-Knacks (ao3) - blissedoutphil

Summary: Dan wants to get rid of most of their knick-knacks, their forever home has to be minimalistic. Phil isn't helping Dan pack, he's too busy buying more knick-knacks.

life is but a dream (ao3) - redactednp

Summary: Dan and Phil go on a rowing date.

lie with me (sew your heart to my sleeve) (ao3) - trademarkblue

Summary: You make me feel safe, Phil. I've never felt like that before. Safe like this. Not for a long time, at least.

A ficlet about comfort and new love.

Love Languages (ao3) - dipnpip

Summary: 5 ficlets about how they express their love through each language.

One single thread of gold (tied me to you) (ao3) - Lesbianphan

Summary: Just a cute little fluffy one to celebrate the 15 years of Dan and Phil the best way I know how: through RPFing, of course!

pigeons (ao3) - SylvesterLester

Summary: Dan is wondering if it’s too late to admit he really doesn't care for pigeons all that much.

Or, it's 2017, and the two just moved to the new flat which has a balcony and a new hyper fixation for Phil.

Raise the Woof (ao3) - yiffandquiff

Summary: Dan started his own dog bakery after a trip through Pinterest gave him the idea of baking a cake for his family dog Colin. The bakery is a success and Dan loves the fact that he gets regular customers coming in all the time to order cupcakes. One customer, in particular, comes in every day and goes by the name of Phil. But Phil never brings a dog with him...

Why?

Phil is a werewolf and likes eating the cupcakes himself.

Right Where I Want To Be (ao3) - Misha_with_wings

Summary: Dan’s heart would still race in his chest, even after all this time. All Phil had to do was nuzzle into the crook of his neck and Dan was instantly melting beneath him

Dan wonders how it was even possible to still be so in love after all this time, but with the scent of apple shampoo at the tip of his nose and the feeling of a warm body in his arms he didn’t have to wonder anymore.

His heart already knew.

the hoodie bow incident (ao3) - antiadvil

Summary: they were kissing.

The Phat (ao3) - gaydreaming

Summary: When Dan and Phil find an abandoned cat on a late-night walk to Dominos, Dan insists that they aren't going to keep him. After all, they know nothing about taking care of a pet. Dan will have the self control to put his foot down when faced with both Phil's big eyes and the cat's, right? ...Right?

three of us (ao3) - SylvesterLester

Summary: Phil is ready to make the next step. Dan isn't so sure.

-

Set after Dan comes home from WAD.

two wolves (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: They're in the middle of a meeting, and Phil seems to be trying to tell him something. But what?

(or, Dan accidentally wears a certain novelty wolf t-shirt to an online meeting with their tour team.)

Up On Puppy Hill (ao3) - endoftape

Summary: Dan and Phil visit a local Puppy Cafe.

where affection calls (ao3) - ivylakes

Summary: “Well? Do you see me?”

“I do not.”

“Are you using the binoculars?”

Phil laughs. “Not yet.”

“You’re laughing,” Dan says. “I’m dying in the heat, waiting for you to use the binoculars that spawned in our home so you can see me from across London, and you’re laughing.”

Or, my take on Phil's anecdote from his "A New Era" video.

You've got a squeak-ret admirer (ao3) - skygremlin

Summary: When Phil's going to make himself breakfast, he finds a cute little Valentine's card on the kitchen counter. And then another, and another, and another...

[allfortzu]

the first draft of can we get closer (let's get closer) -- i couldn't bear not posting it, since it is completed :)

(expect similarities, though it's quite different!)

jihyo / tzuyu, 2k. suggestive (basically smut) // MEN DNI

tzuyu has never liked tattoos. 

she's never liked the idea of pain leaving a permanent mark, created by someone else, no less. 

perhaps if she were a little more artistic, had a little more in way of creative self-expression. perhaps then she would learn to fully appreciate them, like how chaeyoung did. 

she liked them on other people, though, enjoyed looking at all of chaeyoung's little works. 

but for now, tzuyu is content without any of her own. 

confidently so, she's always thought. 

yet here she is, eyes fixated on one park jihyo, suddenly intrigued.

jihyo was, by no means, a close friend. a mutual contact at best and one tzuyu has never really thought much past her profession.

but it's this exact thought that has tzuyu hooked, curiosity piqued. what does park jihyo's tattoos look like?

chaeyoung has fallen asleep on the couch by now, their planning session definitely lasting longer than expected, but jihyo hasn't left, and tzuyu is too distracted to want to leave. 

she's too distracted by jihyo. 

she can't stop looking at the edges of faded black beneath the sleeves of jihyo's tee, can’t stop catching glimpses of carefully lined maroon when jihyo's lifts her arms just so, stretching languidly from sketching too long. the hem of her crop rises slightly to reveal more ink, right around her ribcage. 

tzuyu tilts her head subconsciously, entranced. 

unfortunately for her, jihyo is perceptive – and bold. 

"checking me out?" she chuckles, throwing tzuyu a playful wink. sets her pen down, happy for an excuse to talk to this friend of chaeyoung she's always seen around, but never got the chance to know. it's casual, flirty. 

but tzuyu isn't so easily shaken. "yeah, just… curious." they've interacted enough for her to be honest, she thinks.

jihyo smiles, slightly amused, how tzuyu cuts to the chase so quickly. "see anything you like?" 

"okay, i'm not checking you out, just curious." 

"sorry, sorry," jihyo laughs, somehow enjoying tzuyu's deadpan way of banter. "pretty girls make me say stupid things."

she pushes herself off the ground and joins tzuyu, the leather couch sinking gently under her. "curious about what?" 

it's the most they've talked ever; the most she's heard tzuyu talk, so jihyo naturally wants to keep the conversation going, if only to hear tzuyu's voice more. 

"your…," tzuyu says, unexpectedly sheepish at the suddenly very real prospect of jihyo flirting. 

"um… your tattoos?" she words it as a question, just so it doesn't come off too imposing – also because she'd been snapped out of her thoughts and in that moment, wasn't thinking of anything but is she flirting?

jihyo doesn't seem to mind her uncertainty at all.

"oh, you saw?" she looks down at her exposed abdomen, before lifting her cropped tee just a little more, and tzuyu gets her first taste of what exactly she hasn't seen. 

"they're a bit hidden, but i promise i'm not a tattoo artist who hasn't experienced a tattoo before," jihyo says, like tzuyu was a potential customer expressing her worries. "don't worry." 

except that wasn't really what tzuyu was asking for, so she bites her tongue. 

but it's like jihyo reads her mind, or maybe tzuyu isn't very good at hiding her emotions, because she asks, "wanna see more?" 

"really?" tzuyu perks up, brows raising in anticipation. "do you have pictures?" 

"no, but i can show you now," jihyo offers, and tzuyu practically beams. 

if tzuyu had a tail, jihyo thinks it would definitely be wagging right now, because she nods so quickly that jihyo can't help but let the excitement rub off her. 

she thought tzuyu was shy at first, because they'd never talked much; then, a little stoic in the way she spoke – 

but now, tzuyu's just cute. 

jihyo lifts the hem of her tee, wisps of red and black revealed. tzuyu leans in, and she makes out a fragment of a flame, curving right below the underside of jihyo's chest. it's elegant in its form, less patchwork like chaeyoung’s and more cohesive. 

"i have these, another just halfway down my shoulder, and one more on my back," jihyo explains, eager to share. "it's a big one, but not too big." 

she takes off her shirt, and tzuyu jolts back in surprise, heart in her throat. 

"oh, you– " you don't have to, is what she means to say, but the moment she sees the tattoo on jihyo's back, she forgets.

it's a breathtaking tattoo, brushstroke-like details, similar to the ones on her ribcage. the red and blacks are a constant theme, and they flow down the dip of her spine, spreading over her shoulder blades and fading off in the edges. 

"did it hurt?" tzuyu asks, voice softer, like jihyo's delicately drawn tattoos simply warranted something more gentle. she reaches out to touch, a curious moth to a flame; traces her fingers over the lines. "it's beautiful." 

jihyo feels goosebumps rise in the wake of tzuyu's touch, but her chest swells with pride at tzuyu's comment. "it hurt, but it was worth it, so they cancel out, yeah?” she reasons. “are you thinking of getting one?" 

"definitely worth it," tzuyu agrees. she didn't know she had a preference for tattoos, but she thinks she might have one now. they looked incredibly good on others, namely jihyo. "but no, i don't like pain." 

"didn't think you were a scaredy cat," jihyo teases, grin sly. 

the jibe is enough to snap tzuyu out of her trance, and she folds her arms back into her chest with a huff. "not liking pain doesn't mean i'm scared of it," she scoffs. "i would just rather not experience it." 

jihyo laughs at tzuyu's silly workaround, a light chuckle leaving her lips that, if not for the fact they were the only ones talking, tzuyu would not have heard. 

"who says pain has to be bad?" jihyo muses, leaning into where tzuyu had leaned back. "won't know until you try, right?"

at this point, tzuyu isn't sure if jihyo's still joking or not. it's the same laid back expression, the one she had when she'd called tzuyu pretty, but the words here don't feel quite the same. 

"what do you mean?" tzuyu asks.

"you know, like how people talk about mixing pain with pleasure," jihyo says, taking tzuyu's hand in hers. 

"like how… if i do this – " she tugs hard, and tzuyu falls forward with a yelp. " –the suspense hurts," jihyo giggles. "but then there're also these butterflies in your tummy."

yeah, there're butterflies in her tummy, but she can't say they're from the pain of her hitched breaths – can't say they're not from jihyo's proximity. 

tzuyu is suddenly acutely aware that jihyo is topless, and the only reason she isn't all over jihyo is because she's holding herself up. 

"this is– this is different," tzuyu denies resolutely, but she sounds a little out of breath. "not the same as… a tattoo." 

"it's about the feeling, tzuyu," jihyo says, eyes fleeting down to tzuyu's lips, then back up. 

tzuyu's chest tightens, and she doesn't know if it's the butterflies, or whatever it is jihyo is making her feel. 

but isn't that how it always goes – flame burning moth the moment they touch. 

there's a beat. 

a short one, but a thousand thoughts run through tzuyu's mind in that fraction of a second. 

jihyo's eyes bore into hers, and all of tzuyu's thoughts condense into a single sentence –

she’s so pretty. 

tzuyu stops breathing.  

"can i kiss you?" 

it's jihyo who asks. 

she's quiet. 

can i kiss you?

there's the soft exhale of their breaths, anticipation palpable. a tiny spark. 

"you’re really pretty," tzuyu whispers. 

all the butterflies come back. 

the spark bursts like wildfire, the moment jihyo leans in to press her lips into hers. 

jihyo tastes warm, so warm it spreads down tzuyu's neck, into her chest, and she hates that they're in this position now, because she wants her hands on jihyo; wants to feel all that warmth in its entirety.

she doesn’t really know how they’ve gotten here, how they’ve moved so quickly, but doesn’t really care. 

the only place tzuyu can reach is jihyo's ribcage, so she does just that, thumbs pressing into ink, fingers curving into her sides. "i really like your tattoos," she murmurs in between kisses. 

"mhm," jihyo hums, searching for tzuyu's lips again. "i like you.”

she gives tzuyu another peck, and tzuyu can’t really reply, especially not with jihyo nipping. her teeth close gently with tzuyu’s lips in between, tugging until it hurts ever so slightly, enough to make tzuyu suck in a breath. 

“unnie– “ tzuyu mewls, tasting copper on her tongue and digging her fingers into jihyo’s sides. the sensation is odd, but jihyo kisses the pain away.

“that hurt,” tzuyu murmurs.

“that was the goal,” jihyo says, nosing the underside of tzuyu’s jaw before placing another kiss there. 

she sucks lightly, and tzuyu feels teeth again, probing. she notes jihyo’s penchant for biting, and is about to reprimand her again for the pain, but then jihyo sucks where she’s bitten, and all tzuyu can do is squirm and instinctively cant her head upward, the buzz that crawls down her neck suddenly addicting. 

jihyo pulls back then, licking her lips at the sight of the reddening mark under tzuyu’s jaw. “you look so pretty, all marked up.” 

tzuyu barely has a second to respond before jihyo dives in again, this time to the base of her neck, right at the edge of her collarbone. she does the same thing over – sucking, biting, licking – painful, but less so now that tzuyu has experienced it, and there’s such a pleasant hum that follows, making her stomach curl deliciously, choking back her whimpers. 

“unnie,” tzuyu breathes out, a silent request she can’t find the words for in her current state of mind. 

she wants jihyo to touch her properly, to sate that heat in her tummy, maybe mark her up there, and jihyo can see it in the way tzuyu has unconsciously started moving her hips against her thighs too, grinding with evident desperation. 

but she can also hear chaeyoung shuffling, the telltale shifting of someone on the verge of waking up, so jihyo licks at tzuyu’s collarbone a final time, and pulls back. 

“not now,” jihyo whispers, hands finding purchase on tzuyu’s waist to stop her from getting off completely on jihyo’s thigh. “chaeyoung."  

a short, high pitched sound escapes tzuyu’s throat, a meek whine that encapsulates all her frustration perfectly. it's like her entire vocabulary has dwindled down to nothing, and it's embarrassing the way she even thinks of begging. "unnie…" 

"you're so cute, tzuyu," jihyo muses. she bites at tzuyu's neck again, and the sting is warm and insistent. 

but tzuyu's also uncomfortably wet now, soaked through with nothing to satiate her. "i still… don't like pain," she huffs, just to annoy jihyo. 

"hey, i haven’t shown you what that really is yet,” jihyo teases. “give me an answer the next time i come over.”

the promise of next time makes tzuyu’s tummy flutter; those stupid butterflies jihyo keeps giving her.

she doesn’t entertain jihyo with a response, sitting up and untangling their legs. jihyo laughs, tzuyu’s tantrum terribly endearing, and she’s about to tease a little more before chaeyoung lets out an audible groan. 

tzuyu’s eyes widen, and jihyo quickly slips on her shirt. they hold their breath when chaeyoung starts rubbing the sleep out her eyes, groaning again. “this fucking couch… i’m moving to my bed.” 

she doesn’t even spare them a glance, trudging to her bedroom in muted thuds. 

tzuyu and jihyo exchange looks, before they start giggling uncontrollably.

“i think that’s my cue to leave,” jihyo laughs, trying to regain her composure. 

she leans in, puckering her lips, as if asking for a goodbye kiss. 

tzuyu taps her cheeks lightly. “next time.”

jihyo narrows her eyes. tzuyu smiles slyly. 

“fine,” jihyo pouts. “try not to dream about me.” 

with a flirtatious wink, she’s out the door. 

tzuyu lets it simmer for a bit, burning the memory of jihyo’s tattoos into her mind. red, black, and flowy. the ones on her ribs curve into her sides, another on her shoulders inching down to her collarbones. and then her back, following the dip of her spine, over her shoulder blades. 

a trail of red is scattered down tzuyu’s neck, jihyo’s marks etched into her skin. 

[icouldntcareless22]

The girlfriend wannabe (II)

Lee Minho x reader

Fake Dating trope. Strangers to lovers.

Words: 1.9k

Summary: When a young attractive man asks you to be his girlfriend...when you first meet him...in front of his parents...when you don't even know him...you say yes. Right?!

This is Part 2

AN: I have the next 2 chapters planned, they shouldn't take long. Hope you enjoy the second part!

"So let me get this straight..A young, incredibly beautiful man came to you, dressed in Armani, and proposed to you to became his girlfriend and you said no!"

You rolled your eyes at Lisa. She was always the one to rush in unfathomable situations and question herself later. You shifted, putting away the clean ceramic cups. "You are aware that I don't even, you know, KNOW him" You mused as you moved to now stack to-go papers on top of each other.

"You could always get to know him!" She raved, hands thrown above her head and expression playfully angry. "You have been alone for a while. It isn't bad to have a little fun" A cry of a customer for help distracted her from her speech. She threw you a look, that clearly stated that this isn't over and she went her way, face now adoring a pretty and professional smile.

You signed and shook your head at her antics. Thankfully you didn't gave a lot of costumers today, a steady flow of people came and went, leaving you undisturbed. The lofi playlist you honeyed in your time here was echoing around the small shop, putting you at ease and makingyour head gently bob to the beat. It was a hole in the wall the little shop you worked it, but you liked it better that way. It saved you energy from dealing with annoying costumers and plus, the owner was too nice to you. Besides making coffee was a relaxing activity to you, you would like to consider yourself a knowledgeable person to the fine art of coffee making. After all, you have been drinking and making it for years now.

The damned doorbell rung again making you shallow a sign. Without looking up you took your place behind the counter and recited your usual poem "Welcome. What can I-what the fuc..."

"Not now, sweetheart. Maybe later, if you are down"

He was here.

Hair sleeked back, the gel he used making it shine. He was donned in a casual outfit, it probably costed more than what you made in 3 days worth. His face was void of makeup this time, somehow softening his face. Duh, you thought, no one has such piercing eyes on his own. His makeup artist had done an incredible work, but this softer look suited him more.

It made him more human like.

Behind trailed a more petite form clad in a army green jacket and converse high tops. A flash of silver draw your attention to his pierced brow and shy grin.

Your gaze bounced back to your so supposed boyfriend, who by now had reached you and made himself right at home at the cashier. Your jaw tensed and you gripped tightly the wood in front of you. "How are you here? What are you doing here?!" You hissed, out of your mind mad.

Okay, he was in a tight spot the previous time and you chucked it up in a moment of stress. But this? Stalking you and getting your information? Showing up at your work like a creep? This was unacceptable!

He dared and cocked his head to the side almost in an innocence manner and whined. Fucking whined. "Aren't you happy to see me baby?"

You stared blanly at him for a moment or two, before he erupted in giggles. An ironic grin lit his face once they died down. Did he had that permanently stitched to his face or something? The sight only served to make you mader so you repeated. "What are you doing here?"

He paused a brief moment to regard you. Nostrils flared, eyes blasting fire and mouth set in a straight line. You must be a sight to be hold because he immediately stepped back and raised his hands in front of him in caution. "I only want to talk. I promise nothing weird."

"About?"

His hands lowered and that insufferable grin returned. "Why our relationship of course"

You felt heat travel to your face and your veins popping. "There is no relationship, you freak!" You snapped.

His friend was watching the pair of you waringly, no words were spoken. Maybe he was afraid to be involved in the cat fight, that was starting in front of him.

And the cherry on top was the arrival of Lisa. She twirled her way around to reach to you. When she reached, almost floated, towards the front desk, she stopped abruptly. Her eyes darted towards the pair of young men in front of you and then towards you and then at them again, before her eyes bulked and her mouth opened. "It's him, isn't he? Your new fake boyfriend?!" She squealed, clearly excited. She was lightly bouncing on her feet, her smile wide and friendly. "Hi! I'm Lisa!"

"Do you want him instead?" You muttered under your breath. How could she be this calm and well... delusional.

"How can you toss your boyfriend around like this?!" Turning to you with a determined gaze, she cocked her head silent at him. In response you narrowed your eyes at her, mouth pulling at the corners forming an grimace.

Would you really throw me to the wolves like that? Your eyes screamed at her.

Yeah! I would throw you to wolves like that every single damn day! She raised her brows at you, smirking.

"Well now that you are done with the eye thingy..Shall we, doll?" Minho interrupted your very obvious mental conversation. He cocked his head to the sitting area behind him.

"You do know I am, like, in the middle of work..I can't just leave-" you started to say, but was, once again, rudely interrupted.

"I will take over until you talk" Lisa cut in, lifting the counter to slide in next to you, lightly pushing you towards him.

You scoffed as you made your way to the area. You pointed your chin to the nearest table, silently becking him. You settled in the chair with a sour pout. You crossed your hands and watched him stretch with no care. He eventually settled, lounged was more like it, and opened his lips to sprout the biggest stupidity known to mankind.

"So about the girlfriend thing.."

There we go.

"Let me start by saying sorry. I know that all this is kind of ridiculous-"

"Kind of?" You pointed, lifting your brow.

He huffed amusingly. "I know it is ridiculous. But they have been nagging me for weeks now and well, I saw you and decided to strike." He finished, scratching his nape. He had lowered his head, stealing glances at you, not daring to look at you properly. At least he seemed sorry, you bemused.

"First of all, I don't appreciate you coming here like some stalker. This is unacceptable and kind of creepy." You stated, your heated gaze on him

His eyes softened and he briefly met your gaze. You saw the realization and regret on his features . "Sorry, I didn't think how it would came through. It wasn't my intention to scare you. I just need you" he spoke quietly, but with a sincerity you hadn't linked with him...well the 1 day you knew him, at least.

"Thank you for apologizing. And this brings me to the next thing, I don't understand why it has to be me.Tell them that we broke up and find yourself a real girlfriend." You anti-countered, amusement filling you by seeing the boy in front of you squirm.

He signed, hands messing up his hair and making it fluffier "You think I didn't try? I...I tried, but...I- things didn't go as planned. The more I think about it, the easier this seems"

"How so?" You asked, leaning forward on your elbows.

"I can call you when I need to be at a gala. Or to take a couple of pictures to show them. Something easy." He murmured, now playing with the packets of sugar on the table in front of him.

"As I told you, I am not looking for a relationship. Frankly, I don't have time for it, real or not" you amended, not really knowing why you were excusing yourself.

"No, no! I won't take a lot of your time. Besides I will compensate you!" He rushed to fill in, sitting up more in his seat so he can properly face you.

"Ohh do say. What's in for me?" You laughed, finding the conversation more and more ridiculous.

The question brought the smirk back full force. It screamed, I got it in the bag "I will make sure you get an interview with a big marketing company. Your choice. And a recommendation letter. I could say a position there, but you don't seem into the nepotism concept"

"You would be incorrect" you stated, shrugging. Once you get in is when the game starts, how you got there is irrelevant.But that was just your humble view.

"That's even better! You could be my nepo baby!" He giggled, eyes gleaming. With what, you weren't sure. Now that you 'uncovered' your greedy side, he seemed to have relaxed in his wooden chair once again. He was glancing around now, curious as a cat.

In turn, you scanned him, head to toe. He was an attractive gal. Sure, he was a little overconfident and whiny, but nothing over the top. You had certainly met worse and without the resources to back them up, you snickered to yourself. "What's the catch?" You wandered, tapping your chin in wonder.

"What do you mean?" He asked, examing you closely.

"I mean, I get an interview. If you are a people's person, then I get to go at galas. What's in it for you?"

"A peaceful mind. I don't like when my parents...nag" he, carefully,, said.

"You don't seem the kind of person that would paid any attention to his parents nagging" you mused, drumming your fingers to the tabletop. He smirked and shook his head

"You don't know me, sweetheart." He murmured.

"And this is precisely why I can't trust you!" You snickered, leaning back.

"Maybe this is your chance to. So..deal?" He pondered, extending a long hand. You stared at it, as if it would burn you. Did you really wanna do this?

"No impromptu calls. When I am at campus or at work, you can't just expect me to drop everything and come to you." You demanded. It was your way or the highway, you decided and damn a potential interview.

"Of course, baby" he complied easily. Attitude as aloof as ever.

"And no kissing. A little cuddling and a smooch on the cheek is all that I will allow"

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" He purred, his fingers dancing across the table to reach yours. You swatted his fingers away.

"I am positive" you deadpaned.

"Okay, but if you fold, can I consider it fair game?" He asked suggestive, bitting his lips and his eyes zeroing on your form.

"In your dreams, sweetheart" you popped every word, smile widening.

"Oh they will be good ones, I assure you. So deal?" He tried again, extending his hand.

Like the first time you looked at it, but unlike last time, you carefully placed your hand at his.

"Deal" you agreed. Chills took over your body as you spoke the words. "I already don't like this this" you muttered, making him smile at you.

The chair was screeching as he dragged himself away to stand. He looked at his clock, then at you. "The message at your phone is from my number. Save it. We will talk more about the gala via Sms. By the way, you look lovely today, baby. Like the batista of my dreams. Anyway, I have to go see you later" He saluted and turned to his friend that was still hanging by the cashier.

You were too stunned to speak.

Your mind running at full speed to comprehend what happened just now, along with the numerous information you received in less than a second. When your brain managed to get the get-go, he was already half way to the door. The only question you managed was "How did you get my number?!"

Upon hearing your incredulous shout, he turned his head your way, flashed you his hand, fingers moving all over the place and said "Magic"

His giggles were all that was left behind.

You were left seated and astonished, when you felt a presence behind you and a petite hand on your shoulder.

"I like him. You know I have a good eye for people" Lisa said, her eyes pinned to the odd pair of friends that were walking away from you.

"No, you don't " you scoffed.

"Honey, the one with bad eyesight is you, not me"

[http-mianhae]

05 ➛ matthew, the worst trainer in the world (0.8k)

previous | masterlist | next

you know he's nervous behind that fake smile but you do something nice called 'not acknowledging it'. it doesn't help the case at all because the boy, shortly after he introduced himself as 'matthew' continues to be a mess.

he zooms through the explanation of how each of the machines work and you thank god that you took a barista course so you could keep up reasonably well. you stood there, staring at him explaining everything blankly and then, something snapped in you at last when he went into a tangent about how they use biodegradable forks because it was better for the environment.

"i'm not going to bite your head off, okay?"

he purses his lips tight.

"that's quite literally what i told him―"

"mind your business, hao!" matthew interrupts, shooting the older a glare.

hao is quick to return the glare and he points towards the front, "customer."

matthew almost dashes to the register where a customer is approaching with a pondering look on their face.

"y/n, you should stand next to matthew and learn how to take an order." hao instructs you.

you're hesitant but follow through with the instructions, standing next to matthew who greets the customer with his fake smiles.

"w-welcome to sip & soothe, what can i get for you?"

you're shoulder-to-shoulder and you catch the sweat drip down his forehead.

do i make him that nervous?

the customer tells him their order but matthew is staring right ahead, a smile vaguely on his face.

he isn't doing anything.

just standing there and smiling.

oh, lord.

"yeah, no worries, we'll get that for you." you jump in with a smile, tapping the drink on the register. the customer whips out their card and with a few clicks, you're pointing at the card machine, "whenever you're ready."

matthew's still standing like a monument.

"that's it. matthew, go catch a break." hao comes in between the two of you.

"but, i―"

hao glares.

matthew doesn't argue back. he removes his apron, leaving from behind the register with a face so disappointed you felt a little bad.

do i have that much of an effect on him?

you try brushing it off as hao began explaining to you, the right, nicely-paced way of how to use all the machines and as much as you were listening, your mind was on matthew.

he's in the corner of your eyesight, facing away from you as if he doesn't want to see you.

it bothers you.

he must be having a hard time.

"i'm sorry, do you mind if i go talk to matthew really quickly?" you finally ask hao.

you don't really care about the impression this makes with hao.

hao, surprised, slowly nods, "sure...i think that's a good idea actually."

with that, you also remove your apron, putting it on top of where matthew's was.

walking towards him, you realise you're sort of an obstacle towards his job. it disheartens you, you don't want to be the type of person to distract him from his job.

the guy seems nice and you would love to be friends with him but if he lets this gets in the way, you're going to lose him and he's going to lose his job.

you had the natural responsibility to fix it.

"can i sit?" you ask him, pointing towards the chair.

he looks up from his phone, eyes widening at your presence―the very person he was running away from, "yes."

you're quiet for a second.

"how long have you liked me for?" you begin.

matthew doesn't look at you, "maybe four months."

you didn't know you could keep someone's interest for that long. you hiss audibly, "that's a long time."

he nods, cheeks flushing rose.

"the whole pickup line thing wasn't my idea by the way. so please don't associate me with that."

you laugh, finding it funny how defensive he was over something so small. he'd just confessed to you and now, he's speaking about some pineapple joke, "if it helps, i thought the pickup line thing was weird. i'm glad you told me that though."

and it's quiet again.

you say what you want to say.

"listen, matthew," you start, "you seem really nice and i'd like to get to know you better! but i can't really do that if you're so nervous all the time. again, if it helps, i'll take you having a crush on me as a compliment."

matthew nods again. he seems to be ending the war with himself, "okay."

"lets start over?" you ask.

he nods once more.

"want to show me how those machines work?"

"i thought hao-hyung already showed you."

"i want you to show me." you press on.

and for the first time, you see his real smile.

please comment or lmk in any way for the taglist!

TAGLIST ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ @tocupid

[minetteskvareninova]

So, as a Gentleman Jack fan that just the other day saw s2 ep4, I should probably say something about the whole Anne L cheating on Ann W thing with, as I like to call her, Torpedo Mariana (named after the trope Relationship Torpedo, a.k.a. in-universe anti). Because I've seen people claim that it was out-of-character, and I don't really agree, but I also can see where people are coming from.

Okay, so the thing about Gentleman Jack that I actually really love is that it requires very little mind-reading. Anne Lister's fourth wall breaking asides, while infrequent and a bit distracting, are actually pretty good in filling in the gaps when it comes to her thoughts and feelings, while other characters are surprisingly easy to read - either because they are relatively simple, or because they express their feelings openly at some point (well, as openly as the customs of biedermeier Britain allow them). And just to be clear, I DON'T LIKE MIND-READING. Ambiguity can be a useful tool for writers, but to be honest it's not very enjoyable for me as an audience member. One of the biggest flaws of House of the Dragon in my eyes is just how unclear it is with the characters' thoughts and motivations. I don't like that I have to outright speculate what Alicent is thinking at any given moment, only to learn all too frequently that actually, she was thinking something completely different, you silly goose. Spare me that nonsense.

My point is, unpacking Anne L's feelings towards both Ann W and Torpedo Mariana does actually require a fair bit of mind-reading. My interpretation is that her relationship with Torpedo Mariana after the latter's marriage is extremely volatile, even toxic, and by the time the show starts, she's quite sick of her. Her reasons for courting Ann W are quite complex - financial, certainly, but also genuine attraction that over time develops into infatuation, even love. But that of course doesn't mean her feelings towards Torpedo Mariana disappear completely, oh no! This trainwreck has not yet shown us its final explosion. So Torpedo Mariana is totally wrong when she claims Anne L doesn't love Ann W, but does kinda have point in thinking she might still have a chance with Anne L. It also has to be said that Anne L can be a bit of dick sometimes, mostly to people who deserve it, but not always. Like, for one example, Torpedo Mariana's actions in marrying Charles Lawton and not running away with Anne L were completely understandable, yet Anne L sees them as this utter betrayal and is mad at Torpedo Mariana for the rest of her life, even as she continues to meet up and sleep with her. The toxicity in their relationship really isn't a one-way street. So what happened here is that Torpedo Mariana continued to insist that Anne L doesn't love Ann W, because the other option, that the only light at the end of a tunnel that is her life has just been snuffed out by a cute rando, is simply too unbearable. Well, that, and she also can see Anne L still has feelings for her, not understanding that this doesn't invalidate Anne L's feelings towards Ann W. She seems to lowkey convince Anne L of this, and after Torpedo Mariana reminds her of the good old days and activates her protective instincts, Anne L succumbs to temptation. Not very romantic, but sadly realistic when you really think about it. It's basically the good old "slipup with an ex" plotline, a scenario so common it borders on cliche. So no, I don't see it as out-of-character, not by a long shot, but I can see how some people who didn't pick up on Anne L's flaws and her feelings towards Torpedo Mariana (as well as Torpedo Mariana's unreliable narrator status; guys, OF COURSE she claims Anne L doesn't love Ann W, and even the fact that Anne L doesn't deny it is explainable by things other than "Torpedo Mariana is right") might see it that way.

[crimson-catalyst]

wrote my july 2022 neph prompt, "meaningful belongings" featuring Darius and @synoicus' Kira!!!!! enjoy im very proud of this one!

~~~~~

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask you," one of the designers for this season's show wanders up to Darius' station, "where did you get your jacket? Is it custom? I love it."

"I-" Darius fights back the initial panic that surged when they gestured at his shoulders, trying to steady his voice to respond properly…

--

His phone rang, startling Darius from his reverie of staring blankly at whatever was on TV. Grasping blindly for his phone, he fumbled with the screen, eventually successfully swiping the ‘answer’ badge.

"H-"

"DUDE," Darius tipped the phone away from his ear as Kira's enthusiasm blew out the mic on her own.

"there's this TOTALLY SICK BAND THROWDOWN tonight at that club up on thirty-second!!!! Cold Brewing Storm and Zap Attack'll be there!!!! You're coming right??? Wanna ride together with me?? Toby said 'no' like a WEENIE cos he 'wants to get sleep tonight' or whatever."

"I…" Darius hesitated in the opening Kira finally afforded him. He'd have loved to. Of course he would've. But…

"I can't. sorry," he mumbled, pathetically. It felt bad. He could feel Kira's confusion in the silence.

"...that's the third time this week, dude." her voice was markedly softer, concern plain as day across the line, "You've been real down all of a sudden. Did something happen?"

"No."

Kira’s response was simply a contemplative pause, but of course that didn’t last for long.

"I'm coming over."

"Kira no yo-"

The call ended with a click and Darius snarled at the air as he lowered the phone from ear range. He furiously texted her instead: kira, dont. go to the show itll be great. kira. kira!!!! kira im fine!

She didn't deign to so much as leave him a read receipt. S'pose he should've known better; when Kira's mind was made up, there was little chance of stopping her. He sighed angrily, tugging at the unfamiliar t-shirt tight around his neck. He'd just have to stomach chatting with her long enough til she was satisfied and went home. At least she was easy to distract.

Ears flat back, annoyed with himself for even thinking this way about Kira, of all nephs, he shook himself to his feet and surveyed his immediate surroundings. It was pretty clear he’d had little energy to do much other than lay around on the couch feeling sorry for himself. He'd have to clean up at least a bit or she'd never believe his claims.

There was a knock on the door just as Darius put the last dry dish back in the cabinet. Flinging the towel across the back of a chair and slapping the trash shut - he'd have to take it out another time - he scampered to the door before Kira took his dallying as her cue to make more noise than the neighbors would appreciate.

He opened it just a crack, peering into the hall. "Kira I'm-"

"I BROUGHT SOUP," she barged the rest of the way past the door, past Darius, and into his apartment. "ITS GETTING COLD COME GET SOME!"

"Kira!" he helplessly trailed after her, the door falling lamely shut in her wake. "I'm okay this isn't necessary!"

"Nonsense," she yelled from the kitchen, her big, tinfoil-covered pot clanging onto the stovetop. "Where are your spoons?"

"In there -" he pointed reflexively before he realized he was enabling her, "but for real; you're gonna miss out on the show! You LOVE Zap Attack!"

"And Zap Attack," Kira muttered as she rustled around in his drawer, "PALES in comparison to how much I love my HOMIES!" she declared, brandishing a ladle. "So THERE."

Darius rolled his eyes, "please, I'm fine."

"I may love you but, full offense, you look like you rolled out of bed and right back into it a few days in a row, bud."

He grimaced. She wasn't wrong.

"And you're wearing a shirt. There's no way you're fine," she jabbed him playfully with the ladle. "ya nudist."

"It's! Comfy," he lied.

“Sure.” Kira rolled her eyes in return, turning back to the stove and tearing the foil off her soup to give it a stir. The little flames of the gas stove flickered tauntingly underneath the pot’s copper base and Darius felt queasy.

“You don’t have to tell me exactly what’s going on, man, but I know you; you’re stronger than this. You can own up to it when you’re having a rough time.” She drew the ladle back out of the pot, tipping her glasses to her forehead so they wouldn’t steam up as she sampled the soup. “Oh, good, it’s still toasty.”

Darius could practically feel his frustration building. “I’m an adult, Kira, I can handle it myself.”

“oh-HOH!” Kira whirled around and pointed at him again with the now-wet ladle, much to Darius’ chagrin. “So you ADMIT you’re feeling it!”

“I-” his cheeks burned and he grit his teeth, desperately trying to keep his boiling emotions in and incriminating himself in the same silence.

“Darius,” her voice soft again, Kira stepped down from the stove and closer to him. “I can’t help you if you aren’t willing to let me.”

"I"m FINE," he snapped, growling deep in his throat, but his mane prickled and crawled and he knew his game was up as a burst of flame crackled through his t-shirt.

Kira's ears flattened and she recoiled at the sudden heat. Upon opening her eyes again Darius had completely deflated, head in his hands beneath sagging shoulders and tail limp on the ground as fire leaped from his fur.

"Clearly," she remarked, insatiable need for snark getting the better of her.

"What happened?" she added more gently, "you can talk to me about it."

"I can't," Darius groaned, finally lifting his head and fixing her with a baleful stare through lidded eyes.

She poked him with the ladle, making a wet stain on the rags of his shirt. "Sure you can, this is a no-judgement zone."

He dragged his paws down his face. "No, Kira, its under NDA I actually can't."

"You got cursed on air-"

"mrmgmh NO I JUST--" Darius flailed wildly before freezing mid-gesture, and took a deep breath.

"I-" he looked around, strained, picking his words carefully "I… misused my magic."

"It wasn't during shooting and I don't think anyone knows it was me but I. It'll…" he growled in ‘legal bullshit’ frustration, "...it'll affect the season."

"Darius…"

"I KNOW. I know," he moaned, "I fucked up! It's a miracle I haven't been fired and it's only a matter of time before they find out. It's constant, Kira; the smoke, I- I had to take the batteries out of the alarm. And it smells like campfire in here, I'll never get it out-" he paused for breath, his thoughts finally gushing out in a panicked stream, and Kira padded around to sit beside him on the tile floor.

"And I'm-" the word caught in his throat, "I'm cursed. It's not like it'll go away; everyone - everyone - will know forever that I did it. That I-” his voice petered out into a whine, and he looked up at the badly-stuccoed ceiling, willing the tears he felt welling in his eyes to drain away.

Kira sighed. She knew he hailed from a conservative Nephfeist hometown, but this doom-and-gloom was so uncharacteristic for her normally overconfident friend that it was throwing her a bit off her groove.

“I know it must feel like it but it’s not gonna be the end of the world, dude.” she poked her own nubby sea-devil horns. “Mine’s a little different, but speaking from experience, I promise it won’t change you. Sure some assholes are gonna look at you funny but that’s their problem; and it’s their problem with spinx, not you, and they don’t deserve your time if they’re gonna be like that.”

“Gods,” he grimaced, “I can’t even stomach the idea of the looks I’ll get.”

“...and so you haven’t left your apartment all week?”

Darius glowered at her.

“I’d call you a weenie too but like… I get it, man. It’s not something you can overpower in your brain in just a day.” She patted his fluffy chest in lieu of his still-flaming shoulders. “I know you’ve got it in you but maybe let’s start simple today.”

Kira got to her feet and walked over to the chair she had draped her jacket across, the dishtowel underneath slipping down to the seat as she lifted it off.

“There’s no way this’ll fit you,” she remarked as she brought it back to the much larger Darius, “but if being seen is the problem-”

Darius winced as she threw it over the scraps of his unquestionably ruined t-shirt, waiting for the flames to blister through the leather - but instead to his relief felt them finally die back to smoke underneath. Kira bumped his chin up with a claw and drew the collar tight in front of him, letting the far-too-small sleeves hang limp over his sides.

“There,” she declared, triumphant. “Maybe it’s only a bandaid for now, but bandaids are the first step to healing: No smoke. No weird looks. No guilt.”

“Definitely some guilt,” Darius almost managed a smirk.

“Okay, fine, some guilt, but private guilt,” Kira’s eyes glittered happily hearing the smile in his voice again. “Baby steps.”

“...thanks, Kira,” Darius finally acquiesced, “sorry I couldn’t- didn’t say anything. It’s… a lot.”

A huge, goofy grin broke across Kira's face. “It’s okay, dude. That’s what friends are for, to force you into letting em care about you.” She put her arm around his back comfortingly, tugging again on the jacket collar with her other paw. “I’ll bring you a real one tomorrow, okay? But first: SOUP.”

--

Darius shook his head quickly to clear it, masking it as a part of conversation.

“Sorry, it was a gift from a friend,” he shrugs with his paws. “I’m not sure where she got it.”

“Drat,” the centicorn designer smiles good-naturedly despite their disappointment. “I’d have loved to see more of the line. Patterning tailored shoulders on spinx is a feat but that jacket looks great on you.”

“Well, thanks,” he smiles back unbidden, tugging on the lapels, and adds with a snicker, “It'd better, this one means a lot to me.”

[commgroundstone]

Think It Over

====== His store is unassuming. It isn't particularly cozy, it isn't utterly devoid of comforts. The front end, apart from the shelves, is set out in classical station style with some warm lighting and a beverage cooler.

"Today is good timing, honestly. I had no customers, so we shall have a spot of privacy." Fisher doesn't flash a smile. That would be somewhat crude. Instead there is a glimmering as he looks back, refined and slight.

COMPOSITION [Medium: Success] — We should ask him about the nose art. TOLERANCE — What. Why? COMPOSITION — It'll give us a light-hearted 'in'. We need to figure out what kind of image we've been painted as. LOGIC [Easy: Success] — She's got a good point. If people think we're a dangerous outlaw instead of a persecuted refugee, we're going to have a lot of trouble even walking out that front door.

"...Okay, I'm not going to turn down the shelter, but I'm gonna ask why. You, uh, said something about racy nose art?" Her heavy steps are muffled by the carpet as her head swivels around to take it all in. So distracted, Hall manages to stop herself only just short of running into the man by accident.

"Hmm. Well, partially. The stories are inconsistent..." He gestures with a hand.

'...wait, what's he-oh, shit.' After a moment, her transponder flickers to life.

"...Madam Hall. I have overheard or had read to me, you being anything from an imaginatively figured holostar to a military android of specialized war. Very common have been a wide range of ridiculous sounding weapons, and unfortunately detailed descriptions of explicit 'nose art' in the style of fighter jet pilots on your upper chest."

After a moment, he adds, "And none, look anything remotely like you, to my knowledge."

COMPOSITION [Challenging: Failure] — Bwuh? What the FUCK? LOGIC — If nothing else, the public shouldn't be looking for us then. As long as we don't mention our name, given how badly they've been informed we should look nothing like any of these. FINE-TUNED MACHINE — Pfft. Who needs a friggin massive rack and hips? If they can't appreciate what we're packing they're just losers. Go on, tell 'em. TOLERANCE — We are NOT saying that.

A few moments pass, and all Hall can muster up is an "...Uhuh."

Thankfully, the shopowner continues apace. "Now, while I am a for-profit business owner, I am still a proud man of the Union, and I shan't turn away someone seeking shelter. Moreover, there may be things you are interested on my shelves."

"Guns?"

"Mm. Some. But there are other things, like thermal cameras and camouflage gear. Perhaps even a patch kit or trauma injector, depending on your body's vital composition." He begins walking again, leading her into the shelves. The windows have been closed with security shutters.

"Almost all mechanical. Might try that out then. I... should still have a little hard-manna left."

ENCYCLOPEDIA — Yes, you do. Forearm storage blister, leftover from poker night a few months ago. TOLERANCE [Challenging: Success] — ...

There is a soft click, and the performer deftly flicks a little card made of polymer and integrated circuits into her hand.

"Very good. Would you like to browse alone or take the tour?"

LOGIC [Medium: Success] — Actually, a military C/C unit would be wonderful. We need something that can actually teach us to fight and take some of the workload.

"...Actually, can I ask if you have any military helper tools? Something like a comp/con, maybe? I could use the uh, crash course in fighting."

Fisher contemplates this for a brief moment, his glasses glimmering in the light. "Back row of shelves. Come with me please."

=== END P2/? ===

[forcefem-discussions]

Okay so been to antisocial lately lemme ramble out my thoughts on here to try and find some conclusion:

I've not been talking, with basically anyone? Been really inactive in all discords started zero things and been very "take it or leave" it with any steps other people have put towards me

Now the last week has simply been the first week of work startin back up, so that probably contributes to the extremity of all this

But it's been going on for longer I feel

And I really do love rambling

Reflecting on this aspect of myself got prompted since earlier today in my main social server (I haven't spoken in in like, a month...), someone I hold dear just pinged me "food for thought?" And I rambled as I do best!

And that was fun, and if we can get a conversation going I think I'd really enjoy that!

One of my biggest issues with discord servers as a whole is that I don't get pings in conversations I contributed to for bigger servers

I kinda wish I could make it give me a ping the next time someone sends a message or smt... I can try doing that by hand for now maybe? Or maybe even find a custom discord thing that does that!

Since this small issue has compounded to, what feels like a lot of guilt?

I start a conversation, say hi or something, see nobody respond, do smt else, and then I come back after an hour of getting distracted and realize someone who responded within 3 minutes didn't get a response back!

And I think a point to pull from that is I do feel a desire to be social (in a server environment) I just let the little hesitations get in the way of me... I'm very perfectionistic, and very worrysome in nature

Now about dms or one on one conversations, why don't I do those more

Or like at all...

I feel I do care to hear what people have been up to, and I enjoy sharing details about myself... A little? Honestly recently I haven't felt much joy in talking about work since it's so messy and I just want to segregate ot from enjoyment, not focus on it too much

But that's okay that can be communicated in those conversations

Further for deeper conversations, I had such a lovely lovely lovely chat about transgenderism and wolves and art a bit ago that I enjoyed so so much

I came out of it thinking "that was so nice, but I don't feel drive to do it more..." Which confused me at the time as well

Might be that it felt it took to long, or that it was "unproductive", or just because my sleep is bad?

Honestly maybe it was the middle one, I didn't really find the time to do the indepth writing or art I had wanted to do that day and ended it unsatisfied, I didnt regret the conversation in the slightest

Gosh this is odd

It does feel I'm antisocial by nature

But also I do love people? And I have like a minimum I'd need to reach to be satisfied

My social needs fulfilled!

And right now, I'm unsure if that is the xase

And there's another thing to be said about engaging in professional communities to further my art

Making friends with folks that draw good, program much better then I do, or design games or write or anything and everything

I've gotten pretty good at widgets in UE

Mainly because I sat next to someone really good at widgets, who loved explaining his findings! And I love to listen

I love to learn! It's something a lecturer once told me like it was this obvious thing, and it was both a massive revelation for me and a "oh wait isn't that the case for everyone?" Moment

I really enjoy learning, expanding my word view, attending lectures

Hearing the thoughts of those I respect

And I love giving presentations, going on rambles, feeling like the smartest person in the room for this one small thing

Im a bit of an attention whore despite my antisocial nature

Gosh...

I'm glad I typed this out, not sure what the take aways are...

I think I should just check up on the one server more and turn on pings whenever I say smt

Maybe

And in time I can try and find more "professional" servers for art or programming or design or writing to sink my teeth in too maybe

Though those are probably filled with... Non-queer,therian,awesomes folks so we'll need to see!

Love ya

Have a good day

[theprivatearchives]

19th August 2021

clip of Wilbur talking about/singing Dream's new song

I just.... Wilbur's high voice on this is so wonderful. and he says he's listened to the whole song heaps of times and likes it?! dude, I don't need you to tell me I should be hyped... it sounds awesome!

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Whenever I get down, comparing failing young adult me to young adult Karl and thinking "man, he's fine with buying cars and having people stay at his house and doing all these responsible things etc." I can always remember that he didn't know how to turn his microwave on. XD

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ngl, I'm secretly glad Sap burnt the butter because the amount of times I've done that is atrocious XD

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if you literally never use your oven, do you only ever eat takeaway or something? I've been living on my own and I eat and cook like a lazy young adult living on their own lol but that means I use the oven pretty often for things like pies and pasties and chips and so on.

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dude, walt is just built different lol

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"You guys are forgetting, I'm not a real adult... I have more YuGiOh cards here than stuff you can actually eat... I have bayblades and YuGiOh cards instead of milk and eggs. BUT, which one's more fun...?"

I need to compile my relatable gen z streamer quotes into one place and just update it from there...

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somebody help... why have I started liking sapnap more than karl at certain times and about certain things...? aaargh! XD It's just this cooking stream. This isn't a permanent thing. We'll see.

----

"Eww! There's blood on this thing! Actually though, there's like blood coming out... Yo, meat's disgusting.

There's like blood in this thing... We really eat this? Jeepers. I might be a vegetarian. Except for sushi."

This is Karl. This is also me.

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Hero Walt... please can it be a fanfic? LOL

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This might seem kinda random, but I think PUNZ would be an awesome customized numberplate.

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I think it's cute how Sap is genuinely trying to cook something okay and do it right.

----

Can't believe I'm still watching this cooking stream haha... how long is it???

----

Three men in a room... I would have expected /one/ of them to want meat properly cooked through... But nah, they're all down for some raw red meat. Pretty eww imo, lol.

----

Oh, fair enough about the microwave... I just realised it was some smart tech exhaust fan too.

----

How tf is Sapnap only 20

----

----

Just had a thought... So, we know how c!dream has been in prison and all... Well I think I would really like to see this: Quackity's torture and negative comments and all that actually get to Dream. Not just to the point of, "oh, I'll go along with what big Q says to save myself from the pain," which we've seen, but to the point where he takes on board the negativity and starts to agree with it to an extent. Like his mind aligns itself to believe the effing trash Quackity has been feeding it every day for how long? A very long time, anyway. And he starts to actually be broken, instead of remaining the narcissistic manipulator that his character normally is. Like, at first, in the prison, Dream was still that person. He was brash. He was selfish. He was all of that. But even just a month can set me in a totally different place mentally, let alone four or whatever. And repitition like that... It's bound to get to you eventually. Think about it... He's in a prison. A single cell. He's bored stupid. But that means he literally has too much time to think. And he can't die. And he doesn't get much outside input from anyone except Quackity who is abusive in almost every single way. I know personally, without distraction my thoughts can seriously screw me over and I'm not even in similar extremities as the situation c!dream is in. And I think I would like him to be broken and have to be fixed by his friends or at least someone else on the server. And going from one extreme position to the other side of the pendulum where Dream think of himself as /worse/ than he is, if they work through what he has actually done and what he is responsible for and not responsible for... They could potentially end up in the middle ground where Dream actually recognises his wrongdoings and doesn't try to defend them and doesn't even agree with them. I'm not advocating for extended periods, or any periods, of phsycological, emotional, and/or physical torture to bring a character around, of course, but let's make something positive come of this shitty situation perhaps?

----

Dream song premiere rn!

[manybcdthings]

Felix couldn't control the way his head tilted, leaning into the soft brush of Astra's lips against his jaw. Like a man starved of something he hadn't realized he needed until it was pressed against his skin again. He smirked so fucking wide that it had to look ridiculous. He could feel it, the dumb, dopey kind of grin that came from missing something so simple for so long that now, his body refused to let go of it. The way Astra fit against him, the teasing lilt in her voice, all of it settled into his bones like muscle memory. "You absolutely know this isn't a rant." Felix muttered, but his voice lacked any real conviction. A little too distracted, a little too caught up in the way she felt. "It's nowhere near one. But the fact that you said that is proof you're trying to trick me into one."

Astra was good at metaphors. Frustratingly good at them. They spilled from her like it was second nature, each one laced with just enough truth to make Felix pause. Sometimes, they made him roll his eyes, other times, they made him shut up and listen. The owl, though? That one stuck. He laughed before he even had time to process why. Of course Astra would see him as an owl, not the wise symbolism but the fact there was something else underneath it all. "Strange? Funny legs? Are you calling my trauma funny legs?" he twisted her words because he could already see the way her expression cemented itself, the telltale sign that she knew exactly what she was doing to him. He didn't let her sit in it for long, though, just enough to enjoy the flicker of mischief before he had her over his shoulder.

For a moment, he didn't even recognize the sound of his own laugh mingling with hers. It felt unused, something left behind somewhere along the way. "Okay, fine. Two can play that game." Felix declared, shifting his hold just enough to let her squirm as he pretended to swing her too close to the shelves. Until he realized, Astra made metaphors look a little easier than they were. A thoughtful noise escaped him, and he pretended to swing her the other way again just to buy himself some more time. "A snow leopard." he finally decided, and though she couldn't see it, his grin was triumphant. "Beautiful, elusive. But really, you're just on a rock staring up at the sky."

The bell above the door rang before he could even finish. Felix turned with Astra still slung over his shoulder, watching as the customer froze just inside the entrance, eyes darting over the scene like he had stumbled into something he wasn't meant to see. Felix didn't falter. Astra barely hesitated. She greeted the man like this was just another normal day. Felix, though? He knew he had a choice. Put her down, act like a functioning adult. Instead, he adjusted his hold and kept her draped over his shoulder as he carried her toward the shelves. "Yeah, they're really good candles," he nodded, keeping his expression perfectly neutral as he angled her closer to the display. "What kind of scent do you want?"

The man blinked. Opened his mouth. Shut it again. Felix was about a second away from breaking into laughter, fighting with his own smirk. "Grab him lavender. I bet he'll like that one." he said, bouncing Astra a little on his shoulder before he glanced back to the man. "We have twenty at home. She summons lavender gods, and honestly? I've never been so relaxed in my life."

Astra's grin stretches wide and the laugh that follows is something light, bubbling up before she can stop it. She knows Felix too well to expect anything less than that pointed, half exasperated look on his face, the one where he pretends to be unimpressed but his gaze is always laced with something fond. "Are you accusing me of trying to trick you into a rant, Felix?" Astra gasps, her grin wider still as her laughter sticks. "I would never." her voice dips into something faux innocent as she sits straighter, letting her lips brush against his jaw. "I don't need to, you spiral into them all by yourself." a pause, a grin against his skin. "This is sort of one already."

His deadpan humor doesn't help, nor does the warm sensation of his breath fanning against her temple. Astra can feel him smirking, and for a moment, her heart feels fuller than it has for a long time. "You laugh all the time." she quips, but her tone stays as light as she feels. "In fact, you giggle." Astra adds, peeling back just enough for her eyes to find his, an eyebrow raising in mock judgment.

She meets Felix's unimpressed stare with a grin of her own, laughing all over again, tilting her head back, her hands slipping up over his arms where they hold her. "You don't feel as if a whale could be your spirit animal? That's a shame. Maybe an owl? Wise, often seen as majestic...until you get close enough and see how strange their legs are under all those feathers." her grin is insufferable.

But then she feels it, the small shift, the slight squeeze at her waist that she knows too well. "Felix..." Astra starts, but it's too late. Her world flips. A startled noise escapes her, somewhere between a yelp and another laugh as she's hauled over his shoulder. Her hair spills loose, fingertips skimming against his back as she shifts, adjusting like this is just another moment in their lives. Which it is. And that, more than anything, is what makes her heart stretch full in her chest.

Not the teasing, not the playfulness, but the fact that after three years of glass separating them, of scheduled visits and goodbyes pressed into phone receivers this is something they can still have. Felix still knows her well enough to move her like second nature. Astra still trusts him enough to let him.

"I still think you're an owl with funny legs." she sighs, dramatically flopping and making no real effort to get free. And then the bell above the shop door rings, and Astra lifts her head, blinking as a customer steps inside. A man, somewhere in his forties, pausing mid step at the sight of her very unceremoniously thrown over Felix's shoulder. There's a beat of silence and Astra considers her options. "Hello." she greets, her smile widening by the second. "Welcome to The Still Point. We have half priced candles this week. They're very relaxing."