#bc the latter is usually a lot harder for me.... but i will catch up before this week ends

[oooocleo]

feels nice to be on track w these gjghj

patreon

[writesowhatnext]

game, set, match // oliver wood

Summary: Slytherin!reader is a complete flirt. Oliver Wood hates it; he promises. He’s sure.

Request: heyyyy! how about oliver wood with a very flirty slytherin!reader, where she's the seeker in the slytherin team? thanks!

A/N: I loved this request oml but also Y/L/N is your last name bc quidditch... sorry this took me so long to write bc this is like my dream request so I don’t know why I struggled so much but I really hope you like it

Reader: female, Slytherin

Warnings: flirting, innuendo, suggestive themes, making out

“We’re gonna train earlier, harder and longer,” Oliver said, completely unaware of the eye rolls of his teammates. He’d never been too good at noticing things like that, especially when his mind was so preoccupied with quidditch plays and quidditch teams and how he could get out of Potions faster to practice for quidditch.

You were quite observant, though, and even from across the courtyard, the Gryffindor captain caught your eye. Everyone had always said he was an excellent captain – obsessed, mind you, but brilliant all the same - but no one warned you about how handsome he’d be. You watched with poorly disguised intrigue as his face soured when he spotted Marcus Flint approach, a gaggle of green-cloaked students trailing behind him across the stone slabs.

“What?” Oliver huffed, scowling. “I don’t believe it.”

You couldn’t help but smile as his frowned deepened. You and Oliver Wood did not know each other: you weren’t in the same circles and you didn’t often stoop low enough to associate with Gryffindors, but his cute pout and angry brows made you rethink that rule of yours.

“Where do you think you’re going, Flint?”

Flint grinned; either he didn’t sense Oliver’s anger, or he didn’t care. Your money was well placed on the latter.

“Quidditch practice.”

Both teams edged closer to each other, each captains’ dull irritation turning the air stale. You regarded the tension with a rather amused grin.

“I booked the pitch for Gryffindor today.”

“Easy, Wood,” Flint said, his tone mocking. Oliver ground his teeth together. “I’ve got a note.”

Oliver snatched the scroll from his hands, peeling it open. His eyes scanned the words quickly, Fred looming over his shoulder to get a better look. You listened with equal parts smugness and intrigue as he read it out, his accent like music to your ears.

“I, Professor Severus Snape,” he said, his annoyance growing by the second. “Hereby give the Slytherin team permission to practice today owing to the need to train their new seeker.”

His eyes darted to Flint’s.

“You’ve got a new seeker,” he said dryly. “Who?”

The sea of green cloaks parted and you stepped out, your head tilted to the side slightly as you smiled at him.

“Hi,” you said lightly, wiggling the fingers of your free hand at him, the other clutched loosely around your broom.

You smirked as Oliver’s brows drew down, his team simultaneously sizing you up behind him. He recognised your face from Charms, or perhaps Defence Against the Dark Arts, he wasn’t sure. He tended to avoid Slytherins and looking at your teasing expression, he realised why.

“You’re the new seeker?” he asked, unable and unwilling to hide the incredulity of his tone. His eyes trailed over your face critically.

“Yes,” you said lazily, more amused than insulted. “Seems I’ve got a knack for it.”

“Right.”

“If I was more sensitive, I’d be offended, Wood,” you said slowly, wetting your lips. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

As you followed Flint towards the quidditch pitch, a renewed sense of excitement flooded through you. Sure, being on the quidditch team would be fun anyway, but now you had Oliver Wood to play with and so, the world seemed just that much brighter. You were more than pleased when you glanced back to see the whole Gryffindor team watching after you. With a wink and a wave, you disappeared down the hallway towards the pitch, grinning at the frown pulling at Wood’s brows.

“Blimey,” Fred said as they returned back to the common room, tails between their legs. “That new seeker’s definitely got the hots for you, Wood.”

“Did you see that wink?” George snorted. “She’s got balls, I’ll give her that.”

“What?” Oliver said shortly, stopping just before the Fat Lady’s portrait. He told himself that he was irritated about not being able to practice, but he couldn’t ignore the strange frustration he felt at hearing Fred and George speak about you as if they were impressed.

“Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t notice,” George said, rolling his eyes as he dipped through the portrait hole.

“She was eyeing you up the whole time.”

“What are you two on about?”

Fred and George shared a look as Wood retreated to his dorm, his thoughts plagued by your silly little wave and cocky little grin, his cheeks pink.

He found himself noticing you everywhere after that; a strange turn of events for him given his usual inobservance. At first, it was in Potions, listening to you laugh across the classroom, and then after that, he caught your eye in the Great Hall and yet again, you shot him a wink that had him frowning. He even met you waiting for the same staircase.

“Morning, Wood,” you said with that same teasing smile. He pursed his lips together, exhaling sharply out of his nose.

“Morning,” he said reluctantly, shuffling from one foot to the other. You stood there in silence for a moment, shoulder to shoulder as the staircase swung around.

“Are you a snitch?” you said conversationally, biting your cheek. You turned to face him, watching his expression contort in confusion.

“Am I a-“

“Because you’re quite the catch.”

He watched you walk leisurely up the stairs with his mouth open and his brows knitted together. Were you hitting on him? He swallowed, clearing his throat as a first-year thundered past him to reach the stairs before they moved again. He followed them up, feeling somewhat of a first-year again himself, before he huffed and annoyance ran through him at your audacity. Who exactly did you think you were?

He got his answer next time he saw you on the quidditch pitch. You were flirting, apparently. Gryffindor vs Slytherin games were always a struggle; it was hard to beat a good team as it was, but beating a good team that also cheated felt next to impossible. It didn’t help at all that you were so distracting as you hovered near him by the goalposts, watching for the snitch.

“You’re looking rather dashing today, Wood,” you said, balancing your elbows on the broom to rest your chin against your hand.

He rolled his eyes at your words, blushing slightly as he eyed your laidback position.

“And I know a fantastic way to make it up to you when you lose,” you said, amusement ringing through your tone.

“Don’t you have a job to do, Y/L/N?” he asked, feigning irritation. You grinned, pleasantly surprised that he even knew your name.

“I do, actually,” you replied softly. “I’m a hell of a seeker, you know. And I think you might be the one I’m looking for.”

His head shot up, his shocked eyes meeting your ever-present smirk.

“What exactly are you trying-“ he began, desperately trying to hide the way your words rattled him.

“Sorry, Wood, gotta run. Apparently, I have a job to do. I’ll definitely catch you later.”

You shot after the snitch towards the Ravenclaw stand, leaving Wood thoroughly confused in your wake, a strange stirring in his chest.

Gryffindor lost that game.

Everyone could tell that Wood was more irritated than usual at the loss, but nobody knew that it was because you were right and that he hated that you were right. It irked him that you were a hell of a seeker. It irked him that you were so cocky. It irked him that you flirted with him so brazenly. More than anything, it irked him that he found himself undeniably and unfortunately attracted to you.

His team could guess, though, the link between your flirty remarks and Oliver’s recently extra-aggravated mood. The twins specifically were fans of seeing Wood so flustered, and because of a girl no less. What they weren’t particular fans of was losing and Wood’s distracted state seemed to be the main contributor to Gryffindors recent streak.

“Okay, Wood,” Fred said, sitting on one side of him as George sat on the other. Never a good sign, Oliver thought.

“We need to talk.”

The Transfiguration class was filling up; they wouldn’t have long to talk some sense into their captain before McGonagall arrived.

“About?”

“The Slytherin.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows, busying himself with shuffling his parchment and trying not to let his feelings leak onto his face.

“Which Slytherin?” he replied, his words deliberate.

“You hear that George?” Fred snorted. “Which Slytherin, he says.”

“Oh, just the Slytherin that you’ve been flirting with for the past three weeks.”

“That Slytherin.”

“I’m sure you remember her.”

“She’s the one flirting with me!” Wood snapped loudly, defensively, drawing the attention of some Ravenclaws from the row next to him.

“So, you do know who we’re on about,” George said smugly, tilting his head to the side.

“Very well, it appears,” Fred nodded, smirking.

Oliver rolled his eyes and groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“What of it?” he said, his voice strained.

“You need to talk to her,” George said.

“Or tell her to stop,” Fred continued.

“Anything so we can start winning again.”

“You could hex her…”

“Or snog her…”

“Maybe you could just shag her in the broom-“

“Alright, alright,” Oliver said, his eyes narrowed as he scowled, unable to keep his cheeks from blushing. “You’ve made your point.”

“Excellent,” they said with matching grins as they walked over to their seats across the room, pushing each other on the way.

Even though Transfiguration was already ruined for the day, Wood was pleased that that particular conversation was over with. He didn’t think there was anyone he wanted to talk about you less with than the twins with their ruthless taunting. There was no way he’d be able to keep his thoughts from straying to you during class, but at least with Professor McGonagall teaching, his daydreaming would be kept to a minimum. The last thing he needed was the wrath of McGonagall; his recent performance in Quidditch was not helping him stay in her good books as it was. She hadn’t arrived yet, though, and so he let himself wallow a little bit, his head falling pitifully into his hands.

The first poke he felt at his shoulder he ignored, writing it off as an accident. The second had him sitting up straighter. The third time, he tutted, swearing quietly under his breath before he whipped around to see you, of all people, sat behind him. His eyes went wide at the sight of you and all of his frustration frustratingly melted into a puddle of nerves.

“Yes?” he asked, trying not to show it under your steady gaze. “Can I help you?”

“Well,” you said, your smile immediately filling him with regret at his word choice. “There’s a lot of ways you can help me…”

You trailed off as his expression turned guarded and your lips twitched. You leant forward onto your elbows, pleased when he didn’t recoil at the close proximity of your faces.

“I just wanted to say hi, though, for now.”

Oliver frowned; his suspicion obvious.

“…Hello, then,” he said hesitantly, his sweet little scowl making its way back onto his face. Surely you had to have some sort of remark planned, ready to fluster him once again.

“You seem rather stressed today.”

Oliver paused again before responding, not sure how to process your first proper conversation. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to share his current woes with you, especially given you were the cause, but your eyes seemed sincere for once and that incessant smirk seemed a little less hostile this close.

“I’m not everyone’s favourite person at the minute.”

“Ah,” you said, nodding knowingly. “Because of quidditch.”

He hadn’t expected you to be so blunt, but he was pleasantly surprised by it.

“Seems I’m a bit distracted.” He said, shocked by his own boldness.

His words hung in the air between you for a moment and he watched with wary interest as a smile lifted at your cheeks. He was struck, really, that he’d never seen you smile properly before. You had an excellent smirk and you portrayed vague amusement like an expert, but the way your eyes were crinkling had him doing the same. Your flirty remarks died on your tongue at the way he grinned at you, and you found yourself feeling more and more like a silly little school girl by the second. Flirting with him had started out as a bit of fun, especially when you caught his irritated glances and flushed expression, but by the way your stomach had turned into butterfly house, it was suddenly something else entirely, something actually quite nerve-wracking.

“I can give you a tip if you like,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “An old wives’ tale about brooms. Might help you with your quidditch playing.”

He pursed his lips, enjoying talking to you more than he’d have liked. He doubted, looking at your face, that what you were about to say would help him, but he didn’t really care.

“Go on, then.”

Your smirk returned, but you were more nervous to deliver your line than you ever had been, hopefully, he didn’t notice.

“Don’t you think broomsticks have it bad?”

He frowned.

“They have to carry someone around all day, constantly destroyed by bludgers-“

“Is this going somewhere?” Oliver asked almost playfully, his brow raised. You shushed him, pushing his shoulder gently in scolding, an oddly informal gesture for the two of you.

“So, what they say is: save a broom, you know; just ride a quidditch play-“

“Ms Y/L/N.”

Your blood ran cold as Oliver turned around, Professor McGonagall somehow appearing right in front of him.

“Perhaps it would be a good idea to save your quidditch tips for outside the classroom, hm?”

Oliver realised with a healthy amount of surprise that, for the first time since meeting you, you were nervous, embarrassed even. Despite the scolding from McGonagall and the fact that this would land him even further away from her good graces, he couldn’t help but smile at your softness.

“Of course, Professor,” you replied, your voice uncharacteristically small. He bit his lip as he faced the front, struggling to contain his grin and struggling to ignore the funny feeling in his chest at seeing a different side of you.

Oliver was more stunned than anybody at how much he enjoyed your company. What surprised him the most, though, was how much he needed to see you again. How much your face plagued his thoughts.

“Oi, Y/N!” he yelled across the quidditch pitch, jogging over to you. He didn’t have a plan, per se, as you turned around and grinned, watching him stride towards you in his school robes. The closer he got to you and your teammates, all dressed in dark green, the more flustered he felt and he cursed you for a second for being so attractive in the sunlight.

“You alright, Wood?” you asked, folding your arms over one another and wetting your lips.

“Good, yes, yeah, you?” he said, slightly breathless from his run. You pursed your lips to contain your laughter at his flushed face.

“I’m fine,” you said, tilting your head to the side quizzically, an unspoken question.

“Can I- uh- borrow you?” he said, swallowing the tightness in his throat. “Alone.”

You turned to Flint with a raised eyebrow, your jaw clenched to suppress your smile.

“Only be a few minutes,” Oliver said, trying to appeal to Flint’s non-existent better nature.

“Please?” you said, beaming when Flint rolled his eyes, nodding reluctantly.

“What’s up, then, Wood?” you said, walking away from your teammates, your shoulders almost touching.

“Uh,” he said. What was up? What was he doing? Why didn’t he have a plan?

Looking at your amused expression and bright eyes, he floundered, not at all sure of what he was doing. He let out an uneasy chuckle when you waved your hands in front of his face.

“You seem… distracted,” you said, echoing his words from before, quietly pleased when he smiled.

“I am, actually,” he said, nodding with newfound confidence. “You’re very distracting.”

He hummed.

“All this flirting is awful for my quidditch performance, you see. Just can’t stop thinking about you.”

You paused, pulling your top lip between your teeth.

“Is that right?” you said, feeling your cheeks heat up as you raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, it is,” he said, stepping closer to you, his hands hovering just over your hips. “I suppose there’s only one thing to do about it.”

“Oh?” you said, swallowing apprehensively as he leant towards you. He smirked.

“You’re looking a bit nervous there, Y/N.”

“Me? Never, I-“

Before you could finish your unconvincing protest, you were interrupted by his lips on yours. Your stomach flipped at the feeling, but only a second passed before he pulled away.

His expression was panicked as he looked at you, your faces so close you felt his breath on your face.

“Oh,” you said softly, reaching your hands up to play with the lapels of his robes. “I always knew you were a keeper.”

He scoffed, throwing his head back and barking a laugh.

“Shut up,” he said, tilting his head to kiss you again, this time properly.

harry potter tag list:

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[hoseoksactualass]

can u do a imagine w yoongi where he just got off of stage and you really wanna suck him off but he doesn’t want you too bc he is sweaty as hell down there but ur like idc and he finally gives in and you get to suck him?? 💕💗💕

Hi b~ i srsly don't know wtf i just wrote for you, but i hope it's at least smthn along the lines of giving yoongi good head while he’s sweaty, spent, and hard

You could smell fatigue, disgustingly enough.

"You'll catch a cold," you say. The sound of Yoongi's post-concert panting was louder than the lounge's AC.

"You sound like my mom."

"At least change your shirt."

"Come here, will you?," he slumps down the couch. It had a gaping hole on the foam. Backstage wasn't pretty. But at least you had a lifetime's worth of passes.

His thighs shift apart slightly, begging you to make them your seat. You smile.

"Your skin burns," you comment when you rest your hands on his shoulders. The cloth was damp, and the heat was rushing out of it as the AC grumbled.

"It's getting to me," he took your hand and pressed it to his lips. All the rhymes a while ago kissed onto your knuckles. You felt his exhaustion.

"The cold?"

"Yeah... and you."

"I'm getting to you?"

"Always," he smirks, his hands finding your waist, slowly stopping at your hips. You couldn't tell whether he was doing it teasingly or just because he was fucked out. It was usually the latter. "Let's get to the hotel. Quick."

"Wait," you utter. Your eyes lock with his. He's waiting. It's hard not to kiss him. "I wanna take care of you. Now."

He scoffs. It would have been offensive if you hadn't felt his bulge under your crotch.

"What, with all 6 of them plus backstage crew outside? We have 5 minutes tops," he raises a brow, his lips pushing out. He knew how to make you feel stupid.

"You always last shorter than that," but maybe you did a better job at that. You tilted your head at him, hands already finding their way to his belt.

"Do not," he remarked. His eyes ogled at how you were undoing his pants to how your face looked when focused.

"You do. I can feel how hard you are." He groaned, throwing his head back. He grabbed your wrist, making your head perk up.

Staring at the ceiling. "I'm sweaty and disgusting," he sighed. “You shouldn’t.”

"Do you want me to stop?"

"..."

"Hm?"

"N-No..."

"Then shut up. You're good at that."

How bratty you were being made him want to yank at your hair and fuck himself into your mouth. You pulled all his undergarments down, making him hit cold air.

You wrap your hand around the base, your mouth meeting the veiny skin of his shaft. He stays silent, but his chest falls harder. You want to make him make a sound. You want to make it hard for him not to.

The tip of your tongue kitten-licked where his shaft met the head, the ring your hand formed slowly pumping.

"Five minutes, baby," he warned, his voice strained, breathy.

"Mhm," you respond, enclosing your lips around the head. Red. Your tongue pressed flat.

"Oh, yeah," he craned his neck so he could look at you from where his head was resting.

"Oh, fuck - yeah - ," he groaned, his eyes shutting when you make his tip hit the back of your throat. Can't take your eyes off him. The hot air around his inner thighs engulfed you. He reeked of fuck material, stronger than how the lounge had a stench of old mall and mannequins.

"Fuck, I missed your mouth - ," he rolled his head back. You wanted to pull his shirt up, watch his chest flush red. You hollow your cheeks when you suck him. And you suck him. Hard.

"Fuuucking hell - You're - such a slut - god - ," he panted, his stubby hands gripping the edges of the foam. It had an ugly color. Your face had an ugly color. Like his arousal was bruising you. It had taken a lot of his tenacity to perk his head up and watch you suck him off. It was almost pornographic. His hand found the back of your head, softly grabbing a fist of your hair.

"Shit - do you - are you enjoying this?," he smirked, his lips parted slightly. You nod, the swift bobbing of your head only making him turn into putty under you.

"Fuck - you're so filthy - ," he almost chuckled. But it was hard to when your prime goal was to make him cum loads, and it was working, because you knew he liked it when you jerked him off at the same time. He looked at you again. You whimpered.

"Oh? You like it when I call you names?," he cocked a brow again, his breathing shallow now. You nod again. You wanted to fucking sob. He was so hot like this, all tired and messy and half-nude, but from the bottom.

"Mff - shit - you're so good - ," he threw his head back. His breaths came out in short-lived pants. You knew it was overtaking him. You keep sucking and pumping, and his whole dick is smeared in your saliva and his pathetic pre-cum; you could see how hard he was trying not to buck his hips, and as the seconds drew nearer - "Fuck - there - such a fucking cockslut - ," you went harder, because you can't get enough, and you can't ever get enough of him using you to cum -

"Baby - fuck - I'm gonna - ah - ," he tenses up, his grip on your hair shamelessly painful.

"Cum in me," you quickly remark, before pumping him in a cruel pace. You don't hear him moan like this a lot.

"Nggh - holy shhhiit - I - ," his chest looked brutal. He looked sweatier than before. You could taste how close he was when you wrap your lips around him one last time, and you watch how a growl whips out of his throat when you could finally taste him. He's a mess, his cheeks are pink, and his eyes are fluttering.

"Fuck," he breathes out, the heat of the air rapidly rushing back down his windpipe when he's gasping for air. You spit his cum into a bunch of wipes and toss into a bin full of Jungkook's runny nose tissues. Perfect.

You lift your wrist, looking at your watch.

"5 minutes," you smirk.

"You're a brat."

"Thank you."

[neoangelic]

Don’t Need Your Love

➳ an nct dream series

After a horrible first love experience, Yang Ahn joins the Don’t Need Your Love club via invitation. Things don’t turn out the way they were supposed to. 

➳ a story of not-so-romance featuring: the coolest club on campus, the meaning of unrequited, teenagers, best friends, heartbreak, healing, first loves, and new ones. 

➳ masterlist 

➳ note: female oc, multiple pairings, ot7 dream, not saying anything more bc spoilers!

➳ word count: 2235

DNYL. A four-letter word—if you would even call it a word. DNYL: four letters that defined the rest of my youth. Four letters that changed my perspective of quite a few other four-letter words. These four consonants brought together a broken band of romance misfits, the love-lost and the lovelorn, and I was the unfortunate latter.

A scoff dared to spill from my lips when I heard Harvey’s voice crackle over the loudspeaker. It wasn’t abnormal for clubs to advertise themselves via intercom, but those were your usual clubs: basketball, taekwondo, art, math, and such. It started off one of those usual announcements at first, but his next words turned everything around.

“The coolest club on campus: DNYL—”

Such a declarative statement. It stopped me in my tracks on the way to homeroom.

“—Don’t Need Your Love.”

And like the rest of the student body, his audacious proposal of a club nearly made me laugh. Harvey was a sweet exchange student from the United Kingdom. A gregarious boy with a knack for gathering people’s interest. This stunt was no exception. Like the rest of Neo Culture Tech’s teenager-filled population, he droned on about relationships, though he spoke of the broken kind. 

Since I had no relation to such types of relationship, I let his voice fade into the background of chattering students and teachers ushering them off to class. At this point, all I paid attention to was the scuff on my Mary Janes as I walked and the way the spine of my notebooks sat uncomfortably against my bicep. My grip on them grew tighter as bits and pieces of Harvey’s speech were growing harder to suppress. Intrusive thoughts crawled its way into my mind. A whisper of an unforgotten forgotten name. Ghosts of conversations in a foreign language. A face began to form in my memory. One with cat-like, sharp eyes. Before my fingertips could come into contact with the cool metal of the doorknob in front of me and snap me out of my thoughts—something else did.  

“Do you feel down from all this unrequited love?” 

Do you feel down from all this unrequited love? Was that even a question?

I finally let a chuckle past my lips, once again turning my attention towards the scuff mark on my shoe, once again letting the name of first love to be forgotten and remembering that I had a class to attend.

“What’s so funny?”

“Lee Jeno, Jesus Christ,” my shoulders jumped to my ears. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“You looked dumb standing like that,” he gestured to my hand that floated above the doorknob.

“Are you trying to act like Hyuck-oppa by insulting me?”

“Well as your new best friend, I need to fill the void that Haechan left in our Ahn-ah’s heart.”

“You say that like he’s dead.”

“Yeah, dead to you.”

“Only sometimes,” I roll my eyes. “He’ll be back in one more month and I never said anything about you being my new best friend.”

He pouts, like a puppy. “Well haven’t I done a good job of taking care of you while he’s gone? You did post on your insta story about best friend applications being open and I remember sending you a resume that I don’t think you ever read. He’s been gone since like the beginning of last school year—”

Jeno continued to ramble on with loud hand gestures. It was odd to know that this was the boy I was introduced to during freshman year of high school. His features have grown to become more chiseled and—due to his resolution of ‘becoming fit’ over the summer—I couldn’t help but notice the outlines of muscle through his school uniform. Still retaining his puppy-like features, puberty didn’t steal away his cuteness just yet. The Lee Donghyuck he currently was ranting about was my best friend of now four years. I concluded that his one-sided competition for Donghyuck’s role as my best friend was his little way of reminiscing the devilish boy. Although, he’d never admit that he missed him. Neither would I.

Donghyuck was the funniest boy I ever met. He was like the sun at its brightest as it shone through a stormy day. His reactions were exaggerated and animated and he never failed at catching every opportunity for a quick-witted remark against me. But my favorite part about him was when he made jokes with a straight face. Sometimes I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. He breathed life into my gloomy 7th-grade self. But I don’t think I could forgive him for not metaphorically holding my hand throughout first year. He had to leave Korea a quarter through the first semester because his parents won a trip to Canada. And I get it. Canada was a great place to be, but he failed to inform me that his trip would last about a year. Before he left, he introduced me to Jeno and told me that we would get along splendidly. 

In the words of my best friend; ‘you’d be too much of a loner while I’m gone, so I bestow this pity gift on you.’ 

Not to mention, our first meeting was hilarious. 

He was right. I missed him like the moon missed the sun in the cold night sky.

Luckily, Jeno and I had more in common than I thought and maybe Donghyuck knew that. Maybe that was why he introduced us. He always had an eye for such things. 

The first thing I said made him choke on his milk and flush cherry. Let’s just say I recognized him from an old advert he did as a child actor, featuring the said drink he choked on. The Lee Jeno I first got to know was awkward and shy, never without his crescent-crinkled eyes, a bashful smile, and fingers pulling on a hoodie string. The Lee Jeno that stood in front of me was wide-eyed, broad-shouldered, and confident as ever. 

He grew up a lot.

Don’t ever tell him this (lest you want his ego to inflate) but I really admired him for that. 

“—in conclusion, who was there for that whole fiasco? Not Haechan. What did he ever do? Facetime you every day? Pff I bought you ice cream. Now that’s a real friendship. You didn’t see him flying over from Canada to comfort you, did you? Maybe he was whisked away by a Canadian babe or hunk—”

“You got me my least favorite flavor,” I remarked.

“Ahn-ah,” he whined. “Give me some credit.”

“Tough love. If you wanna be Donghyuck try to be more annoying. He’d never greet me like that.”

“Oh yeah? And how would he have greeted you?” Jeno leaned forward to meet me eye level as if challenging me. Regret flashed in his eyes as I promptly jumped up to put him in a headlock, messing up his perfectly combed hair with my free hand.

“Aw isn’t our Jeno-oppa so grown up?” I pout, pulling and pinching at his cheeks. “Every morning that I see you, you seem to get taller. What am I going to do with you?”

He scrunched his nose in disgust, furrowing his brows. “I think I have cooties now.”

“That’s the spirit. Now keep that up and you’re on your way—maybe—to be just like Hyuckie.”

“The absolute disrespect you’re giving him while he’s gone, calling someone older than you so casually” he scoffs, wrestling his head out of my grasp. “How has he had this much influence on you while he’s gone?”

“Well—”

“Lee. Yang. I don’t suppose you’d want to be late for my class while having a lovers quarrel, don’t you?”

I push Jeno away from me and bowed, flustered. “Sorry, saem.”

“Saem-nim,” Jeno clicked his tongue at my rough gesture, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think I could think of her romantically even if I was paid five million won.”

Mr. Song tapped his knuckles against the boy’s head. “Be nice to girls, Jeno. I was joking. I guess you finally found another boy to bully, Ahn?”

“In my defense, sir, the last boy was the one who bullied me.”

“Pfft—”

“I liked you better with the other boy you were friends with, yes. Why don’t I see him with you anymore? You seemed to cause a lot less trouble with—”

Jeno swung the door open. “I think we should get to our seats, Ahn-ah. I’m sorry about the trouble Mr. Song.” His hands clasped around my shoulders and ushered me into the classroom, another scuff to probably form as I tried to not trip over my own feet or drop my books. He shoved me toward my seat.

“Hey—”

“Shh,” he shot an annoying smile at my irritation. “Class is starting.”

“Rude. I think Donghyuck got to you too,” I grumble, sinking my face into the palm of my hand as my notebooks lay in disarray on my desk. It was unfortunate that our homeroom teacher was nice. He let Jeno sit next to me.

“I’ll call attendance now.” 

My unfortunate seatmate leaned closer toward me. I inched away, rolling my eyes as he whispered.

“So… does that make me better BFF material?” His eyes disappeared into crescents as he prodded me with is a pencil, chuckling deviously. I slapped his hand away.

“You’re still not as funny as him.”

“What the hell—”

“H-here.”

“Lee, Jeno?” Mr. Song stared at the black-haired boy with a raised eyebrow.

To which he coughed loudly to cover up his expletive.

And aside from Harvey’s little announcement that morning, the rest of the day went on without a hitch. Soon enough, Monday turned into Tuesday, which morphed into Wednesday and bumped into Thursday. All the “day”s seemed the same. Monotonous. The only thing that was different was the slowly shifting breeze and the changing colors of the leaves of plants and trees. The autumn scenery was finally settling in.

And you know what they say about autumn.

It was a fitting season for the boy in front of me. A season of endings and changes—amongst all the other autumn things. 

“Why are you tearing them down?” I caught a piece of paper that fluttered down the stairway. It had been a while since I spoke English, the language strange on my tongue. “They’re cute.”

Harvey turned around and flashed a tight-lipped smile. He shook his head with a disappointed exhale. “Quite frankly, the whole thing was a bust.” His hand reached for another DNYL poster, one of many that scattered the walls of this place.

I picked up some rogue posters that fell onto the steps, approaching the foreign boy. I wasn’t lying about the posters being cute. They were handmade and created with color and illustration, the words written in an aesthetic way. Though, I didn’t mind to read them. 

“Why’d you make the club in the first place?”

“I guess I’ve just seen those people around campus who’ve just been so unhappy,” he said. “It felt horrible knowing that there was nothing I could do to help but I thought to myself that maybe, just maybe, if I created a safe haven away from that heartbreak, then nobody would feel lonely enough to cry their heart out. Have you ever had the feeling of wanting to start something beautiful?” Harvey’s eyes were green and genuine. The golden light from the window was filtered through leaves, creating a taste of a nostalgic, bittersweet what-if. 

“Once,” I answered, a feeling pulling at my chest. An urge. A remembrance of what was and what could have been. There was a wish for warmth, even soaked in the honey glow of the sun. Longing. For new beginnings. 

Who hasn’t felt the wish for something to ignite?

For something to explode.

For undreamt dreams to just come true.

“I guess I also wanted to leave a small legacy before I leave. I need to go back home pretty soon.” A solemn sigh left Harvey once again as he stared down at one of his white posters. A pitiful silence hung in the air, dust fairies dancing and floating around us, falling and disappearing away from the light.

“Maybe you just need to find your targeted audience,” the words didn’t mean to come out of my lips, but they did anyway. “NCT is a highschool where teenage romance never sleeps. You’d be best off finding some outliers—y’know like the people you mentioned.”

“The ones I’ve seen around campus?”

“Yeah. Those who have been dumped, had a bad breakup, dealing with a broken heart… isn’t that what you said this club was for?”

“I wouldn’t suppose you’re one of those outliers?” He called out.

I looked behind at Harvey and the colorful papers that stuck out from his arms and his backpack. I looked at the empty walls and the tape that he wasn’t able to scrape off and half torn stickers that spelled ‘DN’. I look at him and smile without meaning to.

“If this is truly the coolest club on campus, then send a message my way.

“I don't have your number.”

“Who said you needed to text me to communicate? Send me something interesting—something special. I wanna feel like I’m being invited to the Phantom’s masquerade,” I turned away, biting at the inside of my cheek. My next words came at a frightening decrescendo as I realized what I was getting myself into. “If you find that I’m suited for your club…surprise me.

<< recruiting now | masterlist | boys are never worth it >>

footnotes -

saem: a shortened word for ‘seongsaeng-nim’ or teacher.

oppa: well, I think we all know this one but I mostly use it to signify respect or difference of age

[queenofeden]

am i still in time for the end of @nadia-appreciation-week-2019 ??? bc i’m back at it again

Day 5: Impact Play

Pairing: Nadia Satrinava/Female Apprentice

Word Count: 1458

Summary:

Do you want me to hurt you, Laurel?

✨ My Ko-Fi // Read on AO3 ✨

"Hold that cunt open," Nadia orders. She is a vision in scarlet and cream, authoritative, controlled. Laurel shivers, scrambling to comply. Her fingers spread her lips wide, crudely exposing her heat to Nadia's gaze.

Black leather presses against her entrance. The head of the crop taps a light staccato against her flesh, not enough to truly hurt, but enough to make her squirm and squeal. All the while, the bite of the crop strikes against the tips of her fingers, slipping in their grip on her slick folds.

Nadia raises the crop up, twisting it in the light, catching the wet sheen from Laurel's arousal. "Eager little thing, aren't you?" she muses, expression turning from aloof to something near feral. The look suits her, dressed for the hunt as she is. "If I didn’t know any better, I would say that perhaps you wanted me to catch you."

Ever the willing quarry, Laurel simpers. "Y-yes Nadia."

“Is that why this...” The innocent loop of leather returns, pushing back the hood of her clit. Laurel jumps in spite of the gentle touch. “...Is the consequence you chose? Do you want me to hurt you, Laurel?”

Laurel’s breathing rattles in her lungs, adrenaline and anticipation twining like snakes around her, constricting her chest.

“Yes, Nadia.”

Nadia hums, looking thoughtful. “And if I asked you to beg me for it? Would you?”

Laurel’s hole clenches. “Yes.”

The crop lands, harsh against her thigh. Laurel starts, biting back a yelp.

“Y-yes, Nadia. Sorry, Nadia.”

Another stinging thwack, this time on her opposite thigh. “Go on, then.”

The words spill out her like a faucet turned and left to run. “Please! I want you to hurt me. I -- I want you to punish me, to make my cunt throb. I want to think of you when I move, to remember when you touch me. I want you, I want you to please whip me until I can’t take it anymore and then keep going until it pleases you.”

The staff of the crop is wedged abruptly between her teeth. Nadia’s black leather-clad hands stroke down her stinging thighs, thumbs resting along Laurel’s own fingers still desperately trying to spread her lips.

“Such honesty should be commended,” Nadia says.

A single finger slides into Laurel’s open hole, fucks in and out of her with agonizing slowness. The leather feels odd, alien, not at all the way Nadia’s fingers usually feel inside her. Like a stranger’s touch, almost. Laurel burns at the thought, at how much she enjoys it.

"How many strikes do you need?" Nadia finally asks, still pumping that single finger in and out.

Not want, not deserve. Need.

Between the bar of braided leather splitting her jaw wide, and the finger working inside her, Laurel finds it difficult to think, let alone form a coherent answer. The burden of naming some arbitrary number feels as though it must weigh a hundred pounds, all of it sitting heavy directly on her chest like a stone.

“F-fi-een?” she finally manages, unsure if the number is too low or too high for Nadia’s taste. By the way her eyebrows raise in surprise, Laurel can guess the latter.

“Fifteen?” Nadia repeats. “My, my. That’s quite a lot. Do you truly think this poor, pretty cunt can take that much?”

Her words are accentuated by the driving press of her finger. Laurel whimpers around the crop.

“If you want me to," is what she tries to say, but the words come out nigh unintelligible even to her own ears. Nadia seems to understand, however, her hand pulling away only to cup Laurel’s spread sex in her palm, the heel of her hand pressed roughly against Laurel’s clit.

“I will give you fifteen. Seven here, and four for each of your pert little tits, lest they feel left out of the fun. How does that sound?”

Rather than try for words again, Laurel simply nods.

Nadia takes the crop back, leaving Laurel to nurse the slight ache in her jaw. She stands over Laurel’s prone form in all her glory -- intimidatingly beautiful.

“Would you like to start here?” Nadia flicks the tip of the crop against Laurel’s tight nipple, then trails it down her abdomen towards her sex. “Or here?”

To get the worst of it over with, or let herself revel in the anticipation? The thought of choosing makes her want to weep.

“Please, I don’t -- I want you to do whatever you want to me.”

Nadia’s eyes soften, her lips a patient smile. “Alright, my sweet. Alright.”

The crop returns to hover over Laurel’s breasts.  

Nadia says, “Count them.”

This is all the warning Laurel gets before the crop swishes down and strikes, the flat of the wicked leather head smacking against her right nipple. Laurel gasps, the sting almost like ice, sending gooseflesh skittering down her stomach. “One -- thank you!” she exhales.

The second snap hits just right of the first. Laurel screws her eyes shut. “Two, thank you!” She chokes out, “Three, thank you!” when the stroke does not land on her nipple but against the sensitive underside of her breast, followed immediately by, “Four!” in the same spot.

Her left side receives similar treatment, though this time all four fall hard on her tender nipple, the pain making her pant heavily. Her chest flushes from exertion, as if she'd been running for miles, despite not having moved at all.

“Good girl,” Nadia coos. “So good for me.”

Her hand reaches between Laurel’s legs, dipping that same finger into her entrance, teasing her wetness out again so that she can smear it across the whole of her cunt, replacing where it had dried on her untouched, exposed skin.

“You’re dripping,” she notes, touch drifting downwards towards Laurel’s asshole. She’s wet there too, she can tell by how easily Nadia’s leather-clad finger slides against the tight muscle. Any other day she might have begged Nadia to fuck her there, to press that digit inside and spread her with only her own slick to ease the glide. Nadia knows her too well, and so she teases her, rubbing in circles around her hole until Laurel is shaking, keening, only to pull back without ever pressing inside.

The nudge of the crop returns, almost forgotten, making itself known once more against her innermost lips. Those torturous taps return, too light to give her either the pain or the pleasure she craves. They run from taint to clit and back again, moving steadily, warming her flesh for the impact to come. Laurel doesn’t notice when Nadia raises her instrument higher, only sensing the pause in sensation briefly before the full force of a swat strikes down directly over her clit once, twice, three times in quick succession.

Laurel howls.

“How many was that?” Nadia asks, her voice steady as stone, utterly irreproachable.

Laurel’s mind is in an uproar. She can’t, in that moment, tell Nadia what a number is , let alone the specific one she asked for.

“I--”

“Have you lost count already? Must we start over?”

Laurel goes cold, then hot all over. “No! No, no, please--”

“Well?”

Wracking her sex-addled brain for the answer takes all of her concentration. Finally, she frowns and shakes her head, already resigned to being incorrect.

“E-Eleven? Thank you.”

Nadia smiles. “Very good.”

Right? She was right? Relief floods through her, her body sagging deeper into the pillowed bench below.

“I would recommend not losing count again, dearest,” Nadia warns, her tone amicable, but hiding the true heat beneath. “I’d not like to begin again, but I will, and you will not enjoy it, that I can assure you.”

This time, when the tapping begins again, Laurel is ready for what comes next.

Twelve snaps directly against her entrance, her hole stinging.

Thirteen follows suit, making her throb and clench in time with the beat of her heart.

Fourteen finds her clit again, coming from below.

Fifteen rattles the teeth in her skull: Blinding, searing pain as Nadia strikes her clit much harder than she had previously. Laurel’s hands fall away, no longer capable of holding anything. She can hear the echo of the swish, nearly a whistle, in her ears still. A few hot tears build in the corners of her eyes and drip down her temples into her hair.

Nadia drops the the crop and eases the stinging pain with the palm of her hand, once more cupping Laurel’s tender sex.

"F-fifteen," Laurel calls weakly.

“You did so well,” Nadia says, voice as soft as her caress. Her hand feels so sweet and cool against her, a welcome reprieve from the flushed, red, burning skin.

Laurel grins, dopey, dreamy, riding the high of endorphins buzzing through her. “Thank you.”

[advernia]

around june of last year, i decided to revive my writing blog as one of the many potential stress-relief methods i could think of.... i didn’t think i’d be able to keep it active for long since work + family duties keep me preoccupied most of the time, but eyyy!!! so far i haven’t lost the motivation to keep going back to this blog, and i even managed to keep it afloat for half a year!!! amazing!!! (•̀o•́)ง

and now here we are halfway through 2020!!! it’s waaaay overdue but here’s a big T H A N K  Y O U  V E R Y  M U C H ! ! ! to everyone and anyone who dropped by this blog last year + all them likes, comments, reblogs...... please know that i’m still i n c r e d i b l y grateful for the support & interest in the content i’ve posted up!!!! tbh my activity’s still hella sporadic so it’s really amazing for me that i even gained new followers.... i’m very honored to have all of you stick around my blog despite my irregularity!!!!!!!! (༎ຶ ෴ ༎ຶ)

it’s also overdue, but i slowly managed and finally cleaned up the blog like i’ve been meaning to do + changed the blog name to match my ao3 handle for consistency!!! i make no promises to be super active... but i’m sure that i still want to continue writing & keep this blog alive!!!! 

again, thank you all for your time + reading my works!!!!!!  ∩( ´∀` )∩ work commentary on the rest of my works last year follows under the cut!

oct 1 // hero’s journey

a drabble on blanc + oliver about the alices... now that i think of it, calling the first alice first alice is kinda funny considering that alice is really her name... or is it? 

i do hope blanc’s route talks about her a bit, haha! i mean, i wish cybird remembers that they’ve been dropping the occasional background tidbits about her... like for example, her pocketwatch (that she gave to blanc eventually) having a magic crystal engraved into it.... her potentially leaving a fucking globe in the black army’s possession (like... wow... u fell with that thing????????)....

plus, i just find it interesting that she was remembered by cradle as a heck of a troublemaker lol! it also makes you wonder who among the main cast met her, blanc aside... though it’s not stated when exactly she fell into cradle, so maybe only blanc had the opportunity of meeting her...

so does blanc speak of her fondly bc she’s a woman, or is there something else??? has he been frequently visiting the land of reason pre-game??? has he found the first alice’s antique shop / met her again??? does he still try to figure out the reason why there’s a magic crystal engraved into the first alice’s pocketwatch????? hmmmmm......

on another note, it would be hilarious if cybird pulls a peter pan 2......... since we can’t pull off a mother-daughter relationship like wendy & jane’s, what if alice the second is somehow actually related to the first alice?? and while she’s completely different from her predecessor, blanc finds himself falling for alice the second........ just like he fell for the first alice? drama!

that’s just a random thought but kidding aside, i do hope blanc’s route is hella interesting bc i think he’s our mr. exposition for knowing more about cradle itself lol

oct 1 // fair (?) ladies & phony (?) enchanters

a result of going manic a few days after seeing harr’s trailer + route release.... ahaHAHA I’M STILL WILLING TO PLAY UR ROUTE IN JP HARR (if i actually had time to sit down and translate gET REKT)

i liked writing these drabbles and i think they’re cute but tbh they did nothing to ease my curiosity about harr’s route.... if anything else, it became even w o r s e  haha........................

if i think of blanc to have a cradle-centric route, i do hope harr’s route is magic tower-centric! naturally it will be since he’s got history there, but i hope a lot of my questions about the magic tower will be answered.....

will harr’s perspective of the magic tower be in the eyes of a test subject or a disciple???? he was scouted by the magic tower, but it wasn’t stated what he was doing exactly..... going by hints + loki’s & zero’s routes, it’s more of him being a disciple, so there’s bound to be guilt.......

hopefully alice’s characterization in his route is good + we get a fun group dynamic with loki!!! their potential.... the most(?) notorious criminal of cradle, a sought after test subject, and that one girl who nullifies all magic; a renegade trio lurking around the forbidden forest.... what an odd bunch!

oct 4 // god is a five minute hymn

a religious themed fic with lancelot & alice - tbh i don’t even know why religion was the first thing that came into mind when liz and i were talking about cultural differences, lol.

on that note though! i personally like thinking that if ever cradle had a semblance of a religion, it would be polytheistic & nature-centric, and not strictly practiced - the stratocracy of both territories i’d like to think makes it harder for religion to have a voice, much less have one that is practiced by the general population. the only thing general about it is that the religion centers or has magic crystals as an important factor... or something. yeah.

that aside, i think i specifically chose lancelot in this piece for the sole reason that his canonically stated lack of common sense, in my opinion, gives him the curiosity of a child sometimes - there’s no sense of malice or doubt, just the pure innocence of wanting to know something....... religion does that to kids, especially when introduced to it at first.

rereading the fic makes me think of the instances where when faced with dire or unsettling situations, people turn to faith as a life line.... well, i’m not sure if i had that subconsciously in mind when writing alice, but that does give a spin to it....

oct 6 // flow like the river nile

a spontaneous red army-centric fic! it certainly turned out better than i expected... i liked the formatting i used for this one!

if cybird can give us more about the pre-game suitors it would be great, tbh! and while the stuff about them in school is interesting, i’d like to see more about when they assumed their positions + combat scenes! the neutrals are special cases, but knowing more about their living conditions + daily lives is also a treat...

i was thinking of adding one last snippet about lancelot in the eyes of the reds, but i scrapped it out and switched it to alice & lancelot’s conversation about duty - it could’ve worked better if i stuck to using the what is your duty? question, but i scrapped it eventually too. ah well. it does look good enough as it is. 

oct 7 // seeking out phantoms

a mandatory(???) odd one out aka content that’s not ikerev, haha! i missed fe:a all of a sudden...

i never got around to writing properly for this fandom tho, what a shame - i’ve got some bits of pieces in my drafts that looked interesting and easy enough to pick up, and this was one of them.

robin investigating more of their plegian heritage could’ve been a good subplot tbh... i still wish there was something like a paralogue or dlc about it, bc honestly the valm arc goes a bit slow until you get to the future past revelations. ah well.

and gaius bc first husband for the win.... not like i actually had the guts to marry anyone else in my other save files lololol

nov 7 // push me off a bridge (to catch me as i fall)

my longest project of 2019, holy shit! i didn’t know i still had it in me to write something past 10k... i need more of that motivation + energy....

there’s nothing much to say about this since i blabbed about everything in the post-reading notes, but as much as i fought myself to get this done, i really enjoyed writing a long fic again! hopefully i can get myself to write another one this year...

nov 18 // beloved, beloved, let me be clear

18 sentences on zero & alice + macross frontier references! man, when i really got to the point about the earrings i was thinking of sheryl a lot....

kept it in sentences cause i didn’t have enough time to put up a decent ficlet! but i really wanted to get my screaming out of my system....... i used to do sentences + three word sentences challenges before, and doing one again was pretty fun!

but really.... zero’s route kept me happy for days???? their buildup + dynamic was something i was totally w e a k for, no joke..... thank gods the collection event was going on, bc i really made good use of my stocked chapter tickets lolol!

i was especially excited come the ball scene, and that cg..... a h a h a.... i need more of those pretty cgs where i can see alice’s face + costume change....... 

nov 20 // coloring inside the lines

jonah + alice + makeup!!!! tbh this was really fun, i enjoyed writing this one - if i remember, this was a fic that i managed to continuously work on the day i thought it up!

jonah may not be my best boy but tbh i find writing him very easy - i guess it’s because i’m very fond of characters like him!!! those uptight nobles who are as prideful as hell but can definitely live up to their name + are more capable than their bragging suggests... idk if there’s a general trope name for these doods, but i especially like analyzing their motivations + convictions!!!

i liked how i ended it, but i apparently i made an actual ending that’s now a snippet in my drafts - jonah & alice head to the ball, and somewhere along some bystanders’ flow of conversation someone drops a comment about jonah’s lips looking... quite more luscious than usual, lolol. so t h i r s t y. upon hearing this, alice can’t seem to stop smiling for some reason..... 

nov 27 // blue fields, verdant skies

a practice drabble set centric on a ray/alice development that i liked so much i made it into a series - plus, it’s black army content and honestly i need to write more of them! my red army bias is showing whoooooops

it’s a feudal + arranged marriage au, with the latter... being quite spontaneous. it’s those types of marriages where neither have even met - not even once - only to face each other come the wedding... so it’s a given that audiences from both parties are rather curious how this will turn out.

since i had the theme of fate in mind, ray was the automatic pick for the male lead. the rest of the black army is a given and for kicks, i added dean and dalim! i actually want to write about them + mousse, but since i’m still unsure on their characterizations i’ve been holding them off.... but i gave in anyway.....

alice is again named for word count convenience purposes since it’s in actual 100 words aka drabble form! i have planned scenes + an ending already in mind, but going there is pretty hard bc.... i still have to write the scenes in between + resist temptation to expand further on other scenes, haha....

initially i was planning to keep it updated here as well, but any more updates of this are on ao3 instead! the formatting looks better there instead of my blog tbh, and it also gives it a sort of muted tone to the story that works with me!

this is also the 31st fic in this blog, marking an end of the challenge liz bestowed to me lolol - since i brought this blog back to life around june, i was dared that by the end of the year, i should’ve posted more than 15 fics to add up to the initial 15 i had already posted before, thus the numbers on my fics back then.... now that i actually succeeded, i can stop counting lololol!!!! tho hopefully i can still be pretty active this year....

dec 22 // duck, duck, bullet

oliver & fenrir on guns... this probably wins as the most spontaneous idea i had on my head - tbh, i wasn’t even sure where i was going with it at first! but i’m sure i was suddenly thinking about that one detective conan movie.... then it became kid!oliver with a gun.....

i wonder if he tests the bullets at night, when he’s in adult form.... then again, kid!oliver with a gun still works.... say that because he’s a genius inventor, he made some models to serve as his shooting targets.... but another thought that amuses me more is.... blanc does the bullet testing for him!?

lololol i already thought about blanc being oliver’s live target, but i also find blanc with a gun very interesting.......... i mean, blanc certainly doesn’t look like he can fight, but who knows??? i mean, mousse is the former ace of hearts, but i still can’t imagine him fighting..... appearances can be deceiving....

the two aside, i wonder how fenrir even met oliver and got him working on his bullets........ was it through blanc or other connections???? how long have they been seller and buyer???? does anyone else commission anything from oliver?????? hmmmm.....

dec 23 // terms of surrender

i’ve been told by liz + luci + other friends that i needed to practice writing more.... cheesy fluff. i’m not sure if this sirius/alice piece counts, lol. in fact, i think it’s my definition of fluff i see here - and it translates to not exactly fluffy at all!

tho if you want me to be honest about it - when i write suitor/alice stuff, how alice was characterized in the suitor’s route is still my basis for how i’ll write her, and sirius’ alice................ haha......... i think she’s the alice that’s honestly easy to write but i choose to avoid.......... 

i don’t dislike the sirius/alice dynamic per se, tho. i do find it cute, especially if cybird stops emphasizing the issue of maturity in the relationship on alice’s side. i understand - i really do - that it’s a potential issue in the relationship, but...... that’s not the only problem you can possibly have as time passes, right?????

on another note, it’s funny that only sirius gets to be harped about the maturity due to age difference issue - setting aside blanc, who heavens know how old he is, lancelot’s 29 and since alice is presumed to be around ray + fenrir’s age, you could say that she’s 24 or even 23 to be safe.... so that makes a 5 / 6 years difference but it’s never brought up, lol. but i guess it’s because unlike lancelot, the black army’s been making sirius’ age a running gag....

anyway, this piece is pretty decent! i was thinking of something along the lines of mornings between a “married couple”.... there were two scenarios i had in mind, and i opted to write this one out first.... maybe i’ll have the second one posted up here another day.

dec 28 // a chain of black thrones

pre-game!sirius & ray and bc i was thinking a lot about the previous chosen, the former jack of spades!!! i wonder if the armies have a set age for retirement lolol... it would be awesome if there was still a chosen who’s already past his 50s or something, haha!

since sirius was constantly badgered to take on the role of king, i was also wondering about how long the black army was ‘king-less’... i mean, if the tension between both armies was really as great as they say, having no king puts the black army at a precarious position... i also thought that ‘nah, maybe there was a king or something but maybe the black army didn’t like him or something so they insisted that sirius take it instead’ but sirius’ 1st anniv. epilogue says otherwise - there really was a period that the black army had no king, wow. how the heck did they deal with that???? surely the red army saw this as a display of vulnerability....

can the black army’s chosen choose to leave their posts when they feel like it??? when they’re defeated by a challenger, what happens to them - a demotion, or do they serve under the ‘new’ chosen??? does the black army’s chosen change constantly because of their meritocracy + challenger system??? like, how do they deal with that, and do they announce their changes in chosen each council meeting??? each new question just snowballed my curiosity, whoops...

there were so many angles i thought of but i decided to settle for addressing the king-less state of the black army... through the eyes of a veteran who’s probably served many kings throughout his time of service as part of the black army’s chosen.

i gave this jack of spades character a name, actually - garret folner. maybe someday i’ll write him again, bc i actually enjoyed thinking about the present + past chosen interactions - maybe i’d think about that for the red army, but this time i find the black army’s side more interesting for this situation.

dec 29 // steadfast tin soldier

a zero/alice piece for zeroweek - i was about to post pt. 1 as a standalone, but then i just thought about how.... zero bought alice a gown.... but never got to dance with her at the day of the ball..... so i rushed to add pt. 2 haha!

with the addition of pt. 2 it looks cut short tho - i did think of putting a scene in between, but no good ideas came into mind bc i was too fascinated with the dancing scene... i swear at some point i will find myself writing a fic or a part of a fic that’s a dance scene for the rest of the ikerev suitors + alice....

this is the kind of fluff i live for, actually... i’m totally fine with the steamy content cybird throws during events + bonus stories, but if i were to be honest i say.... where’s my non-sexual intimacy????? the simple, wholesome stuff?????????????????

man, i feel hilarious for typing that out..... but well, i guess it’s a matter of different strokes for different folks, lol!

[fxngsfxgarty]

though i am bruised

Inspired by a prompt from @alicethething

“You said something about swangs prompts? Bc idk bout you but I think there was plenty opportunity for some comfort after the ghoulfools dropped Fangs off a fucking stairwell :)”

Title from Cut My Lip by Twenty One Pilots.

Also available on AO3 here.

Fangs should be dead. He knows that much.

He would be dead, too, if not for his friends. For Jughead, who ran to catch him when Kurtz dropped him over the balcony, and for Sweet Pea, who was right at Jughead’s side. For the Serpents, the only ones he has left, the family he’ll have when Fogarty blood is spilled and drained and washed away, and he’s alone in the world again. No Serpent stands alone, no Serpent is left for dead. In unity, there is strength. All that’s left of all he knows lies with the two friends that remain.

Jughead is long gone now, picking up the pieces, chasing down assailants and probably exacting revenge on Fangs’ behalf. Sweet Pea, who bore the brunt of Fangs’ weight as he fell, is still here, though, lying still in the early evening light inside their tent - asleep, perhaps, or just keeping his eyes closed so Fangs can’t see he’s in pain. It could be either. Usually, Fangs would expect the latter, but these days, he’s not so sure of anything. But he needs to know, so he grits his teeth and rolls onto his side, wincing as his back kicks up another complaint, hot and sharp and stiffening by the minute. It could be worse, he reminds himself, it could be a broken neck, a damaged spine, paralysis. Even death.

“Pea.”

“Mm?” Sweet Pea opens his eyes almost immediately; he sounds sleepy, but not asleep, so Fangs doesn’t feel too bad about disturbing him.

“Jus’ wanted to make sure you weren’t dead,” Fangs admits. “We’re good.” But instead of falling onto his back again, he carries on turning. In the small space inside the tent, he’s almost immediately resting against Sweet Pea, head on his chest, nose buried in a crease in the faded flannel he’s wearing. It smells like motor oil, and the lingering smoke from their nightly campfires. Soothing, almost. Fangs remembers how that same smell had enveloped him when he hit the hallway floor, and how he’d been convinced that that was heaven, just eternity of Sweet Pea Sweet Pea Sweet Pea, like sleeping curled close to him forever. And then his brain had caught up with his body and his body fucking hurt and the little dream was over.

He still hurts. Not like getting shot, but a different kind of hurt, a full-body feeling of something-is-wrong even when he doesn’t move. When he does move, he’s hit with an unpleasant reminder that he probably shouldn’t, that seeing a doctor or going to urgent care might be a good idea, but they don’t have that kind of money and he’s pretty sure he couldn’t get on a bike or in a car right now. He doesn’t remember getting back from school, but he thinks maybe somebody carried him to a borrowed backseat, and there’s a vague memory of Jughead and Sweet Pea lowering him down to his bedroll, and Sweet Pea’s face blurring in and out of focus above him as he layered his shivering body in blankets.

He’s still shaky now, not cold, just freaking out a little bit over the fact that, y’know, he’s had yet another brush with death. His best friend must notice, because there’s a slight shift in the warm body beneath him, and then Sweet Pea’s arms are firmly around him, one over his waist and the other slipped under his neck for support. Soothing fingers are brushing through his hair, and he shuts his eyes tight, hoping that’ll be enough to keep the hot tears at bay. He briefly hears a weird choking noise, and wonders what it might be, but before he can ask, Sweet Pea is gently shushing him.

“Don’t cry, Fangs, c’mon,” he murmurs, and Fangs realises the noises are muffled sobs and they’re coming from him.

“I don’t wanna die, man,” he forces out, trying to get closer to his friend even though they’re already pressed up so close in a tent barely meant for two. “I’m not a damn cat, I don’t got nine lives and I already used up two. Maybe three if you count halves, like initiation night, and the Poisons in Pop’s parking lot.” He still has butterfly stitches across his brow and the lingering headache from the night the girls ambushed them. There’ll be scars, mental if not physical. It’s crazy how things build up and up and up until it all comes crashing down around his ears.

“You’re not gonna die while I’m around,” Sweet Pea sighs, his hold on Fangs tightening just a little. “We’re still sworn to protect each other. I’m not gonna give up on you… Someday, you’re gonna be okay.”

That only makes Fangs cry harder, and for a few minutes, neither of them says another word. Fangs grips Sweet Pea’s shirt until his knuckles turn white, like he’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. Sweet Pea rubs circles into Fangs’ back, his touch light and caring; he knows Fangs’ pain goes far beyond the physical one, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to forget about it. He comforts him until his shoulders stop shuddering at every choking, badly-hidden sob, until he can feel hot tears soaking through his shirt, until Fangs is quiet and breathing almost evenly.

“I’m with you,” he says softly, so quietly Fangs isn’t quite sure he’s not imagining it. “I have been since we met, and I will be til the end. It’s more than oaths and laws when it comes to me and you.” Fangs nods. He’d protect any Serpent with knives and fists and curses, but Sweet Pea is all of that and more. 

The taller boy just keeps on talking. “You’re gonna be okay. This hurt, it’ll pass like all the others. You always come out on top. You’re the strongest person I ever met. If bullets can’t stop you, neither can some greasy, junkie freak with a god complex.”

Fangs exhales, almost a laugh, complete with a shaky smile as he nuzzles Sweet Pea. “Shut up,” he murmurs. “I’m not all you talk me up to me.” “Sure you are.” Sweet Pea shrugs the shoulder Fangs isn’t leaning on, so he doesn’t jostle him too much. “You’re incredible. You’re something else.”

Fangs pauses before speaking his mind. “You’re kinda all I got… You’re my everything. Love you.”

Sweet Pea presses a kiss to his forehead. Again, it’s so soft Fangs fancies that he’s imagining it, but he knows he’ll remember it in the morning regardless.

Outside, the rapidly-darkening evening bursts into a soft orange glow - someone’s lit the campfire.

“You wanna go outside?” Sweet Pea asks quietly.

Fangs shakes his head. “Don’t want them right now. Just wanna stay with you.”

He gazes up at the thin blue fabric of their tent, imagines the night sky beyond and the stars coming out like the way the firelight reflects in Sweet Pea’s eyes. He doesn’t need a fire to keep warm when he gets to drift to sleep in his embrace.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #472

“we don’t deal with outsiders very well  /  they say newcomers have a certain smell”

Does your favorite uncle have any children? Yeah; he has one son and a daughter. If you want children, what are some of your reasons for wanting them? I don't. I'm selfish with my alone time, and I want to live for me. I don't want to essentially hand over my life for someone else, give my all for them, and then I wind up not being enough. I don't want the financial burden. I don't want to be responsible for another human being. There are so, so many reasons I don't want kids. Does a career in finance sound interesting to you? Noooot at all. When you cook a dish that has beans in it, do you prefer to use canned or dry beans? I don't cook, but you also wouldn't catch me dead cooking beans. After finishing a bowl of cereal, do you drink the leftover milk? No. What’s something that’s been bothering you lately? I've been pushing it to the back of my mind to avoid panicking, so I probably shouldn't even talk about it, but I worry quite a bit that Girt will eventually leave me because of me not being "adult" enough, like having a job, a car, knowing how to do basic adult stuff... you know. I don't feel like he will, given just how devoutly he's been by my side since HS, and especially now that we're together, I'm working harder towards those goals, but still. I worry it'll happen. Do you use dry shampoo between washes? No. What’s the most severe allergic reaction you’ve ever had to something? I've never had a severe one. What was the last show you binge-watched? Psych with Girt. I quite liked it. Have you ever lived with someone you didn’t get along with? No. What’s something that bothers you more and more as you get older? Political issues. Do you have a fitness tracker? No. Who was the last person to kiss you on the cheek? Girt. What is your favourite sauce to eat with spaghetti? Just your normal tomato sauce. Where do you usually sit when you eat dinner? ... In my bed. :x Do you think your ex ever loved you? Yes. Have you ever had a filling? For my teeth? Yes. Should tattoos be meaningful? Get a tattoo for whatever reason you please. It doesn't necessarily have to be meaningful, no. Do you think wisteria trees look cool? Get a wisteria tree. Do you like to eat strawberries? Get a strawberry. There doesn't need to be a big story. Do certain times of the year remind you of certain people? Yes. January is like... all about Jason in my head because within that month is his birthday and our former anniversary. Are there any negative points to being in a relationship? Uh, there's probably something. What the most recent good news you’ve heard? Just today actually I got a phone call about some genetic testing I had done to see if I carried the malfunctioning gene my mother has that makes her more prone to certain types of cancer. My sisters and I all got tested, and all three of us are good! Our pancreatic, breast, and ovarian cancer risks are the same as your average person walking down the street. Would you hug your bf/gf’s best friend? I don't know his best friend. I don't think I would upon just meeting him, though. Who was the last person in your family to have a baby? My older sister. Would your parents be okay with you dating someone of another race? Mom wouldn't care less, while I don't really know about my dad. Not that it would matter what he thought. Do you like when friends stop by unexpectedly? NO NO NO NO NEVER DO THIS. I have to be mentally prepared for company. How strong are your feelings for the last person you kissed? I really, really love him. It's funny how wildly my emotions flipped from platonic to romantic with him just by giving it some deep thought. How close are you to the last person you hung out with? Can you be your complete self around them? We're very close, and yes. I'm still extremely shy for him to know some things, but ultimately, I'd tell him a whole lot. Is music a daily part of your life? Usually, anyway. Did you go to your high school’s graduation? Yes. Did you do anything sexual last night? Naw. Do you think the last person you Facebook messaged is a virgin? Doubt it, he's been in at least one serious relationship before. Ever want a monkey as a pet? I would absolutely fucking never, even if it was moral and possible to give them all they need as a pet. I've never been that into monkeys, anyway. What’s the scariest bug you’ve ever seen? I've seen a massive stag beetle at least once and it was such a fuck no. Do you think it’s alright if people baby talk to babies? Yes...? They're unfamiliar with the world and need gentleness to establish trust and a positive bond in general. There is nothing wrong with treating babies like, well, babies. Ever take a nap in a hammock? I don't believe I've ever fallen asleep in one, but I definitely used to just chill out and close my eyes on the one we used to have at my old place, under the shade of the trees. Who’s the best character in Rugrats? I don't have an opinion on this, surprisingly. I adored that show as a kid and had two video games for it. Pop-Tarts or Toaster Struddels? The latter. But both are tasty. Ever want to make out with someone, anyone, didn’t matter who? Er, no. I have to love you. Smack someone on the ass lately? This question is worded so uncomfortably lmao but no. Someone smack your ass lately? Still an uncomfortable question but no. Do you like puppies more than adult dogs? They're cute, but no. Adult dogs are generally calmer and actually know where to use the bathroom. If you go grey as you age, would you dye your hair or let it be? I plan on dyeing my hair for a loooong time if it's something extra I can afford. Is there a historical figure you find interesting? If so, who? The first person who came to mind was Pharaoh Hatshepsut. Girl power, man. Was there a family secret you weren’t told about until you were an adult? I guess maybe my dad having done serious drugs for a while. I don't know if anyone would've told me that as a kid. Have you ever seriously vandalized someone else’s property? I've never vandalized, period. What do you usually order from Olive Garden? SPICY SHRIMP FRITAAAAAAAAASSSSSSS <3 What is in the back seat of your car right now? I have no idea what's in the back of Mom's car, actually. I don't pay attention. What was the last thing you threw up? I'd assume whatever I had for dinner with the medication that made me vomit. What color is your mom’s hair? Since chemo, it was growing back completely gray, so now she dyes it black. If you were to join one of the armed forces, which would it be? Yeah, no. Not even entertaining this. I'd rather die. If you swapped genders for a day, how would you spend it? Ha, it's weird, the first thing that came to mind was "how would I look in makeup?" because men in makeup can look like fuckin babes so I guess that's what I'm doing lmaooo. Have you ever been to see stand-up comedy? No, but I would. I think it sounds fun. Have you ever been in a submarine? No, but that'd be cool. Do you believe there used to be dragons? No. I wish. Where did you go on your first ride on an airplane? Ohio. Have you ever appeared on YouTube? lkajsd;lkfjae yes Have you ever planted a tree? An apple tree, yes. Which celebrity do you find the most annoying? I don't care. Does your best girlfriend have any talents that you don’t? She can animate pretty darn well! Have you ever written a song? Guys when I was a little kid I wrote a song to the Nintendogs theme fucking kill me Does anybody send you money in the mail for your birthday? My grampa on Dad's side used to, but he's deceased now. He would do that for me and my sisters, and I always thought it was so wild, because it was like, a lot, and this man barely knew us at all because of how far away my dad's family is. Do you have any scratches on your cell phone? No. Do you know anybody who has a birthday in November? I mean I'm sure I do, but no one off the top of my head that I know well, anyway. What monster would you be most afraid to have in your closet? Ghostface bc I've been afraid of him since I was a kid, and I HATE knives. Which Adam Sandler movie do you like the most? I don't know if I have a favorite. He's also just in so many movies though that I could never think of all of them. Have you ever been abused by a police officer? Yikes, no. Do you know anyone who is very ignorant? Boy, do I. I know plenty. When was the last time someone said something mean and offensive to you? I don't know, and I'd rather not try to remember. Would you ever film a vlog of yourself giving birth? ?????????????????????????? NO????????????????????????? WHY WOULD I WANT THAT????????????????????????????????? Do you think your hair looks best straight, wavy, or curly? Straight. Name 3 YouTubers you would like to meet in person: Markiplier obvs, Rhett & Link are a pair channel, so I count them as one unit, and uhhh just one more... Snake Discovery/Emily & Ed. I could hang with them, man. What makes you more creative? Music. Have you ever slow danced with anyone? Yeah, one person. Who’s the last person to send you a message on Facebook? My sister Misty. She's making me this really cool Halloween-y wreath to keep on my door year-round. She's really good with crafts and is making some beautiful ones. What’s the last magical thing you experienced? I'd rather keep it private, but the general gist is just realizing how much I love someone again. Were you raised religious? Yes. Didn't stick. Never felt "right" or "at home" in any religion. If you had a lot of money, do you think you would use it wisely? I hope I would. I feel like growing up poor, it could go either way. I do THINK I'd use it pretty wisely, at least. Maybe go a bit too hard into things I seriously love (like tattoos), but then be really stingy in other areas. Do you like the same colors now that you did as a kid? In general, yes. My favorites are still all shades and tints of red. Got any nicknames that you rarely even use? Not nicknames I use nowadays, no. Nevermind what gender you ARE, what gender do you WANT to be? I’m fine being female. Do you ever feel ashamed revealing your age? Absolutely, because of how little I've accomplished. Based on your running speed, what animal would you be? Like, a tortoise probs. :^) Can you read in public? Only if it's quiet. Pokemon, Digimon, GI JOE, Barbies, or other? Pokemon, duh. What’s something that makes you really stressed out? Not having a job, to name one thing. Are you any good at science? I've always been really good at (most) science, actually. Like language arts, it's just something that naturally "clicks" for me. Do you go on any forums on the net? Just KM right now. Got any secrets you honestly can’t say to anyone? It's not that I can't, like I don't have any deep, dark secrets that would rock someone's world if they knew, there are just things I'm never sharing. Believe in voodoo? Nah. What’s something you’ve tried really hard at? To be a decently successful photographer, but let's not get me started on that travesty. :^)