#cause i liked it too much my brain couldn’t latch on to any new ideas lol

[im-still-watching-anime]

i hateeeee sskk so bad nearly a full year with absolutely NO new fic ideas for them then atsushi comments on akutagawa’s eyes one (1) time and suddenly i’ve got like four with no time to write ANY of them right now

[missmentelle]

Why Smart People Believe Stupid Things

If you’ve been paying attention for the last couple of years, you might have noticed that the world has a bit of a misinformation problem. 

The problem isn’t just with the recent election conspiracies, either. The last couple of years has brought us the rise (and occasionally fall) of misinformation-based movements like:

Sandy Hook conspiracies

Gamergate

Pizzagate

The MRA/incel/MGTOW movements

anti-vaxxers

flat-earthers

the birther movement

the Illuminati 

climate change denial

Spygate

Holocaust denial 

COVID-19 denial 

5G panic 

QAnon 

But why do people believe this stuff?

It would be easy - too easy - to say that people fall for this stuff because they’re stupid. We all want to believe that smart people like us are immune from being taken in by deranged conspiracies. But it’s just not that simple. People from all walks of life are going down these rabbit holes - people with degrees and professional careers and rich lives have fallen for these theories, leaving their loved ones baffled. Decades-long relationships have splintered this year, as the number of people flocking to these conspiracies out of nowhere reaches a fever pitch. 

So why do smart people start believing some incredibly stupid things? It’s because:

Our brains are built to identify patterns. 

Our brains fucking love puzzles and patterns. This is a well-known phenomenon called apophenia, and at one point, it was probably helpful for our survival - the prehistoric human who noticed patterns in things like animal migration, plant life cycles and the movement of the stars was probably a lot more likely to survive than the human who couldn’t figure out how to use natural clues to navigate or find food. 

The problem, though, is that we can’t really turn this off. Even when we’re presented with completely random data, we’ll see patterns. We see patterns in everything, even when there’s no pattern there. This is why people see Jesus in a burnt piece of toast or get superstitious about hockey playoffs or insist on always playing at a certain slot machine - our brains look for patterns in the constant barrage of random information in our daily lives, and insist that those patterns are really there, even when they’re completely imagined. 

A lot of conspiracy theories have their roots in people making connections between things that aren’t really connected. The belief that “vaccines cause autism” was bolstered by the fact that the first recognizable symptoms of autism happen to appear at roughly the same time that children receive one of their rounds of childhood immunizations - the two things are completely unconnected, but our brains have a hard time letting go of the pattern they see there. Likewise, many people were quick to latch on to the fact that early maps of COVID infections were extremely similar to maps of 5G coverage -  the fact that there’s a reasonable explanation for this (major cities are more likely to have both high COVID cases AND 5G networks) doesn’t change the fact that our brains just really, really want to see a connection there. 

Our brains love proportionality. 

Specifically, our brains like effects to be directly proportional to their causes - in other words, we like it when big events have big causes, and small causes only lead to small events. It’s uncomfortable for us when the reverse is true. And so anytime we feel like a “big” event (celebrity death, global pandemic, your precious child is diagnosed with autism) has a small or unsatisfying cause (car accident, pandemics just sort of happen every few decades, people just get autism sometimes), we sometimes feel the need to start looking around for the bigger, more sinister, “true” cause of that event. 

Consider, for instance, the attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II. In 1981, Pope John Paul II was shot four times by a Turkish member of a known Italian paramilitary secret society who’d recently escaped from prison - on the surface, it seems like the sort of thing conspiracy theorists salivate over, seeing how it was an actual multinational conspiracy. But they never had much interest in the assassination attempt. Why? Because the Pope didn’t die. He recovered from his injuries and went right back to Pope-ing. The event didn’t have a serious outcome, and so people are content with the idea that one extremist carried it out. The death of Princess Diana, however, has been fertile ground for conspiracy theories; even though a woman dying in a car accident is less weird than a man being shot four times by a paid political assassin, her death has attracted more conspiracy theories because it had a bigger outcome. A princess dying in a car accident doesn’t feel big enough. It’s unsatisfying. We want such a monumentous moment in history to have a bigger, more interesting cause. 

These theories prey on pre-existing fear and anger. 

Are you a terrified new parent who wants the best for their child and feels anxious about having them injected with a substance you don’t totally understand? Congrats, you’re a prime target for the anti-vaccine movement. Are you a young white male who doesn’t like seeing more and more games aimed at women and minorities, and is worried that “your” gaming culture is being stolen from you? You might have been very interested in something called Gamergate. Are you a right-wing white person who worries that “your” country and way of life is being stolen by immigrants, non-Christians and coastal liberals? You’re going to love the “all left-wingers are Satantic pedo baby-eaters” messaging of QAnon. 

Misinformation and conspiracy theories are often aimed strategically at the anxieties and fears that people are already experiencing. No one likes being told that their fears are insane or irrational; it’s not hard to see why people gravitate towards communities that say “yes, you were right all along, and everyone who told you that you were nuts to be worried about this is just a dumb sheep. We believe you, and we have evidence that you were right along, right here.” Fear is a powerful motivator, and you can make people believe and do some pretty extreme things if you just keep telling them “yes, that thing you’re afraid of is true, but also it’s way worse than you could have ever imagined.”

Real information is often complicated, hard to understand, and inherently unsatisfying. 

The information that comes from the scientific community is often very frustrating for a layperson; we want science to have hard-and-fast answers, but it doesn’t. The closest you get to a straight answer is often “it depends” or “we don’t know, but we think X might be likely”. Understanding the results of a scientific study with any confidence requires knowing about sampling practices, error types, effect sizes, confidence intervals and publishing biases. Even asking a simple question like “is X bad for my child” will usually get you a complicated, uncertain answer - in most cases, it really just depends. Not understanding complex topics makes people afraid - it makes it hard to trust that they’re being given the right information, and that they’re making the right choices. 

Conspiracy theories and misinformation, on the other hand, are often simple, and they are certain. Vaccines bad. Natural things good. 5G bad. Organic food good. The reason girls won’t date you isn’t a complex combination of your social skills, hygiene, appearance, projected values, personal circumstances, degree of extroversion, luck and life phase - girls won’t date you because feminism is bad, and if we got rid of feminism you’d have a girlfriend. The reason Donald Trump was an unpopular president wasn’t a complex combination of his public bigotry, lack of decorum, lack of qualifications, open incompetence, nepotism, corruption, loss of soft power, refusal to uphold the basic responsibilities of his position or his constant lying - they hated him because he was fighting a secret sex cult and they’re all in it. 

Instead of making you feel stupid because you’re overwhelmed with complex information, expert opinions and uncertain advice, conspiracy theories make you feel smart - smarter, in fact, than everyone who doesn’t believe in them. And that’s a powerful thing for people living in a credential-heavy world. 

Many conspiracy theories are unfalsifiable. 

It is very difficult to prove a negative. If I tell you, for instance, that there’s no such thing as a purple swan, it would be very difficult for me to actually prove that to you - I could spend the rest of my life photographing swans and looking for swans and talking to people who know a lot about swans, and yet the slim possibility would still exist that there was a purple swan out there somewhere that I just hadn’t found yet. That’s why, in most circumstances, the burden of proof lies with the person making the extraordinary claim - if you tell me that purple swans exist, we should continue to assume that they don’t until you actually produce a purple swan. 

Conspiracy theories, however, are built so that it’s nearly impossible to “prove” them wrong. Is there any proof that the world’s top-ranking politicians and celebrities are all in a giant child sex trafficking cult? No. But can you prove that they aren’t in a child sex-trafficking cult? No, not really. Even if I, again, spent the rest of my life investigating celebrities and following celebrities and talking to people who know celebrities, I still couldn’t definitely prove that this cult doesn’t exist - there’s always a chance that the specific celebrities I’ve investigated just aren’t in the cult (but other ones are!) or that they’re hiding evidence of the cult even better than we think. Lack of evidence for a conspiracy theory is always treated as more evidence for the theory - we can’t find anything because this goes even higher up than we think! They’re even more sophisticated at hiding this than we thought! People deeply entrenched in these theories don’t even realize that they are stuck in a circular loop where everything seems to prove their theory right - they just see a mountain of “evidence” for their side. 

Our brains are very attached to information that we “learned” by ourselves.

Learning accurate information is not a particularly interactive or exciting experience. An expert or reliable source just presents the information to you in its entirety, you read or watch the information, and that’s the end of it. You can look for more information or look for clarification of something, but it’s a one-way street - the information is just laid out for you, you take what you need, end of story. 

Conspiracy theories, on the other hand, almost never show their hand all at once. They drop little breadcrumbs of information that slowly lead you where they want you to go. This is why conspiracy theorists are forever telling you to “do your research” - they know that if they tell you everything at once, you won’t believe them. Instead, they want you to indoctrinate yourself slowly over time, by taking the little hints they give you and running off to find or invent evidence that matches that clue. If I tell you that celebrities often wear symbols that identify them as part of a cult and that you should “do your research” about it, you can absolutely find evidence that substantiates my claim - there are literally millions of photos of celebrities out there, and anyone who looks hard enough is guaranteed to find common shapes, poses and themes that might just mean something (they don’t - eyes and triangles are incredibly common design elements, and if I took enough pictures of you, I could also “prove” that you also clearly display symbols that signal you’re in the cult). 

The fact that you “found” the evidence on your own, however, makes it more meaningful to you. We trust ourselves, and we trust that the patterns we uncover by ourselves are true. It doesn’t feel like you’re being fed misinformation - it feels like you’ve discovered an important truth that “they” didn’t want you to find, and you’ll hang onto that for dear life. 

Older people have not learned to be media-literate in a digital world. 

Fifty years ago, not just anyone could access popular media. All of this stuff had a huge barrier to entry - if you wanted to be on TV or be in the papers or have a radio show, you had to be a professional affiliated with a major media brand. Consumers didn’t have easy access to niche communities or alternative information - your sources of information were basically your local paper, the nightly news, and your morning radio show, and they all more or less agreed on the same set of facts. For decades, if it looked official and it appeared in print, you could probably trust that it was true. 

Of course, we live in a very different world today - today, any asshole can accumulate an audience of millions, even if they have no credentials and nothing they say is actually true (like “The Food Babe”, a blogger with no credentials in medicine, nutrition, health sciences, biology or chemistry who peddles health misinformation to the 3 million people who visit her blog every month). It’s very tough for older people (and some younger people) to get their heads around the fact that it’s very easy to create an “official-looking” news source, and that they can’t necessarily trust everything they find on the internet. When you combine that with a tendency toward “clickbait headlines” that often misrepresent the information in the article, you have a generation struggling to determine who they can trust in a media landscape that doesn’t at all resemble the media landscape they once knew. 

These beliefs become a part of someone’s identity. 

A person doesn’t tell you that they believe in anti-vaxx information - they tell you that they ARE an anti-vaxxer. Likewise, people will tell you that they ARE a flat-earther, a birther, or a Gamergater. By design, these beliefs are not meant to be something you have a casual relationship with, like your opinion of pizza toppings or how much you trust local weather forecasts - they are meant to form a core part of your identity. 

And once something becomes a core part of your identity, trying to make you stop believing it becomes almost impossible. Once we’ve formed an initial impression of something, facts just don’t change our minds. If you identify as an antivaxxer and I present evidence that disproves your beliefs, in your mind, I’m not correcting inaccurate information - I am launching a very personal attack against a core part of who you are. In fact, the more evidence I present, the more you will burrow down into your antivaxx beliefs, more confident than ever that you are right. Admitting that you are wrong about something that is important to you is painful, and your brain would prefer to simply deflect conflicting information rather than subject you to that pain.

We can see this at work with something called the confirmation bias. Simply put, once we believe something, our brains hold on to all evidence that that belief is true, and ignore evidence that it’s false. If I show you 100 articles that disprove your pet theory and 3 articles that confirm it, you’ll cling to those 3 articles and forget about the rest. Even if I show you nothing but articles that disprove your theory, you’ll likely go through them and pick out any ambiguous or conflicting information as evidence for “your side”, even if the conclusion of the article shows that you are wrong - our brains simply care about feeling right more than they care about what is actually true.  

There is a strong community aspect to these theories. 

There is no one quite as supportive or as understanding as a conspiracy theorist - provided, of course, that you believe in the same conspiracy theories that they do. People who start looking into these conspiracy theories are told that they aren’t crazy, and that their fears are totally valid. They’re told that the people in their lives who doubted them were just brainwashed sheep, but that they’ve finally found a community of people who get where they’re coming from. Whenever they report back to the group with the “evidence” they’ve found or the new elaborations on the conspiracy theory that they’ve been thinking of (“what if it’s even worse than we thought??”), they are given praise for their valuable contributions. These conspiracy groups often become important parts of people’s social networks - they can spend hours every day talking with like-minded people from these communities and sharing their ideas. 

Of course, the flipside of this is that anyone who starts to doubt or move away from the conspiracy immediately loses that community and social support. People who have broken away from antivaxx and QAnon often say that the hardest part of leaving was losing the community and friendships they’d built - not necessarily giving up on the theory itself. Many people are rejected by their real-life friends and family once they start to get entrenched in conspiracy theories; the friendships they build online in the course of researching these theories often become the only social supports they have left, and losing those supports means having no one to turn to at all. This is by design - the threat of losing your community has kept people trapped in abusive religious sects and cults for as long as those things have existed. 

[comfortwriting]

Tied To You - A.S

masterlist, requesting rules, guidelines, taglist

Anakin Skywalker x Fem Reader

About: After a night of intense sex, the reader falls pregnant with Anakin's baby.

A/N: to support my work, please reblog!:)

Word Count: 2.6k 

Warnings: 18+, smut, breeding kink, swearing, unprotected sex (p in v), fingering, oral (female receiving), masturbation, orgasm denial, belly bulge, degradation, force choke, mention of death, mention of food and eating, nausea and sickness.

Spending time alone in your apartment was tiring, lonely, and boring - but all you could do at the moment was eat, throw up, feel exhausted, and sleep.

You would try to keep yourself busy, practising new hobbies or picking up new skills, even spending time with C-3PO and R2D2 whilst your husband trained and went on deadly missions, but you were too tired to engage in long conversations with the droids - and they didn't know what to do.

Part of you wanted to start a family already, have a couple of kids, raise them, move them away to your home planet where you and Anakin could keep them safe - but Anakin often stressed that until he had the title of Master, he couldn't risk such a thing.

"Please can we try?" you asked softly, feeling broody.

Your husband sighed, climbing on the bed and crawling over to you "We've talked about this, my love."

You felt frustrated and started to bite your bottom lip, chewing on it, the soft skin in between your teeth.

"Anakin, your title doesn't determine your strength or power - if anything, the enemy knowing you're a Jedi master could put our children at greater risk. You have already broken the Jedi Code by getting married."

Anakin considered this, hiding his head in the crook of your neck, his nose brushing against your soft skin.

He didn't care so much about breaking the Jedi Code, he couldn't ever be away from you and refused to entertain the idea of practising celibacy.

"I don't want to lose you in childbirth as I've dreamt about, I don't want to lose them-"

Your hand got lost in his soft, damp hair. "Ani, the future can always change, and no matter what, we should still bring something beautiful into this world... even if I would die during their arrival."

Anakin didn't like this one bit, thinking of you dying, having to raise a child alone that would remind him of you every day - but the thought of him being powerful enough to save your life and have you bring his children into the world made his heavy heart lift and spread warmth throughout his body.

"Lady, Y/N, are you still unwell?" C-3PO asked, sounding as concerned as a droid could be "You have tears down your face."

You sat up in bed, reaching for your glass of water, sipping it slowly to calm yourself down - excitement and worry exploding in your brain. Grabbing a tissue, you wiped away your tears and took a deep breath.

"You cannot tell anyone, C-3PO..." you replied quietly "I think I'm pregnant."

Anakin thought of spilling himself deep inside you, getting you pregnant so you were tied to him forever. The idea of everyone knowing you were fucked senselessly and got pregnant made Anakin's dick hard - everyone would know you were claimed - by who? they wouldn't know, but you displaying the signs of being with child was enough for your husband's mind to change.

"Is that what you want?" Anakin asked, his voice low and gruff "You want me to fill you up?"

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, goosebumps spread all over your body, your crotch starting to flutter at his words.

Anakin's tongue traced circles into the side of your neck teasingly before he started to suck on your sweet spot, nibbling at it, leaving a visible mark.

"Yes," you moaned out softly "I want you to fill me up so badly, Anakin."

The sound of you moaning his name and asking for his seed only frustrated your husband further.

Anakin pulled away from your neck and pulled off his shirt, climbing on top of you, your eyes landed on the huge bulge visible through his trousers, making you go bright red and hot. His hands instantly gripped onto your pyjama top, his skillful fingers undoing the buttons - until he became too impatient and started to tug - causing the buttons to pop off and shoot across the room.

"Ani!-"

Anakin's mouth latched onto your breast, sucking your nipple and swirling his tongue around it as his metal hand slipped into your pyjama bottoms, his cold fingers against your heat made you gasp, sending shivers down your spine and more goosebumps across your arms.

Your husbands lustfilled eyes bored into yours, staring at you as if you were something to eat.

Pulling away from your breast, Anakin planted a hungry, wet kiss on your lips and moved down your body, kissing and licking down your chest and stomach slowly, stopping at the waistband on your pyjamas.

You stared at Anakin's face, his eyes twinkling and biting his lip, his other hand stroking himself through his trousers.

"You want me to eat out your cunt?" he growled, pulling down his own pyjama bottoms and tossing them across the room, freeing his erect cock which slapped against his lower abdomen.

Anakin's hand reached down and took hold of his dick, he started to pump it, his eyes glued onto your desperate face.

You watched him pleasure himself and felt yourself get wet beneath him, warming up against his cool touch.

"I do," you replied nervously.

"You do, what?" Anakin snapped "What do you want me to do?"

One of his fingers dragged up and down your folds before circling around you clit, you bit your lip, suppressing a moan.

"I want you to eat my cunt," you said, your breath shaky.

Your husband smirked, clearly enjoying this.

He stopped pumping his cock and pulled your pyjama bottoms down your legs and off your ankles, tossing them to the floor. Anakin knelt down to lay on his stomach, lifting up your legs and putting them over his shoulders, pulling you closer, your pussy almost brushing against his soft, red lips.

Anakin spat onto your heat, his laces of saliva running down your clit and spilling down between your folds, joining together at your entrance hole, dripping onto the bed sheet. The feeling of his saliva against your most sensitive spot made you moan, giving you the urge to grab him by the hair so you could feed him your sex.

Anakin knew this, but you weren't in control, not today.

Your husband attacked your clit, sucking on it, moving his head as he did so whilst two of his metal digits coated your hole with his spit, lubeing you up before pushing himself inside of you, your walls instantly adjusting to them and closing in around them.

You loved the feeling of his metal fingers stretch you open, you liked the cooling sensation they gave you, you loved how slick they were, how easily they could slide in and out.

Anakin's tongue started to swirl around on your clit, bringing you instant pleasure.

"Ani-" you moaned "That feels so good!"

Anakin's free hand went back to tugging at his length, pre-cum dripped from the tip which he spread across the head with his thumb, his moan vibrating against you. His two digits pumped inside of you in a slow yet deep rhythm, feeling you shuffle beneath him, he started to curl his fingers inside of you, beconking you to come to him.

As he did this, he started to kitten lick your pussy, dragging his long tongue up and down your clit and folds, soaking up your juices and spreading them all over your cunt and all over his lips.

"F-Fuck, Anakin-"

Switching up once again, Anakin slipped a third finger inside of you, your walls accepting him in and once again adjusting to his digits stretching you out. He picked up his pace and started to finger fuck you at great speed, his kitten-licks no longer slow and drawn out, but instead short and fast - stroking your most sensitive space.

Anakin could feel your walls tighten around him and your legs start to shake, your tummy began to tighten and you could feel yourself getting close.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you watched your husband devour you greedily, you were losing yourself beneath him.

"D-Don't stop," you panted, "Anakin, I-"

Anakin immediately stopped, he pulled out his slick metal fingers and pulled away from your heat, your juices and his saliva coating and dripping off his lips.

Your mouth dropped open, feeling betrayed by his actions.

With your legs still propped on his shoulders, Anakin bent over you and attacked your lips with his, pushing his tongue into your mouth, your juices spreading across your tongue. Anakin had to stop pumping his hard length or his seed would shoot onto your stomach, the fact that he made you could taste yourself made him twitch.

Pulling away you could barely form your words, still trying to process Anakin's teasing and betrayal.

"Do you like that, my love?" he asked "Do you like the taste of yourself?"

The fluttering started again.

You were annoyed that he denied you of release, but how could you not continue to melt under him?

You swallowed hard, his lustfilled eyes drinking you "I love the taste of myself on your lips" you replied.

Anakin brought his three metal fingers up to your face, hovering in front of your lips. You looked at them and then back into his eyes before taking his fingers into your mouth, sucking on them, swallowing the mix of your juices and his saliva, cleaning his fingers.

Anakin's head lolled back and he moaned, the sight of you sucking on his fingers making his cock throb painfully. He would fuck your face right there and then, but how would everyone know you were claimed if you swallowed his seed instead?

Your husband pulled his fingers from your mouth and spat on them, spreading his saliva across the entrance of your cunt before spreading more of his saliva on his large length, which made your mouth water... such a sight... such a beautiful sight.

Anakin lined his length at your entrance, one hand gripping the base, the other on your waist, he looked into your eyes and you nodded - causing him to slowly push himself inside of you.

Your eyebrows raised and your mouth dropped open again, and so did Anakin's, the two of you moaning out - his big cock stretching you open, your walls tightening around him and swallowing him whole.

Once you adjusted to your husbands size, he started to fuck you, bucking his hips and  holding your waist down onto him. The sound of you squelching with each trust he made only turned him on even more, which reasurred you as you felt slightly embarrassed.

"Don't be embarrassed, Y/N," he moaned "rearranging your guts sound so fucking hot."

Your moans filled the room, bouncing off the walls in all directions.

"You see that?" he asked you, fucking you faster "I'm fucking you so deep."

You could feel him penetrate you deeper, you stared down at your stomach, your eyes widening at the buldge - the outline of his large length so painfully visible you could run your hand over it.

"I can feel you in my tummy," you stared to weep out in pleasure, "Anakin you're so fucking big."

Anakin smirked and a flash of pride spread across his face.

"How does it feel?" he asked lowly, groaning as he continued to fuck you "How does it feel knowing that I'm going to plant my seed in you so fucking deep."

The way he spoke and the words he chose made your cunt start to strangle him.

"It feels so fucking good Anakin, pl-please cum in me."

"Call me Master," he demanded, he took his hand off your waist and held it out in front of you.

Your throat started to close as Anakin force choked you, the grip tightening around your throat, making you feel lightheaded and desperate for air.

"Y-Yes" you tried to speak, but couldn't.

"Yes what?" Anakin glared, pounding you, the sound of him slamming echoing in the room.

"M-Ma-"

Anakin released his grip, bringing his hand back to your waist, beads of sweat across his body twinkled in the nightlight, his beautiful hair sticking to his forehead.

You gasped and coughed, trying to catch your breath, savouring the air  your lungs so desperately desired, your head spinning.

"Master," you managed to breathe out.

"I'm going to knock you up, that way you will be tied to me." he panted "everyone will know what a dirty whore you are, spreading open your legs, allowing a celibate jedi to fuck you senseless."

"Master," you moaned "Master Skywalker - you will get into trouble-"

"Everyone will know you belong to me," he growled "your tummy will be so fucking full and your cunt will be swollen by the time I am finished with you."

Anakin couldn't hold himself back for much longer, your walls strangling him and the sight of you weeping from pleasure was pushing him over the edge. You couldn't hold back for much longer, either.

Anakin pressed down against the outline of his length through your tummy, the tip of his cock hitting and brushing against your G-Spot. Your head fell back and your back arched, your legs shaking upon his shoulders, a final moan escaping your lips.

"Master, I'm-"

As you released, Anakin choked you again, squeezing your throat, the sight of you desperate to breathe and the feeling of you gushing down his length made him at the point of release.

Anakin pounded you harder, deeper and faster, you moved your arms frantically, begging him to let go; he immediately stopped choking you and pushed himself deep inside of you, slashing your insides with his thick ropes of sperm, coating you.

Five minutes felt like eternity whilst you waited for your life and future to turn upside down.

You held the strange test in your hand, the two lines staring at you through the oval windows. More tears welled up in your eyes and started to stream down your soft cheeks.

"Oh dear," C-3PO panicked "This isn't good news, is it? How are we going to tell my maker?!"

You shook your head and started to laugh, "This isn't bad news at all, and I'll be telling Anakin myself."

Your husband arrived back on Coruscant, and despite feeling exhausted after an agonising mission and endless lectures from his Jedi Master Obi-Wan, his heart excitedly skipped beats knowing that you would be in his arms within a matter of minutes.

Making his way to your apartment, he could sense something strange, another presence inside.

Did you have friends over? Were you consulting a medic? Fixing up a new droid or... or had fallen for someone else?

Anakin couldn't wait to find out, so he burst in and found you alone on the sofa, sitting there nervously with a big smile on your face at his arrival.

"Ani!" you grinned, hurrying over to him, pushing yourself a little too fast "I've missed you so much!"

Your arms wrapped around him, and Anakin pulled you closer, his head resting on yours as he stroked your hair, closing his eyes.

Someone was here. Someone he was yet to meet.

"Are you okay?" he asked you, pulling away from the hug, looking around the room.

You noticed his movements and tugged on his hand, unable to contain your excitement or hide the news for much longer.

"Anakin, something happened whilst you were away."

Your husbands face dropped.

"Y/N-"

You knew he was already overthinking.

"No, I'm- I'm pregnant, Ani." you beamed, bringing his hand and placing it on your stomach "We're having a baby."

Anakin paused, feeling an immense amount of happiness explode inside of him. Against his palm, he could finally pin point the presence - the baby you made together, many nights ago.

You stared at your husband as his eyes that glued on your bump filled with tears, his other hand cupped your face and a smile spread across his lips.

"This- This is the happiest day of my life," he said softly, pulling you in for a kiss.

tags: @autobotrosestark

[savorysatori]

— 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘. ✗

“choke me, spank me, look at me, thank me.”

— sypnosis: working as a maid in a new house is very exciting, you get the money and everything goes well. although, once you’re introduced to the son of the parents, everything goes down hill.

cw, warning: size kink (?), creep!ushi, pictures without consent, nipple play, gn!reader, non-con, somnophilia, sloppy sex, dry humping, praise, panty stealer ushi.

% wc: 2234.

↷ a/n: y’all have no idea how long this was sitting in my drafts, for fucking 5 weeks plsssss- anyways I hope you all enjoy! this was rlly fun to do. also! shoutout to daisy, this collab was really cool! congratulations on 1K bb. <//3

— @daisy-bakugo, PORNSCAPE EVENT! ilyy.

You were everything he wanted, everything he fantasized about.

[1,000.]

That’s how much they were paying.

It was enough to have you accept the job immediately. It was enough to have you choose between two of the slightly revealing maid dresses and enough for you to be standing in front of the wakatoshi mansion. Briefcase in hand with a bucket of supplies you were instructed to bring. Everything was just right, you were prepared to clean, everything would go well.

The frilly material of the skirt swayed around your thighs and glided against the softness of your thigh-highs. Glistening jewels of your gold bracelets glimmering in the hot sun shining down on your skin. The thin line of thread held up the damp clothes, shredding any of the excess water soaked into them. All of the Wakatoshi’s clothing were fancy. Gold lining stitched in the middle or at the end of the cloth, it was clear they were wealthy. But, it somehow amazed you when your eyes glided to the very end of the line — some shirts & shorts were childlike. Pictures of guns and cars were painted onto a black shirt, it looked like something a 5th grader would do. ‘Maybe they had a child?’ You didn’t know, you only met the parents. Folding up the dry ones, you’d stuff them into the cart and push them towards the other line of clothes swishing in the breezy wind.

You finished doing the daily chores, slipping into their kitchen that was designed well with a beautiful interior. Cold marble was felt up against your skin as you tipped the bottle of wine into your glass, clacking against it. Your glossy lips propped up against the cup and took small sips of the fruity flavor. It slid down your throat and surged a zing of bitterness back up to take in the taste, so sweet and yet so unpleasant at the same time. You’d lick the juice off your lips and place it down steadily on the counter, looking up to see a heady gaze sharped on you.

6’2 and steady build towering over you with dark olive hair — was the wakatoshi’s son. Ushijima Wakatoshi.

Your body stayed still, unmoving. He wasn’t anywhere near a 3rd grader - more like a full grown adult. Tongue peeking out from your teeth to lick the dryness seeping between the cracks, your eyelids hooded.

“Uh- Hello! You must the wakatoshi’s son, I’m the new maid.” Extending your hand out to meet his; his hand stayed at his side, not seeming to shift to engulf yours. You’d drop it back beside you and nipped at your lip when the silence between you both continued.

“Well, I’ll see you around. Nice to meet you.. Ushijima! Your parents told me about you.”

You’d excuse yourself away from his intimidating gaze and close the door behind you. Maybe it’s a good idea to introduce myself another time.

The same look from before followed you out of the kitchen, watching you as you’d take up the laundry basket. His eyes kept gawking at your every move. Staring with every bit of emotion nobody could decipher, Toshi wasn’t a very talkative man and it was visible. He situated himself in the shadows and looked from above, staying out of any scandals his parents were exposed to. He did keep his eye on you. Stepping out of his secure area and making every note to try and approach you without seeming like a creep. His creep intentions did creep up back into his system when you started staying at his house, sleeping in a guest room 8 feet away from his room. It was easy; so easy to sneak into it when the moon raised in the dead of night.

Soft thuds of his feet against the carpet thankfully didn’t alert anyone, giving him the time to steal peeps at your sleeping state. Comforter pulled up. Oversized shirt to cover up the intimate parts of your body he dearly wanted to explore. Soft breaths left your pink lips to breathe it in again, his cock stirring at the sound of it. Toshi knew what was right from wrong, he knew that doing something like this would cost his life — but, dear god you were everything he dreamed of. He couldn’t stop now.

His calloused hands raised the shirt for him to be able to see your tummy, sliding his fingers down to the waistband of your panties. They were so simple and adorned your skin beautifully, keeping the heat between your legs warm just for him. His free hand unzipped his jeans and let them pool at his ankles, such as his boxers. You stirred slightly at the foreign touch, brows creasing forward. He stilled until you relaxed back into slumber, his fingers separated your thighs, and slowly slid the oozing head of his cock between them.

“Ah, princess, f-fuuck.” breath ragged, eyes shut closed to take in the bliss. Contentment streamed through him, his hips rocking against you to feel more, more of you. He was greedy. Toshi was insatiable, he wanted everything of you. He didn’t just want — he needed you. It was a plea. A whine for you, a need. The selfishness ran through his family, that’s how he inherited it. From his family. Was he ashamed? No. Not when you felt so good right now, not when he was about to reach the orgasm he was climbing to.

Sweat fanned down his toned chest, abs glistening with droplets of precipitation. His hips rocked forward one last time, cum spurting from his head and between the soft flesh of your thighs. It was sticky and slimy, rolling down to cover every little spot.

The sight of you sleeping soundly while his cum leaked from between your thighs, made the flaccid touch of his cock stir. You were just so pretty, a pretty little something he wanted to scoop up for himself. And he would do it with no trouble whatsoever. His hand slid down to grab his phone from the floor, lying face down. Toshi aimed right in the frame, snapping a picture for later. He stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans and scurried away from your room, not bothering to clean up the mess of his dry cum smeared on you.

Pressing the ‘start’ button you watched the clothes in the machine swirl with bubbles of soap clouding over them. One hand on the machine and knocking it occasionally to make it turn on again. “Barely working.” You’d mutter.

Despite the Wakatoshi’s being filthy rich, their laundry room wasn’t at all cooperative. There were brown pieces of wood peeling off the wall with stains of what seemed to look like dry substance splattered on it. A bunch of plastic bags and socks were pushed to the corner of the room, dirty ones to be exact. Not much laid in the room other than the things you had listed — except for the posters of lewd manga hanging from the cluttered shelves.

The cool air of the basement door opening brushed up against you, your eyes drifting to see who it was. Standing there was Toshi. He was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. His expression was the same as always, stern and uninterested. You were both met with the silence from yesterday, uneasiness creeping up back to you.

Bothering not to talk, you turned back to the machine to see it at twenty-one minutes. It was almost done and you could leave to wrench away from the awkward silence you were sitting in. You could still feel his presence, you knew he was there and it was uncomfortable. So many questions were left unanswered in your head, you couldn’t understand them.

The back of your skirt was flipped up to meet your back, his clothed length pressed against you. He was hard. There was no doubt he wasn’t big, and that was what made your eye sockets almost swell out. He slowly rocked the fabric of your panties along with his bulge. Fingernails digging into your hip and pushing you up more to gain more access and spread your legs.

“Ushijima-“ words of confusion scrabbled out from your mouth quickly, “w-what are you doing?”

“Shh.” He jabbed the curve of your back and made you lay pressed against the cold exterior of the rattling washing machine. His words flustered you, it provoked you to stay quiet. You had never heard his voice before and a situation like this only shook your brain into a deeper hole of complication. “J-Just — let me do this, let me try it out. Once.”

And you did. You let him try it just once, you let him delude into the fantasy he had been dreaming of. You let him do it. Once.

You calmed down from the aftershock of his tongue sending you to see stars, arms jerking when the feeling of his hot touch pressing your face against the door of the machine. Your fingers tightening around the handle and pulling on it slightly, cheeks swelling up with heat. The sounds of your whimpers and tiny jolts sent him to push along more, arm encircling around your stomach, his voice breathy against the shell of your ear. You were like a succubus, a being he couldn’t leave nor escape, so alluring, sweet and he had just met you not too long ago.

The smack of his cock meeting his stomach caused you to crank your head back, looking over to see a beautiful sight. Ushijima’s cock was thick, curving gently upwards. The skin was a light shade of cream, and the head was large, pink, expanding tip. “Ushi-“ your voice was wavery, unsure paring with it.

He’d shush you again, angling your leg up as his lips pressed a kiss to your glistening cunt. Toshi took notice of your expressions when he slid into the warmth delves; brows creased together and little words scampering out from your lips. Latching onto the handle and pulling it ever so often when he hit a certain spot, whenever the tip of his cock caressed against your cervix- it was so beautiful seeing you be reduced to a quivering, blubbering mess. A surreal sight he would only see.

“You’re so damn tight. So wet, so willing.. just like that baby.” The pump of his hips made you lose yourself over and over again, a mixture of sounds that were all kinds of slobbery and slurred due to your dizziness. His pace picked up with renewed energy, slick and wet sounds fill the air, sweaty bodies clamping against each other. The whines and pants of his name being drowned out, so pathetic- clinging to the latch and crumbling under his touch. It drove him like a mad man, his brain clattering, the way you took him in with no problem amazed him, you were so inviting and supple.

“S’too b-big! Ushi- ah! -“

The whines of him being too big impaled itself into his brain, your shivering body and cunt wrapped around all together had already made him blank out, now with your pleas, it caused a switch in his head to flip and jack-hammer himself into you. Pump after pump. It made your eyelashes flutter with droplets of tears risking to stream down the fat of your cheeks. His hands holding you firmly, brows furrowed with grunts flowing into your right ear. A grunt rippled from him as his cock throbbed harshly inside you, the feeling making him come undone right there.

“Just like that, ah, fuck you make me feel so good.”

Wrinkled skirt falling to the floor, his cock pulling out of you slowly with globs of cum dribbling out of you, he’d shuffle around till you faced him fully now with a perplexed look on your face. The shirt becoming loose as Toshi’s lips wrapped around the sensitive nipple, suckling and easing any leftover moans out from your throat. His hands placing you on the machine and attaching his lips back onto your nipple, tongue flat against your sweaty skin.

“Fuck, U-Ushi! holy- fuck, just like that.” Your back straining as you leaned back, gasping and threading your fingers through his hair to balance. Toshi wasn’t one with words, his statue being quiet and still. But, words poured out from his lips at the sound of your moans, when you were so good for him.

“So, good.. pretty. pretty, like a beauty.” He pulled off of it with a squelch, standing up high and cupping your chin to stare in your love drunk eyes. “You were so good for me, yeah?”

You nodded, vision hazy and eyes occasionally blinking to peer up at him with a blurry image. Your head rested in the crook of his neck, sniffling as he picked up the soiled panties from the floor and stuffed them into his back pocket. They were red and pink, swirly designs on them, he found them so cute. He slid your legs around him and walked out of the room, leaving the washing machine to rattle in the background with soap and water overflowing onto the ground.

Ushijima just couldn’t leave you after that day, he stuck to you like glue. Who could blame him? You were everything he wanted, everything he had fantasized about.

[tommyspeakycap]

Hi love, I adore your writing so much! And as you just asked for some ideas/concepts here’s mine for Jack Grealish from prompts list 2: fluff #11 where he’s asking her (she’s his best friend) to go for a walk cause there’s so much going on in his life and he just needs to talk. fluff #36, angst #31 and a happy ending please? Basically a Best friends to lovers thing as I’m a sap for that…thank you!! xx

Fluff #11; “I know it’s 2 in the morning but do you want to…”

Fluff #36; “because I fell for you, isn’t it obvious?”

hope I did this justice for you!

Fell for you

“Jesus god,” you grumbled with hands aimlessly palming across the mattress for the blaring sound of your phone from its place charging somewhere on the bed. Your next move is an elongated “Ahhhhh,” sound, fatigue still holding tightly onto your body in a way that seals your eyes shut even as you try to shut off the sound your phone was deafening your with. In a wakened state, you might’ve noticed that it was your ringtone that had interrupted your sleep. However as tired as you were you ruled it as your alarm right away and moved yourself into seated position with the duvet still wrapped tight around you and your eyes still shut.

You were suspended in that space between being asleep and being awake, still sitting up when the offensive sound came screaming through your phone once again.

This time, your eyes snapped open in fright and the fatigue-blurred letters of Jack Grealish’s name popped up across the top of your screen.

“How is it morning already?” You protest down the line, a heavy sigh passing your lips to follow. Jack’s chuckle can be heard through the line, “It’s not.” He replies simply, prompting you to pull your phone away from your ear to hold out in front if your face.

02:17am

“Then why on earth am I up?” You mumble, a question more posed to yourself than the man on the other end. “Wait, why are you up? And why are you calling so early?”

“I’m outside your door.”

“You’re what?!” You throw back your duvet and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You’ve hung up the phone already by the time you reach the front door at a tired shuffle. His hair is tousled when you see him, like he’s been running his hands through it over and over, you imagine that he has. He does that when he’s stressed. You have to squint against the street lights and his car headlights outside, still on as it sits running on the street. “Can we go somewhere?” He asks, his voice as desperate as his eyes look when he speaks, begging you to agree. Not that he would need to beg. You’d do anything for that man. Even if it did mean dragging yourself from your bed at 2 in the morning.

“Course.”

No question, no pressure. He loves that from you. He knows you’ll ask him later and when the time is right you’ll force him to tell you of course. Now is not that time yet and you’re nowhere near awake enough to do so much anyway. “Let me just grab my-“

“I have a hoodie in the car and your shoes in my boot.” He cuts in, tugging your arm gently out the door of your house. He knows you better than any other person in this world, so he knows full and well that there’s not much you are going to do in the way of protesting when you’re so soon out of sleep. He’d often teased with layers of worry deeper beneath that he genuinely worried for you living on your own. You open the door to people far too easily, and he will not fail to bring that up sometime tomorrow. For now, he steps into your doorway where you had stood moments before, grabs your keys from the cabinet and pulls the door closed behind him with a click of the latch locking behind him.

The cold paving stones beneath your feet make you shine in protest, shifting your weight between each one to ease the chill. In was in that cold that you look down and make the realisation, or rather come to remember the fact that you don’t have any pyjama bottoms on. “Jack!” You yelp, “I’m not wearing trousers!” You suddenly feel very exposed and rightly so, standing outside your home suddenly very awake in only a long claret and blue shirt that only extended down to the middle of your thighs. “Eh?” He whips around, “You what?”

It’s only now he really takes you in with rosy cheeks from embarrassment, your hair messed up from your sleep. His frantic eyes soften and his heart stops thundering in his chest finally. The sight of you there calms him. You’re there. Right there. His (y/n) is right there in front of him.

“What’s the rush, Jack? Is everything okay?”

Your gentle words and tired eyes bring him back to the ground, the flurry of his racing thoughts only now finally calmed. He often acts on impulse, but you are always able to slow his brain down a few paces. His sits heavily, "I know it's two am but...do you think we could go somewhere. My heads fuckin'... I don't even know." He dips back down to run that hand through his hair once again. His words stoke a bit of a worry in you, head tilted to the side in question. Jack doesn't tend to be the kind who gets himself panicked and all wound up like he has right now. That's more your half of the friendship. You did the worrying, he did the easygoing.

"It's okay, Jack. Of course. Come on then, let's go." You nod your head and he goes around the back of the car to get the shoes and socks he promised you. You very nearly choked up a lung when he presented you with a brand new Balenciaga box. "What the fuck, Jack?" You all but wheeze out, head whipping towards him climbing into the passenger seat.

"Got you a present 'cause I'm leaving soon." He shrugs with a jaw-dropping ease. You list open the lid and inside sit a pair of sliders that cost nearly £400. You physically gawp. "Oh my god."

"What?" Jack asks, drawing out of his parking spot on the street, "Heard you telling your mum you needed new sliders for the summer, do you not like 'em?"

His nerves would be clear in his voice if you hadn't been in such a ferocious level of shock. You're glad you weren't eating anything because it surely would have choked you to death. Of course you had seen Jack wearing brands like Balenciaga, Gucci, Versace and the likes, but you had never owned such an expensive piece of clothing. "I mean of course I love them, J but I meant from Primark or bloody amazon, you shouldn't have spent al that money on me." You protested, but Jack really pays it no mind. In fact, the suggestion that you don't deserve everything luxurious that this world has to offer offends him more than it does anything else. You should know that you deserve everything good that this world can give and he has the means to actually give that to you. He'd count himself an absolute fool not to.

"Gonna pretend you didn't say that." He mutters, eyes kept carefully on the empty road ahead of his car. Your eyebrows are furrowed, a part of you brain still very much trying to a) wake up and b) process the expensive of the gift he handed to you so casually. "Not arguing about it either." His voice cuts you off the second you open your mouth to speak, shutting down your protest before it even leaves you.

As the fatigue of your sleep wears off, your mind continues to be just as boggled as it had been the moment his name popped up on your screen at 2am, if not more boggled now.

"You're acting so weird, Jack. What the hell is going on with you today?" Your insistence is careful with your pressure. It's enough to try to open him up but not enough to make it sound like a confrontation. Neither you nor Jack like confrontation especially with each other. The words make him chew on his lip as he careens the large white range rover through a turn that leads up a gravel road that crunches beneath his tires. The stops when he's met with a with a large gate that prevents cars but a little slot for people to walk through. Jack leaves his door open when he leaves the car with a curtly mumbled "Stay here" as he does. He pushes open the gate with ease before he gets back in the car and follows the path up the hill further.

He stop abruptly in a very small gravel car park without any parking lines to abide and steps out, slamming his door behind him like he absolutely always does; you swear that man couldn't be quiet if his life depended on it. Which was another reason why you were so surprised by his silence. You clamber out after him with that same fear of falling flat on your face that always fills your mind each and every time you leave his car. But Jack is where he has been every time you step out the Range Rover since the first day he got it; standing by your door to hold your hand so you can jump out without a trip onto the gravel beneath. He shuts the door behind you and hands you a spare pair of his loose fitting track pants.

On an average day you might've teased the reason he hasn't worn them was because they wouldn't have squeezed the life out his legs. Today wasn't one of those days, so you slip them on without a word. Followed up by his way too big for you socks and the brand new black slides. Even wide awake, this confuses you to no end. Jack was never quiet and never elusive. He was boisterous, loud, open and confident.

The second you turn around, you realise why he brought you here.

The view of the stars, the sky completely clear. There wasn't a street lamp in sight. The moon provided the kind of spotlight hue that you kind of thought only existed in the enhancement of Hollywood movies. "Woah," you breathe, words stolen by its beauty.

"Yeah," Jack laughs, "Now you know how I feel every time I look at you."

You head turns to him so fast it sends your head spinning a little, or maybe that's just the shock of his words. You couldn't tell.

"What?"

He shrugs his shoulders, scuffing his feet along the gravel to meet up with where you stand. But he freezes before he gets the chance.

"Why are you wearing that?" He asks, a very sudden cold change in his tone that actually makes your body feel colder. "Wearing what? This?" You gesture to the claret and blue shirt you had thrown on in a haste to get to him standing at your front door a short while ago. You turn to see his unhappy scowl and the firm discontented cross of his strong arms. "Yeah that," he grumbles, "And where'd you even get it." He adds with a flare of his nostrils. He looks adorable angry like this, like he's trying so hard to look angry when his emotions lie truly elsewhere.

You look down at the shirt with furrowed brows, before you shift your shoulder forward, crane your neck and pull the material around to view the back as best you could. "What's wrong with it?" You ask finally, attempts to defy the natural state of your body failing to allow you to see your back.

"It's Ginny's." Jack states as if its the most obvious thing in the world. You just look at him bewildered. "And?"

He huffs as he takes a few more heavy steps up to you, looking like he had a lot of things to say without any way of being able to get them to coordinate from his brain to his lips. "Why do you have Ginny's shirt though?"

You breathe a little bit of laughter at him, shaking your head softly. "it was just a joke. I saw him after a match waiting for you so I jumped out at him and pretended to be a fan for a video and he signed it and gave to me as a joke. I just threw it on when you showed up at my door in the middle of the night. Wasn't exactly a fashion statement."

Jack still grunts in dissatisfaction at your answer, refusing to meet your eyes. "You have plenty of mine to wear though, don't need his." His argues in a disgruntled grumble. You raise and drop your arms down by your side with a sigh. He was really testing your patience now. "Hm, last time I checked you couldn't give me yours anymore because your ex didn't like it." You protest with a wag of your finger, making him turn his head downwards with something like a shudder running through him at the mention of her name. "Yeah well there's a reason she's my ex innit." He mutters under his breath.

"What the hell is the problem with you today Jack?" You exclaim, his eyes jolting to you in surprise. You don't often snap.

"First you show up at my door in the middle of the night and drag me out of my house and then you won't actually speak to me and now you're picking a fight about John M fucking Ginn?" You snap, the anger and confusion he had stirred up showing in your emphatic hand gestures that only come out when you're telling him a passionate story or going off your head at him. "He's your best mate, why would that even bother you?!"

"I'm sorry, I-"

"I'm not done, Jack!" You yell, holding out a hand. "You haven't even spoken to me all week. I found out you made the England call up on fucking twitter Jack, twitter! And your mum told me about you dumping your girl and I can't even get through to you and now you're buying me gifts and bringing me here? I don't know if I'm coming or going here Jack, you have to give me something. We're meant to be friends." You voice breaks on the last syllable and a lump forms in Jack's throat that he can't just swallow away. Any pain, any hurt and any slight sadness of emotion that appears in you shatters his heart. He thought that was a normal reaction until two weeks ago when he realised it only happens to him when its your upset he witnesses.

"I'm sorry." He says, his voice thick and wavering with the same level of emotion. "I really, really am." He stands right in front of you now, so close you're basically chest to chest, faces merely inches apart.

"And I'm scared." He admits, sending a pang through your already aching heart. "Scared because I'm leaving and I can't take you with me." His words tickle your lips as they leave his, clouds of air puffing above the two of you as his hot breath meets the cold night air. "You've done it before, J. It'll be fine." You soothe, hands gently raising to reach up and brush the hair out of his face. His let's forth a content sigh of relief at the feeling of your touch. "That was before though." He confesses with a slight shrug. He watches that furrow sow itself back into your brows.

"Before what?"

"Dance with me?" He suggests, his arms finding their way around you with ease, much less fumbley than you remember from your high school prom. Your head tilts in that adorable confused way that makes a grin form on his cold lips.

"Why?" You query, eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion. He laughs softly. "Because the music is slow and the sky is gorgeous and because I love you."

Before you get the chance to recognise, process or even understand what he said, he's swaying you around the gravel under the stars.

"Because you what?" You squeak, your eyes desperately searching his as you look for any reason this might be some kind of a joke or one of pranks that makes you want to throttle him. He just smiles at you with those crinkled eyes and the love shining right there in his eyes for you to see. Your stomach flutters like the teenager you were when you fell in love with him. His lips dip down to capture yours in the best kiss that your being has ever felt, his hands ringing your hair, stroking down over your cheeks with those warm hands of his.

"Because I've fell for you, isn't it obvious?"

[thiscrimsonsoul]

{i am the caretaker of souls} Bit of a random rant below the read more about the headcanon question... what if Wanda developed psychosomatic colorblindness following DSMoM and could no longer see red?

So the 1994 movie Color of Night was on the other night and I hadn’t seen it in a very long time. I’ve always liked that movie, even though I know a lot of people have little good to say about it because of its sexual explicitness, uncomfortable discussions about childhood abuse, assault, and trauma, and its questionable portrayal of DID, but if you can look past the triggering content and exploitative feel at times, the plot was always one that interested me. I genuinely enjoyed it, although the ending is... emotionally rough. Jane March is an actress I feel has been so drastically underrated over the years too, because she’s great at expressing an array of harrowing emotions as well as vulnerability that somehow doesn’t come across as damsel-in-distress-ish. The combination of vulnerability and agency in her character in this movie is refreshing. If you like murder mysteries with a sexually-charged noir type feel in its unfolding, then check it out. But be warned of the potentially-triggering material I mentioned above.

The plot. Basically, a psychiatrist takes over running group therapy sessions from a colleague who was murdered, and in addition to trying to continue the patients’ therapy, he also tries to figure out who killed his friend. Around the same time he starts getting threatened himself by an unknown stalker, he meets and falls in love with an enigmatic woman who seems to not want him to know too much about herself. Plots and people and pasts become intertwined after that, and I don’t want to say any more because there’s a pretty significant twist at the end.

My point in mentioning it here is something that the psychiatrist experienced during the movie... psychosomatic colorblindness. He had suffered a previous trauma that had caused him to no longer be able to see the color red. Instead, everything that was supposed to be red was now a muted gray. Blood, for example, looked like gray paint to him. I haven’t seen the movie since I started watching MCU movies in 2018, so this time when watching it I thought to myself... what if Wanda suffered something similar post-DSMoM?

Imagine if the trauma of everything after the temple on Wundagore collapsed, everything she’d done, everyone she’d lost, and just the horrid truth of knowing she’d failed her boys and everyone else who believed in her... had caused Wanda to stop seeing the color red? As part of her brain’s response to all that trauma building up and then exploding, she wakes up after Wundagore (because we all know she’s not dead, come on, haha) and her outfit looks gray. She uses her powers... and her magic looks gray. It looks like smoke to her. Imagine how disconcerting and alarming that would be for her, because it’s been a part of her for so many years, and to see its color change to a dull gray, along with everything else that’s supposed to be red, would be alarming but also I’m guessing kindof depressing. 

I know this is such a random thing to latch onto, but because the color that was muted in the movie was red, it just automatically made me think of Wanda, because so much about her and that she does is associated with red. And just imagine... the Scarlet Witch... being unable to see the color red... *shrugs* I don’t know, it was just an idea that hit me and I kindof want to add it in, only because I think it would help punctuate this new stage of trauma she’s going through now, like... it would be an indicator of just how much the events of DSMoM affected her, that she would develop this psychosomatic ailment. It would also be poetically poignant and fitting, if Wanda wakes up disgusted with herself and her powers, depressed by the monster her boys in 838 looked at her as, if she then couldn’t see red. It’d almost be as if she is mentally, in a subconscious manner, rejecting her own magic and title by wiping the color red from her vision.

And the solution to it would be so nebulous because psychosomatic ailments can clear up in a few days, months, years... or never. And what “heals” them is different for everyone, because the damage is in the brain, in the mind, not in the body. There would be nothing wrong with Wanda’s eyes or vision, but rather it would be how her brain is interpreting signals from her eyes that would be affected. It’s a psychological ailment, not a physical one, and those can be very difficult to alleviate. So there would be no telling when, or if, Wanda would regain her ability to see red.

*shrugs again* No point to this rant other than that it’s something I found interesting that made me think of Wanda and what the implications of it would be for her. If anybody wants to do a thread on this or wants me to add this condition to an existing thread for Wanda, let me know. It would be something interesting to explore as far as how she reacts to it and how it affect her and her magic going forward.

[themanip]

late nights

SUMMARY — you and bang chan are both equally as stressed out. your solution?  sleep with each other. boom, problem solved.

PAIRING — bang chan  x  reader  WARNINGS — mentions of stress and mental health problems, unprotected sex, soft!dom chan, mentions of kinks, really soft, really cute smut basically, crying (not sexually), sad thoughts, angry and frustrated emotions, angsty GENRE — heavy angst, fwb, coming-of-age kind of, smut, romance, porn with a hint of plot WORD COUNT — 4.9k, i got carried away my bad

“How do you deal with stress?”

Chan’s question wasn’t ill intentioned by any means, and as you both sat in his studio, you pondered on whether or not to actually answer truthfully. “I mean, you’re the leader of two more trainees than I was, and navigating as a girlgroup is much more difficult than boygroups,”

“Do you want the honest answer, or the more appropriate answer?” you crossed your legs, Chan’s couch feeling quite comfortable. He stared down at you for a moment, the height of his chair offering him that leverage.

The room was quiet, the lights were dim, and the entire environment was soothing. “Well, honest, of course. No point in me asking if it’s a fib, no?”

You nodded, blowing a puff of air out of your nose thoughtfully. “Truthfully, I use sex. It allows me to physically and mentally drain myself, and I sleep really well after getting fucked. It allows me to refresh the next morning, and my stress, at least physically, is diminished.”

You didn’t look at him until you finished talking, and his face was blank. Once you two locked eyes, he sputtered out, “Oh, I—”

“This is why I offered two options, Chan,” you laughed, and at the lighten of atmosphere he giggled a bit too. “I didn’t mean to, y’know,” he stopped, and you nodded lightly. “I get it, but as of now I don’t do it much anymore. I usually just let out my anger or stress during dance routines or working out but it doesn’t work the same, and sometimes I deliver moves too harshly while dancing.”

“Why not?”

You were unsure what he was referring to, and you crinkled your eyebrows. “How come you don’t do it anymore if nothing else helps the same way?” he asked softly, his eyes swimming with genuine concern. 

“I’m a lot more conservative with my body, I just have to trust someone. It’s hard to get to know a guy without them immediately wanting to jump into a relationship. You can’t really do that in what we do, and the second I start to trust a guy things go haywire. I just really have to have a good friendship to have sex, I guess.”

The entirety of the conversation, Chan’s cheeks were turning peach. Even in the dark, dim light, you could see it. “I understand, it’s a very tangible thing. Just giving yourself to someone like that without a basic relationship, platonic or not, is important depending on how you view relationships,”

You nodded in response, and a silence fell over you two. There wasn’t much to be said, but for some reason you decided to blurt out. “If you don’t know how to deplete stress, I suggest it. Just the no strings attached part, because otherwise things get messy and stress becomes inevitable. Just try it sometime, Chan. If you don���t like it, then consider it a learning experience,” you shrugged, and Chan pursed his lips.

“I mean it doesn’t sound like a bad idea, per se. I just don’t know how I’ll casually ask someone to have sex. Most women just run off the moment I mention it, and who knows if they’re even into the same things I am? There’s just so many things to be unsure of.” His chin was now laying on his thumb, and his pointer finger was laying above his top lip. He was deep in thought. 

You stood up, which cause Chan to unexpectedly flinch, and he watched you with careful eyes. “Chris, if you ever feel like you need a de-stresser, you know where to find me. Nothing will be weird unless you make it weird. Or we can always just talk, either way, I’m here. I have to go before Sumna comes and drags me out of here, but seriously. Whatever you need, no strings attached. Nothing leaves this room,” you mentioned softly, and his eyes widened at his English name. It’s rather rare you used it, so he pondered the specific use of it in this scenario.

“Thank you,” he muttered simply, and he watched you as you walked out. Was she being serious?

Chan and you had not talked in a few days. Whether it was a crazy schedule, you embarassing yourself, or him not knowing how to approach the situation, you didn’t know. All you did know was that you missed your friend. 

You and your bandmates had a hectic schedule today, and as the leader, you’d had to sit in on a meeting with your manager and JYP’s public relations manager. Apparently, Dispatch had caught one of your members, Lanzi, out doing something with another k-pop idol. Dispatch had only obtained two pictures of it, but it was clearly legible on who they were, and what they were doing.

The cost to get those pictures thrown out was much more than JYP would have liked, so she had to sit and get chewed out. Instead of being angry at Lanzi, she became more angry at herself. She had talked to them about things of this sort, but clearly not well enough. It was her job as leader, and she failed doing so. 

After a three hour long meeting, you were absolutely exhausted, mentally at least. And now, just after that, was choreography practice. You’d just learned the choreo a few days before, so for the most part you had it down. As lead dancer, you also had to make sure everyone else in your group understood that too. 

So, thirty minutes into practice, when none of your members seemed to be latching on, you sighed. Your entire job was to simply lead, and do well. Somehow, you couldn’t manage to do that. Once more, you started the choreography, and told your girls to simply stand back and watch.

You had a slight tone, but you needed them to understand that rhythm is just as important as the real dance moves. Your entire body was covered in sweat, and you were growing more frustrated by the minute. 

The way your body moved was no longer elegant, just harsh, angry strokes of somewhat rhythmic actions. You did your best to do it just as you were shown, but the overwhelming anger and emotion in your body was just more than you could handle. 

Little did you know, next to your bandmates, stood Hyunjin and Chan. They had come to ask something, but instead found you dancing your angered heart out. All stopped and stared, and Chan could only focus on the way your hips contorted, the patterns your hips followed.

As the music stopped, you turned around, and your eyes widened at the visitors. 

“We can leave if you’re busy, Hyunjin-ah just wanted to ask if he could borrow the studio tomorrow, and I wanted a word with you, if that’s okay,” Chan asked, and all of your bandmates went silent, expecting you to take the lead of the conversation.

“Hyunjin-sunbaenim, the studio is yours whenever you need it. Let me know what time, and Chan-oppa, would you like to talk now?”

Hyunjin bowed, and gave a quick thank you before heading out of the room. “Yes, please. If you’re too busy, no worries,” and you looked at your girls and told them to head back to the dorm. You were done for today, no reason to beat a dead horse when clearly today was not a good one to get skills in. 

“Can we talk in my studio?” Chan came closer to you, almost a whisper, and you knew this was going to go one of two ways: he was going to fuck your brains out, or he was going to let you know that he did not think of you in that way, and to please never discuss things like that with him again. You don’t think you could handle either, at least not today. 

“Yeah, let me grab some other clothes,” you said softly, rubbing your forehead in anxiety. Chan quickly started to mention something, and you shut him up quick. “I don’t—”

“Chan, I’m getting new clothes because I am sweaty and tired, nothing else. I will meet you in your studio after I am changed,” you sighed, your hot knees feeling good against the cool floor of the choreography studio. Your duffle bag now wide open, you grabbed an oversized long sleeve shirt and a pair of loose jeans. 

You also reapplied deodorant and some perfume so you didn’t smell like you lived in a sewer, the amount

As your girls were long gone, you felt free to change in the studio. Your clothes quickly fell to the floor, and you were now in more comfortable apparel that is not drenched in sweat. Dreading this conversation with Chan, you swiftly collected your things and moved them to the corner to come collect after you spoke to Chan and was ready to go home. 

Guiding your way to Chan’s studio was a walk in the park. The amount of times you’d go in there to talk to him, or for him to let you hear what he’d been working on, was countless. You two had budded a beautiful friendship, and he had been somewhat of a rock. He had always been so sweet, so loving. And you’ve possibly ruined it because you couldn’t think of anything other than sex when trying to guide him through dealing with stress.

Your eyes almost welled at the thought. You couldn’t cry though, not now. So, as you stood outside of Chan’s recording studio, you held your breath for a moment and looked up, letting the tears vanish.

A soft knock sounded, your knuckles rasping at the door. The hallways were silent, and you couldn’t hear a single thing from inside Chan’s studio. Your own heartbeat pounded in your ears, and you tensed as you heard footsteps leading up to his door.

He opened the door, his face showing no clear emotions. He didn’t seem angry, but he wasn’t too happy to see you, either. His hair was clearly ran through by his hand, blonde tufts falling back towards his ears. His makeup was done to perfection, light brown tones covering his lids. 

He wore a simple outfit, a loose black hoodie and dark blue sweatpants. He’d changed from earlier, his black ripped jeans now nowhere to be seen. “Come in, you can sit anywhere,” his voice was always soft, even though he could be fuming, his tone would never soar. 

“Chan, I just want to say I’m sorry,” you muffled out, plopping down unconventionally on his couch. “I just, I don’t know why I said those things or did that,” at this point, you just didn’t want him to think differently of you. He was the closest thing you had to a mentor, and he was an amazing friend. 

If you lost him, or ruined your relationship, you don’t think you could ever forgive yourself. 

You pulled your knees up to your chest as he took a seat in his chair, staring expectedly at you. Silence followed, so you continued, unsure of what he was expecting to hear. “I just don’t like you being stressed, and the only way I know how to cope with things is kind of like that, so I figured maybe you could too, and then I offered, and I feel like I just fucked things up between us. I.. just I’m so sorry.”

At this point your eyes had clouded up, and your voice had cracked multiple times. The day you’d had just piled up, and your exhaustion was visible. Chan’s eyes immediately softened, and he felt bad. He wasn’t mad, he just didn’t know how to approach the situation. 

“Hey, hey,” he soothed, and he stood up from his chair and joined you on the couch. At this point, you’d started full on crying. “I ruined our friendship, and now I’m sitting here crying so you’re gonna feel too bad to be honest with me about what I did wrong,” you were now sniffling hard, and your chest was dense you were surprised you could breathe. 

“No, love, that’s not it, I promise,” your heart pumped blood a bit harder at his nickname for you, and he placed a warm hand on your back. “I came here to ask if you were okay,” his tone was now nothing but soft and supportive, and he continuously rubbed your back. Warmth spread throughout your entire body. 

“I heard about the meeting, and everyone kept discussing how stressed out you were today,” in the dim light once more, his eyes glowed. They were so soft, so sweet. His entire aura was just warm, loving, and nothing was more assuring. 

“No matter what happens between us, you’re my friend, and I care about you,” he smiled softly, “Nothing would change that, unless you like, stabbed me or something,” he laughed soulfully, and you laughed with him. He pulled you closer to him, your head now leaning on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Chan. I just didn’t know what to do, and today has been really shitty,” you smiled, and let your head fall even closer to his chest. His thumbs ran circles around your back, and he held you close. “It’s okay, I understand. Trust me,” a warm silence encased the entire room, and as Chan now cuddled you warmly, your face was now red at the reality of the situation.

“Do you feel a bit better?”

“Yeah, I just needed someone to remind me of how things are and to keep me grounded,” you sighed, and Chan’s thumb was now no longer rubbing your back. His hand had stilled, and all you could hear was the heartbeat from inside Chan’s chest. He was so broad, and the expanse of his torso provided a very comfortable pillow.

“I wasn’t offended, or taken back or anything when you offered, you know that, right?” Chan spoke out of nowhere, the rumbling of his chest vibrating intensely. “I wouldn’t have known, I tried my best to ignore you in case you never wanted to speak to me again,”

A small laugh came out of Chan, and his chest pushed your head a bit. “No, in fact, I think I’ve thought about it a little too much.”

You pushed your head off of him at this point, and resuming your position before he sat on the couch. You pulled your knees back up to your chest, and looked at him. “Really?”

“You said you wanted to have sex with someone you trust, and I feel the same way. It’s really hard to come by good people with good intentions, and you also happen to be beyond gorgeous. Why would I not want to?”

With cheeks now flushed red, you giggled. School-girl giggled, specifically. You had no idea how to take this compliment, but then the realization hit you. Christopher Bang just said he wants to fuck you.

His face also turned a deep scarlet, and he looked down, waiting for a reaction. “Mr. Bang, the things you say. So scandalous,” you both laughed lightly, and you hummed in response to the silence. “If we decide to ever do something, it’s important we talk about it first,” you mentioned, and now the conversation went from light-hearted to a bit more serious.

 “Of course, but in what way?”

“I don’t know, what kinds of things do you like? I can’t promise I can pertain to everything, but there’s no harm in trying. Especially if it happens more than once,” you clutched your legs, and Chan leaned forward a bit, his elbows on his knees as he stared ahead.

“Uh, well,” he laughed, and covered his hands with his face. This was the Chan you liked, who could make any situation, no matter how dark, seem light and easy-going. “It’s not really,” he started, beginning to look at you, then stopping himself, “I don’t know. I never usually talk about it like this,”

“Well, how about this: I tell you what I like, and you tell me what you’re willing to do. Just because I like it does not mean you have to do it, but if you enjoy it too, its mutual pleasure, yeah?”

Chan simply nodded, now mesmerized by you. His face completely tracked yours, and you sighed. “I have always loved your hands. I really, really like if you’d put them around my neck, if you would ever feel so kind. I really love being praised, I love being called a good girl, things like that. My favorite foreplay is just making out, I’m just a big softie, but I can take rough if that’s what you like. I’m a big pleaser, and I want to make sure you’re taken care of and get some pleasure out of this,”

Chan nodded once more, and his fingers instinctively wrapped themselves around his rings, twisting and turning. “Your turn, Channie,” you smirked, and he leaned back, a smile crowning his face. 

“Well, I really like being soft and intimate, I like any position, bonus points if I see your face,” he smiled, his cheeks burning scarlet. He clearly did not talk about these things often, moreso just played them out in the midst of a high and never spoke of it again. But he and you both knew how important communication was, so he continued.

“I have played around with being called Daddy, but I’m not sure, and if you’re not comfortable with it—”

“If I am that uncomfortable with something, I promise I’ll tell you. Besides, that’s really cute. Rolls right off the tongue, right Daddy?”

He visibily shivered, and you smiled. “I—uh, I like if you’d run your fingers through my hair, not too hard, but like soothingly, kind of? If that makes sense. I also like it if you’d verbalise when you’re, uh—”

You knew where he was going, so you leaned close to his ear and finished his sentence for him. “Gonna cum? Oh, it would be rude not to,” you laughed gently, and you saw the last of Chan’s patience snap like a rubber band. 

His hands grabbed your face sternly, yet somehow gently. “Do you want this?” he asked, the lust obvious on his face. Despite any previous conversation, he needed verbal consent to continue, and it would make him feel most okay with doing this. 

“Yes,”

The room was now silent, anticipation filling your entire body. You’d come in here crying, and you couldn’t help but hope you’d leave the same way; just a different type of crying. 

He pushed you so your back was now flush against the couch, the headrest leaning your upper torso closer to him. “Tell me to stop, and I promise I will, alright? The second you tell me to,” he was now looking you dead in the eyes, above you. Your legs were spread open, and his entire body was in the valley of your abdomen. Both of his arms were on either side of you, perching himself up. 

“Chris, just kiss me already,” you whined, and he laughed wholeheartedly, before dipping in. The first kiss was hesitant, exploring new territory. His lips tasted like vanilla chapstick, and the first few were light pecks. It took only a second before he took the initiative and added his tongue to the mixture. 

You rarely ever used tongue, most of your hookups barely even kissed, which is why none of them compared. Kissing was your weak point, it was a vulnerability. And Chan did not abuse that power once.

“Is this okay?” he mumbled against your mouth, your exchanging saliva now making more than your mouth lubricated. “Fuck, yes,” you moaned out, the amount of times he would kiss you now making you weak.

His hands dragged softly, and held themselves at your jaw, a classic sweetheart. His thumb was against your cheek so softly, the pads gracefully rubbing across the expanse of your cheekbone.

Everything about this was so domestic, so warm. His kisses were so soft, and full of love. There was no rush, no push to go any farther had you or him decided not to. His warm hands on your face made you purr on the inside, and when he pulled away, he had looked more beautiful than ever. 

You had no intention of mentioning the wetness that had gathered between your legs, until Chan was staring at you, and momentarily his eyes widened. “Shit,” he cursed, looking around rapidly. “We don’t have a condom. I’m clean and everything, but we don’t have to continue if you don’t feel comfortable,”

“I have an implant, and I’m clean too. I just want you, if you want me too.”

Chan had no other qualms about it, and he attacked your face in sloppy kisses. “Here, can we switch positions, my arm is hurting?” he asked awkwardly, and you laughed with your entire chest. It was a normal question, but the way he asked so ashamedly, as if it was something terrible. 

“Sit up straight, let me get on your lap,” you said softly, and he did as he was told. It was only then that you saw the bulge in his sweatpants, and you forgot that he actually had a male appendage, and from the looks of it, he was either girthy or long. Or both. 

As long as he knew how to use it, you’d be fine. 

He grabbed you by your hand to help maneuver you, and now your entire weight was on top of Chan. As you finally sat your hips down, he groaned. “Oh god,”

You took his face in your hands, and started kissing him again. At this point, you didn’t want him to be respectful anymore. His hands did not waver from your face, and so you took it into your own hands. Grabbing them both, so soft and calloused, and placed them as discreetly as you could, onto your hips. Moreso your ass, but Chan didn’t know your intentions. 

His hands pushed your hips forward, now rutting against his hard on. His lips and yours were now in a frenzy, drenching each other. It was still pretty slow, nothing fast paced, just more intense.

He broke the kiss, and his hands now edged at the bottom of your shirt. “Can I take this off?” he asked, breathless. His lips were now swollen and puffy, and his pupils were blown wide. 

You nodded softly, no words needed to be said. He quickly hauled the oversize shirt above your head, and groaned harshly when he realized you had no bra on. His first instinct was to latch his mouth onto your nipples, sucking softly. A moan left your mouth, and with nothing to hold onto anymore, your hands found his hair. 

Still rocking back and forth, your panties were probably soaked at that point. So much foreplay had you almost throbbing, and you couldn’t wait much longer to have him inside you. 

“Chan, please,” you moaned out, and he bit down on your nipple gently. “Only since you asked so nicely,” he added, and he told you to stand up. You did so, easily willingly, yet you loved the way he spoke to you.

It was almost a request, a plea. There was no power imbalance here, simply one trying to find another. He was so gentle, in everything he did. You wanted to drown in that feeling. 

He pulled your jeans off without a hitch, and eyed your lace panties hungrily, slightly thankful you’d changed earlier this evening. His fingers grasped the sides, pulling them down your legs. You were now completely bare, and he was fully dressed. This was a problem. 

“Not fair, your turn,” you pouted, and his eyes were fixated on your naked body. It felt odd, having him see you like this, but you couldn’t complain. Your arousal was now tainting your inner thighs, and Chan could probably see it too. 

He rid himself of his hoodie and his shirt at the same time, and you finally got a full view of him shirtless. This man was absolutely ripped, and you had to hold in a gasp. His arms were lined in protruding veins, and his abs were impeccable. You worked out, but not in your wildest dreams would you ever be able to maintain that nice of a physique. 

It wasn’t until he pulled off his pants, and painstakingly after, he patiently pulled his boxers off. God, did he have a pretty cock. A bit longer than average, slightly girthy, and it made your mouth water just thinking about it. 

Your first instinct was to pop down onto your knees, but as you were on your way down, Chan grabbed you by the arm. “Not this time, please, I need you,” he whined out, almost painfully. 

As you were on top of his lap, you were careful not to let him inside you yet. You figured he could decide when to do it, and you squealed when he let one hand slide from your face, down to your throat. His fingers, covered in rings, squeezed gently. He coaxed another moan from you as he let his fingers glide down the valley of your body, and found itself on your clit.

His movements were slow, but intense. His fingers glided over your folds, picking up some of your arousal, and placed all of his attention onto your little nub. Small pinprick moans escaped your mouth, and you began to tilt your hips in an attempt to get more friction. “Fuck, you’re so wet,”

Some noise semblant to a mew tried to leave your mouth, but his fingers tangled themselves around your neck further, leaving the sound trapped in your throat. “Are you ready? Or do we need to get you a bit more warmed up?” he asked softly, his mouth now next to you ear. His voice was dark, and husky.

“God, I just need you inside me,” you whined, and his hand let up on your neck, and he grabbed his cock harshly. He pumped it a few times, and spread your lips, and lined you up.

“Beg,” he said simply, and even if you tried to sink down, he now placed a hand on top of your hips harshly. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to. “W—what?” you asked, breathless. 

“Beg, I want to hear you beg for me to fuck you,” he repeated himself, and looked down at you mischeviously. You two were face to face, and his cock was still in his hands, and your lips spread wide open for him to see. “Fuck, please,” you whined, and to no avail, he didn’t budge, “please, daddy, I just wanna feel good,”

As soon as the name sounded from your mouth, he pushed inside of you. The stretch was amazing, it was slightly painful, but it felt like nothing on this earth could amount. His entire cock filled you out nicely, and the lewd sound of him smacking against you was filling the room.

His hands laid at your hips now, piling into you like his life depended on it. His balls were smacking against your ass, and the harsh thrusts stimulated your clit. Everything was so intense, the way he filled you so deeply, you could feel him in places you didn’t know he could reach, and you felt like you’d burst apart the seams. 

Shameless moans spilled from your mouth, and Chan was in your ear, grunting like a man starved. “Such a good girl, fuck, for me,” his groans were so animalistic, and the way his hands would hold you steady.

His fingers traveled down to toy with your clit, and he never stopped fucking you. Your fingers started to tangle within his hair, and his lips attached themselves to your neck, sucking, finding anything to latch onto. 

The second his fingers started rubbing your clit numbly, you knew that you were going to cum soon. Everything he did just felt so good, you were just a hole the second he started fucking you.

“I—I’m gonna, I’m gonna cum,” you breathed out heavily, and your legs started shaking. “Please, can I—please cum?”

“Yes, cum for me,” he breathed out in a husky tone, and it wasn’t long until you felt your thighs start to involuntarily shake, and the feeling inside your abdomen welling up. “I’m so—” you were cut off by your orgasm rushing over you, Chan’s fingers never stopped stimulating your clit.

You moaned out harshly, slumping towards him, unable to control yourself as one of the most harsh orgasms you’ve ever had washed over you. Your entire body started to seize, and you clenched around him harshly. He continued to fuck into you, sucking into your neck, and he starting fucking into you faster. He was definitely close, “Where-”

You cut him off, still under the shock of your orgasm, “inside me, please,” you begged, and he fucked into you once more, even harder. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,”

He lived up to his promise, as less than a few seconds later, his warm cum spurted inside of you, and he still rutted his hips, begging for more friction. He stroked into you a few more times, now drained of energy. He placed a soft kiss onto your neck, and whispered, “Thank you.”

You got up, and put your shirt back on over yourself, and Chan pulled his boxers and sweatpants on once more. A thought rose over you on whether to leave or not, but you knew Chan would be a skinship type of guy. He would probably have a drop, and not be used to just casual hookups like this.

“Do you want me to stay?” you asked softly, and a large part of you hoped he would say yes.

“Please.”

[skellebonez]

okay i know you probably have lots of prompts already but. listen; 28 and 41 with my Phantom Thief MK AU (well its more of a phantom thief everyone au but yeah)

So I maaaaay have been a smidgen inspired by one very specific post you made about this AU and Sun Wukong's first successful heist... I couldn't resist, it was just too funny.

You call this luck? No, this is all skill./Can you teach me how to do that?

"Can you teach me how to do that?"

The question wasn't an unusual one between the two of them. MK had asked this of Sun Wukong on more than one occasion as successor to the Monkey King as the Monkie Kid himself.

No, what was unusual was that the question came from the opposite person.

"Teach you... what, exactly?" MK asked, trying not to feel too smug about the swap in roles between mentor and apprentice. After all...

Someone had to teach Sun Wukong the finer points of Phantom Thievery.

"You know what," Wukong said with a half scowl, gesturing to way that his student (or, for the moment now that the question was asked, his teacher) was rolling an large pendant between his fingers. "Not the... you know, what you're doing now, but what you did with the pendant on your last heist where you threw it at a guard and it kind cracked in the middle with the smoke and light and stuff."

"OH," MK laughed out, tossing up and catching the coin in his opposite hand. "That's not really a trick or anything, just some incredibly strong flash paper, and other stuff, that's activated when you open it the right way."

In demonstration the young Phantom Thief did something in the way he held the pendant and one end slipped up with a soft cracking sound. Then he did something else and it open like a clam shell. He held it out to the elder, letting him see the inner workings and how it had latches and some kind of folding wall between the two sides.

"Opening it causes a chemical reaction between the two compartments. The real trick is getting everything inside without accidentally activating it on yourself, practicing the opening motion, knowing when to open it, and aiming it just so that it blinds your target at just the right moment. You know, this is probably just the right time to teach you how to use lines to keep this stuff in your sleeves and retract them too! So..."

As MK launched into a lengthy explanation on how this particular bit of his Phantom Thievery repertoire worked he failed to notice the slowly growing smirk on the Monkey King's face.

~

"What, uh... what ya got there?" MK asked, very obviously trying to keep an impassive and non-judgemental expression. And failing.

"... smoothies," Wukong answered, absolutely not hiding what he was holding in his tail behind his back as he offered one of the two drinks in his hands to the younger.

It was a poor attempt at lying, which was odd because MK knew that Sun Wukong was pretty good at lying. He had managed to convince the other that he had no idea his successor was a phantom thief for so long after all. But why in the world he seemed to be hiding a... pillow of some sort behind his back was anyone's guess.

"Why'd you bring smoothies?" He chanced asking instead, and he watched as the other's face lit up in pure victory and jubilation.

"They're victory smoothies, Bud!" Wukong exclaimed, shoving one at MK until he took it from the other. "I just completed my first successful heist! And I did pretty well, if I do say so myself." The Monkey King smirked, puffing out his chest in a show of confidence as he took a sip of what was obviously a peach smoothie. "Oh yeah, tastes like a job well done."

"Really!?" MK exclaimed, his own pride welling up knowing that he had a hand in this since he was the other's mentor in thievery. He'd told the other to start small, something that would be missed but not something that would gather immediate attention from the whole city just in case something went wrong. "That's great! What did you steal?"

"I'm not telling."

This made the younger pause, raising a brow as the elder not so subtly tossed the pillow into a nearby bush.

"... should I be concerned?" MK asked, knowing that with Wukong's reputation... he may have bitten off far more than he could chew. This was the immortal who went on a spree through Heaven that ended up with him eating a ton of immortality peaches, drinking immortality alcohol, and taking immortality pills. Among other things.

"No way!" Wukong assured, chugging more and more of his smoothie with seemingly no regard for the possibility of brain freeze. "Trust me, bud, this went off without a hitch. You have nothing to worry about."

~

Those words came back to to bite Sun Wukong in the ass.

Or, rather, they came back to throw Sun Wukong through MK's window at "way too early for this o'clock" in the morning right after he had finished sleepily getting ready for another day at work and accidentally nodded back off on his bed.

The weight of an immortal stone monkey slamming into you was much more effective than any alarm clock he'd ever used before.

"WHATWHOWHERE!?" MK wheezed out once the Monkey King climbed off him, looking around in confusion until his eyes finally fell on a third party in the room. "M-Macaque!?"

"Where's my couch you wanna be Phantom Thief!?" Macaque yelled, completely ignoring the person who's house he had just inadvertently broken into. He brushed bits and pieces of broken glass and window frame out of his fur with a scowl of anger. "I actually paid for that."

"You really think I would tell you where I stashed it?" Wukong snarked back, smirking wide as he crossed his arms. "A Phantom Thief never reveals the location of their treasure trove to their marks."

"Wait wait wait-" MK said, holding up his hands and finally grabbing the attention of the two fighting immortal monkeys. "You just crashed through my window... because... You were his first heist mark... and Monkey King's first successful heist was your couch?"

"Got it in one, Bud!" Wukong said with a laugh, not seeming to care that Macaque was slowly stewing in more and more anger and frustration. "I wouldn't have even been noticed if he hadn't come home part way through either, he's normally out later than that."

"You sent me a calling card you dumb ass!" Macaque yelled, falling into a fighting stance. "Just because you got lucky enough to get away last time-"

"You call this luck?" Wukong yelled back with a laugh, smirking as he pulled something out of his sleeve and tossed it at Macaque. "No, this is all skill!"

MK barely had time to register what happened before Wukong grabbed him and covered his eyes and a tiny explosion and a pained yelp sounded behind them as they jumped out his broken window.

"SUN WUKONG YOU GET BACK HERE BEFORE I CAN SEE AGAIN OR ELSE!" Macaque yelled, right before another pained yelp was heard. "Holy shit, Kid, why do you have so much stuff on your floor, who lives like this, I can't even WALK in here!"

MK never got to answer or be offended at the immortal before he was tossed over Wukong's shoulder as he made a break for it running through alleyways at breakneck speed before Pigsy's Noodles was no longer even in sight.

They stopped eventually, the immortal monkey putting MK down before looking around to make sure they hadn't been tailed by the other immortal. After a couple minutes it was clear that Macaque had either not followed him due to the blinding effects of the flash paper or had not been able to catch their trail. The two of them each breathed a sigh or relief, looked at each other...

And immediately burst into laughter.

They couldn't help it! It was just... so ridiculous! All that over a heisted couch. Pigsy was sure to be upset at the damage to MK's apartment but given Mystic Monkey Business and all he was certain that the fact it was only a broken window this time would be a decent balm on the damage.

"Macaque is going to get you back for this," MK managed to get out through laughs. "We lost him and now he's going to find another way to get you back, I know it."

"What's he gonna do, steal my couch?"

~

"HE STOLE. MY COUCH."

"How'd he even get to the mountain?"

"HE. STOLE. MY. COUCH!"

"I think you're missing the bigger issue he-"

"HESTOLEMYCOUCH!"

"I KNOW STOP YELLING!"

MK slapped a hand over Wukong's mouth, only barely cutting off and muffling the scream of disbelief and frustration that the Monkey King let out at the state of things.

"Why are you focused on the fact that Macaque stole your couch and not the fact that he somehow got into the part of Mount Huaguo that we have to let someone into, BROKE INTO YOUR HOUSE. and for some reason he ONLY stole your couch?"

"Oh, he's broken in before," Wukong answered once he pried MK's hand away from his face. "But I can't believe that asshole! I stole his couch as a joke, stealing mine back is just petty."

"What do you mean he's broken in before?" MK continued, voice tense and high and totally not at all feeling suddenly very anxious about this new knowledge. "Macaque's just been able to come and go as he pleases this whole time?"

"Yeah, kinda. Not exactly as he pleases but he can just come in I guess."

"These are the kinds of things you need to tell your student- I thought we talked about proper communication as one of our first lessons!"

"... oops?"

~

"When did you get a new couch?" Red Son asked with a raised brow, watching as the immortal monkey lounging on it swished his tail back and forth in contentment.

"Heisted it," Macaque answered with a smirk. "Totally worth it. But next time I'm stealing Peach's tv too, this is so comfy I could use some proper entertainment."

"YOU STOLE SUN WUKONG'S COUCH???"

[just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot]

Sometimes You Have No Option

Pairings: Romantic Prinxiety

TWs: scar mentions, mostly just vague nothing too graphic at all, very quick mention of the ‘heat death of the universe‘, it’s one throwaway line but just to be safe!

Summary: Virgil wonders what Roman gets up to on his adventures that leaves him battered and bruised. What he finds isn’t what he expected....

---------

There was always this unpleasant feeling that followed Virgil whenever Roman came back from traversing the mindscape on an ‘adventure’; sometimes he’d come back bruised and bashed, other times he’d sport a limp, but nearly every time, Roman would come home with new scars.

Virgil couldn’t understand the appeal of it, though far be it for him to say anything about it. Sure, maybe it did hurt a little seeing someone he cared about come back each time more banged up than before. 

But that's none of his business, right?

Virgil wondered just what Roman got up to each time he went out. He’d never seen the things Roman could conjure outside of the main mindscape; some called it the ‘imagination’ but they were already within the imagination technically. No, what Roman would conjure was more like a simulation within the mindscape, as far as Virgil understood it. Like adding an extension onto a home…. Only to tear it down once you were done with it in the end. 

Perhaps calling them ‘daydreams’ was a more accurate comparison.

There were many times Virgil would let his own imagination run wild with the kind of journeys Roman must have gone on. Forests and kingdoms, perhaps a seafaring adventure if Remus agreed to not set the kraken on him. Or maybe he branched out even more. Something like the spaceports of Treasure Planet, or something more akin to a spiritual journey you’d find in a Ghibli movie. Who knew what Roman was up to most days, honestly.

It was a lazy Saturday in the mindscape when Virgil finally decided to ask Roman about it.

He hadn’t necessarily planned to do so, but Logan and Patton were both busy elsewhere, and all Virgil had to do was watch TV and contemplate the inevitable heat death of the universe when Roman had returned. Mismatched eyes latched onto the creative side as the prince made his way to the kitchen. He winced as he watched Roman root around for frozen peas and press the bag to his left cheek.

The injury was just out of Virgil’s sight, but as Roman turned and made eye contact, he could see the beginnings of a bruise forming. Despite the way the sight made Virgil’s lips pinch into a frown, Roman met him with a smile that made his stomach do flips as he made his way over to the sofa,

“What’s that look for, Woe Troham?”

Virgil snorted, “Wow, we’re getting obscure with the nicknames now? You’re really earning that extra credit in Emo Studies, Princey.”

Roman rolled his eyes fondly and sat down next to Virgil, careful of the anxious side’s bunched up legs, “You do realise we ALL went through Thomas’ emo phase, right?”.

Virgil rolled his eyes, “Whatever...”, he was about to leave the conversation there when he remembered the matter at hand, “Hey, uh, Roman?”

“That’s what they call me, yes.”, the creative side smirked playfully, “Typically preceded by ‘Prince’ but I’ll cut you some slack this once.”. Virgil wanted to slap that smirk away. Or maybe smooch it. The jury was still out on that one.

He sighed in mock annoyance, “Can we cut out the nonsense for once, Romano?”

He bit his lip to stifle a chuckle at the insulted huff Roman let out. 

“Okay, seriously, I was gonna ask what happened,”, Virgil continued when Roman fixed him with a perplexed frown, “Y’know, to cause that.” .

He freed one hand from his hoodie paws to gesture to the bruise under the frozen peas in Roman’s hand. Said creative side shrugged, “It’s nothing to worry about, Virge. I’ve had far worse before.”.

Oh great, because that’s what Virgil was absolutely dying to hear. 

The words left his mouth before the anxious side could stop them, “.. Can I see?”

Okay, that had to have crossed a line, surely. Those scars were probably super traumatic or heavy with meaning, or perhaps they were-

“Okay.”, Roman shrugged. He was already hauling his shirt off by the time Virgil had registered how casual Roman was about this whole thing. He was about to voice his confusion when Roman’s shirt fluttered to the floor; leaving Virgil with a moment of gay crisis, but even more so a feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach.

Roman’s entire torso was covered in scars. Some were fresh, likely only days old, while others were already paling with time. The anxious side had no idea where his hands obtained the audacity to trail themselves along Roman’s skin without permission, but the creative side seemed content to let him continue.

Surprisingly confident fingertips traced valleys and trenches of healed and healing skin, only ever stopping on each route if Roman protested. Virgil had no idea why Roman let him even do something that felt this intimate in the first place, but the question that bubbled out of his throat instead was, “What…. Happened to you?”

He expected Roman to turn away, to dramatically cover himself once more, perhaps muttering a barely audible “some things are left unsaid” or “it’s…. Personal”, and then he’d retire to his room while Virgil did the same and let his mind swim in it’s usual cloud of anxious self depreciation. 

What Virgil did not expect was for Roman to immediately start pointing them out and listing every single cause like it was his grocery list.

“Well!”, Roman began, pointing to a scar on his left hip, “This is one I got from accidentally laying down on a light bulb.”

The prince pointed to more scars as he went, all too oblivious of Virgil’s stunned silence, “This one here is from running through corn stalks with my shirt off, and that one was a mosquito bite I scratched, which yes I know you shouldn’t do that, but you know how dreadfully those itch.This one here is from the time I tried to fight a goose- Oh! And this one I procured from falling out of a window during an impromptu tickle fight with Remus-” 

“Why does anyone try to fight a goose?!”, Virgil blurted out. Of all the rapidfire information his brain just tried to absorb, he wasn’t sure why that was what his brain latched onto, but he couldn’t exactly take back the question now.

The anxious side watched Roman’s expression take on a distant, stoic edge, but having known him so well by now Virgil knew the prince’s fake dramatic long distance stare a mile away. “Sometimes,”, Roman began, and Virgil did his best not to give a fond huff of annoyed laughter at the creative side’s faux drama tone, “The goose leaves you no option-”

Virgil couldn’t stifle the peal of laughter that slipped through his teeth and betrayed his irritated facade. The whole conversation had been an emotional rollercoaster but Virgil was mostly just happy that even if Roman was constantly getting into scrapes, at least it was nothing overly serious. By the time Virgil had stopped laughing, he realised Roman had also fallen victim to the case of the giggles.

“You’re ridiculous, goddamit, Roman!”, Virgil snarked weakly, the gentle smile he wore betraying any attempt at true irritation. Roman simply continued to beam at Virgil, brilliant and bright, a beacon of pure adoration. 

“That’s a rather funny way to pronounce ‘handsome and dashing’, but I’ll take it!”

It’s unfair that Roman got to be so well put together while Virgil was just standing there, hands still resting on Roman’s bare chest, blushing up an absolute storm. Something about the way Roman smiled at him - so gentle and adoring - made Virgil want to do something crazy. 

Like kissing him.

Yeah.

He should kiss him.

No, wait, he absolutely should NOT do that.

In fact, Virgil caught himself just as he was leaning towards Roman, intending to turn away. However, Roman’s arms snaked their way smoothly around his waist, keeping him close but still remaining loose enough that Virgil could break away if he wanted. 

“.... Virgil, can I ask you something?”

Roman’s voice was hesitant, a little less sure of himself than his expression implied. To save himself from embarrassment by not subjecting Roman to any barely passable attempts at a verbal affirmation, Virgil nodded bashfully. 

Roman’s gaze landed on Virgil’s lips then settled back into half lidded eye contact, a small quirk of laughter dancing across the prince’s features.

“Am I the only one who’s been subtly flirting this entire time? Because if so, I am going to be utterly scandalized.”

Even Virgil was surprised by the relieved laughter he let out; it was the ugly kind that gave away just how smitten he was with Roman. He tapped his fingers against Roman’s chest, humming playfully.

“Hmmm, looks like you’ll just have to be scandalized, pretty boy.”, he teased.

Roman’s shocked expression was too cute, how could Virgil resist? The anxious side sighed out a low chuckle, rolled his eyes, and lent forward to reward him with a much earned kiss.

-----------

We love us a couple of pining dorks

Based on this post and so I tag @count-woe-laf as promised!

[cloud9in]

Promises (Poppy x MC) Part (2/?)

Read Part ONE (summary for fic is there)

ITS BEEN A MINUTE. @iamsimpforpoppy I hope you’re still around to read :P I love this story lol. Hope you guys do too!!!

Word Count (2.8k)

Bea and Poppy’s relationship became official a month after their initial meeting. One would say they moved quickly, too quickly. But every love story is different. This one in particular seemed to have little to none flaws, if you ignored the fact that Bea was promoted to Carter’s right hand woman in the Southside Spades.

 They did end up having that conversation after all.

 “…Are you sure Carter? I mean this is a huge deal and a special role-“

 “If I didn’t think you were capable you wouldn’t be here right now Goldilocks.”

 Carter winked and clinked his half empty beer bottle against Bea’s, who surprisingly had a nearly full bottle. He took note of the abnormality. 

 The blonde instinctively rolled her eyes at the nickname, “Okay but that name has to go. We need codenames……ooooh how about bimbo and himbo.” 

 “I’m guessing…..no, hoping I’m the himbo?!” Carter comments as he promptly tries to stop the laugh escaping from his lips.

 “Mmmmmmm, I’ll get back to you on that.”

 They share a laugh and Bea feels Carter’s gaze latch onto her in her peripherals. She could sense the shift of energy in the space between them, it almost felt uncomfortable, and that was something she never felt with Carter. “I never asked you if you were okay with such a role. If you aren't, I understand completely, I just want the best for you.”

 The blonde eyes soften at his comment and she looks at him, “never doubted that, where is this going though because you never express your feelings like a normal human being.”

 He pulls on the strings of her hoodie until it completely caves around her face, burying her whole.

 “Hey asshole!” 

 “That’s for talking too much.”

 Bea yanks her hoodie open and sticks her tongue out in a mock expression. “Oh boohoo. Poppy literally says the same thing, I don’t get it. I talk, it’s a problem. I don’t talk, it’s an even BIGGER problem. Damn a girl can’t ever exist in peace.”

 Carter places his bottle flat on the table and studies the blonde’s face. 

 She kept rambling on about her new girlfriend and the gang leader didn’t know it was possible to feel happy yet anxious at the same time. He was aware of when they entered the talking stage, went on their first date, and finally became official, because Bea told him everything. As much as the experience of being in a real relationship was new to her, Bea looked up to him and somehow she knew Carter would give her the best guidance possible. 

 It didn’t stop him from worrying. Like an older brother would. He feared the two would mix, and everyone knows that love and crime will eventually combust. He is no stranger to it.  

 “Bea.”

 “Did you know she stole one of my hoodies and actually won’t give it back?? What am I supposed to do, just take it? No she’d murder me.”

 “Jackson.”

 Her voice slowly dies down after sensing the seriousness in his tone. She takes a sip of her beer to ease the silence that sat in the air, and Carter responds shortly after.

 “You know I trust you with my life right? You’re very important to me, kid.” 

 “I know.”

 Guilt was a feeling he chose to lock away in an unbreakable box and bury six feet deep. There couldn’t be guilt in a lifestyle like this. But Bea was his only exception. And she was slowly bringing that box back up to the surface. 

 “I need you to promise me that you won’t let these two worlds collide.”

 “Carter….”

 “One of you will get hurt. And I won’t forgive myself if it’s you.”

 He leaves Bea at the table, the remnants of his comment still replaying in her head. She pulls out her phone and sees a text from Poppy on her lockscreen. 

 Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Can’t wait to see you tomorrow 😘 

 The blonde smiles unconsciously and opens the message to respond.

 I’m missing you like crazy. I have a special surprise for you.

 Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- You know I highly dislike surprises, just tell me. 

 And ruin the surprise? You must be crazier than I thought. 

 Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Jackson.

 Patience babe…tomorrow it is. 

 Bea clicks her phone shut and slips it back into her pocket before downing the rest of the beer. 

***

“You know your hand on my ass only makes them stare even more Jackson?”

 Bea bites her lips and gropes the blonde’s plump backside shamelessly while slowly whispering into her ear.

 “That’s the point, princess.”

 Poppy shivers almost instantly at the boldness. “Is this the surprise you were talking about?” Bea doesn’t answer, instead trailing her hand up Poppy’s skirt. This was definitely not the time and place for such behavior but she was clearly still learning everything about her girlfriend. 

 And it definitely felt good to call her that.

 “Since when did you get so brazen? You know you’re exactly the type of person my daddy told me to stay away from.”

 Bea laughs at that statement and wraps her arm around the blonde’s waist, “yeah? And why’s that?”

 “Well I can’t ask him now, he might rough you up and that’s my job.” 

 Poppy could feel the stares of everyone burning into them, but she could only focus on the blonde cuddled up against her. The shorter girl wouldn’t call herself an attention whore, but she sure loved the PDA that Bea projected without a care. It felt nice to be genuinely admired in public rather than putting on a mask everyday. 

 But it’s safe to say that Poppy preferred all the handsy stuff to happen in private. 

 “Do you want to grab dinner with me tonight Pops?”

 “Am I picking the place?”

 “…Yes.”

 “Then yes.”

 Bea rolls her eyes at the blonde’s downright shady self but smiles nevertheless. 

 “Now don’t cancel on me out of the blue. I will not be thrilled about it.”

 “Shouldn’t I be telling you this? Your dad always has something going on in his business that somehow has to involve you too.”

 Poppy sighs and glances over at Bea, “well you know I’ll have to take over eventually. Especially since I’m legally allowed to handle deals now.”

 “I hate that word. Legal. Ugh.” 

 The shorter girl scoffs and plants her hands on her hips, “yeah I bet you do.”

***

Bea dragged open her closet in search of clothes for dinner tonight but the dinging noise of a text distracts her. 

 C-Dog🖤- Need you tonight. Something came up, meet us at the garage.

Bea wanted to thank the gods up above that she didn’t promise Poppy that she’d show up for dinner. But that wasn’t going to save her from the fury of the blonde. Good thing it can’t get worse than that, right….?

Only it was. And Poppy will probably beat her up herself, if she wasn’t dead by the next day. 

Bea’s mind and heart races as she digs her brain for a proper excuse to tell her girlfriend, but is very unsuccessful. She’s good at drug dealing though. 

 Going with the good ole truth never really hurt right?

 Baby I’m so sorry I won’t be able to make it tonight. Got held up with the gang. I know I’m an asshole, I’ll keep in touch I swear. 

 Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- What else could I expect from my gang banger girlfriend 🙄 please stay safe..

 You know I always do.

 Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Do I? We need to talk about this tomorrow.

 Of course Pops.

 Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Call me every chance you get or I swear I’ll track you and trust me you do not want me to do that.

 Yeah she definitely doesn’t. Especially since Carter sounded frantic over the phone. The last thing Bea needed was a paranoid girlfriend, so she played it cool like always. 

 Just simple stuff baby girl, talk soon.

 ***

“…What do you mean it’s gone?! So where is it? Do you know what this means Carter??”

 The gang leader sighs frustratingly, rubbing his eyes in efforts to gain some stability. “The product was here, and now it is not. Which can only mean it was stolen. And when I find out which son of a bitch did it, they’re dead.”

 “In the meantime, we are dead”, Bea emphasizes wildly. “This is the Red Raven gang we’re talking about. If they get any inclination that we lost their drugs, they’ll kill and replace us. No mercy. None.”

The blonde paces back and forth trying not to think about buying a plane ticket to Timbuktu. 

Carter approaches Bea and plants his hands on her shoulder, “breathe Jackson. You are my partner. The leader of this gang. So get it out of your system and start being rational.”

 The blonde lets her shoulders sag as she inhales and exhales in place for a while. The minute she’s grounded she catches Carter’s gaze and her eyes light up. “List. I need a list of whoever went in the room with all of the product. We need to narrow it down.”

***

“Jackson you’re a fucking genius.”

 “It’s called having common sense but I’ll take the praise. It’s the only one I’m getting from you anyways.”

 Carter resisted the urge to pick a fight with the younger girl, because finding stolen drugs and not getting killed seemed like a much better idea. 

 Bea figured out that Henry, one of the newly recruited members of SS was a thief, or maybe just a crackhead. Same thing. He was the last to be in that room so all eyes were on him, and guns.

 “Heyyy buddy. Henry right?”

 The shorter man trembled at the sight of a gun lodged right into his mouth. “Mmmm!”

 “Oh I’m sorry, did you want to say something? Here let me just”, Bea clicks the gun which only causes the thief to panic even more. It was almost pitiful. 

 “Alright lay off the poor sucker.” 

 Bea pulls the gun out of his mouth and sits down on a stool in front of Henry with a grin. “So…where is the stash darling?” 

 He points almost immediately to a built in storage locker with a shaky finger. 

 “Ohhh well that was so easy Henry! Glad you could comply. You should tell your friends to be more like you. But…between me and you, they might already be dead”, Bea whispers that last part slowly, smirking when Henry’s lip quivers violently. 

 “Please just do it already! Why are you guys waiting?”

 Bea raised an eyebrow in surprise and glanced over at Carter who scanned the man’s face intensely. “I guess he wants to die? Talk about kinks I mean come on”

 “No.”

 Carter reaches his arm out towards Bea but never takes his eyes off Henry. The blonde watches in confusion until she realizes the thief is looking behind her, and so is Carter.

 “It’s a setup Bea, duck!”

 She dived for the ground quicker than lightning as a bullet flies through the air, leaving a trail of dust behind. Carter ducks for cover as well and starts firing rounds towards the men who snuck up on them. He managed to hit three of them but one grabs Bea by the leg and drags her against the rough concrete. 

 “Son of a- get your dirty hands off of my Dr. Martens. My girlfriend bought me these!”

 A swift kick to the face shut the blonde up real quick but she manages to recoil and send the man sprawling backwards into a row of barrels. 

 Carter guns him down and Bea finds her footing, pistol in hand and a thirst for revenge. But they never stopped coming. 

 Her and Carter were left battered and bruised, but alive. Their product was gone again though. But atleast they were alive. Carter told her that it was a theft mission primarily and neither of them were meant to die. But it only made Bea wonder who those people were.

 And why were they kept alive?

***

“Beatriz Naomi Jackson what the actual fuck?!”

 “Oh not the middle name…”

 Bea tries to avoid Poppy’s killer gaze as she surveys the damage that had been done to her girlfriend’s torso, legs, and face. 

 The strawberry blonde could barely mutter a word. Her mouth opened and closed in brief shock before collapsing next to the injured girl. 

 Bea could see the tears flowing down her rosy cheeks, which contrasted her porcelain skin. “Poppy…are you crying? I..please don’t..”

 “What do you expect me to do Bea? It kills me to see you hurt like this. Who did it? Tell me!” The blonde chokes on her own words as her hands hovers cautiously over Bea’s wounds, afraid to make her feel pain.

 “No I can’t tell you. I mean…I didn’t expect this to happen. It was a setup and we were outnumbered-“

 “We need to get you to a hospital Bea oh my god.”

 The blonde knew that she couldn’t go there. Not with the cops on the scene of the shootout, and actively looking for the people involved. Aka her and Carter. He told her to lay low and heal up, but she didn’t expect Poppy to be sitting on her bed waiting for her when she got home. The initial look on her face made Bea regret ever choosing this life. 

 She regrets it ever since being with Poppy. But it’s like a drug, once you start it’s hard to stop. 

 “I’ll call my father, he has the best doctors available and we’re gonna get your the right treatment and-“ 

 Poppy immediately cuts off, her eyebrows scrunching up until she realizes something. “Wait…what do you mean you were outnumbered Bea?” 

 Bea swallows heavily, praying that this conversation couldn’t escalate further, but that isn’t the case. 

 “Bea, answer me”

 “It..it was just me and Carter. We didn’t think there would be an ambush. We had just gone there to get goods we lost.”

 “And where is Carter? Does he know you’re like this right now? Did he leave you, I swear to god Bea if he left you…” Poppy’s voice cracks as her whole body shivers in violent waves. 

 Bea pulls her girlfriend in for a hug even though it causes every inch of her body to sting harshly. It was the comfort that she needed though. Watching Poppy breakdown over the sight of her was too much, and she began to contemplate everything. 

 “Pops listen to me, I cannot go to the hospital right now. There are cops looking for us.” The strawberry blonde stares at her until she understands the velocity of Bea’s words. 

 “Fine. But there will be a doctor that will come to treat you at my house. And you’re coming, I don’t want to hear it.” 

 Bea knew not to protest that. It was quite obvious this whole incident has left both parties distraught and she didn’t want to try and tell Poppy how to feel. 

 “Just tell me something. Are you in immediate danger? Is someone trying to harm you right now.”

 The blonde chose her words carefully. Because even after coming home beaten to a pulp, she still couldn’t tell the love of her life the full truth. 

 “No Poppy, they just wanted the drugs. They got what they wanted. I’m not in danger.”

 For now.

 “I will be okay.”

 I hope.

 “Don’t lie to me Jackson. I can’t do this if you lie. You promised me you wouldn’t get to the point where you’d have to choose between me and the gang.”

 “I know Poppy…I-“

 “You promised.”

 “And I’m going to keep that promise-“

 “Yeah the hell you are. And you’re going to promise me that you won’t ever come home like this again. You’re going to get yourself killed before we even start our life together. Our future.”

 Bea sucks in a breath which punctures her chest. She couldn’t tell if the injuries or Poppy’s words had caused that terrible ache. “Our…Wait I..”

 “I love you Jackson. I…don’t care if you think it’s too early to say that. I don’t care if I sound too cheesy for a mean girl. I love kissing you and feeling the laughter run through your body when we hug. I love being the reason you smile. I love you. And you don’t have to say it back. I just..I needed you to know-“

 “I love you too. Probably maybe from the moment I met you.”

 Poppy’s eyes seemed to glisten once again and this time there was no sadness etched into the shape. She smiled a pure smile and wrapped her arms around Bea in a tight hug. 

 She captures her lips in a searing kiss that leads to a trail of kisses down the strawberry blonde’s neck, dip of her collarbone, and chest. Bea kisses her until her chest gives out from exhaustion and pain.

 “Then you have to promise that this won’t happen again.” 

 “I promise.”

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

NOTES: They’re gonna be fineeeee, right guys??? Graduation next chapter woooo.

Tags: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @clowneryme  @baexpoppy @poppysmc @doey-eyes8 @veenast @straightlikewetspaghetti @phoennixxsblog

[hunflowers]

The Aftermath

Word Count: 3.7k

Requested? Yes, and you can too, here :)

A/N: here she is, the little piece of the puzzle y’all have been waiting for. it’s a small part two of 1964, and it’ll take place just after their reunion at the end of the story!! i hope you enjoy it, because i missed writing my babies a lot and i hope you love them just as much as me.

pls, reblog the fics you read or heck even if you see it on your dash; it means a lot <3

good luck and have fun, in that order *nose boops*

“Happy Birthday, Rose.”

No one can explain the phenomenon of joy processed through the body and soul as Harry spoke those simple words into the air to Y/N.

It can only be described as a chill shooting down her spine, flaring goosebumps on her skin, her mouth running dry at the sight of him, or maybe the way her eyes glossed over with a glistening sheen. Pure joy.

As if she didn't already feel transported back to 1964 when sharing her many stories with her eager to learn granddaughter, she certainly did now. Seeing Harry's face, the same features that made her swoon all those years ago - though a little mature now - made her feel like she was her twenty-one year old self all over again.

It felt like a movie, as if the two of them shaped back into their younger statures, adorned in the style from way back when, embodying a world of black and white that would explode into color. Hannah and Eleanor disappeared into the future, and all there was, was Harry and Y/N like how they once were.

Before she could process what she was doing, Y/N was scurrying across the wood floor, walking the fast she has in a while, throwing her arms around Harry’s shoulders and burying her face into the crook of his neck. She could feel the rumble of his chest as he laughed, easily reciprocating the love by engulfing her in a hug, pulling her impossibly closer.

The smell of the roses swarmed Y/N’s nose, tingling her senses in the best way possible. Her brain was overpowering as it continued to be overwhelmed by the events happening, still trying to understand how Harry, her H, was in front of her.

Pulling away a few moments later - but not completely unraveling herself from his hold - she looked up at him, looking at her favorite shade of green that she tried so hard to recreate yet always failed. “Are you really here?”

“Yes! He is, Nona!” Ellie cheered from behind her, causing everyone to gape at her while also laughing. He’s really here, in her arms, breathing the same air as her.

Maybe he wasn’t a dream, after all.

Looking back up at him, Y/N smiled softly, bringing her hands up under his jaw, using her thumbs to caress the soft skin that was lined with a little bit of stubble. “I missed you,” she whispered, almost like it was meant to be a secret.

With his own little grin, Harry placed his own free hand on her cheek, using his thumb to swipe the tear that managed to escape her eye without her noticing. Instinctively, Y/N leaned her head to rest in his palm, a reflex she never seemed to have shake.

Harry didn’t have to say anything back for her to know that he felt the same way, if not more. His actions always spoke a lot louder than his words, and it also seemed that old habits hardly seem to die, even so many years later.

“Okay,” Hannah cleared her throat, trying to gain the attention of the two older folk for the first time in the last couple of minutes. “We’re meeting Aunt Carmella and Uncle Frank in twenty minutes.”

The duo separated, heat rising to their cheeks as they realized just how close they had been for those moments. Harry offered her her bouquet of roses, to which she took gratefully and scurried off to find a vase, uttering a quick, “I’ll be right back.”

In reality, yes she went to find a vase, but Y/N also needed a second to recuperate, inhaling deeply to get her heart to start slowing its rapid pace. Fifty-five years since she’s seen him.

Fifty-five.

It was a lot to comprehend. She was convinced she’d never look at him, hold him, appreciate his existence ever again. One thing is for sure, she never did stop loving him.

Y/N placed her hands down on the counter she placed her roses on, leaning her weight onto her hands as she felt the emotions roll over her like waves crashing on a beach. Her insides felt like mush. She was experiencing the come down after getting off a rowdy rollercoaster, like those she used to go on on Coney Island whenever she visited New York. Electricity shot through her veins as if she had been succumbed to the consequences of the electric chair - yet it wasn’t painful. In fact, she felt alive.

“Mom,” Hannah spoke from behind her, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. Y/N didn’t realize she had been so lost in her own thoughts for a few moments there. Raising her hand to her chest, she turned around and let out a breath, before smacking her daughter in the shoulder.

“You can’t do that to me, Han. I’m old, I could die from a heart attack.”

“Don’t even joke about something like that,” Hannah rolled her eyes. But quickly the annoyance dissipated as she remembered why she came into the kitchen in the first place. “Are you okay?”

Y/N pursed her lips, giving her a simple shrug. “Yes and no. It’s not easy being reminded of... the love and pain I felt. How did you even find him, anyway?”

Hannah sheepishly smiled, “Aunt Carmella...”

Y/N scoffed, knowing it was exactly like her friend to be secretive about something so monumental like knowing where Harry is and how to contact him. She couldn’t determine if it was a good thing that Carmella kept this information from her, but deep down she knew it was.

As soon as Y/N gathered her wits, the foursome were out the door and on their way to lunch. They had decided to drive two separate cars, and after a bit of begging, Y/N let Harry drive them in his rental. Though, along the way it was a bit of rocky journey. “First time driving on the right side of the road,” was his excuse.

In the car ride, Y/N took the time to truly admire the man she once laid beside at night, trying to wrap her head around the fact that he was next to her again. She wondered if in his old age he would turn wrinkled and decrepit, maybe using a cane or having a hunch back. It only seemed fitting that he beat all of those stereotypes and looked like he had the health of his younger self rather than a seventy-six year old man. He’s timeless; just like their love.

When they finally met up with Carmella, it didn’t take Y/N long to scold her friend for keeping such a humongous secret from her, and working in tandem with her own daughter and granddaughter. All the Italian woman did was shrug before latching her arms around both Harry and Y/N’s frames, pulling the three of them close for a long-awaited, reuniting hug that felt like home.

“Il trio è tornato e meglio che mai. questo merita un brindisi,” [The trio is back and better than ever. This deserves a toast] Carmella cheered, clapping her hands in giddiness as she waved the waitress back over to order the most extravagant wine.

Leaning down to whisper in Y/N’s ear, Harry muttered, “And I still have no idea what she’s saying.” Y/N bumped his shoulder with hers, shaking her head gently as a small smile snuck up onto her lips.

Lunch was shared with many laughs and old stories - all per the request of Ellie. She was eager to keep learning and eager to see her nona so happy.

When lunch was over and they were all saying goodbye, Ellie practically all but pushed Y/N to go with Harry so they could go somewhere private. Hannah of course condoned her daughter’s behavior, but also told her mom it was for the best they catch up without either of them around. They needed to be alone.

That’s how they ended up at the park downtown, where Y/N used to frequent often when she used to run in the mornings or whenever she needed a spark of creativity for her next painting. 

Once Harry placed the car in park, the stagnant tension between them only rose as neither of them jumped to get out of the vehicle. They simmered, absorbed, melted into the atmosphere, basking in it before they flipped it on its head to talk about what they both had been avoiding.

It was an unspoken truce to get out of the car at the same time. The sun was winking at them through the clouds, luring them to venture deeper into the park, just like it used to. Almost as if the star was just as excited as them to be back in each other’s lives. The saying is if walls could talk, but what about the sun? Or the moon? Both kept Harry and Y/N’s moments inside of them, stored deep in their cores right next to all the other love that happened in their line of vision.

Out of instinct, the two locked hands. And they didn’t seem to mind. It felt like a magnet pulled them together, and it would take a lot of force to break them apart.

As they walked along the paved path, being passed by those on bikes or joggers, or really even anyone that walked faster. They weren’t in any sort of rush, because moments like these aren’t meant to be fast paced. They needed to simmer, absorb, and melt.

Harry decided to be the first to speak up, surprising both of them considering, well, his past. “I see the artist life treated you well.”

Slightly turning her head to face him, she laughed softly, shrugging her shoulders. “I guess it did. You predicted it.”

I can’t wait to buy your art one day.

Harry gazed down at his feet, humming a response. He didn’t have the proper words to respond to her allusion to his letter. Hearing the twinge of spite sitting on top of her words was enough for him to gauge that his letter was a sore topic for her. And rightfully so, because even he hasn’t completely forgiven himself for not giving her a proper goodbye.

Coming up on a patch of grass that was half hidden beneath a large oak tree and half in the glory of the sunlight, Harry and Y/N decided to take a seat. If they were going to throw themselves into the past, might as well go all the way and lay in the grass like they did in Florence. Albeit, they wouldn’t actually lay down because it would’ve been impossible for either of them to properly get up.

They rested their backs against the large trunk, looking out into the field and watching little kids play around as their parents kept their distance off to the side with other parents. Y/N found it near impossible to not snap a mental picture of what was in front of her, cursing herself for not bringing her camera with her. It was a beautiful day, and one she wished to remember. Not because of the dreadful conversation that was bound to swallow her whole or the man sitting beside her, but because of the landscape.

What a waste of a beautiful day.

Now, it was her turn to break the silence, because she knew he wouldn’t. He may have once, but that was all he could probably handle. “Tell me about your life, Harry. Please.”

Letting out a breath of air he didn’t realize he had been holding in, Harry twiddled with his thumbs in his lap. “Got two kids. Ben and, uh, Rose.”

Ouch.

“Five beautiful grandchildren.” He spoke shortly and to the point, finding it very difficult to open up the can of worms that is his life.

Once Harry got the call from Carmella that he was going to surprise Y/N for her birthday, he couldn’t get on a plane any faster. The idea of being face-to-face with her again after so many years was daunting and normally he found it difficult to escape his confined box of reality. But that was the thing about Y/N, she always made things seem less terrible to him.

England is his origin and where his family resides, but it hardly felt like home anymore.

His marriage with Nancy balanced on its very thin, tight rope for thirty years, but they both knew it was bound to fall off. Once he returned from Italy, it was like he was a soldier returning from war, because he in no way was the same man who left for Italy when coming home. But, they pushed on, because it was what they were meant to do.

They had two wonderful kids and they seemed like the picturesque family they were planned to be. Behind closed doors, they were anything but. He and Nancy fought a lot and their kids seemed to loathe him for reasons still unbeknownst to him. He supported them and loved them like any parent would, yet it felt like they joined everyone else in his life that wanted to keep him silent. Everyone except one person.

Once his and Nancy’s divorce was finalized, the kids couldn’t be more thrilled. All they needed was a solid reason to drop their father out of their lives. As the years went on they slowly worked him back into their day-to-day routine, but not really. Only for the sake of his grandkids was he in their lives.

It was especially hard living his life knowing his own creations couldn’t stand him just like everyone else, and that was exactly why he couldn’t agree faster to get on a plane to America.

“I officially retired last year, so m’not really doing much these days. Actually, I picked up drawing again if y’could believe it. Haven’t touched a pencil for artistic purposes since... well, since then.” Their heads remained forward, not a single glance made towards one another because it felt easier this way. 

Y/N listened intently to the drawl of his voice, engraving the words he spoke deep into her mind, right next to the dusty ones he spoke fifty-five years prior. Everything and anything he’s ever said rests idly on little bookshelves in her brain, collecting dust the longer she takes to go back and hear them over. It was nice to add new additions to her collection. “That sounds lovely, H.”

His heartstrings pulled at the use of his nickname, something only she would call him. He was only Harry to any one, both by his choice and because every one else was too prim to call him something else.

Y/N took notice to how he mentioned nothing of Nancy, and paired that with the fact he wasn’t wearing a wedding band on his most intimate finger. She thinks maybe he did it out of courtesy to not beckon any unwarranted anguish and pain for her sake - because that’s exactly why she didn’t wear hers.

When she went to put her flowers in a vase in the kitchen, she slid her engagement and wedding rings off her finger and set them down gently on the counter, not wanting to clash her two separate lives.

That’s why she had to ask about her. She couldn’t keep going if she didn’t have any sort of answer to her wondering questions that she’s had for the past five decades. “How’s Nancy?” Y/N didn’t care to actually know how she is, she just wanted to know their story.

The leaves above them blew in the suddenly apparent wind, threatening them that what they were about to indulge in was like a storm on the horizon. It was bound to come and impossible to avoid. “Dunno. Haven’t spoken to her in a couple of weeks.”

This opened the door to many unanswered questions in Y/N’s mind, sending her down on spiral of want and need for an explanation that he didn’t seem keen on giving. This closed the most important door, flooding her with relief she didn’t realize she needed to feel just a little less pain sitting next to him.

Not knowing just how to pose her next question, Harry beat her to the punch, halting her thoughts in her tracks. “We’re divorced.”

Divorced. A strange concept. Y/N never imagined divorcing her husband in all of the years they were married. It seemed trivial and time-consuming and led to no greater purpose in her mind. She could either be miserably alone, or miserable with a man by her side. The latter seemed the most comforting.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’m not. We weren’t meant to be,” he chuckled, laughing not because it’s actually funny, but because Y/N knew they weren’t meant to be. It was obvious. “Just meaningless pieces in my parents puzzle.”

Hearing his broken words that he used to rant about all those years ago resurface, Y/N couldn’t help reaching for his hand again, clasping it between both of hers and holding it in her lap. It didn’t matter how many years had passed, because it was certain his parents were still a sore subject. She wanted him to know that she never forgot the hurt they put him through, and that she will always be on his side. Always.

Diverting the attention away from himself, it was Harry’s turn to pour salt into a wound he knew would sting harshly. “Did you uh, ever get married, Rose?”

When Carmella had managed to get his number a couple years after Italy, they kept in contact nearly every week. A lot of the time their topic of conversation would revolve around Y/N, and what ever new information Carmella could relay. One thing he refused to know however, was if she ever got married. He didn’t need to know, nor did he want to. But now, he supposes he does. 

“I did. He passed in February.” The 1st. Coincidental, maybe ironic. “He was a good man.”

Silence. It was nice Y/N was able to settle herself with someone deemed to be good. It’s what she deserved. But Harry didn’t want to know anymore.

Silence. They kept their heads forward, but over time Y/N’s head slowly ended up resting on Harry’s shoulder. Their hands stayed latched and their bodies radiated each other’s warmth. Y/N felt cold though. Rehashing their pasts slowly brought them closure, but it in no way healed the pain that rested heavy on her heart. “I wish things could’ve been different for us, Harry.” They deserved different than what they were given. Why do soulmates exist if they can’t be together? 

A love like theirs is folklore; unsure if it ever existed, but meant to be told for generations. “We were special don’t you think?”

“We were everything,” Harry murmured, squeezing her hands, then planting a gentle kiss to the crown of her head.

Y/N laughed again at his allusion, but she wasn’t laughing because it was funny, but because it stung like a wasp. Over and over again. “I’ve still got that stupid piece of paper, y’know. Your letter. Saved it all these years because it was all I had.”

The little anger she had left inside of her began to bubble up. Though it didn’t last very long as tears welled in her eyes, just like when she picked up the stupid paper for the first time. Grief stampeded her stomach like a herd of frightened elephants, bruising her deeply as the pain she felt from that day made itself known in the present.

“You didn’t say goodbye. Why didn’t you say goodbye?”

The wind picked up as the clouds in the sky completely covered the sun in forecast, hovering over Harry as a reminder, just in case he didn’t already know the pain he caused.

Pulling Y/N close to his chest, he let her cry, knowing it was best to not say anything at all. She wasn’t legitimately asking why he didn’t, but it felt good to get the question off her chest. So he let her cry, his own tears pricking his waterline, balancing on the edge before tumbling over and down onto his cheeks.

Just when the sun began to come out from its hiding spot, the two subsided their emotions, calming down just like the leaves above their heads. The storm had passed. All that’s left now is the aftermath.

“We don’t get forever, Rose. But we have each other now.”

Something tells them though that despite how many physical years they may have left with one another, they’ll always have forever. The thought rests easy on their minds.

With just a few more minutes of sitting in the grass and simmering, absorbing, melting, the duo decided it was time to get up. They were going to put the past behind them, starting with the fact that maybe they were too old to be sitting in the grass like they used to.

Laughs and giggles were exchanged as they both tried to get to their feet as gracefully as possible without drawing any attention to themselves. They were a heap of giggles and optimism as they retraced their steps back onto the pathway, heading back to his car.

It almost seemed like déjà vu the moment a speedy bicyclist zoomed past Y/N, nearly grazing her left side. She moved out of his way just in the nick of time, but haphazardly fell into Harry’s arms, who always seemed ready to catch her even in the most abrupt of times.

It all happened so fast yet also so slow, running parallel to the moment this exact occurrence happened fifty-five years ago. Their whole day ran parallel to their pasts, so it was only inevitable that that same electricity sparked through their bodies again.

They gazed into each other’s eyes the moment her body felt safe, that same magnet pulling them close enough that their mouths were only a few inches apart. Not a single word was exchanged as their breaths mingled together and their fingers gripped each other forcefully.

Remembering when she told Ellie about their first electric moment, Ellie immediately questioned if the two of them had kissed because it seemed like the perfect moment. Disappointingly, they didn’t.

She would hate to disappoint her granddaughter again.

So, this time they did.

It was the perfect moment, after all.

[another-tmnt-writer]

You Fell From the Sky - Part 2

Leonardo x Reader

Author: Admin Mo

Summary: After falling from the sky and landing literally in the arms of your favorite turtle, it takes some adjustment to live in another reality, but with the help of the leader in blue, you’re getting used to it.

Note: Let it be known that I wrote the first part of this before I knew reality shifting was a thing, but now that I know it is……let me tell you, I am tempted…

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 1.6k

It had been three weeks. Three whole weeks living in the lair. You were over the moon. Honestly, it was spectacular. However, after three weeks without a phone charger (you’d been using it very, very sparingly and had it turned off most of the time) your phone was now at one percent. So, you popped into the lab, where Donnie was at the moment.

“Hey Donnie?” You asked tentatively, standing in the doorway.

“Oh, hey (Y/N)! Can I help you with something?” He asked, his voice friendly. He looked up at you, giving you his full attention from whatever he was working on.

“Um, do you have a phone charger I can use?”

“Of course!” He pulled open a drawer on his desk that was absolutely filled with charging chords of every time, meticulously organized with twist ties. “What kind do you need?”

“iPhone.” You said.

He reached into the drawer and handed you a ten-foot chord. “Here you go.”

“Thank you!” You smiled. “What are you working on, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I don’t mind!” He scooted over to let you see his screen. “I’m working on figuring out how to open an interdimensional portal right now. Sorry it’s taking me so long.”

“Don’t be sorry. This is literally groundbreaking work. You’re a genius, but I definitely didn’t expect you to do it overnight.”

“Well that’s reassuring.” He chuckled. “I’ll keep you posted. Don’t want to keep you here any longer than we have to.”

You knew he was kidding about the last bit, but your heart sank a little when he said it. You liked being at the lair. You liked spending time with the guys. Sure, you wanted to go home at some point, but you wished it didn’t have to come so soon.

“Thank you, Donnie.”

You left the lab to find Leo lingering just outside. He looked concerned, his arms crossed, head tilted, blue, blue eyes focused on you. “You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“No reason. You just seemed a little down.” He answered. He stared at you for a moment before remembering, “Oh, April is here. She brought you some more clothes.”

“Awesome. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it.” He shrugged, leading you back out to the living room, where Mikey was ranting about something to April and Casey while Raph listened and shook his head.

You stared at each of them for a long moment, absorbing. Megan Fox and Stephen Amell were standing like twenty feet away from you. It was overwhelming to say the very least. “Holy shit…”

“Hi! You must be (Y/N). I’m April. This is Casey.”

“Hockey puck has got a bit of a chip on his shoulder, but he means well.” Raph elaborated.

“This is so insane.” You laughed, smiling at them. “It’s incredible to meet you. The boys…told you where I’m from, right?”

“Yeah, they did.” April nodded. “That must have been quite the jump.”

“It was. I’m still…getting used to it, I guess.”

“Well, take your time.” She nudged Raph playfully. “They take some getting used to.”

“Hey!” Raph scoffed, nudging her back. “Ya took some getting used to yourself, O’Neil.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much.” Leo said, his eyes sparkling. “I think you’re fitting in just fine.”

You ignored the way your heart raced when he said it, replying with a smirk, “I agree.”

***

It was later that night. You were in the kitchen, baking with Splinter’s permission. He was in his room drinking tea and the boys were out on patrol. That was the other thing. Every time they left, you felt empty. You knew they’d be fine, but there was always a little bit of worry nagging in the back of your brain. What if they…weren’t?

So: stress-baking. The recipe of the evening? Chocolate chip cookies. They were a classic you were sure the boys would like. Your hair was up in a messy bun and you had some tunes playing from your phone. You scooped out the balls of cookie dough, setting them in careful rows on the pan before sticking them into the hot oven.

You baked for a few hours, rotating trays until you had a batch big enough to feed four hungry mutant turtles, their father, and yourself.

You switched off the oven, and right as you did, you heard their voices echoing through the tunnels until finally, they entered the lair.

“Good night?” You asked hopefully.

“Better now, angelcakes.” Mikey winked and then stopped in his tracks when he saw the steaming pile of fresh-baked cookies. His eyes widened and he gasped excitedly. “Are these for us?”

“Yep.”

“Wow, she bakes, too, Leo.” Raph teased, reaching for a cookie in time with Donnie.

“Thanks, (Y/N),” said the turtle in the purple bandana.

“Of course.”

Leo went in for one last, still reeling a bit from Raph’s comment, his cheeks rosier than usual. He said softly, “Thank you for doing this.”

“Thank you for letting me crash here. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you guys finding me when you did.”

“It’s the least we could do.” Leo insisted.

“Alright, quit yer flirting. Let’s all go watch a movie or something.” Raph insisted, walking out towards the TV. The rest of you followed, and of course when you and Leo went to find seats, the only two that were left were right next to each other.

You settled in, blushing a bit. Raph had a smug smirk on his face.

“What?” You challenged, causing him to chuckle.

“Nothin’.”

As it got later, it also got colder, and you soon found yourself shivering the slightest bit, wishing you’d thought to grab a blanket before the movie started like the rest of the guys had.

“Are you cold?” Leo asked.

Instead of telling him you weren’t like you wanted to, you nodded. Without hesitation, he pulled half of his large blue blanket onto your lap, letting you share his warmth. As if you weren’t blushing enough before, he just had to be a gentleman and fluster you even further.

“T-thanks.” You could have punched yourself for stuttering, but Leo didn’t seem to mind. He still kept a polite distance from you, his leg a good few inches from yours despite the blanket that was draped across you both.

You were quiet for the rest of the movie, and when it was over, Raph went to work out, Donnie retreated into his lab, and Mikey went to his room to scroll through TikToks on his phone. That left you and Leo sitting awkwardly under the large blue knitted blanket you were sure Raph had made. Maybe it had been a Christmas present or something. You weren’t sure.

“Not to give you déjà vu, but I’m sorry about Raph.” Leo chuckled. “I asked him to stop, so of course it only got worse.”

“I really don’t mind.” You told him, meeting his clear blue gaze. “That’s what brothers do, isn’t it?”

He laughed. “Yeah, I guess it is. Do you have any siblings?”

“No, unfortunately. I’m an only child. Grew up with my aunt because my parents couldn’t be bothered to actually parent.”

“Mmm.” Leo hummed, nodding.

“I guess that’s probably why I latched onto the idea of you guys so much as a kid. I liked the idea of a sibling bond like that. Working together as a team. Having a built-in group of friends to hang out with.”

“It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, but we do work well together.” Leo agreed. “When we’re not bickering, that is.”

You were quiet for a moment, mustering up courage before you said, “He’s right, though. Raph, I mean.”

Leo stared at you, his eyes widening in half-realization. “What…how…what do you mean?” His voice cracked when he asked it, his heart pounding.

“Well…Leo, I’ve had a crush on you since I was fifteen years old; I doubt it’s going away anytime soon.”

He looked at you in shock, pretty sure he’d hallucinated what you just said. All he could reply with was a shaky, “On me?”

You laughed. “Yes, Leo. On you. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I’m not even supposed to exist here.”

“I do. Feel the same.” He blurted. His statement was quick, but it was firm. Carefully, he took your hand in his large, green, three-fingered one and he was reminded just how different the two of you actually were. He was about to let go, but you squeezed his hand reassuringly. He laughed at himself, slightly embarrassed to be floundering in front of you, but it was out of his control. “I’m sorry, I’m new to this.”

“That’s okay.” You smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I promise I’ll do my best to make you happy. Just let me know if I’m doing something wrong. I’m learning, after all.” His thumb rubbed the back of your hand. “And I know that…at some point you’re going to have to go back. But…I’m willing to make the most of whatever time we have.”

“Me too.” You nodded. A yawn slipped from your lips. It was getting late. You wouldn’t be surprised if the sun was already up. “I think it’s about time I got to bed.” You told him, standing up and setting the blanket on the couch.

Since you’d been there, the boys had created you a makeshift room of your own in one of the giant pipes in the wall, a little one with your own mattress and some bedding Raph had whipped up for you.

Leo stood up too, towering over you as soon as he did. You stood on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Leo replied, smiling at you like you’d put the moon and stars in the sky with your bare hands. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” You echoed, walking off towards your pipe, a new kind of warmth swirling around in your chest.

[joyfulhopelox]

Rosy Carnation

Pairing: painter!Min Yoongi x skater!reader (non-idol! au)

Genre: fluff, tiny bit of angst

Warnings: some talk about social anxiety, Yoongi is a bit harsh in the beginning but rest is just pure fluff

Word count: 6k

rating: pg

Summary: There was nothing in this world that Yoongi hated more than busybodies. Unfortunately for him one particular ditzy skater decides to break the peace by crashing into his life and offering him a rosy carnation

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox for both the work and the banner (thank you @mochi-molala for giving me the artistic approval for this think you didn’t realise how much it helped)

This is part 3 of my Love Blossom series and quite unedited, i tried but some mistakes may have escaped my notice

As always please leave feedback and/or talk to me as i love to hear from you! Enjoy <3

There was nothing more peaceful than being able to sit by the river in the early hours of the morning. Every day without fail, Yoongi would take advantage of the sleeping city and set camp by the riverside situated just on the outskirts.

The place was far from being secluded, its location sign-posted by the popular park that housed it. But he knew that during those hours no one bothered to visit, everyone was busy with their office jobs. It wasn’t that he was unemployed, it just so happened that his job allowed him to work from wherever and at whatever time. In fact, the more scenic the location the better for him. As a painter he had the freedom to choose his office, and his most prefered location happened to be by the riverside. The stillness of the morning, the sun just about to peek out from under the city skyline and the sound of the birds conversing amongst each other relaxed him. And if there was one thing that permitted Yoongi to paint without restrictions, was the tranquility of everything around him.

His normal spot, under a beech tree, was rarely used, the pathway that passed by it not being used by the general population. Sometimes he would spot the occasional cyclist passing by on their way to work, sometimes he would hear the scraping of the skateboards doing tricks in the skate park located behind the wall of trees that surrounded him. But no one ever bothered him, or was bothered by him. And it suited him and his needs just fine.

Yoongi disliked it when his flow was interrupted. Luckily for him, it rarely happened. No one threw him more than a glance as no one found the scene to be out of place. Sometimes he would be pulled out of his thoughts by the yap of a dog that got too excited at the prospect of a new human. Other times he would be questioned by the curious child that has never seen a painter at work. Those did not inconvenience him, the innocence and sincerity of the interference was enough to not disturb him.

However, what he miscalculated that day was the early start of the fishing season. One bad trait of being a painter working under your own schedule was losing track of time. And so when that one morning he trudged along with his canvas and his tools to his sacred spot only to find it occupied by fishermen he almost had a panic attack. He forgot all about that, and so unprepared, he did not know what to do or where to relocate. Pausing for a couple of minutes, his eyes scrutinising the men sitting on the riverbank in complete stillness, he contemplated on setting up his stool next to them. But when one of them yelled in glee at having caught a fish, he decided he’d rather not. Fishermen needed to be still because of the nature of their activity, that did not mean they were quiet people overall.

Disappointed and a bit frazzled, Yoongi picked up his canvas from where he set it next to his foot and left the area to scout for a substitute.

After what felt like a good few minutes of walking in circles, he found himself passing by a small public garden right in the middle of the greenery encompassing the riverside. He inspected it quietly, his eyes taking in the flower arrangements and the neatly cut grass. Has that always been there? Probably, it is not like he ventured out of his safe spot. But now, when forced to he realised that maybe there were other places where he could sit and paint in peace. Determinately, he walked into the small gated garden familiarising himself with the layout. There were some benches strewn across the space, all of them framed by vibrant rose bushes, some young oak trees judging by their height but what caught his eye most importantly was the small gazebo tucked away at the back of the garden gated by rows of variously coloured carnations. He decided that it would be the perfect spot, it would have to do for now. Not like he had any other choice. The morning was almost gone, the heat of the midday sun bleeding its way into the breeze. Soon the park will get busier and busier.

Dumping his belongings on the ground he sets off to unpack everything so he could get started. He felt strangely excited about this new spot he had found. Somehow, the novelty of the environment has given him the inspiration that he needed for today’s session. He normally shied away from new experiences, new people and most importantly unexpected circumstances, but this circumstance was more than welcome.

As he sat on his stool, paint brush in hand, the blank canvas staring at him, daring him to fill it with his vision he bit his lip. Suddenly so many ideas zoomed through his mind that he had a hard time deciphering which one sounded the best.

However, none of them made it on the actual canvas.

A skateboard zoomed straight past his feet,out of control, knocking into his carefully placed tools; acrylics and brushes scattered all over the ground in various corners of the gazebo. An exasperated yell and some harsh pants followed said abomination. Yoongi, who was too stunned to even form a sentence or comprehend what was happening around him, stared as you ran towards him at full speed.

“I’m so sorry, sorry sorry sorry” you repeated zooming towards him at breakneck speed. Still in shock Yoongi still couldn’t process what was happening around him. You were going to barrel straight into him but all he could do was blink, his brain still trying to catch up with the situation. One moment you were running towards the skateboard and the next moment found you laying sprawled at his feet.

“Ouch” Yoongi blinked once, twice, three times, and reality finally caught up with him.

He stared at the mess around him. His canvas was lying on the ground a few good feet away from him, its white clean surface now completely smudged with dirt and his acrylics and brushes were all scattered at his feet. The sight of his paints not only disorganised in such a fashion but also crushed and spilled all over the ground caused his stomach to drop. They were not the cheapest and they were also the only ones he had left. It was clear there was nothing to salvage, he had to go once more to the art store and buy more.

“Ohmygod i am so sorry!” The frantic voice was loud enough to make Yoongi wince.

You were not having a good day, and it showed. You started the morning by burning your toast. Then you forgot to grab your keys, which resulted in you having to beg your landlord for the spare in the early hours of the morning. To say they were not pleased was an understatement. You spilled coffee on your white top on your way to the park. And to top it all off you ended up hurtling towards an extremely handsome man.

You decided in the morning that you would try to learn that late kickflip your friends have been trying to teach you, but as a new skater you decided to practice in the garden just off the side of the skate park. One foot placement went wrong and your skate ran from under your feet flying towards the unsuspecting victim.

Luckily it did not hit him, however it scattered all of his belongings all over the dirty ground. It felt as if you were watching all of that happen in slow motion, when in reality it probably only took you a second to react. Trying to help and get a hold of your skate, you rushed to catch it in time before it disappeared into the row of carnations. But you miscalculated entirely the distance between you and the stranger, his foot halting your run.

And that is how you ended up there, on the floor, at his feet, covered in his paints.

You sprung up as fast as you could ignoring the tingling in your leg and started apologising profusely. However, the harshness at which you crashed on the floor combined with the speed at which you got up were a fatal combination. The blood rushed to your feet quicker than you could process and your knees gave out from under you. In an attempt to not crash onto the floor again you grabbed onto the closest stable object you could. Only, it happened to not be an object but a person. So with a clammy hand you latched onto the man in front of you.

Yoongi did not know what to do. You had grabbed onto him with such conviction that his brain malfunctioned. He hated to be touched, especially by strangers. And so when the fight or flight instinct kicked in he shrugged you off violently causing you to crumple on the floor once again.

“Ouch.” Your butt hurt and you wanted to be annoyed at him, but when you looked up to let your feelings known and your eyes locked onto his panicked ones, you paused. He looked ready to run off on you. “I- uh, am sorry” You tried once more to get up, this time as slowly as you could. You knew there would be a bruise later but it was not something you were unfamiliar with.

Yoongi did not respond to you. He couldn’t, his brain was still ready to shut down. He normally ran away from any human interaction, the nature of his job enough to facilitate such behaviour. Being faced with it and in such an unexpected way caused his anxiety to be at an all time high. And so he did what he normally does best; he retreated within himself completely ignoring your apology.

Silently he stepped away from you and crouched down to start picking up his belongings. With an anguished sigh he took in the mess that his acrylics had become. It was going to cost him a lot to be able to replace them but what other choice did he have?

Taking his silence as a sign of anger, you panicked. If there was one thing you could not stand was to see someone angry. Especially when it was directed at you. In an attempt to amend yourself to him you crouched down next to him and started picking up his stuff. “I am really sorry. I didn't mean to. It was just a new trick that i wanted to learn, and i am a newbie at all this and so i was scared to go to the skate park and try them. And I am a clutz and I knew this was going to happen at some point! The day has already started on such a bad note-”

You knew you were rambling, you were nervous. But Yoongi did not care about that. He just wanted you gone. He wanted his peace back, he wanted to get his work done and retreat back to his home and most importantly, he wanted you to get your hands off of his possessions.

Without looking at you, he harshly grabbed for the brushes that you had gathered in your hand. “Leave” he surprised himself at how resolute he managed to sound despite the slight waver in his voice.

“Are you angry? Oh my god you are! I am so sorry again, let me make it up to you! I really did not mean to destroy your work!” you get up once more rushing towards the canvas that lay a few feet away from the two of you. Picking it up you stare at the blank piece of material.

“Oh, are you an artist?” you turn to him, your eyes sparkling with excitement. Completely forgetting the incident from earlier you giddily walk over, the canvas extended towards him.

Yoongi could not believe his eyes, your brash behaviour in front of a complete stranger that has made it clear he wanted nothing to do with you was baffling to him. He contemplated for a second the thought of you being deaf, but then no because you had clearly heard him the first time. His anxiety quickly morphed into annoyance, if you weren’t going to leave he decided he would.

Taking a hold of the canvas you were handing over to him he pulled it out of your hands and stuffed it under his arm. Crouching down again he hurriedly stuffs his brushes and acrylics in his bag. He wanted to get out of there as quickly as he could before you had the chance to touch any of his belongings again.

“Hey, i-uh. Please don’t be angry. I really am sorry. Look you don’t have to leave, i will go” Yoongi paused, his hand hovering above his palette. Chancing a glance at you, his eyes widened a fraction. You looked completely frazzled. Not even looking at him, your eyes focused on your fretting hands. He could just about see a snippet of your face and the way your bottom lip was trembling slightly made his anger melt a little. Maybe he has been a bit too harsh on you.

“Yes” he offers offhandedly whilst placing his canvas back to where it was before.

At his change in tone your head snaps up and you gape at him. “What?” you breathe out in surprise. His soft but deep voice took you by surprise. It was extremely smooth and you had not expected it to come out of his mouth.

He did not offer you anything else, leaving you gawking at him, watching as he set up his canvas onto the easel. You were silent for a couple of minutes trying to understand what he had meant when it finally hit you.

“Ah! You are an artist! That is amazing, what type of paintings do you do? Is it nature?” you clapped your hands excitedly. “Of course it is nature Y/N, he is in the middle of the gazebo how dumb can you be” you muttered to yourself whilst shaking your head.

Yoongi glanced at you from his periphery. He wasn’t feeling as threatened by your presence as he had before, but that did not mean he was comfortable with you being there. He observed you for a couple of seconds watching as you muttered to yourself for the time being. He took it as a chance to set his palette down and tried to squeeze whatever was left of his acrylics onto it.

You realised a bit too late that you had started daydreaming whilst muttering to yourself and so with rosy cheeks you mutter another apology.

“You apologise too much.” Yoongi did not know where his courage had come from but he couldn’t stop the words spilling from his mouth. “I asked you to leave.” His harsh words caused you to flinch, but your eagerness to see him paint rooted you on the spot.

“Is-uh,” you took a deep breath in trying to calm your beating heart, “is it ok if i stay here and watch you?” You cringed at how voyeuristic that sounded. But you had to admit to yourself, the honey haired guy, with soft plump cheeks and pouty lips has caught your interest and you were not ready to part with him just yet.

Yoongi didn’t respond, he’s made it clear he wanted you gone, but he finally understood that the clumsy human that managed to wreck his set up was a stubborn one. He chose instead to ignore your presence and settle on his painting, giving you unspoken permission to do as you pleased.

Catching onto the meaning of his silence you beamed and sat yourself down.

Trying your hardest to be silent you bit your lip. You knew he wouldn’t appreciate you disturbing him any longer. Soon enough, you slipped into a daydream your eyes focused on the flowers behind the hunched form of the intriguing artist.

Yoongi sighed in satisfaction, his painting was finally finished. He had opted to use greens this time, the nature around him inspiring the concept behind this. However, he could not help but add the dots of red here and there, its fiery tumultuous colour breaking the tranquility of the greens. Just like you had thundered into his life just earlier.

“Woah” broken out of the daydream by the sound of his sigh, your eyes focused on the painting before you. You knew you were easily impressed but this painting was stunning. “That is so cool” you whispered in awe.

Yoongi blushed, he had been complimented a lot on his work, but there was something about the sincerity shining through your statement that frazzled him. He nodded in acknowledgment. He had enough knowledge to be aware that he needed to thank you for the compliment.

“Oh!” you sprung up suddenly the transition making him jump. “I am late!” You quickly picked up your skateboard. “Ah,” stopping mid run you turn back. Rushing to the bushes of carnations you pick one up. With confident stride you head back.

Yoongi watched you, once again his mind completely discombobulated by your abruptness. When you halt in front of him and push the flower into his hands he doesn’t know how to react. Instead he just sits there waiting for your next move, his mind once again preparing him to flee.

“It was nice meeting you….uh?” You realised you did not ask for his name, so as you urge the flower into his grasp you wait patiently for him to offer it to you. When after a minute of silence he doesn’t you try again. “What is your name?”

“So can you like...teach me how to paint?” you eyes brightened at the thought.

“What?” Yoongi sputtered. A week has passed since the first time you decided to literally crash into his life. A week of your mindless chatter. Even so, he had tried his best to ignore you and your childish view of the world. He was ignoring you, but it was not like he couldn’t hear you.

He was not expecting that request, and yet, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him. Your randomness and innocence has been taking his breath away from the moment he saw you. You were all over the place, clumsy and random. He did not want to sit and ponder at that thought, feeling the shiver of anxiety creep back in. Schooling his expression to a neutral one he shook his head and went back to his canvas.

“No” the harsh tone of his voice made you flinch.

Not noticing the effect his words had on you he carried on, “You’d do a very poor job of it, and it hurts to think you’d waste all this material for some doodles.” Not giving you a chance to respond he sighed and put his brush down. “Finally finished.” He sat and observed his work for a couple of moments. He was satisfied, it was not his best work but he liked the outcome. The blue colour scheme gave him a sense of peace.

Realising the silence had gone on too long he turned around to face you. You were unnaturally quiet, your face scrunched up as if in deep thought. He would have thought you’d gone into one of your daydreams if not for the shiny gloss in your eyes. He could not understand why his heart did that flip, or why his mouth formed into a frown mirroring your own. Had he said something wrong? Mulling over his words he decided that maybe his tone was too harsh but you spoke up before he could try to remedy it.

“Ah, i see, you are right” you sniffed trying to mask the tears in your voice. “I am quite clumsy, there is no way i can make something as beautiful as this.” You gesture to his work, the canvas a swirl of blues, it reminded you of the ocean. You did not know why his words stung, it’s not like he didn’t have a point. You were probably incapable of creating something like that. Stick figures were all you could draw, and even those tended to be lopsided.

Yoongi’s heart clenched. “Uhh-” he did not know what to say, it wasn’t as if he could take it back. He did not want to take it back, he wasn’t a liar. But maybe he could have turned you down a bit softer than he has. He may have been awkward in social situations and missed a lot of cues, but the tears gathered in your eyes were hard to miss. Even he could sense the sadness that overpowered the atmosphere.

“It’s ok, i need to, uh go. I’ll see you next time. Here” you quickly drop something next to his brushes and without a second thought you turn away from him and leave as quickly as you’d arrived.

With your back turned towards him, your feet taking you further and further away you could finally release the sob that has been threatening to surface.His words hurt. But you were well aware it was not the words that caused the tear in your heart. It was the unfeeling and harsh way he threw them at you. You contemplated whether or not you should chance a glance behind you, but decided against it. You did not think you could stand the sight of him stepping on the last bit of dignity you had. A rosy carnation.

Yoongi knew he usually missed a lot of social cues. For example when the curator asked him out for a coffee and he told them he stopped drinking caffeine because it caused insomnia. Or when the gallery director had wanted to shake his hand in greeting and he simply just stared at it. It wasn’t as if he was unfamiliar with them, it was just that it took him a lot longer to process these cues than the average human being.

When you’d left him the carnation he simply threw a glance at it but did not give it a second thought as he carried on painting. He almost left it there when he packed up his tools- almost stepping on it. He saw it just in time, the rosy colour attracting his attention. He bent down and picked it up gently; the flower was almost wilted from the heat. Prepared to throw it away he thought of you and stopped. The sight of your flushed cheeks, your distressed eyes and the gleam of your tears weighing heavily on his mind. With a sigh he cradled the flower in his palm, he would put it in between the pages of a book and press it dry.

Yoongi had no clue why he kept visiting the gazebo to work on his paintings. His previous spot so rarely visited that he’s almost forgotten where it was. He tried to convince himself it was because fishing season has not ended and so he would have been bothered by the men setting up around him. He tried not to think of the fact that the thought of not having your voice there, or the noises of the skateboard you practiced with caused him distress. He told himself it was because after a month of having you there with him, you became part of his routine. Like the background noise of a radio in the morning.

He could not pinpoint when your mindless chatter and pleas to ask him to teach you how to paint had become comforting to him. Even at home when he would try to read, he would pick up a book and open it only to come across a rosy carnation drying in between its pages.

You had made it a habit to leave him a flower every time you came to see him. He did not ponder too long as to why, but he’s kept them all. He did not want to ponder too long on that thought either. So he ignored it, but deep down he knew why.

Your eagerness, your clumsiness, your childish view of the world were enough to melt the wall he has built around himself. Somehow, you chipped at that wall with determination just like you did on the first day you met. Ungraceful and uncoordinated.

He knew you’d wormed your way into his soul and just like the flowers he kept pressing for safekeeping, he’s ingrained the memory of you into his brain.

When you’d started to ask more personal questions he found himself answering without a second thought.

“So, uh, have you always wanted to be a painter?” You were sat next to him tinkering with the wheels of your skateboard, from time to time getting distracted at the way his long fingers were clutching the brush. You blushed, thankful he was distracted by his work.

“No,” Yoongi paused to bend down and pick his palette and you thought that was the extent of the information he was willing to provide. “My parents wanted me to be a lawyer.” With a new colour on his brush he squinted focusing on getting the lines just right, the tip of his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration.

The silence that ensued settled heavily around the two of you. “Oh,” your voice did not sound too surprised. Yoongi glanced at you, you were gazing at him with such understanding that he found it hard to tear his gaze away. “Are they happy you chose to do what you love instead?” You carried on, trying out your luck.

Yoongi looked away from you, he couldn’t say what he wanted to say whilst your eyes were digging deep into his soul. “I wouldn’t know.” He shrugged as if to make a point. “I left home to move here and haven’t spoken to them since.”

The words, heavy as lead, echoed in your brain. But they were not unfamiliar. “I am sure they would want to talk to you. My parents died when i was young and i was raised by my grandparents.” Your voice sounded casual, but the slight change of tone made Yoongi raise his eyes to look at you. You were smiling at him, your face not giving away any of the pain you were feeling inside.

Yoongi may have been socially anxious, but he was observant, he couldn’t help it, it was the nature of his job. His eyes picked up on the way your chin trembled and his ears caught the slight waver in your voice. He didn’t know how it happened until he felt the corners of his mouth raising up. And with an uncertain smile in your direction, he managed to erase the sadness that clouded over your face.

“Pick up that brush” his tone softer than you have ever heard it.

“Huh?” You didn’t know where the change in tone had come from, but it managed to take you by surprise.

“Pick up the brush,” he repeated his head nodding in the direction of said tools. “And come here.” He stood up from his stool gently grabbing your wrist and pulling you up. The contact of his cold hands on your warm ones made you shiver, but in the heat of the summer it felt comforting. You savoured the way his gentle hands pulled you into the chair and handed you the brush he had been holding. Softly he guided your hand onto the canvas and your breath stopped.

His hands, the hands you had been observing ever since you met him, were smooth. His long slender fingers imprinting themselves onto the back of your hand. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from the way the pale skin of his slender wrist peeked from under the long sleeve he was wearing. The skin on the inside of his wrist almost translucent enough to allow his veins to show.

“Like this” he steered the brush onto the canvas, his voice so close to your ear it made you your heart skip a beat. When the bristles made contact with the material of the canvas leaving the mark of the acrylic on it, you knew. Just like the doodle he’s made, his mark on your heart would be permanent.

Yoongi didn’t know when he started craving your touch. It just happened. He carried on giving you lessons, finding it ironic how adamant he was at the beginning to refuse you. Little by little he started looking forward to his morning ritual of setting up in the garden, your clumsy self stumbling in the gazebo just as he was about to set his easel down. He would not even sit himself first, he would grab your hand allowing himself to revel in the way your smaller rough hand would fit into his larger one and sit you on the stool. Handing you the brushes he would sit next to your skateboard and watch as you tried to create something on the canvas, your brows furrowed in concentration.

How ironic that you would switch places. He would sit for a couple of hours watching your uncertain movements and listen to the small sounds of glee when you’d manage to get the brush to do what you wanted it to. His heart would pound in his chest when your tongue would flit across your lips subconsciously and the small smile gracing his lips would be a permanent fixture on his face. He did not care that he hasn’t painted in a few weeks. He was more than satisfied watching you.

When your painting session would end you’d end up talking for hours under the shade of the gazebo, the smell of flowers wafting all around you.

And you would always leave with lighter hears and the crinkle of a smile indented in the corner of your eyes and him with a rosy carnation cradled to his chest waiting to join the rest of the others.

When one morning you didn’t arrive at your usual time under the gazebo Yoongi noticed. He decided to wait for you for hours, but when the sun bled under the city skyline and the night settled in he decided it was time to go home. With a heavy heart and an empty hand he returned home hoping that the next day you would arrive and tell him about your day.

But one day turned into two, which turned into a week, which then turned into two- and before he knew it a whole month had passed.

In the beginning Yoongi would wait for you patiently, hoping that he would hear your yelps or even your greeting from afar. When that did not happen, he decided he would use that time to continue painting, maybe you’d arrive halfway through and ask him about it. When that didn’t happen either he noticed that instead of a smile on his face he now wore a frown.

After a whole month of not seeing you he became numb to the feeling. He decided that he would not let his mind ponder too much on your absence. But he could not completely block the way his thoughts would return back to you, and he could not help the wistful gaze he would throw the carnations around the gazebo.

As the months of summer wilted into the chill of autumn, the day he decided to stop waiting for you was the day you once again stumbled into him.

Running as fast as your leg permitted you halted a meter away from him, your breath coming out in harsh pants. Yoongi faltered, the grasp he had on his brush slackening, the tool clattering to the ground. He didn’t say anything, he couldn’t. Instead his eyes took in the way your form trembled with exhaustion, stopping at the wrapped up parcel you had under your arm.

“I am so so so sorry” you rasped, the effort causing you to cough. Looking up at him, your gaze met his dark one. He did not look upset, or even disinterested. He looked concerned, then you realised the state you came to see him in.

Yoongi took notice immediately at the lack of skateboard, this time replaced by a crutch. The way you were favouring one leg over the other concerned him. Had you been in an accident?

“I am so sorry,” you repeated, taking him back to the first moment he’s met you. Your clumsy self apologising incessantly and rambling in nervousness. “I fell one day whilst on the way here, and i broke my leg. I did not mean to stop showing up i promise! I had wanted to come see you as soon as i left the doctor’s office but the injury was worse than i could have suspected and- and” your voice wavered, trembling in exhaustion, still not having caught your breath.

Yoongi got up without a word, his silent form approaching yours. When only a few inches were left between the two of you he places both of his hands on your shoulders halting your apology. Looking up at him your gaze softens, his eyes were glossy but his mouth curled up in a smile.

“You’re ok” he repeated over and over as if to reassure himself. Your eyes now mirroring his own watery ones you nod.

In a flash he hugs you tightly, your crutch clattering to the ground and the parcel under the other arm making a dull thud as it hit the dirty floor. You gasped in surprise, your arms not knowing where to settle themselves. After a couple of seconds your brain catches up and relaxes and you melt into his hug. Despite his hands being always cold, his hug is warm and inviting.

You think back to the first time you met, how his cold words told you to leave him be. The drastic change in his attitude and demeanour make you smile softly. You burrowed your head in his shoulder inhaling his scent. He smelt of oils and acetone with an undertone of something floral, and you gasp. Carnations.

As if remembering something important you pulled yourself away from his touch, the cold autumn air making you shiver at the loss of contact.

Yoongi is confused for a moment, his eyes widening in panic. Has he made the wrong move? Has he read your intentions wrong? His heart clenches at the thought of you not returning the feelings that bloomed in his chest. But when you offer him a reassuring smile and bend down, grabbing onto his arm for support his emotions settle.

“This is for you” your hands were shaking. Handing over the mysterious parcel, you waited patiently for him to take it.

He glances at it uncertainly, but when you push it towards him his hand wraps around it. With as much skill as he could he opened it with one hand. Tearing the paper away he gasped. The corner of a canvas is sticking through the whole.

Looking at you in surprise your nervous eyes urge him to carry on. So he does.

The paper now completely teared open, his eyes settle onto a familiar flower painted onto the canvas. A carnation.

You watched him open your gift. You had tried your hardest during the time you were stuck at home with a cast on to practice and after weeks of painful frustrated tears, you’d finally managed to get it right. You had wanted to convey your feelings in a way that he would understand without feeling the pressure to conform to societal norms. To show him how much his effort to accommodate you and include you in his secluded life meant to you.

“Did you know,” you were whispering, “that rosy carnations mean admiration?”

Yoongi finally got it, realisation dawning over his features. He looked up at you, overwhelmed by the emotions flooding his chest. You were still smiling at him a tear now running down your cheek. “I wanted to convey my admiration for you in a way that would be permanent.” The hand on his arm tightened as if you make a point. “So i tried my best to do that.”

Yoongi smiled, not the uncertain smile you were used to, a full smile, the gums of his teeth showing, his features softening.

“A painting is not eternal, but with the artist the painting it over and over again it can be.” His free hand cups your cheek gently. “So stay with me.”

Main Masterlist

[ktheist]

02 — show me yours & i’ll show you mine | m

➙ muses. seokjin x college student / gamer!reader ft. best friend! taehyung

➙ genre. best friend’s brother au. university au. working au. fwb au.

➙ word. 1.9k

➙ warnings. explicit content. oral (f receiving).

➙ index. 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05  | 06 | finale | side story 1 |

➙ synopsis. 

“can we have morning sex?”

“not today.”

x

“is that my brother’s shirt?” is the first thing kim taehyung says to you after a whole night of you declaring war against him for choosing his girlfriend over you.

your body clock’s designed in a way where no matter how late you go to sleep, you’ll always wake up at 8 in the morning. the question of whether you can go back to bed or not varies. like right now, when your stomach is grumbling because it’s decided to deem that the spicy carbonara ramen you had has lost its sustaining-abilities.

“uh, is that a woman-choosing, best friend-abandoning human i see?” you say, eyes squinted at said human.

“whatever,” that seems to have taken taehyung’s interest off the creme colored sweater hanging off your shoulders and way past your butt. you could’ve not word shorts when you went out to get yourself a bowl of cereal. mainly because the brothers have a similar habit of sleeping in until the sun’s shining directly into their faces and they’d have no choice but to wake up - that is, in the event that they forgot to shut the blinds.

“what are you doing up anyway?” you ask but it’s a no-brainer because every friday night, kim taehyung and you would never fail to release a week’s worth of pent up frustrations over playing video games until the crack of dawn, “don’t tell me you haven’t slept.”

“unlike some people, i’ve got things to do,” he steals away the bowl of cereal you just finished preparing for yourself, “places to be.”

you can’t even get mad at his brazenness, not when those eyebags make him look like he’ll pass out with one swing of your punch. and you do punch like a girl - besides the fact that you are one, it’s already a settled fact that you’re really not fond of the idea of wasting your energy on something pointless - so you tend to give the least amount of energy for, for instance - if you do choose to - punching kim taehyung who’s walking away with your bowl of cereal.

so you fix yourself a new bowl, savoring it while watching an episode of the tale of nine-tailed and spending the entire morning catching up to the latest episode. it’s only until half an hour past noon, do you strut back into seokjin’s room, noticing the lump under the sheets now shifting with a sign of wakefulness.

“morning!” you greet, hearing the sound of hymns trickling into chuckles as seokjin pushes the sheet off his face and steals a glance at the uncalled for being that’s perched on top of him.

“you’re up early,” he remarks, arms stretched over his head, muscles flexing deliciously.

“can we have morning sex?” you put on your best smile, lashes fluttering in what you hope to be a coquettish manner rather than someone who looks like they have dust in both their eyes.

“not today,” he says but his large hand latches on your right breast, massaging with a expertise before pinching on your nipple and making you jump in surprise.

“ah!”

but before you get to complain, he’s pulling you down and engulfing you into a warm but shirtless hug (on his part at least).

“not fair,” you pout but snuggle closer anyway, forehead leaning against his chest.

but it’s short-lived because thunderous footsteps start echoing in the hallway and sounding dangerously close with each passing second. for a split second, you watch seokjin watch you, panic spreading across his face before your hands instinctively push him away. then the panic dissolves into alarm as he calls your name, accompanied by another timber-like voice that’s shouting out the same syllables.

“___!”

and then your butt hits the ground, then your back and your head at the same time.

“whew chile, that sounds painful, you okay?” taehyung sounds concern, but he doesn’t take any step towards you to further assert your head - you could’ve had a concussion for all he knows!

“um, gee thanks for making sure,” you want to roll your eyes, but you’re too busy rubbing the spot where your head made contact with the floor.

but seokjin, ever the thoughtful person, is already climing over the bed and pulling you up with one heave.

“why are you shirtless?” taehyung suddenly inquires.

 the cozy creme sweater clinging onto your body feeling immensely inadequate as you ice up. he looks between you and his brother, screws twisting in that head of his before he asks another question.

“is that really my brother’s shirt?” his eyes scream concluded assumption.

well, it’s true, but-

“would you give me your sweater if i said i was cold?” you don’t give him a chance to respond, “no. right. so shut up. what do you want anyway? hurry up cause i wanna take a nap.”

“let’s play, the squad wanna go one more round with you before we all go to sleep,” he says, the matter of why seokjin is shirtless or if it’s really said man’s shirt you’re wearing now no longer a matter of importance.

you like how his brain works.

“the fuck? you came all the way here just for that?” you narrow your eyes, as if visually asking him if he knows whether he’s making sense or not but you get up anyway, walking towards your laptop that’s perched on the desk where you left it last night.

your friends greet you with less enthusiasm than they did last night - everyone sounded like they either need sleep or need a fuck. there’s no clear answer to what they need but you guess you’re up for one game.

“alright losers, let’s geddit.” your cheer is met with groans and tired version of ‘wooo’s and ‘yeah’s.

five minutes into the game, you feel a peck on your cheek and a smiling kim seokjin gazing down at you with bed hair and puffy cheeks. the smile you offer him back is fleeting because you have a character to maintain and a team to support. this time, you choose the supporting role while hoseok takes on the fighter role.

once you realize that the figure casting a shadow over you remains still and unmoving, you peek up at him for the briefest seconds to ask ‘what?’.

you’re only met with a higher tug of his lips.

and then he falls down on his knee - and you don’t even have the chance to wrap your head around it when he grabs hold of your ankle and spread your legs apart. lifting your ass up as he pulls down your shorts seem to be a muscle response than your brain actually understanding what’s happening. but by the time it does, seokjin’s face is already buried deep between your thighs.

“wah- yikes!” you manage to divert your surprise to the enemy that came on screen, forcing out a laugh, “th-that was a close one, whew i was about to die.”

“the fuck? you already had 8 hours of sleep what are you messing up for?” taehyung says into your headphone.

seokjin licking a strip up your love nub.

but that doesn’t stop you from retorting, “oh my god, did i tell you to play all night and not sl- sleep?” you bite back, barely managing to end your sentence with a consistent amount of sarcasm when the tip of seokjin’s tongue slips into your entrance.

“okay, okay, we’re all a little sensitive here,” jeongguk, the most competitive and non-losing-accepting out of the five of you actually tries to placate.

oh, you’re sensitive alright.

then he says something about how “we’re a team” and “if you wanna fight, fight the enemy team.” or something. you’re not so sure because you’re too busy clasping your hand against your mouth whilst trying to dish out healing powers to your team that’s fighting a few feet in front of you as seokjin tugs on your thighs, positioning them in an angle where his tongue can reach deeper inside you, so much so that your ass is almost hanging off the air.

“fine,” you almost choke on your supposedly vindictive reply as your toes begin to curl, back arching as the only sound that manages to escape you is a sob-like whimper whilst sparks erupt from the depth of your stomach and course through your veins like sweet, sweet poison.

seokjin kisses the inside of your thigh once your breathing slows down and you’re slumping on the chair like you have no energy left in you. jimin’s voice demanding you to cover for him barely registering in your brain as you click an ability that showers him with a protection spell.

“sorry, got distracted,” you say into the mic simply before hearing jimin’s “it’s okay, nobody died.”

literally.

if anyone of you died, it would’ve definitely been on you. last night, you got away with saying you weren’t in your ‘zone’ but today, your underperformance will be the reason you get kicked out of the squad for good. probably.

and because you’re under fire, you can’t stop seokjin when he slips away and out of the room, leaving you to make up for your mini blunder.

the game lasts a good 20 minutes before the golden symbol of victory flash across your screen and more energetic sheers erupt in your headphones. everyone starts bidding each other farewell and ‘good night losers’s before the headphones go quiet.

only then, do you bound down the hallway and into the kitchen where you know the reason of the sizzling, salivating scent is because of kim seokjin. a still shirtless kim seokjin with his beautiful, broad back on you as he chops something on the chopping board and gracefully pours it into whatever he’s cooking.

“that wasn’t fair - you should at least give me a warning,” you stand with your arms crossed over your chest.

“did the enemy you go against give you a warning before ambushing you?” he asks in a matter of factly, teasing smirk on his lips that makes your heart go flip flop.

he’s never smiled at you like that before.

“that’s- that’s different,” you refuse to back down, “they couldn’t even if they wanted to because the system doesn’t let us communicate with the enemy team.”

he nods whilst stirring the - you’d peeked - fried rice that’s sizzling in the pan, “i did give you a warning.”

“um where?” you can fee your eyebrows knitting together.

“the kiss,” he taps his cheek twice before shutting off the stove, devious smirk playing on his lips.

“i thought that was a bona fide peck!” 

“that’s on you,” he shrugs, pouring the fried rice into four plates, “like namjoon says - never assume.”

“okay, maybe he did say that,” you concur, taking a seat across from him where he places the plate and offers you a fork and a spoon that he took out from their respective drawers under the counter.

“something smells good,” taehyung comes popping out from the hallway, bowl of empty cereal in hand as his eyes light up at the sight of the two other plates placed between you and seokjin, almost as if knowing that the only other thing that coud summon the kim brothers out from their dwelling is seokjin’s cooking.

“i’m starving,” namjoon announces, seconds apart from taehyung’s assertion.

so you have breakfast - or lunch, really - together like you would. just four kids from the same hometown who found home in each other’s presence.

you might’ve found something else that you like in seokjin’s pants - but that’s besides the point.

x

note. and here we go for the 2nd installment! hope yall enjoyed!

taglist. @scalubera​ @aretha170​

[piteouspeculiarity]

Defining Home: Extended Author's Note

Warning: This might contain spoilers for the series

(For clarity, when I say 'Tommy' etc in this post, I'm talking about the characters from my fics, not the content creators themselves.)

So it's done, huh? This note will include the sappy shit, the fun facts, then some of the more serious stuff, because I just didn't want to add an essay to the end of that chapter.

First of all, thank you all for the support along the way. Defining Home is easily my most popular series of fics I’ve ever written and I’ve been writing fanfic for years now. The comments and the kudos and the bookmarks were so very validating when I was new to the fandom, and still are. Hell, people have gifted me fics and written related fics to Defining Home, which blows my tiny mind. I haven’t gotten the chance to read a lot of them yet (procrastination I know thy name), but when I do, I’ll be leaving my best comments in thanks <3

I'll be honest, when I posted the first chapter of Enough, I never expected it to turn into what it did.

That first chapter was written in my phone notes at 3am, hours before an exam. I hadn't interacted with the fandom at all at that point, didn't even have a Tumblr for it, but boy oh boy did I get a warm welcome.

The point is, that first chapter was a very spur in the moment thing, mainly consisting of one scene I couldn't get out of my head (Tommy on a train to Wilbur's). I've gotten a few people telling me since then that they wished that they could write as well as I can, which is a huge compliment, but every person can write a fic like Enough. There are things that we all struggle with when it comes to writing: dialogue, prose, starting scenes - I have my own things I struggle with, things you might have noticed, things you might have not. You don't have to be a perfect writer to tell a story, especially in fandoms, where betas are easy to come across.

Write your story, even if its just for yourself. Posting that chapter gave me the chance to make new friends and I'll never stop being grateful for that.

One of those friends is Kat, who I've mentioned a couple times in the author's notes, but who honestly, I owe a lot to. Kat has encouraged me and been one of the main motivators to write this fic when I felt like it would never be finished, or that I'd never live up to other people's expectations. Sometimes, that meant motivating in some weird ass ways, but hey, it worked.

People who know me in discord servers might know that I'm a simp for Kat and it's damn true. Kat, I love you, you've improved my life more than you know in the last couple months and you deserve so, so much happiness.

In fear of love reciprocation from Kat, we'll move swiftly on to the more fun side of things.

Anyone feel like fun facts? You might already know some of these because I tend to overshare in author's notes, but I'm pretty sure some of them are new to all of you.

Barney the dog? Named after my own late labrador, who I love very much and loved to jump in lakes and need rescuing, time and time again.

I had no plans in moving Tommy in with Techno, hell, I had no plans in Techno moving to England at all. It was as much of a surprise to me as it was to everyone else when he told Tommy the news, but I latched onto the idea and ran with it. I think it worked out okay, in the end.

Techno has a draw in his bedroom full of parenting books, most of which were stolen from Phil.

After Tommy asked for help about what to do with Dream, Wilbur sent Dream a dm telling him he better not fuck anything up and if he did, Wilbur would not hesitate to humiliate him in front of millions of people. It was unnecessary, of course, but Dream was definitely a bit more cautious about what he said when he listened to Tommy’s explanation.

Some of my favourite things about writing Defining Home:

The Tesco v Asda discourse. Look, some of you just need to accept that Asda is the superior shop and get off your Tesco stanning bullshit. /j

The offers I would get for new chapters, some honourable mentions being newborns, siblings, diamonds and kidneys.

Now, I know that as much as I tried to, I won't have managed to include everything that everyone wanted from Defining Home, whether that's certain confrontations or scenes, I am sorry if I haven't included.

I don't imagine myself writing any more in the series, not because I think there isn't more I could write about, but because as a whole it feels complete to me, and any added oneshots I write would disturb that.

Right now Defining Home feels well rounded in a way that I'm proud of. The minute I realised that Enough was going to turn into a series I planned out how I wanted it to work. Maybe its just the maths part of my brain, but I like how there's three fics, with three chapters in each and how Tommy heals as you progress throughout the series.

My aim for the series was for the tone to get lighter as you went through, because yes, things kept happening (confrontation with dad, beach incident etc) but the point was that Tommy dealt with those things in different ways that he would have earlier on in the series. I have lots of thoughts and lots of emotions about how he felt safe enough with his family to experience nightmares and such. I made an effort in The Truth Behind Family to include more fluff, especially in the last two chapters, because I think it’s important to show that yeah, his parents’ abuse effected him, but it didn’t dictate how he lived his life. 

Like yes, I could write about their first Christmas together, for example, and add it onto the series, but I don’t think that I’d be able to do the rest of the series justice in that. Defining Home is largely about what the title implies, Tommy discovering what words like ‘home’ and ‘family’ mean beyond what he’s been told he’s stuck with and I believe that by the end of the series, he’s been successful in that. 

I'm so proud of the characters I wrote, Tommy in particular, for how far they've come in Defining Home, but I think that in a way, it’s time for me to let them go.

That’s not to say I’m done with writing for sbi! Hell no! 

I have a couple long fics in the works and a one shot I’m working on. The main fic I’m excited to focus on now Defining Home is finished is heavy heart, heavy head, heavy hero which, to put it simply, is an sbi royalty au, where unfortunate circumstances mean Tommy is forced to become King. It’s going to be a little more plot focused than Defining Home was and I am so very pumped to give it my full attention instead of leaving that lonely one chapter on AO3 like I have been doing.

I was 🤏close to making a Discord server, but ultimately decided I’m much more suited to causing chaos on other people’s servers than running my own. I think at this point the karma would be too great to even consider making my own server, so if you’d like to talk to me on Discord, keep an eye for me on other people’s servers - I mainly lurk, but I’m pretty active on one or two :D

On a more serious note, Defining Home deals with some heavy topics and I’ve had comments tell me that they relate to Tommy’s situation and wish that they had their own found family to run to. 

This Tumblr post has a list of phone numbers and places you can contact if you need help or want someone to talk to. Saying that, I recognise that a list as long as that can be daunting, so feel free to shoot me a message and I can either help you find the right one for you, or keep you company for a bit if you need it. 

Not all of us are lucky enough to have our own found family, but that doesn’t mean that you won’t forever, or that you’re alone. My dms and ask box are always open if you want someone to talk to.

Keep yourselves safe <3

- Lee 

[soft--dragon]

Roommates

Oh my god they were roommates

Word Count: 1,385

Warnings: None

This is a SFW tickle fic, if you don’t like that then don’t read :)

First time writing Dream and Sapnap!

*claps hands*

Here we go!!

Dream rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, dropping it back onto his mouse. His computer screen glared back at him in the darkness of his room, even with the brightness lowered all the way down it still hurt his eyes. His headphones hung from his neck, abandoned after George's scream almost gave him a heart attack.

He'd been editing a new video all day and it had progressed well into the evening. The video featured George, Sapnap and Bad, and the four of them were trying to beat minecraft with a mod that kept screwing with them.

It was very chaotic, filled with their screams of outrage from the gameplay. Even Bad had lost his cool and came dangerously close to possibly swearing on stream.

It would've broken the internet if he had.

Because of their volume in this video, Dream was forced to take off his headphones to actually edit without flinching every two seconds. It had gotten to the point of night where everything sounded loud.

A quick glance at the clock made his stomach sink.

2 am

Jesus, was it really that late?

Dream pushed his chair back from the desk, dragging his hands over his face. He really should go to bed, but this video really needed to be finished tonight. He had a bunch of other shit to do tomorrow...

The idea of his task list made him slump further into his chair. His eyes slid closed, moments away from actually falling asleep right then and there.

Patches suddenly leapt up onto his lap making him start and sit up sharply. He hadn't even heard her come in.

She mewled softly, pawing at Dream's hoodie strings. Dream's heart melted at the cat's antics, smiling at her.

"Oh, are you lonely girl?" He gently ran a hand over her head to which Patches purred happily. "Sorry, I'm a bit busy right now, can you go to Sapnap?"

"Go to me for what?"

Dream flinched for probably the hundredth time that night, turning his chair to see Sapnap leaning against the doorframe.

"Patches" Dream motioned to the small cat, "she wants attention."

"Well yeah you've ignored her all day you monster" Sapnap chuckled, stepping into the room.

"What? No I haven't!" Dream argued indignantly.

"Sure" Sapnap scooped Patches up, pleased when she settled quickly into his arms, pressing her face against his affectionately. "See? She loves me more than you now."

"She does not" Dream glared. "She loves me way more than you!"

"Bet" Sapnap deadpanned, scratching the cat's ears.

Dream opened his mouth to argue but a yawn cut off his words. Sapnap's eyebrows dipped in concern.

"You should go to bed."

"Says you" Dream retorted without any heat.

"I was asleep actually, just got up to get some water than I saw your lights were still on.

Dream hummed, spinning lazily in his chair to face the computer again. Sapnap glanced at the video being edited.

"Uh...Dream?"

"Hmm?"

"When did you start this?"

"Ugh, I don't know? Maybe two in the afternoon?"

"Dream did you end up eating anything after breakfast?"

"....No."

"Jesus christ" Sapnap sighed. "I swear, you're worse than me sometimes."

"I take offense to that."

"Good."

Sapnap gently set Patches down and tugged Dream's chair away from the desk.

"Hey..." Dream protested weakly.

Sapnap stood in front of the desk. "Right, bed, now."

Dream blinked at his friend, his brain trying to understand what Sapnap was saying. When it finally clicked, Dream pointed at him, head tipping to the side. "Uhhh...no."

"Dream, you're clearly exhausted, it took you almost a full minute just to respond to that" Sapnap told him, "you're going to bed."

"What if I don't want to?" Dream asked, a smile starting to pull at his lips.

Sapnap sighed. Right. He forgot. When Dream gets tired, he turns into a childish goofball. It's really endearing, but Sapnap was tired too. He couldn't be bothered dealing with Dream like this, at this hour.

"Dream," he kept his voice gentle and light, like he was talking to a child. "You got to go to bed cause if you don't, I'm gonna do something extreme."

Dream giggled quietly. "Murder isn't allowed under this roof Sap."

"I'm aware, you told me that when we moved in" Sapnap rolled his eyes.

"And neither is arson."

"Also aware, thank you."

Dream gave a lazy salute and Sapnap sighed, wondering how to convince the workaholic in front of him to actually go to sleep.

Seeing Sapnap wasn't moving away from his desk, Dream started doing an impression of Ranboo. Spinning in his chair, head tipped back to watch the ceiling.

Sapnap leant against Dream's desk, thinking hard. Tons of different ideas popped up in his mind but none of them would work on Dream.

Then one idea in particular stuck out and he considered it.

It may not work...but it was the last one he had.

He looked back at Dream who was still spinning. He nabbed the back of the chair, forcing it to stop. Dream jolted upon his spinning being abruptly halted.

"Hey, I was having fun" he glared at Sapnap, blinking rapidly to clear his dizziness.

"Dream, this is your final warning" Sapnap said firmly, "go to sleep or face the consequences."

Dream processed that then stuck out his tongue at Sapnap.

Sapnap cracked his knuckles. "Alright, you asked for this."

He went round the back of Dream's chair, the older boy watching curiously. Sapnap prodded Dream's sides making him flinch.

"Hehehey!" He protested, smacking Sapnap's hand away. "Don't do that!"

"So you are ticklish then?" Sapnap grinned.

Dream opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Without warning, Sapnap latched onto his sides.

Dream gave a loud yelp and instantly tried to scramble away, but Sapnap hooked an arm around his shoulders and yanked him back. Dream's exhaustion made it easy to trap him against the chair.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sapnap asked slyly, tazering Dream's sides and ribs at random to keep him guessing and giggling.

"Sahahapnahahap! Hahahang ohohon-!"

"Nope, I'm tired, you're exhausted, deal with it" Sapnap replied shortly, dropping his hand to scratch mercilessly at Dream's belly.

"Nohohohoho!" Dream wheezed, sliding down the chair in hopes of escaping the torture. He only sealed his fate. His hoodie rode up and Sapnap went for the kill, his fingers spidering along the exposed, pale skin.

Dream's laughter went silent before he squeaked and burst into hysterical cackling. "FUHUHUCK! SAPNAP!"

"You did this to yourself ya know Dream" Sapnap said calmly, "if you went to bed like I asked then you wouldn't be in this situation."

"YOHOHOU MOHOHOTHER FUCKER! STOHOHOHOP!"

"You know, just for that insult I'm gonna make this worse."

Sapnap dipped down to blow a raspberry on Dream's neck making the older boy squeal and duck his head away. Sapnap chuckled to himself at Dream's reaction and did it again and again, and again. Dream whole body was shaking with his frantic laughter, trying his damnedest to twist away from Sapnap.

"WahAHAHIT! Nohohot raspberries! Sahahapnahap plehehease! Mercy! Mehehercy!"

Sapnap hand slowed until he was just gently tracing shapes on Dream's stomach to keep him giggling. "Gonna go to bed now?"

Dream nodded weakly, slumping back into his chair and resigning himself to his fate.

Sapnap stopped, moving back round to the computer and shutting it off. (After saving the work of course.)

"You can keep editing after getting at least seven hours of sleep" he said sternly, "gimmie your hands."

Dream tiredly lifted them and Sapnap pulled him up by his wrists. Dream practically collapsed onto Sapnap's chest, exhausted. Tugging Dream's arm over his shoulders, Sapnap lead him to his bed.

"Sit."

Dream obeyed, eyes slipping closed. Sapnap pulled the bedsheets back and carefully lowered Dream's head onto the pillow.

"I'll see you in the morning alright?" Sapnap said, moving the duvet over Dream.

"'kay...."

"Okay" Sapnap nodded, "good night."

"Mhmm."

Patches quickly made herself comfortable by Dream's head, purring softly. Sapnap rolled his eyes and took a photo. He shut the door quietly and moved back to his room.

This roommates thing was gonna get so much better when they got George to move in. He was the eldest, he could take over parent duty instead.