#every time i tag someone in a post i have to resist the urge to apologize a thousand times (over... nothing?)

[toastervox]

doodles of lucifer and alastor in Antisocial Socializing on ao3, by soleciri (@grownupchangeling on tumblr!)

i love this fic a lot-- it has jokes and two autistic characters who really don't want to be in the general proximity of each other so consider taking a look at it :)

read more for the closeup photos

[cozage]

Please, please, PLEASE MAKE A FOLLOW-UP ON LAW ON THE DARE CHALLENGE

😭😭😭😭😭

A/N: Did someone order Law x reader with an extra slow burn??? Oh my sweet sweet anon I love you and everyone else who requested this. This was such a pleasure to write. I truly hope I did it justice and made up for not having a section for him earlier. For those who are new here, this is part two for an earlier headcanon list I did. Check that out first for more context.

Characters: GN! reader x Law

Cw: NSFW. MINORS - DNI. I promise I’ll have so much other content for you to consume, please respect me and my work and keep scrolling. If I catch a minor on my NSFW posts, I will block you (and then you don't get to see any of my writing! So just skip this one.)

Total word count: 4.2k

tag list: @error404-tryagain @jadedrrose @patchofblue @nikos-a-clown @evilunicorns4minions @reader101 @gaynerdnotkid @augustanna @uchihabbynic

Push and Pull

“Y/N-ya, what the hell was that?” You could hear the frustration in his voice follow after you as you dashed out of the room and retreated down the hallway. The game was finally over. The moment Shachi released you from your place on Law’s lap you had made a beeline for your room. 

“N-Nothing!” You keep moving, feeling heat rise to your face at the thought of your earlier flirtation attempt. Shachi may have been the one to force you to do it, but it would have been a lot better if you hadn’t fumbled it so badly. 

Law quickly caught up to you and grabbed your wrist, pulling you back from your escape. He spins you around to face him, and he towers over you. His face was contorted with such anger that you instinctively shrank away from him.

“Did Shachi put you up to that?” His face had softened some and you could tell he was attempting to control his voice, but his anger was apparent. You hesitated, which was enough of an answer for him. You could feel his grip tighten on your wrist, and you resist the urge not to squirm away from him again. You want to be far away from him and his rage, which now appeared to be centered on your crew mates. You could hear their laughs echoing from the common room, and Law glared in their direction.  

“I’m sorry you had to do that,” he says, still facing the common area. You start to respond, wanting to let Law know that it wasn’t a big deal, but he’s already dropped your wrist and is striding back to the common room. A dark aura is rolling off him as he heads towards the crew, and you turn on your heels and bolt to your room, thankful for an escape.

--

You make yourself scarce over the next few days, and the captain seems to be doing the same. You stay locked in your room, and he stays locked in his office. The only time you interact with Law is over meals, and you catch yourself glancing over at him several times throughout those moments. A few times you glance over to catch his golden eyes staring back at you, and you both quickly look away, praying nobody else caught you all. 

You and your captain have been doing this strange dance of avoiding each other and catching stolen looks for three days before the crew decided to step in. 

--

At lunch on the third day, Ikkaku hunts you down to pull you into your room. “You should wear something super nice tonight!” She’s already sifting through the clothes in your drawer.

“What? Why?” You start picking up the clothes that Ikakku has tossed on the floor, but she’s oblivious to your efforts, which irritates you. “Do you mind not making such a mess?”

She ignores your request, still shifting through your belongings and mumbling to herself. “Not a lot to work with here but I’m sure we can find something.”

“Hey-stop that! Ikakku, what is this all about anyway?” You’re throwing your clothes back into the dresser as fast as she’s throwing them out, frustration growing with every shirt you have to refold.

Ikkaku doesn’t offer much explanation. “It’s for the captain.”

You stand there staring at her, dumbfounded, until a stray shirt is thrown at your face. “What’s for the captain?” You finally ask.

Ikakku moves onto the next drawer and keeps digging through your clothes, unfazed by your question. “You gotta dress to impress, sweetheart!”

“Why would I do that?” Your voice comes out choked, and you know your secret has been found out. You still can’t find the will to move, even though your friend is continuing to demolish your room.

Finally, your words catch up to Ikakku, and she turns to face you. She stares at you a long while, as if she’s trying to decide if you’re even worth explaining her motives to. After a few long seconds, Ikakku laughs. “Don’t try to deny it, dear. I know you’re head over heels for him.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. She says it with such confidence that you know there’s no point in denying it. Ikakku always had a sixth sense for these things. “How long have you known?”

“I’ve had my suspicions for a little while, but you made it pretty obvious during game night. At this point everyone must know.” There’s something extra in her voice that sends you over the edge. She said her words so condescendingly, as if she pitied you and your circumstances.

“Get out! Get out now!” You shoved Ikakku out the door and slammed it behind her, refusing to come out until the dinner call. You feel so humiliated, though you’re not sure why. Your cheeks still turn pink at the thought of that night, which was the last time you had talked to your captain in three days. It felt like Shachi and Ikakku had ruined your entire relationship with the captain because of that stupid dare, and now they were trying to meddle in your life even more.

--

You were late to dinner because of Penguin. He was trying to get you to put a nicer outfit on, which led to a big fight and left you in a sour mood. By the time the two of you got there, only two seats remained. One next to Shachi, which was obviously meant for Penguin, and one next to the captain, which was obviously meant for you.

Everyone’s eyes followed you as you took your place next to Law, but nobody said anything. You could see Ikakku and Shachi silently questioning Penguin over your outfit choice, but he simply rolled his eyes and waved it off. A few members exchanged glances, and you could feel that someone was waiting for something to happen.

“Sorry for being late to dinner, everyone.” You finally say, trying to sound genuine.

“Shall we eat, then?” Law spoke to the crew, ignoring you and your apology, and you felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

You didn’t have much of an appetite, and you weren’t in the mood to talk to the man who you had spent the past few days avoiding, so you occupied your time by pushing your food around on your plate. You tried to take a few bites every now and then, but you weren’t making much of a dent on your food.

“Y/N-ya.” The voice made you freeze. It was the first time your captain had spoken to you since game night. Your eyes shifted over to your captain, but when you made eye contact with him, they darted back to the peas on your plate.

“Are you feeling okay?” There was a calculated levelness in his voice. You go the sense he was asking as a doctor, not as a captain or a friend. 

“I’m fine.”

You could see his eye twitch in irritation, but his voice remained calm. “If you would like something else to eat-”

“I don’t.” You interrupt, not giving him the chance to finish his sentence. The other conversations at the table start to die down, and you’ve become painfully aware of everyone’s eyes on you now.

“Captainnnn,” Shachi called to the man next to you. “How about you give Y/N some of your food?”

You’re not sure why, but something snaps inside of you. He’s using that same condescending tone that Ikakku used with you earlier, and the anger that has built inside you over the past three days finally explodes.

“How about you go straight to hell, Shachi?” You say, slamming your fork down onto the table. You see everyone’s mouths fall open in shock, including your captain’s, but you don’t care anymore. You storm out of the room and back to your cabin, furious with the position you’ve allowed yourself to be put into because you have feelings for some guy. You lock your door to avoid unwanted visitors, but nobody tries to come talk to you anyway.

--

“It’s not my fault that they want to rip off each other’s clothes!” You freeze as you hear Shachi’s voice call out in frustration from the kitchen down the hall. You hadn’t seen them-or anyone- since dinner last night, and you were hoping to avoid everyone while you ventured to the kitchen for lunch today. You had even waited until far after the normal lunchtime to lower your chances of running into someone, but it seems you had waiting too long and now you had stumbled upon the people who were cooking dinner tonight.

“Hush!” A feminine voice scolds at the man in a low hiss. Ikkaku. “Someone is going to hear you.”

“I don’t care if they do hear me!” Shachi shoots back. “Everyone on this damn ship can see it except them! It’s been painfully obvious since game night! The way they avoid each other now, the glances over dinner, and now all this hostility!?! I knew the captain would be pissed at us, but  now…”

He trails off, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks when you realize it is you they are talking about. You stay frozen in the hallway, praying that nobody comes around the corner and catches you eavesdropping.

“Listen,” Shachi continues, now in a full-blown rant. “Captain told me that he liked Y/N! And Y/N told you the same thing, right? What were they expecting us to do? Of course we’re going to meddle in that! We’re the most meddlesome people on the ship! They wanted us to intervene! And we did and now they’re avoiding each other like they have some kind of plague and I’m so tired of it!” He pauses for a beat. “We should just tell them.”

Your hand flies up to your mouth to stifle a horrified gasp and Ikkaku speaks in a deadly serious tone. “We are not doing that, Shachi. Neither of them would ever forgive us.”

“I know, I know.” Shachi seems to have calmed down a bit. “It’s just frustrating to watch. And now they’re both upset with us. I just want them to be happy.”

“As do I. Come on, let’s make dinner,” Ikkaku suggests, trying to change the subject. “We’ll figure out a way to make them forgive us and each other. Until then, we’ll just count their awkward glances.”

“The record is eleven, you know. Eleven times they made eye contact and then quickly glanced away from each other. Just at one dinner!”

So they had noticed the looks you and Law had been sharing. In fact, the more they talk, it sounds like they had been actively watching the two of you. It seems like it was a sort of game to them. They were able to recall most of the ones that had happened over the previous nights, chatting quietly and laughing at the exceptionally embarrassing ones.

There was no way you could face them after learning this. There was no way you could face anyone on the ship. You wanted to go hide in your room forever. You retreat back down the hallway the way you came and quickly rounded the corner to return to your room.

You crashed into someone as you turned the corner, too in a hurry to notice them until it was too late. You’re about to let out a small squeal of surprise when a hand covers your mouth tightly. Panic sets in for a moment, thinking someone may have stowed away on the ship, but when you see equally wide golden eyes staring down at you, you feel a twinge of relief.

A different kind of panic sets in, and your heartbeat starts to pick up. Suddenly, you’re painfully aware of how close you are to your captain; how his tattooed fingers are still gripping around your face, holding your mouth shut.

He must realize it too, because his face begins to tint with pink, and he releases you from his grasp. He holds a finger up to his lips and looks around the corner to see if anyone is watching, but Shachi and Ikkaku are still chatting in the kitchen, and nobody else is in the hallway. He takes your wrist and silently leads you away from the kitchen in the direction of his office.

You can feel your heart rate accelerating in your chest with every step closer to the captain’s quarters. Based on his reaction, you weren’t the only one who had heard Shachi’s and Ikkaku’s conversation in the kitchen. A part of you wanted to run, to find a way to put as much distance between you and your captain as you could on this small ship. But you let him lead you down the halls, too afraid to say or do anything else but follow him.

He didn’t look back at you the entire time you walked through the halls. His pace was fast, and at times you struggled to keep up. He quickly opened the door to his office and yanked you inside, looking back in the hallway once more to make sure you weren’t followed before closing it and locking the deadbolt firmly.

“What are you-” You had begun to question him, but quickly lost your voice when he started towards you with such intensity.

“Shachi and Ikakku, were they telling the truth?” His voice is harsh and rough when he speaks to you. You could hear the disbelief in his words, and you knew for a fact that he had heard them in the kitchen. He was towering over you with an intense gaze, and you were doing your best not to cower away from him like before.

“What-”

“A yes or no will do.” He takes a step towards you, and you instinctively step backwards, pressing your back against a random bookcase behind you. He had you cornered now, and your stomach ties into a knot as you look up at him. You feel so small, trapped here in his office with him. There’s a hungry look in his eyes, like a predator when they’ve found their next meal. He’s a little terrifying, yet you can’t bring yourself to look away from him.

“Y/N.” He prompts again. He didn’t add the normal nickname to it, which was a solidified sign that he was pissed. You didn’t normally find your captain intimidating, but since game night he made your hair stand on edge. You’re too embarrassed to admit your feelings for him, not while staring straight in the eyes like this. You finally break away from his gaze and stare at the floor, too ashamed to answer.

But your captain wants your full attention, and Law’s index finger tucks under your chin and guides your face back up to meet him, beckoning you to look him in the eyes again. You resist at first, but eventually give in, locking back into his honey irises.

He leans down, only centimeters from your face. He’s so close that you can feel his breath on your lips as he exhales. His breath is hitched and shallow, warm as it brushes against your skin.

Your knees feel weak with him so close to you, and think they might give out any second. The electricity between the two of you is palpable, and you wonder if this is what it means to be alive. You are suspended in this moment only with him, completely isolated from the outside world and everyone in it.

“Was it the truth?” He whispers the question softly this time, and now you can sense a trace of hope laced into his words. You open your mouth to respond, but your words fail you. He looks down at your lips, waiting, and you do the only thing you can. You nod.

That’s all he needs. His lips crash into yours with such force that you have to take a step back to steady yourself, but you stumble against the bookcase. Law’s free hand wraps tightly around you to help you stay balanced, and he pushes you back against the bookcase for more support. Inked fingers trace your jawline and cup your cheek, pulling you closer to him while he leans further into you. There’s been far too much distance between the two of you recently, and he needs to make up for lost time.

You wrap your arms around his body, digging your fingernails into the back of his shirt as you pull him against you, showing him how much you want this-how much you need this. His tongue flicked across your lips and a soft moan escaped your mouth as your lips parted, granting him access to you. He dives in without hesitation, eager for his first taste of you.

His hands trailed down your back, sending shivers throughout your entire body. He reached your waist, and you could feel him hesitate for a moment, unsure how much further to proceed. You press against him harder, encouraging him further, and your hands move upwards, wrapping around his neck to pull him into you more. Your fingers twisted around his midnight locks, tugging at them gently.

His lips finally release from your mouth, and you gasp for air while you have a second to breathe. Both of his hands slip under your ass and he lifts you up, your back still against the shelf for assistance. Your legs wrap around his body, pulling him into you.

He kissed your jawline, and then slowly made his way down to your neck. The sensation of his tongue swirling and his lips sucking on your sensitive skin made you pull at his hair harder, shoving his mouth further into your nape. You had to bite your lips to stifle a moan, and he gave a dark chuckle against your skin.

“Come on now,” he teased, nipping at your neck a few times. “Moan for me, y/n-ya”

You didn’t immediately oblige, and he was quickly growing impatient. His lips continued to suck at your skin with such ferocity that you were sure his marks of passion would be displayed there later. He gripped your ass tighter and pushed his groin into the opening between your legs. You could feel his hardened cock through his jeans grinding against you, and you couldn’t hold your words in any longer.

“Fuck, Captain!” You had tried to keep quiet, but the moan rang out loudly against the silent room.  Either Law didn’t care about the level of your voice, or he liked it. Judging by the way he thrust into you again, you would guess the latter. Your fingers dug deeper into his locks, pure ecstasy running through your veins now. You wanted to ride this high all the way to the end with your captain, and you continued to call out his name every time his bulge rubbed against you in the perfect way.

Law abandoned your neck to return back to your lips again, muffling your moans with his mouth. He continued to grip your ass tightly and push into you, and you could hear books falling to the ground behind you as his pace began to pick up.

“Errr, Captain?” The voice came from the other side of the door, distorted and concerned. In shock, Law pulled away from you and your hand flew to your mouth in horror, both of you frozen in place.

The door jiggled, and your eyes widened at its movement. Thankfully it stayed shut, locked earlier by the captain.

Law’s eyes stayed connected with yours. He kept you against him, refusing to put you down. “What is it, Bepo?”

“Is everything okay, Captain? I was coming to tell you dinner is ready, and I heard some commotion as I-“

Law cut him off before he let Bepo’s rambling go on too long. “Everything is fine, Bepo. Thank you. We will be at dinner soon.”

Your eyes widen at him, and he realizes his mistake too late.

“We?”

Law curses under his breath and you smile at his uncharacteristic slip up. You can only thank the stars that it’s Bepo summoning him and not anyone else on the crew.

“I’ll see you at dinner, Bepo.” Law corrects, and you can hear Bepo’s feet padding away down the hall without further commentary.

You start to unwrap your legs from around his waist, but he grips you tighter, refusing to release you just yet.

You giggle at him and place a quick kiss on his nose, and in shock, his arms loosen from around you. He releases you, and you hop down happily. All the tension between you two has finally broken, and the air feels lighter now

You do a quick check in the mirror nearby, and attempt to fix the things you can control. You use your fingers to comb through your hair quickly and smooth your shirt, trying your best to make yourself look presentable. Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do about the welts that are already forming on your neck other than pull up your shirt collar and hope for the best.

“Go ahead, I’m going to clean up and then I’ll be there.” Law bends down to pick up his hat and places it back on his head. It must’ve fallen off at some point, though you’re not sure when. He waves you on, bending back down to begin collecting the books you’ve scattered across the floor.

You start to think that you’ve done something wrong or he’s ashamed to be seen with you, and you feel that familiar pit forming in your stomach.

“Save me a seat,” he calls to you as you exit the room, and your fear instantly melts away.

You walk into the kitchen to find that most people have already congregated around the table. A few people look over to see you come in, and your eyes find Shachi. You smile at him politely, trying to start the process of making up for your outburst yesterday. His eyes glance down to your neck, and you watch as his eyes grow wide. He mutters something to Ikakku and Penguin, and you look away before you become more embarrassed.

You take a seat, and a few minutes later Law walks in and sits next to you. He’s sitting extremely close to you, his leg pressed against yours. You try to avoid the looks Shachi is sharing with the rest of the crew.

Dinner starts out casual, everyone attempting to ignore the elephant in the room. You were chatty with your crew mates, and everyone began to relax more. It finally felt like the crew dynamic was returning to normal again.

Halfway through dinner, you feel a hand rest on the top of your thigh, and you resist the urge to look over at your captain. You can feel his thumb lazily rubbing in circles, and electricity starts through your veins again.

After a few moments his fingers reach down, gripping your inner thigh and giving it a squeeze. You have to bite down on your lip to avoid showing any outward signs of his advancements. You snap your legs shut and attempt to continue your conversation with Clione, ignoring the hint of a smirk dancing across Law’s face.

He pushed further into your inner thigh, massaging it slowly. Continuing his taunt, he spreads his fingers closer to your core and flexes his fingers against you. You shift away from him, and he gripped your thigh harder to prevent you from completely leaving his grasp.

He leans close to you, whispering so only you can hear him. His voice is low and thick with desire. “Do you want to finish what we started?”

Your cheeks burn as he releases your thigh and gets up from the table, not waiting for your response. You wait a few moments before deciding to follow him.

“Thank you, Shachi.” You look at him and pause, and you can feel a sense of understanding pass between you two. “For the meal.” You add in, for sake of appearance.

You get up and walk out of the room, and Law is waiting for you outside. He grabs your hand and leads you back towards his office once again. You’re uncertain of what lies ahead, but it’s better than where you’ve been.

“Thank FUCK!” You hear Shachi scream from the kitchen, and the crew joins in with a chorus of laughter. You found yourself agreeing with them, grinning to yourself as the captain pulls you along, hand laced in yours.

[strawberryya]

notice me!

pairing: jihoon x reader

synopsis: Your boyfriend has a hectic life, but he usually has at least a little time to spare for his girlfriend. Now it has been two months since he last spent some alone time with you and you're losing your mind just a little over it... luckily, angry make-up sex can solve any problem!

word count: 2.1k

genre/cw: smut, angry sex, also make-up sex, established relationship, feeling neglected in relationship and bad ways of handling said feeling, unprotected sex, manhandling, light choking, fem reader, musician/producer! woozi.

rating: 18+

a/n: I had a moment a couple weeks ago where I wrote this whole thing in one hour in the middle of the night, and then I forgot about it and now I'm in shock just a little bit... anyhow, yay angry sex with wooziiii

network tagging: @svthub @cultofdionysusnet @k-labels @kvanity-main

[navigation post!]

You watched your boyfriend of two years looking at his phone, scrolling mindlessly across whatever app he found more interesting than his girlfriend sitting on the other end of the couch. You were barely wearing anything, a large t-shirt barely covering the sexy lingerie you had put on for tonight. 

“Jihoon, it’s been two months.” 

You wanted him to notice you. He had barely been home at your shared apartment for weeks. You knew his work was demanding, and that he gave it his all no matter what. But you have been feeling neglected lately. He had been coming home late, crashing on the couch instead of sleeping in your bed. Only giving you a chaste kiss before running off to work the next morning with a groggy “Sorry I missed dinner last night,” as a greeting. 

He hadn’t touched you in two months. You had counted the days, and after three weeks you were wondering if he wasn’t stressing too much about the latest album. After six weeks you had been feeling too horny for your own good, and your toys weren’t fulfilling your needs anymore. You wanted to feel him again. It didn’t matter how many times you came. It didn’t hit the spot. After two entire months of him being abstinent, you had begun getting snarky at the smallest things he did wrong. 

Jihoon looked up from his phone at your statement. He carelessly scratched his chin, making your pussy clench at the memory of those perfect hands being all over your body once upon a time. “Two months? Of what?” 

“Of you acting like a damn nun,” you said, dead serious. 

“A nun?!” He gasped out. 

“Yes! A nun!” You shouted back at him. 

He looked you over, sitting at the other end of the couch, dolled up more than usual and staring at him as if he had offended yuo great grandmother by existing. Then it seemed to click in his mind. “Oh,” was all he said.

Two months? Had it been that long? He knew very well that he had been resisting his urges, but he had managed for two entire months? He had been so busy with the new album, he had been staying late at the studio every day and waking up rushing back to the studio to put the new ideas he got during the night into reality. Two months without sex, and a pissed off girlfriend because of it. 

“I’m sorry?” 

You looked at him like he was an equation, mouth open just a bit as you stared at him in shock. “You’re sorry? What the fuck does that mean?” He was so clueless, you thought as you watched the dumb face he was making. (You still wanted that stupid handsome face of his to eat you out until you cried, but that was besides the point.)

Jihoon knew he had fucked up, you were pissed off and picking a fight, and he hadn’t made it better by not even knowing that he hadn’t slept with you in two whole months. 

“Do you even care? Because you don’t seem to care one bit about it since you didn’t even know! Do you not like me anymore? Are you not attracted to me anymore? Are you in love with someone else? Why the fuck would you go and cheat on me?!”

He stared at you in complete surprise. Cheating? “Hold up- hold up! What are you talking about?!” He said, flabbergasted at the way you seemed to have drawn the most far-fetched conclusions to this problem you could’ve possibly thought of. “I’ve been busy with the comeback! Please, baby, why are you acting crazy?” 

He shouldn’t have said that, he knew it the second the word left his perfectly plump lips. 

“Crazy? Did you just call me crazy? You haven’t seen crazy, you fucking asshole!” You shouted as you stormed out of the room. You were packing your bags, if he didn’t want to be with you anymore you wouldn’t be the one to stop him from moving on and sleeping with whoever else he wanted. Because it sure as hell wouldn’t be you after he had just called you crazy for noticing that he wasn’t interested in you anymore. 

“What are you doing?? Why are you messing up the apartment? Are you leaving?” he shouted, seemingly surprised that you didn’t feel like staying in an apartment that he was hellbent on making a girlfriend-free zone. 

“Yeah, I’m fucking leaving,” you grunt, shoving some shirts into your bag. You wouldn’t be able to grab it all but at least you could make it with the stuff you were throwing into it for a while. Y9ou could always borrow your friends’ stuff until you could get back all your clothes. “You’re pissing me off and I don’t wanna hate you.”

Jihoon was by the bedroom door now, hands pushing his hair out of his face as he watched you angrily packing your bags. How had he fucked up so badly that his girlfriend wanted to leave him like this? 

“Hate me? Baby, I really don’t know what I did to mess up this bad…” 

Of course, he didn’t understand, because apparently, your boyfriend was a freaking master at staying “pure”. He hadn’t even spent a single thought on you and what he could do with you. He only cared about his music. And you wouldn’t be the one to stand in his way if thats how he truly felt. 

“You don’t know?! Look at me Jihoon!” You threw the t-shirt off your body in an angry fit, making your boyfriend’s eyes widen. “I’ve been waiting for you to notice me, to care even a bit about me- about us- for months!! And tonight, I just can’t do this anymore. I’m losing my mind because you won’t fuck me, how stupid is that?” You nearly sobbed as you made it clear that you were frustrated in more than one way. You were so mad at him, and still, you couldn’t help but admire the way he looked so hot even now, his long black hair falling in pretty curls around his face and his lips shiny and pink. He looked so kissable it was like he was teasing you just by existing. 

“You got me all addicted to your cock and then you fucking left me to go through some kind of twisted withdrawal.” 

He gulped, his adam's apple moving in his throat, you didn’t even care to look at him anymore, you were angrily throwing your shit into the bag on the bed yet again, bent over and flaunting the tiny piece of fabric that tried it’s best to cover your ass. “You don’t even care,” you rumbled as you stuffed more things into the bag. He took in the way the lace set hugged your curves deliciously, he had been so busy with everything he hadn’t even noticed his own cravings. He had ignored it all for so long. 

“Shut up.”

His voice was deep, and commanding. Your breath caught in your throat, surprise and need mixing in an arousing blend that went straight to your head. “Excuse me?” Your movements paused completely. When you heard his footsteps approaching you hastily you looked at him, his gaze was darkened, and your core clenched around nothing as he pulled the bag from your grasp. Throwing it on the ground before he pushed your barely clothed body into the bed. 

“You think I don’t fucking care anymore just because you haven’t gotten dick in a couple weeks? Are you that desperate to be stretched like a little whore?” He growled in your ear, his bulge evident in the way he pressed against your ass. “I care, and I see you. So shut up.” 

You gasped at his harsh movements, neediness soaking your panties in record time. God, you were pathetic. 

“I haven’t eaten, I haven’t slept, and I sure as hell haven’t let myself even think about this sweet pussy of yours. I’ve been denying myself it all. But you’re right…” his hand pressed against your throat where you laid face down on the bed, “I’ve been neglecting you. You wanna know why? It’s because I knew that if I so much as looked at you, or held you in my arms while you slept so innocently, I wouldn’t be able to help myself. I wouldn’t have been able to do anything but fuck your tight little pussy all day and night.” His growling voice set off all kinds of sparks in your core. You needed him, now. 

You pushed your ass up against him, eating a groan from your boyfriend. “Such a little slut,” he mumbled, letting go of your throat and pulling himself back from you completely. You were dizzy from the hold around your throat, his perfect hands remembering just the way you liked to feel them around you. You were about to whine when his touch left your body when you heard the familiar shuffling of his clothes falling off his body. You wanted to see it, take his form in properly after all these weeks. But he was faster, pushing you back down against the bed before you got up. 

His erection pressed against your heat, making you moan as he prodded against the soaked fabric covering your entrance. 

“Jihoon, please,” you mewled, wiggling underneath his firm body. 

“Wanna shut up and let me fuck you then since you’re so fucking needy?” 

“Please, yes! Anything! Please fuck me!” You almost cried as you pleaded with him. 

“Sobbing over cock, you really are such a dirty girl for me.” He groaned as he let his pretty hands smooth over one of your asscheeks, smacking down hard and leaving a burning sting after him. Even that felt good. You needed him more than you had ever needed anything in your life. 

You felt him pull the sticky fabric from your core, pushing it aside in favor of pushing the head of his hard cock against your messy pussy. “I’m about to drown in you later tonight, just you wait.” He whispered before pushing past your entrance, slipping inside, your walls lubing his cock up as he entered. He ignored the way you were so tight it almost hurt to push all the way inside, your moaned pleas for him to go deeper, and the way you were gripping the sheets while he pushed all of himself inside of your dripping heat enough of a reason to push through. It had been so long since he had felt your walls gripping around him that he could’ve spilled his seed into you right then and there. 

He pulled himself together soon enough, thrusting into you at a brutal pace. Your ass which you had pushed up to meet his hips at first had been completely overpowered by the sheer force he was fucking you into the mattress with. You were coming for the first time within minutes. Screaming and sobbing as you finally came around him. He continued, repeating to you what a good toy you were, and how good of a girl you had been for holding out for him this long. 

When you were moaning again, closing in on a second orgasm he told you to come again. Lifting your ass up to balance you on your knees and chest, one of his arms wrapping around your hip to reach your clit, pressing down on it while he let his cock slip in and out effortlessly. Your arousal dripped down your thighs. You came undone and sobbed as he continued to overstimulate your abused cunt. 

He continued fucking you until he couldn’t take it anymore, his own orgasm crashing into him with such force it knocked the breath from his lungs. 

“That was one hell of an apology,” you said, breathless and still leaking cum, exhausted after having all your pent-up frustrations released all at once like this. 

Jihoon chuckled, a sound you had missed these past weeks as well. He really had been unusually absent in your life. It wasn’t just about the sex, you had missed him a lot. “I’m sorry for not being around as much,” he said, dragging a gentle hand over your back. You hadn’t had the energy to move a once from the position he had dropped your hips from once he had pulled out. 

“I just missed you, I’m sorry for lashing out.” 

“Don’t worry about it, just… next time you should just ask me to fuck you instead of threatening to leave me.”

You were embarrassed now, you had acted like a complete maniac, but my god - if that’s how he fucked a maniac, you wanted to stay crazy for the rest of eternity. 

Reblogging and commenting is highly appreciated!! Hearing what you thought is what makes writing and being here overall so much fun! Ty and ily 💕

[navigation post!]

[librarylexicon]

20 Questions for Writers

EDIT: Now with question 17!

Tagged by @cuephrase (ty bb!!)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

32 (that are attached to my account).

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

283,405. I very nearly posted 100,000 of them last year, and only noticed when I looked at my stats in January. If I'd known, I would have posted something else to get it over that line!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now, just Batman, but in the past I've written for Harry Potter, Anne of Green Gables, Little Men, Tintin and a handful of other fandoms. I have a Road to Avonlea fic tentatively in the works, and might return to any of these fandoms if inspiration strikes.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

All the Corners That Are Left is an outlier in my stats because it has more than three times as many kudos as the runner-up. It's an exchange fic that was my first foray into posting Batfam fics, and I liked writing it so much that it actually sparked a loose series of Post-Crisis oneshots, currently called Corners.

Family Crisis is my beloved canon divergence AU of War Games. It's the first fic I started writing for Batman, and I'm so happy that people are reading it. It's very comics-oriented, but still easy to follow without having touched a comic (imo).

Harry Potter and the Time-Turner is the first multichapter fic I ever wrote and completed, back when I was in my early teens. I won't reread it, lest I die of cringe, but I'm bemusedly grateful that it still gets hits and kudos.

Home Assignment is a Dick whump fic I drafted quite a while ago, and finally had an opportunity to finish and publish when I signed up for a Dick Grayson event. I had fun playing around with unreliable narration in this one!

In Retrospect is a HP fic that was written for a challenge where I was given five prompts and a week to produce five one-shots. I chose to make mine interconnected missing scenes set during and after Deathly Hallows, and particularly like how Painfully Abnormal turned out.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! It's a habit that's carried over from my fanfiction.net days, and I receive a manageable amount of comments, so I try to respond to every one. (The only reason I might not is when someone leaves a string of comments that are all very brief. In that instance, I tend to reply to the final comment only.) I adore reading and replying to comments! 🫶

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I've always been an angst lover. The Last Enemy, one of my oldest fics, ends with (canonical) apparent character death, and For the Sake of Our Son ends with both main characters (canonically) dying. How fun!

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Other than a shipfic that's now anonymous, I don't know! I tend to go for uplifting or satisfying endings without necessarily aiming for happy ones (although I rarely have unhappy endings). Maybe You Know I Love You? I do also have a handful of Batman ficlets that I recently wrote for a zine, and there's definitely fluff among them.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I think I got some on fanfiction.net back in the day, but the most hate I've received that I can remember is people being salty about a couple of fics I began when I was a teenager and never finished. I'm sorry, but it's been almost a decade! Yes, you can and should resist the urge to tell me that you don't respect authors who abandon fics!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope!

10. Do you write crossovers?

While I've toyed with quite a few crossover ideas over the years, I've only published one, which is a Rise of the Guardians and Peter Pan one-shot called Lost Boy.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I can't recall any specific instances, but many of my fics have been on the internet for a long time, so they've definitely been scraped for knockoff sites, if nothing else.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, three times! Harry Potter and the Time-Turner has been translated into French, Shirley Not has been translated into German and At Home, They Call Me Tintin has been translated into Chinese. (Links to these translations are in my fanfic masterlist on Dreamwidth.)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but I'm open to the idea! I'd have to really know the other author and get over my control freak tendencies, though...

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

I don't ship much (to the point where I have plenty of NOTPs), but I do love TimSteph, and I have soft spots for DickBabs and BatCat (Bruce/Selina) as well. All-time favourite, though? That would have to be Anne and Gilbert from the Anne of Green Gables series.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

Before the War(drobe). Narnia fandom, I really want to return to you someday, but I have a couple things to do first!

16. What are your writing strengths?

My most positive comments almost always mention characterisation. I also think I write dialogue pretty well. In my mind, well-written dialogue is essential to good characterisation.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Even though I write about characters who are superheroes, I rarely write about them BEING superheroes, because I struggle with action scenes. Also description, but I like to think I've grown better at it.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I don't like to use non-Latin characters in my fics for readability reasons, and I don't like to include dialogue in another language if I don't know the language. So, when my characters speak a language other than English, I either just use an English translation with a dialogue attribution (e.g. She said in Spanish) or just use the attribution without the dialogue, depending on whether or not the POV character understands the language.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter! I wrote for it before I knew what fanfic was. I also joined the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges forum on fanfiction.net back in the day, which led to my most prolific ficwriting period.

20. Favourite fic you've written?

My favourite fics tend to be my most recent ones, because they're the ones I've spent the most time on and am most proud of. I can never pick one of anything (as you've probably noticed), so my current favourites are:

Family Crisis – longtime labour of love and Bruce character study

All the Corners That Are Left – Dick character study feat. Jason

Flight Mode – Tim character study feat. Bruce

Phew, that was a lot of questions! I think a lot of people have already been tagged 😅

Scrolling through my mutuals and no-pressure tagging @silverwhittlingknife @geevesthevieve @batrachised @freyafrida and @silent-silver-slip and any other fic writers who see this! 🫶

[skazoo]

dance of the thieves.

↳ han jisung x f!reader x bang chan

in the casino, the cardinal rules are to keep them playing and to keep playing them. what happens when they play you?

length. 3.4k

genre. con artist!au, poly!au, kinda enemies to lovers, crack, fluff, a little bit angsty,

warnings/tags. language, mention of sex, mention of violence, alcohol consumption

networks. @kflixnet

notes. here i am again with a fic vaguely inspired by the daydream i had while watching ocean's 11 for the 10th time! yay!

i wrote this in the middle of the night because i was scared of losing the inspiration but i like how it turned out...

ALSO! 87% sure there will be a part 2 bc i'm kinda a slut for this trio. just kinda tho. a nee way, pls tell me if you want to be tagged when pt.2 is out, i'll add you to the taglist!

i'm desperate for feedback and i love comments with your opinion!

(cross-posted on ao3 only)

navigation

it is a truth universally acknowledged by your community that monaco is the playground of the rich and stupid.

monaco is curated gardens and high palm trees; it is fancy cobblestone streets and luxurious sports cars, but above all, monaco is ‘le casino de monte carlo’.

high, ornate ceilings, lavish décor, and artificial bright lights mixed with the incessant fading music in the background are your home and your extremely competitive workplace.

in a business in which predators far outnumber preys, it is vital to assert dominance and to have clear in mind what the goal of the hunt is. the reward one wants to take home.

it is essential to individuate the competition and to always watch your back. always.

that’s why, when you enter the big fancy doors of the casino or ‘arena’ —as your fellow con artists like to call it— you take your time to scan the lobby and the adjacent bar, letting your trained eyes wash over the group of business magnates sitting on the plush sofas on your right and on the few bent heads hovering over refined drinks on your left. 

every time you catch a hard pair of eyes already staring at you with a competitive ferocity, an imperceptible hand movement of someone of your ‘area of expertise’, you let a finger elegantly tap on the small bag you’re mindlessly holding.

tap. tap. tap. tap. tap. tap.

seven, including you. 

they’re all eyeing you warily but only one worries you tonight.

the suffused lights of the bar create a coppery halo around his dark hair and with his perfectly ironed white dress shirt, his elegantly pierced ears, and his small waist you reluctantly understand how his targets always fall for his charms so easily.

you look at him from afar with contempt and you miss a certain pair of unfamiliar eyes following your every move. 

when you reach your self-appointed nemesis at the bar he fakes surprise and with slightly raised eyebrows he puts the drink back on its coaster and turns his body to look at you. amused eyes take you in and you have to resist the urge to scoff at his flirty antics. 

he clears his throat and offers a small nod, taking your hand and helping you onto the stool beside his. “L/N.”

“han.”

when you met han jisung for the very first time you were under all aspects a child. and he was too. 

watching from the sidelines monaco’s fauna come and go from the casino was confusing, especially for two orphans without anything in their name in one of the most disgustingly lavish places ever. 

at age twelve you were running in the streets swindling unaware tourists, snickering away in the warm night, and splitting everything in half. it was fair and organized and you were incredibly proud of the little business you had going on.

 

at fifteen you started to put up a little 'con show', more complicated, more cunning. he talked the victims to death and at his signal, you came into action leaving your target with empty pockets and a sour taste on their tongue. it was thrilling and you were so good at it, you managed to put aside some money for the ‘ji and Y/N leave hell’ fund. 

unfortunately for you, you were not the only one to see your great potential.

as soon as jisung hit legal age, your modest two-bedroom-one-bathroom apartment was stormed by official recruiting letters from the main groups of con artists in the city. they wanted him and he desperately loved that feeling of being wanted, of being needed; it made him feel powerful.

when you started to find in his eyes the same desire for ‘liberation’ you saw in the eyes of your mother when she left your six years old hand on the steps of the decadent orphanage, you made the decision that would have protected your heart in the most jealous way possible. you left him first.

you still remember how he looked: confused, lost, angry.  

but the next day your side of the apartment was completely empty, your keys were left on the hook on the entrance wall and he had wasted no time accepting one of the most well-paid jobs in monaco’s illegal life.

you think about your shared past every time you look at him, even now, as he signals the bartender to make your usual and he does it with such confidence that you have to look away from a mix of annoyance and nostalgia, regret, longing. 

“didn't see you there, colleague.”

“didn’t see me? you’ve been staring at me from the moment i stepped foot in here, colleague.” your tone is mockingly sweet but you know he can’t (or won't) understand it.

he winks. 

always, always so flirty, and for what? 

“maybe i was but can you really blame me? coming here looking like this… who could resist such a vision?”  

you scoff tiredly. “hopefully not my target. i kinda want to get home early tonight.”

he nods in acknowledgment and swirls the dark content of his glass with mellow boredom.

you take a peek at the time on his expensive watch and sigh. just a few more minutes and your prey will walk into the casino. just a few minutes and you clock in for the evening. 

“who are you here for today?” your lack of interest must not be that evident because his eyes sparkle with mischief and excitement.

he finishes eating an olive and smiles to himself. “music prodigy, genius producer, got even a bunch of big names lining up for him. got rich really fast and wants to spend everything he has in here tonight.”

he takes a sip of his sickening sweet drink and licks his lips; dark gaze never leaving your eyes. he’s got your attention and not only for his shameless seduction tactics. 

he’s dangerously close to describing the man you’re waiting for tonight.

“he was here for the grand prix but i’ve asked around,” he gets closer and you can feel his sweet cherry breath tickle your nose, “and he’s going back to seoul tomorrow morning so it should be a quick job.”

“a music producer?” the more he talks the more you feel that familiar annoyance bubble in your chest.

 

it’s not unusual for mishaps like this to happen but why do you always have to choose the same target as han fucking jisung? or way better: why does han fucking jisung always have to choose yours?

“yeah, he’s pretty young and a little bird told me he just broke up with his girlfriend so…” his sing-song voice tells you he’s waiting for you to finish his sentence.

you turn away from him and set your tense eyes on the main entrance. “so what? are you trying to find love? you know that no one loves a liar, right?” 

he scoffs out a laugh. “it’s not that.” he’s starting to get up from his stool and you feel the urge to follow his actions, getting into position before someone can take advantage of your high heels and sweep your ‘date’ for the evening right from under your nose. 

“all i’m saying is that he’s sad and alone and more malleable than ever. i bet i can make him give in in less than an hour-“

“what’s his name, han?”

his smile reaches his eyes and you kinda want to wipe it off with a well-placed slap. “why? you wanna join us?”

“han.”

“okay, okay. chill… his name is bang christopher chan.”

the soft music coming from the grand piano crackles like a broken vinyl and you wish that looks could kill because you are right. again.

“jisung.” you feel your angry voice echo in the small space between you.

wide eyes and a burst of nervous laughter is all he can muster when you stare at him like you want to wipe him off the face of the earth. “what? what did i do? why are you looking at me like that?”

you lower your voice lest anyone hears you. “what did you do? are you sure you want me to tell you what the fuck you did? because i won’t be cute about it.” 

he rolls his eyes like he always does to de-escalate with you, the initial worry, fades into a smug nonchalance. “just tell me and stop being so dramatic, Y/N. also, be quick, i have a job to do.” he’s looking around expectantly. it’s mostly for dramatics —you know it— but you’re getting antsy.

he goes to leave but you grab his arm and squeeze it so hard that it hurts. “wanna go toe to toe with me, han? he is my fucking target, i’ve been gathering information on him for days and i won’t let you take him away from me, understand?”

and there it is. that horribly attractive smirk. the one where a corner of his mouth is more raised than the other, the one that’s always there when he makes you lose your shit, the one you remember all too well. “but sweetheart, he’s not yours.” his lips come in a pout. “he’s actually free real estate for everyone in here and i bet my ass, he’ll be far too gone for me before you even have the time to get him with your little dirty tricks.”

you’re about to bite back but before you can threaten him more, the most stunning man you’ve ever seen in your short, mediocre life, takes a hesitant step into the golden hall.

he looks completely lost and his innocent dark eyes look around nervously, softening his sharp features. his platinum hair frames his face perfectly and reflects the artificial light of the hall making him look like an angel.

beside you, a blushing jisung tries to regain his signature charming composure before diving in the crowd and chasing after the unsuspecting music prodigy.

and just like that, the dance of the thieves begins. again.

—

you’ve been sitting at this poker table for what feels like hours and your target has lost each and every game, but still finds the motivation to keep taking out of his pockets what seems like infinite fiches; an ever-full flute of sparkling million-dollar champagne in reach and hands softly moving up and down yours and jisung’s thigh.

the evening is fading into night more quickly than you would have liked to if you were under normal circumstances. ‘fantastic, you’re going to have to work overtime again’ is what you would have thought if the company you had was horribly uninteresting but that —fortunately or not— is not the case.

when you and your unintentional ‘hunting mate’ attacked what you both thought was an unsuspecting prey with every sweet word and praise in your modest arsenal, you didn't take into account that bang christopher chan was a huge and terribly skilled flirt.

how can a single man make two of the best con artists —actors, if one will— in the city feel like flustered teenagers talking to their crush? you can’t really understand it and more often than not you just have to exchange an unbelieving look with jisung to see if he is actually seeing this shit too and you’re not just hallucinating in the middle of the casino.

you’re lost in your conspiracy theories when chan’s warm hand taps you twice just below your chin. “something on your mind, baby?”

you gulp and try to hide your blushing face from your sworn enemy into the blond’s shoulder. “no chan, just… i don’t understand why you keep playing if you haven’t won anything.” your tone is mellow, sweet. you see jisung slightly cringe from the other side of the prey.

chan lets out an airy laugh. his cheeks are flushed with the shade of alcohol and you swear you’re being hypnotized because you can’t recognize yourself as you smile fondly at the soft dimples that appear on his angelic face. “you know what they say, baby: ‘lucky at cards, unlucky in love’, and we wouldn’t want that, right hannie?”

jisung almost chokes on his saliva at the slightly slurred nickname and sticks to nodding his head no. it makes him feel giddy having the man’s hot breath tickle his neck. he’s always been sensitive there, you would know, he thinks.

you both watch in awe and, admittedly a little worry as chan elegantly drowns his fourth or fifth glass of champagne of the night, and you and jisung seem to be thinking the same thing because he glances at his wristwatch and then smirks at you in a way that assures you that he’s convinced he’s about to take home the drunk price without breaking a sweat.

“he’s mine, accept it,” he whispers when chan focuses on losing again at the table.

“you really wish you could take him, right?”

“alright, try to see it from my point of view: he’s been all over me the entire time and- ‘hannie’? do you expect him to choose you over me? like for real?”

you unceremoniously kick him under the table. “i’m really trying my absolute hardest to see things from your perspective but i just can’t get my head that far up my ass, i’m sorry.” he fakes offense. “one useful thing you can do is help me get him out of here, c’mon.”

you manage to get chan’s massive, statuary, greek-god body out of the cushioned armchair not without any struggle. he’s now hanging between the two of you, arms slung over your shoulders and you’re trying your best to drag him towards the garden maze, away from prying eyes.

“do you two need a place to stay tonight? you guys are so hot, you know?”

jisung chuckles softly. “are we now, channie?”

you almost lose balance as the blond abruptly stops in his tracks and pins han against the bushy walls of the maze. “i really do think that, baby and you can’t even begin to understand what i would do to the two of you right now if i could.” the last part is breathed out as a promise and at this point, you’re too hot and bothered by the way he possessively holds your waist that you’re ready for everything and anything he has in mind. “you would like that, wouldn’t you Y/N?”

“i- uh, yeah?”

“good girl, i knew you would…” a sentence so unimportant, so utterly insignificant as he slowly starts painting a trail of wet kisses down jisung’s neck, and in response, your colleague lets out a breathy moan.

then chan is laughing again and you know he’s not yet sobered up.

“what the fuck is happening to us!?”

you can see the center of the maze and he starts dragging chan’s body again but it’s evident he’s as shocked as you are. “i don’t fucking know! i just know i want him to do… unspeakable things to us.”

you choke on spit. “us!?”

eyebrows raised to the sky, eyes that look like they’re going to pop off any second now and he raises both his hands, shrugging his shoulders. you don’t even hear the deaf thump of chan’s body dropping dead on the grassy trail. “i guess!? if you were having a hard time noticing, i like you! love you even! since I was old enough to understand what these feelings meant!”

“ji, w-what?” you called him that a lot when you were partners and you can see on his face that he remembers.

“yeah… and- and you hurt me Y/N. you hurt me so much and despite that i still-”

you grimace but you have to stop him. “jisung i’m so sorry but where is chan? where did he go?”

“-what?”

you get back to back with jisung as the lights of the maze shut down for a second and are immediately switched back on, pointed straight at your faces, constricting you in a prison of spotlights. 

from the bushes, in the dark, you can vaguely make out seven silhouettes approaching you slowly, menacingly.

“by the way i just told you that i love you and you didn’t even acknowledge me,” he mutters as to not draw too much attention.

“oh, sorry i’m not reacting to this news with appropriate excitement but i’m really freaking out right now!”

“you don’t have to worry as long as we’re together.”

you throw a surprised look over your shoulder. “oh wow, so now you’re staying?”

“why, what did you expect?”

“i expected you to run, jisung! to leave me just like you did before!

“did i run Y/N?! or was it you? you told me you didn’t need me anymore and i didn’t want to be the weight that kept you from living the life you wanted!”

“you say you loved me but you accepted the job! you didn’t even ask me to stay!”

“because you left our apartment before i could even try anything! i didn’t want the job before you ran away from us!”

a loud and mocking laugh reveals the first of the looming figures from the bushes “my god, chan they’re hilarious, you were right.”

and then he emerges from the shadows in all his sober glory. “now, now minho, you know i don’t lie.” he stares intensely at you and smirks. you can’t even form a coherent thought.

another figure comes into the light. this one is blonde like chan but is dangerously swinging a bat in circles and jisung is sure he doesn’t like that. “i like the chick but are you sure i can’t punch him in the face?” 

“yes, i’m sure hyunjin. calm down.”

“what if i break his nose just a little bit? i mean, it’s not like i’m killing anyone! 

a deep voice from the back echoes in the air. “what do you want? a gold star?!”

you drop your arms from the fighting stance you had. “i’m sorry but who are you all?”

silence drops. the only thing that resonates in the small center of the maze is chan’s feet crunching the gravel under his elegant shoes. when he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne he opens his arms and six shadows spread out on his sides like wings. “we’re stray kids,” he pauses, “and you’re going to be working with us from now on.”

“and like i already said, i don’t lie. i do want to do things to both of you.”

“to us?” jisung’s voice is high with excitement.

“to you, with you, we'll see where this journey takes us, won’t we baby?” 

you can’t stop yourself from letting out a little squeal and he smiles. 

“see, you two are too much fun to rot in this city.”

SIX MONTHS LATER. 

you wish you could stay like this forever. you really do. but you have a job to prepare for and they know it too even if they're blatantly choosing to avoid the truth.

the bed sheets smell clean, the tropical sun is warm on your skin, a soft breeze makes the white curtains fly around the room, and you can hear the sound of the waves crashing on the shore just outside the beautiful beach house with the occasional loud laughter of changbin who's playing some stupid game with the others on the porch.  

so, yes. it's hard to get up from the white-lined bed especially if you're basically head-locked into the strongest and bulkiest chest you've ever had the pleasure of sleeping on.

you shift slightly and chan whines from under you. he can be such a baby when things are not to his liking and you honestly love this drowsy part of him.

you prop yourself on his chest and start to leave on his smooth chest little pecks, bites. some are harsher and you can feel him tense. "channie, baby, i have to get things ready for tonight." he stirs. "and you and ji should too, you know?"

at his name being uttered with such affection, the other man slowly blinks and fondly stares up at you from his sheltered position under chan's arm. he watches you as you talk to your lover and can't help but smile. just smile at how happy and calm you look despite the uncertain past he knows you both had.

you catch him watching you and he's happy you don't keep to yourself the airy chuckle that leaves your parted mouth.

you lean over chan's body to reach your old nemesis. one kiss on the forehead, one on the nose, and the last -the most important, jisung thinks- on his mouth. sweet, long.

at the commotion, chan releases you from his hold and turns to hug the other man. 

now you can prepare for what awaits you all this evening. 

the all-time greatest heist of your life.

[elgaravel]

WIP Thursday!

was tagged by @lucien-lachance and @moonmothers to post a wip of mine and i finally have something to share jfkdslfjkdl. dmitri reawakens wip. kind of a warning for descriptions of someone dying but nothing terribly graphic, i don't think.

tagging: @numbaoneflaya @time-is-a-lake @shadowshearts @nuclearstorms @celticwoman @morvaris @mrs-theirin @druidgroves @saratrantoul @cwahsont @katsigian @swanfey and anyone else who'd like to join!

It’s cold – impossibly cold. The chamber is dark, the only thing he can make out is the crumbling brick only a couple feet from his face. The platform is harsh under his bare skin, grittier and rougher than he remembers. He shifts slightly, expecting the typical discomfort one has when moving their joints for the first time in a while but it doesn’t come. His movements are fluid and quick, much quicker than he’s used to. He almost flings himself off the platform when he rolls over. He catches himself, a hand flying out on its own volition and his palm cracks the brick of the altar he lays on. He swallows thickly, staring at the sight for a moment before he looks up. Better not to dwell on that, he thinks.

It’s too quiet for his liking. Nina should already be yelling at him, degrading him for ruining her ritual and denying her the ‘power of a god’, as she called it just hours ago. He should be dead, really, granted freedom away from this wretched place. He wanted to die but it seems the creators will not be granting that kindness today. He sits up, brushing his hands off on his pants and watching as the dust scatters. He looks up again, searching the nearby area for any sign of his sister but finds nothing besides a trail of blood smeared up the stairs and towards the path leading to their estate. Well, that can’t be anything pleasant. He slides off the altar, unbothered by the jagged pebbles digging into his bare feet as he slowly walks towards the blood. The scent of iron fills his nostrils more and more the closer he gets to it and a sense of dread settles itself deep within his chest. Surely, it’s not Nina’s blood? It seems unlikely in his mind and yet they were the only two people here so there aren’t many other logical options.

A quiet squelching sound comes as he steps in the liquid, cold and sticky underneath his feet. He shudders and side-steps away from it, walking up the stairs and following the path to the estate. The smell is overwhelming now and he has to resist the urge to gag as he plugs his nose. But he can taste it when he breathes through his mouth. He takes in a shaky breath and decides to hold it for now. His shoulders relax somewhat at the relief it provides. He continues on the path until he reaches the end, stopping under next to the sign that holds their family name.

The sight before him should bother him more than it does, it really should. And yet…

There she lays on her side while she reaches for the stairs leading up to the front door of their home. Blood pools next to her, coming out of every crevice in her head. She’s stopped moving but somehow, Dmitri can hear the quiet, shallow breathing that struggles to come out of her mouth. If she hears him approach, she either doesn’t care or no longer has the strength to move her head. He crouches down beside her, looking down at her face as blood drips out of her mouth. She glances at him and tries to say something but all that comes out is a shaky breath along with a soft rattling sound. He almost laughs at her, he wants to laugh at her but he can’t bring himself to. He says nothing as he stares at her, his expression blank. She was always pale but she’s nearly translucent now. If she were more lucid, she’d surely be throwing a fit over the blood on her skin and all over her clothing. She almost looks… guilty as her dual-colored eyes stare up at him or perhaps he’s simply deluding himself. It’s just distress from not being able to meet her goal, confusion as to why it’s her dying on the cold ground and not him. But he has little time to dwell on it because only a moment later, those eyes go blank as she lets out a final breath. Her body goes slack and he’s left by himself in the dark.

[pantoneyoongi]

neon signs | those are called dates

title ; those are called dates pairing ; campus crush!yoongi x campus crush!you 

notes ; 

this is part of the neon signs drabble series, where drabbles are released in random order (but listed chronologically in the masterlist!) 

series description ;

namjoon doesn’t think it can get any clearer outside of yoongi building a giant neon sign saying i have the absolute biggest crush on you but apparently, book smarts don’t exactly translate when it comes to you and your massive crush on min yoongi. 

(alternatively: namjoon and hoseok try for three years straight to get you and yoongi together.) 

word count ; 1.5k

tags ; fluff, they’re just so soft, there’s a pov switch, pls go to masterlist for more / general tags 

the only reason yoongi thinks this class is worth it is because you’re in it with him. 

yoongi’s resting bitch face is particularly aggressive in the mornings, largely because it’s not resting, it’s active. he hates mornings. with a passion. if someone who isn’t you talks to him (hoseok and namjoon included), they’re bound to be on the receiving end of a very sharp glare. 

so it’s fortunate that you’re smart. smart in a way that nobody else he knows is, though he supposes hoseok might contend as a runner-up. 

chinese cinema runs from 8am to 11am every wednesday, but because the building is so far from his dorm hall, yoongi has to wake up at an unholy hour just to get there. but on what was supposed to be a miserable first lecture in a series of miserable lectures thereafter, you’d showed up like sunlight breaking through gloomy clouds, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. 

“i knew you’d choose sleep over making coffee,” you’d teased that day. “you can’t be mean to me today, okay? i got up early to make it.” 

(yoongi’s never mean to you. he simply doesn’t know how to be.) 

he swears he could’ve melted into the ground that day. granted, it took him a couple minutes’ buffer time to understand the picture before him, of your sleepy smile and the coffee your hands presented to him, but when it finally clicked that you - who barely even likes coffee and only drinks it when desperate times call for it - brought it just for him - yoongi’s pretty sure his heart jumped the gun from crush to in love for a hot second. 

honestly, he still has that image of you memorized, tucked close in his memory bank of moments with you that feel like they belong just to him. your rosy cheeks, still flushed from the early morning cold, the way your eyes were hardly open, the warmth that emanated from you in spite of the temperatures outside. everything about you from that day sits sweetly in his chest, a reminder that pushes him out of bed every wednesday morning to come see you. 

a month and a half later, your weekly chinese cinema lectures have now become a trade of food and drink between you and yoongi. you bring the drinks; yoongi prepares the snacks. he spends a little extra time the night before to pack them up, making sure not to forget them in the mornings (if they need to be fridged, he sticks post-it notes to every possible surface he might walk into so he won’t forget them). 

“mmph,” you don’t even say words when you walk into the classroom today, just make a noise and hold out the thermos for yoongi. your eyes are practically glued shut today; you almost miss the seat when you go to sit down, yoongi narrowly grabbing onto your elbow in time and tugging you just enough so you don’t tip over. your head lolls forward, and yoongi kind of wishes there weren’t arm rests between seats. maybe you’d lean on him the way you sometimes lean on namjoon when you’re tired. 

“late night?” yoongi asks gently, resisting the urge to tuck your hair behind your ear. you look terribly cute like this, lips pouting slightly and head bobbing. 

“mhm,” you hum. your head swings slowly up to look at him through half-lidded eyes. “i don’t think i’ll make it through this movie today. will you take notes for me?” 

yoongi would do absolutely anything for you whether or not you asked. 

“sure,” he says instead, because that’s what normal people do. he can’t help it when he reaches over to pat your head, and you lean into his touch a little. yoongi’s heart might give out. 

professor li gives some vague speech about today’s film, then dims the lights and starts the movie. on cue, your eyes fall shut, entire body tipping slightly to the side. 

it takes yoongi an embarrassing amount of willpower to pay attention to the movie. he could blame it on the godawful time of day, but truthfully it has less to do with his anti-morning agenda and more to do with how utterly distracting you are beside him, curled into your chair as small as you can get, a soft cardigan wrapped around your body. you just look so cozy. he wants the rest of the room to disappear, have you tuck yourself into him, like it’s weekly movie date night and you’ve fallen asleep watching like you always do. 

except you and yoongi don’t have weekly movie date night, and he has no idea if you actually would fall asleep every week if you did. the desire to know makes his heart feel a little tight in his chest, like it’s been looped on a string and is being tugged towards you. 

he doesn’t mind. he’s come to terms with his heart being subject to your any and every whim - and he has no qualms with it. 

as the movie slowly comes to a close, yoongi finds his gaze dragged over to you once again, resting his cheek against his palm, trailing his eyes over your features. the lights from the movie cast different colors over you, until it turns into the dim lighting of the credits rolling across the screen. yoongi gives you a slight nudge, one hand resting on your shoulder to gently shake you awake before the harsh lights are flicked on by the professor. 

god, there’s no way his heart can handle the way you blink slowly at him, hands coming up to rub the sleep out of your eyes. he chuckles softly when you squint a little when the lights flick on, yoongi himself blinking a couple extra times to adjust. when you catch his eyes on you, he clears his throat quickly and lifts his notebook, waving it slightly. “i took notes,” he mumbles. “i’ll type them up and send them to you later.” 

“i could just take a picture,” you offer, but yoongi raises a brow at you. 

“you sure you can read my handwriting?” 

your hand which is holding your phone freezes mid-air. your lips flatten together. “never mind.” 

he grins, beginning to pack away his things as professor li lets the class go. “come on, sleepyhead,” he swings the bag over his shoulder. “let’s go get lunch.” 

.

.

.

you wouldn’t say you’re a morning person, but it’s not nearly as offensive a time as yoongi makes it out to be. then again, you’ve never met someone more averse to being awake during the day than yoongi, so maybe he doesn’t make for the best example. 

regardless, there’s something about knowing you’ll meet up with yoongi first thing in the morning that never fails to get you out of bed on wednesday mornings just a little extra early to make him coffee (it’s instant coffee; you might like him but you’re still a broke college kid). it makes you feel a little fuzzy inside knowing you almost always go to lunch together after, both of you free for the afternoon. 

“dates,” namjoon always insists. “those are called dates, y/n.” 

you always wave him off. “i go out to eat with you all the time, joonie.” 

the resounding groan he responds with every time makes you smile even when you’re just thinking about it. exasperating namjoon may very well be one of your favorite pastimes. 

besides, it’s not like you’re wrong. you eat one on one with namjoon all the time. sometimes hoseok, too. there’s nothing date-like about grabbing a meal with one of the boys, so you don’t see why it’s any different with yoongi. 

you know, minus your stupid huge crush on him. 

your eyes follow yoongi as he heads up to place your orders at the counter. it makes you feel insane, the way he makes even a simple grey hoodie and jeans look incredible. you have to busy yourself with your phone so you don’t stare too long. when he returns with the food, he comes with a glint in his eyes that makes you tilt your head at him. he smiles like he’s got the best secret stored away, and reveals it in time with his grin as he pops a bag in front of your face. 

“matcha cookie,” he looks at you like he’s extremely proud of himself. matcha is your favorite anything. he sets the wax bag down in front of you. “copped the last one.” 

it’s not a date. you don’t go on dates with min yoongi. but he does things like this that namjoon and hoseok and sometimes even seokjin don’t do, and it makes you wonder if this is exactly what going on a date with min yoongi would be like. when he sits down and leans forward on his elbows against the table, the way you look back at him hides nothing of your adoration for him, entirely enamored by him and the way he remembers even the tiniest of details about you. his eyes crinkle back in return, and there’s simply no denying the way your heart flutters for him. 

series masterlist ; neon signs

taglist ; @thelilbutifulthings​ @bbsantc​

[ravensilversea]

Kitchen Knives Aren't Meant for Stabbing

Summary: Why do the Famiglias keep sending their unwanted children on suicide hits? They can't really believe that a child will be the one to kill the World's Greatest Hitman?

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Adult Arcobaleno (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Child Sawada Tsunayoshi, Angst, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Attempted Murder, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Accidental Baby Acquisition

Originally posted here but it's getting a new post because I moved blogs a few years ago and it broke some things :)

Someone’s following him and has been for some time now. He turns down an alley, and his shadow follows, seemingly untired from the merry chase he’s given them around the city. He stops halfway down the alley and gently tugs at the cuffs of his sleeves. “Can I help you?” he asks.

His shadow’s breath hitches, and o mio Dio, his shadow sounds so young. Why do the Famiglias keep sending their unwanted children on suicide hits? He turns around and catches his shadow’s small wrist mid-stab. He blinks at the very normal kitchen knife in the boy’s hand before taking it from him and stowing it in on of his inner jacket pockets.

The boy’s absolutely tiny; he’s practically sitting on the filthy ground to be face-height with the child. The boy’s frantic pulls on his trapped arm have no effect. There’s so much dirt in the boy’s brown hair and almost as much hatred in narrowed brown eyes. The boy’s teeth are bared, and there’s definitely a sunkenness to the dirt-covered cheeks.

He sighs. The boy wasn’t from a Famiglia, not anymore at least. Even the Carcassa and Bovino feed all their kids. Not to mention supply them with more than a basic kitchen knife when going after the World’s Greatest Hitman. “Come ti chiami?” he asks the boy.

Ao3

The boy’s glare narrows further, and he repeats the question. This time the boy mutters something and yanks backwards. The boy takes a deep breath and yells, “Let me go, you bastard!” in Japanese.

He keeps a steady gaze on the boy’s face, and a firm hand on the thin arm. “What is your name?” he asks again, this time in Japanese.

“Don’t act like you don’t know, Vongola,” the boy spits. “Now, let me go! And give me back my knife!” Tears gather in the boy’s eyes, but the boy gallantly blinks them away.

“I do not know who you are, and I am not Vongola,” he says calmly. “I am merely affiliated with them.”

“Close enough,” the boy snarls. The boy twists his arm in his grip. “I’ll kill you either way.”

“What’s more dangerous- you, or me? Someone trained and skilled and very very stable? Or a child still learning how to handle a knife with the emotional turbulence of the Wright brothers’ aircraft?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “You’re certainly more dangerous to yourself than me, you know.”

“I don’t care!” Tears finally roll down the boy’s cheeks. “I’m going to kill you and every other Vongola I can find. Because it’s not fair! Kaa-san’s dead because of you!”

Well, shit. Civilian children on a self-imposed revenge mission really aren’t his usual fare of stray. Street kids generally try to pick his pocket or make a good faith effort to loot his dead body. “Kid, I am sorry your mother’s dead,” he says. “But are you sure Vongola’s responsible?” The boy snarls, and he continues over him, “Because as far as I know, Vongola has not issued a hit on a single mother or a hit in Japan for that matter.”

“They had to have!” The boy’s cheeks are soaked with tears. “The men all spoke that language you were speaking, and they kept saying, ‘Vongola’ over and over again.”

Merda, he resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. It sounded like someone high in Vongola’s hierarchy- probably Iemitsu, he’s the only one with any recent Japanese heritage and it’s always him anyway- was too careless about the location of their not-in-the-know family. “Kid,” he lifts the boy’s chin, “I can help you find the men who killed your mother, but you have to let me.”

The boy screws up his face. He wipes away his tears with his free hand. “Seriously?”

He nods. “But I need to know who you are and where you live for starters.”

The boy stares at him, head tilted to the side, for another minute before saying, “My name is Sawada Tsunayoshi. I’m from Nammimori, Japan, and I don’t live anywhere anymore.”

Fucking Iemitsu. He really does hate being right sometimes. He smiles. “Hello, Tsunayoshi. You may call me Reborn.”

[derpinathebrave]

ICE -In Case of Emergency ~ IceMav

READ ON AO3

So I got the brainworms again. This time from @pilotsandgays and now I've started a chaptered fic of Ice and Mav being exes (slightly nasty exes) but Ice is still listed as Mav's emergency contact.

I'm posting the first chapter here but the rest will be only on AO3 unless ya'll really want it on both

SUMMARY: "I'm your emergency contact. You know, you're supposed to take that out when you leave someone." Commander Tom "Iceman" Kazansky has spent five years trying to forget Pete Mitchell ever existed let alone walked out on him. Everything is brought to a boil when he is called after Pete is in a serious accident and Tom is the emergency contact. Now Ice has to face up to some tough questions; why did Maverick walk out on him without a goodbye? And why is he helping the man that destroyed his heart?

TAGS: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Sarah Kazansky, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Lovers, Exes to Lovers, Hospitals and Medical, Whump, not much beta we die like goose, Canon Compliant, mostly canon compliant anyway, Period-Typical Homophobia, Don't Ask Don't Tell, Mention of Aids crisis, characters being added later

WORDS: 3059

Chapter 1: A Ringing Phone

The phone was ringing. Commander Tom “Iceman” Kazansky could hear it through the front door as he struggled to juggle his paperwork and get the key working in the lock. 

It was still a little strange to have his own phoneline after living so many years from carrier to carrier and sharing with literally everyone else. Every time it rang he jumped at the noise and then rushed to pick it up. Usually it was Slider, his mum or Sarah. They were the only people that really knew he was in a permanent residence again, and the only people he really cared enough to give his number to. 

The sticky lock finally gave and Iceman shouldered his way through the door. He would need to fix that soon, the way the door jammed in its frame and the lock took a specific wiggle to get the key to turn. 

He tossed the paperwork down onto his coffee table as he strode to the kitchen. The phone fell silent as he reached out to grab it from the wall. He pulled it to his ear anyway, haring the dial-tone. Rolling his eyes, Tom set the phone back in the cradle. 

The house was small, single story and sparsely furnished. He walked back to the front door and pulled his boots off, setting them in place on the shoe rack. The door opened into the living room, a couch long enough to fit him on it lying down, a coffee table and a TV on a chest of drawers. He had bought two low bookshelves to line the wall beneath the window that looked out to his neighbours fence, but they were currently rather empty. His Top Gun trophy was propped up on top of the one to the right. Sarah kept threatening to come and decorate for him, but her work hadn’t allowed for that yet. 

Ice moved through the living room and down the short hall to his bedroom. This was marginally more comfortable. He had a queen bed with a crocheted blanket his mother had pressed upon him when he had let her come and see his new place. It was a mixture of blues and greys and made him think of the ocean. Beyond the bed, he had matching nightstands with lamps, a laundry hamper and a winged arm-chair (another addition from his mother). He mostly just tossed clothes onto the armchair until it annoyed him enough to put them away in the cupboard.

As he was unbuttoning his shirt, the phone began to ring once more. He went to answer it.

“Hello?” He said, resisting the automatic urge to add “Commander Kazansky” as he had to at the office. 

“Hello, is that Tomas Kazansky?” A feminine voice said. 

“Speaking.” Ice frowned. He didn’t know this voice. A simmer of anxiety settled in his chest. 

“Mr Kazansky, my name is Maria, I’m a nurse at Holy Spirit Hospital. You were listed as the emergency contact for Peter Mitchell?” Maria said. 

Tom’s anxiety shot straight to a boil. His hand gripped the phone tight, his heart pounding loud enough to drown out the crackle on the phoneline. He realised she was waiting for an answer.

“Yes. Uh,” he blinked and shook his head a little. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Kazansky, he’s been in a serious accident and is currently in emergency,” Maria carried on in a solemn voice.

“What type of accident?” Ice forced out. 

“He had a pretty serious collision on a motorcycle.” Maria said. “He’s stable for now, conscious but in pain, and he’ll be going in for surgery this evening. If you wanted to come down and see him, you’re welcome to. He’ll need a change of clothes and some toiletries.”

Ice turned and pressed his forehead against the kitchen wall beside the phone. He took a long, slow breath in, held it a moment and then let it slide back out just as slowly. 

“Thank you,” he said, hating himself, “I’ll be there in about an hour.”

“OK. Just let our Emergency receptionist know you’re here to see Peter and they’ll let you through. I will let you know he can only have one visitor at a time, so if you plan to bring other people, they won’t be able to come in with you,” Maria said.

“Thank you,” he said again. 

“No problem. Thank you.” The phone disconnected. 

Iceman placed the phone back with extra care. As much as he wanted to smash it to pieces, that wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He did allow himself thirty more seconds of pressing his face against the wall in despair.

Heaving a sigh, Ice straightened once more and headed back to his bedroom. He filled a backpack with sweatpants, a soft t-shirt, boxers and socks. He moved to the bathroom, taking a disposable razor and spare toothbrush from beneath the sink. 

As he straightened, Ice caught his own face in the mirror. His blue eyes were slightly wild.  He could not go into that hospital room and let Maverick see him like that. He paused, staring himself down until the startled expression had settled back into his trademark detachment. He toyed with the idea of a shower but decided it would only amp him up more if he had to wait longer. May as well just get this whole thing over with. He buttoned his uniform back up, tucking it in once more. 

Ice let himself have one more second of hesitation before he grabbed the backpack, pulled his boots on and relocked his janky front door. 

 ===

His jaw ached, knuckles white on the steering wheel and shoulders tense. Ice negotiated traffic with extra care. He was desperately trying to stay calm. His ice-cold facade was slipping and melting every time he remembered where he was going and why. 

The sun was closing in on the horizon by the time he pulled into the hospital parking lot. Tom followed the signs for Emergency, completely unable to calm the thundering of his heart or the urge to bite at the inside of his cheek. He took up a soft mantra that everything would be fine, he would be A-OK and this would be fine. 

The lady at reception gave him directions down to the bay that Maverick was in. Hefting the backpack, and giving one last attempt at masking his anxiety, Ice headed for the bed. 

When he peeked through the curtain the bay was empty. No bed at all. After a moment he noticed the motorcycle helmet and boots thrust out of the way under a bench and he knew he was where Maverick had been at the very least. He slipped into the bay, leaving the curtain open. 

Ice took a deep breath. He gripped both fists together and then shook them out. It made him feel a little better. He did it again. 

With his body slightly calmed, he bent to look at the helmet. It was a mess. Deep gouges ran across the left side, the visor had been torn away completely. Ice swallowed. 

“Excuse me, sir?” a man said from behind him. 

Ice straightened quickly and spun. A tall, orderly in orange scrubs stood at the gap in the curtain. 

“Can I help you?” The orderly said. His eyes scanned Ice, taking in the shiny wings on his uniform. 

“Uh, yeah, the man that was in this bay, Pete Mitchell, where is he?” Ice said

“Are you the next of kin?” The orderly said, eyes narrowing a little. 

Ice hesitated for a split second. “Yes,” he said. 

“He’s been taken up to surgery. They’re prepping him now,” the orderly gave him a sympathetic smile. “You’re in the wrong place. If you want to grab those things I’ll give you directions to surgery.”

Ice nodded in reply, pulling the corners of his lips up but not really smiling. 

He grabbed the helmet and boots, following the orderly back to the crossroads of the hallways. After extensive and confusing instructions, Ice ventured back to the elevators and headed up to the surgery wards. 

Stuffed into the back corner of the elevator, a small kid with a very broken arm in a bed taking up the majority of the room, Iceman chewed on his cheek once more. Of course it hadn’t been as easy as bringing Maverick clothes and organising him a ride home. Of course the idiot needed surgery.

He squeezed out of the elevator on the floor he needed and followed the signs through the labyrinthine corridors. Finally he came upon another nurse’s station. 

“I’m here to see Peter Mitchell,” Iceman said, resettling the boots in his grip. 

“Let me see,” the nurse focused on her computer for a moment, tapping keys slowly. “Sure, he’s just gone in with Doctor Yanch. The surgery is set to be a minimum of two hours. You’re welcome to wait in our relations room, or head down to the cafeteria and come back closer to his end time.”

“Thank you,” Ice said, despite wanting to slam his head into her counter. “I’ll head to the cafeteria.”

The nurse gave him a nod and turned back to her work. Ice made his way back to the elevators slowly.

As he was sitting in the cafeteria, ignoring the stares of civilians because he was still in his khakis, Ice questioned his sanity. Only Pete Mitchell brought this side of him out. The side that questioned what the hell he was doing. 

He ate a truly awful sandwich and drank worse coffee. The helmet was set on the table in front of him and Tom found his eyes straying to it every few seconds. The paint had once resembled Maverick’s flight helmet, the white and red lines leading over the back and “Maverick” stamped across there rather than the front. The eagle on the side was almost completely destroyed, gouged and scratched into an amorphous red and white blob. 

If he had not seen the state of the helmet, he probably would have already gone. It was only the deeply unsettling scars on the helmet that kept him in the cafeteria, drinking awful coffee and waiting two hours. 

When the time was up, he stood, stretched and headed back to surgery. His heart took up a new tattoo of anxiety in his chest as he drew closer to the ward. The nurse directed him down to recovery and warned him that Pete was recovering and the anaesthetic was going to linger for a while. 

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell was pale, lips a little purple on the edges. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep. He was shirtless but mostly covered with a paper gown. His left arm was in a sling, securing his wrist up by his right collarbone. As Ice followed the arm to the shoulder there was large bandages covering from his bicep to the rise of his neck. Mav’s lower body was covered with a hospital blanket. He was still hooked into a drip of fluids and a second of blood. 

Tom’s chest squeezed, all air escaping at the sigh of Maverick. It was much worse than he had expected. A weird mixture of relief and irritation washed through him. He set the backpack down in the corner, out of the way, and turned back to find a doctor pushing into the room. 

“Hello, I’m Doctor Yanch, you are?” The doctor said, eyes flickering over Ice’s uniform. 

“I’m Tom Kazansky, his—“ Ice almost said wingman, aborting at the last second and amending it to “— next-of-kin.” 

“Ah,” Doctor Yanch nodded. “I was just coming to do my post-surgery assessment. I was Peter’s surgeon.”

A nurse in teal scrubs bustled in, ignoring them both and heading straight for Pete.

Ice glanced at Pete but he hadn’t moved and his eyes were still closed. “OK.” He said to the doctor, “can you explain his injuries to me? I haven’t had a chance to hear the damage.”

“Oh,” surprise flickered across the surgeons face before he spoke once more. “Pete sustained a proximal humeral fracture dislocation. Meaning that his upper arm fractured and dislocated at the same time. I’ve set the bone with screws and relocated the joint through surgery. He was also brought in with rib fractures and a haemothorax, blood in his chest cavity that had collapsed his left lung.”

Tom realised he wasn’t breathing and inhaled through his nose, waiting for the doctor to continue. 

“His lung has reinflated and we’re confident the internal bleed has stopped. He will be receiving blood for another few hours and fluids.” The Doctor gave a tight smile to show he was finished. 

“Thank you,” Ice said, voice a little hoarse. 

“Not a problem.” The doctor turned away and began scribbling in Pete’s chart, mumbling to the nurse. When he was done, he hung the chart back at the end of the bed and walked out. 

Ice watched as the nurse leaned over and took Maverick’s right hand from under the blanket. She began squeezing it and calling his name. His heart began a horrid tap dance on his nerves once more.

“Peter?” The nurse called again, a little louder. 

“Try Mav,” Ice said, stepping a little closer and immediately regretting it. 

The nurse looked at him in surprise. 

“His nickname, its Mav or Maverick, try that,” Ice explained at her expression. “He hates Peter.”

“Mav?” She called, “it’s time to wake up now.”

Slowly, Mav’s eyes flickered and opened. He frowned at the nurse and began to move. She pinned him down with a firm hand, clearly practised at this. 

“No, no, no moving, Mav,” she said to him. “You’ve been in surgery. We fixed that shoulder up for you. Are you in pain?”

“No,” Mav mumbled. “Yes.” 

The sound of his voice sent fresh spikes through Ice but he remained still and silent in the background. 

“My chest hurts,” Mav said, his voice slurred. 

“Yes, you’ve got some fractured ribs. Can you squeeze my hand?” She placed her fingers in his left hand and nodded when Mav obeyed. “Good. Alright, I’m going to let you wake up a little more and then I’ll be back to run some more tests. You can chat to your friend but don’t move too much, OK?” She said.

“Mm-hmm.” Mav gave a tight nod already closing his eyes again. 

The nurse shot Ice a tight smile and bustled back out into the hall. He merely watched her go before turning back to where Maverick was laying. The other man had his eyes closed again but there was tension through his forehead, showing Ice that he was still awake. 

Ice gripped his fists, ignored the nausea that was rising and falling in his abdomen, and sat on the uncomfortable armchair by the window. When he glanced at Maverick his eyes were open and staring at the ceiling. They shifted, catching Ice’s and holding for a protracted moment. Pete blinked, shook his head a little and closed his eyes once more. 

He didn’t open his eyes again for another fifteen minutes. Ice was watching, cataloguing the way Maverick’s tension would sink out of his body as he slipped into sleep and then rise again as he woke once more. 

The second time Maverick opened his eyes, he whipped his head over to stare at Tom with wide eyes. He blinked. 

Tom gave him the most mild expression he could muster.

“Fuck, you’re actually here,” Maverick said, voice less slurred now. 

“I’m your emergency contact,” Ice said blandly, determined to not let Maverick see the agitation going on in his body. “You know, you take that out of your wallet when you leave someone.”

There was a beat of tension and Maverick turned away to stare at the ceiling. 

“Flattered you came,” Maverick said, wincing a little. 

“Mm-hmm,” Ice drawled at him. 

Internally Tom was beginning to suspect he needed to visit the cardio ward and have his heart checked. It had been hammering a harsh rhythm in his chest for the last twenty minutes and showed no signs of stopping now. 

“Why did you come?” Mav asked, voice strained. 

“I knew no one else would,” Iceman shrugged. He almost regretted the words as pain flared and died on Maverick’s face. “Should I call the nurse? You look rough.”

“I was hit by a car, Kazansky, of course I look rough.” Pete was clearly trying to sound snappish but there was too much pain in his voice for it to carry. 

Ice sighed and stood. He moved to the side of Mav’s bed and found the call button. 

“Don’t you touch—“ Maverick didn’t make it to the end of the sentence before Ice pushed the button for him. “Go away, why are you here?” Maverick groaned, face growing steadily paler. 

Ice didn’t bother to reply but simply returned to the uncomfortable armchair. He willed his heart back to a regular pace and when it refused to comply, he settled for fishing his gum out of his pocket and beginning to chew on a fresh piece. 

The same nurse returned, took one look at Maverick’s face and launched into action. She set up his pain medication, teaching him about the button to let it release. She then began conducting the promised tests from earlier. Ice sat in the chair and watched, eyes roaming Maverick as he did. When the nurse pulled the gown down to attach patches to Mav’s chest, Ice couldn’t drag his eyes away. He knew he should, but the horrific red and maroon patches that spread from beneath Mav’s arm to the middle of his chest held him transfixed. 

The doctor had said words like “collapsed lung”, “fractured ribs” and “bleeding into the chest cavity” but hearing about it and seeing it were vastly different things. Ice found his breath was caught in his chest once more. He tried to breathe, working hard to stay perfectly still. 

As much as he wanted to deny it, Ice made a snap decision in that moment. He knew he would regret it later. He knew that it would cause him such intense pain that it would rival Maverick’s. But Tom also knew he couldn’t leave Maverick alone to deal with this. 

He was still his wingman. Whether Maverick wanted him to be or not.

[gifsbysimplysonia]

Happy hoelidays, lovely! ❄️ Just a small gift for you! ❤️

—

Even after months and months of being with Ari, it still crept up on you sometimes, being so flustered over how completely smitten he was with you.

He was a straight up Greek god come to life, he could have anyone that he wanted, and he wanted you.

Talk about hitting the beautiful beefcake lottery.

You smiled a little at the thought before your eyes wandered to the other end of the sofa.

The foot rub Ari was giving you was so concentrated and good, that you expected to find him staring at your feet, all furrow-browed and focused.

And he was focused, but on your face, which had those very familiar-by-now pterodactyl-sized butterflies taking flight in your belly.

"Stopppp," you whined, sinking lower against the arm of the sofa as you resisted the urge to hide.

Sometimes it was a lot having Ari look at you like he wanted to eat you and protect you forever, all at once.

His laugh was quiet and warm, the look in his eyes tender as he smiled and shrugged. "I can’t help it."

"You always look like you want to eat me," you blurted, your face burning as you stifled an embarrassed groan.

"Oh I do." Ari waggled his eyebrows at you, but the look in his eye was…sinful. Wanting.

Desire made manifest.

Whining some more, despite the way your pussy fluttered under his avid attention, you pulled one of the throw pillows over your face.

You felt Ari's hands retreat from your feet, and the sofa shift under the movement of his big body, and then he was tugging the pillow from your face and tossing it aside before crawling over you and sinking his warm weight against you.

"Deal with it, honey," he murmured as he caressed the curve of your cheek with his knuckles. "It’s what you signed up for, forever."

He reached for your hand, gently holding it aloft and gazing down at the diamond sparkling on your ring finger.

Pressing a kiss to your skin, he smiled at you, your favorite kind of smile, all soft and doting and just for you.

You went pliant then, your nerves and embarrassment fading away entirely as you tipped you face up and caught Ari's lips against yours.

Ok so guess what, Siri?? I just went through my DRAFTS programming posts for the rest of December and GUESS WHAT I FOUND??? Lmao apparently cuz you sent this a while back, it saved to the date that you SENT it, not the date I feedbacked and SAVED it to my drafts so this is repetitive, but here are my original reactions, lmao. I'm sorry I'm SUCH a mess.

OMG @stargazingfangirl18 is an angel! Back at work today and so I'm on Desktop. I have NO IDEA why my mobile app doesn't let me know when I have Inbox stuff / asks but I visit Tumblr dot com on Desktop and saw I had one so I went to see and THIS is what was waiting for me?!?!

Siri! How incredibly kind and thoughtful are you?? Also, are you psychic? LoL cuz

The foot rub Ari was giving you was so concentrated and good

I've been having problems with my feet lately so THIS? Actually sounded like Heaven (although it's funny cuz I have a "thing" about feet that my mom thinks comes from her keeping me in booties all the time as a baby lol but if I cared enough about someone, I suppose I'd let them see my weird Hobbit feet and nobody is changing Ari's mind about ANYTHING)

very familiar-by-now pterodactyl-sized butterflies

If you're not psychic, you might be intuitive cuz I constantly use the word "pterodactyl" in my life (just usually to describe my hiccups lmao)

Sometimes it was a lot having Ari look at you like he wanted to eat you and protect you forever, all at once.

The way I would ABSOLUTELY POOF into Thanos dust lol just on the spot!

Desire made manifest.

This is just an excellent turn of phrase, I really love it :)

And I'ma always mark out for any mention of "pu$$y flutter" because I never knew that phrase til your Tumblr tags and it brings me joy every time I read it now lol

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. Siri, I am so unworthy of your attention and kindness, but I am so grateful to have this sweet drabble! Thank you so so so so much for thinking of me. Honestly makes me a bit teary eyed cuz I just don't come across that kind of thoughtfulness often.

[succubusphan]

Two Man Team - Chapter 8

Summary: This is the story of two struggling friends who after many trials and tribulations find their way back to each other and build the life they've always dreamed of.

Or how Phil changed his life by talking to random strangers on the internet.

Rating: E

Tags/warnings: Friends to lovers, Friends with benefits, mental health issues (mainly anxiety), Slow burn, Dan is a psych student. Canon divergence (the timeline is altered and some things never happened), Slutty Phil, Angst with a happy ending. The fic spans many years.

Author's Note: Written for the OSPBB 2023 @oldschoolpbb. Thank you @effingmeteors for being my life saviour and beta as usual and to my artist Lin @anironsidh.

Edits and the art will be added at some point, we are busy bees.

POSTING EVERY DAY UNTIL IT'S COMPLETED.

Total Word Count: 75k ish

Read on Ao3

CHAPTER 8: Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me

April 2017

Phil rushed through the streets of London, briefly considering if another “Why is Phil running?” situation was worth making it on time, or if he should just slow down and put up with the fucking drizzle. He cursed the weather and his fucking anxiety over being late to places and tried to block any negative anticipation, things that hadn’t happened yet - he was only wet. His therapist always tried to keep him rooted in the present, even if occasionally planning was required for his career, she wanted Phil to stop predicting the future in catastrophic ways and he felt like he was almost getting the hang of it, almost.

He was just five minutes away from his destination when he heard a voice that sounded too familiar.

“Phil!”

He froze on the spot, feeling like his heart was going to explode out of his chest and gave Dan a wide eyed look. He had only noticed a very tall figure totally obscured from view by their oversized coat and hood standing outside a bakery.

“Haven’t heard from you in a while…” Dan said pensively, “How are you?”

Phil resisted the urge to turn around right then and there. ‘Haven’t heard from you,’ Really? Was he serious? He almost said something, but he didn't want to appear so affected. So he answered as casually as he could. “Fine.” He paused, trying to come up with another word, but not knowing what else his life was about. Honestly, it was just work. Barely anything else, just work. “Filming, hosting… you know how it is.”

Dan nodded. “Yeah.”

“So, how are you? What are you up to?” Phil tried.

“I'm actually working in theatre, doing some plays. I graduated from uni and I have patients, so that’s cool as well. And I’m thinking of self-publishing a mental health book at some point, like a guide to keep people afloat. A small project, of course.”

Phil smiled proudly, despite everything. Then, he noticed the blonde guy standing close to Dan, very clearly shooting daggers at both of them but particularly Phil. “Sounds great,” Phil said. “Hi,” he addressed the man.

Dan blinked, as if he had forgotten that he was with someone already. “Oh, this is Sebastian. Sebastian, this is Phil, my friend.”

Both Phil and Sebastian raised an eyebrow at him and Dan was trying very hard not to blush but failing miserably. With the way Sebastian was looking at Phil, he could only guess that they were involved, potentially partners, and that Sebastian knew exactly who he was and about his past story with Dan. He had an accusatory gaze, a not so subtle ‘I know you two fucked.’ That’s right honey, I had him first and there’s nothing you can do to change it. “Nice to meet you, Sebastian,” Phil smiled, unbothered.

“Likewise,” said Sebastian tightly. His voice sounded as stupid and annoying as Phil had imagined, this only made his smile bigger.

“Oh, give me your phone, I’ll put in my new number,” Dan said after a pregnant pause.

Phil grabbed his phone from his pocket but it was at 0% and had shut down at some point.

Dan bit his lip but got a pen from his backpack and started to write the numbers down on the palm of Phil’s hand, the contact sending shivers up his entire arm. Phil wondered why Dan didn’t just ask him for his number and put it in his own phone, but the entire situation was so uncomfortable and weird with Dan being the only one pretending that it wasn’t, that Phil didn’t want to point out the obvious or seem eager to get back in touch with him. He did have some decency and self-respect still, so as soon as Dan was done with his little note, he pulled his hand away. “Well, this was nice, but Mark is waiting for me at the cinema and the movie is about to start.”

Dan’s smile finally fell and Phil took it as a small victory. “What are you guys going to watch?”

“Deadpool,” Phil said, now annoyed that Dan was still talking. 

“We should go to that one,” Dan said to Sebastian.

“Not today,” Sebastian snapped.

Dan opened his mouth but before he could say anything, Phil started walking away. “Bye!”

“Tell Mark I said Hi!” Dan yelled after him.

“I won’t, he doesn’t like you,” Phil said, only at half the required volume for Dan to hear. He left that one to chance.

As soon as Mark saw him, he knew that something had happened and pestered Phil until he confessed and showed him the note on his hand: Dan’s phone number with the words “call me please” under it. 

Mark was quiet during the entire retelling of the story and Phil was about to have a mental breakdown right in the line for the kiosk, but before he could question Mark, it was their turn. They bought 2 cokes and a huge bucket of salty popcorn to share and went up to the queue for their screen. Just as he shuffled everything around and handed Mark some things, Phil realised the moisture of the cup had smudged the ink on his hand away. He stood there in shock, not knowing how to feel about it. 

“Fuck,” said Mark when he saw why Phil was delaying the queue.

Phil looked into his eyes, his mouth agape.

“You were really going to call him, weren't you?”

“I - I don’t know,” Phil admitted, and for a moment, he felt his anxiety trying to rise and consume him but he rationalised things instead. He took a deep breath and stood off to the side with Mark trailing along. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply until he was able to force his body to relax. He looked into Mark’s worried eyes and smiled faintly. “I guess the choice has been taken off my hands. If it hadn’t been, I would have fretted over it for who knows how long. This was probably for the best.”

“You could still try to find him on social media if you really wanted to. Do you still have him on Facebook?”

“No, one of the last things I did on Facebook was unfriend him and that was years ago.” Not wanting to continue pondering about it, Phil just walked down the hallway to get his ticket checked. They entered the theatre and looked for their assigned seats, awkwardly sidestepping down their row since the lights had already been lowered for the ads to begin.

Once they were seated, Phil could feel Mark’s eyes boring holes into his face. 

Mark leaned closer and whispered: “It’s still an option to consider if you want closure.”

“The universe did me a favour; this is a sign to drop it and never think of Dan again,” Phil said, sounding confident despite the uneasiness brewing in the pit of his stomach.

“Don’t tell me that you haven’t thought about him all this time, I know for a fact that you have. Ignoring this will not make that go away.”

“Drop it,” Phil snapped, hearing people shush him. He lowered his voice again. “You’ve hated him for a while anyway, why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Mark shrugged. “I care about you and I don’t think you have moved on.”

“I’ve dated, Mark. What more do you want? He has a partner too, I told you. He was there with him.”

“Oh,” Mark said. “Well, give it a thought.”

“The movie is starting. Pass the popcorn.”

---

Phil spent the next few weeks trying his best to forget about the whole thing, but it popped up in his mind in the most inconvenient moments, like during his radio show or when he tried to film a new video. He couldn’t help but try to picture how his life would be now if Dan hadn’t given up on their friendship. Would they still be hosting together? Filming together? Sharing their London flat?

He briefly considered telling his therapist but he wasn’t ready to hear what she had to say about it. Instead, he remembered what Mark said and logged into Facebook after a million years of absence. He searched for Dan’s profile and gasped at how good he looked in his profile picture with his hobbit hair. He heard their voices in his mind: “Would you keep your hobbit hair for more than a day? Never!” Nature was wise, Dan looked better than ever with his curls.

Phil looked at his previous profile pictures and there were none with Sebastian. He was listed as Dan’s boyfriend though. It caught Phil by surprise, even after seeing them together in the streets of London, Phil didn’t think he would see the day Dan dated a man publicly. Then he noticed something: Dan had sent him a friend request.

He hesitated briefly but if he thought too much about it he was going to faint, so he did what he had become accustomed to do when in doubt: he accepted the request. Then he felt frozen in time not knowing what else to do. Should he be the one to reach out first? Well, technically, Dan had taken the first step with the friend request so maybe it was his turn.

He opened their conversation and his fingers hovered over the keyboard as he stared at the last pathetic attempt Phil made to reach out in 2012 which still had the read receipt. He was about to back out of the screen when Dan messaged him. 

“Can we talk?”

Phil started typing a no but deleted it. He paused for a moment. He started again but this time he pointed out the last message above that had been unanswered for years. He deleted it again.

“Phil, please.”

Phil heard the words just as if Dan was begging right in front of him and hated himself as he typed an “ok.”

“I don’t want things to get messy over text. We should meet at a park or a coffee shop and discuss it in person.”

“You’re pushing your luck.”

“I know I fucked up really badly. Please give me a chance to apologise properly and to explain.”

“I’ve moved on without any explanations. Why would I want them now?” That was a lie. Not only had he not moved on, but he still wondered what the fuck happened exactly. Many times he’d wished he could live inside Dan’s brain to better understand.

“I don’t remember you being so snappy when you were unbothered by something.”

Phil looked at the screen blankly. He had him there. Dan knew him too well, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “People change. I never thought you would do what you did but here we are.”

“If you don’t want to meet up I could call you right now.”

Phil panicked. Fucking Dan, he knew that Phil hated calls. Meeting up was less scary, especially if he had time to plan his replies. Not that anything ever went according to plan with Dan. “Fine. Piccadilly Circus at 5 this Thursday.” It was Tuesday so that gave him two days to prepare.

“I have a show at 7. Tomorrow at 5?”

“Alright.” It was not alright, that only gave him… he looked at the time, about twenty hours to prepare. Dan was not giving him a chance to back out, which was likely to happen if they planned for a later date. He took a deep breath. It would probably be better to rip the plaster off and move on.

“Text me when you get there, I’ll be in the area.”

Phil pursed his lips. “I don’t have your number, I had an accident with a soda at the cinema.”

“An accident with a soda?”

“My hands got wet, ok?”

“Oh, right. +44 20 7734 3124.”

“Right, see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you for doing this.” 

Phil was about to reply, but this time, he smiled and closed the conversation. This time he was the one leaving Dan on read.

---

The following day had Phil overthinking his outfit and wishing he could just ask his followers for advice but he knew that Dan would see the tweet, so he thought back to the poll he’d posted a few months ago and went with the top rated shirt.

He opened his laptop and the first thing he saw was Dan’s profile before Safari crashed and he had to open it again. Once again, he saw Dan’s profile and almost clicked away when something caught his eye. Dan’s relationship status was now “it’s complicated” and Sebastian was no longer tagged.

He smiled and grabbed his keys on the way out, his laptop left abandoned on the sofa.

---

Phil hated himself the moment he laid eyes on Dan. God, how did Dan look even better in person than in his pictures? His hair was perfectly curled at the top and seamlessly faded on the sides. He wore a grey flowery shirt over a pink T-shirt which made evident how much bigger his back was and his jeans were tight enough to display his thick thighs. Phil had to stop that line of thought immediately before it crossed the PG boundaries. Dan smelled so good too, not that Phil was smelling him, that would be creepy and stupid.

“Hey,” Dan smiled confidently. 

That was another thing, Dan was so fucking confident. Unlike in 2012, it was coming from him in waves. He looked like someone who was very sure of who he was. It made Phil feel inadequate and like he hadn’t made that kind of progress all the time they’d been apart. “Hey,” he said, sounding as lame as he felt.

“So, do you want to go somewhere?”

“Hard Rock?” Phil asked, trying to remember any good places around. It was too hot and he wasn’t in the mood for sweating in front of Dan so aircon was a must.

“Sure,” Dan smiled and pressed his hand to Phil’s back gently, guiding him there.

That hand was burning Phil through his shirt like hot iron, but he tried to seem unbothered. 

“So, how have you been?” Dan asked as they walked.

“Uh, just - taking a few days off at the moment. Mostly scripting new videos and relaxing,” Phil said. He’d thought he’d have the walk to compose himself but Dan clearly wanted to break the ice immediately.

“Relaxing is good.”

Fuck, it was his time to ask something. “Err, so you are still acting?”

“Yes, just small roles here and there but I got a bigger one in an indie production starting in September. Nothing too fancy, just ten shows.”

“Ten?” Phil asked, that actually sounded like a lot for an indie production. 

Dan waved him off. “It’s just a hobby. My main focus now is mental health advocacy. I’m working with Young Minds, the charity.”

“Oh, wow.”

“I want to help young people who don’t have access to resources. I think it’s very rewarding.”

“I bet it is,” Phil said, impressed. He knew that Dan was not trying to brag, but was perhaps seeking Phil’s approval. Some things never changed.

“I haven’t gotten to anything important like that,” Phil said,

“You hosted the fucking Brits!” Dan said, not letting him be humble. “I watched it, you were hilarious.”

Phil finally smiled at that. “Thank you,” he said, before he realised that he was being too nice and cleared his throat. They were finally at the door and before Phil could pull it open, Dan pushed it open for him, keeping him from making a fool of himself.

They got a booth by the windows and ordered. 

“Why did you message me?” Phil asked, cutting the pleasantries.

Dan looked a little taken aback but didn't hesitate. “I wanted to catch up and also give you an explanation of why I acted how I acted back then.”

“I don’t know if I want to know. What would it change?”

“Everything… I hope that it changes everything,” Dan said. “First of all, I should apologise for leaving you in the dark like that and for being so chaotic and irresponsible with our work and with us. I promise that it was not intentional, I just didn’t have the proper tools to process everything that was happening in my life and I had to take a step back.” He rushed to say, as if he was almost afraid that Phil would interrupt him or just up and leave. “I know you must have questions too.”

“I guess,” Phil admitted. “But I don’t know where to start.”

“Let’s start with the easiest and go from there. I stopped doing YouTube and collabing with you and dropped out of everything because it got too overwhelming. I didn’t start making videos with the intention of being famous, and having so many eyes on me and commenting on everything I did got to be too much for me. I could have handled it better if literally every other aspect of my life wasn’t falling apart at the same time.”

Phil nodded. “I did notice you getting overwhelmed but when were we not overwhelmed?”

“I know. But that was honestly the least of my issues. I would say the main one, if you want to jump to that, was my sexuality crisis. You know my previous history in that aspect,” Dan said, pausing to take a deep breath, “and it took me a lot of work in therapy to come to terms with the fact that I’m actually gay. Or, well, queer, but men are what I’m mostly interested in. I don’t know about anything else. You know I had a girlfriend and I was attracted to Sam who was afab but non-binary. I think the androgyny helped me in a weird way because they looked like what I liked but if someone questioned me, that was a person with a vagina and older people wouldn’t really think much of it. And yes, I know it’s a fucked up way to see it. It was unfair to think that way about Sam.”

“Did you guys end up together?” Phil asked, not knowing if he wanted to know or not. Phil had become so obviously jealous back then that Dan had stopped mentioning Sam at all.

Dan snickered. “You had your special vendetta with Sam. No, you’ll be happy to know that I realised that they were probably looking for attention or an ego boost, maybe even subconsciously. I don’t think they were interested in me, not really. I also realised that thinking of them as just someone safe to date to explore my sexuality wasn’t fair, so everything worked out in the end.”

“Right. I didn’t like them anyway, so I’m glad.”

“I know,” Dan said and his brow burrowed into a frown. “That’s what really pushed me to leave everything behind.”

“What?”

“Not Sam, but the fact that I felt like our friendship had crossed so many boundaries that neither of us knew where we stood at any given moment and it was too confusing. We were too jealous of everyone but we weren’t dating, and at times it seemed like you wanted to sleep around, and other times you wanted to be my boyfriend and I - I was the same. To be perfectly honest,” Dan said, pausing as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say something, but he shook his head and continued. “I wanted to be your boyfriend but I wasn’t out of the closet. I am not out of the closet in half of the aspects of my life today, and - and I thought that with me providing therapy at times, it was so wrong,” he let out a humourless snort. “It is a huge no-no to date your patients and even though I wasn’t officially your therapist or had graduated, we had the rapport necessary for that. I felt that I was in part responsible for your feelings for me. When everything around you is so unstable, it’s easy to cling to someone you see as a safe space and project your feelings into something that it’s probably not real.”

Phil’s mouth was agape. “That’s -” he let out a puff of air and gestured vaguely.

“I know, It’s a lot,” Dan conceded. “It was too much for me.”

“You didn’t give me a choice to tell you if my feelings were real or not,” Phil said, feeling offended at the implication.

“You wouldn’t have known. If you ask someone if their feelings are true and they will say yes 100% of the time, even if they are projecting,” Dan explained. “I felt guilty for potentially causing the confusion and also for not taking things anywhere either. I know that from your end it must have felt like I led you on and bailed but I was just as confused as I thought you were, so that was no good.”

“And now?” Phil frowned. “Do you still think I was projecting?”

Dan let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know, but I wish I would have stayed and tried to work it out - with you. We always worked things out together.”

Phil was about to interject when Dan continued.

“On the other hand, I don’t think I would be who I am today if I hadn’t left the safety blanket that was our friendship. You kept saving me every single time and I needed to learn to save myself, to be my own person, not just Dan from Dan and Phil. And I think that you grew into such a beautiful person and into your brand. I feel like being Dan and Phil on camera and in life was stunting our growth. So while I wish I would have stayed and I apologise for the way I handled things, if I had to go back I think I would still leave. For a while at least. I didn’t think it would take me this long to figure it out.”

There was a pregnant pause. Dan kept looking into Phil’s eyes, as if searching for something, but Phil was in a turmoil so big that he could barely form a semi-coherent thought. “I don’t know what to say,” Phil admitted, feeling like his head was about to explode. None of the things he’d planned to say applied to the conversation anymore.

Dan inclined his head in understanding and continued. “I also needed to stay away from the public eye to resolve my identity crisis,” he said. “I am getting tired of having to come out in my day to day life though, so I’ve been writing a YouTube video, a massive one, explaining everything. I think that people deserv- well, no, they don’t deserve it, I know I don’t owe them an explanation - but I would like to let them know why I was so rude at times. Speaking of rude: Do you still speak to Charlie?”

Phil frowned, thinking for a moment. “Skies?”

“Yeah,” Dan confirmed in a sour tone.

“Ew, no. Of course not,” Phil said, taken aback. He hadn’t even thought about Charlie in years. “Outing people is not cool.”

“Good. I don’t like that guy,” Dan admitted. 

“I know.”

Dan leaned forward just a tiny bit, his voice low and almost secretive. “Would you please read the script and watch the video before it comes out? It will be very honest so you will be mentioned.”

“Oh, boy.” Phil’s eyes widened. “What do you plan to say? You haven’t posted in years.”

“Maybe I’ve finally lost it,” Dan laughed. “For now it says something around the lines of that we were friends and more than friends but when it comes to our current relationship we are both very private people so we won’t comment on it.”

Phil downed his already cold coffee but remained silent until he really processed what Dan was trying to say. “So it is a coming out video of sorts.” He said, trying to predict people’s reaction to that. 

Dan nodded. “Is there something I shouldn’t say? My thought process was that we never said it outright but people know we had sex. We constantly posted about it on Twitter and everywhere and you have hickeys in some videos. They were not stupid, they’ve always known.”

“Except for the ones that wanted us to be straight because they want to fuck us,” Phil reminded him.

Dan huffed. “I hope those ones cry.”

“That’s mean,” Phil said but smiled.

“Being homophobic is meaner.”

“True,” Phil said but he reminded himself that he had always tended to do this, just what he was doing now. He was putting Dan first, already helping him with a new project, bouncing a concept and hearing him out just like Dan wanted. It was time to put himself first, and that was something Phil did manage to make progress on over the last few years. “Alright do that,” he mumbled and tried to stir the conversation back to their past issues. “There are a few things I want to know for my peace of mind.”

“Ask away,” Dan said, sitting up.

“Why didn’t you text me? It’s been five years. It just doesn’t make sense with what you’re saying.”

Dan paused, considering it for a moment. “I didn’t understand myself and didn’t want to drag you or our friendship down but I did hope you’d text. Every birthday, and every holiday, I waited, but you never texted. It wasn’t a clean cut that I wanted either, but you stopped reaching out, so it happened naturally.”

Phil’s face morphed into one of pure rage, he knew this because Dan leaned back, almost bracing himself for impact. “I stopped reaching out? When I texted you, you seemed fucking bored and annoyed with me, so I figured you would text me if you really wanted to stay friends,” he hissed. “You know, that’s fucking rich coming from you. You gave me so many mixed signals and only reached out when you needed a shoulder to cry on, or someone to solve your problems, and then just hoped that I would never take the hint that you wanted me fucking gone. How was any of it my fault?”

“I don’t think it was your fault,” Dan said, defensively, “but I think that you sent some mixed signals as well which didn’t help at all.”

“I wasn’t confused. I cried myself to sleep so many times because you acted like you wanted to be my boyfriend and then decided to pretend that it never happened and just asked me how to get into someone else’s pants. What the fuck was that about?” Phil snapped, trying to keep his voice down.

Dan winced. “Well - you were my only friend. I’m not defending my actions, I’m just explaining what my thought process was. And you were experienced with just sleeping with your friends.”

Phil narrowed his eyes at Dan. “Are you slut shaming me?” he said but continued without waiting for a reply. “I told you for years and years that all I wanted was a relationship, someone who treated me well, that didn’t cheat on me and that loved me. How did you take it as me not wanting to be with you? I was just doing what people offered, which was casual sex.”

“And there was Mark. He was not casual,” Dan snapped, raising one eyebrow at him, his eyes full of barely restrained rage.

“I told you a million times that Mark and I were not dating. It was not like that between us. We just had sex because we weren’t dating anyone else.”

Dan exhaled through his nose in disdain. “What about all the times Mark made it clear that I was not welcome in the flat? He was jealous.”

Phil scoffed. “He wasn’t jealous, he just started to hate you because he thought that you were playing games with me and sometimes he did things to test his theory, like kiss me in front of you or be hostile. You failed miserably every time by the way.”

“That drove me insane. I was so jealous of him being able to touch you like that whenever he wanted,” Dan’s face fell, now looking more sad than angry, his voice going lower. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “I’m sorry that I messed up so badly, I really am. Now that I know myself better, I know that - I never got over you, Phil. I still feel exactly the same.” He reached to rest his hand on Phil’s. “If you still-”

Phil pulled his hands away. He felt a cold sensation running down his body and stood suddenly. “No,” he said and rushed out the door, hailing a taxi and going home.

[alltheshadesofamber]

i want— nay, need you all to know that any time someone has mentioned “lazarus pit rage madness” in the tags of one of my jason todd posts, absolutely every single time i have had to resist the urge to grind my teeth to dust and commit violent crimes of passion in the throes of incandescent fury. because i just hate it so much. but i have yet to kill anyone on the internet for being wrong about a fictional character. and i think i deserve praise for that

[skymaiden32]

Mariana Trench

AO3 link here

Fandom: Stingray

Tagging: @dragonoffantasyandreality @thundergeek59 @janetm74 @katblu42 @liseylou @amistrio @uniwolfcorn (Please ask if you would like to be updated when I update or write new stories)

Phones and Fisher go back to Lemoy.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8: The House | Chapter 9

------

The cacophony of noise was almost too much to bear. Phones shrank further in his seat, grateful that every question was directed at the Commander rather than at him, or anyone else for that matter. Fisher had an expression on his face that told Phones that the younger Lieutenant felt exactly the same way. Looking over at Atlanta just strengthened those feelings. She looked, for lack of a better expression, dead inside.

They all turned their attention back to Commander Shore, who had somehow managed to get the auditorium back to an acceptable volume. “Simmer down, everyone! I understand your concerns, but the last thing we want is to be divided. I will answer any questions you may have, one at a time…” The room was, finally, completely silent. “So, anyone?” He pointed to an officer in the back. “Yes?”

“Why would Captain Tempest have joined Titan?” The people around him agreed. “They hate each other.”

Shore sighed. “At this point, we are unsure of the exact reason.” He began. “However, it’s been over half a year since he was in our midst, and upon further discussion with Lieutenant Sheridan and Lieutenant Fisher, we have come to the conclusion that Captain Tempest may have been forced into Titan’s service. He may also be psychologically compromised or controlled in some way. Any more questions?” He looked around the room, eyes landing on someone up front. “Fire away.”

“Could you comment on the Captaincy of Stingray? Will Lieutenant Sheridan remain in command? Or will he step down, on account of his past friendship with Captain Tempest?” 

Past friendship? Past? Phones resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he was still going to command Stingray! Troy was still his friend. He was still important to him. He always would be. Nothing, not even what had just been revealed, could possibly change that. He just hoped he was still important to Troy…

Commander Shore caught Phones’ eye, giving him a questioning glance. They hadn’t really discussed this yet, but they didn’t need to. Phones gave the older man a singular nod back, causing Shore to smirk slightly. “I can confirm that Lieutenant Sheridan is to remain in command of Stingray. This decision is final, and will not be changed unless Lieutenant Sheridan decides to leave the post of his own accord.” He added with a note of finality. “Any other questions?” You could’ve heard a pin drop. “No? In that case, you are all dismissed.”

------

Whispers of pity and betrayal followed him all the way up to the Control Tower to talk to the Commander.

“Can you believe it? Troy Tempest, an agent of Titan?”

“I never thought I’d see the day Troy would betray us…”

“Can we trust Phones?”

“Can we trust anybody?”

“Poor guy. He must feel awful about all this…”

They were all resolutely ignored, although Phones did breath a sigh of relief as he closed the door. Shore’s gruff voice immediately prompted him to turn around. “Good, you’re here.” Phones saluted, causing his superior to chuckle. “No need for that, Phones.” The Lieutenant put his hand down, noticing that Fisher and Atlanta were already in the room. Still no sign of Marina then… “Are you ready for your next mission, boys?”

Phones grinned, exchanging a look with Fisher. “Born ready, Commander.”

“Good. Come take a look at this.” He pointed at the large map on the other side of the room. “Aquaphibian sightings have increased exponentially since your last mission along various faultlines.” A variety of dots appeared on screen. “And according to WASP patrol crews, there are also more ships on the prowl around Titanica than ever before.” Phones hummed thoughtfully. “Titan is planning something, and it’s our job to stop it.”

“But, how?” Fisher raised an eyebrow. “If there are more Titanican patrol vessels, going straight to the city is more dangerous.”

“The increase in patrols is probably Troy’s doing…” Atlanta mused, prompting everyone in the room to freeze. “He was always saying security there was way too lax.” Her voice was harsh, but the sorrow there was hard to hide.

Commander Shore’s brow furrowed. “If getting to Titanica is a tall order, even for Stingray, it may be best for us to wait. Let Titan, and Troy, make the first move.” He sighed. “It’s risky, but it’s the only option we have...”

Phones’ eyes widened, remembering something. “Maybe not…” Shore gestured for him to continue. “Remember the Island of Lemoy? When we went there to investigate Troy’s disappearance, we found a comms system in the house.”

The Commander nodded. “I remember. You mentioned it was where you went for your psychiatric check-up. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Now that we know there’s a comm system there, and getting rid of me was one of his plans, the house was probably a base for one of Titan’s agents. And since we don’t have anyone stationed there…”

Fisher caught on immediately. “It might still be in use by whoever it belonged to! Even if it’s not, we might be able to find out more.”

“Alright.” Shore grinned. “It’s a long-shot, but it’s the only lead we have. Get to it boys.”

------

Stingray had been on the island for quite some time now. Phones shuddered involuntarily as he remembered what had happened the last time they were here. That was the last time he’d seen Troy. Until recently, at least. They knew from the start that the whole thing was a set up, but no-one could’ve guessed just how much heartbreak it would cause. He sighed as the duo made their way up to the house.

Fisher quickly picked up on his distress. “You okay? I know how badly you were shaken up last time you were here.”

The senior Lieutenant frowned. “It’s nothing compared to what happened on the mission to Titanica.” His face softened in an attempt to get Fisher to stop worrying about him. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Uh huh.” Fisher’s eyes narrowed. “Sure.”

“Seriously, I am.” The bushes rustled. “Wait a minute, what was that?”

“What was what?”

“I think I just heard something in those bushes.” He pointed to where the noise came from.

“I don’t see anything.” Fisher shrugged. “It might’ve been a rabbit or something. You sure you’re okay?”

Phones gave him a look. “I keep telling you. I’m fine.” He shook himself. “You’re probably right. It’s some kind of animal…” A few moments of silence passed before they turned back to the house in front of them. “Let’s do this.”

The door opened and shut behind them, causing the creature to breath a sigh of relief. “Captain, the Stingray crew are in the house. This has never happened while I was operating here before. What should I do?”

The voice on the other end of the line sighed. “I’m starting to see why the King has started losing faith in his men, X20. You’re all completely hopeless without guidance…” The surface agent watched as Captain Trench pinched the bridge of his nose. “No wonder you always lost.” He muttered under his breath, before frowning. “They cannot find those plans, under any circumstances.” He hummed. “But, then again, it may be beneficial for Stingray to stay on Lemoy considering…” A minute passed before his orders were given. “Do as you see fit. Do whatever you can to distract them, but don’t hurt them. Under any circumstances...”

“You don’t…” X20 paused. “You don’t still have some kind of loyalty to them, do you?”

Trench huffed. “No, any loyalty I had towards WASP died a long time ago. Commander Shore will send search parties if they go missing, and that means more WASP operatives in the house. That is the last thing we want…”

X20 saluted. “Understood. I’ll handle this.” He smirked.

“Don’t let me down, X20.”

“Not a chance, sir…”

------

Getting blindsided by the owner of the house was not what Phones was expecting today. Of course, they didn’t blame the poor man for yelling, after all they’d entered his home without permission. Yet, somehow they hadn’t been kicked out. As a matter of fact, they’d been welcomed with open arms. So here they were, sitting down and having a surprisingly pleasant conversation. If Phones was honest, this guy was lonely enough that he’d try to get along with anyone.

“And you’re sure there’s nothing,” Fisher hid a grimace, “weird about this place?”

“Oh, I’m quite sure.” The man sipped his coffee. “Nothing unusual here…”

Phones put his cup down, suspicious. “Well, then in that case, we’ll be off.” He attempted to get up, before the man stopped him.

“No, wait! I’m so lonely here, in this big house with no-one to talk to.” He gestured to the aquanauts in front of him. “You’re the only people I’ve seen in a long time, even if you did come in without me knowing. Please stay for just a little longer.”

Fisher looked at Phones. “Could we?”

Phones sighed. “No. We need to report back to base.” He looked at the strange man before him. The more he looked, the more he was certain of it. This was no human... “I’m very sorry, but we have to get home.” They stood up in tandem, making their way to the door. “Thank you for your hospitality, but…”

“I’m afraid you don’t have much choice about that, Lieutenant.” Bars slid up across the windows and the door with a clunk. Phones turned around just as the homeowner’s hand left the button on the table. He rose and went to stand between Phones and the door. Both aquanauts gasped when they saw who it was. 

“Surface agent X20. I knew I smelled something fishy here.” Phones almost hissed.

Titan’s agent just chuckled darkly. “Thank you so much for offering yourselves up on a silver platter…” Just as Phones was about to say something else, his communicator flashed an urgent red. X20 smirked. “You better answer that, Sheridan.”

Phones shakily lifted the device up to his ear. “Yes, Commander Shore?”

The Commander’s voice was clear against the buzzing Phones could hear in his head. “Titan’s just unleashed an attack on Pacifica!” The Lieutenant’s head was suddenly clear again.

“What?” He threw a glare X20’s way. He’d kept them distracted while Titan went in for the kill against WASP’s greatest undersea ally.

“We need Stingray here, now!”

Phones flinched when X20 got right up in his face, causing Fisher to bristle. The agent grabbed a hold of the comms unit and yanked it out of Phones’ grasp. “I’m sorry, there’s going to be a bit of a hold-up…”

Shore gasped, realising who’s voice it was almost immediately. “You-” Before he could finish that sentence, the device was promptly crushed under X20’s heel.

“Oops…” The agent smirked. “Good luck finding someone to get you out now…”

Phones and Fisher exchanged a worried look as X20 walked out the room, locking the door behind him. Their friends were in danger, and they were trapped.

[marxalittle]

I have mild-to-moderate-to-severe general anxiety disorder (GAD! Is, in fact, how I often feel, both in general and about this). It’s medication-resistant because my brain is hooked up funny, which is also a reason why I have this problem in the first place. There are various ways I can reduce or assuage it, and various things I have done over the years to placate it; it comes and goes, it better and worse, but it’s always there.

One of the things which this gives rise to is “nagging worries about everything especially the unfamiliar,” which often manifests as “paranoia that something which shouldn’t go wrong may suddenly go wrong and upend an entire necessary sequence” resulting in me making double or triple sure of things, scouting routes before I need to be somewhere at a time, and generally doing a lot of things which strongly resemble time-wasting busywork. Again, the severity and degree is better and worse depending on my overall state, the severity of what could go wrong, the degree of unfamiliarity etc etc and so on.

I try not to listen to the paranoia too much, but sometimes it’s just easier to eat the time and settle my mind. Today, I got one of those little reminders about, not Why I’m Like This (brain hooked up funny), but the positive side to listening to the urge to be certain.

Recently I moved to Chicago, and I brought a car with me because I had no other viable choice. My plan is to sell it in the next few months, but for now, I’m saddled with it. Anyway, Chicago has a lot of rules about who can park where and when and for how long and what days and they’re generally posted where you can see them on street signs every block but it’s very overwhelming for a person inclined to having their mind eroded if left uncertain about something with Consequences. Through careful street sign analysis, however, I located a few blocks within a reasonable walk of my new place which didn’t require a neighborhood code on the tags and didn’t have standing April-Nov street sweeping (and weren’t snow routes, and didn’t have school-hour or M-F special parking or tow zones, or … on like this), and parked my car there before leaving for vacation.

A lot of things happened in a very short span in August, okay.

Anyway, when I got back I had received the city tag entitling me to park in the city without getting ticketed (if noticed), slapped it on my car, and then left it for another week, satisfied that it was immune to further interference by the parking regime.

Today is Tuesday. Tomorrow is Wednesday.

Tomorrow, I’m doing a bunch of logistics stuff which requires the use of my car. Once I had taken care of all the other scheduling, my anxiety immediately demanded that I check on the car. It hadn’t been started for two weeks. There might be an abandoned-vehicle regulation about cars that don’t move for 14 days. Someone might have hit it while parallel parking.

I had two choices: ignore the itch (and let it fester), or take a trip out to see my car. It’s a twenty minute walk, about half that on my skateboard, or if I catch the bus at the right time, about ten minutes still but air conditioned. I grabbed the board (I love living somewhere with big enough sidewalks that I can just take the cruiser to cut down my travel time) and my car keys and set out to calm the paranoid demon that would otherwise gnaw on my brain all goddamned day. Besides, if something had happened, I was going to need the maximum amount of business hours to figure out who to contact about vehicles towed by the city, and where to buy my car back from its officially sanctioned thieves.

Well! As soon as I got into the neighborhood, off the main thoroughfare which gets street-swept all season, I noticed a bunch of the orange temporary signs that the streets and sanitation dept wraps around trees to signal their intentions to the locals. Specifically, a bunch of W for Wednesday signs on the side of the street where I’d parked my car, and TH for Thursday on the opposite side. Those weren’t there last weekend, so they must be fairly recent. 9am-2pm, tow zone, street sweeping, photo enforced.

I sped up, sweating and muttering, hoping that those had gone up over the weekend and not last week. My relief when my car was still there, unticketed and untowed, was damn near catastrophic.

Very calmly, I unlocked the car, started it (right up like normal), let things run for a minute, and then pulled out of my spot and into a new one, half a block away, on the Thursday side. Tomorrow when I get there, my car will not be in danger of towing for being on the street sweeping side, and it will start. When I’m done with it, I will drive around a little until I find a spot on the Wednesday side, park, and be at ease until next Tuesday morning, when I will head over to move it again, until the signs go away.

Things like this happening don’t do a damn thing for my attempts to calm my anxiety and resist doing the things it wants me to do, by the way. They do, however, impress upon me that sometimes, especially in new environments, it’s worth it to be sure.

[melancholic-hues]

i loved you from the start

posted on AO3

kafblade week 2024: prompt - first meeting

fandom - honkai: star rail

rating - general audiences

warning - no warnings apply

category - f/m

pairings - blade/kafka

tags- kafblade week 2024 ; first meetings ; canon compliant

word count - 823 words

-

He stumbles into the deserted, empty town square, breathing ragged, clothing and mind alike in shambles.

He cannot remember what day it is.

He cannot remember his name.

He cannot remember how he got here.

All that remains in his mind and soul is the burning flame of hate.

To the woman in icy blue and a blindfold who’d impaled him over and over again as he rose from the dead each time, carving the words: “ of five people, three must pay a price ” into his every wound, not letting him forget. 

To the man with black hair and wields that cursed spear, to whom he has dedicated his life — however many times he resurrects, gasping for breath and hands clawing for the stability he will never get  — to pursue. Making sure they both pay the price forced upon them. He has long since forgotten why the pursuit was necessary, except for the boiling rage and vengeance that bubbled up every time he thought of that man.

The broken rock crunches underneath his boots, and he is met by two figures. A woman with wine-red hair and sunglasses on top of her head. Next to her stands a hulk of armor.

Before they can say or do anything, he lets the monster overtake him and draws his sword.

-

There is the faint taste of iron in his mouth and crimson in his sight. He cannot move, his limbs stiff and numb. 

He must’ve died.

His head snaps up, eyes cracking open and gulping for air. He coughs, liquid dripping down the corners of his mouth and shoulders shaking. His arms are binded behind him, and he is on his knees, the sharp pieces of broken concrete digging into his skin and cutting him, only to be immediately healed.

He jerks forward, the monster in him ravenous and desperate, but the cold metal arms that chain him does not falter.

The woman steps forward, dragging a blade the same color as her hair behind her, and he is hefted up but still imprisoned. Everything rushes back to him. He had drawn his sword against them and lost. They had killed him and waited for his body to heal to talk to him. What do they want?

He stares at the woman, into her hypnotizing magenta eyes.

“ Listen ,” she says, and his entire body stills.

He is frozen in his spot, deprived of any self will except to focus on this woman’s words and to obey her every command. This is different from the other times someone had tried to placate him. This monster inside of him has never quelled, yet this woman’s gentle voice had calmed it with one word.

“I can always kill you again, otherwise I can’t bring you back.” She steps in front of him, her every action calm and collected and elegant. What is a woman like this doing in front of a mindless, revenge-filled beast like him? Her voice is honey and glue, and he is stuck holding onto every word she says.

“But I don’t want to.”

The woman leans down next to his ear and he has to resist the urge to shiver. She whispers everything he had ever wanted.

It is a deal he can’t refuse.

“What do you people want?” he rasps, his own voice hoarse and nothing like hers.

“Is there anything more satisfying than seeing how the undying die? That's what he said,” she answers, wry amusement in her tone.

He doesn’t respond. He has seen very pretty women throughout all his lives, but there is something especially captivating about her. Maybe it’s the way she carries herself. Maybe it's her unique appearance.

The woman nods, and the armor that binds him releases him. He stumbles forward a step then catches himself. He spots his sword, shattered to pieces, laying on the crumbling concrete ground a few paces away.

He picks it up, and the blade repairs itself. He returns it to its sheath. He does not have fond memories of this weapon, only those filled with agony and pain that are reverberated through the wounds on his body.

This… Destiny figure is up ahead, and he will be leaving with them. His hands don't leave the sheath.

“ Listen , Bladie, loosen up.”

Her honeyed voice washes over him and pulls on his strings. He is a mere puppet in her presence. His hands drop to his side. His shoulders relax, and the tenseness leaves his body. It drains out of him like water.

The woman has given him a name. Bladie — a nickname for Blade. Fitting, perhaps.

“ Listen , don’t think about anything at all.”

He nods.

The woman walks to his side, a smile on her lips. Yet, he thinks her smile looks very sad.

Maybe someone left her before they could listen to everything she had to say, he thinks.

Blade decides right there, then, he will listen to everything she says.

[writeformesinpie]

Late Night Assignment

CEO Jungkook x Fem!Reader 

Summary - Your boss asks you to stay late even though he knows you have a date. Things end up getting heated. 

Genre - Office AU/Smut 

Warnings - Smut, flirting, slight degradation and name calling, vaginal sex, nipple play, language, teasing, unprotected sex, cream pie, etc  

Word Count - 2.7k

Tag List - @kpoptrashlord-007 @justanotherstarlightmonger

A/N - Oops, this was meant to be posted for Jungkook’s birthday - I’m only a couple of days late

    Desperate taps against the keyboard. Stolen glances at the computer's clock. A quick wave with a tight smile as your last coworker bids you farewell.

    You shouldn’t be here. It’s already too late. One more email and you’ll pack up.

    Nimble fingers glide across the table, one hand typing out your final salutation as the other digs into the drawer. Hooking a finger around the strap of your handbag, you press send and watch as your message disappears, on its way to another company, someone else’s problem.

    “There you are.”

    Your thumb hovers in front of the power button, your body leaning across the desk to reach it. Resisting the urge to run you instead take a deep breath of the office’s stale air. Closing your eyes tight, you compose yourself.

    “I wonder if you could help me figure out the Johnson case.”

    “The Johnson case?”

    Sitting back down you swivel in the black chair to face your boss. He’s smiling. Of course he’s smiling – he’s always smiling. His slicked back hair has loosened from the product he used this morning, his dark waves tumbling free to sweep across his face, giving him a more relaxed look.

    “Yeah, I need someone to bounce some ideas against.”

    “I can’t tonight. I told you I have a date.”

    “Oh?” There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes before his face stills into a frown. “Was that tonight?”

    He knows it’s tonight; you told him last week and you reminded him this morning that you needed to leave on time. Why is he acting like this now when just this morning he seemed so uninterested in the whole conversation? It’s just like him to change his mind at the last minute. Something tickles at the corner of his brain about the advertisement mere hours before the company is due to arrive for the scheduled presentation leaving destruction in his wake. Every hand on deck. Or worse, when much like tonight, he decides to change something right before you’re about to log out for the weekend.

    “Well, I’m sure he won’t mind waiting.”

    “Who said it was a he?”

    Jungkook gives you a onceover before letting his eyes focus on your face, his features tight and unforgiving. “I’m sure they won’t mind waiting.”

    “Are you seriously asking this of me right now?” There’s no point in asking, he’s already turning away, beckoning you with a flick of his wrist, not bothering to turn and see if you’re following. You punch the air a few times with tight balled fists before pulling out your phone and sending a message of sincere regret. The career you fought so hard to obtain is destroying your dating life. If you don’t leave this job soon you may very well end up a spinster.

    Dragging your feet, you take your time, dawdling towards Jungkook’s office. Pushing the door all the way open you waddle over to the furthest chair with a pout on your lips, resigning to sulk until he finally lets you go home. What a waste of a Friday night.

    “You don’t have to stay if you really don’t want to.” When you shoot up and take a step towards the door, he continues, “I guess I’ll just do it myself. All alone. It’ll take twice as long but that’s fine.”

    This time you give in to your inner urges, your eyes rolling so dramatically you’re afraid they might pop out of your skull. Shuffling closer you sit in the chair in front of his desk, grabbing the file and browsing its contents.

    “What do you need? It looks like everything is in order,” you say as you turn the last few pages. It looks like it’s been read at least fifty times, the pages creased with a few coffee stains littering the crisp white paper.

    “So what’s this date of yours like?”

    “Excuse me?”

    “What does he do? How long have you been talking?”

    Your knotted brows ease as you realise what this is all about. “Are you jealous?”

    “Jealous? Of course not,” he says leaning back, arms crossed in front of his chest as he snuggles into the plush chair. “I just wanted to make sure you’re not dating some loser.”

    “Oh? You’re worried about me?” you tease, a smirk adorning your lips.

    “Worried about the company. It’s inconvenient to have to deal with the mess that comes from a bad relationship. Or worse, a good one.”

    “What mess comes from a good relationship?”

    “Marriage. Taking time off from work for the honeymoon. Then children usually follow and that’s maternity leave. You might as well just be a stay-at-home mother at that point.”

    “What?” You laugh and shake your head. Is he being serious?

    “Kids are always getting sick. They carry viruses. They’re practically a walking disease. If you’re not taking off time for them you’ll be taking time off for yourself. Years of illnesses and for what?”

    “A life changing experience filled with joy, unconditional love and new life lessons?”

    “No. After 18 years–no, let's be serious, these days it’s well into the 20’s–after all that time and effort you put into raising and loving them they just up and leave. After all that sacrifice you are simply abandoned.”

    “That’s what the spouse is for.”

    “Unless they leave, too? Probably for a newer model.”

    “A newer model? What are we, cars?” Scrunching up your face, you lean over and pat him on the shoulder. “Who hurt you?”

    He looks from you to your hand (now rubbing his shoulder) then back to your face, his fierce eyes betraying his poker face. Dropping your hand, you ease onto the edge of his desk in an awkward attempt to make yourself look relaxed. Instead your skirt ends up tangling up under your butt, the fabric pulled tight against your thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination. As you try to pull your skirt back down to an acceptable length in a nonchalant way you rock back and forth and end up knocking a stack of papers off of the desk.

    “Shit.”

    Jumping to the floor on your hands and knees, your arms flailing out in every direction, you scramble to collect the paperwork, jumbled in a puzzle of white. You have the worst luck. Jungkook clicks his teeth behind you as you mumble an apology and start the tedious process of piecing the piles back together.

    After a few moments, while wondering why Jungkook isn’t at least pretending to help, you sneak a look over your shoulder. Heat licks your cheeks and you snap your hand back around, pulling on your skirt. How could you be so stupid? The silky material of your skirt got caught up as you jumped to the floor exposing god only knows what to your boss. The way his eyes bore into yours with a distinct glimmer of lust makes you think he may have caught a glimpse of your lacy thong underneath.

    Scooping the last pile of paper together the heat of embarrassment spreads from your face to your core as you remember the look on his face. Raw. Animalistic. What is he thinking? It takes every ounce of your self respect not to turn and crawl towards him.

    The second hand ticks louder than before, bringing your attention to the large moon-shaped clock up on the wall. You’ve been here for only fifteen minutes yet it feels like an eternity.

    Standing you mutter, “Excuse me,” under your breath as you place the last stack back on the table. Refusing to look at him you instead hang your head as you continue, “Well, if that's all…”

    “You’re leaving already? But we haven’t even started.”

    “I think that’s enough humiliation for today,” you say, trudging towards the door.

    Before you can reach it however, you hear the familiar sound of paper plopping against the ground. With a snap of the neck you turn back towards Jungkook’s desk, your feet carrying you to the scene of the crime before you realise something. You were nowhere near the table when the new mishap happened and judging from Jungkook’s lazy grin as he continues to lean back in the office chair either was he.

    “Oops.”

    “Did you do that on purpose?” you ask from your half-squat position. Standing, you take a step back as he does the same, his steps quicker than your own, each stride bringing him closer until he is close enough to touch.

    “And what if I did?” His brow lifts on the last word as you back into the wall behind you. “Do you think I don’t notice your pitifully obvious attempts to catch my attention?”

    “What do you mean?” you practically scoff, turning your head to look away from him.

    “The slutty outfits.”

    “Slutty outfits! What outfits?”

    “The way you sashay around the office.”

    “We call that walking where I come from.”

    “The intoxicating perfume you adorn yourself with,” he says, his fingers twisting around your wrist to hold you in place as he leans close, his lips against your neck. “Every scent you wear is more exhilarating than the last.”

    His fingers dig into your flesh as he litters light kisses up your throat that leave a trail of fire against your skin, the rough and sweet a certain torture to your erratic heartbeat. A heartbeat that echoes under his very touch.

  �� This isn’t how you imagined him finally making his move. The slutty outfits, the tempting struts around the office, the scents. You had started to think he wasn’t interested. Who would’ve thought all it would take for him to notice was giving up?

    “Do you like it?”

    “Hmm?” His fingers entwine with yours above your head as he nibbles on your ear.

    “Today's perfume.”

    “I can’t get enough,” he says, a sly grin on his face as his fingers trace down the length of your arms. “You smell like spicy whipped cream. I want to take my time tasting every single inch of you but I can’t stand not having you another moment.”

    His teeth dig into your neck and you moan out from the pleasure and pain. Lifting you up he carries you over to his desk, leaning you against the edge as he shoves everything to the ground with a carnal growl. Papers flutter in the air and before you can fret about how long it’s going to take to get everything back in order your back knocks up against the cool mahogany wood beneath you.

    Agile fingers make quick work of your blouse. With a quick inhale of breath he takes a moment to drink you in as his hands explore your exposed skin. Your nipples perk up both due to his touch and the chilled breeze swirling down from the vent above Jungkook’s desk.

    “Is it always this cold here?”

    “I’ll warm you up,” he murmurs against your chest, one hand snaking under your skirt while the other cups your breast. While sucking on the supple skin, his fingers find your panties, damp and clinging to your throbbing cunt. His tongue glides across the rim of your nipple before rolling it gently between his teeth.

    Arching your back you grind your pussy against his fingers. Desperate for more you push against the constricting fabric as far as you can. He drags your lace thong down to your ankles and leaves them dangling on one foot as he turns his attention back to your core. His fingers trace messages against your clit as he continues to dine on your swollen breasts.

    “Stop teasing me, Kookie,” you moan the words, ignoring his raised brow as he kisses his way up the middle of your chest. “Just fuck me already.”

    “Patience is a virtue, beautiful.”

    “I don’t want to be virtuous,” you say, shifting back and forth under him. He pulls his fingers out from under your skirt and you let out a whine.

    “Suck,” he commands, his fingers hover in front of your mouth. Parting your lips he slips them inside. Your tongue glides against his digits a few times before you clamp down sucking on them like they’re an ice block. Almost as delicious. “Good girl.”

    Pulling them back he ignores your pout, shoving his hand back between your thighs. Biting your bottom lip you watch as he slips one of his fingers inside. Slow. Controlled. He has the power and he refuses to let it go. Not that you mind. You try to keep your eyes glued to his but by the time he slides in the third finger you’re writhing under his touch, the cool air from the vent no longer enough to keep the heat building between you at bay.

    “It’s okay, baby, you can come.”

    “No.”

    “No?”

    “No,” you sob, the pleasure continuing to build as he quickens the pace of his fingers. “No, I want you inside. I want to come with you.”

    He pulls out his fingers with a chuckle, the slick sound of your excitement quickly followed by the clinking sound of his belt buckle and the pull of his zipper. He stares down at you licking his fingers with a hum, his dick nuzzling up against your pussy before he pulls back. Before you can complain his lips are on yours, his hands in your hair pulling you closer. Bruising kisses follow tiny nips then his tongue dances along your lips before he pushes inside you, his full girth filling every inch of your cunt.

    “Oh my God,” you sputter out the words and it comes out distorted as he sucks on your bottom lip. He doesn’t give you time to adjust before he thrusts his hips against yours, his thick cock propelling deep within your tight walls.

    The musky smell of his sweat combined with the sweet aroma of his cologne fills the room as the sound of skin on skin rebounds off the walls. Sweat trickles down the back of your neck as his pace quickens. Raking your nails up the bulging muscles of his arms you toss your head back and forth unable to utter a word. Breathless.

    Savage hunger burns inside as you buck your hips up in time to meet his. Frantic desire fills you to the core, seeping out of every pore. It’s not enough. You want him to fill you more.

    “Don’t you dare stop,” you say, the words practically a growl from between clenched teeth. He smirks down at you but he doesn’t stop, instead his pace increases. He drills deep inside, each thrust eliciting a guttural moan.

    Curling toes and fingers digging into the taut flesh of his shoulders hint at your climax and somehow he hastens the velocity of his movements. You blink away tears as your body erupts into liquid fire, a demonic spark of pure ecstasy rippling waves of fire across your skin.

    You allow yourself to drown in the pleasure as your body jerks in unison with Jungkook’s soothing movements. His cock throbs and pulses inside of you, his body tensing as he cages you within. He rocks back and forth a few more times before he relaxes against you, pinning you under him. Panting you wrap your arm across his back and kiss his neck, the smell of his skin easing you back into a comfortable rhythm.

    “That was hot,” you purr against his ear, raking your fingers through his black waves. The mess on the floor catches your eyes and you make a move to get up.

    “Where do you think you’re going?” You motion towards the paperwork and office supplies scattered across the floor. “Leave it.”

    “It won’t take long to–”

    “It’ll just end up back on the floor again,” he says, his lips trailing across your neck down your throat.

    “Are you trying to fuck me until I can’t stand?”

    “I like the sound of that,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. He pushes his cock back inside with ease causing both his come and your previous arousal to drip down your cunt. “But don’t worry, I can carry you to my car when we’re done.”

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