#good to know I’ve worked out how to make F-Zero posts

[fierykitten2]

(Images from Bulbapedia, the F-Zero (NIWA) wiki and BBC Good Food)

This is what happens when you think about Black City and White Forest and realise the last song you paused your music at on your phone is Bianca City. Apparently I’m really in the mood for F-Zero x Pokémon shitposts atm (not necessarily directly related to F-Zero X or Pokémon X (and Y) that’s just the way I tag crossover posts)

[merrybloomwrites]

Cheese is a Good Thing (Larry x Reader)

Summary: Attending your first Louis Tomlinson concert doesn't exactly go as planned. A trash can full of cheese and a chance encounter on a tour bus lead to a night you'll never forget.

Content Warning: smut, threesome (m, m, f) p-in-v-sex, protected sex, light dom/sub dynamic, one night stand

Word Count: 5.2K

Authors Note: This was supposed to be a very silly oneshot inspired by me actually almost falling in a trashcan full of cheese in order to move out of Oli's way at a concert. And then the devil took over and now it's possibly the smuttiest thing I've written?

I also know that I said I was taking a hiatus from posting, but I already had this started and people expressed interest in Louis x Harry x Reader so I wanted to get one story out there. Hope you enjoy!

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“Y/N, you know I don’t like when you go to things like this by yourself.” 

You roll your eyes at your mothers voice, glad that this is just a phone call so she can’t see the gesture. 

“Mom, I’m almost 30 years old. I’m smart. I know how to take care of myself.”

“I know. Still makes me nervous. Call me when you get home okay?”

“You know you’ll be asleep before Louis even gets on stage,” you reply. If there’s one thing about your mother that’s never changed, it’s her habit of going to bed early. 

“I wish we’d set up that app on my phone so I can see where you are,” she says. 

“We did set it up,” you state. “You just don’t know how to use it.”

“Oh, that’s right. How do I find you again?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes again at the question, since you’ve taught her how to use Find My Friends about one hundred times.

“I’ve really got to get going, parking is going to be tough so I don’t want to be late.”

“Of course, okay. Have fun and be safe!”

“Thanks mom, I will. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“You’d better, I want to hear all about it!”

You almost laugh at that, since your mother literally has zero idea who Louis Tomlinson is, but you appreciate the effort. After a final goodbye you hang up the call. 

Before leaving, you glance in the mirror one last time to make sure everything is in order. Your hair is pulled up in a ponytail, your make up looks perfect, and your simple shorts and tank top sit just right. It’s a hot day, the middle of summer, and the last thing you want is to overheat.

The drive to the venue doesn’t take long, as it’s only a couple of towns over. It’s a smaller place, basically a big parking lot that got turned into a space for concerts. After waiting in line, you finally make your way inside to find a spot. It’s all general admission so you can choose to be anywhere.

The front right by the stage is already completely filled. You could get into the middle of the crowd, but you’d rather hang towards the back. While you do love Louis, it’s still broiling hot out and being surrounded by people doesn’t sound like a fun time.

Towards the back of the space is a large tent which seems to be the control center. Sound and lighting techs are working from there, as well as security personnel. There are metal gates around the tent, with an opening on the side for the staff to come and go.

This is where you station yourself. You’re outside the fence, just behind the opening. There’s a trash can behind you which essentially means no one will be able to press closely to you. Plus, if you lean over towards the fence you get a less obstructed view of the stage.

All in all, you think you’ve secured yourself a pretty good spot. You have a great time listening to the openers, and then Giant Rooks leaves the stage. It’s almost time for you to watch Louis perform live for the first time in your life.

There’s activity in the tent, and you see a man who looks kind of familiar walking out of it rolling some equipment. You try to move back a bit more to be out of his way, but the cart he’s moving still bumps into you.

It doesn’t hurt you, but it does cause you to lose your balance. And honestly, you have the worst coordination, and even worse luck. So it’s no surprise to you when you fall backwards and land not on the ground, but in the garbage can. 

There’s something warm and sticky, and you vaguely remember seeing lots of people eating nachos. Cheese. You’ve landed in basically a vat of cooling liquid cheese. Well, that’s unfortunate. 

“Holy shit, Are you okay? I'm so sorry.” A strongly accented and very worried sounding voice asks you from above. You look up and see the same man, now realizing that you recognize him from Louis’ documentary. It’s Oli, his best friend and manager. And he’s just sent you flying into a trash can. 

“I’m okay,” you reply, more shocked than anything. 

“Here,” he says as he thrusts his hand towards you. “Let me get you out of there.”

You place your hand in his and he helps pull you out until you’re standing in front of him. 

“Seriously, Are you okay?” He asks. You take a moment to assess if you have any injuries before reassuring him that you are not hurt. 

“I am literally covered in cheese sauce though,” you add with a laugh. 

“Shit, again I am so sorry. Here, come with me and we’ll get you cleaned up and in some new clothes.”

You decide to trust this man, though you really don’t have a reason to. Maybe your mom was right to be worried about you going to a concert alone, seeing as you’ve landed yourself in quite a predicament. 

“You can rinse off in the shower on the bus and there should probably be some clothes you can have. I can grab you a merch shirt to wear if you’d like.”

“Uhm, yea anything not coated in cheese would be perfect,” you reply. 

He leads you behind the stage and over to the buses. “I share this one with Louis and a couple guys from the band. They’re due to be getting ready with the sound techs so the bus should be empty,” Oli explains, pointing to the bus at the end. When you reach it he opens the door gesturing for you to enter first. 

As it turns out, Oli was wrong. Because the bus certainly is not empty. 

“Oh shit!” You exclaim as you process the sight in front of you before you quickly turn to face the other way. Oli walks into the bus and first notices the wide eyes on your face before looking behind you. And what he sees behind you is an image you’ll never erase from your brain. 

Because what you’d just walked in on is Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles shirtlessly making out on the couch. 

“Oli you better not have brought this girl in here to-”

“To do exactly what you and Harry were doing? Obviously not,” Oli replies. 

“Then explain why she’s here.”

“I accidentally pushed her into a garbage bin full of cheese sauce.”

You’re still facing away from them meaning they can easily see the mess on your clothes and skin. There’s a rustling sound and then Louis says, “You can turn around love, I promise we’re decent now.”

You do as instructed and see that the pair are now wearing shirts and are seated next to each other, rather than with Harry straddling Louis' lap like he was when you’d entered. 

“Did he really knock you into a trash bin?” Harry asks. 

“Yea, he was moving a cart with equipment and it bumped into me,” you explain. 

“Mate, you are an idiot,” Louis says with a laugh. 

“In his defense, it is pretty difficult to move through the crowd out there,” you clarify. 

“Well, it doesn't change the fact that you obviously came here to clean up and find new clothes, right?” Louis asks. 

“Exactly,” you answer. 

“What’s your name,” Harry asks. 

“I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you guys,” you reply. 

“I’m going to grab her one of the merch t-shirts, do you think there’s any shorts in here that’ll fit her?” Oli says. 

“I think I have something that will work,” Louis replies. 

“And bring back an NDA with you,” Harry adds. Oli just nods in understanding and walks out, closing the door behind him. 

Harry turns to you and says, “I hope you understand about the NDA. It’s not that we don’t trust you but we’ve been keeping this secret for a while. We’d really like to know that you won’t go around telling people about what you saw.”

“Oh, I totally get that,” you reply. A blush paints your cheeks as you think about what you witnessed. 

The two boys watch your reaction and share a look with each other. They seem to communicate silently for a moment before Harry takes a step towards you. 

“Did you like what you saw?” He asks. His tone isn’t judgemental, nor is it angry. In fact, it seems to be teasing, or almost hopeful. 

“I mean, I promise I looked away the second I realized. I really didn’t see anything,” you answer. 

“Would you like to?” Louis asks. 

This has your mind basically going offline. Did Louis Tomlinson really just ask if you want to see him and Harry Styles make out? Or maybe even do more than that? 

“Aw, babe, she’s blushing. I think he wants to join us,” Harry says to Louis, in a voice certainly meant to make you squirm. 

“Oh you’re right, love, she definitely wants to,” Louis replies. 

He walks forward, until he’s standing right in front of you. His hands move to cup your face and he asks, “Would it be alright if I kissed you? Wouldn’t want to leave you out of the fun.”

You nod, but he gives you a look, silently telling you to use your words. “Yes, it’s alright,” you confirm. And then his lips are on you. They’re plush, yet demanding, and in no time his tongue is breaching your lips, caressing the inside of your mouth. 

As quickly as it began, the kiss ends. It leaves you breathless and dizzy. Louis steps back and you feel like you’ll fall to the floor, except now Harry is there, his hands on your hips. After once again asking your consent, he leans in for a kiss of his own. He’s softer, gentler and yet you’re still melting in his arms after just a moment of his lips pressing against yours. 

He pulls away and moves back, giving you space. And not a moment too soon because a second later Oli is reentering the bus holding a bag. 

“Lou, everything’s ready, time to go,” he says as he hands you the bag. 

“Got it, I’ll meet you out there in a second,” Louis replies.

“You’d better,” Oli lightheartedly threatens before leaving once again. 

“Listen,” Louis begins. “You know about the two of us now. And you enjoyed what you saw earlier. And those kisses, well that’s just the start of what we can do. We're staying at a hotel here in town tonight. If you’d like to join us, the invitation is open. Think about it and tell us after the show, okay?”

You look at both of them and see their serious expressions before saying a quiet, “Okay.”

“I have to run before Oli kills me,” Louis says, tuning to kiss Harry goodbye. 

“Break a leg babe, I’ll make sure Y/N has what she needs and get her out to watch you,” Harry says. Louis exits the bus and Harry turns to you, adding, “I have a spot we can watch from, the view is perfect. But you need to not be covered in cheese. The bathrooms over here if you want to rinse off and change.”

Harry leads you to the small bathroom, shows you how to use the shower, and hands you a towel before giving you some privacy. You undress and hop in the shower, quickly rinsing off all grime from the trash can. You wrap yourself in the towel and look in the bag of clothes, realizing it’s only shirts. No bottoms. Crap. You’d gotten distracted and forgot to get a pair from Louis before he left. 

One glance at your shorts proves there’s no way to salvage them for the evening. After making sure the towel covers you enough, you open the door and poke your head out. 

“Hey Harry?” You call, hoping he’s still nearby. 

“Yea?” He answers and walks around the corner to see you. When he sees your undressed state there’s an irrefutable look of lust on his face. He quickly schools his expression and says, “Need something?”

“Uhm, Louis was supposed to grab me some shorts?” You say uncertainly. 

“Oh right! Let me get something, hold on.”

He’s back a second later handing you a pair of shorts, and you change speedily. Once you finish you start hearing Louis’ intro. You shove your dirty clothes into the bag and Harry leads you out of the bus. 

There’s a building just next to the pit that he walks into. The two of you go upstairs to a room with windows. They’re obviously tinted so no one can see in, but you guys can see literally everything from here. There’s speakers as well so the sound is perfect. 

Other people are in the room, people who must be close to Louis in some way because none of them are shocked by Harry being there. The show is amazing, Louis does a fantastic job, and you’re so enthralled you almost forget about their offer from earlier. 

Almost. 

When the show ends, the room clears out, but Harry stays there and asks you to wait with him. A few minutes later Louis enters, literally glistening in sweat. He rushes to Harry, and they meet in a dirty kiss. You audibly gulp at the sight, your body temperature rising. 

They turn to you then, and Louis asks, “Did you make a decision?”

“We don’t want to pressure you,” Harry says, and Louis nods seriously beside him. “But we’d love for you to join us if you want.”

You hesitate for a moment. This would be new territory for you. Never before had you slept with two men, let alone two famous men. 

And then you stop debating. Because really, you’d be crazy to turn down this offer. “I want to,” you reply, happy to hear how sure and confident you sound. 

“Well then, our ride is just downstairs,” Louis says and he leads you both out to a waiting car. 

The driver asks no questions as the three of you slide into the backseat. You’re squished in the middle, and highly aware of each point of contact you have with the boys on either side of you. It’s scary, but mostly, it’s exhilarating. You find yourself anxious for the ride to end, eager to get somewhere private. 

You enter the hotel through the back door and take a service elevator to the top floor. Louis’ suite is immaculate, and you’d normally be exploring every inch. But you’re not the only one antsy to get things going. 

As soon as the door latches shut, Louis is pressed against your back, his arms wrapping around your waist and his half hard cock obvious where it pushes on your bum. Harry stands in front of you,  his hand going to your face, but he doesn’t lean in. Not until Louis tells him to, and then his mouth immediately finds yours. 

You can tell there’s definitely a slight power dynamic here, and Louis seems to be in charge. Which is more than fine by you. Truthfully you’re a bit out of your depth and would love for someone to lead you here. 

It’s easy to see that Harry was holding back during the kiss earlier. There’s no more hesitance, and while he may be submissive when it comes to Louis, he definitely has a dominant side if the way he takes control of the kiss is anything to go by. 

Harry curls his tongue around yours at the same moment as Louis, now fully hard, grinds against you. The two sensations together pull a needy moan from your mouth as your body goes lax. Louis tightens his grip and Harry moves closer in order to keep you upright. 

“My turn,” Louis says and Harry immediately removes his lips and moves his hands away from your face. One of Louis’ finds your chin and he grips it lightly in order to turn your head to the side. He crashes his lips against yours and Harry’s hands start to explore your body. 

“Please,” you whimper out, unsure what you need but knowing that it’s just more. 

“Sound so pretty when you beg,” Louis says. 

“And while you do look fantastic in my husband's merch,” Harry says, “how about we get you out of it for now?”

You nod, loving the sound of getting rid of the clothes that now feel unpleasant on your sensitive and overheated skin. Harry slips your shirt over your head as Louis shimmies your shorts off, leaving you in your simple bra and panties. Both boys then remove their own shirts, and you pause a moment to take in their bare torsos. Their skin feels so smooth as you run your fingertips over their newly exposed tattoos. 

Your hands continue moving south, until they glide over both of the boys' hard cocks, causing the sweetest sounds to ring out. Emboldened by their noises of desire, you slowly sink to your knees. 

“Please,” you say again, this time clearly knowing what you want. Harry and Louis know as well, and waste no time removing the rest of their clothing. Your mouth waters at the two beautiful cocks as they’re revealed to you. While Louis is a tad longer, Harry is definitely wider. But truthfully, you have no doubt that they both would satisfy you immensely. 

You start by wrapping a hand around each of them, gripping just firm enough to give a hint of pleasure. You lean to Louis first, licking his tip before moving to do the same for Harry.  You feel them shiver in pleasure and decide to take it further. Turning back to Louis, you wrap your lips around him, moving down a couple inches until he brushes the back of your throat. You pull back slightly and begin to move up and down, using your hand for the base that doesn’t fit. 

When his moans grow louder you pull off, turning to Harry and repeating the process. Your lips stretch around him, and you feel more arousal drip into your already wet underwear. After a minute, you’re being pulled to your feet and both boys kiss you messily before maneuvering so you’re lying on your back in bed. 

“Harry, why don’t you show her how much we appreciate what she just did for us,” Louis says. Once again, Harry doesn’t think, just acts. You jolt at the feeling of his lips pressing a kiss to your clit over your panties.

“Jesus, love, you’re fucking drenched. Lou, you have to see this.”

Next you feel Louis’ fingers moving along the gusset of your underwear before he says, “You’re just gushing baby. Why don’t we get this off, they’re ruined anyway, won’t do you much good.” 

You nod vigorously, wanting him to remove them and hoping he’ll do the same with your bra so you can be completely free, completely bare in front of them. You’re in luck, because as he slowly slips the material down your legs, Harry takes care of your bra for you, leaning down to wrap his lips around each breast in turn. 

“She’s ready for you,” Louis says. “Switch with me.” 

Harry does so, and he immediately begins eating you out. It starts gentle, but just for a moment. A couple kisses to your thighs quickly turns into him running his tongue along your folds and then drawing circles on your clit. 

He teases your hole more than once, but never enters which drives you wild. He continues working you up while Louis takes over playing with your breasts, kissing and placing light bites to your nipples. That’d never brought you pleasure before but mixing with what Harry’s doing, it has you seeing stars in no time at all. 

Together the two of them bring you to your first orgasm of the night. It crashes over you in waves, and leaves you moaning and thrashing on the bed. 

You try to catch your breath, but they barely give you a break before switching spots and starting the process over again. But this time Louis does more than tease your hole. His tongue breaches your entrance first before he replaces it with two fingers. 

They curl just right and he instantly finds that perfect spot inside of you. His mouth moves to your clit, sucking it in while his fingers continue their ministrations inside you. 

Meanwhile, Harry’s hands are roaming your body, leaving tingly hot sensations over every bit of skin they find. He’s also murmuring in your ear, his warm breath blowing on your neck as he says things like, “Love those pretty noises you’re making for us,” and,  “Just listen to how wet you are,” and, “Gonna be a good girl for us? Come again, all over Lou’s hand?”

The combination of those words being said in Harry’s low, gruff voice, and Louis fingers and tongue working you up just right has you hurtling into your next orgasm. You cry out again and it rolls through you, even more intense than the last one. 

“Fuck,” Harry says. “You just squirted, why didn’t you tell us you could do that? I might’ve worked harder, which you’d gushed on my face like that.”

“I didn’t- I what? I’ve never done that before. I didn’t know.” Your mind is fuzzy but you try to reply. You can’t believe that just happened. And they liked it? They weren’t grossed out?

You must’ve said that last question out loud because Louis is up by your face a moment later saying, “Not at all. That was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. Think you have one more in you? Can you take Harry in that perfect cunt?”

“I think so,” you reply, laying bonelessly on the bed. 

“You think? Do you want to stop here? We don’t want to push you too far,” Louis says, his voice gentler now. 

“No! I don’t want to stop. I can take it, I promise,” you reply. You don’t know what’s gotten into you, but the idea of stopping before they’ve both come has you feeling almost guilty. You want them to feel the same kind of pleasure they already gave you. 

“Okay, just let us know if it’s too much and we’ll stop,” he says before stepping away for a moment. 

He comes back with two foil packets and a small bottle. He and Harry both open a packet and you watch as they each slide a condom down their lengths. 

“Lou’s gonna fuck me while I fuck this pretty pussy, does that sound good to you?” Harry says. 

“Sounds perfect,” you answer. 

You’re still laying on your back, definitely earning a pillow princess title but everyone seems to be fine with that. Harry’s hands gently grip your thighs and he pushes your legs open wide, kneeling in between to get into position. But instead of lining up with your entrance, he gets on his hands and knees. 

You realize that they’d opened you up already, but Harry needs prep too before he can take Louis. You expect Louis to finger him open, but gasp along with Harry when Louis pulls a plug out of Harry instead. You realize that’s been there all night, was probably put in shortly before you walked in on them earlier. 

The thought sends another wave of desire through you, and while a second ago you weren’t sure how much more you could take, now you're desperate to be filled. 

“You ready baby girl?” Louis asks, coming over to press another kiss to your lips. The gentle peas of his lips to yours settles you, and when he pulls away there’s a calm smile on your face and you reply, “I’m ready.”

“Okay. Harry, show our girl what you can do.”

A moment later you feel Harry’s tip at your entrance. You thought they’d opened you up before, but you must’ve underestimated Harry’s size, because you feel each second of him gently pushing inside. It’s a pleasant pain that quickly shifts to only pleasure. 

“One more thing,” Louis says before lifting your hips to slide a pillow under you. Harry moves as well, and you moan as he hits even deeper inside you. This also puts him in a better position to take Louis from behind. 

You feel, more than see, when Louis slides into Harry. He thrusts gently inside you, and leans down to bite your neck while letting out the neediest whine you’ve ever heard come from a man. It’s also possibly the hottest sound you’ve ever heard from a man. 

They fall into a rhythm, controlled by Louis, and the three of you fall speechless. The room is filled with a cacophony of moans and whimpers, as well as the noises being made by your bodies connecting over and over. 

You come first, your walls squeezing around Harry’s cock, pulling him in impossibly deeper. Your body feels almost numb, somewhat tingly, and your brain grows even fuzzier. It’s like there’s a disconnect between the two. It’s a weird feeling, but not unpleasant. 

Harry’s thrusts start to grow sloppy and he tucks his head into your neck as he comes. You feel the pulsing of his cock inside you, and his moans vibrate against your neck. Even after he’s finished, he remains inside and you can feel the way Louis is moving in him as it jostles you as well. 

Louis whines grow higher until he stills, holding himself flush to Harry before finally pulling out. Harry slides out of you as well, slowly and gently, knowing you’re probably sore after three rounds with them. 

They lay on either side of you, each wrapping and arm over your waist. After you all catch your breath Louis asks, “You okay love?”

A smile spreads on your face as you reply, “I’m so, so okay. That was amazing.”

“Glad you liked it,” Harry says. 

You continue to bask in the afterglow until Harry finally states, “We should probably get cleaned up.”

You suddenly become aware of how sticky your legs are and reply, “That’s probably a good idea. Any chance you have spare sheets?” Your mind and body are fully reconnected now and you can feel how soaked the bed is under you. 

“Better yet, there’s a second bedroom. Completely unused bed in there,” Louis informs you. 

He gets up, reaching a hand out, helping you stand as well. The three of you end up taking a shower and they gently clean you up, pressing only the gentlest kisses to any marks they left on your skin. 

After drying off you end the night in a soft, comfortable bed, Harry on one side and Louis on the other. They whisper praises, telling you how good you were, how much they enjoyed their time with you. You fall asleep feeling more satisfied than you can remember ever being before. 

Soft light filters through curtains the next morning when you wake up. Harry is still in bed, awake and scrolling on his phone. 

“Good morning,” you say. 

“Good morning. How did you sleep?” He asks.

“Wonderfully. How about you?”

“Best rest I;v;e had in weeks,” he answers with a soft smile. “Lou’s just getting everything ready. We need to leave in an hour to get to the next venue,” he informs you. 

“Oh, yea, I should probably be going.” No sense dragging it out anymore, now that the night is over. 

“Of course not. You can’t go until you’ve had breakfast with us. I mean, we didn’t buy you dinner before getting you into bed, the least we can do is get you some breakfast after,” he says with a laugh, his dimples showing and making you blush. “It should be here soon. We didn’t know what you’d like so we got a few options.” 

“Thanks, that’s really kind of you.” 

Harry pulls you in and you relax in his embrace until Louis pops into the room saying “Food’s here.”

You move to get out of bed and then realize that you’re not wearing anything. Louis notices your predicament and disappears again before returning with the other t-shirt Oli had gotten you the previous evening, as well as a clean pair of boxers and shorts and your own bra. He leaves again giving you privacy to get dressed, which you do quickly. 

You join them for breakfast, happy to see they've gotten pancakes, your favorite. Louis also pours you a cup of tea, making it a perfect start to the day. 

“Oh, by the way, where is your car parked?” Louis asks. 

Truthfully you’d forgotten you had a car. Had forgotten life outside this hotel exists. So you pull up your phone and look at the dropped pin you’d placed last night to remember when you’d parked. 

“It’s just a few blocks from here,” you say, showing him the screen. 

“Ok perfect, a member of my team will be here in a minute to grab your key and pick it up to bring it to the hotel.”

“Oh that’s alright, I don’t mind walking.” Though as you say it, you realize it’d be a walk of shame, which you’re not thrilled about.

“I insist. Don’t want you walking that far, especially not after last night,” he adds with a cheeky smile. You blush for the thousandth time, knowing exactly what he’s thinking about. 

Someone does come to grab your key, effectively ending the walk down memory lane. The three of you chat for a bit, the boys asking you questions about yourself before Louis shifts awkwardly and says, “I noticed the NDA in the bag when I was grabbing your shirt. I truly hate to ask but-”

“You don’t have to ask. Of course I’ll sign.”

“Thank you love, it just gives us peace of mind.”

“I’m more than happy to.” You promptly get up to grab the papers and a pen, handing it to Louis once completed. “I really enjoyed spending the night with you guys. And not just the sex, but everything else too. You really take aftercare seriously,” you say with an awkward laugh. 

“Well, we do pride ourselves on being gentlemen,” Harry replies, flashing you another dazzling smile. 

Louis receives a text a minute later and says, “They’ve got your car downstairs, and we really should be getting going.”

You all stand up and they each pull you in for a hug. 

“I think I speak for both of us when I say we really enjoyed last night,” Harry says. 

Louis adds, “Absolutely. We’re so glad you agreed to be with us.”

“Well I’m just happy falling into a trash can full of cheese actually had a good outcome.” 

They both laugh at that before each giving you one more kiss and saying goodbye. 

You drive home in a daze and spend the day just thinking about the events of the previous night. You call your mother as promised, telling her a mostly fabricated story of your night which to her knowledge, ended with you arriving home before midnight.  

And when you watch a livestream of Louis’ show that evening and hear him mention how much he loves nacho cheese, you know it’s his way of saying he’s thinking of you. 

You know you’ll remember that night for a long time, and hope they will as well.

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AN: Thanks for reading, I'd love to hear what you thought about this first Larry x reader story! Requests are open if there's anything you'd want to see in the future

[amhrosina]

Favorite Kind of Trouble (Matt Murdock x f!Reader x Frank Castle)

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAG LIST

A/N: Hiiiii! I feel like it’s been forever since I posted anything, but it’s only been a little over a week! While I battled writer’s block and also had one of the roughest weeks of my life, there was a resounding desire in my asks/replies for another poly!fic with Frank, reader, and Matt, and I finally got around to writing it today! I hope you enjoy it! Also a big shout out & thank you to my lovely beta reader @wheredidiputmyfish for being so great!

**This poly fic can be read separately from the others I’ve written, but at this point, they all take place in the same universe and are just glimpses into their relationship at different times, so if you like their dynamic, you can find links to the rest of the fics here or here!**

Summary: Frank and you get up to no good at a gala event, and Matt’s enhanced senses can’t help but focus on the pretty sounds you’re making from across the room. 

(Warnings: oh brother, smut, like pretty much all smut zero plot, somewhat dom!frank, somewhat sub!matt, switch!reader, semi-public fun!!!, fingering, dirty talk (frank mainly lmfao), blow job, choking, wholesome poly flirting, frank and matt think they’re unworthy of each other!!!, they’re all idiots in love) 

The gala had officially stretched into its fourth hour, and you couldn’t believe how incredibly unperturbed Matt looked as he politely chuckled at, yet another, bad joke told by the snobby businessman in the too-tight tux. You shifted in your seat, subtly stretching your legs towards Frank, who at least had the decency to look bored. Under the table, your left thigh brushed against his right, and his attention shifted to you as he cocked an eyebrow in your direction.

God, he was so pretty. You didn’t tell him enough, but every time Frank looked at you, even when you were out in public and he refused to let his guard down, the subtle softening of his eyes when they landed on you made him the prettiest goddamn man you’d ever met. You flicked your gaze across the table to Matt, who was putting on a good show and pretending to listen to a rather boring anecdote – the only man that rivaled Frank in the looks department – and they were both wound so tightly around your finger that you couldn’t imagine being happier with anyone else. 

Most of the public had no idea that you, Frank, and Matt were something of a trio. They didn’t even know Frank’s real name. To most people, and certainly to the prying eyes of the elites attending the gala, you and “Pete” were a wealthy, but private couple who knew Matt through connections in the art world. They had no idea that the three of you shared a bed, a home, a life together. As frustrating as it was to keep that part of his life a secret, Matt gladly played the part. They didn’t get to wake up wrapped in the arms of the people he loved, and that’s really what mattered to him, and that way, Frank could have the honor of staking his claim over you in public. It all worked out rather well, when he thought about it. 

Your gaze returned to Frank. Your eyes slowly followed the trail of buttons up his torso, over the bowtie at the base of his neck, attention snagging on his lips before finally meeting his intense stare. To others, Frank might look stoic, bored, and maybe even annoyed, but you saw the desire in his eyes, felt the way the muscles in his thighs flexed as he shifted in his seat. He wanted it too, even if he didn’t realize it yet.

The gleam in your eyes told him you were up to something, and even if he wasn’t able to read the mischief in your smirk, the subtle twist in Matt’s neck as his ears perked up told him everything he needed to know. Frank leaned closer to you, brushing your bare shoulder with his lips before whispering in your ear. 

“Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, and you nearly swore when his fingertips brushed over your bare knee. An innocent stroke of the hand from a caring lover. A simple, loving gesture between the mysterious couple that kept mostly to themselves at events like these. That’s what anyone who might be watching would assume, and you knew it. 

“What if someone sees?” You breathed in a hushed whisper, but your legs were already opening for him. The effect he had on you was maddening.

“No one can see us.” He assured you, promptly glancing around the room again to solidify his promise. His hand rubbed lazy circles on your thigh, fingertips barely ghosting over the skin of your inner thigh as he slowly made his way up your leg. 

“What if someone hears?” You eyed him warily, though the spark of desire had shot through you like a bullet the second he’d made contact with your skin. 

“If you’re worried about it, you’ll just have to stay extra quiet, sweetheart.” He lightly flicked your nose with his free hand, grinning as annoyance briefly crossed your face. “Besides, Red’s bored too. He’s probably harder than I am right now, wishing he could touch himself under the table like I’m about to do to you.”

The abrupt sound of Matt’s knee crashing against the underside of the table pulled your attention from Frank. The guests seated near him jumped as he fumbled to catch his wine glass before it tumbled to the floor. You bit your lip in an attempt to smother your giggle. For a moment, the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Matt cleared his throat, apologizing under his breath as he took a hefty swig of his wine. As the conversations around the room picked back up, Matt glared in your direction. You looked back at Frank, who was smirking.

“Want to play a game, sweetheart?” He whispered, breath coasting over the curve of your ear. 

“Is it at poor Matty’s expense?” You cooed, spreading your legs wider as his fingertips grazed the lace of your underwear.

“Maybe.” He smirked, kissing the corner of your mouth. 

He shifted your underwear aside, and you had to take a deep breath so that you didn’t moan as the cool air kissed your wet cunt. Frank was normally a patient man when it came to coaxing an orgasm out of you, opting to draw out the experience so that you could enjoy it as much as possible, even if that meant teasing you for hours before finally giving in to your begs. But tonight, with his attention half on you and half on Matt, he had very little patience for games. Not that you were complaining. 

He slid a finger through your folds, relishing in the warmth and slickness he found there. You tensed in your seat, flicking your gaze to Matt, who looked like he was going to be sick. Frank’s warm breath heated your neck as he whispered against your skin.

“How long do you think Red will last like this?” He asked, eyes briefly flickering to Matt before returning to yours. He gently circled your clit, eyeing the heat that was crawling up your neck. “How long do you think he’ll be able to hear your pretty little moans before it becomes too much for him?”

Matt tugged at his bowtie, clearing his throat as sweat beaded on his forehead. The tension in the air was electric, and when he parted his lips, allowing the fullness of your desire to hit his senses, it nearly undid him. You were so wet around Frank’s fingers, and the sounds of your soft hums of pleasure combined with Frank’s teasing tone was enough to make him so hard that it ached. He tried and failed to divert his attention back to the conversation around him, only able to focus on your quiet sighs and Frank’s encouraging mumbles. 

“I know you can hear us, Red.” Frank teased, adding pressure to your clit. You gripped your seat with white knuckles, panting at the friction building in your core. “I couldn’t help myself. She looks,” he plunged an additional finger into your cunt for emphasis, “ravishing tonight.” 

Frank could feel how close you were, relished in the tightness of your cunt as it clenched around his fingers. Matt, he guessed, was not far behind you. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, fumbling with his glass as he tried to look interested in the story being told. 

“C’mon Red. You know it’s impolite for a man to cum before a lady.” He mumbled, breathing into your ear. His eyes flickered between you and Matt, and both of you looked like you were about to cry. Matt’s fingers tightened on the glass, and you clenched around him again. “Don’t you want to cum in her tight cunt later? Don’t you want to fuck your cum deep into her pretty pussy? She’s been such a good girl tonight. She deserves our cum, Red, don’t you think?” 

His vulgar words were your undoing. You wilted against his chest as your orgasm crashed through you, the throbbing pressure easing as he coaxed it out of you. You moaned as quietly as you could, muffled only by the fabric of Frank’s coat as you shuttered against him. Simultaneously, as you came around Frank’s fingers, Matt’s hand clenched around the wine glass so tightly that the glass cracked, and then shattered all over the table, spilling a red stain down the front of his pristine shirt.

The crowd around Matt shrieked, and Frank watched as he calmly excused himself from the table and hurried towards the bathroom. Guilt crashed through him, though he was sure Matt wouldn’t be upset about the shirt. He likely wouldn’t be upset about the small cuts in his hand either. Matt was forgiving like that. Frank didn’t feel like he deserved one bit of his kindness.

“Is she okay?” 

The voice drew him out of his thoughts, back into his body, which was half curled around you as you recovered from your intense orgasm. The stranger sitting diagonal from you and Frank eyed him warily.

“Too much,” you panted, excuse already on the tip of your tongue, “wine. I think I had too much wine, darling.”

You ungracefully attempted to stand, and Frank wondered how much of this was for show and which parts of it were genuine as you leaned into his arms for support. The shakiness in your legs was definitely real, he decided.

“I’m going to take her to the bathroom to sober up. Thank you.” He nodded at the man, who was already half engrossed in another conversation as he led you in the direction that Matt had come a few minutes earlier. As soon as the two of you were out of sight, you straightened, giggling at the show you’d had to put on. 

“I didn’t know I was dating an actress.” Frank grinned, rapping on the bathroom door with his knuckles.

“I didn’t know either.” You laughed again.

The door unlocked, and you and Frank covertly slid into the bathroom with Matt, who was a heated, panting mess against the tile of the walls. You could clearly see his desire tented in his pants, and you smirked at Frank in response.

“We did that.” You murmured, stepping closer to Matt’s whining figure. 

Frank hummed, reaching for Matt’s hand and inspecting the wounds inflicted by the wine glass. You paused, waiting for a signal from Frank that Matt was okay. Matt was so delirious and high on desire that you knew he could be bleeding out and would insist that he was okay. A slight nod of Frank’s head told you to continue.

You sank to your knees, quickly unbuckling Matt’s belt and pulling his cock free from his pants. Frank wrapped a hand around Matt’s throat, gently pressing him against the wall as you licked the underside of Matt’s cock. Matt whimpered, involuntarily bucking his hips in response.

“Be patient, Red,” Frank murmured, pressing a kiss onto Matt’s jaw, “We’ll take care of you.”

You wrapped your lips around Matt, bobbing up and down his length in a feverish haze. Matt was so worked up that you knew it wouldn’t take long to undo him. Matt tried and failed to keep his whimpers and groans quiet, and he was so loud at one point that Frank had to cover Matt’s mouth with his hand, smothering the noises he couldn’t help but make. 

You pushed yourself further down his length, opening your throat to him as you hurried your pace. Matt tensed, grabbing onto Frank’s arm as he let out a stunted groan. He grunted, and you felt thick spurts of cum make their way down your throat. You swallowed around him, grinning when he rested his head against the wall behind him, panting so hard that it sounded like he had just finished running a marathon. 

You stood, adjusting your dress as Matt’s consciousness finally returned to his body. He smirked as he adjusted his pants.

“You two are the worst kind of trouble.” 

“We're your favorite kind of trouble.” You corrected, chuckling and eyeing the stain that probably wouldn’t come out of Matt’s shirt no matter how hard you scrubbed it. “Sorry about your shirt.” 

“And your hand.” Frank added. Guilt flashed in his eyes, but it ebbed away as Matt kissed both of you deeply, hands gently cradling the two of you. Matt wouldn’t admit it so nonchalantly, but when he got the chance to hold both of you like this, he felt like he was holding his entire world in the palms of his hands. 

“I’m not upset. I love you. Both of you.”

Frank nodded, humming in acknowledgment, and you noted the way Matt’s jaw ticked. You knowingly squeezed his hand. Frank didn't believe he was worthy of anyone’s love, let alone Matty’s, and you and Matt both knew it. But it wasn’t the time or place for that conversation, and you had no doubt he would breach that topic of conversation later, when Frank’s guard wasn’t so high, and he was feeling comfortable and loved.

“Wanna get out of here?” Matt smiled, squeezing your hand.

“Lead the way, handsome.”

“Good. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” 

You snorted with laughter as Frank ran a hand down his face. 

“That was the lamest thing you’ve ever said, Red. I’m embarrassed for you.” 

“I’ll make it up to you later.” Matt smirked.

“You promise?” Frank dared, arching an eyebrow.

“Trust me, Frankie. I promise.” 

Tag List:

@xleiaorgana @mukbee @dilfs5678 @kokoterainonago666 @blackwidownat2814 @mymamalife @minervadashwood @emiemiemiii @h4rrys @messymissy @mylifeispainandiloveit @mossexe @fightmilk @spikedhe4rt @fictional-hooman @merleisapartygod @babyslyth @legocity2 @quackson03 @certifiedhunter @deliciousfestsalad @dumb-fawkin-bitch @americaarse @thatgirljayy @hiyabyeyababy @theesexystallion @scoliobean @myguiltypleasures21 @dnxgma @evyiione @megmastersgf @soft-emo-enby @purple-amaranthe @alina02 @thedevilwearsblack @violet-19999 @shoxji @layazul @lazyxsquirrel @honeysucklepotter @m0nster-fvcker @matthewmurdockswhore @infinityisbright @myguiltypleasures21 @thegirlwiththeeyes1297 @goddesspsyche @mxxnligxt @ladamari68 @alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen @trulylavandedarling @D0wnbad @lilyevans1 @imagineadream @22carolina08 @definitelynotsugar @casualchaoticdevil @peachy-flxwr @nashja @xshewayout @blep--bloop @dreadfulxives18 @schneeflocky

[bohemian-nights]

You know it’s always “Rhaenyra deserved better from Daemon” or “Laena deserved better from Daemon” even sometimes “Nettles/Mysaria deserved better from Daemon” but it’s never “Rhea Royce deserved better from Daemon.” I’m not sure when it became a popular headcanon that Rhea Royce was in her 40s forcing a seventeen year old Daemon (who is a Prince) to marry her but that’s simply not true. We are never told what age Rhea Royce was when she married Daemon. One would assume to she was either his age or a year or two younger. And even if she was older than Daemon I seriously doubt she was the one pushing for the marriage and probably just like him was being forced to marry as well. Then the wedding roles around and he’s just a horrible drunken mess. In the years following Daemon is openly disrespectful to her, her house, and their marriage. He calls her his “bronze b!tch” and never once did anything nice for her or said anything nice or even attempted to make them work. Book wise after all that happens and when she does die he shows up and tries to take over her title. Show wise he actually kills her. I get we don’t get much of anything about her but still. If it’s one thing Viserys and Daemon had in common it was treating their first wives like sh!t and playing either a direct or indirect role in their death.

I don’t actually think most of the concern regarding Nettles is genuine(and I’ve only seen like five people like Mysaria, she’s pretty much irrelevant to most of the fandom), but I won’t lie the hate for Rhea Royce to the point where Dumbnyra stans are making her out to be the villain because she somehow forced this young boy to marry her is one of the most bizarre things I’ve seen come out of this fandom🫠

The headcanon that she’s way older than Daemon makes zero sense. True enough we do not know Rhea’s exact age, however, F&B constantly talks about the age differences between couples(Corlys and Rhaenys, Alysmond, Dettles, Dumbnyra, etc.)

You would think that the man who was calling her ugly, a b*tch, and comparing her to an animal would’ve called her old too if she were old enough to be his mother 🤷🏽‍♀️

And if someone is going to use the show to say she’s older than him in what world is this woman older than Daemon🙃:

Young boy where? 40 year old(I guess she’d be 50 by then) woman where? 🙃

Once again they are literally making sh*t up.

One really has to ask have these people even read the books because it’s Daemon’s grandmother who arranged their marriage.

And were they actually paying attention to the show because in the first episode they state that Aemma is the one who arranged the match🙃

Both in the show and the books Daemon spends most of his time married to Rhea away from her either in Kings Landing, a brief stint on Dragonstone, or at war. He even takes a mistress(Mysaria) so it’s not like Rhea is able to restrict his personal freedom. Essentially they are married on paper only.

The divorce rock thing is a show invention, but Daemon wasn’t exactly nice to Rhea in the books(he calls her a b*tch for Chris’s sake). He wasn’t a good husband to her.

So if Rhea isn’t that much older than Daemon, isn’t the one who arranged the match, or forces him to stay in the Vale then how the hell is she the big bad villain in Daemon’s story?

I’m a Daemon lover(which is why I’m not going to be tagging this post anti-Daemon), but you can admit when a character you love is in the wrong.

You don’t have to make him into a victim to keep stanning him. Sometimes there’s really no good justification for his behavior. He’s morally gray for a reason. His treatment of Rhea Royce(even in the books) is one of the many moments that shows it.

[shipsandlattes]

So I know everyone has already dissected this scene to its core, but it’s taken me a good 48 hours to digest this and I just needed to get it out.

I’m an aspiring actor, I’ve been training for a long time, with a lot of amazing teachers. I’ve watched a lot of shows and shipped a lot of couples. Some of them beautiful and canon, others, well, let’s just say waiting 22 years and counting for acknowledgement, closure, anything, it’s a damn challenge. I’ve seen a hell of a lot of will-they-wont-they’s, baiting, purposeful ignorance, deliberate fake outs, zero explanations, storylines that basically caused canon disintegration, the works.

In saying that, Dean and Cas were right up there on the list with the other “impossibles” because honestly, I didn’t think the writers would have the guts to do it, but I am so f*cking proud they did. It’s safe to say I’ve watched the scene a good hundred+ times already. 

I’ve seen a lot of “controversy” around Dean’s reaction/Jensen’s acting choices and whether or not Dean reciprocates Cas’ feelings, and obviously, I needed to add my own views to the mix.

Just work with me for a minute here.

Dean Winchester is an emotionally repressed trainwreck, and ironically enough, the one that is so full of emotion it hurts to watch. When Cas first starts his speech, he’s confused, really confused because why on earth would Cas start off on a rant now? Billie’s waiting to kill them, he just said he knew something that was more powerful than she was, something that could save them. That’s where he thought this speech was going.

The confusion turns to realisation that it’s a goodbye when Cas starts telling him how incredible he is, how his entire essence is love. Go back and watch the scene again, when Cas says “you’re the most caring man on Earth”, you physically see Dean look down, his eyes searching, he’s actively trying to make sense of what’s happening, he knows what’s coming and you can see him coming to terms with the shock of the words being said to him. He then looks directly at Cas. That look, that was pure shock.

Also, notice how he doesn’t stop Cas from talking? He doesn’t interject, make a joke, doesn’t talk about how there is no time for this now, they’ve got to at least try and stop Billie. He. says. nothing. He listens, he listens like I’ve never seen Dean listen before. Because it’s sinking in now.

When Cas really starts crying, when he says “you changed me, Dean”, you can actually see the pain in Dean’s eyes. He’s no longer in control of his emotions, he’s crying too. He’s never seen Cas like this, so raw, and vulnerable and human. This is the hardest, most emotional conversation they’ve both ever had. They are talking about the one thing that everybody knows, but is never addressed. When it wasn’t talked about, they could deny it, live in the lie. Once it’s said aloud, it’s real and they can’t turn back.

This above series of interactions is the part that kills me the most. The moment Cas says “because it is”, that’s the exact moment of realisation. Look at that last GIF, really look. He’s just worked it out, that he is Cas’ true happiness. He knows what’s coming before Cas even says it. Go back and watch the scene again, they pulled that off so well, the way the music swells at this exact moment. Jensen is giving us everything here, you can see what’s happening in his head - he is Cas’ happiness. He is the one thing on Earth Cas wants and thinks he can’t have. He is the reason Cas is about to die. He knows what Cas is about to say and he’s not sure he’s ready to hear it, not now, not like this. It’s almost a silent plea not to say it, because he knows. Of course he knows. It’s like he can’t quite believe Cas is really, after all this time, finally going to say it.

And because obviously Jensen decided that that wasn’t enough to break us, the loaded reaction when Cas says “I love you” has me nothing but convinced that it’s reciprocated. Because Dean knows. He’s always known. Those tears, that head tilt, that gulp. He’s so genuinely confused that they’re really having this conversation. It’s like he can’t quite believe that this is the reality before him because he’s been living in that denial, in that self-loathing and unlovable layer he believes to be true. He’s been under the ‘what if... but it could never be’ umbrella for so long. 

What also makes this real is that there isn’t anyone else around this time. When “I love you’s” have been said before, they have always been able to deflect it, with other people or other words. Now it’s just the two of them. No deflecting, no running away. Dean is forced to hear it, to absorb it, to realise it’s for nobody else but him.

Now, I don’t know if you guys felt this, but when Dean says “Don’t do this, Cas”, he wasn’t just referring to Cas sacrificing himself to the Empty, he’s telling Cas that he can’t just say this, not now, knowing he’s going to die, knowing that Dean won’t get a chance to think, to process, to say what he needs too. I keep staring at that GIF above, Dean is breaking down, I’m almost convinced that Jensen was using an “I love you too, please just stop this” inner monologue for this bit. Look at the way he’s looking at Cas before he realises the Empty has started materialising and turns around. That’s a look of pure heartbreak. Trust me when I tell you, it’s really hard to keep those inner thoughts inside if you’re so in the moment - actually, don’t just take my word for it, read any acting book, ask any actor, it’s so hard to keep that in and sometimes you don’t, and sometimes you do - it’s in both the resistance and the letting go that the gold happens. This my friends, is gold. 

Did anyone else hear “Cas, I-”, well, regardless of whether or not it was an “I” or a very sharp breath, the outcome is the same. Dean’s gone into immediate panic mode. The Empty at one end and Billie at the other, and all poor Dean wants to do is gather his thoughts on not what to say but how to say it. I don’t think he comprehended just how little time he had, he was so focused on what was being said that the reality of the situation caught him completely off guard.

Also, I know this post was about dissecting Dean’s reaction, but can we sidebar a minute to talk about Cas as he pushes Dean out of the way? He’s sobbing, he’s fully crying. That hit me really hard, I’ve never seen Cas cry like that, I’ve never seen Misha get to play that level of emotion before and it was the most heartbreaking thing to watch since The Doctor and Rose and Buffy and Spike, to which by the way, I find many parallels between those couples and this scene.

Speaking of crying, that brings me to this: Dean slumped on the floor, ignoring a call from Sam, sobbing his heart out knowing he’s lost everything. Dean-I’m-emotionally-unavailable-Winchester is sobbing. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t recall ever seeing Dean cry like this before either, the sobbing was so evident and piercing in that silence. The look around the room, the burying of his head in his hands, that is a classic writers romantic love trope if I’ve ever seen it, they really pulled out all the stops with this one.

So, to summarise, I think Jensen’s choices and Dean’s reactions were absolutely and utterly perfect. They both did it so well that it didn’t break from character that these two emotionally distant and repressed men are in love and finally voicing it. Jensen barely said two words and still managed to cause mass coronary’s across the fandom. That my friends is what you call a brilliant actor. I bow down to the talents of these two amazing human beings.

Before I leave this novel, I have to say there are now a few things I’m going to need from the powers that be to not screw this up, help me manifest this:

1. Dean gets to reciprocate his feelings to Cas in person. So, I’m gonna need Cas back and a very emotional Dean.

2. Dean to be actively dealing with heartbreak in the next episode (unless they decided to bring Cas back that soon, which I wouldn’t put past them at this point).

3. Sam to confront Dean about his feelings for Cas, because out of everyone, he’d be the one to hit Dean with the truth of his fears. Sam knows. Sam is supportive. Sam sees it all.

4. I’m gonna need some physical affection, cause after 12 years of nonsense, we damn well deserve it. A hug, and not just any old reunion hug, a proper, this is different now hug. A kiss because hello, in love out loud now. Forehead touching, handholding, really gonna need the works here.

5. A happy ending for the two of them, one way or another. We’ve never had one, it’s time.

Okay, have at it now, let’s speak these into existence please.

Note: GIFs are not mine, I did not make them, credit to owners who I’m not sure of, but they’re beautiful, thanks for making them. EDIT: I’ve just been informed that these gorgeous gifs belong to @michaeldean​ and @inacatastrophicmind​! 

[jikookpancakes]

JIKOOK FIC RECS that no one asked for (2021)

but im giving anyway because THE TALENT IN THIS FANDOM IS INSANE

long post incoming!! this is probably just part 1 because i wont stop reading anytime soon so i’m inserting that link just in case i do make another one in the future

What’s a Soul Really Worth, Anyway? by thisneedsmorefilth - 130k words, fantasy, demon!jm, witch!jk, listen, this and the next one are my top 2 jikook fics of all time, so well-written, plot so exciting legit reads like a book, better than a lot of books tbh, the world-building is INSANE, jungkook and the gang accidentally summon demon!jimin and chaos ensue, especially for jungkook...and you know why!!!, so funny, angsty, cried so much, happy ending but listen to me: you gotta read the sequel too, YOU GOTTA.

Militat Omnis Amans: The Beginnings by edaen - 92k words, fantasy, werewolf!jk, vampire!jm, forbidden love, super slow burn but super worth it, JIKOOK IN THIS IS MY FAVORITE JIKOOK IN ANY FIC EVER EVER EVER, this is the ultimate all or nothing will freeze hell over for the other kind of love, and the way this is written is just so... how do i describe it. like you can just tell the author wanted to be very realistic with their feelings. you’ve seen the word count, this is SLOW burn. like you will legit feel their struggle to just be able to love each other and while it hurts, it’s also SO GLORIOUS. i love this one so much and if you like reading angst with happy ending but like cranked up to 200% then read this. bonus feels if you read the whole series

Until Dawn (series) by edaen - this is the long series where the previous one above is part of. highly rec if you love fantasy and you wanna read about bts being a rag tag group of supernatural beings fighting evil yay. also it makes the above fic more satisfying because you see more of jikook just being tgt and in love (with bonus angst because of course)

7 Signs by NamHyora - 27k words, secret spies au, abo, alpha!jk, omega!jm who is always used as a raven in their operations aka they use jimin and his attractive self to attract people and gather information or acquire targets and all that spy stuff, and his bestie alpha jk is not too happy about it hehe, friends to lovers, iove this one so much i wish it was longer but i think the author is planning to write a sequel!

Drop Like Confetti by annie_vi - 110k words, ceo!jk, age difference, age swap, ahhh i love this fic so much cause jimin smart and mature and has this no bs attitude, and he can keep up with jk despite the age gap and the difference in status/experiences, jk sexy dilf in this one eheh, i love it cause the drama/angst tackles a very real concern for such couples, like there’s no angst just for the sake of having angst, it really makes sense where they’re both coming from, they’re so whipped for eo too so love that for me

Fold it Up Like Origami by annie_vi - 99k words, gamer!jk, model!jm, same author as above and jk is so boyfriend goals in this one and in all this author’s fics in general like wow my standards are so high now i will legit be single forever just reading jikook fics (with no regrets), secret relationship due to their celeb status, well-written as usual, dialogues/banter in this author’s fics are just YES

The Tournament by kinkmins - 34k words, prince!jm, bodyguard!jk, abo, i’ll paste part of the summary here “Prince Jimin gets ready to hold a tournament where 50 alphas compete for a chance to court him, his father the king hires a new bodyguard who is a little too blunt and a little too talkative.“, i really love this oneeeee

Screwed Up and Brilliant by annie_vi - 113k words, escort!jk, jimin needed a date for a work event and in comes jungkook, escort extraordinaire with a no sex rule and jimin is just dasdkjfhasl, a lot of that “is this real or is he just acting” kinda angst, fluff smut angst

Like Everything Glows by annie_vi - 180k words, merman!jm, aquatic vet!jk, ok this is like my 4th rec from this author just read all their fics you’re welcome, this is their first fantasy fic but soso good, i rec’d this to someone who doesn’t really read fics and she really loved it and said “their love is so pure hhh”, she’s right

Track one: I love you by honeydice - 30k words, they’re “just” best friends, lots of pining it hurts, there’s some yoonmin and mentioned past jinmin in this so just noting in case, angst, denial of feelings, siiiiigh

InYou by edaen - 4k words, pwp :), abo, the morning after jikook mating, more sexytimes ensue + fluff

Falling For You Again by Rose_gold715 - 30k words, amnesia au, jk forgets about jimin and idk just something about this hits right in the feels. btw i don’t support the jk hated jm before in real life agenda so i don’t like this fic for that reason but i like this fic because i love me some good painful angst with happy ending.

The President’s Son by AmeliaBedelia - 55k words, bodyguard!jk, president’s son!jm, jk is assigned to shadow jm bc his life is under threat, and things develop :), jm is jk’s gay awakening :) :)

A Touch of Sin by pettey - 102k words, fantasy au, police officer!jk, supernatural!jm, shamanism, LOOK AT THE RANGE OF JIKOOK WRITERS YALL, this is such an interesting concept, so different from every other fic i’ve read, really well-written, sometimes you come across fics and you cant help but go “someone out there rly blessing me with this art for free”

Tears to the Tide by haromame - 65k words, abo, alpha!jk, omega!jm, honestly there’s not a lot of abo elements it’s focused more on jungkook having ptsd as he just came from war, established relationship jikook, he comes back home to jimin and things have just... changed. except their love ok THEY LOVE EO SO MUCH this made me cry so f much ugh so good tho.

Zero Hour by edaen - 5k words, canon compliant, a little drabble based around rosebowl jikook, it’s part of a series/collection of canon compliant jikook so if you’re looking for more canon compliant here you go!!, also if you can’t tell already i tend to like several things from a single author, i haven’t read their other fics im legit saving for sad days but i am confident enough to say their other fics are also rec-worthy.

Wonder by wordcouture - 7k words, im sorry in advance, mcd :( pls take care of yourself, i don’t like sad endings ok i don’t, but this is so popular and i was like, ok let’s see what the hype is all about, i get it now, :((((((((((((((((((((, well-written tho, bc the author will manage to crush your heart in just 7k words ha ha

The Omega Revolution by PinkBTS  - 158k words, abo, alpha!jk omega!jm, dystopian au, the hunger games more specifically mockingjay vibes, angst with happy ending but there’s some...things... lost along the way and i think that’s realistic for a dystopian war au, well-written

Blind Switch - 226k words, jockey!jk, rich spoiled brat!jm, jm gets exiled to his grandparents ranch where he meets jk yeehaw, im sorry for the yeehaw, anyway fluff smut angst enemies friends to lovers hurt/comfort slow burn happy ending, all the good stuff, ugh jk so boyfriend goals, also the amount of fluff in the later chapters thank u writer

Finally by Rose_gold715 - 12k words, abo, alpha!jk, omega!jm, angst with happy ending, jikook mate out of convenience and jimin runs away from jk and his pack feeling unloved and outcasted, but jungkook goes after him :((

Park Jimin’s Guide to Good Housekeeping by Ashlyn17 - 235k words, fantasy au, when i say jikook has the best fic writers i mean jikook has the best fic writers because THE WORLD-BUILDING in this one?, THE PLOT TWIST?, yesyesyes, jungkook is a powerful fae and jimin is assigned to be his housekeeper hehe, listen my entire fic rec has several that could be great netflix shows and this is definitely one of them

A Spell That Reminds Me of Your Name by Chimneycricket - 42k words, wizards!au, enemies to friends to lovers and the development felt natural, well-written plus the author sometimes makes art of their fics and other jikook fics and posts on twitter, both their fics and art are so good, i’ve heard good stuff about their other fics too :)

that’s it for now!

just a quick one about my preferences: idc about tops/bottoms, i read just about anything but i prefer fantasy and multi-chaptered fics, i love established relationship jikook so hmu with recs anytime, i don’t like reading anything with cheating and mcd, i love fics where jk and jm are just so friggin in love they are just IT for eo, and at the end of the day even if there are elements to the fics i wouldn’t normally read, as long as they’re well-written then i’m all for it

[fierykitten2]

I feel like making a post about the Blaziken raids so here it is

Electric and Rock seem to be my main options for a defender (Ice and Steel are also options but Ice doesn’t resist Flying and Steel isn’t Supereffective against Flying. Also both would fall immediately to the first Fire-type move thrown my way). Great news for Lavender, my player character in Violet, who can use Lucifer and call it a day. Bad news for Rose, my player character in Scarlet, who’s gonna need to train up a Pokémon from scratch. Nothing saying an Electric Tera type Sandy Shocks won’t cut it, it’s just I assume there’s a reason I don’t ever remember seeing it suggested for raids (other than the fact I previously wasn’t interested in Scarlet-exclusive defender options because until Christmas, I only had Violet). I’ll look up ideal defenders closer to the time because of course I’d love a Blaziken with the Mightiest Mark. Hang on, I checked, Sandy Shocks and Miraidon are good choices for defenders. I just need to double check Punk’s Tera type (I think it might be Ground) and then do some training. Thinking about it, an Iron Thorns might not be a bad idea - it’s got both the types I said are the main options it’s just I saw Iron Hands (which I’m not trusting as a defender after how the Iron Bundle raids went) suggested and not it so there’s probably something preventing its species from being raid-viable. Anyway, after how the Hisuian Samurott raids went, I trust Lucifer as a defender and will use it as my defender in Violet

I wanna try and update when I’ve caught it in both versions just because. If I achieve that on separate days or give up in one version (probably Scarlet) I’ll update separately

As ever, I plan on putting it through the ESP afterwards. If my plan works out, I think it only makes sense to celebrate Blaziken the Unrivaled being my first 7-Star victory in Scarlet by putting it through the ESP in Scarlet. From now on, I’m going to have to make decisions on which game to put each Unrivaled Pokémon through the ESP in. My plan for the DLC starters is Hoenn + starters weak to the base game starter in Kanto, Johto, Unova and Alola in Scarlet and Sinnoh (yeah I know, I don’t like that trio but it’ll annoy me if I don’t do it) + starters strong against the base game starter in Kanto, Johto, Unova and Alola in Violet

Name-wise, earlier I said I would call my Scarlet Blaziken Chicken and my Violet Blaziken Blaze (I still prefer Violet so my Violet Blaziken gets the cooler name) but then I decided (because even though I believe Falcon’s overall starter would be Quaquaval, Blaziken definitely fits him. Well, it fits his Smash counterpart, which doesn’t count. But then again, especially if it’s got its hidden ability, Speed Boost… maybe not so Smash!Falcon-coded after all, maybe a bit Falcon-coded (you don’t get the F-Zero! prefix on that because that’s his canon version)) I want to call the Violet (F-Zero takes place in the future therefore I only allow myself to use names based on it in Violet) Blaziken Captain and my Scarlet Blaziken Blaze (I’m not letting the cooler name (between Chicken and Blaze) go to waste)

Oh yeah and I already headcanon that (because of how unpopular they are compared to the rest of their trios) Blaziken the Unrivaled is in a relationship with a theoretical Meganium the Unrivaled (what do you reckon? Bug Tera type? Fairy Tera type? Psychic okay probably not Psychic when Bug and Fairy are options. Speaking of, there are 17 starters (if my maths is correct) and 19 Tera types. They’re probably not gonna give any starters the Stellar Tera type and it seems unlikely that the Paldean starters are coming to raids. Plus, I’m willing to reckon they wouldn’t use the starter trio types. As much as I’d love to rule out the Normal Tera type (can’t believe you’d disappoint the one Rillaboom fan by giving it the most boring Tera type and you’re probably gonna do it to Primarina as well) I think the other Tera type likely to go unused this group is Dragon, because that was Charizard’s Tera type and it doesn’t fit into a nice little trio in the base game starters) and they met in a karaoke bar in Johto right at the end of Blaziken’s world tour (Blaziken the Unrivaled loves karaoke bars and met the Lucario from Smash at a karaoke bar in Kalos where Blaziken stayed for a lot longer than it did in any other region on its world tour which occurred about the same time as Lucario’s world tour and Lucario was devastated when he discovered Blaziken had left for another region (likely either Paldea or Galar) and they never saw each other again I swear the karaoke bar headcanon has nothing to do with me thinking Blaziken and Skeledirge should swap trios)

Oh yeah adding to that point when will I make the next 7-Star headcanon post? I’ll wait until all starters have been done and the same number of Past and Future Paradox Pokémon have been done (please Scream Tail event? Or Flutter Mane? Or Sandy Shocks?)

[levi-my-beloved]

Birds of a Feather

Chapter one

Pairings: Canon!Levi x F!reader

Content warnings: violence, swearing

Word count: 4K

Summary: You were the most notorious criminal in the Underground City. With your organisation of highly skilled professionals, only one man could take you down. He also happened to be Humanity’s Strongest… and your ex.

A/N: asdfghjkl hello there. so, this has been on my brain for a while now, so i started this as just a drabble. what i thought would stay as just a drabble turned into this 22k+ multi chapter fic because i have zero self restraint or self respect. i’m currently finishing chapter 5 as this is being posted, but i want to keep chapters posted around once every two weeks so i can keep up with the workload. maybe once a week if i start feeling spicy. yeah plot twist this is actually the second time i’ve drafted this up. the first time i managed to get everything done and in order and then manages to delete the entire post with my huge disgusting thumbs. Genuinely felt like crying for a good half an hour.

This is also my first Levi fic! yay! lmk if it sucks and idk i’ll cry or something. nah, in all seriousness please send me criticism cuz i really want to improve and critiques are the best way.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

“How down, Raven?”

“Six feet.”

Within the dank confines of a stinking alleyway, two green capes marked with the Military Police insignia crept ever closer to the taller, run-down building upon which you and your little squad of Shadows were now perched. No sunlight illuminated your position. Not that you’d ever seen the sun, or know what it even looked like, but you based your guesses upon the pathetic rays shining through the grates littering the ceiling of the Underground City.

The language you used with your Shadows, coded words translated to:

‘How do you want them to be dealt with?’

‘Death.’

It was something developed by your late guardian and mentor, Viper. See, you all had aliases in The Nest, your criminal organisation. The leader was often referred to as The Raven, however your mentor preferred to use his own nickname, stemming from his own reputation.

Then come the aliases for your Shadows. Prongs was your second, a tall, stern looking man with the black mask of a stag settled across his features.

Then came Wolf, and you swore the first time you’d set eyes on him, you thought a titan had wandered into the city. He was enormous, all 6ft 6ins of him carved in hard muscle. Slicked back silver hair and a beard that to rival a bear. Similar to Prongs, a mask sat upon his face, resembling that of a snarling wolf.

Following him was Verdant, Scales and Diablo. Your power trio. Though their special talents lay in different professions, get these three together and they were borderline unstoppable. A white mask decorated with three broad maple leaves obscured Verdant’s pretty features, Scales sported a bronze half mask etched with a snake-like diamond pattern, whilst Diablo, your trained escort, had opted for something that accentuated her own gorgeous features, a mask of black leather arcing high onto her brow on the left side, whilst the right arced low by her jaw. Though you were already spoken for, you couldn’t deny the beauty of Diablo. She did wonders when prying information between the legs of a moaning MP.

To your left crouched the twins, Una and Leaf. Una was gifted her name by none other than you yourself, after seeing her accuracy with a rifle. A single shot was all it took, from any distance. She wore no mask, something you’d allowed simply because she’d complained about the sight obstruction when lining up a shot. You’d agreed, but only under the condition that she wore a low hood. Her fiercely protective brother Leaf had chewed you out for that, but you knew he meant well. Leaf was good at what he did, excellent, in fact. Which was part of the reason you kept him on as a Shadow. The larger part was that you were damn fond of him. Of all of them, in fact. You loved every single one of your Shadows. Every single damned member of The Nest, you adored. You were their leader, afterall.

A masked helmet of black leather, similar material to Diablo’s, perched snug upon your own features. The hooked beak and obsidian feathers of a raven decorated the necessity, covering your face and hair, though leaving your lower features visible. It was a rite of passage, for you especially, and it signalled the start of your leadership.

“Una, set up. Verdant, Prongs, roundabout. Wolf…” your eyes slid to the giant man on your right, a dark smile slicing across your mouth. “Heel.”

The boulder of a man visibly sagged, clearly disappointed at your orders whilst the others sprang into action. Prongs and Verdant leapt across the rooftops in separate directions whilst Una removed her rifle from her back, parting her heavy cloak to reveal rounds and rounds of bullets strapped across her body. Leaf nestled closer into her side, whilst the other four took a step back. It was obvious you’d all been at this for a very long time, despite the twins not looking a day older than sixteen. In fact, most of your squad was younger than you, save for Wolf and Prongs, who had served their respective roles twice previously.

Sitting back on your heels, you watched your team get to work, the warmth of pride blossoming in your chest. Whilst you knew Prongs and Wolf were already incredibly skilled, the rest had flourished under your leadership. It had been ten years since you’d witnessed MPs put a bullet through your mentor’s skull. Ten long years since you’d taken up leadership and expanded the reaches of The Nest. Honestly, you were pretty proud of yourself, and none more so than when you watched your Shadows do what they do best.

Taking care of unwanted visitors.

Una took aim, resting the butt of her rifle in the crook of her shoulder, staring down the makeshift scope. She would be ready to take care of the two soldiers if either Prongs or Verdant failed to eliminate their targets.

Speaking of which…

That kernel of pride ignited as your (E/C) eyes followed Verdant’s careful, calculating form dropping from the rooftops above the alleyway, in sync with Prong’s own movements. The two assassins swooped with the grace of a stooping hawk, the silver glint of metal caught your eye as they both brandished their blades, before sinking the steel into the necks of the two soldiers. You didn’t need to be closer to see they were both dead. Expert precision. Deadly accuracy. That was why these people were your hand-picked Shadows. And why you were the most formidable gang leader in the Underground City. Your little criminal organisation had expanded into something to rival the killcount of Kenny the Ripper. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought.

Una lowered her weapon, strapping it back in the buckles between her shoulder blades.

“Finished.” she simply stated, turning back to drop down between the shattered tiles and splintered ceiling beams that marked your entrance and exit to this lookout point.

“Rendezvous back at The Nest,” you ordered flatly, before dropping forward and into the alleyway below.

“Anything?” you ask, a brow raised behind your raven mask as you saunter over. Prongs held up two sets of blades from one of the crimson bodies now gathering dirt and grime. Useless to you as they were, but somebody would definitely find an interest in them. Verdant seemed to be struggling with the straps of whatever gear these mosquitoes used to fly around. You’d never been able to figure out how to use it, but that shit made good money when in doubt. However, your usual buyers had disappeared off the face of the city, and you’d noticed a decline in gear sales since then. Gritting your teeth, you shook your head to Verdant, laying a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t. It’s not worth it. The thug trio haven’t been back in years. I doubt they’d return to us now,” you explain softly, prompting the girl to stop her struggles and huff defeatedly. You’re heart ached softly at the thought of him, but you pushed the feeling down.

“Here,” she muttered, handing you another rifle. It seemed to be a newer model, something of an upgrade for Una.

“You did good, Ver. I’m proud of you,” that seemed to immediately lighten the girl’s mood, her eyes shining behind her mask as her mouth widened into a toothy grin.

“Thanks Raven!” she beamed, before scampering off back to The Nest, almost forgetting to take the gun back from your outstretched hand in her haste to make it back and tell everyone she’d received a compliment from you. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence. Rather it only happened once in a blue moon…

A huffed chuckle had your head turning and eyes narrowing to your second in command.

“Can I help you?” you ask, your tone dripping with the poisonous threat of hell if he chose his next words poorly. But Prongs continued to smile ever so slightly, shaking his head.

“Not at all, Raven. It’s just, in the last few years, since you drafted her into the Shadows, she’s really come into her own,” Prongs explained simply, shrugging as she stooped to kick over the now drained corpse, hoping to find anything useful. You bristle ever so slightly. That was something you hated. Compliments. How the fuck were you supposed to respond? You tried to think back to when Viper tried to teach you simple social skills.

“Uh, yeah. She has,” you respond, keeping your features as neutral as you could as you turned away, beginning to trudge back to The Nest.

“I’m serious, Rave. You’ve done incredible things for us. You know Viper would be proud of you. I am too. But…” Prongs trailed off, clearing having something to say but not knowing how to say it.

“Go on. But what?” you pressed, wanting to hear what your second in command had to say.

“Well, don’t you think it’s a bit much? Rave, it’s been years. Eyes have started looking in our direction since those three vanished. You don’t think we should be lying low for a bit? Calming suspicions instead of rousing them?” Prongs offered gently. You knew, deep down, he was right. But some notable gang disappearing hasn’t stopped you before, and it sure as hell wouldn’t stop you now.

“I’ll talk to Scar about it,” even just the mention of your advisor, and wife’s name gave your stomach butterflies. Scarlett Obsidine, your other, and better, half. After the disappearance of a certain dark haired man, Scar was the woman who comforted you, and though you missed him dearly, your heart managed to haphazardly piece itself back together and love all over again.

“Rave, listen—“

“Let’s go,” Prongs closed his mouth, the tone of your voice stating clearly that this matter wasn’t up for discussion. Especially not with him.

⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈

“You know he’s right,” you couldn’t help but sigh when your wife’s soft tones calmed your irritated mood. Soft hands gently kneaded at the tense muscles in your shoulders, forcing them to relax as a tired moan escaped your lips. Leaning back, you peer into her shining sapphire eyes, locks of brunette framing your face as she took the sides of your cheeks in her hands and leaned down, softly pecking your lips with her own. You couldn’t help humming a smile against her mouth, reaching up to deepen the kiss, but she pulled away before you could.

“Scaaaaar…” you pout, looking up at her mischievous smirk as she winked playfully.

“(Y/N)...” Scarlett sighed, swinging her legs over your body to sink into your lap, one thumb now caressing one of the most prominent features on your face. A nasty, jagged scar ran down from the the top of your forehead, over your right eye and finishing just past your jaw bone. One (E/C) iris lighter than the other as a result of the old wound. Soft lips chase away the shadows of your past as Scarlett replaced her thumb with her mouth.

“(Y/N), I don’t want to find you dead in some alleyway because you picked a fight you couldn’t win,” a finger poked your chest as she huffed above you, feigning irritation. You roll your eyes, (E/C) landing on your gear now strung across the table. That raven helmet almost calling to you as you shook your head. Disagreeing with your wife was never a good idea, but you were feeling particularly bold this evening.

“Look. So many jobs have opened up recently. We have so many opportunities to make this life more comfortable. More jobs means more money, more money means we can afford the gate toll and actually see the world above ground. And I can finally buy you an actual ring.”. Technically, you two weren’t married. Who the fuck would be stupid enough to perform marriage ceremonies in the underground City? But, it was easier than saying you were devoted to each other in every single way.

Lightly smacking your chest, Scarlett raised herself from your lap with a hefty sigh. “One of these days (Y/N), you’re going to be captured or killed,” she said quietly, unable to meet your eyes. “And then what the hell will I do…?” Scarlett had now completely turned away from you, shoulders hunched. Running a hand down your face, you pick your sore body up from the chair, reaching her in a matter of strides.

“I can’t give this up, Scar. You know that. You knew that when you chose to be with me. You knew The Nest was always going to be my priority,” you held out your arm, hand hovering over her back, not sure whether to comfort her or let her go. The admission almost had her in tears, you could tell by the way her shoulders shook ever so gently.

“You still miss him don’t you?” It was her vulnerable, defeated tone that alerted you to the slight change of topic.

You fell silent, not really knowing how to respond. Yes, of course you missed him. You loved him more than anything. But those days are over, you knew that. You’d cried enough those following nights after his disappearance.

He was probably dead anyway.

“Of course I do,” you wouldn’t lie to her. That wasn’t fair. But you knew the truth was just as painful for her.

“Will I ever be enough? Will I ever be enough to replace him?” the sound of her voice had your heart in pieces. You loved Scarlett. You really did. But your heart wouldn’t let you love her wholly. Part of yourself will always be dedicated to that grumpy kid you’d fallen for all those years ago.

“Scar… I—”

“I know,” she whispered, stepping forward away from your outstretched grasp. “I know,” you watched as the woman you loved, and who loved you, stepped from your shared quarters, hovering in the doorway. “I’m sorry I asked,” she closed the door as she left, leaving you a frustrated, conflicted mess.

⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈

“Understood, I’ll bring them in right away. Thank you Niles,” The Commander of the MPs stood opposite Erwin, arms folded. An expression of irritation plastered on his sunken features. Erwin simply sighed, realising Niles was wanting to stay for this seemingly impromptu meeting. With a nod of his head, a cadet rushed off to find the two soldiers mentioned in their little conversation. Being Commander of the Scouts often had its perks, like having cadets around to run errands for him.

Niles cleared his throat, taking a seat on the green leather sofa within Erwin’s office. “You sure he’d help us? I mean, it wasn’t too long ago he actually decided killing you was probably a bad idea.”—he raised a thin brow, peering at Erwin with barely concealed suspicion—“I’m pretty sure the Underground City would be the last place he’d want to return.” a knock at the door cut their conversation short, both turning their heads as Erwin called;

“Enter.”

Hange was the first to make her presence known, poking her head in as she opened the door. A smile adorned the slightly dishevelled section commander, her hair sticking up in all directions. Clearly she had been in the middle of something when Erwin requested her presence.

“You asked to see us, Erwin?” her eyes sparkling with curiosity behind her glasses as she stepped through the door.

“Tch, just make it quick, I have shit to do,” the monotone voice of Levi behind her made Erwin pinch the bridge of his nose. How many times has he told him not to talk to him like that?

“Yes, come in and make yourselves comfortable.” Hange immediately took up a seat next to Niles on the sofa, Levi preferring to stand against the now closed door, arms folded. Erwin’s sharp eyes shifted to Niles, an indication for the MP Commander to speak.

“Well, no point in beating around the bush. We’ve received an anonymous tip about some criminal gang that’s been plaguing my soldiers in the Underground City.” Levi visibly stiffened at the mention of his old home. His jaw tensed in anticipation. There would be only one reason he would be called into such a discussion, and the answer was a firm no.

Without his permission, his mind flashed back to a (H/C) girl, her face etched with that ever mischievous smirk. He quelled the thoughts as quickly as he could. He needed his wits with him, and allowing his mind to wander back to what he’d left behind wouldn’t help anything. Besides, the likelihood of you being alive was close to none.

“Section Commander, I don’t suppose you would have heard of the group but Captain Levi here surely would have done. The Nest.” Niles continued, now eyeing Levi to gage his reaction. And for a man whose emotions were usually on a tight leash, this seemed to be what cracked his impenetrable walls. His eyes flew wide open, frantically searching between Niles and Erwin. They couldn’t be serious. The Nest? That was where Farlan and Isobel used to—

Shit, he really needed to keep his thoughts at bay. But what he did know was that The Nest was an impenetrable fortress of criminal activity. Trying to mess with them was suicide.

“Judging by your reaction, I’m going to assume you are familiar with them, Levi,” Erwin’s surprisingly calm tone eased the growing tension in the room. Taking a subtle breath to calm himself, Levi’s eyes narrowed to his commander.

“Yeah. I know of it. Why?” it was a rhetorical question, he already knew why, but he wanted to hear it from Erwin himself. Hange looked incredibly confused, looking between the men in the office, trying to glean something, anything, about what the hell was going on.

“The Nest? Why are they so bad?” she asked, not afraid to show how completely oblivious she is to anything that doesn’t concern titans or science. Erwin gestured to Levi.

“Levi? Care to explain? You probably know more than myself and Niles combined,” though his voice seemed kind, there was a slight edge to his deep tones. One that didn’t go unnoticed by Levi.

A heavy silence filled the room as the Captain wracked his brain for all the information he could think of regarding the organisation. It seemed like hours before he finally spoke.

“Well, you got one thing right. The Nest is a criminal organisation. A nasty one at that. Merciless bastards. Whether you’re a soldier or a citizen, they don’t give a shit. They’ll leave you a broken, bloodied mess in the street. I don’t know much about their leader. Only that he took over from the previous one around ten-ish years ago. Since then, they’ve expanded their shitty little gang and taken over an entire section of the city,” he explained, poison lacing his tone. It wasn’t that he was above the whole gang thing, oh no. It was more the state Farlan would be in before he left to meet whoever the fuck led that group of demons. He’d never seen his friend so anxious. So afraid.

“You never met him? Their leader?” Erwin inquired, lacing his hands together on the desk in front of him. Levi scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“If I had, I would tell you. But I know he’s smart. And not the good kind of smart. The kind of smart where he would always be ten steps ahead of you. He has a small group of trusted criminals surrounding him at all times, called his Shadows. They’ll be the ones to look out for,” Despite his voice sounding bored, Levi’s heart was racing. They couldn’t seriously be thinking of facing The Nest, could they? But something in the expressions of both Niles and Erwin told him he was wrong. Dead wrong.

“They’ve been picking off my soldiers. Always in the same places as well. I was going to leave it, just tell them to avoid certain areas until this tip. Their next job. We know what it is,” Niles interjected, looking down to the floor, his own mind a whirlwind.

“And you want to intercept them. The same way you did with me, right?” Levi finished through gritted teeth. This was absurd. There was no way they could pick them all off. Unless… that wasn’t the goal. Levi’s grey eyes widened slightly, realising what they wanted to do. Yep, this was total suicide. Hange clapped her hands together almost excitedly, as if she was also able to read Erwin’s mind.

“You want to capture him! The leader! Ah! This all makes so much sense now, I was starting to wonder why I was here,” the scientist mused almost to herself, before jumping to her feet. “This is the perfect opportunity to test some of the concept traps I have in mind. Obviously for titans they’d need to be much, MUCH bigger. And of course a few modifications would have to be made so they could adapt to size and body type but oooooooh this is so exciting! I’ll start right away!'' Without allowing anybody to get a word in edgeways, Hange dashed back to her lab to begin her preparations.

“Thank you Erwin, the Military Police will remember this,” Niles said, before he too was rising from his seat. Throwing Levi an unsure glance, he made his way towards the door, only to be shoved into the hallway by Levi, who promptly closed the door behind him.

“Don’t.” he simply said, turning back to Erwin who was peering at him, his expression puzzled. Levi rolled his eyes again, clearly having to clarify what he meant. “Don’t pursue them. It’s suicide,” The Commander’s expression relaxed slightly in understanding.

“We don’t have a choice, Levi. Not only are hundreds of MPs being slaughtered down there, but relationships between the Scouts and the MPs are strenuous at best. It would be in our best interests to—“

“Bullshit.”

Erwin sighed again, having to hold his tongue. Snapping at Levi now for his language would only rile up the man more.

“Levi, we already have a plan in motion. There are soldiers down there now meeting whoever gave us that anonymous tip to further discuss the job The Nest has taken. It’ll be fine, but you’re going to have to trust me.” Erwin’s eyes bore into Levi’s own, the man once again asking his Captain to trust him in a risky call he’s made. Levi’s done it so many times before, why was it so difficult now?

It took yet another pregnant silence before Levi eventually yielded.

“Fine, but don’t be surprised when we’re once again forced to retreat with our tails between our legs.” it was a savage comment, but one that Erwin didn’t take to heart as he watched the raven haired man leave. Yes, this was a risk, but all his risks so far had worked out fairly well. There was no reason why this one would fail. No reason at all.

Levi leant against the door to Erwin’s office, looking down the hallway before letting loose a long breath. Not only would he have to go toe to toe with The Raven, but he also had to face so much of his past he’d wanted to forget. Fuck, this was a terrible idea. Why did Erwin always have to gamble? It was exhausting for everyone else involved.

Folding his arms, the shorter man strode back to his own office, lost in thought the entire way. Would he see you again? Were you even alive? Did you know just how much he had missed you. Just how much he’d wanted to see you again. To hold you again.

Did you know he’d looked for you? How his heart shattered over and over again each time he found no trace of you. He’d never accepted you were gone. Always holding onto that thorn of hope that maybe, just maybe, you’d survived.

Collapsing in his chair behind his desk, Levi unlocked the bottom draw and gently pulled it out. He delicately picked out a small, ebony bird feather you’d crafted into a quill pen. Even though neither of you knew how to write, you knew back then how much he had wanted to learn despite never voicing it directly. All those nights spent copying out basic letters from discarded newspapers and wanted posters. You always had this way of reading his mind.

The smallest fond smile crept across his usually bored face. God he missed you. It had been years and he still missed you like he only lost you yesterday.

[justnerdthings]

Frigid Heart Ch. 3

F!reader x Bi-Han

You meet the girls!

@miss-nori85 @whitelotusfighter @icy-spicy@crazytxgradstudent @d-taslim @bihansthot @legends-of-apex @lillikue @missroro

Lily huffed as her Master just sat there with one of his many concubines on his lap. His hand was resting between her thighs, enjoying the company. He was teasing the poor girl. Rose--this particular concubine--had looked to Lily with a devilish grin. Rose knew what she was doing, and she did it well. Lily was too old to bear any more of the Grandmaster’s children. Lily had heard the rumors, of course she did. But that’s all they were: rumors. The Grandmaster would never replace Lily. Lily simply rolled her eyes at the girl. Lily had been here longer. Lily had seen concubines come and go. Rose would be tossed aside just as the others.

“Did you not hear me?” Lily spoke up.

The Grandmaster sighed and rested his lips in the crook of Rose’s neck for a second before lifting his head and looking over to his oldest, and most loyal concubine. “Yes, Lily. I did. Must you bother me with this now?”

“He handed her a blade! A Lin Kuei blade!” Lily shouted.

“I heard you, dearest,” He’d said again.

“It doesn’t bother you?!”

“It is hardly the first time a servant has wielded such a weapon…” His eyes stared into her own. Lily straightened.

“This is different. The girl is obviously not loyal to the Lin Kuei.”

“I’m sure Sub-Zero knows what he is doing,” he said, turning his attention back to Rose. The young woman gasped as his hand slipped higher between her thighs. He chuckled at her reaction.

Lily watched as Rose squirmed on the Grandmaster’s lap. “And if this girl decides to kill Sub-Zero?”

He broke a kiss with Rose. “Fine,” he sighed. Obviously Lily wasn’t going to let it go. “Have someone keep an eye on her. If she does anything suspicious, dispose of her.”

Lily let a breath go.

“Does that please you, dearest?” He looked back over to Lily.

She bowed her head gratefully. “Yes, my love.”

“Good. Now, go tell the guards to keep the doors closed.” He grinned to Lily, then turned his attention back to a mewling Rose. Even in his old age, he could make his girls beg.

Your hand shook as you dabbed at Bi-Han’s cheek. His skin was so cold… He was sitting at the table, head tilted back for you. He seemed relaxed, but you… You were still convinced he was about to cut your hand off for what you did.

His eyes opened when he felt the cloth tremble over the cut. His brown eyes shifted to your terrified face. Bi-Han didn’t react to it for a moment, he just let you work through your fear. But when it was evident that you weren’t going to stop shaking, he decided to speak up.

“Your hand is shaking,” he told you.

You swallowed a lump in your throat and tried to fight your trembling, but it was no use. “Yes. My apologies, Master,” You answered sheepishly.

“Your old masters beat you, didn’t they?” He said it so easy, as if it was a common occurrence. You supposed it was. It certainly was back home--your former home. You nodded as you looked away and rinsed the cloth in a bowl of hot water. “A shame,” he said.

A shame? Your brows knotted at the idea of him thinking so. A Master who didn’t beat their servant?

“You have the heart of a warrior. You should be treated as one.”

Your eyes snapped over to his face. His eyes had closed again. Your heart skipped a beat. He was teasing you. He had to be. You mentally shook your head as you wiped the blood from his cheek. “Don’t be ridiculous,” you said timidly. “I’m just a servant.”

His lips pulled into a smirk. “Just a servant…” He tried to nod, but you gripped his chin to keep his head still as you finished cleaning his cheek. He chuckled at being denied his own movement, but didn’t fight you.

You picked up the readied needle and thread from a bowl of baiju. At least your hand had stopped shaking.

He didn’t even flinch as you pushed the needle through his skin. Bi-Han seemed to not even feel it as you went about stitching his wound closed. Bi-Han had opened his eyes to watch your face--To watch how closely you watched your own hand. You had such unwavering focus. He was sure you hadn’t noticed him watching you. Your cheeks hadn’t flushed that shade of red yet. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing.

He did not need you to stitch his cheek. He could have taken care of that himself with a bit of ice. But you caring for it was more interesting. What would you do? Would you simply tend to the wound, or would you try and kill him? He wouldn’t have blamed you for attempting to kill him. He did lead an attack on your village. And he had captured you. He was sure he deserved at least death for what he’d done to you… And yet, you didn’t make any effort to end his life. Even when you fought him earlier, he'd noticed that you were holding back, scared to hurt him. And when you did? You’d cowered like a dog.

Bi-Han grinned suddenly at the thought. That caught your attention, only because it caused his cheek to move. Your brows knotted at his grin. Your eyes shifted up to his. You caught his brown eyes with your own. Your face grew hot. “What?...” You asked, hand starting to shake again. Did you do something wrong? Did you hurt him again?

It seemed all he had to do was look at you to get you to shake. He couldn’t help but laugh. You froze and looked away. “Finish up and go back to doing laundry,” he told you, grin still stretched across his face. Your jaw stiffened as you looked back to his cheek and continued stitching it.

________________________________________

You were sore the next day. Fighting your new Master had strained your muscles. He’d had you at it all day. And today, chores were slow going.

A knock at the door caught your attention. You made your way to it and cracked the door open just enough to peek out.

Tundra.

You straightened and sucked in a sharp breath before pulling the door completely open and bowing your head to your Master’s brother.

Tundra looked you over for a moment, noticing a few new scars on your face as your head came back up. From yesterday, no doubt. No matter. “Is he up?” Tundra asked.

You nodded and stepped aside for him. “The kitchen,” you answered. “Please,” You gestured for him to go on ahead. He walked right past you, and you were surprised to see a woman about your age follow him in.

Tundra’s own servant, no doubt. You offered her a warm smile, which she kindly returned.

“My name is Snowflake,” she said. Snowflake was a pretty young woman. Her clothes were very clean… pristine. Her skin was flawless. You wondered what kind of girl she was… Servant? Comfort Woman?

You almost introduced yourself with the name your parents had gave you, but caught yourself. Bi-Han still hadn’t given you a name. “I… haven’t been given a name.” Yet, hopefully.

Snowflake frowned, she pulled her hands from her sleeves and took yours gently. Even her hands were flawless. She was no servant. She couldn’t be. It didn’t look like she’d ever worked a day in her life. Comfort Woman. She must have been. “I’m sure he’ll think of one soon enough.”

Snowflake let go of your hands and turned to close the door. You could hear Kuai and Bi-Han talking in the kitchen. She turned back to you. “How have you been adjusting?”

You weren’t sure how to answer that. All things considered, you were fine. Despite yesterday’s fighting, you were generally left alone. Things could definitely be worse. “I’m… well enough.”

Her smile grew. “That’s good.” She looked around. “You did a nice job cleaning his mess.”

Your brows knotted. “You knew about it?”

She hid a laugh behind her sleeve. “Oh. Yes. I’ve been asked to clean his mess quite a few times.”

“You?” You looked at her in disbelief. It was hard to picture her working. “But you… You don’t look like that type of servant.”

“Oh?” She beamed with the compliment. “Thank you. I try to keep myself as beautiful as I can manage. It makes things easier.”

So, Lily was right. The attractive girls did have it easier here. “How do you manage that?”

You’d never taken much care in your appearance. Your old masters didn’t mention it. They seemed pleased with you as you were… but now you were curious. Lily did say you were gifted with beauty…

“Oh! No one must have told you!” Snowflake clasped her hands in excitement. “The hot springs!”

You blinked at her. “Hot… springs?”

“Yes!”

“What are hot springs?”

Snowflake looked at you, dumbfounded. “You’d never been to a hot spring?”

You shook your head.

She gasped and took your hand, leading you to the kitchen where the two brothers were discussing a coming mission. When they looked up at the two of you, she bowed her head. You as well.

“Master, may I take her to the hot spring?” She asked Kuai. He lifted a brow, then looked to his brother. Bi-Han looked from Kuai, to Snowflake, then finally to your red face as you fought off the embarrassment of Snowflake asking to take you elsewhere.

“Are you finished around here?” Bi-Han asked.

You shook your head. You caught Snowflake frown out the corner of your eye. “No, Master. I still have things to do.”

Bi-Han looked to Snowflake. “Bring her back before dinner. She’ll have plenty of time to finish.”

Snowflake beamed again. She bowed her head gratefully, then looked to Kuai. “Master?”

Kuai nodded with a grin and waved her off. It’d give the two brothers some privacy to discuss the mission anyway.

With another pull, you were being led through the cabin and out the front door. “You’re going to love it!” She told you as she hurried you through the courtyard.

Not far from the village there was a small hill with a wide trail and stairs leading up. Guards were posted along the way. They watched you and Snowflake, but she paid them no mind as she led you up the stairs. At the top sat a large, single level wooden building. Steam was escaping through the door. She pulled you right in.

Humid heat hit you like a stone wall. The building’s walls surrounded pools of hot water that bubbled from the ground. There were already other women enjoying the springs, and one group in particular perked up when they noticed Snowflake. She smiled to them as she pulled you over to them.

“Snowflake! Who’s your new friend?” One asked as she moved to the edge of the pool.

“This is Sub-Zero’s new servant,” Snowflake introduced you.

The group collectively gasped and you suddenly felt on the spot, like something more important than you were.

“Oooh! How is he?!” one asked.

“Um…” You weren’t sure how to answer that. Snowflake had finally let go of your hand and began slipping out of her hanfu. You glanced to a guard not far from you, who didn’t bother to hide his wandering eyes.

“Come in! The water’s so hot!” Another said. You watched as Snowflake stepped in, then looked back at you with a smile.

This was different. This was very different from what you were used to. There were bathhouses in your old clan’s village, but nothing like this… nothing so… open.

Snowflake frowned as you just stood there. “It’s alright.” She then caught you glancing to the guard. “Oh. Don’t worry about him. He can’t touch us.”

Your brows knotted.

Another spoke up. “They’re forbidden to.”

“Unless the servant is theirs.” A third one added.

Well… if that was the case. You cautiously slipped out of your hanfu and folded it neatly, putting it aside before you climbed down into the water.

You gasped. The water really was hot! It didn’t burn, but your chilled skin broke into goosebumps as you slowly sunk down. The water came up to your chest.

“See? It’s nice.” Snowflake told you and you nodded timidly, staying close to the edge.

“So what’s he like?” that one servant asked again. “He’s never had a servant before.”

“He’s… fine. I guess,” You answered.

“Did he give you a name yet?” another asked.

You shook your head.

Some pouted. Some smiled.

“I’m Margita,” One introduced. And like the others, she was beautiful. She had blue eyes and brown hair. She obviously wasn’t from around here. “I’m Smoke’s.”

Smoke. You remembered the man Bi-Han had called Smoke while you were being brought to the village. But you really didn’t have a face to go with the armor. Only his eyes had been visible… You actually didn’t know what any of them looked like except for Bi-Han and Kuai. But Smoke… He was the one in the black armor. You nodded.

“I’m Suki,” another spoke. She had tanned skin and a rather impressive bust. “I’m one of Sektor’s.” You nodded. You knew that name too.

“Cho,” The one next to her said. “Sektor’s.” She was getting her hair braided and weaved with red flowers. She also had a noticeable bust. Sektor seemed to have a preference.

The one braiding Cho’s hair smiled over to you. She had the darkest skin you’d ever seen. It was beautiful. “My name is Thema. I’m Cyrax’s.” You knew the name Cyrax too. He also had dark skin. You’d seen it around his eyes and on his arms. You nodded.

And last but not least, Snowflake. She smiled to you. “Welcome to the family,” She joked.

“Hardly a family,” Cho said, picking at her nails.

“Well, her and Snowflake are almost related,” Suki reasoned. “Their Masters are brothers.”

Cho gave a small agreeing nod.

“So what type of girl are you?” Margita asked you curiously. Suddenly all eyes were on you again.

“Oh… Um… Just a servant. I think,” you answered. You weren’t really sure what Bi-Han had planned for you.

Cho frowned, but Suki swatted at her. They argued in a language you weren’t familiar enough with to understand.

“Don’t mind them. They fight about everything,” Thema said with a roll of her eyes. She finished Cho’s braid and draped it over her shoulder. Cho smiled as she lifted it to admire it.

“What language is that?” you asked.

“Japanese,” Suki answered. “We were bought from our parents when Sektor was in Japan for a mission.”

“You two… were bought?” You asked in disbelief.

“Mhm,” Suki nodded.

“Our parents were poor. They sold us to afford live stock for their farm,” Cho added, then shrugged as if it was no big deal.

“How long have you two been here?” You asked.

“Seven years,” Suki answered.

“Were… were all of you bought?” You asked, looking to the other three.

They shook their heads.

“My father gave me to Cyrax,” Thema said. “After he killed my father’s rival.”

“Smoke saved me from being executed,” Margita said.

“Executed?” You asked.

“I was caught stealing in my home village,” Margita told you.

“Oh.” Your brows knotted at her before you looked to Snowflake. She was relaxing back in the water.

“I was born here,” she told you. “I’m not sure who my parents are. I was raised in the palace.”

“Probably some lowly assassin,” Cho said, earning an agreeing nod from Suki.

Snowflake shrugged. She didn’t seem bothered by it.

“What about you?” Margita asked you.

“Sub-Zero captured me in my village. I was a servant in the Snow Ninja clan,” you answered.

“So that’s where you learned to fight,” Snowflake thought aloud.

You looked to her.

“Wait, that was you?!” Margita asked in disbelief. “I heard a servant had been fighting with Sub-Zero.”

The others now gave you their full attention again.

Your face turned red. “Oh. No. No. It’s not what you think,” you tried to defend yourself. “He asked me to.”

“He did?” Thema asked.

“And she’s good too!” Snowflake declared, much to your dismay. “He handed her a sword and they fought. And she ended up cutting his cheek!”

Oh, god, Snowflake, please shut up, you thought frantically and sunk down into the water in a futile attempt to hide away.

“You did?!” Margita asked, horrified. “How… How are you alive?”

You groaned as you sunk deeper, letting the water go over your head. Snowflake was grinning.

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt. 8

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: none? Length: 2.1k Notes: I’m sorry, Cyn, I know I said there would be smut but I was just enjoying the slow burn too much. And I just feel like these two NEED this. Not me nervous to write about his p in her v, nooope. Also, I’m wine drunk and did not spell check this bitch, have fun with that. Divider by @firefly-graphics

Series MASTERLIST

The day of the fair had finally arrived and you woke with more than a little excitement churning in your stomach. Multiple meetings at the community center had given you a chance to meet more of the town's population and you'd gained a deeper appreciation for them. Small towns afforded very few entertainments, which had resulted in some of the older kids, driven by boredom, getting into trouble. Minor things like graffiti and trespassing, but the community knew if they weren't careful that things could escalate. So, instead of making the kids feel judged or harshly reprimanded, the town was working towards better programs and facilities to keep them busy.

It was an unseasonably beautiful Autumn day, the kind that carried memories of Summer on the warm breeze. Knowing that cold and snow were just around the corner, these "second summers" made people act a little more recklessly and freely than they usually might. You had a feeling that the crowds tonight were going to be bigger and rowdier than anyone could have hoped for.

Jacquie had stopped by later to offer you a ride to town but you had just sent your baking with her, insisting that you wanted to enjoy the sunshine and bicycle in.

Once you'd entered the main square you were blown away by the effort from the town. Banners, balloons, streamers, and posters were everywhere. A stage for musical acts and a ticket booth had been built and donated by Hank's Hardware, food carts selling anything and everything you could deep-fry were scattered down every road. Carnival games had been set up in rows down multiple, closed-off, streets, as well as people setting up face-painting, balloon animals, and a smaller version of the Saturday Farmer's Market. The high school football field had even been converted to a tiny amusement park with a Ferris Wheel, carousel, and swing ride.

It was still early, and there was still a lot to do before the fair would be open, but the excitement was already palpable. After making sure your pies had been marked down for the auction, you beelined for the water gun race game that you and a lovely woman named Heather had been assigned to operate. 

Too preoccupied with making sure you had the water tanks filled, the pumps were working, and your ticket box was in place you didn't notice how some of the other volunteers were acting strangely, making sidelong glances and meaningful head nods. 

Nothing seemed amiss once Heather had joined you. In fact, you were getting along with her so well the two of you had already made plans to meet for coffee the next day.

Soon, the fair was in full swing. The games booths were a popular stop with families and you were having the time of your life cheering for every child who tried their hand at your game. 

Eventually, there was a natural lull in the festivities as fair-goers drifted from the games towards the food and live entertainment. You were just suggesting making a quick snack run when Heather's phone rang. 

"Sorry, one sec, it's my husband," she grimaced, holding her finger up to stop you from leaving.

In a bid to give her a modicum of privacy, you tallied up the tickets and bunched them into coils for easier counting later. Heather's normally calm voice rose in pitch and urgency, drawing your attention back to her in time to see a look of alarm and annoyance cross her face.  

"What do you mean, burned? Like, burned burned? There's smoke?! Oh, honey, what on earth..." she paused, listening to her husband's voice some more, giving you an eye roll that clearly said 'Men. They're hopeless' and interrupted whatever he had been saying. "Alright, alright. It's slowing down here so I can run home."

Putting her phone back in her purse, Heather turned to you with a huff. "He's burnt dinner, and it sounds like my skillet is toast, too. I'm sorry to do this to you but I need to run to the store and bring dinner home. I've got the only car, so they're stuck."

Assuring her you could manage on your own, you shooed her away and told her to take her time.

Walking backward to wave goodbye, Heather kept spouting numerous apologies and promising she'd make it up to you on your coffee date. Giving one last smile she spun around and immediately ran into old Mrs. Crawley who was being escorted by no other than a very bored and trapped-looking Frankie Morales.

"Oh! Mrs. Crawley! So sorry!" She began, steadying the white-haired octogenarian, "I'm being called home, ditching my post, gotta run, bye!" With that, she was gone, weaving her way through the crowd of people.

Mrs. Crawley had glanced over at you when Heather had mentioned having to leave and was currently shuffling her way towards you, Frankie in tow.

"Frankie, be a dear and help this beautiful lady out while Heather is away."

It wasn't a question but you still felt the need to speak up, giving Frankie an out if he wanted it.

"I can manage-"

"But what about your-"

You'd both spoken at the same time and stopped mid-way through to let the other go first. Mrs. Crawley broke the silence instead.

"My hip is feeling much better, and I think I'll just make my way over to the bandstand," she gave Frankie a meaningful look accompanied by a rather sharper-than-expected slap to his cheek, "alone."

You both watched her walk over to the stage, stopping to wave at Jacquie and Agnes where they were organizing the bake sale.

"What on earth is going on," you thought to yourself while staring daggers at Jacquie from across the street. This had zero effect on her, she was just sending you lewd winks and had the audacity to give Mrs. Crawley a thumbs up. That conniving little-

"Emmmm... hi."

His voice, sounding uncertain and shy, brought your attention back to Frankie. Taking a moment to soak in his presence, you noticed how worn down he looked. "Good," thought the petty part of your brain, but she was easily squashed by the rest of it appreciating the rest of him.

Tight jeans hugging his thighs, the buttons on his shirt working overtime where the material pulled across his back and chest, his hair was long and getting shaggy but when you saw the curls peeking out from under his baseball cap you had to fight the sudden urge to run your fingers through it.

Your eyes traveled up his neck, noting the way his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, and across his face. He'd trimmed his beard, filthy thoughts of how it would feel on your skin flashed in your head.

Finally meeting his eyes with your own, you had to take a breath before replying.

"It's nice to see you, Frankie." Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, drawing his gaze "I guess we should talk-"

You were cut short by rowdy laughter and a crowd of people bustling onto the street, another wave of ticket-holders were coming to try their luck and win the huge teddy bear prize each game boasted.

For the next hour, you were kept too busy to talk more than what was necessary for running the booth. You used the time to gather your thoughts and make a list of what you wanted to say, how you wanted to say it, and how you were going to start the conversation casually.

Frankie wasn't sure how he had ended up as Mrs. Crawley's crutch. One minute he was dropping off a crate of fruit for the apple bobbing contest and the next he was walking at a snail's pace listening to the old woman reminiscing about her long-dead husband. 

She was sweet, and he didn't mind the slow meander around the square. No, it was the subject matter that had bugged him. After his divorce was finalized and his daughter was taken from him, which he could see now was the right thing to do at the time, Frankie had accepted the fact that he was alone.

Just him, his trees, and the memories of what he did to end up this way.

Then, you had come along. The first woman to catch his attention in five damn years. It wasn't just your beauty, or your easy smile, or the curves of your body. It was your goodness, your innocence, your ability to worm your way into everyone's hearts and not even know it. 

Listening to Mrs. Crawley and the love she had shared made his chest ache, knowing he'd never deserve it himself he still found himself longing for the same. The first moment he had laid eyes on you, it was like a movie about his life had played in flashes in his mind. The meet-cute at the market, romancing you with thoughtful dates like picnics and driving up to the city’s museums and theatre. Getting married, growing the business, then growing your family. It had all played out in a split second but the impression it had left was immeasurable. 

Then, he'd opened his mouth and ruined the moment. Crashed into your truck and ruined the moment. Spooked and burned you, ruining the moment. Gained your trust, broke down your walls, and then left like a coward in the morning and ruined it.

Shaken by his inward reflecting when Mrs. Crawley was jostled, Frankie froze in place once his eyes were directed to where you stood. You were glaring over his shoulder and refusing to meet his eyes, understandably, yet he still felt his chest contract with the hope you'd look at him and smile. 

The way your gaze had eventually taken him in, once he'd been abandoned by a suddenly spry-looking elder, had flared that longing back into a roaring flame. The sudden need to work the booth gave him plenty of time to plan his speech: begging for forgiveness and admitting to the way he felt. While his mind was busy planning his speech, his heart was bursting at how comfortably and effortlessly the two of you worked with each other, like you’d been doing it for years.

Heather returned, strolling over with a barely concealed smile on her face, not looking at all like she'd just come back from a domestic emergency. This whole town could win an Oscar for their performance tonight, it was mildly humiliating but you knew they were acting out of love.

She thanked Frankie profusely for standing in for her and wouldn't take no for an answer after suggesting the two of you go and enjoy yourselves for a bit. Glancing at Frankie you shrugged your shoulders and made a face that said "why not?". He smiled and nodded back, grabbing your bag and slinging it over his shoulder before joining you on the bustling street.

You walked in comfortable silence for a while, relishing just being near each other and absorbing the jubilant energy surrounding you.

Frankie bought you cotton candy and you made him belly laugh when you showed him the few bottles of cider you'd smuggled in your bag. Seeing the way his face lit up, how he exposed that delicious neck when he threw his head back, hearing the joyous rumble from deep within, sent a realization slamming into you so suddenly it made you stumble.

You loved him.

You might not be in love with him, not yet anyway, but there was a lightness and a warmth in your heart and he had put it there.

Frankie had grabbed your arm when you had stumbled and when you didn't pull away from his touch, his hand slid down your arm and his fingers wove their way through yours.

Walking like this, hand in hand, you found yourselves at the rides.

"I've never been on a Ferris Wheel," he admits to you, craning his head upwards to stare at the top carriage.

Dragging your eyes away from his neck, again, it took your brain a moment to acknowledge what he’d said. "What?!" You expressed with mock horror, already making your way toward the ride’s gate, "Then let's remedy that!"

"I'm- uh this is stupid," he was barely moving with you and adjusted his hat, a nervous tick you'd noticed, "I'm scared of heights."

This admission stopped you in your tracks.

"Frankie." You deadpanned, gripping his hand and pulling on it to emphasize your words, "You're. A. Pilot."

He groaned and you were sure you could see a blush creeping up from beneath his collar, "I know! I know. It's just that, up there?" He stops with a sigh, gazing at the stars wistfully, "I'm in control. I trust myself."

"Do you trust me?" You ask him softly gripping his hand between the both of yours.

Frankie gazed at your face for a breath, not in a way that made you think he was hesitating, it was more like he was pausing so you knew the full weight of his words.

"I trust you with everything."

PART NINE

TAGS: If you’d like to be added, send me an ask or a message! If you’re on the list please interact, I love getting your feedback, hearing your predictions, and all the “these two idiots!” comments 

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[d-criss-news]

20 Questions With Darren Criss: How Acting Has Helped Him Make New Music

While Darren Criss has graced our TV screens with a range of characters, from high schooler Blaine Anderson on Glee to serial killer Andrew Cunanan on The Assassination of Gianni Versace, he was last spotted just being himself, on our For You Page on TikTok. “I’m walking to rehearsal with a guitar on my back with a Trader Joe’s bag ... I did not bring an umbrella because I forgot that it was raining. I’m rocking that NYC musician life,” the Glee alum explained in the hilarious clip posted three days ago.

While Criss’ acting work has earned him acclaim and stardom, he leaned into making music during the pandemic. On Aug. 20, he dropped a new EP, Masquerade, featuring five new tracks that Criss says were inspired by the different characters Criss has embraced throughout his career. After Criss wrote songs for his musical comedy web series Royalties and Apple TV+’s animated sitcom Central Park before the pandemic struck the United States, he then used those experiences as a precursor to his new EP. As Criss continues to promote his new music, he answered 20 of Billboard's questions – giving us a peek into how his new EP came together, and how growing up in San Fransisco shaped him as an actor, singer and all-around artist.

1. What inspired your latest project, Masquerade?

Although I would have preferred that it come at a far less grim cost, I finally had the time. Before the pandemic, I had written 10 new songs for my show Royalties -- along with an original song for Disney and another for Apple’s Central Park. These were all assignments in which I was writing for a certain scenario and character. Go figure. It was the most music I had ever written in a calendar year. This really emboldened me to rethink how I made my own music— to start putting a focus on “character creation” in my songs, rather than personal reflection. The latter was not proving to be as productive. The alchemy of having this time and having set a new intention with my own songwriting and producing made me put on a few of my favorite masques and throw myself a Masquerade.

2. How do you think your background as an actor complements your music?

They are one and the same to me. I treat acting roles like musical pieces— dialogue is like scoring a melody; there’s pace, dynamics, cadence, tone. Physical characterization is like producing -- zeroing in on the bass line, deciding on the kick pattern. Vocal characterization is like choosing the right sonic experience, choosing the most effective snare sound, and mixing the high end or low end. It goes without saying that it works in the complete opposite direction. Making each song is taking on a different role literally and employing the use of different masques to maximize the effectiveness of the particular story being told.

3. On Instagram  you wrote that “Masquerade is a small collection of the variety of musical masques that have always inspired me.” Which track do you identify with most in your real life?

Everybody absorbs songs differently. Some key into the lyrics, some into the melody, some the production, some into vocal performance. When I listen to songs, I consider all of their value on totally different scales. So it’s hard to say if there’s any track I “identify” with more than any others, since I -- by nature -- identify with all of them. I think I just identify with certain aspects more than others. If it helps for a more interesting answer, I will say I enjoy the slightly more classical, playful -- dare I say -- more Broadway-leaning wordplay of “Walk of Shame,” but that’s just talking about lyricism. I enjoy the attitude of “F*kn Around,” the batsh--t musicality of “I Can’t Dance,” the relentless grooves of “Let’s” and “For A Night Like This.” All have different ingredients I really enjoy having an excuse to dive into.

4. What’s the first piece of music that you bought for yourself, and what was the medium?

Beatles audio cassettes: “Help” and “Hard Day’s Night.” I just listened on repeat on a tape-playing Walkman until my brother and I got a stereo for our room with a CD player in it, which was  when I just bought the same two albums again, but this time as compact discs.

5. What was the first concert you saw?It’s hard to say, because my parents took us to a lot of classical concerts when we were small. But I guess this question usually refers to what was the first concert you went to on your own volition, and that my friend, was definitely Warped Tour ’01. My brother and I went on our own— two teenagers going to their first music festival, in the golden age of that particular genre and culture. It was f--king incredible.

6. What did your parents do for a living when you were a kid?

My dad was in private banking and advised really, really wealthy people on how to handle their money. My mom was, by choice, a stay-at-home mom, but in reality, she was my dad’s consigliere. They discussed absolutely everything together. They were a real team, and I saw that every single day in the house. They both had a background in finance (That’s how they met in the first place.) and were incredibly skilled at all the hardcore adulting things that I absolutely suck at. They were total finance wizards together. So of course, instead of becoming an accountant, I picked up playing the guitar and ran as far I could with it. Luckily, they were all about it.

7. What was your favorite homecooked meal growing up?

My dad was an incredible chef. For special occasions, I’d request his crab cakes. They were unreal. I’ve never had a crab cake anywhere in the world that was good as my dad’s.

8. Who made you realize you could be an artist full-time?

I don’t know if I’ve actually realized that yet.

9. What’s at the top of your professional bucket list?

The specifics change every day, but the core idea at the top is to continue being consistently inconsistent with my choices, and to keep getting audiences to constantly reconsider their consideration of me. But I mean, sure, what performer doesn’t want to play Coachella? What songwriter doesn’t want to have Adele sing one of their songs? What actor doesn’t want to be in a Wes Anderson film?

10.  How did your hometown/city shape who you are?

San Francisco. I mean, come on. I was really lucky. The older I get, the more grateful I am for just being born and raised there. It’s an incredibly diverse, culturally rich, colorful, inclusive, vibrant city. By the time I was born, it had served as a beacon for millions of creative, out-of-the-box thinkers to gather and thrive. I grew up around that. The combination of that with having parents, who were unbelievably supportive of the arts themselves, laid an incredibly fortunate foundation to consider the life of an artist as a legitimately viable option. It’s a foundation that I am supremely aware is not the case for millions of young artists around the world. I was absurdly lucky.

11.  What’s the last song you listened to?

I mean probably one of mine, but not by choice. I know, lame. But I’m promoting a new EP, what’d you expect? But if you wanna know what I’ve been listening to, as far as new s--t is concerned: a lot of Lizzy McAlpine, Remi Wolf, and Charlie Burg.

12.  If you could see any artist in concert, dead or alive, who would it be?

The Beatles is an obvious "yeah, duh." Sammy Davis, Mel Tormé, or of course, Nat King Cole. I would’ve loved to see Howard Ashman give a lecture on his creative process and his body of work.

13. What’s the wildest thing you’ve seen happen in the crowd of one of your sets?

I feel like just having a crowd at all, at any one of my sets, is pretty wild enough.

14. What’s your karaoke go-to?

The real answer to this I’ll write into a book one day, because I have a lot to say about karaoke etiquette. I have two options here: I can either name a song that I like to sing for me, for fun, or I can name a song that really gets the group going. The answer depends on what kind of karaoke night we’re dealing with here. So I will say, after I’ve selected a ton of songs that services a decent enough party vibe for everyone else, then I would do one for me, and that would be the Beatles’ “Oh! Darling.”

15. What’s one thing your most devoted fans don’t know about you?

What I have up my sleeve.

16. What TV show did you binge-watch over the past year?

Dave is a stroke of genius. There are episodes that I believe are bona fide masterpieces. Also, My Brilliant Friend is a masterclass in cinematic television.

17. What movie, or song, always makes you cry?

It’s A Wonderful Life.

18. What’s one piece of advice you would give to your younger self?

Get used to sharing everything about yourself and your life now, or more astutely, to the idea that you don’t necessarily get to control how your life is shared. I know it’s not really your thing, but you’re gonna have to get used to it, so start building up those calluses now. And don’t worry, all the stuff you love now will be cool again in your mid-thirties, so keep some of those clothes because you’ll be a full-blown fashion icon if you just keep wearing exactly what you’re wearing. Oh nd also, put money into Apple and Facebook.

19.  What new hobby did you take on in the last year?

I’ve always been a linguaphile. My idea of leisure time is getting to study or review other languages. This past year, I took the time to finally dive into learning how to read, write, and speak Japanese. Other than making music, it was one of the biggest components of my 2020-2021.

20. What do you hope to accomplish or experience by the end of 2021?

I hope I get to play live shows again.

[snackhobi]

pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

--

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

--

“It’s just unacceptable.”

The woman in front of you is clearly wealthy. Her dark hair is perfectly styled and her pale nails are perfectly shaped and her subtle makeup is perfectly flattering; she’s starting to get older but rather than shy away from it, she’s leaning into it, and she looks almost imperious in her beauty, eyes sharp and set of her lips severe. Park Dahye was born into wealth and has clearly thrived in the life that she’s been afforded.

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn. 

“He’s flitting around with some young, silly thing on his arm, with no consideration for the family’s reputation— my reputation,” she continues. Her posture is perfect, from the set of her spine to her crossed legs to her folded hands that rest on her knee, somehow demure and yet highlighting all of her beauty and riches; the jewellery on her wrists and fingers, the expensive heels on her feet, the slit of her haute-couture dress, no doubt tailored for her and her alone. “I’ve already spoken to him about his behaviour, but he’s just ignored my warnings. We may have agreed on the divorce but we’re currently still husband and wife— has he no shame?”

“Awful.” You don’t even try to hide how bored you are, but Dahye is so quietly incensed that she doesn’t even notice as she launches into the next part of her queenly diatribe, and you muffle a sigh.

That’s the problem with rich clients. Sure, they’re willing to fork over stupid amounts of money to you, but they also think that their issues are of paramount significance— like they’re the centre of the universe and their problems are the only important ones in the world. Like you’re interested in what they have to say. Like this is the only job you’ll ever do that holds real weight or meaning.

For them, it’s a life-changing (life-ending) decision. 

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

“Yes, yes, that’s just so terrible, gosh, I don’t know how you manage it,” you say once she pauses to take a breath, using the opportunity to cut her off before she launches into another part of her articulate rant. “Anyway. Would you prefer if his death was embarrassing or quiet?”

For the first time since you’ve met, she seems unsettled. “Pardon?”

Namjoon is much better with people than you, smooth and charming with his boyish dimples. Normally any discussions would go through your handler, but this woman had demanded to meet you personally and had been willing to pay for the privilege: so here you are, with your relative bluntness instead of Joon’s winsome smile.

“You know,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “When they find the body. Do you want him to be caught with his trousers around his ankles—literally or figuratively, that’s up to you— or would you rather it seemed like something natural and unpredictable? Like a sudden heart attack in his sleep, for example.”

When it comes to rich clients, a lot of it is about reputation. When someone’s shuffled off this mortal coil, it’s not just that they’re removed from the equation, it’s also about the ripples that their death leaves in the high society that they’ve lived in. Does she want her (soon-to-be) ex-husband made a mockery of, or does she just want him out of the picture?

She can’t see your face, behind your mask as it is, but you can see hers in perfect clarity. For all that Dahye seems put together and almost impassive, you see the tiny flicker in her eyes. Ah. She’s not just mad because he’s ruining their reputation. She’s hurt.

Man, that sucks. Honestly you bet it’s easier being an assassin than a rich housewife. At least when it comes to backstabbing you can literally involve a knife to sort your problems out. (Well, knives are messy, but you get the picture.)

“I’d prefer something quiet,” she decides. “I’d worry that it could lead back to me, otherwise.”

You’d be offended at the idea that you’d leave any trace that could implicate anyone or that this man’s sudden death was in any way suspicious, but she’s paying you enough that you find that you don’t care. You take pride in your work, but for the amount of zeroes involved in the fee you’re being paid, you think you can take an unintentional insult or two. Or three. Or ten.

You like money, what can you say.

“Sure thing,” you say, giving her a lazy, two fingered salute. You’ve been reclining against the desk of the hotel suite, flicking the complimentary, heavy metal pen between your fingers, twirling it like the world’s most underwhelming baton. You straighten up and let the pen drop back into the pen pot—wait, no, of course it’s a handmade porcelain jar, an alarmingly well-made Joseon porcelain replica. Everything in here stinks of money. “RM will confirm where the money is to be deposited. Half of it now as collateral, and half upon completion of the job,” you say. “If you change your mind between now and then, we’ll be keeping the original 50%, but if for some reason something goes awry, you’ll receive that money back. Sound good?”

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

“Fabulous!” You clap your hands together, although the sound is muffled by your gloves. You’re not about to leave your fingerprints everywhere, geez. “Alright, time for me to skidaddle I suppose! I’ve got work to be doing, people to be watching, men to be killing!”

Dahye flinches imperceptibly, but by this point you’ve already slipped out onto the balcony and into the night.

--

Being an assassin is hard work.

Technically, everyone has the capacity to kill another human being. But killing as a job involves a lot more than just caving someone’s head in with a rock—that’s why Cain isn’t referred to as an assassin, what with how he’d just bashed his brother Abel with a convenient stone that happened to be lying nearby. He was just a straight up dick.

No, when you kill professionally you need to be familiar with an array of different techniques, each one far more sophisticated than the last. You need to know how to be stealthy, how to blend in as you watch your target, how to set up the scenes of their death in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. Or, instead, how to set the scene up in a way that lets any onlookers know that this person had been offed by someone who knew what they were doing, and knew it well. There's a difference between being a killer and being an assassin and you are firmly in the latter category.

So, if your client wants her husband to be shuffled off quietly, then that’s what she’ll get.

They really have pulled out all the stops for this charity gala. Everything is shining, glittering and bright: the surroundings, the food, the people. Especially the people. The rich elite have come together for an extravagant and exquisite night of ostentation and luxury, all in the name of raising money for some needy cause. (You try not to think of the irony and/or hypocrisy behind that.)

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to blend in here. Namjoon had secured (forged) invitations for you both, and so you hang off his arm as you make a slow sweep of the room, trailing unnoticed after your target. You’re not planning to make a move right now but you want to feel out exactly what he’s like: the more information you have about the person you’ve been contracted to assassinate, the better. 

Plus it’s an excuse to dress up nice and eat free food— though that last part is mainly Namjoon.

“God, these canapés are so good,” Namjoon moans quietly to you, hoovering up the flaky pastry crumbs from his fingers with single-minded intent. You dig your fingers subtly into his arm.

“I thought we agreed on not eating tonight, Joon,” you mutter to him, although you say it with a beatific smile in case anyone is watching; the place is heaving with people but you’re always on guard. (Even if Namjoon is right. The hors d’oeuvres that are on offer do look incredibly tempting.)

“You have a glass of champagne,” he points out.

“And you may have noticed that I haven’t drunk any of it.” You titter, as if he’s just told a funny joke, and lightly slap his arm. Again, you’re fairly certain no one is watching, but you can never be too careful. “It’s all about creating a facade, Joonie. It’s what we in the business call a ruse.”

Even throughout your back and forth, you’ve kept your eyes on your man of the night: Park Minjae, a middle-aged businessman who’s been greeting people and getting swept up in conversation, all while a slip of a blonde clings to his arm, stuck to his side like a pretty limpet. She’s cute, sure, but she lacks the poise that Dahye has, so you frankly don’t get it. Then again, not everyone finds strong women as attractive as you do. Weirdos.

You’ve been focused on Minjae but your eyes have also been flitting around the room, drinking in your surroundings, drawing up a detailed map of your environment (of course you’d scoped out the building before tonight, but with all the banquet tables and chairs around the layout is a little different). The people, too, have been subject to your scrutiny, although so far they all seem summarily unimportant and uninteresting, just as you’d suspected. You lift your glass to your lips and pretend to take a tiny, demure sip, glancing up through your eyelashes to scan the room again, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

You take back what you just said about everyone being unimportant and uninteresting. 

The woman who’s just walked in is fucking stunning. Her sleek dark bob is unstyled, but perfectly frames her beautiful face: sharp eyes, soft nose, flushed lips. Her cocktail dress lets you see almost every inch of those perfect legs, the line of her thighs to her calves and— oh, you swear you could shed a tear of joy. She’s already tall and she’s made even taller by the heels she wears, towering above most of the men here, a fucking Amazonian goddess who looks powerful and undeniably elegant at the same time. 

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

You don’t know who she is, but goddamn, do you want to. She’s scanning the room, and for a brief moment, your eyes touch. A tiny thrill shudders up your spine at the darkness of her keen eyes, that quick and astute gaze. 

It’s only the tiniest of moments that’s over as soon as it’s started. The dark-haired beauty looks away and is already disappearing into the crowd before you realise, and it’s only then you notice that you’re staring, utterly drawn in by her cool poise and presence. You’ve been frozen in place with the rim of your champagne  glass resting against your mouth, and your eyelashes flutter as you blink and glance down.

The imprint of your lower lip has been left on the glass, stark red visible against its edge, and you squeeze Namjoon’s bicep.

“How does my lipstick look?”

He takes one look at you as he swallows down another tiny vol-au-vent. “Like half of it is missing,” he says, and you frown.

“Ugh. I’ll go touch it up in the bathroom. Keep an eye on our guy, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not until you’ve made it to the toilets that you realise that you do not, in fact, have any lipstick in your ridiculously small clutch bag. When it comes to your actual work, you’re meticulous and thorough and well-planned, but for some bizarre reason, a tube of lipstick is never the top of the list when it comes to equipment. Unbelievable. (You knew you should have worn the 24/7 stuff, but it was always such a nightmare to get off.)

You’ve been so busy rummaging through your bag that you’re completely caught off-guard at the sound of a quiet voice from behind you.

“Lost something?”

Oh, fuck. It’s her, your dark haired and dark eyed beauty, meeting your gaze through the mirror when you glance up from where you’re resting your bag against the marble counter  (marble, marble, marble, it’s all marble: the floors, the counters, the sinks; why do rich people always love marble?). She looks altogether too amused at your plight and at how your eyes have widened perceptibly upon seeing her again. But can she blame you? Her presence is so graceful and commanding and she’s so dizzyingly attractive it’s insane. Surely she must get this all the time.

You stare for a little longer than is probably polite, and even behind her fringe you can see how one of her eyebrows rises.

“Sorry for staring,” you say once you notice. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She pauses as she takes in the compliment. You see how her eyes flicker over your face and settle on your mouth; your upper lip, tinted burgundy red, while the lower is faint and smudged.

“Lipstick problems?” She cocks her head at you, still staring at your lips in the mirror. God, she’s so hot.

“Can you tell?” You sound rueful as you glance down at the reflection of your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly with a fingertip. “I forgot to bring any with me so now I’m stuck.”

She finally looks away from you. You hear a small, metallic click as she unclasps her evening bag— marginally larger than your own— and lifts out a small tube of liquid lipstick. “Would you like to use mine?”

Fuck yes you would. 

“Oh, would that be alright?” You finally turn around, and you have to tilt your head back to look at her, taller than you in her heels. Jesus Christ. She’s going to be the death of you. Why are women so gorgeous? Who gave them the right? “I’m not sure the shade will match, though?”

You watch her beautiful mouth curve up into a small smirk as she pulls out a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes from her bag, and you swear could propose to her there and then. Beautiful and tall and organised? Holy shit. What a woman.

She’s got her bag in one hand, while the lipstick and wipes are clasped in the other; her hand is held up in such a way that you think she means for you to take them from her, but when you reach out she shakes her head.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says. The quiet note of authority in her tone makes you go weak at the knees.

Thank god the toilets you chose aren’t the main ones, because it means there’s no one around to see how she tilts her head at the marble counter in the universal gesture of get on there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you, of course, immediately comply. You brace your hands against the cold stone before hitching yourself up, careful with the draping folds of your dress; the cold touch of the stone is noticeable through the material of your dress, but it’s instantly forgotten when your enchantress steps closer. 

You spread your knees so she can stand between them. Holy shit, she’s even better up close. Her lashes are wispy but they’re the perfect frame for her gorgeous eyes, which are dark and intent. You suppress a shiver. You hold yourself still as she leans forward and around you so she can put her clutch and lipstick down, trying to ignore how close she is, but there’s no way she can’t realise what she’s doing. Your heart is pounding. You wish you didn’t have a job to do tonight because you would so much rather be getting, ah, acquainted with this woman rather than following some old businessman around.

The only noise in the bathroom is the sound of peeling plastic as she opens the tiny packet of wet wipes before she curls one around her finger, glancing at you through her lashes.

“Open,” she instructs.

Your mouth drops open immediately. She sweeps the wipe over your lips, bottom, then top, touch firm but careful, drawing away the red from your skin; you stare at her as she works, how her eyes are cast down as she stares at your mouth. She’s using her free hand to grip your chin and you feel deliciously powerless in her grasp. 

You purse your lips a little to try and help her, watching the way her eyes flicker as she pulls the wipe back over them— somewhat firmer, this time, with more intent. Lingering. The only barrier between her finger and your mouth is soft and flimsy, the texture of the wipe against your lips like cotton as it drags across them, and it would be so easy to pull it out of her hands.

She flicks the dirtied wipe aside, heedless of how it lands on the unsullied marble, before reaching for her lipstick. She twists the tube in her fingers, motions of her hands precise and deft, and you’ve never been so attracted to how someone’s uncapped something before. 

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

Your eyes trail over the wand as she pulls it out, dragging the doe foot against the rim to catch the excess before turning it towards you, putting the tube by your thigh, near where your hand is bracing against the marble. She takes hold of your chin once again. You stay quiet as she starts to sweep the lipstick over your lips, painting them the same flushed pink as her own. Once again she’s staring at her work so you’re free to drink her in, almost drunk from her beauty, eyes catching on the tiny moles on her pale skin, the smallest freckles that are only noticeable because you’re this close.

The squelch of the applicator sliding into the tube is almost lewd in the silence of the bathroom, and this time you can’t suppress a shiver when she pulls your chin down to open your mouth so she can go back in again on your lips, drawing a sharp, crisp line. Tracing the edges of your lips, the flushed swell of them, the peak of your cupid’s bow.

She glances up. For a moment you’re both still, staring at each other, tension in the air palpable, but then she smacks her lips and you copy the motion, evening the application of the makeup on your mouth. 

“Perfect,” she murmurs. “One more step.”

A small, confused frown flits over your face. She’s put the lipstick aside but then she lifts a finger and points towards your still parted lips. You take in a small, shuddering breath when she speaks again and you realise what she means.

“You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth, do you?”

Both of her eyebrows have risen and she’s looking at you like you’re being silly if you disagree with her.

“No,” you say. You’re not about to deny her. “No, I don’t.”

Your eyes remain locked. You lean forwards, taking that perfect, long finger into your mouth, dragging your lips upwards so that any excess lipstick is caught against her pale skin, a ring of deep rose circling her bottom knuckle; you curl your tongue around her, hot and wet, feeling the crease of her knuckles and pad of her fingertip against your taste buds as you slowly, slowly pull away. 

It’s undoubtedly indecent and risqué and you can feel the flush of arousal settling in your lower belly, an almost embarrassing flush of wetness leaking out of you at the taste of her skin. She, however, remains unmoved, although she lets her finger linger just for a moment on your bottom lip, almost rough against their softness— but before you can swallow those fingers back down and ruin her meticulous work, she pulls away, lifting the discarded wipe to sweep it around her finger, catching the lipstick you’d left on her skin.

“Done.”

She steps back and you feel like you can finally breathe, a breath so deep you can feel how your lungs fill, oxygen rushing to your brain so fast you feel lightheaded. You watch as she sweeps everything back into her bag, clicking it shut with a note of finality; the sullied wipe is cast carelessly into a tiny, chrome bin with a flick of a wrist, her every motion regal.

You slide off the counter. You still can’t take your eyes off her and you don’t want to. It feels like whatever heaviness was in the air has dissipated, gone in an instant with a turn of her head— normally you’d let it slide, even if you feel disappointed, but she’s just so magnetic. 

“Thank you,” you say. You can see yourself in the mirror now and to your complete lack of surprise, your lipstick is perfect. The shade is lighter than one you’d have chosen for yourself but it’s beautiful on her, of course.

“You’re welcome.” She’s in the middle of washing her hands, but she glances over her shoulder at you, and the firm set to her face lightens a little as she smiles. It’s a small, sly thing, and you realise with a start that she knows exactly what effect she has on you.

I’m coming back for you, you think to yourself. You have work to do tonight, but—

“What’s your name?”

She pauses. She shuts off the tap with a quick motion, reaching forward for a rolled hand-towel, a neat stack on a metal tray nearby. You wonder if she’s not going to answer but then she speaks, looking at you instead of the soft cotton she’s rubbing over her skin. “Yoonji,” she says. “I’m Min Yoonji.”

Min Yoonji is the most gorgeous fucking woman you’ve ever seen.

“I love your dress, Yoonji,” you say, and it’s true, you really do— but you’d prefer it if it was off. Not that you’re about to say that, of course.

She lets out a breath of laughter. “I know.” Oh, god, you love confident women. “What’s your name, darling?”

You have that same split second of hesitation, similar to Yoonji’s only moments prior. You use a codename when you work, of course, and you have a plethora of fake identities that you use and are intimately familiar with— but the idea of your real name falling off Yoonji’s flushed, petal lips? Woof.

“Y/n L/n,” you say. 

Oh, Joon would be so unimpressed right now, giving some mysterious woman your full, real name just because you think she’s the sexiest thing since sex, but whatever. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Well, Y/n,” Yoonji says. You were right, your name sounds so good falling from her mouth, the mouth that’s turned into a small, almost smug smile. “I certainly hope to see you at the charity ball in a few weeks?”

“Of course.” Your schedule has been magically cleared and you’ll definitely be in attendance for whatever ball Yoonji is referring to, even if you have no idea what it is. You only come to these things if you have to for work but for Yoonji you’ll make an exception. You’ll make a hundred thousand exceptions. A hundred thousand quinquagintaquadringentillion exceptions. “I’ll make sure to remember my lipstick next time.”

And there it is, the thing that seals the deal, the final nail in the coffin: Yoonji glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, a sharp, dark touch that shoots through you as her smile edges into hunger.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure it won’t stay on your lips long enough to matter.”

--

The thing you’ve discovered about Minjae is that, with his divorce due to be finalised soon, he’s apparently lost any sense of routine and is revelling in his new found freedom, which is kind of irritating when you’re trying to tail the guy. Sure, you’re still going to take him out, but you prefer it when targets have some sort of schedule that they adhere to— makes it easier to set up a kill.

“You’re certain that he’s going to be here tonight?” You’d been sceptical considering how the guy’s apparently thrown his schedule out of the window, but Namjoon had been certain.

“Positive.” He’d said. “He’s there every Tuesday night. You’ll have plenty of time.”

The house appears to be deserted. The driveway is empty and all the windows and doors are locked tight. It’s just one of the properties that the Parks own in the city, and for all its size and lushness it appears as though this one is rarely frequented; you imagine that the cleaners and gardeners spend more time here than the owners themselves.

It doesn’t take you long to evade the watchful eyes of security cameras to pick a lock and slip inside. You're grateful for the dying evening light that helps cover your tracks from any onlookers from the street, although you imagine the high walls do good work at preventing people from seeing into the grounds anyway.

There’s still enough light to navigate through the house, the golden tinged sunset casting warm shadows across the spotless furniture and fixtures; you take a moment to let your eyes slide across a huge canvas hanging on a wall that spans two storeys, some impressionist piece that’s surprisingly ugly for all the talent that’s obvious in its brushstrokes. Maybe that’s why the Parks are never here? You’d certainly try to avoid seeing this thing if you could. Eurgh.

Even though the building is empty, you’re careful as you start to make your way forwards. You always place your toes down first whenever you take a step, soundless as you start to map the house out in your mind; there are so many rooms you can hide in, but you’d prefer to be close to wherever Minjae ends up. Saves faffing around later. 

You’ll overpower him, inject the toxin into his blood and wait for him to die before setting him up on the toilet— it’s surprisingly common for people to die while on the shitter, the strain leading to an untimely heart attack, especially in older people. The poison you’re using tonight will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack in the case the coroner decides a post-mortem needs to be undertaken.

(Being found on the bog might not be a particularly graceful way to die but when you’re dead it’s kind of hard to be embarrassed.)

You’ve eased the door open into a large bedroom, and you’re just inspecting if it looks like this room sees more use than the others when you pause. It’s deathly silent in this building, the air still minus where you glide through it as you move, but there’s a feeling in your gut, some instinct that makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You freeze, ears straining to catch any noise to let you know if there’s someone else here, when—

There. In the reflection of a burnished pot, the tiniest shifting movement.

You react almost faster than the eye can see. You spin to parry a hit that was aimed for your head, and the strength behind it shudders through your arms. You only have a second to take in the details of your assailant— dressed in dark clothing, masquerade style mask in place, a professional just like you— before you’re deflecting another flurry of blows, flipping backwards out of reach before spinning into a kick, hooking that burnished pot with your foot and sending it flying towards the other assassin.

They dodge it. You both ignore the sound of clattering metal as you lunge forwards, trying to catch them off guard after their sidestep— your fist makes contact with their palm instead of their face, your hand engulfed in theirs, and you startle at their speed. You might not be the strongest but you’re damn fast. 

There’s a pause, and you can only see a slither of their eyes through the sockets of their mask, but you can tell that they’re impressed. And honestly? So are you. 

The moment shatters when they use the hand they're holding to twist you, locking an arm around your neck and putting you into a chokehold; they’re strong, stronger than you, cutting off your airflow. You need to get out of this before you fall unconscious, but if they’re trained as well as you then they’ll know how to combat the usual ways you’d use to get out of this.

So, in a demonstration of your flexibility you kick a leg up, using the strength of your thighs and calves to slam it into the arm that’s around your neck. Your assailant lets out a noise of surprise and pain as you slip out of their hold and cartwheel across the room before spinning to face them.

There’s a beat. The air is tense. You get another chance to take in the details of whoever’s just tried to choke you out; you stare at her as she stares at you, the two of you poised and ready to strike, watching and waiting. 

Knives might be messy but of course you’re not unarmed. You have multiple sheathed weapons in your clothes, though you don’t make a move to draw any of them. Yet. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me who your employer is, would you?”

Your opponent tilts her head. “You don’t know?” She sounds amused, even through her mask. “Minjae took out a contract on the assassin who has a contract on him.”

Your lip curls back from your teeth. The only way Minjae would have heard about your contract is if Dahye had told him. Presumably to try and shock him out of his behaviour, or something, who knows. “This is the last time I’m accepting a job from these rich old farts,” you mutter. 

“That’s for certain,” she says. 

She starts to move and you catch her arm just as she goes to unsheathe a wicked looking blade, knocking it aside before she overpowers you and you start to wrestle. It’s messy and graceless but sometimes you just have to fight dirty. 

Whoever this woman is, she still has the upper hand because she was expecting you and you weren’t expecting her; she knocks you onto the bed and pins you down, swooping the knife up from where it had been thrown onto the mattress. You go utterly still as she holds it against your throat, towering over your from where she’s straddling your waist and kneeling on your arms. Any sudden movement from you now could lead to your untimely demise— and, unsurprisingly, you absolutely want to avoid that at all costs.

Namjoon would never let you live it down if you were killed on the job.

You hum. “It seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

She doesn’t respond. The knife doesn’t dip any lower, though; you’re undoubtedly at her mercy but you notice she’s careful to keep the knife still, hovering above the skin of your neck, but not making contact.

“Well,” you continue. “At least I’m going out the way I’d always hoped to.”

Even in the dying light and with how her face is covered, you notice her face shifting behind her mask— a silent, questioning raise of an eyebrow. You give her a cheeky smile that crinkles your eyes.

“In bed with a beautiful woman, of course.”

At this she huffs out a laugh. “Do you flirt with every person who tries to kill you?”

You’re trying to look as non-threatening as possible to keep that knife away from your jugular. The longer you talk, the longer you live, even if you can’t see a way to get out of this situation right now. “Only the pretty ones.”

The small laugh she lets out this time seems more like a scoff. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Any woman who can fight like you and knows how to handle a knife? Automatically hot. I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

The knife still hasn’t moved. She continues to stare you down and you go tense when her free hand moves. She tugs the cloth of your mask down to reveal your face, the air of the room almost cold against the suddenly bared skin, your breaths free to curl out unhindered.

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner at least once before we get this intimate, but for you I suppose I’ll make an exception.” You’re still grinning cheekily at her, but your mind continues to race as you try to think of a way to get out of this, especially now that she’s seen what you look like—but you suddenly notice that she’s gone very, very still.

“Y/n?”

The grin freezes on your face. Oh, you’re so boned. You’re so very boned. Like, yeah, you’ve been seconds away from death for the past, hmm, five minutes, but this is somehow worse. How the fuck does she know your name?

You’re given the answer almost immediately. She withdraws the hand from your chin and reaches for her own mask. Your eyes widen and your breath stutters in your throat once you see who it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Yoonji is staring down at you. She’s every inch as imperious and stunning as the last time you’d seen her— hell, even moreso now that you’ve seen what she’s capable of. No wonder you hadn’t been able to find out anything about her after you’d met at that garish charity gala. Because she’s untraceable, just like you.

“Well.” You stare back at her, not even attempting to keep the surprise off your face. “If anyone has to kill me at least I can die satisfied in the knowledge that it was you. Can I make a request? I’d be eternally grateful if you smothered me to death with your thighs. Just a suggestion, feel free to ignore it if you want.”

Yoonji cocks her head. Her bob is tied back, but there’s a loose lock of hair curled by the side of her face that shifts at the motion. Your fingers twitch. If she wasn’t kneeling on your arms you know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tucking it behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Hey, if it means I get to feel your legs around my face before I die, I’ll give a full fledged TED talk,” you say. “I have to admit, though. When I pictured us in bed together I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The knife still hasn’t moved from your throat. She continues to stare, as if considering what to do next, though her face remains impassive. “What did you think it would be like?”

“Well, you know. Less knives and clothes involved and a lot more making out,” you answer. “You, telling me what to do. Me, entirely at your command. Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

The human body is a fickle and strange beast. Ever since you discovered who’s straddling you, you’ve been growing wetter and wetter, even if you’re trying not to let on that you’re steadily growing more aroused— you’re still distinctly aware of the knife that’s only centimetres away from your skin, but somehow your body is more focused of the fact that the woman you’ve been daydreaming about is finally in front of you again. 

(Well, less in front of you and more on top of you, which is an admittedly preferable option, sans the knife involvement.)

You see how Yoonji’s eyes are darting over your face. No doubt taking in how your pupils are dilated, how your breaths are a little shallower, quicker— signs of fear and signs of arousal are surprisingly similar. You wonder if she can identify which it is. Probably. You’re not exactly very subtle in your attraction to her.

“I forgot my lipstick again,” you add, and Yoonji’s passive mask finally breaks when she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

Even the way she throws the knife aside is gorgeous. The sharp undulation of her wrist as she sends the blade skittering across the polished wood floor is careless and fluid. Her hands cup your face as she bends down, and you send up a mental thanks to any god or higher being who might be listening before Yoonji presses her lips to your and your brain goes blank.

Apparently Yoonji likes it messy. One of her hands is grasping your chin in a mockery of the last time you’d met and she’d painted your lips— your mouth is open and she licks past your lips as you shudder beneath her. She’s still got her knees pressed into your arms, pinning you down, but you desperately crane your head towards her, chasing that kiss; you tilt your head to deepen it, and the whine that leaves you when she pulls away is almost embarrassing.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon and the room is dark, painted in shades of grey and deep blue. You wish you could see Yoonji properly and you can’t help but wriggle a little underneath her, but then you watch her raise her hands and clap three times in rapid succession before the room floods with dim light. Sound activated lights? Damn.

Yoonji’s mouth shines, covered in a sheen of your mixed saliva, her pretty lips flushed rose pink; even without makeup they’re beautiful and their colour is deep, the blooming petals of a flower. Your eyes trail over her face, down her neck, over the fall of her chest and stomach— you’re both far too covered up in these stupid ensembles of yours and you want to strip the clothes off her. You want to see every inch of her beautiful, majestic body, bared for your lips and hands.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

“Not to, um, ruin the moment, but my hands are going numb.” The weight of Yoonji’s body being pressed into your arms has pretty much cut off the blood flow to your fingers and you can feel the telltale sensation of pins and needles spreading through your skin. “Can I have those back, please?”

Yoonji lifts her knees just enough for you to slide your arms out from underneath them. You immediately shed your gloves and go to grab her ass but she gives you a sharp look and you freeze, slowly settling them on her thighs instead, which she allows with only the slightest raise of her eyebrows.

“Watch,” she commands, and who are you to disobey?

She reaches for the tie in her hair, tugging it out and letting her dark locks fall to frame her lovely, beautiful face. You hungrily swallow down each sight that she feeds to you, the skin that’s revealed as she shrugs off her layers of clothing. She unbuckles the weapons hidden underneath her clothes as she sheds them; she’s a veritable arsenal of firearms and knives, all cast carelessly aside until her upper body is finally, blessedly naked. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, the graceful column of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, and your gaze falls to her breasts, small and perfect, nipples dusty pink and hard. You want to put your mouth on them.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

She smirks. You watch as she rolls her body, lifting up from her knees and standing up, towering above you on the bed—your hands fall to the mattress as she pulls her trousers down, tight material dragging against her skin as she slides it over the curve of her hips and down her long legs. There’s a dagger strapped to her thigh, which she unbuckles and lets fall to one side, but god, if she used it to kill you right now, you would die a happy woman. The image of Min Yoonji towering above you in nothing more than some flimsy underwear is one you want to take to the grave.

You can see how the material around her entrance is darkened with her arousal, and you feel your own body react to the sight, pussy throbbing, your own lower lips slick underneath all your layers of clothing. Yoonji hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them down, and you’re enraptured as you watch how the wetness clings to them, before that last bit of clothing is cast aside too. 

You moan, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in your throat. From how she’s standing above you, legs spread from how her feet are either side of your hips, you can see everything—how her cunt is flushed, how wet she is, her folds shining. You bet she tastes so fucking good.

You let your mouth fall open, tongue lolling out in a way that’s obscene. You see Yoonji’s eyes flicker as she traces the motion, the way she takes in your expression: wide, hungry eyes, parted lips, wet tongue. Your hands skim up the back of her calves as she shifts forwards and returns to her knees, her naked core so, so close to your mouth, and you dig your fingers into her skin.

“Bon appé-fucking-tit,” you murmur, and then you pull her onto your face.

Yoonji gasps. 

(You were right. She tastes so, so fucking good.)

You’re utterly shameless as you slurp up her juices, the wetness that continues to leak out of her as you bury your face into her cunt, tongue lapping over her entrance as your nose brushes her clit. Your hands have moved to the flesh of her ass and you encourage her to grind against you, rolling her hips towards your greedy mouth; you’re staring up at her, drinking down her reactions, the way her face twists with pleasure and the shuddering breaths she takes in, perfect little breasts jumping at the motion. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest, pale skin blushing pink, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You purse your lips against her clit, circling it with your tongue before dipping back down between her folds. Each time you breathe in all you can smell is her scent, heavy and dark, all your senses filled with Yoonji, Yoonji, Yoonji. When you hum against her, Yoonji arches her spine and throws her head back, so when you press your tongue into her you hum again, letting the vibrations shiver through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, rutting against your face. “Yes, yes—”

Her thighs tighten around your head. You redouble your efforts, watching her face as you continue to swipe your tongue up her slit and through her folds; you wish you could swallow each of the noises that are falling from her lips as she reaches the crest of her pleasure, the little gasps and moans each time you move your tongue in a particularly wicked way.

“There,” she says. “There, there, just like that—”

Your jaw aches but you don’t even register it, too intent on keeping your mouth open and hot and wet against her. It only takes a few more swipes and flicks of your tongue before she shudders violently, canting her hips towards your mouth as her legs go tense and she cums. She continues to straddle your face as she rides out the waves of pleasure, and you swallow down the wetness that flushes out of her rippling cunt, ignoring the throbbing between your own legs.

You can’t talk, muffled by her as you are, but your mind is singing. Look at you, you think. Look at how gorgeous you are. God, I could eat you out all day. (What a blessed life that would be.)

You can tell when Yoonji’s edged into oversensitivity, jolting when your tongue sweeps over her swollen clit; she settles back, knees spread as she rests against your heaving chest, legs tensing each time an aftershock shivers through her. Your mouth is open as you pant in air, but she watches as you swipe your tongue over your lips, catching the lingering taste of her on you, your chin opalescent with her arousal.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “I’ve done everything that’s worth doing. I’ve peaked. Everything is downhill from here. You can kill me now.”

You’re only half joking, but your thighs instinctively go tight to rub against each other when you see how Yoonji’s eyes darken.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she purrs.

Yoonji might be naked while you’re still clothed, and so still armed, but she’s undoubtedly the one who’s in control right now. You are so, so okay with that. You watch with wide eyes as she shifts back, her hands grabbing the material of your jacket to tug you upwards, but before she can strip off your clothes you capture her lips with your own.

The taste of her is still heady and deep in your mouth and you nip at her bottom lip before pressing your tongue forwards. The kiss is already slick from Yoonji’s wetness and when you pull away, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects you for a moment before it breaks, which Yoonji wipes away from your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Dirty girl,” she says, and you bite back a moan at the unabashed lust in her voice. Her grip on your chin is firm. “Did I say you could kiss me?”

“No,” you answer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She tuts, as if disappointed, and every one of your nerve endings feels electrified, ready and anticipating whatever Yoonji is going to do next. “Such a shame,” she says. “You just can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself, can you?”

“Can you blame me?”

Yoonji huffs out a laugh through her nose. She strips your jacket off in one sharp motion and then your shirt is similarly pulled off with single-minded intent, along with every other piece of equipment cinched to your arms and body. When you reach for her, though, she captures your wrists, her face stern.

“If you keep moving without permission, I’m going to take that privilege away from you.”

You don’t have to see your own eyes to know how your pupils will have dilated from that statement, blood thrumming through your veins, and you can tell Yoonji has noticed when her expression shifts.

“Oh.” A small, triumphant smirk appears on her face. “I see.”

You lift your arms up so she can pull your sports bra off (of course if you had known you’d been running into Yoonji again you would have worn something nicer). Rather than touch your heaving chest, however, she pushes you down onto the mattress, a hand around your wrists so they’re held above your head.

“Keep still,” she says.

She reaches for the holster that you’d had around your upper arm, lazily casting the knife aside before looping it around your wrists and pulling it secure.

Yoonji’s fingers ease under the nylon as she checks the fit. It’s tight, but not so much so that it’s painful or dangerous, and there’s a hushed moment when the realisation hits you— Yoonji and yourself are both skilled enough to know that you could easily free yourself if you wanted to. It would only take a little motion of your wrists and hands and you could slip them out of the makeshift cuffs in an instant.

You melt into the mattress. Yoonji’s eyes shift away from your wrists as she takes in the way you’ve gone utterly relaxed and limp below her, staring back at her. You see an expression flit across her face faster than you can see, before she slides down your body so she can push your legs apart.

You lift your hips to help her strip your trousers off. Her hand lingers on the concealed holster around your thigh, eyeing the small pistol nestled inside it, before that too is stripped off and cast aside. Her hands trail over the soft skin of your hips and stomach, eyes skimming over the bared length of your body before settling between your legs, the slickness of your inner thighs.

“You got this wet just from eating me out?” Her pretty mouth is curled into an expression that’s almost mocking, and your legs jolt as she runs her fingers lightly over your lower lips before rubbing her fingertips together to feel the wetness she’s gathered. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your nails dig into your palms as your hands twist against each other and you shift your legs further apart. “Please, Yoonji,” you plead, shameless from desperation and arousal.

She laughs at your obvious hunger. “I suppose I should return the favour, shouldn’t I?”

You watch breathlessly as she lifts her fingers to her lips, swallowing them into her mouth to get them slick and wet. The motions of her tongue are languid as she licks across her fingers. You’re like a livewire, thrumming with electricity, and the sensation of her finally sinking one of those fingers into you sends sparks throughout your body.

Yoonji’s maddeningly slow. Your body takes her readily, her long finger gliding easily in and out of you, but she makes no move to speed up; you let out a small noise and she moves upwards to kiss you, as if indulging you, and you’ve just relaxed against her mouth when she plunges a second finger in.

She swallows your gasp as her fingers speed up, before she starts to kiss across your jaw, your neck, between the valley of your breasts and then closing her mouth over one of your nipples— she times the flick of her tongue with the thrust of her fingers, and then you feel how she takes her thumb to press your clit at the same time and you’re gone, falling over the edge faster than you’d expected. Your orgasm is fast but deep, your walls clenching tight around the fingers that continue to curl in and out of you, but she doesn’t stop.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

Those two fingers continue to rub your sweet spot as you edge into oversensitivity but Yoonji doesn’t let up. She continues to lick and bite at the skin of your chest, putting her mouth to your other breast and circling the hardened bud of your nipple with her tongue before kissing down your stomach, your pubic bone, and then pressing her lips to your swollen clit.

You whimper. Her pace of her fingers has quickened, and she curls them each time she almost pulls them out, the squelch of their motions obscene as they slide through the cum of your first orgasm. She stares up at you, lapping at your clit with her tongue, and you can feel the saliva that’s dripping from her mouth and over your flushed core, every inch of you oversensitive but screaming with pleasure.

It’s almost painful, but you can feel an orgasm creeping through that ache; you wring your hands together and sob as Yoonji continues to finger fuck you without mercy, her pace almost bruising, the thrust of her knuckles against you each time she bottoms out just one more layer on top of that overwhelming pleasure.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “I’m g-gonna cum again.”

She hums against you, and you make an incoherent noise at the feeling of that sound against your clit, almost too much— and then she presses one more finger into you, and that’s it, that slight burn and stretch sending you hurtling over that edge again. When you cum, your hips buck and you gasp, air rushing into your lungs before it escapes you in a moan of ecstasy; the only sensations registering in your mind right now are the ripples of pleasure spreading through your cunt as Yoonji pulls her fingers out of you, pressing down on your clit in a way that’s almost cruel, and you sob as your legs instinctively try to tighten but are prevented from doing so by Yoonji’s unyielding presence.

She’s staring down at you as you start to go lax, and you think she’s finished with you, but you watch with widening eyes as she takes her ring and middle finger to run them through your sodden folds. You sob again when those fingers plunge back into you, palm pressing against your clit each time she curls her fingers, and you squirm underneath her.

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

“One more.” Yoonji’s leaning back and staring at you, taking in the sweat that’s beading across your skin, the tears that are gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill down your face and into your hair. “You’re doing so well, darling, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

Your reply is incoherent, a small noise that shudders out of the back of your throat. You’ve never been thrown so thoroughly into pleasure like this, overstimulated and aching, but there’s that flicker of pleasure still between your legs, growing each time Yoonji beckons with her fingers, curling over your abused sweet spot again and again and again.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Yoonji says, the wet plunge of her fingers into your abused pussy so messy and loud but not enough to drown her out. “One word and I’ll stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just let your eyes roll back into your head as you cant your hips towards her, trying to latch onto that thread of pleasure that’s thrumming through you below all your screaming nerves, and the noise Yoonji makes is pleased.

“There we go,” she praises. “Look at you, so good for me. Pretty darling.”

You can feel how your pussy clenches around Yoonji’s fingers, how the coil in you is squeezing tighter and tighter, how another orgasm is somehow creeping up on you— you tilt your hips towards that feeling, towards Yoonji’s hand, and then she’s pulling her fingers out of you in an almost rough motion and you’re cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Oh, fuck!” You sob. 

It’s indescribable. The sensation rips through you as your back arches off the bed and you’re cumming and squirting and gasping and you can feel the wetness that slicks out of you, your toes curling as your brain goes blank from the staggering pleasure and static consumes every one of your senses. Your entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel for the ecstasy that’s shooting through your veins, spreading out from your core and to every corner of your insides and limbs.

It takes you a while to come back around, aftershocks wracking through your body. You feel sluggish and slow as your mind slowly clears, focusing on the sensation of warm hands stroking over the skin of your stomach and hips and thighs; your eyes flutter open and when you glance down you can see the shine to Yoonji’s skin, evidence of your pleasure painting her in a thin sheen of liquid.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

She smiles. “You were so, so good for me,” she says. She leans down to press a light kiss to collarbones and you shiver. “So beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven before coming back again,” you reply. “Oh, that was so good, Yoonji. I’ve never squirted before. I didn’t realise I could. God.”

Yoonji laughs lightly. You can’t help but watch the way it transforms her face, the way her chest jumps at the motion, every inch of her gorgeous and majestic and cute and pretty. “You did so, so well,” she praises, before she kisses you, her mouth so soft; you barely notice the sudden easing of pressure around your wrists as she releases you, more intent on the sensation of her soft petal lips against your own.

You stare up at her as she pulls away. Powerful, amazing Min Yoonji, kneeling between your legs, naked but not helpless. Definitely less vulnerable than you right now. And yet she’s still making no moves to grab one of the many weapons littered around the bed so she can finally finish her contract by completing the kill. It would be so easy for her.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by a tiny buzzing noise. You both glance over at the sound, one that Yoonji doesn’t recognise but you do— the communicator in one of your wristbands, the one you use to keep in contact with Namjoon.

You watch the twisting of Yoonji’s body as she leans over the bed to hook the band with a finger before proffering it to you. You pause, but then grasp her wrist and lightly pull so she ends up pressed against you, softness of her breasts against your own, and you hold the communicator between your faces as you accept the call.

“Thank god you answered.” Namjoon’s voice is obviously frantic even through the tinniness of the small speaker. “Dahye cancelled the contract because Minjae wants to reconcile with her, but apparently he’s already put a hit out on you— tonight was a ruse, Minjae isn’t going to be there, you have to get out of there—”

“Bit too late for that,” you interrupt. Yoonji’s hair is tickling your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it in hand. Send some flowers to Minjae for me, will you?”

“Flowers?” Namjoon sounds understandably confused. “Why?”

“As a thank you for taking out a contract on me,” you say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy.”

“With what?”

“With me,” Yoonji says, and you hear Namjoon’s surprised intake of breath before you cut the line.

You end up laughing to yourself. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for that,” you giggle. Yoonji’s hand trails up your stomach and you continue to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Her skin is still slick against yours, and you suddenly realise how cold it is in the room, the air touching the cooling liquid that’s rubbed off against your skin, and you shiver. “Mm. I think it’s time to clean up. Want me to scrub your back in the shower? I give very good massages.”

Yoonji’s eyes are dark and warm before she presses her nose to your neck, lips soft as they touch the delicate skin of your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

[ramonahblog]

I wanted in on the tier-list things. So I’m going to rank the BBC ghosts on if I was being haunted by them and could interact/see them like Alison. Since the current rankings I do have would definitely change if it was Mike-situation where I knew I was being haunted but couldn’t see them. And I don’t want to think about that. 

I do currently have a typical tier-list image but I don’t quite like how it turned out aesthetically-speaking.  So have the text version for now that comes with the explanations.

Also I’m not counting the Plague Ghosts or Jemima.  

Every character is rated by on what it would realistically be like to be haunted by them and what I would personally would be okay with or not.  

They are not rated on how fun and entertaining they are in the show. 

I tried to keep my explanations to a maximum of two paragraphs since this post will be long enough as it is. 

Tier-list and explanations under the cut. 

The Ranking Labels/Grades

Zero Issues: This is the top tier and it’s exactly what it sounds like. I would have no problems with this ghost or very minor issues that it’s essentially no problems. 

Pretty Easy: There’s one or two things that I can see being a problem but not a big deal for me. 

Could Live With It: Exactly what it says. There’s things I personally find to be too much to deal with but nothing that would make me want to move.  

Probably Not Fine: Not quite hell but it would most likely be very difficult for me to deal with so not quite could live with it either. There’s some good things that pull them out of “it is hell” but not up enough for any of the other tiers. 

It Is Hell: Don’t think this one needs explaining. But I’m probably giving exorcisms a try since I’m attached to my house and don’t want to move. 

The Ghosts

Mary - Zero Issue

She seems fine to do her own thing. I could just leave the tv on for her which wouldn’t actually be that much of a change in my routine since I leave the tv on for my dog when I need to do stuff. The most annoying thing would be the initial haunting where she goes “get out get out” but I work with both human and goat kids sooo, again, pretty used to that. 

Kitty - Probably Not Fine

As lovely as Kitty is, she would be way too clingy for me to share the same house. I need my space and my house is small so probably wouldn’t be a good living situations for either of us. But not quite the last tier.  

Humphrey - Pretty Easy 

Personality-wise, would be zero issue. Thing is I’m easily (visually) grossed out and his head is separated from his body. But I also live in what originally was a hut and you can tell because of how small it is. So probably wouldn’t take him too long to get back in one piece. 

Also I probably would want to help his body find his head but wouldn’t be able too. Unless, poking through the body’s shoulder in direction could work? But that would be very uncomfortable for him and I don’t know if I would want to do that. 

Robin - Pretty Easy

Really the two biggest issues would be the lights/jumpscares and his lunar eclipse ritual but nothing I couldn’t adapt too really. As long as his power is literally just messing with the lights which it seems to be (and not electricity as a whole). And we know from the second episode that he can be affected by the light switch. Lunar ritual is nothing too major since it’s something I can keep track of easily and essentially prepare for it.  

Pat - Could Live With It

This is more of a too-similar to get along issue in regards to routine. We’re both very particular in our routines that I can definitely see being a clash. Or he might make me backslide a bit since I’m not as strict as I used to be. So probably not the best situation but also something I could live with. 

Thomas - It is Hell

I have dealt with people who had Thomas’s issues with boundaries and it was hell. I’ve never lived with them and it was still hell. So I would be definitely trying to see if exorcisms work (I’m attached to my house, what can I say?) before getting the f out.  He’s 100% fun to watch on tv but would be absolutely hell to know personally. 

Julien - Probably Not Fine

He can physically touch things. Which would both be a blessing and a curse cause he could keep himself entertained but also he could do a lot more damage than Robin here. But, again, this scenario I can physically see him so there’s probably a way to off-set it (purposely stick a hand through his chest/shoulders/hands?).  

Fanny - Probably Not Fine

She’s incredibly judgmental and overbearing but she’s also willing to listen to other opinions once she’s done with her ranting (like in ‘Perfect Day’). So personality-wise, probably wouldn’t get along well but also the whole willing-to-listen/learn is a plus. 

The Captain - Could Live With It

I’ll be honest, I did think about putting him in “Probably Not Fine” category because he has a somewhat similar overbearing attitude to Fanny.  But then I realised that seems more towards the other ghosts than the living people so probably is a could live with it situation. 

Also, he seems like he would be fine if I put on war documentaries for him. I just don’t know how well our personalities would mesh to honestly put him above. 

And that is everyone. 

[biteghost]

Hi! Sorry to bother you but I had a question maybe you would know since you work with paypal and stuff. I'm trying to set up my paypal for commissions but it's being...difficult. Is there a certain way I have to set up my account? Like do I have to change it to a business account or should people just be able to use my email?

Oh boy PayPal, the dark horse of any commissioner’s life... I will try and be as helpful as possible!

You do not need to have a PayPal business account. I cannot speak for how a business account works, because I do not have one. I use the base account, and that’s it.

My biggest advice is to USE INVOICES. USE INVOICES. USE INVOICES. Don’t just have people send you their payments - instead send them a PayPal invoice for their order! That’s the best way to protect yourself from PayPal screwing you over. Invoices protect you from losing money or being scammed.

Here’s how to set up and use PayPal invoices for art commission work:

1) Log in to PayPal, then from your account summary page find the button that says ‘Create an invoice’. You can find it in the ‘More’ drop-down menu next to the ‘Send’ and ‘Request’ buttons.

You can also find ‘Manage Invoices’ under ‘Seller Tools’, which should be on the right and below the ‘Send’ ‘Request’ ‘More’ and ‘Send again’ menus. It looks like this:

2) Welcome to the Manage Invoices page, where you can keep track of all your invoices. Don’t be intimidated by how it looks, it’s very simple to use!

Click the ‘+Create Invoice’ button!

We’re going to make a template for sending commission invoices, so you won’t need to do this over and over again.

3) Create an invoice.

Your ‘Create Invoice’ page probably looks something like this:

We’re going to make a template so you don’t have to fill all this information out every time you need to send a new invoice. This is what I do for the type of commissions I do.

A) Set the type of invoice to ‘Amount only’. This will send the client a bill for a set amount agreed upon via correspondence, like through email or DMs. You can also set the type to ‘Hours’, which allows you to charge your client an hourly rate for the amount of work you do. I do not use this, so I cannot speak on how well it works or on how useful it is. I’d say just calculate your prices to be fair for the amount of work you put into them, and use Amount Only invoices.

B) You can set a little logo here if you want to personalize the invoices you send out. This is cute, I recommend it if you have a brand or logo you use for your work. This is optional and not required, though!

C) Set the Type of goods to “Goods: Digital goods”. You are not physically sending the client a commission - you are drawing them a picture and sending them the finished product through the internet. 

D) Ask your client what their PayPal email address is, and put that email here! You can also add returning or regular clients to your address book, and PayPal will remember their preferred email address for you!

*NOTE*: You don’t need a PayPal account to pay a PayPal invoice. You can simply put the client’s email address here (regardless of whether you know it’s their PayPal email or not), and it will send the invoice to that email. They can choose how to pay the invoice when they receive it. Some clients who do commissions often might have a dedicated account for PayPal, and it would be easier for them to pay with a PayPal balance, etc etc. I always ask “What email would you prefer I send the invoice to?”. It usually streamlines the process a lot. You can also just note in your commission post to have clients include their PayPal email with their inquires.

E) Here you can choose what currency you’ll be charging your clients in. Mine is set to US Dollars, but you can choose whatever currency you use.

*NOTE*: If a client sends you payment without an invoice and they use a different currency than you, you have to pay the exchange rate. If your client pays an invoice, however, PayPal will convert the currency before you get payment, which means you don’t eat the conversion fee and get closer to your full amount. Just another reason why they’re a life-saver!

While we’re here, hit the drop-down menu that says 'Add/remove detail’ and check the box that says ‘detailed description’

Description Box - describe the commission! (Warning: be a little vague with how you title your commissions. NSFW language will probably get you flagged or banned.) Here is an example of how I fill this out:

You can choose to add another line item if your client is getting more than one commission from you at a time! You can cut down on the amount of invoices you send this way, which will help with preventing invoices from falling through the cracks! PayPal will calculate the total amount for all items being commissioned automatically.

F) Allow partial payment: Check this box if you want your client to be able to pay in installments. I’ve had plenty of clients who were unable to pay all at once because their bank only allows them to spend a certain amount at a time. I check this box for those clients, but usually it is safer to have the clients pay all at once up-front.

Allow customer to add a tip: CHECK THIS BOX. Give your customers an option to toss you something extra for your hard work! It hurts no one and is an easy way to let your clients show their appreciation for what you do! You deserve it!

G) Note to recipient: You can put any additional notes or thoughts in this spot! I just put a nice little platitude here, like ‘Thank you for your business!’

H) Terms and conditions: Clarify your policies on commissions here. This is just another way of covering your back if your client decides to back out or something goes awry with the order. Here’s what I put in mine:

"Commission will not be started until payment is received in full. Please give two weeks for completion of your commission. If you need to cancel your commission, please contact me as soon as possible via email so I don't get too far in the process! Finished product is sent digitally to specified email. No shipping required.“

And that’s everything! Hover over the ‘Safe as draft’ button and choose ‘Save as template’. Enter a name for it (i.e. ‘Commissions'), and check ‘Make this my default template’ so you don’t have to remember to choose the template every time you make a new invoice.

One more note: PayPal takes a percentage from your total Invoice payment as a service fee. The higher the amount you’re being paid, the bigger chunk they end up taking (that’s math for you!). Do not be surprised if you lose between $5-$10 on a large commission. This is why it’s nice to include the tip option! Tips from clients will usually cover this fee. (You can write these service fees off on your Taxes, also!)

I don’t know if this helps with the problems you’ve been having, but this is how I use PayPal, and I have had zero problems with them in my 4-5 years of using PayPal for commission work. (I highly recommend connecting your PayPal to whatever Bank you use, for easy access and transferring of your money!)

If this doesn’t help, feel free to send me a follow-up about the problem you’re having and I’ll see if I can figure out why PayPal’s giving you the run-around.

[nugnthopkns]

tell you i miss you but i don’t know how

word count: 2.7k

warnings: insinuated fem!reader, a singular swear word, it’s kinda angsty i guess

recommended listening: the story of us | taylor swift

a/n: long time hockey fan, long time reader, first time writer. i’ve been thinking about posting for a while and decided to bite the bullet. no time like the present i suppose. tagging some folks i feel might be interested (but there’s literally zero pressure please feel free to ignore) @matbaerzal​ @davidpastrsnack​ @troubatrain​ @jamiedrysdales​

Breaking up was for the best. 

You repeat the phrase like a mantra. It’s the first thing you think when you wake up, in the back of your mind as you sit in your cubicle, and verbally repeated anytime you pass a mirror. Deep down you know it’s right; you and Tyson aren’t on compatible lifepaths, and that’s okay. You just wish it didn’t hurt so much to say goodbye. He’s an easy person to miss, with his infectious smile and quick wit. Tyson’s the only person who’s made you laugh so hard tears roll down your cheek; the one who always picked up a bag of pretzels on his way home from the rink so you could have a snack after work. Though you didn’t expect to get over him quickly, you had no idea you’d still miss him nearly a year later. Or that it would hurt so much every time you see him in public. 

♠♠♠♠♠

The bar offers a reprieve from the brisk Denver wind. October has been unusually chilly so far, but the bodies packed like sardines in the open room create all the heat insulation you need. It’s a Friday night and you’re hoping to unwind after a stressful week at work. It’s audit season, meaning you’ve had to pull crazy late nights as you read over the financial records of the firm’s junior partners. Today was particularly terrible, with the computer system crashing, and you really need a drink. Your friends are supposed to meet you, but a text confirms that traffic is heavier than they anticipated and they’re running late. 

Not wanting to waste precious time, you head straight for the only empty space at the bar. A bartender a few years older than you sees you approach and leans close to hear your order over the thumping bass. “Could I just grab a gin and tonic?” you ask, and she smiles before turning away to make your drink. A minute later a drink is placed in your hand and you scour the venue for a table. A small booth is available in the corner; the perfect size for your party. It turns out to be the perfect spot for people watching, and you casually sip your drink and occasionally scroll through instagram while you wait. A text from your friend alerts you everyone is fifteen  minutes out. Though it’s pretty crowded everyone seems to be congregating on the dance floor so you don’t hesitate to leave your table and order a second drink. 

This gin and tonic goes down easier than the first, and soon you’re on your third. There’s still no sign of your friends anywhere and the balls of your feet ache from the heels you wore to the office today. You abandon your plan to meet them at the door, firing off a text giving your location in the venue. Once sitting down, you take off your shoes and rub at your feet. Why did you choose today to abide by the dress code? You typically wore a discreet pair of sneakers and wished you could go back in time to change your shoe choice. 

“I see you’re still drinking gin and can’t wear heels for more than two hours.”

His voice sends shivers down your spine. You look up to see Tyson smiling down at you, and the room spins around you. The entire reason you picked this bar was because it was the only one the boys didn’t frequent, but it seems they’re here anyways. 

“I’m consistent,” you say, trying to keep your voice even. The sight of Tyson makes your heart clench. He looks good, glowing the way that means the team came out with a win and that he played well and put up some points. 

Tyson nods to the empty seat across from you, and against your better judgement you allow him to sit. A small section of your brain thinks he’s going to confess he’s been miserable the last few months, that he’s still madly in love with you. It seems to be the part controlling the rest of your body. “That’s one thing that’ll never change. How’s work?”

You hum wistfully, wishing he wouldn’t make small talk. How is this so easy for him? “Busy,” you sigh. “It’s audit season so the department is swamped. The boys still causing issues?”

“They’re annoying as ever.” He smiles at you again. The sick feeling in your stomach doesn’t subside. Tyson gives you a quick recap of the Avs’ season so far, and you half pay attention. You’ve gone to great lengths to avoid seeing him: switched the way you drive home, where you hang out with friends, what grocery store you go to. It’s a little ironic he’d find you here of all places. 

Idle chatter occurs for a while. Tyson’s talking to you like he’s reuniting with a childhood friend, not an ex-lover. As much as you find the conversation uncomfortable, you can’t turn him away. You miss sitting with him, talking about anything under the sun. Life hasn’t been as bright since the break up. No matter how hard you try, nothing fills the Tyson sized hole in your heart. In a twisted way his presence is comforting, a reminder of what once was. Eventually his teammates realize he’s gone missing and come to whisk him away. 

“See you around Y/N,” Tyson says, a little bewildered because J.T is dragging him by the belt loops. 

All you can croak out is a feeble “Yeah.” He doesn’t look back once he’s away from the table. You shouldn’t have expected him to; he seems to be doing fine. Well even. Every step he takes breaks your heart a little more, and you curse yourself for missing him and down the rest of your drink. 

Your friends find you crying in the bathroom and usher you home. 

♠♠♠♠

Despite being separated from Tyson, you’re still close with some members of the Avalanche extended family. Mel Landeskog continually reaches out, ensuring you’re doing the best you can given the circumstances. It isn’t easy when your ex-boyfriend is the pride of Denver, plastered over every billboard in a fifteen mile radius of the city. When she called to ask if you’d emergency babysit Linnea while she ran errands you jumped at the opportunity to help. 

“Thank you so much,” Mel says, cooing to her daughter who’s comfortably placed in your arms. 

“It’s not a problem,” you insist, “I’m just glad I can finally start repaying you for everything you’ve done for me.”

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, telling you to text her if you need anything picked up at the store. You’re then left alone with the baby who is luckily one of the happiest you’ve ever seen. The first hour or so is spent entertaining Linnea with various toys and games. Her smile and laugh melt your heart, and your mind briefly flashes to conversations you had about children with Tyson. You push them from your mind, not wanting to lose your focus. The child in front of you is the one that matters, not the hypothetical one from times past. Around two she gets fussy; a bottle and quick diaper change satiate her. 

“You having fun pretty girl?” you coo. “I’m not always the most exciting to be around.” She doesn’t respond; just looks up at you with heavy lids. You pull her closer to your chest, rocking gently back and forth on your heels. Within minutes she’s soundly asleep and you head upstairs to place her in the crib. 

Back on the main floor, you settle into the corner of the couch. The baby monitor is on the coffee table and you keep your laptop at a low volume to ensure you’d hear anything. You sift through the mess in your inbox, deleting promotional emails and replying to those that need your attention. After killing half an hour, you quickly check on Linnea before scrolling through social media. According to twitter the Avalanche are on a six game winning streak and are looking to keep it alive. You honestly could care less about hockey anymore; it’s a painful reminder that Tyson is no longer yours. In truth you’re happy for the team because they work hard and deserve it. Other social media platforms yield nothing of interest and you soon feel yourself nodding off. Looking at the clock you realize there’s about an hour left in the baby’s nap, so you let yourself sleep. 

A knock on the door startles you awake. Careful not to cause a commotion that could wake Linnea you head in the direction of the entryway. The knocking increases as you approach, and you open the door to a disheveled Tyson.

“What are you doing here?” You didn’t mean for the question to come off so rude, but it does. 

He pays it no mind. “Is Gabe home yet?”

“No,” you sputter. “I’m watching Linnea while Mel stepped out.” 

Tyson looks stumped. “He should be home by now. We had plans to unwind before the game.” You make no attempt to stop him from entering, and he takes his shoes off without another word. Aimlessly trailing behind him, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he heads to the guest room. “I’m gonna take a nap, have Landy wake me up when he gets home.”

“Can do,” you sigh, but it falls on deaf ears. Tyson’s already got the door shut, and you imagine he’s climbing under the covers, blissfully unaffected by your presence. You can’t say the same. Knowing he’s less than fifty feet from you sends you spiraling. Flashbacks of pre-game cuddles grace the back of your eyelids, and you rub your temples furiously to get rid of the images. It doesn’t help. You want nothing more than to not be bothered by how much you miss seeing him. You miss the way his hands felt entangled with yours and how sweet his voice sounds in the morning. Being this hung up on a person so long after a relationship has ended can’t be healthy. 

The baby monitor crackles, signaling the baby, and the only reason you haven’t fled, is once again awake. Linnea’s room is bright and cheerful; the perfect hideaway from Tyson. Sometime during your tenth reciting of Green Eggs and Ham Mel returns. She finds you upstairs and giddily sweeps up her child, missing her terribly even though she was only gone for a couple of hours. 

“Did everything go okay?”

You nod. “She was a dream. The happiest baby I’ve ever seen. She might need to be changed soon though.” 

Mel nods. “I saw Tyson’s car in the driveway, did he meet Gabe?”

“He’s actually asleep in the downstairs guest room,” you whisper, scared he’ll sense you’re talking about it, and by extension thinking about him, missing him. 

“Oh. Shit.”

That’s the understatement of the year. “Yeah.” You quickly help put away the groceries before heading out, not wanting to disrupt the routine more so than you already had. Really though, you want to be as far away from the Landeskog’s as possible before Tyson wakes up. You’ll have to do a better job of avoiding him in the future, you decide on the way home. You’re heart can’t take seeing him this frequently – or at all. 

♠♠♠♠

You would rather be anywhere than the Pepsi Center. It’s the first time you’ve been in the arena since breaking up with Tyson and you’re downright miserable. However, you promised your younger brother you’d take him to a game the next time he visited Denver with your parents and you aren’t about to break his heart. Ryan is borderline obsessed with the Avalanche and hockey in general. At eleven he’s showing significant promise and you know he works hard.

“Ry, slow down,” you huff, desperately trying to keep up with him. The kid is swaying through the throng of people at lightning speed, desperately trying to make it to your seats to catch warmup. Wanting to make the experience special for him, you purchased seats along the glass across from the Avs bench. Your brother halts, tapping his foot impatiently as you join him and match his stride. 

Contrary to what Ryan thinks, your seats have not been stolen and warmup is just starting. His winter jacket is soon placed on the seat, revealing the too big jersey underneath. The number seventeen nearly sits at his elbow and the name-bar is askew because one side keeps slipping down, but your brother’s happy. He’s preoccupied with watching players do passing drills, hands pressed against the glass, and you allow yourself to look around. Virtually nothing has changed since the last time you were here. The banners are still the same, the energy electric. One small difference is your seating arrangement: the better halves’ box is no longer a luxury you have available to you. A quick glance in that direction confirms they’re enjoying themselves, laughing and no doubt in the midst of planning the next off-season wedding. 

Ryan grips the hem of your sweater to get your attention. “Look Y/N,”  he squeals, “Tys and J.T are coming over!” Sure enough, the two friends are making a beeline in your direction. Tyson waves and Ryan eagerly reciprocates. You’re reminded just how much he misses Tyson; they were the best of friends whenever they could get together. Another piece of your heart breaks in that moment, as you realize you aren’t the only hurting from the breakup. 

“You’ve got him in the wrong jersey Y/N,” J.T smirks. “Think he’d look better with thirty-seven plastered all over.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll remember that Compher. You got the spare change lying around to buy him one?” There’s no malice in your voice; you truly miss joking around with him. 

Tyson throws a puck high enough to clear the plexiglass. “Ry-Guy, catch!” It lands unceremoniously at Ryan’s feet, but he beams as he picks it up. The two boys share a makeshift fist bump and quickly catch up with each other. It’s been over a year since they’ve seen each other at this point, and Ryan has so much he wants to talk about. J.T tells a joke that makes the younger boy laugh, and Tyson turns his attention to you. 

“It’s nice to see you again,” he says, doing his best to convey his sincerity. The energy of the area and the adrenaline have Tyson shaking slightly, and he rocks back onto his blades. 

You study his facial features as you inhale. He’s still incredibly handsome, just slightly more defined, like he’s growing into himself. “Likewise,” you exhale. You know you shouldn’t lie but you can’t help it; for Ryan’s sake you need to pretend that seeing Tyson doesn’t make you want to curl into a ball and cry. He smiles sadly, like he knows you’re putting on a show. He probably does – you’ve never been good at hiding your emotions from him. Has been able to see how much you hurt every time you interact?

Ryan recaptures Tyson’s attention for a few final moments before he has to return to the locker room. With a high-five and a promise to call soon he skates away, leaving your brother to gush about his idol. The game goes better than you could have ever imagined; the Avs gain a landslide victory and Tyson gets a hatrick. After each goal he points in your direction and Ryan goes berserk. You catch yourself smiling, proud of his accomplishment, before you realize you won’t be at the celebratory afterparty. That isn’t your life anymore. 

The traffic out of the arena is terrible, and Ryan’s asleep in the backseat before you hit the interstate. In some sort of daze you think about what you’d be doing with Tyson right now if you were still together. Maybe you’d be getting ready to make an appearance at a club to celebrate the big game, but it’s more likely you’d be pressed together on the couch, watching a nature documentary to unwind. It’s moments like that you miss most; where you were both too comfortable and enamored with each other to care about your social obligations. A single tear escapes and flows down your cheek. One turns into ten, and soon you’re sobbing over lost love. 

♠♠♠♠

Tyson Jost isn’t someone you could ever stop loving. He’s the human equivalent of the sun, and even now your life revolves around him. It’s centered on missing him, sure, but that’s a part of him nonetheless. You can only hope it gets easier to deal with.

[starleska]

ooo how about the good doctor octavious brine for the f/o post? >:D

ohhhh my dear friend you have made my day by requesting Dave the Octopus, AKA Dr Octavius Brine - i'd be more than happy to oblige :3c What made me like them: i first saw pictures of Dave in his Dr Octavius Brine a good few months before i ever saw the movie - i think i saw people posting about him on Twitter? either way my immediate reaction was like, 'oh fuck no he's HOT!' 😭 you gotta understand that at this point i had zero idea he was an octopus, and i also had v little furry tendencies to speak of hahahaha;;; so i went and watched that intro clip of him meeting the penguins, and i was SO INTO HIM. i looooved the look (nerdy scientists are always a win, as are long-legged redheads), the way he moved was fascinating, and above all i loved what a cocky, eccentric bastard he was. any classic supervillain behaviour gets me right in the heart, and it didn't help that he was enjoying invading the penguins' personal space so much...plus, i realised that he looked a lot like (and was voiced by the same actor as) one of my earlier crushes, the character Humma Kavula from THHGTG... ...and then, imagine my shock when he removed his disguise 🙈 the novelty wore off, and as so often happens with these things, i promptly forgot about him for a few months...until smth very silly encouraged me to actually watch the movie. you remember the Hotel Transylvania fandom breaking when the Invisible Man's real design got revealed?? well, a bunch of Dave fans were laughing their asses off and encouraging folk to come over and enjoy Dr Octavius Brine instead 😂 so i asked my partner if we could watch it, fully prepared to be horribly attracted to his human form... ...and we watched the movie, and i had to come to terms with being a scalie, bc his being an octopus did not dissuade me at all from crushing hard!! i was (and still am) just so enamoured with everything about him. the way he talks, his grandiose plans, his intelligence, his flexibility, his style...it's so embarrassing, but i know lots of you understand 🥰🥰🥰 My favourite thing about them: ohhh, this is a strong tie between his backstory, and his movement. as someone who suffers from a trauma disorder, i always love characters who thrive (even if it's in a villainous sense) in spite of everything they've been through 🥺 Dave was subjected to awful neglect, and even though the story wasn't always explicit about his specific damage, you can read a lot into the way he feels about himself, his body, and who he is as a person (as i've ranted about in the past) 💖 Nicknames we have for each other: you know, i'm not sure i'd ever feel the need to give Dave a nickname! i think Dave desperately needs someone else to validate his identity, and help him recover from his years of self-hatred. i'd be more inclined to ask what he would like to be called 🥺💖 after all, there never seemed to be any danger of Dave being found out by the humans: he could well have just kept the name 'Dave'. if he'd prefer to be called Octavius, i'd gladly oblige - although like with Augustus, i'd probably call him, 'Doctor' as a sign of respect 😉 in return, Dave could call me whatever he wants, as long as he boops me on the nose like he does with Private 🥰 A headcanon of our relationship/friendship: gosh, okay. no matter how it would work in a technical capacity, i am going to be offering that octopus some care and comfort 😭😭 i've spoken a bit before about how i think the ending of the Penguins movie didn't signal a good end for Dave's arc, and it's my firm belief that he'd either be abandoned by the flighty child, or break out somehow. i love the idea of developing a friendship by assisting him in his weakened state, perhaps helping him back to his former size and look. alternatively, i like the idea of being a student/intern/fan of Dr Octavius Brine, developing a crush on his human form only to discover his secret by mistake...you know, all that great fanfic fodder 😉 My favourite image of them:

that evil grin just ruins me oh my god 😭💖 i live for those teeth!! Anything else? Dave brings me an absurd amount of joy. he's just a delight of a character and he really does make me smile whenever i see him. excellent octopus, and he deserves better 🥺💖 [ask game]