#he is so funny for this one like did he just walk into a bass pro shops??

[awstenlookbook]

To open My Chemical Romance's show at Scotiabank Arena in Toronto ON in 2022, Awsten wears Lindy Fish Glove in orange/black ($29.99).

📸Aesthetic Magazine Toronto

EDIT: Shirt

[badgerbl00d]

captain's girl

☆ characters: akagami no shanks

☆ up next: tbd

☆ summary: shanks has always had a soft spot for you but as he spends more time around you that feeling intensifies- he's fallen, and hard.. how will he confess?

☆ a/n: i lost the ask that originally submitted this but i loved this prompt! so so cute and always lovely to write for my favorite captain.. shanks nation rise!

Shanks hadn’t slept in days. 

Shanks- an emperor, had been a pirate for decades and he knew well what it meant to be selfish. To be faced with all the treasure and beauty in the World and it not be enough until one had it all to himself. But he’d only ever seen it. In allies and enemies alike he had seen that corrupting burning want- no, need for something that drives one nearly mad. He’d seen fellow seamen be consumed by this bubbling and boiling desire that had always sickened him to think about.

And then there was you. Beautiful, strong-willed, and unafraid of pirates and men and danger and swords and, all of the sudden, he began feeling the symptoms of that dangerous selfishness. He’d watch you laugh with Benn, or cook with Lucky, or play cards with Yasopp and his chest would tighten. His nerves would begin to ebb and flow in uncertainty and the terrifyingly unfamiliar feeling of jealousy began to sprout within the captain of the Red Haired Pirates. He’d spend hours poring over a potential solution– something to make it go away. But everything he tried was useless. Any slight progress immediately crumbled the moment you walked by him. He’d found a nice girl on an island and flirted with her, buying her drinks, treating her special as the rest of the crew began to pour into the bar. It was working! She liked the same music as him and thought he was funny. But then you’d walked in with Beckman, your perfume immediately recognizable to him and he folded. You were entirely captivating to him, and bless him, he tried to listen to the girl in front of him and feign interest in what she was saying but all he could focus on was the sound of you laughing and thanking the men who were sending drinks your way. On a separate occasion, he’d taken a different approach. You were in a particularly cheeky mood and not the most prone to taking orders, so he got frustrated. He leant into that frustration, barking at you for not listening. But you just rolled your eyes and begrudgingly got up to do what he was asking. As you walked past him, you raked a fingernail across his chest and offered assistance if he needed “any help de-stressing.” And with a wink you were off. After that little incident, he could hardly sleep and was quite literally plagued by (very inappropriate) thoughts of you and decided it would be best if he didn’t do anything for a while. This had been going on for months now.  A one sided game of cat and mouse that Shanks did not want to be playing, after all, he wasn't used to playing the role of mouse. Shanks was a man who always got what he wanted.

But he was realizing there was no escape. Constantly you teased him, tempted him, lured him, all to act like nothing the next moment. His head was spinning. Just this morning, you ran into him at breakfast and asked if he wanted to go into town with you. He came up with some half assed excuse and tried his hardest to keep his composure when you pouted at his and said, “Pretty please?” He went up and moped in his office, going over all those moments when he felt that now familiar ache in his chest– that throbbing pain that felt like his swollen heart was being mushed up against his ribcage and had been making his daily life on the ship, oh, so inconvenient. 

Like a few months ago when, in your typical fashion, you’d put together a small band out of the rag-tag musicians on the crew. An upright bass player out of your intel gatherer, a drummer out of one of Hongo’s assistants, some brass players that you put through a very selective audition, and, of course, you as the singer. He remembers walking out after having a few drinks with those of his men that he was closest with and hearing the sound of your voice singing a soft jazz tune. ‘I wish you bluebirds, in the spring…..’ his heart picking up a bit, and him leaning over to look at the band playing, ‘To give your heart a song to sing, and then a kiss…’ Him rushing down the stairs and urging the crew to dance, asking Lucky to get behind the bar and start making cocktails and drinks, ‘But more than this, I wish you love’ anything so that he could sit and listen to you. He remembers the boyish surge of energy that coursed through him when you shot him a playful wink. A thank you for entertaining your antics and encouraging your little band of criminal musicians. 

Or last week, when you stopped by his office (he’d begun spending more and more time locked in there attempting to find reprieve from your presence which was quickly becoming all too much for him to be around) and knocked on his door in the way you always knocked on any door. Three rhythmic little taps, always quiet and polite. “Come in!” he’d said, forcing his voice to steady itself like his heart wasn’t crawling up into his throat. “Hey Shanks– I have something for you.” You made your way to his desk, dropping a little parcel on it before going to lay down on the couch in his office, a seat he always kept open for you. It was just an old leather chair, but he knew how much you liked it. He opened up the parcel, watching you pull out a cigarette and bring it to your lips, holding it droopily between them as you dug around in your jacket for a lighter. He finished unwrapping the gift, a compass falling out. Gold and the initials R.H.S. engraved in the back. The glass had been carved out so that it was angular and there was a detailed inking of the ocean in the back, and the north arrow was dark red. He turned it over in his palm, “R.H.S.?” he asked. “It’s funny, huh! Red-Hair-Shanks,” you laughed, “It made Benny crack up so I snatched it. They wanted $15,000 for it! Like hell was I gonna pay that…. Hey, do you have a lighter?” You walked back over to him, leaning on his desk, looking down at his face, batting your eyes at him all doe-like. He felt like he might faint. 'Benny' he felt a pang of jealousy but smiled to himself at the nickname. Beckman hated nicknames but you'd started calling him Benny and for the first time ever there was no protest from the man's lips. You'd wiggled your way into all their hearts like that- helping Lucky with groceries and keeping Yasopp company when he drank more than he could stand.

“Sure do, sweetheart,” he maintained his typical flirty cadence but failed to sound as confident as he usually does. You shot him a look. He sheepishly handed you the lighter but instead of taking it you leant over further, beckoning for him to light the cigarette for you. He swallowed and brought the lighter up to the cigarette, the two of you making eye contact as he lit it. You blew a playful puff of smoke at him before making your way back over to the sofa. You laid across it, kicking your shoes off and pulling a magazine from his shelf. “Playboy? Really?” He gave you an embarrassed grin and shrugged. You made a mental note that this magazine had been left open on a photo of a bikini-clad girl that looked an awful like you. Pervert, you thought. You put the magazine away and sunk further into the chair, taking long drags of the cigarette, filling up the room with smoke. Shanks was trying not to stare a hole through you and limited himself from looking over in your general direction. You were so at peace, your legs draped over the arm of the chair and your hands above your head.  An hour passed like this, the two of you sharing a silence that was only peaceful on your end. Shanks sat at his desk pretending to be deeply interested in a blank piece of paper and mulled over possible topics of conversation. He was trying not to beat himself up over his newfound shyness- he was like a teenage boy talking to a girl for the first time. When he finally got the courage to ask you about your most recent errand he was cut off before he could even start.

“Y/n!!! Help me with dinner, eh?!”

Lucky. You groaned sitting up, remembering that you’d promised to help him out with tonight’s dinner last week. “Sorry, Captain,” you said, putting your shoes back on, “I’d love to stay and fog up your office a bit more but duty calls.” 

He nodded and got up, nearly running into you. “Ah, sorry princess,” he said, guiding you gently out of the room with a hand on your back. 

“Try not to miss me,” you’d said, taking the cigarette out of your mouth and placing it in his. He furrowed his brows in equal amounts of confusion and sexual frustration. “Lucky won’t let me smoke in the kitchen,” you explained. You shot him a wink and were off. 

He took a short puff of the cigarette before taking it out and staring at it between his fingers. Your red lipstick stained the end of it. He took a very self indulgent inhale before setting it down on an ashtray in his office. It was the first time he’d smoked in a while.

He hadn’t remembered it feeling so good.

He was late to dinner that night and even Benn had indicated some degree of worry about his captain, asking if he was alright. 

Shanks knew this couldn’t last forever– that he would have to do something before he lost his ability to lead his ship entirely. But then, of course, there was what happened yesterday.

Some rookie pirates had convinced themselves it would be a good idea to try and loot your ship. You’d been out on the deck helping Beckman with some chores when the first group of them climbed overboard. Neither of you had particularly expressive reactions– after all, you could tell within a few seconds that they were neither strong nor experienced. Still, it was the general attitude of the Red Hair Pirates to avoid conflict as much as possible. So when they wrapped rope around your wrists and held knives to your throats you and Benn didn’t flinch. Some newer recruits had sounded the alarm which eventually led to the rest of the crew making their way lazily out onto the deck. Shanks emerged from his office, reading glasses still on and laughed at the sight.

“Yasopp– take a pic, will ya!?” he laughed, slapping him on the back, “Benny we’re gonna hang this up in the dining hall!”

Benn rolled his eyes and you smiled. It took another several moments before you realized that your body was feeling more and more weakened by the moment, but when you finally felt a dullness creeping up your legs you noticed that the man holding you was a devil fruit user. The Neru Neru no Mi you believed it was called, Sleep Sleep Fruit. Fatigue started to wash over you and you stumbled forward slightly. The laughter on the ship immediately ceased and Benn called your name. You tried responding but instead fell back, landing against your assailant's chest. Yasopp and Lucky both brought their hands to their pistols, and Benn had taken a more offensive stance though it was clear the effect was starting to weigh on him as well. 

“We’ll kill them both,” one of the looters had yelled. Yasopp shot Shanks a look, waiting for some kind of command. “Yasopp–” Shanks started, but he hesitated a moment. If his sniper made any kind of mistake it would be your life taken instead. Before he could react, your captor had drawn the knife down your arm, smirking at the cry of pain you let out as your arm was coated in red. “Shoot him,” he said, gaze turning black. You passed out, though whether it was from the pain or the effect of Shanks’ emperor’s haki on your weakened body was unclear. But the last thing you saw before blacking out was the haunting anger on Shanks’ face.

You woke up a bit later, your head throbbing and your arm bandaged. “Holy shit,” you muttered, “What happened?” Hongo and Beckman were sitting by your bed talking to each other and Lucky, Yasopp, and a few others were playing cards. 

"You passed out from the effects of the devil fruit," Benn explained, "And you got a nasty cut on your arm. But Hongo says you'll be healed up by the weekend."

You blushed, somewhat embarrassed that you were the only one to have been injured. "What happened to the other crew?"

Benn shot you a half-smile. An expressive mixture of pride and shame. "The Captain took care of it. Honestly all we could do was watch, we all know better than to get in his way when he gets like that. Never seen this ship so bloody, that's for sure."

You grimaced, "Suppose they won't be messing with us again?"

Benn laughed, "Definitely not."

“Hey, Y/n!” Lucky called out, “Want anything to eat?”

You sat up, pushing yourself to the edge of the bed and grabbing the glass of water Benn offered you, “Yeah, Luck. I’ll take anything, honestly. Where is Shanks?” Benn sighed and looked over at Yasopp who was giggling like a twelve-year old. You got the message. 

“Maybe we should tell him it’s obvious? And it’ll fix things?” 

Benn shook his head and leant back in his chair, “Nah, it would crush the guy. Maybe if you say something to him, though?” You thought about it for a minute. You'd talked with each other before about the captain's feelings. How he acted every time he was around you. Benn added that he'd never seen him like that before, "Buggy's given us stories about how he used to be around girls. He'd run the other way when a pretty lady talked to him. He's obviously gotten over it since then but it's sort of nice to see him like this."

"Can't blame him," Yasopp added, winking at you, "You're about the prettiest thing on the sea."

Yasopp was still laughing about it, over a game of cards with Lucky and Hongo. You appreciated their company while you rested.

“I don’t know guys. You know I love him just as much but will it be weird? I mean– no offense, but this ship isn’t really the ideal romantic setting. And what if he plays favorites?”

They all laughed at this, “He already is, sweetheart!”

“Just tell him!”

“We’ll have a big ol’ wedding!”

You rolled your eyes and asked to be dealt into the card game they were playing. Lucky came back with a bowl of soup for you. Laughter was filling up the small medical room and it echoed down the hall...  

Shanks’ crush on you was astoundingly obvious and what was more surprising was how he had been moping about it for the past four months. He was now in his room, shrouded in embarrassment. Half of it stemmed from the generally well known fact that Shanks and his crew were untouchable- or at least, should be. And the other, perhaps greater, half from the fact that you'd ended up hurt because he’d hesitated. It also didn't help that he had doubted Yasopp at all- he knew he never missed. He’d spent the evening drinking a bottle of whiskey to himself and replaying other embarrassing faux pas he’d committed in front of you. The bottle of empty whiskey sat in front of him on the desk and the sun had long set. He got up, feeling miserable, and decided to head to bed. He grabbed the empty bottle, pausing before he grabbed it. Your cigarette from a week ago sat in the mauve ceramic ashtray on his desk (also a gift from you– you’d said it reminded you of his “ugly pants”). He stared at the lipstick still staining the white paper on the end of the cigarette. His chest tightened and he looked out the window of his office. You were out on deck, your arm bandaged up, hauling some rope into a metal bin. He smiled to himself- an injury like that was no excuse for chores. You looked gorgeous. A white glow surrounded you from the beaming moonlight up above. Your hair was messy and flowed freely around your face shifting the shadows that fell on it. He knew, suddenly, that he had to talk to you. That in all his embarrassment and emotion and confusion about his feelings, he’d neglected to check up on you. He set the bottle down and grabbed the half-smoked cigarette, slipping it into his pocket. He paused at the door, momentarily enjoying the nerves that were coursing through his body. How long had it been since he last felt excitement like this? There were moments at sea where he realized that, thanks to his age and experience, he no longer felt those pangs and throes of youthful worry and excitement. But this? This was new and he was reeling like never before. He was submerged in uncharted waters and all of a sudden that spark of adventure that follows every pirate flared up inside him. Shanks closed the door to his office behind him, taking a deep breath. 

You wrapped up the rest of the rope and threw it into the container, before taking a seat on it. Closing your eyes and taking a moment to yourself. It was rare to have a night so quiet. You could hear the faint sound of laughter and talking coming from below the deck. The ship was slowly rocking back and forth.

“Mind if I sit next to you?”

You blinked your eyes open to see Shanks standing in front of you. It still surprised you how a man of his size and power could sneak up on you so easily. It was a nice reminder of how in control he actually was of everything around him. It put you at ease to know you were in such responsible hands and guidance. 

“You feel ok? It’s my fault I should’ve–”

You smiled at him, “What? This? I’m fine, Captain– I’ve dealt with much worse, that I can promise you.” He frowned at that, “That’s not a good thing, Y/n. I don’t like thinking about you getting hurt.” You shrugged and ruffled his hair, “I’m a pirate. A Red-Hair Pirate. It’s bound to happen. And you’re not perfect either. Believe it or not. What’s going on with you lately? So sappy.” You knew very well what was going on with him.

Shanks smiled and looked down at the floor. This was it. Now or never. 

“Y/n… You know that, well, women love me and- and that I love women,” he started. Your smile dropped. 

“M-hm.”

“Uh,” he rubbed his neck sheepishly, like a child getting scolded, “Well, I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’re not like other women.”

You looked at him, “Are you sure about that?” You looked unamused. He steeled himself– he was an emperor of the sea, goddamnit, you were just a woman! Just a girl on his crew.

He knew that was a lie.

You were his girl on his crew. And he was being eaten alive by your existence, completely consumed by the thought of you. He couldn’t live another day without relieving himself of his constant torture and the emotional suffering you put him through. He couldn’t wake up another morning without you next to him, begging him to sleep in a bit longer and asking him to hold you tighter. He couldn’t spend another night watching you laugh and smile and be the most beautiful, enchanting thing in the world and not call you his. You were his, not through ownership but through love. 

“Alright! Damn it, woman, you’re so intimidating.” Your smile returned. 

“I love you,” he sighed. It wasn’t as dramatic as either of you had pictured. He said it like he was simply reminding you.

“I love you, Y/n. And I have for months. Since I first saw you– since you first started giving me random antique shop gifts and coming into my office at the most inconvenient times and filling it up with smoke. I can’t look at the color red and not think of you. That’s my color, damn it! And yet– I see red and think of the brand of cigarettes you like and the lipstick you wear and the way your laughter sounds and the color of your nail polish. I can’t listen to music and not think of you. I mean- you’ve come on board and turned everything upside down. My men, my violent men, are playing jazz on Thursday nights! Lucky’s new favorite thing to drink is Cosmopolitans and Yasopp is taking daily showers and, christ, Benn’s new nickname is Benny and he likes it! Everything I have reminds me of you. This is basically your ship now. And I love it. I love how you're everywhere. And I- I need you. I want you but it's more than that- I need you.”

He took a deep breath and looked at you for the first time in weeks. You laughed- at him, and grabbed his hand. His cheeks turned bright red and he felt like a teenager again. You squeezed his hand, “F-i-n-a-l-l-y.” He took a moment to sound out your spelling, and smiled somewhat defeatedly. He laid his head down on your shoulder and mumbled into you, “Was it obvious?”

 You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned your head against his. It was refreshing to touch him without it being strange or feeling unnatural. To just hold one another and understand that that was all it was– a touch. That before either of you said anything and broke this mundane, normal silence everything was perfect. There was no room for mistake or anxiety or insecurity. There was just the mass of red hair on your shoulder ticking your neck and your arms wrapped around his. But you figured he’d suffered long enough. 

“Very,” you said, answering his question, “There’re a bunch of betting pools regarding when, and if, you’ll confess. Though you don’t make a great effort to hide it. Looks like Benny’s gonna make some cash tonight.”

He shot up, somewhat offended, “I do hide it! I’ve kept my distance from you and treated you like everyone else.”

You laughed and sat him down on the bin next to you, “No, you haven’t. I’m your favorite. And though you have been avoiding me, when you’re around me your face is pink and you lose all that playboy gusto you think the ladies like. Plus you have those magazines lying around. It flatters me how much I resemble some of those models.”

His mouth fell open at this, realizing he had left it wide out in the open. You smiled at this, but said nothing. It was quiet out again– everyone had gone to bed early, tired from the day’s commotion, an unexpected change of pace from the typical mundane life of a pirate at sea that normally consisted of chores upon chores upon chores. The sea was calm tonight, almost eerily so. You rested your head against Shank’s shoulder and closed your eyes, it was quiet again. You could tell he was itching for a response. You smiled, enjoying the effect you had on him.

“I love you, too.”

You felt Shanks tense and opened your eyes, turning to look at him. He had a stupidly large smile plastered on his face. He was so damn handsome. His hand slid up your back and came to rest on your neck. He gently pushed your face toward his, a smile creeping up your lips, and tested the waters. You closed the gap, closing your eyes as you kissed your captain, shifting forward and finding your way onto his lap. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck and you could feel him smiling against your lips. Shanks broke the kiss, pulling away after giving you a few more pecks. 

His arm sank down to wrap around your waist and pull you in even tighter. He rested his forehead against yours and looked down at your lips, plump from the kissing.

“You’re mine,” he said. 

“Yours.”

He sighed, relief flooding his body. You rubbed his neck, "Guess I wasn't as obvious as you, hm?" He laughed and squeezed your hand, "No. God, I was terrified. What an awful feeling."

You smiled. You were getting tired, and your arm was throbbing. "Wanna come with me to see Hongo? I think my arm should get re-wrapped." He nodded, standing up. You walked toward the infirmary, while Shanks stood back for a moment. Waiting awkwardly.

"Shanks?"

His name had never sounded so lovely. He was worried, "Should we tell people yet? The crew- I mean."

You laughed, and kept walking, "I think they'll figure out on their own. After all, I suspect that I'll be greeting them tomorrow morning with your shirt on."

He watched you walk on ahead a bit more before following after you, scooping you up in his arm and pressing kisses to your face. Shanks dropped you off outside of Hongo's door, letting you go in on your own. 'I want tonight to be just us,' you'd explained. Word does travel quickly on a ship. He waited outside the door, listening to you and Hongo talk while he rebandaged your arm. His chest felt warm and full, not with the previous tightness he'd experienced but full with satisfaction.

A familiar ebbing flow of egoism spread through his body. It was nice to be reminded of who he was. An emperor of the sea with one of the highest bounties of all time. A man feared and respected across the world. Wanted by the world government and untouchable to anyone. Almost anyone. Your voice bubbled up over the sound of his thoughts for a moment. His confidence had quickly reinstated itself.

After all, Shanks was a man who always got what he wanted.

[sturnswrites]

bridal style

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

⤳ fluff, drinking/alcohol

⤳ you accidentally get too drunk at chris’ frat party, he has to take you home, and the alcohol was definitely talking that night. 

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The party was in full swing, the bass of the music vibrating through the crowded frat house. Chris leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping from a barely touched drink, watching the chaos unfold around him. Drinking wasn’t much of his thing, but his friends insisted he show up, and the enjoyed the atmosphere. 

Chris had always noticed you in their shared friend group. You were easy to talk to, effortlessly funny, and had a knack for lighting up any room you walked into. Though he’d always considered you a friend, he couldn’t deny the little jolt in his chest whenever you laughed at his jokes or flashed him a smile. Tonight, however, you seemed to be the life of the party, dancing with your friends and enjoying yourself more than usual.

He spotted you in the living room, laughing with a group of friends. A grin spread across his face as he saw how much fun you were having. But after a while, his smile faltered. You were radiant, but it didn’t take long for him to notice something else—how your steps became less coordinated, your words a little slurred, and your friends seemed to hover more protectively around you.

When you tried to make your way across the living room and bumped into a coffee table, one of your friends intercepted you, looking worried. They caught Chris’s eye and waved him over.

“Chris,” your friend said, shifting her weight as you leaned heavily on her shoulder. “Can you help? She’s had way too much, and we don’t want to just leave her with anyone.”

Chris straightened immediately, setting down his cup. “Yeah, of course. What do you need me to do?”

“She lives just a couple blocks from here,” your friend explained. “But none of us can leave yet. Could you take her home? We trust you more than anyone else here.”

Chris looked down at you. Your normally sharp and witty gaze was a bit hazy, but your lips curled into a goofy smile when you saw him.

“Chrissss,” you slurred, poking his chest. “You’re cute.”

He chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. “Alright, let’s get you home.”

Before your friends could offer another suggestion, Chris bent down and scooped you into his arms, carrying you bridal style out of the frat house, earning a few whistles and cheers from the partygoers. You squealed in delight, throwing your arms around his neck and giggling. 

“You’re like a prince,” you said, nuzzling your head against his shoulder. “My prince charming. Did you know that?”

Chris tried to suppress a laugh. “I didn’t, but thanks for letting me know.”

“And so strong,” you continued, poking his chest. “How’d you get so strong?”

“Years of carrying drunk friends home,” he teased, adjusting his grip on you.

The walk to your apartment was slow and careful, Chris adjusting his grip as you continued to flirt with him unabashedly.

You hummed, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment before snapping open again. “Chris, you should stay over. My couch is so comfy. Or—” You leaned in conspiratorially. “You could stay in my bed. We could cuddle.”

His heart skipped a beat at your suggestion, but he quickly shook his head. “Not happening, Y/N. You’re drunk.”

“So?” you replied, pouting. “You’re still cute. And I like you.”

Chris didn’t respond right away, too focused on getting you home safely. Your words repeated in his mind, making his chest tighten in ways he wasn’t prepared to deal with tonight.

-

When you arrived at your apartment, Chris carefully set you down, helping you unlock the door. You stumbled inside, flopping onto your bed with a dramatic sigh.

“Chris, come here,” you said, holding out a hand.

“What is it?” he asked, stepping closer cautiously.

“You should sleep in my bed tonight,” you said, patting the empty space beside you.

Chris shook his head, suppressing a laugh. “Not a good idea, Y/N.”

“Why not? You’re my knight in shining armor,” you argued, pouting.

“Because I don’t want to do anything you’ll regret in the morning,” he said, his voice soft but firm.

“But I don’t wanna be alone,” you murmured, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Please stay.”

Chris sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. But I’m sleeping on the floor.”

You frowned but didn’t argue, watching as he grabbed a spare blanket from the back of the couch and set up a makeshift bed on the floor beside yours. You fell asleep quickly, your soft snores filling the room as Chris leaned back against the bed frame, his eyes drifting shut as he kept watch over you.

- 

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains, and you woke up with a groan. Your head throbbed, and your memories of the night before were hazy at best.

“Ugh, what happened?” you muttered, sitting up and looking around.

Your eyes landed on the bundle of blankets on the floor, and you froze. Chris.

“Chris?” you called out, your voice hoarse.

“In here,” he replied from the kitchen.

You stood, rubbing your eyes, slightly concerned and disheveled, as you shuffled into the kitchen. There he was, standing at the stove, flipping pancakes like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“You’re making breakfast?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe.

He turned, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “Seemed like you could use something solid in your stomach. How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” you admitted, rubbing your temples. “What happened last night?”

“You had fun,” he said lightly. “A little too much fun. Your friends asked me to get you home, so I did.”

Memories of the night before came rushing back—the party, Chris carrying you, your embarrassing flirtations. Your cheeks turned crimson. “Oh my god. I hit on you, didn’t I?”

He smirked, sliding a pancake onto a plate. “A little bit.”

“I’m so sorry,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

“Y/N,” Chris said, setting the plate down and stepping closer to you. “You didn’t make anything weird.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “Really?”

He nodded, his expression soft. “Really. In fact… it was kind of nice. Hearing you say you like me.”

Your hands dropped to your sides as you stared at him. “Chris…”

“I’ve liked you for a long time,” he admitted, his voice steady. “But I never thought you felt the same way, so I kept it to myself. Last night just… confirmed what I was too scared to say.”

Your heart raced as his words sank in. “I wasn’t just saying those things because I was drunk,” you said quietly. “I’ve liked you too, Chris. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

A smile spread across his face, lighting up his features. “So… what do we do now?”

“Maybe you take me on a date,” you suggested, a teasing smile on your lips.

He chuckled, his eyes shining with excitement. “Deal. But only if you eat these pancakes first.”

You laughed, sitting down at the table as he brought over two plates. As you shared breakfast and easy conversation, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, everything had fallen into place.

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[b3ach-bunn7]

DONT SMILE

Dabi is your unfairly attractive bandmate, and the two of you stay late in the studio to finish a song (and each other)

NSFW, BandAU, head on both ends if u get my drift

(Guys this is my first time writing smut plz be nice 🙏)

(Also song used in the fic + title is don’t smile by Sabrina c plz listen)

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The sound of Dabi absentmindedly plucking his bass fills the studio. He’s lounging across the couch, legs holding up the dark blue instrument as his fingers drag over the frets lazily. He’s wearing a vest, the white fabric stretched tight over his skin. The jeans he’s wearing are slung low on his hips, and you avert your eyes as he adjusts them, hips lifting from their place on the couch to drag them down.

You’re on the other end of the room, swinging back and forth on a desk chair. The room is hot. The studio was small, the same one your band, LOV, had started out in. Despite being more than popular enough to rent something bigger, there’s a weird obligation you all feel, too attached to where you started to ever leave. You and Dabi are supposed to be writing new songs,  working on stuff for the upcoming album, but you’re not bothered. You can’t think. As the lead singer, lyrics are usually your forte but you’ve got no energy for it. The others aren’t even here, and that only makes you want to work even less. That, and the fact that Dabi is an ample distraction.

He groans from the couch. You glance at him over your shoulder. He’s looking at you impatiently.

“Let’s go home. I’m sick of this shit.”

You sigh, leaning your head back on the chair. “No, we have to stay. We haven’t written anything in ages.”

“Uhm, speak for yourself. I have some things. Riffs.” He plays something small to demonstrate and you roll your eyes.

“And how is that any help without everyone else here? We need all instruments present to actually make a song.” 

Dabi huffs. He places the bass to the side, stretching. His arms reach above his head, shirt lifting up to reveal his happy trail and you sigh.

Of course Dabi is attractive. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. And yes, you also find his personality attractive. He was funny, that calm confidence he always spoke in, his flirty nature, it was all alluring. You’d see him dragging enough girls out the tour bus in the mornings to know you aren’t the only one who feels this way. Unfortunately though, the amount of women he’d been with, plus the fact it’s never a good idea to date a bandmate, means you keep your distance.

This doesn’t stop him from flirting with you at every available second. You’d like to say that you’re immune to it, but that unfaltering attention from Dabi isn’t something you think you could ever get used to.

“What about you? You got any lyrics down?” He asks. 

You frown. You walk over to him, nudging his legs over. You sit next to him and he leans over your shoulder to read the scribbled notes you’d been writing the past couple hours. You huff, pushing his leg further away from yours. It’s currently pressed flush against yours, and his thigh is warm. He’s always so warm.

“Can you stop manspreading?” You mumble, pushing his leg away.

“Aw, you know you love it.” He grins, leaning even closer, eyes never leaving your notes. 

You roll your eyes, but you don’t do much to fight the close proximity. His hand reaches up to stabilise the paper and his fingertips brush the back of your hand. 

“Mediocre.” 

You gape. “Mediocre? I’d like to see you write any better.” You snatch the paper from him and he shrugs.

“It's not bad. It’s just too sappy. Nobody believes that romantic shit is actually real.” He says. 

You bite your lip, thinking. Dabi’s criticism is enough to have you doubting the whole song, and you groan. “Why did you have to say that? Now I hate it.”

“Good.”

You knock his side with your elbow and he tuts. 

“You asked.”

“I didn’t.” You go to elbow him again but he grabs it before you can. You think you can feel the callouses on the tips of his fingers as his hand touches your bare skin. You shrug him off. 

“You asked to see, but I didn’t ask for any feedback.” You say.

Dabi sits up slightly. He tilts his head, strands of black hair dipping to the side. His eyes flit over you quickly.

“Well. We’re a team, no? Don’t you want my feedback?”

You lean your head against the back of the couch. “I guess.”

He reaches over to grab the paper again. “Good girl.”

You flush slightly. “Don’t call me that.”

“You love it.”

You decide it’s better for the both of you if you don’t answer that. You look at the vinyl hung up on the walls, the pictures of you guys at award shows. Anything to distract you from the man sitting next to you.

“I think you should flip it.”

You turn to him now, and he’s already looking up at you. “What?”

“You see like this line? ‘Don’t cry because it’s over baby smile because it happened?’ Swap it so it’s like, ‘Don’t smile because it happened baby, cry because it’s over’.” 

You furrow your brows. “That’s depressing as hell, though. It’s meant to be a love song.” 

“That’s love, though.” He slides the paper back into your hands. “Depressing as shit.”

You scoff. “What do you know about love?”

He grins then, so boyish and teasing. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Yeah, that’s why I asked.”

He huffs a laugh. “Love is overrated. That’s what I know.”

You roll your eyes. “You sound stupid. This isn’t some Disney channel movie, love isn’t overrated.” 

“Hm. Agree to disagree.”

You quickly get up to grab a pen. You could sit further away, but you plant yourself right where you were before, and you ignore the knowing look Dabi gives you. “Okay, help me change the other lyrics then. Since this is now a hate song.”

Dabi laughs. “Not hate. Just not love either. A nice in between.”

“Hush. Okay, so this song is about. Well it’s about being okay with a breakup.”

“Is that the case for most people though? I mean, go the other way. Write a song about the pining, the feelings you can’t get over. Not being okay with a breakup.”

You always see Dabi at his most passionate when he’s talking about music. He spends most of his days lazy and indifferent, but now, his eyes shine brightly as he speaks, as animated as you see him get. You smile slightly, nodding.

“Okay. That sounds good. You have to help me though.” 

“God, if I have to.” 

The two of you sit for the next few minutes, squabbling and disagreeing half the time. You think the songs too negative and Dabi assures you it’s not.

“I mean, it’s all about the singer being in love with someone she doesn’t have. This line, ‘I want you to miss me’ or this one, about ‘thinking about me when you hold her’. It’s depressing, no?”

“But that’s what relationships are like.”

You slump back. You’re now cross legged on the couch, Dabi the same, the two of you conferring over the sheets of paper in front of you. There’s ink on your fingertips from writing and you tap the pen on your chin.

“Not necessarily. Not always.”

Dabi shrugs. “Definitely not always. But we can write about when it is. We’ve got plenty of love songs, but. We don’t have many focusing on this.”

“What’s this?”

Dabi paused for a second. It’s silent for a second too long, and you look up at him to see he’s already looking at you. There’s an expression on his face you don’t recognise. You smile slightly, confused, and it seems to jog him out of his silence.

“That longing. Wanting something, someone, so badly and not being able to have them. The pain of it.” 

He speaks softly, his voice nearly a whisper just between the two of you. You notice suddenly, the proximity between the two of you. If you just lean forward a few inches, you’d be touching. 

“You really think a relationship should be that hard? That painful?”

“No one writes good songs about the ones that come easy.”

You laugh softly. You scratch your chin. “Okay. That’s good, then. Let’s finish the rest.”

The two of you sit there, working away. You’ve never really been this alone with Dabi, not this late at night. There’s no windows in the studio, but you know from time and the fact sleep aches under your skin that it’s late. Somehow, you end up  closer. Dabi reaches over to write something and your hands brush, you stretch and your arms touch. Both of you are desperately trying to get in contact just once, just for a second. After what feel like forever you throw your pen to the floor.

“God. I’m done. I’m tired.” You suddenly say.

“Yeah, I think we’re done here.” Dabi speaks through a yawn, dropping the papers on the coffee table in front of him. 

You curl up on the couch, propping your head against Dabi’s shoulder. “You know when the next rehearsal is?” He asks.

Dabi scratches at the scruff on his chin and you think for a second. “Two days, I’m pretty sure” 

Dabi curses softly under his breath. “I don’t think I can make it.”

“Uh, why not?”

“I’m busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Doing who, more like.”

You sit up. “Who?”

Dabi grins. He brings his arms up to rest on the back of the couch. “You jealous, baby?”

“I’m not jealous of your little groupies.” You scoff. 

Dabi barks out a laugh. “Groupies? The fuck are you talking about?”

It’s your turn to laugh. “Oh, come on! Last tour you brought one back like, every night.”

“They wanted autographs!”

“Fuck off!” You laugh. “Those were very vocal autographs. You do realise the tour bus walls are very thin?” There’d been nights when you’d felt like you were in the room with them. 

“Aw, if you wanted to get involved all you had to do was ask.” Dabi pouts, his voice teasing.

“Shut up, you pervert. You wish.”

“I do wish.” 

“Degenerate.”

He reaches a hand up to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear. You freeze slightly and when he moves his hand away you turn, knowing the bright lights won’t hide the red on your face.

“Didn’t mean to be so loud. They can’t help it, you know. Not when I’m there.”

You scoff. “Right. Is that where you learnt all about love?”

“You could say. I know they loved it.”

It was no secret that Dabi slept around. You’d all been victim to the girls he took to bed, screaming his name late into the night when you’d all be trying to sleep after a show. Yeah, you’d had sex before, but it had never been like that. Didn’t have you yelling the way they did. It did make you wonder, some nights.

But you’re not going to let him know that. Your face twists in disgust. “Gross. I don’t need to know that.”

“Really?”

“Yes really.”

Dabi sighs. He sits up slightly. “Shame. I’d show you such a good time if you’d let me.”

And that has you thinking.

Because there he goes again, flirting and saying such suggestive things. You never play along because you always argue that he’s just joking. He doesn’t mean it. And you could shut it down right now. Really. One shove of his shoulder, one excuse that you’re tired and he’s being gross would have him backing off.

But Dabi is looking at you under impossibly long lashes, impossibly blue eyes trailing over your body, before they land back on your face.  He’s looking at you like he’s not joking anymore, and the part of you that wants to scream like those girls did has you meeting his gaze with competition. 

“Really?”

If he looks shocked at your reply, he doesn’t show it. He just inches closer. “Of course. You know I’d treat you right. If you’d let me.” 

You're a breath away from each other. You’re not sure how, but you’re both sitting up again, face to face. You can smell the cigarette smoke that always seems to linger around him, the too strong cologne that never manages to hide it. This close you can see freckles on his face, so light you don’t think you ever would’ve noticed them otherwise. You want to reach out and touch them but you’re frozen. Waiting.

The both of you are silent. You let it linger, wait for him to make the next move. 

“You’re gorgeous. Do you know that? I’m always watching you on stage. When you’re singing. Can’t get enough of you.”

He reaches a hand up. A hand rests on your shoulder, right against your pulse. His fingers curl up against your face, trailing down your cheek.

“And those groupies you were talking about? Fuck, I wish it was you. Wish it was you I was making scream on my tongue, do you know that?” 

You don’t say anything. You don’t think you could if you tried. Dabi smiles.

“You know you do this thing. When we’re working. You always bite on the end of the pen.” 

His fingers trail over your lips. His thumb rubs at your chin. 

“Drives me fucking crazy.”

Your breath hitches as his hand curls around your neck with more purpose.

“I’m gonna kiss you now. That okay?”

You nod.

“I need to hear you say it, baby.”

“Yes, yes it’s okay-“

Your words are breathless and desperate but no more desperate than Dabi is when he pulls you forward, crashes his lips against yours. He makes a sound, almost whining as he curls a hand in your hair. And it’s like everything you always thought it would be, as fast and as hot as you’d imagined. The hand on your neck reaches down, dipping under your shirt and pulling it over your head. You’re only in your bra, and you feel shy suddenly. Because you’re not the prettiest girl he’s ever met, you know that. Your arms curl around your body and he pulls away for just one second to shake his head, breathing heavily. His hands pull your arms away, grabbing both your wrists in one.

“Don’t do that, baby. I wanna see you.” He murmurs.

He kisses down your neck. His lips suck marks into your skin, and you should tell him to stop because people will see it all tomorrow but you want him to mark you up. You want him to see them tomorrow, see them at rehearsals and remember it was him who put them there.

He licks at your pulse and he pulls back. He reaches behind and with one hand, unclips your bra. The ease in which he does it should alarm you slightly, but then he continues down, and his hands on your breasts is enough to render any thoughts in your head useless. He grabs them both and he groans.

“These tits. So soft, so beautiful.” He whispers the words into your skin like they’re not even meant for you.

He pinches your left nipple before sucking it into your mouth. You whine, hands reaching up into his hair, tugging at his shirt. Because you suddenly feel horribly underdressed compared to him, shirtless as he moves to give attention to your other nipple. He tugs his shirt up quickly, and you let your hands travel up his torso. You feel the lean muscle under his arms, trace the scars across his body. He lets go suddenly. 

“Come on, baby. Take these off.” He tugs at your jeans and you quickly slips them off. His hands slips your underwear away as well, throwing them to the side. 

Dabi moves quickly into the floor until he’s kneeling in front of you, arms resting on your legs as he spreads your thighs apart.

“Dabi? What- What are you doing?”

“You call me Touya when I make you come on my tongue, you hear me?”

You curse, breath hitching as he kisses the soft skin of your thighs, fingers rubbing up and down the side of your hip. “It’s okay. You don’t- You don’t have to.”

Dabi, or Touya now, looks confused. He tilts his head slightly, lips red and kissed out, hair mussed from where you had been grabbing it. “Have to? I’ve been dreaming about this pussy for so long, baby, you don’t even know.” 

He looks at you with so much want in his eyes. He bites softly into your thigh and you squeal, and he grins. 

“If it was up to me, I’d sit you on my face and eat you out until you can’t speak, but. We’re on a time crunch here.” 

He presses a chaste kiss to your clit and you shudder. Two fingers reach and part your folds and Dabi makes a low sound in the back of his throat.

“So wet. Is this all for me?”

“Touya, stop teasing.” You huff, squirming in your place.

Touya drags his fingers down, face so close you can feel his breaths. “Ask me nicely.”

“Please, Touya.” You grit out, sitting up in your elbows to glare down at him.

“Please what?”

“Please-“ Your cheeks flush red because he’s not even looking at you. His eyes are focused between your legs like he’s seen heaven between them.

“Please, make me cum, you prick.” You say with a shiver.

And it’s that tiny shiver that seems to set him off because he’s suddenly kissing and sucking at your lips, tongue digging inside your pussy and tracing circles around your clit. Your hips rock forward as you moan, and he holds you down easily so he can continue.

You have been eaten out a few times before. It never felt like something to enjoy, the boyfriend or hookup always doing it to get something over with, to tick a box. But what makes your toes curl, what makes you inch that much closer to cumming, is the fact that Dabi is eating you like a man starved. He’s groaning, eyes fluttering shut as he takes slow, purposeful mouthfuls of your pussy like he’s doing it for him and not you. 

“Taste so good. You been hiding this from me?”

“Touya- fuck.” You grab his hair and tug, and he moans.

“Yeah, good girl. Do that again.” 

You comply, his name a ramble on your lips as your hips buck again. Your core aches and you voice reaches an embarrassingly high pitch as he kisses your clit again. It takes an embarrassingly short time for you to reach the edge. “Da-Touya, I’m, I’m close,” you breathe, hands clutching at the couch beneath you.

Touya detaches himself from you, eyes glancing up at you. “Yeah? You’re close?”

You nod, whine caught in your throat. Your hips jolt forward as he begins trailing slow circles over your clit with his finger. You whine at the slow contact.

“You wanna cum?”

“Yes. Yes, Touya, please.” You breathe.

“You wanna cum on my tongue, baby?” He whispers and you keen, hand reaching down to tug at his hair again, trying to drag him closer.

“Fucking- Touya, I’ll do it myself if I have to.” 

He laughs at that, quickly returning his attention back between your legs. It’s embarrassingly loud as he sucks at your clit, two fingers reaching inside you to press against that spot that has you moaning his name once more. 

“Good girl, so fucking pretty cumming all over my face.” He groans.

And then you cum, and Touya easily holds your hips down as they shake, his own grinding into the floor beneath him, and he takes you through an orgasm that racks through your body. You think you might pass out from the pleasure that crashes over you so suddenly. His hands grab at your chest, your neck, and when he kisses you again you can taste yourself on his tongue.

He smiles at you again, this time more elated, a wild look in his eyes. 

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” It takes you a minute before you can reply. You do so but gesturing him up in his feet.

“Here. Come, get up.” You speak suddenly, still breathing heavily.  

Touya looks confused for a second. You drag him up onto the couch, and your eyes trail down, to the obvious bluge in his trousers. And he looks big judging by it, and you think you’re already ready to get off again.

“Your turn. Come on, take these off.” You tap your fingers on his jeans and take his place on the floor.

“God, you know just what to say to a man.”

“Shut up.” 

He uses one hand to unbuckle his belt and he’s just showing off now, you know, but it’s hot and he knows it is. He pulls his jeans down his legs and you let them pool at his feet. And when you pull his cock out it’s long and thick, you find the source of all his arrogance. He catches you looking and he huffs a laugh. His breath hitches as you slide your fingers up the side, tongue reaching out to lick at the tip, hard and leaking precum.

“You know, you always, fuck, you always deny it, sweetheart, but look at you.” He groans as you lick a stripe up his cock. “On your knees for me.” 

“I always imagined taking you right here, in the studio, bending you over this couch and fucking you until you’re screaming nothing but my name, squirming and begging on my dick.” Your thighs clench and he sees it, a nasty smirk on his face as you take him into your mouth.

“You want that too, angel? Want me to make you scream so loudly everyone comes in and, shit, sees you cumming on my cock? You want that?” 

You don’t say anything, can’t, because he fills your mouth so full that you couldn’t speak if you wanted to. His hand reaches into you hair, guiding your head up and down his dick, low moans and grunts leaving his mouth. He’s so vocal, you realise, an endlesss stream of barely coherent praise leaving his mouth as you use yours.

“Fuck, yeah sweetheart, fuck.” His hips buck into your mouth and you nearly choke.

“Come on, I know you can take it. Good girl, good fucking girl.” He groans, pulling your head down further.

Your eyes flutter shut and Touya reaches down with his free hand to brush the tears that fall down your cheeks. You grab into his thighs, nails digging into his skin.

“Taking me so well, baby. Always so fucking mouthy. So pretty when you use it right.” He breathed heavily, jerking into your mouth again.

He starts fucking into your mouth, and you swipe your tongue underneath his dick, the vein that runs down it and he stutters, breathy curses leaving his lips.

“Gonna cum, fuck.” 

Your name slips past his lips in tandem as he bucks into your mouth one last time. Your mouth fills and you swallow, and he pats your cheek as you look back up at him, gasping for breath you pull back. His chest heaves and his eyes are shining brightly again but for a very different reason. You trace the scratches you left on his thighs and he in turns rubs a finger on the hickeys that leave a telling trail down your body.

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i get so cringed out when i write smut but i wanted to do it so i powered through!!! plz give me any tips if u think its bad i greatly appreciate it. i also had noooo idea how to end this oneshot so i lowkey just stopped writing LMAO

anyway.... bass player dabi u live on in my heart kisses forever

[rispwr]

expect the unexpected - myg - os

pairings : idol! myg x bartender! reader

sypnosis: meeting an idol at a bar as a bartender? Especially the fact that it was your favourite idol, was definitely was not in your expectations, knowing well the media is all around you both.

word count: 5k+

contents/warnings: smut, ykyk, idol x fan, s2l, fast burn or whatever u call it, unprotected sxx, public media hate?, full of suprises, pwp, oral(fem recieving), slight tit play,

Not proofread

The pounding bass of the club reverberated through my chest as I worked my way behind the bar, pouring drinks with precision and a smile, despite how tired I was feeling. The club was packed tonight, bodies swaying under neon lights, laughter and chatter mixing with the pulsing music. It was another typical Friday night, one where I’d usually lose myself in the rhythm of the job, letting the hustle and bustle distract me from anything going on in my personal life.

But tonight, something felt different. There was an odd tension in the air, or maybe it was just my own nerves after hearing earlier in the day that there was going to be a high-profile guest at the club. I didn’t know who it would be, but the manager had warned us to be on our best behavior. I usually was, but the anticipation had been gnawing at me all evening, especially as the hours ticked closer to closing time.

I wiped down the counter for the hundredth time that night, glancing at the crowd every now and then, hoping to spot the mystery guest. Maybe it would be someone cool, like an actor or a famous DJ. Little did I know, my whole world was about to shift in the next few minutes.

The door opened, and I noticed someone walk in, but it wasn’t just anyone. It was him.

Min Yoongi.

My heart skipped a beat, then pounded furiously in my chest. Oh my god, it’s really him. Min Yoongi, the man I’d admired for years, the genius behind so many of my favorite songs. His music had been my escape, my motivation, my comfort on so many days. And now, here he was, stepping into the very club where I worked. My hands were shaking just thinking about it.

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry, as I watched him casually approach the bar. His presence commanded the space, even though he moved with such a laid-back aura, his black leather jacket clinging to him effortlessly. He glanced around briefly before his eyes landed on me, and I froze, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

Stay calm, Y/N. You’re a professional. You can’t freak out right now.

"Good evening, sir. What can I get you?" I somehow managed to ask, though my voice came out shaky. My palms were sweating, and I was sure my face was flushed.

Yoongi’s gaze softened as a small smirk played at the corners of his lips. "Does the drink come with the bartender making it?" he joked, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine.

I chuckled nervously, trying to play it off like I wasn’t completely losing it on the inside. "You’re very funny, sir," I replied, forcing a smile. Act normal, Y/N, act normal.

His eyes lingered on me for a moment longer than I expected, and I could feel my heart racing again. "What can you recommend?" he asked, leaning slightly on the counter, his eyes still locked on mine.

I was momentarily speechless, my brain scrambling to function. What was a good drink?

I bit my lip, trying to focus despite the intensity of his gaze. "Aperol Spritz," I blurted out, my voice still shaky. It was a safe choice, something light but classy. I was hoping he’d go for it.

"That sounds good," he said, giving me a warm, gummy smile that nearly melted me on the spot. His smile—it was even more beautiful in person than I’d ever imagined.

I quickly turned to grab the ingredients, my hands trembling slightly as I started mixing the drink. I could feel his eyes on me, and it was driving me insane. The way he leaned against the bar, so casual, so effortlessly cool—it was like a scene out of a movie, one I never thought I’d be part of.

As I focused on mixing the drink, I heard him speak again, his voice low and curious. "What time’s your shift end?"

My hand faltered for a moment, nearly spilling the Aperol. "Uh, 10 p.m.," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant, though my heart was thudding in my chest. Why was he asking about my shift?

"Why?" I asked before I could stop myself, focusing on the drink to avoid looking directly at him.

"May I take you out?" His words hit me like a ton of bricks, and I almost dropped the glass.

I choked on my own breath, coughing slightly in surprise. Did I just hear that right? My idol, the man whose music had shaped so much of my life, was asking to take me out? It felt surreal, like a dream I didn’t dare believe was happening.

"Sir—" I started to protest, my mind racing with confusion, excitement, and nerves all at once.

He cut me off, that same playful smirk still on his lips. "Just get my number then."

Before I could even react, he reached over and gently grabbed my wrist, pulling out a pen from his jacket. My breath hitched as I felt the warmth of his fingers on my skin. With a few quick strokes, he scribbled his number on my wrist.

"Call me. Please," he said, his voice softer now, more sincere. His eyes met mine again, and for a moment, everything else in the club disappeared. It was just me and him, locked in this surreal moment that I knew I would remember for the rest of my life.

I blinked, still trying to process everything as I finished making his drink and handed it to him. He took it with that same easy confidence, his fingers brushing against mine briefly before he lifted the glass to his lips.

The way he drank the Aperol Spritz—quickly, effortlessly, like it was water—was somehow the hottest thing I had ever seen. My eyes were glued to him, watching as he downed the drink with a casual grace that left me even more flustered than before.

When he set the glass down, he gave me one last smile before standing up from the bar. I watched, completely starstruck, as he slowly made his way out of the club, disappearing into the night like some kind of ethereal being.

For a few seconds, I just stood there, still clutching the bar counter, my mind reeling from what had just happened. My idol—Min Yoongi—had not only spoken to me, but he had given me his number.

Holy cow.

It felt too good to be true. I glanced down at my wrist, at the messy numbers scrawled there, and my heart skipped another beat. This wasn’t a dream. This was real.

I was still buzzing with excitement and disbelief as I continued working, but my mind kept drifting back to Yoongi, to the way he had looked at me, the sound of his voice, the feel of his hand on mine. The rest of my shift flew by in a blur, and when 10 p.m. finally rolled around, I couldn’t get out of the club fast enough.

As soon as I was out the door, I pulled out my phone, staring at the numbers on my wrist. My fingers hovered over the keypad, nerves bubbling up inside of me. Should I really call him? What if this was all a joke, or worse, what if he didn’t even remember me?

But then I thought about the way he had smiled at me, the way his eyes had lingered just a little too long. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t a dream.

Taking a deep breath, I finally dialed the number. The phone rang once, twice, three times, before a familiar voice answered.

"Hello?"

My heart leaped into my throat, and for a second, I couldn’t find my voice. "Uh, hi... it’s Y/N. From the club."

There was a brief pause on the other end, and then I heard his soft chuckle. "Ah, the bartender. I’m glad you called."

I bit my lip, trying to hide my giddiness. "Yeah, well, you kind of gave me no choice," I teased lightly.

"Fair enough," he replied, amusement in his voice. "So, what do you say? Still up for going out?"

I glanced around, my nerves suddenly replaced with excitement. "Yeah, I think I am."

The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains as I sat at my vanity, carefully applying the finishing touches to my makeup. I was feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness; today wasn’t just any day—it was my first real date with Min Yoongi after i literally spent the whole night talking to him. The Yoongi. My heart raced at the thought of spending time with him outside of the club, just the two of us, with no distractions.

I had barely finished putting on my lipstick when my phone rang, causing me to jump slightly. I grabbed it quickly, seeing his name flash on the screen.

"Hey," his deep voice flowed through the line, smooth and warm. "I'll pick you up. Send me your address, pretty."

I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips. Pretty. He called me that so casually, yet it made my heart skip a beat every time. I tried to sound nonchalant, but my voice betrayed me with a soft chuckle. "Oh, okay," I replied, fumbling as I typed out my address and sent it to him.

He responded with a simple "Got it. See you soon," and I hung up, staring at my reflection for a moment longer. Okay, Y/N. You’ve got this. Just be yourself.

I opted for something casual but cute—an airy summer dress that I felt confident in, paired with my favorite sandals. I didn’t want to overdo it, but at the same time, I wanted to look good. After all, this wasn’t just any date. This was a date with Yoongi.

As I finished getting ready, I heard a knock on the door. My heart leaped, and I quickly checked my reflection one last time before rushing over to open it. The moment I pulled the door open, there he was.

Yoongi stood there, dressed in a simple yet effortlessly stylish outfit—a white button-down shirt, slightly rolled up at the sleeves, paired with black slacks. His black hair fell softly over his forehead, and his eyes twinkled with amusement as he took in my appearance.

For a brief moment, he didn’t say anything, just looked at me like I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. My face flushed under his gaze, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him.

"You look..." He paused, his lips curving into a small smile as he ran a hand through his hair. "So damn pretty."

His words made my heart flutter, and I laughed nervously, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "Thanks," I murmured, trying to play it cool, though inside I was melting.

He extended his hand toward me. "Shall we?"

I took his hand, his fingers warm against mine as he led me out of my apartment. As we walked to his car, I couldn’t help but steal glances at him, still in awe of the fact that this was really happening. Yoongi—the man whose music I had adored for years—was holding my hand, and we were about to go on a date. It felt like a dream, one that I never wanted to wake up from.

Once we reached his car, Yoongi opened the passenger door for me, his actions gentlemanly and smooth. I slid in, my nerves settling slightly as I buckled my seatbelt and watched him move to the driver’s side. He got in and started the car, and soon enough, we were on our way.

"So, where are we going?" I asked, curious.

He glanced at me briefly, his smile returning. "It’s a surprise," he said cryptically, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he spoke.

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A surprise, huh?"

"You’ll like it, I promise," he added, giving me a reassuring look. I trusted him, though I couldn’t deny that the mystery only added to the excitement bubbling in my chest.

As we drove, the conversation flowed easily between us. Yoongi was surprisingly easy to talk to, despite his usually quiet and reserved demeanor. He asked me about my work, my hobbies, and what I liked to do for fun, and I found myself opening up to him in a way that felt natural and comfortable.

In return, he shared little snippets of his life, telling me funny stories about his friends and how much he loved producing music. He talked about his love for quiet places, the serenity of sitting by a river with a notebook, just writing. It was moments like these that made me realize just how thoughtful and introspective he was—a side of him that wasn’t always visible in public.

After about thirty minutes of driving, we pulled up to a secluded park just on the outskirts of the city. It was beautiful—quiet, with large trees providing shade and a lake glistening in the sunlight.

"Wow," I breathed as I stepped out of the car. The peacefulness of the place immediately put me at ease, and I couldn’t help but smile at the thoughtfulness behind Yoongi’s choice.

He came around the car, taking my hand once again as we walked toward the lake. "I figured we could have a picnic," he said, nodding toward a small basket he had in the backseat.

My heart swelled at the idea. "A picnic? Aren't you scared we might caught by the media?" I grinned, looking up at him.

His ears turned a slight shade of pink, and he shrugged. "i don't really care about what the media says. i'm a human aswell"

I squeezed his hand gently, touched by the gesture. "well then, i love it"

We found a perfect spot under a large tree, the shade providing a cool relief from the warm sun. Yoongi laid out a blanket, and soon we were sitting together, the gentle breeze carrying the soft sounds of nature around us.

He opened the picnic basket, revealing an array of snacks—fruit, sandwiches, even a small bottle of wine. It was simple but thoughtful, and I couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky to be here with him.

As we ate, we continued talking, sharing more stories and laughing over silly things. At one point, Yoongi picked up a strawberry and held it out to me. "Here," he said, his eyes glinting with a mischievous sparkle.

I giggled, leaning forward to take a bite, but at the last second, he pulled the strawberry away, smirking. "Too slow."

I playfully glared at him, crossing my arms. "Not fair," I pouted.

He chuckled, and after a moment, he held the strawberry out again, this time letting me take a bite. The sweet taste of the fruit was nothing compared to the warmth that spread through me from his teasing smile.

Time seemed to pass effortlessly as we lounged together, enjoying the serenity of the park. At one point, Yoongi leaned back against the tree, closing his eyes as he soaked in the peaceful atmosphere. I took the opportunity to study him, admiring the way the sunlight filtered through the branches above, casting a soft glow on his face.

He looked so at peace, so content. And it made me feel the same.

After a while, he opened his eyes, catching me staring. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from my face.

"You’re beautiful, you know that?" he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I felt my cheeks flush, my heart doing a little flip at his words. "You’re not so bad yourself," I replied, trying to hide my embarrassment with a playful smile.

He chuckled softly, but the way his eyes lingered on mine told me that he meant what he said.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden hue over the park, Yoongi stood up, offering me his hand. "Come on," he said, his voice soft but insistent.

I took his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. We walked along the edge of the lake, the water reflecting the fading sunlight in a way that made everything feel almost magical. The world around us seemed to quiet down, the only sounds being the gentle lapping of the water against the shore and the occasional chirp of a bird in the distance.

At one point, Yoongi stopped walking, turning to face me. His expression had softened, a look of quiet contemplation on his face.

"I’m really glad you agreed to come out with me today," he said, his voice low, almost hesitant.

I looked up at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. "I’m glad you asked me," I replied, my voice just as soft.

For a moment, we just stood there, the world around us fading into the background. It was just me and him, standing by the water, sharing a moment that felt almost too perfect to be real.

And then, without saying a word, Yoongi gently pulled me closer, his hand cupping my cheek as he leaned in. My heart raced, my breath hitching as his lips brushed against mine in the softest, sweetest kiss.

It was slow, tender, and filled with a warmth that spread through my entire body, leaving me breathless.

When we finally pulled away, his forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing softly in the quiet evening air.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible, but I could hear the emotion behind it.

I smiled, my heart swelling with a warmth I hadn’t felt in a long time. "For what?"

"For being here. For giving me a chance," he replied, his eyes soft and sincere.

I reached up, gently brushing my fingers through his hair. "You’re worth it," I whispered back.

It had been a whirlwind of a week since Yoongi and I started going on dates regularly. We’d been keeping things low-key, not caring too much about what the media might say. It was blissful—no pressure, no complications, just us. Every date felt like a slice of heaven, whether we were sneaking out for late-night drives or staying in to watch movies on the couch. Yoongi had a way of making everything feel easy, and for a while, I let myself believe that this little bubble we created could last forever.

But nothing ever stays hidden for long, especially when you're dating one of the most famous people in the world.

I was lying on my bed, doing my skincare routine with a sheet mask on, absentmindedly scrolling through my phone. I wasn’t expecting to find anything upsetting. In fact, I was enjoying the downtime, a rare moment to myself. That was until I stumbled upon an article that instantly made my heart sink.

"Min Yoongi of BTS, spotted at a bar months ago, writing his number on a bartender's wrist."

I froze. My fingers hovered over the screen as I read the article in shock. The photo attached was blurry, but it was definitely me. I recognized the scene instantly—the night Yoongi had come to the club where I worked and had asked for my number. I remember being so shocked and flustered, and now the world had access to that private moment.

My heart pounded in my chest as I scrolled down, reading article after article, each one with more intrusive headlines. My stomach twisted in knots as I clicked on the comments section of one post.

"I found her IG!" "Is this the bartender?" "She’s dating Yoongi? How dare she!" "She’s not even that pretty."

Each comment was worse than the last. The hate spilled across the screen, words laced with venom from people who didn’t even know me, yet somehow felt entitled to tear me apart. My hands started shaking, and my eyes stung as I continued to read.

Suddenly, the door to my bedroom opened, and Yoongi walked in. He looked relaxed, his usual calm self, but that all changed the moment he saw me. I was still lying on the bed, mask on, my phone gripped tightly in my hand. He crossed the room in a few strides, his expression instantly softening with concern as he approached.

"Y/N, you okay?" he asked, his deep voice low and soothing.

I didn’t answer him right away. Instead, I kept scrolling, my heart sinking further with each hateful comment. I felt the bed dip as Yoongi sat down beside me. He leaned over, glancing at my phone. The moment he saw what I was looking at, his expression darkened.

“Baby, don’t listen to them,” he said softly, reaching for my hand, but I pulled it away, still glued to the screen. I felt numb, my mind racing with thoughts about how much this could affect Yoongi’s life. The last thing I wanted was for my presence in his life to cause problems for him. I’d seen what rabid fans could do, how cruel the internet could be.

"She’s using him for clout." "Yoongi deserves better than her." "She’s just a nobody. How did she get his attention?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to look anymore. My body trembled, and I let out a shaky breath.

"Y/N," Yoongi's voice was firmer now, but still gentle. He reached out again, taking the phone from my hands this time. I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. He set it aside, his body shifting as he leaned over me, his arms wrapping around me tightly, pulling me into his embrace. His warmth was familiar and comforting, but I was too upset to melt into him like I usually would.

"Yoongi, I…" I struggled to find the words. "I don’t want to ruin your reputation."

He sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, his arms still holding me close. “Baby, listen to me. This doesn’t change anything. I don’t care about what those people say.”

I opened my eyes, tears welling up as I looked up at him. "But what if they don’t stop, Yoongi? They’re already finding my social media, my pictures… It’s only going to get worse."

Yoongi gently brushed the hair away from my face, his eyes locking with mine. “I don’t care about them, Y/N. I care about you. They don’t know us, they don’t know you. And honestly, if they can’t accept that I’m dating someone, that’s on them. Not you.”

He leaned down, smashing his lips against mine, the kiss filled with urgency and a need to comfort me. My body responded instantly, my heart aching as I kissed him back, my hands gripping onto his shirt. His lips were soft, but the kiss was passionate, filled with emotion. He pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against mine.

"Y/N, I love you. I love you, not what the media says, not what the fans think. You’re the one I want, the one I’ve chosen," he muttered between small kisses, his lips grazing mine as he spoke.

I let out a shaky breath, my heart racing, but I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. “Yoongi… I love you too. But I’m scared. I don’t want this to ruin everything you’ve worked for. I don’t want to be the reason you lose your fans.”

His eyes softened, and he brushed away the tears that had escaped down my cheeks. "You’re not ruining anything, okay? If people can’t handle the fact that I’m happy with you, then that’s their problem, not yours." He kissed me again, slower this time, his hands cupping my face gently. "Please don’t leave because of this. I need you."

His words sent a wave of warmth through me, but the doubt still lingered. I pulled away slightly, biting my lip. “But what if it gets worse? What if the media digs into my past, or my family? What if it becomes too much for you?”

Yoongi let out a small sigh, his fingers trailing softly along my jawline. “I’ve been dealing with the media for years, Y/N. They always find something to talk about, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll protect you from all of that, I promise.” He paused, searching my eyes for a moment before continuing. “we need a fandom cleanse anyway.”

I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the sincerity in his gaze. This wasn’t just about protecting his reputation—he truly cared about me, about us. And in that moment, I realized that no matter how much hate or negativity came our way, Yoongi and I had something real, something that wasn’t going to be torn apart by strangers on the internet.

“I trust you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I really do.”

He smiled softly, his thumb brushing against my cheek. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time since I saw that article, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. Yoongi wasn’t just saying empty words—he meant it. And I knew that no matter how tough things got, we’d find a way to navigate through it together.

We lay there for a while, tangled up in each other, the world outside fading away as I found comfort in his arms. He held me close, his steady heartbeat calming the storm inside me. Eventually, the anxiety that had been gnawing at me began to fade, replaced by a quiet resolve.

Yoongi kissed my forehead, his voice soft as he spoke. “Let’s just focus on us, okay? Don’t let those people get into your head. I love you, and that’s all that matters.”

I nodded, snuggling closer to him. “I love you too, Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s lips trailed down my neck, leaving a trail of warm, electrifying kisses as he pressed closer, his body hovering over mine. I could feel his breath against my skin, each kiss making me shiver with anticipation. His hands roamed over my body, soft but firm, as if he was memorizing every curve. I let out a soft whimper, my head tilting back to give him more access, and he took the invitation eagerly, his lips finding that sensitive spot just below my ear.

"Yoongi…" I whined, my voice barely a whisper, breathless from the way his mouth moved against my skin. His name slipped past my lips, a plea hidden in the sound, and I felt him smirk against my neck.

“Hm?” he hummed, his voice vibrating against me, sending a jolt through my body. He moved to my ear, nibbling lightly on the lobe before pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes. “What do you need, baby?” His voice was low, teasing, but I could see the dark hunger in his gaze.

I bit my lip, feeling the heat build up inside me, my heart pounding in my chest. "Need you…" I moaned lowly, my body arching beneath his as I tugged on his shirt, wanting nothing more than to feel him closer.

He groaned softly, his lips grazing mine before he kissed me again, deeper this time, his tongue slipping past my lips in a slow, deliberate dance. The intensity made my head spin, and I could feel my body reacting to him, craving him.

Reaching for my phone, I unlocked it with shaky fingers and quickly scrolled through my playlist until I found the perfect song to match the mood—“Pretty When You Cry” by Lana Del Rey. As soon as the haunting melody filled the room, I dropped the phone to the side, letting the music set the atmosphere.

Yoongi’s eyes flicked to the phone, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips as the song played. “Good choice,” he whispered, his voice a mix of admiration and desire. He kissed me again, this time rougher, more intense, like he couldn’t hold back anymore.

The music filled the room, the sensual beats of Lana’s voice blending with the sounds of our breathless kisses and the soft moans escaping my lips. 

"i love you so much y/n. from the moment i saw you i already loved you" he says in between the kisses. "may i?" he asks me and without hesitation i nod. nothing will be ever hotter than a man asking for consent. making sure i'm comfortable and alright with what he's doing.

 he slowly goes down to my lower part. sliding down my shorts, revealing my damped panty with a wet patch on it "so wet. all for me? hm?" he coos, rubbing circles on my clothed clit, my back arching just from his touch. "already? i'm not even doing anythig yet baby" he says chuckling. his teeth then bites on the hem of my panty, sliding it down to get full access of my cunt. "are you ready? we can stop if you want" he assures me "fuck no..keep going yoongs" i reply to him, shaky voice. 

his tounge then starts to circle my clit, making my eyes roll back. him, smiling at the lewd noises i make, enjoying this. my hands makes it's way to his hair, tugging it. his tounge then starts to do it's magic. "fuck yoongs! they were right! your tounge technology is insane" i whimper, broken words, unable to speak fully with all the pleasure he's been giving me. "i-im coming!" i mewl, tightening my grip on his hair "yes baby, cum on my face yeah?" he says in between. i then couldn't take it anymore.

i felt my orgasm nearing, releasing white liquids on his face. he then faces to me, fuck he is so hot. especially with my liquids on his face. i then take off my shirt revealing my naked breast, i then cup his face, smashing my lips onto him, mixed with lust and love. "yoongs need you..fuck me please" i whimpered onto him, making him give me a smirk. he then starts to unbuckle his belt, sliding down his pants, revealing his erected cock, leaking with pre cum. "i'm clean, on birth control" i said "great" he replies, diving back onto the kiss. 

his hands makes it's way to my breast, playing with my nipples as i feel his tip enter me "fuck, you're so tight" he grunts in between the kiss "you're mine, alright?" he says, deep voice, making me absolutely crazy. "fuck...yes i am" i reply, whimpering. "good girl" he chuckles, as our body releases wet noises and the bed creaking rhythmically in every thrust he makes. "yoongs..i'm close" i breathly said, not even a whisper nor a whimper anymore. "come with me baby yeah? cum for me" he says, biting his lips, looking at me. 

"open your eyes. i want you to see who's making you cum" i then try my best in keeping my eyes open. i then felt my orgasm nearing, releasing my liquids once again. "baby wait for me, i'm almost there" he howls, "fuck, want me to cum inside you? hm? you'd like that don't you??" he says, while leaving a chuckle. "min yoongi!" i scream as i felt his release inside me, filling me to the brim, our liquids mixing with each other. 

assurance sex is fucking great.

he then falls on top of me giving me a peck on my cheek "i love you, will you be my girlfriend?" he says revealing his gummy smile "yes i will" i give him a smile back, happily knowing i have him as mine, and me as his.

[springgirlshowers]

ok what about drunk reader getting so wasted to the point where she doesn’t recognize joost but it’s not like angst it’s funny cuz he’s trying to get her home and she’s like “nuh uh i got a bf pal”

My Boyfriends Pretty Cool

Pairing: Joost Klein x Fem!Reader

CW: alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking, reader being drunk as helllllllll

WC: 1004

A/N: happy monday everybody, hope this helps you get thru ur week <3

You were sitting in a small booth in the corner of the club, Joost had gone out for a smoke with his friends, promising he’d be back soon.

Your friend, who was sitting with you originally, had gone up to counter of the bar, talking to a guy she met earlier.

Now you were sitting alone, waiting for either of them to return.

Joost came back in with the hood of his black jacket up that was wrapped around his waist before due to the cold weather outside, dark and squared sunglasses covered his eyes, dimming down the harsh and colorful light from the dance floor.

He freaked out a tiny bit when he saw you sitting alone, knowing you were already a bit drunk.

“Hey, where’d your friend go?” He asked as he walked up to the table. You looked up at him with a strange look on your face.

“Uh, she just went up to the counter to get some more drinks.” You lied, not recognizing the stranger under the dark glasses and hood.

Joost just gave an understanding nod, sitting down next to you. Noticing the way you scooted away from him.

“You really shouldn’t be sitting so close to me, I have a boyfriend.” You slurred.

“You do?” He tilted his head, catching on.

“Mhm. I don’t think he’d like some random guy sitting next to me.” You raised your brows, taking a drink from your glass.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t. What does he look like?”

“He’s got superrr blonde hair. He has a lot of silly tattoos. Anddd he’s very tall. He’s easy to spot in a crowd.”

“Silly tattoos? What do you mean by that?”

“He has one,” You stopped your sentence to giggle, “of crazy frog!” You let out a full blown laugh. A giant grin formed on his face, he began to feel the butterflies in his stomach at the sound of your laugh.

“I used to think it was a dumb tattoo. I kinda like it now. I like to trace them with my fingers when he’s sleeping.” You said, wiping your watery eyes from how hard you were laughing.

Joost was surprised by this new information, he never knew you did that when he was asleep.

“What else is there about him?” He rested his head on his fist.

“Well, he wears glasses a lot, ones kinda like yours.” You tapped your nail on his sunglasses. “But he’s been wearing these pink ones a lot. He’s a fashionista.” Joost laughed at the name you unknowingly called him.

“He puts a lot of effort into his outfits, but I think it’s cute.” You tipped your head against the leather booth.

“Oh! And he’s a musician! He makes music all the time!” You sprang up, so giddy about this subject.

“Wow, really? What type of music?”

“Gabberpop. It’s really weird music, it’s really loud, has a lot of bass and big sounds.” His face hurt so much from smiling, a small laugh leaving him when you tried to sing an instrumental of one of his songs.

“Do you like his songs?” He felt a bit strange, taking advantage of your state to see how you really felt about him. But he always had that bad thought in the back of his mind that you didn’t like a lot of things about him, and he wanted to know the truth.

“Hmmm, I thought they were really weird at first, I wasn’t sure how I felt about them. But I like them a lot now!” His sunglasses hid the blush forming on his face. “I listen to them all the time when he’s not around, like in the car, or when he’s not home, or when I’m out in public with my earbuds in, or when he’s traveling and I miss him.” You giggled as you rambled on, words slurred.

“That’s good. Is he a handsome dude?”

“Absolutely! He’s the prettiest boy I’ve seen.” You sighed happily, rocking side to side.

“Really?” He mumbled nervously.

“Really, really. I love him.” You gazed up, looking like you were daydreaming.

“You seem more interested in him than me.” You looked back at him, narrowing your eyes and whispering.

“Maybe I am.” He shrugged and tilted his head.

“Hm, you’re very kind but I won’t share.”

“That’s understandable, I wouldn’t share either if I had a girl like you.” He said before he got up, giving you a handshake and goodbye.

By the time he was out of your eyesight, he took off his glasses and jacket, wrapping it around his waist again.

He waited for a second before returning to the booth.

“Hey liefje, where did she go?” He asked, referring to your friend.

“She went to go talk to some guy.” You said truthfully this time, feeling safe at the sight of your boyfriend.

“She just left you here alone?” He said as he sat down in the same spot he was just a few minutes ago.

“Yeah. A guy came up to me though.” You muttered awkwardly.

“Huh? Who?” He pretended to look concerned, acting a bit jealous as he would if he did see an actual stranger flirting with you.

“I don’t know. I never got his name, but don’t worry. I told him I already had a boyfriend.”

“Oh. Was he flirting with you at all?” Joost continued on with his facade.

“No I don’t think so, he seemed more interested in you. Asking soooo many questions about you.” You smiled, teasing him.

“Really? That’s strange.” He hummed.

“Maybe, I think he wanted to flirt with you instead.” You giggled again, laying your head down on where your arm was on the wooden table.

“But I was glad he was asking of questions, I like talking about you. I’m just worried I said too much and now he’s gonna try and steal you from me.” You said through a hiccup.

“Oh, no one could ever take me from you.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek.

[valeriianz]

for the blossoming romance prompts, either 14 (looking at their lips while they talk), 19 (talking late into the night), and/or 27 (sharing an umbrella/coat/blanket, etc) for dreamling!!

i chose "looking at their lips while they talk" tags: human au, hard of hearing Dream, hurt/comfort

--------

Dream is always staring at Hob’s lips whenever he speaks.

It’s something Hob has gotten used to… or so he tries to convince himself. Dream is hard of hearing– not quite deaf, though his hearing is deteriorating. He’d met Dream like this, after his hearing loss began so, without really having to explain why, Hob was able to roll with it– with how Dream has always relied on reading lips.

It did become harder– watching Dream’s gaze drop to his mouth– once Hob realized he had developed a crush on his friend.

Nothing ever prepared him for those deeply crystalline eyes to focus on his lips, even during the most banal of conversations. Hob’s pulse would skip and jump, faltering over his words and laughing at himself sometimes. He wondered what Dream was thinking, during those moments when he would stammer and stutter over a sentence for seemingly no reason. It certainly made conversation drag on a little longer, Dream often having to ask Hob to repeat himself with a patient, almost coy smile.

Or– lord help him– if they were in a dark place like a backyard bonfire or a bar, Dream would lean in close, his face scrunching adorably as he tried to understand the conversation happening around him, and Hob would have to speak directly into Dream’s good ear, a hand cupped over it, like he was telling him a secret.

“I can’t hear a thing in this place,” Dream groused in Hob’s ear, both of them leaning against the bar and surrounded by minimal lights and thumping bass lines.

Hob leaned into Dream’s space, the man automatically turning his head to catch his voice.

“Let’s get out of here, then.” Hob’s lips brushed the shell of Dream’s ear and Hob was just drunk enough to not apologize over it, but the brief contact set his skin on fire regardless.

They soon found themselves walking along the waterfront, the temperature dropping in the cool night air and a breeze kicking up to match the waves on the water. Dream tugged on his jacket before stuffing his hands in its pockets, knocking his head back as he took a deep breath, tasting the city air. Hob watched fondly, the street lights they passed under giving Dream’s skin an orange glow, warm and inviting, and he had an easy expression on, the quiet hour giving him some reprieve.

Neither of them spoke, which Hob sometimes preferred… After knowing Dream for nearly a year now, he’d gotten used to these quiet moments, happy to just enjoy each other’s company. Hob liked that the most about Dream, how he was able to find solace and comfort in the silence, rather than feeling the need to fill it with small talk.

It’s late so there aren’t many people out among the scattered benches and picnic tables, as they are properly walking now into a rest area which usually would be bustling in the daytime. Vendors around them closed for the evening or just breaking down.

They come up to one that still looks open, a chalkboard sign boasting snacks like hot dogs and tater tots. Hob slows and points out the open and lit up stall.

“Food?”

Dream’s gaze sweeps over to the sign, his brows lifting in interest and he nods, turning with Hob as they approach the counter.

Unfortunately they no longer have food, the person behind the stall informs sadly, but they are still serving alcohol. With a sideways glance at Dream, Hob gives in and orders a night cap, and Dream follows suit.

So, here’s a funny thing. Hob watches Dream discuss their cider list with the cashier, and his eyes flick down maybe once or twice during the conversation. And, maybe it’s difficult to tell while he’s not facing Dream, but Hob could swear Dream doesn’t have his gaze affixed to other people’s lips while in conversation with them.

Hob of course has no idea how much Dream really relies on reading lips– how the whole interpretation works for him, matching lip movements to the words… but Hob could swear that he never needs to hyper focus on people’s mouths; he always seems to get along just fine without prolonged eye-to-mouth contact.

In fact, now that he is tipsy enough to overthink, Hob is certain Dream hadn’t always stared at his lips. Hob had naively always attributed that to his hearing declining… but that didn’t make sense, as again, Dream never needed to stare for very long when in conversation with literally anyone else. 

Drinks paid for, Hob and Dream walk a little out of the way of the path, finding a bench in a patch of grass and collapsing onto it with matching sighs.

Hob slowly sipped his beer and Dream, from his cider, staring out at the lit up skyline beyond the water. The windows in the skyscrapers were high and far away enough that they resembled stars, reflecting off the water too. It was pretty, Hob always preferred the city when the sun went down. 

Dream did, too. Much of their experience together was shared after hours.

Hob stares at Dream’s profile, how he can somehow still see his long lashes even in the limited light, the point of Dream’s nose, his devastating jawline that Hob has fantasized pressing his lips to, cupping it with his hand, nudging his nose along until he was in Dream’s sooty hair. He wanted to know what it felt like, to tangle his fingers in that hair, comb through it lovingly and also pull it just to hear what sounds Dream would make if he did so, exposing the line of his throat so Hob could latch his mouth onto it. 

Taking a deep breath, Hob set his drink down on the space next to him, and tapped Dream on the shoulder.

Dream turns, his expression curious and only a little faded, muddled from alcohol, though Hob swore Dream had less to drink than him.

Hob’s pulse kicks up once he realizes what he’s about to ask. He licks his lips and doesn’t miss how Dream’s eyes flit down to catch the movement.

“Why are you always staring at my mouth?”

Dream’s brows pinch, looking back up at Hob’s eyes with a patient stare.

“Because I need to?”

“No, why are you always… staring at my mouth.”

Dream doesn’t need to. Hob is certain of it. And Dream tenses up, his own lips parting silently, his gaze sweeping sideways.

After a beat, Hob panics. He hadn’t meant to put Dream on the spot, or make him feel awkward. He shifts to be just a smidge closer.

“I mean, is the way I speak difficult? Do I have some sort of lisp I’m not aware of?” Hob tries to joke, to lighten the mood, to brush off the question like it wasn’t aimed at Dream. 

Dream doesn’t even look at Hob while he speaks, continuing to stare into the middle distance, turning the tin can in his hold around and around.

Finally, Dream sighs, his shoulders going with it as he turns to bodily face Hob, planting one foot on the bench and almost curling around his bent knee pressed against his chest.

“I’m going deaf…”

A sudden lump appears in Hob’s throat at the quiet, defeated way Dream speaks, his eyes downcast, staring at his drink.

“Figured I was, obviously,” Dream takes a breath, tapping a finger on the rim of the can now. “It's genetic, doctors think. No cure yet. My hearing is just…” he waves a hand around his head. “... deteriorating. Fast. I’ll lose it completely in my left ear within the next five years, and then my right will surely go soon after.”

Hob swallows hard, his throat clicking at the tightness in his throat.

Dream looks up and Hob feels his eyes burn at how watery and red Dream’s usual clear, blue eyes are. 

“It sucks,” Dream proclaims with a choked off laugh, averting his gaze again. “No more music, no more podcasts… soon I won’t be able to hear the sound of my own voice…” his gaze tentatively slips back to Hob’s. “... or yours.”

Hob’s lips part, butterflies now twisting his stomach into knots.

“So I’ve been…” Dream’s eyes rove over Hob’s face, as if searching for the words. “... trying to memorize the sound of your voice.” He gives another broken laugh, his chin dipping to his chest.

“The way your lips move is unique, it helps carry your accent.” He pulls his head back up, resting it on his bent knee. “The way your tongue curls around vowels, the way you putter and stammer sometimes, it creates a profile, and I can attribute the sound of every letter to the way your mouth forms the words.”

Hob is speechless, a complicated mix of euphoria and sadness swirling around within him. 

He must take a moment too long to sit on what Dream has just admitted, because Dream’s face falls, apprehension marring his beautiful features.

“Say something,” Dream whispers, his brows going up.

Hob can’t say anything. His pulse is racing and his throat is clogged with emotion. So instead he leans forward, gets his hands– which shake slightly– on either side of Dream’s face, and kisses him.

Dream gasps loudly against Hob’s lips before kissing back, shooting electricity down Hob’s spine, all the way to his feet and back up, clinging now to Dream and pulling him closer.

Hob parts for air and kisses Dream again and again, lips-only, but he can somehow still taste the honey sweetness of him, can smell it on his breath and feel it under his touch. One of Dream’s hands knots in the front of Hob’s sweater, yanking him closer still, holding on as Hob’s lips trail up Dream’s jaw– softer than it looks– peppering kisses along the way.

Dream breathes harshly into his ear, wet and raw, tucking his head into the crook of Hob’s neck, and goes still. Hob holds him there, one hand going around the back of his head while the other finds his hand on his sweater and disentangles it to hold instead.

Hob listens as Dream breathes deeply, collecting himself, his other hand coming up around Hob’s shoulder and just… holding on.

Nothing needs to be said, though Hob’s mind is swimming with words, but he keeps them in, opting to shut his eyes and feel the warmth of Dream around him, caressing his pointy knuckles and combing his fingers through Dream’s hair. This is enough for now, holding on, knowing they have time after this.

And Hob has always enjoyed the silence they shared.

part 2!

[wand3rlustm3]

BEOMGYU - NEED A RIDE?

Warnings: sub!reader, fem!reader, brat!reader, dom!Beomgyu, car sex, drinking, degradation + praise, unprotected sex (pls use condoms), beomgyu is so mean

You knew that it was really stupid to get so drunk that you couldn't even call yourself a taxi. Thankfully, you were at a party hosted by five of the most trustworthy guys at your college, or there was a large possibility of something terrible happening to you. The music was bouncing off of the walls, and the bass was deep enough to make your soul tremble. Not to mention the fact that your head was spinning, and you felt fuzzy and numb but in the best way possible. That's what Soobin comes up to you with some water to contrast the harsh alcohol you've been drinking, he walks up to you with worry and suggests that you go home. But to that, you slur out, "Soooo– biiiin....I'm okayyy! I can call my- myself- a taaaaxiiii..."

Soobin would let out a small chuckle, but he's too worried about you to think the situation is funny. "Y/n, please let me tell beomgyu to drive you home. He's ready to leave as well." You were friends with all of the party's hosts, so you were in luck when you heard that Beomgyu would be willing to drop you off. As you said your goodbyes to Soobin and the other hosts, Beomgyu chuckled at how childlike you'd gotten after a few drinks. "Gyuuu...everything's s- spinning...hahah" you slurred some more, and finished up your sentence with a cute little giggle.

"Come on, y/n, let's go, I got you." Beomgyu decided to support your staggering form by putting your arm on his shoulder and his hand ghosting on your waist. Beomgyu slightly lifted you bridal style into the seat of his red Ferrari, gently placing your legs into the car and taking your heels off. As Beomgyu started the car, the sound of his exhaust was almost like the music at the party. The little black dress you were wearing was so uncomfortable and tight, and your bra was so stuffy. You just wanted to be relaxed now that you were in his car. So you chose to take off your bra from under your dress. Beomgyu noticed you reaching at your back, but focused on the road. He wanted to be as respectful to you as he could while you were drunk, so he chose to ignore the situation.

Until your whiney voice cut the silence in the car, "gyuuuuu~ please help meee!! I wan' it off!!" Beomgyu was naturally flustered, it's not like he was inexperienced, but it was more of the fact that you looked beautiful and he hadn't come to terms with the fact that he did have a crush on you. "ugh y/n, can't you wait till I drop you home?" said Beomgyu as he tried to focus on the road once again, instead of the headlights of oncoming traffic shining onto your breasts. "Nooooooo gyuuuu! I wan' it off right now. Help me pleaseeeee" you demanded as you writhed in his passenger seat trying to reach your bra hooks.

"Tch.....fine y/n, I'll do it." Beomgyu said as he reached for your bra clasp while one of his hands remained on the steering wheel. It took him very little time to undo the clasp on your bra, but his warm hands on your back were so pleasant that you had mewled while he was doing it. Beomgyu felt all his blood rush to his core as soon as he heard you make such....interesting sounds. "Thankkkkkk you Gyuuuu", you passed him one more drunken smile as you took off your bra and threw it by your legs. Your house was now 5 minutes away according to the GPS, and those 5 minutes felt like 5 years to Beomgyu because of how flustered he was. As soon as his car pulled up in front of your house, he got up from the driver's side and opened the suicide door to the passenger side.

He gently wrapped his hand around your wrist as he led you out of his car, and carried you up the steps with your heels in his hand. Both you and Beomgyu had forgotten the bra in the car, but the plus side of this was the fact that he can make fun of you for it for the rest of your friendship. After he had seen you walk into your house, he made sure you'd lock it and go straight to your room. He didn't know he'd have to think about you the entire car ride home, and neither did he think this would become a ritual for you both whenever there's a party.

It's not that you didn't have a car yourself, but it's more that you were used to looking at Beomgyu in the driver's seat after every party. So when Beomgyu pulls up in your driveway with you expectantly waiting outside, you're not surprised.

"Need a ride, y/n?" he asked as one of his lip corners raised into a half smile. You happily opened the door to his car and took a seat, "Gyu, of course!" But you don't know why you even responded to his question that you both knew the answer to. He played some of his favorite songs on the music system. The leather of his car seats felt a little too familiar and cozy. Most of all, the coziest was the fragrance that Beomgyu sprayed his clothes with each time he picked you up. You couldn't deny the fact that each time you stopped at a stoplight, the red reflecting off of his perfectly etched features turned you on. You were soaking wet, and your panties were getting sticky and uncomfortable. So, as you did a few months ago, you were going to ask Beomgyu to take them off for you even though you weren't drunk this time.

You suddenly snaked your hand around his wrist and pulled it into your lap. "Gyu...can you take my panties off? I'm so uncomfortable..." You whisper into his ear as you lean into his side, as the center console armrest digs into the side of your rib. "Y/n, stop fucking with me." Beomgyu spoke as he let out a sigh. You put your hand on his thigh and slowly brought it closer to his cock. You can hear the car accelerate as he drives a little faster, almost as fast as your heart's racing. "Gyu, I'm not fucking with you, I need you.." You speak as you focus on the way his jaw clenches as he pulls into an empty parking lot.

"Get in the backseat right now, y/n, we aren't going to that damn party." Beomgyu says to you, but you can sense the anger in his words. "Okay gyu.." You smirk as the thoughts of what he's going to do to you flood your mind. As you crawl into the backseat, he opens the door and gets in with you. With his hand squishing your cheeks, he scolds you as he says, "You've been a slut since I first drove you home, haven't you? Wanted to fuck you so bad since that day, but I had to go home and rut into my hand." Beomgyu spoke with no filter, and that only made you even wetter than you already were. "Gyu...please. touch me, strip me, I'm losing my mind." Beomgyu took no time in crashing his lips onto yours in a fiery kiss, he couldn't take it anymore and slipped his tongue into your mouth as his hands roamed around your body. He kept kissing you, until he finally bit your lip and you moaned. "Fucking slut, riling me up all the time...do you even know what you do to me?"

Beomgyu unzipped the back of your dress and threw it somewhere in his car, and pulled you into his lap as he sat down. He made sure to pay special attention to your beautiful tits as he left several marks on them, leaving open-mouthed kisses, as he switched between sucking your pebbled nipples. He slapped your breasts and watched them jiggle, as you yelped and jumped a little bit in his lap. "Gyu..." you spoke his name with tears in your eyes. "Not such a brat now, are you?" said Beomgyu as he smirked. As he finally took your panties off, along with his underwear, you sat on his lap with his cock sliding between your folds. You couldn't help but move your hips against him, to which he stopped as he smacked your ass hard enough to leave a handprint. "Brats don't get what they want, you'll not move your hips an inch until I tell you to." Beomgyu demanded.

Beomgyu laughed dryly, "Is this what you thought when i asked if you needed a ride? Fuckin whore." He asked. "Beomgyu please, i'm going insane!" You felt tears running down your face as you begged him to be inside you finally, you didn't need much prep to begin with simply because of the puddle of slick you'd left on his cock from simply grinding against it earlier. As soon as he slipped inside of you, you started crying even more. As soon as he saw tears leaving your eyes, he had this cocky expression on his face. "Crying over my cock, are you now?" Beomgyu taunts. You can't respond, so you simply sniffle and hide your face into his neck. So Beomgyu slips his hand into your hair and yanks your face back, "I need to see you cry, pretty. Such a beautiful little slut for me."

Beomgyu thrusted into you from the bottom, the sounds of your ass slapping against his hips was so erotic that you were going lose it. He brushed against your sensitive spot each time he thrusted into you, and you felt the knot that was about to unravel. "Ahh— mmmh g- gonn' cummm gyu..." You moaned as he sucked more marks into your neck. "You gonna be a good girl and cum for me finally? Cum for me, you slut." Beomgyu said as he hissed into your ears.

"Fuuuuuck, I love you. Can't be without you, need to rut into you just like this." He said between grunts and whines. "C- c— cum inside me, gyuu, p- please!" As you feel his warm cum leak into you, you cum and your walls suck him in even harder as you milk him dry. He pulls you onto his lips by wrapping his hand around your neck into one long and passionate kiss as you both ride out your highs. "Did you mean that gyu? When you said you loved me?" You said as you hid your face in the crook of his warm and soft neck.

"Meant every word, darling. If this is what you meant by me picking you up for a ride, you better be prepared." He said as he kissed up your neck, licking over the dark spots blooming on your neck in colors like violet and red.

[starry-bi-sky]

im having more fem Danyal thoughts. But specifically I've been thinking about Dani in this au. Now, Fem Danyal is just the alt. version of Danny to my other DAG au, which means she follows that lore. that being said. Danyal and Dani already had a pretty rocky introduction in the first place, ANd if we follow canon's setup, Dani in fem!Danyal's world would be a boy rather than a girl. I'm gonna call him Ali for easier difference (my train of thought was Daniel -> Eli -> Ali). While Danny may resemble Talia more than Bruce, Danny and Damian still look very similar to each other. Their blood relation is unquestionable.

You can imagine how fem Danyal might feel, walking into her room one day after school, and finding a little boy on her bed who looks, at first glance, like the little brother she loves to death. If meeting Ellie triggered Kill Bill Sirens in Danny's head, meeting Ali bass boosted them. For a terrifying, fleeting moment, Danny thinks Damian is right there. That somehow, her clever, intelligent little brother found out she was alive and tracked her down.

She slams the door shut, completely at a loss for words. Her heart has nearly stopped a second time. Then she realizes: this boy's eyes are blue. Not green. He looks too old to be her brother. His jawline too narrow, his hair too messy. As he talks, his voice is not the same as the sparse few videos on the internet showing Damian speaking. This is not the child she helped take his first steps with, nor the child she watched utter his first words. This is not the boy whom she taught to pick up a sword; this is not her brother.

Safe to say, Ali gets a knife pulled on him much, much faster than his female counterpart did. He lives, fortunately, but their relationship is unsteady and rocky even after Ali betrays Vlad and joins Danny.

Danny is unsettled by him, not for being her clone -- although that plays a minor part -- but because every time he drifts into her peripherals, she keeps thinking it's Damian. And it spooks her half out of her mind. She gets her hopes up at the same time her heart drops, then she turns her head, and it's not Damian; it's Dani.

It's also why she won't call him 'Dani', it's one letter too close to 'Dami' and she's afraid she'll call him that if she's not careful. So when he brings it up jokingly, she immediately shoots it down; "I'll call you Eli." instead. (Ali thinks she's boring -- he thought 'danny with a y' and 'dani with an i' was funny. Frankly, so did Danny, but she's too uncomfortable with the idea of calling him Dani.)

When he asks her why, she lies and says it's to prevent confusion. When their relationship is better, "Eli" eventually becomes "Ali".

("Why Ali?" he'll ask her, with an ear pressed against her ribs while Danny coils one of his curls around her finger. She's steadily become more and more affectionate; Danny has the impeccable ability of making it seem so forced and stiff and natural at the same time.)

("Do you not like it?" She'll ask him, voice stilted and unsure. She's got her heart in her throat, but she's starting to stop seeing Damian whenever she looks down. "We can keep it Eli if you'd like.")

("No, no. I like it. Just... why Ali? Does it mean anything?")

(Danny will smooth her palm over Ali's forehead, scratching his hairline with her nails, and feel embarrassed. She'll be silent until he looks up at her, and then she clears her throat. "It means eminent; exalted; noble.")

(Ali stares at her in dead silence, long enough that she starts to grow worried. Then tears bubble up in his eyes, and for a moment Danny thinks she said something wrong. "I lied;" he croaks, "I love it.")

(She will hesitate, and then wipe the tears off with her thumbs. "Ali al Ghul," she'll mutter, "but that name is for you and I only. To the world, you're Ali Fenton." Perhaps she shouldn't be giving him her mother's last name, but he is of her blood now too.)

[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

“even i’m not into that shit”

❤︎ synopsis — the sleep token members being fucking morons and fucking around

pairing: sleep token members x gn!reader (can be platonic or romantic)

theme: crack ✦

a/n: I’M BACK !!!! hopefully i don’t disappear for like a good fifty years after this. this is my third set of stupid ass headcanons. i pulled my shitty humor out of my ass for this one, enjoy !!! (the original ask got swallowed by my dumbass because i accidentally posted the unfinished fic 💀 this is dedicated to my bestie @dead-end-fanfiction)

cw: i think the title speaks for itself

▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆

➵ vessel

i just know this man is the most unhygienic motherfucker to ever exist

more specifically with his teeth. he cannot brush his teeth to save his life

like ??? this all powerful, dark deity, has the most stinky ass breath that if anyone dares to even breath it in, they’d disintegrate on the spot

like what the fuck vessel, you’re better than this

i love vessel but he just does weird shit sometimes

he sleeps butt ass naked

and one time you accidentally walked in on him while he was literally stripping to get ready for bed

he stood there like an npc while you were freaking out

“…. what’s wrong—“ “what’s wrong is that YOU’RE BUTT ASS NAKED IN FRONT OF ME—“

vessel is easily fascinated by human things. i mean - he was once human, so he likes to keep in touch every now and then.

however, out of all of the human things he had to have an obsession with.

… it was rubber ducks

this isn’t even explainable— how do you explain this all-powerful sleep entity to be obsessed with rubber ducks

he literally has a whole room dedicated to his collection of anything rubber duck related. give him a gift that has something to do with ducks and he’s making out with you on the spot

that’s not a joke, he did that with you before

➵ ii

this motherfucker is on his last limb and he’s being held together by paper clips

ii’s not even the leader but he cannot catch a break to save his life

he’s the only one that knows how to cook

one time he left ivy and the vesselettes in the kitchen by themselves. came back to house fires and high pitched screaming that definitely was not from the ladies

ii makes bomb ass banana cream pie though

ik for a fact this man does NOT keep his room clean

you once walked into his room to ask him a favor and there were like - a million drumsticks everywhere on the floor while he sat in the center of it

how does one possess that many drumsticks???

“dude what the f— clean your room!” “it gives me inner peace, y/n. go away.”

ii’s scared of the jollibee mascot

he once went out with his buddies to get some of that fast food. that giant red and yellow fuckass bee then came out of nowhere and spooked the shit out of ii

he then socked the guy in the face so hard the dude wearing the costume had a bloody nose

ii quickly fled the scene to not get arrested

after that he’s had a fear of fast food mascots in general, it’s kinda funny.

don’t bring ii near the jack in the box mascot though, he’s got some trauma from what he’s seen on twitter

➵ iii

zesty ahh mf

plays his bass like he’s fingering someone’s asshole like 🤨 whatcha doin’ iii ??

the type of man to set like fifty million alarms but never wakes up to any of them

however he wakes up everyone else in the process

it gets annoying hearing the “by the seaside” ringtone every morning at 6am. so one day you came into his room and poured ice cold water on him to wake him up

iii didn’t wake up from that btw, you thought it was dead

“…. bro wtf wake up—“

thankfully he wasn’t

biggest kpop stan

he’s a boy group stan and his favorite group is ateez

constantly blasting guerilla too

also i feel like iii owns a tumblr blog too

he’d be out here posting some shih like “pov you’re locked in a room w him for twenty four hours and you have to tickle his balls wyd” 💀

he probably posts also moodboards or some shi and tags them like an actual tumblr blogger

#it took my ahh fifty hours to make this plz repost it

stalks his fans on twitter

gets scared by said fans on twitter

“wdym they wanna get me pregnant”

breaks his bass every four hours during practice and vessel chews his ahh out every time

but it’s funny because you’re always there to help him

➵ ivy

he likes to act like he’s tough shit but ivy is a huge nerd

literally the definition of “magical in bed” except the magic is him explaining the gaming system of magic the gathering

hot asf but has no bitches frfr

also the definition of loser trapped in a hottie’s body

i’d like to believe that ivy has a crunchy ipad kid cough

and i mean CRUNCHY. bro will start choking on his saliva and start coughing like a dying seal

it’s quite hilarious, but also concerning at the same time

the first time you heard him cough like that, you were like 😟

“AEUGH- HEUGH— BEUHSHAK-“ “ivy—“

that pretty sums up the entire interaction

this bitch looks like he ate glue as a kid

more specifically glitter glue. the pink kind.

idk that sounds like ivy

he gets literal death coffee in the morning too btw

no ice. no sugar. straight shots of espresso.

eight shots, btw.

the coffee looks blacker than the black hole.

iii tried some of his coffee one time and spat it all in your face. ivy watched with his hell coffee in hand as you beat the shit out of iii

yeah, safe to say ivy was banned from having that kind of coffee for a while

so yeah. that pretty much sums up the kind of person ivy is

[sarahsmi13s]

Rodeo

(not my gif)

pairing: robert ‘bob’ floyd x pilot!reader (call sign: rodeo)

characters: bob floyd, reader, dagger squad, penny benjamin, pete mitchell, some dick named john and his friends (who aren’t necessarily dicks)

warnings: fluffy bob, bob in a cowboy hat, fighting, drinking (of age), suggestive, i believe that’s it

word count: ~2.2k

a/n: this came in second place, but i love it just the same. and i’m very close to writing a part 2 for this ;)

quick summary: when your relationship with bob is reveal to the squad, hangman can’t help but wait for bob to stake his claim on you.

*************

You sat in the Hard Deck, nursing your beer and playing pool with Phoenix when the bell chimed.

You glanced up and saw the Texan himself walk in, hat on and everything.

“Hangman, what the hell are you wearing?” Phoenix asked, leaning on her cue. You looked him up and down, chuckling when you heard his response, “I wear this all the time.” His accent had gotten thicker after visiting his family.

You had all just visited your families for Christmas. It was only two weeks but it had given you all plenty of time to slip back into your old accents.

“Nice buckle, Bagman,” Rooster commented, obviously teasing the fact that the buckle looked like it weighed down the front of his pants.

Jake puffed out his chest, a smile gracing his features, “Thank ya, Chicken. Thought I’d bring it back with me, I ain’t worn one in a while.” Rooster sipped his beer, “You get it at Bass Pro or something?” Jake’s face fell and you couldn’t help but laugh. “You did not jus’ ask me that.”

You glanced at it, looking at the details. 

“You rode?” Hangman turned to you, his smile returning, “Yeah, best there was.” You hummed, sipping your beer before sitting it down to line up your shot, “What made you quit?” “I wanted somethin’ different for myself. My older brother rode, my dad rode. I did it for the adrenaline, so I thought maybe I could get my high while doin’ somethin’ that had more meaning.”

Before you could retort, Jake had looked at Bob. 

“Since when do you wear hats?” You smiled glancing back at the WSO, who was wearing a reddish-brown felt cowboy hat, before looking back and catching the way his pilot looked at you. “Well, Bagman, you ain’t the only one that grabbed something from home.” Jake nodded in mutual respect before looking back at you.

He took a quick glance down at your belt line, seeing the lights reflect off your own buckle.

“You rode too?” You nodded, taking the final shot of the game, “8-ball far left corner pocket.” You gesture with the cue before taking the winning shot. “That’s game Phee.” Nat rolled her eyes and slipped you a 20.

“So, what was your event?” “Barrel racin’.” “Were you good?” “Best there was,” you winked and sat next to Bob. “How’d you think I gained the name Rodeo?”

Hangman donned his signature smirk, “I could think of a lot of things.” You shoved him, “You’re gross.” “Come on, Ro. That was funny.” Bob shook his head and draped his arm behind you on the booth.

“What made you quit?” Hangman asked as he slipped into the seat across from you. You sighed, “I raced for nearly my whole life. My brother Bryan did too. I could say I got out for the same reason you did, cause it wouldn’t be a lie. But I was always just Bryan's kid sister, or Darrel L/N’s daughter. I made somewhat of a name for myself, but by the time people saw me as me-”

You shrugged, sighing, “I didn’t enjoy it anymore. It became more about the trophies than the experience. So I decided to be the best at somethin’ I was proud of. That could give me a family, like the rodeo used to.”

Jake nodded in understanding, he patted your shoulder before moving on to bother Rooster and Coyote.

Bob sighed and let his arm fall around you and pulled you close to his side. “You didn’t tell me that.” You looked up at him, “Sure I did. Did I not?” He shook his head, “No, and you know I listen to every word you have to say.” You scrunch your nose, “I swear I told you.” He shook his head, “Nope.” You pouted, “Oh, well now you know.” He nodded, “That I do.”

You both smiled and he pressed a kiss to your lips. “Bob-” “I know Y/N, I just-” You cut him off by grabbing his shirt and kissing him again. “I’m tired of hiding it too.”

********

Meanwhile, everyone was watching the two of you.

“I can’t hear a word they’re sayin’,” Hangman said, straining a little to hear you both better. “Dude, when is that gonna go away?” Phoenix asked, in reference to his accent.

“Oh, it’s always there, trust me. It’s normally strong when he's drunk or really pissed,” Coyote confirmed, laughing a little.

“Plus, you never complain about Rodeo’s accent,” Jake commented. “Yeah, but it’s cute on her and gets Bob all flustered.” The group hummed in agreement before turning back to the (no-longer) secret couple in the booth.

They watched Bob kiss you, say a few words before being pulled in again.

“Damn, when will it be my turn?” Omaha asked, shaking his head. 

“Bob is so in love with her it isn’t even funny,” Phoenix revealed. “He always talks about her, and they went to see each other's families over our break.” “Really?” Yale asked, crossing his arms.

Phoenix nodded, “He’s been in love with her since the mission in May last year. And I’m sure it’s the same case with her.” Halo nodded, “Yeah, I had to listen to her talk about him all the time. And then Bob would talk to me if you were anywhere within earshot of Y/N. He’s fallen hard, they both have.”

Jake shook his head, his eyes trained on the couple as they talked, “We don’t know how in love he is with her though.”

Everyone just scoffed, “Do you not see how they are looking at each other right now?” Fanboy asked, looking at his fellow WSO and his second best friend. “It’s painfully obvious.”

Jake scoffed, “Cowboys have a special way of tellin’ each other a girl is off limits, other than a ring and a few hickies.” “Which is?” Harvard asked, stepping closer, intrigued.

Hangman glanced around and saw a few guys looking at you, “Okay, when Bob gets up and leaves her alone, one of these guys will try to flirt and Bob is probably gonna see. And being the silent and passive aggressive type-”

“Guys, Bob’s moving,” Payback caught their attention. Everyone shut their mouth and watched how you sat there, a grin on your face as you picked at the label.

Jake narrowed his eyes trying to pick out which guy was gonna make his move.

Coyote hit his arm, “4 o’clock.” Hangman turned his head, seeing a guy high fiving his friends before adjusting his posture and making his way to you.

You didn’t look up when someone sat across from you. 

“You weren’t gone very long.” “Well I just got here,” the guy chuckled, and that’s when you looked up.

You glanced around for Bob, but didn’t see him. 

“I’m John.” “Rodeo,” you said, leaning back in your seat. “Rodeo?” You laughed, “It’s my call sign. I fly for the Navy.” John tilted his head, “You’re not from around here are you? You sound funny.”

The pilots, who had discreetly moved closer, dropped their jaws. “He did not just say that,” Rooster hushed out. “Oh he totally just did,” Phoenix smirked, waiting for you to lay into the guy.

You just laughed, “You have no idea how to actually talk to a woman do you?” If that hurt John’s feelings, he didn’t let it show, “Oh, I can show just how I talk to women.” He winked, “If you wanna take a ride?” You scoffed, sipping your drink with an arched brow, “Sorry, pal. I’m not interested.” He scoffed, fidgeting in his seat.

The group knew he was getting frustrated and there was no sign of Bob coming back, so they had to prepare to jump in themselves. Especially Hangman.

“Look, John, while I appreciate the offer, I’m already scheduled for a ride.”

Omaha and Yale choked on their drinks. Rooster and Phoenix smirked proudly, both for you and Bob. “I wasn’t expecting that,” Payback said, leaning on the pool table.

“With who? That cowboy that just left you here alone,” John glanced around. “And doesn’t seem to be coming back.” He looked back at you, “Come on. I could show you a better time.” He placed his hand over yours, gripping it.

You sighed, really just wanting him to leave you alone, “John, you are aware of the rules in the bar right?” He scoffed, and tightened his grip when you tried to pull away, “Yeah, don’t leave your phone on the bar. What the hell does that have to do anything?” You glanced up, smirking.

“You missed a few. There’s also a rule against disrespecting the Navy and women,” Bob looked at the tight grip on your open hand, and the tenseness of your shoulders. “And from what I can tell you’re breaking both. I can get Penny’s attention right now, then you have to buy everyone a drink, or you can leave.” 

John stood up, being the same height as Bob he could look him in the eye. “And if I don’t.” Bob glanced at you and you shook your head, not wanting him to get into a fight when it wasn’t necessary. “Well-” John punched Bob. “Bob!”

Hangman, Rooster and Coyote immediately jumped into action as you reared back.

“Rodeo,” Maverick had appeared, moving from his seat at the bar while Penny moved to the guy's friends telling them they needed to leave. Maverick had caught your elbow, “He’s not worth it. Help Bob, we’ll take care of him.”

You nodded and moved quickly to help your boyfriend, helping him up and grabbing his hat. “Are you okay?” He nodded, wincing slightly when you brushed your thumb over his busted lip. “That doesn’t look okay.”

He shook his head, adjusting his glasses, “I’m fine, Sweetheart. I’ve dealt with worse.” 

As John’s friends dragged him out, calling him a ‘fucking dumbass’ and throwing out ‘I told you so’s, Penny came over with a small ziplock bag of ice.

“Thank you, Pen,” you took it and the damp napkin, pushing Bob to sit on the table. You gently wiped the blood from his lip, “Bobby, I’m sorry. I coulda-” “Stop, don’t do that.” You nodded, “Alright.” He smiled, but it was small so it didn’t irritate the cut.

The group watched. They saw how your tongue poked out in concentration, and Bob’s eyes looking up at you.

“So, Hangman, what’s the thing? How’s he gonna ‘claim his territory’?” Fanboy asked, crossing his arms. “It seems he already has, his eyes are basically hearts,” Payback commented. “That’s exactly why he’s gonna do it.” “Do what?” Rooster asked, propping himself on the table next to Hangman.

“Thanks for coming to my rescue, cowboy,” you said as you pressed the ice to his lip. He hummed, “Of course, Princess.” 

He grabbed your wrist gently and moved the ice away from his lip. 

“It’s gonna swell.” “I know a way to make it better,” he sat up straight to look at you and kissed you. You giggled and ran your free hand into the hair at the base of his neck.

When he pulled away, he tongued the cut on his lip, “I need a way to show everyone that you're mine. And I’m not allowed to give you visible hickies.” Both of you knew it was too early for marriage, not that it bothered either of you but you knew this wasn’t how Bob would propose.

You smiled against his lips, “I think they know now, Rob.” He adjusted his hat and chuckled. “Now, as much as I love kissing you, this will be sore without ice.” He nodded and let you place the ice back onto his lip.

“You know, I’ve got an idea.” You hummed, “What’s that?”

Jake watched with bated breath as Bob reached up to take his hat off.

Bob placed the felt hat on your head, “There, now everyone knows.” Your eyes brimmed with tears as you looked at him. “Bobby…” “I know we’ve only been together for 8 months but-” You pulled him in for a kiss.

When you pulled away, his glasses were askew and his cheeks were flushed. “I love you too.” 

Bob smiled and looked over, seeing Jake smiling and dancing a little. “I think Hangman’s more excited about me giving you my hat than you are.”

You looked over and laughed, “Oh wow…”

“Do that!” The blonde pointed over at you two. “He gave her his hat, so?” Harvard said, sipping his drink. “In the south, that’s like a proposal. It’s like a promise ring,” Jake was still pointing excitedly at the couple. “Wait really?” Phoenix asked.

“Yeah, really,” you confirmed when you and Bob walked over. 

Jake rubbed his neck, “Did you-” “See you dance like a teenager that just scored a touchdown? Sure did,” Bob said, ice pack muffling some of the words.

Phoenix smiled sadly at her backseater, “You okay?” He nodded, “I’ve been bucked off a horse and pull g’s everyday, a punch to the face is nothing.”

Hangman couldn’t stop smiling at the two of you.

“Hang? You okay?” He nodded, “Just happy for ya is all.” You smiled and hugged him, “Thanks man.” 

When you pulled away, you reached back for Bob’s hand. He grabbed it and intertwined your fingers.

“Now, if y’all will excuse us. I think my scheduled ride has been bumped up. See y’all tomorrow.” You tipped your Bob’s hat and he waved as you pulled him out the door and to his Jeep. 

********

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed!

thank you to those that voted for this story and i will be posting the last one tomorrow. i really appreciate all of you that voted! 

if you want more polls for the ‘x reader’s that are just chilling in my docs let me know or if you have any requests for more fics please do so!!

love you guys <33

top gun tags <3: @milesdickpic​ @luckyladycreator2​ @hotch-meeeeeuppppp​ @sebsxphia​ ​

thank you guys for being here! i love you *mwah*

[ohmygraves]

I was wondering if you could write a 141 how they react when you give them gifts. I love giving gifts, it makes me happy. Maybe even happier than the person receiving it sometimes. I bet some of them will like the excitement you get more than the gift itself, happily accepting everything you give just to see that smile.

ooh, i have to agree to that, anon. i honestly think that ghost and gaz would be the type to enjoy your reaction more than actually caring what you get them. just seeing you be so giddy when you hand them the gifts are enough of a treat, y'know?

you gave ghost a little knife carving kit, a little thank you for all the times he mentored you and saved your ass. you knew he liked knives and you thought that it was a nice activity to do instead of working out or smacking johnny's head if the scot misbehaved. and maybe he could use the knife or add it to his collection.

still, you are very excited to give it to him no matter what, as you want him to enjoy your gift. he could see you basically jumping in excitement when you see him, holding a small bag and with a giddy look on your face, cheeks flushed red and bright eyes as you hand him the gift bag.

now, ghost doesn't particularly care about gifts himself. since he doesn't have many things in general, his barracks room is really just basic necessities. trinkets like these are not something he enjoys collecting.

oh, but to see you all so excited and the way you try to contain your joy and happiness as you explain what you got him? now that's adorable, it made his heart clench that he thought he needed to get it checked with the medics.

"... thank you, love." he said softly, looking at the small box of knife carving kit in the bag. you cheered, telling him that you'd like to see the result when he finished it, bouncing off somewhere else. he hoped that you didn't notice that his eyes are basically softening looking at you walk away, the corner of his lips curled upwards under his mask seeing you so happy.

gaz's cap was getting really worn out, and you noticed that the bill had a slight tear on it, revealing the material underneath the fabric. so, as a good friend you decided to get him a new cap.

you knew that he liked some good joke, so you got him a trucker cap that says "women fear me, fish fear me" at the front, with a graphic of a bass. soap thought it was funny, and you did too. you're sure that kyle would like it just as much.

well, you didn't know that kyle has like twenty baseball caps in his barracks room, so he didn't need a new one. he collects caps.

when you see him one day, a gift bag in hand, you didn't even notice that the cap that had a tear on it was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a similar cap in color. you were too busy giggling at the idea of him wearing a cap that says "women fear me, fish fear me" to pay attention, and yet when he opened the gift from you, he didn't even complain. your cute giggles and laughs were enough to make him happy.

"really, love? 'women fear me, fish fear me'?" he scoffed, a smile on his face as he took off his hat, wearing it on his head proudly. he didn't care that soap immediately had to take pics of him, he only cared that it made you laugh.

i feel like soap would love anything you give him as well, but it's in a sense that "awh, ye got me noodle maker because ah'm too lazy to cook ramen noodles in the commons room 🥺" like this man would be excited with anything you give him, no matter how stupid the gift is.

you hand soap a wrapped gift box, knowing that he will get excited over this. you'd seen this infomercial a few times and you know that he would enjoy this gadget, given how silly it was and how oddly specific the function is. the infomercial was so silly.

of course, you gave him a slap chop.

opening the gift, his eyes went wide, smiling giddily as he looked at you, eyes glimmering. "bonnie, is this th' one where th' lad threw a slicer out th' window!?" he looked so excited and happy, you were so happy knowing that he liked the gift.

you nodded, saying that it could practically chop anything he wanted. it'll make things so much easier when cooking. soap hugs you, squeezing you as he practically squeals, thanking you for the gift. you said it was okay, and now soap can make all the salad he wanted. you left him to try out his gift, needing to go back to work.

ghost raised his eyebrows looking at you, crossing his arms as he looked at soap. "no bloody way someone like ya would eat a fuckin' salad, johnny..." he scoffed, knowing that the chance of soap eating fruits and vegetables are close to zero, since the scot is a picky eater.

soap sighed, looking down at the gift you got him. "seein' bonnie happy is good enough gift."

he'll make some crushed doritos at the top of his sandwiches or something.

price i feel is the same as soap, but only when it comes to the aesthetic of the item? he's easy to give gifts, likely smth related to fishing or cigar. he won't comment if you give him a cute shaped ashtray for example, or a floral patterned cigar holder.

as a token of appreciation to your captain, you decided to get him something that you thought he might use. price smokes a lot, so it was easy to find something to get him. you, however, are not great at picking the style for it.

ashtray is arguably one of the simplest items around. it's a small dish with sometimes notches to hold the thing you're smoking. as long as it catches the ashes, anything can be considered an ashtray. likewise, there are a lot of shapes and designs of an ashtray that you just spent lots and lots of time picking, scrolling through hundreds and thousands of pages online to find something that's both useful and nice.

you ended up ordering an ashtray in the shape of a ball, made of alloy and had lots of intricate designs of a dragon and bird. it was not only heavy, but also quite big for an ashtray, truthfully.

you started to second guess if this was a good idea, given that it looked like something that your asian grandpa would have on the table when he takes a smoke break out in the porch, sipping coffee while enjoying some hit of nicotine. maybe you should give it to someone else instead, or resell it and get something better, but soap had seen the massive ashtray and were laughing at how big it was, and his big mouth spilled the beans to the captain about how you got him a particularly garish looking ashtray. because of course, everyone told you that what you got him was a bit much for his very simple aesthetic.

having soap basically ruined the surprise, you had to give price the present either way, a bit hesitant as you handed him the box. you were worried that he'd just make fun of it, that he'd laugh at your choice.

"a bit heavy for an ashtray there, doll?" he hummed, looking at the patterns. it seems like it was somewhat like a carving of ancient chinese murals, the typical dragon and phoenix flying through the sky. it looked out of place on price's desk.

"well, i'd have to say the lid is quite a game changer," price added, smiling at you. "covers up the pile of ashes inside."

you were relieved that he seems to enjoy it for its intended function at least.

"have to say though, love, i didn't expect you to pick this style..." his fingers traced over the pattern on top. "it looks beautiful. thank you."

you're not sure if he's just being nice or if he actually enjoys such aesthetics, but you're glad to see it on his desk being used every time you go to his office.

[shokosmokes]

﹒◌﹒hockey au﹒✧﹒

hi! so this is super self indulgent based on this post i made hehe n im super excited to write this, i hope u enjoy (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

this is probably gonna be super lengthy so this is just part one lol

copy-pasted from my notes app so sorry if there’s any errors

masterlist

———————————————————————————————————

megumi x reader x yuji love triangle

tooth rotten fluff with a bit of angst

The music is loud—too loud for your taste—but you don’t really care. You’re not here for the party, not really. You’re here because you promised some new friends you’d show up. After all, that’s what people do when they want to feel like they belong, right? Pretend to be interested in house parties with thumping bass, cheap beer, and sweaty college students pressed together like sardines.

You tug at the sleeves of your sweater nervously, trying to blend into the wall, regretting not bringing a drink. At least it would’ve given your hands something to do. You scan the crowded living room, your eyes flicking over the mass of people, mind wandering until you spot a familiar face—or rather, two.

Yuji Itadori is hard to miss. His bright pink hair stands out against the dim lighting, and he’s laughing at something, his wide grin infectious even from across the room. Next to him, Megumi Fushiguro looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, his expression as unreadable as ever. The complete opposite of Yuji’s playful demeanor.

It’s funny how they balance each other out like that. Yuji, the bright, silly one who lights up every room he walks into, and Megumi, the quiet, brooding one, always watching from the sidelines. You haven’t known them long, but even you can tell they’re close in a way that most people would envy.

And yet, here you are, watching them, unsure of where you fit into the picture.

“Hey!” Yuji’s voice suddenly cuts through the noise as he jogs over to you, his face lighting up when he sees you. “You came! I didn’t think you’d show up.”

You smile, feeling the warmth of his excitement wash over you. “I almost didn’t, but I figured I’d give it a shot.”

“Well, I’m glad you did.” His grin widens, and he turns, waving toward Megumi, who’s still standing by the drinks table, looking completely out of place. “Megumi, come over here! She’s finally here!”

Megumi’s eyes flick over to you, and for a moment, your gazes lock. His expression softens slightly, but he doesn’t smile. Instead, he gives a small nod and walks over, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low but steady.

“Hey,” you echo, feeling your pulse quicken for no good reason.

The three of you stand there for a moment, Yuji’s energy bouncing between you, while Megumi’s silence settles like a blanket over the noise of the party. You feel the tension immediately. Not in a bad way, just... tension. The kind that makes your heart race for reasons you can’t quite put your finger on.

“So,” Yuji begins, clearly trying to break the silence, “have you been to any of our hockey games yet? We’ve got a big one coming up next week.”

You blink, surprised by the sudden change in topic. Hockey? Right. They’re both on the team, something you keep forgetting since you’ve never actually seen them play. It’s not really your thing, but the thought of seeing them on the ice—sweaty and focused—sends a strange shiver down your spine.

“No, I haven’t been to any yet,” you admit. “But maybe I’ll come to the next one.”

Yuji’s eyes light up like you’ve just made his day. “You should! It’s gonna be great. Megumi’s an amazing defender. You’ll love it.”

You glance at Megumi, who shifts uncomfortably under Yuji’s praise. “I’m not that great,” he mutters.

“You’re amazing, dude,” Yuji counters, playfully nudging his friend. “Don’t be so modest.”

You find yourself smiling at their dynamic. It’s hard not to get swept up in Yuji’s enthusiasm. “Okay, fine. I’ll come,” you say, laughing a little at how easily you’ve been convinced.

“Awesome!” Yuji’s grin is infectious. “I’ll make sure you get a good seat.”

Megumi doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes on you, something quiet and unreadable flickering in them. It isn’t uncomfortable, but it makes your heart race in a way that you’re not sure you’re ready to acknowledge.

You’re not here for hockey. You’re not here for parties. But somehow, being here with them feels like it’s exactly where you’re supposed to be.

---

Later that week, you find yourself sitting in the cold, buzzing arena, clutching a cup of hot chocolate as you watch the players take to the ice. You have to admit, there’s something captivating about watching them skate, the fluid motion of their bodies gliding across the rink. Your eyes keep wandering back to two figures—Yuji and Megumi.

Yuji is in his element, grinning even through his helmet, waving to the crowd every chance he gets. His energy is infectious, even from the stands. Megumi, on the other hand, is focused, eyes narrowed in concentration as he defends the goal like his life depends on it. The contrast between them is striking.

Your stomach twists when Yuji skates by, throwing you a playful wink. He’s just so... Yuji. Bright, carefree, and completely unaware of the effect he has on people. On you.

And Megumi... God, Megumi.

Every time you see him on the ice, you feel that strange pull in your chest again. There’s something about him—something quiet and intense—that makes your heart race in a way you can’t explain. He isn’t as obvious as Yuji, but there’s a warmth to him, hidden beneath that cool, stone-faced exterior.

---

After the game, you’re surprised when both of them ask you to hang out—separately, of course.

Yuji wants to go to the arcade. Megumi invites you to a quiet coffee shop he likes, one tucked away from the busy part of campus.

You don’t know how to say no to either of them.

---

Megumi’s fingers brush yours as he hands you a book he thinks you’ll like, his gaze lingering just a little too long before he pulls back. “This one’s good,” he says softly, almost shyly. “If you’re into that kind of thing.”

Your heart thuds in your chest as you take the book from him, your hands barely touching. “Thanks,” you whisper, feeling the weight of his attention settle over you.

Megumi is so... subtle. His affection, if it’s even that, comes in quiet gestures. A brush of fingers here, a soft look there. It makes your heart race in a way that feels... different. Dangerous, almost.

But then, there’s Yuji.

---

“Gotcha!” Yuji laughs as he beats you—again—at one of the games at the arcade, his playful grin lighting up his whole face.

You can’t help but laugh with him, your heart soaring at the pure joy in his eyes. Being with Yuji feels easy, like the sun has come out and everything is just... fun.

But it isn’t just fun. Not for you.

You’re torn. Between the boy who makes you feel safe, like a warm hug on a cold day, and the boy who sets your heart on fire, unpredictable and thrilling.

You don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending that you don’t feel anything for either of them.

———————————————————————

end of pt. 1 /).(\ pt. 2 coming very soon

[charmercharm3r]

I saw you said you take requests and I just have not been able to get the thought of an agnsty smutty friends with benefits nightmare with seungmin 😣 I just feel like he could be so emotionally closed off it could be such a mess but I want it so bad 😩also I love you’re writing and feel free to ignore this if you’re busy or don’t feel inspired by it 🤎🤍🤎

eeeeeeee this was super fun hehehehehe. I hope you like it!!

Jealousy, Jealousy

KSM

Masterlist

wc: 2.4k

warnings: smut, explicit sexual content, fwb!seungmin, afab!reader, angst!!, semi public/car sex, protected sex, marking, scratching, possessive seungmo, alcohol consumption but neither of them are drunk (consent is key!), heart been broke so many times befooore

When the alcohol starts to taste like water, you know that you should stop. You know, but you don’t, tolerance built too high at this point that it truly feels like you’re drinking just water. You also know that the neon lights can make anyone look decent enough to sleep with if you squint hard enough. But he looks good enough to fuck all the time, like all the time. It’s  fucking annoying.

Hair pushed back and sleek dress shirt made Seungmin’s frame look taller than usual, stronger and more pronounced shoulders shielded around your body and away from any onlookers– or moreso, your friends. He had pulled you onto the crowded dance floor to talk, of all things you could be doing instead. Seungmin stole the half empty drink from your hand and downed it to get your attention, which he had all of now.

“Stop being jealous. It’s not a good look on you,” he leaned down to speak into your ear, arm simultaneously draping around your waist and slowly swaying to the sound of the deep bass.

“Funny, I was thinking you could be a model in the desperation catalog,” you couldn’t help but mindlessly dance with him.

You recalled the reason he had you secluded away from your shared group of friends, Seungmin had seemed to be getting a bit too cozy with a girl at the bar which ended up making you just so happen to stumble into Minho’s lap. It was an accident, you’d reached for more alcohol and tripped into his arms just as Seungmin came back. You were going to get off of him immediately but he’d held onto you, keeping you sat and unable to move. The past hour you spent cuddling up to Minho, you also watched Seungmin from the corner of your eye. He didn’t seem to be remotely bothered until you got up to use the bathroom and he steered you off course.

“Your comebacks are getting better, pretty. You’ve been spending too much time with me.” His hand drifted further down, cupping your ass and tugging so you were chest to chest.

“Kinda have to speak to each other if I’m gonna start picking up on your lingo.”

“I’m speaking to you now, aren’t I?”

“By choice? Don’t make me laugh,” you snickered and pushed away from him, turning to walk away but he’d grabbed your hip and brought you back.

“C’mon, don’t be like that.” The sly smile on his face only looked sexier because it was for you. His smile was always for you, but hidden away from anyone that mattered. His argument, that what did it matter if anyone knew or didn’t? It didn’t change how he felt about you. That just leaves you with more questions and more overly acknowledged feelings, how does he feel about you? Something Seungmin always found a way not to answer. You didn’t expect to start having romantic feelings for him when you agreed to be fuck buddies, no way in hell was that on your bingo card. But here you are anyway, helplessly in love with the one guy who refused to be in any sort of relationship that required caring about anyone but himself. What made it even worse? He’d told you from the very beginning, months ago, that there were gonna be no feelings involved, from him or from you whether you liked it or not.

Seungmin pouted for a quick second before the neon lights shifted and casted a shadow across his face, blurring any remnants of something other than lust.

“Let’s get out of here,” he suggested, lips meeting the shell of your ear and nibbling gently.

“Actually, I told Minho I’d have a few more drinks with him. Can’t let him down,” you pushed him away softly, looking over Seungmin’s shoulder in search of the other man you’d known was out of sight. 

He’d let out a loud scoff, hand dropping to slap against his thigh. Raising an eyebrow, you quirked, “you’re right. Jealousy isn’t that sexy, afterall.” You reached up to tap his cheek mockingly, to which he’d caught your wrist and held on tightly. Seungmin dragged your body back in to smash against his. You could feel his erection against your stomach, clearly straining in his pants needing release.

“”M not jealous. I just don’t share my toys.”

“Who ever said I’m yours? I’m not the one crying for a wet pussy to stick my dick in. If anything, you’re mine with the way you’re begging.”

Anger spread across his face, watching his nose twitch at your blunt words. This was how you got him in your bed in the first place, Seungmin was a sucker for the back and forth shit talk, as were you apparently. Though, he usually caved rather easily once he was hard. Now, through the bright purple you could tell he was red in the face.

Check mate, “I’m gonna go find Minho.”

You pushed past him, taking your empty glass from his hand in the process. Just as you’d made it off the dancefloor and could see your group of friends and Minho, making eye contact and smiling at him, Seungmin emerged behind you and stole you away once more. You cursed at the roughness of which he manhandled you out of the club and tossed you over his shoulder to throw into the backseat of his car. Not without a fight, though your fist weakly slamming against his back may as well have been replaced by tufts of feathers seeing as he didn’t so much as flinch and deciding to give up.

Landing on your back, Seungmin lifted your legs to wrap around his waist and closed the door behind him, now leaning over your body. “What the fuck is your problem?” You shouted in his face.

“You don’t want Minho. You just want a reaction. Now look, I’m fucking reacting. Are you happy?” Seungmin kept you pinned down with his hands next to your head, crotches pressed together and the roughness of his jeans made it difficult not to move against. You could tell he felt it too, biting his lip in hesitation.

“No, I’m not happy.” The loud tone of your voice made Seungmin flinch back, not angry nor sad, simply helpless. For a second he ran through all the unprocessed panging emotions in his chest before shoving them back down, throbbing in his pants overriding his brain.

“How can I make you happy?” He called back even though the two of you were only inches from one another.

Neither of you said anything, both equally taken aback by his question, eyes searching for blatant answers he always chose to ignore. Then your body moved before your brain could say no, crashing your lips into his.

Your hands slipped under the back of his shirt and raked nails down his spine while Seungmin’s hips grinded against your clothed pussy, moans mixing in one another’s mouths. Tongues and spit made the kiss slippery, messy as he sat back on his hunches to undo his pants and lift your dress around your torso. There was only a brief moment where he paused once his pants and underwear were pulled down around his thighs and the kiss turned soft. His hand came up to cup your cheek and melted against you, pressing closed-lipped smooches to distract from him pulling your underwear to the side.

The moan you let out when his fingers slid through your folds made him chuckle into your mouth and lose the sweetness of the kiss. As soon as you had a taste, Seungmin made sure to remind you of what you were here for, what he was here for.

He collected your arousal and used it to circle your clit smoothly, making you yelp in surprise when his head fell down to bite roughly into your neck, sure to leave a mark. That was something he never did, Seungmin was sure to never leave any evidence of your agreement. But now he was moving with intention, purposely placing deepening bruises in the most obvious area while you rubbed your bundle of nerves against his hand.

“Stop being a fucking tease,” you murmured and reached between your bodies for his cock, hot and leaking.

“This not making you happy? People will know you’re mine,” Seungmin grumbled back, continuing his assault to your skin with his teeth and letting you stroke him.

“No. You know what will.”

Seungmin incoherently mumbled into you once more before finding your lips again, blindly reaching for his wallet for a condom and swatting your hand away to roll it on. You were about to complain about his rudeness when the blunt head was pressing against your entrance and slowly sinking in, mind falling blank. The car windows were foggy as he bottomed out and bent your knees to your chest, readjusting by pulling your ass further out from under you so you were folded in half. He slid that much deeper and nudged your soft spot, whimpering without filter as your eyes screwed closed.

“Haven’t even done anything yet, pretty,” Seungmin mocked you, smiling to himself and testingly pulling out just to plunge back into you. Lewd sounds filled the car even more, wetness coating his cock with every short, sturdy thrust. His hands were keeping him up on either side of your head. Just to have something to grab onto, you reached up and held onto his wrists, nails digging into his skin.

The longer his movements stayed minimal, the louder you became. Seungmin kept his eyes trained on your face, watching every change in expression. Until you opened your eyes and found him staring, then he closed his and head fell back. The way he avoided it made your cunt clench, doing so on purpose. His pull out, tighten. Push in, relax with him.

“Fuck– doesn’t even feel like I’m pulling out.”

Seungmin shuffled around again, stealing back his hands but replacing your grip onto his biceps so he could push your knees harder against your chest. His thrusts picked up into a full pounding, skin on skin bouncing around the vehicle and for sure making the car shake. You clawed up and down his arms, leaving darkening red streaks along his pale skin. In a way, you were marking him the same way he did to you and it made you proud.

Unholy noises were falling from both your mouths, even more when you let go of his arm to rub at your clit again. The action made him pause and flick your hand away the way he did earlier, replacing your touch with his. You kept your unbound knee to your chest and let him work you up further, dizzy at how well he knew your body.

“Still think Minho could fuck you this good? Still wanna play stupid games you can’t win, pretty?” You whined and whimpered without a straight answer, but that was telling enough. “Didn’t think so. You belong to me. I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”

You were covered in sweat, body overheating, and on the verge of your orgasm when Seungmin leaned over to bury his head in your neck to leave even more marks. He rubbed harder, faster, just the way you liked and combined with the pain of his teeth breaking your skin, your vision went white with ecstasy. He didn’t slow down, didn’t stop even as your high subsided and used you to chase his own. You pulled him from his hiding place by the back of his hair and stared into his eyes, only whispering, “cum,” and he did. You milked him through his orgasm with hard, steady pulses of your walls until the condom was full.

Seungmin didn’t move, exhausted and shocked that he could come on command. You were surprised as well at how he responded, but chose not to say anything about it as not to scare him away. That was the last thing you wanted.

He pulled out once he started to grow flaccid, pecking your lips a few times and tying off the condom. You don’t know what he did with it, only focusing on adjusting your panties and thinking about what you were going to say to your friends when you met up with them again.

That was your plan, give him an acknowledging smile and go back inside to try and forget about his stupid smile and stupidly good cock that gives you stupidly good orgasms because you were just a hole and he was just a dick to ride.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Seungmin helped pull your dress down and stuffed himself into his pants before opening the door to back out of the car. As you clambered out, he held his hand out for you to take. You raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ll take you home,” he closed the door as you stood up straight just to back you against the side of the car.

His face centimeters from yours, hands on your waist and smirking down at the evidence of his presence on your skin. The marks were full bruises now, entirely too noticeable to even consider going back inside without an interrogation. You snuck a peak at his arms to find them covered with a jacket, no telling of you on him. Your face visibly fell, quickly noted by him and making up for it with a chaste kiss. He didn’t let you escape, nowhere to go between him in front and the cold metal of the car at your back.

It was getting harder to be upset the longer his lips lingered on yours, he was letting you card your fingers through his hair and keep his body against yours by the loops of his pants, all in public where anyone could see. You wished someone would. That is, until his hips pressed against your stomach once more and felt his dick solid again. You sighed into his mouth, hearing him chuckle as he pulled away. “C’mon, pretty. Let me take you home,” he asked again.

“Why should I?” You challenged, not entirely ready to let go of him.

Leaning in to your ear, whispering even though no one was around, “I’ll fuck you so good you, you won’t know how to do anything but cum.”

The thought was tempting. So tempting that you giggled and nodded, letting him kiss you one more time, saccharine and gentle. He opened the passenger door for you, closing it and running around to the driver seat. Seungmin started the car and began the drive to your place, his hand on your thigh and climbing higher.

Content, warm, giggling about the condensation rolling down the windows, so blissfully blind, you asked the million dollar question. “Will you stay the night?”

His hand retreated, “you already know the answer.”

-

tags: @sensitiveandhungry @babebatter @aliferousminho @changbinluvr @epiphanynaffit @fawnpeaks @linovely @dumplinbokkieracha @finnydraws @naturules @djeniryuu @hamburgers101 @skzhomiehopper @yesv01 @hyunjinsamdl

[melodygatesauthor]

The Dark Side of the Moon - Chapter 1: Intoxicating

Vampire Marc Spector X f!Reader

Beta Read by @xbellaxcarolinax - Masterlist - AO3

Chapter Summary

Marc sees you for the first time and can't understand why you smell the way you do. The aroma is intoxicating, and he's determined to get closer to you, despite Khonshu's rules.

Tags/Warnings (for entire fic)

Major Tags/Warnings: Major Character Death - Non-con - Dub-con - Violence Minor Tags/Warnings NSFW, smut, Khonshu is human turned vampire, Ammit is human turned vampire, sex with characters other than the main pairing (Marc X f!Unnamed Character - Khonshu X f!Reader), p in v creampie, furniture grinding, scent kink, blood kink, vampire/human relationship, blood drinking, rough sex, oral sex, coming untouched, coming in pants, panty sniffing, angst, fluff, smut, forbidden relationship, secret relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, Marc does NOT have DID Dead Dove Do Not Eat - This means that what you see in the tags is what you get in the fic. If you read the tags and see "non-con" and then see non-con in the fic, don't be surprised!

Word Count: 3.2k

When Marc first saw you, he was overwhelmed by your scent.

The blood coursing through your veins held an aroma so sickly sweet that he found himself dizzy from the smell. He stepped into the lofty, spacious room where an oversized, and over-embellished, chair sat at the back. The enormous windows behind the chair faced out to the ocean, stretching on for what felt like forever. Khonshu liked to call this his ‘throne room’; a pretentious name fit only for someone who thought all too highly of himself.

“Marc, isn’t she wonderfully fragrant?” Khonshu asked from where he sat in his chair, touching the small of your back. His deep voice broke Marc from his thoughts.

Marc cleared his throat, scowling at the display in front of him. You were there, standing timidly with your wrists and ankles bound by enchanted gold chains, and Khonshu was next to you, seated like a king, legs spread wide as though he didn’t have a care in the world. You were dressed like the other cattle: ivory-white, flowing dress covering your body, though leaving your neck well exposed in case Khonshu felt hungry on a whim.

“Yes sir,” Marc agreed, body stiffening as he tried to fight his primal urges against your intoxicating smell.

“Found this pretty thing walking home from some dead end job, sobbing, living a meaningless life, isn’t that right little dove?” He started rubbing your back, and Marc saw your body tense in response. He hated when Khonshu got new servants. He hated to see how nervous they all were in the beginning.

“Y-yes,” you said, voice sounding small compared to the bass of Khonshu’s tone.

“Not so meaningless now. You have such an important job here.” He looked up at you with such adoration it made Marc’s stomach turn. “Harrow,” he said loudly, looking at the man on Marc’s left. “I need a report, did you succeed in delivering my justice tonight?”

Arthur Harrow looked over at Marc, long face twisted into an expression of disdain that he reserved only for the right hand of Khonshu. When Harrow looked back at their master’s face, his expression changed to one of admiration, but Marc knew the man’s hatred for him still festered just under the surface.

Marc listened to Harrow’s recollection of the evening’s events. It was a brief retelling of their struggles and successes, structured in a way to make Arthur sound like the heroic protagonist of the story, leaving Marc to look like his inept sidekick. Marc chuckled under his breath when Harrow mentioned rescuing a woman from a mugger. What he failed to add, was that the man doing the mugging was in his late sixties, frail, and nearly starving to death in an alleyway, just trying to get enough money to eat for the night. In other words, Marc wouldn’t have needed a suit or vampiric abilities to deal with him.

“Is something funny, Marc Spector?” Arthur asked, turning to look at his counterpart.

Marc shook his head, “not at all, continue with your very accurate and completely true story.”

Marc looked at you, heartbeat racing at the sight of your pretty face. A smirk threatened the corner of your mouth, you must’ve noticed him, but you kept your eyes on the ground. Marc’s lips turned up for only a split second knowing he’d entertained you. He hated Khonshu for always making the servants of the house avert their gaze, as though the undead were a superior race to the living. He hated Khonshu for many other things as well, but not being able to see the sparkle of amusement in your eyes at that moment was one of them.

Marc shared his own account of the uneventful evening. They’d saved some other ‘travelers of the night’, as Khonshu called them, and made sure to deliver justice to those who hurt them. He didn’t always see eye to eye with Harrow, but both he and Marc served one man, bound to him forever in an unfortunate blood pact, and for that they were very alike. He wondered sometimes if Arthur hated their master as much as he did, but Marc didn’t dare ask such a question out loud.

Khonshu looked up at you, smiling contentedly as he did before letting out a sigh, broad shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Very good,” he said, finally addressing both Marc and Arthur. “I’m hungry, so I’ll be taking my leave.” He looked over at Marc as he stood, running a hand through his thick black hair. “Marc, please attend to any queries as I would.”

Marc nodded, watching Khonshu rise, putting his hand on your upper back as he led you out of the room. Your scent left with you, not fully, but enough to allow the fog that weighed heavy in Marc’s mind dissipate. He was certain that if you smelled that good, you must taste equally as delicious…right?

~~~~

Why the fuck did you smell like that? Marc wondered moments later, sitting in Khonshu’s lavish chair in his absence. There was no reason for you to smell like that. So sweet, so delicious. Marc found himself salivating, quickly wiping his lips. It was embarrassing, the way you had made such a mess out of him after only moments of him being in your presence.

“Are you hungry sir? I can get your cattle for you,” one of the servants nearby asked, noticing that he’d wiped his mouth.

“No, no I’m…” he wasn’t fine, “I’m fine.”

He’d lived a hundred twenty-six years, and not once had he come across a scent like that. It didn’t make sense, and yet, it was permeating the air around him, making him feel mildly intoxicated once again. Harrow chuckled on Marc’s left, taking the man out of his daze. He scowled and looked over at him.

“What?” Marc questioned, tone laced in frustration.

Arthur shrugged, “hm? Oh, nothing. It’s just interesting to me, how much your age shows when you're faced with something unique, like the new cattle girl.”

“She just has a strong smell, it’s nothing,” Marc said firmly, bouncing his leg as he became more anxious.

“Right, of course,” Arthur’s expression was smug, condescending toward Marc in an attempt to rattle him.

“Why don’t you go find something to keep yourself busy, Harrow. I’m sure Khonshu wouldn’t want to think you were bothering me while I conduct his business.”

That struck a nerve, and Marc knew it would. Harrow had served Khonshu for many, many, years longer than Marc had. Hundreds longer to be more precise. Arthur was an arguably better servant as well. He would kill without question, spending no time on nuance and weighing the gray area brought on by guilt. Harrow would kill if he simply felt that someone was deserving. Marc didn’t like to fight that way, it felt wrong, and morally corrupt at its core. Marc would only kill if he thought it was a just punishment.

Despite Harrow being Khonshu’s loyal and unquestioning knight, always doing their master’s bidding without question, Marc was the one Khonshu favored most. Neither of them understood it, and both of them wished it were Harrow in that position rather than Marc. He never wanted to be Khonshu’s right hand, and when he was turned he didn’t know that’s what he was signing up for. Khonshu was good at keeping information from his servants. In fact, that’s how he managed to recruit so many. If he’d been upfront with them all, no one would have joined him.

“Khonshu is preoccupied at the moment, I’m sure–”

“Ooh,” Marc taunted, “then it would be really awkward if I had to go knocking on his door to tell him that you were being a pain in my ass, wouldn’t it?” Marc looked at Harrow, both eyebrows raised in anticipation for the rebuttal that never came.

Once Harrow left, frustrated and grumbling to himself, Marc tried to find other ways to occupy his mind, and to get his thoughts off of you. He spoke with the servants, making small talk about the weather, as though he gave a shit about whether it was raining or the skies were painted in blue. He just needed to take his mind off of you, because the more he thought about you, the more he felt his body aching with hunger.

There were so few rules that Marc needed to abide by that he’d be labeled a moron if he couldn’t manage to follow them. He could come and go as he pleased, so long as he did the work Khonshu required of him. Marc wasn’t allowed to turn someone, unless of course his master bid him to do so. And there was one rule, a big one that was upheld above all else…

Touching Khonshu’s cattle was absolutely forbidden.

That was how Marc got there, replacing the last Moon Knight that was dumb enough to try and pull one over on Khonshu. When his master claimed someone, by auction, coercion or otherwise, they were his. Marc had heard that Khonshu was kind to his servants, only taking what he needed, never drinking more than his fill. If one of his designated meals were tired or still recovering from a feeding, he would allow them time to rest before he used them again.

Marc also knew that they ate well. He saw the meals sometimes in passing being brought by the cooks to the rooms of the cattle. That’s how Marc learned that you liked strawberries, especially the large ripe ones. He would see the way the cooks made a point to pick through the smaller sour ones and toss them aside before bringing them to your door.

Were you spoiled, or did you figure that if you were going to be stuck there for the rest of your life, that you might as well enjoy yourself? Either way, a week after your arrival, Marc still wasn’t used to your scent, and it called to him both day and night. It was faint, unless he was in the same room as you, but he couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to figure out why you smelled like that, even if it killed him.

Marc didn’t need the enchanted armor Khonshu had blessed him with to climb the wall outside to your bedroom, his jeans and dark t-shirt would do just fine. The armor only afforded him protection at will, and the crescent darts he used to deliver Khonshu’s justice. As a vampire, there was no mountain too high for Marc to climb, and no distance too far for him to run. His strength couldn’t be surpassed by even ten men, but everything came with a price.

He needed blood to live.

Without that iron flavored liquid, Marc would die. Not much could kill him, but the thirst for blood certainly would if he didn’t satisfy it. And the smell of yours was making him fucking feral.

Marc didn’t know what he was thinking, standing there in your room, watching you while you slept soundly. He had all he could to stop himself from draining your body of every drop of your blood in front of Khonshu, so what was stopping him now? Your master wasn’t around to save you, but Marc knew he could never forgive himself if he hurt you.

He knelt down by your bedside, touching your warm cheek softly with the backs of his fingers. Your breathtaking eyes fluttered open, meeting his in a gaze with a look that was as frightened as it was confused. He put a finger to his lips, shushing you, hoping like hell that you wouldn’t alert the household to his presence in your quarters; something that would surely land him in the thirst room for a minimum of half a century.

You nodded as you slowly sat up, rubbing your eyes and pulling away from Marc. It was a smart decision, he had no noble reason for being there. He just wanted to smell you. He wanted to feel you. You were doing well in your attempt to hide your fear, though he could tell you were petrified. Your breathing was ragged, and your pupils blown wide.

“Why do you smell like that?” He said in a low growl, leaning forward on your bed, nuzzling your neck and inhaling deeply, “so fuckin’ sweet I…fuck.”

“W-what are you do–”

“Shh, I’m not going to hurt you, I just…” he inhaled again, breath ragged and harsh in your ear. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He repeated, not sure who he was trying to convince more, you…or himself.

“O-okay,” you said in the softest, and shakiest, voice he’d ever heard.

Marc really wasn’t going to harm you, though it took every ounce of his strength not to. He wanted to devour you, drink you dry, absorb your warmth into every cell of his cold body. He leaned in more, pushing you back against the mattress, feeling every neuron in his brain firing with desire. He felt your hands, pushing gently against his chest in protest, but you clearly weren’t brave enough to try and fight back.

Marc felt his cock aching as it sprung to life against his jeans. Your legs were around him, though he could feel your knees digging into his waist in an attempt to close them. The heat from your cunt was maddening, radiating off of you through his clothing and making his dick leak profusely.

“Why the fuck do you smell like that?” He asked again, throat vibrating with a primal rumble. He breathed in your fragrant aroma some more, feeling his fangs extending in preparation to bite. “Never smelled someone so…hmmmm.”

“L-like…like w-what?”

That’s when he realized just how much you were shaking. As if he were awoken from a trance, Marc shook the delirium from his mind and slid off of you quickly, backing up to the wall, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. He gulped, looking you up and down. You looked terrified, eyes wide with fear. Your bottom lip was trembling while you sat up and stared widely at him, like prey coming face to face with a predator. 

“I’m sorry,” Marc said, still panting heavily. He didn’t remember the last time he’d felt so breathless.

“You’re M-Marc, right?” You asked, looking him up and down, “I’m…” your name rolled off your tongue beautifully.

Cattle didn’t have names. Once someone was branded as livestock, a human whose job was to provide blood to their master, they were stripped of their previous life, including their name. Marc had been to other households. Some masters replaced their servant’s old names with new ones. Others had a numeric system, the numbers getting higher and higher the longer a vampire had been alive and using servants.

Khonshu preferred to keep his nameless. It made it less personal when it was time to dispose of old or sickly livestock, or when he got too carried away while feeding, leading to the unfortunate demise of a perfectly good food source. Marc knew you were privy to the rules. You knew damn well that you weren’t supposed to ever utter your birth name, and yet you were speaking it freely to him.

You trusted him.

“Look…I was never here, alright?” Marc swallowed hard, looking out at the moonlit sky. “I…I didn’t mean to scare you, I just…I couldn’t help myself. I’m so sorry.”

Without another word, and without looking at you again, Marc climbed through the window and dropped back to the ground, moving quickly around the side of the manor and back to where his quarters were. The pain of his cock pressing against his zipper ached like never before. He could still fucking smell you, and now your scent was on his damn clothes. It was a mistake going there, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t glad he did.

~~~~

He got into bed that night, stripped down fully, planting his feet firmly against his mattress, cock in hand and jerking himself off to the thoughts running through his mind. He balled up his shirt, holding it against his face and smelling your aroma still saturated in every fiber. His grip was firm around his girth, gliding over his length at a slow pace, imagining what it would be like to feel you on top of him.

Marc ran his thumb over the precum leaking out of the slit on his fat tip, using that to keep his palm slick while he worked. A pathetic whine left his lips, throat closing as he gripped the sheets and arched his back upward. You’d take him so well, he could tell just by the way you looked underneath him earlier. You’d cry and whimper but you’d love every second, begging him to fuck you until you couldn’t walk right.

He rolled over onto his stomach, pressing his cock between his abdomen and the mattress, grabbing the sides of the bed and rutting his hips forward. The grind along the smooth sheets was enough to electrify his entire body. Marc choked on the groan that threatened to leave his lips. He put the shirt on his pillow, burying his face in it, fucking the bed faster. If you had been under him, he would’ve broken you in half…or shredded you to pieces.

He bit into the shirt, growling lowly and continuing to roll his erection over the soft mattress  in an attempt to curb the growing need to have you. Your voice was so small, so sweet, so pretty. Fuck, fuck… The way you looked at him, afraid, timid, like he was going to hurt you. He wished he could say with confidence that he would never hurt you, like he had promised you earlier in your room, but he knew that was a white lie. He would always try never to hurt you.

He shuddered on his next snap forward, the friction becoming more slick as his leaking head left a mess in its wake. His grip on the sides of the mattress was tight enough to make his knuckles ache, aiding in his speed. He didn’t even care that the bed scraped against the floor with a loud shriek on every pass. He kept his nose deep in the fabric of his shirt, inhaling deeply, intoxicated with your smell combined with his. It smelled right, like your fragrances belonged together.

You belonged with him.

“Why does she…why does she smell so…so-fucking-good-ohgodohgodohgod…!”

Marc’s hips finally came to a stammering halt, warm sticky ropes of cum shooting out from his throbbing cock, making a mess of his bedding that he knew the servants would mumble about amongst each other when they thought he wasn’t listening. He huffed through his nose, hips still sliding his dick over the glob of slippery white that he created while thinking of you. 

He wasn’t a fool, but Marc hoped desperately that masturbating his nights away would be enough to satisfy his needs. Deep down though, he knew that was bullshit, and he knew that as long as you were around, his life was at risk.

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[jbaileyfansite]

The Wall Street Journal Interview (2024)

The 36-year-old English actor Jonathan Bailey is one of Hollywood’s newest heartthrobs. From Shonda Rhimes's Regency-era courtship dramas of “Bridgerton” to the decades-long romantic-political saga of “Fellow Travelers” to the Met Gala red carpet, he has earned admirers with his goofy charm and deep looks of longing.“

Being acknowledged as a heartthrob is incredibly flattering,” Bailey said. “It’s a big compliment, not just to you as an actor but everything around you.”

It has been a life-changing few years for Bailey, a stage actor turned screen darling. After “Bridgerton” launched him to global fame, he wrote up a document with tips to help prepare his younger castmates for the attention their on-screen romances would earn. “I think it’s about how to approach the work in a way that allows you to feel yourself and grounded,” he said.

Bailey, who’s been acting since he was a child in the Royal Shakespeare Company, reprises the role of Anthony in the third season of “Bridgerton” this month. Later this year, he’ll appear as Fiyero in the film adaptation of “Wicked” with Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo. He lives outside of London. Here, he talks about his favorite tea, doing gymnastics and the advice he got from Sir Ian McKellen.

What time do you get up on Mondays, and what’s the first thing you do after waking up?

I try to get up between 7 and 8. Then I try to not look at my phone, which sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t. If it’s a good day, I drink loads of water, have a bath and then just get out because I need to get outside. I’ll go for a walk, always with my headphones. If I feel a bit excited or my brain’s sort of alive, I’ll listen to a podcast because that keeps me quite calm. If not, I’ll listen to some drums and bass. 

How do you like your coffee? 

I love tea. Earl Grey tea for me. I love coffee as well.

What do you do for exercise?

I’m currently training for a half marathon. Then I do gymnastics at a local gym with loads of lovely, brilliant people. I’m part of that community, which I’m very proud of. I do handstands.

How long can you hold a handstand for?

I’ve gotten up to a minute. 

Do you meditate or journal or otherwise practice mindfulness?

Walking outside is meditation to me. There was a Buddhist center I loved when I was living in London, and I’d go there regularly to learn the practice of meditation. I believe in taking bits and bobs that work for you. I do write stuff down in a book that I carry with me, lessen the load in the brain when I can. 

Do you have any hobbies or habits that might surprise your fans? 

Probably playing loud music and dancing around naked. 

“Fellow Travelers” follows your character, Tim, as he falls for Matt Bomer’s Hawk over the course of several decades, from 1950s McCarthyism to the AIDS crisis in the 1980s. How did you get into character? 

With Tim, I felt like there was so much understanding that was in my bones already just from being me. Understanding the character who you’re playing opposite is also really good. Me and Matt, we didn’t really talk about it but we had that understanding of the experience of what these queer, gay people were experiencing.

Beyond that, I think about my forefathers and what an incredible opportunity it was to an academic, hands-on research of gay life in America. As a Brit, there was so much to learn, so the preparation was kind of nerdy in that respect. In another, it was incredibly emotional and spiritual. 

You’ve become very famous for the looks of longing that you’ve perfected. Do you practice them in the mirror?

No, unfortunately, I probably practiced them in real life all the way through my childhood. It’s funny, isn’t it? I can totally understand why people say that, but I think maybe what fascinates me most about humans is there’s always a distance between what you want and what you have and who you are and who you want to be. I mean, if I’m still longing and 92 years old, then I’m going to be very happy. 

How did you prepare to model swimwear for Orlebar Brown? Was there any part of you that was nervous? 

I had been doing gymnastics, so the swimsuit-model aspect of it required a couple of weeks of doing more handstandy stuff. But no, I was excited. 

There were some cute photos of you and Ariana Grande released from the set of “Wicked.” Do you have any favorite memories from filming? 

I went to CinemaCon and it was the launch of all of us together. I watched the trailer for the first time, I’m so glad I waited to see it in the big cinema. I just watched Cynthia [Erivo] and I was, like, God, Cynthia’s just going to blow everyone’s mind. You care so much about her in it. And Ari redefines Glinda in a really fun way, it just expands. 

There’s so much love for the original material. It was really fun and silly and great. Jon M. Chu [the director] just mines the emotion and is quite sincere about the truth of what’s going on with the characters.

What’s your most prized possession?

My headphones. If I lose them, I feel crazy. But also in 2017—I saved up and it felt incredibly frivolous—I started collecting the Yves Saint Laurent love prints, the original prints of the years that my sisters were born because there are four of us. Annoying actually, one of my sisters was born in 1982, and I don’t think there is a print for that year, so I might have to do a stickman or something. 

What’s one piece of advice you’ve gotten that’s guided you? 

Always do theater. That was actually from Ian McKellen. It’s in my bones anyway.

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