#hes still struggling and its hard for him to really accept he's here at this very moment as a normal dudd

[lovemybluebully]

A Small Lapse of Judgement

What do you get when you cross a drunk Wolverine? Tickled. You get tickled. 🤣

Okay, yeah sorry guys. This one is literally like twice as long as my last one, but Logan and Wade both needed to get wrecked good. lol I'm just having too much fun writing these guys. So get some snacks or something because you're going to be here for a minute.

More somewhat movie spoilers, and Wade saying inappropriate things to Logan's annoyance. lol Oh, and of course tons of cussing. And tickles. Lots of tickles.

"Deadpool and Wolverine"-verse

M/M Tickle Fic

Word Count: 4,372

At first Logan had declined Wade's invitation to live with him at his apartment. Having been on his own for so long Logan didn't want to accept the fact that anyone actually wanted him around, but after Wade's persistent prodding and convincing he finally accepted.

"Yes!! It'll be like a sexy slumber party!" Wade had whooped, but one steely-eyed look from Logan made him turn it down, "Ahem. Or, you know, just two guys hanging out together with no lewd activities of any kind...."

No doubt Wade pushed Logan's buttons and got on his nerves more than anyone he had ever met in his life, but after their ordeal together there was no denying the bond that had been created between the two of them. It was hard for him to admit it, but Wade was definitely someone Logan now considered as a friend.

Surprisingly he settled in quickly and had begun to make himself comfortable, allowing him to let his guard down and actually relax for once. It was only a one-bedroom apartment so even though he had to sleep out on the couch every night he was grateful to have a place to call home.

And Wade was thrilled to have him there. Unlike his other roommate, Blind Al, Logan was progressively becoming more tolerant of his off the wall antics so it was nice to have someone else there that he could really joke around with. And drink with, though Logan still tended to embark on some solo day drinking of his own.

Wade shuffled into the living room in his crocs one late evening with Dogpool cradled in his arm to find Logan slouched over on the couch in nothing but jeans and a tank top and a nearly empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. Further observation revealed there to be two more empty bottles laying around on the ground by his feet.

"Hey. Robert Downey Jr. Wanna take it easy on the booze?"

Logan lazily looked up at him, rolling his eyes when he saw Wade was allowing the dog to lick all over his face.

"I will once ya take it easy on always making out with that mutt."

Wade stared at him in defiance as he continued to kiss Dogpool's head while she licked all around his mouth, making Logan grimace in disgust before Wade set her down upon the ten-sizes-too-big dog bed he had bought for her.

"You know if you were jealous all you had to do was ask, baby girl. There's plenty of Wade Wilson to go around," he leaped onto the couch beside Logan and puckered his lips, making smooching sounds as he tried to pull the other man close while Logan cursed and struggled to hold him back.

"Hey hey! Fucking knock it off, asshole!" Despite his annoyance he chuckled a little with the alcohol lightening his mood and after a few more seconds Wade finally relented to sit himself back.

"You can fight it all you want, but I know you'll come around one day. There's no resisting my natural labido," Wade sat facing him as he gave a wink and a flirty grin, causing Logan to sigh with a shake of his head and take another sip from the bottle.

"See this is exactly why I still drink. I need something to help tolerate your obnoxious ass on a daily basis."

"Fine by me. It has its benefits. Number one being that you're so much less stabby when you're like this," Wade teased, wiggling a finger into his side as Logan squirmed and giggled before swatting at his hand with boozed up coordination.

"Why are ya always tickling me? I hate that shit," Logan was still smiling though as he rubbed at his irritated ribs.

"Because," Wade smiled and turned to look out at the audience before whispering quietly under his breath, "The people demand it."

He sat staring in silence for several seconds until Logan lifted a brow in confusion.

"The fuck you looking at?"

"Nothing," Wade turned back to him, "Well it's because I have to make you laugh somehow, grumpy pants. You're always so serious, and worst of all you never laugh at my jokes."

"Oh yeah? Have ya tried actually being funny?"  A big shit eating grin was plastered on Logan's face as he instinctively pulled his arms in close to his body, not expecting Wade to let that one slide.

"Ooh hoo hoo, you're going to pay for that one later. You know what, smart ass? Maybe I'll tickle you in front of Laura. I'm sure she'd love to help me double team you sometime. A little badger on badger action, if you will." 

It was Wade's turn to smirk as Logan just looked back at him with nervous eyes that he tried to hide behind the scowl now creasing over his face.

"You'd better fuckin' not."

"I don't know. It's sounding like a pretty good idea to me. Usually I have to pay to see that kind of thing but-"

Logan growled as his claws started to come out, but Wade just laughed and wagged a finger at him.

"Ah ah ah! Rule number one, no bloodshed in the house. So best keep those claws of yours in check, my little kitty cat."

"Just don't give me a reason then," Logan warned, retracting the claws before his eyes raised to focus on Wade's head, "By the way, how long are ya gonna keep wearing that stupid toupee? I already told you that you ain't foolin' anyone with that thing."

Wade looked positively insulted as he patted and smoothed down the hair on his head.

"Uhmm excuse me? As I've told you a thousand times, it's a hair system. It's so I can go out in public looking halfway decent. Not all of us were blessed with the perfect bone structure of a successful Broadway actor," turns his head briefly to look at the camera, "And besides, I think it looks quite distinguished."

"I've seen better looking roadkill than whatever that thing's made out of," Logan snorted and downed the rest of the bottle in his hand before dropping it on the floor beside the other empty bottles.

"Says the guy who looks like he has roadkill glued to the sides of his face," Wade gave a less than gentle tug on his muttonchops as Logan grunted and smacked his hand away.

"Oh yeah? Well at least I can grow facial hair, pal. You on the other hand don't have a speck of hair on your whole goddamn body. You're like a fucking pre-pubescent child. This is what a real man looks like," a tipsy smirk crawled across his face as he nonchalantly pulled up his tank top to show off his hairy chest and stomach.

He emphasized his point by running a hand over his hirsute, muscular torso while Wade just stared very, very hard.

"........Are you trying to turn me on right now? Because it's working," Wade was smiling deviously and reaching a hand out as Logan chuckled dryly and gave him a hard shove, sending him flying to the other end of the couch, "Just so you know, I'm adding that one to the spank bank."

"You fucking wish, bub. Think ya got a better chance with that ugly ass dog of yours," he nodded over towards the sleeping pooch while tugging his shirt back down. 

It was rare to see such a repulsed look on Wade's face as the man always seemed to be down for whatever but apparently messing with the dog was where he drew a line.

"Woah woah, that's just going too far now. You need therapy, my friend."

"Oh please. I forgot you were the fucking poster child for mental stability," Logan muttered as he lifted his legs to prop his bare feet up on the coffee table in front of him.

"Heyheyhey! What in the ever-living fuck do you think you are doing? That's where we cut up our Bolivian nose candy-"

"I thought Feige said ya can't talk about that."

"Well what Feige doesn't know won't hurt him. Now let's go. Chop chop. Feet off the table, bud," Wade scolded and kicked Logan in the leg as the man rolled his eyes and begrudgingly pulled his feet down.

"You are such a fucking caveman. That table is an antique. Furniture crafted from the finest-OOof!" Wade grunted in pain as Logan dropped his feet onto his lap with his heel coming down hard onto his groin, "Uh uh nope. Not happening. Feet off the Deadpool too." 

"Well I gotta put 'em somewhere. What? Offended that ya weren't my first choice? Be flattered I finally found a good use for you," Logan smirked big time at the genuine outrage that now displayed on Wade's face.

"What the fuck do you mean?! You've seen what a phenomenal cook I am!"

"Almost burned down the apartment."

"I'm the king of late-night karaoke!"

"Got the cops called on us three times already."

"Well I'm good at making friends everywhere I go."

"I had to beat the shit out of all those bikers to get them off of you. Not to mention you almost got us banned from my favorite bar, you dumb fuck."

Wade started to pout from Logan shooting down all of his claims, but was quickly back to grinning as he thought of something that Logan couldn't possibly argue against.

"Okay, you know what? You wanna see something I'm good at? I'll show you something I'm very good at," Wade smirked and grabbed ahold of Logan's legs, securing his ankles in one arm as he began ruthlessly tickling the bottoms of his feet.

Logan lost any sense of calm he had as he immediately broke into a hysterical laughing fit, figuring out too late that he had made a huge mistake. There weren't many things in life that could get the Wolverine to lose his cool, but Wade Wilson the Tickle Monster never failed.

"Baahahahahahaha! Wahahahahade, dohohohon't!! Okaahaahaahaay! I'll mooohoohoove 'em!!"

Logan was far too buzzed to pull his usual act of fighting back his reactions and trying to pretend that he wasn't as horribly sensitive as he really was. Not that any of that ever discouraged Wade since he knew he'd always get him to crack eventually.

"Nah, that's okay. You just keep them right where they are, Giggles. Maybe this'll teach you some manners. Or not, that's okay too. I wouldn't want to run out of excuses to do this....," he scratched at the soles with Logan going nuts and frantically pulling at his captured legs while Wade's arm only squeezed tighter around them to ensure he wouldn't escape.

"Stahahahaaap, ya dihihihick! Fuhuhuhuckin' lehehehehe-lehehet me gohohohohooo!"

"What's that? Aww did you forget your safe word again? So confusing. How do I know if you really want me to stop or not?" The merc teased with his fingers scribbling at Logan's arches as the X-man's laughter surged in volume.

"Fuhuhuhuhuck you! Aaaheheeheeheehee nohohoho! Waahaait! I'm sohohohohorry!" He howled with tears already in his eyes as Wade found the weak spots under his toes; his body twisting and flopping around as he braced his arms on the couch in his clumsy attempts to get free.

Wade always enjoyed when Logan was in this state. Not only was he a lot less homicidal than if he was sober but he wasn't nearly as uptight and didn't even fight the tickles as hard. He practically just rolled over and took it and didn't hold much back. 

He suspected that Logan didn't hate being tickled nearly as much as he made out and loved to tease him about it much to the older man's insistent denial of the fact. It's likely that Logan would rather die than ever admit something like that.

Wade then cleared his throat and began to speak in his best exaggerated Australian accent.

"Crikey mate! Here we have the Wolverine. Best known for its violent tendencies and natural ability to be a complete jackass. When confronted by a stronger and more powerful predator it begins to make the most adorable snorting sounds that are meant as a sign of his submission. Let's listen in, shall we?"

Logan had been belting out uncontrollable snorts all throughout his laughter and it was one of Wade's favorite things to poke fun at him for.

"Shhh-Shuhuhuhut uhuhuhup! You're sohohohoho fuhuhucking stuhuhuhupid!"

"Oh, I'm fucking stupid? Who's the one making all the little piggy noises, Wilbur? Speaking of piggies....," Wade smirked as he started to play with his toes again, "This little piggy was an alcoholic....This little piggy was always so mean to his friend, Wade.....This little piggy talked shit about sweet little Dogpool....This little piggy..."

"Fuhuhuhuhuuuck! Alrihihihihight I gihihihive uhuhup! Haahahahaah! No-No mohohohore!" Logan had managed to pull a foot free and was now kicking Wade in the back as hard as he could, which wasn't very hard at all due his weakened state from laughing so much.

"No more? No MORE? Sorry, sweet cheeks. But I've got plenty more," Wade then threw his foot aside as he turned and dove onto Logan's prone form to now attack his very ticklish stomach, "That was for treating me like an object! This is for saying I'm not funny!"

Wade snickered with glee as the feral man expelled a less than manly squeal of giggles and immediately curled into a protective ball, though all attempts to evade were useless. Deadpool was positively relentless.

"Nooooohohohohohoo nohohohot thehehehehere! Okahahaay you're funny! You're fuhuhuhuhuhunnyyyyyaaahahahahahaaStaahahahahahaaap!"

"Oh sure! All of a sudden I'm just magically funny now! Don't insult my intelligence! You can't bullshit a bullshitter!" Wade managed to get his hands underneath Logan's shirt, raking his fingers up and down his bare stomach and forcing him to dissolve into a lengthy, mirthful wheeze.

"Why are you so ticklish? Is it part of your mutation? A result of a Weapon X experiment gone horribly wrong? Talk, damn you! I need answers!"

Not that Wade actually expected him to answer, but Logan was laughing entirely too hard and fighting it even less. He had his head thrown back in hysterics that exposed his oversized canines, writhing feebly while tears were leaking down his reddened cheeks.

It was a sight to see the normally powerful X-man rendered helpless from such a soft touch, but it just goes to prove that healing factors and big muscles were completely useless against a tickle attack.

Wade would have loved to keep tickling him all night, and he knew the man technically could take it with the high amount of stamina he possessed, but it was time to let him go now and save it for another time. Logan had been a good sport, and he didn't want to push it too far.

Pulling his hands back he now stood triumphantly hovering over the still giggling and plastered Wolverine, who kept his body all curled up in case the crazy merc decided to come for him again.

"Are you sure you're the Wolverine of legends? I mean, this isn't exactly what I had pictured. If I hadn't personally seen you in action then I'd have some serious doubts," he smirked as Logan finally relaxed and slowly splayed out on the couch.

"Heehehehe-That's the worst Wolverine to you, bub. You-hehehee-fucking suck," Logan continued to giggle as he struggled to fight off the dizzying high of the combined tickle assault mixed with the alcohol in his bloodstream. Wade was pleased to see he hadn't soured his mood.

"But do I swallow is the real question? Hehehe, sorry, I couldn't help myself. Now did you learn your lesson, you drunken idiot?"

Logan regained some sense of focus as he slowly sat up and looked up at Wade with the most cocky grin.

"Of course not. Gonna take a lot more than that, fucker."

"Do not tempt me, Peanut. I showed you mercy this time, but I cannot guarantee this next round I will be as charitable," Wade smirked and cracked his knuckles, surprised to see Logan lean back onto the couch with his arms folded behind his head.

"Pffft. You don't fuckin' scare me. You can do your worst. Though I'm sorry to say you're not gonna get the chance. Ya wanna know why?"

"Why?" Wade practically demanded with his hands on his hips.

"That's why." Logan lifted a hand to point behind Wade as the merc whirled around to confront what may have got the drop on him and found.....nothing. Nobody.

"Wait a minute.....did I really just fall for the oldest trick in the bo-AAAHCK!" Wade let out a scream as he was pounced from behind by a playfully growling Wolverine and landed hard on his stomach with his face hitting the floor. He had seriously misjudged the other man's current ability to fight back.

"Heheh, you really are a fucking idiot. Now let's see how you like this shit...," Logan immediately dug into Wade's ribs from where he sat perched on his back and was more than thrilled by the scream that ripped out of the merc's mouth. He knew there was no way a loudmouth like Wade wouldn't be ticklish.

"Nohohooo Logan wahahahahaait! Ahahaheeheehehehehe! You cahahahan't tihihihickle meheheee! I'm-I'm the 'ler! Nohohot yooooou!"

"The what? What the hell are ya talkin' about now?" Logan didn't let up though while Wade tried to sputter out an explanation.

"The cohohohommunity! Ihihihit's a thihihiing! I g-guess tehehehechnically I'm a swihihihihitch buhuhuhut stihihill!"

Logan raised his brows, looking more confused than before as he ended up just shrugging it off and shaking his head.

"Nevermind. I really don't wanna know. Now shut up and laugh, asshole," Logan's big hands ran up and down his sides, squeezing his waist and making it back up into his armpits as Wade flailed and shrieked and desperately tried to clamp his arms down.

Logan couldn't help but laugh at Wade's reactions with how he had barely started in on him yet.

"Geez. Have ya really been this fucking ticklish this whole time? Looks like we've got some time to make up for," his fingers fluttered around under Wade's arms, producing wild cackles as he wriggled like a worm and tried to scoot across the floor.

"Get off get off! Nooohahahahahaha! I'm nohohohohot tihihihicklish! I'm nohohohohohohot!"

"Well if you're not ticklish then all this shouldn't be botherin' ya, right? Or do you prefer me stabbin' ya better?" Logan smirked as he used the three middle fingers on each hand to simulate his claws as he repeatedly poked at Wade's ribcage with rapid fire speed, "Hehe, now you're dead."

"Gaahaahahahahaha!! Nohohohohot the clahahahahaws! Mehehehehercy!" Wade begged, trying to reach behind him to smack Logan's hands away. Spoiler alert, it didn't work.

"Mercy? Ha! That's a fuckin' good one. Hey, whaddya know. I guess you are funny after all. Hehehe, tickle tickle tickle, fuckface."

Wade's hysterics were increasing in volume by the second and Logan snorted in amusement at the thought that they might get the cops called on them for a suspected murder happening in the apartment.

"Holy shit. Keep it down, will ya? You're gonna wake the-"

"What in the name of Satan's asshole is that horrible noise?!?!" Blind Al shouted in annoyance as she wandered into the room and nearly tripped over the two men roughhousing on the floor.

"Blind Al! Blind Ahahahahal! Hehehehelp mehehehehe!" Wade screamed as he managed to roll over underneath Logan and reach out a desperate hand towards his elderly roommate.

"You're such a dick. Ya know ya don't have to emphasize that she's blind all the time, ya inconsiderate moron," Logan rolled his eyes with a smile as he now had better access to Wade's ribs and stomach and dug right in.

"Baahahahah-Buhuhuhut thahahat's her nahahahahame! B-Becahahahause she's blihihihind! Gehehehet ihihit?!"

The older woman's lips pursed with disdain.

"Please keep torturing him. I will sleep good tonight knowing that stupid motherfucker is suffering," she gently patted Logan on the shoulder as she turned around and made her way out of the room.

"You got it, boss lady," Logan nodded with a smirk and scratched furiously at Wade's stomach, easily avoiding the flailing hands trying to stop him.

"Blihihihihind Al! Aahahhahahha! You trahahahaahaahaitor! Ahahahafter ahahall I've d-dohohohone for yooohoou!"

"Maybe you could gag his bitch ass too," she yelled back over her shoulder, making Logan chuckle.

"She's got a point. You're loud as fuck. Always makin' fun of how I snort while you're over here shrieking like a fuckin' little girl."

With that, Wade was struck with inspiration as he thought of a way to get Logan to stop.

"Yehehehes! Oh yehehehes Lohohohogan! Dohohohn't stop! Th-Thahahat's ihihihit! Tihihihickle me! Tihihickle mehehehe untihihihil I pahahahass ouhohout!" Wade pretended to moan between his laughs as he put his hands flat against the floor to demonstrate that he had no intention of preventing the tickling, though it was a major struggle for him to keep them there.

Logan tilted his head as he stared down at Wade in bemusement.

"Can't tell if you're tryin' to psyche me out into stopping, or if you really do like it that much. I wouldn't put it past ya to actually enjoy being tickled. Not the weirdest thing about you. Either way, if ya say not stop then I won't," Logan smirked and proceeded to tickle him even harder as he kneaded into his hips.

"Noooooohohohoooo! Okaahahaay! I lihihihied! I cahahahan't tahahahahake it! Pleasepleaseplease stooohahahahoooop!" Wade squealed and kicked his legs around and uselessly tried to grab at the other man's wrists to pry him off.

"Now was that really a lie? Are ya sure it wasn't an educated wish?" Logan loved to bring that stupid shit up every once in a while, knowing it would get under Wade's skin.

"So fuhuhuhunny I forgohohot to lahahahaugh, ahahahasshole! Nohohow gehehet off meeeheeheeheee! You fuhuhuhucking mahahahade yohohohour point!" 

Logan was about to make another quip when he heard loud barking and turned his head to see Dogpool come flying over the back of the couch towards them in superhero slow-motion.

She then rushed in to grab Wade by the hair as she pulled with all of her tiny body weight trying to free him.

"Yehehehes! Mary Puhuhuhuppins! Saahahahave pa-pa! Thaahahahat's it!"

"Yeah.....that dog weighs like eight pounds. Hehehe, don't think you're getting away from me just yet, bub," Logan snickered as he dragged Wade closer and plunged his fingers into his armpits, earning another shriek as the merc futilely clamped his arms down and thrashed even harder.

"Looohohohogaaan staaahahahahahahap! I'm-I'm sohohohohoh glahahad to seeheehee-ahahahahhah-see yohohou ehehehembrace thihihis sss-sihihide of you buhuhuhut-AAAAHH! FUHUHUHUCK!!"

A loud ripping sound was heard as Logan looked up in wonderment to see Wade with a hand gripped to his now bald head as Dogpool stood there with his whole hair piece in her mouth.

Logan couldn't help it. The sight of Wade laying there with those fucking staples sticking out of his head and the dog now gnawing on his toupee like a chew toy was just too comical.

He started to laugh. Really laugh. Laughing too damn hard to keep tickling Wade as he literally fell over, holding his sides while his whole body shook in uncontrollable guffaws.

Wade was finally able to sit up as he glared at his hysterical friend, but he had a smile on his face too.

"Really?! That's what makes you laugh?! You seeing me getting hurt is funny to you? Pretty fucked up, you sado," he pretended to sound annoyed, but really he was anything but. It was rare to see Logan laugh like this besides when Wade was tickling him half to death so he'd let him have this for the moment.

Still he had to strike back somehow for this indignity.

"Puppins attack! Kill, my little munchkin! Kill!" Wade shouted as the dog rushed towards the fallen man and jumped onto him. But Dogpool didn't have a mean bone in her body and only knew how to attack with love as she affectionately licked Logan's face much to his aversion.

"Blech! Wahahade! Gehet your dohohog!" He bellowed as he continued to laugh, but other than trying to shield his face with his arms he didn't do much to stop her.

"Okay okay, come here, sweetie pie. Lets get you away from the bad man who tried to kill your pa-pa," Wade reached over and pulled her off of him, setting her into his lap.

Logan finally fought down the giggles as he sat up to find Wade staring longingly at the destroyed toupee in his hand. He kind of felt bad for the guy and thought he should offer some words of encouragement.

"Yeah, that thing's fucked. Big time. But hey, I think you look better without it," he nodded, using his shirt to wipe off his face as Wade gave him a genuine smile.

"You're only saying that because you're drunk," the merc teased back as Logan shrugged in response and grinned broadly.

"You're probably right. I wouldn't touch ya with a ten foot pole."

"That's okay. I don't mind doing all the touching...," Wade gave him a quick squeeze on the side as Logan snorted and lurched away from his reach and got to his feet.

"Don't fucking start that again. I'd say we're even now. Besides, you don't wanna fuck with me now that I know how damn ticklish you are. It's a stalemate. We can put this all behind us and move on. Now if ya don't mind I'd like to get some sleep," he waved the other man away as he grabbed some blankets off the back of the couch to set up his sleeping area.

Wade just smirked as he began walking out of the room with Dogpool in his arms.

"Silly silly Wolvie. I'm not sure you realize the implications of your actions. But I'm afraid this is far from over. You, my friend, have just started a war."

Logan's face fell as he only stared back at Wade in wide-eyed silence.

"Nighty night, Peanut. Sweet dreams," Wade smirked devilishly, waving with wiggling fingers as he flicked off the light switch on the wall.

[hoseoksluna]

— WIP 𐙚 part 4 of wine

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader

about: the first time jungkook owns oc’s orgasm

word count: 0.417

note: because i started writing part four so late in the week (friday and i barely had time during this weekend to write) due to the fact i struggled hard, here i give you at least a little something on updating day. im really sorry its not the full thing yet, but i promise i'm working hard and i'll post it for you sometime next week. i'm really excited about what i've written and i can't wait to show you. please enjoy the little excerpt && keep your fingers crossed for me. love you all <;3

side note: happy belated birthday to my husband yoongi, the poetry to my words, the sanity to my mind. my anchor, my everything. i miss him terribly and i love him.

warnings: clit rubbing, shyness, riding fingers, jungkook penetrates her mid-climax and has a very tender reason for it

𐙚

He moans onto your neck, nose tracing the column on its way to your ear.  “How do you touch yourself?” 

A sudden shyness overtakes you and you turn your head, needing to hide in his neck this time. You remain silent, the words lodged in your throat. 

Jungkook sees you. 

“Do you rub your little clit from side to side or in circles?” he questions, helping you answer. 

“I—I like both,” you whisper onto his skin, moving your hips so his fingers slip to your clit, the sweet spot where you need him the most. He grabs the back of your thigh and lifts it, spreading you open, meanwhile you chase the firmness of his fingers.  

“Just like that, ride them,” he husks, eyes dazed, fixed on the roll of your pelvis. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” 

Head on top of yours, you nod, never ceasing your movement, transfixed, just like him, by the constant way the pads of his fingers fondle your clit before dipping between your lips. The heat of the summer tightens in your lower belly and it’s a desperate litany of begging what your mouth utters, despite the fact you’re really not sure what you’re asking for, but you let him hear it. You’re close, so unbelievably close, yet still have a road to walk on before you, and you close your eyes to feel the delight of his touch more deeply, only to find that you manage to do nothing of the kind. 

When you sense his eyes on you and by instinct you reciprocate his stare, that’s when you feel the depth you sought after. Mouth parted, pupils dilated, eyelashes a drowsy catastrophe, messy hair casting a soft shadow over the planes of his blissed-out face. You want to kiss him. You want to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel—

“Let me do it now,” Jungkook says hurriedly, sensing the nearness of your climax.

“Yes,” you croak out, halting the movement of your hips—and ‘yes’ is the word that ripples out of your mouth a hundred, a thousand more times when he spreads you wider and rubs his fingers on your clit from side to side. 

He feels the pleasure in sync with you, accepting all of your yes’, twisting his face the moment yours does, quickening the rapidness of his hand once he switches to circles to carry you to your summer-breathed paradise. 

And when you come all over his hand, he slips two fingers inside your hole.

[urinarythreatinfection]

Hi, I really like your work with Sanji! Can I request a fanfic where the reader is a person who didn't get love from his parents as a child, but only money? The reader is a woman, if anything! How the reader will try to show her love to Sanji is your choice! Thanks in advance!

This was a bit hard at first but I ended up getting into it eventually. It might've turned out a little more angsty than I thought but I felt like it worked really well. If you aren't at 1053 i'm really sorry I put it in there bc it worked really well too.

Insecure Love

Sanji x Fem Reader. Angst/comfort and some fluff. Major Spoilers for episode 1053. 2740 words.

Sanji adores you, you’re perfect to him. Beautiful, amazing, talented, everything. You are the best woman he could ever wish for. Sometimes he even lays awake at night thinking of the memories the two of you have made, goofy smile on his face he’s so enamored. There is one problem though, just a teensy one, you’re not at all affectionate. You don’t stop him from being affectionate to you, but you don’t exactly reciprocate or initiate. Instead, you give him gifts, which was nice at first but he started to feel a bit conflicted about it the more it happened. He would rather get love from you rather than a material good you’d bought somewhere. What’s worse is that the gifts have stopped, it’s almost always just money now.

“Here.” You say blankly to Sanji while he’s cooking, handing him cash. He spots you and his eyes trail to the berri in your hand, a small frown on his face. “Is it not enough?” He jolts and quickly shakes his head.

“No, that isn’t it. Thank you.” He forces a smile and takes it, pain in his chest. Your boyfriend tries so hard to make you feel loved, cooking for you, complimenting you, showing physical affection, but all you do is hand him cash like payment for a service; like his love was simply something nice you pay him for. He’s tried refusing it before but you had gotten upset, putting it away with a sad expression until he agreed to take it. Now you look at him as he pockets it, telling himself he’ll use it to buy ingredients for a dish you’ll like. After he puts it in his pocket he hugs you, kissing you for a bit before pulling away. “I’m going to finish cooking soon, my love, would you like to stay here?” His eyes are expectant, hoping you’ll stay, but you shake your head.

“I’ll leave you to it, you should focus.” With that, you leave him alone in the kitchen. He looks at the ingredients he was chopping, the money you gave him weighing down his heart. Is this really so one-sided? Has he just been bothering you this entire time? Maybe he’s just a toy you can play with, a music box that sings for you when you put money inside. Those thoughts crowd his head as he cooks until he accidentally lifts a hot lid with his bare hand, burning his skin; but before he can go to treat it... it heals on its own. The cook grits his teeth, clenching his fist. What a creepy ability. He puts his head in his hands and takes deep breaths, it’s okay, he loves you, you’re still together.

“Are you alright?” Robin asks him as he sets food down in front of the girls, including you, completely spaced out.

“Oh, sorry Robin-chan.” He snaps out of it and smiles at her. “I’m doing okay.” The cook leaves to serve the rest of the crew, steps noticeably heavier than normal. The women watch this, then look to you.

“Did you two argue or something? What’d he do?” Nami asks, ready to defend you, but you shake your head.

“I don’t know, I thought he was okay earlier, I handed him money and he accepted like normal.” You’re confused, and they both look at eachother.

“Like normal..?” Nami asks again.

“Yeah, I’ve been giving my allowance to him since we started dating. I know he sometimes struggles with food budget so I like helping out.” You explain and the two girls stare at you.

“(Y/n) what have you been doing so far in your relationship with Sanji?” Robin questions you and you start to talk, explaining that you’ve been getting him gifts since you both started dating; but you ran out of ideas on what to give him so you’ve started to give him money when he makes you happy.

“Wow…That’s horrible.” The navigator states, starting to pity Sanji.

“Like a sugar baby?” Your jaw drops slightly at Robin’s comparison and you quickly shake your head.

“A sugar baby!?” You’re shocked but start to think about it. “Wait, is that what he wants?”

“Obviously not!” The navigator snaps at your obliviousness. “He basically collapses the moment a woman does something for him but you’ve just been giving him money?”

“Wouldn’t you like that though?” You point out and she frowns.

“That’s different.” She considers money an okay gift for her, though even she would get annoyed if she had a lover that would only give her money and ignore anything else. “Plus you hardly show him affection, I thought it was just your guys’ thing so I didn’t say anything but you’re clearly bumming him out.”

“I haven’t refused anything from him though, and I don’t get mad at him for flirting with other women.” The navigator sighs, mentally facepalming, this isn’t working out. You’re too oblivious and Sanji’s too much of an idiot to tell anyone something’s wrong, much less a woman he loves. Robin comes up with something.

“Tomorrow you should come to our room at noon. We’ll assist you” You tilt your head, confused, but agree.

That night, Sanji heads to bed still sad and only getting worse. He can’t sleep, he’s been having trouble doing so since that happened. ‘She was there, she must’ve seen.’ An unnatural thing, becoming the same type of monster he always despised. You must’ve fallen out of love with him, that’s it. He can’t blame you, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t digging a hole into his chest. He curls up into a ball on his bed, grasping at the sheets next to him like you’ll be there.

_________________

The next morning goes as it usually does on the Sunny. Sanji wakes up early to make breakfast for everyone and when they wake up it’s time to eat. The difference now is that Sanji seems off, tired, he doesn’t yell at Luffy or Zoro and his happy comments towards Robin and Nami aren’t enthusiastic. When he sets down your plate in front of you you look up at him, trying to scan his face if he’s sick. He awakened late so it would make sense if his Germa genes weren’t as strong, maybe he’s gotten sick? You’re worried and so is everyone else, except Luffy who doesn’t notice until after eating. He almost says something but is promptly elbowed so he keeps shut. He means well but mentioning it right now will make things worse, plus, the girls have a plan.

Afternoon finally strikes and you walk into the shared girls room, they aren’t there. 'Maybe I came too early?’ You think to yourself, checking the time to make sure it’s noon. Suddenly you hear footsteps and the door opens, revealing Robin, Nami, and your boyfriend. They push him inside and he spots you, looking shocked; but before he could ask what’s going on the door closes. He tries the doorknob but it’s locked, switched so the lock is on the outside.

“Don’t even try unlocking the door or breaking it down. You aren’t allowed out until you two communicate.” Nami states and footsteps are heard fading away. You stare at Sanji’s back, his hands on the wooden door. Does he not want to be with you alone with you this much? Usually he’d be excited to have time to spend with you.

“Is something wrong?” You ask him and the cook turns quickly, not prepared for this. He isn’t ready yet! He still needs to prepare his heart for the breakup and practice his apologies for you falling out of love. “Sanji..” You reach a hand out to him and he flinches, pressing his back against the wall like he’s afraid of you. He’s scared to be touched by you, scared that when you feel his skin you’ll retract from fear and disgust from the steel-like flesh. It isn’t right, these misunderstandings cause pain and you bite your bottom lip. What are you doing wrong, what did Nami mean by saying what you were doing was horrible? You step away from him and turn around, the both of you too insecure to speak. Fortunately, being trapped in this room will force you to.

‘She can’t even bear to look at me.’ Negativity clouds his judgment, irrational thoughts filling his mind. “I’m sorry.” An apology, it sounds guilty. This must be a sign.

‘He’s breaking up with me…’ There’s too much stress, him avoiding you, being told something is wrong, and now this breakup. The dam of stone formed by the years of trauma starts to crack, tears dripping from your eyes. Sanji doesn’t see it, but he can hear your shaky breaths. It causes his eyes to widen and his worry for you overpowers his instinct to pull away.

“Mon cœur!?” Your lover walks to you and scans your teary face, his hands cupping your cheeks.

“You don’t have to call me that,” His heart breaks, you’re breaking up with him so he would have to stop calling you that. Your next words confuse him, though. “I know you don’t want to.” …He doesn’t want to? Sanji blinks a few times, why would he ever not want to call his everything what she is?

“What are you talking about? I-”

“Stop forcing yourself!” You yell and he jolts. “It must’ve been hard. Your love for women made you stay with me for so long but I know you don’t love me. Being hesitant about my gifts, not talking to me as much, and you're starting to look tired too.” You step back and put your face in your hands. “You must be staying up late thinking about how you could break up with me.” He stands there, shocked. Him… breaking up with you? The perfect woman completely out of his league? Tears flow from your eyes faster and he tries to make sense of it all, his brain so focused on his own faults that the thought of you being insecure of yours is unable to cross his mind.

“Do you mean the berri you’ve been giving me?” He manages to put together and you nod. He continues to think. “You… it wasn’t payment to you?” He doesn’t know what else to call it so he settles with that word.

“Payment?” You wipe your eyes and sniffle. “Is that why you’ve been staying with m-”

“No, nonono of course not. I thought..” Sanji quickly interrupts you, stopping that thought. This is different from what he thought was going to happen, but it still hurts to speak his mind when it only reminds him of what’s wrong, well what he thinks is wrong. “I thought you were giving me those things as payment because you didn’t want to pay attention to me. So I wouldn’t bother you, that my love was just a transaction.” He says the last part more quietly and your heart drops. This is familiar, you’ve felt this exact way before when you were young. Going to your parents for love and only getting money in return to shut you up and get you away. You start to shake and cry harder.

“I-I, I didn’t know. I’m sorry..!” You’re just like them, but Sanji doesn’t care; hugging you.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault.” He’s already forgiving you and you haven’t even explained anything.

“No, it’s n-not okay.” You say while shaking your head, it’s nerve-wracking to talk about your past but you choose to. For him. “I… I thought I was doing the right thing. That I was different from my parents who would give me things instead of love, I always made sure t-to never tell you to go away or reject you but I ended up making you feel the exact same way I did!” You pull away and cover your face. “I’m horrible!”

‘The same way she did?’ He processes what you said, what’s happening. The struggle of trying so hard to be different from family only to end up like them is something he knows as well. His hand goes to his chest, pressing down and feeling almost completely dense skin instead of the regular squish of flesh; just like his brothers. “You don’t think I’m a monster…” You quickly shake your head. “Why didn’t you say so? Are you sure- I mean you never wanted to be with me!” Whenever he was cooking or if he went shopping you would just give him money and wave him off.

“I..” You think about that, then start to get embarrassed. “I didn’t want to bother you, what if I get overly clingy and get you mad?” Sanji hears this and it’s like weight has been dropped from his heart, but hearing you say this so insecurely still makes him slowly sink to the ground. “Sanji?”

“Bother me.. being clingy.” Gods, he would do anything to have you cling to him when he’s cooking or shopping. “You could never, ever, not in an eternity, ever bother me by being ‘clingy’”

“But don’t you get busy? You work so hard cooking and when you’re out shopping you’re talking with women, wouldn’t I make it awkward if I butted in?” He hangs his head in shame, the few times that you’ve agreed to go shopping he has flirted with other women; but he had assumed you didn’t care. In a way, he would do it on purpose hoping to get a reaction, even looking back at you. Anything to show a sign you loved him, that he wasn’t a toy, but all he was doing was making things worse. This lack of communication was only causing pain to you both. How could he ever make this up to you? He was already unworthy and now he had dared to cause such suffering to the love of his life. “Baby…” You crouch down and cup his face so he’s looking at you, his eyes are teary.

“I hurt you.”

“We ended up hurting each other.” You wipe his tears with your thumbs. “Do you still want to be with me? Even if I've been messing up?”

“I should be the one asking you that, treasure. My love.” Sanji hugs you, pulling you close to him so you’re on his lap. You can feel his hesitance, the fear that you’ll pull away because he’s different now, but you don’t. Instead you press closer to him, lifting your head up to look at him. You don’t really initiate kisses, so you’re nervous as you place your lips on his. He’s only shocked for a moment before he kisses back, resting his hand on the back of your neck. This is the longest series of kisses you’ve had, almost a minute before you have to pull away. “S-Sorry, I’ve gotten better at holding my breath lately.” A bit awkward it’s from something he dislikes, though.

“So I don’t have to worry if I kiss you alot?” You ask and his pupils basically turn to hearts.

“No, you don’t.” Before you two can kiss again there’s the sound of the door unlocking, making you quickly get off of Sanji’s lap as he stands up so Robin and Nami don’t see you in an awkward position. They almost think that nothing has happened but seeing the two of you clearly panicked changes their mind, making Robin smile.

“It went well, then?” Robin chuckles happily as the two of you flush. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

_______________

Sanji hums as he cooks, a good mood from making up with you so amazingly. His ears perk up when he hears you come inside, not needing to look to know it’s you. “I’m almost done, my love.” He states as he expertly flips a steak. You don’t say anything, which confuses him but before he can turn around he feels your arms wrap around him and your body press against his back. His girlfriend, who hasn’t shown real affection until yesterday, is clinging to him while he cooks. Is this a dream?

“Don’t turn around, I’m still a little shy.” You say quietly and it echoes in his mind. Shy… shy… Gods, you’re too cute. His face goes red and he falls to the side, blood seeping from his nose. “Sanji!?” You manage to stop him from slamming fully onto the ground, shaking him. He’s in heaven, this is heaven.

[appllelisa]

i need people to listen to me here

his whole arc was bound for redemption. Was he a good villain ? Fuck yeah he was, and I'll admit I don't like his writing nowadays (although I haven't seen anything but his interlude I haven't even played the recent event so I can't speak much on it, )

But he was bound to redeem himself and it's so SO good that he did, I get why people prefer Scaramouche more than Wanderer cause yeah, villains are sick but he was redemption was a good way to wrap up his arc. He redeemed himself and is now understanding the beauty of humanity and life and HIMSELF, it's a delightful thing ! And even if I'm not the biggest fan of how he's written I can still admit I love his redemption !

People who view Wanderer like this fascinate me. Like how was he supposed to. Stay a villain. Completely ignoring how limiting him to being.. 'psychopathic' (not a big fan of using that word in this context) ignores the nuances of his character, how was he meant to continue being an antagonistic force??? We kinda. Crushed any hope that he had abt being able to ascend to godhood. We took the gnosis from him, then gave it to Dottore, who is part of the Fatui- the organization he BETRAYED. Dottore views Scaramouche's attempt to seize godhood as a fun little experiment, but now that he's seen that he failed, Dottore wouldn't be interested in trying again... We backed Scaramouche into a corner, man. He can't do ANYTHING. He can't go back to the Fatui and his literal only goal for the past 400ish years that he was so close to achieving was smashed in front of his face. He can't go back to that previous ambition either.

That's why I don't understand some people's pushback to him.. accepting Nahida's mercy?? And staying with her in Sumeru?? What else was he supposed to do??? And then it's like. Yeah, of course he's gonna internalize some better behavior because yEAH Nahida is a good influence. She stops him from isolating himself and pushes him into participating in things (like in the Darshan event) to allow things in this world to have meaning to him. So he stays. Because.. this undoubtedly makes him feel better. He's so much gentler to people as Wanderer, and that's because he's learning to once again be gentle with himself. Idk, I've always felt that this was a very natural progression...

[bandtrees]

this has always been one of my favorite lines in this scene it’s so striking to me. i think debating over callum’s level of lucidity and what can or cannot “fix” him is deeply antithecal to what the story is trying to express with him - but the idea that callum is still there and still a person who does have the capacity to love mingus, just not in a way she can ever comprehend or accept, because she can't comprehend or accept anything outside her narrow worldview, is sooooo good.

there is no way of actually knowing if callum is proud of mingus, much less recognizes her at all - but it's added to by the fact there's only so much of that she would accept even if he could. ultimately, she wants validation and power, his prestige, from him, she wants a supportive parental figure she never had - there's only so much of that callum is able to provide even in a world where her stint to fix his memory actually worked. he's like a hundred. he never even MET her. to say nothing of all he's missed in the past fifty-odd years. to say nothing of how his age may have messed with his mind deteriorating even without the pre-existing brain damage.

and mingus' phrasing here implies he doesn't even look at her when she visits - which brings me to the visit that radicalized her: the one after her surgery, where he was watching gingi out the window.

obviously, callum watching gingi is mostly for the thematics of it all, how similar the two of them are in ways mingus refuses to recognize, but theres also the thought of... callum's been sitting alone in that room for over half his life, barely lucid if at all. of course he's going to be drawn to a brightly-colored thing making noises and knocking stuff over outside. if he can't respond to stimuli of the people around him he's at the very least going to latch onto something more visually interesting than Brown Wall and Brown Figure.

but it's not like mingus can think of it like that, because she's internalized so much about her grandfather and built up such a specific, personalized vision of him - she doesn't see him as an elderly man with (a fictional equivalent to) dementia, she sees him as President Callum Crown™, the man she personally has to please and live up to the legacy of and make proud, disregarding the fact that's not something he has the mental capacity to even do - because she's so obsessed with validation and complete control that the only way she can get it is by either subjugating others and forcing it out of them (what she does with her townsfolk), or just completely projecting on someone who, for her purposes, is basically a blank slate.

which is maddening to her in its own way, see how crazy she drives herself trying to restore callum's memory in the first place - but also, would she be happy even if callum could see her for who she is? post-game, when she's working on herself, that's an irrelevant question as she's pushed past that need, but as we know her? absolutely not.

i love the ch3 standoff between norm and mingus as a show of "Okay guys let’s see who can dehumanize this disabled guy harder (via pedestal-putting) and justify themselves for it better" and why i think it is so important that it’s gingi who reads the postcard and ultimately speaks for callum instead of either of them, or even the narrator. they can’t read, and they struggle to, but they manage to get it right even when people are telling them to stop. and the fact they’re able to do it at all, are given the chance to do so, and are ultimately the one to wind down this conflict shows that the world of dialtown, while not perfect, really is how callum would have wanted it.

both gingi and callum are some of the most altruistic and human characters ever, and the crux of their parallels is that they are denied this by close-minded people because they happen to Behave Strangely. it's why seeing mingus act the way she does hits so hard - she loves her paw-paw, yes, but if she were to see him in a vacuum, a one-limbed man who can hardly think, much less speak for himself: or even his younger self, who was struggling to make ends meet with his odd inventions...

...well, the feeling norm's imagining here would probably be mutual. mingus' relationship with bigotry is a very fascinating one, she's very close-minded but views certain oddities (ie her flesh-head) as having earned their place and thus being fine - she's a freak too, by her own admission, but she's doing it for a just and wider purpose, so it's fine. which is, ironically, the ideology callum forced upon himself.

callum was obsessed with helping people, pushing himself to do more and more, because it was the only way he ever found respect. if he didn't help people and have grand visions for the world and make himself "useful" to society at large, then what would he be, if not a freak?

mingus and her paw-paw are very similar people, from their well-intentioned extremism, to their stubbornness and paranoia, to their inability to view themselves as anything more than a vessel for that grand cause they believe in (callum in the dialup, mingus in restoring her paw-paw's memory) - which is funny, because if mingus was able to view callum, and herself, as a flawed human person, she would come to understand how similar they really are.

:(

[leclerc-hs]

me or him? - cl x hs

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader, ex!harry styles x fem!reader Summary: a request from anon, in which your ex (harry styles) shows up to the paddock and brings jealousy to Charles Warnings: some smut, language, bad writing?? Word Count: 1098 Author's Note: You ask and I shall deliver!! Sorry I didn't make Harry as toxic in it, it was hard for me to make him too much of an asshole because he's such a cutie patootie LOL. I really did want to make him more of an asshole. Maybe I'll make another. I hope it's up to your standards for now! I tried my best ❤️ French edits made by @shewantsvengeance!!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

YOU COULDN'T HELP but feel like the universe was playing a twisted joke on you. In what world would Harry Styles be attending a Grand Prix, let alone the Monaco Grand Prix, and to make things even more surreal, he’s in the Ferrari garage. Where you presently stood beside Charles.

To the casual observer, it might not have seemed like anything out of the ordinary. Just another celebrity making a visit to the paddock. But there was a significant detail that set this celebrity apart from the rest: he happened to be your ex-boyfriend.

It was a detail of your past you didn’t get to mention. To be fair, you and Charles were still a relatively new couple, and you hadn’t found the right moment to discuss past relationships with one another just yet. 

“You look so beautiful, ma chérie.” My darling. You both were hidden in the corner as he pecked a gentle kiss onto your lips. Your hands slowly wrap around the back of his neck, a knot formed in your stomach. You needed to give him some warning.

“Cha, I need to tell you this fast. My ex-boyfriend is here.” You whispered it so fast and so low you don’t even know if he heard you correctly.

You and Harry hadn’t parted on bad terms; in fact, your breakup had been quite mutual. However, it was also fair to admit that it was messy in terms of ending up in each other’s bed every so often. But that was before. Before Charles.

“Y/N?” A voice interrupts, and you both quickly separate from each other. You felt like a deer in headlights.

“Harry! How are you doing?” You gave Harry a small, polite hug, still avoiding eye contact with Charles. The thought of his reaction made you nervous, and you couldn’t get yourself to meet his gaze. 

Charles had never exhibited a penchant for possessiveness, or at least, you had not perceived him as such. Nevertheless, in this instant, the proximity of your ex-boyfriend, who gazed at you as if you were the sole focus of this entire room, ignited an uncontrollable urge to clench his fists and drag you someplace else. Somewhere far away from here.

“Doing well,” Harry began, his gaze unwavering on your face. “I thought I’d run into you at the annual Christmas soiree,” he mused with a chuckle, following it with, “I’ve missed you.”

You almost choked on your response.

Charles could sense his frustration intensifying at the undivided attention of Harry seemed to be giving you. Although you continued to avert your gaze from Charles, the vice-like grip of his hand on your hip conveyed an unmistakable message of his discontent.

Harry’s gaze traveled, from your face down your body, following the path of Charles’s hand that had claimed its place. A slight frown forming on his lips.

“Harry, meet Charles, my boyfriend.” You said with a soft smile. Harry extended a hand towards Charles, who, though still visibly tense, accepted the handshake.

Silence filled the space between them, unspoken words hanging in the air. You found yourself ensnared amid an unvoiced rivalry. Harry who struggled to divert his attention from your face for more than a fleeting moment. Charles who wanted to stake claim.

Charles felt increasingly invisible as you and Harry further engaged in conversation. He couldn’t even decipher what you were discussing at this point. His focus had shifted entirely to observing the way Harry was looking at you. Like he wanted you. Like he had no shame.

It made Charles livid.

“Ma chérie, we need to go grab my helmet. I left it in my driver’s room.” Charles cut off the conversation by pulling you away. Not even sparing another glance to Harry. 

You didn’t get to see the expression on Charles’ face as he hurriedly led you into his driver’s room. You didn’t even have a chance to take a single step, as the moment the door was shut, you found yourself pushed up against it and your dress was bunched at your waist.

"You're helmet was literally in the garage Cha," you squealed out.

“Are you trying to drive me insane?” His breath was hot against your ear. You felt goosebumps arise almost instantly at the sound of him shoving his race suit down his legs to free himself. 

“Thinks he can have you back.” He scoffed. “Thinks he can stare at what’s mine.”

He spit directly onto his hand, mimicking the gesture of spitting on the sidewalk. An act of frustration. Almost instantly, he brought his fingers between your fold. “Ma chérie, you’re already so wet.” He hissed as he rubbed his cock through your slick folds.

“Always,” you breathed out heavily as he pushed himself all the way in. “Always for you.” 

His hands were fervent, rubbing and pinching all the right areas to send you quickly towards the edge. 

“Yeah?” He emitted a deep, guttural moan, quickening his rhythm as his hand descended to the spot that you yearned for most. You began nodding your head fervently in response.

Yes. Yes, you’re the only one. You’re the only one I ever want.

“You all wet for him? Hm?” He sneered. “Talking to him got you all hot and bothered?” He was playing with fire.

“No, never,” you were shouting. Needing more. More of him. 

“You’re my little slut, ma chérie?” He groaned in your ear. His hips rapidly picking up the pace. You found yourself utterly incapable of forming a coherent response; the strokes of his cock so deep you were in bliss. Instead, all that escaped your lips were unintelligible groans, a testament to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. “Look at you, so cock dumb. Can’t even speak properly.”

It didn’t take much time at all. Your intense desire for him, your deep connection, it all culminated in a swift and intense climax. Him, lost in the same ecstasy as he quickly finishes all over your backside. Dragging his heavy cock over your ass to smear his cum into you.

After a few moments of heavy panting and the gradual return of normal breathing, you finally turned to meet Charles’ gaze. His countenance bore a mix of elation and something more complex, not quite sadness, but perhaps a touch of insecurity.

“Cha, you’re the only one I want.” You confirmed the phrase with a firm kiss to his lips. You felt him smile into it. His hands squeezing any area of your body he grabs onto. As if you would wither into thin air if he didn’t. 

“You’re stuck with me, ma chérie.” He pulled away. “I’m never letting you go.”

[rarastmblr]

“Minamoto Teru”

The Perfect Boy — Minamoto Teru

He's smart. Always perfect and answering correctly in academics.

Tests? Perfect. Quizzes? Perfect. Recitation? Perfect.

You can't help but be so grateful when he helps you out and tutors you in subjects that you're having a hard time with.

He's handsome, attractive. No wonder he has so many fans. I mean, who could resist such a handsome face?

His hair; Every strand was so soft to the touch that it felt like a gentle caress. You couldn't take your eyes off it and feel nothing but adoration for the golden hue that filled your vision.

The blonde tresses captivated your soul and forever imprinted itself inside your heart.

His eyes; The blue eyes sparkled like pools of sapphire, reflecting the sun in all of its brilliance. Every time you looked at them, there was a feeling of admiration and profound joy that you couldn't quite explain.

He is invested in his interests and engaging in conversation with him allows one to appreciate his positive outlook on life.

He takes action to bring his goals and dreams to fruition, and is resilient and self-sufficient in the face of adversity and challenge.

He has the poise and class to graciously accept every experience. He is encouraging and motivating of the people he loves and engages with.

He's kind. Some think that he's cruel when he rejects the confessions of the girls who have a crush on him.

But he isn't, not at all. He's not cruel, just straightforward but in a way you'll understand and not hate him for it. He'll apologize and then reject you.

He is caring, tender. He is honest about his feelings and empathizes with the struggles of his friends.

There's a reason to why you love Minamoto Teru but you can't seem to answer such a question when you are actually asked why.

It's because you can't pick which of the many things that Minamoto Teru has that makes you love him so much.

You watch him as he reads the contents of your love letter about your love for him.

As he finishes reading, he gives you a smile. You can't tell whether it's a smile of pity or if it's a sign that he accepts your love.

“I'm sorry—”

The first two words were enough for you to know what his response was.

That had happened years ago, if your memory was correct, maybe when you guys were still first years.

Ever since the confession, you guys have grown distant. From the occasional greetings in the halls to only pass by each other without making any eye contact.

You admit the sudden distance between your relationship was your fault. A day after the confession you were the one who would hide away from him out of embarrassment because you got rejected.

You avoided him like a plague.

Even when your classmates had told you that Teru was looking for you because he wanted to catch up with you and other things, you wouldn't go.

Even if it was Minamoto Teru himself who would walk towards you and try his best to start a conversation, you'd somehow be able to slip away from him.

Now, in second year, Minamoto Teru is still the perfect boy that you always admired ever since you guys first met.

I think back to when we were so close and I would wonder. What would have happened to us if the confession never happened. Would we have been more closer than we already were?

As the both of you pass by each other, a pair of blue eyes look back at the back of your figure. Once? No. Twice.

Unfortunately, you took no notice of the longing gaze.

A/n: This isn't really a long fic, I'm so sorry 🥹. I'm just adding plot to the reader and Teru's relationship. Man I'm a sucker for when the relationship has something like a distance and the guy is the one who is desperate to mend the relationship together again. Also I think I didn't really mention supernaturals/apparitions here 🫣 woopsy.

[works-of-heart]

why do you ship elucien? im not trying to be rude its just genuine curiosity. to me elriel seems to be obviously canon and the author is writing them in a way that you'd genuinely find in romance with a very common misunderstanding trope. there have been so many hints to elriel being canon such as Azriel's mother being from Rosehall and the rose Symbolism with Elain. Given that Elain has shown nothing but contempt for Lucien, I just can't wrap my mind around why people will ship elucien and not elriel which appears to me to be endgame.

I don't mean any hate. I just can't understand why people would set themselves up for failure shipping a noncanon/fanon couple. I see so much in this fandom over the shipwars and wonder why the wars even exist. If elriel is canoon why do eluciens fight so hard against it? shouldnt we all be adults and accept it instead of flinging insults back and forth to each other? Not saying that you are but I see so many people go back and forth with these insults and it gets so annoying i thought we were all adults here. either way i hope you have a good day

Hi Anon! I appreciate the question, and the chance to gush about why I love Elucien.

First, however, let me start by saying anyone can ship anything and anyone they please regardless of canon or endgame. Shipping comes from the heart, it’s a feeling. Many people think of possibilities that two characters could have, or see their chemistry and enjoy it. For others, it’s the angst and connections that they have. A common trope is enemies to lovers, and that doesn’t always start off with a lovey dovey spark, but the tension and angst.

I feel that a common belief in fandoms now these days are that ships are only valid if they are canon or not, or, even more so, if they are endgame. A ships validity isn’t based off any of these factors, but how you feel about them. Crackships can sometimes evolve from a joke or meme, but then people sit down and actually find they love the idea of them and go onto creating some really awesome things for the ship! Even if it started as a joke, some may derive joy from it.

So you ship Elriel (I am assuming by context) and I ship Elucien. At the end of the day, one of them will be canonically endgame, but that does not mean people can’t still ship them. I promise, no matter what the book ends up to be, people will STILL ship who they want to, and that’s totally fine. Shipping wars have existed forever, genuinely someone will argue that one pair is better suited than their counterpart. I can understand that Elain gave Azriel some charged looks, I can see that she wanted to kiss him, and I understand why some other Elriel shippers like them. To be honest, I’ve shipped many a brooding boy with the sweet, energetic girl. The biggest example is Jin and Xiaoyu from Tekken who finally, after 25 years of teasing and build up became canonical endgame. Then there is Squall and Selphie from FF8, who did not become endgame, but I still ship them and love them.

We can all debate why we think one will be endgame over the other, some can concede and at least understand why people feel that way, others will choose to agree to disagree and stick to their grounds. One of the things I, as an Elucien hate about it is when an Elriel will call me, or my fellow Eluciens delusional for shipping a mated pair. For not seeing that Sarah is setting us up for failure when she’s played this game before. Girl likes guy, girl thinks she’s found her home, girl finds another guy whom she avoids who happens to be her mate and fights against fate. Girl spends time with guy she avoided to realize he is her equal, that he is a good male, that together they are a good fit. Girl struggles with her feelings and eventually chooses her mate who lifts her up and the two are happy in love. To be called delusional for seeing such connections and ship a pair that the author herself mated is very annoying. You do not have to agree with me, that is fine, but it does not make my ship any less valid.

Now, as to WHY I like Elucien? There are just… WAY too many reasons to list them all and this would be dreadfully long if I list everything. So I’ll name some of my top reasons.

Lucien and Elain are both underestimated. People brush off Lucien as someone who isn’t a Highlord, nor illyrian, so obviously he’s not as strong as Rhys as the Inner Circle. Elain is constantly talked down as plain, simple, peaceful and uninteresting. We haven’t been able to see Elain use her seer powers since Lucien last tugged on the bond, and with Lucien’s hinted heritage, I think we’re going to see these two show off a different kind of power.

The tension! There’s so much tension between Lucien and Elain, tension that we don’t have a full picture of. It’s clear that Elain is fighting against the bond, and Lucien, the man who promised to never love another, is now faced with a mate he believes does not want him. He’s dealing with the guilt of Jesminda while Elain is avoiding the bond. When both are faced with what the mother gifted them, finding the reason why they’re mates will be an emotional journey!

Home. People say that Elain belongs in the NC with her family, she even stated it too. However SJM seems to be showing that Elain might be a bit like Feyre in the way Feyre once claimed the SC was her home. There was a line about how the big poofy dress looked ridiculous on Feyre and how at odds she was with the place she once called home, with a man she once said she loved and made love to. The context of the book tells us that Elain is not where she’s meant to be, in fact, it was said over and over she was made for spring, she’d love spring, and her mate is currently there. I think these two are going to realize home is not a place, it is a feeling they get when they’re together.

Their potential. SJM said that Elain surprised both Lucien AND herself! There had to have been something that she saw between them when writing MAF that made her say “Yes, Mate these two instantly! Not only that, make it snap now!” Seeing that Elain is a gentle soul and Lucien is someone whose a bit of a smart ass, I’d love to see these two together. Elain would be the type of person to put him in his place, and Lucien wouldn’t baby her either, unlike how everyone else treats her! Their dynamic would be a treat to see on page.

There’s so much more to say about them, and I could go on and on! We have tension, and the possible healing and growth that was hinted at, the fact Lucien ventured with Papa A. and Elain was closest to him. There’s also the fact that Elain holds hope, she is light and warmth and Lucien who seems so hopeless, could find that in her. Elain craves light and sunshine, Lucien being the heir of Day, to having a blinding white light himself. The way when Lucien interacts with her, her powers activate. Not to mention the similarities between Solas and Cthona, Crescent City deities who are mates and lovers.

So to answer Anon, there are many reasons I love Elucien, and I will continue to ship them long after the series is over. Whether or not they’re in love right now, before either of them have a book has no bearing on their validity as a ship, or their possibility in their book. I think you’d find it easier to just let people have their ships and enjoy what they wish in peace rather than trying to tell others they can or cannot ship based off what the books tell us right now. Because as we all know from ACOTAR and ACOMAF, it doesn’t matter who you love at the start, not when you find home with your mate.

[juuuulez]

WE NEED MORE CARL JERKING KFF HEDCANNONS PLSSS

can’t believe i’ve just done a carl grimes jerking off trilogy…….but i have no regrets

once again, turned this one into a small oneshot, with x reader!!! soooo enjoy (also could definitely be read as same reader from capulet)

NSFW under the cut, all characters depicted are 18+, MDNI.

Due to your relationship being secret, yourself and Carl often had to go outside the compounds of both Alexandria and the Sanctuary to truly enjoy each others company.

Because of this, you two struggled to be intimate with each-other, as the time and place was never right. It was always too dangerous, or there wasn’t enough time.

Usually, you’d meet in the woods. It was like a fun game, stalking around the trees, careful not to make any noise. Whoever saw the other first got to lunge, try and capture their prey.

The two of you would roll through the twigs and grass, fighting to see who could pin the other down, prevail as the strongest. It didn’t really matter, except for bragging rights, until your next scheduled tousle.

You’d ended up near a fallen tree, Carl still squirming on the floor as he attempts to get you off him, but you’re determined to stand your ground. You snake your hands up his arms, using all your strength to pin his wrists above his head.

That’s it, he’s lost. As such, he accepts his punishment (or reward, for feeding your ego?), letting your mouth come down onto his to capture it in a hot kiss.

It’s heated, feverish from the start, licking into Carl’s mouth, your tongues swirling together in a mess of teeth and spit. It’s always like this, as if it’s the last time you’ll ever see each-other, that this moment will cease to exist ever again.

You take mercy on him, releasing his wrists from your grip, allowing him to grab onto the flesh of your hips. Now, you can snake one hand into his hair, the other gripping just below his jaw.

Wanting to shift into a better position, one where you can feel him under you, you sit up. Eager to keep your lips connected, Carl follows, shifting backwards enough so that he’s leaning against the fallen tree, with you seated on his lap.

A steady rhythm grows, arms tangled around each-other, holding on like a lifeline. You develop a slight motion of rocking against him, the movement encouraging your heated makeout session, Carl palming your ass over the thick fabric of your jeans.

Eventually, breathless, you pull away. It calms down, transitioning into something softer, peaceful. You kiss over Carl’s face, lips dancing on his cheeks, forehead, nose. In turn, he tilts his head back, resting against the tree while you adorn his body with your love.

Deciding you’ve spent too long here, guards down, you begin to stand. Carl’s hands fall from your hips, his back straightening again, eyes downcast.

You follow his gaze, a small grin spreading on your face. “My poor boy.” You coo, leaning back in to kiss at Carl’s cheek, an embarrassed blush spreading across his pale skin.

There was an obvious tent in his jeans, arousal having developed over the course of your making out and heavy petting. It was impossible to miss, and you openly acknowledging it caused Carl to squirm at the attention.

When you reach down, letting your palm ghost over the bulge, his breath hitches. “You don’t have to. It’ll go away.” He assure you, that nervous glint in his eye. So cute.

“No, no, I want to.” You tell him, one hand settling on Carl’s hip, the other working at his belt buckle. He calms down a little at this, leaning back against the tree, submitting to your actions. Yet, he’s still watching you observantly, wanting to gauge your every reaction.

His cock is half-hard in your palm, slender and pale as the rest of him. You give it a few slow, leisurely strokes, savouring the way it hardens under your touches, growing to its full length. The tip reddens, a pinkish hue enveloping the head of his dick, appearing strained just from the slightest ministrations.

Carl let’s out a soft moan, causing your gaze to flicker up to him. In response, he clamps his teeth down on his bottom lip, silencing any other reactions. But your smile is sweet and caring, despite how you’re currently jerking him off, leaning in to continue kissing over his cheek, then down to his neck.

“It’s okay, baby. Let me hear you. It’s just us.”

It’s impossible to resist, causing Carl to grip onto your arm, his other hand fisting the leaves and dirt as he pants heavily next to your ear. You practically thrive off his reactions, learning exactly what makes him feel good, trying to wring as much pleasure from the boy.

When you squeeze over the head, his legs jolt upwards, body curling inwards, towards you. You continue the motion, running your thumb over his throbbing tip, watching as Carl drops his head onto your shoulder with a needy moan.

It’s perfect, so perfect.

You continue to pleasure him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear as you twist your hand over Carl’s cock, over and over, manipulating your actions as he nears the edge. Faster, tighter, and then you’re putting a firm pressure on the swollen head, nibbling on his neck, as sticky streams of white finally spill onto your enclosed fist.

“Good boy.” You whisper, continuing to milk out his orgasm as you nurse Carl’s softening cock, careful not to let it brush against the rough fabric of his jeans.

With a sultry grin, you bring your hand up, watching his wrecked face as you lick the substance from your palm. It’s salty, coating your tongue and lingering on your tastebuds, leaving the hand shiny with saliva.

The lewd act causes Carl to gasp, eyes blown wide as he watches you, absorbed by this side he’s never seen before. His body still tingles from the aftershocks, and when you lean forward to kiss him again, he can already feel himself returning to attention.

He’ll never jerk off alone again.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I was thinking about killer and his emotionlessness in st2. And people struggling to portray that in writing (for those who wanna portray it), but based off some personal experiences I won’t go into specifically, maybe here’s some ideas for anyone who needs them.

Maybe write his emotionlessness aspects as a firm belief, integral to his sense of self. Write it as a deeply ingrained coping mechanism that was only encouraged and reinforced by the people around him, who wanted him to be and behave that way because it meant they got what they wanted from him—consistently shamed or invalidated or worse if he showed an emotion that wasn’t wanted.

He has detached from himself, the body, his surroundings; most things don’t feel or seem real, including himself.

because killer thinks of himself as emotionless, and he very likely doesn’t feel some emotions such as guilt or remorse or even love in an emotional way and struggles with empathy which are things trauma can absolutely cause, its also important to keep in mind that it is abuse and trauma that has caused this.

Trauma and abuse has led him to dissociating and numbness, repeated everyday violence and murder and abuse has been completely normalized and accepted as a part of his existence.

His apathy is a result of all of this, constantly being pushed to his limits emotionally, physically, and mentally over and over.

Due to the circumstances of his world, the abilities of Resetting and the like, even death has become the norm. Both of himself and others. He is surrounded by so much of it that it no longer means anything to him.

His thoughts of things being ultimately meaningless, his knowledge of the Players making him believe that no one really has free will in the end. It all only makes him disconnect from himself and his body.

However. Just because killer does not believe himself capable of emotion, does not mean he isnt expressing any. His body can still react to things—crying when stressed, flinching and wincing in pain—even if Killer himself just doesn’t understand stress or enjoys his own pain. Especially if the pain wasn’t “that bad” in his eyes.

You can write it as if Killer believes his body sometimes does things on its own without his say so. Grabbing things without his awareness to fidget with because he needs stimulation, attempting to stab someone if even being touched causes his body to react negatively, as if the touch was painful or frightening. Constant fidgeting and shifting, and getting frustrated about why it can’t just stay still.

(He might eventually face a bit of resigned acceptance to this, eventually just having to accept that the body apparently needs to do these things. And no matter how hard he or anyone else tries to get it to stop, it’s impossible, and likely to just make the fidgeting ‘worse’.)

If his body cries from stress, he’d probably be extremely confused; steadfast believing he doesn’t feel anything, and just wipes it away—perhaps dissociating even further or getting frustrated, because he doesn’t believe thats something he’d do.

Experiencing cognitive dissonance, because the action of crying suggests something’s wrong but he feels..nothing. Neutral, as he always does. Or if hes physically hurt during a mission, his body could be crying from the physical sensations and yet killer is mentally riding the high of “finally” experiencing emotion.

If someone is berating him or verbally abusing him, he might be confused by the body’s tears because there is no physical harm. He doesn’t feel offended or hurt by what this person is saying to him, so why would he cry. He doesn’t think it’s logical, and thus will rationalize it away as just something up with the body.

He might look back during his moments in Stage 1–happiness, fear, guilt—with either a sense of detached confusion or maybe amusement, believing that other side of him to have been rather dramatic. Maybe he’s even curious about why the world seems so much brighter when someone like Color is around.

Because killer doesn’t connect the body to himself in his mind, he probably has a hard time visualizing it or showing any care for it beyond making sure it’s functioning and still useful. And he doesn’t really feel any empathy for it either.

It is also very possible to have people react to the way he doesn’t react—such as simply standing and quietly watching whenever nightmare punishes someone in the gang, not seeming bothered by it at all, as opposed to anyone else who is witnessing. This can be compounded by any signs of dismissiveness and downplaying what happened.

You can have people treat him differently, react to him differently, either being disturbed/uneasy by his appearing to not have any emotions—no anger, fear, hatred, disgust—in situations they feel he should.

Appearing unbothered or unphased by things said or done to himself or others as if they don’t matter—either because it is normal for him, or because he is so commonly dissociated that no one notices that he dissociated in these moments.

Others may even be outraged and offended by his apparent lack of concern or compassion, and even more may interpret him as being arrogant. Others may make it a personal thing to try and provoke from what they believe an appropriate response to be from him. (They’ll probably end up being killed or mortally wounded in this case.)

Writing people’s reactions to him and his lack of reactions, besides those big dead black eyes and empty grin, will definitely help set him apart from others around him.

He will likely struggle to accept the idea that he can feel genuine emotions; and may outright reject or rationalize/intellectualize away anything that contradicts this belief of his. He may avoid anything or anyone that provokes reactions he doesn’t understand—as a form of self protection. Especially if someone or something has convinced him that his emotions are inconvenient, useless, weak, or dangerous.

It’s also quite possible that hed be reluctant to acknowledge his body’s needs or emotions, to let it “speak” in a way, uncertain of how it will react or what it will make him do. Especially if his body has destructive breakdowns when repressed stress and pain catch up to him, and it makes him feel out of control.

Automatic responses like sweating, shaking, changes in breathing, temperature fluctuations; all are likely to be observed in a detached way and not really linked to any specific emotional state. Insomia, changes in eating habits, and chronic pain are likely to be some biggies for him.

He probably doesn’t actually know why his body appears to be in so much pain—besides the amount of DT accumulation and the history of physical trauma—but he’s more likely to take some twisted glee in being able to feel it than care about where its coming from or why.

He’s probably also likely to have a decreased immune system and might be prone to sickness, due to the results of chronic stress and the results of repressing it all; but he’ll probably over intellectualize it away.

Another form of self protection for him could be his typical silly, dumb, hyperactive facade being a deliberate choice on his end. Because it not only leads to people overlooking or underestimating him, it protects him by keeping people away.

If he pretends to feel what others seem to want him to feel in certain situations, they’re less likely to start pestering him and trying to provoke reactions from him. It also helps keeping people entertained, makes him seem unpredictable, and most of all, doesn’t allow anyone to look at him and find him lacking. Find him boring. Enough to potentially get rid of him, or replace him.

He may not may not actually care about others’ opinions of him—praise or criticism—but people sure seem to want him to, so he’ll pretend to if it’s beneficial.

[eyeliveinabook]

Your apartment is haunted

You never really thought anything of it, after seeing the ghost for the first time and doing some research you learn that the ghost that haunts your apartment is the same age as you. That kept you up at night sometimes feeling bad for the ghost to be stuck here, so you developed a routine with the ghost. You would write a question for him on your white board and he would respond. Sometimes they where dumb question like what his favorite animal was or they would be serious like what was his job when he was alive. Most of the time he would write the answer back to while you where at work, or in the shower. He never answered them directly in front of you. Until one night you are watching Fifty Shades Freed and you hear the marker moving on the white board, pausing the movie you go to your dinning room table and see one simple question

Have you ever had sex before?

You blush at the idea, no you are still a virgin.

"That's a pretty personal question to ask." You say erasing the board. when you turn you here the marker moving again. When you turn around there is a new statement.

Didn't answer my question sweetheart.

"I am not going to answer it, I don't have to." You say out loud, as you are walking back to the couch you notice what feels like cold hands touching you, rubbing your shoulders and neck. You stop enjoying the sensation not noticing that the sensations start sliding down your arms until you feel silk tie your arms behind you back. It's not uncomfortable just a bit of an odd sensation. When you try to look to see what color the silk is you don't see anything.

Suddenly your shirt is pulled up exposing your breasts, you feel the hands play with your pierced nipples. Pulling at the jewelry and twisting it gently. Then you feel some harsh slaps. You can't stop the moan that comes out of your mouth. You can feel your wetness growing between your legs.

Then you feel pressure on your shoulders like someone is pushing you down, You get on your knees and feel something hard pushing it way into your mouth. You gladly accept, wondering how big the ghost's dick is. Thankfully it fits in your mouth with just the tip barely poking at the back of your throat. You brace yourself and start breathing through your nose only while the ghost rams into your mouth. You keep thinking about if someone was to see you they would assume you where crazy or just really horny. You then start to wonder if the ghost is going to force itself on you. You know that the thought should terrify you but it doesn't instead it only makes you even more wet.

You feel drool running down your chin and start making gagging noises hoping that he will take the hint and stop...he doesn't.

After a few more minutes of this a warm sensation enters your mouth and you struggle to swallow all of it. But you enjoy it, does that make you a slut? A slut that enjoy's ghost cum. It doesn't taste like anything, while you pounder what the real thing will taste like the ghost unties your hands and puts you on all fours.

You feel your pajama bottoms being pulled down, then you feel a cold muscle feeling its way through your panties. It circles your clit numerous times and plays at your entrance. Soon your panties are moved to the side and you feel this cold wet muscle again, but this time it goes straight for your wet hole. It circles it like it did with your clit then goes in. Once inside it keeps going in and out, you are a moaning mess. Then you feel a finger playing with your clit. You feel like you are on cloud nine.

"Please don't stop, Please, please, please." You beg. Feeling close to your end. "Oh god I am so close please don't stop." You can't believe how slutty you sound begging a ghost to keep tongue fucking you and playing with your clit. Finally you hit your high and it takes everything in you not to scream.

Before you head can even begin to clear you feel another muscle at your entrance.

"Wait please!" You say, the ghost ignores your whimpering beg and rubs your clit with it's dick. You so sensitive you try moving away but you quickly get a smack on the ass a few times. You stay put and let the ghost keeps humping your pussy. Finally you can't take it anymore.

"Please I'll let you do anything just fuck me already!" You scream at it.

Suddenly there is a knock at the door and everything just stops.

[vegasthehedgehog]

Kiyoi

There is something about the way Kiyoi has always been independent, aggressive, and often following the "I don't need anyone" archetype . This shows that he doesn't know what healthy relationships look like or why they matter. He never had anyone he felt he could rely on. He did not even want his friends to know what his dream was or that he took the idol thing seriously. He did not have anyone he thought would be his support if he failed and most likely assumed he would lose the artificial friendships that he did have if he showed his real self to them. His whole demeaner screams lonely, hurt, and scared.

Kiyoi has always been so sure that nobody is around him for any reason other than to use him. He does not think anyone takes him seriously. He doesn't trust that anyone could ever be sincere. That is why when Hira comes into the picture, he doesn't trust him. He seems to see it as a way to go from being used to using someone. He never truly accepted that Hira truly just wanted to be around him because of him. This is most likely why they parted ways like they did.

This has been on my mind because of the development we see later on. It becomes even more clear that Kiyoi does not want to be aggressive or the one to make the choice. He has always wanted someone to prove they take him seriously, that they want him, that they love him unconditionally.

We see Kiyoi struggle to open up and communicate and how hard it is for him. We see his tendency to flee when he is scared or hurt. We see there communication suffer because of misunderstandings. But most of all we see them fight for each other even well fighting against each other.

This leads me into the bathtub scene. Kiyoi is no longer this mean aggressive man that we once saw but instead someone who is quietly asking Hira to give him more physical attention. This is a big deal because we start out with him physically throwing Hira to the ground but now we are here.

I am leaving so so so so much out but this show really took over my brain and I don't have anyone to talk to about it. Its been a while since I watched it and these scenes still live rent free in my head.

[amywritesthings]

SEEING YOU, SEEING ME (4/7)

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.7K

Summary: After handling a life-or-death favor for Tess, you're in deep shit. Until she can make things right, she suggests you lay low at her place for the week. The issue? It's also Joel Miller's place, and you're pretty sure he hates you.

Warnings: 18+! No Minors! Pre-TLOU, One Bed Trope, Masturbation, Sexual Tension, Manhandling, Light sadism, Touch Starved!Joel, Mentions of death and violence, Age gap/difference, Slow burn, Semi-Enemies to Fuckers, Alcoholism

( Read on AO3 )

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CHAPTER 4: CAN'T QUIT YOU, BABY

Joel has been gone for hours.

You’ve laid in his bed this entire time, thinking.

You shouldn’t; this new world can’t afford daydreaming, that much you’ve learned the hard way. Breathing, eating, surviving — those are the only important pieces of the puzzle they call enduring, but you can’t find a reason to want to eat right now and the image marinating in your head is making it a little tough to breathe.

Because you can’t stop thinking about him. Joel, Joel fucking Miller, and the way he stared down at your lips in plain sight. The way you witnessed a momentary lapse of judgment in real time, making him just as human as you. The way his fist curled white-knuckle tight when you toed the line of a conversation better suited past midnight.

You came here forty-something hours ago thinking Joel Miller hated you.

He may be disinterested or, God forbid, indifferent, but he doesn’t hate you.

You’re now not sure what is worse.

Because you certainly don’t hate him.

The opposite — you smell him on these sheets, these pillow cases, and if you shut your eyes hard enough, then you can see him: Joel staring from the other end of the table — staring at you — like he’s seen you this whole time.

Before you’ve realized, your fingers have unbuttoned your worn denim jeans and found their way slipping under the waistband, seeking relief.

You shouldn’t, but you can’t help it.

You shouldn’t, but it’ll be quick.

(You’re already halfway there.)

The second your fingers touch your clit, an audible gasp leaves your mouth. Electric; you waste no time getting to it, circles tight and deliberate. Brutal.

Exactly how you think he’d do it if he were here, staring down at you, wanting to take everything from you and then some. He’d be merciless, accepting nothing less than driving you past the point of pleasure and pain.

Maybe he’d hold you down.

Maybe he’d put his hand over your neck.

(Maybe I can make you feel alive, darlin’.)

The imaginary baritone voice in your head causes the orgasm to crash like the wave of a cresting hurricane, and your back involuntarily arches off the mattress. The world — the quarantine zone, the apocalypse, the end of times — disappears in a blissful blank space.

A space filled with the scent of him where you can drown.

It feels like minutes pass where you linger in the aftermath, muscles melting the stress of the week away.

Click.

And just like that, the bliss is gone as the front door of the apartment swings open.

Ripping your hand from your jeans, you scramble to sit at the head of the bed and out of view. Joel’s heavy boots glide through the threshold of the house, locking the door behind him.

“You still in bed?” he muses, calling from the living room.

You frantically re-button your pants, struggling to find your voice.

“Hey!” you call, uncharacteristically chipper and out of breath. “Hi, sorry, I took a nap.”

By the time you’re fussing with your mangled hair, Joel’s already in view. He leans forward against the divider, watching you, forearm raised over his head and pressed into the trim. His other hand finds its way to his hip.

“A nap?” he repeats with a hint of surprise.

“Can’t really afford them most days,” you reply, belated glancing up at him. “I thought rather than snooping, it might be productive to get some shut eye.”

He considers it for a beat, nodding to himself before raising a brow: sure, whatever. Joel’s hand gently opens and taps at the wall.

“Gonna make some dinner in a bit if you’re interested.”

“It’s already dinnertime?”

That raised brow drops to knit with the other. “How long were you out? Sounds like one hell of a nap.”

The guilt pools in the pit of your stomach.

“I’d love dinner,” you swerve, nodding eagerly. “Thank you.”

Joel lingers, thinking about something he isn’t saying out loud, and taps his fingers one final time. That hand pushes him from the wall and towards the kitchen where he begins prepping for dinner, leaving you still in his bed.

Eventually you leave the mattress to join him in the conjoined kitchen and living room.

For most of the night, you say nothing.

Waiting.

For food, for nightfall, for another day where Tess isn’t coming home and you’re stuck with these parasitic thoughts of the older man generous enough to share his food.

Now it isn’t just the dim light that he’s attractive in: it’s every fucking angle, every goddamn sound, every single movement.

(So this is what it’s like to feel.)

Dinner is relatively silent. The scrape of forks to ceramic fill the apartment once again, and he’s already positioned his glass container of whiskey in the center of the table.

Something of a nightly ritual for the smuggler.

He’s already working on his second glass, as are you. The combination of surviving on little food and the haze of the alcohol brings an idea to mind. 

“Does the radio work?” you ask out of nowhere, surprising yourself with the intrusive thought out loud.

Joel, nearly finished with his rationed portion, looks up with suspicion.

“The radio?” he repeats.

“Yeah,” you answer dumbly. “For music. Jeanine in the south quadrant has a radio station.”

“Does she?”

“You didn’t know that?” 

“You think I talk to Jeanine in the south quadrant?”

“Fair point,” you reply. “But yeah. She’s figured out the whole radio thing and I thought… since you had music the first night I got here—”

“Sure.”

Your voice dies on your tongue with Joel’s flippant agreement.

(You expected a flat-out no.)

Sliding out of your dining table chair, you cross the room and pointedly avoid the Top 100 book still sitting where you last left it. Crouching over the fragile relic of a box, you meddle with the dials for a few minutes until a familiar voice croons from the station.

It’s Led Zeppelin’s I Can’t Quit You, Baby clear over the radio waves.

Right at the beginning, too, bringing a large smile to your face.

“Fuck, I missed this song.”

It’s under his breath, but there’s a chuckle from Joel somewhere in the middle of the room.

“Have you ever heard of Led Zeppelin?” you ask over your shoulder.

“Have I ever heard—” The audacity of the baited question switches up his typical monotone approach. “Kid, I grew up listening to this. Don’t talk to me about Zeppelin like I don’t know ‘em.”

“So did I,” you supply in a sing-song, standing up straight. “See? Not so different.”

Joel sours, crossing his arms over his chest. You turn to face him, slowly moving your shoulders to the beat of the bass. “I’m sure you never saw them play live, though.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah. Final tour of ‘77. I was eleven.”

“Shut up.”

“I did. They came to Houston.”

“Shit, you really are old,” you tease, scrunching your nose as you sway. You're met with a large roll of his eyes in return. “You're lucky. I never got to go to a concert before all this.”

“Damn shame.”

“I know,” you agree, "but I’ve seen photographs in books. Richie Thompson, you know him?”

“Sure.”

“He was somehow able to keep old photographs he took twenty years ago at a… festival? He showed me them a few years back. They were sick.”

“I can only imagine.” Joel’s scowl returns slowly as the sway of your shoulders begin to influence the rest of your body. Your torso twists with them, slowed in your impromptu dance as your head moves in time to the guitar solo. The older man clears his throat. “What’re you doing?”

“What am I doing?” you repeat, raising your hands with your pointer fingers up. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Don’t know,” he bluntly responds. “S’why I asked.”

“Pretty sure it’s called dancing, Miller.”

“Dancing?”

“Yeah.” You curl your fingers, one then the other, to the rhythm and make small steps towards the sitting man. “Danc-ing. Oughta try it sometime.”

“I don’t— Wait.”

Yeah.

You should wait.

Because your hand has found its way playfully to the shoulder of his denim shirt, suggesting he stand with you. You begin to crouch towards him, grinning ear to ear. Your hips wiggle behind you as you bend closer to him with tipsy abandon, and Joel’s eyes dart from your face to behind your ear.

The chair scrapes in a screech against the floor.

Joel stands tall, assertive, and drags you into him by your right elbow.

“Stop.”

You freeze in your sway at the growl in his voice.

The flat of his palm curls around your waist, forcibly keeping you close. He steps a boot into the space between your feet.

Suddenly Joel Miller is crowding you, hovering there, and you lose your breath.

“Did I do something?” you ask despite yourself, but you don’t recognize your voice. It’s small, needy, and it flickers an emotion across the tired lines of his face. In this proximity, the warmth of him radiates through his denim shirt. “I’m sor—”

When you lift your chin to meet his eyes, your head juts back to avoid going nose to nose with him. From here you see every single tired line, every single scar, every twitch in his face. Joel is on top of you, zero to sixty, and hasn’t moved yet.

Fuck.

You eyes round at the implication, but Joel doesn’t notice.

Not when he’s too busy staring at your lips.

And it stays that way for a minute.

“I can’t do this.”

He finally speaks, but he doesn’t move away. From beneath him, you can taste the whiskey on his breath.

“Okay,” you agree with an unconvincing nod.

(Do what? is a question you won’t ask.)

Joel’s hand squeezes your waist with purpose, jolting your body as he lulls in closer. 

“Had too much to drink.”

You nod again, but say nothing to his statement. Wouldn't dare; not when he's so close that you'll brush his lips if you try.

(He’s barely touched his second drink.)

The hand at your waist and the combination of his forward foot push you sidelong, a half-hearted sway, then directly backwards — a second step, a third — until you're both walking past the threshold of the living room of this open-space apartment—

Right into the makeshift bedroom.

Joel takes the lead with hesitant precision and you allow him, heart pounding in your ears.

Then the possessive hand on your waist twists and pushes, abruptly spinning you around. Your hands collide with something cold, flat, to steady your legs.

The wall.

The only divider skewing the view of the bedroom from the front door.

Joel is warm and solid behind you, broad chest pressing you into the flower-scattered wallpaper with purpose. You glide your cheek against the wall where the paper chips and ebbs on your lips, nose, until it presses to your forehead.

His large hands raise to encase yours, pinning your palms to the surface.

“M’not a good man,” he admits against the shell of your earlobe, and you want to outright moan. From this proximity, the baritone southern drawl vibrates through your head and shoots straight down. “I’ve done things—”

“Everyone’s done things,” you tell him weakly, cutting off his confession.

“Not like me,” he assures, hawkish nose nuzzling the hair at the nape of your neck.

You lean back, using both pressed palms as leverage to arch your hips into the crotch of his jeans. The strained sound that falls from his lips is deliciously sinful.

Only a thread away from snapping.

Your head drops back to his shoulder just enough to breathe to the ceiling. His salt and pepper beard tickles your skin. “You don't scare me, Miller.”

“I should.” His lips hover along your neck, tickling with ever labored breath. “Ain't got nothing to lose at my age, but you—”

Of course.

Of course this is what it boils down to.

Anger bubbles in your belly, twisting the arousal. Joel’s grip on your hands loosen, offering an opportunity to counterstrike: you rip them from the wall, left then right, and spin before he can stop you — and he does try, yet it's too late by the time he slams you back into the wall, now face to face. Your hands find their way to the pockets of his denim button-down, angling a forearm barrier between you.

The way Joel Miller’s eyes have blackened since you last saw them is downright wicked.

You blow some hair from your flushed face, chest rising and falling with anger. 

“Is that the only thing stopping you? Huh? Because you're a lost cause at your big age?" When he doesn’t answer, you crane your neck to hiss closer to his face in a mockery of his drawl. “I've done heinous shit. You still got your whole life ahead of you. You could settle down while the world's ending and be as fucking ignorant as the rest—”

"Hey."

His hands, now finding purchase on your shoulders, push you harder into the wall as he growls in return.

“Watch. It.”

You’ve kicked the hornet’s nest.

And in the moment, you can’t find a single fuck to give.

“I may not be a year away from earning an A-A-R-fucking-P card like your mopey ass, but I’m not untouchable, Joel.” The lines of his face smooth at the sound of his first name. “I'm not some fragile thing wearing white. And I sure as fuck don’t need someone to tell me what I have to lose, so quit acting like you're saving me.”

The pressure remains, but the smuggler stays perfectly still. His nostrils flare with every inhale. You rest the back of your head against the wall, allowing the light from the open window to illuminate the bottom half of your face.

“Whatever it is you think I deserve? It isn't what I want. I see you, Joel, and you see me.”

Joel studies your face in what little light remains, Adam’s apple bobbing with apprehension.

Then his left hand leaves your shoulder, seizing your jaw mercilessly in his hand with his fingers. You make a noise, small yet audible, and have no choice but to obey when he drags your gaze higher to his face.

“Don’t ask for things you don’t understand,” he warns, low and venomous. “I say you’re young ‘cus you are. I had my time to date. Hell, I had my time to divorce. Been way past that puppy dog shit. Nothing about this would be soft—”

“I don’t care.”

“—or kind—”

“I don’t care.”

“—or real,” he emphasizes by squeezing your face to the point where he could bruise. You wince, standing on the toe of your boots to accommodate the pain. “I ain’t like that anymore. So when I say you don't want this, m'telling you because you deserve better. More. Not something... hollow or broken. Because when I touch something, it always—”

He catches himself there, realizing the emotion bubbling in the back of his throat before it can rise. He lets go like your skin has burned him, backing away by a full foot. 

You stay pressed to the wall, watching with a wide gaze of regret and longing.

(You didn’t mean to push him, just like he didn’t mean to make your jaw sore.)

Joel runs a hand down his face, fighting to get a grip on reality between several blinks. He turns to make his way around the wall, but you see it: the way the same hand drops to adjust himself in his jeans.

You want to follow him and drop to your knees and—

“Go to bed.”

Joel breaks the fantasy before it can start with a growl of a demand, back turned to you.

“Go to bed. Don’t come out here. Just forget about this.”

“Joel—”

“I ain’t askin’ you, girl.”

He barks over his shoulder, scowl flaring his nostrils. The yell makes you jump, but you listen: step by step you venture backwards, away from the wall you once found yourself pinned against until your boots hit the edge of the mattress.

After a moment, the crooning radio flickers to silence.

You hear the couch creak with the weight of him when he flops down onto it.

He doesn’t say goodnight.

Author's Note: How are we feeling, Joel Nation? I hope his manhandling wasn't too jarring. Since this is pre-TLOU, I imagine Joel is very touch starved/averse, so it made sense to me to write him as such.

As always, reblogs/comments are everything. Thank you so much for all of the support on this little story! ILU all.

[an-angel-in-the-garden]

Hello everything is fine? If requests are still open can I request headcanons (aizen, komamura and zaraki) x fem!reader? The reader being a vampire and having the powers of Alucard from Hellsing? Thank you in advance.

Things have been up and down ya know. Hope things are going well for you? My requests are still open and this was a fun one to get. I don't think I've written for Komamura? Either way, mixing some of my favorite things is always a good time. TW: blood and death talked about, unhealthy relationships and talks of bad treatment towards reader 

Aizen

Aizen is perhaps the worst person to be with as a vampire unfortunately but is anyone surprised

Look, he's capable of learning to love but it's a slow and hard process that sadly means you suffer more then he will....to start

He wants control of everything starting with when and what you eat along with how much you get

His blood, wonderful tasting as it is, is only ever a treat for good behavior and more often than not you get espada blood

This will continue for as long as he doest fully trust or care about you

Fights are a common during this time but the longer you choose him, the longer you stay and fight back the more he softens and opens up

Though it takes time Aizen does eventually see why his actions are wrong and though he won't regret them he does change and aim to make up for it

Fresh blood from kills he got for you, his own blood straight from his arm or neck if you all are feeling cuddly and plenty of gifts

He thrives on watching you thrive, of seeing you smile and revel in being full and able to exist without worry

A power couple in the most dangerous sense of the words not to be taken lightly yet so happy to merely be around each other even if the road to get there was rough 

Komamura

An absolute sweetheart who will do his best to make you feel accepted no matter your past or problems

Komamura understands what it's like to be so different and knows first hand that it can be hard to trust others so he wanted to reach out to you

Though he doesn't fully understand all your needs and will struggle to understand he wants you to tell him everything so he can help

Will have Unahana draw his blood so you can have food, his squad is willing to do the same one you become friends

One of the things he greatly appreciate about your skills is the ability to melt into the shadows, he doesn't want you to have to fight and this method can keep you safe

Trains with you whenever you ask and is happy to help you learn or overcome any trouble

You being a vampire really doesn't change anything to him, Komamura sees you as person separate from anything else

So long as you want to protect people and have good morals that's enough for him, you accept him and he accepts you

Kenpachi

Kenpachi is weirdly the best person to be with as a vampire and he's proud of it

Need food? That's find he was in a fighting mood anyway, he can hunt for you if you want or better yet just drink from him

It's the same for if you're ever worried about losing control or just need to explain some energy Kenpachi is more than happy to fight you and keep a close eye on you

He defends you from the others who think you’re untrustworthy or dangerous, really you're no worse than him

To everyone's amusement you both have this line of thought that you've tamed a beast in one way or another

Really Kenpachi is just so proud to say your his lover and for so many reasons that no one can really argue with him on it

Will want to fight you sometimes ya know to test "your strength and make sure your not holding back too much"

Gets really jealous if you drink from anyone else, even a blood bag but won't admit it, the only exception to this is if its a kill he got you

Overall he's fine with it there's nothing about it that bothers him and he encourages everything you do, feral or not he's here for it 

Hello everyone~ I am back from a rather unexpected break. To make a long story short, a lot happened recently, most of it not good but getting better. I even started a new job that I've been enjoying so far. I want to write again though so I finally sat down and got this bad boy done. The next thing will feature a favorite character of mine that isn't even on my writing list so just know it's happening. Have a good day or night and thank you so much for your support. Lilly~

[yumeiyokobatsuu]

Hello! Are you accepting requests?

If you are could I request some fluff for Bon and Yukio please?

I was thinking about them seeing their crush cry of worry for them, like they did something dangerous or almost died and their crush gets so angry and worried they cry, please?

I hope I made sense! Thank you!

Hello! Thankyou for requesting! (Even if I am only responding almost a whole year later-)

Warnings: none

WC: 866

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Ryuji Suguro

-This one will take place after everyone finds out Rin is the son of Satan because why not?

-He see's you crying in the doorway of his medical room as he is getting his wounds patched up

-Your trying to play it off as if you aren't crying even though its painfully obvious

-Once the medic moves away he beckons you over to comfort you and let him know he's there and alive

I stood in the doorframe of the small room Ryuji sat in, an exorcist with a doctor Meister tending to his wound's caused by Amaimon, I knew he was able to hold himself in a fight, but witnessing what Amaimon had done to him and so easily. I grabbed the edge of my sleeve as I remembered the fight. I could have lost him, so so easily in that second, and yet he pulled through all thanks to Okumura, even if he is the son of Satan, I had to thank him. I snapped out of my trance when I felt wet tears running down my cheek, I let out a sniffle and quickly wiped them away, I wanted to be strong for Ryuji, I didn't want him to see me crying, not now, besides death was common in our field. I knew I should expect for one of us to die but it still hurt to think about. I watched as the doctor finished up with Ryuji and moved away from the doorframe so she could exit. I stared at Ryuji, trying to stop anymore tears from falling.

Ryuji stared back at me, his gaze soft unlike the hardened one he wore around campus before giving a small "Hey" to me and opening his arms a bit, inviting me for a hug. I rushed into his arms immediately, choking out a sob. "Hi" I responded through them. I felt him gently rub circles into my back. "I could have lost you" I mumbled into his chest.

He let out a hum of acknowledgment. "I know. But I'm here and alive. Do you really think I cant hold myself against a demon k-" He said confidently before noticing a small glare I gave, he sighed upon noticing that it was not the best time to stroke his own ego.

Ryuji left a soft kiss upon my forehead. "I'm sorry for worrying you (Y/N). I wont be leaving you anytime soon. You're stuck with me" he whispered, pulling my head closer into his chest. I listened to his heartbeat as he played with my hair.

Yukio Okumura

-Oh boy does he piss you off

-He continues pushing himself???? while injured???? after nearly dying????

- What the fuck is wrong with him???

-You have to genuinely force him into resting so he can heal

-Sit on him to keep him down

-He feels guilty upon seeing you cry all because he nearly died and wont let himself rest

"Yukio please! You're still healing! Hell you have hardly started healing!" I yelled at him, watching him struggle to put on his school jacket. "I appreciate your concern (Y/N), but I'm perfectly fine to continue going to school whilst injured" He said, dismissing your concern's for his health. You clench your fists together "That's bullshit and you know it!" you yelled again at him. "(Y/N) I will not continue fighting you with this, I'm fine" He said, completely calmly and that only pissed you off further. Right before he had the time to leave the room you grabbed onto his wrist, flinching a bit upon realizing you grabbed his wounded wrist and pulling him backwards. "Then don't fight me. Just let me take care of you! What happens if one of your stitches reopen because your pushing yourself too hard." I said. 

I felt Yukio begin to move his hand away from mine, and I took that chance to drag him to his bed and gently push him down, and straddling his legs.

"Your staying home. Right here. In your bed." I said to him.

"(Y/N)-" He started before looking at me properly.

Tears brimmed my eyes, I was trying not to blink so they didn't fall, however the fact I was looking down at his chest didn't help and only allowed them to fall faster. 

"You're a fucking dumbass Yukio. I nearly lost you. You got impaled for fucks sakes! I still can lose you if you don't rest!" I choked out a sob before continuing, my voice shaky. "So please just lay down, let me take care of you" I whispered as I lowered my face onto his chest, as a way to beg him to take care of himself and take a break, his shirt slowly becoming wet due to my tears soaking it. I felt him let out a sigh and intertwine our hands together, his other hand going on top of my head "Fine. But only for a few days" He said. "No. For the entire time the doctor recommended." I quickly said in response, looking up at him, taking in a breath as I tried to control my tears. He stared at me before sighing once again. I moved off of him to ensure I did not hurt him bringing him to the bed, knowing I had won.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Apologies for taking so long to reply! The reason is on my page somewhere ^w^.

My asks are open so request away!

[karlachismylife]

Temptation When I Look At You

Oh boy this actually was a struggle... I actually don't know why, because this is like the most Gaz response ever, but the situation and setting just weren't coming to me at all? I was actually so surprised that I couldn't think of at least ONE situation where this exchange could happen. Maybe because it just seems too single-track? Anyway, I don't feel like this is good, which is a great pity, cuz I wanted to do more Gaz :( But I hope it finds its enjoyers. I still put a lot of love for the pretty trixter boy into this. Might be self-indulgent and thus annoying... and honestly there's not much Kyle here... yeah, I'm just insecure about this one, but it is what it is, definitely couldn't do a better one. Next time maybe? And it somehow ended up being longer that Ghost's... I don't know what I'm doing.

CW: gn!reader, reader is bad with social cues (author is too and it probably shows), fluffy pining and awkward flirting for the pretty boy Kyle.

(Title from "Temptaion" by The Flirts)

also no it's not horny but i gave up on searching for an Elliot gif where he's not naked and accepted my fate

Not being good at flirting and reading it has never actually been that much of a problem for you. Sure, you've had your awkward moments, some downright embarassing, some midnight realizations a week later (ah so THAT'S what they wanted from me!) - but overall, it's not that bad. You're not completely oblivious and you can flirt back and forth, you can more or less tell someone's showing interest in you - or show it back. That has always been good enough for you.

Until you saw him.

You're not sure what it is about this guy in particular - yes, he is very, very handsome, but looks alone aren't usually enough to make you feel that enigmatic pull in your chest and the need to try and talk to the person that makes you feel this way. As you watch him across the tables of this fun boardgame event you came to with your friends, you feel more and more charmed. You can't even hear his voice as he talks to his game opponents from here, so it's not that either.

He just has an aura. A cheezy romantic film protagonist aura. The one the audience can't help but fall in love with and root for - the kind, noble, attentive, caring, respectful, charismatic, funny and cheeky modern knight aura.

You relay that all to your friends and they all turn around to look at the guy - they couldn't be more synchronized if they tried, and you facepalm hard, because you didn't even want to make a big deal out of it, but now of course he'll notice.

The thing is, you're perfecrly happy just basking in this sweet, slightly dizzifying feeling of this movie-character bloke's presense. It feels good, puts you in a dreamy state, and you don't need more - after all, this is just a vibe you mostly created in your head. Trying to get closer to the person probably will only destroy it since he's most definitely not a movie character. Why even burden a man with some expectations and ruin your own fun?

"Wanna go talk to him?" Right. Your friends aren't in on your inner peace with never getting to know the stranger you were so quick to idolize. One of them even motions with their head in the direction of the man, and if he somehow missed the little swan ballet your favourite muppets were showing earlier staring at him, he definitely notices the gesture now.

Curious brown eyes snap up, immediately locking with yours, and an absolutely charming, too sweet to be just polite, smile stretches on his full lips before he seemingly goes back to explaining something about a game card his rowdy-looking playmate is holding.

Damn, he really isn't helping you to shake the heart-shaped pink glasses off, is he?

"No," you can barely tear you eyes away, but you still see one of your friends blatantly grabbing your cards and going through them. The cards that are supposed to be your closed hand. "I'll be doing movie stuff tonight. Always wanted to try."

"What do you mean, "movie stuff"? Gonna ram into him holding a stack of papers hoping he'll help you pick them up?" Another friend does you a service and yanks your cards from the thief's hand, putting them back in front of you - not before looking at them, of course. Unbearable.

"Kinda, yeah. I mean, not that, but you know... stare at him, then look away as he notices... what else is there?" You sigh and put your cards back into the deck, exchanging them for a new hand. "I just wanna see if it actually reads in real life. What, you were never interested in how they manage to realize they're attracted to each other before exchanging a single word in the movies?!"

Several pairs of eyes blink at you silently, and you realize you asked the wrong people.

"The only movies I watch are fucking nature documentaries, babe, they use their noses and mating calls to figure this shit out."

"It's movie magic, normal people talk to each other, exchange numbers and then go on three awkward dates to leave with another girl from the third one."

"Why don't you just start going out with girls already-"

"But WHAT IF I'm not into them?"

"You made us watch six Resident Evil films just because they had Milla Jovovich in them, I'm pretty sure..."

You tune out in the middle of your friends' loving banter and find yourself shuffling the deck for too long as you stare at the victim of your affections. He's laughing and you can make the sound out as he pats his big buddy with a mohawk on the shoulder.

When he catches you looking again, you shift your eyes automaticly. Huh. Looks like you started your little game already. There's really no harm in trying to see how this movie magic holds up in real life, right? You're ready for your plan to lead nowhere. You're here for fun.

That's how you quickly realize just how bad you're actually at this. Watching him and hiding your eyes with a smile that actually lifts the corners of your lips naturally is not that hard, even if it makes you irritatingly distracted during the game - and therefore the punching bag of the evening, but the rest of this social play is harder than any strategy you're trying to pull to get a comeback in this round. As you have to draw another heap of punishment cards, you catch your movie guy smiling again, and you smile back - only to realize that he's actually listening to his other mate's story. Kinda embarassing, but you remind yourself this isn't supposed to lead anywhere.

And you'll never see this guy again, so just bear through.

Next time he actually walks past you - to get some more plastic chips they need for their game, and you follow him with your eyes - actually appreciating his physique in the process, damn, he really is good-looking - and run your hand over your hair in what you feel like should be subtle flirty manner. He notices, eyes narrowing with that smile again, and maybe - you're not sure, and that's how you remember why you actually don't get those fucking movies - nods at you. Or maybe he just moved his head in a perfectly natural way navigating the passages between tables.

"Pathetic," offers your friend a helpful constructive criticism as always. "Honestly painful to watch."

"What's painful to watch?" Ah, and there's the last piece of your friend group, late as always, plopping down on the couch next to you after they've successfully obstructed the view of your movie prince's ass.

"See that hot guy? Grey Henley? He's a lab rat for our dear one's flirting experiment. They've been staring at each other for the last fourty minutes like we're stuck in a bad porn opening scene."

"Why don't you just go talk to him like always?.." Before your lovable I-Don't-Know-What-Clocks-Are friend even finishes, everyone at your table lets out very sarcastic "Hmm", "I wonder why", "Ooh, there we go" and "Why did no one come up with this idea, huh?". Shitheads shoving you under fire.

"Because that's not the point! I'm not trying to get anywhere, I just wanted to see if-" you're forced to hush your own heated retort as the Hot Guy passes your table again. He probably noticed that - if that barely noticeable glance with a curiously raised eyebrow is meant for you, of course, and you suddenly feel flustered.

Social experiments are hard, man.

"I don't get it, but you do you, I guess, as long as he keeps distracting you so we can rob your bank." With a groan, you grumble that they are the worst friends ever, and get your head back into the game.

For about fifteen minutes, then you find yourself locking eyes with the guy again, watching as he leans to whisper something into the Mohawk's ear keeping eye contact with you for some reason.

Something shifts inside you when you see that big guy turn and stare at you with zero subtlty and a comfusing, too intense look. He earns a slap upside his shaven head from the movie guy and sticks his big nose back into their game, but the insecutiry lingers, slowly wiping your smile off your face.

What if you're actually coming off as weird? No, worse - what if they think you're too persistent? Maybe the movie guy tried sending you hints he isn't interested and you missed them all? That actually sounds quite realistic with your lack of understanding what exactly you're doing. And now you're annoying him to the point he has to note that to his friend. And you're ruining what is probably just a fun game night he wanted to enjoy with his buddies. And- oh that's why you always preferred to be direct.

"Hey, what's wrong? Did he flip you off or something?" Your own friends - actual treasures, no matter how much you all are roasting each other - get quieter too, turning (thankfully, not all at the same time this time) to look at the guy.

"No, no, nothing like that. I just think maybe you're right, stupid idea." You exhale, feeling better after a supportive pat on your shoulder. "Well, at least I can say I tried that method too, right?"

"Experience," notes the Milla Jovovich fan with a finger raised in the air and absolutely mentor tone right before beating your card with a heavy-hitter. "You had fun and that's all that matters. Now gimmie your cards, it says I can take three of yours of my choice, cuz you sucked ass."

You get over your short moment of embarassement rather quickly once you fully focus on your game - and you even win some back, ending up second-to-last. How did the late one manage to win, you don't know.

"Another round?" As you agree, they start gathering and shuffling cards, and you glance around, noticing that the free snacks table just got toped up with a fresh pastry basket.

"I'll go grab cookies, you want some?" You take your friends' orders for all kinds of stuff and squeeze along the narrow passages to get to the desired snacks.

It's as you're topping off your plate with a little hill of cookies, brownies an cinnamon rolls that someone's dark skinned arms with grey sleeves rolled up nicely come into view, pouring tea in a thermos mug.

"What's gotten you so shy suddenly? I thought we were having fun."

Your pastry Tower of Babel crashes and tumbles almost off your plate, resembling something more like a volcano eruption aftermath than a proper construction. You don't need to guess who that voice belongs to - honestly, that effortlessly sultry, teasing, movie star timbre can only belong to one person - but you follow the steam raising from his mug and are greeted by the smiling amber eyes you've been staring into half of the evening.

"Sorry, I was just... sorry for staring, that was inappropriate. Hope you have a nice game, still." An apology is due, you think, and you really hope he accepts it. He seems like a chill dude, the kind you don't want to upset because they just don't deserve it.

He deserves to feel good and be surrounded by people that make it happen.

"Hardly inappropriate, but thanks for the apology," he chuckles, and you hide your eyes in the baked ruins you're trying to fix before they fall onto the floor instead of reaching your friends. "Is that why you stopped looking? Or did you lose interest and I'm being inappropriate now?"

Since when did direct approach start making you so flustered? Isn't this what you're actually used to? "This" being actually asking normal questions, not standing so close to a movie protagonist that smells even better than all the fresh pastry on the table in front of you - tastes better probably, too...

"What was that?" He leans closer and you're on fire like a match, in an instant. Did you just say some of that out loud? Is he laughing? No, better question, is he mocking you? Because what you hear next is... "Oh, nothing, Kyle, I just said I couldn't stop eyefucking you because I want to kiss you so bad. Well, then ask me nicely for a kiss, pretty. After I take you out and learn your name."

And just like that, the scene ends, with the charmer back at his table and a piece of paper with his number on top of your crumbling cookie architecture.

Handwritten. Just for you. From Kyle.

"Did you really have to flirt with him over my brownies?" You don't really remember how you got back to your friends. Your cookies getting split between everyone as a tax for you taking too long.

"Props to the guy for saving you from yourself, honestly." Thermos cap filled with tea lands into your hand, the other occupied with the phone number. Finally, you blink, glancing over to Kyle's table - he winks at you, eyes crinkling. Not so subtle.

"Guys, you know, worst part is, I still don't get how this movie shit works..."