#hope u enjoy!

[capquinn]

okay not to be like insane or anything but

i want quinn hughes to fuck me into his couch cushions

BAHHAHAHA it’s literally all i can think about and our like inside look of his apartment has NOT helped. it looks so comfortable 😭

anyways yeah hope ur doing great 🫶🫶🫶

MDNI — 18+ only

The evening breeze drifts lazily through the open balcony door, carrying with it the faint scent of the city. The room is filled with the quiet strum of music, blending seamlessly with the soft, golden glow from the lamp by the sofa. You’re both curled up on opposite ends of the couch, each lost in your own book, but your legs are intertwined in the middle, a comforting reminder of each other’s presence.

Quinn’s hand rests casually on your ankle, his thumb tracing small, absent minded circles on your skin. The touch is gentle, barely there, but it keeps you grounded to reality, your focus torn between the words on the page and the warmth of his hand, unable to fully immerse yourself into fantasy worlds.

You try to refocus, to dive back into the story in front of you, but it’s useless. Time seems to stretch, the moments bleeding into one another, until you’re no longer sure how long you’ve been stuck on the same page, reading and re-reading the same sentence, all while his hand continues its lazy rhythm.

The circles he’s been tracing are getting smaller, his hand shifting just slightly higher with each pass. The faintest brush against your calf sends warmth rippling through you, soft and insistent. At first, it feels unhurried, unconcious, like he isn’t even aware of what he’s doing. But then, the movement becomes so precise, so maddeningly deliberate, that it feels impossible to believe otherwise.

You glance at him, trying to read his expression, but his face is serene. His eyes are on his book, his brow faintly furrowed as if he’s completely engrossed in whatever world the pages are painting for him. The steady rise and fall of his chest only adds to the illusion of calm. If not for his hand, you might believe it.

His thumb drags lazily, intentional and tantalising, brushing against your skin with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. You press your lips together, willing yourself to focus, but the words on the page blur into meaningless shapes. The sharp edges of your book press into your palms, grounding you for a moment, a brief reprieve, but it doesn’t last. The warmth of his hand keeps creeping higher, the soft and invisible shapes he’s tracing drawing your attention back to him like gravity.

Your hips shift subtly, almost instinctively, as his fingers slip higher, just brushing the curve of your knee. The contact is brief, featherlight, but it’s enough to make your heart skip. 

You steal another glance at him, and for a moment, you’re certain he’s smirking. It’s so subtle, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, but it’s there. 

He knows.

“Quinn,” you say, your voice cutting through the quiet like a thread snapping. “You’re distracting me.”

His lips curve, just slightly, but he doesn’t lift his gaze. 

“Am I?” he murmurs, the words so casual they set your teeth on edge. His hand doesn’t falter, doesn’t pause, his palm continuing its journey upward, brushing just above your knee this time.

You narrow your eyes at him, but he stays perfectly composed, perfectly calm, his hand resting on your leg like it belongs there. The contrast is infuriating — how unaffected he looks, how completely at ease he is, while you feel like every nerve in your body is stretched taut. You try to shake it off, to reclaim your focus, turning your eyes back to the page in front of you. But the words blur together, their meaning slipping further from your grasp, leaving nothing but the pull of something deeper, sharper, building low in your stomach.

When his fingers graze the inside of your thigh — just barely, just enough — it’s like the dam breaks. Your breath stutters, the book snapping shut in your lap with a dull thud as you shift away, your knees drawing up to your chest in a flustered retreat.

The silence stretches, heavy with his triumph, before a soft chuckle escapes him. You glance over, and there he is, leaning back into the couch, his book discarded open on his lap, his eyes gleaming with smug amusement.

"Something wrong?" he asks, the feigned innocence in his voice doing nothing to mask the mischief dancing in his eyes.

Your glare sharpens, your cheeks hot, but the betrayal comes quickly — your lips widen into a grin, giving away your amusement despite your best effort to remain stern. 

"You're impossible," you mutter, the words carrying no real venom, only a begrudging acknowledgment of his triumph.

He shifts slightly, still stretched out on the sofa, legs lazily sprawled like he hasn’t a care in the world. The smirk tugging at his lips widens, the glint in his eyes daring you to make a move. It’s infuriating, and you don’t stop to think before you act. Tossing your book aside, you shift forward, crawling over him in a way that makes his brows lift in faint surprise.

When your knees press into the cushions on either side of his hips, his hands are there instantly, steadying you, fingers curling firmly against your waist, his own book slipping to the floor. You feel the way his body stiffens beneath you for just a second before he recovers, leaning back into the armrest with a confidence that only fuels your determination.

The smirk tugging at his lips is the last straw, the final push that has you leaning forward, your hands sliding up his chest to grip the collar of his shirt. You hover there for just a breath, your lips barely brushing his, a deliberate tease that makes his fingers dig into your waist. Then, you close the distance, capturing his mouth in a kiss that’s anything but gentle.

It’s heat and friction, his hands tightening on your hips, pulling you flush against him as he meets you with equal intensity. His lips part slightly, deepening the kiss, and the sound he makes — a low, quiet groan — sends a shiver rippling through you. You tilt your head, angling to fit against him perfectly, and his hand slides up your spine, pressing you closer as if there’s still space to close.

Your fingers knot into his shirt, clutching at the fabric as you shift in his lap, a slow roll of your hips that makes him break the kiss for half a second, his forehead pressing against yours as his breath stutters.

"God," he murmurs, voice rough, his hand sliding under the hem of your shirt, fingers splaying warm against your skin. “Didn’t see this coming,” he chuckles, breathless, as your lips trail down his jaw, soft and deliberate, leaving his skin tingling with each press.

"You knew what you were doing," you murmur, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, soft and teasing. His grip on your hips tightens ever so slightly, his body tense beneath you.

"What did you think was going to happen?" you continue, your tone light but laced with challenge, your breath warm against his skin.

His head tilts back just enough to meet your gaze, his pupils dark and blown wide.

"Something," he admits, voice rough and edged with amusement, though it cracks slightly at the end.

"Something?" you echo.

Quinn exhales sharply as your hands slip beneath the hem of his shirt, your fingertips brushing over the taut muscles of his stomach. His skin is warm, firm under your touch, and the way his abs flex beneath your fingers sends another ripple of heat through you. You push the fabric higher, palms flattening against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your fingertips.

His lips twitch into a smirk, his eyes darkening as they roam your face. But before you can press further, before you can make another move, he shifts. His hands slide from your waist to your thighs, gripping just firmly enough to draw a gasp from your lips. He leans forward, his lips brushing yours in a way that feels almost teasing, and then he moves with a confidence that makes your breath hitch.

In one smooth motion, he flips you, easing you down onto the cushions beneath him. The weight of him hovers above you, one arm braced beside your head while the other slides to your hip, holding you steady. Your legs part instinctively to make room for him, his body pressing into yours, his presence filling every inch of the space between you.

"Something like this," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, the sound sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

His lips crash into yours again, deeper this time, hungrier. His hand moves, roaming upward, fingers grazing your ribs before his thumb brushes just beneath your breast. The touch is light but it sets your nerves alight, and you arch into him, craving more. His mouth trails from yours, sliding along your jaw, down the column of your neck, each kiss deliberate and slow, his lips warm and slightly parted.

“Quinn,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper, your hands slipping under his shirt again, this time tugging it upward. 

He chuckles softly against your skin, a low, throaty sound that makes your stomach tighten, and he lets you pull it over his head, discarding it somewhere behind him.

His now bare chest presses against yours, and the heat of his skin against yours makes your head spin. His kisses grow rougher, more insistent, as his hand roams lower, skimming your hip, brushing over your thigh. His thumb strokes the inside of your leg, teasing, before sliding higher, closer, until his hand grazes the edge of your shorts.

Quinn smirks faintly as he feels you lift your hips, a silent invitation that makes the air between you feel electric. His gaze flickers to yours, and there’s something in his expression — equal parts knowing and teasing — that makes your breathing slow. He bites down on his bottom lip, the faintest groan escaping as his hand slides further up, slipping under the waistband of your shorts with deliberate ease.

His fingers move with agonising precision, tracing slow, measured circles over the thin fabric of your underwear. The friction sparks through you, sharp and undeniable, pulling a soft gasp from your lips. Your back arches into his touch instinctively, seeking more, and the faint curl of his smirk presses against your neck as his lips graze over your skin.

When his mouth finds yours again, it’s searing and unrelenting, stealing the quiet, broken sounds spilling from you. His hand shifts, slipping under the fabric with unhurried ease, his knuckles brushing against your skin. His fingers find you, warm and slick, and he stills for just a beat, teasing, testing, like he’s savouring the moment before finally moving.

The first press of his fingers is deliberate, enough for your breath to catch in your throat and your hands clutch at his shoulders for balance. He explores with a confidence that feels like a slow unraveling, tracing over every sensitive point with the kind of intent that leaves no doubt — he knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly how to pull you apart.

When he finds the spot that makes your thighs tense and your breath catch in your throat, his grip on your hip tightens, anchoring you in place as his fingers work. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice low, rasping, barely a question. It’s almost like he’s talking to himself, a rough edge of pride in his tone, but his gaze flickers up to yours, watching every glimmer of emotion on your face.

Your nails bite into his shoulders, your head tilting back against the couch as your body arches into him. He hums softly, like your reaction is all the confirmation he needs, and his thumb drifts lower, adding a new layer to the building tension. The circles he draws are unhurried, every movement precise, every press coaxing quiet, shuddering sounds from your lips.

His mouth doesn’t leave your skin, trailing along your jaw, nipping lightly at the curve of your neck as his rhythm builds, steady and confident, like he knows your body as well as his own.

You gasp, his name breaking on your lips like a prayer, and then he leans back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are dark, filled with something between determination and adoration, like you’re the only thing in his world right now.

His fingers still, and for a moment, the world narrows to just him — the way his lips part slightly, the way his breath hitches as his eyes trace your face, taking in every flush of your skin, every uneven rise and fall of your chest.

"Quinn," you whine, frustration lacing your voice as his fingers retreat, leaving an exasperating void in their absence. 

Your hips lift instinctively, seeking the contact he’s denied you, and his lips twitch into a crooked smile, like he’s thoroughly enjoying the effect he’s having on you.

“Patience” he murmurs, his voice a mix of teasing and heat, though the fire in his eyes betrays how little of it he has himself. 

His hands move to your waistband, fingers hooking into the fabric with an ease that feels practiced, familiar. In one smooth motion, he slides your pants down, taking your underwear with them, his movements steady and deliberate. The cool air brushes against your skin, sending a shiver up your spine, though it’s nothing compared to the heat radiating from his gaze as he takes you in.

Your thighs have already fallen open around him, and he kneels there, his hands pressing gently against your legs, encouraging you further apart. He leans in, his lips brushing against the inside of your knee, soft and lingering, before trailing further down. His kisses are slow, deliberate, igniting a fire everywhere his mouth touches. 

The tension in the air is palpable, every second dragging out as his lips work their way closer to where you want him most. Your breath catches as his stubble grazes your skin, the sensation sharp and electrifying. His hands tighten slightly on your thighs, steadying you as you instinctively shift beneath him, anticipation coiling in your stomach like a live wire.

When he finally reaches the apex of your thighs, he pauses, his warm breath fanning over you, making you squirm. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and the intensity in his gaze nearly undoes you on the spot. The crooked smile returns, softer this time, but no less devastating.

“Just relax,” he says, the words low and rough, more of a reassurance than a request, before he finally closes the distance.

The first touch of his tongue is soft, exploratory, but the effect is immediate — your head tips back against the couch, a gasp escaping your lips as your hand flies to tangle in his hair. He hums against you, the vibration sparking a fire low in your belly, and his grip on your thighs tightens, anchoring you to him.

He doesn’t rush, doesn’t falter, taking his time to draw you apart piece by piece. His tongue moves in deliberate strokes, circling and pressing in ways that leave you trembling. Your other hand clutches at the cushion beneath you, seeking something to ground you, but it’s useless. He’s everywhere — the heat of his mouth, the firm press of his hands on your thighs, the sheer focus in the way he devotes himself to unraveling you.

“Quinn,” you gasp again, your voice cracking as your hips lift toward him. His hands press you back down, his touch firm but gentle, his control both infuriating and intoxicating.

He glances up briefly, his eyes meeting yours with that same mix of adoration and smug satisfaction that makes your pulse race. Then he doubles down, his tongue finding a rhythm, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Every flick, every swirl is calculated, the kind of attention that only someone who knows your body so intimately could provide.

Your breathing stutters, your thighs trembling as the pressure builds to a breaking point. His name falls from your lips in a mantra, broken and desperate, and he doesn’t let up, doesn’t stop until the world shatters around you.

You arch against him as you come undone, the sensation crashing over you in waves, leaving you breathless, trembling, and utterly consumed. Your hands are buried in his hair, gripping tightly as he hums against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your already-overwhelmed body. It’s more than you can handle, your hips shifting instinctively as the sensitivity becomes almost unbearable.

You try to push him away, your fingers tugging gently at his hair in a silent plea, but his hands hold you steady, firm yet tender. He keeps you there, pressed against his mouth, his movements slowing but never fully stopping as he coaxes every last tremor from you. The sensation lingers, both grounding and electric, until your body melts into the cushions, utterly spent.

Finally, he relents, his movements slowing until they’re just soft, tender kisses against your inner thigh, letting you catch your breath. When he lifts his head, his lips glisten, his expression a mix of mischief and pride that sends heat pooling low in your stomach all over again. His hands glide up your sides as he rises, pressing kisses along your stomach, over your ribs, until his lips find yours. The taste of you lingers, warm and intoxicating, as his weight presses against you.

Quinn pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his breath mingling with yours as his forehead rests lightly against your own. 

“Still with me?” he murmurs, his voice low, roughened with need. 

His hand slides along your thigh, fingers curling just under the curve of your knee, lifting it to press snugly against his hip.

You nod, your fingers threading through his hair again as your legs instinctively wrap around him, pulling him closer. His lips quirk into a crooked smile as he leans down to kiss you again, deeper this time, his body aligning perfectly with yours. 

The moment stretches, charged and electric, every brush of his hand and press of his body sparking anticipation that coils tightly in your chest. His breath ghosts over your lips, his touch firm but unhurried as he keeps you pressed against him, as if savouring every second. 

There’s no rush, only the quiet, unspoken understanding that this is just the beginning — a promise of what’s to come that makes your pulse race and your body hum in anticipation.

[toppamplemousse]

bottle episode | charles leclerc/max verstappen

Rated E, 30k words, complete

“Are you done bothering this guy? I didn’t think blonds were your thing.” Pierre says through a mouthful of pizza, causing Charles’ eyes to go wide and dart back to Max, who is finding the whole situation rather amusing.

“Merci, Pierre, this is Max Verstappen who works at Vasseur’s and he is Dutch. He has been boring me with his whole life story.”

or:

Seasons pass, and fate keeps throwing Max and Charles together.

read on ao3

[callmegaith]

Anon requests :D part 1/?????

[nametakensff]

Listen....my ability to focus on work is sooo bad today. I decided I may as well record some inducing while I could 😅

[lepardlover]

Happy holidays @emizeltucker!! saw u were a fellow transfem kian enjoyer so here she is rockin' out for the @jrwi-art-exchange ^^

[invisi-idol]

mlp - masc fluttershy nput !

requested by : 🎭 anon

₊˚⊹⋆ names :

dex , dez , declan , diego , daniel , dane , dean , sean / shawn , fawn , fern , fable , linus , lionel , lain , orion , manny

₊˚⊹⋆ pronouns :

h^ / h^m

fly / flys , forest / forests , grass / grass' , green / greens , bud / buds , bun / buns , bird / birds , kind / kinds , leaf / leafs , tree / trees , chirp / chirps , sky / skys , shy / shys

🐦 / 🐦s , 🦊 / 🦊s , 🐇 / 🐇s , 🦔 / 🦔s , 🪶 / 🪶s

₊˚⊹⋆ usernames :

flutter_boy , chirpchirp , prunedpegasus , naturesponie , elementofkindness

₊˚⊹⋆ titles :

( prn ) who is full / the element of kindness , the nature pony / pegasus , the helpful / friendly ( noun ) , ( prn ) with the kind soul / heart , the butterfly

[padfootastic]

exam szn is coming up which obviously means ore distractions, as everyone knows. so what better than to come back to tumblr lol so many tag games etc piling up that i wanna dooooooo

so. let’s have a lil snippet time!

thanks for the tag @in-flvx 💜 this one’s from a wip that was supposed to have been finished & posted for jilypad week but,,,,here we are,,,,,

“Sirius!” Lily exclaims. “We were looking for you.”

“Oh?” He presses a quick kiss to her cheek before bending down to pick Harry up, who immediately cuddles into his arms with a tired sigh. Poor baby, must’ve been exhausted by all the excitement at the beach.

“Yeah, regarding tonight—“ Sirius gulped quietly at the way she said that “—Your room is a bit…messy, I’m sorry. We were reorganising and well, y’know how it goes…”

She shrugs apologetically but all Sirius can think about is how she called it ‘his room’. Not the guest room, not the spare, but his room. Sirius’. He once again pushes past the mushy feelings that rise in him at that little distinction.

“Oh, it’s—it’s fine, I can just take the couch, no problem.” Even if his feet tend to hang off the end, and the edges are a bit lumpy, it’s fine. He resolutely doesn’t think about his comfortable Alaskan King at home.

“Of course you can’t!” Lily scowls at him. “We’re not gonna put you in a couch in your own house, Sirius.”

There it was again, the reference to him belonging here. It was a bit presumptuous, slightly possessive but Sirius was a dog at heart, he was never going to turn down ownership.

“Er—the nursery, then?” he asks, confused.

“What, crammed up in Harry’s crib beside him?” she says with a scoff, “Don’t be silly.”

Sirius blinks. “Where am I sleeping then?”

“With us, of course.” He jumps at the voice booming from behind him, clutching Harry tighter to his chest, whirling around to find James munching on a carrot.

“Where did you come from?” Sirius mutters under his breath before straightening up and saying, louder, “And what do you mean with you?”

“Well, like Lily said,” and here he sends a meaningful, entirely undecipherable, look towards his wife who…blushes? “Your room’s temporarily indisposed, the couch isn’t even an option—don’t give me that look, you barely fit on the thing—and the floor is gonna mess up your back worse than it is.”

“Oi!”

“So, our room it is.”

Right. Of course. Because that’s the obvious conclusions. How could he say no?

(Again, he can’t so he doesn’t)

It’s twenty minutes later, after Harry’s been put to bed, thoroughly kissed by his parents and godfather, after James is done with his nighttime turmeric milk and Lily’s put her hair up into braids and Sirius has taken out all his rings and chains and bracelets—that’s when he’s stumped by yet another problem.

How, exactly, are they going to sleep in one bed?

“We’re just going to expand it a little, Pads, don’t worry,” James says, supremely unconcerned.

He goggles at that, staring at the casual wand work. A part of him wonders why this is the extent of magic they’re using to solve this problem—James can conjure a bed Silenced, with his eyes closed—but promptly decides to not dwell on that for everyone’s sake.

[kirby-madness]

Hello lads i have been LOOKIN at this au for very normal amounts i am sane @jojo-schmo hi i love ur art,, ALSO UR METADEDE PAIRING IS SO GOOD I AM SO NORMAL AND-

[gaillol-13]

Blessing the Tadeo Jones fanbase with the highest honor i can bestow on a franchise, Textposts!

[4e7her]

Can you please do "are you really so oblivious?" with sebek x male reader?

for sure!! ty for the request :) hope i did it justice <3

i don't think you can really tell it's male reader cause i do 2nd person but. it was written with a male reader in mind!

-

characters: sebek zigvolt, twst

contains: yandere themes, reader referred to in second person pov, male reader

for a random event - see link here for request rules and here for the masterlist

You didn't think you did anything wrong - all you were doing was chatting with someone from Savanaclaw. A first year, you think, since they were asking for directions.

But, here you were now, having been pulled along by Sebek, who had interrupted out of nowhere. You don't even know where he came from - all you know is one minute you were talking to the first year, the next Sebek had swept you away with shouts of needing you assistance.

"So, uh, why am I here, Sebek?" You asked, confused, brows furrowed as you looked at the half-fae. "I was in the middle of talking to someone, you know."

"Tch! Are you really so oblivious?" He huffed, expression somewhere between a glare and a pout. "He was flirting with you, Prefect! Not even you can't be that dense."

"Wh-? Rude!" Affronted, you glared right back, before you realized what he said. "Wait, flirting?"

You blink, thinking back to the interaction, trying to tell if anything the Savanaclaw freshman said seemed like it was flirtatious. "Uhhh... I think you're mistaken. He was just asking for directions."

Sebek mutters something under his breath, and you think you hear something about asking Waka-sama for strength, before he fixes you a serious look that you've only seen him sport around Malleus. You're half tempted to look around and check for the Diasmonia dorm leader.

"You, Prefect, are a fool." He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he hangs his head, that pout coming through more. "Don't go speaking to those hooligans without me around. They'll just try to trick you, I'm sure."

"Wait... are you jealous? Is that what this is?"

"No! Perish the thought!" Sebek screeches, body language taking a one-eighty as he jabs a finger into your chest, even as his face flushes spectacularly. "How could you even think such a thing?!"

-

[click here to go to masterlist]

[shimmering-jewels]

ASKBLOG IS NOW OFFICIALLY OPEN! RECEIVING ALL TYPES OF TRANSMISSIONS!

[itzsana-kiddingmenow]

Heyy, I'm new to your blog, but I really wanted to tell you that I love it 🫶🏻 Your fics are so great 😭 And I'm excited for the BND fics tho! (Am not the anon who requested one) Could I maybe request a fic with Ler! Ateez and maybe Lee!Reader? If not, maybe any Ateez fic? you decide who ^^ That'd make me so happy 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻❤️❤️

A Leader’s Wrath:

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.

Ok so my first Ateez fic! I hope you enjoy! I’m really sorry it’s so short…

𝒍𝒆𝒆: Yunho

𝒍𝒆𝒓: Hongjoong 

𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘦𝘢 𝘪 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭i𝘯𝘨! 💗

𝕥𝕨: raspberries

𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥: @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae @dandyboyseungmo

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.

Yunho was bored. I mean, who could blame him? All the other members were asleep, and he was tired of bothering Wooyoung, so he resorted to the one thing he had left to do. 

Be bored. 

He went to go bother the one person who was still awake, and that was Hongjoong. Sure he was the leader, and sure he was in a bad mood, but Yunho was determined to not be bored. 

“”BOO!” He yelled when Hongjoong walked into his room, obviously exhausted and tired, and he screamed in fear and almost fell over. 

“HAHA HYUNG YOU WERE SO SCARED!” Yunho doubled over in laughter while the leader glared at him. 

“Oh i’ll give you something to laugh about” Hongjoong commented as he tackled the younger and effectively straddled his waist. 

Yunho already knew what was happening. “Hyung no!” He yelled, hoping to receive some sort of mercy.

Hongjoong wasted no time and pulled the boy’s arms up, digging his experienced fingers into Yunho’s armpits. 

“HYUNG NOOO!” Yunho yelled again, this time more frantic as he tried not to laugh, thrashing around under the leader. 

“ST-STAHP PLEASE I-ITS NOT GONNA DOHO ANYTHIHIHIHING” Yunho broke, screaming as Hongjoong switched to the boy’s ribs, the area clearly more sensitive.

“STAHAHAHAP IHIM SAHAHAHAHARRYYY!!!” The younger screeched as he tried to free his wrists from the firm grip. 

“Nope. I’ve been having a bad day and this is a perfect stress reliever, also this is what you get for trying to scare me!” Hongjoong yelled over the younger’s screaming. 

“HAHAHAHA” Was Yunho’s only response as the elder pulled his shirt up and blew a long raspberry right on the boy’s belly button.

To say Yunho went crazy was an understatement. He went ballistic, back arching up and feet digging into the carpet, his face tinted the cutest shade of pink as he cackled. 

Soon enough Hongjoong let up, chuckling and rubbing at the younger’s stomach as Yunho gasped and panted. 

“You need some water, buddy?” Hongjoong fondly smiled at the younger as he shook his head. 

“Thanks a lot, Yunho.” Hongjoong stood up and walked out of the room, probably going back to work. 

“WAIT. HYUNG!” Yunho yelled, stopping the leader in his tracks. 

When Hongjoong turned around, Yunho commented, “You look tired, take a nap with me?”

Let’s say cuddles was the only thing on their agenda for the rest of the day.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.

i hope you enjoyed! please check my intro post before interacting! love ya! 💕💗💖

[sgt-farron]

[hunkydorkling]

HAPPY (late) HOLIDAYS, @ohnoitsthebat!! 🎄✨

I tried so hard to:

not post anything about this present because I know you were always online

get all the details down to a T (with a couple of errors) (probably)

make it in time for the deadline for @cksecretsanta22, would you look at that

and now that I'm revealing myself, I do hope you love this ol' thing! I wanted it to be as close as how you'd written your oneshot. If you ever decide to continue that, I'd be delighted to read it. I hope this year is as great as you make it. Thank you for being you.

(Here's the link to their fic!)

[rainc0at-extras]

Hear The Harmony Only When It's Harming Me // Chapter 2 - Arpeggio - Mark Hoffman lives above Peter Strahm. His neighbour's hobby? Playing the fucking piano. Needless to say, it drives him fucking mad. - Mark Hoffman/Peter Strahm, Angelina Acomb, Lindsey Perez, Alternate Universe - Pianist, Alternate Universe - Neighbours.

[slightlyunconventional]

OOOOOOHHHH K/AZ ALLERGY THOUGHTS LET ME SEE ✨

Currently thinking about him being one of those people with severe ragweed allergies who is allergic to chamomile tea as a result,,,, especially since he mostly drinks coffee I feel like this could be an unwelcome discovery for him perhaps

hello! i emerge once again from my writing hell cave to post another little fic because this prompt is SO GOOD. i had to write something for it i just had to (also SORRY for the kinda rubbish ending i got really tired please forgive me xx)

oh ALSO this is supposed to be set like. during/after season 2? but no worries if you haven't watched it cause there's no spoilers

tea (in which i f*ck with k/az b/rekker's dignity for the millionth time)

It was the morning after one of those encounters K/az always referred to as a “negotiation” - more of a brawl, some would say, but who was to disagree with K/az B/rekker - and the five crows were slumped, exhausted, on the seats of a booth in a small, dingy tavern. The not-so-comfortable silence was only broken by a loud growl from J/esper’s stomach. He raised his hands in mock surrender as K/az glared daggers at him. I/nej nudged N/ina with her elbow.

“Let’s order something, yeah?” she asked pointedly. N/ina nodded enthusiastically.

“Oh, yes, please,” N/ina replied, eyes lit up, “I could devour three plates of waffles after last night.”

“I’ll have what she’s having,” J/esper said. He looked down at W/ylan, who looked as though he were about to fall asleep on the taller man’s shoulder. “So will he.”

I/nej turned to K/az. “And for you?” she asked.

“Coffee. Black,” he said shortly. I/nej raised her eyebrows.

���You’re not eating?” Kaz shook his head.

Nina snorted. “Suit yourself, then.” She looped her arm in Inej’s and they made their way to the bar.

Kaz sighed and leaned back in his seat, stretching his bad leg out under the table. Jesper regarded him as he did so.

“You alright, boss? Took a pretty hard hit last night,” he said.

The dark-haired man nodded. “That merch got what he had coming. That’s all that matters.”

“Right,” Jesper agreed. The three of them sat quietly for a while, waiting for Inej and Nina to return. When they finally did, they were holding a tray of drinks.

“The food will be another few minutes,” Inej said as she set each mug onto the table before its recipient. Kaz looked down at his own and nearly laughed.

“What is that?”

“They didn’t have any coffee left. The next shipment isn’t till midday, so we just got the next best thing.”

“Next best thing?” Kaz was looking incredulously at her, “I don’t even know what that is.”

Inej sighed. “That is chamomile tea. And it will do you some good.”

“Something else to fuel him that isn’t caffeine and vengeance,” Jesper said with a snort. Wylan snickered from beside him.

Kaz simply rolled his eyes. The sweet aroma of the tea wafted into his face. It was pleasant, he supposed, though it did settle a faintly familiar tingle in his sinuses. Before he could ponder it further, a barmaid came to their table, arms laden with steaming dishes of waffles - Nina was practically drooling. The sickly, syrupy scent made Kaz grimace, so he settled for a single sip of the yellow-tinted tea in front of him. How bad can it be? Inej drinks this all the time, he thought. Not something he could drink on the regular, but tolerable for now. It was nice, a warm, floral taste that spread throughout his mouth… and nose, apparently? That faint tingle quickly became a fervent tickle, and Kaz’s breath caught quietly. He rubbed roughly at his nose with one gloved hand. The constant waft of steam from the tea wasn’t helping the tickle die down at all, in fact, it was only fuelling the fire. What the hell? he thought, as his nose burned fiercer. Before he knew it, Kaz was ducking down in the little room he had between himself and the table with a heavy sneeze.

“hehH’DJSHHh!” A chorus of ‘bless you’s sounded from around the table. He didn’t even have time to roll his eyes before his breath snagged again, this time much more vocally. “haAh-ehH’dDJSHHhiew!”

Four more ‘bless you’s, this time each with a hint of amusement. Kaz sniffled softly and rubbed at his nose again. The tickle was still wreaking havoc in his nose, and he hadn’t a clue why. He knew he wasn’t getting sick - he felt totally fine, and it wasn’t like he could pin it on an allergy. The only things that really bothered him were dust and that awful ragweed plant that seemed to ruin his life (and dignity) every fall, but this was… a cup of tea. To say he was confused would be an understatement. 

“You coming down with somethi-” Jesper began to ask. Kaz cut him off with a third harsh sneeze.

“-ehHiihH’dDSHHhiew! Fucking hell…”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Jesper said, “Bless you, again, by the way.”

Kaz shot him a hazy glare. “I’m not. I’m fine. I don’t know what the hell this is,” he said shortly. Barely moments after he’d finished speaking, he was overcome with the incessant need to sneeze once again.

“Oh, Saints -hehH’dDJISHHhiew! hah-hAHh’JSHHhuh!” Kaz could feel four sets of eyes trained on him as he emerged from the crook of his elbow, some watching in amusement, some in concern. His breath caught, again. In annoyance, Kaz pressed his nose into his sleeve and prepared for the incoming. A sharp hitch, then… nothing. He sniffled tentatively, but with no result, so he gingerly removed his face from his arm. His eyes met Jesper’s across the table, whose mouth was tilted in a smirk.

“Sounds like a repeat scenario of that posh knob’s closet, eh Nina?” he said, elbowing her. Kaz looked at him incredulously. “Oh, yeah, I’ve been told all about that little incident,” Jesper winked, “I should have liked to be there. Shame I missed out on all the fun.”

Kaz was about to spit a snarky reply, but got cut off by the rapid rise in intensity of the burn in his sinuses. He lifted his arm to his face again, breath stuttering. 

“hehh… hahHiiihh-!” His eyelids fluttered uncharacteristically with each hitch of his breath, his shoulders rose, and his nostrils flared in irritation. Still nothing. He could tell everyone else had averted their eyes so as to avoid embarrassing him - but he was mortified enough already. Kaz inhaled slowly through his nose and felt traces of the chamomile’s scent sneak their way into his nostrils. The tickle burned deeper. He was on the precipice, the very brink, of a well-needed sneeze, but he just couldn’t seem to-

“hah-heHh’dDJHSSHHhiew! -ahH’JSZZSHh! heHH’DJSHHIEew!” 

Finally.

“Could this possibly be the best thing I have ever witnessed?” Jesper asked, eyebrows lifted. 

Kaz was breathless. “I don’t get it. What the hell is this?”

Wylan’s brows were furrowed for a moment, then his eyes widened. “The tea,” he said simply.

“What?” said Kaz, looking up from his arm.

“Well, you’re pretty badly allergic to ragweed, aren’t you?” Wylan asked. Kaz said nothing. “Um,” Wylan cleared his throat, “you are. Allergic, that is. Badly.”

The taller man averted his eyes. 

“The, uh, well, the chamomile plant is a relative, you could say, of ragweed. And obviously you only really drink coffee, so you haven’t ever really been, well, exposed to this. So, that’s probably what’s making you so-”

“heHH’ISHHhiew!”

Wylan nodded.

“Perfect timing,” laughed Jesper. 

Wordlessly, Kaz pushed the offending cup of tea away from him, sniffling softly still. Jesper was sure he’d never seen him looking so annoyed yet so pathetic in his life. 

Inej piped up, “I suggest we get rid of that.” She gestured towards the mug. Before anyone could say anything, Kaz was already out of his seat and striding towards the stairs of the tavern. A single muffled sneeze sounded from halfway up the steps before the rhythmic clunk of his cane continued and eventually faded from earshot.

“Got rid of the wrong mug, Inej,” Jesper said with a shrug. Wylan snorted with laughter into his waffles, and even Inej herself cracked a smile.