#i don't exactly want to tag this with his name

[always-just-red]

Merry Christmas, guys!!! Ok, so this is a day early, but I wanted to say thanks to you all with a feel-good follow-up to my Game Night fic! So, here: a Christmas Eve sleepover with the boys, and they’re on their VERY best behaviour this time, I promise 😌

The Night Before Christmas

L&DS Boys X Reader

(Recommended to read this fic first, if you haven't already!)

Summary: It’s time to get the gang back together!!!

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: gn!reader, kinda poly? but mostly platonic, a lil bit of wholesome intimacy, one particularly suggestive joke from Sylus (he can’t help himself), also probably needs another proofread but my eyes are tired 💀

| Word count: 4.8k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Right! Let’s try this again.”

You glance around your living room with your hands on your hips, channelling your inner Captain Jenna as you fight to suppress flashbacks that verge on traumatic.

Some of this is exactly the same as last time. Sylus is sprawled in the same spot on your couch, looking inordinately pleased with himself for someone who has only just arrived. The very image of smugness; you immediately suspect that something is horribly wrong, or on track to go horribly wrong. You glance to the other couch, where Xavier and Rafayel sit, equally braced for your presentation. Neither one has been teleported to the roof of your building.

Sylus is reading your relief, and he gives you an exclusive smile, as if to say: yet.

Try not to think about it.

You stand by a large drawing pad— currently flipped closed to create a suspense that only Xavier has bought into. He gives you an eager nod, the blue of his eyes warm and encouraging.

The faces around you haven’t changed, but your little apartment has. Strings of twinkling lights run around your walls, casting faint, festive glows. There’s frost on your windows. Littered everywhere are ornaments: small, glittery birds and wintery creatures. Lots of snowman plushies, courtesy of a few, dedicated arcade expeditions with your favourite doctor.

New season, new start.

“We all remember how this went last time,” you push on finally. “Mistakes were made. Shit happened. Whatever— we’re not gonna dwell on it.”

Sylus lifts his hand. “I, for one, would enjoy a reminder of said mistakes.”

“Motion denied,” you dismiss with a grin and a customer-service enthusiasm that screams: don’t fuck with me right now. Sylus’s eyes sparkle, like embers anxious to become something brighter— more destructive. Don’t think about it. “It wasn’t my fault. You outnumbered me four-to-one that night, which is why my first order of business today is to appoint a co-host.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots into the air. You look at him incredulously. Zayne is stood beside you, his arms folded, and everyone else in the room has connected those particular dots.

“It’s Zayne, Rafayel,” you sigh. 

“What?!” He sits up straighter. “Why him?! What are his qualifications, huh? His credentials?”

“I’ve never set the kitchen on fire,” Zayne says.

The artist scoffs, adds under his breath: “Turned it into an ice rink, though.”

There’s a chuckle from Sylus, and a part of you feels bad, pitting Zayne against the others like this. But he’s not alone. He has you, just you, so you should probably do something. “That actually brings me really nicely to my next point, Raf, thank you.”

Unexpected praise. Rafayel stutters, a faint blush to his cheeks, and you take full advantage of having staggered him. “Zayne, do you wanna…?”

“Of course.” The dark-haired man adjusts his glasses, then addresses the rest of the room. “In the interest of everyone’s safety, we have devised a few rules to be adhered to for the rest of the evening. These will be enforced by a point system, which we will record… here.”

He flips the drawing pad open, and a blank table fills the top half of the page. Each quarter has been assigned a name. “Basically—” you gesture to it— “three strikes and you’re out.”

None of your guests look perturbed by this.

“The first rule is simple,” Zayne explains, pulling away a strip of paper from the bottom of the page, then reading the writing underneath: “No unauthorised use of Evols.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots up again. You tilt your head at it. “Yes, Raf?”

“Ok, so what if there’s a power-cut or something? Lights are out. Heating’s out. Big disaster, yeah? You’re saying I couldn’t—?” He clicks his fingers, spawning a small flame.

“We would use my Evol,” Xavier says with the gentle authority he uses to steer civilians away from a Wanderer incursion. “It’s safer.”

The flame is snuffed out. Rafayel huffs: “Don’t you use it to, like, kill things?”

“Yeah…” Xavier shrugs. “Bad things.”

“Second rule!” you chime.  

“Second rule,” Zayne echoes, peeling back the next strip of paper. There’s absolutely no showmanship, nor energy at all as he continues, “No unauthorised sarcasm.”

Another hand raises. “What would be authorised sarcasm?” Xavier asks, squinting as though he can’t quite figure it out on his own.

You purse your lips in thought. “If it makes me laugh?”

Rafayel is stroking his chin, his eyes narrowed, because he’s also thinking. “High risk, high reward,” he muses, and you shoot him a smile.

This is going better than you thought it would, actually. If you were to turn a few more pages of the drawing pad, you would see crude illustrations of the worst-case scenarios you’d sketched out for Zayne earlier. There’s one where Rafayel is trying to strangle Sylus with Christmas lights. There’s another where Zayne has turned you all into snowmen.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, though. The evening is young, and the snowman scenario is still very much on the table.

Culprit of about ninety percent of your nightmarish visions and drawings— Sylus has been unnervingly silent. You meet eyes with him, an inherent mistrust in your gaze. The success of this sweet, humble Christmas Eve hinges on you figuring out what he’s here for. His agenda. His ulterior motives.

What does he want from tonight? He smirks at you. You’re vaguely competent, and you can figure it out without him holding your hand, can’t you?

That reminds you of something. “Zayne.” You jostle your co-host by his arm. “Do the last rule!”

You’re excited about the last rule.

Zayne isn’t; he hesitates. “The last rule…” He rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s… it’s only applicable to you, Sylus.”

Sylus is now also excited about the last rule. You can tell from the way his lips part, for a second, like he wants to tell you just how flattered he is you spend so much of your time thinking about him.

You put Zayne out of his misery, tearing the final strip of paper away from the pad. The paper flutters to the ground like a very plain snowflake, and you wiggle your fingers, adorning the final rule with a touch of pizazz:

No smirking, sass, or general smugness.

A corner of Sylus’s mouth lifts. “Believe it or not, kitten, your little point system doesn’t scare me.”

You pick up the pen and score a mark under his name.

“Oh no,” he mutters lifelessly.

“Sarcasm!” Rafayel coughs.

You’re well ahead of him, already turning to make another mark. “Gods,” you hear Sylus grimace, not much more than a whisper, “you’re such a boy scout.”

There’s a snort from Rafayel. “Sorry, say that again? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you totally getting kicked out of here.”

“Sarcasm,” Sylus says.

“Wait, I didn’t mean— no!”

You giggle as you issue Rafayel’s first strike, and he groans behind you, slumping down in his seat. When you turn back around, his face is buried in his hands.

Sylus is smirking again, but the expression drops the moment he senses your gaze. You both know what’s at stake here. Back in the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran are lamenting the fact that you’ve stolen their leader— it’s not very Christmassy of you, after all. There were a lot of things they wanted to do with him. Snowball fights, presents, and a heist that required disguises: Santa and his two, hard-working elves. They already have the suit, custom-made for him.

So here is the big, bad boss of Onychinus, hiding in your apartment, and definitely not smirking.

You pop the lid back onto your pen, then post it into your pocket like you’re holstering an all-powerful weapon. That’s one point to you and Zayne, and zero points to Sylus, thank you very much.

…

“What are you doing?”

Sylus sighs, evading a furious lilac gaze while he focuses on the task at hand. Freshly escaped from you and the doctor’s terrifying lecture, he’s making the most of his liberty.

“What I am doing,” he mumbles, tying string around a sprig of mistletoe, “is between me and our charming host. Run along, little artist.” He tightens the knot. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Rafayel crosses his arms, his eyes dark. “You’re cheating.”

“Ha.” Sylus spares him a glance out of pity. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

He definitely is, but Sylus doesn’t have time for this game. He can hear you in your bedroom, rooting around for the phone charger you’d vanished in search of. Your door isn’t closed, but it’s closed enough. You can’t see him. He can’t see you. What a perfect opportunity.

“Give it to me,” Rafayel says— an interruption that warrants a roll of the eyes.

“No.”

“Give it—“ the artist starts again, then makes a grab for the mistletoe. Now that’s jealousy. He could incinerate the plant with a click of his fingers, but no, he wants it. Covets it.

Sylus chuckles quietly, his arm stretching up: holding the mistletoe out of an ever-more desperate reach.

To Rafayel’s credit, he persists. He goes up on his toes, tugging at the older man’s sleeve to try and drag the mistletoe closer. The plant evaporates in a swirl of dark energy the second he succeeds. It materialises behind Sylus’s back, in his other hand, and Rafayel realises instantly. He tries to stretch his arms around him. To take it from him.

“Absolutely not!”

Sylus’s fingers are suddenly empty. Mistletoe-less. He turns reluctantly, still holding Rafayel back.

You stand at your wide-open door, one hand on your hips and the other clutching his confiscated item. You’re frowning. Tapping your foot. Your lips are pursed adorably.

“What a coincidence, kitten,” Sylus smiles, and behind him, Rafayel pokes his tongue out, overcome with nausea. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Clearly.” You jostle the mistletoe, looking… disappointed? Huh. “Never thought I’d catch you indulging an old cliche.”

Sylus shrugs charmingly, like a cat performing a leisurely stretch after toppling a vase from a very high shelf.

“Give me the rest of it,” you command.

“Hmm?”

“The back-up mistletoe, Sy. I’m not an idiot.”

Sylus scoffs, but you do have him wrapped oh so prettily around your finger. He rolls his neck, stalling. If giving up were a slope, he would already be a heap at the bottom of it, but he doesn’t really mind. Three more sprigs of mistletoe appear from thin air, dropping into your open hands.

“Honestly, Sylus,” you groan, stepping past him. Then you thrust the plants to the artist’s chest. “Burn these, Raf.” You’re dusting your hands down as you walk away.

Sylus frowns. That’s neither ideal nor part of the plan.

Rafayel is looking at him, telling him with gloating silence that there’s no playing diplomat, here— no negotiating the return of the hostages. That bridge has been— rather fittingly— burned. The mistletoe turns slowly to ash: darkened by licks of flame that curl with the eager spite of their master’s lips.

It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so damned inconvenient. When the fire’s had its fun, one sprig of mistletoe remains, rich green and ivory— wholly untouched. You’re across the room, talking to Zayne, so Rafayel smirks in triumph. Tucks his prize into his pocket.

Sylus’s heart sinks with it, but he still smiles back.

…

Rafayel isn’t looking too good.

Well, the Rafayel is looking fine, but your Rafayel? Not so much. You steal a glance at the artist across the cluttered kitchen island; he’s sat, leaning, propped up on his elbows, his eyes glazed— he’s clearly away with the fishies. He catches you staring. Gives you a wink.

You glance down at the gingerbread man you’ve been decorating: the blue-pink of his iced eyes, and the mess of purple hair, at least three shades too dark. Oh, gods— probably a million shades too dark through the gaze of a Lemurian. At least the outfit is cute? You’ve recreated Rafayel’s signature cardigan. The plaid pattern isn’t quite straight, but that was a… deliberate choice. This is your interpretation of his cardigan, and you wanted it to reflect its owner. A little all over the place, but still, you love it. Even when it’s coming undone, it keeps you warm.

“Would you like to go next?”

Zayne is talking to you, smiling at you. He was the first to reveal his gingerbread creation: a miniature Xavier that was surprisingly true to life. Your hunting partner had almost glowed with delight, while you were dark with jealousy. The biscuit sits before you all, boasting details that could only be achieved with an exceedingly steady hand.

Worse: Rafayel’s gingerbread is next to it, stupidly, predictably perfect. It’s Zayne. It’s really Zayne, from the sweep of black hair to the hazel eyes; how on earth did he manage to make that colour? The tiny doctor is dressed in his lab coat, sporting his badge and a pocketful of even tinier pens and medical instruments. There’s… shading? Ugh, you can see the creases in the fabric.

“Umm… sure, I can go next,” you mumble.

It was just your luck, pulling Rafayel’s name out of that hat. Sheepishly, you move aside the cookbook you’d stood to guard your project from any prying eyes. Your gingerbread is nudged forwards.

“That’s me!” Rafayel exclaims.

“Yeah…” you confirm half-heartedly. “Sorry, I know it’s not great, but I—”

Lack the skill of a celebrity artist, or the steady hands of a cardiac surgeon? You have no idea which exact pool of self-pity your sentence was set on drowning within, but it doesn’t matter. Rafayel has plucked your gingerbread up for a closer look, and his smile is enormous. “This is amazing!”

“You don’t have to—”

“That’s my cardigan!” He’s crashing the pity party again. “And look at my eyes— the colours! This little guy is so handsome, yeah? You really did me justice, cutie. Look at him!”

He holds the gingerbread up to his face, trying to match its two-dimensional grin. He looks around for affirmation, and it’s just his luck, because is a single man at this table ever going to insult your hard work?

“The eyes are amazing,” Xavier enthuses. “Like the sky at sunset. Who knew my partner was so talented?”

“I did,” Rafayel chirps happily.

Xavier frowns. “No, it was rhetori— never mind.” He smiles at you. Rolls with it. “I knew too, by the way.”

“As did I,” Zayne adds.

Everyone looks at Sylus, who shrugs a shoulder and says, “It was up for debate.”

“Can we please move onto the next person?” you press. This is all too much attention. “Sylus, can you… please?”

He does like it when you beg, but he likes it even more when he can play knight in shining armour. “My pleasure, sweetie.”

For a man whose creative side is mostly indulged by vintage gun restorations, he reveals his gingerbread with a staggering amount of confidence. It’s placed at the centre of the kitchen island, where you all stare down at it. Its hair is snow-white, and its eyes: blood-red.

“That’s…” Zayne begins.

“That’s you, Sylus!” you take-over, voice shrill with betrayal. “You were supposed to say something if you picked yourself! And you— wait, what are…?” There are distinct lines over the gingerbread’s midriff. It dawns on you: “Are those abs?!”

Sylus shrugs again.

“They so are!” You snatch up the biscuit, standing to wave it in Sylus’s face like a crime-scene photo. “Where’s his shirt, huh?”

“He lost it.”

“Bullshit!” you snap. This gingerbread competition had come with its own set of rules, one of which was very clearly: “Nothing obscene! I said nothing obscene, Sylus!”  

He leans away from you with a tut. “It’s tasteful, sweetie. The artist will tell you.”

“The artist is staying out of this,” Rafayel murmurs, off to your side.

Sylus crosses his arms, regardless, as though his case has been made. You cross your arms too.

“Can I show you my gingerbread now?” Xavier asks, and his tone is deceivingly soft: a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back.

You release the tension in your body with a sigh, then set the gingerbread down so you can’t throw it at Sylus’s un-smug face (which he’s been very careful about.) “Of course, Xavier,” you smile, slinking back onto your stool. You can throw something at Sylus later. “Ooh, is it me? It has to be me, right?”

Xavier chuckles awkwardly. “It’s you. I don’t think it’s very good, though.”

“Show me!” you insist.

The final cookbook is removed, and Xavier unveils his hard work. You clamp a hand to your mouth.

You don’t have a single word for what you’re looking at— only laughter, and you can’t let yourself laugh, no matter what. If that gingerbread is you? Then it’s a you who’s been torn apart by Wanderers, at least seven consecutive times. Your face is a swirl of colours and features— you think Xavier must have tried to wipe it off to start again, more than once, but it hasn’t worked.

The gingerbread has been broken, too. Three of the four limbs, to be exact, and that you could forgive, but… did he have to use dark red icing to glue them back on? It drips out of the joins messily, almost making you wince.

Everyone is silent.

“A perfect likeness,” says Sylus.

You burst out laughing, and the moment you do, Rafayel’s right there with you. Even Sylus caves— it’s one of the most sincere laughs you’ve ever heard from him. There are tears in your eyes; you can’t help it. Zayne is the strongest of you, but even the tight line of his mouth quivers. He’s biting his lip.

But it’s fine. Xavier is laughing, too. “I said it wasn’t very good!”

“Xavier!” you wheeze. You can’t even look at him. Your stomach hurts. “What… what happened to me?!”

“What do you mean?” he practically giggles.

“What do I mean?” you repeat, and it tips you into another breathless bout of laughter. You go to point at the gingerbread— all the explanation you need— but it almost kills you. You really can’t breathe. After half a minute, you try again. “I look like I’ve been in an accident!”

“Here,” Rafayel grins, and he slides the Doctor Zayne gingerbread over to poor, suffering gingerbread you.

“Aww!” you smile, having finally caught your breath.

Wordlessly, Zayne retrieves his likeness— pulling it away from yours. You frown at him, as confused and wounded as Xavier apparently imagines you. “Even I have my limits,” the doctor shrugs.

That’s it. You’re gone again, your sides aching as your whole body shakes with laughter. It’s too much. Gods, it’s too much. You’re gonna need another minute.

…

“I can’t believe you made you.”

It’s been fifteen or so minutes, and you toy with Sylus’s gingerbread counterpart, pinching his hands between your thumbs and forefingers— making him walk (well, penguin waddle) across the kitchen island.

“Believe it, sweetie,” Sylus huffs with a smile.

“Is this really how you see yourself?”

Before you can walk the gingerbread any further, his creator plucks him up by his head, away from your reaching fingers. “It’s how I think you should see me,” he chuckles. He holds the gingerbread out to you. Wiggles it. “For your eyes only, kitten.”

“Except the other guys saw it—”

“Shhhh, shh shh!” In his haste to silence you, he almost pushes the gingerbread to your lips.

You glare at him. Complain from behind it: “Get your shirtless abs out of my face, Sylus.”

“Make me.”

You snatch the gingerbread, pinning it down on the counter. “Keep pushing your luck, Sy. Wanna see what’ll happen?”

He absolutely does, and his eyes glint with mirth as you reach for a near-empty bowl of crimson icing. You scrape some of it up with a discarded teaspoon, then let it drip generously over his gingerbread. It takes a few, long seconds to really cover him in it. To make him look as fatally tragic as gingerbread you.

“Here,” you say, dropping the spoon in a bowl with a satisfied clink. You hold out the gingerbread. “This’ll be you when I’m done with you.”

Sylus regards it for a moment, his eyebrow quirked. Then his eyes find your gingerbread likeness. “Want to see what you’ll look like when I’m done with you?”

His hand goes out for the bowl of red icing, except… it goes past the bowl of red icing, and lands on a tube of white icing instead. He holds it up with a smile.

“Inappropriate.”

The tube is swept out of his fingers, and he blinks at the empty space, legitimately surprised.

“It was snow, doctor,” he remarks bitterly, once he’s recovered from the second ambush of the evening. He glances over his shoulder. “From a snowball fight?”

“Sure it was,” Zayne mutters, already turning back to the bowl he’s washing in the sink.

Sylus is frowning, affronted, but the expression softens when you’re filling his gaze again. You: your hands on your mouth, so close to spilling laughter. “Oooooh,” you tease with a secretive sing-song voice, “you got in trouble!”

He wrinkles his nose like ‘trouble’ is an insult. It sets you off sniggering uncontrollably.

“What did I miss?”

It’s Xavier, back from the lounge.

“Nothing,” Sylus answers.

“He got in trouble!” you counteract with a not-at-all quiet whisper.  

You earn a glare from the criminal, and a little laugh from the hunter. “Third-strike trouble?” the latter enquires. He might have handcuffs on stand-by; it wouldn’t surprise you.

“Not yet,” you grin cheerfully.  

Zayne sets a plate on the drying rack. “Give it time.”

…

“I don’t think we have enough, sweetie,” Sylus quips, peeking over the stack of blankets you’ve piled high on his arms. 

What was it Rafayel said? High risk, high reward? You mercifully chuckle. Your arms are wrapped around three, plush cushions— the last of your sleepover supplies. Snacks? Are ready. Guests? Haven’t killed each-other yet. You toe open your bedroom door, shouldering the rest of the way through with your missing puzzle pieces of luxury.

“Oh, nice!” someone exclaims from the kitchen. Xavier is watching you, starry-eyed, and his cheeks are full; he’s midway through a cookie.

Sylus steps through the door behind you, issuing a faint noise of disgust. He sounds like he’s being attacked by a bug, so you turn around, ready to leap to the rescue. He’s stood within the door frame, eyes cast upwards to where a sprig of mistletoe hangs on the end of a string. It’s swaying gently; he must have caught his head on it. You frown, lips parted. He was with you the whole time you were looting your bedroom. When did he…? How did he…?

He looks down at you, the mistletoe still hovering above him. You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable joke, or the even more inevitable invitation. 

“I…’ he starts gingerly, “I didn’t…” 

Oh. He’s just as confused as you are, and it’s… really cute. He’s lost for words— the man who came here with not one, but four sprigs of mistletoe. The man who threatened your gingerbread with white icing. The man who’s spent the entire evening thinking about how he wants to be close to you.

Sylus laughs, but it’s full of nervousness. “It’s alright,” he says, “you don’t have to—”

You tilt him towards you, your hand on his shoulder and cushions around your feet. “Merry Christmas, Sy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It’s warm on your lips.

His eyes flutter closed. “Merry Christmas,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper. 

You hum contentedly as you pull away from him. When his eyes reopen, they’re warm with a nostalgia you cannot explain, but you can feel, too— so inexplicably. His gaze is blood-red, but it makes you think of flowers. 

What a funny feeling. It strikes you a lot, nowadays, and not just with the man in front of you. 

Speaking of the others, you glance towards your lounge. Xavier is telling Zayne a story, and Rafayel is watching you from over the back of the sofa— turning away when you spot him. That’s one mystery solved. You collect the cushions from the floor, sparing Sylus a smile before you meander back to your party. The coffee table’s a banquet of sweet, sugary snacks, so you carefully skirt past it.

Xavier’s hands grab at air. You laugh and toss him a cushion. “Thanks,” he grins. 

“Here— your favourite.” Zayne is pointing at your freshly-filled mug, and you grin your own thank you as you settle down next to him. 

Sylus soon arrives too, handing out blankets, and for all the evening’s animosity, he gets a grateful smile for each. He sits down next to Xavier, and it’s odd, you know? You’ve slain Wanderers, saved lives with every person around you. You’ve seen them bleed and kill.

They’re all wrapping themselves up, like snuggly little Christmas presents. Xavier’s managed to collect another cushion— from Zayne, maybe?— and he’s practically building a fort on his side of the couch. Some of it infringes on Sylus’s space, and you notice him notice, but he doesn’t say a word. Oblivious, tucked under two blankets, Xavier’s already looking sleepy. 

Someone’s making less of an effort to get comfortable. On the other side of you, Rafayel sits, uncharacteristically quiet. He hasn’t met your eyes since you sat down. You remember him, watching you under the mistletoe from across the room, and the thought has you leaning in closer. 

“That was sweet of you,” you whisper, even though he disobeyed you. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugs.

But he does, so you kiss his cheek, ever so fondly, with that funny feeling in your chest again. It’s the first time, but it doesn’t strike you as such. Uncharted waters, a foreign land— when have I been here before?

Rafayel has relaxed: sunken deep into the sofa and the security of your touch. You smile, pulling his blanket up higher around him— tighter around him— until he’s as much of a cocoon as everyone else. His lips curve with a smile of surrender, ever-willingly captured. Silly fish. 

You draw away from him, readjusting in your seat until you’re cuddled up next to Zayne. You don’t see the wink Rafayel shoots Sylus, or the look of begrudging respect in the latter’s red eyes. 

“Are you comfortable?” Zayne asks, head angling towards yours. 

Co-host to co-host. “Yeah.” You snuggle closer to him. “This is kinda perfect, isn’t it?” He feels cold, despite his Sylus-issued blanket, so you lend him part of yours.

“No,” he confers softly, distractedly. 

“No?”

“No.” He gives you a look, and you know it as intimately as the chill of his hands and the warmth of his heart. His ‘I know something that you don’t’ look. Sure enough, he says: “I think it’s missing something.” 

On the other sofa, Xavier is beaming at you, having caught onto your conversation. It’s suspicious— harmless conspiracy, surprise-party sort of suspicious, but your pulse still picks up. 

“Close your eyes,” Zayne instructs. 

And you do, without question. Darkness, yes, but you’re under his care, aren’t you? There’s no anxiousness in your excitement, just trust for the man who was looking out for you long before he was your doctor. Your hands are over your eyes and you’re younger, again, playing hide-and-seek, again.

Zayne’s is a familiarity you can place. A nostalgia built on memories, not reveries.

Something icy touches your hand, then melts without any resistance. 

“Open,” Zayne prompts, leaning against you to stir you. 

Your apartment has changed again. The lights are all out, save for the fairy lights. The spectrum of colours flicker from the walls and the tree, catching on tiny, white specs in the air. Snowflakes are drifting down, impossibly. Falling, dancing— maybe a bit of both. You look up and some land on your face, cold with their kisses. You giggle in delight. 

Everyone’s gaze is on the ceiling: sapphire, emerald, amethyst, ruby. It ought to be dark. Instead, an entire night sky fills the space above you, scattered with thousands of stars. Every pinprick is deliberate. Meticulously placed. There are constellations— infinite patterns that transcend every life you might’ve lead, and every life you’ll ever lead (if you believe in that sort of thing.)

Xavier glances at you, and you forgo the spell of his masterpiece so that you can glance back. Snowflakes are in his hair, dusting him with sparkles. He smiles in a way you think could defy lifetimes, too. 

“This is… really something,” Sylus says, and there’s not a hint of sarcasm. 

It’s everything. The stars, brighter for darkness. The snow, only novel in warmth. These things don’t always work— they’ll undo each-other, overpower each-other, but there’s an ultimate balance, in-between every conflict. An occasional harmony, and it’s… 

Perfect. 

Rafayel scoots close to you. “Was this authorised?” he whispers. 

You look over to the point board, where there are first strikes beneath Zayne and Xavier’s names, and you don’t know how long they’ve been there. 

“No,” you laugh tenderly. “No, it wasn’t.”

[stargazsblog]

how to lose a girl in 10 days | ch.1 the bet

ryomen sukuna x fem!reader

ʚɞ ryomen sukuna is tall, devastatingly handsome, and the campus heartbreaker. everyone knows his name, and his reputation for leaving girls with broken hearts. but then there's you uninterested and completely unimpressed by him. you're the only girl who couldn't care less about him. when his friends tease him about it, everything changes. they challenge him with a bet to make you, the one person who isn't affected by his charm, fall in love with him in just 10 days, sukuna accepts the challenge, thinking it'll be an easy win. it's just a game, a way to prove he can get any girl he wants. but the more time he spends with you, he finds himself wanting something he never expected.

ʚɞ warning/tags: angst, fluff, romance, use of cigarettes and alcohol, jealousy, asshole sukuna, heartbreak, inspired by how to lose a guy in 10 days, college au, enemies to lovers.

ʚɞ now playing - no. 1 party anthem by arctic monkeys

note: hi guys! this is the first chapter and I'm so excited this is just about how the bet starts nothing crazyyyy YET… i can’t wait to write more! merry christmas!! <3

masterlist

“I still don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” you muttered, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. The muffled thump of bass from inside the house was enough to make your ears ring, even from a distance. The faint smell of cigarette smoke and cheap beer mixed with the crisp winter breeze, making you wrinkle your nose.

“Because,” Shoko said, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “Deep down, you know you’ll have fun if you let yourself.” she grinned at you.

You side-eye her, “Have fun?, this is a party of drunk idiots I have to pretend I like.”

“Don't be dramatic.” Shoko rolled her eyes, patting your shoulder as she let you go. ”You spend too much time brooding alone in your dorm, anyway.”

“I call it peace,” you shot back, but Shoko was already halfway up the stairs.

The door swung open before either of you could reach it. A group of boys tumbled out, laughing and shouting, nearly knocking you over in the process. You stepped aside just in time, muttering a curse under your breath

The heat of the crowded house hit you immediately. The air was thick, almost suffocating, with the smell of sweat, spilled drinks, and overly sweet perfume. Bodies pressed together as people danced to the relentless beat of the music.

“Come on, let's get a drink,” she said, grabbing your wrist and leading you towards the kitchen. You stuck close to her, pushing past people in the crowd and avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

“This is a disaster,” you muttered as you reached the kitchen, leaning against the counter. Shoko handed you a bottle of water before pouring herself something that smelled suspiciously strong.

“It's just a party,” she replied.

As she took a sip, she leaned against the counter, her eyes scanning the room again. “There he is,” she said, nudging you with her elbow.

“Who?”

“You know who.”

Your gaze followed hers, landing on a familiar figure sprawled out on the couch in the corner of the living room. Ryomen Sukuna.

He was sitting on the couch like he owned the place, his long legs stretched out, one arm casually draped over the back of the sofa. He was wearing a white shirt, the fabric clinging just enough to hint at the toned muscles underneath. His eyes scanned the room with practiced boredom, like none of it was worth his time.

A girl was sitting on his lap, twirling her hair around her finger and giggling as if he’d just told her the funniest joke in the world. She leaned closer, whispering something in his ear, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead, his gaze drifted and then locked onto yours.

He grinned, a slow, cocky smirk that made something in your chest tighten not with attraction, but with irritation. It was the kind of grin that said he knew exactly the effect he had on people and loved to watch them crumble under it. He tilted his head slightly, as if to say, Caught you staring

As you looked away, you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. But you didn’t turn back. You weren’t interested.

“Great,” you muttered, taking a long sip from your water bottle. “Now I have to burn this memory from my brain.”

Shoko laughed, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “Oh, come on. You’ve got to admit, he’s hot.”

“He’s insufferable.”

“Hot and insufferable. The best combination.”

“I’ll leave right now.” you turned heel, but Shoko grabbed your arm, stopping you from your track.

“Relax, I’m just teasing you.”

Your jaw tightened, but you stayed put, watching as Sukuna leaned back even further, his eyes still fixed on you. The girl on his lap pouted, clearly annoyed at his lack of attention, but he didn’t seem to care.

“I hate him,” you muttered under your breath. The words came out bitter, but they were true. “Did I mention that before?”

“Yeah, like hundreds of times,” She replied, laughing “You really hate him, huh?”

“I just don’t get how people fall for his act,” you said.

Shoko shrugged. “Like I said, he’s hot. People like hot.”

“Hot doesn’t excuse being an asshole,” you murmured, crossing your arms. “What’s his deal, anyway? Does he just sit there all night waiting for people to grovel at his feet?”

“Pretty much,” Shoko said with a shrug. “But he’s good at it. Watch.”

As if on cue, another girl approached him, drink in hand. She leaned down, her lips close to his ear as she said something you couldn’t hear. Sukuna smirked, his attention finally shifting away from you, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“See? he’s harmless,” Shoko said.

“Harmless,” you repeated, your voice with sarcasm. “Sure.”

“You know, you’re the only one who doesn’t fall for his charm.”

“Good,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “I’m not about to start. I don’t need someone like him in my life.”

“You gonna keep her there all night?” Suguru asked, nodding towards the girl on Sukuna’s lap.

Sukuna smirked tilting his head back. “why not? She's comfortable here.” the girl giggled again, clearly tipsy, but Sukuna's attention has already wandered. His eyes scanned the room lazily, taking in the usual suspect, drunk athletes, and the occasional out-of-place loner. Until it landed on you.

You stood in the kitchen, keeping your distance from the chaos, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed. Your eyes roamed over the room, observing, until they met his. He caught you looking, and a smirk tugged at his lips. When you quickly looked away, he let out a low chuckle.

His friends noticed this.

“You’ve been staring at her for the last ten minutes, what’s the deal?” Geto voice cut thought Sukuna’s thoughts, and he glanced over at his friend.

“I’m not staring,” Sukuna retorted smoothly, his tone laced with nonchalance as he effortlessly lifted the girl off his lap. She let out an irritated groan, before stalking off in a huff. “Just observing,”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Geto teased, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve seen the way you're staring at her, that’s not the ‘I’m observing’ look you usually give what’s going on with you.”

Sukuna’s gaze flickered to you once more. “She’s different,” He had noticed you around campus—the way you never spared him a second glance when you passed by, completely unaffected by his presence. Once, he’d even tried to strike up a conversation, but you had brushed past him without so much as acknowledging him, as though he were invisible.

Gojo chuckled “Different? Dude, that girl is the only one who doesn’t drool over you.”

Sukuna’s lip curled into a sly grin. “So what?”

“So,” Suguru continues, crossing his arms, leaning against the couch. “you’ve never met a girl who doesn’t fall for your charm, right? You’ve been with everyone but her? she couldn’t care less.”

Gojo snorted. “And she’s probably the only one on campus. That’s gotta sting.”

Sukuna scoffed, leaning forward slightly. “Please. She is probably playing hard to get.”

Geto exchanged a glance with Gojo, and then a mischievous grunt flashed his eyes. “All alright, how about we make this interesting? We give you ten days.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, “Ten days?’

“Yeah,” he said with a sly smile “Ten days you make her fall in love with you.”

Sukana let out a short laugh, but the challenge already sounded fun to him. He never was the type to back down from a game. “You think I need ten days?”

Suguru shrugged, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “It’d be easier if it were any other girl. But this one… she’s too—what’s the word? Stubborn. Definitely not into guys like you,” he said, “She won’t be an easy win. That’s what makes it interesting, though.”

Satoru chimes in “Yeah, man. You can’t just use your looks and charm this time. You’re gonna have to actually work for it.”

Sukana's eyes flicked back to you for a split second. You were standing there unaware of the conversation that was happening a few feet away from you. “Ten days huh?” he murmured.

“Ten days” Gojo repeated. “And if you fail you lose. It's as simple as that.”

His expression turned darker, the idea of him not winning seemed unthinkable. He wasn’t just going to prove them wrong he was going to show them that no one could resist him.

Gojo leaned back, a grin tugging at his lips. “Oh, and one more thing,” he added, glancing at Sukuna. “You can't be seen with other girls. It’s gotta look real, after all.”

Sukuna’s expression shifted slightly, an eyebrow raised in silent challenge. “You think I need rules to make this work?” he asked.

Geto gave a small nod. “It’s just to make sure no one gets suspicious. You’ll need to actually put in the effort.”

Sukuna smirked, unfazed. “Fine. I’ll play by your rules, but don’t expect me to go easy on her.”

Ten days to make you fall for him. The girl who wouldn’t give him the time of the day. The girl who didn’t care about his reputation. The girl who has no idea what was coming for her.

Unknowingly, you had already been pulled into his game.

“You think his shirt could be any tighter,” Shoko muttered, nodding towards a guy who was flexing across the room.

You snorted. “Pretty sure it's painted on.” leaning against the kitchen counter. Shoko grinned at your words, sipping from her cup.

The kitchen was quieter than the rest of the party, you leaned against the counter sipping on your water. Shoko perched on the edge of the sink, swinging her legs as she talked. You were nodding and listening to the story she was telling you. You hear a group of people walking in the kitchen, their laughter loud and careless. You don’t even need to turn around to know who it is. The weight of his presence pressed into the room like a rebound heartbeat. Ryomen Sukuna.

His graze swept the kitchen, it lingered on you for a moment too long, and a smirk appeared on his face.

“Shoko,” one of his friends called out, his tone playful, but almost teasing. “Come help us with something. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and them. “Fun, huh? i doubt it.”

“It’s better than being stuck in here,” another white-haired friend chimed in.

She rolled her eyes but slid off the counter anyway, giving you a quick pat on the shoulder. “Don’t get too comfortable,” she said with a wink before following them out of the kitchen. And then, it was just you and him.

Great.

Sukuna didn't say anything, but you could feel the weight of his gaze, as he leaned against the counter across from you.

“Guess it’s just us now,” he said finally his voice low and smooth.

You didn't look up, keeping your focus on your drink “Lucky me,” you replied, your tone dry.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and deep. “You don’t sound too thrilled.”

When you finally glanced up, he was much closer than you’d expected. His tall frame leaned casually against the counter opposite you. Up close, the details of his features were almost overwhelming—the sharp line of his jaw, the subtle curve of his lips that formed an infuriatingly smug smirk, and the mess of his hair falling carelessly over his forehead. You couldn’t deny it, no matter how much you wanted to. He was hot—like, really hot.

“You’re not exactly the first guy to try this,” you said coolly, taking another sip from your drink, your gaze steady as you met his.

Sukuna tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in amusement. “Try what?” he asked.

“Whatever you’re doing right now,” you replied, “the whole brooding, mysterious thing. It’s not as original as you think.”

He laughed at that, his head tilting back just enough to expose the line of his throat. It wasn’t often that people spoke to him like this, you realized. Most would have thrown themselves at him.

“You’re sharp,” he said, pushing off the counter and taking a step closer. The scent of him hits you. “I like that,” he added, his voice low, a hint of approval in his tone as his gaze lingered on you.

You arched an eyebrow, unimpressed by him. “And I don’t care.”

He paused not being he was offended, but because he wasn’t used to being dismissed, even by someone who didn't so much flinch under his gaze.

He took another step forward, closing the distance between you. “Most people would kill to be in your position right now,” his tone quieter now, almost intimate, as his eyes locked onto yours.

You smirked, setting your drink on the counter behind you. “Then maybe you should go find ‘most people,’” you replied coolly, not breaking eye contact.”

The silence hung in the air. Sukuna’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, then slowly, his gaze dipped to your lips. The smirk on his face faltered just slightly as if he was plotting something in his mind, before it returned—sharper, more amused.

“You’re different,” he murmured finally, his voice low, the words lingering in the air as his gaze stayed fixed on your lips, the tension between you growing with each passing second.

“Should I take that as a compliment?” you asked.

“Take it however you want,” he said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper, his gaze still lingering on your lips as if he was waiting for your next move.

His gaze made it hard to look away. But you forced yourself to break the connection, turning your focus elsewhere. You weren’t sure what Sukuna was trying to do—charm you, challenge you, or maybe a little of both.

“I’m not interested in you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you said, your tone firm, making sure he knew you weren’t fazed by his presence.

He tilted his head, his smirk fading for a moment. He just looked at you, his dark eyes searching yours as if he were trying to read you.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, his voice low and confident, before turning and walking out.

You let out a slow breath, the heat of his presence lingering in the air. Sukuna wasn’t used to being ignored, and for him, that only made you more of a challenge.

But you weren’t here to play his game.

At least, that’s what you thought.

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[btsgotjams27]

late nights | knj

summary: late nights with namjoon turn into a heated session when you’re in need of a stress-reliever.

✨ title: late nights (don't push your luck couple) ✨ pairing: namjoon x f!reader ✨ genre/au: pwp, smut, co-workers, enemies to (maybe) lovers ✨ rating: R (MDNI!!) | ✨ word count: 2.9k ✨ warnings: cursing, fingering, oral (m. & f. receiving), orgasm denial, unprotected penetrative sex, (some) begging, use of pet names (baby, darling), both are playful in their words but ofc there are feelings ✨ author's note: after watching the rpwp docu, i haven't been able to stop thinking about this man 🫦 so here's a horny word vomit. excuse my writing because it's been a minute, so i apologize in advance if it's no good 🙃 i'm also tagging @kingofbodyrolls bc i promised i would when this came out <3 <3

[ SERIES MASTERLIST ] | previous ~ pitch fest

Late nights with Namjoon were becoming a regular affair—for work, not for play, at least for tonight.

The pair of you crunching numbers and proposing an improved business plan for next week’s investors meeting had your panties in a twist. The past year in publishing proved to be a lot harder than expected—you didn’t realize how tough this industry was without a big name behind you.

Your nose is scrunched and your eyes are focused as you’re furiously scanning the presentation for errors. Namjoon stares you down then covers your hands with his. “Your eyes are going to pop out of your head if you don’t slow down.”

“We have too much to lose. This presentation has to be perfect or else we’ll lose the company.” As you continue on, ensuring the slides are flawless, you can only feel Namjoon’s dragon eyes burning through you.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re gonna eat me.”

Namjoon chuckles and leans forward. “Because I do—want to eat you.”

You’re not gonna lie—your panties are twisted because of this presentation, but now they’re soaked too. You hate how easily you crumble under his words, but you won’t let him see just how easily you can come undone.

“I’m gonna kick you out of my place if you don’t stop,” you threaten, continuing to type away.

The wooden chair legs scraped against the hardwood floor as Namjoon stood up, his footsteps echoing behind you as he walked closer. “What exactly are you working on anyway?” he asks, leaning down so close you can smell the cologne that you love on him.

Clearing your throat, you reply with a gulp, “Just…the presentation.”

Honestly, you’ve spent too much time finding the perfect font, but does it really matter at this point? Investors won’t give you money because they liked your presentation looks, it’s about how much they’ll have in their pockets.

His presence overwhelms every hair on your body, and when his hands begin to massage your shoulders, you’re practically melting into a puddle. “You’re so tense.”

One hand continues to rub circles on your nape, causing you to groan. “Fuck…” you hiss when he reaches a knot. “Joon…” you whine.

He hums, then proceeds down your spine. The pads of his fingers wrap around your torso, dangerously close to the underside of your breasts. You’re already imagining him taking a handful and giving them a good squeeze.

Your eyes flutter shut as he continues. His thumbs pressing deeply into your back—you’re convinced he’ll leave marks just like how you do to him. It’s embarrassing when you see the red scratch marks peeking from under his dress shirt at work, however it does give you the satisfaction when he meets with an attractive author or investor and they just happen to see it as well. You’re petty and you know it.

The soft groans escaping your lips are undignified. But it goes to show just how much stress you’ve been under—you’re like a volcano bubbling, getting ready to burst and overflow, overtaking everything surrounding you, and Namjoon is the not-so-innocent bystander.

His lips barely touch the shell of your ear and he asks in a low whisper, “You okay?”

You’re not okay. You need more.

More of him. Touching you everywhere. Having you in any way that he wants. You’ll do anything no questions asked.

Your dignity—nonexistent.

Your morals, values—what the hell is that?

You need Kim Namjoon to fulfill every single fantasy you’ve had and it’s more than you like to admit.

And before you know it, your hands cover his, tugging them forward, encouraging him to do as he pleases, and he does so willingly. With ragged breaths, you relish in his touch, softly uttering his name under your breath.

Namjoon leans down from behind, kissing your shoulders and squeezing your breasts. A small whimper leaves your lips as his big, warm hand reaches down your top to the pert, pebbled nipple just aching for more of him.

You’re well aware of your actions when you chose to wear your dusty blue pajamas that match perfectly. The bow tie top is overly available for Namjoon to access. You noticed his eyes wandering throughout the night, and now you’re ready for him to strip you bare.

His plush lips leave trails of kisses down your neck, making you lean back into him. 

“Joon…” You’re embarrassed at how easily his name rolls off your tongue—maybe you’ve been practicing too much at night by yourself.

He hums before kissing your shoulders and pulling your top to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his mouth. When you turn around to look for his lips, they are drawn to each other like magnets and refuse to part. You stand, snaking your arms around his frame.

Namjoon breaks the kiss, causing you to groan. “I like you like this.”

“Like what?” you ask with an exasperated sigh.

“Whiny. Needy.” He smirks, knowing he has you wrapped around his finger, though you’d rather have something else wrapped around his finger at the moment.

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

He leans in, his lips ghost over yours, barely touching. He’s teasing, wanting you to beg for it, but you don’t give in. You swipe your tongue against his bottom lip, hoping he caves and gives you what you want. He smiles against your lips, his warm breath fanning you.

“Impatient, are we?” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. You can feel the rumble of his words against your chest, sending a shiver down your spine. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently, urging him closer. He resists, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are dark with desire, a challenge he wants to win.

“Maybe,” you breathe, refusing to give him the satisfaction of admitting how much you want this—him.

Namjoon chuckles. His hand slides up underneath your top, fingertips tracing your spine. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, lips brushing against your ear.

Your breath catches in your throat as his fingers dance along your skin. The heat of his body, the teasing touches, it’s all too much, making it hard to string along coherent words.

“You,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want you, Joon.”

His smile widens, triumphant yet tender. “Was that so hard?” he teases, but there’s a gentleness to his tone that makes your heart flutter.

Before you can respond, his lips crash against yours, passionate and demanding. The kiss is everything you’ve been craving—hot, deep, and overwhelming. Your fingers tighten in his hair as you pull him closer, eliminating any remaining space between your bodies.

His hand at your back presses you firmly into him, and you’re savoring the fact that his erection is throbbing against you. He wants you just as much as you want him.

When you finally break apart, both gasping for air, his forehead rests against yours.

“Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting to fuck you tonight?,” he utters, his voice rough with lust. His hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You arch into his touch, craving more.

“Cocky, are we?” you challenge, your hands sliding down to his throbbing cock, giving it a good squeeze. “Just because I want you doesn't mean I wanna fuck you. What if I just wanna cuddle?” you utter the worst lie known to man. Joon knows all your bullshit.

He growls low in his throat, the sound sending a jolt of electricity through your body. “Yeah? Don't want me to fuck you, hm?”

In one fluid motion, he lifts you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He carries you toward the bedroom, his strong arms supporting you effortlessly. As he lowers you onto the soft sheets, his dragon eyes never leave yours, burning into you with an intensity.

Your hand toys with the end of the tie on your top, slowly undoing them, slipping the top off your shoulders, revealing your breasts. This isn’t your first time sleeping with Namjoon, but somehow you feel even more exposed. You’ve denied your feelings for so long, and you think you’re ready to bear it all. Maybe even give him a piece of your heart.

“Thought you didn’t want me to fuck you?” He asks, voice proud as he cocks his head.

His eyes don’t wander down to your chest—not yet, they’re still fixated on you. He removes his sweatshirt, exposing his taut and toned body, and the black Calvin Klein briefs shouldn’t be affecting you, but they are. His gray sweats sit low on his waist, and you want nothing but to tear it off of him.

The outline of his erection is demanding attention from you—eyes, mouth, and hands ready to feast upon the dessert you skipped tonight. You’re greedy. You don’t want to share with anyone, but you won’t let him know just how urgently your mouth wants to be wrapped around his cock.

You reach out, fingers grazing the waistband of his sweats. His breath hitches as you slowly pull them down, revealing more of those tempting briefs. Your mouth waters at the sight of his impressive bulge straining against the fabric. “Joon, fuck me or leave,” you demand, voice thick with need.

He steps out of the sweats, kicking them aside before joining you on the bed. His weight dips the mattress as he hovers over you. He leans down, tugging your pajama pants off. His hand traces the curve of your waist, and his finger is hooked underneath your lace undies.

His fingers tease along the edge of your lace underwear, sending sparks of electricity through your body. You arch into his touch, silently begging for more. Namjoon’s eyes darken as he watches your reaction, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

“So responsive,” he murmurs, voice husky with desire. “I love how your body reacts to me.”

Slowly, torturously, he peels the lace down your legs, his fingers igniting glowing particles along your soft skin. You lift your hips to help him, desperate to feel his skin against yours. As he tosses the underwear aside, his gaze roams over your now fully naked body, appreciation and hunger evident in his eyes.

“Fuck—you’re so beautiful,” he breathes, leaning down to kiss your collarbone. His lips trail lower down your chest. When he reaches your breast, he takes a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

You gasp, arching into him as pleasure courses through you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close as he lavishes attention on your breasts. His hand slides down the expanse of your stomach, teasing along your inner thigh before finally touching where you need him most.

A moan escapes your lips as his fingers explore your wet folds. He groans against your skin, clearly pleased by how aroused you are for him.

“So wet for me already?” His thumb finds your clit, circling it slowly as he slides a finger inside you.

“Ah!” you gasp, hips bucking against his hand. The dual sensation of his fingers working you and his mouth on your breast is overwhelming.

Namjoon lifts his head, eyes dark with lust as he watches you writhe underneath his touch. He adds a second finger, curling them inside you as his thumb continues its maddening circles.

“That’s it, baby.”

Your body arches off the bed as pleasure builds within you. Namjoon’s skilled fingers work you closer and closer to the edge, but it’s not enough. You need more. You need him. Inside you.

“Joon,” you pant, tugging at his hair to get his attention. You no longer care about your pride. “Please, I need you inside me.”

He looks up, shaking his head. “Not yet, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “I want to taste you first.”

Before you can say anything, his mouth is on you, tongue laving through your folds. You cry out, hands fisting in the sheets as he devours you. You moan louder, uninhibited, as he brings you closer to the edge. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

“Please,” you whimper, not even sure what you’re begging for.

He seems to understand, and with a final, deep thrust of his fingers, he withdraws them, leaving you aching and empty.

Fucking Namjoon. Of course, he doesn’t finish the job.

There’s a devious smirk on his face. He knows what he’s doing.

He removes his briefs, his impressive length springing free. You reach for him, wrapping your hand around his length and giving him a few slow strokes.

Namjoon groans at your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. You flick your tongue before kissing the tip of his cock. Your lips wrap around him, taking him deeper, savoring the weight of him on your tongue. His hands tangle in your hair as you bob your head, alternating between long, slow strokes and quick, teasing licks.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hips jerking slightly. “Your mouth feels so good, baby.”

You hum around him, the vibrations making him shudder. His grip on your hair tightens, guiding your movements as you continue to pleasure him. You can feel him getting closer, his breathing becoming more ragged.

Just as you think he might finish, your pace fastens.

“Baby, baby, baby…” Namjoon stutters.

You continue to bring him to the brink before he has to pull away, making you pop off.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he rasps, leaning down to kiss you.

You can still taste yourself on his tongue, and it only heightens your arousal. Your hands roam his broad back, feeling the muscles beneath your fingertips.

“Condom?” he asks against your lips.

“I’m on the pill,” you breathe. “I want to feel all of you.”

It’s risky, you know that, but Namjoon is a risk you’re willing to take.

He groans, his forehead resting against yours. “Are you sure?”

You nod, pulling him closer. “I trust you.”

His eyes soften at your words because he knows you don’t give away your trust so easily.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a deep kiss, pouring every ounce of his emotion into it. You feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and you arch your hips, begging him to hurry.

You both moan into the kiss, overwhelmed by the sensation when he finally pushes into you.

“Fuck—” he mutters. He pauses for a moment, his breaths slowing down. He knows he needs to pace himself or he won’t last long.

You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. Namjoon groans, burying his face in your neck as he begins to move. His thrusts are slow at first letting you adjust to his size, but soon pick up pace as your bodies find their rhythm.

“Could do this forever if you let me” he pants against your skin, nipping at your pulse point.

“Shut up.”

“Don't deny it, darling,” he persists with his teasing.

“Joon—shush!” You pull him down, crashing your lips against his, then you throw your head back, lost in the pleasure of having him inside you. Your nails rake down his back as he hits a particularly sensitive spot, causing him to hiss and thrust harder.

“Right there—” you gasp, holding in the moan you want to let out.

“Let me hear you,” he rasps.

Namjoon lifts his head, his dark eyes locking with yours as he continues to buck into you. The room fills with the sound of your moans, and the slap of skin on skin as he picks up the pace.

“Faster,” you plead, digging your heels into his lower back.

He obliges, his hips snapping against yours with increased fervor. The change in angle causes him to hit that spot deep inside you, making you roll your eyes back. It’s as if you’re flying through space, seeing stars go by as he pounds into you.

You feel the familiar tension building in your core, your body tightening around him. Namjoon seems to sense your approaching climax, his movements becoming more focused and deliberate.

“That’s it, baby,” he encourages, his voice strained with his own impending release. “Come for me.”

The pleasure builds inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust. Namjoon’s movements become more erratic, his breathing ragged against your neck.

“Joon,” you moan. “I’m so close…”

His hand snakes between your bodies, finding your sensitive bud and rubbing tight circles. The added stimulation pushes you over the edge, and you cry out his name as waves of pleasure crash over you.

Your walls clench around him, and Namjoon groans deeply, his rhythm faltering. With a few more thrusts, he buries himself deep inside you, his body shuddering as he finds his own release.

For a moment, you lie there, panting and intertwined. Namjoon’s weight on top of you is comforting, grounding.

But the moment doesn’t last long.

There’s a loud smack.

“Ow!” Namjoon exclaims, rubbing his shoulder as he rolls on the bed, laying next to you. “What was that for?”

“As if you don’t know!” You roll over, facing away from him.

He cuddles you from behind. “Is it because I didn’t let you finish?”

Your non-answer speaks volumes.

Namjoon chuckles, throwing himself back on the bed. “You said you wanted me inside you. I was only doing what you asked. Am I wrong?”

You turn to him. “I hate you…” you say, in a sing-song voice.

He pulls you on top of him. “Oh, it didn’t sound like you hated me earlier.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” he threatens, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Gladly,” you quip before kissing him.

You’re beginning to wonder if these late nights should move back to the office, so you don’t always end up sleeping with him. Regardless, you’re sure Namjoon will push his luck.

[talaok]

Christmas encounters

Summary: You invite Joel, Ellie, Din, and Grogu to your and your boyfriend's Javi Christmas party.

Warnings: Javi’s a bit jealous, but other than that, it's just chaotic writing

This is my gift to @lokischocolatefountain as a part of the @pedrostories Secret Santa event Merry Christmas Eve love!! I really hope you'll like this, I tried my very best i swear. It was such a cute idea btw, I really really loved it!! (also i hope you won't mind the joel and javi dinamic im a slut what can i say)

"c'mon Joel is just a few people I promise"

"You didn't tell me"

"I-" you stuttered "I didn't because otherwise you wouldn't have come!"

"Exactly"

he was giving you that stern dad look you'd see him direct toward Ellie countless times before

"c'mon" you smiled, looking at him and his kid "There's someone I want you to meet"

He raised his brow, not even remotely interested.

But Ellie, oh Ellie indeed was.

"Who?"

You smirked... your plan had worked perfectly.

"You'll have to find out inside"

"Joel c'mon put your big boy pants on and socialize for once"

A chuckle fled your mouth before you had time to cage it.

Joel shot a look Ellie's way, but every single one of you knew that he was gonna budge, he was nothing but a pushover when it came to her.

"an hour tops"

Ellie rolled her eyes as you let them in with a huge smile, even when Joel was shooting daggers at you.

"Stop pouting pretty boy, come meet my friend"

He sighed, before grumbling "If it's another one of your single girlfriends I'll save you some time, I'm not interested"

"I'm not setting you up Joel calm down, I've learned my lesson"

"Ellie" you called for her before she slipped through the people and you'd never find her again "Come here"

The new pair was greeted with hello and Merry Christmas by every person mingling in the entrance, and as you walked, the voices of the small crowd gathered in your living room slowly got louder until finally, you had arrived.

"there she is!" one of your friends yelled, making you smile

"Hi Joel!" Jenna almost jumped from the excitement when she saw the man.

She was one of the unfortunate women you'd set him up with... only she'd remained infatuated by him, while he on the other hand... not so much.

"Hi" he forced a smile in return as Ellie snorted.

But just as Jenna approached, you caught sight of the man you wanted to present your friends and made a beeline for him, hurriedly followed by the pair beside you.

"Din!"

He was sat on one of the chairs close to the fireplace, contemplating it deeply.

He turned at the sound of his name, his helmet reflecting the fire on its right side now.

"Hey" his modulated voice answered you, as his gaze, even if you couldn't actually tell for sure, took in the people next to you.

"These are the people I was telling you about" you smiled, pointing to the men on your left "This is Joel- and this is Ellie"

"Nice to meet you" he nodded

"nice to meet ya too... Din, right?" Joel repeated his name with uncertainty.

Yes, he was grateful it wasn't one of your girlfriends, but he still wasn't exactly expecting... this.

"yes, Din"

"Hey where is Gro-"

But just as you began pronouncing his name, you caught sight of one of the firey logs starting to magically lift from its place.

"Grogu!" Din's voice was immediately followed by the log falling back into place, as a very sorry green little guy appeared from behind his dad's armchair.

"It's ok" you smiled, your voice softening at the sight of him "don't worry about it Grogu"

"What the fuc-"

"Ellie" Joel immediately hushed the girl, who was urgently tagging at his sleeve, her eyes as wide as they would go

"What is- how- I-"

You chuckled, watching the kid stutter in amazement, her gaze trained on the little green guy who happened to be curiously watching her too.

"This is Grogu" Din spoke, "He's my- uhm... friend"

"you're friends with an alien!?"

"Ellie"

Joel's sigh was louder this time

"I guess" Din simply shrugged, seeming almost bored with the whole situation

"What!? Joel, are you seeing this!?"

But just as Joel was starting to respond, surely a lecture about being polite on the tip of his tongue, a voice sounded from behind you

"what's all the fuss? what did I miss?"

An arm wrapped around your back as you felt your boyfriend slide against your side, bringing you impossibly close to him.

"hi baby" you turned your head to look at him with a smile "Ellie and Joel just met Grogu"

"oh" he hummed, a grin splitting his lips "I see"

He took his time glancing away from you, only after getting a good look at your pretty painted lips.

"Joel" he finally said, nodding to the man

Javier had never liked Joel much, something to do with the alleged longing stares he'd direct your way far too often.

"Javier"

Joel in return, never liked him much either, you'd never figured out why.

"Hi Ellie" your boyfriend smiled now

"hi there" she took an eager step forward, as if she was presenting him with a business proposal "Changed your mind about letting me see your gun yet?"

Javi couldn't help but laugh as he shook his head "I'm afraid not"

And as Ellie went back to her place beside Joel's side to grumble with annoyance, Javier nestled his head right against your neck, leaving a quick kiss on the side of it

"you look stunning sweetheart"

You couldn't help but laugh

"And you're being ridiculous honey"

I mean it wasn't like Javier was one to be shy about showing affection for you in public, but you knew what he was doing- why he was doing it now- when Joel was right next to you

"What, I can't tell my girlfriend how beautiful she is?" his hot breath was fanning against your ear as he whispered into it "How amazing this dress looks on you?" he purred, his hand on your back slowly lowering "that I can't wait to see it on the bedroom floor ton-"

"and that's enough" you stopped him with a giggle "You're supposed to be entertaining our guests, not traumatizing them"

He shook his head with a grin, as you turned back to your guests

"So anyway, Din is a very interesting man, Joel, I think you'd get along very w-"

"Y/n!"

A shout sounded from the other side of the room. Your friend Sarah was waving her arms around to desperately get your attention

Oh god, what now?

"The bathroom!"

the bathroom? What about the bathroom?

"I'm sorry, let me just check real quick"

You excused yourself and rushed toward the commotion to find a freaked-out Sarah nervously biting her nails

"I swear I didn't do anything, I came in and there was already a pool of water there"

You frowned, opening the door to the bathroom to inspect it further.

Of course the fucking sink had to break right now

"fuck" you muttered

"It's alright maybe we can just... put a bucket under it" Sarah tried to lighten the mood

But right as she spoke those words, some valve turned or something and more water started dripping onto the floor.

"fuck me, I'll have to call a plumber"

But just then, a voice rumbled from behind you

"I'll fix it"

You turned, finding Joel right in front of you, his eyes moving from the pool of water gathering on the floor to you.

"By the time the plumber comes the whole apartment's gonna be flooded," He said simply, his voice deep and casual

"No Joel I don't want you to spend the whole night repairing the sink, you're supposed to be having fun" you immediately shook your head "I'll call a plumber"

"it's no problem darlin'" he spoke, a soft smile pulling at his lips

"but..."

He let out an amused sigh "I promise"

"Joel- you a hundred percent sure?"

"'m sure, don't worry 'bout it"

You looked at him, inspected every inch of his face to find even an ounce of uncertainty, and when you came up empty, you finally nodded.

"uhm, alright, thank you, really, I'll go look for the toolbox"

He nodded, watching you walk away, but finding an obstacle in his gaze's path.

"y'know... you're not the only one who can fix a sink" Javi grumbled, walking closer to lean on the bathroom's doorframe

"Yeah? then how come you ain't doin' it?" Joel's voice was calm, collected, but Javier saw right through it

Your boyfriend scoffed "'cause I've gotta help my girlfriend host the party"

Checkmate

"Right" Joel muttered

"Right"

Just then, when the tension in the air started getting thicker, you appeared with a big toolbox in hand

"here it is!"

Both the men's eyes followed you as you set it down next to the broken sink

"thank you darlin'" Joel smiled as you turned back to him.

"Are you kidding!? thank you, Joel, you're my savior"

There was a huge, thankful grin splitting your lips as you talked

"y'know she has a name right?" Javi interrupted whatever Joel was about to say

"babe" you shot him a look, mortified

"'m sorry, I'll stop if it makes you uncomfortable darlin'"

Jesus Christ he wasn't making anything easier for you

"it's fine Joel, Javi's just being dumb, don't mind him" you shook your head, as Javi continued watching Joel as if he'd offended him deeply.

"thank you again Joel, I owe you"

"'s nothing" he promised softly "go have fun"

And with that, you smiled at him again as you exited the bathroom, dragging your boyfriend with you.

"you're unbelievable" you muttered as soon as you were out of earshot

"And you're perfect" he murmured with that annoyingly sexy voice of his as he leaned in "Merry Christmas baby"

and just like that, his lips were on yours and all was forgotten.

__ __ __

"so what do you do?"

On the other side of the house, Ellie had made herself comfortable on the armchair right next to the one Din had been sitting on all night, and she had only one thing in mind: finding out all about the man before her.

"I'm a bounty hunter"

She tilted her head, taking in his words "So you kill people?" she realized "Joel does that too"

Din gave her no answer, silence spread between the two, and she couldn't help but realize that:

"he also doesn't talk a lot- I think you'd get along well"

Din simply glanced at her, before his gaze turned back to the fire.

If she could at least see his face this would all be much easier

"Do you ever take it off- the helmet I mean- don't you get hot?"

A sigh sounded from behind the beskar

"I do, when I'm alone"

"oh" Ellie hummed "Is it like a religious thing?"

This time the man turned to her fully, and although the girl couldn't see him, she was sure he was shooting her an annoyed glare, Just like Joel liked to do... they really would get along well

"no"

A single syllable... quite the loquacious guy he was.

"Where are you from?"

Not even a second had passed and she'd already spoken again, and it was then Mando decided to accept his fate and turn fully towards the much too nosy girl... it was Christmas after all

"It's complicated" he explained, watching the girl scrutinize his hidden face "but I guess you could say Concordia"

"Is that in Europe or something?" Ellie's brow was raised as she inquired confused- she'd never heard of such a place, but then again, she wouldn't exactly be able to put the US on a map either- fedra schools and everything.

"no"

alright then

"cool," she nodded, trying to remember what else she wanted to ask "How did you get here?"

"you ask a lot of questions"

"Joel says that too" she shrugged "What can I say, I'm a curious gal"

Behind the Mandalorian's mask, a small smile pulled at his lips.

"I came here with my ship"

She frowned then "You came here on a boat? What are you some kind of pirate?"

The man shook his head "No, my spaceship"

Ellie's eyes widened so much she must have won some kind of Guinness world record

"w-what?"

"I came here with my spaceship" Mando spoke again, calm as ever

"you're fucking with me" Ellie decided

He was joking- he had to be joking. He was probably just making fun of her.

"I'm not"

"yeah you are"

The man shook his head, sighing

"it's right outside, go look if you want"

She was out of the chair in a split second, quite literally running to the nearest window and elbowing anyone in her way while doing so.

And there it was- a whole ass fucking spaceship parked just in front of the house.

"Oh my fucking god- no fucking way, no fucking way dude" she was excitedly blabbing as she ran back to him

"can... can I see it inside? please, please Mr. Din- pleasepleaseplease"

her voice had gotten higher and she was just about to kneel before him and beg him like you would for mercy when he spoke.

He let out a loud, exasperated sigh "You've gotta ask your dad"

"I'll go ask him right now!" she grinned, excitement oozing from her every pore " and he's not my dad- although he sure likes to act like it"

__ __ __

Joel was in the bathroom, kneeling underneath the sink despite his back's protests.

He'd already figured out what was wrong, so it shouldn't have taken much longer... not that he was in any rush of getting back to the party anyway.

Suddenly, the bathroom door opened to his left, and while he was expecting to explain to yet another guest that the bathroom was off limits for a while, he found himself face-to-face with the green guy that man Din had introduced as his friend.

"Uhm- Hi there little guy"

Grogu made a small sound as he walked closer to the man.

"If ya need to use the bathroom I can get out"

Another weird little sound

"I'm sorry buddy I can't understand you"

He was right in front of him now, his big expressive eyes examining him curiously.

He looked like Mando

"ya need to pee?"

Either he was imagining it, or he was getting better at understanding the creature because this time Joel was pretty sure the sound he made was much similar to a no.

"ok..." Joel murmured perplexed "Do ya need something or can I get back to this?" he asked nodding to the sink.

God what a weird fucking conversation- Joel felt like he was in a fever dream.

Once again Grogu chirped something incomprehensible, but his gaze shifted for a moment to the sink, so Joel decided to take that as a yes, and went back to what he was doing.

He was able to ignore the presence beside him for a little while. He was sure that at some point, he would just go away, but minutes kept passing, and the little green guy was still right there.

He turned around then, and as he did, he noticed that Grogu’s eyes weren't only on him, but on what he was doing too.

"I can... show you what 'm doin' if ya want"

Grogu's eyes sparkled with excitement at the proposal, and Joel couldn't help but smile

"Alright then, come closer"

And just like that, he listened, excitedly stumbling closer until he had the whole view of the sink.

“Alright, so you see this pipe here?” Joel asked “This is the cause of all our problems- now the thing is that it’s connected to here” he continued, pointing to the pieces he was referring to “so we can’t fix this if we don’t fix this first”

The man turned around to see confusion written all over the kid, and another small smile split his lips.

“‘s alright, you’ll get the gist of it as we go”

And so he started back up, fixing and turning and switching as he explained each and every single passage to Grogu, who listened avidly- and who as it turns out, was also a very helpful hand.

He did it so casually too-

Joel was trying to reach for a wrench just out of his reach when it was suddenly floating his way.

“what the he-” he’d started before looking right beside him, to the focused green guy who was guiding the tool to him with a simple raised hand

“right” he nodded, trying not to freak out “Right you can do that- thank you”

And from then on, he became his little helper

Can you pass me this? 

can you pass me that?

can you turn this?

can you turn that?

He was going faster than ever with Grogu’s help, and he was even having fun explaining it all to him- it wasn’t often someone was this mesmerized by the process of fixing a sink.

Which is why in no time, he was done.

“there we go- good as new”

It really was- he’d done a hell of a good job with the little guy’s help, and just as he admired it, a voice he knew far too well sounded from the door.

“there you are, I’ve been looking for you!”

Jenna was a nice girl, but he just wasn’t interested.

He had no idea what he’d done to get her so into him, but every opportunity she got, she would corner the poor man and make it impossible for him to escape her.

“Goddamnit” he muttered beneath his breath, his gaze turning to the door “Hi Jenna”

“Hi Joel, you didn’t even come and say hi to me, that’s kind of rude you know- how would you feel if I-”

All of a sudden, the door had shut in her face.

And as protests sounded from the other side, Joel looked to his right to find Grogu lowering his arm while looking at him with what looked like a mischievous glinting in his eyes.

“did you just-?” Joel couldn’t help but laugh now, actually properly laugh “Oh you’re a menace ain’t you lil’ guy?”

His words were only proven even more right when said lil’ guy jumped with what looked like too much strength for such a small thing, right onto his lap.

Again, chuckles spilled from Joel’s lips as he took Grogu into his arms.

“thank you” he smiled “you just saved my ass kid”

As Grogu looked up at him with those big kind eyes and emitted another one of the weird incomprehensible sounds, Ellie’s voice suddenly sounded from the other side of the door.

“Joel open up!” she screamed “Din said I could go on his spaceship!”

He was up in an instant

“His what!?”

__  __  __

Who would have guessed that this is how the night would have ended?

Definitely not Joel

Him, Ellie, Din, and Grogu were in the Mandalorian's spaceship, and while the girl was just about losing her mind, touching and switching every single thing she encountered as Grogu showed her around, the two men were sitting back, watching their own two kids.

“thank you for… this” Joel spoke first

“It’s nothing” Mando promised, his eyes trained on Ellie now “She’s a good kid” he nodded, “she asks a lot of questions…”

“don’t I know it” Joel grumbled, making Mando chuckle

“but she funny- she’s great”

“yeah, she is… great”

It felt underwhelming to describe Ellie as great, but Joel decided this wasn’t the time to focus on semantics “So is Grogu- he helped me with the sink- he’s a good kid”

And so the two men returned to silence as their kids roamed around the spaceship as if searching for a treasure.

[jadeshifting]

🍅 i don't like tomatos but i like drama

LOLL REAL

🍅 SCARLET TOMATO … what’s the juiciest secret you’ve ever kept or will keep in your DR? the kind of scandalous thing that would positively burst into drama if revealed

★⋆. — IN MY HOGWARTS DR

the juiciest secret I’ve got locked away—and believe me, it’s a juicy one—is that Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are sneaking around like a pair of star-crossed lunatics. Gryffindor’s golden girl and Slytherin’s prince, all clandestine meetings and smoldering stares across the library—and in the broom closet by the dungeon entrance, which is where i unfortunately found them that one time (gag.) if anyone found out, the castle would combust in a glorious mess of gossip and hexes. but me? i’m just sitting pretty with front-row seats to the drama that could unfold… if I were a worse friend

★⋆. — IN MY SUPERNATURAL DR

this one isn’t just one of those little skeletons you tuck away in a closet—no, this one’s practically a full-blown graveyard.

there’s this one hunt, right when i start tagging along with Sam and Dean. we’re up against a crossroads demon, and here’s the thing about crossroads demons—they’re all about deals. me? i’ve got a history with them.

it isn’t the kind of thing i feel like unpacking with the boys. years ago, when I was barely more than a kid with nowhere to go and nothing to lose, i stood at a crossroads myself. and yeah, i made a deal. ten years of freedom in exchange for a soul I didn’t think I’d need anyway. i’d planned to outwit the system, find some loophole, or just live wild and free while the clock ticked down.

the secret isn’t just the deal—it’s that I’m still on borrowed time. the clock is ticking, and neither of them has any idea. if they found out? it’d be the drama of the century. Sam would get all earnest and determined to save me, probably drowning in research until he passed out, and Dean? Dean would be furious, storming around and yelling.

★⋆. — IN MY EVER AFTER HIGH DR

let me just say this—when you’re the future queen of Eros’ Kingdom, the tea you hold isn’t just hot, it’s boiling. i’m talking love triangles that could crumble kingdoms, forbidden crushes that would make headlines, and alliances so tangled they’d crush political alliances in a half-second.

maybe the juiciest is that there’s a certain royal someone who’s been sneaking around with someone they definitely shouldn’t be. i won’t spill who, because Cupid confidentiality, you know? my wings are heavy with secrets… besides, i’m not exactly unfamiliar with falling in love with someone below your political status (a bodyguard. embarrassingly cliche)

★⋆. — IN MY WALKING DEAD DR

it’s gotta be the fact that i wrote Carl a love letter before everything went sideways with Negan. it’s probably still tucked under my mattress, sealed in an envelope with his name on it, and no one but me knows what’s inside. i didn’t even plan on giving it to him—i mean, what if he laughed, or worse, just didn’t feel the same? i can imagine Carl reading about how I wanted us to road trip down Route 66 in the Ranger, just the two of us, collecting supplies and chasing sunsets. or how I admitted, plain as day, that being with him made the apocalypse feel like something I could survive. if he found out, i don’t know how he’d feel, so I stuffed it away, figuring it was safer as my little secret

[hauntingblue]

Jayce telling vi she won't make it on her own.... okay mr. projector...

[whatudottu]

Thinking about fucked up dead people clone human Predaking again- have a gaunt but muscular dragon!

[hanzajesthanza]

Bez krwi nie ma wampira. Jest to substancja, która decyduje o jego istnieniu, podobnie jak o istnieniu człowieka. Without blood there is no vampire. It is this substance which determines his existence, just as it does the existence of a human.

Maria Janion. "6. Krew i ciało," in Wampir: Biografia symboliczna. ("6. Blood and body," in Vampire: A Symbolic Biography.)

[100-gar]

Controversial take but i watched all of jjk, in subbed, so it had my full attention 100% of the time, and i am of the opinion that it just fucking sucks.

So me and my wife were talking about it, and we were trying to figure out why people like it and we've come up short. I do not understand what's so appealing about this show for so many people. Can someone PLEASE tell me.

[partentts]

I have watched the first season and thought he was funny

(text less version under cut)

[kobochajunkbox]

Copypasta'd a charming quote I saw from the Mad Max game (2015) to search the source and-

[thekidsare-not-alright]

..

[buttercup-barf]

A while ago I got inspired by this awesome cover/duet/mashup of Lagtrain, and thus these three protagonists of an indie RPG about exploring surreal dream-like locales that will never exist were born during some scribbling around.

I like to think the three of them, Kim (any pronouns are fine, mostly prefers they/them, any terminology), the regular-ass emo human, B-10 (he/him, object-like, masculine and gender-neutral terminology) the weird astronaut racer robot thing, and Shadow (this beast has abandoned gender - do whatever) the... Shadow... Would embody my three main outlooks on life. If the indie RPG starring them did exist, they'd each provide their own unique perspectives on the weird sights.

This is also a convenient way for me to enforce three of my favourite character archetypes - calm, quiet, subtly mischievous but ultimately kind sillies + sweet gentle giant-type robots + chaotic gremlin shape-shifters.

[cyanogen-miasma]

YT recommended me this Indian folk metal song called Dana Dan by a band called Bloodywood and...oogh

*quietly adds to the list of song I make animatics to in my head but never put on the computer*

content warning, it does address bad things that men do to women, so if you don't want to have stuff like that popping up on your playlists then..don't do that but

aaahhh

I know I've somehow ended up an animal jam blog but what I really came here to do was ramble about my ocs

and the ocs whom this song would apply to are due for a rework but I need to explain this

so there's this kid called Virus (I am changing her name in the rework because I want to make a conlang for the species she belongs to) and her dad is Vantablack (again, due for a name change). Vantablack is very neglectful and mean to her because of a disability that she has (the species they come from are derived from Lepidopteran insects, and she was born without wings), and is low-key kind of scummy to all the women in his life (he's not a rapist, as is mentioned in the song, but the vibes are there)...anyway...stuff happens and all this culminates in Virus smashing in Vantablack's head with a mace, and then doing a 'disrespecting the dead' sort of thing (that's a whole other thing that I won't explain here)

it's not 1:1 with the song but the raw energy of 'BRING THE BEATDOWN BRING THE BEATDOWN' the drive to slay the monsters, the sheer anger that people stoop to such lows and that society has produced the environment that funnels people down this pipeline, the grief over the lives destroyed or lost through the madness, and the vengeance awaiting those who exploit others, but also the visceral pain of being trapped in this system and the desire to topple the status quo...very Virus-core if you ask me

god I need to change their names...Virus was created in 2018....I was 12

oh yeah and just to clarify this is the kitties to bugs lore overhaul

[krysmcscience]

At long last: either an alternate explanation for or continuation of my prior comic regarding how Bill was ABSOLUTELY naked in Ford's karaoke night drawing. (Because errors in art do not exist. Artists do not make mistakes. So if you see any in this comic, No You Do Not.)

I am so normal about these old dorks.

I'm not really clear on exactly when Bill started throwing his desperation book at Ford just like a needy ex do, but I find it extremely funny to imagine it happening literally the day of or after the makeshift funeral. Bill just gets this weird sense of 'Ford is taking steps to move on' and CANNOT FUCKING ABIDE.

I hope you enjoy all the goofy things I added to each page of Bill's sad spieling. (Everything SHOULD be readable so long as you view the full size, but I have added basically this whole little fanfic in the image descriptions, LMAO, which lays out all the little written notes and such.) Also don't ask how Bill managed to sneak that vampire pen in there. I have no idea, and honestly? I don't wanna know.

Oh, and a little bonus comic:

Of course Bill would take it as flirting. Because between the two of them, Bill is the bigger masochist By Far. :)

Also I have continued applying The Good Place logic to any of Bill's attempts to swear. Case in point, one last bonus image, this time with a motivational line from my slapdash Theraprism OC, EV-01:

Yes, its name is just 'love' backwards. No, I will not be taking any feedback on this. Yes, EV-01 was only ever assigned to Bill's case due to the Theraprism being desperate to make some progress in rehabilitating him. No, it did not work anywhere close to staff's expectations - Bill didn't even appreciate EV-01's matching fondness for bowties! (He claimed the fondness to be "cultural appropriation" and insisted he'd been traumatized by it.)

Anyway, if you like my stuff, reblogs are very much appreciated, and if you really really like it, perhaps consider my commissions or yeeting a teeny tiny tip my way? I am trying to recoup over 500 dollars in vet bills, ahaha... 🙃

In other news, I loved all the fun tags people added to the prior naked-karaoke comic (such as 'the hat and bow-tie stay ON during sex' and the classic '[insert keysmash here]', as well as the many amused/bewildered remarks about how I either made the bricks a piece of clothing or just straight up peeled Bill's skin off). However, I think my favorite thing by far was the several people losing their shit over the fact that I gave Bill toes. Like, excuse me? The magical talking triangle can have fingers but not toes??? Since when was that a rule????? 🤣 (Also the one person who reblogged with the cropped panel where Bill's fishnets pants are falling off to ask why Bill peed himself. Dude, I want to examine your brain...?)

Okie-dokie, I'm sick of looking at all of this stuff now and I'm off to go to work, after which I will either scribble some more goofy "Billford" comics or perhaps draw my lame human!Bill in Situations, idk yet. Maybe I'll even finally draw more than just a single other person's human!Bill...? Who knows, but I sure hope I can mix it up a little and not turn whatever I draw into a month-long fukken project. >:\

[flowersforbucky]

devil's in the backseat

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.7k

summary/prompt: a night at coney island with your friends turns out much differently than expected.

or getting fucked in front of a mirror

author's note: this is my first halloween fic!! this was so much fun to write. if you've read haunting adeline, then you know exactly what inspired the mirror maze scene! also disclaimer i have never been to coney island so if any of this is inaccurate then just pretend ok it's fiction :))

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only content, sex in a public setting, mirror sex, oral (female receiving), unprotected p in v, friends to lovers, romanogers makes an appearance! kind of grumpy!reader, protective bucky, random men being creepy, language, reader is afab, she/her pronouns, reader pov, no use of y/n, porn with a little plot, fluff

my masterlist

“I can't fucking believe I let you talk me into wearing this.”

You tug the tight, cherry red colored velvet fabric of the babydoll dress in place for the dozenth time since arriving at Coney Island.

“What? You look hot. Plus, our costumes go great together.”

Natasha's costume mirrors your own - except hers is a pearlescent white and instead of a pitchfork and horns, she dons angel wings and a halo.

“I don't feel hot. I feel cold. It's fifty degrees and the sun hasn't even set yet.” If it wasn't for the black thigh high boots that cover the majority of your legs, you'd be shivering in the chilly late October weather.

“It's not my fault that you put off getting a costume until the last minute and had to pick through what little was left at Spirit Halloween,” she mumbles, passing you one of the cups of apple cider that the cashier hands to her. You gladly accept, sucking down the hot liquid in hopes that it will warm you from the inside.

Her phone dings as the two of you walk towards the rides. “It's Steve,” she informs you as she reads the text message. “They just got here,” she looks back up at you with a smirk on her face and a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Bucky decided to come with them.”

You roll your eyes, suddenly hating your borderline provocative costume even more.

“I thought he was leaving for a job in Denver this evening?”

It's not that you didn't want to see Bucky. It's that you didn't want to see Bucky dressed like this. As if you don't already get flustered around him when you're dressed in normal, everyday clothing. The hem of your dress barely conceals the curve of your ass and your tits are practically spilling over the low neckline.

“Guess it's been postponed,” she shrugs, nudging you with her shoulder.

The two of you turn to look in the opposite direction when a familiar voice calls your names. You see Steve, Sam, and Bucky walking towards you. Steve is dressed as a pirate, eyepatch and all. Sam wears a cowboy costume with an oversized hat, concealing the upper half of his face entirely.

And Bucky? Bucky wears jeans and a navy blue Henley.

Yeah, you're regretting any of your life choices that lead up to this moment.

“Well, well, well,” Sam drawls as he tips his hat back enough to take in yours and Natasha’s outfits. “Look what we have here. An angel and a devil. Have you two already entered the costume contest for best duo or should I go add your names?”

“You wouldn't dare,” you scold him. Natasha just laughs, falling into Steve’s embrace as he plants a kiss to her forehead.

“We should, you know,” Natasha agrees. “I think we'd have a pretty good shot at winning.”

“Yeah, right,” you retort, looking around at some of the more elaborate, creative costumes that many of the strangers around you are sporting. You notice a man and woman dressed as Beetlejuice and Lydia Deetz and know that you and Nat wouldn't stand a chance in a costume contest. “And what about you?” You acknowledge Bucky, your eyes skimming up and down his civilian clothes. “Didn't have time to pull together a costume?”

He smirks, his eyes trailing up your figure for a heated moment before he responds. “I'll have you know that I am in costume, actually.”

Steve and Sam both snort in laughter.

“Oh yeah? And what are you supposed to be, exactly?”

He tugs up the sleeve of his shirt, showing off the shiny vibranium that is his left arm.

“I'm the Winter Soldier,” he says with a smug grin. “Obviously.”

“How creative,” you praise sarcastically.

“Cut me some slack,” he feigns insult. “I was supposed to be halfway to Colorado right now. I didn't have time to pull together anything too cute.” His eyes flicker to your dress and boots at the word cute. If anyone else notices, they say nothing.

“What are we doing just standing around here?” Natasha exclaims, tugging Steve in the direction of the rides and games. “I want to ride every ride and eat funnel cake.”

They race ahead of the rest of you, with Sam close behind, leaving you and Bucky to fall into step beside each other.

“So, why did your mission get postponed?” You ask casually, trying to fight down the nerves that threaten to bubble over every time you're alone with him.

“Beats me,” he shrugs. “Fury didn't give much of an explanation. I got the text as I was loading my bags into the car to head out.”

“That's annoying,” you mumble, swallowing the remnants of your hot apple cider. “I'm sorry,” you tell him with a glance in his direction. “I'm sure it was for a good reason.”

He shrugs. “I'm here, so I can't be too mad about it.”

Before you can overthink exactly what he means by that, you're both brought to a halt when a jolly looking man in a Ghostbusters costume steps directly in front of you, blocking your path.

“This little devil looks like she needs a giant sloth!” He exclaims, gesturing towards the prizes hanging above the balloon darts station next to you.

“Oh, no,” you start. “That’s okay–”

“Come on!” The red-faced vendor insists, looking at Bucky. “Don't you want to win your girl a giant sloth? Perhaps a giant giraffe? If she was mine, I'd be winning her any prize she wants. I'll give you five throws for ten doll–”

“Fine, fine,” Bucky relents, digging into his back pocket for his wallet. You notice a faint hint of pink blooms along the apples of his cheeks, but he doesn't correct the man when he calls you his girl. “You've worn me down,” he sighs as he shoves a crumpled ten dollar bill into the man's hand.

The man accepts the money with a satisfied, toothy grin and hands Bucky five darts.

“If you get three out of the five throws, you can choose a prize from here,” the man gestures towards a section of smaller prizes. “And if you get all five throws, you can choose–”

The man is cut off by the sharp popping sound of a balloon, and then a second, and a third, until all five darts have been impaled on the board in a consecutive line in a matter of seconds.

“She'll take the bunny,” Bucky tells him before he can erase the stunned look off of his face. He points to a large, flop-eared purple bunny hanging from the upper row of prizes.

Unlike the vendor, you aren't shocked by his perfect aim at all. Anyone who knows Bucky would have known that he wouldn't miss a single shot. You are shocked, however, that he chose the bunny without even asking which prize you want.

The man in the Ghostbusters costume grabs the bunny and hands it to you, surprise still etched on his face. He mumbles a quick goodnight before he's moving onto the next people approaching the stand.

“How did you know I'd want the bunny?” You ask Bucky, trying to juggle the stuffed animal, your empty cup of cider, and your pitchfork all in your arms.

“You like bunnies, right? It was an educated guess.” He shrugs, moving through a thick crowd of people away from the game stations. “Here, let me carry it for you,” he offers when he notices the large stuffed animal is obstructing your vision. You hand it over to him and he tucks it underneath his metal arm.

“Thank you,” you tell him, your cheeks heating at the realization that he'd remembered such an inconsequential piece of information about you. You do like bunnies. The cold night air suddenly feels a lot more balmy.

“I'm - uh - I'm going to find a trash can real quick,” you say as you wiggle the empty cup in your hand. Truthfully, you just need a moment to collect yourself.

You begin walking in the opposite direction before he can reply, your eyes scanning the throng of people for a garbage can.

So what if he knows that you like bunnies? It's a pretty trivial fact that probably means nothing. You know that Natasha’s favorite animal is flamingos - because she's your friend. It's normal for friends to know things that their friends like.

Right? Right.

“I like that outfit a whole lot, baby. But I think you'd look even cuter in just the boots and those horns.”

You're so lost in your internal monologue that you don't even notice two men closing in on you as you toss the empty cup into a trash can. Unlike most of the people here tonight, neither of them are in costumes. They stand so close to you that you can smell booze on their breath.

“Oh, fuck off,” you groan as you attempt to walk away, but they've effectively blocked you between their bodies and the large garbage can behind you. Wicked grins grow on their faces as you realize that you can't get by them.

“Look, I don’t have the patience for this tonight. Get out of my fucking way.”

“Or what?” One of them taunts. “You'll use that little pitchfork on us? Jokes on you, because we're into that.”

“What if I used it on you?” A familiar voice comes from behind them. “Would you still like that?”

Before they can even turn around to identify the voice, Bucky is pulling him back by the hood of his sweatshirt and throwing him on the ground with little to no effort. The other one attempts to stumble away as Bucky turns his attention to him.

He still has your bunny clutched in his flesh hand - despite the seriousness of the situation, you have to bite your lip to keep from smirking at the sight. You don't know of anyone who could be quite as intimidating while holding a stuffed purple bunny.

“What about you?” Bucky asks, towering over the guy by half a foot. “You got anything you wanna say?”

“I - no - we didn't know she was with someone,” he half slurs, half stutters out. His gaze flickers to Bucky's vibranium hand. The man on the ground manages to stand back up, following after his friend.

“Now you know,” Bucky calls after them as they quickly hobble away.

“I had that handled, you know,” you tell Bucky with a nod towards your pitchfork. “But thank you, anyway. Really.”

He places a gentle but firm grasp on the top of your arms and begins to tug you in the opposite direction, guiding you through the small crowd that had stopped to witness the altercation.

“I have no doubt about that,” he sighs, releasing his grip on you when the two of you are a reasonable distance away. “But I also don't doubt that you handling it would have drawn even more attention.”

He's right. If he hadn't stepped in, your method of handling it would have been even more dramatic.

“They would have deserved it,” you mumble. “I knew I shouldn't have worn this stupid costume.”

“They definitely would have deserved it,” he agrees. “And your costume isn't stupid. You should be able to wear any costume you like without getting harassed by drunk assholes.”

The two of you approach the ferris wheel as it comes to a slow stop, a couple getting out of one of the cars. You and Bucky flash your wristbands to the operator, who offers to hold your pitchfork for you while you’re on the ride.

“Besides,” he continues as you sit down next to each other in the car, the operator locking the gate in place. “I happen to like your costume. A lot.” He turns his head to you, his gaze trailing from the tops of your thigh high boots and up to the felt horns that adorn your head.

There's a shift in energy as the ferris wheel suddenly comes to life, sending you sliding across the limited space of the metal bench seat and right up against him.

“Oh, yeah?” You tease with your face a few inches from his. Close enough to see your reflection in his irises. “Is that why two different people have implied that I'm yours tonight and you haven't corrected either of them?”

“Your costume had nothing to do with that. I wouldn't have corrected them even if you were dressed as a giant banana,” he says, his tone and face both serious. “Does it bother you that I didn't correct them?”

“No,” you answer automatically - eagerly. You should feel embarrassed, but with the way he's looking at you, and how good it feels to be pressed so snug against him, you can't find it within yourself to care. “I didn't correct them either,” you point out.

The ferris wheel comes to a stop to let new people get on when your cart reaches the peak.

“And why is that?” he asks lowly. If you weren't sitting so close to him, you wouldn't have been able to hear him over the obnoxiously loud carnival music that pours from speakers in between the ferris wheel's carts.

He wraps his metal arm around your shoulders, pulling you further into him.

“Because I liked the sound of it,” you answer honestly. Your voice quivers - from nerves, or from a gust of wind that sways the pod still perching at the top of the wheel.

“Is that right?” he murmurs. He places his flesh hand on the exposed skin of your thigh - just above the top of your boot and just under the hem of your dress. His fingertips rest near the crack between your thighs. Instinctively, you spread your legs apart - not much, but enough for him to smirk at your body's automatic response to his touch.

“You like the sound of being my girl?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I do. Is that okay with you?”

He chuckles, his fingers inching further up your thigh. You spread your legs open further, giving him the go ahead to go as high as he wants. He stops when he reaches the apex of your thighs, just an inch away from the cloth of your panties. He applies pressure with his fingertips, his short nails digging into the sensitive flesh and making you clench your legs around his hand.

“That depends,” he contemplates. “Are you my girl?”

You open your mouth to answer when the sensation of his index finger grazing the fabric that covers your cunt makes you forget how to speak. You sit there with your mouth agape as he hooks a finger into the cotton panties.

He eases a finger through your folds, lubricating it in your slick before adding a second finger and massaging the pads of them over your sensitive clit.

“Feels like you're my girl.”

You become vaguely aware of the fact that the ride is now in motion once more, heading back down to the ground, when Bucky places the stuffed bunny on your lap in an effort to conceal what is happening in the cart that you and him share.

He alternates between slow, languid circles and quick strokes against your clit as the ferris wheel makes its way down and then back up again. You can feel yourself soaking your underwear as the world dizzies around you. You hide your face in Bucky's neck to conceal the pleasure written across your face.

You're seconds away from coming against his fingers, the pressure in your belly building to a climax, when he pulls away and tugs your dress into place. Your gaze snaps up to his, shooting daggers, as the ride comes to a slow stop. He looks back at you with an amused smirk as the operator approaches the cart to unlock the gate.

“Sorry about that, sweetheart,” he tells you in a strained voice as he snatches the bunny back from you. “After you,” he motions with his head as the operator holds the gate open for you.

Stunned and speechless at what just happened, you stumble out of the cart and down the stairs to the ride's exit with Bucky behind you - both of you completely forgetting about your pitchfork. You can't help but snort a laugh at the position of the large stuffed animal - directly over Bucky’s crotch.

“Real discreet,” you tell him, glancing down at the bunny and then back up to the semi-pained expression on his face.

“I have to admit, right now this thing is worth every penny that I spent on it,” he sighs, and then removes one hand from the bunny to place it on your lower back. “Follow me,” he instructs with a smirk.

He guides you through the crowd and you follow him without question, just trying to ignore the wet ache between your legs.

You shoot him a quizzical look when you arrive at the house of mirrors. You haven't been in a mirror maze since you'd gotten lost in one at ten years old.

There's an attendant sitting in a chair outside of the entrance who unenthusiastically greets the two of you. Bucky reaches into his pocket, digging out his wallet for the second time that evening. He pulls out a hundred dollar bill and flashes it at the elderly man smoking a Pall Mall.

“Take this and don't let anyone else in until we come out,” Bucky tells him before dragging you into the attraction. You and the gray haired man both go wide eyed.

“What was that?” you cackle as the door slams to a close behind you. Bucky doesn't answer, just grabs one of your hands in his and begins guiding you through the maze of mirrors as if he's been here a hundred times.

The entire place is lit by bright, neon red lights that only aid in further confusing your sense of direction. Bucky doesn’t seem phased in the slightest, finally coming to a stop after a few minutes of maneuvering through the endless mirrors.

“You never answered me, you know,” he says as he drops your bunny to the floor. “When I asked if you're my girl.” He smirks at you, stepping closer to you and backing you against the mirror behind you.

“You just paid that man a hundred dollars to get me alone,” you jab as you pull him to you by the front of his Henley. “I think it's safe to say that I am.”

He smiles as you pull him down to you, crushing your lips to his. His hands trail down your back until they land where your thighs meet the curve of your ass cheeks. You release months worth of tension into the kiss, sweeping your tongue along the swell of his bottom lip before slipping it into his mouth the second that he parts his lips for you. He groans into the kiss, kneading the globes of your ass with his fingers. You can feel a prominent bulge through his jeans against your stomach.

Adrenaline begins to kick in when he pulls away, looking down at you with lust blown pupils. He sinks to the floor below you, kneeling in front of your cunt as he raises your dress around your waist and tugs your panties down your legs and over your boots. He slips them into his back pocket before hiking one of your legs across his shoulder.

You can already feel your juices leaking down your inner thighs before his mouth makes contact with you. When he does, you lean your head back against the glass behind you in pleasure.

He sucks your clit between his kiss-swollen lips with an obscene pop before running his tongue down your folds. He plunges his tongue inside you and you grind yourself against his face, chasing the release that you were seconds away from on the ferris wheel.

He moans at the taste of you and the vibration has your walls clenching around his tongue. You ride out your orgasm on his face, the neon red lights blurring and spinning around you.

Despite the fact that your legs feel like jelly, you pull him up to you as soon as you're able to form a coherent thought. You clumsily paw at the button of his pants and his zipper, and he shoves both his jeans and boxers down over his ass, just far enough to free his cock.

He places both of his hands just under your armpits and lifts you as you instinctively lock your legs around his hips.

The head of his cock nudges your wet folds, your juices coating his length before he nudges it inside you.

You feel full before he's even halfway in you. Your walls constrict around him and he digs his teeth into his bottom lip as he adjusts to the sensation of you.

“Fuck, that's tight. You're perfect,” he grunts as he sheaths the rest of his length into you. You let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a gasp.

He has total control as he cradles you between his body and the cold, hard mirror behind you. He sets a harsh pace, his head ramming against your cervix at the sweetest angle from his position beneath you.

He manages to support you with the strength of only his vibranium arm as he brings his flesh hand between your bodies, once again massaging your clit in rapid circles as he fucks up into you.

You cum around his length in a shockingly short amount of time, digging your teeth into the flesh of his neck as he follows after you, filling you up with hot ropes of his cum.

You stay in the same position after you've both reached your climax, panting against one another in the claustrophobic feeling space.

“We should probably go find our friends,” you say breathlessly with a kiss to the side of his face. “Sam's probably getting sick of being a third wheel.”

He pulls out of you, his cum running down your thighs and ass cheeks. He gently lowers you back down to the ground as he begins to tuck himself back into his pants.

He laughs, cupping your face in his hands as he pulls your lips to his once again.

“If he hates being a third wheel, just imagine how much he's going to hate being a fifth wheel.”