#i tried to fix the cropping but unfortunately it is just Like That when i edit it

[whataboutyouisamascot]

@tonguetyd

[roses-for-rosalyn]

The Old Church Parking Lot

Look, I had an idea for a fic and all the sudden it was 4:00 am. I promise one day I'll write a fic where reader isn't a goddamn pillow princess, but today is not that day. Enjoy my darlings.

word count: 3k

minors dni pretty please 🔞

content warnings: Dealer! Ellie, innocent reader, friends to lovers, drug use 🍃, kissing, teasing, oral (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), reader being a pillow princess

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“You’re joking.” Ellie raises her eyebrows at you like she actually expects you to take it back. “You have been on this earth for 19 years and you haven’t smoked weed?” You shake your head. “Ever?” You can’t help but laugh, her stunned expression doesn’t leave her face. She won’t take her eyes off you despite the fact that she’s literally driving.

“Eyes on the fucking road Els Jesus.” She nods and hesitantly turns back to look at the street. “I just never had the chance I guess.” You shrug your shoulders. “Grew up in a small town, not many friends. We mostly just got drunk. It was easier, and less illegal.” You have no idea why this information shocks Ellie to her core, but there’s something else there, an excitement maybe? 

“We’re gonna fix that. Tonight. I’ll pick you up after work.” She was definitely excited and extremely eager. She pulls into your driveway and puts the car in park. 

“Oh yeah? And where are you gonna get it from, not exactly like there’s a store we can stop at.” 

Ellie looks straight ahead and tales a beat before she answers “I kind of…deal the stuff.” She still won’t look at you. “It’s a side gig type thing, helps me stay afloat.” You can’t say you're shocked. You haven’t known Ellie long, she was one of those friends that you kind of just started spending a shit ton of time with out of nowhere. She was still new to you even though it felt like you’d known her your whole life, you were still learning about each other slowly. 

“Ok that’s…incredibly convenient, but where do we go?” You were both home from college for the summer, hence living with your parents. Ellie turns to face you, she brings her hand up to her mouth and starts biting her nail in concentration. It was an incredibly cute little habit, you could see her brain working to find a solution. 

“We’ll sit in the old church parking lot, I can drive us home after.” 

“Works for me.” You shrug. “See you later I guess.” You smile at Ellie and she has this devilish smirk on her face like she knows something you don’t. 

“God I can’t wait.” Her voice was breathy and low, something you hadn’t heard before, but it was incredibly…attractive. You go to open the car door and step out onto your driveway. 

“See ya.” 

“Bye.” You shut the door and head inside, having no idea what you have just agreed to. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You have tried on your entire closet at this point. You usually weren’t like this with Ellie, normally you couldn’t care less what you looked like, but something felt different between you two lately. The type of different where you felt like you needed to look good when you saw her. You’re not gonna dwell on it though, that would just make everything worse. 

You finally settle on just an old, cropped graphic tee and jeans. It’s something you wore all the time, unfortunately your whole wardrobe was strewn about your floor, so this was the best option. 

Jesus why were you nervous? Probably because you were about to do drugs for the first time. Definitely no other reason. 

You pass the time by doing your makeup. It always helps you relax, makes you feel good inside and out. Before you knew it Ellie was texting you she was on her way. She pulls into the driveway, her headlights lighting up your living room. You begin the trek out your front door to her car. It feels like it takes forever, you go through each motion as if you're moving through water. You finally get to her small car and open the passenger door. 

“Hey princess.” Ellie is smiling ear to ear, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen her this elated. 

“Hey.” You can’t help but laugh at her exaggerated expression. 

“You ready? You excited?” She’s still smiling, she looks fucking adorable, it’s ridiculous.

“Definitely not as excited as you clearly are.” You can’t help but be a little nervous trying something new, but you were trying it with someone you trusted. 

“We’re gonna have fun. Promise.” With that she turns up the music and pulls out of your driveway. 

On the way to the parking lot you and Ellie belt out 90s hits at the top of your lungs. The windows are down, the wind blowing on your face and through your hair. It almost completely gets rid of any nerves you had. You look over at Ellie, watching her exaggerated expressions and hand movements. She acts out the words in the song like she’s performing. You can’t help but smile at her ridiculousness.

You pull into the parking lot and Ellie turns the radio down. Her arm reaches over your lap to the glove box. Her arm faintly brushes your thighs as she opens it. She pulls out a little baggie with what you would assume are blunts in it. 

“These are pre-rolls. Normally you would have someone else test them out first. This shit could easily be laced with fentanyl, which can kill you. You don’t know where it comes from, you never touch it first.” She looks at you with a serious expression on her face. “Got it?” You nod vigorously, she is obviously in her element here, trying to teach you everything she knows to keep you safe. “Words princess, that’s the most important thing I’ll teach you tonight.”

“Yup, got it.” Why is this so incredibly hot? The way she wants to make sure you’re safe, she’s acting like a stern teacher and it's severely throwing you off. 

She smiles and then continues “But, since you’re getting it from me, and I know where this has been and where it’s from, we’re safe.” You smile and nod, appreciating the reassurance. She takes the preroll from the baggie and grabs a lighter from the console. 

“So you’ve never smoked anything before?” You shake your head “Ok so I’m gonna light this end,” She taps the tapered end of the roll, “You’re going to put your lips around it like a straw and inhale once to get it into your mouth, and then a second time to get it to your lungs.” 

“That made absolutely zero sense to me.” Ellie laughs, shaking her head. 

“You want me to go first, so you can watch?” Oh god yes. 

“Yeah, that might make it easier.” Ellie nods and brings the preroll to her lips. She lights it with her green gas station lighter and you watch her inhale as she puts the lighter back down. She exhales a cloud of smoke towards you and you are immediately turned on. Why did she have to make exhaling seductive? 

“Your turn.” She hands you the roll and you take it between two fingers. You bring it to your lips like Ellie said. Inhale once, twice. Fuck.

You immediately feel the smoke tickle your lungs and throat. You cough out the smoke rather than elegantly exhaling as Ellie did. God, it fucking burns. 

“Try to breathe through your nose babe, here I brought a water bottle for ya.” You immediately grab the water bottle, trading Ellie for the blunt, you eagerly gulp it down. The water sort of soothes the burn, your violent coughing turning into heavy breathing. 

“You didn’t warn me I’d have a fucking asthma attack.” You cough again while Ellie giggles at your pain. 

“I forgot. But I knew you wouldn’t die, plus the surprise on your face was kind of funny.” She takes another hit and passes it back to you. You try again, but a smaller breath this time. It doesn’t burn as much this time. 

“I also forgot to mention, like how this shit makes you feel. It’s different for everyone really.” You pass the preroll back to Ellie. “Mostly it just makes you relax, but some people get talkative, some get sleepy, and most people get incredibly hungry.” She pauses like she’s thinking of saying something but is holding back.

“What?” Ellie shakers her head.

“Nothing… I didn’t even know if I wanted to bring it up, but like it also can make everything feel incredibly good.” 

“What do you mean?” This seems like it’s going in a direction you and Ellie have never really gone before. Ellie would talk about her sexual ventures with other women on occasion, but you never really discussed anything in detail about yourselves. It’s not like you would have much to add with the sex stories anyways, you just listened to Ellie and nodded. You definitely did not have the experience she had.  

“Like it makes people touching you feel 100 times better.” She sighs and laughs “It basically makes most people horny.” She looks at you with a kind of sheepish look. You wouldn’t expect someone with as much experience as her being shy talking about this stuff. Was she… Blushing? It was hard to tell in the dark, you could have definitely imagined it. 

You start to feel a smile tug at your lips and a warmth slowly floods your body. “I think...it’s hitting.” You giggle at literally nothing, which makes Ellie giggle. “Feels really good.” You breathe out. You caress your own arm, testing Ellie’s knowledge. “Woah.”

“What?” Ellie’s smiling at you, she decided she likes how you act high. It’s probably one of the more adorable things she’s ever seen.

“Touching does feel weird.” You continue to caress your own arm, you can feel the warmth of your own hands grazing across the small hairs of your forearm and it tickles. 

“It’s usually other people touching you that feels weird, but whatever works for you over there.” You look at her and back at your arm.

“You touch me then.” You reach your arm out, eagerly inviting Ellie to come closer. 

“I can’t.” She looks down, taking the last hit from the blunt. She won’t meet your eyes.

“Why?” 

“If I start touching you I can’t guarantee I can stop.” She stops herself abruptly like the sentence was forced out of her. She puts out the blunt before finally looking up at you, her confession lingering in the air between you. She’s searching your eyes for any disgust or rejection. She finds none.

“I wouldn’t mind.” Ellie just looks at you, eyes wide with disbelief. You’re suddenly aware of how desperately your body is craving her touch. Your entire body ignites with a type of electricity, it courses through you causing your skin to become tingly. 

Using your sudden desperation as a sort of courage you climb over to straddle Ellie’s lap. You hold onto her shoulders to steady yourself and Ellie backs the seat as far away from the steering wheel as she can. She keeps looking at you with those wide eyes. She moves her hands to cup your face gently, like she’s convinced you'll disappear. She keeps searching your eyes, looking for any hint of hesitation and all she finds is pure hunger. 

She kisses you, her lips are so soft and warm you immediately relax. You move your hands from her shoulders and thread them into her hair and she kisses you harder. She uses her tongue to open up your mouth and you groan at the sensation. She moves her hands down under the hem of your shirt. She grabs your breasts and starts roughly massaging the soft skin. She pulls down one of the cups of your bra and starts teasing your nipple. She pinches it between her fingers and you moan into her mouth at the feeling. She stops the kiss to pull your shirt over your head and immediately continues as she throws your shirt into the passenger's seat. She moves her mouth down and encloses it around your nipple, you gasp at the feeling of her warm tongue sucking and circling your sensitive bud. The ache between your legs has become more noticeable, it’s demanding attention. You start grinding a bit on Ellies lap. The seam of your jeans is barely teasing your clit through your underwear. It was heavenly, but not enough. 

Ellie is trying to devour you. She moves her mouth from your breasts to your neck. Exploring with gentle kisses until she finds just the right spot. She nips and sucks until you're squirming on her lap uncontrollably. 

“Back seat.”  She breathes out. You nod vigorously and climb off her lap and awkwardly maneuver your way to the back seat. You lean up against the car door while Ellie adjusts her seat again to make room. It gives you a moment to breathe before she moves to straddle your waist and continues where she left off. She kisses between your breasts down your stomach, gently making a trail down your body with her lips. She’s so gentle and slow, the feeling of her soft lips on your body is driving you insane. 

She gets to the hem of your jeans and unbuttons them. This is where you start to realize you’re entering uncharted territory. You’re trying not to panic, but suddenly a breathy “Ellie,” Escapes from your swollen lips. She immediately pauses and looks up at you. She sees the slight nervousness in your expression and immediately understands.

“No one’s ever-” You don’t even know how to finish that sentence without embarrassing yourself. 

“I know,” Her face softens “We’ll go nice and slow, tell me when I need to stop okay?” 

“Okay.” You nod and Ellie continues unbuttoning your jeans. Nervous butterflies invade your stomach, despite your altered state. Ellie pulls the jeans off and throws them on the floor. She then takes off her flannel leaving her in a black tank top. Her biceps and veins are enhanced by the moonlight, You can see her muscles flex and move as she does. She moves down kissing along the hem of your panties before placing a kiss on your clit. The sight of her head between your thighs is enough to push the ache in your cunt to an unbearable level. She teases you over the fabric, rubbing her fingers up and down your slit slowly. She brushes her finger over your clit repeatedly and a desperate whine escapes from your mouth.

“I know princess, just a little longer.” Ellie is savoring you like you’re the last thing she’ll ever see. She places light kisses on your inner thighs as she continues to tease you. 

Finally she moves your panties to the side. She runs a finger from your entrance to your clit collecting the wetness that pooled between your legs. You can’t help but whimper, your clit feels ten times more sensitive than usual. Every time Ellie is near it the feeling reverberates through your entire body. She blows out a breath on your cunt and the feeling is heavenly. 

“Doing ok, pretty girl?” She looks up from between your legs and you have to resist squeezing them together at the sound of her voice. It was low and raspy, and every word sounded like honey. 

“Yes.” You nod, your eyes squeeze shut in frustration.

“Look at me.” Her voice was lower, demanding. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I promise.” And with that she lowers her mouth onto your bare cunt. She laps at your clit lightly, she moves her tongue in circles around it, continuing her teasing. She licks from your entrance up to your sensitive bud and begins sucking on it. Your hips immediately buck up towards Ellie’s mouth at the foreign feeling. You are moaning loudly and uncontrollably, you had no idea anything could ever feel this way. It’s almost too much. 

Ellie moves her finger to circle your wet hole, once you relax a little she starts to slowly push her finger into you. She makes sure to be slow and careful. 

“Ellie.” You whine out once curls her finger and hits just the right spot inside you. She continues sucking on your clit and slowly curling her finger inside of you. 

“God you're so tight, you gotta relax for me princess.” You try to focus on relaxing around her finger, once you do Ellie adds a second finger. Your cunt swallows it greedily and you whimper at the pressure of two of her slender fingers inside of you. She sucks at your clit even harder and you gasp out “Ellie please ‘s too much.” 

Ellie pauses for a moment “I know baby, you just have to breathe for me. Here, hold onto me.” She places one of your hands on her arm which is wrapped around your thigh. You do what she says and relax under her. You try to let your body melt into her. “That’s it, you’re doing so well for me.” 

She starts sucking lightly on your clit again. You impulsively use your other had to grab at her hair at the feeling. The pleasure in your stomach is starting to come to a high point, you’ve never felt this before. It was all consuming. Ellie is making little groaning sounds which vibrate through your body. You can feel her start fucking you harder, her fingers hitting that spongey spot inside of you at every thrust. Your back starts to arch while the pressure in your belly grows. Nothing has ever felt like this, it's building to a point so intense you almost start to worry.

“Els, what-” You barely get your question out before blinding pleasure takes over your body. You moan out Ellie's name loudly over and over as she continues to fuck you. It moves in waves, crashing through you causing you to buck your hip into Ellie's mouth and fingers over and over. You whimper and whine each time her fingers move in and out of you. She fucks you through the whole thing until you start squirming away. 

She pulls her fingers out of you and sucks them clean. You stare in disbelief, you didn’t even know someone could do that. Your arousal was covering her lips and chin, glistening. She crawls on top of you to kiss you and you can taste yourself on her tongue. If your limbs weren’t jelly that alone would be enough to make you want to do all of that again. 

“I am so glad you chose to get high with me, you have no idea.” Ellie’s smile is contagious. It has just registered you’ve never seen it like this, laying below her, it felt right. 

“Yea let’s do that again sometime soon.” You both laugh a little. Ellie lays her head on your chest and sighs. 

“Very soon.”

[kitausuret]

Alright, I have to admit I have not kept up at all with the Carnage/Flash side of Venom comic verse these past few years, so - who is Aria? The few issues I've read centered on Flash during these wacky symbiote times did not contain her, and the Marvel comics wiki gives me nothing. But you have me curious.

Hey there, friend! You wanna know who Aria is? Well, that's exactly what I'm here for. You're right, though - I'm not sure she even has a wiki article yet. She doesn't even have a last name! But I'm all for those underappreciated characters, so, let's go.

(All the following panels will be by Gronbekk/Perez from Carnage 2023.)

(Carnage #1)

We first meet Aria as the bartender at the very on-the-nose-named "Pour Decisions" bar. "Wait, isn't Flash an alcoholic?" Well... yeah. But Aria doesn't know that. And As you can see by the narration, it doesn't have the same effect on him that it used to. But, you'll see this is just another demon he has to battle.

Aria is clearly familiar with Flash - he's become a regular by this point. He's also a bit of a loner but he still knows how to put on the charm. But also, Aria understandably shows some concerns about him.

Flash is seeking purpose in his life, but he's not finding it. Aria knows he's well-meaning, but as always, Flash sometimes gets himself into trouble when he tries to help. It's too bad!

Because Flash is the best, he does apologize for his ill-timed heroics, and like, honestly, who can stay mad at him? Not Aria, even with her perfect hair. (I love her hair.)

(Carnage #2)

She also calls him out on looking like a damn mess.

She's SO into him though and it's so cute. I'm gonna cry. She wants to take that boy home and [redacted/saved for fanfic].

Aria unfortunately vanishes for most of the rest of the series, but since we're appreciating women, let's appreciate Liz for a second here too, after she and Flash take down Carnage.

(Carnage #8)

I'm always giggling at this. Flash doesn't get why there are so many damn symbiotes these days, either.

So even though Aria saw Flash initially as a mess (which he was)...

...after nearly dying at Carnage's hand multiple times/almost losing his mom/being trapped in the Darkforce Cube etc etc, he decides he's got to put himself back together. I do like the panel of him fixing one of his prostheses a lot. It's a nice touch we haven't seen the likes of since Space Knight. (Nice job, Gronbekk & Perez!)

I love this scene where she makes him a mocktail. A fruity little drink. And he does love it. Because who wouldn't.

Like, oh my God, even Liz sees it. She's definitely hinting that if Flash doesn't snatch up Aria, she will.

And then my most FAVOURITE Flash/Aria scene... that truly solidifies that maybe possibly there's a chance for them??? MAYBE??

THAT BOY IS GETTING LAAAAAAAAAAAID ahem. Anyways.

I just, I really love this! It's spot-on with the fact that when Flash is really into someone, he's kind of awkward! But he's soooo sincere and Aria is SO into it. He's taking active interest in what she's into! He's pulling himself together! He's living again!

I want Flash/Aria to happen so badly like, you don't even know. I want them to go jogging in crop tops together. I want them watching birds and getting coffee and her giving him That Look fifteen more times. I want him to treat her RIGHT and for this to be his best relationship since Betty.

But mostly, I just want Aria to survive the next goddamn event.

[inspector-m3]

Thomas shelby x male reader drabble thingy idk

I've started watching peaky blinders and Im ill which made me think of this and it wont go away so now it's everyone else's problem too.

I've only watched one season so far so might bot be accurate to his character but im trying ;-;

warnings?: mentions of war, scars (not SH), possible PTSD stuff?? violence, alcohol, swearing...im really bad at warnings but i think that's everything unless you need a warning for the french too (jk)

Thinking about Thomas Shelby who owes you a favour. You own your own little group of miscreants but you dont deal with guns or betting, you grew a hate for guns after the war and made a rule to anyone who entered your pub that no guns were allowed. And you didn't do betting because there was too mich competition and dick measuring going on.

What you did deal in and make a living off of, was information, connections, you knew how to get things and what people had done behind closed doors, you were the eyes and ears in the walls. So of course Thomas had come to you for information, but he knew you wouldn't give it for free which is why he offered you a favour.

"anythin you want...any time, just for the information on the blokes I wrote down on that paper"

He says to you, and you take the offer, having the favour of a peaky blinder was valuable.

But what you weren't prepared for was how you'd use this favour.

It's late at night, your group had gotten into some trouble, a fight with another group that you'd prodded the bear with too much. You loose a few of your men, and that bothered you but what shook you the most out of your calm composure was the use of guns in that fight, the ringing was still in your ears as you stood outside Thomas Shelby's door.

When he opens the door you dont even greet him, just blurt out.

"im cashing in that favour. "

To which he raises an eyebrow but lets you in anyways, waiting silently as he tries to neaten his hair, messed up by a rough sleepless night.

"fuck......can i stay?...just for the night?"

You quickly realise how that sounds and sigh before trying to fix it.

"shit, not like that...i just...i just need to hear a heartbeat that isn't my own"

And somehow you got the great Thomas Shelby to agree on your favour, he convinces himself that it's just a favour, that it doesn't mean anything. But the fact you came to him instead of anyone else almost warmed his cold heart. He knew how it felt when the war wouldn't leave, when it made a home in your head and buried itself deep into your bones so that when they creak all you remember are the cries of your comrades.

So there you are, settled on his bed with your head on his chest, listening to the soft thuds of his heart. Your arms are tucked closely to yourself, trying to have the only contact being your head on his chest because this was humiliating enough as it was.

Your eyes close as you focus on the sound of his heart, it drowns out the sound of guns from both today's fight and the war, the sound of your own heart beating too fast because your body seems to still think there's a frenchman nearby and waiting with another gun.

You don't even realise you fell asleep until you wake up to the unfortunate reality that people tend to move in their sleep, finding your arms entwined around Thomas, your legs tangled with his.

Thomas himself was just as surprised when he hadn't heard any shovels that night and then awoke to see his hand ever so gently cradling your head to his chest, almost as a reflex he brushes his thumb across your shortly cropped hair. His eyes trail down, only now noticing the scars from war across your back and arms, he almost touched them and would've if he didn't know that it would probably wake you up.

You both untangled yourselves and lay apart and in silence when you were more awake.

"....this never happened."

You both agree in silence, knowing what would happen if anyone found out as well as the risk of getting attached which was never even thought about by either of you.

It was never spoken of again, both of you going back to just business, you almost forgot about it too.

Until you were sat in your pub, drinking peacefully with the chatter of the men, only to be disturbed when Thomas Shelby walks in, looking more unnaproachable than usual, he makes a beeline for you and murmurs something you weren't expecting.

"i need a heartbeat"

and it clicked, it was like an accidental secret code because no-one else knew what happened that night.

[punsmaster69]

6/APR/20XX

this is the story

all about how

i ended up hanging

upsidedown

(sorry)

(on second thought, i am not)

"what're you up to?"

a mess of rope and buckets dangle from a tree. papyrus hoists another onto a branch.

"WELL, BROTHER, I AM MAKING A HOPEFULLY REPEATABLE WATER TRAP."

"BECAUSE IF YESTERDAY TOLD ME ANYTHING..."

"I NEED TO UP MY WATER-FIGHTING GAME!!"

"you're stealing their technique, huh?"

"IT'S NOT STEALING."

"right. and it's different... how?"

"THIS IS ON A MUCH LARGER SCALE!!!"

"makes sense."

"I'M ALREADY WEARING WATER-READY ATTIRE-"

gesturing to his self-cropped top and shorts.

"-SO I WILL BE THE TEST SUBJECT!"

he finishes securing the bucket and descends the tree, handing off a section of rope to me.

"WHEN I SAY THE WORD, I WANT YOU TO RELEASE THIS."

"ok."

so he runs over to a specific spot and gives me a thumbs up.

"that's not a word."

"...."

"JUST GO."

"you told me to do it when you say the word."

". . . ."

"THE WORD."

"WHICH I DID NOT-"

"ok."

i drop the rope.

"SANS-!!"

...failing to step away from the rapidly ascending rope in time. it catches around my leg.

suddenly, i'm dangling from the tree.

there's a loud splash as my brother is doused in water by his own trap. he beams proudly at its functionality.

that smile transitions into a look of confusion as he realizes i'm not there.

"...THE SPLASH RADIUS WASN'T 𝘛𝘏𝘈𝘛 BIG."

"maybe you should install safety features anyway."

"??"

looking around.

"hey. papyrus."

"...updog."

"WHAT?"

"updog."

"UPDOG?"

"updog."

he continues to look around confusedly.

"WHAT IS 'UPDOG'?"

"me."

"...??"

slowly looking up at the tree to spot me.

"..'sup."

"HOW DID YOU MANAGE THAT???"

"incredible luck."

papyrus jumps up to the branch and begins to untangle the rope at my ankle.

"..."

"i'm gonna fall."

"OH."

"I'LL CATCH YOU."

"uh-"

unfortunately, i suddenly had very little time to debate this answer since i immediately plummeted towards the ground.

"...SEE?"

"NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT."

"CAUGHT, LIKE I SAID I WOULD!!"

my brother tries to shrug it off nonchalantly, but he's sweating a little.

papyrus lowers me and himself to the ground slowly.

"i would've used a shortcut even if you hadn't caught me so soon."

"IT WAS MY MISTAKE, SO I'LL USE MY OWN 'TRICKS' TO FIX IT!"

i'm set down the instant his shoes touch the grass.

"not often i get to float-"

"JUMP."

"𝘫𝘶𝘮𝘱 down from trees like that."

"...I'LL WORK ON THE SAFETY THING."

"SORRY, SANS."

"all cool."

"like i said, fl- 𝘫𝘶𝘮𝘱ing down like that was kinda neat anyway."

"SHOULD WE DO IT AGAIN?"

"no thanks, bro. had enough tree-dangling."

"for a lifetime."

papyrus shrugs and sets to work on the trap some more.

[ghostlychief]

Falling into Place

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader

wc: 1,600+

warnings: mentions and depictions of bruises from fighting; hurt/comfort; fluff

Summary: dancing with your big boyfie Ghost

AN: HELLO!! Ok, so i am a sucker for a slow dance scene, and i just had to write one with Ghost. This was inspired by @alienisticxo ‘s fic Before the Fever, and the last chapter was first of all, AMAZING, but secondly, it had a lovely dance scene between the Master Chief and oc (reader), and it inspired me to write a dance scene with Ghost. If you’re a fan of Halo or the Halo world/lore, I highly recommend checking out their fic!!

Also, I’ve decided that this is the Pockets of Peace couple, so do with that what you will lmao (but this doesn’t contribute to the main story line, just think of it as an extra drabble) You honestly could read it as a oneshot though, if you like. Ok, so yeah i think that’s about it and i hope you enjoy if you stumble across it.

-Lee <3

--

To say that this past week was brutal was an understatement. You were swamped at work in the beginning of the week with tasks, mainly completing an endless amount of workpapers, only to be thrown into a mission mid-week. Usually, you had more notice before you had to go on a mission, but every once in while, they would be sprung on you without warning. Definitely one of the downsides of the job.

If by some miraculous chance, you and Simon would get assigned to the same mission. This time, that wasn’t the case. Now, this mission wasn’t anything too serious nor dangerous, however, you did find yourself in countless hand-to-hand fights throughout, which left you with a series of bruises painting your body. The most noticeable, and unfortunately the worst ones, were found on your upper arm and shoulder, dotting your skin from your elbow to the beginning of your neck.

To the untrained eye, they look concerning -as in, “why aren’t you in a hospital right now?”- concerning. Nothing a little ice and TLC couldn’t fix. You were a seasoned professional after all, and part of the expertise that comes with the job is being able to mend your own wounds; you knew all the tricks.

The mission finished late Friday night, so when you were finally able to get back home, Simon was already asleep. Trying to be as quiet as you could, you took a shower and started icing your body, hoping that by tomorrow, the stains the bruises left wouldn’t be too gruesome.

You instantly felt the pain when you woke on Saturday, and you tried your hardest not to cry out. Luckily, Simon was on his morning jog, and you knew Saturday was his long route; he wouldn’t be back for a couple hours.

The events of the week seemed to have finally caught up with you. You were exhausted, sore, and heavily bruised. The bruises fully came to fruition, and they left a mess of red, green and purple hues, masking the true color of your skin beneath them.

A bath was needed, you decided. You drew yourself an elaborate bath, putting in all the bath salts and bombs you felt were necessary to help calm your nerves that sprouted from the week. You poured yourself a glass of wine, and put on a dewy face mask, the coolness of it felt amazing on your dry skin.

You don’t recall how long you soaked in the tub, all you know is that when you came out your fingers were as pruned as can be, and you didn’t feel your anxiety weighing down your chest, and you finally felt like you could breathe properly.

When you step out of the tub, you quickly dry off and do your lotion and skin care routine, taking extra caution around your injuries. You put on your favorite crop tank top, it’s sage green with a bow in the middle, and matching shorts. To cover your injuries, you slip on a darker, royal blue silk robe. You found this color always makes your complexion shine.

--

In the early evening, you find yourself sitting on the couch with Simon. It’s already dark out since it’s January, and there’s a steady rainfall outside, creating a calming atmosphere within your shared apartment.

Your legs are resting in his lap, and you both are reading, with soft sounds of music playing in the background, accompanying the raindrops. You’re still decked out in your pajamas and robe; Simon is in his signature black joggers and black t-shirt and you’re both snuggled under a warm, fleece blanket.

Suddenly, one of your favorite songs starts to play over the speakers; your ears perk and you close your book.

When you lift your legs from Simon’s lap, he glances over at you, but then proceeds to read his book. He feels you standing in front of him so he looks up from his book again, and there you are, just like he thought. Though, your hand is reaching out towards him, and you wear a sloppy smile on your face with your brows quirked.

“Wanna dance?”

Your question surprises him, and he just stares at you for a moment before responding, “Right now?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, and you shake your hand in front of him, “No. I meant when we go to my cousins wedding in March. Yes, right now.”

He actually rolls his eyes, but a shadow of a smile threatens to coat his lips and his warm hand engulfs yours as you drag him up from the couch. He’s now towering over you, and a familiar warmth spreads through your face, onto your cheeks. You never really grew used to the size difference between you and Simon.

“Do you even know how to dance?” He lets you lead him to the center of the living room, to give you both optimal space for dancing. His tone is curious, not at all mean or impatient, he was genuinely asking if you knew how to.

Shrugging you quip, “Not really, I was planning on just swaying, you know?”

He laughs at your indifference to the honed the skill that is dancing, and then he pulls you close to him, now taking the lead. One of his hands gently grasps your waist, and the other is still holding yours.

Smiling, he says, “Perfect, neither do I.”

You start dancing to the music, he’s leading you in a swift back and forth, side to side motion and to be honest, you guys aren’t doing too bad - for not really knowing how to waltz. Every one in awhile though, you accidentally step on his toes, but he pays no mind to it and just enjoys seeing you like this, content and happy in his arms.

Simon impresses you further when he spins you a few times, and you laugh each time you come crashing back into his chest on your return. While you guys were twirling around the room with little to no mind, the sleeve of your robe started to fall off your shoulder. It’s then, when your bruises start to show and you remember that Simon hasn’t seen them yet.

He knew about your mission and that you got in to a few fights, but this is the first time he’s seeing the aftermath it left on your body and he tries not to let his heart break too much at the sight. Regrettably, he can’t help it, and feels a pinch right in the center of his heart as he continues to look at your body, but he continues to lead you in your small dance around the living room.

Although the mood hasn’t turned somber, it certainly shifted into something more quiet, tender, and he slows down his movements.

The tenderness expands and is expressed explicitly when Simon leans down to kiss your shoulder where the bruises begins, he then trails his kisses down the expanse of your arm, and his lips trace over the bruises that have sprouted, and left a pattern of purple and red. As he’s kissing down your arm, you feel his hand that is still holding yours squeeze three times, a signal to you that he’s sorry this happened to you, and that he’s here for you now, to comfort you, protect you.

He leaves one last kiss on the top of your shoulder, then gently brings your robe back up to cover you.

When the song crests into its beautiful epiphany, you feel Simon’s eyes searching for yours. You glance up to find his already on you, intently studying your entire being. In that moment, you feel the same crest develop in your lower chest, making its way to your heart and you find it hard to express how you’re feeling in this delicate pocket of time you find yourself in with your lover.

The music continues to swell around you, seemingly sewing you shut into this small pocket of space you’ve both created, that just exists between the two of you. No one can find you hear, touch you, hear you. All that exists is what you and Simon have created in this moment.

He hums out an “I love you,” and you repeat it back.

You wrap your arms around his neck and lay your head on his chest. His head comes down to rest against yours, and every once in awhile, you feel a ghost of a kiss pressed to the crown of your head.

Now, both of his hands are holding your waist, as you both sway to the beat of the music.

You step on his toes again, and you lightly giggle out a sorry. You can’t see his small grin as he observes you because you’re looking down at your feet, trying your hardest not to step on him again.

His response to your apology is picking you up and placing you back down so that your feet are on top of his. It’s quite a silly position, but he continues to dance like this, swaying you back and forth, occasionally moving both of your legs with the movement of his feet.

It's a bit clumsy, but you love it. Even though you’re perched on top of Simon’s feet, he’s still astronomically taller than you, and you find yourself getting lost in him even more. Sounds of laughter fill your living room, occasionally drowning out the music.

You pick your head up from his chest to grin up at him, “We’re pretty good dancers, huh?”

He kisses your nose, “The best.”

--

Hope you enjoyed! <3

[creepling]

OKAY SO this isn't a request but i had a scenario i started thinking about last night when i tried to sleep that i wanted your opinion on (johnny on the brain always, unfortunately) and it's just... can you imagine being like, an honorary family friend of the sawyers (your grandparents were close with their grandparents back before times got hard and they had to resort to doing what they had to do, and now, while your folks are gone now and it's just you, drayton considers you off-limits out of respect for old grandpa) and you live a little bit far off from their farmland on your own dingy little farm. it's inherited from your parents, and it's... fucked up. you've got a lot of seeds, but nothing grows, and the house needs worked on and you just *don't* know the first thing about fixing any of it. you're, admittedly, pretty oblivious to what the sawyers do---you never come around without being invited and it's usually just a quick chat with drayton at the end of the road, and on the off chance you're driving your dad's beat up old truck close to their farm and hear any screaming you just think they have some really weird goats---but your visits are always short-lived and you haven't gotten to meet the new additions to the family yet. maybe you drive by to see drayton, drop off some seeds as a gift 'cause right now nothing's growing for you and they're just being wasted, and you mention something offhand about a rusty shed door that won't open or a leaky roof and drayton, after pulling him aside and giving him a very thorough talking to (you don't want to upset grandpa, after all, and your old folks WERE really good to them when they were living) about how he better not try anything, drayton sends johnny back with you to fix something as thanks for the seeds (because let's be honest, drayton doesn't have it in him anymore and johnny is arguably the most.. casual. able to act normal, if you will). so now you've got a sweaty, attractive greaser here to fix your roof that you've never met before. you feel bad about him having to do all the work because you're just so darn *clueless*, so you might as well make some lemonade and cut some watermelon so he can get a quick break from the heat! you keep sneaking glances and admittedly he's real charming, so it's not just the texas heat getting to you. maybe he thinks you're real sweet, if maybe a little oblivious. airheaded? whatever the word for it, you're certainly pretty amusing, and you're already pretty clearly off-limits for *killing*, but drayton never said anything about testing OTHER boundaries, now did he?

omg i love this sm. the fact that reader is normal because they never got brought up in some cannibal patriarch like the sawyers. but who knows, maybe the crops aint growing bc there’s family secrets buried in the soil?👀

also yard work johnny goes through my mind constant because he reminds me of the hot pool cleaners in movies or greaser mechanics. like i just know outside of killing this man is passed about made to do yard work and fix things up. drayton paps him off to fix cars and cut grass for extra cash or southern hospitality and johnny has to begrudgingly do it. but this time his client is hot and naive and fine to look at, so maybe he wants to stick around for a while. point out a leaked pipe so he can fix it and stay for longer, hnng

if you write you should defos make it into a fic, i’d read it in a heartbeat!!

[absentlyabbie]

speaking of assumptions.

when i directly interacted and communicated with students in my previous role, i did indeed provide those instructions and tips and spell out precisely what i needed and how they could provide that to me. that is not the role i am in now, and i am some steps removed from the direct interface now, and the people between me and them are not doing what i used to (whole different workplace, on top of that.)

the role i'm in now doesn't specifically require pdf documents, that's just still the best format. when they send me the messes i described, i do whatever is possible to make it work. i spend a lot of time doing file conversions and cropping and cleaning up images. that's not always possible if what i'm sent is garbage enough.

and when i can't rescue it, it means i run down the chain to the person directly communicating with the student that they need to try again, and i do try to explain those old instructions, though i have no way to know or control how that's actually passed on.

unfortunately, that can lead to the same issue i faced all the time in the old role, when i was communicating those instructions and tips: frustration, miscommunication and misunderstanding, and repeated back and forth.

the more times we've gotta go back and forth, the more times i can't accept or use what student has tried to submit, the more times i have to ask again for better and explain again how, the more time i am wasting, the more time they are wasting, the more their frustration builds. and way, way too often that ends in students just giving up, absolutely hating the whole process and feeling it just isn't worth it to keep going.

because they needed this knowledge and these skills before they got to me, before that moment. trying to fix it in-progress every time is no substitute for the students actually being taught what they need to know before they have to use it and never will be.

we always, all of us, of course, must and generally do try to bridge the gaps when they open like sinkholes in front of us. but me emailing a step by step list of directions to a student so they can get me a usable transcript doesn't actually remedy what's wrong.

the problems are systemic, and the solutions will need to be systemic, and the band-aids we slap onto the broken things in between those two points need to be a lot bigger than my third email asking if they can look again to see that button or link or or or or...

we have to do better than this, and "we" must be bigger than scattered individuals trying to patch a sinking ship as the water rises chest high.

seriously, though. i work in higher education, and part of my job is students sending me transcripts. you'd think the ones who have the least idea how to actually do that would be the older ones, and while sure, they definitely struggle with it, i see it most with the younger students. the teens to early 20s crowd.

very, astonishingly often, they don't know how to work with .pdf documents. i get garbage phone screenshots, sometimes inserted into an excel or word file for who knows what reason, but most often it's just a raw .jpg or other image file.

they definitely either don't know how to use a scanner, don't have access to one, or don't even know where they might go for that (staples and other office supply stores sometimes still have these services, but public libraries always have your back, kids.) so when they have a paper transcript and need to send me a copy electronically, it's just terrible photos at bad angles full of thumbs and text-obscuring shadows.

mind bogglingly frequently, i get cell phone photos of computer screens. they don't know how to take a screenshot on a computer. they don't know the function of the Print Screen button on the keyboard. they don't know how to right click a web page, hit "print", and choose "save as PDF" to produce a full and unbroken capture of the entirety of a webpage.

sometimes they'll just copy the text of a transcript and paste it right into the message of an email. that's if they figure out the difference between the body text portion of the email and the subject line, because quite frankly they often don't.

these are people who in most cases have done at least some college work already, but they have absolutely no clue how to utilize the attachment function in an email, and for some reason they don't consider they could google very quickly for instructions or even videos.

i am not taking a shit on gen z/gen alpha here, i'm really not.

what i am is aghast that they've been so massively failed on so many levels. the education system assumed they were "native" to technology and needed to be taught nothing. their parents assumed the same, or assumed the schools would teach them, or don't know how themselves and are too intimidated to figure it out and teach their kids these skills at home.

they spend hours a day on instagram and tiktok and youtube and etc, so they surely know (this is ridiculous to assume!!!) how to draft a formal email and format the text and what part goes where and what all those damn little symbols means, right? SURELY they're already familiar with every file type under the sun and know how to make use of whatever's salient in a pinch, right???

THEY MUST CERTAINLY know, innately, as one knows how to inhale, how to type in business formatting and formal communication style, how to present themselves in a way that gets them taken seriously by formal institutions, how to appear and be competent in basic/standard digital skills. SURELY. Of course. RIGHT!!!!

it's MADDENING, it's insane, and it's frustrating from the receiving end, but even more frustrating knowing they're stumbling blind out there in the digital spaces of grown-up matters, being dismissed, being considered less intelligent, being talked down to, because every adult and system responsible for them just

ASSUMED they should "just know" or "just figure out" these important things no one ever bothered to teach them, or half the time even introduce the concepts of before asking them to do it, on the spot, with high educational or professional stakes.

kids shouldn't have to supplement their own education like this and get sneered and scoffed at if they don't.

[ginnyweatherby]

random Encanto headcanons that I don't know what else to do with

When Julieta had pregnancy cravings, she made it everyone's problem. Who knew pickles and ice cream were so good for burns?

If one of the babies couldn't sleep, Agustin often would take them into a quiet room and softly play lullabies on the piano, with the baby in his lap, or resting on his shoulder.

Luisa, Dolores, and Mirabel loved it the most, and it would put them to sleep instantly.

Dolores' room isn't entirely soundproof, but there is a specific area that is, so if she needs a minute of peace she can chill in there. This is also where her bed is.

This is a popular hangout whenever someone has juicy gossip.

She doesn't always like it when it's too quiet though, it feels wrong. Sometimes instead of her bed, she'll snuggle up on the window seat and listen to the sounds of the Encanto to lull her to sleep.

This is how she listens to Mariano's poetry. While she hears a lot, if she really focuses she can hone in on specific sounds.

His voice is her favorite.

Camilo does every school play, and almost always gets the lead, since he can always look the part.

Both Camilo and Mirabel are the go-to town babysitters.

Luisa loves stuffed animals. Her dad gets her one every year on her birthday, and she sleeps in a giant pile of them.

One time Julieta came to wake her up, and could barely find her daughter in the giant mountain of stuffed toys.

Luisa is a total daddy's girl. Whenever she gets too stressed, she can always count on her dad to give her a comforting hug or to clumsily braid her hair. It always ends up looking horrible, but she doesn't mind. Isabela can always fix it later.

She may be bigger than him, but she's still his little girl, and he often reminds her of this.

Mirabel always handmakes birthday presents. Whether it's embroidering delicate handwork onto a handkerchief for Agustin, or painting a picture frame for Abuela, you can always count on her gifts to be heartfelt and made with love.

Abuela isn't always as cruel to Mirabel as seen in the movie.

She's tough on her, and could definitely use some tact, but she still loves her granddaughter very much, and does tell her so.

Albeit not as often as she should.

Isabela names her succulents, as if they were pets.

She grows unusual herbs and vegetables that can't easily be found in the market for Julieta's recipes.

She has a particular fascination for carnivorous plants. It's not concerning at all.

While Pepa's emotions change the weather, she can control them if she really tries to.

If the crops are too dry, she is able to make it rain at-will, she just has to focus.

Unfortunately she has yet to perfect the skill, just because she was never really allowed to practice much, always trying to repress the brunt of her emotions.

The triplets were nothing but chaos as kids.

Bruno and Pepa were the most toxic pair. They'd either be getting along great and scheming to pull a prank on their sister, or squaring up with each other in the hallway for absolutely no reason. There was no in between.

Alma had to teach Julieta how to cook, because even though they technically worked - no one in town wanted to eat another mudpie.

Felix and Dolores enjoy to cook. While Julieta does do a majority of the cooking, sometimes they take over to give her a break.

Agustin is actually self-sufficent in the kitchen, but no one trusts him near the stove enough to let him cook often.

He makes a mean hot chocolate though. Maybe better than Julieta's. Don't tell her that though.

Alma has the best family recipes, and often helps Julieta prepare them, especially for holidays.

Luisa hates spiders. Antonio tries to tell her they're harmless, even translating for them, but to no avail. She absolutely hates them.

Camilo kills them for her, but never in front of Antonio. He found that out the hard way.

Antonio cried the first time he stepped on a bug after he got his gift. It was disturbing to hear.

He eventually stopped eating meat altogether, because talking with animals while eating their bretheren just felt... wrong.

Agustin is a cat person.

Julieta has two left feet when she dances, but Agustin still insists on twirling her through the house, even if it ends up with them both in a heap on the floor. Ulterior motives.

Pepa and Felix have a canopy over their bed, but it's more like a tarp. Felix was tired of waking up in a puddle, and installed it.

Pepa is more upset she hadn't thought of it before.

Bruno enjoys drawing.

He's actually pretty artistic, but doesn't often show off his work.

Mirabel is horrible at drawing however, which is frustrating when she's trying to visualize a new sewing design.

In these cases, she'll describe what she's invisioning, and Bruno draws them.

Alma taught all her granddaughters how to sew (or at least mend), but Mirabel was the only one to take much of a liking to it.

She makes all kinds of intricate embroidery work, while Isabela can barely sew a button back on.

Some of the "prophecies" that caused the town to reject Bruno weren't even visions.

Like that guy with the gut? He didn't see that, he just made a comment on the guy's poor diet.

Same with the fish lady. He could tell the fish was sick, and recommended a vet or else it might die.

Dolores knits.

Morning people: Alma, Julieta, Luisa, Dolores, Antonio, Felix

Would sleep until noon if they could: Pepa, Bruno, Isabela, Mirabel, Agustin, Camilo

Julieta is very touchy-feely. Whether it's hugs, kisses, handholding, cuddles, etc. she loves it. If Juli loves you, you'll know by the amount of kisses you receive.

Pepa and Felix knew they were pregnant first, but Isabela was born first. They're just better at tracking these things.

Mirabel was a rainbow baby. A true miracle.

[astra90x]

Flufftober Day 3 - Thick as Thieves

@flufftober

Fandom: Stardew Valley

Pairing: Sebastian x Reader

Word Count: 1267

Reader Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: Cursing

This is one chapter of an entire linear story! It can be read separately but is better when read as a whole. Enjoy!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You can’t believe this. 

You absolutely, utterly can’t believe this. 

You’re standing outside Pierre’s shop, peering in through the window with your mouth agape. Inside, you can see multiple bins, full of produce that you grew and sold to him. Above the bins are signs. “Home-grown at Pierre’s!” 

This asshole is taking credit for your work. 

Maybe it shouldn’t be such a huge deal. He still paid you for the crops, and it’s not like where they came from really made a difference. But this… this prick is still disregarding the days of sweat and labour that you poured into growing those. Being a farmer is damn hard work, and you can’t believe he’s shoving that aside for his own selfishness. 

Unfortunately, Pierre’s shop is closed on Wednesdays, otherwise you would have stormed inside and torn into that poor excuse for a salesman. However, Pierre usually doesn’t leave the house on Wednesdays, and while he’s inside, the door is locked. No way for you to get in. 

You want to do something. Anything. The powerless feeling flooding through you right now is horrible, but for now, you just have to accept defeat. On the plus side, you can always go back tomorrow. Pierre isn’t going anywhere, he’ll be there for you to berate in the morning. 

You let out a groan of frustration and bury your face in your hands. It’s not fair that Pierre just gets to claim your work as his own and get away with it. And even if you did go in to yell at him tomorrow, you can’t make him change the signs. You sold him the produce, it’s his to do what he wants with it, including lying about where it came from.

“You look frustrated.” The voice comes out of nowhere, and you quickly remove your hands from your face and glance up to see none other than Sebastian. His hands are in his pockets and he looks almost bored, but he does seem curious about why you look so distraught. 

“I am frustrated,” you reply. Gesturing at the window, you watch as Sebastian’s gaze turns to the inside of the store, and he squints to read the sign above the crops. “I’m the one who grew those. I sold them to Pierre just yesterday.”

“Well that’s a dick move, isn’t it?” says Sebastian. “Can you do anything about it?”

“Not today, it’s closed.” You deliver a light kick into the side of the building. “I’ll have to wait until tomorrow, and even then, Pierre might not actually do anything to change it.”

“Have you tried the door?”

“It’s locked.”

“Not for long.” You watch as Sebastian steps forward, rifles through his pockets for a moment, and then produces a ring of keys. He fumbles through the five or six keys present until he finds what he’s looking for, then inserts it into the door of Pierre’s shop. The door unlocks with a light thunk. 

You stare at him in shock as he opens the door and turns back to look at you, an amused smile present on his face. 

“Abby’s always locking herself out, so she gave me a spare key to rescue her when she needs it,” he explains. “I’m technically not supposed to use it to break into the store, but desperate times call for desperate measures, hm?” 

“R-Right.” You take a step toward the door, which Sebastian is still holding open for you. “Thank you.”

“Happy to help. Justice needs to be served.” You shoot Sebastian a grateful smile and step into the building, expecting him to depart there, but instead, he follows you inside and gently shuts the door to prevent it from making any noise. 

“I’m not sure what to do now,” you admit. “I suppose I could go find Pierre, but I don’t think he’d be impressed that I’ve broken into his home.”

“Who needs Pierre? You have access to the sign right now, how about we just fix it?” Sebastian starts to wander through the store, searching the shelves, until he finds a packet of sharpies. Tearing the package open with his teeth, he pulls one out—hot pink, and almost blindingly so—and hands it to you. 

“Ah, so we’re adding stealing to the list, are we?” you ask, reaching out to take the sharpie from Sebastian’s outstretched hand. “Also, a weird choice of colour.”

“I’ll pay them back at some point, don’t worry about it,” Sebastian replies. “And the pink is bright, it’ll stand out.”

You question the morality of that a little in your head, but decide that it isn’t worth worrying about. Uncapping the marker, you step over to the sign, scribble out “Pierre’s,” and add a few extra words so that the sign now says, “Home-grown at Stardew Farm!” 

“You have nice handwriting,” Sebastian says as you recap the Sharpie. You hadn’t even noticed that he had moved to stand behind you, but now that you’ve been made aware, you can’t help but dwell on the fact that there are barely two inches between you. Plus, while he isn’t tall, he’s still taller than you, making you feel a little extra self-conscious when you turn and have to angle your head upwards to look him in the eyes. 

“Oh, um, thank you,” you say. “I guess I’m just good with my hands. I work on a farm, after all.”

It isn’t until Sebastian quirks an eyebrow up that you realize what you said, and your cheeks immediately start to burn. “I mean… um, fuck, I don’t know what I meant. I don’t know why I said that.”

Sebastian simply chuckles, a sound that both terrifies and relieves you. But it seems that he found nothing but humour in your little fumble, which makes you feel a little better. 

Taking a glance back at the modified sign, a new worry rises in your mind. “What will I do tomorrow? It’s not like Pierre won’t notice, he can just change it back.”

“By the time he notices, it’ll probably be too late. Others will have seen the sign by then, if he changes it back he’ll look like the bad guy, which is bad for business,” Sebastion points out. “So I wouldn’t worry about it. Embrace the victory.”

He nudges you with his elbow, which makes you smile. He is right. You’ve won, at least for now. You might as well appreciate it.

“Thank you again for your help,” you say. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“As I said, I’m just happy justice has been served,” Sebastian replies. “You deserve credit for your hard work, and you shouldn’t have to sit by and accept defeat just because Pierre has decided he wants to be selfish.”

You nod. You really are grateful for everything that Sebastian has done for you today. Not only helping you get into the store, but accompanying you to make sure that you could accomplish your task. It means a lot, especially since this matters so much to you. 

“This was actually more fun than I thought it would be,” Sebastian notes. “I like our ‘partners in crime’ vibe.”

“Thick as thieves,” you add, laughing. Sebastian chuckles as well. 

“Thick as thieves,” he agrees. 

You take one last look at Sebastian. Taking in his face that still lacks a smile but has the warmth in his eyes that you saw during the night at the saloon. You still don’t know him all that well, but it’s nice to realize that maybe you can continue getting to know him. 

Your new partner in crime. 

❤♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[fkinavocado]

please watch in 4K! ❤️

now that the european leg of the tour is over, it felt fitting to share with you guys my experience at the second london show, after carefully selecting which bits and pieces of the videos @canthandlethepain and i took to merge into this larger one ❤️

as you guys probably know, we traveled to the UK especially for this! his london show was our second time seeing him ever, a week after we first saw him at the capital fm summertime ball (i'll probably make a post of that as well)

i honestly didn't look at what i was filming the entire time, i was looking directly at him 😅 i look at him through screens all the time, i wanted to fully experience seeing him right in front of me. so excuse all the wonky angles, the out of focus frames etc. i didn't think i'd be posting any of this when i recorded. but i really wanted to share with you guys, i know it's old news and you've seen it all from various angles on various platforms already, but if anyone cares to see it from my pov- here it is haha (definitely don't skip the ending 👀) i only kept the highlights from the show, all of it was originally filmed in portrait, so i had to crop the footage for a better viewing experience

we were soooo lucky to land such amazing tickets after waiting in that queue from hell for ages (we didn't get ANY tickets for the first wembley show- so when the ones for the second date went on sale only to land vip front pitch early entry we were absolutely blown away)

we stood front line at the barricade! he was so close it was INSANE! the camera actually makes it look like he was further away. i'm so grateful to have had this amazing experience, considering this was wembley- a 90k capacity stadium and it was sold out! absolutely mindblowing. just sharing this kind of experience with so many people in itself was out of this world amazing! i never have luck with stuff like this. it was truly meant to be ❤️

harry is of course an incredible live performer. he sounds amazing, his energy is contagious, he's definitely having the time of his life on stage but you could definitely sense that the venue was a huge deal for him. i think he was a bit overwhelmed and a bit more reticent to go full out bananas and he was very emotional throughout 🥺❤️ he's such a sweetheart istg. one thing i will say though is that the man makes very intense eye contact. like, holy smokes. he really looks at you, he's not just skimming through the crowd! yeah🔥... but i survived!!!

unfortunately it rained almost entirely throughout the show, our fits were ruined, we had to wear lame raincoats overtop. i still can't believe i let this man, of all people, see me miserably drenched like that 🤣☠️ oh well!

even the way back to the tube was amazing (i took the pic from the venue and the station was waaaaay at the end of the road there and all of it was packed) everyone was lovedrunk, we all sang his songs along with old 1d songs, even security joined in. masses and masses of people. although i found some harries not to be particularly nice initially (🥲🥲🥲) after getting their fix we all just became one big happy family

also important side note 😅 i tried my level best not to sing along while filming- you can hear me a few times but i promise it's never the horrible out of tune voices you can sometimes hear fhdhsjjs fortunately i didn't hear them as loudly in real life, but the mic picked up whatever was near so yeah ☠️ we had some especially enthusiastic ladies to my right... my right ear is still recuperating eheheh

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Prompt idea: Geralt gets a contract for a monster that has been sighted nearby. When he tracks it down, he is surprised to find mothman!Jaskier who (much like actual mothman) has an ass that won’t quit.

?

I just want you to know that Mothskier now lives in my head rent free 24/7. I love him. I would die for him. This is my new favorite emotional support au.

2k-ish words - please feel free to shove comments through the bars of my enclosure, I would really like that

art by the ever-wonderful @mawbwehownets, whose drawing of Mothskier made me legit cry.

tw: mild injury, brief blood mention, strangers to lovers

---

“So what you’re saying,” Geralt raises an eyebrow slowly, curious, “Is that you need me to catch a monster that’s half man and half moth?”

“Yup.”

“Alright,” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. The frustrated Witcher takes a slow breath to calm and center himself, before he ends up botching the entire contract-writing process. Humans tend to grow attached to the strangest monsters sometimes, and apparently this mysterious local being was no different. “Let me get this totally straight, so there are no mistakes or misunderstandings. You want me to capture this man-moth and get it out of your woods, but you don’t want me to kill it?”

“He’s called the Mothman, and he’s pretty damn stubborn about sticking around,” the aging farmer corrects Geralt with a little frown. Then his expression shifts and he smiles in a way that seems almost apologetic. “We were hoping you could find a way to relocate him without hurting or killing him, Master Witcher.”

“That’s completely possible, if he isn’t attached to this specific patch trees by any magical or biological means. You said his natural habitat is just… the forest?”

“As long as there's an abundance of pine around he seems pretty happy. Before he came to live with us, Mothman lived in a heavily forested area up the coast; or at least that’s what the historical records and local mythology seem to indicate.”

“That’s actually pretty helpful information to have on hand, I’m impressed,” Geralt nods. “Alright, Mr. Stevens. I promise to relocate the poor thing without killing or maiming him, and I’ll be sure to take him somewhere far enough away that your crops won’t be in danger. Thanks for calling me first instead of just going straight to an extermination service.”

“Honestly, Master Witcher,” the farmer sighs and readjusts his dirty baseball hat, “If it weren’t for the mischief he’s been getting into lately, we would have let him stick around until spring. I hate to admit it to a man as strong and stern-faced as yourself, but the poor creature is almost… adorable at times.”

“Well that’s a first,” Geralt chuckles, honestly amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “A monster being referred to as ‘adorable’ rather than ‘terrifying’. I’ve never heard such a thing in my many years of life.”

“Then you’d better prepare yourself, Sir Geralt. He’s got a pair of big blue puppy-dog eyes that’ll knock you on your ass if you aren’t careful. And that’s coming from a man who raised three daughters with dimples.”

“Hmm. Fuck.”

---

Geralt knows enough about moths to come up with a plan he thinks will work.

Before he heads into the woods to find and capture the poor wandering creature, the Witcher takes a detour through the lighting section of the nearest Lowe’s.

---

Unfortunately for Geralt, the farmer was right about the power of Mothman’s puppy dog eyes, which are big and blue and begin to water as soon as the Witcher’s net knocks him to the ground. The creature lies in a whimpering tangle of limbs beneath the heavy, magically enhanced restraints. Geralt takes an opportunity to look at what the locals called "a cryptid".

Mothman has a long, lithe body that's covered in a light layer of grey-brown fur, but his hair resembles that of a human’s, falling over those enormous blue eyes in a lovely chestnut fringe. When Mothman sees the swords on Geralt’s back he cries out in panicked recognition and tries to pull his arms up far enough to shield his face. The lamp Geralt used to lure him into the clearing is still bathing him in a pool of yellow light; it’s almost pretty for a monster, Geralt notes.

As the Witcher takes a step forward, the cryptid squeaks and buries his face against his own shoulder. His entire frame is trembling.

“Hey there, shhhhh,” the Witcher murmurs quietly. He drops into a squat and holds both hands up to show Mothman that they’re weapon free. Tears are now falling freely down the creature’s surprisingly human face; whoever or whatever this is, they are likely some kind of Fae. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to get you back through the veil.”

“Liar,” Mothman huffs. His voice has a surprisingly musical quality to it and Geralt is now sure of his Fae parentage (or grand-parentage).

“I promise I’m not lying,” Geralt reassures him, slowly crawling forward. When he reaches for the nearest corner of the net, he feels all of Mothman’s muscles go tense. “I’m going to lift this up and I am going to restrain you, but I swear that I’m not going to kill you. I wish to cause as little distress as possible. Is that alright, Mothman?”

The creature hisses and yanks his foot back away from where Geralt’s hand had nearly touched it. “Jaskier.”

“Hmm?” Geralt glances up, raising an eyebrow.

“My name is Jaskier,” the Fae repeats, glaring up from between the sections of woven rope that make up the heavy net. “Not Mothman.”

“My apologies, Jaskier,” Geralt bows his head. He words his introduction carefully, in case this thing can manipulate his name like others of his kind: “You may refer to me as Geralt.”

“That’s your real name,” Jaskier states. The Witcher’s head snaps up.

“How did you know?”

“Hmm,” Jaskier sticks his tongue out as he mimics the sound Geralt made earlier. “Not telli-AH! Stop! Oh go- gods, stop! Please!”

Geralt drops the short section of rope he’s trying untangle from around Jaskier’s ankle and snaps his eyes upwards, already searching for damage. “What’s wrong!?”

“My wing!” Jaskier bawls. His scent spikes out through the clearing, sharp with panic and pain. The creature’s chest begins to shake more violently than before, his shoulders shuddering with the rising force of his sobs, “It’s t-t-torn! Oh gods, my wing! Sir Witcher, p-please!”

Geralt freezes, his gaze settling on the torn section of Jaskier’s large, furry wing. It’s a nasty wound near one of the joints, a faint trickle of barely-luminescent blood has already dried around the edges. Jaskier tries to flutter it a little and screams in agony when the muscles shift too suddenly, shrilly enough that Geralt needs to cover his hypersensitive ears. The Witcher's heart crashes down into his boots; based on the way the shivering Fae has gone pale and silent, the pain is too much for him to process. He’s gone into shock.

A torn wing is exactly the kind of thing Geralt had promised the farmer (and the collective of townspeople he represented) wouldn’t happen to the peaceful moth creature if they hired a Witcher instead of an exterminator. He sighs and gives the strange being another once-over. “Everything's alright, Jaskier. You’re going to be alright. I’m so, so sorry that you've been wounded. We’ll get you out of this net and get you something for the pain, but it’s going to hurt a little to untangle you. Stay still, don’t struggle, and it’ll be over soon.”

“J-Just kill me,” Jaskier pants. He’s continuing to hyperventilate and Geralt needs him to calm down before he passes out. The Fae reaches a hand for the dagger at Geralt's waist and the Witcher twists out of reach with a frown. Jaskier sobs again, fingers still seeking, “I might n-n-never fly a-again so just k-kill me!”

“Breathe with me, Jaskier,” the Witcher instructs, forgoing patience and cutting through the net with that same dagger. He scoops Jaskier up into his arms, ignoring the keening sound at the back of Jaskier’s throat when his wing is jostled, and rushes the Fae to his truck, tucking him into the passenger’s seat and wrapping him in a large, fluffy blanket. “I’m taking you to my friend. She’s an expert at healing magical creatures and I'm certain that she'll get your wing fixed in no time.”

Jaskier doesn’t give an answer. When Geralt looks up into the creature’s face again, the injured Fae has already passed out.

---

Jaskier moves with all the grace of a newborn foal as he explores the room Geralt has provided for him. His wing has been inspected, treated, and bandaged by a rather scary sorceress named Yennefer, who glared at the Witcher the entire time she was caring for him. She had also taken one of Geralt’s old t-shirts and cut an enormous hole in the back for Jaskier’s wings to fit through. The shirt’s bottom hem falls to the middle of his thighs and the thick black material is softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

He hears a knock on the door and calls out, “It’s open!”

Geralt enters slowly, bearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a mug of tea. “I brought you some last minute supplies and - uh… I brought you some tea. Yen always likes some before she goes to sleep and I figured since this was a new place and new places can be scary that I should-”

“Thank you,” Jaskier interrupts, smiling shyly. His antennae twitch happily as he takes the offerings from Geralt's hands and the Witcher watches them with wide eyes. Jaskier carefully sets the pajamas and the tea on the nightstand before turning back to look at Geralt. “I will… see you tomorrow?”

Geralt gives one sharp nod. “Hmm.”

“Goodnight,” Jaskier sing-songs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as Geralt exits.

From the other side of the closed door, Jaskier’s superior hearing picks up the Witcher’s final whisper: “Goodnight, Jaskier. I will always be sorry for causing you pain.”

The next morning he meets Geralt at the breakfast table, refreshed and ready to learn about the human world. He’s summoned a glamour in order to hide his more Moth-like traits, the only things that remain of his true nature are his wings and antennae; his fur is gone and he’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants and that same old shirt. The Witcher offers him a bowl of fruit and mug of something sweet-smelling. Jaskier glares into the mug with a slight pout to his lips before finally asking, “What is this?”

“Hot chocolate.”

Jaskier takes a sip and his antennae flutter, twitching happily as he swallows the best drink he’s ever had in his long life. He eats a strawberry from the bowl and slowly works his way through the hot chocolate, eyeing Geralt warily as the Witcher moves through the familiar kitchen to make his own breakfast.

“Where is Yennefer?”

“She went home,” Geralt shrugs.

“She isn’t your mate?”

“N-No,” Geralt sputters, turning to stare at the nervous young Fae. “Why would you think that?”

“You smell like each other.”

“We spend a lot of time together,” Geralt shrugs again. “Good friends, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier mimics his host for a second time. Rather effectively by the annoyed twitch at the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Just wondering.”

“Anything else you’re curious about?”

“Why don’t you have more lights?”

“Huh?”

“Lights,” Jaskier gestures around the minimalistic layout of Geralt’s open-concept kitchen/living room and its distinctive lack of lamps. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans forward against the dark marble countertop. The pout has gone from 'slight' to 'full-bore' and Geralt is clinging desperately to his braincell with how cute it looks. “It’s no fun.”

“You really like lamps, don’t you?” the Witcher replies, mouth dry. Jaskier huffs and takes another sip of his hot chocolate, antennae flickering back and forth in irritation. Geralt bites his lip to hide a smile; it’s too fucking cute, which is an odd thought for a Witcher to have.

“So what if I do enjoy a nice lamp or five in my living space?” Jaskier argues. "I'm a Moth of taste."

“No matter,” Geralt laughs quietly. “Finish your drink before it gets cold.”

---

Jaskier stays with Geralt for a few weeks while his wing heals, and for a creature whose sole interest seems to be fancy light fixtures, the Fae becomes a source of light in Geralt's own world. They go to a nonhuman friendly second-hand store to find Jaskier some more clothes and Geralt discovers the cryptid's love for oddly patterned shirts in bright colors. Jaskier chooses several to fill out his closet, as well as a sweater two-sizes too large in deep black (Geralt tries his best not to attach any meaning to this choice), a few pairs of pants, and a jean jacket that he declares, "Can be altered."

They watch movies together and make food together - Jaskier is always incredibly impressed by the way the automatic coffee maker works, and how easily Geralt can control the flames of the stove. Jaskier also follows the Witcher along on less dangerous hunts and helps bandage him up after worse ones, always there with a smile and a little kiss over the cleaned-up wound.

“It really is magic,” Jaskier always insists, lips pink and shining from licking them as he concentrates. "It makes you heal faster."

Geralt realizes one night - two weeks into Jaskier’s stay, as he leans against the doorframe and watches the strange creature’s even breathing - that he has gone and done the stupidest thing a Witcher can do: fall in love with a pretty, temperamental young Fae. Head over fuckin’ heels, actually.

So he makes a decision.

---

The next evening, after the dinner dishes have been cleaned and put away, Geralt herds Jaskier down the hall to the guest room. Those entrancing blue eyes blink up at him in obvious confusion. “Bedtime already?”

“No, not quite. I just- I made you… uh…”

“Do you have a surprise for me?” Jaskier asks, used to the Witcher's issues with verbalizing.

Geralt nods, relieved and thankful for the Fae’s steadfast understanding. “Do you want to cover your eyes or should I just open the door and show you?”

“I’ll close my eyes,” Jaskier smiles, covering his eyes with both hands. Geralt finds it adorable, as Jaskier always is, and allows himself a matching grin as he swings the door open. The ceiling light is off but Geralt has built a blanket fort at the center of the room and surrounded it with fairy lights of all colors and sizes. Inside the blanket fort is a mass of blankets and pillows; Jaskier has the odd habit of building nests - Geralt jokingly calls them cocoons - and sleeping in those on the floor instead of on the very comfortable mattress the Witcher has provided.

“Open them,” Geralt urges.

Jaskier pulls his hands away and Geralt watches as his pupils go huge and wide. Jaskier's face breaks out in the sunniest, most blindingly happy smile Geralt has ever seen. He turns and throws his arms around the Witcher, his wings fluttering behind him and his antennae twitching and flicking above his head. He tries desperately to speak but only manages a half-snuffled little “I’m-” before bursting into tears of joy.

Geralt just holds him, letting his arms fold carefully around Jaskier’s waist, just beneath his wings.

"I just wanted you to know that, if you wanted to stay, there would be room for you. Your room, if you want it."

"I do," Jaskier smiles, burying his face in the Witcher's neck. "I'd love to stay. I'd love nothing more than to spend my days going on adventures with you."

"Well then," Geralt gathers all of his courage and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jaskier's head. He's met with happy spasms from the antennae so he does it again. And again. Moving from the top of the Fae's head to his cheeks and then his mouth - pretty and pink and pouting and so worth the trouble. "I suppose we can get started on our next adventure tomorrow."

[olivyh]

TWST FAMILY HCS PT2) Savanaclaw and Octavinelle

Feel free to tack on your own Hc’s too!!! I love reading what other people think and how their view of the characters and of Twisted Wonderland in general change from person to person!!!

Savanaclaw:

Leona:

-Farena: We already know Leona describes his brother as being carefree and relaxed, but deep under that I think he’s a deeply intelligent man (how can you run a kingdom and be stupid?). He tries his best to make time in his schedule for his wife and child, and even try to get bonding tike with his younger brother (which never works out well). He tries to teach Cheka as much as he can, often giving him little life lessons while they play games. He’s a very kind and straightforward man, often being blunt when he doesn’t mean to. He stands a little taller than Leona, with Orange hair similar to Chekas. He keeps his hair tied out of his face as much as he can.

-Sister-in-law Kingscholar: A strong and confident woman, not afraid to speak her mind when she wants to. She’s blunt and she’d let you know about it. She’s also very kind in her own way, often dragging Leona off and trying to have serious talks with him, which he appreciates but doesn’t show. She adores Cheka and often spoils him without meaning to, and will spoil Leona too (but indirectly in a way similar to Ace’s father’s). Also very intelligent and good at reading people. I think she stands a little shorter than Leona, but she holds herself higher, and he slouches, so it looks as if they’re the same height. She has long yellow hair (again, similar to the ends of Cheka’s) that she often ties back as well.

-Cheka: We already know him, so heres a few Hcs!: He sometimes asks his mother to do his hair the same way as Leona’s, and tries to do everything like him (such as standing like him, trying to deepen his voice to sound like him, throwing sand at various objects in the castle yelling “King’s Roar!!”)

Ruggie:

-Grandma Bucchi: As he said himself, a stern and prideful woman. I think she’d be on the stricter side, having to teach Ruggie how to survive rather than him having to face those hard truths alone. She likely stands a lot shorter, likely 5’0 (sorry to anyone whos that height), than most other beastwomen. She’s a lot physically stronger than she looks, often still trying to pick Ruggie up at his age. She tries to spoil him when she can, trying to make him relax after working and taking over the household chores (which he declines, still cleaning up when she’s not looking- which earns him a smack to the head with a broom). She’s also a prankster, quietly jumping out from corners and scaring Ruggie or one of the other children. I think she feels a lot of regret over seeing Ruggie grow up so fast in the environment that he had, but she’s the proudest grandma ever. Whenever he sends pictures back she boasts to everyone at home (“See that! That’s my grandson’s school! See that there! He plays magift and is one of the best on the team! Look there! He’s got those nice ceremony robes!”), and even boasts about him with what little baby pictures they have (“See him walking at such a young age? Isn’t he so strong?”) Will never stop talking about her grandson, ever.

-Neighborhood kids: I think they’re like little siblings to Ruggie, so I’m adding them. They try to tale over what Ruggie did when he was at home, helping people fix up their houses or entertaining the baby hyenas when their mothers have other things to do. They also leave gifts to Ruggie when he comes back, between little dolls they made, bracelets they thought he’d like, charms, or pretty rocks and leaves. He keeps all of the gifts, no matter how small.

-His mom (bc the poor woman deserves a spot)(Poor meaning unfortunate)(The more i think abt it, both. It means both. Bad time?): I think she looked a lot like him, but with brighter blue eyes than his. She was definitely a prankster at heart, leaving clever traps behind for any poor soul to get stuck in. She was a very hardworker much like her son, taking on any task she could find to help out her mother. I think she’d try to leave as much behind for Ruggie as she could, which would include little notes and scribbles about how she was feeling throughout her pregnancy and how excited she was for him. Ruggie also kept all of those safe and sound, in a small box he keeps in the corner of his room.

(Can you guess who my fav chara is?)

Jack:

-Grandma & Grandpa Howl: A very loving couple, who always make time out of their schedule for their grandchildren, whether it be for school events, emergencies, or if any one of them want to come by and talk. They met when Grandpa Howl got lost and wandered by Grandma Howl’s family’s cabin (which happens to be the one they, and the rest of the family, still live in to this day) and he spent the night. I think they fell in love at first sight :’)

-Mama Howl: A very soft and loving beastwoman who is willing to sacrifice anything for her children. She is often strict, and sometimes a chatterbox, but she always reminds her children to stay safe and that she loves them. She always pats their head or cheek when she walks by, even if she has to reach a little to plant a kiss on Jack’s forehead. I think her hair would be a little darker grey, and she’d definitely be a little more muscular and taller, reaching six ft one when standing straight up. She’d have the same yellow eyes as Jack, and her hair would be cropped shorter due to her still moving around a lot.

-Papa Howl: Very similar to Jack personality and appearance wise. He stands an inch or two shorter than Jack, but is still very muscular due to working around the house and in the woods (chopping wood for the campfire, dragging around tools, carrying three wolf pups at a time in his younger days (only one now wants to be carried, which hurts the poor man’s heart a bit)

-Baby brother Howl: Huffy and a little moody, but a hard worker even if he complains while doing it most of the time. That’s often with his parents, but when he does something with Jack he doesn’t complain a bit. He’s very attached to his older brother, looking up to him for his strength and strong morals. He often compares him to superheroes and star athletes in his mind, but sometimes it slips out, resulting in one very embarrassed wolf boy and another very flattered wolf boy, ignore their wagging tails, it means nothing. I think he stands pretty tall for a preteen, around 5’7-5’8 and growing taller by the day. Same hair and eye color as Jack. Acts like he doesn’t like to play games with his younger sister but will never turn down a game of tag.

-Baby sister Howl: An absolute sweetheart. She just wants the best for her family and will do whatever she can to make what they want happen. Jack is hungry? Good thing she made her special dessert (it’s a poptart with whipped cream messily piled on top with sprinkles and literal sugar cubed wedged in it, but don’t tell her you don’t like it, please she’d actually bawl). Her other older brother is tired? She can get him extra blankets! Mama needs help cleaning? She can mop (she really just throws water on the floor and praises herself for a job well done). Papa need to cut wood? She can- no, she can’t. Please don’t give her an axe. She’ll cheer him from the sidelines with a song she made up just for him instead! She has their mother’s grey hair and father’s dark brown eyes, and loves to do her hair like the princesses she sees on Tv! (Yes, Jack will wear a too-small dress and Tiara if his sister wants to play princess. No, he will not let anyone take pictures.)

Octavinelle:

Tweels:

-Mama Leech: At first glance, a very kind woman with soft eyes. Willing to open her arms to anyone who might need help. Then, a terrifying grin similar to Floyd’s as that poor unfortunate soul realizes the trap they’d been thrown in. She’s very kind and patient towards both her boys and husband, as well as their friends (even of she is on guard near their friends, throwing a few hollow threats to see if it’d scare them away)(She doesn’t like to share her babies). She dotes on the tweels as much as possible, indulging im whatever curiosity they may have. Floyd wants to know what going through riptide is like? They leave tomorrow to find one. Jade wants to know more about life on land? She’ll find as many books as possible and ask (threaten) people for their land belongings. She knows when too far is too far though, and is very skilled at reeling the boys back in if they get to that point. Will always call them her little guppies, no matter how big they get. I think she’d have a teal bob on top, with the underside of her hair being black (which makes her hair look color changing when she swims). Im her human form shes only a few inches shorter than her boys, ranging around the same as Jack’s mother.

-Papa Leech: The definition of old Hollywood New York mob boss. Strict and blunt about his interests and problems, and not afraid to cause any problems if provoked. When the tweels were younger and they’d wrestle and bite at him, he’d throw them off him easily, telling them they need to work to beat him, even if he was impressed by their teamwork at first. Will die to protect his family, and was likely put in that position many times in the past due to his uh… business. He values his wife and children more than anything, and has done everything in his power in the past to protect them from harm. When they went to NRC at first, he felt defeated and almost wanted to beg them to stay safe with him (not that his pride would allow it).(Both the tweels can see through his facade easily)

Azul:

-Grandma ‘grotto: A very stern and prim octomermaid. What she says goes in the Ashengrotto house, and she often catches herself making unnecessary comments. She does apologize. Also a very loving grandmother towards Azul, often babying him whenever possible (doing the classic “you’re not eating enough here take some more” grandma move)(She will smooch his face whenever possible when there are no business clients nearby). Tries to boost his confidence since she knew about what was happening to him (Chances are she went through the same thing- being an octomer as well) and dod her best to protect him and make him happy. She taught him how to write with his tentacles and encouraged him to do his best in everything he does.

-Mama ‘grotto: Another businesslady in the front absolute softie in the back situation. Adores her son and is incredibly proud of how far he’s come.I think she looks identical to Azul, but more heavyset and, of course, female. She coddled Azul as much as possible, which worked out well with baby Azul’s clingy nature. She had no shame in walking around with the little guy stuck to her (unless he smacked a tentacle to her face when she was working on her restaurant), and made sure everyone knew what a good boy he was. She would show pictures to everyone (similar to Ruggie’s grandma), but respects his wishes in wanting to hide pictures of his past. She still shows anyone who asks pictures of him at NRC (compliments to the twins, who send her updates when her son is busy), and will tell everyone how smart he is and how much he’s grown.

-Step-Papa grotto: A very professional man in every aspect of his life, which stretches to his relationship with his stepson. When he learns about the contracts and Azuls UM, he’s over the moon with how happy he is. He swam around with a little more pep than usual, flicking his tail and flaring out his fins the more and more Azul told him. He helps him reword and format his contracts to his advantage, and is always willing to talk with him about Mostro Lounge or (on rare occasion) some memories before Step papa Ashengrotto met Mama Ashengrotto (which always make him happy that Azul trusts him enough). I think he’d be a pretty generic looking Mer, with an average looking tail and such

[simeonisalesbian]

i am literally on demon sisters brainrot because of you and i am not even mad about it haha my lesbian ass loves them 💞 can i please request some headcanons about the paws and claws event but with the demon sisters?

lesbian demon brainrot is real and it's also fatal😔 (the demon ladies are all my last brain cells can think about lmao)

Lucifer:

She takes full pride in the fact that she as complete control over her animal instincts

However when you mentioned that it was amazing how much control she seems to have compared to her sisters you couldn't help but notice her tail wagging behind her.

She also seemed to quietly growl anytime one her sisters got a bit out of hand

She also had a harder time than usual falling asleep. You joked that maybe she just needed to circle the bed a few times. You didn't get to snuggle that night

You did both figure out that maybe it was just her sensitive hearing keeping her up.

To fix this you kept her head on your chest and softly covered her ears. It was a bit awkward but seemed to do the trick.

Mammon:

did you think she stayed up late before?

Well turns out tigers are nocturnal.

So now you have to deal with her begging you to hang out with her at 3 a.m.

You have to tell her multiple times that you do not want to go swimming right now you just want to go to sleep

she will happily still hang out with you during the day.

Tigers can't purr and that fact alone convinced her she'd be safe from any embarrassing noises

Jokes on her cus tigers chuff instead. Which she quickly found out as you were petting her head.

Leviathan:

Giraffes are weird animals who knows anything about them?

Well you and Levi end up spending quite a bit of time together since your now the only prey creatures in the house

So what a time to learn about giraffes!

for instance those weird horn things are apparently called ossicones and they feel weird

They're just firm cartilage covered in skin. Levi says they're more sensitive than her actual horns.

That being said you should take this chance you fluster her a bunch.

Her tail also ends up slapping you occasionally

Not very often though. Only when your paying attention to one of her sisters instead of her

she swears she can't control it though

Satan:

Shes honestly living her best life. This is practically a dream come true if she's honest

Even if it wasn't on purpose being a cat is amazing, and since she already knew a bunch about cats and their mannerism she adjusted quite quickly

she has already pushed several of Lucifer's mugs off of the table at breakfast proceeding to blame it on her instincts

she does cuddle a bit more than usual. Not much but she really likes it when you scratch behind her ears

She's purring anytime she has physical contact with you. She'll get really flustered if you mention

You also managed to keep her occupied with a laser pointer for hours. Yes she knows she can't catch the red dot but instincts can't be fought that easily Mc.

Asmodeus:

You jokingly called her pooh bear one time and now she's trying to convince you it would be fine if she just walked around in a red crop top

she has pounced on you several times saying she's just giving you a bear hug

you honestly can't see much of an impact on how being a bear affects her honestly

Most bears are omnivores she even her diet didn't change all that much

she honestly just seems her same clingy self but now with bear jokes.

she does ask you to pet he ears a bunch simply because of how soft they are. if would be a shame not to touch them right?

Beelzebub:

shes constantly afraid she's going to hunt and eat you.

she flat out tried to hide in the kitchen just to keep herself occupied on not eating you.

Eventually though you convince her that you trust her enough to not eat you. She still keeps a some meat on hand when she's near you just in case though.

lions can't purr unfortunately. However beel does make up for it by humming when you rub her ears.

She wants you to know it feels really nice after all

Shes also pretty nocturnal but she normally takes midnight trips to the fridge so nothing really changed in that aspect

Belphegor:

if you make one more "what does the fox say" joke she'll punch you.

she has the softest fuckin tail and she's about to make it everyone's problem.

she'll occasionally swat you in the face with it just to see you struggle to not inhale her fur.

it's a really soft pillow though and she's more than happy to let you use it as such while you cuddle

she did manage to make several burrows in her blankets at somepoint and she will hide in them to get more sleep

she'll happily wag her tail whenever you pet her head when she's napping in your lap.

She'll say your crazy if you mention it when she wakes back up

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

care less, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, implied taehyung x reader

summary: There are countless partings in this world. People come in and out of your life, impacts large and small. But there is one where you could care less. You really could. And that’s Min Yoongi, your high school ex-boyfriend, the one who took something from you and promptly disappeared, only to come back with a furious declaration, on the night you’re supposed to teach Kim Taehyung how to eat pussy.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, discussions about adult topics; mentions of slut shaming; reader is pansexual; rough angsty smut (fem reader, slight dom/sub themes, m-receiving oral, overstimulation, hair-pulling, cowgirl); regrets everywhere; non-idol!AU; exes-to-lovers; pianist, softsub!Yoongi

inspired by “I get mad when I see you, and even madder when I don't”, wet-haired Yoongi in Run BTS! 131, ONEWE’s song ‘소행성 (Parting)’, and you’re probably wondering how these things go together. 

–

"How do you eat a girl out?"

"I... what?"

"How," Kim Taehyung repeated, slower this time, emphasizing each syllable with his impossibly deep voice. "Do you eat a girl out?"

"Why are you asking me?"

Taehyung raised his eyebrows. "Because you've hooked up with tons of girls. You must have eaten out at least one of them." You blinked at him as he continued. "I figure you have a unique perspective because you're a girl whose probably been eaten out and whose eaten out other girls."

You put down your spicy chicken. "Is this why you offered to buy me lunch?"

Taehyung's giant brown eyes shifted around uncomfortably. "Look," he said in a hushed tone. "I took this girl on a nice date and then it got to the spicy bit–"

"Leading her on, yes, yes, continue."

Taehyung narrowed his eyes at you but ignored your comment, barreling on. "And she asked me to eat her out, but I didn't know what I was doing."

"An absolute tragedy for sex god Kim Taehyung," you mocked. He growled and threw one of his chicken bones in your direction as you laughed. 

"Oi, this is serious!"

You kept cracking up, taking a bite of spicy crispy meat. "Yes, seriously funny." He kept glaring at you, so you relented a little. "She didn't ask for the dick like everyone else?"

Taehyung pouted. "Well, she did, after I spent twenty minutes doing what she called, basically nothing," he scowled. 

You shrugged. "Then you redeemed yourself, so what's the problem?"

Taehyung crouched over the table, stabbing your plastic tray. "The problem is, she's gonna tell other girls I can't eat pussy."

"Nah, she won't," you chewed, relishing the spiciness of the chicken. "She'll be too busy daydreaming about your giant dick."

Taehyung frowned, obviously not believing you. You casually are another piece of chicken, watching him contemplating. He was wearing cream slacks and a beige sweater, casually handsome with his dark brown hair, long enough to curl around his eyebrows. His fried chicken was already demolished into bones. He always got his not spicy. 

You never understood that. 

"Why didn't you ask me to eat you out?"

You shrugged. "We were only hooking up. I wanted to sit on your dick like everyone else."

"Teach me."

Your fingers were turning bright red with the crispy breading on the meat. You could feel the tingle of the spice on your puffy lips and throat, a measured fire burning. You didn’t bother to reach for your drink. Better to lull in the fire for a bit.

"Taehyung, it's just practice."

"Then let me practice on you."

You sucked out a bit of chicken from your teeth as you gave him a disbelieving look. "Thought your policy was to never fuck twice?"

He shrugged. "Not technically a fuck? Besides, you're the Sex Teacher," he added with a snicker.

You rolled your eyes. "Ugh, don't call me that. Some dudes started calling me that just because I took some guy's virginity."

"You've probably taken several virginities with your track record."

"Speak for yourself."

"Do you or do you not know how to eat a girl out?" Taehyung asked, brown eyes boring into you.

You picked up the toothpick the restaurant had provided you and stuck it between your teeth. Brushed the crumbs off your flannel dress and picked up your tray, standing up. 

"'Course I do."

-

Thus, you were now in your apartment with Kim Taehyung, several days later, wondering why you agreed to this nonsense. 

"Do I just whip off your pants or what?"

You rolled your eyes, keeping a firm grip on your gray sweatpants. He had arrived in a long black coat and brown turtleneck, black billowy slacks. Kicked his shoes off and presented you with said question.

"What do I get out of this?" you grumbled, turning around and heading into your apartment, shivering a little because of your loose white t-shirt that you had cut in half ages ago, turning it into a crop top. It had a stain at the bottom, so what better way to fix it than chop it off? Still, you should have opened the front door with your hoodie on, but it would warm up soon with the door now closed. 

"What do you what? Money?"

"I'm not a prostitute, Taehyung," you muttered. "Even if you think I am."

"I don't," Taehyung said coolly. "But money happens to buy things, so maybe you want some to buy something for yourself."

You pursed your lips, grabbing your mint thermos of warm water. It was a bit weird, but you preferred warm water over most drinks, except soda. But you couldn't be binging on soda all day, unfortunately, so you tried not to buy it and stuck with the water. Kept you from getting diabetes. Damn you, weak human body!

"Nice nips."

You raised an eyebrow as you took a sip. You weren't wearing a bra. Your hard nipples were poking through the t-shirt thanks to the cold.

"Are they distracting your fragile mind?"

Taehyung smiled, dark curls around his teasing brown eyes. "No, I'm simply appreciating them. A lot."

You looked down. Taehyung opened his coat. You sucked in the side of your lip, seeing his bulge. Maybe he was too chill with you now. Ever since you two realized your sex partners overlapped, a strange friendship developed. You’d talk about it casually with him, as if you two were discussing Pokémon trading cards instead of one-night stands. He would advise you against so-and-so and you would warn him about who-the-fuck-ever. Of course, you two only figured that out after you sat on his dick, but, hey, it was a nice dick. Lived up to the hype.

Unlike Taehyung, you didn't really have any weird rules when it came to hooking up. You went with the flow, and if you were feeling it, then you did it. Didn't really matter who it was, what gender, if they wanted to be upside down on a park bench as you sucked their balls and they jacked off into their own face (happened once, was kind of interesting to be honest). Taehyung, however, had some kind of conquest thing going on, numbers and all that, and needed everyone to know he was good at it. Insanely good. Mind-blowingly good. 

Taehyung closed his coat, tilting his head. "Whatchu want then? Not another fuck. Something else."

Your doorbell rang. 

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," you muttered, slamming your thermos down and marching to the door. "What is this, a fucking zoo, I swear–"

You wrenched the door open. 

"Fuck you."

Slightly slurred, husky, deep. 

Okay, well, yeah, sure, after I teach Taehyung how to–

The black head of hair raised and your thought disintegrated into pure shock.

"I get mad when I see you," the man growled. "And even madder when I don't."

He was holding a half-full bottle of soju.

"I... what?" was your incredibly weak reply, because you were staring at the hunched form of Min Yoongi. Black hair longer than the last time you saw him, styled over a clean undercut, wearing a torn-up black bomber jacket and a green t-shirt, acid-wash jeans with giant holes, revealing his pink, slightly bruised knees. He was breathing hard, glaring at you. 

Accusing you. 

Suddenly the years without him felt like an eternity.

"Hyung?!"

Oh right. Taehyung existed. 

But you couldn't react, couldn't breathe, starstruck, awestruck, dumbstruck at seeing Min Yoongi at your doorstep. Yoongi cocked at eyebrow, looking past you, and Taehyung's body was suddenly pressed against your back, reminding you, yes, he was real, actually there, why was he there again? What was life?

"Hyung, holy shit! I haven't seen you in ages, since..." Taehyung's voice suddenly died, baritone vanishing into nothing. 

"Why the fuck is he here?" Yoongi grunted.

"I... was going to ask her to–"

"He was leaving," you interrupted, shoving Taehyung from behind you to in front of you. "Taking his coat and leaving."

"What?" Taehyung sputtered, brown eyes wide, confused, blinking rapidly. "Hyung, why do you have a bottle of soju–"

Yoongi clicked his tongue, very loudly. 

"Forget this."

He turned, but Taehyung grabbed his arm. 

Not you.

Taehyung stopped Yoongi. 

The world was so cold. Your arm outstretched but touching nothing, because Taehyung was faster, Taehyung was closer, and you were so very far away from Min Yoongi. Yoongi turned his head slowly, venom in his gaze. 

"Hyung."

Yoongi's eyes locked with yours, making you breathless. 

"I don't understand," Taehyung said quietly. "What's going on? I thought you didn't care about her."

Those cat-like eyes narrowed, expression cold and emotionless. "Is that what you told them?"

It was airless and then the world burst into flames.

"You didn't tell me until the last day," you hissed, curling your hands into fists, voice rising. "You told all your friends, but you didn't tell me until the last day, not until the very last second before you flew to fucking Europe to go to university for that fucking music program!"

Taehyung's eyes widened. "Y-You said she didn't care..."

"Fuck you, Min Yoongi," you snarled, every muscle in your arms tensing, remembering all the moments, the gentleness that turned to coldness, the last night and what he took from you, turning into years and years of not caring about anything, fucking everything in sight, anyone who said yes, trying to forget his kiss and his memory before he got on a fucking plane and flew time zones away, never trying to contact you after. 

"Fuck you for thinking you can be angry at me for any reason at all, fuck you for thinking I did anything, fucking anything, to deserve that shit, taking my fucking virginity and leaving me!"

"I didn't take your virginity," Yoongi spat back, spinning around, hair bristling. "You lost it to that–"

"Maybe you should have fucking asked me instead of believing stupid fucking rumors!"

The human body was useless, but also driven by emotion, and you didn't even feel cold anymore, years of anger piled up, rumors that you were a whore, so you became that whore, owning it, doing it all, because why did it fucking matter when everyone already thought that? Sex Teacher they called you and your first teacher was standing in front of you, completely clueless. 

Fucking idiot.

Yoongi glared at you. You glared back. 

Taehyung stood there, gawking.

Yoongi's eyes dropped. He shoved the half-empty bottle of soju into Taehyung's arms and pushed Taehyung aside, Taehyung flailing to prevent dropping the glass bottle, and closed the distance between you and him, and now you could see, older, more tired, still handsome, still the same dreamer from years ago who traced your fingers and placed them on the keys, slowly helping you play the notes even though you didn’t know jack shit, and you enthralled with his smile, his laugh, his dream of becoming a world-renowned pianist.

Yoongi grabbed your face and kissed you. 

The first was the scent of alcohol, a subtle sweetness on his lips, but alcohol nonetheless. The second was the softness, the faint flush of his cheeks paired with his lips on yours, dainty despite the strength in grip on your cheeks. The third. 

Heat.

The years-old iceberg of 'I-don't-give-a-shit' melting faster than the polar ice caps, sheets and sheets of ice crashing into the sea of emotions, youth and stubbornness combined, melted in his kiss, you grabbing a fistful of his shirt and yanking him in your apartment, Taehyung calling after you both.

"Um, guys? Hello?"

"Go drinking Taehyung," Yoongi growled and slammed the door. 

-

Taehyung held the half-bottle of soju.

What now?

What about his reputation?

He frowned. 

Maybe he should call up Park Jimin. 

Taehyung took a sip of the soju as he walked away. He made a disgusted face. Ugh. Why did hyung like such strong shit? The flavor was unique and rich, but his throat felt like a layer of skin was being sloughed off.

One would only drink something like this if they were depressed. 

Oh.

-

"Your reputation precedes you."

"Fuck off."

"You became quite a woman."

"And you're still an insensitive shit."

You yanked his jacket off and dumped it on the floor, fists back in his green shirt, biting his lip, kissing him hard, him gasping in your mouth, his hands on your breasts, kneading them through the t-shirt, fingertips brushing over your hard nipples, sparks of pleasure crackling through you. 

"I was trying to protect you," Yoongi snarled, just as angry as you, both frustrated at time lost, both knowing it was for the best, both realizing that his misunderstanding and your reaction was just shitty communication of stubborn youth and time past that couldn't reset.

But still. 

Anger doesn't care about reason. 

"Protect me, my ass," you scowled, dragging him into your kitchen, pinning him against the counter. "What do you think I am, emotional fragility queen?"

"You wouldn't have cared?" he shot back, gripping your shirt and flinging it up, sucking in a breath as he revealed your tits. 

"Obviously! Why would I spend years being a slut to forget about your stupid hands?" you scowled, grabbing his wrists, planting said hands on your breasts, shuddering at the cold touch, chilled by night air, not exactly the same hands as back then, but better, rougher, strength of a man and not a high school boy, thumb and index finger rolling your hard nipples. Once again, fistfuls of his shirt, shaking him aggressively through heavy breaths. "You and your stupid mouth."

Kissing him, not the same, but better, stronger, more intense, stained with alcohol and regrets, devouring your tongue hungrily, intertwining.

"It would have ended the same," Yoongi murmured, the hurt creeping in his grating voice. 

It would have. 

And that was the shittest bit.

Knowing that even if he told you earlier that it would hurt no less, knowing that you would have gone and fucked other people anyway, because even if you tried to make it long distance, it wouldn't have worked. Some people could do it, but not young you and young Yoongi, too immature to know the meaning of wait.

"Still gives you no right to believe the words of others instead of asking me outright," you muttered, bending him backwards on the counter with your weight and he was letting you do it, hands still glued to your tits. "Why would believe that shit?"

"Because it was easier to leave you that way," Yoongi admitted, shame flitting in his dark eyes. 

"Fucking shit, you're an idiot."

You already knew that. Guessed, after years of agonizing over it. Easier to be angry than understanding. Easier to feel pain than to acknowledge it. What could you do? Tell him not to go to Europe? Not when his parents, his family, his friends, his neighbors, fuck, the whole damn school was ecstatic and congratulatory for him, everyone except you, not because you didn’t want Yoongi to follow his dreams, but because you wanted him to stay.

With you.

Selfishly.

And so, it was so much easier to be mad, so much easier for the two of you to fight until he tumbled on top of you, kissing you, tearing off your clothes as you tore off his and the first time hurt, it hurt but not as much as you thought, maybe because there was so much adrenaline from the anger and because he was so careful and loving about it.

He really was.

And there was pain, but it was nothing compared to the pain you felt the next day and the day after, and the next month, years, numbing everything, agreeing to really stupid propositions like the thing with Taehyung, all because you knew and he knew, but you both chose to be mad over being reasonable.

You hauled Yoongi up onto your kitchen counter, him kicking the side of the cabinets to lift himself up, not speaking. One look in his eyes and you saw yourself reflected in them, so close to tears that you kept your mouth shut and he kept his shut, preferring the anger to the sadness.

Because deep down, you were so, so happy to see Yoongi again.

It didn’t discount any of the wrongs though.

You fumbled with the button of his jeans and his hands came to help, unzipping, fingertips tracing over yours, more agile than before, swifter than an amateur. You raised your head, locking your gaze with his.

Yoongi was panting, cheeks flushed, guilt consuming his features.

It stung.

You yanked his pants down unceremoniously, not caring right now about stupid young you and stupid young Yoongi, gripping his underwear and dragging them down, his hard cock springing up, bigger than you remembered, thicker, red tip twitching, still wanting it just as bad, not looking at his face and closing your mouth in on it, gripping his hips and pulling him closer for better leverage. His scent and moan encompassed you, your eyes shutting as your tongue circled around his hot length, swallowing it up, oh so good, so good, better than anyone else’s because it was the one you tried to forget, entranced by the way Yoongi’s cock slid down your throat and filled your mouth, hearing his ecstasy from your touch, gasps of pleasure as you began to bob your head up and down, tongue going from the bottom of the head, down the quivering veins, all the way to the base, nudging his balls with the tip of your tongue, a skill you learned from many, many blowjobs.

You opened your eyes and you knew your guilt was in them. Yoongi could see it with every mouthful of his cock disappearing into your lips, his eyes half-lidded and pupils dilated, empathizing.

“Yeah, so what if we’ve fucked other people?” he grunted, rolling his hips into your face and making you growl in your chest. “I could care less.”

Yeah, you could, and me too.

Faster and tighter, suffocating him with your mouth, hands flat on the counter, blowing him at the same spot you were eating a fucking salad two hours ago before Taehyung’s arrival and contemplating tongue techniques, back when your iceberg of uncaring was still intact but now it was part of the ocean of emotions once more, watching Yoongi unravel, rubbing his fists into the granite, crying out and arching his back, black hair fanning out with every harsh swallow and throat clench around the head, leaking pre-cum into your throat and throbbing into the roof of your mouth.

“F-Fuck me…”

He hissed out your name and snapped his chin to his chest, thrusting into your mouth, exploding, salty thickness coating your tongue and down your tight throat, you gulping it down with a choked gasp, his taste a part of you now after all this time, an edge of bitterness that you welcomed, who knew what the fuck he was eating before this, but you didn’t care, didn’t care, you had Yoongi’s cock in your mouth and every second was worth it.

Your tongue coated the head, collecting the dribbling cum and you swallowed that too, glaring at him. Lowering down once more, swallowing him to the base once again, him sucking in a pained breath at the sensitivity because your throat was unforgiving, constricting him as forcefully as you could, tongue sliding up, teasing right under the head, the thin skin that make Yoongi squirm and hiss under you, spreading the slit with the tip of your tongue. Yoongi slapped his palms onto the counter, clenching his jaw to avoid screaming.

But he didn’t stop you.

He simply watched you with pained eyes, letting you do whatever you wanted, thrashing under your merciless mouth, rutting the sensitive head against the roof of your mouth roughly, his body thrashing to try to get away, but still Yoongi said nothing, thin moans escaping his closed lips, even twisting his hips back and rocking them into your face to let you abuse him more, manhandling him to your heart’s content. You kept going, long agonizing minutes, strongly sucking the head, shoving it all the way to the back of your throat, teasing it with your tongue, swirling around and around, pressure, roughness, tightness, aggravating the sensitive skin until you saw Yoongi on the verge of tears.

He still didn’t stop you.

You retreated, your lips now only around the head, tongue ghosting over the pulsating, inflamed tip, drenching it with saliva.

“You deserved that,” you muttered.

“I deserve a lot of things,” Yoongi grunted, finally relaxing his shoulders and laying flat against the counter, panting hard, cheeks still flushed, staring at the ceiling.

Neither of you were saying sorry.

You gave him one last painful suck and he swore under his breath, but didn’t say anything else, biting his lip hard as you popped your mouth off his cock. For a few moments, there was nothing but oppressive, irate panting. Yoongi’s dick was still hard and sticking straight up, he himself spread out on your kitchen counter like a fucking buffet, still wearing his shirt and half-wearing his jeans. You were shirtless, tits out, gray sweatpants slung low on your hips.

“When are you going back?”

Yoongi was still staring at the ceiling.

“Don’t know.”

“Liar.”

Dark eyes flickered down.

“If you asked me five minutes ago, the answer would have been in two weeks.”

Your eyes narrowed, boring into his. “How many blowjobs have you gotten overseas, huh? One hundred? Five hundred?” Frustration, grief, vehemence, all rolled into one, turning your voice into ice, sheets of frozen water churning and reforming, snapping together one by one with each word, your hands coming up and digging your nails into his thighs, racking them down, bright red scratches in your wake. “How many people have you fucked? Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Yoongi?”

He gritted his teeth, screwing his eyes shut, fingers curling onto fists at the pain.

“I really thought you didn’t care,” was his distressed hiss.

You stopped; nails sunk into his pale skin, creating dark crescents with how hard you were pressing.

“I thought you would hate me forever.”

Your hands left his thighs, glaring scarlet lines of your pain on his skin now.

“And I thought it would get better, but it didn’t.”

His fingers uncoiled, one by one. Long, deft digits, practiced, trained, beautiful, crescents of pink from his own nails in his palm. Eyes opening, lash by lash, lifting, dark, pained, regretful, drifting down to you and his exposed, still-hard cock, just there, ignored, surrounded by scratch marks.

“I was mad that you didn’t try to contact me,” Yoongi mumbled. “And madder at myself for not trying to contact you.”

Ice cracking, melting off, crashing back down into the vast ocean of emotion.

You reached into your pocket.

Your name, tumbling from his lips, his eyes shifting to you.

“In between countless partings, the one I always remembered was you.”

You climbed onto the counter, sweatpants and underwear on the floor. Yoongi’s eyes widened in shock, so stunned that he couldn’t stop staring at you, knees, thighs, crotch – clean, you were always clean-shaven, but he didn’t know that, a habit you developed without him and now you felt weird with hair down there – and so he could see everything, wet lips glistening. Up to your waist, a pattern of small moles above your bellybutton that high-school Yoongi had danced his fingers over.

Saying, “My Milky Way, my galaxy.”

This was after you called him an insensitive bastard and he accused you of losing your virginity to some athletic jock kid, as if high-school you would ever have a chance with someone like that.

Up your tits, your collarbones, your face.

Determined.

Yoongi jumped, realizing you had wrapped your hand around his cock and pumped it a few times before rolling down the condom, angling your pussy above the purple-red head. He made eye contact with you.

“I can’t go back if you do this,” he whispered.

“Boo-fucking-hoo, shut your trap.”

You sank down and he clamped his jaw shut, veins on his neck popping out in strain as Yoongi tried not to cry, your previous ministrations amplifying the sudden hot, wet pleasure that overwhelmed him, you sighing in bliss as he filled you, nicer than before, better because you knew what to do now, relaxing your muscles before pulsing around him, his eyelids fluttering, whines in his throat, palms flat on the granite, such beautiful hands that you reached down and put them on your thighs, wanting him to touch you.

Dark brown eyes shaking, pupils dilated, fingernails digging into your skin.

“Isn’t that what you do? Use your hands all day?” you taunted.

He gripped your thighs tight, apology flashing across his features.

“You better not cum before I do,” you snapped, rocking your hips a little.

Yoongi sucked in a breath. “I’ll try.”

You leaned forward, one hand on the counter, the other closing in on his black hair. Twisting the black locks in your fingers, gripping so hard your knuckles were white, but you weren’t pulling on his hair, only holding it, but your eyes told him everything.

“You fucking owe me.”

Him staring into your blazing eyes.

“I owe you for the rest of my life.”

You rolled your hips into his crotch, hard, smacking your ass down on his balls and he whimpered, jerking his head to the side and pulling his own hair, whimper turning into a wounded gasp.

“Shut the fuck up. We both know you deserved that scholarship, you talented asshole.”

You began your pace, bruising and intense from the start, unforgiving, but you had already forgiven him, years ago, by yourself with no one else to know, now your hand in his hair with Yoongi writhing under you, causing his own pain flaring across his scalp because your grip was so tight, his hands on your thighs, his length sliding out and then shoved back in. You could feel him getting harder, swelling more, the sensation unbearable so he kept igniting the pain to prevent himself from orgasm. You made sure to let the maximum amount of your skin to hit him – clit on his crotch, pussy enveloped around his cock, the tip hitting your deepest, most pleasurable spot, ass smacking against his balls – so that even you moaned, shivers of ecstasy layering on top of each other, climbing notes of a song from long ago.

Now continuing.

From that night at your parents’ house that bedroom of painful and lovely memories, his hands on your wrists, telling you that he could go slow until you felt better, how could he not know? Yoongi just assumed it was because you weren’t aroused since you were so angry at him, and you never accused him of having any experience before you, and to be honest you didn’t give a shit; if that was society’s fault or your feelings for him, you didn’t know. It all seemed so foolish back then, stupid, why were you so attached to a high-school boy when there were thousands of other men and women out there, and you tried, you fucked them, but in the end.

In the end, it wasn’t the roars of pleasure or multiple orgasms or big dicks or sweet pussy that made you feel the same as you felt when you looked down at Yoongi, eyes rolling back, biting his lip so hard the skin was white, black hair bunched around your fingers, his fucking green t-shirt still on but you could tell every muscle was tensed and he was barely breathing, anything to prevent himself from orgasm, knuckles white on your thighs, clutching them so hard they would surely leave bruises, but you didn’t care.

Yoongi was a genius. He could play the piano like no one else.

Someone could be technically better, someone could be more experienced, someone could be more nuanced, but no one felt music like Yoongi felt music, no one loved piano like how Yoongi loved piano.

He deserved every cent, every experience, every year he spent overseas.

He seemed to feel your gaze on him and his eyes found yours, black pupils nearly overtaking the irises, sweating so bad that his t-shirt was soaking down the front.

“Hold on,” you breathed. “Hold on for me, Yoongi.”

He whined pathetically.

Did he love you as much as he loved piano or was it the soju talking?

Who are you kidding?

Yoongi would never love you as much as the piano.

You set your jaw and leaned down a little more, bending his cock the tiniest bit, more leverage to go harder, rougher, rolling your spine down, smack! Onto his crotch, Yoongi’s mouth flying open and crying out your name in shock, your knees screaming on the harsh granite but you didn’t care, fucking Yoongi for all you were worth, using every muscle and every technique you knew to apply as much pressure as you could, choking his dick. Yoongi’s hands jolted off your thighs, hitting your open thermos on the counter, both of your forgetting it was there this whole time, the double-walled, stainless steel, mint thermos.

It toppled and spewed warm water all over your thighs, your joined crotches, part of his shirt, probably leaking down his ass and onto the counter.

You yelped at the sudden unexpected wet warmth. Yoongi’s hips jerked up, wild moan escaping his lips and your pussy spasmed, orgasm plummeting into you, a sudden avalanche that made your eyes roll back and a guttural groan vibrate your chest, both hands inadvertently clasping and yanking on Yoongi’s hair, and he lost it, whining your name as he came, hard cock lurching and convulsing against your walls, shooting his load into the condom, his cries extending to wanton, pained moans. It took everything in you to at least loosen your fingers, spreading them on his scalp and holding his head as gently as you could, whole body shuddering, even your jaw, not able to say his name properly because your teeth were clattering uncomfortably against each other.

You closed your eyes.

Listening to Yoongi’s strained breathing. Hearing pain, sadness, his raspy voice from long ago, words in the seconds before you feel asleep in his arms from being worn out from anger and losing your virginity. All this time, wanting to believe it was silence, wanting to believe he said nothing, letting yourself believe in your lie to fuel your rage.

“I am sorry.”

You opened your eyes, lowering your chin. Yoongi’s dark orbs, glassy and spent, trying to focus on your face. His hand came up, still wet with the spilled water, and you realized you had pitched forward a little from the force of your orgasm.

His fingers danced on the small mole pattern above your bellybutton.

“My Milky Way. My galaxy,” he whispered softly.

Lovingly.

Guilt all over his face.

“I have to go back. I have performances, opportunities.”

You leaned down. “Stop lying, Yoongi.” Eyes locked with his and a smile. “You want to go back. Because you are an ambitious, talented asshole.”

You knew you were right. You could see it in his eyes, the quickness as he looked away, not wanting to face you. You slumped down, knees giving out, Yoongi’s cock half-buried in you, slowly softening, but it didn’t matter. You put your full weight on him, fitting your chin on his shoulder, not quite looking at his face, nose far too close to your fucking kitchen counter. Yoongi grunted uncomfortably, but didn’t tell you to get off. There was water everywhere and the mint thermos was on the tile floor and somehow neither of you had noticed. It must have made a very loud sound.

“I hate my job anyway. Might as well run away to a different continent for some stupid boy.”

“I can’t ask you to come with me.”

“I’m not asking.”

He chuckled.

“You really have changed.”

“Sucks for you.”

You felt his arms wrap around your waist.

“Guess so.”

-

“Why was Taehyung here anyway?”

“I was supposed to show him how to eat pussy.”

Yoongi blinked at you, holding a damp rag. Both of you were kneeling on the floor, naked, attempting to sop up the mess. “How?”

“He was going to practice on me.”

“I can give a live demonstration instead,” Yoongi growled, an edge possessive.

“Yeah, no, I think my night is booked. Emergency appointment.”

You picked up your kitchen towels and wrung them out in your sink, looking down at him, raising your eyebrow. Yoongi’s hair was messy and curled, wet from sweat and water. He gazed up at you. You saw him shiver. You kept your expression neutral despite your heartbeat racing.

“Have some catching up to do.”

--

masterpost

[pop-punklouis]

when you say that boyband’s work on a shelf-life and theyre thought of as a cash crop what do you mean? that they’re only an object to the industry?

i mean, let’s break it down. boybands, more times than not, are curated by someone else. it isn’t exactly the boys that come together, find each other, and then start a career. usually, a higher up will pluck 4-5 boys from the crowd and put them in a group together expecting them to be puppets to their success. from the beginning, a boyband is fundamentally under the thumb of the industry due to their origins. then, of course, you have the image branding. these boys, at a young age, are given labels to be to sell records and garner favorites from the fans— which in turn gives more reason to sell more individual product with a certain boy on them. the boys will go through image training/publicity training, and besides putting on a character depending on their branding (zayn malik literally talked about how he couldn’t even really grow a beard in the band), they’re also walking on eggshells to present to the media in a way that is not only broad enough for most of the GP to favor them, but also to give just enough personality away that most of what one knows about them is either created in a boardroom or acts as surface level for fans to push their own attitudes onto them without compromising this carefully patched together image. this doesn’t mean these boys aren’t genuine in how they perform, but there is a lot of tightening of screws and pushing into molds at a young age that can fuck with them when carried out for long periods of time. it’s like appearing as yourself but mimicking someone else’s idea of who you ought to be. it’s the alien impersonator. it makes me think of NSYNC’s music video where they were all puppets on a string, being controlled by the omniscient puppet master. do i think that visual was pointed in makeup? not necessarily, but it is a good reference point for how i’m sure many boybands feel throughout their lifespan

then, you get into the lucrative amount of $$$ people are making off these groups. the global merchandise. the touring. the albums pumped out every 12 months. the chosen teams that surround the boys to keep them on track and keep them feeding into the machine as long as their contract permits. when the $$ begins raking in, that’s what the label begins to view you as. your expectation revolves around their bank accounts, and the more $$ you generate, the harder it is to have freedom and orchestrate a life outside of the spotlight that isn’t predominantly cast in the form of making more $$ for these companies. and these companies know that the pop-sphere only has a general attention span of 5-6 years before a revolving door of new talent comes in, so they’re even heavier handed with how they pump the content out knowing the shelf-life is waning, and there’s only a specific area of time they can milk them for what they are— using it as a justification for dehumanizing a group to line their own pockets.

and god forbid one of them tries to “mess” with that money. even if the intention isn’t malicious. take for example, Brian Littrell from the Backstreet Boys or Niall Horan. Brian had to get open heart surgery, and they pushed him back into a worldwide tour and promo cycle almost straight after. Niall Horan has had knee surgeries that were prolonged for long enough until they were mandatory and he was on crutches during promo stints. their health and well-being is on the back burner if it compromises their ability to be a cash crop. their agency is stripped to be objects to an industry who looks at them and instantly sees wealth. they walk in a room not as individual people but as a well-oiled machine, which can mess with how you think people view you outside of the group. “would these people speak with me if i wasn’t apart of this?” “would i be able to get into the studio with certain producers/song writers if i was on my own?” “would i have the same opportunities without this goliath presence on my back?” “will i always have that part of my life carried on my back, unable to pick apart if my own talents or my past talents is what’s given me the success i have now?” “is this image the only thing people see and use me for when i walk in a room now?” “what is success if it isn’t the success i had in the band?” a lot of identity issues are created in this isolated bubble, and it’s no wonder why any member of a boyband has insecurities and doubts when they leave that model, not knowing who they are or what they represent.

and finally, you have to take into consideration how tightly controlled their entire life is beyond just promo or images. their schedules are blocked months if not years in advance, not being able to have personal freedom unless it works around things that have already been confirmed for the group (i mean let’s example girl group little mix here. two of them were afraid of becoming pregnant when they did bc their schedules are confirmed ages in advance, and they thought they’d be scolded for it). their agency is gone. their independence is gone. their freedom of just existing is gone. they exist in relation to the label and their “handlers.” they have lives, and they can do things, but many of those things have to be worked through the system and approved. think about how isolating the 1D bubble was. almost none of them had gaggles of famous friends that weren’t also there to sell a certain image of the group. they were contained for most of their youth to just those five boys. from 16+, their teen years and growth into adulthood was centered around this bubble mentality. they were stunted, and you can see the affects of that even now— years later.

so, i don’t blame these groups for taking indefinite breaks or disbanding altogether. that environment is toxic and erasing and superficial. it’s harmful. and i think it’s important to know this. because there’s no foul in loving boybands/girl groups and who they are, what their music sounds like, and what they represent to you. they’re a special type of celebrity that many connect with in different ways than they do individual artists. in ways, who they showed to you was genuine and loving and their friendships within the band cannot be faked. most times, they only have each other through the chaos of fame so they rely on themselves and their fans every night as their support beams so, don’t feel guilty or shameful for liking a band and supporting a band as you weren’t the ones who created this for them— it’s the age-old history of how the boyband model operates and tbh until it “breaks” i unfortunately don’t believe it’ll be fixed.