#ignore the fact that his head snapped off 💜

[flyaflush]

spot the difference guys. bet you cant

[star-har]

Hey!

Glad to see people coming to fluff out the jjk fic scene 😊 came by to drop a request/idea/suggestion 👀

Gojo receiving from reader | y/n a bag of his favorite sweets and getting instantly disarmed by it (it’s so genuinely heartwarming he has no cheeky comeback).

Bye and wish you a jolly one here on Tumblr 💜

Sugar

| gojo satoru x reader | fluff |

“really?” gojo shouts, amused, as he leans further along the balcony’s fence. “i could dodge that in my sleep, megumi!” he laughs as he watches maki strike yet another hit, her sword sweeping megumi off his feet.

megumi scowls where he’s splayed out across the grass, eyes set in narrow lines, glaring up at him. “maybe if you actually helped,” megumi scoffs dully, pushing off the grass.

“where’s the fun in that?” gojo laughs, waving his hand lazily. “you’re doing fine. just… less whining more winning, ‘kay?”

“i swear to god, gojo—” megumi continues— and he’s on his ass again, maki cackling where she points her katana at his chest.

gojo knocks his head back, rumbling with laughter and turns to find the next sparring duo. panda and yuji, however, are nowhere to be seen. and with a short scan of the field, he finds itadori climbing up the hill to where he’s standing.

“can we please stop training, gojo-sensei,” he says as soon as he’s in earshot, doubling over with his hands gripping his knees. he’s huffing and puffing, raging for breath.

gojo’s grin remains, pushing off the fence and crossing his arms on his chest. “a break? already?” yuji nods, gojo laughs harder. “you won’t become a top-tier sorcerer by taking breaks—”

his words get interrupted by a shriek, and gojo’s attention snaps down to the field to find nobara squealing, waving up at— you.

he spies you walking through the tree line, a smile tugging your lips as you crouch down by the top of the stairs to high-five nobara and greet the rest of his students.

“hey, you guys!” you shout, the rest of your words being drowned by everyone’s cheers.

he looks back to yuji, surprised to find he’s already half-way across the field, heading to where you’re standing.

gojo sighs with a smile and follows after him, lazily shoving his hands into his pocket.

“well, well,” he begins as he comes to stand behind you.

ever the composed woman, you don’t even flinch at his sudden voice, standing and turning around, eyes narrowing up at gojo.

“look who decided to grace us with their presence?” he smirks lazily, emanating ignorance, head cocking to the side.

“hello to you too, satoru,” you reply.

gojo scans you quickly, scrutinizing— you’re mission had been to exercise a special grade curse and surprisingly, it had taken you nearly an entire day. despite your immense skill when it came to sorcery, gojo’s always had a way of worrying when it came to you.

and when he inspects you, he’s elated to discover there are no new scars or bandages. in fact, you seem as happy as ever; with the weather warming up, gone is your usual uniform, replaced by a pretty sundress. it’s white, with blue flowers littering its fabric, ending by your calves.

“not exactly,” you smile and turn to his students. “i’m here to see just how much you’ve been burning out these kids.”

“not that much,” is gojo’s immediate response, and he musters an eye roll as his students contradict his previous response.

“we’ve been out here for hours!”

“kelp.”

“and it’s crippling with heat!”

“hey, i told you guys we could find a shadier spot but you didn’t listen to me.” gojo sighs dramatically, standing beside you now.

“oh, you’re full of it—”

“hey what’s that bag in your hand?” gojo recognizes the voice as yuji’s, and he turns to find you fisting a white, paper bag in your left hand. he hadn’t spied it earlier because it was obscured by your dress.

“oh, this?” you bring it up into the air, smiling giddily. you turn on your heel and shove it into gojo’s face. “for you, satoru!”

“for me?” he frowns but takes it from your grip, nonetheless. “what’s the occasion?”

“no reason,” you wave your hand. “can’t a friend get her friend a gift once in a while?”

gojo’s eyes narrow suspiciously, eyeing your smile and then the bag.

“well, open it, will you?” nobara scowls.

he narrows his eyes and pries the bag open where’s it’s taped at the top, eyes widening and grin faltering as he sees its contents— treats.

all kinds— tarts, lemon drops, cupcakes, mochi, macarons.

“you got these…” he trails off, stomach doing a flip. he turns to glance up at you, barely paying any heed to the bag being ripped from his grip by one of his students, eagerly searching what’s got him at a loss for words.

instead, he stares at you confused.

“just thought you might like them,” you smile softly, eyes warm. “picked them up as souvenirs on my mission in kyoto.”

“oh, these look great!” yuji exclaims, handing the bag over for his sensei to take once more— which he does, silently. “i’ll have to help myself to one later!”

his students continue with the conversation, but gojo only barely registers what they’re saying, instead watching you with keen eyes.

you stare at him expectantly, frowning.

“you bought these for me?” his voice comes out in a higher pitch than he had liked.

you nod, surprised, clearly not expecting this reaction. no cheeky comebacks, no insults— just quiet and processing. very odd on his part.

“sensei, are you blushing?” nobara gasps, mouth dropping, and his students erupt in shock.

gojo’s quick to respond, shaking out of his current, elated state. “i— what, no. just… surprised is all. get back to training.” he turns to you again, blatantly ignoring their groans, and offers a tight-lipped smile, only growing redder. “thank you.”

“the lemon drops were my personal favourite,” you say. “but you’d probably like the tarts! there’s two flavours— chocolate and berry.”

“I’ll give them a try,” he replies. “you’re really something, you know that?”

you shrug lazily, scrunching your nose. “someone’s got to keep you on your toes.”

“can’t have me going too cocky, huh?”

you nod slightly and offer a loud goodbye to his students, and to his awe — and delight — drop a small kiss on his cheek, before turning and disappearing into the forest.

he stares after you, skin tingling where your lips had just been, fingers grazing lightly across his cheek.

gojo’s bubbling, glowing. that’s why he barely pays attention to his students eyeing him with knowing looks and mischievous expressions.

“y/n and gojo, sitting in a tree—”

———

omg my first request ahhhh thank you so much!! absolutely adore this idea so thank you for suggesting 🫶🫶

i hope you enjoyedddd i know it’s a bit rough and rushed but I’ve caught a cold and need severe sleep so spare me 🙏🙏

kisses,

har xx

[slutouttanowhere]

Million Dollar Baby

Pairing: Randy Orton x Black!oc

Warnings: not editied

a/n: Listen, all I got to say is…the girls that get it, and the girls that don’t… lol this is just a little snippet, an idea I was playing around with while other fics are being edited. I could not get this idea out my head once I saw the vision. Check out my main blog @headcannonxgalore Reblogs are appreciated, leave some comments let me know if y’all want more 💜

Adam Pearce had enough on his plate with Judgement Day running around terrorizing the roster, and running matches, and now on top of that he had to deal with Mavis Pete. She’s been raising hell for the past two weeks, for every time she didn't get a title shot, she’s attacking every female superstar that does. Sabotaging all their title shots in any way she could. He tried to rack his brain to come up with a solution, maybe there was someone he could pair her with to keep her busy, take her mind off things, while simultaneously giving the people some entertaining matches. Suddenly, his office door swung open, a steaming, angry Randy Orton stood in the doorway. A stern look on his face, his lips parted to speak, but before he could Mavis came barging in right behind him. “Finally your office hours are open, listen I don't have time to waste you know what I want-’

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you any manners, kid?” Randy cut her off, he turned to her, forgetting all about their general manager. She looked taken aback by his attitude, one hand on her hip, and her face scrunched into a disgusted facial expression. She’d never tell him, but he’s in her top five favorites of all time. She snapped out of her thoughts quickly, his icy blue irises scrutinizing her closely, her diamond chains catching his eyes.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to interrupt a bad bitch when she’s talking?” She asked, a slight smirk on her lips, to which Randy scoffed, and turned back to Pearce, blocking Mavis’ site.

“Anyway, like I was saying– He started talking again, ignoring the younger superstar behind him, Adam raised his eyebrows expectantly, but to Randy’s misfortune, he never got the chance to speak.

Mavis rolled her eyes, and cleared her throat, “like I was saying.” She had pushed past Randy, her hips bumping him out the way, now it was his turn to be shocked. “It’s time to make some shit shake, I think the heel run was nice, but I’d do better as a baby face, don't you agree AP?” He watched as she demanded answers from the Raw General Manager, Randy would be lying if he said he hadn’t been watching Mavis’ performances. She was a star in the making, if she could control her attitude, and if she could learn to pull that trigger when necessary, she’d be gold. Or in her case diamonds.

“You wanna be a champion, but don’t know when to stop running your mouth?” Randy talked over Pearce, he watched the interaction between the superstars, and now the wheels were turning in his head. He finally had a perfect idea, it was temporary, but it would keep everyone busy till he figured out the alternative.

“Who do you think you are, my Daddy?” Her face scrunched up in disgust, but she liked the attention. Her and Randy didn’t cross paths often, even when they were in the same vicinity, he opted to ignore her. It bruised her ego that out of everyone she got along with, he acted like she wasn’t worth his time.

Randy smirked in response. He looked her up and down, her revealing outfits, and over zealous confidence is what caught his eye when she first got signed. In a way, she reminded him of a younger version of himself. He let out a condescending chuckle, and as badly as he wanted to let his intrusive thoughts take over, he tried to remain professional. “It seems to me like you sure could use the guidance of a veteran, Hot Girl, Maivs Pete.” He said her name mockingly, and she’s not sure what bothered her more, the fact that he thought that she needed his help, or that she was turned on by his innuendo. They stared each other down, neither one of them refusing to break, till Adam Pearce clapped his hands together.

[halfmoth-halfman]

and i wanna kiss you, make you feel alright

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x GN!Spider!Reader Word Count: 1.6k Warnings: sickness, established relationship, just fluff A/N: big thanks to @writeforfandoms for helping me figure out what kind of spider reader would be and giving me the motivation to finish this fic!! 💜 if you want to read some fun facts about the spider reader is based on, there's a little blurb at the bottom of the fic!!

You wake with a massive headache, your body sluggish, and legs heavy. You can feel your veins throbbing, fighting against every tiny movement. 

It’s your own fault. You should’ve expected this after last night.

(It was foolish to think the night would be easy, but the worst you’d heard of for the first few hours was two muggings and a car thief. You’d let yourself slip into a false sense of security, and that little mistake had allowed Scorpion to catch you off guard.

Still, you weren't one of Miguel's best agents for no reason.

Using your speed to your advantage, you slipped from Scorpion’s grasp and dodged his next swing, taking off across the rooftops in large leaps.

He’s a brutal fighter, always preferring to be up close and personal, and you knew that. You'd let him land a few good hits—let him think he was winning.

He struck again, fist coming at you from the right as his tail swung down. You dropped to the ground, dodging his fist, and rolled just in time for his stinger to lodge into the ground next to your head.

You jumped to your feet, wrapping your limbs around the length of the stinger before the pale green of your suit flexed and the barbs on your legs stabbed into him. Scorpion shouted in pain, dislodging his stinger from the concrete and swinging wildly. The barbs gave you purchase, keeping you attached as venom coursed through your veins, down the barbs, and into his body.

It took a minute for the venom to take effect as he slammed you down into the hard ground, and you forced more out in a moment of panic. It happened two more times before he finally lost control, and the paralysis took over.

Retracting your barbs, you pulled away and stood, his eyes watching you with nothing but unbridled fury. You got to work on wrapping him up in your webbing to be left as a nice present for the cops and called it a night once you spot the flashing lights on the streets below.)

You should’ve known something was wrong by the soreness in your body when you went to bed, but you’d ignored it.

Now you’re paying the price.

You take it easy for the day, not bothering to change out of your pajamas as you relax in your apartment and tend to your extensive collection of houseplants.

It doesn’t go away. If anything, you feel worse in the afternoon, fighting to keep your lunch down. You’re two seconds away from giving up and going back to bed when your watch pings, and the hologram of Jessica Drew blocks your hallway.

“Wow, you look rough.”

“Nice to see you too, Jess.” You grimace a smile, moving around her to head for your bedroom.

“Are you okay?” she asks, following you down the hall, her visage passing through the ivy hanging from the ceiling. She watches you flop face-first onto your bed, body half hanging from the mattress.

“Not really,” you mumble, voice muffled by your pillow. You turn to face her, head pounding so hard you can feel it behind your eyes. “Unless you need me for something?”

"You can barely get up," Jess scoffs, a hand on her hip. "You think you can fight right now?"

"Could always use me as bait," you suggest with a weak smile. "All I'd have to do is lay there, and I'm pretty good at that."

"You're not going anywhere."

It's an order, not a request, and one you greatly appreciate.

But there's still that little nagging voice that makes you feel guilty for inconveniencing someone, so you have to ask, "You sure you can handle—"

"You questioning my ability?" Jess snaps. It's playful, not malicious. A raised brow and confident smirk.

"No, ma'am."

“Didn’t think so. You just take it easy for the day, and I’ll check in on you later.” She taps away at her watch, turning to head back down your hallway.

“Sure thing—” you throw a lazy, slightly painful thumbs up, “—Do me a favor, though?”

Jess pauses, looking back at you over her shoulder.

“Don’t tell Miguel. You know how he gets.”

Jess rolls her eyes, muttering something you don’t quite catch.

“I won’t say anything, but you know he’s gonna find out, right?”

“I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it.”

“Just get some rest,” she laughs with a slight shake of her head before heading down your hallway.

“Yes, ma’am.”

"And stop calling me ma'am!"

Orange illuminates your hallway in quick, vibrant flashes and Jess is gone.

You’re startled awake by the faint sound of plastic rattling in your kitchen.

It’s late, the only light in your room, the pale glow of moonlight flooding in through your window. You push yourself onto your side, body protesting the entire way as you roll to face your wide open door and the silhouette of your plants against the light from the kitchen.

You tuck your arm against your chest, wrists and webs aimed at the hallway waiting for this intruder to make their appearance.

Just because you can barely move doesn’t mean you can’t defend yourself. 

The kitchen light turns off, and your apartment is encased in darkness. You blink once, twice, three times, and your vision clears, adjusting flawlessly to pitch black. You lie in wait, listening for footsteps and watching for the briefest movements.

The hallway ivy gently swings, and Miguel appears from your kitchen, dressed down in a t-shirt and sweatpants. He walks down the hall, a glass in one hand and batting at the drooping plants with the other. 

You let out a long exhale, relaxing into the bed as he waltzes into your room. 

“What’re you doing here?” you rasp, voice soft and sleep-filled. 

“Jess said you were sick,” Miguel states as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. 

Of course, she did. 

“I’m not si–what are you doing?” You watch as Miguel sets the glass on your nightstand, then leans down and crawls over you to settle behind you on your bed. 

“Bringing you water?” he scoffs. You feel the bed dip and shake with his movements but have no energy to turn to figure out what the hell he’s doing. “Brought you some soup, too. I thought you were asleep, so I put it in the fridge.”

“I don’t need soup.”

“You’re sick. When you’re sick, you eat soup.”

“It’s not that kind of sick.” 

The bed stills as Miguel pauses. A beat of silence before, “How bad is it?”

“Not sure,” you sigh, and the bed shifts again. This time Miguel slides his arm under your knees, the other looping around your torso to lift you up and help you sit up against your headboard. 

“Scorpion caught me by surprise,” you explain, watching him pull your legs into his lap so he can roll up the legs of your loose pajama pants and trail his fingers along your skin–a touch you barely feel. “I think I overdid it.”

“How do you feel?” Miguel asks, focused solely on his inspection of your legs. 

“Heavy.” 

He hums, nodding more to himself than to you. He stops when he gets to your left thigh, giving a sharp inhale.

“Found a small cut. Got a bunch of green and yellow veins around it,” he mutters. “Think your venom might’ve got in.”

Well, that would explain it. 

You groan out your frustration, and Miguel rolls your pajamas back down. He turns to you with a small, barely there half-smile of sympathy. “You need anything?”

“Nah, it’ll wear off in a day or two,” you sigh with a sad attempt at a shrug.

“You’re not just saying that?”

“I think I know how my own venom works, babe.”

“So stubborn sometimes,” he mutters, shaking his head. You huff out a laugh, using what little strength you have to nudge him with your knee. 

“Look who’s talking,” you tease. He rolls his eyes, but you see the corners of his mouth quirk as he fights back a smile. You open your mouth to continue, and hopefully coax out that handsome smile he so rudely keeps hidden from you, but a long yawn stretches out from your throat instead.

“Think I’m gonna go back to sleep,” you mumble, eyes already heavy and sliding shut. “You can go back if you need to.”

“Jess can handle things for a day or two,” Miguel argues, sliding your legs from his lap to help you lay down. 

“I’ll be fine, Miguel. I promise.”

“I know you will,” he states, lying down next to you, “because I’ll be here to make sure of it.” He’s using his bossy voice, leaving no room for argument. You'd find it incredibly hot if you weren’t feeling so awful. 

“So stubborn sometimes,” you laugh, eyes shut as you pitch your voice lower in a poor impression of him.

“I thought you were tired,” he scoffs. 

You peek one eye open, a teasing smirk crawling across your face. “Tired? When I have such a handsome man in my bed? How could–”

You let out a very undignified squeak as Miguel uses his strength to roll you over and face you away from him. You don’t have the chance to argue as his arm wraps around your waist and pulls you tight against his chest to bury his face into your neck.

If you didn’t know him so well, you’d be worried you’d annoyed him, but you know it’s only his attempt to avoid a compliment and hide the redness in his cheeks. 

“Go to sleep,” he grumbles against you, a soft shiver shooting across your neck. You relent, allowing him the reprieve from your teasing and letting your body rest.

You teeter on the edge of sleep, slowly moving your hand to rest over the arm around your hips and relaxing into the warm body behind you. “Goodnight, Miguel.” 

The last thing you hear is a soft goodnight, with the gentle caress of Miguel weaving his fingers through your own.

some spider facts!

✧ this reader is based on the lynx spider, or more specifically, the genus Peucetia!

Using your speed to your advantage, you slipped from Scorpion’s grasp and dodged his next swing, taking off across the rooftops in large leaps.

✧ lynx spiders are known for being very speedy runners and exceptional leapers!

You jumped to your feet, wrapping your limbs around the length of the stinger before the pale green of your suit flexed and the barbs on your legs stabbed into him.

✧ lynx spiders have large spiny bristles on their legs and in many species the bristles form almost a basket-like structure that may assist in confining the prey that they grasp, and protect the spider from its struggles.

It took a minute for the venom to take effect as he slammed you down into the hard ground, and you forced more out in a moment of panic. It happened two more times before he finally lost control, and the paralysis took over.

✧ now normally, it's the female lynx spiders that will "spit" venom that can cause a type of paralysis, however i changed it up a little to have it come from the barbs just to keep it a little more gender neutral.

You take it easy for the day, not bothering to change out of your pajamas as you relax in your apartment and tend to your extensive collection of houseplants.

✧ lynx spiders are known to frequent flowers, often times using their green coloring to hide along the stalks so they can ambush pollinators

The kitchen light turns off, and your apartment is encased in darkness. You blink once, twice, three times, and your vision clears, adjusting flawlessly to pitch black. You lie in wait, listening for footsteps and watching for the briefest movements.

✧ lynx spiders have very keen eyesight that they rely on when stalking, chasing, or ambushing prey, and also in avoiding enemies.

“Found a small cut. Got a bunch of green and yellow veins around it,” he mutters. “Think your venom might’ve got in.”

✧ just a little nod to the green and yellow coloring lynx spiders will often have to help them blend in against flower stalks

[gulliblelemon]

Love that you're doing these!

I hope I'm not taking this into an angsty direction, but I'd really love some

↻ FLIP FLOP on Where We Left Off

Only if you're inspired, of course! Otherwise just ignore.

Erm... it's gone in a angsty direction. Sorry! That fic is so angsty I can't believe I ever thought otherwise! BUT... I'll put it under a cut for you to read when you have the emotional capacity, and if you have any requests for a fluffier scene, I will absolutely do that 💜 (hopefully the fact that Wille is very, very in love will help, AND we know how it all ends now soooooo.... sorry... but I hope you enjoy it anyway).

Thanks for the ask! I've had a lot of fun with this today. I'm still answering these and these.

This is Wille's POV of the scene at the start of chapter 8 where he picks Simon up. It got... long.

As the car pulled up to the curb where Simon’s location was pinging, Wille scrambled out of the door before it had even drawn to a stop, his PO getting out and throwing him an unimpressed look as Wille rushed over to Simon’s side. 

“Simon?”

Shit, he looked terrible. Simon still had his phone clutched to his ear, his eyes sliding out of focus. Shitshitshit.

“Simon.” He said it more forcefully this time, and Simon blinked a few times and looked up at him, lowering his phone. 

“Hmm?” he said, his eyes still slightly unfocused.

Panic rose in Wille’s chest. What was wrong? Why had he called Wille when he clearly needed some sort of medical attention? Why was he out here all on his own in the middle of the night?

“Simon. Are you okay? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

That seemed to snap Simon out of it a little, because he looked annoyed when he said, “What? No. Don’t be ridiculous. I’m fine.”

Fine was not a word Wille would have used to describe how Simon looked at this moment, but he did seem to be a lot more with it than he had a few seconds ago.

Undeterred, Wille instinctively reached out and gripped Simon’s face, turning it left and right to see if he could see any damage. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

A complicated array of emotions flickered across Simon’s face as Wille dropped it, already missing the feel of Simon’s skin underneath his own.

“No,” Simon said, shaking his head. “I just fell. I’m fine.”

Wille wondered if he should ask any of the million and one other questions that that hadn’t answered. But Simon was already saying, more forcefully, “I promise.”

Wille waited for a moment, trying to assess how much he should press, but eventually he just said, “Okay. Can you stand?”

Simon nodded. “I think so.”

Trying not to think too hard about it, Wille offered his hands. It made his heart soar in his chest how easily Simon took them; and then he internally berated himself for feeling any sort of joy from this moment. 

With regret, Wille let go of Simon’s hands once he was fully upright, but Simon swayed forward alarmingly, causing Wille to reach out to him again.

“Whoa,” Wille said. Then a thought hit him, he hadn’t considered that maybe— “Are you—? Have you been drinking?”

Simon looked so offended by that notion that Wille breathed a slight sigh of relief. He wasn’t really emotionally equipped to deal with a drunk Simon.

“No! No. I mean— sorry. No. I’m just tired.”

Wille looked more closely now and could see that Simon’s eyes, whilst still a little bleary, were mostly just droopy. Dark circles smeared below them, contrasted by the telltale red rings from crying.

“Come on,” Wille said, pointing to the car. “We’ll take you home.”

He was surprised to see Simon shrink in on himself at those words. “I don’t want to go home.”

“Okay.” Confused for a moment, Wille frowned. Then an idea came to him, one he was sure was crossing several lines. But since Simon was, in fact, sober, maybe Wille could trust him to make the decision for himself. “Do you— Would you like to come back to mine?”

Wille really hoped that Simon couldn’t tell how hard Wille’s heart was beating. The idea of having Simon in his home was so exhilarating that he wasn’t sure he was schooling his expression very well at all. Luckily, Simon looked down at his feet as he nodded his head, and Wille could see a blush high on his cheeks. At least he wasn’t the only one having a physical reaction to this whole thing.

Nodding, Wille went to tell the PO to call ahead for them and then turned back to Simon. “Here.” With a shuddering breath, he placed his hand on Simon’s back, trying to ignore his heartbeat clawing up his throat as he tried to rein himself in. He just wanted to bundle Simon into his arms and hold him until everything else went away, but they hadn’t spoken in so long, and everything had been left on such bad terms. 

Guiding Simon into his seat first, Wille quickly rounded the car and lowered himself down, careful not to jostle Simon who still looked decidedly fragile. What on earth had happened to him?

It seemed Simon was content with the quiet as the set off, but Wille needed Simon to know that he was there, in whatever capacity Simon needed. That he’d do practically anything for this man that was currently shaking slightly in the seat beside him. This beautiful, wonderful man that he had loved so fiercely, and lost so spectacularly. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” was what he said, instead.

Simon shook his head. “No. I— not yet.”

Did that mean later? Or never? Or not with Wille?

It didn’t matter. This was about what Simon needed. So Wille nodded and gave Simon some space as he drew in some wobbly breaths.

Wille watched his profile. The slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the curl of the hairs at the base of his head that Wille had always loved to run his fingers through. He was the most beautiful person Wille had ever known, and he didn’t think he’d ever not be in love with him.

What if this was it? His last opportunity to have any sort of involvement in Simon’s life? Simon had made it very clear that they couldn’t be together. So maybe this was Wille’s last chance.

Slowly, carefully, Wille edged his hand forward and onto Simon’s seat. One breath. Two— Then, miraculously, Simon’s fingers were curling around his own, holding on tight. 

Heart skipping a beat, Wille tried to blink away the prickling in the back of his eyes. This was all he’d ever wanted, and it was all so broken. But if he could just hold Simon’s hand, reassure him that he was there, then maybe everything could be okay. Wille squeezed his hand, hearing Simon’s breath catch, and then turned away, hoping with every fibre of his being that this wasn’t the end of their story.

[wanderersbell]

hi can i please ask for some scara angst to fluff? maybe like an arguement? anything is fine :) imgoing insane your writing is so good 💜💜💜💜

when you have an argument

wanderer x gn!reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: none

word count: 1312

a/n: hi thank you for the request! sorry if it's a bit messy, writing arguments is a little harder than i thought as someone who is very non-confrontational, but i definitely want to get better at it in the future (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ enjoy!

arguments don’t happen nearly as often as you might think. not full blown ones anyways, bickering is a daily occurrence between the two of you, but they’re full of empty words and sarcasm that has become an inside joke over time. 

however, even with all of the progress he’s made, the wanderer’s short temper is very much still an integral part of him. when those moments present themselves, you always find yourself at a loss. 

when those bad days happen, it’s like he’s an entirely different person. his usually empty threats seem to be full of venom, and he won’t engage in any of your typical antics with you. it goes left unsaid that it’s no doubt related to his past, but even that remains a mystery to you still, so you never know how to approach the situation. 

on one hand you know you can only do so much, you can’t force him to open up if he’s not ready and he has every right to want to be alone, but he won’t leave you alone on these days. he follows you around like a shadow, like he’s waiting for you to do something, but you have no idea what.

you know better than to take it personally by now, but it’s an exhausting ordeal all the same. 

“stop doing that.” he snaps, sending you a sharp glare. 

“stop doing what?“ your tone grows increasingly more frustrated by the second from trying so hard to grasp onto the loose ends that make up the wanderer, just to find them too short or entirely broken altogether. 

“acting like you understand,” his voice is strained and just bordering on a shout, as if it’s taking every ounce of his willpower not to yell. “just give it up already, quit trying to make me feel better. you can’t just magically fix what already happened.”

you inhale sharply at his words and dig your nails into your palms in an attempt to keep yourself calm, the dull pain just barely doing it’s job to clear your head and let you think. this argument has been building up for weeks, silently growing bigger in the background every time something from his past started bothering him and he became defensive when you tried to help. 

he’s been through a lot, has a past so full of pain and grief that you’d never be able to comprehend it, it’s only natural that it would be a touchy subject so you know it’s only partially his fault, but the issue lies in the fact that he’ll get equally as upset if you don’t help and give him his space instead. there’s no way to predict when these things will come up, and no way to predict which side of him you’ll see because of it. sometimes he’s receptive of your attempts at comforting him and lets himself be vulnerable with you, but the rest of the time, this happens. 

“what, so you just want me to stand here and ignore you every time you have a bad day?” you ask with more sarcasm than you intended, any possibility of this conversation happening peacefully being snuffed out on the spot. 

the wanderer scoffs. “isn’t that what you do anyways? you sure don’t seem to care most of the time.”

“you-“ the words nearly get caught in your throat as they rush out of you. “because you never tell me anything! how am i supposed to know how to help when you don’t want me to help?”

his eyes narrow as you say this and the intensity of the rage simmering in his irises sends a spike of fear down your spine for a split second. “i don’t want your help, so mind your own business.”

you can only watch quietly as he turns and storms off, probably to calm himself down or take his anger out on something else, and heave a defeated sigh at the whole situation. your heart aches for him as you walk back inside of the house and curl up on  the bed by yourself to wait for him. 

it’s hard to even be mad at him for lashing out like this, given it happens so rarely and you know he doesn’t mean it, but you also know that you don’t deserve to be treated like that so it leaves you conflicted and bone tired as the day fades into dusk while you lay unmoving on the soft blankets. 

when he finally returns a few hours later, his footsteps are light and apologetic as he walks through the door. his eyes are rimmed with red like he had been rubbing at them, and when he notices you laying in bed his face falls and he approaches hesitantly as you sit up. you stare at him wordlessly for a few seconds before finally breaking the silence. 

“are you okay?” 

his eyebrows shoot up like he wasn’t expecting the question and he blinks at you twice in surprise. “you’re… asking me if i’m okay?”

when you nod and tilt your head in confusion he brings his hand up to his forehead and exhales heavily. “of course i’m okay, are you okay?”

you hum affirmatively without even thinking about it and he clicks his tongue before setting his hat down and sitting beside you. “liar,” he says softly. he frowns down at his hands and you can tell he’s trying to sort out his words, so you give him a few moments to do so and cant help but fidget with your top while you wait. 

“i know i over reacted, and i'm sorry,” he finally starts. when he turns his gaze to yours his eyes are full of sincerity, but there’s a deeply rooted sadness behind them as well, one that gives away how fed up he is with himself. “why do you keep me around, even when i act like this?”

the answer comes to you so easily you aren’t even thinking when you reach out and grab his hand in yours. “because you’re important to me.” you respond earnestly, lightly squeezing his fingers. his frown deepens for a moment before disappearing altogether. 

“that’s foolish.” he sighs, trying to ignore the warmth in his cheeks from your touch. “what if i can never open up to you?”

“you don’t need to,” you respond honestly. the wanderer gives you a doubtful look but waits for you to continue. “you don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, i just need to know what i can do to make it better.“

he gazes down at your joined hands with a twisted pout. “and what if i never get better?” he asks quietly and so hesitantly that you almost miss it and you can hear the centuries of hurt in the way his voice quivers. his eyes follow as you slowly lift his hand to your lips and press a soft kiss against his knuckles. “you will,” you whisper against his skin while the tension melts off of his face. 

instead of saying anything else, in a rare moment of him initiating physical contact, he lets his head fall forward until it lands in the crook of your neck, his arms snaking their way around your waist to hold your body against his tightly. you immediately relax into his embrace and rest your head against the top of his, arms curling around his shoulders firmly. 

“i’ll keep trying,” he mumbles against your neck, his warm breath fanning over your skin. you can’t help but smile softly and hold him just a bit tighter, thankful to have him back home after being alone for most of the day. though things still remain unfixed, and many more arguments are sure to come as he continues to heal, you know with absolute certainty that you’ll get through it together. 

[specialagentlokitty]

Ncis x reader - anything for you

Can it be NCIS team leaving reader out with some fluff at the end ? Thank you so much - Anon💜

They did everything together, they went for meals, drinks, they hung out on days off and you weren’t there for any of it.

As you sat at your desk listening to them talk about the bar they were at last night you frowned heavily, ducking your head as you tried to focus on your paperwork.

“Hey (Y/N) how did you like the bar?”

You glanced up at Tony, you just looked at him for a moment before you went back to doing your paperwork.

“Hey come on! What’s you think?”

Tony walked over, plucking the pen from your hand and you snapped your head up to him.

“I’m busy.” You snapped.

You snatched the pen back, trying to contain your emotions and push everything down.

You didn’t want to blow in the middle of work, you didn’t want to cause a scene or draw attention to your area of the bullpen, so you just went back to your work.

Tony shared a look with McGee and Ziva, and even gibbs looked up at the odd behaviour from you.

“(Y/N)?” You boss asked.

He knew it wasn’t like you to not engage in talking to your coworkers, in fact you loved talking to them and you were always happy to have a chat.

You ignored them as they crowded around your desk and carried on with the last little paperwork and you stood up, gathering the file.

“I need to get these to Vance.”

You tired to move away from them but they had you cornered in.

“Not until you tell us what’s going on.” Tony said.

“Yeah, we know something is bothering you, we just want to help.” Ziva smiled.

You shook your head.

“Nothing, I’m just busy so can you get out of the way?”

“We know somethings wrong with you (Y/N), please talk to us.” McGee begged softly.

You rolled your eyes at them and pushed through them, dodging Gibbs as he tried to grab your arm and spun around, slapping his hand away.

“Don’t pretend you care now. You want I know what I thought about the bar? I don’t know, I wasn’t there. I wasn’t invited.”

With that you marched away leaving them all shocked.

“No one invited them?” Ziva asked.

“I thought they were there when I said about it? Everyone was, even Abby and Ducky.” Tony replied.

They felt the guilt washing up inside of them.

How long had they really been leaving you out of things?

They did try find you, try to apologise, but after your meeting with the director you were gone, and they were told you were taking a few days off for personal reasons.

Were you avoiding them now?

“Come on we have to make it up to them!” Abby said.

She was nearly in tears, feeling absolutely horrible for what they had been doing, they all felt horrible about it.

“Why not a game night? We can all get some food and drinks and go to (Y/N)s place?” McGee asked.

“I think that is a wonderful idea, we should go there around 8.” Ducky smiled.

They all agreed, and carried on with that they were doing because they still had hours yet before anyone could go home.

You were at home, having finished all your paperwork you decided to take some of your days off early just to clear your head and focus on some stuff you had to do.

Getting a shower, you changed into more comfortable clothes and looked through your chore list.

There was a knock on your door and you looked up, setting your list down you walked over and opened the door.

“Boss?” You asked.

“(Y/N).”

You stepped aside to let him in and went back into your kitchen to look at your list of things that needed done.

“What do you need Gibbs?”

“For you to talk.”

You looked at him in confusion and leant again the counter, arms crossed over your chest.

“Want to tell me what that was about back in the office.”

You scoffed a little, not scared of your boss while he was in your apartment knowing full well you didn’t have to play by his rules there and he knew that too.

He leant against your fridge.

“I’m fed up of everyone not even realising I’m there. When’s it going to get to far for you people Huh? When I’ve been shot or worse?”

Gibbs just listened.

You carried on ranting to him, telling how fed up you were, that you didn’t deserve what everyone was doing to you and it was unfair.

You stopped looking at him and sighed, shaking your head.

“Those files were transfer papers. I’m leaving your team, sorry.”

“I know.”

You looked up at him.

“Vance told me. And never say sorry.”

He lightly slapped the back of your head and sighed, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you in for a hug.

“You’ve got a week to decide if it’s what you really want.”

“I’ve already made up my mind Gibbs, why would I change it?”

He looked at his watched and pointed to your front door where a light knock came and you frowned as you looked up at him.

He pushed you towards the door and you padded into the hallway, leaving him in your kitchen.

You opened your door to find everyone there holding board games, a few gaming consoles and a bunch of bags.

“(Y/N) we’re sorry!”

Abby rushed you, tackling into a hug with so much force you were sent stumbling back a few steps and everyone walked in, setting everything down in your living room.

You hugged Abby back, and moved a little so you could push the door back before you went back to holding here as she sniffled into your shoulder.

“Woah okay Abby, it’s okay.”

You rubbed your hand up and down her back until she pulled away, wiping her tears frantically.

“It’s.. it’s not! We treated you so bad!”

You said nothing and turned to find everyone looking at you.

“We’re so sorry my dear, there is no excuse.” Ducky sighed.

“He’s right, there isn’t. At least let us try make it up to you?” McGee asked quietly.

You looked at them all, you were still furious with them, but after all you had been through before the events of the past few months, you decided it was worth giving them a change.

“Fine.”

“Yes! Come on!”

Abby grabbed your hand and pulled you into the living room, showing you everything that they had brought over.

They let you picked what to do, and for Gibbs and Ducky you settled for a bored game at first.

Everyone was laughing, smiling and having a great time, while you talked with Ducky, Tony and McGee were showing Ziva how to play a game on the console.

You spent time with them all one on one either playing a game or talking with them and soon enough hours slipped by.

Everyone decided to stay for the night, and you let Ducky take your bed so he wouldn’t hurt his back.

You were trying to sleep when you felt a paper ball hit your head.

“Tony?”

You sat up and looked across the room and he gestured for you to come over so you did, stepping over Ziva, McGee and Gibbs who were asleep on the floor.

Sitting next to Tony, you looked at him.

“Whats up?” You whispered.

He nudged your shoulder a little bit and offered you a small smile.

“I know it can’t make up for what we’ve been doing, but I hope it’s a start.” He whispered back.

You looked at everyone and you smiled softly.

“You’re right, it can’t.”

Tony frowned.

“But it’s a start, thanks DiNozzo.”

He grinned a little and covered you with his blanket.

“Well you’ve got us coming here every night for the rest of your life so you better get some more blankets.”

You laughed a little bit and rested your head on his shoulder, smiling as you sighed a little.

This was nice, and you were feeling a little better but it was going to take a lot more than this to make it up to you, but you knew they were going to keep trying.

After all they were your team, you knew no matter what at the end of the day they would have your back

[urmothathe2nd]

Proud of You (Obey me fic)

Also found on ao3 here

Mammon gets 100% on a test for the first time, but Lucifer is not the happy brother he was expecting

FYIs: This is a mephimon fic (mammon x mephistopheles) if you liked it you should check out my ao3 This is kind of angsty but not really Lucifer is a bit of a dick This has not been beta read

Mammon laid in his room, sprawled out on his bed and staring at the ceiling. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. His test was crumpled up in the corner of his room.

He was finally passing the class, and actually got 100% on a test.

But he felt stupid.

Stupid to believe Lucifer would actually be proud of him.

He walked into the house completely confident that Lucifer would at least smile and say ‘I’m proud of you.’

But no.

Mammon was shrugged off. A sorry excuse for a ’good job’ and told to wait for supper.

He could’ve gone to any other brother, but he didn’t. He thought Lucifer would actually say something.

He knew his younger brothers would congratulate him. They always did.

But Lucifer was always unsatisfied.

He thought that maybe today Lucifer would actually tell him he did great. Give him a hug, or maybe just a pat on the back.

But no, he was ignored. Just like every other time.

Why would he go to a pride demon for a compliment anyways.

Especially one that was so much better than him. At literally everything.

His body was now shaking from silent sobs he wasn’t aware of. He involuntarily reached for his phone.

He opened an app and clicked on impulse.

FaceTiming mephi 💜…..

When did he open FaceTime?

“Mams? Why are you calling?”

He snapped out of his trance by the voice of his lover. He moved his phone closer to his face so he could see Mephisto, but Mephisto could only see his eyes and forehead.

“I don’ even know,” he sniffled.

“Why are you crying, darling?” Mephisto looked concerned and seemed to stop whatever it was he was doing.

“It’s stupid. ‘m stupid, everything is stupid,” he sighed.

“You are not stupid. I don’t like speaking with stupid people.”

“Yer jus’ sayin’ that,” Mammon rubbed his eyes. “Can-can I come over tonight?”

“Of course, do you want me to pick you up?”

Mammon shook his head.

“But can ya stay on call with me? While I get ready.”

Mephisto hummed in response and got back to whatever it was he was doing before.

Mammon stood up and propped his phone up on his dresser and began to get ready. Every now and then he’d walk out of the screen and then pop back in before walking back out again.

This was normal.

Very normal in fact.

Mammon didn’t know if Mephisto noticed, but he called whenever he was sad. Most of the time he wasn’t crying, but he didn’t feel great. Mephisto always made him feel better. Even if they weren’t speaking. The soft sound of Mephisto’s pen writing on the paper kept him calm, knowing he was right there next to him. Mammon settled for a black sweatshirt and grey sweatpants, and sprayed on a cologne Mephisto had bought him a while back.

As he grabbed his phone up again he noticed the crumpled up quiz in the corner.

He grabbed it and smoothed it out and then folded it and placed it in his pocket.

He walked out of his room and ignored Lucifer when asked where he was going. He knew it wasn’t a good idea, but he could care less.

He grabbed his keys and walked out, still on the phone with his boyfriend as he stepped into his car.

“Did you just ignore Lucifer?”

He looked to his screen to see Mephisto giving him a side glance.

“An’ what about it?”

Mephisto smirked a little before looking back to the papers in front of him.

“Nothing.”

Mammon started his car and drove out, noticing Lucifer standing in the doorway from the corner of his eyes.

He practically sped to Mephisto’s mansion and almost sprinted inside when he pulled into the garage. He ended the call when he opened the door and ran to Mephisto’s study. When he opened the door Mephisto stood up and he immediately engulfed the purplette in his arms.

He practically melted into his arms when Mephisto began to card his hands through Mammon's hair.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Mephisto asked quietly.

Mammon shook his head and felt a few tears fall after he realized what had just happened.

“Like I said, ‘t’s stupid.”

Mephisto chuckled lightly and squeezed Mmamon closer.

“It’s alright, I’ll listen.”

Mammon took a deep shaky sigh and stood straight up.

“Can I jus’ chill here while you work?”

“Of course,” Mephisto pressed a kiss on the Greed Avatar’s cheek.

He walked back over to his desk and Mammon plopped down on a lounge couch on the sidewall of the room. Mammon watched his lover immediately sit down and start scribbling down words on paper work. He stared for a long time, he didn’t even notice until Mephisto glanced up at him. He quickly looked away as Mephisto smirked and went back to work.

He laid back down and almost dozed off to the sound of Mephisto’s pen scraping on the paper. When he went to turn onto his side he heard the sound of paper crinkling, then he was reminded of the reason why he came. He dug out the test and held it up above his face so he could see it. He looked back over to Mephisto who was way too focused on his paperwork to notice. He felt tears prick his eyes as he remembered Lucifer’s words from before and rolled off that couch with a thud.

“Mams?”

“I’m good, don’ worry.”

Mephisto hummed and went back to work. Mammon scooched over to the side of Mephisto’s desk and held the paper up. Mephisto grabbed it from Mammon to read. Mammon laid on his back away from Mephisto’s view and couldn’t see what face Mephisto was making. He didn’t want to. He already knew he was stupid and that it meant nothing that he got 100% on anything.

“Babe, is this yours?”

The soft voice snapped him out of spiraling.

“Uh…yeah-yeah it’s mine,” Mammon stuttered.

He turned so his back was facing the desk.

“This is so good Mams, I’m so proud of you.”

I’m so proud of you.

Mammon sat up fast and looked at Mephisto, who wore a large grin. He made eye contact with Mammon and smiled even more.

“This is great! Isn’t this for the class you’re passing?”

“I- yeah…. yeah it is,” Mammon managed to let out, a small grin growing on his face.

“You’re doing so good.”

Mammon felt a wave of happiness come crashing down on him. This was much better than a compliment from Lucifer. Mammon's grin grew.

“R-really?”

“Yes!” Mephisto let out a small laugh before sinking on the floor next to him. “This is wonderful!”

Mammon was frozen in happiness when Mephisto rushed forward and gave him a hug. Mephisto leaned back and began to pepper kisses around his face.

“I’m so proud of you!”

Tears pricked the corners of Mammons eyes and he wrapped his arms around Mephisto.

“This means, so much ta me, babe, ya don’t even know,” Mammon pulled Mephisto closer into a hug.

Mephisto hummed and chuckled, carding his hand through Mammon’s hair. “Was this why you were so upset?”

Mammon nodded, burying his face in Mephisto’s chest. Mephisto chuckled before placing a kiss on top of his head.

“You are doing so great, no matter what anyone says, I’m always so proud of you.”

Mammon sniffled a bit. “Even when I run my account inta the negatives?”

Mephisto lightly pinched his arm, chuckling lightly. “Now you’re pushing it.”

Mammon giggled, sighing in content before nuzzling further into Mephistos chest.

The two sat wrapped in each other for what felt like centuries before migrating to a large bedroom and falling asleep. The test was later found framed in Mephisto’s office, causing Mammon to go red in the face.

[loverontheleft]

Finally (revised)

Original request: Could we just get a separate imagine or whatever, where Brendon is just super protective of the reader. she has been his best friend for so long and he doesn’t like when anyone treats her like she isn’t worth a thing. She wants to thank him for standing up for her and it just leads to some very sexual things. i even maybe during the sexual things it comes out that he has loved her since high school? i would forever be grateful Cece. 💜

Brendon x reader

Warnings: drinking, dirty talk and language, oral (both), rough sex, spanking, arguable exhibition, and I think that’s everything.

Word count: 5.1k➡️8.4k

-||-

Brendon leans against the bar, facing you and making the most appalled faces. “No. No way,” he mouths over Darren’s shoulder, who is standing in between the two of you. You ignore him and focus on Darren. Brendon’s finally successful in getting your attention when he says your name; your head snaps up, and he emphatically mouths, “This guy sucks. Walk away.” You roll your eyes.

“So I was hoping I could take you out tomorrow night,” Darren murmurs as he reaches for your hand, and you feel a rush of excitement wash over you. “And I’ll take care of your drinks tonight,” he says casually, turning to the bartender, who looks between the two of you and nods disinterestedly.

Brendon protests from behind Darren. “She’s already on my tab.”

“It’s fine, Brendon,” you say, raising your eyebrows trying to give him a look to chill out. You turn back to Darren. “Thank you. And I’d love to do something tomorrow night.”

Brendon throws his hands in the air in exasperation before turning to face the bar fully and downing the rest of his beer. Darren dips his head toward yours to murmur that Brendon’s being weird, and you laugh, touching Darren’s arm. “He’s just sulking; don’t mind him.”

And with that, Brendon walks away. You do feel a little bad; you did come here with Brendon after all. But, in your defense, he’s your best friend and this is your regular Friday meeting point for all of your friends. Brendon just happened to offer to drive you. You didn’t know Darren, the new guy at your office, would be here. He’s cute, funny, and generous; you’re not going to turn down a date with him if he’s interested.

Brendon can get over it, you think to yourself. It’s been twelve years of friendship, and you’ve pretty much given up on anything happening between the two of you, no matter how much you want it. He’s not interested, but Darren apparently is.

-||-

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Darren is by your side and replacing your drink often; Brendon is with your other friends, and they’re all sending Darren dirty looks from across the bar. “You okay?” Darren is peering in your eyes, and you giggle, gripping his arm.

“Yeah. I don’t normally drink this much—Brendon usually makes sure I don’t get carried away. I get tipsy but I don’t get drunk. That’s the rule. Tipsy, not drunk.” Darren nods slowly, taking your empty glass as he passes you a new vodka and cranberry juice.

“Are you drunk?”

You nod vigorously, hiccuping a little. “B would never let me have—is this my fifth drink? Sixth?”

Instead of answering your question, he studies the ceiling. “Brendon is pretty controlling, isn’t he?” Darren finally muses aloud, and you glance at him, ready to defend your best friend. Darren seems to realize he’s crossed some line, and he backtracks. “I just mean that he doesn’t seem to like you spending time with me, and he doesn’t let you drink…and he’s still staring at us…” he trails off.

“I never thought about it that way,” you say. Sure enough, Brendon’s eyes are on the two of you, and he’s not making any effort to hide the fact that he’s looking. A warm feeling spreads through your body as you watch Brendon watch you. You love that he seems jealous, even though you know that’s not mature.

You attempt to distract Darren and, admittedly, yourself; you gesture to the drink in your hand. “This is really good.” If Darren heard the slight slur of your words, he doesn’t say anything; he just smiles and holds out his hand to you when you exclaim a moment later, “I fucking love this song!”

No one ever dances in this bar—the music is for ambience. But sure enough, Darren is leading you to an open spot on the floor, and you’re faithfully following when your vision tilts. Before you can fully process what’s happening and grab onto one of the cocktail tables, you stumble, laughing when you hit the floor. There’s broken glass all around you, and your cranberry-tinted vodka is spreading across the floor, soaking into your jeans. Darren’s reaching a hand down to you, but Brendon swoops in, brushing his hand aside.

“And this is my cue,” Brendon says, lifting you from the floor. He murmurs your name as his arms circle your waist, and you lean against his chest as you find stable footing. “You’ve had enough. Let’s get you home.”

Darren protests that he was going to take you home later, and you’re trying to tell Brendon this too, but Brendon silences you with a look. You like when he’s assertive like this; it’s reassuring and, if you’re being honest, pretty sexy. You slump against him, stroking the soft cotton of his shirt and closing your eyes. All of your lighthearted, flirty energy is gone; you’re drained. He turns his attention to Darren as he holds you close. “Y/n is very drunk; she needs to go home, and she’s not leaving with a guy she barely knows. She’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I think going home is her call to make, not yours, dude. If she wants to go home with me, that’s her choice,” Darren says casually, and you open your eyes now to see Darren staring between you and Brendon. Darren does make a good point about it being your choice, you think, but you’re not sure you want to go home with him, back to his house.

You hadn’t realized that’s what he meant, but hearing it now, you’re sure you don’t want that. It is your choice after all, so you’d like to choose Brendon’s house. You’re about to say this, when Darren keeps talking. “You’re not her keeper, bro.”

Brendon stiffens, and his arm around your waist tightens. Oh. That feels good. You’ve always known that Brendon’s protective, and you love when you become the focus of his protective instincts. It’s as close as you’ve ever been to feeling like he wants you, and you try to savor it every time. Now, you stare up at him happily through your vodka haze.

“Okay, first of all, I’m not your ‘bro.’ Second, I’m not her ‘keeper’ either,” Brendon agrees in a tight voice, “but I am her best friend. We take care of each other, and I know her far better than you do. She needs to go home.” He looks down at you softly, tenderly, while his fingers stroke your hip, making you melt into him more. “Hey, Y/n. I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink. You ready to go home?”

“Yes, please,” you groan, wrapping your other arm around Brendon. “Drank too much. Need to go home.”

“We can go home. I can make that happen for you. You want me to take you to your place?”

You’re crashing hard, and home sounds good. You nod sleepily, then look up at him intently when you process the question he just asked. “Wait. No. Not my house. Take me to your house, B. Not my house. Want to go to your house with you.” You drop your head on his shoulder again. He has nice shoulders. You tell him this, and he chuckles, shaking his head in amusement before turning to give Darren a triumphant smirk.

“Right. You’ll need to excuse us, because she’s chosen for me to take her back to my house.”

-||-

��Oh fucking fuck,” you groan, and Brendon rubs your back soothingly, kneeling beside you in his bathroom. “Oh god, I’m gonna—” you cut yourself off with a retching noise, and Brendon scoops your hair up, wrapping it around his hand while the other moves in circles over your back.

“You’re okay,” he whispers. “Just let it come. You’ll feel better.” You shake your head, moaning before throwing up again and apologizing, and Brendon tells you not to worry about it. This is a reversal of roles; you’re never the drunk, irresponsible one. Granted, he thinks, you don’t have to hold his hair back, but you do always lean in the doorway, telling him encouraging things and holding a plate of saltines and a Gatorade. Speaking of which. “Y/n, I’m out of Gatorade, but I have Pedialyte. Is that okay?”

You nod and wipe a hand across the back of your mouth, cursing as you try to stand up. “Okay, hang on, don’t try to stand just yet. Let me think. I really don’t want to leave you here unsupervised; don’t want you to bash your head against the toilet or floor. Hang on one sec.” You groan, listening as Brendon rummages around his bathroom closet. “Got it. Extra trash can. Here we go, Y/n. Take this trash can, okay?” You grip the plastic tightly, whining when Brendon lifts you up. “Can’t leave you alone, but I don’t want you to try to walk when you don’t feel good. We’re going to go grab the Pedialyte and then we’ll get you to bed, yeah?”

You moan your agreement, resting your head on his shoulder. “Hang tight,” he says softly, moving slowly to the kitchen. “You’re doing so good.”

When he gets to the kitchen, he carefully places you on the floor, letting you lean against the oven while he searches his fridge. “Here we are,” Brendon murmurs, cracking open the cold bottle of Pedialyte and passing it to you. “Small sips.” You drink from it hesitantly, grimacing at the salty, fruit-adjacent taste but drink steadily anyway. You know it’ll help.

Brendon settles himself on the floor opposite you, and he thinks from the way you’re leaning toward him that you desperately want to curl up against him. He definitely wouldn’t mind, and he extends a hand. “Come here, Y/n.”

You crawl over and drop your head down onto his thigh. “Don’t mind you getting comfy, but you’ve gotta keep drinking,” he murmurs, stroking your hair. You groan, and he smiles, stretching a hand over his head to the drawer where he keeps the straws. “Here we go.” He places the bottle of Pedialyte between his knees, slides a silicone straw into it, and angles the straw toward your mouth. “Now you can have both.”

“You’re the best,” you mumble, sucking diligently at the straw.

“Oh yeah?” Brendon pauses, internally debating his next question. “Better than Darren?”

“Much,” you tell him, yawning. “You’re my favorite.”

Brendon leans back against his kitchen island, grinning to himself as his fingers play with your hair. He knows it’s not a huge victory because you’re still drunk, but he’ll take what he can get. And there’s also the fact that you wanted to go home with him, so he’s feeling pretty good. Being able to take care of you like this almost makes up for the fact that his plan to confess how he feels about you was ruined by Darren and his never-ending supply of vodka and cranberry juice.

When you yawn again, Brendon glances down at you and sees you’ve finished more than half the bottle. “Good girl. That should help with the nausea and hopefully avoid a bad hangover. Ready for bed?” When you nod, he carefully maneuvers himself out from under you so he can stand and lift you back into his arms.

“I can walk,” you mumble, going limp against him anyway.

“You can,” Brendon agrees. “But as previously determined, you don’t feel good, so I’m gonna carry you.” You bury your face in the curve of his neck, and his fingers flex against the underside of your thighs. Your sleepy breaths are soft against his skin, and he can feel how your lips have parted, practically caressing his neck—these things are more arousing than they should be right now, and Brendon knows he’s got to stay on task. You’re very drunk, and he’s now remembering that you tend to get promiscuous when you’ve had even a little bit too much. He needs to get you into his bed and then give you space, because he knows there’s a very real chance he will not be able to resist you.

Still, Brendon knows he absolutely has to resist you. You’re drunk, and you’re not fully aware of what’s going on; he wants and needs you to be completely coherent when he tells you how he feels. Now is decidedly not the time to make any kind of move or confession if he wants something real, something lasting with you—and he desperately does.

Brendon places you on his bed once back in his bedroom, and he studies your cranberry- and vodka-spattered clothes. You’re in skin-tight jeans and a shirt with a plunging neckline. He’s been trying not to look all night, but you’ve got a significant amount of cleavage showing. That, Brendon realizes, probably means you’re in a push-up bra of some kind.

He closes his eyes, trying not to visualize you in said bra. He’d planned on you sleeping in his bed while he took the couch, but he hadn’t considered what you’d actually wear to sleep. Clearly you can’t sleep in what you’ve got on. Not comfortably, anyway.

“Do you want a t-shirt or something? You know, for pajamas?” He makes the offer casually, though he’s trying not to get turned on by the mental image of you in his clothes, tangled in his bedsheets. You yawn and nod, stretching your arms and blinking hard.

“Do you have a t-shirt preference?” You shake your head, slumping over on his bed, and he grabs one at random to pass to you. “You gonna be able to get changed?”

“Uh huh. I’m really good at getting undressed,” you mumble, setting the Pedialyte on his bedside table, and Brendon laughs, shaking his head in amusement. “No really,” you protest with a small hiccup, “I’m so good at taking my clothes off.” You meet his eyes. “It’s the putting clothes on part—anyway, I’m real good at getting them off, watch.”

Brendon presses a hand to his face; every word out of your mouth is teasing explicit thoughts out of his subconscious. He’s got to get out of here if he’s going to avoid kissing you.

“Okay, well I’m gonna go crash on the couch; you yell if you need any help. Keep drinking the Pedialyte. Don’t fall off this bed,” Brendon warns, and you shake your head seriously.

“Stay.” He falters in the doorway, and you point to the space beside you. “Stay. It’s your bed.” He looks unsure, and you pat the bed. “You always make me stay in bed with you when you get super drunk and crash at my place in my bed,” you point out, sounding strangely sober for a moment. “Stay.” You stand on shaky legs and start pushing at your jeans. “Help me get my pants off and stay,” you order.

“Thought you were good at taking your clothes off,” Brendon murmurs, leaning against the door and turning his head to not look at you. He can’t help but wonder if you’ve been reading into him requesting you stay in your bed when he’s drunk at your house; that answer determines if he should read into you demanding he stay in his bed with you tonight. “You’re a bit bossy when you’re drunk, huh?”

“Shut up. I am good at getting undressed. But I need help. So come help me, and then get in bed.” He doesn’t move, and you pout. “Brendonnnnn, take my clothes off.”

“Fuck, Y/n, you’re really drunk.” Brendon can hear the defeat in his voice, and he crosses the room. Standing in front of you, his eyes on yours, not looking down, he unbuttons your jeans and unzips them. “Better?”

You nod and shove your jeans down. Brendon groans softly, his eyes on his ceiling fan. “I’m trying so hard to be respectful,” he says aloud. “You’re killing me.” He offers you a pair of sweatpants from his dresser now, still making a pointed effort to not look at you in your underwear.

“No sweatpants,” you tell him, hiccuping again. Brendon sighs and crosses to the other side of the bed with the sweatpants still in his hand. “You’re staying, right?”

“I’m staying,” Brendon says. “Against my better judgment, I’m staying.” He kicks off his own jeans and pulls the sweatpants on.

Meanwhile, you’ve fallen onto the bed trying to wiggle out of your jeans, and, finally successful, you strip your shirt and bra off before tugging on the t-shirt Brendon handed you. You work your way under the pile of blankets, rest your head on the pillow and sigh, curling into the fetal position.

“Come to bed, B,” you murmur as you stretch out a hand, and he’s once again struck by how sober you sound at this moment. He’s also trying not to imagine those exact words from you in a sexual context, but when you’re in his bed, reaching for him, stripped down to nothing but a pair of panties and one of his shirts, it’s hard.

Speaking of hard, he thinks to himself, with a small groan. His hand falls just below his waistline, willing himself to not get any harder than he already is. Your voice startles him. “Get comfy, Bren. You never sleep with your shirt on at my place. Take it off, or I’ll take it off for you.”

He hesitates, and you groan and shift onto your knees on the bed. You’re a little unsteady, and you reach for him. You both inhale sharply when your hands make contact with his stomach; you slip your hands under his shirt and start sliding it up. You can’t help it; you rotate your hands slightly to caress the warmth of his body. You can both feel him tense under your touch; you whine a little and stare at him.

“I’ll do it; fuck, I’ll do it,” Brendon chokes out, stumbling back from you. “I’m—I’ll—you don’t need to—”

You’re still staring at him, and he’s only half-aware of the apology slipping from your mouth; he’s distracted by the sensation of your fingers tracing his stomach. So much for not getting any harder, he thinks to himself.

Shirt off and abandoned, Brendon sighs and crawls into bed: he’s making a conscious choice to stay close to the edge. Right now you’re too drunk and he’s too tired, but he can very easily see himself reaching for you in the night.

“Wake me up if you need anything,” Brendon murmurs as he faces away from you, and you promise. You squirm, sighing a little and then moaning as you stretch out your legs. A soft whimper slips free when your head finds a good place on the pillow.

A minute ticks by. Two. Three. Brendon’s laying beside you and counting silently, because he knows there’s no way he’ll actually get good rest when you’re practically naked in his bed making those sounds. Even with his choice to lay near the edge of the bed, he’s still deeply aware of your presence.

All Brendon can think about is rolling on top of you and silencing you with a deep kiss before coaxing louder whimpers from you with his fingers, then his mouth, and maybe even his cock. He feels his dick twitch, and he rolls onto his stomach, pressing his face into his pillow. He wants you so badly, but he wants you to be hyper-aware of your circumstances and know exactly who’s bringing you to the edge of ecstasy and driving you wild. The cool softness of his pillowcase rubs against his cheeks as he presses his face into the pillow more firmly; he can’t help but imagine the same cool softness of your inner thighs as he presses his face to—you reach out and touch his shoulder, giggling when he flinches.

“Bren, I’m cold,” you whisper. There’s a beat of silence between you as Brendon debates what the right answer is here. He’s in a lust fog, and he would love to take you in his arms and keep you warm, which means that’s exactly what he shouldn’t do—so he starts to get up to get another blanket. “Nooooo, you donhave to do that,” you say, tripping over your words in your rush. “Will you just hold me?”

Brendon turns to look at you, wondering briefly if you can read minds. “Are you sure you don’t just want another blanket?” You shake your head and smile at him innocently. He sighs and crawls back into bed, facing you this time. He looks at you carefully, trying to prepare himself. Fuck, he thinks. You look so damn good in his t-shirt, and now he’s going to have you in his arms.

You scoot over, and he holds out an arm; even with the invitation, he’s still surprised when you press yourself flush against him. “Y/n, you are so drunk,” he sighs, feeling the swell of your breasts through the shirt and your bare legs brushing against his sweatpants before you hitch a leg over his waist to press even closer. The smooth skin of your inner thigh slides against his hip, and he groans inwardly, almost choking on his tongue when you rub against him with a low, satisfied sound. Your underwear is so thin; he swears he can feel the heat of your body radiating through the fabric. He wants to die and kiss you and shove his face between your thighs all at the same time. He knows he can’t do any of that.

“Goodnigh’ Bren; I love you,” you mumble, eyes closing as his arm tightens around you; he wills himself to fall asleep after telling you he loves you too. You doze off quickly, but Brendon lays there with you in his arms, replaying the moment you told him you loved him. He knows you meant it in a best friend sort of way, but that knowledge isn’t transmitting fully to his body.

You sigh in your sleep against his bare chest and stroke a hand down his stomach, and Brendon wonders briefly if you can feel his erection pressing against your inner thigh, given the way you've got your leg draped over his waist. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Instinct tells him to let one rest on your thigh, but a voice in the back of his head tells him not to open that can of temptation. It’s going to be a long night, and if your hand wanders any lower, it’s all over for him. He knows it.

-||-

“Ugh,” you groan, burying your face in Brendon’s chest, trying to block out the light. “Too bright.”

“I’ll tell the sun to knock it off,” Brendon murmurs, fatigue evident in his voice, and you laugh. “Any other requests?” You’re about to request bacon, when his fingers trace little circles on the small of your back before dancing idly up and back down your spine. You’ve watched him play guitar, and you’ve always fantasized about what his hands would be like moving over you in a similar fashion. Now you know that his touch is absolutely electrifying.

You’re lost in the ecstasy of his stroking fingertips when it hits you: there’s nothing between his fingers and your back. He’s caressing your bare skin.

You look down—you didn’t really think you were naked, but you’re still relieved to see clothes. Then, you process the fact that you’re in a pair of panties and one of his very thin t-shirts, which his hand is currently under. That, plus you can feel that you’re not wearing a bra, all means you’re deeply aware of how you’re pressed to him. “Fuck, sorry,” you blurt, scooting away from him and rolling onto your back.

“No, I’m sor—I shouldn’t have touched—” Brendon falters, and you shake your head, repeating your apology for clinging to him. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “I intended to sleep on the couch but…you were really drunk and determined to keep me in bed.”

“That does sound on brand for drunk me. Shit, I’m sorry, Bren,” you moan, and he shakes his head. “God, did I—what else did drunk me get me into last night? Did I do anything stupid?”

Knowing yourself, you probably tried to make out with him. Or—fuck, you think, did you try to blow him? Your mind is racing. You can’t trust your drunk persona, which is a large reason why you’re so glad Brendon keeps you in the tipsy zone. You want him so badly. You’d drop to your knees for him if he ever asked, and if you’ve got too much alcohol in your system, you know you’d do it even if he didn’t ask. You wonder briefly if it’s still slut-shaming if you’re talking about yourself, but Brendon brings you back to the present.

“Nothing stupid, besides agreeing to go out with Darren.” You freeze. Brendon looks like he almost regrets it for a moment before he sits up and crosses his arms, defiant.

“Considering I wasn’t drunk when I agreed, I’m going to say that doesn’t actually count as a stupid decision.”

“It’s the mother of all your stupid decisions last night,” Brendon scoffs. “You let him get you drunk, and then he almost wouldn’t let me take you home. He didn’t give a shit about you or how you felt; he just wanted you there to fuck with. Y/n, you cannot go out with him.”

“Wanted me there to fuck with?” You repeat in a low voice, your head pounding. “Is it so hard to believe that he might actually, genuinely like me and want to spend time with me?” You stand on shaking legs and stalk out of the room, not even caring about your state of undress.

Brendon follows you into the living room. “It is hard to believe when he was getting you wasted! He didn’t want to spend time with you—he wanted to get you drunk and away from your friends.”

“Maybe because my friends hover and try to control me! All of you spent last night just watching us. You need to get a life, Brendon; Darren was exactly right—you’re too busy trying to control me!” You wince; you didn’t mean to shout. Brendon’s eyes narrow, and you almost feel bad.

“Yeah, we were all watching. To make sure the guy you hardly knew who was getting you drunk didn’t pull any shit or try to take advantage of you. But sure, it was about control. So, if I was trying to control you by picking you up off the floor when you were too drunk to stand, I’m sorry. If me telling him he absolutely wasn’t about to take you back to his place was trying to control you, I’m sorry. If I was trying to control you by taking you here and making sure you were safe like you requested, I’m sorry.”

You can feel the flush of shame through your whole body; you know he’s right. You’re about to apologize, but Brendon keeps talking. “If I was trying to control you when I held your hair back while you threw up, I’m sorry. If I was trying to control you when I brought you Pedialyte to make sure you were hydrated, I’m so sorry. If I was trying to control you when I held you all night while you slept because you were cold, I’m really fucking sorry, Y/n.”

He’s pissed; you feel sick, and it isn’t hangover-related. You protest that that isn’t what you meant but— “No? Well let’s be perfectly clear: here’s me trying to control you—I don’t want you seeing him again.” You can feel the tension roiling off of his body, and you understand. He’s not pissed; he’s furious. Still, you can’t let his last comment go without an answer.

“I don’t think that’s your choice to make, or your place to voice an opinion,” you snap, and Brendon laughs.

“Really? You really don’t think I get to give my opinion on who you date?”

“No Brendon, I don’t think you do! You’re not my dad!” You’re yelling now, and you know you’ve already lost this argument if you’ve resorted to ‘you’re not my dad’—especially since your dad doesn’t get a vote either. Your head hurts; you just want to go back to his bed and start over. It was so good waking up in his arms, feeling his fingers trace your body. You want to go back to that moment and live in it a bit longer.

Brendon’s eyes are wild, and he tugs at his hair. “You’re goddamn right I’m not your dad. I’m your—” and he stops.

You know exactly what he’s going to say, and it makes you so angry. The anger is coming from so many different places, and you know each is a little irrational, but each is real nonetheless. You’re angry he doesn’t want you the way you want him, you’re angry he makes you feel like he does and then slips back into ‘best friend’ mode, you’re angry that he’s right in this moment, and you’re angry at yourself for letting Darren get so close to taking advantage of you.

“You’re my what?” You lob the words at him like a challenge. “Best friend?” You laugh bitterly. That’s all he’ll ever see himself as in your life. You’ve accepted that, but you don’t have to be happy about it. “Sure. My best friend. But you don’t get to decide who I date! You don’t get to make those calls! Now, if you were actually interested in m—” and you freeze. You’ve gone too far, said too much, and Brendon’s staring at you with wide eyes and a heaving chest.

“If I was—? Y/n, you seriously don’t know that I’m—goddamnit!” He’s collapsed on his couch, his head in his hands, and you’re actually a bit concerned.

“What? What’s wrong?” Your head is spinning and you need to lie down, but you don’t see that happening any time soon. “Brendon, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. You’re my best friend, and I’m so sorry. We’re both tired and—fuck, can we just go back to sleep and—” Brendon looks up at you, and the look in his eyes silences you. You feel pinned to the spot under his gaze, and you remember how he silenced you with one look last night too; you can’t stop the flood of arousal moving through your body. Wordlessly, he stands, crosses the room, and delves a hand into your hair; subconsciously you know what’s coming, so you tilt your head up to meet his rough embrace. You think your brain is going to explode, either with shock or joy—or both.

“What are you—” you manage, even though it’s pretty obvious what he’s doing.

“Shut up,” he tells you in a hoarse voice, the hand not in your hair moving down your back to press you against him. You moan into his mouth, and his fingers flex against your ass, making you rock your hips forward. You gasp his name, wrenching your mouth away from his. You never want to stop, but you also need to hear him say it. You meet his eyes, silently begging.

Brendon is staring at you, breathing hard. “I’m your best friend, but fuck, Y/n, I have loved you since freshman year. Since goddamn freshman orientation at that stupid hellhole of a high school, you’ve been the only woman for me; I love you. I love you so damn much.”

Finally. Fucking finally.

But—his voice is anguished, he’s backing away, and he can barely meet your eyes now. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucki—”

You can’t let him be sorry for this. Can’t let this devolve any further. “Shut up,” you command, crushing your mouth back over his. “Just shut up.” You pull his hair hard, and he grabs your waist, lifting your legs as your tongue tangles with his. “I love you, Brendon. God, I fucking love you too. I want you. Take me back to bed? Please?”

He nods desperately, kissing you deeply. He’s just holding you, and as much as you’re enjoying it, you need him to walk, to get you to bed. “Bed, Brendon,” you plead, and he groans, carrying you back to his bedroom. Once in there, Brendon places you gently on his bed and crawls over you, kissing your lips briefly before working his way down your neck. You’re squirming under him, and he lays flush on top of you, holding you in place with his body weight. He groans your name, and you give his hair a sharp tug. “Have wanted you for so long. Kiss me,” you say softly, wrapping your legs around his waist and bucking up against him. He’s shirtless and in a pair of light gray sweatpants; you can feel his erection straining against the thick material. You’re not sure how far this is about to go, but your whole body is tense with need. “Fuck, Bren—you’re this hard for me?”

He nods, eyes closed and face flushed as his lips move back over yours. You can’t help it; you rock up against him, seeking more pressure. Once your hips move, he takes it as permission for him to move too, and then he’s grinding into you, moaning and gasping against your mouth. His hand in your hair is tugging steadily while his other is squeezing your ass, making you rub back against him. “So fucking hard for you,” Brendon groans in your ear, and you whimper happily. “Y/n, I gotta—I need to ge—I’m sorry—I need like five minutes—God, not even that many probably, and I’ll go to the bathroom—I’ve just wanted you for so long too, and—fuck, you were in my bed last night pressed against me all over me; I couldn’t stop thinking about you—I’m so fucking hard for you, and I don’t want to—while we’re kis—god, I’m so damn into you. Just give me a few minutes; I’ll be right back, I promise.”

“Wait, wait, hang on,” you pant, your head resting in his hand against the pillow. You try to catch your breath while you process everything he just said. You need to be sure you’re understanding him before you make your offer. “Are you asking to go to your bathroom to jerk off, so you don’t come in your pants while we’re making out?”

Brendon stares at you. “That about sums it up, yeah,” he says finally. “God, when you say it like that, I sound like such a—”

“B. You don’t have to go masturbate in your bathroom,” you tell him with a small smile. “I’d actually prefer you didn’t. Since you need to come, I can think of much more enjoyable ways that involve me.”

He looks at you blankly, and you reach down to grab his erection through his sweatpants. “I’ve wanted to suck your cock for the longest time,” you admit. His mouth falls open, and you giggle, pushing on his shoulder to get him flat on his back. “Is that okay? I can blow you, can’t I, Bren?” You pause to evaluate. You’re sober. Hungover, but sober. This isn’t Drunk Y/n just trying to get some dick. This is you and Brendon, finally. Finally.

“Jesus,” he groans and nods, his eyes closing as you curl up between his legs and yank his sweatpants down. “God, yeah, you can—oh shit,” he gasps when you give the tip of his cock a soft kiss before licking over your palm sloppily and wrapping your hand around him. You give him a few short strokes and slide him into your mouth, suckling at the head. “Y/n,” he whispers, stroking your hair. “You’re so damn sexy; your mouth feels so good—”

“You taste good,” you tell him, kissing over his thighs and lower stomach, dragging your tongue along the defined V you’ve always tried to ignore on pool days but usually failed. “I knew you’d taste good.” He groans helplessly and bucks into your hand, whispering about how wonderful you are for doing this for him. “I am pretty wonderful, and I trust you’ll reciprocate at some point,” you tell him, and his eyes flutter closed as he moans happily and nods, already mumbling about how badly he wants to get his tongue in you, how he would’ve started there if he’d thought he’d be able to make you come without losing control and coming too.

“I can be patient,” you tease. “Besides, I’ve got your dick to keep me occupied while I wait. You’ve got such a great cock, Brendon. You’re the perfect length; I can tell you’re gonna fill my cunt just right, and you’re so nice and thick—fuck, it’s gonna feel so good for you when my lips are stretched around you, working hard to get you to come in my mouth.” You keep stroking him before licking up his length and taking the head in your mouth again, sucking eagerly at the slit to collect his pre-cum.

“I should warn you,” you gasp after a moment. “I’m greedy. I want to get all of your cock in my mouth and I want to swallow for you. I don’t like being called a cock or cumslut, but…” you shrug helplessly with a small grin. “I’ve wanted this—you—for so long.”

Brendon groans and promises he would never call you either name and fists your hair, not forcing you down but just holding on for dear life.

You grin to yourself and slide your lips down to take him fully, moaning because you know it’ll feel good for him, but also because his cock in your mouth is so nice. He really is the perfect length; the heavy weight of his cock pressing on your tongue is satisfying as your lips stretch around him. He grunts when you moan around him again, and his hand curls in your hair as he praises you.

You pull back and then take him deeper, gagging a little before breathing carefully, adjusting. The tightening of your throat when you gagged must have felt good, because you can tell he’s fighting hard to not thrust into your mouth. You don’t mind at all if that’s what he needs; you just need to change positions. You let his cock fall from your mouth, and you scramble off of the bed, kneeling beside the edge. “Come here,” you beckon, and he shifts, feet settling on the floor. “Fuck my mouth,” you tell him, hands sliding over his thighs. “I know you want to. Tangle your hands in my hair, slide your cock across my tongue, and fuck my mouth until you come. I’ll swallow, don’t worry.” He groans and you stroke him tenderly, sliding him back between your lips.

He’s reluctant, murmuring something about not wanting to be rough, and you realize you’re going to need to convince him. You meet his eyes and give him your most desperate look; you grip his thighs as you start rocking your head back and forth, relaxing so that when he hits the back of your throat, you don’t gag and the tip of his cock can slip down. “Holy fuck,” Brendon moans, his hips starting to move in short thrusts. Finally.

“Baby, your mouth, your fucking mouth—” he picks up his pace, and you let one of your hands slip down between your legs to rub at your clit. You love knowing he’s getting off on the feeling of your mouth, the sight of you begging for more with your eyes. “Gonna come,” he whispers helplessly after what feels like no time at all, biting his lip briefly. “Wanted this for so long, you’re so fucking hot, I’m gonna come—oh fuck—now, now—fuck! Yes! God!”

And he comes, warm and salty, down your throat. There’s so much of it, and you’re swallowing hard to keep up with him; he’s moaning and fucking your mouth with deep, desperate thrusts through his climax, watching in amazement as his slick cock slides effortlessly between your lips. You’re moaning too—you love how he’s lost control—and gripping his thighs, pressing closer, with your lips at the base of his cock and your nose pressed to his pelvis. You’re trying to focus on swallowing, not gagging or coughing—you don’t want to waste any of his cum, but you can feel smears of it on your chin and around your mouth. When his hips go still and his cock slips from your mouth, he stares down at you in awe.

“Fuck, Y/n,” he says quietly, running a hand through his hair. “You’re incredible.” You’re both breathing hard, and he looks down at you, nipples visibly hard through his t-shirt, your panties dark at your core, hair messy, eyes fully dilated, and his spent cock twitches again. “My god, you are fucking incredible,” he mumbles, falling back on the bed. “Come up here, please, baby.”

You scramble up on the bed and you straddle him, gasping in pleasure as his cock presses against you through your soaked panties. He doesn’t even need to be hard for it to feel good; you could come just from grinding against him like this. “All the way up,” he urges softly. “Gotta get hard again. Need to get you off. I know a way to do both.” You cock your head, curious and hopeful, and he smiles.

“Come sit on my face.”

Fucking finally. You’ve brought yourself to a screaming orgasm by imagining those very words too many times to count. But now, it won’t be your fingers rubbing your clit, your mind piecing together what those words would sound like from him. It’ll just be him. Finally.

“Oh fuck,” you moan, crawling up over him and settling on your knees above him. “Let me take these off,” you murmur, standing on his bed a bit unsteadily as you shove your panties down your legs and kick them off the bed.

“Shit, baby, you are so damn gorgeous. Come here, come sit right on my face,” Brendon groans from under you. He’s already wrapping a hand around his cock, stroking and squeezing. You know he’s not hard again—not yet, not after coming like that—but you love that he’s so desperate to fuck you that he’s trying to get himself to full hardness so quickly. The knowledge sends a pulse of heat through your body; you whimper and feel yourself get even wetter. You need him; you realize he’s staring up at you expectantly.

“Love hearing you call me ‘baby,’” you whisper. “But you know we’ve got to talk about this—about us, right?” You ask, dropping back to your knees as his hands grab your ass.

“We do. But right now, my mouth has a far more important job,” he tells you, licking over you and smiling to himself when you let out a soft moan and settle down onto his tongue. “Ride my tongue,” he says, and it’s a bit muffled, but you do as he says, rocking back and forth, whimpering when he snakes two fingers up inside you and adjusts so his tongue is over your clit. You’re gasping and panting and you tug at your—his—shirt to get it off, hands flying to your nipples as you pinch, squeeze, and roll them between your fingers.

“Fuck, Brendon,” you whine, rocking harder. He nods, tongue rubbing gently over your clit while his fingers inside you curl and press and rub. “Oh fuck,” you groan, hips shifting from small circles to rapid back and forth thrusts. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck—now! Holy shit, now! Fucking—coming! Yes!”

His fingers press firmly as his tongue works over your entrance; you know he’s tasting you from the way he’s moaning and closing his eyes. After a moment, he drops his head back so he can lick his lips and look up at you with longing. “That’s right, play with your tits, tease your nipples, let me watch you drive yourself crazy as you rub your hot, wet cunt all over your man’s face. Come for me again; let me taste you, please,” Brendon practically begs, and you whimper, one hand leaving your chest so you can reach back and grasp his cock. “Shit,” Brendon grunts. “Your hand feels so good, Y/n. Feel how hard I am for you already? Fuck,” he whispers helplessly. “I want you.”

“Make me come once more like this. I’ve wanted you so badly, still want you—want your cock, but need your mouth once more,” you beg, “and then I’ll slide back and ride you until neither of us can take it.” Brendon groans, murmuring how much he loves you and how much he loves you on his face, and then his mouth is moving over you again, fingers thrusting rapidly and tongue lapping insistently.

“Oh Christ,” you whimper. “Oh dear God in heaven; I love you, I love you so much and I’m gonna come from your mouth. Fuck, Brendon, hearing you call yourself my man—finally, fucking finally—makes me fucking wild; fuck yes, lick my clit, eat my pussy, that’s it—eat it, eat it!” You spread your legs wider over his face and rock back and forth; you’re so close.

He flicks his tongue against your clit and spanks you firmly with his free hand; you shriek, your eyes rolling back. You fall apart, bucking over his mouth, and his hands encircle your waist to hold you in place while he licks you over and over again, moaning in pleasure.

“Okay, baby,” he finally sighs, licking his lips. “I’m rock hard for you; if you still want it, you can sink this hot cunt down on my cock.” He gives your ass another sharp slap, and you cry out happily, crawling backwards to sink down onto his length. Finally.

“Oh,” you gasp, shifting to adjust. “I want it. Want you. You feel so good.” You lean forward and kiss him longingly, moaning when you taste yourself on his slick lips. “You’re—god, you feel huge,” you whimper, gripping his shoulders as your hips roll to help your body accommodate him. “Fuck, this is so good; I’m stretched so full from your cock,” you whisper, kissing him again, whimpering a little. Brendon looks worried, and he asks if you’re okay; he’s throbbing inside you, and you just want to ride him hard.

“I’m great,” you say with a breathless laugh. “Fuck, your cock is perfect. I’ve wanted this for so long. Feels so good to just have you inside me. Fucking finally.” You raise your hips and sink back down on his length slowly, both of you moaning. He grabs your hair and pulls your mouth down to his so he can kiss you roughly as your hips rock. “You’re—damn, Brendon, I can feel every inch of you.”

“Yeah? Your pussy is so hot and wet and slick and tight, Y/n, I may not last long.”

“I’m gonna make sure you do,” you counter with a smile. “We’re gonna make this first time last.” You concentrate on the pulsing of his cock inside you, and you find a good rhythm, sliding up gently before grinding down. His breath catches, and his hands fly to your waist; you grin, pausing in your upwards movement, so just the tip of his cock is in you. “Don’t come,” you tell him breathlessly. “Do not come.”

He nods, shuddering in pleasure under you, and you hold your breath to stay still. His breathing evens out, and you sink back down onto him firmly. “That’s my man, not coming in me yet,” you murmur, and he groans, grabbing your ass. You repeat this torture several times, watching him longingly. “Hang on for me. Don’t come. I haven’t come yet either, but I promise I’ll let you come in me,” you tell him, and he nods, reaching up to touch your breasts.

“So beautiful,” he sighs, and you feel his dick throb inside you. You smack his hand away lightly, grinning when he groans. “I wasn’t gonna come yet,” he protests, and you shrug.

“Just making sure,” you say softly, grinding slowly. “We’re getting close though, I can tell. We’re both gonna need to come soon, yeah?” Brendon moans his agreement, watching you roll in his lap on his cock. You’re both lost in the other’s eyes, panting and praising each other, when your phone rings. Brendon gropes for it on the bedside table and passes it to you.

You’re about to tell him to ignore it when you glance at the caller ID. “It’s Darren,” you manage, passing the phone back to him, and Brendon’s eyes light up.

“I’m gonna answer,” Brendon groans. “Is that okay?” You laugh and shrug, because you assume he’s kidding. However, no sooner have you shrugged than Brendon’s thumb is sliding across the phone screen to pick up. “Good morning Darren,” Brendon says in a rough, obviously sex-fueled voice. “Yeah, she spent the night. How is Y/n feeling?” He repeats the question for your benefit as his hips snap up and press the head of his cock right to your G-spot.

“Brendon,” you hiss, a little horrified but mostly amused. You know you could tell him to hang up and he would, but you’re actually interested in seeing how this will play out. You have always loved when he’s protective and possessive of you. So, instead of telling him to hang up, you cry out in pleasure while Brendon, with his free hand, rubs at your clit. “Oh Brendon, yes, touch me right there,” you whine; you’ve realized suddenly that you don’t care if Darren hears. There’s actually a part of you that wants him to hear, just so he’ll fully understand that you’re not even a little bit available.

“She feels…tight and hot and wet and slick and fucking perfect on my cock,” Brendon says clearly into the phone. “But I knew she had a phenomenal cunt even before I got my dick in her; you see, I ate this perfect woman’s gorgeous pussy for breakfast earlier. I got her coming all over my face and tongue, and she tastes so damn sweet.”

You moan and ride him harder, gripping his shoulders and bouncing urgently. You want to come all over him while Darren listens. You’ve never been into exhibitionism before, but something about Brendon’s cock deep in you and the way he’s bragging about how good you feel on him and how much he loved tasting you makes you want to show off even more.

“But that’s just physically,” Brendon manages. Oh, I shouldn’t forget—her mouth is phenomenal too; it was so damn good, seeing her perfect mouth full of my cock, having her fucking beg to swallow for me—But if her whimpering of my name or the way she keeps kissing me now is any indication, she’s feeling emotionally pretty good too.” Hell yes you are, and you groan this in the background. Brendon laughs breathlessly; he hangs up and drops your phone off to his side.

“That was not nice,” you say with a short laugh, gripping his shoulders and riding him harder. “Hilarious, and unexpectedly hot as hell, having you brag about the ways we’re fucking, but not nice. What if he calls back?”

“Let him,” Brendon counters. “What will we let him hear next? He thinks I try to control you? Maybe we let him hear me fuck you hard from behind. Would you like that?” You nod desperately, and Brendon groans. “Let’s make him understand what happens when I’m really in control. I’ll get you on your hands and knees, pull you back so I can fill you up with my thick cock and fuck you hard; I’ll pull your hair, smack your ass, and rub your clit til you’re screaming my name, begging me to take you even harder, begging me to let you come on my cock. Let him call back; I want him to hear us—want him to hear the moment we fucking ruin these sheets.”

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, biting at his shoulder. “God, that sounds so good.” Brendon chuckles and tugs at your hair playfully.

“Which part? Stupid Darren hearing me fuck you, or how I plan to fuck you?”

“Mostly your plan, but both, honestly,” you tell him, blushing. “Want people to hear us. Want people to know I’m yours.”

“God, Y/n,” Brendon says breathlessly, “you are mine, aren’t you?” You grin and shrug, biting your lip. “Don’t fucking tease me,” he warns with a small smile, and you giggle. “Okay, you asked for it.”

He lifts you off of him and flips you over with ease, crawling behind you and smacking your ass hard as he rocks into you. “Oh fuck yes!” You yelp, and he bites your shoulder and pulls your hair; he dips his head down to ask if this is okay, if you want to be fucked like this. “Brendon, yes—shit, just like this, fuck me like this; oh god!”

“Whose are you?” His voice is low and tight and his hips are slamming into you from behind. “Say it. Say my name.”

“I’m yours,” you moan loudly, dropping your face into the pillow. He grabs your hair and guides your head up, telling you to let him hear you. “I’m yours, I’m yours, Brendon; fuck, I’m all yours,” you chant, rocking back against him.

“Damn right,” he says with a short laugh. “Mine. Say my name.”

“Brendon,” you moan. “Oh god, Brendon, fuck me, fuck my pussy, fuck my wet cunt; I’m all yours.”

You’re beginning to think Darren’s not going to call back, but you do want him to hear this—so you decide to take matters into your own hands. You reach for your phone as Brendon fucks you desperately, clicking Darren’s name on the call list and letting the phone drop next to your pillow. “I’m yours, Brendon, I’m all yours.”

He glances down, sees the call connect, and laughs appreciatively. You’re moaning and whimpering and thrusting back against him hard, gasping as his cock fills you. “Mine, finally,” he murmurs, pulling your hair.

“Yours,” you agree. “Fuck, Brendon, I’m finally yours. Fuck me good, take me from behind, make me come. You’re gonna make me come all over your thick cock; shit, I’m gonna lose control, can’t take it, gotta—oh fuck, Brendon!” He grunts in your ear that you’re going to come, and you let out a shrill moan when his two fingers find your clit. “Yes,” you shriek, hips spasming as you come hard. “Yes, play with my clit, fuck me! Brendon, yes, yes, yes!”

“You feel so good on my cock,” Brendon manages. “I’m gonna come. Can I come in you? Know you said I could, but need to hear it—can I come in you, give you all my cum?”

“Please,” you moan, fingers tangled in his sheets as he pounds into you relentlessly. “Please, claim me, take me, come in me, come in my hot, wet cunt. Give me your cum; I want it all.”

He comes with a sharp moan, his hips losing their rhythm as his cock throbs and pulses inside of you. “Oh fuck,” Brendon groans when he thrusts toward once more. “God, I fucking love coming in you.”

He pulls out of you and falls onto his back, reaching for you. “Come here, my love.” You roll over, squeezing your thighs together, and burrow your face in his chest. He pulls you firmly against him and kisses the top of your head. “So…you know you can’t go on a date with Darren tonight, right?” He grins at you as you both brush the other’s sweat-dampened hair out of each other’s eyes.

“Yeah,” you agree, giggling.

“And why is that?” Brendon asks, raising an eyebrow.

You’re still laughing when you pull him in for a long kiss. “Because,” you murmur against his lips, “my super controlling boyfriend that I’m wildly in love with said so.” You grin, and he smacks your ass, laughing. “Because I’m fucking finally yours.”

“Damn right. Finally.” His lips capture yours again and you fumble with the phone, hanging up.

[sulky-valkyrie]

HI SULKY here's a prompt, happy friday, pls for some anders/tabris/nat or some permutation thereof: “ hey, how badly are you hurt? can you move? you think you can walk? “

haaaaaaaai Jay💜 have some of my best feral girl trying very hard not to be! for @dadrunkwriting

Tabris was in the stables brushing Ohgren’s pony when she heard the crash.  Concerning, but probably nothing.  The gates had been mangled so badly in the siege that even dismantling them was a loud and destructive process, and while each clatter or thud always made her jump, she was learning to ignore them instead of running down to the courtyard with blades in hand.

Aeducan whinnied and tried to eat her hair as she rubbed down his front legs, and she bonked his nose gently.  “Stop it or no sugar lumps.”  

Whether it was the threat or the thump, she didn’t know, but Aeducan stopped.  He didn’t settle down, though, and kept shifting nervously.  The tension started to make Tabris’ skin crawl and her ears twitch.  Come to think of it, the sounds of construction had stopped.  In fact, the whole keep was too quiet.  She tossed the brushes in their basket and hurried out with weapons drawn, and damn how foolish it might make her look.

The eerie silence felt louder now.  Not good.  The gates were the most likely source of the racket, so starting there was her best bet.  As she rounded the last row of outbuildings, her heart jumped in her throat.  Half the keep was in the courtyard, and in the middle of it, clearly pulled out from under some of the rubble, was Anders.  Lying on the ground.  Not moving.

Visions of Alistair’s body flashed before her eyes. The blades fell from her hands as she broke into a sprint.  No, no, no, no, no, not again.

She plowed through the crowd, pushing people away and knocking them down before crouching down by his side.  He was still breathing, at least, but his leg didn’t look right and when she stroked his hair, she could feel a lump.  “What happened?” she demanded.  “Someone get Velanna, now!”

“Already done, Commander,” someone said.  

A hand touched her shoulder and she snarled, whirling to snap at it.  “Don’t go bitin’ nothin’ off,” Oghren chuckled.  “Never hear the end of it from Felsi if I lose my magic touch.”

She shrugged him off and turned back to Anders.  “Fix it or fuck off,” she whispered.

“You think I came down here to gawk?” Something hard and cold tapped her ear.  “Give him this shit.”

Tabris scowled up at him.  “What is it?”

“Some leftovers from that dumb broad who ate the wrong mushrooms down in Orzammar.  Might not fix the leg, but it’ll wake him up.” He gave her a sloppy salute.  “Warden’s honor.”

Right, Lady Brodens.  The twit who’d managed to get herself poisoned while the Harrowmonts and Aeducans were brawling in the streets.  She grabbed the vial and tilted Anders’ head up to dribble a bit into his mouth.  He swallowed reflexively, and she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.  Slow and steady, don’t force it.

She did a few drops at a time, making sure he swallowed instead of inhaled, then repeated it, over and over.  It felt like it took hours to get even a quarter of the potion into him, but she didn’t dare move him more than she already had until someone made sure his neck wasn’t damaged.  Whether that was Velanna - where the fuck was she? - or Anders himself, she didn’t care.  

Her legs were numb when he started to stir.  First he started licking his lips, then his eyes started to flutter.  She didn’t try to speed up the process or give him more, no matter how much she wanted to.  “Anders?” she asked softly.

He mumbled something unintelligible and tried to shake his head, whimpering when she held him still.  Her heart hurt watching it; restraints and hair pulling had been a recurring nightmare for as long as they’d been sleeping together, and the fact that she was putting him through it deliberately, regardless of the necessity, made her feel like a monster.

“It’s me, Anders,” she tried again.  “It’s Tabris.  You’re o- you’re safe,” she murmured.  “Something happened with the gate, you’re not in the Circle.”

He coughed weakly and finally opened his eyes.  “Not the way I wanted to spend time in your lap.”

She bent down to kiss his forehead.  “How badly are you hurt? Can you walk?  Can you move at all?”

He blinked a few times as he considered the question, then held up his hand.  It trembled slightly, but he was definitely moving it on his own power.  “Yes to the last one.”  He waved it gingerly, and a soft blue-green glow started to creep from his fingers to his wrist, then the rest of his arm, disappearing into his sleeve.  She felt a faint tingle as it continued to spread through his body.  “Some bruises, no concussion.  Leg’s broken too,” he muttered, then winced.  “Ugh, compound fracture.”

“Anything else?” Tabris asked.  As if that weren’t enough.

He pushed himself up slowly.  “Maker, I hope not.  Is Ria okay?”

“Who?”  Tabris scooted forward to keep supporting him as he reached for his leg, hand already lit up with more magic.

He chuckled quietly as he rested his head on her shoulder.  “You really are terrible with names, aren’t you?”

Tabris shrugged.  No use denying it.  “What’d she do?”

“Senna’s niece.”  He hissed as something in his leg clicked back into place audibly.  “They came from Highever.  She was chasing some birds and the granite slipped from the harness and -” he stopped.  “There wasn’t time to cast anything and I couldn’t just let it happen, love,” he said apologetically.

She kissed his forehead gently.  “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

[jimilter]

pina coladas are for wusses | m.yg. | drabble

pairing:  yoongi x reader (ft. brother!jungkook)

rating:  pg-15

genre:  humor | fluff | brush of angst | brother's best friend!au

summary:  

“I might punch you just to prove that I’m not a wuss,” you say, stroking your chin with a finger while your eyes seem to size him up.

Yoongi chuckles. “Stop going cross-eyed at the sight of Pina Coladas, and I’ll reconsider.”

“They’re not a cowardly drink! They have rum in them!”

“Yeah, but they also have coconut cream in them. Sounds kinda wussy to me.”

warnings:  swearing + alcohol consumption + talks of lingerie + talks of pictures in lingerie + suggestive words and conversations

word count:  1.3 k

note:  checking off a box on my @bangtanwritingbingo card with this one! i was gonna wait longer to post this, but i got impatient asjhdasdjh hope y'all like this one~ 🥺💜

— masterlist

— feedback is always appreciated!

Yoongi smirks at you when you greedily grab the glass of drink he offers. “I see you’re still a wuss.” 

You don't react much to his presence, your eyes only momentarily widening before they zero in on the cocktail glass in his hand. He doesn't know why he expected anything but your cool demeanor when he knows how well you can always handle yourself.

You do react to his words, though, and your gasp of outrage is music to his ears. 

“No, I’m not! Pina Coladas are just…yummy.”

You petulantly stick your lower lip out in a pout, and he almost wants to rephrase and call you a kid instead. But he knows how feisty you are and so holds that one back because he doesn’t have a death wish. Nevermind the fact that you actually are like a kid, four years younger than him and his baby friend’s twin. Despite whatever drunk texting you two had gotten to, three weeks ago, that fact is unchanged. And is also the reason why he has been ghosting you ever since.

As if summoned by his thoughts alone, Jungkook slides up next to you, resting his elbows at the bar as he peers down to look at your face. “You okay, bub?”

“Yes.” You roll your eyes. “I’m the same age as you, JK, stop being annoying.”

“What’re you drinking?” Jungkook continues to investigate, and in the process of leaning into your glass, his eyes meet Yoongi’s. “Hyung! Hey, I — I didn’t know you were with her. You don’t have to babysit this brat, she’ll be okay. She knows Taekwondo.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows hike up. “Does she?” he squints at your hands, trying to picture you in a combat pose with those tiny fingers of yours rolled into a fist. “She’s got dainty hands.”

“Yes, she does, Min!” you snap at him, scowling so fiercely he’s almost endeared. “And these tiny hands pack a mean punch, too!”

Yoongi leans away, raising both his palms up in surrender. You scoff and turn back to your drink. 

“Please don’t punch my hyung, tiger,” Jungkook laughs, patting your head before bounding off with his refill in hand.

“I might punch you just to prove that I’m not a wuss,” you say, stroking your chin with a finger while your eyes seem to size him up.

Yoongi chuckles. “Stop going cross-eyed at the sight of Pina Coladas, and I’ll reconsider.”

“They’re not a cowardly drink! They have rum in them!”

“Yeah, but they also have coconut cream in them. Sounds kinda wussy to me.”

Your left eye twitches. “Have you ever even tasted one?”

“I’m not a wuss, so obviously not. Don’t really want to, either.”

You scoff so hard he fears you’ve broken your neck, and then pull out your phone to busy yourself. 

After being ignored for more than a couple of minutes, Yoongi looks around the club, bringing own glass of Jack Daniels up to his lips. The bitter liquid stings as it rolls down his throat. He tries to look for the others, but comes up empty. Frowning, he turns back to look at you. “Hey, where’s every…one…”

He trails off when he finds you already looking at him. Your eyes are wide and your lips look bitten. 

He clears his throat, alarmed at the emotions that swirl in his stomach at the sight. “Where — where—”

“Why didn’t you text me back?”

Yoongi freezes.

“I — I was really nervous, but… but I decided to take the leap, and… and then you didn’t text me back…”

Yoongi exhales, deflating as he slumps in his barstool. He swipes a hand over his face.

This is what he was fearing. This is why he almost didn’t want to come up to sit with you. But this gorgeous, royal purple, backless dress that you wear sticks to your body like second skin and has been attracting a lot of attention. After the fourth guy that offered to buy you a drink, Yoongi couldn’t hold himself back.

And so he left his group of friends that had come to meet your brother and his new group of college friends — not even aware of the fact that you’d come along with Jungkook — and approached you with a glass of your beloved Pina Colada.

"Why didn't you delete it? I had asked you to," he counters, intently staring down into his glass of amber liquid to stop himself from recalling the delicate, black lace that was wrapped around the perfect globes of your breasts—

He curses under his breath. Too late.

"Because I didn't want to." You tilt your chin up at him, stubborn as ever. "Why didn't you reply?"

Yoongi's eyes drop to your cherry red lips, and he loses his train of thoughts for a second. He blinks hard to center himself, exhaling as he shakes his head. "Because I didn't want to," he half lies.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Bullshit. I’ve seen the way you look at me, Yoongi. The way your eyes always seem to wander from mine. I’m younger, not stupid.”

Yoongi blinks at you, eyes slightly widened at the blatant call out.

“What are you afraid of? Jungkook?” you scoff.

Yoongi fidgets with his hands, and you scoff louder. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Min Yoongi, I’m a grown up woman who can make my own decisions. My brother wouldn’t — and shouldn't — make decisions about my dating life.”

Yoongi looks at you with his lips parted in surprise. “I…”

You hop off your seat and slot yourself between his thighs. Your collarbones are ornamented by a delicate, silver chain with a pearl hanging low from it, which draws his eyes straight to your cleavage. 

He swallows.

“Did you like that piece?” you whisper, suddenly all too close and in his space, and he feels heady.

“What?”

“That lacy number. Did you like it?”

Yoongi hesitates for a millisecond, but when you lick at your upper lip, he nods like a dummy.

“Good. Wanna see it again?”

Yoongi’s breath hitches. “Babe—”

“Might even touch it, this time,” you murmur, tugging your neckline to a side a little.

“Fucking hell,” he gasps, recognizing the lacy pattern he has spent weeks fantasizing about.

“Your turn to make the leap, Yoongi. Please. For me.” You look at him with your eyes wide, and you look so innocent that he—

He wants to corrupt you.

He lunges in to capture your cherry lips in a bruising kiss, public be damned. You whimper against him and open your mouth. You are as soft and warm as he imagined, and you taste like pineapples. He loves this taste. He could get used to it. In fact, he’s already addicted—

You pull back with a grimace. “What the hell is that taste?” you breathe against his mouth.

“Uh, whisky?” he mumbles, dazed and confused.

“You’re vile!” You blindly reach backwards to grab your glass and bring it to his lips. “Here, have this.”

He raises an amused eyebrow. “Pina Coladas are for wusses.”

“Yes, and you are one too if someone like Jeon Jungkook threatens you enough to not go after the girl you want.” You raise a challenging eyebrow, and he really just wants to rail you against this very bar counter.

“Touché,” is what he says as he takes a sip, and then groans, because—

It tastes like your mouth.

And maybe it is the opposite, but he tasted your lips before he tasted the drink, and so Pina Coladas would always taste like your mouth to him, now.

“Like it?” You look at him with a teasing smile. “Doesn’t taste so wussy, does it?”

He grunts in annoyance before pulling you into his arms as he kisses you again.

No, it doesn’t taste like wusses. It tastes like you and it tastes like the courage it took for you to take a leap of faith for him, twice.

He’s gotta start drinking some of these Pina Coladas, too.

tagging: @shrimpmsg​

note:  the prompt was “pina coladas” in case you couldn’t tell, lmao! a smidgen of inspiration drawn from Lucifer’s Amenadiel’s: “cosmos are yummy.”

© jimilter | 2021

[inkandmoonbeams]

Hello!! Do I see prompt requests! How about this: BOTW Zelda saving Link, whether it’s in combat, politically or he’s just about to step off a cliff.

Hello Braidy! 💜 🥰 Thank you so much for this prompt! I lovelovelove the Zelink dynamic in BOTW so this was really fun to write (and I'm sorry it took me forever to finish it!)

Big thanks to @silentprincess17, @zeldaelmo, @zeldadiarist for reviewing this piece and offering suggestions! @braidy-maidy, thank you specifically for the mushroom idea (dsaifhds I was not specific when I asked for help so you ended up helping with your own prompt, it's fine 😅). You were all a hugehuge help and I love you all! Full fic is under the cut.  💜

Link was never sure what to expect from Zelda’s research.

There was always something new to discover; something to test or tinker with. The princess often helped Purah program Guardians, and her study was littered with spare gears and springs. Sometimes, Zelda ventured to a new shrine or practiced using the Sheikah Slate’s runes (her favorite was Stasis–something about how it could store kinetic energy. Link just thought stopping time looked like fun). A few weeks ago, she had started studying a flower called the Silent Princess. Her evenings were usually spent huddled at her desk, reading about its medicinal properties and experimenting with various breeding methods. She said she was determined to grow the Silent Princess in captivity.

Today, she wanted to head to the Great Plateau.

“You will not need to accompany me,” Zelda informed him. “It’s not far, and you’ll just be in the way of my research.”

She always said this.

And, as always, Link still came along, ignoring the glares she threw his way.

The glares were nothing new; after all, she wasn’t exactly happy with the fact that he was her appointed knight. Link had taken away her last scraps of independence, and reminded her of all the powers she could not unlock. She had every right to hate him. And knowing she probably did—well, it didn’t hurt as much as it used to.

But he missed catching a glimpse of her smile every now and then.

They walked along the plateau in near silence. Occasionally, Zelda held up her Slate to take photos or consult the map, muttering to herself as she tapped the screen. Link’s mouth twitched, and he had to force down a smile. She was just so cute—so focused and determined and unashamedly intelligent.

Not that he was allowed to think about Zelda in that way. She was a princess, and he was her knight, but this was no fairy tale. This was his job. End of story.

Plus, there was the whole thing where she hated him.

Eventually, Zelda found an area she deemed worthy for conducting research. There was a shrine a few yards away, and she snapped a few pictures before returning her full attention to the Slate. Then, she started pacing, venturing farther and farther until she stopped and did it all over again. Link leaned against the trunk of a tree as he watched her work.

“Princess?” he finally asked.

“Yes?”

“What exactly are you looking for?”

“I want to test out the Slate’s Sheikah Sensor,” Zelda explained. She fiddled with the Slate again and frowned. “It should be able to help us find more shrines. Purah says the Slate might be able to find other objects, too. For example, if I take a photo of a Hylian Herb, the Slate could catalog it, and then I could use the Sensor to find more. It has incredible potential.”

“Oh. Can I help?”

“No.”

Well. He tried.

Link sighed and scanned their surrounding area. He had grown to love the Great Plateau, with its views of Hyrule castle and the Temple of Time. It was familiar—a comforting sort of quiet during their otherwise hectic adventures. Zelda continued her pacing, and Link counted three glowing shrines in the distance. Birds flew overhead. A cluster of bright white mushrooms grew near his feet.

He didn’t recognize the species—they were shaped differently than truffles, and were too white to be Silent Shrooms—but maybe he could try one and come up with a few recipes for later. They looked tasty enough, and he had a feeling they’d be there for a while. He cocked his head and knelt to pick one.

And then—

“Link! Don’t eat that!”

He had barely gotten back to his feet when Zelda rushed towards him and smacked the mushroom out of his hand.

She smacked him hard, too.

“Hey! What—”

Link’s eyes followed the mushroom as it sailed down to the ground. “I wanted to eat that.”

Zelda huffed. “No, you didn’t. That’s a Skullshroom. It’s poisonous.”

Her voice was almost a snarl. She looked more agitated than relieved, as though he should have known that this area of Hyrule was full of dubious foods.

In Link’s defense, they couldn’t all be scholars.

For a moment, he could only stare at her in shock. His eyes darted from Zelda to the discarded mushroom and back again.

Poisonous. He really almost ate something poisonous. Who knows what would have happened if it weren’t for Zelda?

“Thank you,” Link finally said, still trying to process the fact that Zelda, of all people, had stopped him.

Zelda rolled her eyes. “You have nothing to thank me for. I only did what anyone else would do. Besides, It’s only deadly if your illness goes untreated, and the royal medics are more than capable of handling it.”

“I think that still warrants a thank you.”

“Fine,” Zelda said haughtily. She brushed dirt off her pants and sighed. “You’re welcome.”

And with that, Zelda returned to her Slate as though nothing had happened.

Goddess, she was stubborn. Link shook his head in disbelief and returned to his post, taking care to hide his grin.

Because she could have let him eat the mushroom. She could have let him get sick and enjoyed the rest of the day alone. Instead, she had smacked the danger right out of his hand.

Maybe she did care about him.

Just a bit.

[toru-oikawas-milkbread]

Omg I’m def ignoring my anatomy and physiology lab to send this but your headcannons are open! So this is more important clearly lol. I wanna ask for Mattsun because I’ve already declared my love for him to you in other asks. Honestly what ever comes to your mind I love everything you write you’re extremely talented. Hope you’re having a good day Kasey💜

Oh yes, daddy Matsukawa is always more important than work 😳 thank you, that’s so sweet 😭 I’m so happy you enjoy my writing. I really hope that you enjoy this as well!! I love to write for Matsukawa 🤤💙

So for this, I went with some soft headcanons! And ended it with a couple NSFW headcanons as well.

To start off, Matsukawa is a big cuddler, but he loves it when you curl into him. He really enjoys weekend nights where the two of you will get takeout and snuggle up on the sofa, eating with you sitting between his legs, your back pressed snugly to his chest, maybe a blanket over the two of you if it’s chilly, otherwise his arms around you and hands innocently resting on your thighs or lower stomach is enough to keep you warm with him. He often rests his head on yours and presses a few kisses to your head like this.

When you can’t sleep, he doesn’t mind it if you wake him up. He would talk to you for awhile, sit with you on the sofa and stargaze out of the window if it was dark enough where you lived or cuddle with you. Sometimes you wake up because of a nightmare, you’re stressed and have a lot on your mind, or you just can’t seem to find the exhaustion. Whatever you want to do, he’s more than willing and would let you lay on top of him and massage your back if it would soothe you. He may fall asleep mid-sentence a few times or end up falling asleep with you on top of him, but he does help you soothe your mind before he falls asleep.

Matsukawa is a very teasing boyfriend. He loves to playfully poke fun at you. He’s never mean, he knows the line and stays far from it, and if he hurts your feelings he will apologize, however there’s always fun-loving teasing between the two of you. He treats you sort of like Makki— you are one of his best friends, however he’s much nicer to you. He loves to make you laugh, playfully feigning offense when you tease him back. In fact, he loves it when you play along with his teasings and don’t take things too personally. Additionally, he’s the kind of boyfriend who teases you and pokes fun at you all day, but is immediately offended if you won’t cuddle with him when you’re home.

He loves pets, but since he often works long hours, if you had a busy working schedule as well, the pet that would work best is either a rodent, fish or a cat. He adores dogs, but wouldn’t want one because of how busy he is and wouldn’t have enough time for them. But if you two got a cat, he loves that cat. You often walk out of the shower on weekend afternoons and find him snoozing on the sofa with the cat on top of his chest, snuggled into him or gently kneading at his chest. It’s such a sweet sight you have to snap a quick photo.

Matsukawa is a warm blooded man. His hands are always warm, so if you have cold hands or it’s freezing outside, he’s more than willing to hold your hands in his. Matsukawa’s hands are very large and he can easily hold them both in one if he’s holding a warm coffee in the other. However, because he’s naturally often warm, he doesn’t end up sleeping with a lot of blankets and may push them off of you both in the middle of the night and leave you clinging to him for warmth, especially if you’re typically cold. Sometimes the blankets end up getting pushed onto you and you may wake up sweating in the middle of the night when you’re very hot (look-wise and body temperature-wise) boyfriend is laying on top of you and all of the blankets are on you as well.

In the summertime, he has some allergies and typically ends up sneezing a lot, so you have to be careful with opening windows, keeping things dusted and clean as well as making sure your cat doesn’t shed everywhere. However, he’s a trooper and even on his worst days, he doesn’t seclude himself from things he knows will make his allergies flare up. He still goes on walks with you if you ask and will not leave the household chores on only you just because he’s sniffly.

Now, onto more NSFW things… 😏

Of course, Matsukawa is big. You always knew he was going to be, but what gets you is how good he is with it. Some men don’t know what to do with their size— he does. In fact, he’s the best you’ve ever had and has you coming back to him for more every time. The way he stretches you out and presses deep inside of you leaves you feeling so good you’re certain nobody else could ever make you feel this way. Adding on your love for each other only makes the sex that much better while he kisses your neck and puts you in blissful positions.

Matsukawa is a big tease. Edging you to hear you whine in complaint, verbally teasing you about how you can hardly fit all of him in your mouth or inside of you. He likes to embarrass you, to make you flush and avoid eye contact with him. One way he does that is ironically with intense eye contact whether it be while he’s pushing deep inside of you or it be while he’s between your legs, often reaching up to hold your cheek and force you to look at him or completely stopping until you meet his eyes. He can wait all day.

He’s a messy man in bed. He tosses your clothes off carelessly, the bed spread is always kicked aside, the sheets bunched up and a mess, pillows tossed around and pushed quickly out of the way. Most of all, messes that he makes with you and how he makes you squirt until you’ve soaked the bed. There have been occasions where even after a nice shower where the two of you take your time and possibly a snack the mattress was still wet and needed a hairdryer to be brought to it as you flush and he teases you for making such a mess— one he only intensified and told you to make in the moment.

He isn’t a big fan of listening to music while having sex. In fact, Matsukawa is the kind of guy who would make fun of people for “Making love to music,” however if there’s someone else in the house and things need to be a bit more muffled or if there’s already music on in the background, he can tolerate it. In fact, the music is the last thing that he’s listening to when he’s trying to make you whine and squirm for him.

[milkytheholy1]

Headcannons of doing a mental health day with the turtles since their s/o notices they need a day off?Like their s/o gets them their favorite snacks and different kinds of face masks to try & putting on their favorite movie or show.

(Saw this face mask and thought of leo wearing one after seeing it )

HC: 

A/N: set in the Rise-verse!

Raph: ❤️

This boy might act all tough but he secretly loves things like facemasks and all things spa related.

When you first offer the thought of doing a mental health day, he put up a bad-boy front much like his other brothers, but on the inside?

The snapping turtle is going crazy!

He'll wait for his brothers to leave before he gushes about all the different types of facemasks you brought with you.

"Is that one cucumber scented? Ooooh, lavender-"

Has trouble choosing which one he wants to do but finally gets down to three options.

You'll help put the mask on, smiling when he can't control his laughter.

In his words, "It tickles."

You'll be sat in the projector room watching movies all day and munching on your favourite snacks; mainly consists of pizza.

He'd be a little upset when it comes time to wipe the thing off, but oh boy! Can he not stop touching his face.

Even Mikey slaps his hand against it.

All in all, he can't wait for you to do it again next weekend, and the weekend after that, and the weekend after that, and the weekend after that...

Leo: 💙

Similar to Raph, Leo is a little apprehensive about putting on facemasks.

"What if I'm allergic?"

"Then we'll wash it off."

Unlike Raph, Leo is a little harder to convince.

"I don't know, can't we just eat the pizza and watch the show?"

"Wha- no! If you want the pizza and show then you have to wear the mask."

"(Y/NNNNNN)"

When you show him the array of masks, his eyes briefly scan each one.

Even though Leo likes a good pedicure, hell maybe even a mud bath, he draws the lines at facials.

Putting icky slime on his face? No thanks, he already lives in the sewers.

But then his eyes land on the gleam of the unicorn mask and it's all over then.

"You want the unicorn one?"

"Well duh, it's the only cool one you've got!"

Will definitely show off his face, even though appearance-wise nothing has changed.

Doesn't hate facemasks as much as he admits he does.

Donnie: 💜

Is the only turtle not remotely interested in the whole 'mental health day' thing.

He'd much rather sit in his lab all day and work, which is exactly what he did.

As the hours' role by, you go check on the soft-shell turtle to see if he's had any breakthroughs.

However, when you see him bent over his table, black soot covering him from head to toe, you know it's time for some relaxation. 

He'll argue, say that Sheldon needs some updates or the kitchen tap is leaky and he needs to fix it.

But you simply ignore him, grab a wipe and start cleaning his face.

He doesn't get to choose his mask cause he's too busy squirming around in his chair.

He's cringing when you apply the goop, but you start to ask him all the things that are in facemasks and he soon becomes distracted.

Doesn't even realise he's been wearing it for over an hour until you announce it's time to wipe them off.

Maybe mental health day and facemasks weren't so bad after all.

Still wouldn't do it willingly though.

Mikey: 🧡

This box-shell turtle is so excited he can't contain his joy.

You're pretty certain you saw him foaming at the mouth at one point.

Goes for the mask that, in his words, "Explodes on your face!"

He'll apply your mask, his fingers delicately painting it onto your cheeks.

Tells you it feels like fingerpainting, but for adults.

He can't help but laugh when you apply his, he feels like his whole body is tingling.

And then you bring out the pizza and this boy has LOST IT.

You know in cartoons when the character starts bouncing off of the walls? Well instead of Tom the cat or Daffy Duck, it's Mikey.

Doesn't want to take his mask off, in fact, you start playing a one-sided game of hide 'n' seek to find him.

Once you do find him, he's going straight to the bathroom to wash his mask off.

"My skin feels as fresh as a baby!"

"I don't think that's the...exact saying."

[specialagentlokitty]

Castle x reader - there for you

Hi please could I request a Castle x self harm reader? If not that's okay thank you :) - Anon 💜

TW: mentions of Self Harm

Castle may not have been a detective, but he was just as good as one.

He knew you well enough at this point to know that you loved wearing hoodies, you never took them off, you enjoyed how big they were, and how they kept you warm on long shifts.

That wasn’t what worried him.

What worried him was the fact that you were pulling away from everybody, and nobody seemed to notice.

Not only did it worry him, it bothered him.

He stood in the break room, watching you at your desk just quietly working away.

“Does (Y/N) seem off to you?” He asked.

Beckett looked around the doorway, studying you for a moment before shrugging.

“Not really no. Why?”

“Come on, they’re sat at their desk, and have been for an hour. That’s not like them.”

“Some people actually have work to do castle, (Y/N) prefers doing all non urgent paperwork on a slow day. You know this.”

She wondered away, but he sat there still watching you.

After a moment, Castle made his way over, taking a seat in front of you, and you didn’t even seem to notice it even care that he had.

“What’re you doing?” He asked.

“Paperwork Castle.”

He hummed a little, nodding his head.

“So… nothing important. Great. Come with me?”

You looked at him this time, a bored look on your face as you set your pen down.

“Why?”

“Because I asked and you can’t say no.” He grinned.

“I’m busy.” You snapped.

He blinked in shock, never had you snapped at him.

Sometimes you had been annoyed with him, in which case you always ignored him when you were annoyed, but you hadn’t even snapped.

He furrowed his brows a little.

“Castle go away.” You snapped again.

A few people turned to look and he raised his hands.

“Alright, okay. I’m going. But if you want to talk you can talk to me, I just want you to know that.”

He got up and left and you went back to what you were doing.

You did feel bad for being rude to him, you weren’t usually a rude person, but you didn’t have the patience for anyone or anything today.

You didn’t even want to be there but you had to be.

You just wanted to go back home, you wanted to curl back up in bed and stay there, but you didn’t want anybody to know how you were feeling.

They may be detectives, but since meeting them this was a part of yourself they had never seen and didn’t even know existed.

And in a way it made it easier, because you didn’t have to confront it, but it made it harder at the same time because you had no support, and you felt alone, but you didn’t want to bring it up to them.

Everybody had their cross to bare and this was yours.

The moment the shift ended you went straight home without a word to anybody.

Castle frowned, staring at your desk.

“We’re going for drinks, coming?” Esposito asked.

Castle shook his head.

“No, I’ve got something to do.”

With that he left, he was conflicted about what he was going to do, but he felt like he had no choice.

He waited in front of your apartment door for you to answer and when you did you just sighed and let him in.

“Is there a case or something?” You asked.

“No, nothing like that.” He said.

You nodded, heading to the kitchen and he followed you, looking at the food you were in the middle of making.

“Then what is it?”

You pointed to some carrots and he handed them over.

“Nothing, I just thought I’d come here.” He smiled.

“Writers block again?”

“Yeah.”

You glanced at him before nodding your head.

“Fine, you can hang around for a bit. And I’m sorry for snapping earlier.”

“You don’t have to apologise, I’m just thankful you’re letting me escape to here so I don’t have to listen to to everybody going on about deadlines, it sucks you know.”

“I bet it does.”

Castle let out a small breath he was holding, thankful that you seemed to think he just had writers block.

It was uncommon for him to spend time at your apartment if he had writers block, your apartment was a fresh change of scenery and sometimes it helped him think.

You both ate dinner, and he kept looking at you trying to figure out what was wrong.

“You’re drying the dishes and putting them away since you’re hanging around.”

“Deal.” He laughed.

While you washed the dishes, he dried them, stacking them on the side to be put away.

“You think we can play halo again?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’ve actually got some missions on it I’m stuck with maybe you can help.” You replied.

“Which one?”

Castle looked at you, listening to you as you explained what it was you were stuck on with the game.

As he was putting a cup in the sink, he looked at your hands to make sure they weren’t in the way and he froze a little bit.

He said nothing, and went back to what he was doing.

When you were done with the dishes, he put them away.

“(Y/N)?” He asked.

“Yeah?”

He put the last of the dishes away and turned around.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

Castle sighed, walking over he took your hand in his, and he rolled up your sleeve.

Maybe it was a rash choice, and he could’ve been wrong, but he knew what he saw, and this confirmed it.

The cuts on your wrist, easy enough to hide under hoodies and long sleeve shirts.

“You’re not okay. Why would you do this to yourself?” He asked quietly.

You clenched your jaw.

“Don’t.” You warned.

Castle let your hand go and he looked at you, shaking his head.

“No. You don’t get to hide anything now, I won’t let you. You’re destroying yourself because your hiding things, so, whatever this is, we’re going to sit down and talk about it.”

He looked at you and you sighed, knowing you weren’t going to be getting away from him now.

He knew, and castle wasn’t one for dropping things, so you reluctantly sat down in the living room and he sat opposite you.

“Why would you do this to yourself?” He asked.

“You wouldn’t understand..”

“Maybe not, but I can still listen.”

He shot you a reassuring smile.

“It’s not.. it’s not that simple..”

“Then just explain it however you can, okay? I’m not going anywhere, not until I know you’re okay.”

“Castle you can’t tell anyone, please.”

“I won’t, but you have to promise to let me help you.”

You nodded your head.

That was all you wanted, you didn’t want everybody knowing.

So you began to explain to him what you could, and you tried to explain it the best you could, even if it didn’t all make sense.

And he sat there listening carefully, and when you were done he got up and sat next to you, hugging you.

This time no words, or remarks.

Just holding you, letting you hide yourself away from everything.

“You’re not alone…” he whispered