#like ‘damn his gums are black and his teeth are falling out. this is just like P!nk said 😔’

[andrew-rannells-mustache]

Let’s get this scurvy started!!1!

(/The scurvy song P!nk sang for a SpongeBob special, Terror!edition)

(For my @theterrorbingo prompt square “there will be poems.”)

[liveyun]

I N T E R L U D E : 2 0 0 9

pairing. yoongi x female reader / gn reader for this drabble

genre. fluff, baby angst

w. yearning. too soft for my soul 🥹

wc. 1.7k +

—taglist form.

this is a drabble from the haegeum universe. give it a read, maybe? ( but can definitely be read as a stand-alone! )

please refer to “ a/n ” in the ending.

His flushed cheeks are a testament to the wintry chill that surrounds him, adding a rosy hue to his already captivating visage. His nose scrunches up his nose at the slightly cool wind which brushes his already flushed cheeks. As the soft flakes of snow fall delicately upon his coat clad shoulders, he remains unfazed, displaying an air of quiet confidence and solitude.

Amidst the pristine white backdrop, his jet-black hair stands out, glistening as if it were coated in a thin layer of frost. Each strand appears silky and smooth, falling effortlessly around his pale, youthful face, framing his youthful features perfectly .

His once styled, not messy bangs are hastily parted to the side, giving a peek of his feline, warm brown eyes. They add a touch of mystery, drawing attention to his captivating eyes that peek out from beneath the soft curtain of hair. His eyes, when glimpsed through the gaps, reveal a glimmer of curiosity and a hint of his inner world, full of soft dreams and a longing feeling of love, and you're dumb enough to say that, too. His lashes rest on his soft cheek each time he blinks, and you fold.

His eyes are just so beautiful.

The contrast between his dark hair and the snowy scenery only enhances his striking appearance.

As an observer captivated by his presence, you feel an innate desire to reach out and brush off the snow that has accumulated on his shoulders and hair. Your fingertips itch with anticipation, longing to gently remove the delicate ice crystals that have settled on him. The act of doing so would not only demonstrate your caring nature but also allow you to connect with him on a deeper level, but you know you cannot. You would not.

Hidden behind the bangs, his eyes meet yours, and he gives you a smile. A smile which has his gums and teeth showing full on display, eyes crinkling close at how wide he's smiling at you. Cute, you think, and your cheeks heat up at the thought of finding your senior, cute.

Your senior, Min Yoongi.

But it is what it is, right? Stupid heart. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Whenever he approaches you, or smiles at you, or reads you out paragraphs.

Or maybe when he saves a tangerine or two for you. He hasn't still admitted it out loud that the tangerines you find on your desk often during the lunch break are actually from him, because a lot many times in the beginning, you've scanned over the classroom to see who's your secret tangerine Godfather, only to notice him silently staring at you through the corridor.

And you still giggle to visualise how fast he has turned away, abruptly, cheeks red like a tomato on being caught. Now, you didn't really need to actually look for confirmation whether it's from him, but you do enjoy the look on his face when you bring out one during times like these.

You find him devastatingly cute.

You know you're grinning like an absolute fool, heart palpitating like a damned drum being played.

Times like these, your heart decides to thump loudly against your will with heated cheeks and a fuzzy stomach where you feel—they call it butterflies, the funny feeling—occurs. It's as if a delicate dance of happiness is happening inside you, spreading joy with every movement, every word and every giggle passed in between you two.

He's two years older than you- you're fourteen, he's sixteen. But still, there's no icy formality as there used to be before when you met him. It's now all giggles and jokes.

Long story short, you met him at the basketball court, or rather bumped at him. But that's another story to continue, no?

“ Is that a story again you've written, Yoongi-ssi? ”

You playfully ask him as he takes a seat beside you, fumbling with his coat pocket to fish out a small, yellow paper, or rather, a sticky note.

You absolutely want to tease him for the flush that rises to his already pink cheeks at your teasing, because now you're bold enough to confront him with his short paragraphs that he writes to read out to you in the free times like these.

“ I— uh.. ”

“ I just did that randomly while trying to write a song.”

He looks so cute, so adorable, so homely with a small pout on his pink lips, his already pale skin shining softly. The chestnut overcoat fits him perfectly, hugging his slender body. Its warm color complements his features and stands out against the white snow.

The soft fabric of the coat drapes gently, giving him a polished appearance. He crosses the lapels of his coat over for warmth, and your cheeks burn with mortification when you realise your heart skipped a beat with the random thought that you had a strong urge to keep him warm with your arms.

“ A song? Did you finish it, senior? ”

His brows furrow slightly at the honorific you're addressing him with. You know his irritation because it's been long he has told you to let go of those and just be normal friends, but maybe you do like his pissed off face a bit more than you should.

A bit more than you should.

He clicks his tongue as a denial, shaking his head slightly, fidgeting with the small paper.

“ ..No, but ended up writing this. ”

“ Is it in English, senior ? ”

You absolutely love the way he sends a half hearted glare your way, but you know he doesn't mean any real burn behind it.

“ The melodies remind me of some certain emotions which..which I don't really acknowledge, at times. ”

Melodies. It wasn't really long since you've come to a realisation that melodies, mean his thoughts for him. Or, the music notes you often see him going through.

No matter if he's infront of the piano or not. You'd often catch him scribbling something on a paper with flushed, red cheeks, but on further inquiry ( and a little teasing, maybe) you'd get nothing but annoyed grunts, nothing too serious.

A new learner of English, he says, he is, apparently. But the small paragraphs he often reads you out with such fluency was already convincing you otherwise.

His voice when he speaks has a thick, Korean accent which is audible though each syllable, but you really think that it adds a dash of charisma to his overall voice when he speaks. His tone is light, fluent, and overall, pleasing to hear.

You weren't good at English yourself— but you didn't miss the times he would watch you with curious, sparkling eyes whenever you spoke in English. Or give a speech in some annual function at school, or achieved good marks in examinations.

But to you, you thought it was all just— practice and even a bit of instinct. You didn't even know what adverbs were. Well. Reading books of various genres helped you in crafting your vocabulary, and it's a good thing that you can use it now— but for him, you were a God. In English.

You bite your inner cheek to catch him blushing, again, as he fumbles with the small paper clutched in his hands.

Your hands itch to reach forward and hold his own, larger ones, which he often rubs together to warm them up. You give him a small smile with a nod, encouraging him to speak his side. He clears his throat, and after releasing a sigh, he begins.

“ Sometimes, the most elusive desires are the ones that torment us the most. We yearn for something we know is nearly impossible to attain, and the ache within our hearts grows with each passing moment. „

Yet, deep down, we grapple with the knowledge that we may not deserve it. The pain is twofold— a longing that both consumes and humbles us, reminding us of the delicate balance between our desires and our self-worth. ”

A moment of silence.

Suddenly, a realization sparkled in your eyes, like a shooting star illuminating the night sky. His paragraph was about longing something which you know is nearly impossible to attain. And it takes you almost a minute to realise that he just read it out to you. He was audibly quiet after finishing his little speech. His glance was down to the little paper opened in his outstretched fingers, hasty and cursive english scribbled on it.

You glanced back at his face. His eyelashes were covered with small droplets of snow, and you then realise that the fuzzy feeling, wild butterflies roared in the pit of your stomach. They reared high up to your chest, enveloping your tender beating heart in a soft hug as his gaze followed up to you, and you see the smallest of the smiles breaking on his lips.

But your breath hitches in your throat when you realise that maybe the yearning he just read out to you doesn't resonate the same way it does in your heart.

Your heart felt a gentle tug, pulling you to a different path, where your yearning took a different shape, with different colors and a unique rhythm. In that moment, you embraced the realization that sometimes, the yearning in our hearts doesn't always align with the yearning we find in others.

You shouldn't take Yoongi’s kindness to spend time with you for something which you don't know where will it lead to, because you know it's a path not so easy to tread on.

“ How was it, ____ ? ”

His voice breaks you out of your thoughts as you already find him looking at you.

You feel a genuine smile blooming at his feline eyes curiously peering at your own ones. He looks like a lost kitten, and you try the hardest to not coo at the big tuxedo cat infront of you.

“ Amazing as always, Yoongi-ssi! You used very high class words, though! I really love how you described it so well. ”

His small smile now widens to a whole, wide grin which has his gums popping out, nose scrunching in delight at your praise. His cheeks are dusted pink again, and you feel the roar at the pit of your stomach again.

You ignore the tug at your chest who deals with the crumpled threads of hope, again.

And that's okay, for in the tapestry of emotions, each thread has its own story to tell.

a/n : hello!

if you're a normal reader, thank you for reading so far. if it's possible, or if you want, let me know your thoughts 💜

if you're a haegeum reader, i just wanna let you guys know about the relationship between oc and yoongi more. i don't want to include the flashback parts more in the main story, though flashbacks like these may pop out of nowhere to let you guys know more ✨ however, the actual relationship of their past remains vague, or is upto the reader to decide.

also, i'm not putting haegeum on hold. because, i still maybe would write more drabbles / scenarios so regarding their past (so that readers get the connection between in the main story ) (no promises, but has more possibilities).

but the update for the main story— i dunno when. it's going to be long, and actually, it's quite a thing for me to write. there's a lot going on, so maybe the update should hopefully be done till late November (just an estimate. no promises. ) the ending I’ve visualised, i fear that it's not really the best or happy in any ways, and i have to work on it to make it presentable. but for now, maybe i’ll focus on writing my other fics with lighter genres. again, i’m not putting it on hold. it's still a wip, so don't worry 🤍 maybe or maybe not it can be released before, or even after.

feel free to ask for ask my muse / drop by some feedback / read my other works / or just chat !

[iplayghoul]

𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝... 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐲?

pairing:: eren yeager x reader

word count:: 1k

warnings:: haunted houses, eren is a scaredy cat, zombie actors, fluff & comedy, mentions of sex, suggested stuff but no smut here lol my bad (soon tho)

notes:: cute lil eren fic for halloween lol, reblogs and comments appreciated 💕 lets me know if this is ass or not!

𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, maybe if he didn't wear that ugly ass costume of shaggy from scooby doo.

"din' i tell you, your costume fuckin' sucks Eren?" you seethed at him, semi-playfully because his costume was actually horrible.

you're checking your purse again as eren parked the car outside the halloween amusement park even, counting your extra lip gloss, lashes incase you lost one, lash glue, condoms and mints; keeping mental notes of everything you brought with you from home.

"and 'fore you say anything, like my nails?" you put down the purse briefly and looked to the side at eren who was dressed as shaggy from scooby doo; showing him the long stiletto nails you got, a black base fading into blood red tips. he smiled a little, "yea, it's cute, sweet girl."

"n' my costume's good, aight?" he shot back, peering down at you and chuckled while you rolled your eyes.

sharp nails dusted some short strands of blonde hair away from your eyes, pretty lace front tied into two pigtails. then, your lace clad hands tugged straight the black dress you wore, feeling it ride up your thighs every time you moved in the car.

"nah, you know it is. i told you since october first! 'hey 'ren im dressin' as misa for halloween, you better show up to my apartment as light yagami or you gettin' kicked out' or sumn like that, remember?" wet glossy red lips smacked together as you chewed your gum loudly. eren, unamused, "now ion- ion remember hearin' dat last part, baby." he smiled at you and gave an aerated chuckle.

"shuddup shuddup! let's go, we don't got all night." you shut him up quick and unlocked the car door waiting for eren to do the same,

"what's the rush, huh? want me to fuck you in that costume when we get back to your apartment?" he sucked a lip between his teeth and looked at you expectantly while you open the door, "no dumbass, maybe you woulda got sum' if you were dressed as light, damn!" shutting the car door on him. eren shook his head and followed along.

"two tickets to the haunted house please!" you chirped at the attendant, chilly fall air tickling your almost bare legs that eren kept a large hand on. he wasn't too fond of the way the clerk looked at you but kept his comments to a minimum, letting you drag him to the entrance cheerily.

despite his rough and tough act, in a shaggy costume, eren loathed horror, scary movies and of course: haunted houses.

"you really wanna' do this?" he pulled you back from entering the pathway and started whining and rocking your shoulders back and forth in a terrible attempt to convince you otherwise. 

"and what do you suggest we do otherwise mr. yeager or should i say shaggy?" he cleared his throat quickly, "first of all, don't call me that. second of all, can you leave my shaggy costume alone? it's cute girl, i know you like it."

you blinked your eyes, in false astonishment.

"this sassy ass nigga pandemic has got to stop, jesus fuckin' christ. look- c'mon on," you grabbed eren's arm and pulled him in the entrance.

ghoulish music sounded out on the entrance, eren held onto your waist and you his arm as you navigated shortly in the dark beginnings. the narrow, bending path through the haunted house before you came upon a blue-green glow of the upper lights lining the walls that were decorated with fake spider webs, skeletons and witch dummies.

"oh wait, this cute as hell hold on," you whispered with a giggle, peeping back to look up at eren who had a frozen look of terror on his face.

you snickered, pulling out your phone and snapping a bright picture of his face and then one of the haunted room. just as you turned back to put your phone away, you felt a tug at your purse, you swung your body to the left, "what the fuck is that!" eren bawled out behind you gripping your purse and dragging you backwards.

you were more focused on getting him to get off your dior purse, "'ren stop grabbing my fucking bag!" you wrangled with him, annoyed, "fucking— babe look behind you!" swirving around you see a tall gorey looking figure, cleary made to be a zombie wearing ripped clothing and groaning as he came near you both.

visibly annoyed and agitated, you let out a high pitched scream, eren and the zombie froze, the latter ducking the minute you swung your purse around: effectively giving the actor a fatal smack down. you grabbed eren and left the groaning zombie behind your heels and rounded the next corner.

with a quickness, and swings of your heavy purse beating whatever was in your way, you skipped out through the swirly pathways, dragging  eren by his loose green shirt until you saw the bright lights of the amusement park's rides.

"if you pull that shit again i swear to god im gon' beat yo ass right in there with that damn zombie too!" you pointed a finger in his face, a sheen of sweat covering him and he gulped, "it was fuckin' scary im sorry! did you see his face?" you dropped your wait onto your other heel, "be fuckin' for real right now, let's get some snacks and go back to my apartment." you pouted up at him and his lips twitched with a bit of guilt.

"aight what about..." he rocked back and forth on his feet, "if we get korean hot dogs n' glazed donuts, we c'n ill sit quiet n' watch the original scream with you."

you rubbed your lips together, pondering on his options and patting your makeup with an oil sheet, "deal. let's go and don't make me regret this shit."

— masterlist.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons.  Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie. 

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.  

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.  

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.  

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth. 

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”  

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders. 

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink. 

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list. 

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.  

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.” 

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter. 

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms  across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart. 

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly? 

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.   

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist. 

Bliss. 

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag  Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.  

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip. 

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare. 

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.” 

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.  

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.  

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

 He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens. 

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.  

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.  

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers. 

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine. 

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut. 

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon? 

It’s worth the mess.     

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener. 

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.  

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display. 

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.  

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor. 

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.  

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department. 

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down. 

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally. 

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.   

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.” 

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace. 

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.  

It always does the trick.

***

[harryhoney-bee]

I'm feeling really soft and fuzzy today, So if I can request something I want to do that abeja 🐝💓

#Concept: Nightly routine with y/n and Harry- parents of two little babies.

Tag me if you write this baby ✨✨

Adore you alot 💕

Night Routine

Warning: your ovaries might explode... mine did 🤚🏻 I would give this man 9 children if he asked.

Word count: 1.7k

I have a kofi, so please consider buying me coffee if you can <3

I hope you enjoy it!! Let me know what you think 😚

“But I want to take a beth with him, daddy,” Cecília whined to Harry, while he undressed her, putting her new pajamas and towel on the bathroom counter.

“My little darling, he is still little, he can’t take bath with you,” Harry explained, taking Cecí on his lap and putting her inside the warm tub, handing her some of her favorite toys. “Lorenzo is just 6 months, he’s not as big as you.”

Harry made a bowl with his hands, wetting her curly hair and applying shampoo, a pout still on her face. “Please, daddy?” she said, her chubby hand grabbing his arm. Cecí had already mastered her puppy eyes technique, and she knew how much her dad had a weak spot for her.

“Alright, alright,” He finally gave in, “but he will stay outside of the tub, he doesn’t know how to sit by himself.”

“Thank you, daddy!” The girl splashed water around in excitement, which made Harry smile. That’s how he always wanted to see her: happy and healthy.

Harry went to the door, keeping an eye on the girl in the tub. “Baby? Are you done nursing? Cecí wants to see Lorenzo,” he tried to call his wife as loud as he could while being mindful of Lorenzo, who could be asleep by now. He never wanted to alarm any of him or Cecília with his loud voice.

In a matter of seconds, Y/n appeared in the hallway, a confused expression on her face while Lorenzo was calmly laying down on her arms, his little hands resting on Y/n’s shoulders. “What’s wrong? Why does she want to see him? We just had diner together,” she asked, heading in Harry’s direction.

“I’m not sure, guess she just missed him,” Harry answered, giving his wife a kiss on the forehead and bending down to talk to a very awake Lorenzo. “But who wouldn’t miss you, huh? Such a cutie, right buddy?” he was aware that using a baby voice wasn’t the best, but he couldn’t help, Lorenzo was just extremely adorable.

“Mommy! Enzo!” Cecília called, from the opposite side of the bathroom, “come here mommy, miss you too.”

Y/n sat on the bathroom floor, Lorenzo still with her. “Hey, my heart, having a good bath with daddy?” she asked at the same time Harry sat down by her side and hugged her from the side, laying his chin on her head.

“Yeah! Daddy always let me play,” Cecília took one of the yellow ducks and showed her mom, “This is Mc Duck.”

“Wow, he’s a very beautiful duck isn’t he?” She asked, giving Lorenzo to Harry while kneeling near the bathtub since Cecí still had to wash her hair, Y/n gently took the excess of shampoo from the girl’s hair, while Harry tried to keep Lorenzo entertained by singing him a silly song.

“He is, I love yellow,” the little girl admitted, “I think Lorenzo loves yellows too.”

“And why do you think that, Cecí?” Harry asked amused while pretending to eat the boy’s fingers.

“Because we’re are best friends,” She said as if the answer was obvious, “and friends like the same things.” Y/n and Harry looked at each other and laughed, for a five-year-old girl she knew a lot about relationships.

“Oh, how do you know that?” Y/n asked, finishing washing her hair, letting Cecília enjoy her time in the bath.

“Because you and daddy are best friends, you wear the same clothes sometimes, listen to the same music, and watch the same movies,” with every new topic she would count down on her fingers, it was quite a comical sight.

Harry’s chuckle filled the room, the baby on his lap giggled too. “Well, my little lady, you are right. But friends can also like different things, too,” he told her. “Me and mommy like a lot of similar things, but we also have our preferences.”

“Exactly, daddy loves bananas, but I don’t” y/n complemented, getting Cecília out of the tub, helping her into some warm clothes, “I don’t like to work out, but your dad always wakes up early to go for a run, see? We like different things but we still love each other.”

Harry got up from the floor, rocking Lorenzo softly, his heavy eyes indicating how sleepy the baby was. He took the combing cream in his hand and began combing Cecília’s curls with one hand, while his other arm held Lorenzo. Being a father of two made him very talented at doing two things at the same time. While he did that, Y/n was getting Cecí’s toothpaste ready.

“Daddy, do you love mommy even if she doesn’t go running with you?” Cecí asked, before opening her mouth so Y/n could brush her teeth. Normally they would let Cecília do it by herself, with their supervision, but it was already late and the couple desperately needed to get the children to bed, or else their routine would be messed up. Good thing Lorenzo seemed to be falling asleep already.

“Of course I do! We don’t love people just because they do the same things we do, we love people because they are kind and respectful to us, yeah?” Harry said, looking at Y/n and blowing her a kiss. This is what he loved the most about parenthood: watching the kids growing into their best version.

Parenting was made in many different ways, but the couple especially loved having these kinds of conversations. Even though Cecília was still young, she was already beginning to comprehend what love and friendships were, and Harry and Y/n had the privilege to teach her that.

Harry finished her hair, putting the brush and the products in their place under the sink while Y/n put on some socks on Cecí’s feet, the little girl was yawning, seeming tired. Lorenzo started to fussy on Harry’s arms.

“Guess it’s time to sleep, huh?” Harry said, caressing Cecílias head, “Tired, my baby? Want daddy to read a bedtime story to you? Or do you want mommy?” At the same time he mentioned Y/n, Lorenzo started to soft cry. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Harry asked, looking down at the upset’s baby face.”

Y/n took his from Harry’s arms, cuddling him closer to her chest, “What do you want, Enzo? Mommy just fed you” she looked at her husband, “I’ll nurse him again on the bed, he’s probably just a bit agitated, will you put her to sleep?”

“Yeah, of course.”

The woman kissed Cecília on the forehead, “have a good night, ok, baby? Mommy will take you to the playground tomorrow, alright?”

“Ok mommy, I love you and little bro too,” she said, giving a hug to her mom before she disappeared through the door with the crying baby.

Harry took Cecília by her small hand, leading them to her room, just by the side of the main suite, where the couple slept. He guided the little girl to her bed, giving her all of her favorite stuffed animals, and covered Cecília in her Lilac duvet.

“What story do you want today?

“The pirate one, please,” she asked, laying her head on the pillow as Harry went to her bookshelf, picking the one with the title Pirate’s cove. He sat by the end of the bed and began telling the story.

“I have a story for you, a story of untold riches and a young lad who found them. And who am I, you ask? Well, I am the spirit of the sand-dollar, a pirate and a buccaneer, Captain of the seahorse, the finest ship to ever sail the seven seas…”

Harry would occasionally stop to answer any questions Cecília had, but after 15 minutes he was done with the book and the girl was fast asleep, hugging tight to her little lamb. He made sure she was tucked in and turned off the lights (besides the one on the side of Cecília’s bed, she was scared to sleep in a pitch-black room), he closed the door and headed to his bedroom.

To Harry’s surprise, Lorenzo was sleeping in his bassinet by the side of the mattress. He usually would sleep in his nursery, but today just seemed like an off day to the little boy. Harry got closer to him, stroking the chubby cheeks, “Oh my little bug, did mommy let you sleep here with us? You’re not feeling fine?”

“I think he’s teething,” Y/n said in a raspy voice, taking her head from the pillow, “he’s even a bit warmer than usual, I think his gums are itching.”

“My poor baby,” Harry mumbled, turning his head to Y/n, “I hate seeing him upset, maybe we could make some homemade Popsicle, it helped when Cecília was teething.”

“Yeah, we can try that, we can make them tomorrow.” she patted the mattress, “now please come to bed, he did a number on me, I’m so tired.”

“Alright baby,” Harry took off his shirt, standing only in sweatpants, he went to the bed, laying by Y/n side, one arm hooked on her waist as she cuddled to him, placing her head on his shoulder.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” Y/n said against his neck.

“Oh baby, I am the lu--”

“--I mean, how many husbands would still love their wives even if they wouldn’t go jogging at 6 in the morning?” she said teasingly, her giggles reaching his ear.

He rolled his eyes playfully, “you are making a lot of jokes for someone who is tired,” he kissed her temple. “I’m gonna wake you up at 5 am tomorrow, so we can be fitness together.”

“Don’t you dare! You do that and your plan of being a father to three it’s over.”

“Damn sweetheart, that’s not very nice, huh?”

“You’re the one who started,” she said, before closing her eyes, snuggling to Harry’s body. The man placed a hand on her belly, falling asleep minutes later.

Tag list: @sunandherflores @elenagilbert01 @bellelittleoff, @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson

If you don't want to be in the tag list just let me know, please!! <3

[paperwayne]

worldy things.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” ➡ 21. Sharing your umbrella with them in the rain.

Pairing: Titans!Rachel Roth x Reader

Word Count: 1,232 words

Warning: Religious themes

Rachel tries to make herself invisible at church.

Churches are houses of God, after all – and whatever she is housing, it is the opposite of holy, restless in her legs, itching anxiously in her chest as she sits in the pew and lets the sermon scrape the inside of her damned skull; but she stays, if only for Mom, who plunges herself into religious routine like it’s the only thing that can save them.

(So far, no luck.)

“Want some gum?”

“Sure.”

But even if church turns out to be a bunch of baloney (she banishes this thought immediately just in case it’s not), Rachel is still glad that you’re here.

Most of the members avoid talking to her. Just like the last church, they had said hello for the first attendance, eyes raking over her black clothes and black nail polish and purple hair, and figured that she was another poor, devil-worshipping teenager –

(We’re so glad you’re joining us today

We’re so glad to be here)

– and even now, Raven forces a smile as uncertainty and pity crawls from their hands to hers when she shakes them at the church door. And hey, it’s better than what she gets at school, but pity doesn’t make her feel like any less of a freak.

“… I have some Snickers, too,” you whisper as the speaker continues, pulling a handful of candy out of your pocket. “Want some?”

Rachel holds out a hand. You press one Snickers Minis into her palm out of sight of Mom, looking straight ahead during the deal. Mischief and boredom and friendliness spark underneath her skin at the contact. She squeezes her fingers around the chocolate (it’s an ‘R’), pleased, and stuffs it into her bag for later.

The sermon goes on. She keeps quiet again, listening as best she can; the preacher has a kind aura but talks for way too long, and she only grasps some of his points before getting swept up in boredom again. The verses for today are easy to understand, anyway. (If only the message translated better in real life.)

“Love is patient, love is kind …”

Rachel glances to the side, through the window. The world outside is gray and dim – it’s going to rain.

Mom didn’t bring an umbrella.

By the time the postlude starts playing, the gum is tough and flavorless between her teeth. You lead Rachel out of the sanctuary when your mom starts talking to someone and her mom goes to talk to the pastor.

“Let’s go outside.”

“Are you sure? It’s pretty bad out there.”

Finger guns. “Brought an umbrella.”

You disappear into the coatroom, then pop back out with said umbrella, and the two of you push the doors open to the thick, sharp sound of rain bursting against concrete.

Rachel does not mind the rain too much. In fact, she usually likes it so long as it’s not thundering badly. A harsh storm, raindrops sharp, air heavy and fresh – it’s probably the closest thing she’s ever felt to true peace. Purity.

Up goes the umbrella. Out into the rain go you and Rachel.

“Whoo,” you say. “It feels like hail.”

“Hell?”

“Hail,” you enunciate with a snort. “Rain is, like, the opposite of hell.”

Your tennis shoes are already soaked, and so are the edges of your pants. Rachel had always wondered why you only dressed halfway for church, pairing a nice, ironed shirt and khakis with those old, scuffed-up shoes, but she’s figured that it’s not important enough to ask. The soles of her own shoes are pretty worn too.

When you make your way to your family’s car, you ask if she’s coming over for lunch.

“I don’t know,” Rachel replies, though she’s been craving your mom’s layered three-bean dip for the past week. “I haven’t done the geometry homework yet.”

“It’s just lunch. You can go home to work on it after.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You won’t make me stay until your mom has to kick me out?”

“What? Me? Never.”

You laugh, the umbrella slipping in your hand. Rachel grabs the handle before it falls, and her grip is right above yours, so that the coldness of your skin comes with the flash of amusement and fondness that prickles her nerves like a bad shock. She withdraws.

“So, yay or nay, Rachel?”

“I’ll ask my mom.”

Rachel catches the tail end of your slow, thoughtful nod, and she folds her arms around herself as a rain-laden breeze passes underneath the umbrella.

“She doesn’t like me, does she?”

You say it so matter-of-factly, Rachel can’t help but wince. “She just doesn’t know you like I do,” she counters honestly.

“Aww.” You grin, but it’s a little smaller than usual. “Is it because I tried to talk to you during prayer?”

Rachel shrugs, looking at the puddle at her feet. That had been an issue, but only a minor one. Mom doesn’t like you because you have a weird knack for nailing issues on the head, while Mom would rather say that everything was okay until they are. But talking about that will bring up a whole load of things that you probably shouldn’t know about.

“I’ll come over for lunch,” Rachel says. “Don’t worry.”

Looking over your shoulder, you nudge her and dig your free hand into your pocket. “Hey, who said I was worrying about anything?”

You worry about a lot of things.

“Rachel.” The sound of Mom’s voice through the rain makes Rachel’s head snap up. “There you are. Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah. I mean, actually”—Rachel gestures to you hopefully—“um, can I ride with my friend to have lunch at their house?”

“You can come too, Ms. R,” you pitch in. “My mom always makes too much food.”

Mom looks very reluctant. She has her purse over her head for cover from the rain. It does a poor job. She glances over you and then at Rachel, who puts on her best, pleading look.

After a few moments of standing in the rain, she finally acquiesces. “Well, alright. Thank you for inviting Rachel for lunch. I can pick her up at three.”

“Sweet! Thanks, Ms. R.”

(Maybe ‘Ms. R’ is a bit too casual.)

“Thanks, Mom,” Rachel says, stepping out from the umbrella for just a brief second to hug her. “Uh … you should get to the car. Your clothes are getting really wet.”

“I’ve noticed,” Mom tells her resignedly. “You have fun, sweetheart. Stay safe. Be good. Call me if you need anything.”

Rachel nods quickly. “Mhmm.”

As Mom hurries off, heels clicking, you suck in a breath. “Yeah, she definitely doesn’t like me.”

“She’s glad I have a friend, at least.”

“So we are friends! I knew I could get you with junk food. You had that kinda vibe.”

Cheeks warming at your teasing coo, Rachel rolls her eyes. “Thanks.”

As your mom comes out of the church, umbrella-less just like Rachel’s and slightly irritated because of it, you turn to Rachel.

“Mario Kart after lunch?”

“Only if you want to lose.”

The car’s headlights flash, and you open the passenger door. “Ooh, okay, I see how it is. Now I’m definitely gonna beat you.”

Rachel shakes her head, slipping into the backseat. You follow soon after, folding up the umbrella and shaking it out.

“I’d like to see you try.”

[mawofthemagnetar]

“Are we all ready? Is everything good? Impulse, are you good?” The Director fluttered around nervously, their buglike eyes gleaming under the studio lighting.

Impulse chuckled, a deep rumbling that rattled the floorboards. He sat up from the splintered ruins of the chair he’d been using, and stood to his full height.

In his demon form, his seven horns scraped the ceiling, leaving gouges in the oak beams overhead. He towered over everyone else on the set, taking a step forward that shook the ground.

Impulse reached down and scooped up a giant red tie, throwing it over his neck and doing it up with a practiced motion. The breeze from the flapping fabric damn near knocked the tiny fae director out of the air, and Impulse pulled it through to complete the knot a second later.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He said, swallowing a glob of utterly toxic spit. If it had hit the ground, falling out of his messy maw of spiked teeth, everyone in the room would have gotten very, very sick.

“Excellent. Places, please! Everyone get into position!” The Director shouted, far louder than his small size would suggest.

Impulse shuffled his wings uncomfortably. He had four of them, poking through his neatly-tailored suit coat. The suit was just as massive as he was, covering up his coal-black scales and wrapping smartly around all fourteen of his arms.

He lolloped over to the desk in the middle of the plain white set, setting his four tails down on the floor behind it. There wasn’t a chair- more of a jumbo size steel stool. Then again, a regular chair would have posed issues what with the tails and all, so.

“Okay, are we ready? Places! Places! Impulse, are you good?”

Impulse scooped up the sheaf of papers on his desk. They, too, were scaled up- just like everything else on the studio set.

He glanced over his notes, and gave the director a thumbs-up with one of his many arms.

“Alright. And…ACTION!”

Impulse smiled down the camera lens, letting all fourteen of his blank yellow eyes fix on it.

“Hello, everyone! It’s me, your friendly neighborhood Plague Lord, back again with another public health PSA from our friends at Mojang.”

Impulse grinned and shuffled his papers again, more for effect than anything else.

“This month, we’re encouraging all at-risk players to head on down to the Hub Core Clinic and make sure they’re up to date on their rabies shot! What’s rabies, you might be asking yourself?”

Impulse grinned, revealing hundreds of hypodermic teeth arranged at all angles in his massive mouth. Yellow spit, laced with disease, started to drip from his gums, and he chuckled.

“Rabies is a disease unique to mammals. There’s no cure, and once symptoms present, the victim is effectively dead. I love it. One of the classics! If you get it, you can expect a period of soreness and flulike symptoms…followed by tremors, delirium, hallucinations, acute fear of water, coma, and death. If your dog gets it, you can expect foaming at the mouth, possible delusions, rabid behaviour, and THEN coma and death. Bats can carry it, too! Great, right? I think so. But you might not.”

Impulse leaned back in his chair.

“So, Plague Lord, you may be saying. I don’t want to get that. Am I at risk? Well, here’s a simple test: are you warm blooded and have you had or do you have nipples and a belly button? Does any member of your family have those features? If the answer is yes, you might be in an at-risk group! Make sure you get yourself down to the Core Clinic for a consult with one of our trained staff. There’s no waiting and it’s completely free.”

Impulse leaned forward in his chair, placing every one of his clawed hands on the desk. The wood creaked, and he spread his wings wide.

Hundreds of yellow pustules boiled up across his body, a bio hazardous ooze starting to seep out of some of them. He lleered at the camera.

“Or don’t. Go on, friends. Make my day.”

“CUT!” The director shouted, “Impulse, that was perfect. Spot on! I think that’s the take.”

“You want to do a few more?” Impulse offered, “I got time.”

“Yeah, just to be safe, I think we will. Alright, places, everyone! Take two!”

[besotted-eros]

Okay, but imagine your first kiss with Eren. He’s wanted to do it since the first time he’s laid eyes on you. Being the annoying little shit he is, he likes to tease you. He brings his face close to yours, gripping your chin to tilt your head up, then pulls away at the last second. And you fall for it. Every. Single. Time. You want to wipe the smug little smirk on his face, when he knows damn well he leaves you breathless.

In reality, Eren’s actually really nervous. He sees the way you look at him so expectantly that his stomach is doing summersaults and his heart threatens to jump out of his chest. What if she doesn’t like it? You’re gonna have to be the one to make the first move because as much as he likes to tease, he can be pretty shy as well.

When it actually happens, it catches you both off guard.

You're sitting on the hood of his car, cheeks red from the cool night breeze. You had texted him that you couldn't sleep, and the comfort milkshakes he bought you sat discarded now, half finished. Eren was in front of you, the moonlight throwing your best friend's muscles into stark relief. You're looking at his arms closely, how good they look in his loose black t shirt. He had thrown his old denim jacket over your shoulders around the twenty minute mark, complaining that seeing your shivers made him feel cold.

He's gesticulating about some fight he had with Jean over something insignificant. You watch as his eyes dance, miming an uppercut and being kicked in the stomach. His face is extra bright tonight, excited to see you after a few long days apart. Boyishly handsome, that's the best term for him. His soft hair, always unkempt and falling in his wide viridian eyes. Soft, almost full lips that his moon white teeth dragged over when he looked at you.

"Some day, I swear I'm actually gonna hurt the guy and feel bad." He concludes, fixing you with a wide grin as he adjusts his hair tie. He catches the flash of softness in your eyes before you turn your face, rubbing your cheek with his sleeve. It smells like him, like sandalwood and sultry tobacco. "What? What was that?"

"What was what?" You asked, tone airy as you run your thumb over the peeling paint job.

"That face. You looked..." You turn back into time to see his devilish grin, the one that curls the corners of his mouth and makes his eyes glint dangerously. Oh, fuck. "You were just thinking of how pretty I am, weren't you?" He asks, stepping closer to the hood. You scrunched your nose, kicking out a leg to keep him at bay.

"You wish, Jaeger."

"Oh but babe. No need to wish. It's written all over your face." He grabs your foot, large hands sliding up your calf. A long arm comes forward to touch the tip of your nose, spreading warmth like a wildfire across your cheeks.

"See? Right there. You're saying, Oh Eren. You're the most handsome man in the whole world." He feigns a swoon, catching himself on the hood and laughing as you swat the back of his head. He reaches out to touch your cheek. "And look, here. You're saying ' You've ruined other men for me.' " You fought the urge to bite at his hand, settling with holding up your middle finger.

"And what does that say?" You asked, watching as he grabs the rude gesture and clutches it to his heart.

"That you're irrevocably in love with me. " His tone is somber, face contorted into a mask of sympathy and melancholy. It breaks into a smile when yours does and this time you were the one who caught the soft look in his eyes. He realises, turning away to stare up at the moon before you can catch his blush.

"Now who's the love struck one?" You tease, nudging his side.

"Still you, idiot." He retorts, the momentary weakness covered by an excess of bravado. "Look, all it takes is this, and you're putty."

Before you know it, he's playing this familiar game. Leaning in close, cupping your cheek with a calloused hand. The scent of sandalwood is even stronger, mixed with laundry detergent and the spearmint gum he's constantly chewing.

His eyes are heavy lidded, lips pressed forward. You're reminded of every moment that lead to this love of him. Because God, you don't know if it's the late night or the moonlight but he is beautiful. And he's not even inches away, maybe just centimeters. And he's closer, and closer.

Like every time, you think that maybe this is the one. He's getting too close, this time he'll actually kiss you and break this stupid rope of tension that makes you feel like your wrists are chafed.

And then you see the smirk starting.

And the wildfire in your cheeks turns to lava, because FUCKING shit Eren, not again. Not this time.

So you grab him, by the stupid fucking bun. You can feel him stop his turn in its tracks, the almost imperceptible widening of his eyes. And you pull him closer, and closer and then after what feels like centuries you're kissing Eren Jaeger. It feels like freefalling and like being caught.

When you pull away, he's bright red. Like, bright red. And he stutters. It's endearing enough to make you pull him in by the collar for another one, admiring how soft his lips are and how delicately he kisses back.

"Sorry- oh. Sorry." You say, finally breaking away. He's touching his lips, eyes even wider than usually and mouth agape. It seemed you succeeding in stopping that smirk, and you can't help but feel a twinge of pride. It's hard to tell in the pale light, but you have a feeling he's blushing.

"Just got tired of being teased." You shrugged, hugging yourself as you became minutely interested in how the clouds were doing.

Eren draws you back in with a sigh, blocking the moon from your sight as he over comes you, kisses hurried but gentle. Intent on loving you. You can feel his smile, crooked and easy.

"Good." He murmurs. "I got tired of teasing."

[teenwolffanclub-me]

How Drunk Are You? (Stiles Stilinski x Reader)

Summary: You and your best friend, Stiles, can’t decide who’s more drunk after a night out with the pack. It doesn’t take long for your little competition to get out of hand.

Word count: 4,752

Warnings: drunk (but consensual) sexy times

Notes: I got this idea while drunk and may have gotten a little carried away but this one really just spoke to me so here ya go 😅

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You tumble out of the Uber, nearly falling flat on your face before a firm hand juts out of the car to steady you.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” Stiles chuckles from behind you as he steps out onto the sidewalk. “You’re way more fucked up than I thought.”

You twirl around to face him, nearly losing your balance for the second time. You furrow your brows and poke a finger into his chest harshly.

“You, sir, are wrong. I’m completely sober.” You wobble a bit in your heels, and he just rolls his eyes before slamming the car door shut and waving off your driver.

He takes only one step forward before his knees buckle, almost sending him crumpling to the ground beside you. He puts a hand on your shoulder to steady himself, breaking into a fit of giggles at his own intoxicated state. He’s trying to be the responsible one but honestly, he may be more gone than you.

You can’t help but laugh along with him as you help each other to your front door. Once there, you try turning the knob before realizing with a huff that you have to unlock it first. You let go of Stiles, who nearly loses his balance again, to rummage through your purse for the keys.

The bag suddenly seems endless as you shove receipts, sticks of gum, lip gloss, and other random shit out of the way to find your keychain. Finally, after what feels like several minutes to your drunk brain, you find them.

“Ah ha!” You call triumphantly and hold them up against your dim porch light.

“Hey. I’ll prove I’m more sober.” Stiles perks up with an idea, his caramel eyes dancing with amusement. “I bet I can unlock the door without looking.”

A laugh bubbles in your chest at the image of him doing that, and you instantly hand him the keys. You don’t think he’s actually coherent enough to succeed, but you know it’ll be entertaining to watch him try.

He waggles his eyebrows at you as he takes the keys and turns so that his back is to the door. He fumbles around blindly, chewing on his bottom lip in concentration. Your breathing slows as your eyes track the movement. You swallow thickly, feeling the familiar attraction you have for your best friend—that you usually keep tightly packed away—rise to the surface.

Admittedly, you’re a horny drunk. You can’t help but flirt with everyone and anyone you encounter while out partying, including your best friends that you’d never consider sleeping with, not even while intoxicated. But Stiles was a different story.

You’d been attracted to the spaz since you met him freshman year, although it was clear nothing was going to happen due to his obsession with a certain raven haired beauty. That was a couple years ago at this point, and he’d moved on, but the two of you were much too close to act on any lingering feelings now.

You laugh again as he continually fails to unlock the door, and decide to help him out. You lean forward, your chest only an inch away from his, and wrap your fingers around his hand. He stiffens against you, but you don’t notice through your drunk haze.

You peer over his shoulder and guide the key to where it needs to be, easily unlocking the door within seconds.

“You lose.” You quip, standing up straight to smirk at him before popping the door open and skipping inside.

What you don’t see is the way Stiles stands there for several moments collecting himself. You hadn’t even done anything, he thought. You’d barely touched him and here he was, clutching his chest in an effort to slow his racing heart. He was so screwed, being alone with you right now, but he was also way too drunk to do anything about it.

He clears his throat and finally walks inside, closing and locking the door behind him. Even while completely plastered, he knows a random supernatural creature could attack at any moment. Not that a wooden door would do much to keep them out, but the action was just muscle memory at this point.

He finds you lounging on the couch, your legs dangling over the armrest. He scratches at the side of his head as his eyes trail over you, trying his best not to make his simmering lust obvious. You were easily the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and that was when you were wearing sweats.

Right now, with you laying there, your skirt riding up and your breasts peaking out from the low neckline of your crop top, he was finding it hard to control his attraction.

“It’s my turn.” You push yourself up onto your elbows and let your eyes sweep around your living room and kitchen. “I bet I can make the fries I have in my freezer without burning the whole place down.”

Stiles groans excitedly at the idea. Anything greasy sounds like the absolute best thing he could put into his stomach right now. He nods encouragingly and you sway to your feet, giggling as you almost fall once again. You take a detour and slide your heels off at the front door, sighing with content as your feet finally relax.

He follows close behind you as you prance your way into the kitchen, telling himself it’s to keep you safe but knowing it’s actually because it gives him an amazing view of your ass. You preheat the oven and pop the freezer open before crouching down to rummage through your cabinets for a pan.

Stiles wants to avert his eyes. He wants to be a respectable young man and not openly gawk at his best friend, but he can see the edge of your red lacy panties with you bending over like that. He chews on his bottom lip and watches as you search for whatever it is you’re looking for. He can’t even remember what you’re supposed to be doing with your body on display like that.

You finally find the right pan for the job and pull it out with a triumphant smile before standing upright, much to Stiles’ dismay. You place the baking sheet on the stovetop and pour out a heaping pile of fries before resealing the bag and putting them away.

You turn on your heel to face your best friend, who was still somewhat in a daze, giving him jazz hands with a big grin.

“Ta-da!” You bounce your way over to the large island in the middle of your kitchen, proud of yourself for completing the first step of your bet.

Stiles’ hooded eyes follow you, his heart racing in his chest. He honestly can’t believe how lucky he is to call you his best friend. The two of you—along with the pack of course—had gone through so much the last few years. It was a miracle any of you were still alive, although not all of you were.

It was with the realization, that life is short and that he loves the shit out of you, that he decides to throw caution to the wind. You jump up onto the island, blissfully unaware of the breakthrough he just made. He gulps, the sight of you level with him now, your mini skirt all hiked up around your thighs and your tight crop top giving him a peak of midriff almost too much to handle.

He isn’t sure if he’ll regret this in the morning, but he’s also too drunk to care. Right now, he wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything. He walks toward you slowly, his eyes trailing up and down your form as if it’s the first time he’s seeing it.

Your brows furrow at his sudden change in demeanor, the darkness swirling in his caramel eyes too hard to decipher from this distance. You watch closely as he moves forward until he’s only a foot away. He leans down, still taller than you even while you’re sitting on the counter, each of his hands bracing against the marble beside your hips.

“Stiles...?” Your voice trials off in question as you search his face.

“I bet,” He swallows down the last bit of hesitation bubbling in his throat and lets his eyes flutter down to your lips. “You won’t kiss me right now.”

Your breath catches at his words. Your eyes widen and you aren’t even sure you heard him correctly. Your mind instantly starts racing with questions. Is he just saying this because he’s drunk? Or could he possibly return the feelings you’ve been harboring for years?

To be completely honest, you don’t really care. You’ve wanted him for so long, and he looks ridiculously enticing in his red flannel and black bomber jacket. It was the alcohol that made you do it, sure, but it was more so the fact that you’ve wanted to kiss this man since you met him.

You cup the sides of his face and jerk him down to you, closing those last few inches. Your lips wrestle with his and he stiffens against you as if surprised, despite being the one to initiate this. The kiss isn’t pretty. It’s messy and heated. A battle of tongues and teeth as both of you fight for dominance.

One of his hands moves to your exposed knee, the other gripping your waist firmly. He lets out a broken moan against you, his head tilting to give him more room to devour you. Your hands tangle in his hair and you arch into him as his long fingers tentatively slide beneath the edge of your crop top.

Internally, he’s freaking the fuck out. He didn’t think you’d actually do it. He fully expected you to laugh the bet off and move on, but here you are. Kissing the shit out of him. He knows that he will never be able to come back from this moment. No matter what happens after this, he has to have you.

You pull away first, breathless, not from the kiss itself but because it’s him. It’s Stiles. Your best friend. You’re honestly a little surprised that he’s such a good kisser. Sure, he’s had girlfriends over the years, but damn.

The two of you sit painfully still for several moments. Stiles is afraid that if he moves even an inch, he’ll break whatever spell had come over you. He leans forward minutely, desperately wanting to kiss you again, but you press a hand to his chest and practically shove him away.

His eyes widen as he stumbles back, nearly falling to the floor, panic tightening in his chest. Did he fuck up? You regret it already? Is everything ruined forever?

You chew on your bottom lip as you look at him. His hair is all wild, his cheeks are flushed, his lips are plump and glistening. He’s sex on legs, and you’ve barely even gotten a taste. That one kiss is all it took to ignite the lust that’d been simmering within you all night.

You pull in a shaky breath, knowing that if you’re ever going to make a move, it has to be right now.

“I bet,” You say slowly, your voice low and sultry as you watch his eyes flicker over your face. “I can make you hard without even touching you.”

Stiles sputters silently, brain short circuiting at your words. He’s frozen in place. He wants to pump a fist into the air because this is actually happening but his muscles won’t move. He just nods, his eyes wide and mouth agape.

You giggle at his dumbstruck expression as you jump down from the island, the food on the stove completely forgotten. The edge of your lips twitch up into a smirk when you take a small step toward him and he stiffens. A surge of confidence moves through you at the sight of unmistakable desire in his eyes.

You hold his gaze as you grip the edge of your top and peel it over your head slowly. You’re suddenly very grateful that past you chose to wear your favorite matching red lacy set. Stiles’ eyes instantly trail down your exposed torso, although they keep flickering back to your breasts as if unable to look away.

You run your hands slowly along your shoulders, over your chest, and down your stomach. Stiles watches every one of your movements like they’re supplying the air he needs to breathe. You push your thumbs into the waistband of your mini skirt and pull it down a fraction of an inch before letting it go with a snap against your skin.

Stiles jumps at the sound, his glazed eyes locked onto the place your hands had just been. You take a few steps toward him, swaying slightly, and can’t help but giggle. This situation really is pretty ridiculous. You’re in your kitchen, preforming a strip tease for your best friend. It’s not something you ever thought you’d do.

You don’t stop until you’re only inches away from his heaving chest. You bat your eyelashes up at him and turn around so your back is just a hairs length from him. You bend over slowly, flicking your hair over your shoulder to look up at him as you wiggle your hips sensually.

You hear his shaky intake of breath and can’t help but smirk. If you’d known the effect you had on him, you would’ve done this years ago. He’s absolutely itching to touch you. His fingers are twitching at his sides in anticipation, but he doesn’t want to overstep your boundaries.

He wants to take you. To claim you as his. Pull you back against him and ravish you like the goddess you are. But he holds himself back. The ball is in your court, and he’s going to let you have your fun until he’s sure you’re ready for him.

You stand up straight and turn to face him, eyes skimming down to the obvious bulge at the front of his jeans. A slow smile pulls at your lips.

“You lose again.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. You’re afraid that if you speak any louder, it’ll break this tension, this electricity between you.

It’s at this moment that he snaps, his earlier thoughts instantly forgotten. He just can’t take it anymore. He’s been restraining himself for years and right now, after the show you just gave him, he can’t wait even a second longer to have you.

At once, you’re in his arms. He leans forward and captures your lips with his, sliding his palms down the backs of your legs before hiking them up around his waist. You squeal against him and tighten your thighs to hold yourself up.

His hands are on your ass, kneading the soft flesh as he blindly walks both of you toward the stairs. He doesn’t need to look. He has the entire layout of your house memorized after being here almost daily for years. He clambers up to the second floor, staggering and pausing a few times to deepen your kisses.

You feel feverish. His skin on yours is causing some sort of reaction. You’re burning up, hot crackling desire twisting in your stomach. You don’t even realize that he shoves his way through your bedroom door until he tosses you onto your bed. You bounce a few times, bracing your hands on the soft mattress to keep yourself upright.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him at the foot of your bed. He’s looking at you with this heat, this need. It makes you want to give him anything he asks for. You’re his, whether he knows it yet or not. You’re completely gone for your spaz of a best friend.

He suddenly takes a step forward and grips your ankles in each of his hands. He jerks you toward him until your legs are dangling off the edge of the bed. He pulls them apart and stands between them before dropping to his knees. Your eyes widen knowingly, a spark of excitement igniting in your chest.

“I bet I can make you cum in less than five minutes.” He smirks at the awestruck expression overtaking your face.

You nod your head enthusiastically, wanting nothing more than for him to ease the throbbing need between your legs. He runs his fingers up your shins, torturously slow, before stopping to squeeze your thighs gently. His eyes never leave yours as he moves higher and higher, dangerously close to exactly where you want him.

Stiles leans up and connects your lips again, this time a languid kiss as he lightly guides you down to the bed. You prop yourself up onto your elbows as he peppers gentle kisses down the column of your throat. A shudder moves through you at the feeling of his hair brushing against your heated skin as he moves across your collarbone.

He traces a path down your chest, stopping at your breasts to lap at your hardened nipples. You moan loudly, the feeling of his warm breath against you, along with the course material of your lacy bra enough to make you cum on its own.

He moves lower and lower until his fingers slide beneath the waistband of your skirt. His lips never leave you as he tugs it down over your hips before discarding it somewhere on the floor behind him. Your panties quickly join the pile as you shiver on your bed, dripping core now exposed to the chilly air of your bedroom.

Stiles’ darkened eyes flicker up toward yours as he parts your thighs and dives between them. You cry out when his tongue expertly brushes your clit, throwing your head back against the mattress. One of his hands glides up to squeeze your hip, while the other teases your entrance.

A pitiful whimper escapes you when he inserts a finger. It’s so long and thick and wow you’re really doing this with your best friend. He groans against you, sending delicious vibrations through your body. One of your hands tangles in his hair, pulling harshly when he flicks his tongue against your sensitive bud again.

You steal a glance down toward him and feel your heart swell at the look he’s giving you. His eyes are shining with adoration as he laps at your core like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Your eyes roll back when he pushes another finger inside you and starts pumping them quickly. You feel your stomach tightening already as his free hand snakes up to pinch your nipples delicately.

“Stiles...” You murmur breathlessly, back arching as another wave of pleasure crashes down onto you.

He nearly explodes in his jeans at the sound of his name on your lips like that. His eyes pinch shut as he tries to reel in his own desire so he can fully focus on you. He groans against you at the feeling of your core clenching around his fingers. He pulls them almost completely free before slamming them back inside, smirking at the way it makes you whine.

All it takes is one more lick against your clit, and you’re coming. You cry out, your body trembling from head to toe as intense waves of pleasure move through you. Stiles can’t help but moan at the sound as his free hand slides across your stomach to push you down against the bed.

He doesn’t stop until you sag against the mattress, completely spent. He finally pulls away, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand as a big grin overtakes his face. He’s been wanting to do that for way too long, and honestly can’t believe it just happened for real. He’s imagined it enough times to know it would be amazing, but that had exceeded his expectations.

You’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. All sweaty, flushed chest heaving, pupils blown wide from pleasure that he gave you. A sense of pride swells in his chest at the fact that he was able to make you feel so good.

Once you snap out of your blissful haze, you sit upright and jerk him toward you. You hungrily devour his lips, not feeling the least bit satiated by that mind blowing orgasm. You want—no, need—him. Right now.

He clambers up onto the bed, one of his hands moving to cup the back of your head as he climbs on top of you. You slide your hands along his shoulders beneath his flannel and practically rip it from his body. Next comes his undershirt, followed by the belt around his waist.

Your shaky hands fumble with the button of his jeans for a few seconds before he bats them away to undo it himself. Within seconds they’re gone too, joining the pile of clothes on your carpeted floor. You drag your fingers down his broad chest, pausing over the small patch of hair between his pecks.

He shudders against you, lips leaving yours to suck and lick his way down your neck. You palm him through his boxers and he grunts lowly, stiffening at the feeling. A trembling sigh falls past your lips as you explore his hard length through the thin fabric.

Suddenly impatient, you use both hands to pull the barrier down, eyes widening as his cock springs free. It’s so much bigger than you imagined. You’d spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about your best friend’s dick, but it still hadn’t prepared you for the real thing.

You wrap your fingers around him and he freezes against you. He presses his forehead to your shoulder as you pump him slowly. A moan rumbles through your chest at the feeling of him so exposed, so primal on top of you.

All he can do is huff out a few quick gasps as just your fingers set his body ablaze. He honestly feels like he might combust with the way his heart is sputtering in his chest. It takes every ounce of his willpower to peel your fingers away from him. He knows he won’t last long and he desperately wants to be inside you.

“Can I...is it okay if...” He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say. He’s so tightly wound, so high off your presence that he can barely string his thoughts together.

“I have condoms.” You breathe, trying to convey with your eyes how much you want this. How much you want him.

He swallows thickly, hesitating for only a moment before sliding onto the floor to rummage through the bedside table you’d gestured toward. He pulls out a single foil packet and moves to sit next to you on the bed. He glances between his shaky hand and your eyes, suddenly needing reassurance.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He breathes, heart clenching in his chest at the possibility of you saying no.

Even if you do, he has to give you this moment to decide. He’s painfully aware that both of you are very intoxicated and may regret this in the morning. But he also knows that he’s wanted you for years and it might just kill him to stop now.

You trail your fingers along the side of his face, eyes rounding at the respect he has for you. You really love the idiot sitting in front of you, a realization that makes you lean forward and close the distance between you.

“Stiles,” You mumble against his lips. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to lose my mind.”

His eyes widen in shock at your urgency and he chuckles, tearing the small package open and rolling the condom on quickly. He reconnects your lips and pushes you down onto the bed gently. You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the hair at the base of his skull.

Your head tilts back, a long moan escaping you as he enters you in one swift motion. His eyes pinch shut tightly as he braces a hand against your headboard to steady himself. All he can do is grunt and gasp for air as your heat clenches around him. After only a few trusts, he knows he’s going to explode any minute.

He slides an arm under your arched back and turns you both so that he’s now laying on the mattress. Your knees settle on either side of his thighs and his brows furrow as he grips your hips tightly.

“Please...” Stiles groans, not even sure what he’s asking for. You’re everywhere. Around him, on top of him, your delicious smell is enveloping his every sense with his head on your pillow. It’s all too much.

You press your palms onto his chest and swirl your hips, pulling a broken moan from him. You lift yourself up before gliding back down slowly, wanting to see how long you can tease him before he’ll snap. The memory of the way he’d lost control earlier has your core clenching around him. You want to see that again.

“Y/N, I c-can’t...”

You lean down to steal a quick kiss, almost instantly reading his mind. He flips you over again, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip as he starts pounding into you, hard. Your head knocks into the headboard with each of his jerky movements, but you don’t care.

Your stomach tightens and you whimper, not expecting to cum again so quickly. None of your other partners had ever gotten you off more than once in a session. Stiles brings a hand down blindly to rub quick circles over your clit and you cry out against his lips.

Within seconds, you’re both tumbling over the edge, a chorus of moans and shaky breathing the only sound in your otherwise quiet bedroom.

He collapses onto the bed beside you, chest heaving as he tries to make sense of what the fuck just happened. The lustful haze is clearing from his mind as his orgasm fades away. He’s left laying there, his best friend—who he just fucked—only inches away.

He lets his eyes trail over to you slowly, honestly terrified of what he’ll find. He needs to know what you’re thinking. His eyes search yours, but they’re guarded. Unreadable. He instantly starts panicking, heart sputtering in his chest as he bolts upright and quickly discards the condom in your trash can.

Your brows furrow from your position beside him, surprised by his sudden movement. A wave of exhaustion comes over you. It’s a mixture of the alcohol and the mind blowing sex you just had, and all you want to do is sleep it off.

You reach forward to clasp a hand around Stiles’ wrist, stopping him just before he stands from the bed. “Where are you going?”

Your heart falls into your stomach at the thought of him trying to run away from what you’d just done. There wasn’t a single part of you that regretted it. You wanted to do that since you met the idiot, so there was no way you’d be going back on it now.

You honestly didn’t even care if the two of you ever slept together again. You just needed him in your life. You weren’t going to let him disappear on you just because you gave into a night of passion.

“Oh. I-I didn’t know if you...you know, would want...” He stammers, eyes widening at the frown on your face. Maybe he misread the situation.

“Of course I want you to stay, you big dork.” You chuckle, tugging on his arm again.

His lips twitch into a grin, relief washing over him. He crawls back into the bed, peeling your comforter away so that you can join him beneath the warmth. You instantly curl into his chest, his arms wrapping around you in a familiar gesture. You’d cuddled many times before, but never like this. Never naked.

Stiles tries thinking of anything else to fight off his growing erection. Now was not the time for round two. You were basically asleep against him, your breath slowing to an even rhythm. He pulls you in tighter and lets his eyes flutter closed, knowing there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The last thought that flickers through his mind before he drifts off is that he could definitely get used to this new aspect of your relationship. He only hoped, come morning, that you’d feel the same.

[octania]

Benimaru Shinmon x Reader ( NSFW, 18+)

Word count: 3.8 k

Warnings: NSFW,smut,oral sex,sexual teasing, orgasm prohibition

Short description: You were in love with this man for over a year, but your bratty mouth an denial of your feelings got you in a situation where Benimaru will teach you how to behave in very teasing and heated way....

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The air was filled with the scent of a variety of traditional dishes and enriched by the happy shouts of excited residents through the streets. This time, the festival did not mean destruction, this time it was celebrated by making delicious dishes and socializing with each other. The celebration itself began at dawn, when they brought out their wooden tables and portable stoves, beginning to enrich the street with enticing scents of a variety of spices and ingredients. You could also hear the gentle sound of kota, whose strings were gently touched by the pale hands of young talented musicians. While these were all just preparations for the big ceremony that would start when sun kisses the mountains, everyone shared their joy throughout the day. His dark hair fluttered in the morning breeze around his narrowed eyebrows. Ruby eyes barely opened as he passed like a shadow past people. Although it was not visible on the expression on his face, he secretly enjoyed the liveliness that spread through the streets of his hometown. Countless greetings lined up behind him, giving him words of praise and support to which he only nodded a few times, nothing more, and continued his walk. The silence of his thoughts was broken by a hoarse female voice. Although it was rough, it sounded kind of gentle. He soon discovered to whom it belonged, when a plump old woman with black hair streaked with gray strands stepped in front of the captain. Her wrinkled face wearing a smiled from ear to ear, her eyes squinting at the young man.“Benimaru, my boy! I have something for you, please do except my gift in honor to you and the members of your squad.”- she was direct, not talking his ear off, just bowing slightly after her words and handing him a medium sized package. He stared in the thing wrapped in light blue material with a lack of interest that he did not hide not even the slightest. “Tempura and sushi, to hold you till the festival tonight.” – she explained getting back up from the slight bow. After a couple of lazy blinks, he raised his hand and responded. “That is alright, we will wait till the festival.”- without waiting for a response, he passed the woman in attempt to leave, but she was not letting go so easily. Shoving the thing in his hands, she smiled again, not bothered by his behavior.“Nonsense! Twins will love it, and we all know Konro could use a break for cooking today.”- Benimaru sighed, pushing the package slowly back at her, but before he could say anything, a female voice sharp like katana echoed the street. “Obaachan, can you please stop giving food to the people who clearly have no decency to even say thank you? Rudeness should not be rewarded.”- (Y/N) stood at the door of their restaurant, squeezing the sleeves of her kimono. Benimaru didn't say a word, looking at the young girl with the expressionless face. The lack of his reaction only made (Y/N) even angrier as she furiously crossed her arms over her chest. “(Y/N), you watch your mouth! You are addressing our beloved captain, to whom you owe your safety!”- obaachan scolded her, raising her finger as a warning, but that didn't stop (Y/N) from responding with even greater ferocity, targeting Benimaru with a look of utter contempt. “Because he is a captain, he should show more respect to his people and their offerings! Shouldn’t leaders be role models? Poor us if that is the case. People usually pay for the food in our restaurant, and yet he shows no gratitude even when his meal is free!”- she did not waver, her stand proud and determent, not showing even a bit of fear from the man who is the head of this town. “Child, hush! Go back inside right now! Sol help your rude mouth!”- Obaachan started waving her hands, showing (Y/N) to go back inside the house, turning to Benimaru. “I apologize captain Shinmon, (Y/N) did not mean it.”- the elderly woman bowed again, with clear expression of shame smeared around her wrinkled face. Still speechless, Benimaru watched the girl, who was now biting her lower lip in frustration as if it were chewing gum. Eventually, he slung the bundle over his shoulder, turning on his heel. “Thank you for the meal madam (Lastname of your family).” – that was the only thing he said, strolling down the dusty street without turning around again. Even though he wanted to allow his mismatched eyes to gaze upon the fearless woman one more time....

The celebration that had its core in the great hall that belonged to your family, otherwise intended for weddings and large feasts, was already spreading like wildfire. People were raising glasses full of sake, feasting on specialties they had been preparing all day, but they preferred to treat their palates to desserts that belonged to your family restaurant. Young artists danced a traditional dance with fans, attracting curious glances with their gorgeous and colorful kimonos. Outside, the streets were crowded with people, gazing merrily at the early fireworks that ate up the starry sky with their tantalizing shapes. You were in charge of serving the guests who sat on the heated floor of the hall in front of the beautifully carved tables. Countless comments on your beauty and grace have accompanied you in your assignment, while you have given a kind smile to anyone who would praise you. No one has noticed that your eyes jump restlessly from person to person, searching the room in hopes of encountering the phlegmatic face of the man who was the source of your deepest suffering.You were afraid that your sharp tongue had resulted in his absence, that he wouldn't show up for the rest of the evening, maybe not after either. Did you overdo it... or didn't you? He was rude after all! Yes it is true, he is guilty of this! You weren't even aware that your angry thoughts betrayed the state of your mind on your face. You eyebrows narrowed, lips squeezed in a straight line, your body tense, as you rushed towards the kitchen, when a familiar voice addressed you. “(Y/N)! Your family always knew how to make the best celebrations, I congratulate you.”- a tall man with a kind blue eyes  that resembled a calm and mysterious sea, smiled at you, holding the door of the kitchen open for you. “Konro! I..”- you stopped for a second, almost dropping the mountain of dirty dishes you were carrying,  as your eyes finally find the one they’ve been searching for. A smile almost escaped your lips, but you prevented your rooted emotions to show. Behind the tall man, Benimaru was standing, scanning the room full of cheerful people. He did not even look at you once, and you could feel the frustration rising in you again. Who does he think he is? No matter how much you were bothered by his disinterested posture, your eyes wandered over his crossed arms on his chest, the muscle that adorned his forearms reached to the very core of your desire. The hands filled with veins always looked tense and ready to fight, as if  he was waiting to defend the whole world with them, alone. You could no longer resist the sight, you had to run away. Blubbering a couple of thanks to the lieutenant, you ran past his arm into the kitchen, kicking the door with your foot behind you to close them. You took quick steps to the sink and nearly broke half the porcelain plates when you threw them inside. You grasped the edges of the sink, closing your eyes shut and taking a deep breath. Before you could muster your whirlwind of thoughts, a young woman approached you from the back.“You know, if you were not such a proud and bratty thing, you would be breaking beds now and not dishes.” – (B/F – name of your best friend) mocked your state without restraining one bit. Your nerves were thin, and being called out like this only made you react like a cornered animal.“Shut up, I don’t know what you are talking about (B/F). Seriously, if you worked even the half of the time you spend teasing people, we would actually get something done. “-you snapped at her, pulling out  bamboo boxes filled to the brim with colorful mochis. “Sure, if you had a bite to support all that barking, maybe you would get something done. I think Benimaru would appreciate your teeth on his skin more than your mouth just bullshiting all the time.”- she did not back down,wrapping the strands of hair around her finger, (B/F) continued before you could counter attack.“How long has it been since you started drooling over Waka? A year? Year and a half? Oh my God, when I remember how pissed you were when you though he was dating that girl from company 8th just because she brought some papers a couple of times.”- the more she talked, the more did rage boil in you, so much that  it seemed that steam will start going out of your ears. Her voice only rose as she continued through laughter.“Damn, you made me wait  around corners like crazy people just so we can see if they are a couple or not. And when it finally turned out they were not, I will never forget your jumping in the air from excitement.”- before she could say any more , something gooey and sticky landed right on her forehead. She whined in surprise, as the pieces of mochi started falling down her face.“Anything else you want to add?!Huh?!”- you lifted your hand high, ready to throw another mochi at her.“Maybe if you threw yourself on Benimaru in the same way you are throwing this mochi, you would get some and your nerves would calm down!!”- she screamed before ducking down as your hand catapulted another one at her.  You didn’t even know that your little show didn’t go as private as you thought. The high tones of the people from the main hall were unfortunately not enough to cover your voices, and one curious ear absorbed every word. Benimaru lowered his head, starting to walk away from the kitchen door. Under his raven hair, a grin was hiding.

He sat quietly watching the people around him fiercely try to get his attention. Some were male neighbors praising his fighting skills, their speech interrupted by hiccups from too much sake was almost humorous, while on the other hand a couple of girls discreetly tried to gain his favor, but all they got was a restrained smile. He brought the glass to his lips to take a sip of the bitter liquid, but there were no more inside. Your grandmother, who was actually only a few seats away from him, noticed the lack of refreshment for the beloved captain, and of course, called your name instantly. “(Y/N)! Fill the captain’s cup!”- you kept away from his table. Actually, you targeted those behind him, in order to better avoid a face-to-face encounter. The things (B/F) told you bothered you too much, and you didn't just want to deepen your cravings and quarrel with yourself over the feelings you carry for this man. Hearing your name, Benimaru tilted his head, looking over his strong shoulder with his glowing eyes. That deep gaze made you swallow, barely keeping you composure. You knew if you came any closer you would break, and you will not give him that satisfaction. You lifted you chin up,  pushed back your shoulders, and turned on your heal as the cold answer followed.“He has hands. He can fill it up himself.”- without second thought, you walked away, but you swore you could feel a set of burning eyes following you.

The hallways were empty, all the guests retreated to the main hall. As the night went on, even the workers began to relax, completing their work and joining the rest of the town in celebration. There was no longer a need to bring the food from the kitchen, at least for the time being, the tables were full. (B/F) was the last person leaving the kitchen, as you said you will join her shortly, you just wanted to finish a few things up. Carrying the empty bamboo boxes, you took a turn into the hallway bathed in dim light, crashing with your shoulder into something big and hard. You blinked in shock, barely managing not to drop the boxes on the floor. The thing in front of you was a person, and seeing him made your heart race. Benimaru Shinmon stood there silently, his eyes half opened, shoulders relaxed, while he studied you.  You almost bit your lip, but seeing the man baring that uninterested expression once more, made your blood boil instead. “Excuse me is the words you are looking for! You should watch where you are going.”- you said irritated, trying to go pass him, hiding your flustered face beneath your hair. A feeling of slight pain spread throw your back as it crashed on the wall. It took you a couple of seconds to figure out what was going on, that is, you needed to believe that this was not one of your dreams. Pressed with his hips on your abdomen, Benimaru towered over you. He seemed stronger than usual, more dangerous, but there was not a shred of fear in you, just excitement. “Wh..what are you doing?! Get off!”- funny you should say that, when in reality you didn’t wiggle or struggle at all, your big mouth once again just stood in your way in order to show your true feelings. But Benimaru was no fool. He did not respond on your demands, instead, he tilted his head on the side, like he was checking something, then returned his gaze on you. You could feel the ground disappearing under you. You gasped at the unsettling feeling, trying to grab onto something from pure instinct. But the only thing you managed to grab was the one making you lose the floor under your feet in the first place. Benimaru picked you up by your waist, his forearm adorned with prominent veins wrapped around your waist like a snake, not letting go of his prey. He was fast, pushing the door of the kitchen that was empty and dark, kicking it again as they closed with a loud bang that made you flinch, while he turned the key in the lock. “Benimaru ! What the hell? I said let go!”- in reality, you hated the thought of his hands leaving your body. The feeling that flowed through your veins when you were this close to him, almost took over even your insolence, but the bits that were left now squirted like popcorn from your lips. “You are too huffish, (Y/N).”- his voice smooth like honey, but a bit dark. The sudden feeling of falling down made a muffled whine to escape your mouth, but you did not hit the ground. He held you in his lap while he sat down on a kitchen table. Your permanent denial tried to strike for the last time, making you turn around furiously, facing the man who dared to pick you up like a helpless and fragile thing. But the sharpness of your words did not come down from your lips, when sweetness filled your taste buds. The warm flesh of his lips now merged with yours. The bitter taste of the sake he drank from didn't bother you, because for you he tasted like cupid's wine, intoxicating you, maddening your thoughts and driving your senses wild. You felt dizzy from the heat that rushed into your cheeks when he first ran his tongue over yours, caressing its soft surface with his tender muscle. You tried to get some air in your lungs but you didn't know how to breathe, you were so enchanted by his kisses. You almost swore in displeasure when he pulled his lips away from yours.“If you just did this, we would be able to skip the punishment.”- confused, you did not even manage to answer his statement when his hands that were resting on your waist till now, pulled you down and flipped you across his lap. Your knees landed on the wooden surface of the table, as you kept your balance on your elbows in the front. “What…what are you doing?”- you asked with a shaky voice, seeing how his hand hold you by the material of you kimono on your lower back, keeping you steady. “I declined the home made meal from your obaachan today because I knew we already had a meal prepared for the day.”- he said sliding his rough palm of his free hand across your spine, down to the your lower back, all the way to your peachy ass. You bit you lip, shivering when his touch did not stop, traveling down your thigh, then taking a handful of fabric of your kimono.“Taking more would mean throwing it away because it would not be eaten. And that would be disrespectful.”- he jerked your kimono abruptly, exposing your entire lower body. Your perfectly shaped ass made him discreetly lick his lips, while you covered your face with your palms in shame. “I-I…I didn’t k..know that ..”- you tried to explain yourself, but in vain, as his voice  responded harshly, accompanied with his finger movement, slipping under the side of your panties. You whined loudly as his index finger brushed along your folds.“You did not bother to ask. But fortunately as you said earlier, I do have my hands. And with my hands I plan to teach you how to behave.”- the sound of tearing fabric filled the kitchen. You bit your hand when you felt the exhaled air from his mouth pass over your naked cunt. He was so close that he could feel the heat coming from it, barely restraining himself from biting into that cookie. You stirred a little, the discomfort ate at you up, the feeling of arousal overcame you.“Don’t look there….Benimaru, please I-….”

“You know how to say please already? Well, I wonder what it will take to teach you to say sorry.”- his fingertips crossed over your silky pussy lips, gently caressing the rosy flesh. You whimpered at the slow pace of his movements. He didn't remove his head, he calmly watched the wet glow slowly appear on those folds. He pushed his finger closer to the opening, collecting some sticky liquid with his fingertip. He didn't push his finger inside, but continued to draw a line along your slit. “Oh my Sol!”- you cried out, squirming already, but that did not even make him flinch. He pushed his digit a bit harder, make it sink into the sensitive flesh, brushing over it all so gently. “Sol will not help you (Y/N), but some manners might. Luckily again, as you said, captain should be a role model, showing the people the art of good manners.”- his thumb slipped across your clit, making the rough skin stimulate it so greatly it made your icing flow more intensely. You yearned for him to do it again, but you were out of luck. This was not supposed to be something to reward you with, this was a straight up lesson to teach you what will happen when your bratty mouth bump into an opponent like Benimaru. He settled his thumb above your throbbing nerve bud, adding another finger to the game. His index and middle finger pulled your pussy lips slowly, massaging them between them. The sensation you were feeling made you feel dizzy. The overwhelming pleasure that arose in you now got your legs shaking without stopping. The feeling was unbearable, because he touched all the sensitive places but leaving the critical ones empty and eager. This teasing was so arousing your juices now strained down your thigh. The crystal like liquid did not go unnoticed by Benimaru, as a grin appeared on his face. Without a second though, he lowered his head, sticking his tongue out and pressing it on your plushy thighs, collecting the juices in long strokes. “Beni!!”- you moaned like a whore, voice filled with begging desire and maddening need, but he did not plan to be interrupted. He slid his hand under you, finding your mouth and sticking the fingers coated in your icing in it.“Clean this up, while I clean you down here.”- he lifted his hand a bit to make you close your mouth around his fingers, pumping them in and out to insure you will do the job well. You sobbed in a low voice as you sucked on your own cum, barely concentrating on his order when the feeling of him patiently licking off the wetness along your thighs and getting closer to your cunt made you almost faint. His soft muscle finally found its way to the grand prize, as he brushed it on your folds and around your entrance in circular motions. You could not take it, you started to push your ass back, trying to make him stick his tongue in, touch your clit, anything to give you the sweet release you so desperately needed. But he will not grant you that. He pressed his mouth right on your heated hole, and started sucking, gathering the last of your juices. You body was on the edge, you could feel your heart skipping a beat, lungs barely catching air and muscles tensing, begging for that much needed release, but the only thing you got was a tender kiss on your clit, before he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, and lifting you off of him. He placed you in the sitting position, spreading your legs so your cunt was fully exposed to him once more. Your own wetness was smeared around your lips. You lowered your gaze, seeing something that made your mouth drop open. On Benimaru’s loose pants, there were more than clear outlines of his thick dick. You never saw something like that before, stretching the fabric mercilessly. He was not big, he was huge, and you wanted every damn inch buried inside of you. But you again forgot that this was not your lucky day….“You can only watch as I get the release that you are forbidden to reach tonight.” he slid his hand under his pants, giving his length a couple of experimental pumps before exposing the beast to you.“If you will behave, next time I will reward you, this time you will only swallow your bratty words…and my cum.”- he started slowly jerking it off, gazing at your plumb lips where his load will end.

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[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

BTS DRABBLE-Yoongi

@libtastic​ Thank you for inspiring this idea and for sharing all your knowledge. Story Time Yoongi belongs to you. Love you, boo. 💜

Yoongi has never thought he was the sort of dad to go to the library-of his own free will-and sit through a preschool story time. However, he’ll do anything to make his daughter happy, and if that means going every week to said story time, he’ll be there. And honestly, getting to interact with the cute children’s librarian-who he may or may not be developing a crush on-is not such a bad bonus. Whatever makes his daughter happy, right?

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, BTS x you, BTS x reader, BTS Drabble, Librarian AU, Librarian!Reader, SingleDad!Yoongi, Dad Au, Dad Yoongi, Min Yoongi, Yoongi x you, Yoongi x reader, Dad!Bangtan, Fluff, Min Yoongi x you, Min Yoongi x reader

Genre: Fluff

Title: Story Time

Yoongi doesn’t quite know what brings him to the library that day. Maybe it’s the fact that Hyejin is whiny and bored-stuck inside because of the cold, dreary weather-or because the song he’s currently producing is going nowhere and starting to give him a headache. 

Or maybe it’s because of the iron like grip that Seokjin has on the sleeve of his coat-dragging him through the stacks of books-and the guilt inducing sentiments and pleading words his friend had thrown his way that morning on the phone. 

Whatever the reason, Yoongi is here now-Hyejin clinging tightly to his mitten covered hand-and he’s already regretting it. 

The library’s children section is decorated in brightly colored colored cut outs-pasted loudly across all the walls-and posters that boast pictures of smiling kids and adults, holding books in their hands accompanied by slogans that loudly scream, Read! It’s the smart thing to do! and Reading makes the world go ‘round!

Every single person on those posters looks way too happy to be here in Yoongi’s opinion, and it’s only heightening his headache, pounding behind his ears and into his temples. 

“You’re gonna love Miss (Y/N), Hyejin.” Jin says, slightly out of breath, pulling Yoongi back from his annoyed thoughts, as the older man slows down to fall into step beside father and daughter, adjusting the baby on his hip as he graces Hyejin with a beaming smile. “She’s the best. So fun, and very pretty.” 

Yoongi’s head jerks up, and he shoots his friend a glare, as Jin grins wider in his direction, and sends him a, exaggerated, knowing wink. 

Damn it, Yoongi knew Seokjin’s intentions weren’t pure. They never were.

Yoongi doesn’t have time to subtly flip Jin off or curse him out before the story time corner comes into view.

A group of bustling, giggling toddlers sits in a circle of rainbow, plastic chairs, a feeling of anticipation in the air, as their mothers shush the overly excited kids, and remind them to use whisper voices-and Yoongi notes, slightly sourly-that there seem to be no other dads present. 

His eyes drift over the small crowd, and he notices you then, setting up a table at the front of the group, and adjusting some pillows on the large, overly worn arm chair that sits in the center of said brightly colored chairs, surrounded and seeming completely at home among all the squirming, loud toddlers. 

 He does have to admit, as he trudges behind Seokjin-Hyejin eagerly pulling at his fingers as they look for seats-that you are really pretty. 

Seokjin leads Yoongi and the kids to a corner, where he settles down into the hard plastic of one of the children’s seats, patting the one beside him as he raises a brow in Yoongi’s direction, where he’s still standing, feeling slightly out of place. 

“Come on, sit down.” Jin encourages teasingly, as he shuffles his infant daughter around on his hip once more, reaching for her binkie where it has fallen to the floor, while simultaneously hushing his son, who is speaking a little too loudly and animatedly to the little girl next to him. 

“Daddy, sit by me!” Hyejin pipes up, her clear voice floating above the others, as she tugs at Yoongi’s hand and looks up at him with wide, dark eyes, her black pigtails sticking out at odd angles from beneath her beanie. She flashes him a grin, so much like his own, all white teeth and pink gums. “Sit down, daddy!” 

Yoongi sighs, and stifling his urge to roll his eyes, slides into the too small chair beside his daughter, managing to give her a smile, as he nods and says softly, “Okay, Okay Hyejin. Daddy’s sitting.”

“Mr. Kim!” 

Yoongi’s head startles upwards at your voice, and suddenly, he’s caught off guard, as he comes face to face with you, standing in front of their group, a large smile on your lips, as you adjust the glasses on the bridge of your nose. 

You’re looking at Jin, and his kids, not even in his direction, but Yoongi suddenly feels flushed, as if it’s a little too hot in the room. He reaches up to unwind his scarf, as Hyejin kicks her legs against the chair beside him happily. 

“Ms. (Y/N)!” Jin replies warmly, sticking out his hand for you to take, as you shake it eagerly, eyes darting between him and the children at his feet. “It’s good to see you again!” 

You laugh, and Yoongi think it’s the prettiest sound he’s heard in awhile-light and sparkling like the fresh snow that is falling outside the large library windows. 

“You too.” You nod, and grin once more, before you crouch down to the childrens’ height, and reach out to pinch the Kim boy’s cheeks. “Hey, Jisung, how are you?” 

“Good.” The little boy nods, and his eyes light up when you pay attention to what he’s saying and give a fond ruffle to his hair. “What’s story time about today?” 

You smile, and give him a conspiratorial wink. “You’ll just have to wait and see.” 

And then, you glance over in Yoongi’s direction-finally-and he’ll never admit it, but when your gaze meets his own, his heart stutters to a stop in his chest for a brief moment.

Jin must catch your curious gaze in Yoongi’s direction, because he’s hurriedly leaning forward, and almost too excitedly, exclaiming to you, “This is my friend, Yoongi. And his daughter Hyejin.” 

“Hi.” You give a little wave in his direction, and it takes everything in Yoongi to form some sort of greeting to you in return. 

That and the fact that Jin kicks him sharply-unseen-beneath the chair legs of the plastic seats. 

“Shi-” Yoongi starts to swear, shooting him a glare, before he remembers that he is literally surrounded by children. Swallowing, he manages to pull the corners of his lips back into a tight smile in your direction. “Pleasure.” 

“Hi!” Hyejin interrupts, practically bouncing in her seat, and Yoongi doesn’t miss the way that your face instantly softens and relaxes when you turn to address his daughter. 

Maybe you’re a little bit like him, in the fact that he’s much more comfortable around children than he ever has been adults. 

Something about overwhelming, pure honesty, and the fact that deception hasn’t been ingrained anywhere in their personalities yet. 

“Hello.” You get down on your knees, carefully taking Hyejin’s small hand into your own. “You must be Hyejin.” You glance down her small, slim frame quickly, and your eyes alight when you smile broadly. “Wow. I love your cat sticker.” 

Hyejin grins and proudly holds out the lapel of her winter coat, which is currently the home of a very large, very bright cartoon sticker of a cat, plastered with the words, Good Job!, across the bottom in bright pink letters. 

“Thank you.” Her smile widens, as she glances up at Yoongi, and suddenly, he feels like he knows where this is going, and his cheeks are starting to warm. “I love kitties. Daddy looks like a kitty.” 

Yoongi feels his cheeks flame brighter, as you glance over Hyejin’s head toward him, and a slightly amused look comes across your eyes, as you stifle back a laugh, and then tilt your head slightly, scrunching your nose in a cute way as you study him that has Yoongi’s heart once again faltering. “He kind of does, huh?” 

Hyejin laughs, and you laugh with her, and Yoongi is startled-for the second time-at how clear and bright and pleasant the sound is. 

“Well.” You pat Hyejin on the head and stand from your spot on the floor, glancing at the clock. “I need to get story time started. Do you think you can help me today, Hyejin?” You shoot her a look that clearly says you have a very important job for her. 

The little girl nods, chest puffing out with importance and pride at your trust. “Yes.” 

“Good.” You nod, and offering Yoongi a slight smile-as if the two of you are in  on some sort of secret together-you make your way to the center of the circle, and clap your hands. “Okay, everyone! Welcome to story time! Let’s get started!” 

******

You are slightly surprised to see Yoongi back again at story time the next week. 

Sure, Hyejin had seemed to enjoy herself, and Yoongi hadn’t seemed to have had the worst time either, his eyes alight as he grinned softly and watched Hyejin participate in the songs, and books, and activities you had planned. 

But Yoongi just didn’t come off as someone you expected to spend time in a library when he didn’t have to. Especially the children’s section. 

But here he is-catching you off guard-as you glance over your shoulder from setting up to see Hyejin leading her father to their same seats from the week before, her brightly colored mittens clenched in his long fingers, her woolen hat low over her ears and eyes. 

You straighten, and adjusting the last of the books on the table-Oh! by Kevin Henkes-you turn to glance at Hyejin, giving her a sneaky little wave, as she settles herself in her chair. 

She giggles, and returns the wave, somewhat shyly, as she burrows into her father’s side.

Speaking of her father-

You let your gaze slip to Yoongi-a direct contrast to the bright feel of the children’s section-dressed in a long, black peacoat today, a knit cream sweater, and dark, ripped jeans, and you feel your breath catch in your throat slightly. 

So dumb.

But the way his dark hair is falling over his forehead as he looks down at Hyejin-caramel eyes bright and attentive behind his black rimmed glasses-makes you feel some sort of way. 

He’s a good dad. 

And it doesn’t hurt that he’s also hot as hell. 

Clearing your throat, you drag your gaze away from the duo, glad that he hadn’t caught you staring, and cheeks slightly flushed, you clap your hands to gain the attention of the preschoolers filling up the circle. 

“Okay!” You grin, as the kids all turn their attention to you. “Let’s start! You glance behind you to the books set up on the table, and the various activities out on display. “Can anyone guess what our theme is for today?” 

One of the little boys raises his hand immediately, and you point toward him. “Han? Yes?” 

“Snow!” Han bounces excitedly in his chair, and his mom puts a hand on his shoulder with a smile, leaning over to whisper something to him, which makes him calm down, if only slightly. 

“Yes! Good!” You clap again, and you can feel Yoongi staring at you, but you don’t lose focus. 

Maybe he thinks you’re overenthusiastic or annoying or even a little crazy. 

And you wouldn’t blame him. 

But honestly, you just love this job. 

You move on to read the first picture book, careful to take your time and show off all the brightly colored illustrations around the circle, doing silly voices and faces that make the kids giggle, and when you’re done, you sit back in your chair, closing the book, before you ask, “So. That was a good story huh?” 

“Yes!” Hyejin’s voice rings clear above the others, and you glance in her direction, offering her a slight smile that you can’t hold back at her enthusiasm. 

Without thinking, your eyes meet Yoongi’s, sitting next to his daughter, and your mouth goes slightly dry as he gives you the hint of a smile, his lips curling upward, as he cocks his head in your direction, a gesture that is oddly feline in nature. 

You remember Hyejin’s cat sticker from the very first day, and hold back another, wider grin, as you turn back to the waiting group of toddlers. 

“Now.” You reach behind your chair, and pull out a box, filled with soft, fabric white balls. “Who wants to have a snowball fight?” 

********

Yoongi finds himself at story time the next week, and the week after that. 

And before long, it is part of he and Hyejin’s regular schedule on Tuesday mornings. A natural hour that slides into the rest of their comfortable routine quite easily, which surprises him. 

This week at story time, after you have read the last story and sung the farewell song with the children, waving them all goodbye until next week, Yoongi finds himself hesitating, not wanting to leave quite yet. 

Hyejin tugs at the edge of his sweater, and when Yoongi glances down at his daughter, she’s watching him with eyes that clearly say she understands what’s happening. “Go talk to her, daddy.” 

Damn her perception. She was too smart for Yoongi’s own good. 

“I really don’t think-” Yoongi starts to make the excuse that you seem busy, putting away the materials, or that he has to take a call, or get back home to start work again, but before he can, you’re turning to them, a smile lighting up your face at the sight of them both. 

“Did you guys need something?” You question curiously, and Yoongi feels his heart leap into his throat, as his eyes meet yours. 

“Daddy wants to say something to you.” Hyejin states innocently, and Yoongi squeezes her small fingers within her own, as if to tell her to stop talking. She doesn’t spare him a single glance, as she scuffs her heavy winter boots on the floor and pushes forward. “He thinks you’re pretty.” 

Yoongi chokes on his own spit. “Hyejin!” 

He feels his cheeks flush hot, and he can tell you’re fighting back a smile, as you clear your throat, and kindly ignoring his startled coughing fit, crouch down before Hyejin, eyes soft and slightly curious, filled with amusement. 

“Is that so?” You ask, but you don’t look up at him yet, and Yoongi is grateful for that, his whole face red and flushed, as he tugs mindlessly at Hyejin’s mittened hand, as if he can physically pull her away from spilling anymore of his secrets. 

“Yup.” Hyejin nods, dark pigtails dancing across the slick material of the back of her bright pink coat. “He thinks you’re really pretty.” 

“Hmmm.” You hum out, putting your finger against your lips-and Yoongi fights himself not to stare at your mouth with the movement-as you regard Hyejin seriously. “That’s interesting.” 

You let a smile slip from between your fingers, and Yoongi feels his heart skip a beat. You lean toward Hyejin, as if you’re fellow conspirators sharing a highly guarded secret. “I think your daddy’s pretty cute, too, Hyejin.” 

“You do?” Yoongi watches as his daughter’s eyes go wide at your declaration, and her mouth forms a perfect “o” of surprise and delight. She looks up at him then, tugging excitedly at his hand. “Did you hear that daddy? Did you?” 

Yoongi swallows hard, and he nods. “I did, Hyejin.” 

You stand up then, and your eyes meet his, and he swears, the smile that graces your lips, is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

“So.” You start, reaching up to adjust your glasses. “Story time next week then?” 

Yoongi nods again, this time more sure and confident, and he can’t help the smile that slips across his own lips at your words. “Story time next week.” 

*****

It is several story times later when Yoongi surprises you once more. 

You are ending the session, playing your classic closing tune “Skinamarink” happily and without care on your ukulele, missing some notes, but not even missing a beat, as you laugh and sing and lead the circle of dancing children around the corner of the library.  

And today, when your eyes meet Yoongi’s briefly, over the heads of the wiggling preschoolers, you notice something. Something fond and affectionate in his expression, something in his dark, almond shaped eyes-as he watches you prance around and make a fool of yourself-that sends your heart skipping within the walls of your chest. 

“Okay, okay!” You call out breathlessly, and not entirely from the singing and dancing. You clap your hands. “That’s goodbye for today, friends! See you next week!” 

The story time nook is filled with bustling as the parents round up their children and coats and belongings, and you try to calm your still overly excited heart among the chaos by focusing on putting away your supplies. 

But something tells you that Yoongi is still there, watching you with the same expression from earlier, and that makes your silly, stupid heart do dizzying circles once more, even as you bite your lip and try to focus elsewhere. 

You are just finishing cleaning up the craft supplies, when you feel a tug on the edge of your dress, and glancing down, you see Hyejin, fingers curled around your skirt, looking up at you with wide, dark eyes and that gummy smile on her face that melts your heart. 

The same gummy smile her father sports when he’s happy-an expression you have only seen in its full glory a few times over the last month-but an expression, that none the less, stops you in your tracks with its brilliance every time. 

“Ms. (Y/N)!” Hyejin exclaims with excitement clear in her tone, as she shoves a carefully wrapped package into your hands. “I have a Christmas present for you!” 

“What? No!” You gasp out with delight, sinking down onto the floor beside her, as you carefully inspect the gift that now rests in your lap. You note-with a flare of happiness in your chest-that there are carefully placed cat stickers covering the christmas wrapping paper. Obviously Hyejin’s touch. “Thank you, Hyejin!” 

“Open it, open it!” Hyejin is bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement beside you, and you hide away a grin as you do what you’re told, tearing into the wrapping paper, careful not to separate any of the stickers with your progress. 

“Oh my gosh! Hyejin!” You exclaim as the paper comes away to reveal a copy of a children’s book entitled My Cat Looks Like My Dad by Thao Lam. Your mouth is slightly open, as you smooth your fingers over the crisp, new cover, and inspect the brightly, colored illustrated pages of the book. You can’t resist the urge to lift the new tome to your nose and take a whiff of that new book smell that you love so much. 

You are touched, and suddenly, you feel as if it’s a little bit more difficult to swallow, as tears threaten to thicken your throat. 

“I love it. Thank you, Hyejin.” You manage to say, your tone softened, as without thinking, you pull the little girl to you in a big hug. “Thank you, thank you.” 

“You know why I got you that book?” Hyejin asks as she pulls back from you, and you find your fingers once more smoothing over the cover in your lap. You shake your head-though you have a good idea-and she grins happily, pointing to the title. “My dad looks like a cat too.” 

You laugh then-you can’t help it-and it’s the first time you’ve looked at Yoongi since you caught him watching you during the ending song. 

He looks so effortlessly beautiful-standing slightly behind Hyejin-hands deep in the pockets of his coat, watching the two of you with amber eyes, dark hair falling easily over his forehead and onto the rim of his wire glasses. 

He shrugs slightly and offers you the start of a smile, and when he speaks, his voice is warm and deep and comforting, and you feel your heart speed up once again. “She picked it out herself.” 

You let your gaze linger on him for another brief moment, and then shaking your head slightly, you glance back to Hyejin, flashing her a smile as you say, “I got you a present too, Hyejin!” 

“Really?” Hyejin asks with surprise, her eyes going wide and round, as she watches you reach behind you and pull out a neatly wrapped pink and purple package, complete with shiny bow and a large cat sticker. 

“Here.” You hand it to her, and watch with a smile on your features, as she rips open the paper, not sparing a second glance as it falls to the floor at her feet to reveal the children’s book you had picked out for her. 

“It’s so pretty.” Hyejin says softly, and you appreciate the way she instantly runs her fingers carefully over the art on the cover of the book, tiny fingertips gently tracing the spine of the worn, older looking tome. 

“It was mine when I was a kid.” You say simply, feeling emotional again,a s you watch the little girl in front of you admire the book the same way you always had as a child. “It’s called There’s Something in my Attic. I read it over and over. And I want you to have it.” 

Hyejin spends another moment admiring the book, and then she throws her arms around your neck without warning, nearly knocking you off balance. 

You glance once more at Yoongi over the top of his daughter’s head, and that same expression is back on his face, the expression that makes you feel safe, yet slightly nervous at the same time. 

Jittery almost, as if he’s making you anxious, but in a pleasant, waiting for Christmas morning, kind of way. 

When Hyejin releases you and sits down on one of the empty colorful chairs to carefully flip through her new book, you brush off your knees and stand, not really sure what to say next, as you and Yoongi stand staring at one another. 

You clear your throat, but Yoongi beats you to the punch, stepping toward you and closing the distance between the two of you, before he holds out his palm in your direction, fingers unfurling to reveal a small, ribbon wrapped box in the middle of his hand. 

“What’s this?” You ask, slightly suspicious, and you don’t miss the way his lips quirk upward in amusement at your question. 

“Just open it.” He says, and his tone is slightly shy, as he glances away from you, biting on his bottom lip. “Hyejin got to give you her present. Now it’s my turn.” 

You take the package from his palm-trying to ignore the way your heart starts to pound as your fingers brush against his own-and carefully undo the red ribbon that adorns the box, before slipping the lid off, breath held as you crane your neck to peer inside. 

And when you see what’s inside the box-nestled among the folds of tissue paper and velvet cushion-you laugh, the sound surprised and genuine. 

“What-” You start to say, as you slip your fingers beneath the cat sticker, carefully positioned on the pillow, and hold it up for Yoongi to see. “What is this?” 

“Well.” Yoongi shrugs, his cheeks going slightly red, as he offers you a shy smile, and reaches out to take the sticker from between your extended fingertips. “I was hoping you’d wear this.” He must see the way your brows inch up, because he hurries to finish explaining, glancing down at the sticker within his hand. “And that I could take it as a sign that you’d agree to go on a date with me?”  He ends the sentence in a question, his cheeks growing darker. 

You bite back a grin at his rushed words, spilling from his lips as if he’s worried you’ll say no before he can finish. Because damn it all, this is the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. Yoongi is the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. 

“Hmmm.” You step toward him, pretending to think over his offer, glancing down at your feet, toe to toe with his dress shoes, which he always seems to wear, regardless of the weather. And then you tilt your head to meet his gaze, and offer him the brightest grin you can muster. “I think I can agree to that.” 

Yoongi’s features-held tight with stress-instantly relax, and suddenly, he’s grinning back at you, and you’re blinded by the sight of the rare, full gummy smile, that leaves you reeling and feeling like butterflies have invaded your stomach. 

He leans toward you, and carefully placing the sticker onto the collar of your dress, smooths it down with steady, gentle movements of his long fingers, his warm, amber eyes-holding that look once again-locked with your own. 

The corners of his lips have not dropped down from the smile he gave you earlier, and his fingers stop their movements on your collar, simply sitting on the fabric there, as he intones softly, “So, story time next week.” 

And this time, it is not a question. 

You nod, feeling so happy you’re lightheaded, and reach up to intertwine your fingers with his own where they still rest against your dress. “Story time next week.” 

[faerune]

the sun has come to save me

pairing: johnny silverhand x f!v [vera volakov]

summary: in the aftermath of mikoshi's destruction, johnny takes his old body for a joyride and v accepts an offer from the aldecaldos though they can't seem to shake the other's presence. johnny shows up for a drink.

warnings: smut with feelings! drinking! smoking! spoilers!

[AO3]

Johnny Silverhand is on her doorstep and boy, if her teeny bopper self could be here-

But she isn’t and Johnny barely looks at her when he shoves inside with not a hello but a “Where you keep your booze?” 

They both seem to realize how redundant the question is when Johnny makes a b-line for the cabinet stocked with half-finished liquor bottles and mixers. 

Vera clicks her tongue against the back of her teeth and frowns at him, shoving the door closed. She hasn’t seen him for weeks. Not since Viktor gave him the all clear. She wasn’t surprised. It seemed he was rearing to take his new...well, old body out for a spin.

Still, a text to let her know he wasn’t dead in a gutter would have been nice. She had worked damn hard to get that body back for him. She’s surprised he didn’t take it and run; get back to doing what he does best — shredding in some sleazy bar for free drinks or sniffing out any way to fuck a corp over.

Vera shifts on her bare feet, hip cocked out and her arms crossed. She bites her tongue because it’s weird how much the picture of a pissed girlfriend she must be right now. 

She wanders over to where Johnny has uncorked a bottle of whiskey that’s been gathering dust in her cabinet. He pours it garishly into mismatched cups and hands her one. It’s the first time he looks at her, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“It’s like...ten in the morning,” Vera tells him, motioning toward the window aglow with sunlight.

“Like you give a shit,” he counters.

Vera ponders that for a moment and then shrugs, throwing the glass back. The whiskey burns her throat and she makes a disgusted noise, a little shiver shaking through her. Vera has never liked whiskey and regretfully his tolerance for it was not something they shared now. She catches Johnny’s crooked teasing smile before he takes the cup and bottle, swaggering over to her couch.

She wonders if he has noticed that — that they have bled into each other like ink on a soaked page. It is no coincidence that Vera has suddenly developed the ability to write with her left hand. And gained an affinity for shitty 2020s alternative rock.

Vera doesn’t bring her cup with her but follows him and sinks onto the couch with him, folding her long legs underneath her. 

“So, where have you been?” 

Johnny leans against the back of the couch, long silver arm stretching over the back and mirrors her so their bodies are turned towards each other. He takes a thoughtful sip and Vera fights the urge to roll her eyes. Always one for the dramatics. Though, it’s not like she can judge. Her annoyance with him has simpered to a warm, idle irritation. Something born more out of habit and unfortunate fondness for the asshole.

“Explorin’ the city. Seein’ what’s changed-” he begins. He points at her. “On my own terms. You were a good tour guide, V but-

“So…getting fucked up,” Vera continues with a wry smile.

Johnny laughs and sets his drink down, “Little bit of that too.”

“Why are you here, Johnny?” she finds herself asking, resting her cheek on her fist. 

“Realized we never celebrated,” he tells her, relaxing back with a satisfied grunt and aims his eyes at her. “Got our bodies, our lives. Hell, I can’t figure anything better to drink to.”

“We got lucky,” Vera tells him as both a grateful praise and a truthful warning. The cautious paranoia she has adopted has nothing to do with his influence that’s for sure.

“When’d you become so pessimistic,” Johnny scoffs. “What happened to my favorite starry-eyed little merc?”

Vera avoids his eyes, stares down at a scratch in her coffee table. Her manicured nails play with the studs in her ear. 

“You miss me?” 

Johnny’s voice comes as a surprise, thick and sticky with emotion. When she looks up, he’s staring right at her, studying her face. Vera’s chest tightens. Maybe he does feel that itch, the unfamiliar and haunting foreignness of being alone in the silence of a room. The lingering touch of someone else on the soul.

“You wish,” she teases dryly but the tightness in her throat prevents it from packing the intended punch. Vera reaches out for the bottle because suddenly that burn seems all the more appealing. It’s easier the second time around but she still can’t help the little twist her face does. He takes the bottle from her, again without comment. This time, however, his face looks serious and inquisitive.

Instead of prodding, filling the silence with words she waits patiently. It’s a hard habit to break but she’s getting better at it.

“Fuck,” Johnny grunts, leaning forward to rub the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Feel like I’m goin’ insane.”

Vera watches him — the fall of his hair in a dark curtain around his face, the curve of his back in the black t-shirt he’s wearing. The couch dips with the shift of his weight and it hits her again like it always does. She could reach out and touch him right now.

“I keep tryin’ to talk to you,” Johnny says in disbelief. “Keep forgetting I’m not in your head anymore.”

She lets out a breath of relief.

“Me too.” 

Vera’s lips curve into a tight-lipped smile, “Keep doing shit just to piss you off so you’ll talk to me.”

Johnny laughs at that. Well and truly laughs, deep in his belly. Vera isn’t sure she’s ever heard him laugh like that. It’s awfully contagious because pretty soon she is laughing with him.

“Been chewing on that fucking gum you chomp on,” Johnny tells her, snapping his ‘ganic fingers together. “Fuck what is it-”

“Cherrygasm?” Vera grins. 

“Shit, yeah,” Johnny says, shaking his head and leaning back against the couch. “Get antsy if I don’t taste that teeth-rotting shit. Got me to quit smokin’ at least.”

Vera lets out an uncharacteristic snort, “Well, shit, I started.”

“Ah, V…” Johnny begins.

She gasps and clamps her hand on his shoulder, sitting up onto her knees in excitement, “Don’t tell me The Johnny Silverhand is about to lecture me on smoking right now.”

Johnny’s hand cups the back of her thigh and moves it to the other side of his waist. Vera blinks dumbly down at him, her hands held up in front of her, limp and awkward. The two stare at each other for a moment but Johnny’s chrome hand doesn’t leave her bare skin. God, he almost looks...scared shitless.

Her voice is tight and quiet when she speaks.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly.

Vera’s lips are on his. It’s rough, sudden and desperate as he responds in kind. A frantic kind of want starts to burn in her belly. Johnny is solid. Warm. Real. Her fingers sliding into his hair, Johnny grasping at her ass with bruising eagerness and flips her onto her back. He’s over top of her, around her. 

Her thighs spread so his slim hips can settle between them. Johnny’s hand tightens around her thigh and he grinds into her through the soft fabric of her shorts. A little sound leaves her mouth that she can’t manage to swallow. He smells like shitty motel soap and his tongue tastes like fucking bubblegum just like he said. Their frantic hands both war with her shirt for a moment, pulling in every which way as they scramble to get it off. 

Vera is exposed to the chill of her apartment, colorful tattoos spread over her heavy breasts, her stomach and the curves of her hips.

He is touching her, touching with long calloused fingers and chilled chrome; and is it a surprise she whines when he pinches her nipple between his silver fingers? Her head swims as it tries to grasp onto reality. Johnny’s warm mouth latches over her other breast with the kind of messy hot licks that make her squirm. 

“Fuck,” she breathes, arching up into his mouth as he sucks greedily at her skin. Her breast, her collarbone, her stomach. Johnny nips at skin and soothes away the sting with a hot tongue. 

Vera tugs roughly at his hair enough to make him groan deep in his chest. Is this what she has been aching for? To have him inside of her again?

“Johnny,” she huffs impatiently, losing grip on the back hem of his shirt when he shifts to lick and bite at the one of the pistols on her hips. Almost angered by the interruption, he moves up onto his knees and tears his shirt off over his head. Vera’s hands grab him, pull him back down to her. She needs to feel him. The solid weight of his body, the brush of the hair on his chest over her sensitive nipples, the ragged border of his shoulder where skin meets metal. 

Johnny licks at her neck, loves roughly at her sensitive skin. Vera lets out another keen of impatience, rolling up against him as he rocks against her through their pants. Then he’s down again, trailing long tails of heat with his tongue.

She’s about to tell him to stop fucking around when he lifts her legs and yanks her shorts off in a swift motion.

“Fuck,” he groans, only giving himself a breath to gaze over her before tossing her legs over his shoulders. A happy purr of pride burns through her chest at that. Johnny buries himself between her thighs. Vera’s hand reaches overhead and grabs the edge of a velvet cushion as he covers her with his mouth and laps eagerly at her. 

A moan, a breath-

She presses him between her legs with a hand on the back of his head, tangling again in the silk strands of black hair. Her body shudders, heat having hit her like a truck, burning through her body. Johnny’s tongue drags the small amount of wetness that has gathered at her opening and licks it all over her cunt. His hands grab her hips and yanks her closer to him, her ass lifted a little into his arms. 

He lets her hips rock up against his tongue desperately but his clenched fist on her thigh that will surely bruise tells her that he normally does not allow this. Blinding pleasure aches through her all the way to her fingertips. Pretty moans and gasped whimpers offered to the room. It drowns out the news reporter babbling away on the radio.

Vera’s concerns and thoughts of past, future and present have been lost to her frantic train of thought.. It is only the two of them again. It is only Johnny between her legs flicking his talented tongue over her and pressing two warm fingers inside. Vera lets out a breathless, broken moan and bears down on them, her knuckles white as she grasps at the cushions and his hair in an effort to ground herself.

She wants to be filled, wants him, wants more, more, more.

Her chest is tight, her body is crying for it, begging for him and-

Vera’s lips only manage the first syllable of his name as her release crashes through her like a booming stroke of thunder. She moans loudly to the ceiling, her ankles locking together between Johnny’s shoulder blades. This is when he presses her down, holds her to the Earth, while she keens and groans deep in her chest for him. 

Johnny doesn’t wait till she’s finished before prying her thighs away from his head and scrambling to settle above her. Her mind is a pleasured daze as he shoves his pants down his hips just enough to pull himself from the tight pleather. It’s good he doesn’t wait because he’s big when he slides into her, her cunt giving way to him in one stroke with how slick she is. Johnny lavishes his tongue over her ear, his breath hot and his hands greedy, touching and grabbing at any part of her he can reach.

Vera wraps herself around him — legs hitched up around his waist, arms around his middle. It feels as if she can’t seem to get her breath back but it’s alright because Johnny’s got her, fuck he’s got her in his arms and he’s inside her. She buries her face into his neck and thinks about how much she doesn’t want to let go of him. Vera cannot let go of anyone. Cannot give up. How many times has he called her stubborn?

Johnny grinds into her; stretches her and licks at her collarbone to smooth the dull sting inside of her. It’s been a long time for her and maybe he remembers that. Memories of hers she didn’t keep too well guarded— far too preoccupied with other parts of her psyche she didn’t want anyone to touch. 

He grunts into her skin, bruising grip still on her hip and starts to fuck her hard. He stays seated within her, content not to draw himself out of her tightness. Johnny’s thrusts are hard and quick and shallow, leaving her breathless. Vera concludes that if he stops and leaves her aching and empty she would shatter. 

Johnny starts groaning and huffing, breathing V and then Vera and then baby and it could be the force of his pace but she swears she feels him shaking in her arms. 

He tightens, stills and grunts a slur of profanities against her neck before he relaxes against her. 

Vera starts to chase her breath, staring at the cracks in her ceiling while his weight settles on top of her. It is quiet except for their breaths and the continued drone of the radio. Vera tries to latch onto the words but she can’t seem to make sense of them at the moment, heart pounding in her ears. The two of them, sticky chests pressed together and breathing in an awkward, frantic tandem. Her fingers slide up over his shoulders and back into his hair, his breath hot and wet as it beats against her neck. 

Johnny doesn’t seem to be moving any time soon but she still keeps her arms around him, even if her legs have fallen back apart like jelly noodles.

When he finally picks his head up, her breathing has returned to normal. The edges of his hair are damp with sweat when she combs it from his face. 

“You good?” Johnny asks her. She isn’t looking in his eyes, a burn of intimacy blooming in her chest that is hard to bear.

“Yeah,” Vera nods and aches when they disentangle themselves from each other. Vera reaches down and snatches up his t-shirt, tugging it on to cover herself. Johnny instead kicks his pants off the rest of the way and sprawls naked on her couch. There is a long and tender moment of silence between them, Johnny watching her curl her legs under her, tucking herself into the curved corner of the couch. 

She reaches over the back to grab her half-empty box of smokes. Vera holds her lighter in her shaking hands and lights it with just a bit of difficulty. The burning drag feels good, settles the nerves that are bounding in her body; heart still pounding under his gaze. 

Satisfaction. A heart-rending something she still does not want to name and thinks she might not have to. Loneliness, an empty ache with him so far away —  though it may just be a foot or two in reality. Guilt too. 

“I’m leaving.”

“Fuck, I know it wasn’t bad,” Johnny jokes and smirks lazily. It falls when she doesn’t chide him or smile back at him. Vera takes another shaky drag.

“Joining the Aldecaldos when they leave for Arizona. We leave in two days.”

Vera is an expert now in catching the quick strike of hurt in his features. No matter the words he slings at her she can see it and that fucking scares him. Vera knows because it scares the shit out of her too. 

“Spit it out,” Vera huffs in irritation, anxiously flicking the ashes from the cig.

“You’re fuckin’ with me,” he scoffs with a shake of his head, “Why in the fuck would you wanna live the rest of your life with tarmac rats, eatin’ sand and-”

“It’s my fucking life, Johnny,” Vera snaps angrily, forcefully flicking more embers into the ashtray she pulled into her lap. “Finally. Just mine.”

Vera laughs breathlessly and shakes her head in disbelief. 

“This city ate us alive. We are lucky to even be sitting here,” Vera tells him forcefully, her finger raised in accusation. 

“Be fucking smarter next time then. You’re really going to give up? Let all of them-”

“All of who?!” Vera exclaims. “Arasaka? Millitech? Petrochem? NCPD?”

She stands, almost stumbling in her anger. The ashtray clatters onto the table. Johnny sits back and glares at her, watching her body curl in fury.

“Never thought you’d be a fucking pussy, V,” he snarls, yanking his pants back on when he stands.

“Aren’t you tired of fighting?” V breathes, staring up at him. There is a softness to her body, her voice — not of defeat but of exhaustion. “Johnny, this city takes . That’s all it does. It gives nothing. It took you. It took me. It took-”

Jackie. Evelyn. Her mother-

Vera leans over, blowing a column of smoke from the corner of her mouth and stubs out the cigarette.

“For some fucking reason we have another chance. I’m not going to waste it throwing my bloody corpse against a fucking wall like every promise this city makes isn’t a fucking lie .”

Johnny’s jaw is tight but he doesn’t speak. It’s how Vera knows there are no more walls he can throw up.

“A new start. It’s more than any dirtgirl from Heywood could ask for,” Vera tells him.

“Okay,” he tells her with a shrug.

“Okay?” 

“Both know you won’t listen to me anyway,” Johnny grunts, arms crossing over his chest. A flippant flick of his hand. Still, there is something in his resolution. Something bittersweet and maudlin. Her body swims with the same ache.

She kisses him again, softer this time, arms threading around his waist. It isn’t long before Johnny lifts her into his arms.

 -

Vera’s apartment is darkened save for the warm glow of a lamp and the ever-present neon flicker outside her window. One of her neighbors is playing some music that booms through the walls, into her stomach. A bright green and yellow light dances over Johnny’s face, cuts sharp lines into his cheeks. She refuses to let him take a drag of her cigarette, the pair of them tangled in sweaty sheets on her bed.

Vera leans her cheek against the side of his chest, staring up at the ceiling. He has an arm looped around her and she can’t resist playing idly running her thumb over each of his fingers.

“Panam and I are going to say goodbye to the city. Sunset on that bridge in Westbrook. Two days.”

They both know why she’s mentioning it.

The silent dark of the apartment swallows their silence.

 -

Two days later, Vera is bathed in sunset glow as she says her farewells to the city skyline. A tangle of emotions ache in her chest but the heaviness is peeling from her shoulders like a bad sunburn. Panam had told her to take a long look. She left Vera with a reassuring touch on the shoulder and an understanding Vera had only found a handful of times before.

Johnny had left her apartment that morning after without waking her. Neither of them were really equipped for goodbyes anyway. How did you say goodbye to someone who knew you like that? Vera felt untethered, light and bittersweet. Despite herself, when she closed her eyes she could still feel the ache of tears pressing forth. A few fell freely, quickly swept away by a manicured finger.

So lost in fighting back the well of emotion in her chest, Vera doesn’t hear the car until it comes roaring around the last curve in the hills. The tarmac waves with heat, the shiny silver metal reflecting sunrays into her eyes. She squints against the brightness and eyes the red racing stripe that cuts across the back half of the car.

It rumbles to a stop at the curb. Too far away, Vera decides, pushing off the half-wall she had leaned her height against. She is already taking long strides — that might have been a jog if her legs were shorter — when the driver ducks out of the car and loops around to the hood.

“Just so you know,” Johnny begins, arms crossed, leaning back against his Porsche. “I get sand in my asscrack once and I’m leaving-”

“Johnny,” Vera huffs, pulling him down for a hard, messy kiss once she reaches him. An arm loops loosely around her waist, tugging her closer. Against his lips, she lets out a satisfied sigh, a beautiful, peaceful smile gracing her features in sharp contrast to the annoyed, fond tone that leaves her lips. “Stop talking.”

Johnny smirks lazily and straightens with a grunt.

“Know I can’t do that V.”

[fusrodie]

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him.

chapter 1 - grisly reunions

SFW, canon-typical violence, blood, mention of death. 2K words.

link to ao3 (or read down below)

Nothing ever happened in this boring old village. Every day he would wake up to the same dull sky, the biting cold on his skin, the smell of blood in the air. And the chanting, for fuck’s sake, the goddamn chanting. In the silence of night, you could hear them if you listened close enough. Even cooped up in his factory, trying to focus on bringing his latest creation to life, through the humming of engines and rattling of pistons, he could hear their voices pleading forgiveness and salvation.

It paints a perfect picture in his mind: a bunch of old farts holding hands in a circle, standing over a creepy-ass painted crest of an unborn baby, pouring their heart and soul into their prayer, accepting death and giving glory to their murderer. The prayer itself never made sense to him, not really, but he had to admit it was a damn good way of justifying their atrocities. Nobody batted an eyelash when someone was taken away, went poof overnight to never return. Something about the sacrifice having been made, fate had led them to the light at the end or some shit. It used to fascinate him back in the day, when he was just a child watching everything unfold hidden behind his mother’s skirt. But he was no longer a child, and after almost a century of bullshit, it was hard not to impale every single fucker who talked about devotion and destiny.

Not that anyone would care about it, of course - sister dearest routinely kidnapped girls from the village and no one seemed to notice the Castle was a death trap. Boxes and boxes of wine would make their way into the village and out into the world, the truth right there in the label, and no one seemed to put two and two together. Dimitrescu had offered him more than a few bottles as a courtesy, an attempt to bridge the gap between them - even he had limits, however, lines that he would not cross. The very thought of bringing a goblet of blood-infused wine to his lips made his stomach turn; he had never been one to experiment much with food. He drew the line on frozen pizza and energy drinks.

It’s a wonder the village still had people in it, really; between Alcina’s obsession with maidens, the poor sods taken to Moreau for Cadou experiments and the failed vessels Miranda would discard like common garbage, he figured at this point there were more lycans than people around. More for him to experiment on, he figured, though digging up corpses in the dead of night had done a number on his back. Haulers could only do so much, and more often than not he would have to get his hands dirty. Not having a proper bed, sleeping on a bare metal cot and decades of living on borrowed time had nothing to do with it, of course.

The Castle drawbridge lowered as he approached, hammer thrown over his shoulder, one last peaceful drag of his cigar before he was thrown into yet another boring council meeting. The vineyard greeted him with the bleak vibrancy of a cemetery, scarecrows drained of color, barely recognizable but eerily preserved in chunks of ice. A waste of perfectly good specimens, really.

The halls were quiet for a change, no tormented screams and blood-curling wails, no giggling sisters running around in the hallways. It all smelled of death and old people, expensive perfume and a good dose of arrogance.

He flashed a charming smile at one of the Castle’s servants, laughing when the girl turned a bright shade of red and scrambled away from him. Heisenberg could hear the bickering as he pushed the doors open, Angie’s joints clicking incessantly as the doll moved about. Moreau’s breathing sounded as loud and disgusting as ever, yellow teeth and the smell of a polluted riverbed with a hint of fish. There they were, his beloved little family, waiting patiently for him, staring at him like he had fucked every single one of their mothers.

“You are late, Heisenberg.” Alcina began, as she always did, eyebrow raised in contempt. “As always. Mother,” she turned to Miranda, gesturing towards him with her hoity-toity, stupid cigarette.

“You are obnoxious, Dimitrescu.” He replied without sparing her a glance. “As always.”

He could practically hear her seething as she finally placed her humongous backside on her chair, having given up on chastising him when Miranda paid both of them no mind. Mother sat at the end of the golden-trimmed table, looking awkward in her great black gown and modly crow wings. Dimitrescu’s finest china was laid perfectly for their little afternoon tea party, cup handles that were too big to fit his fingers, minuscule spoons that were fit for Angie’s creepy hands. The servant that had scurried away at the sight of him had come back with a tray of hot tea, biscuits and blood - the house’s specialty. Miranda began speaking as the girl poured her drink, some small chitchat about the state of the village, the influx of foreigners and progress on her grand resuscitation project.

“Thank you darling, but I brought my own.” He started as the girl circled around the table to serve him, pointing down towards his belt buckle to the whiskey flask he always carried around. She couldn’t help but look down, and then up at his sly smile, the blush returning to her cheeks in full force. Dimitrescu’s reaction was swift, a well placed slap with the back of her hand square on the girl’s cheek. He felt sorry for her for a moment, but it was good training - if she wanted to survive the Castle, she would have to learn that it was better to be blind and deaf, and that she had much more provocation coming her way than his harmless flirting.

Heisenberg tuned out of the conversation as he poured his whiskey, pinching the teaspoon between his index and middle fingers, swirling it slowly, scraping the sides of the porcelain. Alcina’s displeasure at his use of her china for such vile beverages made it all the better. He slurped it loudly to add insult to injury, savoring the drink for a second, sloshing it around his mouth before swallowing, a satisfied “ah” escaping him when the liquor burned down his throat. If Alcina didn’t already look like a corpse, he felt like she would have turned purple. When he unceremoniously shoved an entire biscuit in his mouth, crumbs falling all over the tablecloth, he thought she would vomit.

“The latest vessel, unfortunately, has been a failure.” Miranda announced with sadness in her voice, which prompted all of his other siblings to sigh collectively in sympathy. What a bunch of morons. “However, we have made some progress. It seems my theories were correct - younger subjects are far more receptive to the Cadou.” Kidnap babies, got it. There was no limit to how low Miranda would get to fuel her quest for a daughter that had been dead for longer than she was alive. “I regret to say there are no suitable infants at the moment,” she stopped to sip at her tea. “We can only hope the harvest fares better in the coming months.” Had she seen them as nothing but guinea pigs back then, too? No doubt in his mind she did. The only reason she kept them around is because she might not be able to kill all of the monsters she created - better to keep them close than risking losing it all.

“There is but one more matter I would like to discuss, Mother Miranda,” Dimitrescu began, a lilt in her voice, the telltale sign that whatever would come out of her mouth next would be positively foul. “My girls have brought me troubling news.” Troubling, he repeated to himself, but she had a smile on her face as she said it. Miranda gestured at her to continue, which she gladly did, excitement rising with every new word. “It would seem a monster prowls near our blessed haven. There is talk among the villagers of bodies being found drained of blood, organs harvested, but without a single cut left behind.” She stood up to pace the room, one of her favorite displays of grandiose that made her look like the world’s biggest buffoon. It suited her. “At first I believed this to be a mere rumor, a lycan attacking the livestock, a corpse refusing to rest. But then,” she clapped her hands, the doors to the room promptly opening to give way to Crazy, Dumb and Ugly, giggling in their flowing black dresses, dragging a corpse along like it was a treasure they had found in the forest. Angie tagged along with their excitement, pushing Moreau away to get a better look at the stinking body thrown onto the hardwood.

There was no mistaking the lycan, all teeth, claws and complexion of the finest of silver poisonings. It smelled just as bad dead than it did alive; bruises and injuries and gums that stuck out of its mouth. How, pray tell, was this thing still in one piece? Heisenberg rose to take a closer look, pushed its stringy hair away from its face to reveal glassy eyes poking weirdly out of their sockets. He tested its consistency with a slight kick, stabbed it with the butter spreader, shoved a gloved hand in the cut to pull it apart and open. It looked fresh enough, but nothing but a foul vapor oozed out of the body. Crystal dust lined its insides, shards poking out of muscles. He pushes his arm deeper, feels around the chest cavity to find nothing.

“No cuts, no holes,” he begins as he pokes and prods. “No bites, either. Heart’s missing. This your handiwork, Alcina?” Heisenberg quips, suspicion seeping through his stoic facade. For a moment, he swears he can see the lycan’s flesh pulse, the smallest contraction of a muscle. This whole situation got weirder by the second.

“The technique is truly admirable, is it not?” She offers with a gleeful smile, picks up her cigarette and places a hand on her hip. Here we go again. “I simply must have it. Besides, we must know if it poses any threat to us.” She was right, this time. After decades of experimentation, none of them had ever managed to keep an infected subject whole after death.

His shoulders slumped as she spoke, head bowing to hide his discontentment behind the brim of his hat. He knew what this meant: being sent on a stupid adventure in the ass-end of the woods, because he was the only one out of this freak show with the brain and brawn to venture out into the world in broad daylight, without dying to the cold or stopping every five seconds to infect and pet wild animals. Some of these missions he did enjoy, like being sent to nearby towns for special supplies - or special victims. He was never gone long, nor would he stray far, but those escapades never failed to serve as a reminder that he had a reason to keep going, that maybe one day he would be free and the world would be his to explore.

The four of them eyed Miranda quietly, waiting for the verdict that was certain to come. Moreau cut the silence by volunteering to investigate, the pathetic pitter-pat of his feet filling the room when Mother smiled at him.

“I would not risk you in such a way, my son,” she patted his head without a hint of affection. “Not when we are so close to answers. You must continue your research - Heisenberg will look into this… Whatever it is. You are dismissed.” Her tone was nonchalant, her confidence rock solid. This was merely an obstacle, not real danger. At least, that is what she wanted them all to see; if one looked close enough, they would notice the slight furrow in her brow through the slits of the golden mask.

“As you wish, mother.” He tipped his hat before taking his leave, chewing on his unlit cigar, feet pressing hard against the gravel underneath.

Heisenberg never thought he would come to regret having a proper spine and a functional pair of legs.

[woodelf68]

Teething Time

Based on a post by @lokijiro

-----------

"Mama, Loki is chewing on my blocks!" complained Thor, trying to wrest the wooden block out of Loki's mouth.

"He's cutting a new tooth, Thor, and chewing on something helps. Surely you can spare one?" Frigga was sitting near the nursery window, working on a blanket for Loki, all soft greens, the darker shades that she’d started with blending into lighter ones the further up she went. 

Thor looked from his half-built castle to the pile of blocks on the nursery floor still waiting to be used. "I guess. But sometimes Loki puts things into his mouth that he shouldn't, so I didn't know if it was okay," he said virtuously.

"The block is fine. But you're right; he shouldn't have anything sharp or rough, or small enough to swallow and choke on. I wouldn't want him to have a stick from the garden, for instance. He could scratch himself or poke it in his eye or choke on a bit of bark or twig if it broke off. Or it could be dirty or moldy or have a caterpillar crawling on it. We wouldn't want Loki to swallow any poor caterpillars, would we? So I'm glad you asked; thank you for looking out for your brother."

Thor knew that really, he just hadn't wanted Loki chewing on his toys, but he beamed and pushed his shoulders back proudly. "All right, you can have the block," he told Loki. There were more than enough. "After all, brothers share, right Mama?"

Frigga beamed back at him. "Yes, they do. It might seem a little one-sided at first -- Loki doesn't have much yet that he can share with you -- but I promise it will even out as you get older."

The sound of footsteps made them both look up.

"Papa!" Thor jumped to his feet. "Come see what I'm building!"

Odin smiled and laid Gungnir down on the sofa, feeling the concerns of a king melt from his shoulders as the nursery door closed behind him. He had had a productive day, and felt he had more than earned some time alone with his family before dinner. He surveyed the towering piles of blocks, the tallest as high as Thor's head.

"Very impressive.” He looked down at his smallest son, sitting on the nearby rug and assiduously gumming on a wooden block.  Ever since Loki had started crawling, he was rarely far from Thor’s side. “Is Loki helping you?"

"No, he's just watching. And chewing on the construction materials." Thor said the phrase carefully, having heard it used in a conversation between his father and one of his advisors the other day.  He was pleased to have an opportunity to use it himself already; it sounded much more grown-up than "blocks".

"I see that. How's the tooth coming, young man?" Odin leaned down and picked Loki up, nudging the block Loki held clutched in his fist away from his mouth. "May I see?" He ran a finger over the sharp white nub breaking through Loki's gums and winced when Loki clamped down on his finger for his trouble. "Sore, is it?" he asked sympathetically. "Do you think you could -- ah, that's better." Odin extracted his finger as Loki relaxed his bite with an unhappy little sound, tucking his head under Odin's chin. "Another day or two and the worst should be over," he promised, kissing the top of Loki's head. At least until the next one, he thought, but chose not to burden his son with the knowledge that he was going to have to go through this seventeen more times after this tooth was through.

"You can pass me blocks if you want," Thor said, and Odin put Loki back down on the rug.

“Let me go greet your mother first, and then I am at your service.” Frigga turned up her face towards him with a smile as he approached, and he gave her a quick kiss. “Have you had a good day, my love?”

“I have, and I needn’t even ask; I can tell you’ve had a good day too.” 

“I have; for once the meeting with the Council didn’t run overlong and we dealt with all the points on the agenda. If you have no objection, I thought I could spend the next few hours with you and the boys.” 

“This is nothing we would enjoy more,” Frigga assured him, and watched fondly as he returned to Thor and began to pass blocks as directed, listening to their eldest chatter about his day. After a few minutes she took advantage of his presence to concentrate on her weaving for several rows, before glancing back up and noticing that Loki was no longer sitting where she had last seen him, gnawing on his wood block. She quickly looked around, her heart skipping a beat when she found him.

"Odin," she said, keeping her voice calm. "Please take Gungnir away from Loki."

Odin spun around, then relaxed when he saw that Loki had been able to reach the butt end of Gungnir where it hung off the edge of the sofa, and was now chewing on it with apparent contentment. "Bor’s beard," he swore with relief, all too able to picture a bleeding, screaming Loki if Loki had grabbed at the other end of the spear. "Sorry. Not used to him being able to crawl yet. It won't happen again." He went over to Loki and tried to pull the spear away, but Loki tightened his chubby fingers around it in a surprisingly strong grip.  “Come now, aren’t you a bit young to challenge me for my own weapon? After you snuck away and tried to steal it behind my back?” Odin gently pried Loki’s fingers away from the shaft and pulled it free from him. “My fault, though, for leaving it where you could reach it.” He was about to place it somewhere safely out of reach when he saw Loki’s lower lip jut out and his expression change to one that meant that a vocal outburst was imminent. He quickly let Gungnir fall back to the sofa and scooped up Loki instead. “Oh no,” he said hastily, jiggling Loki in an attempt to distract him. “No no no, shh, no crying. Warriors don’t cry. Frigga? Do you -- “

Frigga was already rising, with Loki’s coral teething ring in her hand. “He’s not a warrior, Odin, he’s a baby, and he’s in pain. Here, sweetheart, do you want this?” She held out the ring to Loki. 

“Yes, I know,” said Odin testily. “But do you want him to cry? It’s not going to make him feel any better; it’s just going to make his face feel hot and congested on top of the discomfort that he already is in.” He gentled his voice, addressing Loki as he smoothed down the wavy black hair sticking up on Loki’s crown. “I’m sorry you can’t have my spear to chew on. But you can have your ring, eh? Or a licorice root? Or a cold wet cloth? What do you say, hm?”

Loki looked at the ring that Frigga was waving in front of him temptingly, but then simply held out both arms to her in a silent request. 

“Oh, that’s it, come to Mama. I’ve got you.” Frigga took Loki from Odin, and rubbed his back gently “That’s my good boy, my sweet baby boy. Your papa is probably right that crying wouldn’t make you feel any better today,” she admitted. “But you can if you need to, even when you’ve become a man full-grown. There’s no shame in tears if a hurt grows too much to bear.” She kept her voice soft, conversational, and her eyes on Loki, but the latter words were for Thor, nearby and listening. “Isn’t that right, Odin?” She looked at her husband pointedly, her expression daring him to disagree with her, and cut her eyes to Thor and back, meaningfully.

“Ah, of course. What I meant to say was that warriors don’t cry in battle, because they’re too busy fighting,” Odin ad-libbed, hoping that this would be enough to satisfy Frigga. “And getting distracted and blurry-eyed is just asking to get your throat slit,” he added matter-of-factly, and Frigga rolled her eyes. “But if they had a good reason to, they could cry afterwards. However, not getting to use a dangerous weapon as a chew toy is not a good enough reason,” he chided, tapping Loki on the nose. Loki let go of Frigga’s gown with one hand and grabbed at his finger. It was a good, strong grip, Odin thought approvingly.

“Loki’s going to be a warrior, like me,” Thor informed them, leaving his blocks and walking over to join them. “Of course he wants a weapon.”  

“He may have one when he’s old enough to wield it properly,” Odin said firmly. 

“It’s odd, though,” Frigga said, finally getting Loki to take the teething ring by wriggling it enticingly in front of him. “He doesn’t usually like the feel of metal in his mouth. Was he really trying to hold onto it?” Although Loki had taken the ring, he didn’t seem that interested in it, and twisted around to look back at the sofa even as Frigga spoke, his preference obvious.

“He was,” confirmed Odin. He pulled out a handkerchief and picked up Gungnir, feeling the familiar thrum of magic running through the spear. Was that it? he wondered thoughtfully. Could Loki feel it too? He wiped the drool off the end of the spear and held it out towards Loki. Loki’s eyes lit up and he immediately grabbed the shaft. 

“Odin?” Frigga queried, unsure of what he was doing. 

“I think he can feel Gungnir’s magic,” Odin explained. “If he can, I’m not sure if it just feels interesting to him or if it could actually feel soothing on his gums.” He squashed the sudden urge to put the damn thing into his own mouth, out of curiousity. “But let me try something.” He stepped back and pulled the spear out of Loki’s grip again, grounding it. “Give me his teething ring for a moment.” 

Frigga pressed her lips together. She had just gotten Loki to take the ring. If he started crying... But he was only holding onto it halfheartedly, and let her take it back without protest. “Here.” She held it out. “What -- “

Odin leveled Gungnir and sent a stream of warm golden magic into the teething ring, briefly illuminating it before the glow faded. “Now let’s see how he likes it.” 

Loki’s enthusiasm was obvious the moment Frigga offered him the ring again. He seized it with a happy noise and began gnawing on it at once. Extending her senses out, she could feel the hum of magic now inhabiting the ring. Not enough to be used for anything, but enough to make the formerly dead object now feel warm and alive. “Well,” she said, unable to think of anything more coherent to say but pleased that Loki looked happier again. 

“What did you do?” asked Thor, puzzled. 

“I fed a little of Gungnir’s magic into the teething ring,” explained Odin. 

“Could you do that to something of mine?” asked Thor, with interest. Maybe the magic could bring one of his toy soldiers to life? 

“Tell me, can you feel anything when you place your hand upon Gungnir?” Odin asked, holding it out so Thor could wrap his fingers around the shaft below his own. 

Thor hesitated, tempted to lie, but if asked, he did not know what it was that he was supposed to feel. He shook his head. “No. Nothing special.” 

“Then there would be no point in enchanting any of your possessions. I would not expect you to be able to feel anything,” he hastened to assure Thor when he saw Thor’s face fall in disappointment. “You are yet young, and no seidr user; you did not fail any test. But Loki obviously did, and for someone of his age to be so sensitive to the feel of magic -- “

Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise, with his inborn ability to shapeshift. But that was a gift of his birth race, while the magic flowing through Gungnir was the power of Asgard itself. Truly Loki was a child of two worlds, except again he felt that Loki had very specifically chosen him, had chosen Asgard. Were the Norns trying to tell him something? Was Frigga right in claiming that Loki had been meant for them, not just for raising but for always? Would Asgard be served best by a king who had a loyal brother standing by his side? He glanced down at Thor, looking up at him expectantly, and impulsively set Gungnir safely down on top of the wardrobe out of the reach of curious children’s hands before lifting Thor up into his arms, enjoying the feel of the boy’s solid, sturdy weight and Thor automatically winding his arms around him, glad that the war had ended, glad that he was missing no more of his son’s childhood. 

“Papa?” Thor prompted, wanting to know what his father was going to say about Loki.  He looked across at his brother from his new vantage point and made the silliest faces he could, feeling triumphant when a tiny giggle escaped Loki. 

Odin looked down at Thor, and then he looked at his wife, crooning endearments to Loki while cradling him in her arms and swaying gently, her eyes full of love and adoration. And then he looked at Loki, with a small baby smile on his face thanks to his brother’s antics and content now with his head resting against his mother’s chest with a full confidence that it belonged there, while he gummed a princely teething ring infused with Asgard’s magic, with the king’s magic, and he shook his head in wonderment. What had never been more than vague plans for a far-off future seemed to vapourise into thin air. Deliberately setting his boys on different paths that would lead them away from each other no longer seemed like the right thing to do. Asgard was Loki’s home now, for as long as he wished it. 

“Well,” he said, finally finishing his thought, “I think we are going to have a sorcerer in the family.” 

[spinachgarden]

this is very late my bad

Fleur de Louve Month Week 4 Day 3: Third Date

Prompt: “Light some candles” - 2.2k words

Rated E, 18+

It’s not a sex date, Sarah reminds herself as she waves goodbye to Cass and AJ, off to a friend’s house for the night.

It’s not a sex date, she murmurs as she hops in the shower, shaves her legs, then moisturizes her entire body.

Not a sex date, she says again when she slips into a lacy black thong and a matching bralette, then puts on a comfy pair of yoga pants and a loose t-shirt.

Not a sex date, she recites over and over again, like a mantra, as she watches the clock. Fifteen minutes until he gets here. She pops a piece of gum in her mouth and chews it, perhaps a little more intently than she normally would.

She can’t assume it’s a sex date, right? He’s coming over to watch movies with her, to stay the night. And sure, he kissed her chastely on the first date, then a little more passionately on the second date, both times saying goodnight before she could invite him inside, and now it’s the third date and the logical progression is sex, but she really shouldn’t assume. He might genuinely want to watch a few movies and fall asleep beside her.

And if that’s the case, she’s wearing a really uncomfortable pair of underwear for nothing, but it’s fine. She’s not going to push.

Just… if he wants to have sex with her tonight, she’s absolutely going to climb him like a tree.

Sarah spits out her gum when she hears his knock at the door, mentally hypes herself up for a moment, then opens it before he can knock a second time.

“Hey Sarah,” he says with that little lopsided grin of his, the one she can’t seem to get enough of. She greets him with a kiss - and honestly, she meant for it to be soft and chaste, sweet, but it gets passionate fast. He catches her bottom lip between his teeth, nipping it gently before he slides his tongue into her mouth. Bucky tastes like spearmint gum, pleasantly fresh like he’s just brushed his teeth, and-

“This is a sex date,” Sarah says abruptly as she pulls away. “It is, isn’t it?”

Her bluntness shocks a laugh out of him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well,” he says coolly, “I didn’t want to assume.”

“But that’s what this is,” Sarah continues with a soft laugh of her own. “Kids are out of the house, I’m wearing-” she cuts herself off before she says something completely indecent.

Bucky perks up at that, though. “Is that how it is?” he murmurs, his gaze sharp, “can I see?”

There’s something about the low pitch to his voice that damn near makes her weak at the knees, and combined with the way he’s looking intently into her eyes, she’s just about ready to start taking her clothes off with the front door still hanging open, in front of god and everybody, nosy neighbours be damned.

She does manage to restrain herself, but only barely. Instead, she grabs him by the lapels of his jacket, pulling him inside and back into a kiss. Bucky kicks the door shut behind him, and then all bets are off.

They don’t break the kiss as they stumble through the house, Bucky’s strong arms around her waist, guiding her until she’s backed up against the kitchen table, the wood biting into the small of her back.

“Definitely a sex date,” he murmurs against her lips between kisses.

“I should light some candles,” Sarah teases.

“In the bedroom,” Bucky reasons, and yeah, she can get behind that.

Or… on top of that, as it were.

She grabs Bucky’s wrist, leading him up the stairs before she can talk herself out of it. They’ve come this far, there’s no reason to be nervous now. Bucky makes it easy for her, following without any hesitation, taking the steps two at a time in order to keep up. He captures her in another kiss before they get into the bedroom, pushing her up against the door and fumbling with the knob behind her.

The last of her nerves fall away as he backs her into the room, a little more slowly, gently pushing her onto the bed and climbing on top of her, never breaking the kiss.

“How about those candles?” he says as he pulls away, a little glint in his eyes that tells her he’s teasing.

“Yeah, they’re in the kitchen, I’ll just go-”

“Never mind,” he says quickly. “No candles.”

Sarah giggles softly under her breath and runs her hands up his arms, taking a moment to explore the firm muscle just under the skin. “I believe,” she says, “that you wanted to see what I’m wearing.”

Bucky nods enthusiastically and sits back on his heels so that she can slip her shirt over her head and toss it in the general direction of the laundry hamper. His eyes widen at the sight - the bralette is entirely lace, sheer so that her nipples are clearly visible through the fabric. Bucky shifts to prop himself up on one arm, the left one, and runs his right hand up her ribcage to cup her breast.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and runs his thumb over her nipple until it pebbles under his touch, sending little sparks of pleasure down Sarah’s spine. Slowly, he leans down to capture the other in his mouth, tonguing at it through the lace, and Sarah gasps softly. He kisses her nipple once more for good measure then starts to trail downward, from her sternum to her bellybutton, looking up at her with a devilish smirk when he runs his tongue on the sensitive skin just underneath that, making the muscles in her abdomen jump.

“Can I?” he asks softly.

“You don’t have to,” she murmurs.

“And if I want to?”

Sarah nods, perhaps a little frantically, and lifts her hips so that Bucky can hook his fingers into the waistband of her yoga pants and pull them off. For a moment he just stares, his eyes darting quickly from the lacy panties she’s sporting to her bralette.

“Christ,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

Before she can shy away from his gaze he leans back down, pressing another few kisses to her lower stomach, ghosting his tongue across the waistband of her panties, and then he pulls those down as well and kisses her clit, gentle, before circling his tongue around it. Sarah moans softly when he closes his lips around it and sucks, and her back arches off the bed when he runs his tongue up the entire length of her folds. A moment later he guides her legs up over his shoulders, the new angle making everything more intense.

His right hand skirts back up her ribs, pinching and rolling her nipple through the fabric of her bralette for a moment before it starts travelling downwards, from her stomach to her ass, then to her inner thigh and up, two fingers sliding into her without any resistance.

“Like this?” he asks as he crooks his fingers inside of her.

“Little higher,” Sarah says, breathless. Bucky takes a second to adjust, crooks his fingers again, and-

“There,” Sarah gasps. “Fuck, right there, don’t stop.”

Between the motion of his fingers, hitting her sweet spot dead on with every thrust, and the gentle circling of his tongue around her clit, pleasure is already building low in her stomach, pulling her closer and closer to release. Sarah grabs a handful of his hair and holds on for dear life - it’s good, so fucking good that all coherent thoughts have been driven from her brain. She’s grateful for the kids leaving - she doesn’t think she could hold in her moans and gasps if she tried, at this point.

It doesn’t take long for her to fall apart under his hand and mouth, calling out a garbled version of his name as her orgasm takes her. Bucky works her through it gently, until the pleasure turns to the bite of overstimulation and she pushes his head away.

“Good?” he asks.

“Don’t fish for compliments,” she chastises, but there’s no heat to it.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks sweetly between gentle kisses to her inner thigh.

“Yes,” she says, “God, yes, please.”

He chuckles softly as he climbs off the bed, already halfway out of his sweatpants. Sarah takes a moment to admire him, the lean muscles of his legs, the noticeable bulge in the front of his boxers.

Bucky hesitates for a moment with his hands at the hemline of his shirt.

“You don’t have to take it off,” she says softly.

“There are a lot of scars,” he says sheepishly. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“It’s up to you,” she says, “but I’m not going to be scared.”

He leans down to kiss her again, this one soft and chaste. “Close your eyes,” he says, and kisses her again. She keeps them closed when he breaks away from the kiss, listening for the telltale rustle of his t-shirt hitting the floor, then the softer noise of his boxers following. With her eyes still shut, he pushes her back against the pillows and climbs on top of her, resting between her legs, close enough that she can feel his cock brush up against her entrance when he kisses her again.

“Condoms?” he murmurs.

“Birth control,” she says, “you don’t need to-”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Yes,” she says, “yes, just please fuck me.”

It’s all the invitation he needs. One of his hands snakes between their bodies so that he can line himself up, and then he’s pushing in, slowly but insistently, sliding in and filling her up so deep she’s seeing stars before he’s even fully seated. He gives her a moment to adjust once he’s fully buried in her, taking the time to wrap her legs around his waist, peppering kisses from her forehead to her cheeks, her lips, her jaw and neck and shoulders.

He starts gently, rocking his hips in a slow circle to press against her g-spot, his pelvic bone grinding into her clit. Sarah gasps and clings onto him, her fingernails digging into his back as he sets a slow, tender rhythm, alternating deep thrusts with teasing grinds of his hips. She rocks against him, lost in the feel of him, every sensation heightened by the fact that she still has her eyes closed.

“Fuck, Sarah,” he murmurs against the crook of her neck, “you feel so good.”

Sarah moans again, loud and wanton, digging her nails harder into his back as she rocks her hips in time with him. It’s good, so fucking good she can barely stand it.

In a truly athletic move, one she honestly didn’t think would work, she flips them over so that she’s on top of him, grinding down onto his cock as he thrusts upward, his hands naturally coming to rest on her hips as she digs her nails into his chest.

The new position brings another wave of pleasure over her, enough to send her spiralling over the edge, crying out with her release as she clenches down on him. Bucky groans in response and his thrusts become more erratic, faster and harder as he pounds into her, using his grip on her hips to drag her deeper onto his cock.

“I’m gonna-”

“Come for me,” she says, her voice wrecked and gravelly. Only a second later he stills, spilling deep inside of her with a gasp.

They stay for a moment just like that, breathing hard, basking in the afterglow. Sarah lets her hands wander, eyes still closed, tracing the smooth muscles in his abs to ground herself. Gently, Bucky catches one of her wrists and brings it up, over his left pec and towards his shoulder, onto the raised and scarred skin where metal meets flesh.

“You can look,” he says softly.

Sarah opens her eyes, blinking to adjust to the light. Beneath her, there’s a high flush on Bucky’s cheeks and his head is turned so that she can’t make eye contact. His hair is ruffled, sticking up in odd directions, sex-rumpled and adorable, and there are small half-moons imprinted on his chest from where she dug her nails in. She lets her eyes travel for a moment before she looks to his left side where her fingers are still gently tracing his scars.

They’re raised and purple, angry looking, with four jagged lines coming from his shoulder onto his pec, nearly to his nipple.

“Can you feel this?” she asks as she smooths her palm over the worst of it, under his armpit where the metal meets his ribcage.

“Some of it,” he says. Finally, finally, he turns his face to look at her, eyes wide and vulnerable. She leans in and kisses him softly, sweetly, hoping to convey her acceptance with a single action.

“And what about this?” she asks, running her hand down the smooth metal plates of his arm.

“Yes,” he says, “less than my right arm, but I can feel it.”

Sarah links her fingers through the metal ones, grasping his hand loosely, and brings it up over his head. She does the same on his right side, so that he’s pinned beneath her, arms crossed at the wrists on the pillow beneath his head.

“I like where this is going,” he murmurs. Sarah jumps when she feels his cock twitch inside of her, still hard.

“Can you go another round?” she asks breathlessly.

“Mhm,” he drawls. “Can you?”

@fleurdelouvemonth @fleurdelouve

[bigpandahero]

The legacy of appetence（the translation of 欲望遗产 from Lofter written by 此人已死）

Original link：https://ryuusuke.lofter.com/post/1cc28a98_1cb209a44

Original author：此人已死（from lofter）

Home link：https://ryuusuke.lofter.com/

Authorized reprint translation.

thank to @ask-ivanbraginsky for your help!

chapter1:

July 20, 2017

The culprit

 July 20, 2017

 Potato .beef. onion.

 Every time he took something off the shelf, Wang Yao would cross out a word on the list. He looked for discounted goods in various barcodes, a pen and paper in hand. He pushed his shopping cart as he walked around the supermarket. Until seeing the last thing on the list, wine.

 Wang Yao went out to a supermarket very rarely.This time he went out because the refrigerator was empty, like his brain. He entered, throwing a coin and heard a Do re mi.

 He walked to the shelf picking out a 700ml bottle of vodka and checked the price, cautious as a housewife, he finally chose the 50ml "baby bottle" next to him. 

The checkout cashier was chewing bubble gum. They looked at him with disdain, a look that Wang YAO was accustomed to. This kind of look had been haunting him since he became an adult. 

He looked down at the gray tracksuit he was wearing, and his plush slippers of the Sesame Street cartoon character. He looked like a hapless boy with a drunkard father. 

He swept the colorful over-packaged goods into a sturdy plastic shopping bag—a blue squirrel logo was printed on it, its face squeezed out of shape by a box of cereal.

 What kind of perversion will paint the squirrel blue.

 Wang Yao heard the cashier from behind turn his head and whisper something to his colleague. He carried the plastic bag and walked out of the automatic door blankly. The toy monkeys on both sides shouted "Welcome".

 He walked home, passing by an open park. There were a few young people playing baseball on the lawn. He sat on the promenade smoking a cigarette and unscrewed a bottle of ice sprite. He drank down half the bottle in one breath, then allowed the carbon dioxide to tumble in his stomach for a while. 

He took out the wine bottle that he struggled to find from the plastic bag, imagined that the small metal bottle cap was the heavenly spirit cap of some heinous person, opened it with his teeth in a crisp "bom" and poured it in happily. His body began to get hot, sweating from his back in the 28-degree weather. The polyester cloth stuck to the skin, uncomfortably. He threw his leg anxiously-in the season when others were wearing short-sleeved T-shirts, he was still wearing long-sleeved trousers. In times like this he thought of the Russian, and began to scold him furiously in his mind. He silently cursed, mouthing the words that went along with his thoughts. He was suddenly interrupted, he snapping back to reality. "Hey! Damn gay! Help us pick up the ball!”

everal young people gathered together maliciously and whispered. They made nasty gestures and sneered unscrupulously in Wang Yao's direction. 

Fuck.

 He pressed the cigarette butt on the bench, swept away the soot from his thigh and raised his butt, bending over to pick up the baseball on the grass. He threw it at the crowd fiercely, then made a more wretched gesture. 

My paramour could screw all your fucking “balls” off.

 Wang Yao shook the plastic bottle in his hand and heard the remaining liquid hit the wall of the bottle with a hollow echo.

 He finally took the plastic bag and went on his way, stopping to place the wine bottle down by a homeless man who laid lifeless on the side of the road against the wall.

 He returned to the white-roofed house and passed by the neighbor's beautiful fence with a few swaggering violets planted in it. He inadvertently looked inside, and happened to meet the eyes of the Labrador. Even though he had moved in a month ago and had returned his flying disk a dozen times, the dog still didn't recognize him, damn it. 

While the dog annoyingly barked, he glanced at the empty mailbox, then, as timid as a thief, he unscrew the door handle of his home. 

The person inside the door was standing by the shoe cabinet. They smiled, watching him with a pair of indifferent purple eyes exposed under ash-gold hair.

"You came back early." Wang Yao greeted dryly. "There is nothing I need to do today.  You didn't tell me you would go out—you went out again in slippers?" Wang Yao threw the key under the nose of the man who was nagging like a woman, and sat on the steps to change shoes .

the key has a key chain of panda holding a bamboo hanging on . It hurt the man's face. Wang Yao was very gloating, even though this man named Ivan Braginsky was his lover.

The keychain was the first and last time they went to the amusement park together and won with a gun. To be precise, Wang Yao won with a gun himself.

Because Ivan doesn’t have a good temper to wait for him, but Wang Yao is as stubborn as a cow.He seems to be possessed by a demon and must win the key chain.

In the end, he took the key chain from the boss who were smile flatteringly for $25 in front of the game booth which  you would cost 2.50 dollars each time on shooting. Wang Yao believes that the main reason for the inaccuracy of shooting was the sexual harassment of him by Ivan during this period. Ivan—Standing upright and stomping his feet impatiently, like a dishonest vibrator, he patted Wang Yao's ass and yelled in his ear: "You fucking under the noses of these men pouched and played with a toy gun for more than half an hour, just for a piece of junk plastic!"

Of course, no one was able to help Wang Yao in the end. He was thrown into the toilet cubicle by the Russian man by the collar. It is estimated that all the men who went to the amusement park to go to the toilet that day could hear him being fucked. Now he still could memorize the smell of air freshener choking in his throat as long as he saw the panda.

Ivan turned a blind eye to Wang Yao's innocuous violence. He always indulges him in all the trivial things, and people who are not familiar with him would think that he is a good gentleman.

Ivan is being troubled by something more important-a headache gnaws at his brain like a devil, and his alcohol addiction has blurred his consciousness. He lifted the plastic bag on the ground and pressed it against the wall to hold himself who was about to fall. It took a while, and then he stood up straight again. At first, his steps were still a little staggering, but soon, he began a brisk pace, walked to the refrigerator, hummed a few unexplained Russian, twisted the refrigerator in the shape of the Eiffel Tower before opening the refrigerator door. He snorted impatiently, and tossed the food into the cold storage as before.

"You forgot to throw away the paper notes."

Wang Yao followed him to the living room, listening to unfamiliar Russian in his ears, slowly translating it into English in his head, and lightly taking a glass of tap water for himself.

"So, where's the wine?"

Wang Yao put down the glass, and the bottom of the glass touched the marble table ,letting out a crisp sigh. He stared at the swirling vortex in the cup, cold sweat was oozing clearly on his forehead, but his bones creaked in excitement. Before exhaling a breath in his chest, he answered the question from the person behind him in Russian: "I have drunk it all”.

All the words he didn't have time to say were stuffed back into his throat by the strong, opaque plastic bag with the blue squirrel on it. Ivan's forearm muscles bulged, like the thighs of a carnivore running. He tightened the mouth of the plastic bag, twisted the other's fragile neck, and dragged Wang Yao's struggling body up the stairs.

The process was extremely unsatisfactory and annoying, and the alcohol addiction made him more irritable, so he pressed Wang Yao's head and slammed twice on the newly laid pine-green wallpaper. The plastic stopped the splashing blood and the blood turned into a dark shadow on the back of the blue squirrel. Wang Yao who was rebelling was like a kitten in a bag, weak and vulnerable.

Wang Yao was thrown on the soft bed. A thick tape was wrapped around his mouth with a plastic bag to seal the last oxygen. He tried to break it with his fingers, but it was useless.

His hands were grabbed by Ivan, and he couldn't see anything. He just guessed from this strength that Ivan’s knees were pressing on his arms. It was very painful and heavy, and even the thought of resisting was blocked. Pressed under the body. Wang Yao gradually calmed down and even breathed regularly. The sound around him fluctuated in the dark with his breathing. The sound of fine plastic fragments no longer pierced the ears, but turned into a regular pulse. His head was soaked in carbon dioxide, warm and damp, squeezed in a narrow film, he looked at the only light circle in the dimness-the hands tore the uterus, holding the weak head, playing with the balance of life and death.

He finished his dying ejaculation at the end of suffocation.

Ivan helped Wang Yao get rid of the tape that bound him on his head. The tape tore off a few long black hairs, connecting to the coagulated blood entangled in the hair. He took off Wang Yao's clothes, revealing his familiar and obsessed body.

The setting sun flicked through Wang Yao's eyes, reflecting the golden light of bronze.The black hair scattered beside the beautiful face, constituting the most mysterious color in the oil painting, blurring the limitation of gender. The naked body was covered with old scars and fresh bruises, wounds which were cracking and the redness that was swollen. The body was still beautiful, graceful and weak.The bloody scars made him show the power of life, making him no longer a flawless corpse.

Those scars were incomplete by Ivan, but he still deserved to be the culprit, although most of the time Wang Yao had to take the responsibility. Yao liked enraged him, teasing him, and sometimes even gave that handsome face to two resounding slap. Even if he knew that Ivan was insane, he would still deliberately drink up the wine at home, hiding it, observing the person in front of him turn into another devil who would chase his butt to strangle him.After waking up, decorate all with a terrible sex until dawn.

“Stepan? "

"Damn it, don't call his name in front of me."

"It hurts a bit.”

Wang Yao stretched out his thin arms to block his lover's head, kissing his soft and warm lips, counting the fluffy golden eyelashes, and exhaled a few silly love words in his blended breath.

He took the initiative to open his legs to cater to the opponent's hot desire, the erect penis had already oozes transparent liquid, squeezing into his soft and moist flesh cavity.

Wang Yao cocked his hips, his legs were like two gluttonous pythons, tied tightly to Ivan's waist. His body shook with the opponent's movements, his nails sinking into the tight muscles, and he scratched red marks on the wide back.

 He uttered a few high-pitched obscene words under the man, and was sobbed by the top of his penis, then he could no longer speak a complete word.

 Ivan's hand passed through Wang Yao's hair and kissed his favorite eyebrows and narrow neck. His five fingers hooked the other's lovely fingers, palms pressing against each other, and the vent of lust was more delicate than the girl's mind.

Car lights flashed outside the window, and a few beams of moonlight leaked in. The silver rings on the two ring fingers complemented each other in the dimly lit room, calling for each other.

 After exhausting sex, they slept with each other like two sleepy beasts.

 It was early the next morning when Wang Yao opened his eyes again, and the alarm clock on the bedside stopped at number five. The people around him slept quietly in the dark, their sturdy bodies undulating with their breathing. Even in his sleep, this person's body was shrouded in a heavy sense of oppression, like a huge animal.

“I want to change the bed. "

 Wang Yao stared at the mosquitoes on the ceiling intently. "This bed is yelling like a dead pig."

 After waiting for a long time, no one responded to him, and he felt a little bad. Although he had predicted the result, he still had illusions and was rather self-deceiving and tragic.

 He ignored the pain everywhere in his body, got up abruptly, grabbed the gray-golden hair.He picked up the heavy head from the soft pillow, and forced the purple eyes to look at him.

Then he heard a clear bark rolling out of the man's throat.

 Fuck.

Discloseable information:Both Wang Yao and Ivan are American citizens.

Yao has a bad temper, so Ivan can bear it if he can bear it.

Ivan is a patient with multiple personality disorders.

The first personality is Stepan, who usually only appears after being addicted to alcohol and drunk, so it appears for a short time. It is a personality with no emotions and absolute violence. He does not love Wang Yao, and he does not love anyone. He only speaks Russian, will conceal his spasms with his fists, and has a very serious obsessive-compulsive disorder.

The second personality is a dog. His name is "Los", which means "frogfish" in Russian. Only appears out of guilty after Stepan caused irreparable pain to the loved one , so the frequency of appearance is extremely low. It means that Ivan has few guilty, because the master character is not a good guy either.Ivan and Stepan hate each other, so they don't communicate with each other, and they don't share memories.

------------------------tbc.-----------------