#mostly because all i want to do is spend the rest of my life on a beach somewhere

[alagaisia]

Hey if you’re still enjoying and engaging with Harry Potter in any capacity you can unfollow me 😊 please and thank you

Like. I get it. I was super into it as a kid too. I did not have the social context to pick up on the antisemitism or transphobia or sexism or fatphobia or bioessentialism or racism or anything else. I also picked up on surface-level language of Fighting Back Against Evil and ascribed my own values onto what that meant and thought we were all on the same page. I remember when the original kids who grew up with the books started becoming adult fans and picking up on the (blatant!) antisemitism and everybody was still mostly willing to give JKR the benefit of the doubt on it. (“She was writing kids books!” They said. “She didn’t know she was penning a global phenomenon! She picked a common literary trend in European fairy tales (antisemitic caricature) and didn’t examine it closely. It’s a mistake anyone could make,” we said. “She would probably do things differently now. After all, she word-of-god confirmed the vaguest hints she dropped that Dumbledore might be gay,” we said.) There was actually a span of several years where biases inherent in the actual real content of the Harry Potter series were coming to light and even the people pointing them out still seemed mostly to think it was an unfortunate accident.

That time has passed. Years ago! We are long past the first months of “maybe she doesn’t realize this seemingly-feminist tweet she liked was made by a noted TERF” and then “how could she not realize that these many veiled TERF-y things she’s retweeted have implications for the many queer fans of her work” and finally “oh wow okay JKR just dropped an entire transphobic manifesto on twitter. I guess the transphobia was the point.”

Yeah, there were a few months after that where people were still processing and still working through how they felt about Harry Potter and all of its flaws with the context of the now open transphobia of the creator. I was there for that. Remember how I was one of the kids who built it up into something noble and worthwhile based on my own beliefs about what messages it was probably trying to convey? Turns out it wasn’t trying to say any of those things, and when you take the time to examine all of the terrible shit that made its way into the text whether JKR intended it to be there or not, the whole series falls apart. It’s weird to discover that there’s a room in your house that’s rotten to the core, but eventually you figure out you can’t live like that, still going in there and holding your nose and pretending it’s still the same room you thought it was when the termites were only inside of the walls and hadn’t yet started chewing their way through the furniture. Because what’s going to happen is that they are going to infest the rest of your house. If you decide you can ignore transphobia and antisemitism and everything else just because you liked the color of the wallpaper, the rest of your principles are going to crumble too. You get rid of that fucking room. You put those books on a high shelf in the back of your closet behind other outgrown clothes and interests and you move the fuck on.

JKR uses the money made from her transphobic antisemitic children’s books to actively funding hate groups and to lobby for legislation that will and has actually affected the actual lives of trans people in an entire country. We are past the point of grieving something you were wrong about in childhood. Kids are wrong about a lot of stuff. You grow up and you learn new information and you change your behaviors based on it. You have to choose. It is transphobic to pretend there is not transphobia where there is. It is transphobic to support the work of someone who is using those funds to take rights from trans people with every fucking dollar. It is hateful to continue to engage positively with a story that at its very core is rooted in hate and bigotry and prejudice. You can choose to do all of those things but you cannot claim ignorance of them and you cannot choose those things and still pretend that choosing them upholds the values we convinced ourselves that Harry Potter stood for over a decade ago as uninformed children. You cannot choose to do those things and pretend to still support your trans and queer and Jewish neighbors. I do not want you in my neighborhood. Leave.

[timptoe]

Small Comforts

And my second fic for ShenkoSummer2023 for @palimpsetus on AO3 is pure fluff: her Shepard OC Anna and Kaidan spend a lovely day on a tropical island where the upstanding Canadian gets his ass kicked in beach volleyball and then breaks into a lighthouse. So much fun to write. Read the whole thing on AO3.

----

Late night, come home Work sucks, I know She left me roses by the stairs Surprises let me know she cares - Blink-182, “All the Small Things”

--

It’s the small comforts, Kaidan thinks, that matter most.

The sound of ocean surf. The gentle heat of the sun. A warm breeze on his bare back as he lands prone in the sand. The thunk of a volleyball as it lands a good few feet away from his outstretched fists.

Maybe not that last one.

“That’s game, human!” comes the nasally salarian voice from the other side of the net.

Kaidan groans, resting where he landed after that last futile dive, the sandpapery grit on his cheek a fitting punishment. Dying of embarrassment has gotta be more humiliating than dying to a husk, right?

This was supposed to be a vacation. A well-earned vacation. A well-earned, relaxing, boring, “thanks for taking out the biggest threat to the galaxy in literal eons and somehow living through it!” vacation. All he wanted was to sit on a beach, hold Anna’s hand, and maybe sip some sort of tropical drink. Fruity. With a little paper umbrella in it. He was even willing to wear sunscreen to keep his pasty Canadian skin from turning the color of a krogan warlord. That’s gotta count for something, right?

“Woo! Good job, babe!” a slightly tipsy, dark-haired woman shouts from the sideline.

He rolls his eyes and tries to sink deeper into the sand.

“Eh, come on, habibi,” a warm baritone says, an outstretched hand appearing in his peripheral vision. “Best two out of three?”

Kaidan huffs, grabbing the man’s hand and allowing himself to be hauled to his feet. Sand is caked on the side of his face and most of his torso, and his hair feels like it’s been styled with an entire sand dune. He’s pretty sure he looks as pathetic as he feels.

The expression on his face must match his attitude, because his erstwhile partner chuckles and claps his back sympathetically. “Cheer up, Kaidan,” Mehtab says, surreptitiously wiping off his now-sandy hand, “you did pretty well for your first time!”

Kaidan, nonplussed, manages a half-smile. “Thanks. I think I’m, uh, gonna sit the next one out.”

“Aw, but we were just getting started, wasiim!” Mehtab says, looking Kaidan up and down and grinning.

Kaidan full-on blushes, drawing a delighted laugh out of the other man. What I wouldn’t give to hear a Reaper horn right now.“Next time, maybe.”

“Next time, then,” Mehtab says with a wink, before picking up the volleyball and cajoling the gathered crowd to produce his “next handsome partner to challenge these two unbeaten salarians!”

Kaidan, for his part, trudges his way back to the beach chairs and the tipsy dark-haired woman in the flowy sundress, stylish sunglasses, and comically oversized wicker hat. “Babe, you were amazing!” the woman calls out, clapping as he approaches.

“We lost by ten points,” he grumbles as he flops petulantly into his chair, scattering sand everywhere.

“Yeah, that’s because you were staring at that guy’s ass more than the ball, babe,” she teases.

He looks across the beach at where Mehtab has pulled some unlucky twink onto the court to be the salarians’ next victim, admiring his bronzed muscles and blindingly white smile. “What can I say? It’s a nice ass,” he says evenly.

“Second nicest one out there,” she muses.

He turns to the woman and arches an eyebrow. “Also, ‘babe’? Really?”

She peers over her sunglasses at him, eyes twinkling with unrestrained mirth. “What? We’re on vacation, it’s a whole tourist…thing, isn’t it?”

Kaidan just harrumphs.

“I could just call you Major,” she sasses.

“You know I still technically outrank you, right?” he retorts, placing a hand lightly on her armrest as he relaxes back into his chair.

She scoffs. “Maybe by Alliance protocol. I’m pretty sure ‘Savior of the Galaxy’ trumps most other positions, Major.”

He entwines his fingers with hers and gives a gentle squeeze. “Mm. I can think of a few positions to test that theory on, Shepard.”

Anna laughs and swats him with her hat, never letting go of his hand.

Read the rest on AO3.

[coffeebanana]

some things i've been thinking about (this was supposed to be separate ideas but now i guess it's a rough fic outline in bullet points kasdbfksbjd):

marinette telling adrien the truth YEARS later, after everything's settled down and the butterfly's been recovered and their identities are revealed

maybe they live together. maybe he was getting ready to propose

after his initial shock, anger, time he needs to process, mostly he just wants to understand WHY she lied

when she tells him the she just couldn't bear to hurt him any more than she already had to by telling him his father died, and some part of adrien sees that as his own failing--surely if he'd been stronger, if he'd been the kind of person she thought could handle the truth, then she would have given it

maybe they go to couple's therapy. one of the exercises they're given is to practice honesty with each other and marinette goes... a little overboard

adrien thinks it's sweet, at first. until he realizes she's scared to leave a single second of her day unaccounted for. she's stressing out because she forgot to tell him something minor and he doesn't want him to think she just decided not to tell him something again

he realizes just how much she's been beating herself up about this all these years. just how much she's always loved him despite her mistakes

he remembers the ring he has stashed upstairs

and maybe it's not the time for proposals. but all he can think is that even at their worst, he still wants forever with her

of course, he's never been one for keeping his affections to himself. so he tells her.

it's not a question, it's not an offer. it's a fact: I want to spend the rest of my life with you. i want to marry you. she looks at him like he's crazy, so he pulls out his ultimatum. but i need you to forgive yourself first

all these years, marinette's been secretly awaiting her punishment. secretly awaiting having to pay for what she's done. forgiving herself was never on the table

do you forgive me, she asks in a quiet voice

i don't know, he says, and marinette's heart sinks until he adds, but i know i want to

and in the end, it's not so hard for him to get there. for him to forgive one decision she made under the worst possible circumstances. one mistake in the midst of all the ways she's made him feel safe and wanted and loved. all the times she's held his hand or helped wipe his tears, all the times she's let him do the same for her

when it comes time to exchange vows, for better or worse is already something they've agreed to

[chrisevansonly]

Nap Time

lando norris x wife reader

summary: lando’s favourite time of day is nap time, and he does everything he can to make it home in time

warnings: none, very fluffy!

a/n: i know im so bad with updating now, life is insane for me but i promise ill be trying to get more done, this is bad and short but 🥲🩷

The house was quiet, it was another rainy day in London but the sound was almost enough to lull you to sleep along with little 3 week old Amelia Norris. The absolute apple of both yours and Lando’s eyes, she was the most special gift to your family.

Everyday around four in the afternoon Amelia would go down for another nap, though mostly all she did was eat and sleep, Lando never missed an afternoon nap time with his little angel.

Lando had been gone all day doing press and taking a few meetings with the team, and it was nearing four now, but you weren’t worried.

Lando never missed her afternoon nap.

Amelia was changed into a comfy onesie, her soft sleep pillow nestled in the middle of your king sized mattress. Though you didn’t co-sleep, these naps were an exception, mainly because you stayed awake and let the father daughter duo have their rest.

“I’m here! I made it!” came Lando’s voice softly as he came into the bedroom, a soft smile on his face seeing you just finishing putting her sleeper on.

“Perfect timing baby, as usual..”

Before picking up his little girl he came to you, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips, his hand rubbing up and down your back.

“How was today Lan?”

“Long, tiring and boring..just wanted to be here with my girls all day”

Smiling you handed him his sweatpants to change into

“Well now you’re here and can spend the rest of the day loving on us hmm?”

Lando couldn’t agree more, once he’d gotten rid of his dirty clothes from the day he pulled on his sweatpants and picked up the now sleeping Amelia.

“Hi my angel…daddy missed you so much”

Seeing the Brit cuddle her to his chest was enough to make you swoon, he was the best dad to her, so gentle and protective, a daddy’s girl she’d be there was no doubt about it.

Laying her softly down on her sleep pillow he pulled a little quilt over her before getting comfy on his side of the bed, one arm laying over the pillow, careful not to disturb the sleeping baby.

After getting into your own comfortable clothes you joined the two, of them in bed, leaning your back against the head board as you pulled your book from the bedside table. It was almost comical how quickly Lando could fall asleep, but it made you smile.

“Sleep well my loves…” your voice softly filled the space around you.

Lando had never missed a nap time, and he didn’t plan to anytime soon.

[clockwayswrites]

Bird NOPE, no thank you. Part 12

masterpost

“So, what’s the verdict, doc?” Danny asked. He was trying really hard to keep his tone light and not fidget. Mostly because when he fidgeted the wings moved and then he remembered that he had wings.

He really, really wanted an answer to the wings thing.

“Well, Phantom,” Frostbite said as he continued to look at the data, “your status as a halfa continues to bring about most interesting developments at the most interesting pacing!”

Danny groaned. He didn’t want to be interesting. There had been enough of being interesting in his lifetime already. Couldn’t he just have a calm rest of his life? Couldn’t this all of these ‘interesting developments’ wait until he was properly dead?

Danny took a deep breath so that he didn’t end up snapping at Frostbite. “Okay, right. What sort of developments are we talking about here? Because wings seem pretty unusual to me, even among ghosts.”

“Oh, yes, certainly. Fundamentally such a change, if one is to change, shouldn’t come so early and certainly not before other more common physical developments,” Frostbite said, rubbing at his chin with his icy claws. “At least not based on what we know of human ghosts.”

Danny rubbed at his face. The wings shifted. “Frostbite, I get that this is all very interesting to you, but I need you to explain things, please.”

Frostbite gave a little huff of air. “If you had attended the lectures as I recommended—”

“I can do that when I’m dead.” It was an old discussion between them at this point.

“Phantom,” Frostbite said kindly, ��you are already dead.”

“And I am still alive!” Danny snapped, his patience frayed. The wings flaring out The tips brushed the edges of the walls. “I am still alive! I have eternity to learn about being dead but I only have one life. I only have one life, Frostbite, and I’m already spending half of it dead. Just… just let me try and live it as much as I can, please?”

“… of course, Phantom. I am sorry, friend. I forget what it’s like to have things be… fleeting.”

“I know, Frostbite,” Danny said, deflating as his anger extinguished. The wings folded tight against his back, a heavy weight pulling his shoulders down. “I know. Just, break it down for me, okay? I’ll sit in on all the lectures you want when I’m fully dead, I promise. Just for right now, explain to me what you can? I need to know why I have these things on my back.”

Frostbite gave a solemn nod and pulled up a stool to sit down on. “Human ghosts especially are very mutable. This is little surprise, really, with how mutable living humans are. Even though as dead we are largely stagnant, humans still often find their way to change. Personally I suspect that even as ghost, humans need the change to avoid Fading. You’ve seen these features in many of your friends and rivals: colored skin, fiery hair, exaggerated features. These are all things that you halfas seem to lack. My assumption has always been that it is your living half that keeps your features grounded in, while not reality, a more fixed visage.”

“Plasmius’ hair smolders some these days,” Danny pointed out.

“It does. The hair is often one of the first changes and Plasmius is both an older ghost than you, but also a much older human.” Frostbite paused before adding with a wry smile. “He is also much more fiery in nature than you are.”

That made Danny give a soft snort of amusement. “Okay so changes are expected, got it. I guess some go further? Like Skulker?”

“He is certainly an example of that. Spectra another. By all reason these changes can range from wish fulfillment to the effects of one’s insecurities. The longer one has been dead and the larger part those feelings play in someone’s making, the more likely changes are,” Frostbite explained. “Though there has yet to be any clear rhyme or reason to much of it. I personally believe the less fulfilled a ghost is, the more that they will change in an attempt to bring that part of themselves to peace.”

“Skulker needing to kill big game to soothe over feeling little and insignificant made him actually tiny and at the same time into a literal killing machine, right, got it,” Danny said. “And I guess that’s why Plasmius still looks like he’s just brushing forty. He was always vain. But Frostbite, I don’t want wings.”

“No, but you have always been… exceptional, Danny Phantom,” Frostbite said somberly. “Other ghosts master one or two skills, you master any you are exposed to. Other ghosts grow slowly, you grow by leaps and bounds. At first I thought this might be part of being a halfa, but we do not see the same growth in Plasmius and Dani. Plasmius is changing at a relatively normal rate and Dani, while advanced at first due to her creation, has stagnated quickly.”

Danny kept his eyes on his hands. He felt like he was fourteen again, scared and uncertain. “Why am I different?”

“I do not have the why, but I believe that the because is that you are destined, in time, to become an Ancient, or at least something akin to one.”

It was good that Danny didn’t need to breathe right then, as he was very sure he couldn’t if he tried.

“…an Ancient?”

Frostbite nodded. “Or something akin to one.”

Danny bowed over and buried his face in his hands. The wings responded and came up to curl around him as if trying to shield him from the world behind the oil slick feathers.

It made Danny want to rip them off.

“If nothing else, Ghosts are beholden to symbolism,” Frostbite said, his words a grounding rumble. “Ancients more so than the rest. The wings mean something, Phantom, even if you are unsure what. Answers will come.”

“I hate waiting,” Danny said, mostly just to be pedantic. He was allowed. He’d grown new limbs for fuck’s sake.

Frostbite rested a gentle hand on Danny’s back, right between the wings.

---

AN: Danny is having a hard time of it this post! Things will get better though. I am also having a bit of a hard time of it, so I'm sure there are many mistakes, but that's okay.

Stay delightful, darlings!

[rafeandonlyrafe]

pillow princess

words: 1.3k

warnings: 18+ only, male receiving oral, riding, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rafe calls reader kiddo/kid

“rafey.” you whine, stepping into all the chairs circled around, filled with topper, kelce and some other guys you recognize as rafes friends.

“what is it baby?” he questions, giving you his full attention despite all the boys sitting around. he doesn’t care that they see him being affectionate with you. its not like his manliness is in question.

“i miss you.” you complain. you were bored sitting upstairs in your bed all alone. you knew it was boys night. first they watched a game, then sat around and talked and drank, but you wanted your boyfriend, feeling extra clingy today.

“aww, come here kiddo.” rafe leans back, opening up his arms, letting you slot yourself onto his knee. you immediately lean your head against his shoulder, snuggling your body into his.

rafe holds you tight to him, fingers drumming against your thigh as the conversation immediately starts up again. you only pay half attention to it, most being about the game they just watched, or their max bench, whatever boy stuff they usually spend the time chatting about.

your ears perk up when the conversation changes to girlfriend and sex. “man, my girl rides me like a fucking jackrabbit.” one guy laughs, making your nose scrunch up.

the rest chime in, except for rafe. you're not sure if it's just because you're there or if he prefers to keep your sex life private.

“alright, boys.” rafe says. “better get going, my lady clearly needs me.”

you smile and blush, cheeks flaring. you bury your head in rafes shoulder as he says his goodbyes, his friends filling out the door. rafe makes sure it closes behind them before scooping you up, holding you in his arms, not even questioning if you want to be carried upstairs.

“rafe?” you hum as he sets you down on his bed. “you know i would ride you if you wanted it, right?”

rafe lets out a sudden laugh, confused by your question. “what brought this on baby?”

“just the guys… talking about their girlfriends riding them. i never do that for you.” you shrug. 

rafe shakes his head. “i don't mind that you’re a pillow princess.”

you gasp, pressing a hand to your chest. “i am not a pillow princess!”

rafe chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “you are, but its okay. i like being on top.”

“but-but-” you stammer. “i’m not!” “okay, wanna prove it?” rafe questions, a smirk still playing on his lips, knowing exactly what he's goading you into doing.

“take your clothes off.” you challenge back.

rafe tugs his shirt over his head before pulling at his pants. he undresses quickly, watching as you stand up off the bed to take your tanktop and shorts off. 

rafe climbs onto the bed once he’s stripped, leaning against the headboard with a lazy smile on his face. you blink at his dick, still mostly soft, resting against his thigh. usually rafe will eat you out or finger you and by the time you’re ready to fuck, he’s already hard.

“come on, show you’re not a pillow princess. get me hard.” rafe beckons you over.

you finish taking off your underwear before climbing onto the bed, kneeling between his legs. you reach for his cock, taking it in your hand, starting to stroke it as you watch with fascination as he hardens right under your fingertips.

“gonna suck me off too?” rafe questions.

“maybe.” you hum. you bend down, wrapping your lips around the head of his cock, suckingling as your hand continues to stroke most of his length.

you work him until he’s completely hard before letting your mouth sink lower, taking as much as you comfortably can before setting a pace of moving back to just have the tip in your mouth to taking him fully.

“such a good girl.” rafe coos, placing a hand on the back of your head, but he doesn’t force you down, doesn’t help your movements. he lets you take control like you swore you could do.

you reach down between your legs as you suck him off. you’re a little wet, but it’s nothing like when rafe fingers you before sex, so you rub your clit as you flick your tongue over his length, his moans reaching your ears.

you pull off of his cock with a pop, already feeling tired of being in control. you wish rafe would have pushed himself down your throat, showed you just how he liked it, but he just watches you as you climb onto his lap.

you stroke his cock a few more times as you position yourself properly, hovering your cunt over his dick before slowly sinking down, letting out a moan as he fills you up, stretching slightly more than usual without as much prep. 

“it feels different from this angle.” you admit, looking shyly down as you sit on rafes fat cock. you feel it twitch inside you, and you know he’s desperate for you to move from the strained look on his face.

you begin to bounce, placing your hands on his chest. you wish he would grab your waist or your ass, helping you move on his length, but he leaves it up to you as you grind your cunt down.

you already feel your legs beginning to get sore, your muscles not used to this type of motion as you already begin to slow down, ashamed at how fast you are ready to give up, so you try to power through, but to no avail.

“fine.” you give up. “i’m a pillow princess.”

rafe flips you over suddenly, pressing your back into the mattress. “i told you so. should have just listened to me, kid.”

you whine as you wrap your legs around his waist as rafe begins to thrust. “i just like this better.” you don’t want to admit that you got exhausted after a minute of writing, and you really do like rafe on top of you better, his hair falling around his forehead as he looks down at you.

“you’re so pretty baby, i don’t care that i have to do all the work.” rafe says as he pumps into you. “not when your pussy is this tight.”

you grab at rafes shoulders, pulling him down into you so you can press your lips together. rafe grabs your tit with one of his hands, keeping the other around your waist as he kisses you, tongue pushing inside of your mouth as another show of his dominance. 

“gonna cum inside me?” you question.

“of course im gonna baby girl.” rafe says, sealing his promise with a kiss as he begins to move faster, digging deeper into your cunt.

“please.” you whimper, wanting to feel rafe release inside of you. you scratch your fingernails lightly down his back, making him shiver as his cock suddenly pulses, spurts of cum shooting into you.

“oh fuck, baby.” rafe moans as you clench around him, purposely milking him.

rafe collapses to the side of you, slipping out of your cunt, leaving his cum to slide out of your pussy onto the bedsheets.

rafe breathes deeply for a minute while you also try to get your breath back before he turns on his side, kissing your jawline and neck as he brings his hand back towards your pussy, but you shut your legs, squeezing your thighs tightly to deny him.

“but you didn’t cum yet.” rafe says with a pout, feeling like he failed if he can’t get you off too.

“i’m too tired, don’t wanna.” you admit with a shrug, feeling satisfied without the orgasm.

rafe can’t help the small chuckle that leaves his mouth. “you’re too tired from riding me for like two minutes? and you tried to argue that you’re not a pillow princess?” “yeah, whatever.” you roll your eyes. “just cuddle me.”

rafe nods, pulling you in with his big arms, letting you snuggle into his chest. “i love you princess.”

the words warm you, making your cheeks blush, never getting tired of hearing him say those three words as you tip your head up, letting your lips ghost over his. “i love you too.”

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby

[chronicowboy]

Buck tucks them away in a corner when the mingling begins. They're stood far too close to be decent, Buck pressed up against the hard lines of his date with little care for anything besides being close, close, close. But in his defence, Tommy had taken his turnout coat off somewhere along the way which means he's stood there in a too-tight LAFD tee straining against his biceps and those suspenders Buck has always found more than a little maddening. So, really, it's only right to tuck his hands beneath one of the straps to pull Tommy even closer. And Tommy goes easily, smiling wide enough that it brightens his whole face as he presses Buck a little more firmly into the wall at his back.

"That was good. That was really good, right?" Buck breathes, his own smile making his cheeks ache.

He's horny, yeah, his boyfriend is incredibly hot. And, Jesus, the noise he'd made in the lobby—Buck can't wait to wring more of those noises from him. Mostly, Tommy just looks so stunningly happy to be there with him. So, yeah, he's a little amped up. But he's mostly just giddy. No, happy. He's just happy. Because everyone he loves knows who he is, knows who he's with. And he's just really fucking happy.

"How do you think they knew?" Buck asks then, still a little breathless just from Tommy's closeness, from the way he ducks just a little so their noses brush like they're in their own little bubble. "Like they all just seemed to know. I didn't even get to introduce you as my date." Tommy's eyes do something then, the crinkles at the corners smoothing out as they melt into something so fond Buck's stomach somersaults with it. "I mean, Hen I get. Her gaydar is killer. Like astounding. But Chimney?" Buck's eyebrows furrow, but it couldn't be called a frown for the smile still tugging at his lips. "Do you think he just saw how happy I was—"

"Evan," Tommy says softly. Buck snaps his mouth shut at the look on Tommy's face, all indulgence, downright smitten, if Buck had to take a guess it's probably the same look reflected on his own face.

Tommy reaches up to cup his face, swiping gentle, reverent thumbs over Buck's stubbled cheeks, smile twitching with bitten-back amusement. He pulls his hands away then, freshly cleaned palms coming away sooty.

"Oh," Buck murmurs, face flooding with heat. So, that's how they knew. Makes sense.

"I'm sure they saw how happy you were too." Tommy nudges their noses together again, a gentle little nuzzle that makes Buck's body fizz from head to toes, but there's something hesitant to it that has his eyes flickering back and forth between Tommy's. "You're happy, yeah?"

"Yeah." Buck nods just to feel their noses brush again. "Really, really unbelievably happy, Tommy."

And if Tommy's smile had been beautiful before, this one is radiant as the fucking sun. Buck almost wants to shield his eyes from it, except he doesn't. Not at all. He wants to map every inch of it and remember it forever.

"Good," Tommy breathes out. "Good, that's really good." One of his big hands finds Buck's hip, settles there and squeezes just tight enough to make Buck fizz again. "I'm happy too."

Oh.

Oh.

That's nice. That's really fucking nice.

They have to get out of this very crowded hallway immediately.

Buck lets his smile shift into a smirk and sways forward into Tommy's space. He doesn't look at Tommy's eyes as he does it, zeroed in on those lips that Buck could happily spend the rest of his life getting to know inside and out.

"Hm," Buck hums, pushing far enough forward that Tommy stumbles back a step. "We should probably go and get cleaned up, huh?" He extracts himself from Tommy's arms with only the slightest bit of difficulty, leaving one hand wrapped around his suspenders to drag Tommy along with a raised eyebrow.

Buck isn't entirely sure, but he think there's a little bit of pink underneath the soot on Tommy's face. It makes him even happier.

[fleurvi]

Sick!S/O | Arcane Women

request for arcane women with a sick gf

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characters: ambessa, caitlyn, grayson, mel, sevika, vi

cw: fem!reader

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Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa doesn't really take care of you when you're sick. She's a warrior, not a doctor. But we're delusional here, so I'll go with it.

You are not allowed to lift a finger. You need to recover properly so she'll have guards around you at all times so you can order them to get things for you. She visits you regularly to check up on your health and make sure you're being doted on. In a rare occurrence, she offers you a massage to relax you.

“How are you feeling?” Ambessa asks, heavy hands working against your shoulders and neck. You nod, thanking her for her service. “Maybe a bath would do you good.”

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Caitlyn Kiramman

Cait panics. She can't think rationally at all. You cough once, and she's writing a eulogy. When she's sure it's not super serious, she's diligent in her care. She makes sure you stay hydrated and get plenty of rest.

“What are you doing? You should be resting,” says Cait as she notices you getting out of bed.

“Babe, c'mon”

“No. Don't you ‘babe’ me. You should be taking care of yourself,” She fusses, ushering you back to your bed.

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Grayson

Grayson believes that if you mope around In bed, you'll just make it worse. She lets you rest when you need it, but she encourages you just to take some painkillers, hydrate adequately and go about your work.

“Here you go,” Grayson says, handing you medication and water. “We've got a busy day. If it gets too much, just let me know, and I'll send you home to rest,” She says, pulling you into a hug and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Mel Medarda

She just wants you to get better. Mel checks up on you but doesn't spend much time with you because she doesn't want to catch whatever you have. When she does visit you, she makes sure to ask if you're getting what you need and making sure you get it. She's mostly concerned about you resting, so she stays with you, talking softly with you until you fall asleep.

“Are you sure you're okay, my love?” She asks, running her hands over your back.

“Yeah, I think I need to sleep off. Thank you for coming to visit,” you say, closing your eyes.

“You're welcome, My Love”

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Sevika

Sevika loves you, but she's not going to baby you. She'll ask you if you're on your deathbed, and if the answer is no, then you can get off your ass and help her with whatever business she's been called on.

If you want Sevika to help you with anything, you've got to turn on the whining. She likes being useful, so if you really need it, she'll sit with you until you fall asleep, but she won't wait for you to wake up. You're tough, like her, so she leaves you to it until you wake up and are ready to get back to work.

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Vi

Vi thinks her immune system is “built different”, and she's not entirely wrong. She'll stay with you, hold you while you sleep, and make sure you eat as well as you can in Zaun. If you tell her you're not really hungry, she will lecture you until you give in and at least try to eat.

“C'mon, pretty girl,” Vi says, leaning in to kiss you. You feel gross and push her head away.

“You'll get sick”

“Babe. My immune system is made of steel. I've never gotten sick in my life. Now come here and give me a proper kiss,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Fine. If you get sick, I'm not gonna baby you.”

“Yes, you will”, she laughs, and you know she's right.

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Thank you for reading!

This was a request! My main interests right now are arcane and attack on titan so please keep dropping in my inbox!

[hoseoksluna]

STEAM | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: smut

word count: 9.2k

summary: one video call awakens your neediness for two cocks.

playlist: steam / pinterest board: steam

warnings: female masturbation, mentions of shower sex, praise kink, toying with the idea of polyamory, a hint of voyeurism, oc rly goes through it and faces mental battles, fear, intoxication, punishment, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, choking, cum eating, manhandling, degradation, provocation, mutual masturbation, rough & raw sex, brief oral sex (f. receiving), pet names

note: IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEEE SKFDSFLSFJ, okay so—let me introduce to you a new yoongi series featuring JUNGKOOK oh my god. i am SO EXCITED about this and i wanna apologize for my insane ideas in advance... i'm so sorry, guys. nevertheless, i hope you like this as much as i do, i literally went mad writing this and i smoked so many cigarettes i lost count. please, let me kNOW UR FAVORITE PARTS CUZ I HAVE SO MANY AND I WANNA TALK ABOUT THEM. oh fuck, guys. ENJOY READING SDKFJSD. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

side note: btw, the playlist i made is literally perfect and depicts the fic wonderfully. you can listen while you read! <3

The scent of mangoes finds its way up your nostrils, heating your senses through its balmy touch as you rub the body butter over the damp skin of your arms. Fingers graze along your décolletage, tucking in the fragrance for your boyfriend to breathe in when he comes home. He’s out for the night—said something about his friend finishing his military service, so the whole group was going out to celebrate it. Yoongi was so frantic in his excitement, hastily putting on the first outfit that sparked his eye. Didn’t even touch his hair, only sprayed a mist of his sandalwood and tangerine-tinged perfume. Grabbed his phone, keys, wallet. Barely kissed you goodbye before he fled out of the door.

He didn’t even ask you if you wanted to come along.

You didn’t mind, though—you’re only in the early stages of your relationship. It hasn’t even been half a year since you’ve started dating. And you figure he deserves a night out with his closest friends because you’ve been attached to the hip since the beginning. Funnily enough, you no longer live at your own place. Somehow, you’ve settled in Yoongi’s apartment, never setting foot outside, save for your walks, grocery shopping, the few dates with your friends and work. There wasn’t any conversation about it; you just mostly spend your free time with your boyfriend.

And all you do is fuck, eat and watch movies.

The last time Yoongi took you out was during the first two months you’d been getting to know him. The realization of how long it’s been sends a trail of chills down your arms and you rub it away.

But because you’ve been spending all your time together, you’re glad to have a moment to yourself—glad to be able to take a long hot shower, to do your hair and skincare. Perhaps, you’ll even have time to do your nails and that energizes you, propels you to spread the body butter further down the rest of your body. It is your rose garden, these night times reserved for your hot showers. The place you go to—your hideaway from the pressure and nerves of life that the steam loosens and soothes, especially when you let your sultry playlist echo through the mightiness of Yoongi’s bathroom, your favorite singer’s voice reaching your veins like the growing stems of those roses; pretty, pink and so feminine. Yes, Yoongi’s therapy sessions and thick length might have been a great help, the best in fact, but there’s something about letting yourself be burned off of all that’s been weighing you down and watching it trickle down the drain that is just so satisfying.

It was all that you were once used to. That is, until you met Yoongi.

Showers with him are something else.

Something you never thought you could ever have the blessing to encounter. Showers with Yoongi are intense, so out of pocket that you find yourself thinking about them fondly whenever you’re alone with your thoughts. There, beneath the downpour of the warm water, he lets you see the other side of his ever unyielding stern façade. While holding you, he would make you laugh, then make you moan and break that sound with each hard plunge of his cock. Hair slicked back, smirk adorning that delicious wet mouth, causing him to look like a Mafioso bent on absolutely ruining you. He would tell you the most insane story he heard from his friend, then talk you through the build-up of your orgasm while continuing to the point of that story—seamlessly waving through, never losing tempo. “Then, he went up to his hyung to ask him about what he did—yes, just like that, honey, take it. I know you’re almost there, just listen.” You would come all over his cock, sprinkling him with your essence, right there at the end of his story and like a hungry man, he’d get on his knees and eat you up, muttering how good you are and how well you did along with each swipe of his tongue. Your lungs would heave due to the overstimulation, your legs would tremble, unable to stand and he’d gather you into his arms, fold you like paper into the crooks of his body and let his thick duvet drape over you. He’d fall asleep first, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, snoring softly behind you while spooning you, never letting go of his deathly grip around you. And while you would breathe in the haze of lilac sprayed on his pillows, you’d become aware of the drowsy rhythm of his heartbeat, the lift and fall of his chest against your back, the snug heat of his body and it would lull you to sleep.

That has become your new version of hot long showers.

And if it isn’t this, then it’s Yoongi letting you quickly wash yourself before he’d steal you away, dragging you into this bed, only to carry you back there an hour later.

You speculate he has a serious, adorable case of attachment issues.

That is why you enjoy your exceptional alone shower all the more—you haven’t had it in so long. Only this time, it’s quite different.

You feel him everywhere.

You feel him in the drift of your hand down your tummy because you recollect the way he likes to pepper kisses there on his way to eat you out. You feel him when you round your palms across your backside because you know he particularly likes to leave traces of saliva when he presses open-mouthed kisses there. His love for you circulates in your bloodstream, mingling with the little love you have for yourself, making it bigger, turning it into a turbulent rush of liquid. You sense it tapping beneath your skin, asking for more of your body just like Yoongi does, always begging, begging for more—for more skin to kiss and lick, for more sensitive parts of you to find and nibble on.

Your hands sense the ghost of him even when your fingers slip past your mound and realize that the film of your memories dampened your cunt. You hear the words of praise he’d utter into your ear at the discovery and you sigh at your tender touch. 

That’s a good girl. Messy for me. 

The rotund case of your body butter remains opened, forgotten. You suddenly have better things to do—like give your body the self-care, the self-love it deserves.

It’s a part of the solo girl's night.

A mewl comes out of your mouth at the first round of circles on your clit. Furrowing your brows at the pleasure, you prop your free hand on the edge of the bathroom counter, riding the pads of your fingers. And then, just like Yoongi taught you, you take your digits away, edging yourself, taking them elsewhere. You cry out at the contact of your wet fingertips on your stiff nipple and you pinch the nub, a spasm of delight coursing through your sensitiveness.

You imagine Yoongi standing behind you. Not touching you, merely guiding you, telling you when to stop, when to pick up the pace—when to fill your hole. Watching you in the mirror, hands in his pockets, having a perfect view of your slick-caked folds, of your clit swollen and asking for his tongue. Determined to make you lose your mind by teasing you, letting you only slap your pussy once you’re close. Your essence drips out of you at that thought, making a mess on the floor and you plug it in with your finger, fucking yourself steadily, inflamed by how slippery your heat is, how easy it is to slip the digit inside. Hot flashes close over your body, pearls of perspiration kissing the crook of your neck. You fuck yourself faster and—

A sudden ring of your phone jolts you. And the picture of your boyfriend, half dressed, with the early morning sunlight leaking over the scars and tattoo on his shoulder, crammed inside your screen, greets you.

You pant hard, your finger still inside of you. Delirious.

He must be on his way home. You don’t even know what time it is. 

Leaning forward, you hide your breasts behind your forearm and you swipe your finger to accept his video call.

Blurry Yoongi. The night sky, starlit and alive, behind him. A shoal of silhouettes, some lanky and some buff, all short-haired and all as woozy-lidded as you. The picture smooths into a crystal clear view and there you see your boyfriend, the nocturnal breeze brushing his ebony hair back. Not just him, however, but another male craning his neck to regard you fully. 

His eyes flicking from your neck to the smallest of your exposed décolletage, a smirk blossoming on his face like your imaginary roses. 

Yoongi slaps his phone face down. You withdraw your finger from your heat, a cacophony of giggles, whiny cries and the exclamations of his name emitting out of your mouth. 

He is not, in fact, on his way home. 

It is a warning, his low and strict call of your name back and, heeding it, you take your phone into your hands, so he’s only able to see your deeply flushed face. Device back in his hand, he’s not looking at you at all. As a matter of fact, he’s shooting daggers fueled with deadly nightshade at his friend, grumbling something that you can’t quite make out amidst the chaos and bustle of the outing. The shoal of the rest of his friends and strangers disappear out of the perspective, as if threatened by the cold energy. 

You wish you knew what he’s saying to him. Even your pussy aches to hear it. The principle of him scolding his friend for looking at you at your most private moment scorches you and you’re red, flattered and majestically horny. 

Yoongi turns his head to see if you’re well-behaved and you beam at him, the pulse on your clit intensifying, forcing you to say, “come home, Yoongi.” 

He chuckles, aware of the reason behind your words, pretends he isn’t. “What were you doing, baby?” 

The growth of your grin doesn’t falter. You show him the sheen of your wet finger in the ivory bathroom light, the glint, the stickiness as you push your index finger to your middle and pull away, your arousal on full, filthy display. 

He curses under his breath. Doesn’t give a fuck that his friend sits beside him and adjusts in his seat. Bites his lip briefly. “Stick it in your mouth for me.” 

Doesn’t say the words that so very often follow after in that sentence. Taste yourself. 

Why he doesn’t step aside to take this video call eludes you, but something about you being watched by two pairs of eyes excites you. Enough for you to do as he says. Perhaps it’s due to the fact you don’t know the male sitting beside him and Yoongi is letting him keep his sight glued to the screen. 

Two sharp inhales of breath. Not one of yours. Yoongi readies his hook to feignedly lash out at his friend and you press your thighs together to alleviate yourself of the unbearable feeling between your legs. Confidence, a bad, bad version of confidence suffuses you whole, turning you into a person gone mad by lust. You swirl your tongue around your digit, the tanginess of your taste causing your eyes to narrow, the principle of driving not just one, but two men mad just the same intoxicates you, as if you were there among them, drinking. 

A pair of round eyes peek at the corner of the screen. Soft, naive, so terribly innocent. A dash of sobriety washes over you, owed to those brownish effervescent orbs, a sprinkle shame pooling low in your core. A reality check. You sense some kind of stability of that reality beneath those eyelashes of his, the stability that whispers—is this the right thing to do? 

It’s not rough, it’s not stern, it’s not Yoongi coded—it’s anything but. Gentleness is what you detect, free of any prejudice. 

You sigh. Millions of thoughts about how you could toy with them pass through your mind, but you decide against them, the stability a pillar that blends into your spine, helping it unbend. You can’t do this; you can’t do this to Yoongi and you need to keep your dignity intact in some way, despite the fact that every fiber of your body compels you to do the opposite. You distract yourself by screwing the lid of your body butter back on. 

“Good girl,” Yoongi coos, causing you to whisk your eyes to the screen in perhaps disbelief, shame or your still pending arousal—you’re not sure. How can you be a good girl when you let another man see something so lewd? How can your boyfriend validate something like that? “One more beer and I’ll be home. Wait for me on the bed. As you are.” 

Naked. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks, to the surface of every part of your skin, dragging away small ounces of shame. You curse, mentally, running a hand down your face. Yoongi downs his drink without taking his gaze off of you, watching your reaction, adds once he swallows, “and don’t touch yourself.” 

And with that, he hangs up. 

The harsh comprehension of what the fuck just happened envelops you in a confining embrace, the precipitately increasing weight of shame now a burden on your shoulders that you just can’t shake off, even when you slink your arms through sleeves of your silky robe and welcome in the summer breeze coming to caress your face on the balcony—even when you burst your lighter to a flame and light up your cigarette, inhaling the smoke that you hoped would rid you of its such uncomfortable hold around you. 

You licked your cum clean under the gape of a guy you don’t know in front of your boyfriend. 

His friend heard the order. Don’t touch yourself. Yoongi didn’t whisper it. Didn’t camouflage his words in any way. Uttered them straight and bare, allowing his friend to hear them, despite the fact he almost fought him then and there for sneaking one glance at your moderately naked form. 

Question marks hover in your mind and the pulse on your clit cries, seemingly knowing the answer. 

Did Yoongi like it as much as you did, the aspect of having an audience? 

The wetness in your heat dribbles out, staining your thighs. You squeeze them together, the drag of your cigarette hard and long, expecting to feel your nerves burn off. You gain no such thing—no relief, no lifting of the burden, just constricting tangles in your tummy, zippy spasms of butterflies going mad, mad, mad. 

Perhaps Yoongi didn’t like it at first until he perceived the auspicious debauched look on your face. Saw the way you didn’t hesitate to oblige him when he told you to stick your finger in your mouth. And perhaps the fact that you didn’t express any signal of discomfort was the key to unfastening the leash on his possessiveness over you. 

What have you done? What have you so selfishly and disgustingly done? 

You hang your head in your hands, the white smoke intertwining with the burden on your shoulders and pressing down harder on you. 

That’s why he let his friend hear the command. Don’t touch yourself. He saw the way you indulged in it, and that awakened his liking for it.

Yoongi lied when he said he’d have one more beer. 

By the time you hear the thunder of his voice, all the roses in your garden have wilted, leaving faded, withered petals in its wake—leaving a path of your internal battle all around the apartment for Yoongi to follow. You’ve paced, your bare feet stepping on them. Tried to untangle yourself from the incarceration of your mind by chain-smoking, but to no avail. The only change that took place in your body was the decline of your shame, for you couldn’t help but imagine what could have happened, had you let free rein to your desire—had those round eyes never looked at you with such purity. You figured there wasn’t anything bad about letting your imagination be colored like that, and so you sat on your boyfriend’s couch, cigarette switched to a coconut-flavored vape, and dreamed.

You dreamed about those two men being of service to you, right here on the same couch, where they would lay you down and make you squirt over and over again, betting between each other who could make you come the fastest, counting down your orgasms until the number was a mere blur to you. 

The throb on your clit heightened to heavenly levels and when you emerged from your dream, you found yourself being able to breathe—your momentary disappearance tricking your shame into leaving. It was difficult for you not to touch yourself and you opted to adhere to Yoongi’s wish, not risking to feel worse than you already had. 

The war ended, undeterred by the fact you never expected it to. 

Loud swear words roar in Korean. You rise to your feet to open the front door for Yoongi and you discover that he’s not alone at all. 

The same pair of round eyes, the cause of all the ruckus you just departed from, meet yours, hauling you back there with a force. Your mouth falls agape and before you can react any further, Yoongi stumbles into you. You almost topple over, realizing you didn’t care to steal a glance at the state of him, but the male grabs a hold of Yoongi’s jacket and pulls him back. You wish you had tumbled over and the floor had opened up and swallowed you whole. It would have been less embarrassing than to be stuck in this situation. You want to run, you want to scream— 

“He’s drunk out of his own mind,” the male says, his voice deep like the warm wind before a tumultuous storm, fitting just right with the thunder of Yoongi’s intonation, his gaze wandering over the entirety of your shock-stricken face, taking it in; giving you the same attention that fucked you up hours ago. Yoongi begins to mumble something you can’t momentarily focus on, his hands grasping your waist, lips latching onto your neck. No, you cannot for the life of you focus because the man steals you all over again and you hate how easy it is for him to do that, when you’re far from being available. “Don’t ask what made him drink this much.”

Did Yoongi get drunk because he let his friend in on your most intimate moment? 

Humiliated, turned on and angry altogether, a concoction that simply worsens everything, you draw back from your boyfriend. You want to beat at his chest with your fists just to have some sort of relief from blaming him—because if you blame yourself, only doom consumes you. Why did he call you? Or, essentially, why didn’t he step away to take that damned video call? 

“Thanks for walking him home,” you say eventually, your voice smooth, despite the violence of your feelings, despite wanting to say something else entirely. Your first words to him and, wholeheartedly—despite it all, you hope they aren’t last, even if that possibly makes you a despicable person. 

Yoongi’s friend nods. Chews his bottom lip and lowers his gaze to the ground for a split second. You wonder if he feels the need to remove himself from this uncomfortable situation as much as you do because you can’t read anything in that paleness of his countenance. Not a hint of any emotion whatsoever, just blandness of expression, slightly dimmed by the few thick strands of black hair that have fallen from his disheveled, pushed back mullet. As if they did fight after all, perhaps on the way home, or wrestled if Yoongi was being difficult. 

You don’t realize you and the male are just staring at each other until Yoongi places his hand on your cheek, brushing back a wisp of your tresses. Only then do your eyes flick to Yoongi’s and you finally notice him, the gloss in his hooded irises searching and searching for you, the rosy blush on his cheeks, dry parted mouth and the dart of his tongue as he wets it, softening the flecks that have been created there. 

This is it. If you are focused on him, all things are made right—all things that have been stained get purified and dreams get turned into dust. This is the man you’ve fallen for, who puts you before himself and has done so every day since the moment he made you his. You can’t let anyone else get in the way of the home that your relationship has become, you can’t let your feelings flee—

“For the record,” Yoongi’s friend starts, hand massaging circles on the nape of his neck, the leather of his jacket tight around his arm. Your heart jumps and beats against your chest ferociously. “I didn’t see anything, if that helps you sleep better tonight.” 

It’s such a fat lie and you’re about to shake your head, but then he looks at you with such sincere regret that, ultimately, you choose to believe him. Just to keep your peace of mind unscarred. 

Yoongi tightens his hold around your waist, which grounds you, and a small part of you begins to bloom in healing, disseminating little by little across your whole body. 

A healer with big, round eyes. A good man. 

With a swing, Yoongi closes the door but you don’t hear the click. No, the light spills in from the hallway. Your hands reach for the doorknob but Yoongi blocks them and wraps them around his waist while swaying on his feet. He traces the shell of your ear with his lips, his alcohol-reeking breath wafting over you, and softly, you whine his name. Shuffling beyond the door, feet never entirely moving—the male is still standing outside and he hears as Yoongi hums at your call, as the sound grows into a groan at the feeling of being alone with you at last, at the feeling of all that makes you feminine under his hands. He hears your gasp as Yoongi pushes your chest flush to his body, kisses you harshly and cups your bare pussy. Hears the smack of your mouths, the pop once he withdraws, the squelch of your wetness. Hears as Yoongi murmurs, “you been horny, baby? Wet for me, hm?”

It’s those words that make him shut the door for you.

You made Yoongi drink a lot of water. 

And while he downed the glasses, you ordered him Thai food from his phone, which he now devours. You had wanted to change out of your flimsy robe into your plush pajamas, but Yoongi stopped you with a tight grip on your shoulder and with the nastiest puppy eyes he could manage, considering his plastered state, he begged you not to. Informed you that he wanted to fuck you in your little robe and you told him that if he wanted that, he needed to get sober. 

He’s your boyfriend and you trust him, but you don’t feel comfortable having sex with him while he’s wasted and you’re not. It’s a dangerous territory you don’t ever want to cross. 

So, now he eats as quietly as a mouse, feeding you every other bite with his chopsticks, meanwhile you’re jittering your leg with your arms crossed across your chest, mind full of the male who walked him home. Of the way he pulled you under and resurfaced with you soon after. Of the calm peace you feel all over the perimeter of your mind that peculiarly stresses you out. Of what would happen if you voiced your little dream to Yoongi, especially. 

Was it out of the question or would he consider it? 

Your leg jitters harder. 

You want to tell him, badly. Seeing his friend in real life changed fucking everything. If you hadn’t, you would’ve forgotten about it in the days to come. Yoongi would’ve fucked it out of you in most probability. But those eyes… those eyes got under your skin. 

“Stop fidgeting,” Yoongi scolds with his mouth full of food, no hint of slurring. The hot meal and hydration worked a miracle. “You’re making me nervous.” 

He picks up two cut pieces of chicken with his chopsticks and stuffs your mouth, adding a few pieces of vegetables as you’re chewing. Watches you swallow it, noticing how your eyes are focused on nothing in particular on the other side of the room. Tucking his utensils under his palm, he places his hand on your thigh, halting your restless motion. 

You still won’t look at him. Too lost in the overthinking maze, debating whether you should speak or remain quiet about your desire. A strong part of you fears his reaction and the other half is horrified at the possibility of being turned down—

Yoongi takes his hand away. Props it on his cheek. 

“I can see your pussy from here,” he says, licking his lips. “You’ve shaved?” 

You breathe a soft laugh, turning your head to face him, covering yourself with the small fabric. Dark, but tender eyes, void of any glossiness, awake and stirred—amused. Cheeks awash with color. Lips puffy, a dark tinge of red coating them. A sturdy fist on his cheek, the milky jawline underneath. That messy hair, the slicked-back look ruined by the constant rake of his fingers through them, now falling to the side from the middle. That slender body, clad in the night from head to toe—legs outstretched under the table. So fine, so delicious. A beautiful strong man—all yours. Why do you want another one? 

You slide your leg across his thighs and Yoongi slouches in his seat, discarding his chopsticks. 

“I shaved everything,” you respond, cocking your brow at him—a sly invitation for him to feel its smoothness. 

And he does. Runs his hand up and down your skin. Goes as far as lifting your other leg onto his lap, cradling them both, thumb caressing your calf. The movement causes your robe to expose you again and, cursing the fabric, you go to cover yourself, but Yoongi stops you. 

“Don’t bother,” he mutters. “I wanna look at it.” 

You raise your brows altogether, looking up at him. “You wanna look at her?” 

Yoongi smirks. That dangerous tug of one corner of his mouth to the side. Your death, your undoing, the root of your submission to him. “I want to have her at my disposal.”

You gulp and Yoongi catches it, chuckling. Drifts his hand down your calf, to your heel, to the middle of your foot up to your toes. He plays with your pinky. You note the fact he changed the pronoun after you did. 

Your arousal returns at full speed.

“Did that make you wet?” Low, low is his voice—you feel it prodding at your core, thrumming vehemently. 

You blossom like your roses, thoughts put to the side. 

“I’ve been wet this entire time,” you say, zeroing in your gaze on the flick of dimness that whirls past his eyes. “For hours.” 

He makes a sound of pitiful nature. “Poor baby.” Furrows his brows and juts his bottom lip out, making you weak. Lets his hand roam on your thigh. “So you listened? You didn’t touch yourself?” 

You merely nod your head quickly. You were too distressed to give your body the pleasure it sought. Too busy flaring your lungs with the burn of smoke. And you respected his wish enough to keep your hands to yourself. 

Yoongi coos. “Good girl.” 

A flashback—your lips wrapping around your slick-coated finger, Yoongi praising you and… another pair of eyes watching. Chills spread across your arms, your stomach flipping. Thankfully, your shame is kept at bay. It relieves you. 

“Can I feel how wet you are?” 

A sweet, devious smile. “If you can manage to get to her.” 

You press your thighs tightly together. Yoongi looks at you as if you’ve greatly offended him and alas, he turns your chair so you face him head-on. Forces your thighs apart without any strain at all—and there you feel it, the embarrassment of fucking with him, once your pussy is at complete disposal to him just like he wanted. 

“If your pussy wasn’t so pretty, I’d make you regret your words,” he purrs, eyes fixed on your drenched flesh, hands pushing your thighs back until your knees are at level with your shoulders, folds parting with the movement, revealing more of you. Yoongi wets his mouth with his tongue. 

He thumbs your gleaming lips back and forth, collecting your essence, mesmerized by them. Looks at you intently. 

“It wouldn’t hurt to say sorry, though,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. “Would it?” 

You grin at him. “Sorry, Yoongi.” 

He rubs your swollen clit in slow circles, still with his bedewed thumb, still with his eyes on you. You choke out a moan at the delight permeating through your being. “That’s not the proper way to apologize, now is it?”

You lean your pelvis into his touch, a natural body reaction unfolding. He disapproves. You scrunch your face. “What should I say?” 

Yoongi tuts. “I’m barely touching you and you already forgot your manners?” 

The only answer you emit is an uncouth whine. 

He shakes his head, putting pressure into his circles for a mere beat of time before he slaps your pussy curtly. A vivid spasm of pleasure fills you and you moan. “Needy girl. Don’t I take care of this pussy enough? What’s this behavior?” 

Another whine. A roll of your body, asking for more of his touch. “Spank her again.” 

A cock of his brow. Harsh, stern, evil. His hand remains propped on his thigh, shoulders hunched. “I didn’t hear you say please. You wanna be bad? You want me to make you cry?” 

You know just how much he’s capable of doing that. You shake your head ‘no’. You want gentleness, the kind you saw in his friend’s eyes—

You flutter your own shut to get rid of that thought. Take a deep breath. 

“Spank my pussy again, please.” 

Yoongi massages the apex of your thigh, dangerously close to your cunt, squeezing the flesh every once in a while. 

“Apologize first.” 

“You didn’t tell me how.” 

He clicks his tongue and pinches your folds and your clit between his fingers. You cry out, and then Yoongi gets up to his feet, leaning over you, propping his hand on the back of your chair. He begins to swiftly spank your pussy over and over again. You just jump at every contact, moaning, eyes flicked to his, never breaking apart. Taking it, taking it so well that Yoongi kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Then, he grunts. Fingers flat against your clit, he moves them from side to side. Roses, a myriad of them, flood your form with their freshness and dewiness, with their beauty and delectation and you shudder, you scream, you arch your back off of the backrest—

“Say, ‘I’m sorry, Yoongi. I’m such a bad girl that I deserve every spank and I’ll take it until it hurts.” 

Flabbergasted and horny beyond measure, your mouth falls agape. Your brain turns into mush, the pleasure paralyzing you, your sounds now loud and obscene, the roses in you flitting, growing and murmuring. Yoongi adds more pressure to your clit and your eyes sink back into your head, his darkness wafting over to you, seeping into your skin—now completely yours. 

You repeat after him—word for word. With a simper on your face that causes him to scowl at you, as if you dared to toy with your punishment he bestowed upon you. But then, a tongue prods the inside of his cheek and he laughs, taking a hold of his dominant role and making sure you know. He spanks your clit twice in a row, hands lifting to fondle your nipples. 

“Good,” he praises. “You like that, don’t you? Spanks on your pussy?”

You don’t like that softness. Like the personified thunder he is, it is the calm before the storm. It unnerves you, the expectation of what might come next and your disliking of it. Nonetheless, you brim with the craving to have his fingers inside of you. Your hole clenches at that and Yoongi notices, hissing under his breath. The language of the darkness rises on your tongue and you figure that if you let loose, you’ll get your wish fulfilled.

“Yeah, it feels so good—” He pinches your nipples between his knuckles and you mewl, your lashes shaking at the impact, another set of wetness coating your folds. “Please, fuck me with your fi���”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence. Yoongi plunges his middle finger into your heat, cursing at your tightness, at how slippery you are and at the delight of being filled at last, you knit your brows. With his other finger, he traces the outline of your puckered mouth, his breathing hard and ragged. 

“I’ll do anything for that pout of yours, fuck, no matter if you deserve it or not,” he utters, slipping the digit inside. Instinctively, you suck on it and only then does Yoongi begin to pump you slowly. “You just need a little roughness to be good, don’t you?” 

Dumbly, you nod, swirling your tongue around him, but a faint, silenced part of you begs for the gentleness that you know hides somewhere deep inside his chest, never once unfurled during such intimate times. 

You pay it no matter, too fucked out to think. 

When he adds a second finger into your heat, he does the same thing with his other hand. Two fingers in your cunt, two fingers in your mouth. And he fucks you with both until you gag and a light flashes in his eyes—then, he withdraws all together, leaning against the table, his bedewed fingers coming to rest at his hardened length in his pants. 

Roses, opening. Roses, sighing. 

You breathe heavily, needing to finish, needing to have him in your mouth—

“You liked being the center of attention today?” he husks, surveying your whole body, bent in half. 

There it is—the storm. Just what you expected. Cold sweat dribbles down your spine. And it is fear, what you feel, even when you refuse to admit it. Stiff, tempered fear that pervades each and every vein on your body, regarding being possibly degraded, being made feel dirty—regarding, even, tasting the dark wine of his wrath. 

Such a stark, sudden change. 

You don’t want this. You don’t want any of it.

Abruptly, an internal question comes and pokes you in the middle of your forehead.

Will you succumb to it or will you, with the wildly fresh darkness within you, fight against it?

You take a deep breath, and in with the air also follows, with the little rationality you have amidst the sensuality of your lecherous appetite, the decision to take a hold of it all. To take charge. Just like he did.

You shall prioritize yourself. Your feelings, your desires—your roses.

Your choice envelops your fear in bubble wrap. It doesn’t dissipate. And as much as it pains you, you take a mental note of that. 

“I did,” you spit out, angered by the fact you’re afraid of your boyfriend, and so you stand your ground. “It made me so fucking needy and I want more.” 

The relief that hits you almost causes you to weep and you lower your legs to the ground. Not wanting him to see the film of tears clouding your eyes, you avoid his gaze. Yoongi crosses his arms across his chest and clicks his tongue at you, disapproving. 

“Keep your legs where they belong.” 

“No.”

A lift of his brow. He crouches down to your level and cradles your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him. And there he sees, under the waterfall of your hair, your emotions at his disposal. Yoongi studies you, frowns at you and you want to sob, you want to go home. Shame slithers towards your spine like a ghost, and although it keeps a distance, you feel its presence prickling your back. You cover your cleavage. 

“Why are you crying?” Yoongi asks, a silky murmur, eyes flicking between yours. His fingers don’t caress your skin; they merely hold you firmly, making dents in the skin. 

You don’t trust that voice, dismayed by what might lie under. 

“Why did you do that to me?” you ask in return, and it’s a blue fire shooting out, engulfing the room in stifling heat. You catch a glimpse of its sparks in the dimness of his eyes, of how he’s momentarily stricken by it before it folds beneath the shadows.

“You want to get fucked by someone else?” 

A question for a question. 

You swallow down the lump in your throat, caused by your frustration. 

Your devotion to him didn’t let you go as far as to imagine being fucked by his friend while Yoongi watched, but the brief flash of it in your mind is enough incentive for the heat to spill into you, mingling with the darkness, turning you candescent, traveling through you until it finds your core—and there, it stays. There, it finds home. 

The pulse on your clit returns, filling you with abrupt energy. 

There’s something about him coming up with it that makes you unhinged, but you’re so utterly sick of the instability of your feelings. You need it to stop.

“And what if I do?” you retort. “What will you do?” 

Truthfulness, at last.

Yoongi takes in a sharp inhale of breath, and that is the only reaction you receive from him. Nothing else on his face flickers; no wrath, no sliver of jealousy, not one thing. You stare at an empty canvas, ready for you to paint on. And you simply decide that you want to start. 

You push his hand away from your face. Stand up to your feet. But the hardened look he gives you inclines you to sit back down. 

You fight against it. 

Untangling the knot on your robe, you let him see your bare femininity. The perkiness of your breasts, the long dip of your stomach that he likes to pepper kisses on. Yes, you’re aiming for his weakness. 

And you decide to repeat history. 

You reach your hand down, lower and lower while he stares you down, and you collect your glimmering essence. Sinking your finger into your mouth, you make a show of rolling your eyes back and moaning faintly, softly. Your other hand, in the meantime, unbuttons his pants. 

The breath Yoongi inhaled hitches in his throat. 

“Is this not evidence enough?” you purr, dragging down his zipper. “How else am I supposed to show you?” 

You pull his manhood out as you suck on your finger, all while maintaining eye contact. You don’t touch him beyond that. In fact, you withdraw your hand altogether. 

And then, you collect your essence again. 

This time, you smear it across his bottom lip. Yoongi lets you. Your heart thuds, threatening to jump out of your chest. 

“Your actions during the video call told me everything,” you whisper, catching the sliver of wooziness scattering along his narrowed eyes. “And I think you liked it more than me—the thought of sharing me. You can’t hide it. Not when I saw it.” 

Yoongi growls. Then, he surprises you. 

He parts his lips for you. 

And the contact of the pad of your finger with his wet tongue coaxes a string of your dewiness to drip down the side of your thigh. You moan for him. Relieved, fucked up, woozy just the same. Finally, finally, finally. 

You’re in charge. And it feels divine. 

His length twitches against the fabric of his T-shirt. Long, hard, drooling. Such a delight for you—and so you continue. 

“I also think it made you hard. Not just because you called me when I was touching myself, but because your friend was right there beside you,” you purr, your voice a seductive sound of silk—leading him to wrap his lips around your digit. You moan for him, showing him how much you like that. “Isn’t that right, baby?” Your walls clench at the pet name, solely due to the fact that these soft terms of endearment have always been addressed to you, never the other way around. It thrills you. “I’d always be devoted to you, even if he fucked me. I’d look at you the entire time. If that’s what you want. I had a different idea, but yours is just—” you pause, and again you make a show of sighing and rolling your eyes back, “better.” 

A straight hit to his core. A glee for you. 

But you don’t realize how much you fucked up until Yoongi grips your waist and the hold hurts enough that you wince. 

And then—then he manhandles you. 

Lifting you and laying you down on the table, Yoongi spreads your legs. Watches you drip, watches as the satiny fabric follows the movement of your limbs and reveals you in all your entirety. He pulls you closer to him with a sharp tug until you collide with the tops of his thighs. Bends over you. Hovers his lips above yours. You expect him to kiss you—he even angles his head and rubs the side of his nose against yours—but he never does. 

He only leaves you waiting. Leaves you submitted to your empty expectations, taking charge, taking his control back from you. You shiver in anticipation, reaching for him, however he pins your hands down on either side of you. An angel in a rose garden. 

Yoongi chuckles, darkly, his teeth glinting in the yellow light. You fight against his hold, hips rolling against the underside of his length, beckoning him to do something, anything. You merely manage to prolong the thunder of his laughter. 

“One cock isn’t enough for her, so baby wants two,” he spits. That smirk, the crinkles around his eyes—he’s enjoying this. The hint of degradation doesn’t reflect what’s swarming inside of him, doesn’t reflect the face of pleasure coursing down his body. You smile and he scoffs. “I have enough friends for you to choose from in case you want more. I think you’d be stellar at taking three cocks. Four, even, huh? Would you have enough then? One in your tight little virgin ass, two in your cunt, one down your throat?” 

You gulp, frozen, eyes widening. 

Yoongi bites his shiny lips, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. Kisses you once. Begins to rock his hips, his length sliding across your wet fleshiness. The moan that escapes your throat trembles with each delicious motion. 

“You watch too much porn, honey,” he coos, giving you tiny kisses on the mouth. “I’d kill anyone who would come near this pussy. And I’d kill Jungkook, too, if he so much as glanced at her.” 

So that’s his name. You mewl, knitting your brows. That’s his pretty name. The entirety of your form shivers at the discovery, at the pleasure given to your throbbing clit. 

Yoongi pulls back, setting your hands free. 

You prop your elbows on the table, pouting. Yoongi grasps his length, spreads his arousal and begins to jerk himself off. 

“You’re not fucking Jungkook. You’re mine.” He groans, squeezing his tip; your hole clenches. “Rub your clit.” 

Like him, you spread your arousal on your seashell, the arousal long caused by his presence and now the mention of his name—the reason behind your frustration and his, the reason why you’re spread on the dining table, why your boyfriend is hard. You rub your clit from side to side, amused. 

“No,” Yoongi disapproves, knowing you do the motion when you want to prolong the build-up. “Circles. Make yourself come.” 

You change direction, obeying him. A sly grin blossoms on your lips, dark eyes looking up into his, permeating them, permeating into his soul. You pick up the pace, moaning into your expression of elation. 

“Jungkook is such a pretty name,” you provoke and you heighten your sounds in volume and intensity just to piss him off, just to have your way. 

A grunt escapes him, matching your pace. He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes. You hum. 

“A pretty name to moan in my opinion.” A layer of sweat coats your body. Yoongi grasps your jawline firmly and your satisfied laughter inches you closer to your orgasm. You feel the hot flashes, roses surrounding you—its tender petals grazing your feverish skin. You give in, watching Yoongi do the same, his mouth in a tight line, hissing and sizzling, an open fire, an open fire you want to be radiated by, burned whole by. “Just imagine him here, watching us. Oh my god, imagine him knowing he’s the reason why you and I are doing this.” 

Yoongi has had enough. 

He pushes you down harshly. Fills your hole to the hilt without letting you adjust, observing himself disappearing inside of you and begins to pound you into the table. The sound of skin slapping, the hard and quick strokes, the ravaged grunts he lets out, the fast change—it all takes your breath away, so much that you can’t, in fact, breathe. He grabs your face and makes you look at him. The dead of the night captured in his features, you absorb it, whining like the brat you are onto his mouth, mingling into your noises your approval, your yes’. 

Swallowing it, he kisses you, keeping his eyes open. “He could never fuck you like this.” 

You laugh. He swallows that, too, moaning. “What if he could?” 

He taps you on the cheek, a warning, giving you an exceptionally hard stroke that causes you to scream. He pauses. Does it again. Over and over—and your screams echo across the room, your own soul slipping out of your body. Petals flutter against you and you’re done for, hanging off the edge. You’re close, so terribly close. Your eyesight blurs and Yoongi pulls out entirely and rams into you. Again and again, abusing your cervix. 

You moan his name, gone—entirely gone. 

“Yes, moan my name like that. Just mine,” he mutters. “Who’s fucking you this good? Who’s gonna make you come?” 

He rams into you more rapidly than before. Your senses leave you until all that you know is Yoongi. His name, his scent, the wholeness of the night encompassing him. 

“You, Yoongi, you. Fuck, I—”

Yoongi laughs maniacally. “Yes, that’s right. That’s my good girl.” 

He rolls his hips, slowing down the coming of your orgasm, owning you. Lets your senses come back to you momentarily. You swallow, your throat dry and you blink, dazed still. Yoongi kisses you, giving you all that he took from you. 

“Who’s only capable of fucking you like this, honey, hm?” he asks, his voice tender and sing-song. “My pretty honey, so fucked out. So out of it.” 

You whine and you don’t control what comes out of you, your body answering for you. “You, Yoongi. You’re fucking me so—so good. I can’t—fuck. You’re the only one.” 

He smiles down at you fondly, kissing your nose, then your lips, parting your mouth and swirling his tongue around yours briefly. Then he withdraws, begins to fuck you again, slowly, reaching to the side for something. 

Once you see his phone in his hand, your heart stops. And when he puts the device to his ear, your throat dries up even more. You suddenly become aware of the silence all around, especially in your chest. You can’t breathe, you can’t blink—

Yoongi jackhammers into you, purposefully luring your loud noises out of you. “My girlfriend wants to fuck you.” 

You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut, the suddenness, the quickness of pleasure you haven’t yet felt piercing you. Fuck hot flashes and petals, you feel a heavy urge of your orgasm closing down on you. 

“She’s so desperate for you, even when I’m fucking the life out of her.” 

You flutter your eyes open to see Yoongi surveying you. You scrunch your face—so close, so fucking close—and then he puts the phone to your ear. Breathing, hard, ragged breathing fills all of your senses and you come. 

It’s an explosion. Roses bursting, their dew soaking you and Yoongi whole and you exit. You exit out of this situation, this world, this universe while your soul remains here with them. Vibrancy, colors so beautiful and sensations so vivid, ardent and fierce. You don’t know what it is you’re feeling or where you are. That is, until Yoongi’s voice yanks you back to planet Earth, back into this world, this situation—back to them. 

“In fact, she just came for you. Squirted.” 

You sob. Overstimulated, rhapsodic, but effulgent. Yes, you emit light and glow. You can see it in Yoongi’s softened eyes. 

“Think about it. No pressure. Just know she won’t shut up about you. I recall her saying your name would be pretty to moan while she played with her pussy. I think it’s only right you fuck it out of her.” 

With that, he hangs up. 

You brim with so many emotions that it numbs you. Happy tears flow out of your tear ducts—and happily, endearingly, Yoongi chortles. You don’t even feel humiliation or shame. On the contrary, you’re ready to come again. 

Yoongi kisses you and the sounds he slips into your mouth divulge how happy he is about this, how pleased he is with himself. 

You pout, burning your eyesight into his. He begins to rut into you. 

“What, you’re not even gonna thank me?” he says, grinning, as if he wasn’t fucking you at all, as if you two were still sitting at the dinner table, conversing. 

You stammer, head empty, silencing yourself and trying again. “What—what made you change your mind?” 

Yoongi places open-mouthed, wet kisses along the bone of your jaw, and there he seals his answer. “I made up my mind the moment you admitted you wanted to be fucked by him, but you wouldn’t shut up about him. I wanted to hear you babble for me. About me. I just had to mess you up to get to that point.” 

You mewl, running your hands through his sweat-slicked hair. Like a cat, he perks up to your touch, lifting his head, angling it. He kisses you, deeply. Kisses your relief. 

“Where are your manners, hm?” he whispers onto your mouth, giving you hard strokes that erase your vocabulary. You want to make him come and so you push against his thrusts, but to no avail. The intensity won’t allow you. 

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you murmur, cradling his face, pecking him, giving him the softest eyes you could muster so you can show him how much it means to you. 

He approves of your effort on bettering your manners and to reward you, he lifts you up and fucks you in the air. Your breasts bounce against the material of his T-shirt, stimulating you and he alters between jackhammering into you and sliding you up and down on his length. Your pussy squelches around his girth, tightening and Yoongi—

Yoongi loses his mind. 

And it’s him who begins to babble when you snap your hips down on him in circles. 

“Just like that, honey, oh fuck. So good, so good for me.” 

He takes it until his sounds grow in volume and you focus so much on his pleasure that you forget about yours. 

But you don’t let him take charge. 

“Let me fuck you, please, Yoongi. I wanna make you come.” 

Just like you, he’s out of it and because of that, because you asked so nicely, he lets you. 

His chest heaves, staccatos of his choked out breaths sail through the room and you can see it on his face that he’s close. Brows furrowed, bottom lip bleeding due to the way he bites hard on it, the way his mouth pops open and his eyes flutter closed. 

You hold onto his neck with your dear life. 

“Look at me,” you demand and swirl your hips in slow circles around his tip. “I want you to look at me when you come.” 

You’re so stunned that he allows you to be in charge, even more when he truly does open his eyes and pierces his gaze into yours. 

“I need to pull out,” he breathes, but you shake your head, snapping your hips down on him harshly.

“No, I want your cum in me. And I want it to be inside of me when Jungkook fucks me.” 

Yoongi grunts and this is it for him. His cock twitches in you, over and over again and then you feel it—the hot, thick ropes of his cum stuffing you full. You’re so mesmerized by the feeling, by the blissfulness evident on his face, by the smoothness between his brows at last that you can’t even milk him dry. You’re frozen, stupefied by his beauty, by his personal rapture and you want to feel it in unity with him. You kiss him. 

It’s him who fucks him cum into you, burying it deep, moaning into your lip lock. 

It’s him who lays you down to your original position and briefly, feebly licks the sheen on your spread lips before devouring your clit. 

It’s him who gives you the fastest orgasm of your life. 

And it’s him who tells you—in the shower—the story of how he almost beat up Jungkook black and blue once he heard him say how pretty you are.

And it’s you who checks up on him. 

“You sure you’re okay with this?” 

You’re stroking his hair in the bed, the duvet heavy and warm around your body and his, the night overflowing into morning—Yoongi, too. 

He’s falling asleep, but still conscious, still here with you, purring. 

“I wouldn’t be waking him up in the middle of the night if I wasn’t,” he whispers, opening his eyes to look at you, to see you enveloped in the extra blanket of the dawn’s rosy light—glowing, throwing the sun off of its throne. “Poor guy just got out of the military and you’ve already rocked his world.” 

You smile, fondly, thumb caressing his temple. Yoongi hums in appreciation. 

“I’m happy for him he’s getting pussy—one that’s mine. Before he enlisted, he spent all his time painting and getting drunk alone,” he pauses in a thought, blinking at the light. “You still want this?” 

You nod, settling into his chest. Yoongi pulls you closer, tucking the duvet into the lines of your form, bringing in comfort and sleepiness. 

“I’ll make sure you have the time of your life. I’ll be here the whole time, taking care of you,” he promises against your hair and you squeeze him. 

“He hasn’t said yes, though. He could turn me down.” 

“I’ve seen the way he looked at you. You have nothing to fear. He’ll come to you like a puppy.” 

Yoongi sinks the promise onto the plane of your forehead and holds you as you drift to sleep. Happy, relieved, steamed off of all the negative things you went through. It evaporates into the dawn—far, far away from you. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / READ part two 

[sweetimpurity]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ day six!! love soft snuggly miggy the best wc: 1.3k ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ masterlist

“There’s my girl…” He smiles, watching your eyes flutter open and adjust to the morning light in the bedroom. Sheets spread lazily across your bodies. A slight chill on your skin in your tank top and sweatpants. Since the weather is getting colder all the time. But Miguel always runs hot of course. He sleeps in boxers and only boxers all through the year. His bare chest lit up by the shards of sunlight breaking through the curtains. “Morning, pretty…”

“Mm… morning…” You hum, rubbing your hands over your face and stretching against the pillows. Huffing and trying to wake up for real. You got home late last night from work. Wolfed down your dinner and just collapsed in bed. It is hard when work and life get busy and you don’t have much energy to spend a lot of time with Miguel or do date nights or anything like that. It’s been almost a week since the last time you had sex. That’s shocking actually considering how often you guys get intimate. But he’s busy with work and you are too. It’s not easy to balance everything. 

“I gotta get to the bank… and I think… my boss wants me to um… do the…um…” You think out loud and sit up with a sigh. Pushing your hair back and going through the checklist in your mind of all the things you need to do today. 

“But it’s Saturday…” He says. Looking up at you from his head on the pillow.

“Oh yeah…” You nod with a shrug. You actually didn’t even realize it was the weekend. Because all the days blend together when things are this busy. “I just need to get some things done this morning…” You explain. Getting up out of bed. He sits up once you leave the bed. Sighing internally. He’s frustrated. Not with you. But with all the things that take you away from him everyday. And him from you. He can see the toll this string of long days is taking on you. “Maybe we can get dinner tonight…” He suggests, running his fingers through his hair, calling to you in the en suite bathroom as you’re brushing your teeth. “Yeah I’ll have to see…” 

You’ll have to see? He misses the days you’d drop everything at the chance to have a date night. Knowing you just can’t do that right now. Sometimes he worries you’ve lost interest in things like that. But then he sees you working so hard and he knows that’s not the case. Life can’t all be rainbows and butterflies and sex. As much as he wishes that’s what his life with you could be. 

You emerge from the bathroom, walking over to your dresser to find some clothes for the day. And he watches you silently, staring at your back. He loves you so much. And it feels like a piece of himself is missing when he’s this far from you. 

“Hey baby…” His voice hums behind you. And you peer over your shoulder to look at him still mostly in bed. “Yes?” 

“Can you c’mere?” He asks, resting his head on his hand. That look on his face is pretty adorable. You sigh and smile, putting down the piles of clothes. Walking to the edge of the bed. 

“No like… up here…” He laughs softly, reaching out for your hand and holding it. Coaxing you to come back to the bed with him. “For what? What are you doing?” You smile as you climb back up to him, unable to stop the giggles in your chest. “I’m snuggling with you.” He says stubbornly, wrapping his arms around you and holding you in an iron grip. Flopping back onto the bed to lie down with you wrenched in his arms. “Hey, that's too rough!” You laugh and he does as well. Settling down after the mattress finally stops bouncing. Nose to nose and in his arms. 

“You’re very pretty…” He hums with a crooked smile on his lips. The soft signs of sleep still gracing his handsome face. Making him even more beautiful if that’s even possible. Nudging his nose against yours. Needy to be close. To just be close to you like this eases all his concerns and worries. Worries that you’re unhappy. That you’re not okay. When you’re in his arms he’s sure this is where you’re meant to be. “Miss you…” 

Your eyes widen a bit. Have you been totally oblivious to his feelings the past few weeks? It hasn’t been that long has it? Maybe it has… “I’m sorry, Mig… it’s just… there’s so much going on…” You whisper. Instantly feeling guilty. “No no, baby, it’s fine… it’s not your fault.” He hums, his fingers gently caressing your lower back under your shirt. “Just miss seeing you… miss kissing you and holding you…” 

His words make your heart just melt. Raising your hand to his soft warm cheek and the soft curls by his ear, pushing them back with gentle fingers. Gazing into his eyes.

…

“Oh- I love you…” He moans in your ear, his arms wrapped all around you, tangled in each other and the sheets. With his large form spooning you from behind, one of your knees drawn up by his strong hand, his thick dick pumping into you, seeking out the warmth and wet like a lifeline. “I… love you, Mig…” You whisper. Hardly able to catch a breath. One of his strong arms locked around your waist and the other arm keeping your thighs from closing. It’s been too long. You both need this. He won’t be far from you any longer. 

“Needed you so bad baby… so so bad” He practically whines. Rutting into you like he’s in heat. Pumping and pushing, stretching your puffy walls around his length. Being swallowed up over and over again. Feeding you his inches and biting into your neck, moaning and sighing against your skin. “Please say that… that you missed it… that you wanted me…” He whispers. His mind mush. He’s needy for your approval and reassurance. That you love him, that you want him. That you needed him as much as he needed you. “I-” 

“Please baby!” He groans before you can even finish your sentence, speeding up his thrusts. Pounding into you and practically driving you up the pillows, your hand flying forward and clenching into the pillow under your head. His heaving hot chest pressed against your back. His hand moving from your thigh around to your clit. Rubbing like a madman and trying to give you the best he can. “Please please oh-” He sighs, his mind not even aware of his words at this point. They just flow out. 

“Been waiting all week to put my cock in you, baby…” 

His voice is hoarse, his pumps superhuman. The slaps of skin on skin and his desperate murmurs filling the room. “M…” You try. But he’s hitting all the right spots, all the places that make your toes curl and your eyes roll back. “Please say it… that you want it… you want me…” 

“I want you…” You’re finally able to get the words out. The gentle whisper but it sends him over the edge. Pushing you down with his chest on your back and grabbing your arms, pulling them gently back. Your fingers grazing his thick thigh as he pounds into your pussy from the back, gripping into his muscles with your fingernails. “Ah!” The high pitched squeal leaves your throat, gasping and moaning into the pillowcase. 

His knees pressing into the mattress and fucking you into the bed. Kissing over your shoulder and down your spine. “I want you baby… I love you…” He says out of breath. A sort of innocence to his voice even in this position. Like he really just wants you to know. As if you don’t already know. 

A few harsh thrusts into your heat have you milking him, squeezing and shuddering around him with a whine and cry of his name. His cock glistening with your orgasm, fucking his hot load into you as he comes with a groan. Holding both your wrists behind your back, his eyes locked on where his dick disappears inside you. His milky essence seeping through the seams. 

Taglist!!

@spooky-sculder

@slushycoookie @xxyaoi-nationxx @snails-doodles22 @scaryplanetdestroyer @fate13

@divorcepaperz @yeahnohoneybye @zaunsin @tomalymme @drefear

@mrs-pondwater19 @saintdiior @aphinthestars @hyjionie

if you'd like to be added/dropped from the taglist, please comment on my masterlist post. Or else I might not see it! thank you! 🩷

[bet-on-me-13]

Danny is the Crazy Old Man™️ of Gotham

So, the events of Danny Phantom happened decades ago

Like, Phantom Planet was one of the first instances of Superheroes in HISTORY. Early 1900's, just the Fentons were Insanely Ahead of their Time!

Danny is still a Halfa, but has allowed himself to grow old and live his best life before fully dying so he can accept his Throne in the Infinite Realms. He decides to experience Life in the fullest way possible, partying, drinking, making long lasting friendships that shape the lives of everybody he meets, all that!

Eventually, Danny's Party Life leads him to Gotham. And this place is just amazing!

It has all the comforts of Home, with so much more! He can Party! He can Fight! He can do anything he wants and nobody bats an eye, because a crazy old man getting into a fistfight in the middle of the road is just another Tuesday for Gotham!

He decides to spend the rest of his Mortal Life there. And this is still Early On in the DC Timeline, like, Batman Year 1 is happening Right Now.

He hangs around, befriends the local Homeless Population, and mostly just has the time of his Life! And he takes up the stereotypical Homeless Old Man look because why fight it? That's literally what he's going for!

He also unintentionally sets up a bunch of future events

He teaches Kid!Jason on his to steal Tires as repayment for driving off some muggers with a Baseball Bat (honestly he was looking forward to being mugged, it's a new experience after all)

He pulls Kid!Tim into an Alley after Tim gets caught out at night and gets chased by some Punks. He hides Tim behind a Dumpster and tricks the Punks into mugging him instead (Yay! He finally got mugged!)

He becomes kind of well known as the Old Man who wants to experience everything before he dies. He says as much too, not like he really has a reason to hide it. He just tells people "I want to live my life to the fullest, it don't matter if I live 10 more years or 10 more minutes, I'm gonna experience every second of it!"

He once walked into a Cloud of Fear Gas to see what it was like. Later he said it was a 6/10. "Not the worst thing I've had injected into my body!" He says with no Context.

He traded places with a Hostage during an active Crime Scene because he wanted to know what it's like.

He was once dared to take Batmans Utility Belt by another Homeless Guy as a joke, so he walked up to Batman later that night in full view of everybody else and just asked for his Belt. He gives up after a few minutes, and one guy asked "Why not fight him for it? It's an experience after all.". Danny replys "Nah, I've fought Vigilantes before. It was fun though, gotta say!"

...

This got away from me, but all this to say: Imagine the Bat Families Reaction when they find out "Crazy Old Danny" is PHANTOM. You know, THE FIRST SUPERHERO!

I imagine Constantine is having a stroll though Gotham after finishing up some business with Bruce, and just bumps into a homeless guy by accident.

Later that night:

Batman: Constantine, Why are you calling? Is it to do with the-

Constantine: Why the fuck is there a Homeless God in your City?

Batman: Wait wha-

...

Or imagine they know before Constantine meets him, and it goes instead like this

Constantine: Why the fuck is there a Homeless God in your City?!

Batman: You mean Old Man Danny? He's just a homeless guy? What do you mean?

Constantine: I swear on what's left of my Soul, that is a God.

Batman, a little shit: I don't think so, I would know (fully knows)

[cains-daughters]

dating stefan salvatore headcannon (pt 1?)

needed to start my own fanfict page to scratch my own nasty, daydreaming mind because i'm rewatching my fave shows/movies n im obsessed (sorry for typos its 2am n i dont care)

warning: some nsfw shit, minors go away

he's literally the type of guy that your grandma wants you to marry

he feeds the sapiosexual bitches; conversations with him are so fucking intellectually stimulating and while he's talking about a topic/explaining it, you're just staring at him like "this man is so damn smart... I need to ride him" (lol)

has history teacher vibes/has teacher kink vibes sorry but he would def see how turned on you get while he's talking and use it to his advantage

slow mornings with stefan>>>>>>

hearing "good morning baby" as he's stretching/getting closer/putting his arm under your tits to hug you while you're still in bed😵‍💫😵‍💫

he will def love to spend alone time with you, just being in each others solitude while being in the same room reading, writing, drinking coffee or just thinking

you basically give him the opportunity to create more peace and silence in his life in between all crazy shit

because you're not in the supernatural world, he would try so fucking hard to protect you from even knowing of it. will even compel you without thinking at the beginning if you find out and would confess everything if it puts you in a life threatening situation

people will use this to their advantage but somehow he got Damon to be protective over you and you will have both of their protection

Damon can't stand how you complement each other, he feels like having two Stefans giving him advice but he mostly listens to you because you're hot to him lmao

When you first met Damon all he could do is disrespectfully flirt with you just to make Stefan mad

Stefan writing you poems, novels and dedicating journals for you in which he writes love letters (I NEED HIMMM)

he loves slow, deep, intimate makeout sessions. having you on his lap or sitting infront of him while he's holding you with one hand on the lower back and another one on the back of your head guiding you while he grips your hair not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to want him to face fuck you <3

he's dominant, he truly enjoys leading you and not just sexually, he will always be giving you non-sexual dominance like guiding you in crowded spaces, makes decisions for you if you need assistance, will be watching you/making eye contact with you if not together in the same room

he loves having you sit on his feet while your head rests on his lap and he caresses your face and plays with your hair (I NEEEED HIIIMMMMMUGHHHHH) (also this gives me Klaus/Elijah Mikaelson vibes im dead)

im so tired, but i will sleep thinking about our daddy Stefan Salvatore AMEN and i wanna write more shit PEACE

[gods-perfect-idiots]

Okay bear with me folks, I have some ~thoughts~ about the Vanessa/Wade relationship (or frankly lack thereof) in Deadpool & Wolverine. I should start by saying that I am analyzing this with the (likely erroneous) assumption that everything on screen is 100% intentional and mindfully written to deepen the characters and inform their arcs. For the record, I don't necessarily believe that's true - there is certainly room for mistakes, lazy writing, confusing plot elements, or in this case, sidelining a potentially strong and important character for nebulous reasons (I'm guessing scheduling conflicts + run time concerns + actor's strike complications but idk for sure). (Also thanks to @gossippool and @kendyroy for encouraging me to post my thoughts instead of just rambling in the tags in the first place, y'all are the realest)

Long rambly post below the cut fyi

Now, granted, it has been a while since I watched the original Deadpool so I am not as well-versed in their early relationship as I am in the handful of scenes Morena Baccarin has in dp3, but I do think it is pretty canon that Wade generally struggles to express his deeper worries and feelings (without filtering it heavily through crude humor, sex, and pop culture references of course), especially after the events of dp1 and the physical and mental damage he sustains, and Vanessa is frankly no exception despite how much he cares for her. The entire first movie hinges on the fact that he doesn't really believe she could love him in his post-Francis mangled state, which is pretty contrived imo given that the film has established already how bonded they are, and she doesn't strike me as being written to be so shallow as to reject him based on a physical deformity. I mean iirc she wanted to stick around through chemo despite him being literally riddled with inoperable cancer, so she clearly is in it for the long haul (at least in dp1), messiness and all.

Now, in dp2, obviously she is shot and killed early in the film, and Wade spends much of the rest of the film wallowing in his very profound grief, trauma, and guilt over losing her due directly to his violent lifestyle. He goes to prison, he basically gives up on life and seems very resigned to dying once he has the power suppressant collar on, even excited to do so so he can be reunited with her. She is mostly sidelined as a Fuzzy Dead Wife trope basically, but the important thing here is that he spends weeks if not months in the throes of despair over losing the love of his life just as they were trying to start a family, and trying to reach across the boundaries of death to be with her.

Now, my first couple times watching dp3 I was frustrated by the trite narrative presented in the interview scene towards the beginning - specifically Wade's whole "my girl is getting tired of my shtick and I need to show her I matter". It felt contrived and disingenuous, and I just brushed it off as iffy writing, a means to an end, but the more I reflect upon it the more I think it is based in an emotional reality that is just handled with a very light touch by the film in favor of fanservice and Poolverine content (NOT that I'm complaining in the slightest - I think this movie is a masterpiece in many ways, albeit a flawed one but that's beside the point here), which for the record I am not against because I think it lends it an air of realism. This is Wade's story after all, Vanessa is a part of it but it is ultimately about him and his journey.

Basically, I think the combination of what happened to him in dp1 (the brain damage, the trauma, the awareness of the fourth wall, etc) followed by the events of dp2 (Vanessa's death, his grief and the associated guilt and trauma of being the direct cause of her death) led to an unbridgeable emotional gap between the two of them that ultimately leads to their breakup.

It's important to note that I don't think Vanessa has any recollection of her own death, given that Wade goes back and saves her before she can take the bullet, and so of course she can never fully fathom what Wade went through grieving her and their life together and their potential family, for however long he spent between her death and bringing her back with Cable's device. She can try (and she clearly does in the one scene I'll talk about next) but I fear she accepts, maybe even in that scene, that she can never succeed. He is beyond her reach by this point, and vice versa, his experiences having fundamentally changed him.

The one scene we really see from their relationship between dp2 and dp3 is the one where Cassandra mind-gropes Wade in the Void and we see Vanessa struggling to reach Wade across this aforementioned gap - she wants him to open up, she wants him to share what he's going through, she wants him to be the person she initially fell in love with (not even selfishly - to her nothing has changed really, because to her no time has passed). But not only does he not understand what she's really asking for but he responds in such a way that makes me think he has unprocessed issues that are only tangentially related to what she's saying - ie the stuff about mattering, about asking her if she even wants to be with him, etc. And he's not the Wade Wilson she met back in dp1 anymore. He watched her die and grieved her and brought her back, believing it would make everything go back to normal and they could resume their life together as if nothing had changed, but he has been fundamentally changed in a way that she can't grasp, even if he WAS good at externally processing his trauma openly without the artifice of wry jokes. She didn't "come back wrong" - instead, she came back exactly the same as before, but HE'S different now. Not wrong, per se. But changed.

It's an interesting scene because it's obviously a memory, and a crucial one at that, but you can see how Wade is misunderstanding what she's saying, viewing it through the prism of his own lack of self-worth and his own hopelessness - he takes away that she thinks he doesn't matter (even though like he says she didn't actually say that, but I don't think Cassandra invented that wholecloth - I think she pulled it out of his psyche because that's what he believes deep down, hence why his fixation on mattering even though she never said those words exactly), he takes away that she doesn't want to be with him, that she thinks he's nothing. Which would be frustrating as an audience member to witness as a pretty simple misunderstanding which could potentially be solved with one conversation, but it feels believable to me that these two people who have shared a great love would be fundamentally separated by unimaginable, cosmic trauma, and the on conversation they would need to have to rectify the misunderstanding is one that is impossible for Wade to verbalize and equally impossible for Vanessa to conceive of. It was one thing when they had shared trauma like violence and SA in dp1, but what Wade has gone through in dp1 and dp2, humor aside, is unfathomably traumatic, brain-breakingly so even, and that's not even factoring in the possible mental illnesses he now struggles with (I've seen folks suggest schizophrenia, DID, depression, etc. but I won't get into armchair diagnosing a fictional character here - suffice it to say he is canonically unwell as a result of what has happened to him, and yes it manifests as quirky fourth wall breaks and cheeky one-liners, but within the universe of the movies he is undeniably profoundly mentally ill, and that includes this humorous alter ego he created to cope with his trauma).

I think off-screen Vanessa probably really tried to reach him, maybe for years (the six year gap implies to me that they didn't break up immediately, that they tried for a while to stay together), trying to get her Wade back, but that Wade is gone. He struggled to express that to her until eventually he started to feel rejected because he couldn't express his trauma or how much he has changed, because even he can't fully conceive of the gulf that has formed between them. The truth is, he WANTS to be that Wade again, for her and for himself, but that Wade died when she died. Or maybe he had already started dying when Francis got a hold of him in dp1.

Anyway, all this is to say, I think Morena Baccarin WAS criminally underutilized in dp2 and dp3, but I think there is a strong argument to be made for the believability of their breakup regardless. I think even relationships built on enormous love can crumble due to trauma, and what Wade suffers over these movies is mind-bogglingly enormous trauma. It's especially heartbreaking that he blames himself for their relationship ending, talks like she just got tired of him, thought he didn't matter, whatever. But it is a credit to him that he never seems to feel anger towards her about it. He doesn't seem to feel entitled to her, though he longs for her and what they had and what she represented (hope, love, a future, a family), but ultimately she becomes more of a symbol of what he lost when he gained his powers, because let's be super fr right now - even if they had succeeded in having a baby, not only would they have lived in fear of her or the kid getting killed, but ultimately Wade would likely outlive both of them even if they managed to die natural deaths. The moment he gained his powers he was already destined to lose her, which is heartbreaking because she was the only reason he opted for the treatment in the first place - so he could stay with her.

I think a big part of Deadpool & Wolverine is watching Wade continue to process his own motivations (vis-a-vis Vanessa but also his other friends) and how he does eventually let go of the idea of "mattering" in favor of just saving the people he cares about (*cough* and being saved right back *cough* by Wolvie, as the final line and shot implies). And in the process he finds someone new who cares about him, who thinks he matters, who tries to sacrifice himself for him and his friends after mere days of knowing him, who comes home with him at the end of the story, who breaks his own centuries-old patterns, who has also experienced unimaginable grief and trauma, who has struggled with wanting to die and being unable to, who not only matches his crazy but matches his FREAK and also not only won't die on him but CAN'T die on him - and more importantly cannot be randomly killed by a stray bullet.

Idk if any of this makes much sense but I do think if you read between the lines and consider the potency of trauma and grief, guilt and emotional damage at play here, Vanessa and Wade's off-screen breakup is actually pretty realistic, and really heart-breaking to boot.

You can tell she still cares about him in so many ways - she shows up for his birthday party, she shows up to his welcome home party at the end, she finds excuses for physical contact multiple times, her eyes get soft when she looks at him, but there is a distance there that Morena Baccarin does an incredible job of portraying. She cares about him deeply, she has mourned the loss of their potential life together, she has let him go and accepted that the Wade she fell in love with is gone, but she wants him in her life even though she's moving on because she realizes he's gone somewhere she can't follow (literally and figuratively). And she wants him to be happy which is why I fully believe she would immediately clock the Poolverine of it all and not-so-subtly encourage them to make it official.

Anyway. Poolverine forever. Nothing against Vanessa at all - I think she delivers a nuanced and beautiful performance, I think their relationship is sweet and heart-wrenching in large part due to her acting chops, especially given how little she is given to work with - but I think their relationship was sadly doomed from almost the very start, because Wade becomes this traumatized superhuman and Vanessa would always be at risk in his orbit, but also would always on the outside of his multiverse superhero experiences. I think it's weirdly beautiful, even if I am filling in a lot of gaps and giving the writers maybe undue credit.

Anyway... thoughts? Please DM me or write in the tags, I am feral about this movie and just want to talk about it with anyone haha. If you have further insight into these characters too I'd love to hear it - I am by no means an expert in these movies or characters!

[shytastemakerthing]

Hey there! Maybe this is an odd request but I was wondering if you could do a list or maybe write a few characters of your choice on who would find piercings or body mods most attractive vs who wouldn't? For example I have my tongue and angel fangs done, dye my hair constantly, and I plan on getting a cherry blossom tattoo on my back. Would the Pomefiore house turn their nose at that?? Would it be against the rules at Heartslabyul? Or are there characters that you think would immediately crush on someone who looked like that? If not feel free to ignore, but I was just wondering if I could get your take on this!

A/N: The amount of ideas that I have for this should be criminal XD. But for the sake of not turning this into one massive essay, we'll just cover the basics for each boy. Enjoy!

TW: None

Note: Ortho is strictly PLATONIC

Riddle: He isn't completely against piercings or tattoos, but given how he was raised, his mother certainly beat it into his head that such things were not okay and destroyed one's body. He's been working on that a bit. Certainly would like the single lobe piercings the most, especially if they were rose or flower themed. Tattoos? Yeah, that will take much more getting used to.

Trey: Look at this man and tell me he isn't into that. All he asks is that you take proper care of them. Will absolutely go with you to choose out more. He isn't fully opposed to tattoos, he just doesn't like that caused you pain throughout. But seeing the after makes it worth it

Cater: More of a piercings guy. Absolutely gets you more, whether it be from deals he gets, from his sisters, or he was scrolling and saw an add. Wants all the pictures. Not a fan of tattoos surprisingly. Would be more into the temporary ones or even henna

Ace: Heavily into both. Man looks at you and is fighting the heart eyes. There's just something so attractive about them that tickles his brain just right. If you were to get some kind of a small heart tattoo somewhere, much like the drawing he has under his eye, the ego boost would be insane.

Deuce: Slightly more into tattoos than the piercings. It's a serious thing, permanent in many cases, and it's a long and sometimes painful process. He admires the dedication. Often traces any that you have and 100% goes with you if you want to get another one

Leona: The man has a tattoo. Certainly more of a tattoo guy. Not to say he doesn't like piercings, he just feels like they would easily get in the way or pulled that makes them a bother. Now, tattoos? You're speaking his language. The moment you mention you want a new one, he's taking you to where he has gotten his, only the best is what you get, willing to spend as much as needed. After all, if you want a good tattoo, you must be willing to pay. 1000% find tattoos attractive

Ruggie: Not the biggest on either tbh. Mostly because they cost so much money and as someone who grew up not having much of it, would rather keep what he has than spend it on these.

Jack: Not a tattoo guy. Piercings are hot or miss for him. Depends on what they are and where. He loves seeing little moon or wolf earrings on you, something simple

Azul: Honestly, more of a tattoo guy. The permanence of them is what gets him. Being 100% positive that you want thing on your body for the rest of your life. Absolute game over if you get anything octopus related, he's ascended then and there. Man is so red, stumbling over his words, his brain shuts down. Absolutely traces it whenever it's just the two of you... yes, it has sometimes led to more.. heated moments

Jade: Absolutely a piercings guy. Doesn't matter where, he loves them and if you happen to get a set of moray eel ones or mushrooms for the ears, no one knows where both of you vanished too. Finds them more attractive than he would like to admit. Also goes with you if you want more

Floyd: It's about 50/50 for him, he likes both, leans more towards tattoos, though. Another tracer. Kisses them all of the time, gives little nibbles..... you got one of a moray (where is up to you), he's never been more attracted to you than in this moment. Also, no one knows where you guys went after that... he just wants... further examination

Kalim: Honestly a tattoo guy. Another who will fund when you want more. What you want, you get, and can honestly go a bit overboard, but he just wants to make sure you are happy with what you have! Has more wholesome intentions than the rest when he traces them

Jamil: Not the biggest fan of either. More of a henna tattoo guy if you want them. Will absolutely do them himself, the man is a natural. Plus, it's an intimate moment for the both of you and he enjoys the atmosphere

Vil: Surprisingly a piercing guy. He finds them attractive on you, especially when you pair them well with whatever you are wearing for the day. He can't explain it, but there is just something about a lip piercing that draws him in. His eyes are often drawn to your lips as it is anyways, the piercing isn't helping. If you have a tattoo somewhere hidden, that only he gets to see (may not be the biggest fan of them but knowing he is the only one to ever see it sends this man on a trip), sends a shudder down his spine

Rook: VERY much into both. Both send his brain in a million different directions. Traces them, kisses them, helps you change the piercings. intentions are not always the most pure, but that's the fun of it. Takes you for more, even recommends more bold piercings and offers options for tattoos

Epel: Piercing guy. More so, he just likes them. Likes how they look or would shine. Just more of a pleasant thing he likes to see. Gets you little apple studs to put in your ears.

Idia: Honestly? He leans either way.But anything that relates to his interests or pomegranates (if you know, you know), and the man is a goner. Hair is entirely pink as he tries to avert his gaze. Funds more for you all of the time, he has the money for it and he loves to spoil you. Absolutely traces tattoos while you are asleep. If you're awake? Will absolutely lead to heated moments

Ortho: Helps you make sure that new tattoos and piercings are kept nice and clean! We can't have you getting any infections. He doesn't want anything happening to his best friend, after all! If you are looking for something new for your piercings, will have the best shops available with the best metals to use.

Malleus: Surprisingly, a tattoo guy. If you get a dragon, he is gone.... and so are you. Congrats, you're married now. Just the thought that you are willing to sit there for hours under a needle piercing your skin brings a new sort of admiration. Starts with pure intentions, but instincts get the best of him

Lilia: Piercing guy all the way, he loves them. Recommends all different types and styles. Bats are the most common that he finds for you. Intentions are nowhere near being pure most of the time, knowing him. Especially with a lip or tongue piercing, kisses you all of the time

Silver: Surprisingly big into both of them. Again, it's the permanence of them, something that he loves. Like Epel, just enjoys the meaning they may have and how they would look on you.

Sebek: HEAR ME OUT! Big on both of them all of the way, especially piercings. Again, some of it is a dedication thing for him, but there is just something about a tongue piercing that riles him up a bit, most because the way that it feels during more intimate moments that you would both have with one another. Tattoos are a dedication that he admires all the way. You have one croc related and he is a goner

Have a wonderful day/night!

[mastermindmiko]

The Ear that wasn't

pairing: George Weasley + reader

word count: 1,312

warning: injuries, death and it's a bit angst

Summary: After the battle of the seven (eight) Potters, George becomes distant, and you decide to find out why

masterlist

After moving to the Burrow, things have changed. Everyone’s more sombre, and the world seems a little darker. The impending doom of Voldemort’s terror a bit more real. Madeye died and Hedwig as well when we were attacked while moving from Privet Drive to here. It was fun pretending to be Harry for a bit, the polyjuice potion wreaked and tasted awful, but looking like someone else was amusing, that was before death eaters started throwing spells left and right at least. 

The most noticeable change in my life was the distance that George has been placing between us for a month since we came here. The first two days I stayed by his side while he was recovering from becoming ‘holey’. We couldn’t bring any medics to the Burrow, so we all had to make due with our collective medical knowledge; finding spells to ease the pain, recalling how to put on a proper bandaid, and how to stop the blood from gushing. 

Fred and I were riding together, and went to the Burrow via another route along with the others in order to confuse the death eaters as to who was Harry while George was getting hit with a sectumsempra. We arrived at the Burrow and there seeing Hermione’s sad expression looking at me and Fred made my heart lurch to my throat. I couldn’t recall a time I’d run faster inside to find George lying on the sofa. 

I spent the first few days tending to him, and spending as much time near him as possible, mostly due to the nature of our relationship and also to take care of him. We’d only gotten news about his ear when we finally reached madame pomfrey (a trustworthy person) who told us that George wouldn’t be able to get his ear back. I’d expected it, but George seemed heartbroken. 

I stayed behind after dinner, tidying up the table at a slower pace than usual, watching as George cleared the cups too. His movement is precise but never without a little whimsy. The bandage is still wrapped around his head, and he starts shoving cups between the crook of his elbow to hold more in one go. I clear my throat, “How do you feel?” 

“Well.” 

I sigh, knowing how curt all his replies have been. He heads into the kitchen and I continue to stack the rest of the plates before waving my wand, sending them into the kitchen. I walk behind them and point my wand into the sink, allowing them to gracefully pile up inside. The magical tools get to work and start rinsing. 

I look into the living room first looking for George, and I see him sitting on the couch twirling around his wand, and staring off deep in thought. Madame Pomfrey had informed us that his (additional) lack of focus could occur due to the concussion and spell, as well as some loss of balance. I gulped, “Do you need anything?” 

“No.” He grumbles, and leans back sinking into the sofa. I walk closer to him and take a seat beside him. He doesn’t bother to spare me a glance. I bit my lip and hesitantly said, “We can go take a nap for a bit in the room if you’d like?” 

“I don’t need you fussing over me.” George snaps, and I purse my lips, used to this attitude from him over the past month. I shuffled closer to him, and confessed, “I’m not fussing over you, I just want to spend time with you.” 

He sets his wand aside and sighs. He puts his head in his hands, hunching over his thighs. The fire crackles and fills up the silence between us. I place a comforting hand on his back, stroking his skin, feeling the soft material of his shirt and his vertebrae. He sighs once more, and deep in thought he whispers, “Why?” 

“Because you’re my boyfriend.” I chuckle at the absurd question, even when he wasn’t I loved spending time with him. He looks at me, palm holding his cheek, and my amusement dies down from seeing his miserable eyes, and wrinkled eyebrows. My hand lifts from his back and moves to his hand. I ask, “What’s going on, George?” 

“I-” he stutters, and looks away. I squeeze his hand supportively, and he closes his eyes. I let all the thoughts that have been jumping around in my head stay for a second of all the things he could say, the most prominent being: I don’t love you anymore. He sucks in a breath and turns back to lock into my eyes. He mused, “I’m not good-looking anymore, and I don’t want you to not want me.” 

I blink, and process. George, the ever confident, forever handsome, cocky and funny George Weasley doesn’t think he’s good-looking anymore. What would even make him think- oh…the accident. I say, “Is this about your ear?” 

He looks away once more and I know that it’s the truth. I start rubbing comforting shapes over the back of his hand, and I reach over to grab his other hand. I protested, “I don’t think you’ll ever stop being good-looking, not to me.” 

He scoffs, not believing my words. I could see his eyes begin to have a slight shine to them. I pout at his expression, and I drop his hand to reach over and cup his cheek. I turn his head towards me, and brush my thumb over his cheekbones. He let out a bitter chuckle before he smiled, sputtering, “I’m practically deformed.” 

I smile at him, and give him a look. I lean into him, smelling his familiar scent that I haven’t been able to smell in a while. The wood and biscuits engulf my senses. I kiss his lips, and his eyes flutter momentarily to a close. I let my lips linger near his before pulling away and watching his closed eyes as he sighs before looking back at me. I whisper, pulling his face to mine, “Even if you were a troll, I’d still love you George.” 

He gulps and checks my eyes for any glimmer of a lie. He leans into my hand, and pouts. He relaxes looking at my face before slowly turning his head to press a kiss to my inner palm. His lips linger and he cups my hand with both of his. He kisses it again before adding, “I don’t want you to not be attracted to me.” 

“You’re plenty attractive George with or without two ears.” I commented. He squeezes my hand, the warmth of his fingers spreading to mine, providing a comforting head during the dead of winter. I convince, “And I believe that there’s more to our relationship than just your looks, George. There’s your wit, and your kindness, and your humour- and I could go on for so long, so you’ll have to stop me, and your smile and laugh, your courage-” 

“I get it, I get it.” George chuckles, and pulls our intertwined hands back up to his lips to press a kiss on each of my knuckles, feeling his warm breath on my hand and the softness of his lips on each of my knuckles. He gazes at me sincerely and says, “Thank you.” 

“It’s only the truth.” I state, and he pulls me into a long and deep hug, resting his head into the crook of my shoulder, giving me kisses whenever he sees fit. My arms still reach after him when he pulls away to say, “I’d also still love you even if you were a troll.” 

“Thank you, that’s good to know.” I laugh, and I finally see that wonderful humorous grin of his. He stands up and encases my hand to pull me up beside him. He presses his lips to mine then suggests, “How about that nap?” 

a/n: I really wanted the gif to be the scene when Harry and Ginny are kissing and he goes "Good morningg", but alas I couldn't find one, so this will have to make do. Hope you liked this one.

[leaawrites]

Read to me

Percy Jackson x fem!reader

Summary: in a world full of monsters, Percy just wants to protect his girlfriend.

Warnings: mentions of rainstorms, mentions of threats, self doubt, angst, fluff

Wordcount: 0.8k

Masterlist

The night started off with soft rain falling from the sky on the top of the beach house. Montauk. It started quiet and not threatening. Being the Son of Poseidon it shouldn’t make him lay away at night in fear of the storm outside, right? He shouldn’t fear it. But since the dreams got heavier and he finally had something - someone to lose, it felt all a bit more threatening. His life was now not only weighting him down - threatening him - but also her. The girl in his arms that was unaware of everything that happened during summer.

He felt bad for not spending the holiday with her, but she also couldn’t accompany him. Being left to wonder what he was doing there. She knew Grover already and she listened to Percy talk about his friends there - like Annabeth, a girl he mentioned one time too much in her opinion (but she would never actually say that to him) or Tyson. She knew about the lake that was there and capture the flag, but everything else was a mystery to her.

“Why are you still awake?” Y/n asked, waking up in the middle of the night from her boyfriend shaking in fear of a lightning and thunder.

It wasn’t the first time they have slept in the same bed, often doing sleepovers on the weekends. And it definitely wasn’t the first time she woke up because of him. But when she asked for the reason it was always the same.

“Just a bad dream,” Percy muttered, rubbing her arm gently to assure her that it was all fine.

“Percy,” she said, pushing him further than before. Mostly she would just let it go, nod and give him a kiss before snuggling back into his side and fall asleep again. Assuring him that he was safe was her. But he feared that she wasn’t safe with him.

“What are you dreaming about?”

The questioned lingered on her mind for longer already but she finally spoke the words. She needed answers. Not just lame excuses as to why he had scratches down his skin or why he always carried a pen with him when he never even used it.

She needed answers and he knew that, but could he give them to her so easily without putting her in danger? He couldn’t, so what would he give her? What could he give her?

“You,” he answered. Y/n looked at him confused, leaning on her arms to look at him properly. Her fingers moving through his hair. “It’s always you and it never ends good. I don’t want whatever happens in my mind happen in reality too.”

“It won’t,” she assured him, laying her head in the crook of his neck, planting small kisses on his skin.

“What if it will?” He couldn’t keep the possibility of it all away from his mind. He couldn’t block out the pictures he saw when closing his eyes.

“They’re just dreams, Percy,” she said again.

“Maybe they’re not,” he argued back.

“Dreams can’t hurt you.” She took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “I’m here. I’m fine. And as long as I’m with you I will be.”

Silence filled the room. She was right, partially. As long as she was with him nothing would happen to her. He was able to protect her, fight whatever would threaten her.

“Can you read to me?”

Y/n looked at him surprised but nodded nonetheless. Climbing out from under the covers to grab the book, which she would be reading to him whenever he asked, from her bag. The Odyssey. She was confused and taken back when he asked her the first time, taking the book from her shelve and telling her about his interest for Greek Mythology. That was the first night he stayed over at hers. Listening to her read the words written on the pages for him to better understand them.

Saving herself from the cold again by laying back down next to him, Percy rested his head on her chest like he always did. Her hand found it’s way into his hair and gently playing with a few strands. Percy would ask some questions about who was who again sometimes, making her giggle in embarrassment when she didn’t know herself and then they would try and recite which characters they still knew had which part in the story.

The thunder still followed the bright streak of light closely behind but it got less and when she felt him finally relax against her fully and she turned off the light all which was left was soft rain. Kissing the top of his head, she closed her own eyes, falling back into a deep slumber surrounded with her own dreams of him.