#my right jaw popped louder than it ever has the other day and its been painful ever since :

[selfundiagnosed]

TMJ :(

[bibbykins]

Insufferable

A/N: The long-awaited flashback is here! It's short, but it is here! I hope this can really show the turning point in Jungkook's and MC's relationship and I would love to hear everyone's thoughts. As usual, tips are not required but greatly appreciate. Hope you all enjoy and have a wonderful day/night!

Note: This is a part (specifically a flashback) of The Household's Bunny series, so I recommend reading at least the Prologue before this one

Word count: 3.6k

Pairing: Soft Yandere! Jungkook x Chubby! Reader

Summary: Roommates are bound to have arguments, especially when one of them is as temperamental as Jungkook, but you didn't expect the first argument to get so unbelievably personal.

Warnings: abandonment issues, mommy issues, allusions to past abuse, family issues, crying, yelling, vomiting, panic attack, exhaustion, some soft yandere thoughts, some possessiveness, jungkook is mean and the MC gets a little mean too

There was something so constricting about memories of a shitty childhood. There were times when looking in the mirror felt like searching for the child in you so you could give her the hug she desperately needed. There were times when waking up felt like a check to make sure you were no longer in the home you had to grow up in far too quickly. However, the comfort of being in a different home only came so far when you didn't have anyone beside you or even emotionally available enough to talk to.

You stayed in bed for hours before it felt like a good idea to move, almost waiting for the mirage of change to fade before it brought you back to the gym with your mom or your uncle's apartment littered with whiskey bottles and leaky tear ducts.

Sometimes putting your best foot forward each day felt so hard with all-consuming loneliness clinging to your heels.

You had started your day going through your memory box. Hindsight said that was a poor idea. The box was a sure way to get you into a bad mood. You liked to think you breezed past all the stages of grief, but just because you accepted reality didn't make it hurt any less. The box was a strong reminder of that much as it sat with a melancholic aura. The creme color faded and the thorned vines connected to roses only added to the malicious undertones of its existence to your mental health. It was full of childhood photos, your birth certificate, school achievements, and the last known address your mom had.

Ah, your mom. What a way to bring clouds to your sunny day. You don’t know why you put yourself through the turmoil of the memory box. Maybe you were hoping it would be easier by now. You were always wrong. Looking through childhood photos and finding no love in the eyes of your mother when she looked at you and watching the love in your uncle’s eyes fade with your mother’s presence. You got to the fated birthday card, thumb rubbing over the defunct address longingly. You held the envelope in your hand, inspecting the birthday card she sent you. Three words in the repetitive note written on the inside caught your eye, and not the ones you so desperately wanted from her.

Feeling a familiar pressure behind your eyes, you tossed the card aside and stood. It was time to eat, go on a walk, do anything other than this. You found your way to the kitchen and came across a silent and solemn Jungkook. His jaw was clenched, but it felt like it always was around you.

Your relationship with Jungkook so far was not very complicated, in the way it was nonexistent. He either didn’t care about talking to you or he actively didn’t want to, you really couldn’t tell. This didn’t stop you from trying, though. Like an idiot.

“I’m making food, did you want any?” You asked from your place seated on the couch, and the silence that was his response for deafening, “Okaaaay.” You sang awkwardly, “I just know that you usually don’t eat throughout the day and-”

“And what do you know?!” He snapped, blinded by his pure and unbridled, but most important unprovoked, rage of you. Your eyes widened and your body jumped. Holy shit, you had never heard him yell like this, “You don’t know anything about me, or in general, so just stop trying so fucking hard!” He was harsh in his tone and it lit your whole nervous system on fire. What the hell did you do to him?

You shook your head, not sure why he was yelling about, but it made your throat feel like it was going to close, “Look, I was just trying to be polite, but you don’t need to talk about me like you understand-”

“Understand?! What’s there to understand?” He challenged, eyes wide like he was expecting you to say something but he continued, “You’re some spoiled girl living here rent-free because your precious dad doesn’t want to take care of you.”

Your heart caught in your throat as it shattered. He was right, your dad didn't want to take care of you, but not in the way he thought. Why was he doing this? Has he genuinely felt this way all along? Was he just holding in his anger until you poked the bear a little too hard? “You don’t need to yell at me.” You stated firmly and it seemed to only make things worse.

“And you don’t need to fucking be here in the first place!” He spoke, temper long lost and you could hear his voice mix in with Jungyoon’s, all he needed was a bottle of whisky and a set of calloused hands, “You didn’t need to fucking live here-”

“You don’t know anything about me.” You spat out. Now, you were losing your temper. You could take a beating, but for only so long, especially as an adult, "And it's not like you're paying rent either, so what do you know about me or my living arrangements?" You hissed and you watched his eyes flare, making you nearly regret your provocation.

“No, but I know how you look naked-”

“Fuck you.” You spit the word out at him, something you haven’t done to another person for a while “Don’t weaponize my work or play a game that you absolutely will lose.” You warned, “I know all about you, and I can use that, because you’ve been a star since you were 15, and that sucks, that makes you mad, doesn’t it?” Your temper effectively lost as you ripped into the rage-filled man before you, “Yet you don’t know anything about me, and that must piss you the fuck off, huh?” You stood from the couch, tears building in your eyes before you could stop it.

“I know enough, spoiled rich girl.” He seethed and you laughed humorlessly at this worldwide pop star calling you spoiled and rich.

“Not only are you wrong, but you’re also a poor listener.” You shot back, “I’ve told you all before Jungyoon isn’t my fucking dad, he’s my uncle.” His mouth opened but you cut him off before he could start, “He can’t stand the sight of me so he travels for work.” Your tears are undoubtedly falling, but you can’t stop, “And you’re talking to me like this because what? You had a scandal or something?” You gave him his chance to talk and boy, he took it.

“Mona told me you know your mom.” His voice was like venom, “So, why the fuck are you here? You have your blood relatives.” He exaggerated the word like it meant anything to you, “Why are you here, disrupting our lives, acting like an innocent orphan girl around actual fucking orphans-”

“I never said I was or acted like an orphan!” You exclaimed incredulously before scoffing, “That’s why you’re mad? Because you never knew your mom and I did? Because I know who my blood family is?” You could laugh at how ridiculous that was, “I know them, so what? Where does that get me?” You looked at him expectantly but he didn’t talk, “I knew my mom, and guess what? She just didn’t fucking want me.” He was silent, but you still couldn’t stop, “I’m sure if your mom could’ve got to know you, she would’ve kept you, because you’re not insufferable to be around, you’re just a fucking asshole.” You wiped at your cheeks furiously, “But me? I had 15 years to prove myself and it still wasn’t enough. I still wasn’t enough. Jungyoon never wanted me either, he got stuck with me and had to cope.” Your voice began to break and you had to take a breath, “I was the insufferable one, so-” You stopped, finally as you regained your sense of reality and watched Jungkook who had an unreadable expression and the realization of the word vomit you spilled out to him hit you like a train as you exhaled quickly, rage in your voice quickly replaced with soft melancholy “I am the insufferable one here, so there.” You shrugged, face a wet mess, “Hope that brings you peace.” Your stomach was churning as you turned on your heel, unable to hold in your sobs. You couldn’t bear the awkwardness of waiting for the elevator so you opted to take the stairs.

You sobbed louder as the door slammed shut behind you, but you didn’t want to linger so you bolted down the stairs, the bile in your stomach signaling that you needed to find the nearest trashcan and quickly. You made it to the ground floor and spilled your guts into the small trashcan. Yelling always made you unbelievably ill, whether it was getting yelled at or yelling, the sickness it made you feel overflowed. The yelling only reminded you of-

You vomited again at the mere thought. You cried harder when you finally finished, breathing becoming staggered as you began to panic.

Fuck, they’re gonna kick you out, and then you’ll be alone again. You lost your temper, people don’t like other people who lose their temper. Why couldn’t you just mind your own fucking business and leave him be? You’re stupid. Why do you think you’ve been alone all your life? It’s because people don’t want to be near you. You’re-

“Insufferable.” You mumbled, numb, even if for only a moment.

Sure, Jungkook provoked you, but you knew better. You didn't go to therapist after therapist throughout your adolescence for nothing. You felt as if you set yourself back eons after that outburst. He didn't need to know all that about you, ever. He probably didn't even care to know, and you said it anyway, like you were gunning for gold in the trauma Olympics. You didn't want to minimize his struggles, you just wanted him to shut up and stop yelling at you. You let your eyes flutter closed as you cried. How can you complain about being alone when you're like this?

You don’t know how long you stayed there, sitting next to a trash can full of your vomit as you wallowed in your self-hatred. The all-consuming loneliness the boisterous house subdued returning with full force. Jungkook was right. You didn’t need to be here. You were only disrupting their routine.

You blew out a sigh as you staggered to the elevator, fully set on going up to your room and crying yourself to sleep after you clean up. You brought the trashcan with you, not having the heart to just leave your puke down there. You thanked your lucky stars when Jungkook was no longer on the second floor as you went to the kitchen and rinsed your mouth before going to take out the trash and take out your burnt oven pizza. Finally, you were headed back up to your floor. You watched the numbers tick by with tired eyes. You glared at the empty trashcan, electing to take it with you instead of making the trip back down to put it back. Surely, they wouldn’t need it for a few hours.

The elevator dinged as you grabbed the black plastic bin and then you were met with Jungkook. Relief flashed across his face before irritation settled on it, “Where the fuck were you?!” He asked hurriedly as you trudged past him, too exhausted to fight. You were running on autopilot the whole way up here, and you couldn’t bear another spat.

“I was on the first floor.” Your voice was low, trying to communicate you were done arguing as you lifted the bin as proof. You then set it down and went to your bathroom and began brushing your teeth.

He scoffed, “You were on the first floor for 30 minutes?” He asked as if he caught you in a lie but you nodded as you rinsed your mouth.

You were down there for thirty minutes? No wonder you felt so tired.

“Yep.” You popped the last letter before correcting yourself, “Well, I spent like 10 minutes cleaning up that bin, so not exactly.”

“Why?” He asked as if you were being ridiculous, as if he wasn’t the one on your floor demanding answers.

“I vomited.” You spoke simply and before he could ask, “Yelling makes me puke.” You were so blase about it he sighed in frustration.

You walked to your room and froze when you saw your memory box strewn about, and it was like a dam broke all over again. You looked at the photos, at the eager little girl looking for love in places she would never find it.

Old habits die hard.

Before you could even stop yourself, you sunk to your knees in garbled sobs and broken cries, “Hey, hey, wait.” Jungkook’s shaky voice did nothing to bring you back to reality as you cried. His hands placed themselves on your shoulder, making you flinch violently, much to his horror.

Fuck, he didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know why you were crying, but he knew it was his fault, at least in part. Even if at this moment it wasn’t, his outburst surely didn’t help. Fuck, he’s so dumb. Fuck, he shouldn’t have talked to Mona just moments before seeing you.

The envy of even seeing your own mother’s face ate up at him and he took it out on you. Not to mention that he made you vomit from the yelling. He suddenly felt more like an arrogant asshole than he did before as his hands now hovered over your form and he took a moment to look at your room.

Scattered on the floor were childhood photos and ribbons from competitions. Things Mona kept in her own house, having a whole wall filled with every one of their achievements. Even Jin had a photo album of their things. And you, you kept all these for yourself. You were the only one who cared enough to save these things and he wondered how much you threw away to maintain space in the small empty box. Fuck, he didn’t know how to do this.

You sighed shakily, “You can just go.” You cried, “You don’t have to be here.” You don’t know what he could possibly gain from watching you cry.

“I know.” His voice was calm, even, “Can I help you up?” He asked and you wanted to look up at him in confusion but you didn't want him to see your tears.

You both had just ripped into each other, and here he was, wanting to help you. Why would he do that? Why would he stay when he doesn't have to? Why would he want to help you up after a fight?

Too tired to even think about questioning him and no longer angry at him, you simply scoffed, “Can you?” You sighed, not having the energy to stroke his ego and stand up without his help.

You never let people bear your dead weight, not wanting the awkwardness if they couldn’t carry you, but right now, you just wanted to lay down.

He snorted lightly, happy to hear anything other than a sob for you, “Don’t worry about me, you just cry and mind your business.” He spoke lightly, and the comment made you fight a smile. Then, he lifted you with so much ease, you figured he was trying to show off as he placed you on the bed. He looked at you after he sat on the floor before his eyes caught onto the gold foil of a 16th birthday card. You were wiping at your face as he read the card against his better judgment.

I know you must be confused, and I can’t help that. I wish I could pretend to be a mom, but I can’t. I can’t be your mom, and I never should have tried. It would be best if we forgot each other. I just can’t keep pretending, and I know you can see it, even if you don’t want to.

I’m so tired.

-Mom

Now, he felt even more like an asshole. He also felt a little bit angry that your mother could just leave you behind without so much as saying sorry. She wrote like she was a teenager and you were her mother. She obviously didn't put much thought into the seemingly last message to her daughter and it made his heartbreak for you, “That was the last I heard of her.” You snapped him from his thoughts and he looked at your puffy face, “She had left months earlier, and then I got that, but she moved before I could try to see her one more time.” There was a distant ache in your words as you looked at Jungkook sitting amongst your memories.

“Is she… still alive?” He asked, not sure why he felt the need to know.

“Not sure, but it doesn’t make much of a difference, I guess.” You blew out a sigh, before looking at your papers and folded posterboards, “I was cleaning out my memory box, and I’m not sure why I do it when I know it just upsets me.” You could still feel tears leaking from your eyes as Jungkook picked up a photo of you on your 14th birthday, posed between Jungyoon and your mom. You had a bright smile on your face and they looked at the camera with a tight expression, “You can really see how much they didn’t want to be there, but that's the happiest they look in all of the photos.”

He wanted to say you were wrong, but he could see it. He could see the happy little girl trying to make up for the unhappy adults around her. He knew he should’ve asked Mona why Jungyoon didn’t try to call or visit or why she was so eager to take you in if you knew your family. He should’ve just known better. Yeah, he understood how it felt to be alone growing up, they all did, but by the time they were all 17 they had a home that wanted them. You were going to graduate from college soon and you still felt unwanted.

No thanks to him.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted and you looked at him with wide eyes, “For being an asshole, I’m sorry- and for making you cry. I just…” He shrugged, “You’re right. I was jealous you knew your mom and I already was suspicious of you and I- I’m dumb, and I’m sorry.” He looked at you, eyes a bit glossy and you wondered when was the last time someone apologized for making you cry.

“It’s okay.” You smiled weakly, “You are dumb, but that’s okay.” You chuckled when he frowned, but eventually, he also broke into a short laugh, “I think… we’ve felt a lot of the same things in different ways, so I can’t blame you.” He wondered how you could be so forgiving, and he was scared of how many times that has gotten you hurt, “I like living here and I like all of you, so I hope I can get you all to like me too, even if just a little.”

“Don’t accept less than you deserve.” He spoke firmly before he started picking up your memory box, putting things neatly back in.

“Wh-”

He waved his hands nonchalantly, “You, sleep, I’ll clean this up and order some food.” He didn’t look at you as he said this, mostly to hide his blush, "If...If you want, I can give this to Jin. He has a whole place he keeps our stuff like this… he's really sentimental." He stumbled, still refusing to look at you.

However, he jumped when he heard you hiccup a cry. Ready to apologize, Jungkook was just about to turn to look at you until he heard you speak, "That… That sounds very sweet of you to do." You wiped a sentimental tear away as the blushing boy remained frozen.

"It's Jin's hobby, not mine." He deflected before waving his hand at you, "Sleep, I said." He frantically demanded.

You could see his ears getting red and you smiled, “Yes, sir.” You mocked in your work voice and made him freeze for a moment as you erupted into giggles while he whined, “Okay, okay, I’ll sleep.”

Eventually, you surrendered to your exhaustion as he delicately put away your papers and photos. He hummed lightly, smiling as he came across your debate team awards. No wonder he lost the fight before it even started. He turned around after lifting the box and sighed almost dreamily as he watched your sleeping face. You were beautiful, delicate, and puffy from the tears. He had the urge to keep apologizing for being such an asshole, but after looking through your achievements and your photos, he resolved to just keep proving it.

He wouldn’t let you get hurt again. Not by him or anyone, especially your mother, even Jungyoon was on thin ice.

His blood boiled at the thought of your mother for a reason he couldn’t understand. His hand extended shakily as he pulled the covers up to your shoulder and you hummed contently, making his heart melt a bit at the little smile you had. He wouldn’t fuck up with you again, not like this. He would be nice, at least a little, and first and foremost, he would order food you liked.

He froze.

Fuck, what food do you like?

He relaxed. Well, he could just ask the guys.

Fuck, they’re gonna ask questions.

Fuck, they’re gonna kill him when they found out he made you cry.

He looked back at your sleeping form, not having the heart to wake you up. He sighed, looks like he’ll just have to bite the bullet. He dreaded each moment as he quickly made an untitled group chat with the guys since you were added to their original one. He could only hope Taehyung wouldn’t change the group chat name to something stupid.

Tip Jar

[kainscape]

Bo sinclair getting the hug he so desperately needs and told he IS worthy of love and affection for a fluff request

A/N:I felt my heart rate spike when I saw this request. I love it so much.

Bo was different when it came to genuine and soft touches from anyone. Including you. It wasn’t something he liked due to his need to have an unfazed and cold persona. He would spend almost all his days down at the garage, keeping alert for any visitors.

You had noticed the sorrowful stares and sharp glances at the high chairs from Bo’s past. He never longed for his childhood, not letting it get to him as he’d get up from the chair he rested in. He headed for the fridge for a needed beer, popping it open as he trudged over and slammed the front door open.

You were seated on the other chair, your legs resting underneath you as you gazed over to him. He seemed, tense and lost. The same he has been since the starting of this week. You didn’t know what had happened for him to be this closed off. Sure, he’d give you small side hugs, a kiss on the lips or forehead and go on. But now he didn’t even look your way.

It was confusing you, frustrating you as you racked your mind to remember if you had done something wrong. Then it dawned on you; the look Bo had on his face when a family of three boys and the parents came through town a few days back. They were eerily the same as the Sinclair boys. The oldest walking pridefully around as his two younger brothers followed behind him like they were a pack. There were scattered scratches on their arms and legs, probably from outside roughhousing.

The connections were easy to make, the trio so much alike of how you imagined the Sinclair brothers were when they looked this age. You didn’t want to think of what would happen to this close family, but you were hoping they were blind to the danger around them and left without a problem. It seems so, the sound of their vehicle leaving the gas station on the road leaving town signaling they were still alive.

It throughly surprised you that Bo, out of all people, would let them escape the gruesome towns grasp without a mark. You weren’t complaining about it though. That had to be what caused this blockage of affection from your partner. The personal glares he had sent the family showed his jealous ache for a true childhood with no foster care or abuse.

It hurt to see him fight inside his mind. So, you sauntered out to the infamous gas station, preparing yourself and gathering courage for your plan. Maybe an inviting and meaningful hug would convey to him that it’s okay to open up, but most importantly, that he needs it. He needs these love filled affections since he was deprived of them in his younger days.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to fix his past, but you could definitely help his life now and the future. You could feel the vibrations from how loud the music was when you arrived at the garage door. He was underneath some car, working on whatever the hell it was. You stood there for a few, weighing your decisions.

While you were paused in your actions, he had pushed himself out from underneath the vehicle, wiping his hands off on the grease rag as he noticed your presence. “What is it? What the hell are you doin’ jus’ standing there?”

You didn’t think you’d be put on the spot that quick, but you gained some form of words that would be able to reach across to him.. hopefully. You have him an innocent smile, shrugging your shoulders, “Just thought I’d come see my lover, yknow, admire from afar and everything.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, mid rubbing his hand on the dirty cloth. He turned around, shoveling though a crate of tools he kept on a workbench, “You know I like to work in peace, havin’ someone stare me down isn’t exactly peaceful.” He went back and forth between the car engine and the table, sizing up and down on certain wrenches till he found the right one.

You sighed, moving ever so closely to him as he reached down inside the car. You wrapped your arms around you waist, quickly planning your next words. “You make it seem like I’m going to stare into your soul,” you softly laugh, trying to ease the thick tension wafting in the air, “can I not adore my boyfriend?”

He pulled away from his work, both hands clad in blackened grease. He turned his body to you, resting a hand in the edge of the car. “What the fuck are you on about? Why are you acting all…” his free hand motioned to your whole body.

You playfully scoffed, turning your head to avoid eye contact. Now or never, you told yourself. You were quick to wrap your arms around to the back of his neck, pulling yourself to him as close as possibly. Your hug was tight, your head resting gently against his.

Obviously annoyed, he sighed, pushing at your waist and hips to get you off of him. “Come on now, I’m trying to fucking work, y/n.” The more he pushed away, the more you brought yourself closer. Your eyes were closed, your heart pounding as you felt his body against yours. He was outrageously warm, probably from the heat outside. You could also feel the slight sweat glazed atop the back of his neck, but you didn’t take much mind to it.

As the seconds went on, Bo was weak to push you away, your inviting and comfortable body alluring him. Instead, he was kindly pulling you towards him. His arms now tightly wrapping around you into a secure hug, his head gently pushing against yours.

“Bo, you are so worthy of love, whether it’s from me, your brothers, or yourself. I truly want to adore you with affection, giving you what you were stripped off…” you sighed, squeezing him just a bit more tighter. He was silent, but there wasn’t that impending death that followed him when he was annoyed or angered. That was a sign that you were doing good.

Maybe if you continued, you’d get something out of him. A confession maybe? “This isn’t me pitying you, I’m just trying get through to you. It doesn’t matter if you don’t want to hear it, because I want to say it anyways. I love you, Bo. That’s never going to fucking change. No matter what, okay?”

He shifted his hand placement, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head and the other to push against your lower back. He took in a small breath, a few seconds of silence before he finally spoke. “You really know how to choose your words.” You we’re satisfied with that. You knew Bo, and you knew he wasn’t going to thank you or anything of that nature. But you also knew that what you declared was what he had needed to hear.

You smiled, pulling away slightly to cradle his face with both your hands. He let his hand fall back down to your waist, looking down at you before leaning forwards for a kiss. Bo was never good with words, and probably never will be, but his actions speak louder than any time he spoke. It was more pure and raw emotion then he probably should have let out, but fuck it.

You guys broke, a few gasps of air shared between you two. Your smile was still there, a very strong sense of comfort and grounding for Bo. He looked down at you for a moment, an unfamiliar feeling swelling up inside him. Guilt. It pulled at him when he remembered the way he treated you all week, but like hell he was going to apologize. He pulled you back into his embrace, closing his eyes as he felt his face relax.

He hadn’t noticed how tense he was, his jaw loosened and his eyes resting. Even a small and genuine smile had made its appearance. Bo let his mind wander farther into the locked up passion he had. The longing for his mother’s love or a family of his own. The emotions seep into this moment, the one he would keep in his mind when he thought about the word love.

[sukirichi]

golden days

GOLDEN DAYS ; what it’s like dating Inarizaki’s golden boy

NOTE. kita shinsuke is amazing. he’s perfect. yeah, that’s it. i love him.

[THE FIRST MEETING.]

“I look forward to working with you!” You bow deep as a greeting, hands trembling as they wrap around the test packets. You’ve recently been appointed as the class assistant to help him balance his duties, whatnot being class president and captain of the volleyball team and whatnot. Kita Shinsuke is one of the most impressive students in your school without a doubt, and to be chosen as his assistant, the pressure is quite closing to choking you.

Gosh, you haven’t even ironed your vest down today.

With a grimace, you pat your skirt down in hopes to make yourself more presentable when he hums, silently taking the heavy stack of papers from you.

“I look forward to working with you as well,” his voice is smooth, cool, and gentle like going to a sunny beach on a cold day. It’s both chilling and warming at the same time, and you stare up at him with wide eyes. “Follow me. I’ll help you take this to the faculty room.”

“Oh, y-yes!”

You don’t miss the way he carries more packets compared to your load, but he doesn’t mind. Years of playing volleyball definitely gained him some strength in those muscles. Unable to help it, your lips tug upwards in a smile as you fall into step beside him, feeling weirdly giddy that he doesn’t seem to be that scary, after all. You both keep to yourselves all the way there, a comfortable silence stretching over.

Usually, you prefer noise filling in the gaps to avoid awkward moments, but with Kita, its appreciated, peaceful even. You welcome it wholeheartedly, that warm blossoming feeling erupting all over your chest even as you made it back to your classroom.

You fidget at the doorframe, wondering if you should say thank you or see you at the meeting after class, hands fiddled with one another while your eyebrows pinch together.

What can you say to Kita Shinsuke?

He beats you to it as he passes you by, his hands faintly grazing against the pads of your knuckles as he tries to fit himself through the door with your body blocking his way. “Thank you,” Kita nods politely, “I’ll talk to you later again in the meeting.”

“Y-yeah, sure,” you stammer, ignoring the loud beating of your heart. Could it just be you, or was there a spark of electricity when his skin came into contact with yours?

[THE FIRST STUDY SESSION.]

“Ugh,” you groan before falling onto the book right in front of you. Kita sits next to you, completely unbothered as he keeps studying his notes, his focus as unwavering as him. “Kita, I don’t understand a single thing.”

“Hmm, which part don’t you get?”

Your groan grows louder as you turn your head to the side, about to complain that proverbs just weren’t your thing, only to stop and flush heated. Kita’s leaned closer to you, unbothered by the lack of space or the fact that he’s close enough you could count his lashes, both bottom and top row. His eyes skim over the messy scrawls of your notebook, humming to himself before nodding.

“That one’s easy. I can teach you that,” Kita scoots closer, his pen spinning in his pretty fingers before he sees your quivering lips, cheek bitten inside your mouth. “What’s wrong?”

Of course he doesn’t know!

“Nothing at all!” you sit back up, spine straight and clearing your throat awkwardly. You make sure to keep your gaze averted from his the whole time, nails dug into your skirt as you pray to whoever diving being that he won’t get to hear the pumping of your heart in this proximity. “Oh yeah, I don’t understand this part. You get it though, don’t you?” That’s a rhetorical question – what exactly didn’t Kita know? – you can’t help yourself from asking just to hide your nervousness.

“Yes. It should be easy. Now, take a look at this passage…”

Although it’s your idea to join the volleyball captain the moment you saw him studying by himself in the library, you found to regret it afterwards. You couldn’t focus on a single thing at all, not when his fingers are so slender and pretty as they point to words blurring over the paper, his scent both calming and intoxicating.

You offer mindless nods every now and then, though his words enter one ear and out into the other. Minutes pass – maybe it’s even been an hour – you don’t really know.

Kita closes your books shut with a sigh, a sound he only makes when really tired. You panic and ready yourself to apologize for being such a burden when Kita closes his eyes, his chuckles soft and a little teasing as he shakes his head. “You didn’t understand a single thing, did you?”

Caught red handed.

There’s no point lying now that he’s easily seen through you, and your shoulders deflate, head ducked in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I was just distracted.”

“I know,” although his voice is nonchalant as ever, Kita is hiding a smirk and blushing cheeks behind the palm of his hand. He reaches over to get another book, English this time around; a subject you’re better at than he is, as a silent way of saying now it’s your turn to teach him. “Next time, focus on the lesson instead of staring my face, yeah?”

[THE FIRST HAND HOLDING.]

Life has been so sweet and golden ever since you and Kita started dating.

It’s honestly still so hard to fathom that Kita actually likes you – likes you enough to date you! Steam is pouring out your ears and your lips won’t stop shaking as you fight back a smile, in complete disbelief that Kita is walking right beside you, handsome and sweet as ever as you guys go out on your first date. He’s been the one to ask you out but lets you choose where you want to go anyway, but being the flustered, nervous mess you are, you just blurt that a walk in the park is nice.

You snicker at yourself while the memory replays. Walk in the park? What are you two, dogs?

Just thinking about makes you turn your head to the side, chin planted on your shoulder as you grimace. Kita doesn’t seem too bothered, but then again, he’s always been hard to read.

You gasp a little when Kita suddenly holds your shoulders, blinking rapidly as he switches positions with you. His face is blank, nodding once upon seeing you’re on the other side of the sidewalk now while he’s closer to the road. It’s such a respectful, polite act that isn’t even romantic at all, but you can’t help but smile anyway, giggling to yourself while Kita shoves his hands down his pockets.

“Something funny?”

“Nope,” you say with the ‘p’ popping, “Nothing at all.”

He raises a brow in question, but doesn’t pry further. You’re swinging your arms side to side, perhaps a little too giddy that you’re with him until your hand is rendered motionless. Brows furrowing, your gaze lands on the sudden warmth spreading all over you.

Kita is holding your hand, his thumb gently forming circles over yours.

If you were feeling giddy before, your eyes are pumping heart eyes now. It dawns on you that your hands are shaking and embarrassingly sweaty, soft against his rough ones, and you try to pull away to rub the sweat onto your skirt. Kita doesn’t give you the chance and tugs you closer instead until your forehead knocks onto his shoulder, making the docile guy snicker.

“Something funny?” you taunt this time around, using your other hand to rub at your sore forehead. He’s a lot muscular and firmer than you thought, making you look like a soft marshmallow in comparison. You don’t hate it though – if anything, it just makes you happier.

Kita notices this written all over your face as he smiles, leaning close until he’s looking at you in eye-level. “Nope,” he repeats, “Nothing at all.”

[THE FIRST KISS.]

Your hands are gripping Kita’s jacket so hard you fear you’ll break it. His hands are gentle and tender as they grip your waist, his little sighs into your lips enough to break you. Your eyes are shut tight, warm lips above his moving cautiously as to not weird him out even though he’s the first one that leaned in.

In your nervousness, your knee beside his body slips farther to the side until you’re falling from his grasp. You gasp at the sliding sensation as you pull away from Kita, hands clutching his clothes while you fall.

Kita, fast and careful as ever, simply places a solid hand flat at your back, wasting no time to bring you back into his lips again. This time around, he’s no longer soft, dominant even as he places you firmly above his lap, hands strong and wrapped around your waist.

You moan when Kita slips his tongue in, tasting the strawberry lollipop you were sucking earlier, the sweetness of it earning you a low groan from him as a reward.

At this point, your heart is about to combust. His hands are everywhere, lips and tongue tasting every inch and spot of yours like he’s been dying to have a taste this whole time. Your confidence grows the longer and harder he kisses you, hands moving up to his shoulders then to his jaw, cupping his face to press your lips harder against his.

Kita smiles into the lip-locking, bending his head sideways to kiss you deeper, his large hand now lingering at the back of your head. Faster than you would like, Kita pulls away, his eyes hazy with something unreadable – something different than what you usually see from him.

His lips are red and moist, and you breathe harder at the thought that your usual composed boyfriend is tethering at the edges because of you.

It makes you wonder just what else you could do to fluster him and bring out more different sides of him, but as always, Kita is one step ahead of you, your recent thoughts an old and never-ending plan of his.

“I love you,” he blurts out, rendering you speechless one more time. When you groan in embarrassment and hide your face in his chest, Kita laughs, the sound a heart warming one as if he isn’t enjoying how fun it is to tease you. Nevertheless, he only tightens his hold around you, pushing you over the edge again and prompting your heart to do unhealthy back flips the moment he kisses the top of your head. “I love you.”

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Bet On It | Charlie Gillespie

Requested:  I may have already requested this (or I may have dreamed it) - but I would love an imagine with Charlie and the reader having a bet. Charlie loses and has to get the readers name tattooed somewhere and his fans go INSANE. Can be either platonic or romantic, your choice.

A/N: This was too good to pass up. Hope you like it! And special thanks to @calamitykaty for helping me out again on this one! I appreciate your help and love so much! You are the best of the best! Love you! 💖

Pairing: Charlie x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, tattoos 

Song(s) used: Show Me How You Burlesque - Christina Aguilera 

Words:  3,880

“Wanna bet on it?” was one of the first things he had ever said to you three years ago when you met him after your dance troupe had performed at the annual showcase. 

You and Meghan Gillespie had been friends since you started taking dance classes when both of you were five. However, your friendship never expanded from dance classes. Both of you were totally fine with that. 

This also meant neither of you had ever met each other's siblings, but that changed when you were seventeen and Charlie tapped your shoulder when you’d come up to greet your own family after the showcase. He’d complimented you on your dancing, and told you a little flustered that you had stolen the show. You didn’t even need to ask his name to know this was Charlie. He had the same bone structure and the same eyes Meghan did. She had told you about her siblings, mostly about Charlie since he was the closest in age and, according to her, the most annoying out of all her brothers. 

The two of you talked the whole night, even long after everyone had gone. Most of it was absolute nonsense, but  you loved getting to know him a little more aside from the stories you’d heard from Meghan. You enjoyed his presence and the way he carried himself and told his stories. This boy just seemed like the most excitable and passionate person you had ever met in your life. A lot of similarities to his sister, you noticed. 

“Can I see you again soon?” he asked when the two of  you wrapped up the night when it neared twelve am. 

You had raised your eyebrow at his nervosity more than his question. “Are you asking me out on a date?” 

Charlie’s head snapped up at your question, his eyes wide and jaw tight. “Wha-What? Nah! I wouldn’t date my sister’s friend! Uhm, more like, uh… Like a platonic date!” he exclaimed a little too excitedly. He even added some finger guns to top it all off. 

“All right, a platonic date it is,” you said as a teasing grin made its way to your features. “But you have to promise me one thing…” He nodded his head, encouraging you to go on. “You  have to promise you won’t fall in love with me.” 

A snicker raked through his body before he mimicked your teasing grin, “Wanna bet on it?” 

Even though back then there was nothing at stake, he still lost the bet. You both did, technically. Because after that first ‘platonic’ date followed more dates that grew into non-platonic dates until he finally picked up the courage to kiss you on your doorstep. 

Now three years later, you were working together on a second season of Julie and The Phantoms, both of you having been on the first season too. You as a background dancer and him as one of the leads of the show. 

To say you were proud of him would be an understatement. 

However, no one knew you were dating except for the closest people in your life. Meghan knew from the first ‘platonic’ date that this would be more than just a shallow friendship, and all your other friends and family were just happy you found each other. The cast of Julie and The Phantoms, however, were your biggest shippers. They loved to tease you both to the point where fans were suspicious, but you never made anything official. You kept telling them you were just best friends. 

After a full day on a corona proof set, the two of you finally settle on the sofa of your shared apartment with Owen. Said third roommate still had to film a couple of scenes with Booboo, which meant the two of you had the space all to yourself. 

Cuddled up on the couch, the two of you scroll through your phone, catching up on anything  you’d missed on social media. You’d received a few comments on your latest Instagram story with Savannah and Tori, and even more on the ones with Charlie in them. Most of them told you they wanted you to do a live together soon. 

“People are asking for a live,” you stated, showing some of the messages in your inbox. 

“Then they shall receive,” Charlie replied and got up from the couch, making his way into the bedroom. You furrowed your eyebrows, wondering why he just left, but you were given answers when he returned with an acoustic in his hand. “They always love a good jam session,” he explained before handing  you his phone so you could set up the live on his account since he had a lot more followers than you. 

“Let’s see,” you mumbled as you pressed the button, letting the phone rest against a large candle on the coffee table. Names started popping up at the bottom of the screen while the little number in the right-hand corner raked up quickly. “Hey guys!” 

“‘Sup!” Charlie shouted excitedly, a wide smile taking over his features while he tuned his guitar. “What do you guys wanna see from us today? Send us some requests for songs I should play or questions you want us to answer.” 

A laugh escaped your mouth as you noticed a lot of the questions were about whether or not you were a couple. “No, we’re not together, we’re just best buddies.” You put your head on Charlie’s shoulder, smiling a toothy smile at the camera. 

“Do you pull pranks on Owen or others from the cast?” Charlie read aloud as you pulled yourself up again, nodding your head in response. “Yeah, we pull pranks on each other all the time!” 

“Yeah! I love to prank this one whenever I find him somewhere napping,” you chuckled, especially when you noticed his expression on the screen. His mouth ajar as his eyes went from left to right. “I swear, this boy can sleep anywhere!” 

“Don’t expose me like that!” he cried out, which made you burst out with laughter to the point where you even let out a snort. You couldn’t hold yourself anymore at how offended he was by all of this, you were practically cackling. “Okay, if we’re exposing each other, you’re always dancing. ALWAYS,” he put emphasis on the last ‘always’. His eyes widened at the word as well as his voice growing louder. 

You stopped laughing at this, suddenly turning serious. “That’s my job, Char,” you deadpanned. Charlie wasn’t Charlie if he let it go so quickly. 

“Yeah, on set and maybe at practice, but you dance everywhere,” he turned to the camera, “Seriously, she dances in the shower, on the toilet, at catering, in bed,...” he stopped himself upon realizing he’d said a tiny bit too much. 

“People are asking how you know all that, Charlie. How do you know all of that?” you teased along, knowing he had dug himself a hole and you loved to see him squirm to get him out. 

“Because I… Come on, y/n, we’re best friends, we fall asleep in the same bed all the time,” he quickly saved himself in a very nonchalant, very Charlie way. You couldn’t help the smirk tugging at one corner of your lip, thinking ‘Nice save, Gillespie’.

“But that’s still not as bad as sleeping everywhere,” you countered, your face still overtaken by that smirk. “I bet I could get a whole album of pictures of you sleeping anywhere.” 

This claim made Charlie’s head snap up, a feeling of dejavu rushing through his mind. This suddenly felt very familiar since both of you had  been in a situation like this before, both pulling the short straw.

“Wanna bet on it?” he declared, his eyebrows nearly reaching up to his hairline. 

Your tongue glided across your turned up lips as you replied, “What’s at stake?” 

“Let’s see what they think. Guys! Help us out with this bet, please! What should be at stake?”

Dozens of replies came in, but your eyes fell on one in particular. “The loser has to get the winner’s name tattooed in a place of the winner’s choice!” you read aloud, pointing at the screen where the comment used to be. “Yes! Okay! So, let’s say we have to each get ten pictures of videos by -- it’s now Tuesday, so Monday?”  Charlie nodded his head in agreement. “First one to get ten wins.” 

Charlie held his hand out for you to shake, which you gladly did so, sealing the bet. 

“Get ready to get tatted for the first time, baby,” Charlie quipped with a smirk. 

“Oh, no, Char. I’m gonna leave this a blank canvas,” you responded, gliding your hands over your ribcage and down to your sides for emphasis. “You better get ready to get ‘y/n’ tattooed in big block letters across your chest!” You patted his pecs before adding with a giggle, “No ragrets.” 

He let out a chuckle at the meme reference before turning to the phone again. The two of you spent the next twenty minutes talking to the fans on Instagram live, playing them some songs and teasing one another non-stop. The fans were pretty certain you were a thing by now, but you still insisted all this was just a really close friendship. 

By the next day, everyone knew about the bet and was willing to help both of you out. Though, most of them told you afterwards they were on your side all the way. 

Savannah skipped over to you when you were waiting at the Hollywood Ghost Club set, getting ready for the last rehearsal before you’d start filming the scene tomorrow. You were going over the steps in your head until she spoke up. “Have you caught Charlie yet today?” she asked with a smirk. You let out a chuckle, shaking your head. 

“No, haven’t really stopped today, so I haven’t seen him much either.” This made you realize you kind of missed him and were up for a cuddle right about now. “Why? Have you seen him somewhere?” 

The mischievous look in her eyes spoke a thousand words. “Gimme your phone, I’ll go take a picture, so you can stay here.” You mull over the option for a second before deciding against it. 

“No, that’s not very fair. I’ll just go and look for him after this rehearsal and hope he’ll still be napping.” Savannah shrugged at your response before tucking a strand of hair of yours behind your ears. 

“Suit yourself, he’s in the breakroom.” You made a mental note of that. “You’re so soft for him, it’s adorable,” she uttered as a tender smile found its way to her lips. “I’ll let you get to rehearsal and I’ll make sure no one wakes Charlie before you can get to him, okay?” 

You shot her a thankful smile, “Yeah, thanks, Sav.” She kissed your cheek before walking away to wherever she needed to go. 

Thankfully, Charlie was indeed still asleep by the time you made it to the breakroom. He looked adorable all curled up on the small sofa with his arms wrapped around his own stomach. With an endeared smile, you grabbed your phone from the pocket of your sweater and snapped a picture before making your way over to him and squatting down in front of the couch. Softly, you brushed a strand of hair off his forehead before combing through the luscious mop of brown locks. 

He stirred slightly and squeezed his eyes tighter before they fluttered open. When they met yours, a soft, sleepy smile lit up his face. With a beam mirroring his, you said to him, “You look very cuddly up here, mind if I join you?” He scooted over and turned to his side, answering your question without words. You joined him on the small couch and rested your forehead on his chest, shutting your eyes as you inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne. 

“You took a picture, didn’t you?” he mumbled, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. You giggled, which was enough for him to know that you did. 

“One point y/n, Charlie zero,” you said and kissed his shirt-covered chest. 

“Oh, I’ll get my revenge, Bubba, I promise you!” He poked you in the ribs, making you squirm in his arms. “But let’s nap first until they need us again.” 

When Charlie promised something, he stuck to it. So, during lunch that same day, you stood in line with Madison, Jadah, Savannah, Tori and some of the other dancers, chatting a bit while music played from the speakers in the spacious area where everyone was either already eating or queueing to get food. 

“You really never know if you--” you cut yourself off once your ears picked up on the song that was playing in the background. “Oh my God! I know the choreo to this one. Tori, you do too, right?!” 

You put the plate you were holding on top of Savannah’s while Tori and some of the other dancers gave theirs to the other girls. Tori and Sam, one of the dancers you were closest with, got up on the table. Chuckling, you watched as a few others followed their example, and you quickly give in too. 

“Hit it up, get it up, won’t let you rest Hit it up, get it up, this is not a test Hit it up, get it up, gotta give me your best So get your ass up, show me how you burlesque”

You’ve loved this movie since it came out ten years ago. Your mother showed you some videos of you dancing in front of the tv, trying to imitate the dancers. It was pretty hilarious to see a ten-year-old do this dance. 

Right now though, you were ready to show off in front of everyone with some of the greatest dancers on this crew. Moments like these were proof that you were born to be a dancer. 

“A little bit of naughty, it's a little bit nice She’s a whole lot of glam, sweat, sugar, sex, spice Shimmy, shimmy, strut, strut Give a little what, what Up on the tables we’ll be dancing all night”   

Little did you know that Charlie had walked in with Owen, Jeremy and Booboo just as you’d started to dance. He was quick enough to grab  his phone from his pocket and film it. Even though he loved the fact that it was now a tie, he couldn’t help but smile proudly at the girl he’d fallen in love with three years ago. 

This was his favorite side of yours. You were in your element on the dance floor -- or table in this case. He just loved how confident you were and how free you seemed. While you’d be kind of shy when around new people, nobody would notice that when you’re dancing. He found it incredibly sexy to see you up there. 

You groaned as Charlie held his hand out to help you down the table when you’d finished the impromptu performance. With a smirk, he said, “1-1, Bubba,” and pressed a kiss to your flustered cheek. 

“I hate you,” you mumbled, but you couldn’t withhold the smile tugging at your lips. He looked so chuffed with his victory, even if it was a small one. You wanted to grant him this one win. 

The one win quickly turned into eight more, for the both of you, by Saturday. 

Match point. 

There was a mutual agreement to pause the bet on Sunday since the two of you had a day off and were going to sleep and dance around the apartment while cleaning up anyway, so that wouldn’t be fair. But on Monday, it was game on. 

You were certain you were going to win. All you had to do is find Charlie when you knew he didn’t have to film anything and try to withhold yourself from dancing if it wasn’t a part of the filming or rehearsal progress.

By noon, you had succeeded in one department. The only thing left to do now, was find Charlie. You knew he had an hour off for lunch and  that he’d spent twenty minutes of it taking a power nap somewhere on set. The only downside was, that you had no clue where he could possibly be sleeping  now. 

“Mads! Jer!” you exclaimed when you saw Madison and Jeremy walking up to you with sandwiches in their hands. “Have you guys seen Charlie anywhere?” The two glanced at each other before giving you a look that screamed ‘seriously, y/n?’. 

“What’s the best napping spot in the entire studio and isn’t used for anything today?” Jeremy asked as a way of responding to your question. 

Your eyes widened as the image of the bed popped into your head. You quickly muttered, “Thank you!” before hurrying your way to the set that holds Julie Molina’s bedroom. And there, smack in the middle of the bed, cuddled up to a pink cushion, lied your boyfriend. 

Butterflies erupted in your stomach as you nervously grabbed your phone and snapped a few pictures to make sure there was at least one that wasn’t blurry. Your hands were shaking way too much from the excitement, but you couldn’t just let this one pass. You had to win. If not just to prove a point. 

You rapidly scrolled through the photos and when you saw one that was in focus, you shrieked and leapt onto the bed on top of Charlie. He let out a groan at the sudden weight pressing down on his body as he shook awake. 

“I won, bitch!” you screamed out, doing a happy dance as you straddled his lap.

He rubbed his eyes like a toddler whilst giggling like one too before placing his hands on your thighs and saying, “I didn’t think you’d find me here.” He started rubbing up and down your jeans-cladded legs, a pout tugging at his bottom lip. 

You raised your eyebrows at him, “Seriously? This is the most infamous napping spot of the entire studio! I immediately came here when I couldn’t find you in your regular spot in the breakroom.” Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrows at you. 

“Someone else told you I was here, didn’t they?”

“Yep, definitely.” 

He groaned and then flipped you over, so you were lying next to him, and you let out a shriek before it turned into a giggle. “I already know where you’re gonna put my name too,” you mumbled. You pressed your forehead against his while tracing a heart on his chest, right above his heart. 

His eyes fluttered shut as he kissed your forehead. Placing it back, he muttered, “Let me guess, on my left pec, so you’re forever in my heart?” You simply hummed in response, earning a chuckle from your boyfriend. “Why are you so predictable?” 

“Shut up, you love me.” 

Butterflies welled up in his belly as you said that. He loved the overconfident way you always said those words. They were true. Very true and he loved that you knew that. But that didn’t take away the fun into actually reminding you too. 

“That’s true.” 

The following day, you took Charlie to the tattoo parlor to get his tattoo. You had told him a thousand times he didn’t have to do it, that knowing you were the winner sufficed, but he just replied with a, “No, I want that tattoo.” 

The tattoo artist asked if  you had a design in mind, so you handed her the slip of paper on which you had perfectly written your name in cursive and told her where to put it. She simply stated, “You got great  handwriting,” before showing you and Charlie to the back. 

“Film this for Insta, babe, so the people know I lost,” Charlie had ordered you sweetly as he tugged his shirt over his body, handing it over to you while he sat down. 

You grabbed your phone and started filming when the tattoo artist, whose name was CeCe, she’d said, started on his tattoo. Charlie looked up at you, biting his lip, and then reaching out to you. Without asking him what was wrong, you swung his shirt over your shoulder and took his hand with the one you weren’t filming with. He squeezed hard, nearly bone-crushingly hard, but you let him. After all, it was kind of your fault he was there in the first place. 

When CeCe had finished and put a protective band-aid on it, Charlie grabbed his shirt from your shoulder, and kissed you on the lips sweetly. You paid for the work and time CeCe had put into this, said your goodbyes, and headed back home. 

Pretty much every single one of the cast was waiting at your place, ready to see the finished product. However, Charlie wasn’t allowed to take the covering off yet. It needed to stay there for two to four hours before he could take it off. 

And once he did, you were surprised to not only see your name on his chest, but also your favorite flower worked into it beautifully. Confused and surprised, you looked up at Charlie. 

“When did you even tell her to do that?” you asked as everyone started to take pictures of the tattoo and of the interaction between the two of you. 

“Called in beforehand,” he simply shrugged. Shaking  your head, you leaned up and planted a kiss to his lips. Even though it was bat-shit crazy he even went through with tattooing your name on his chest, the fact he added an element of you made it extra special. 

That night, Charlie posted the video of him getting his tattoo on his Instagram stories while you made a compilation post of all ten of the sleeping Charlie pictures you had accumulated in the last week, along with a picture of his tattoo. 

@Yourinstahandle: Victory is mine! You are absolutely crazy. I can’t believe you went through with this. At least now I’m forever embedded on your heart and I’ll be yours forever. 💖 @Charles_Gillespie 

And with that, you immediately went Instagram official too. Following your example, Charlie shared a picture of his brand new tattoo as well. 

@Charles_Gillespie: Wanna bet on it? Forever mine 💖 @Yourinstahandle

When he joined you in bed that night, you went to lie down on his chest, only to receive a painful hiss from him, causing you to shoot up again. “GAH! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” you shouted, and looked at him in shock. 

“It’s fine,” he muttered and went to pull you back but you refused to. 

“No, Char, I’m not gonna hurt you for an entire night,” you grumble and crawl across his legs to lie down on his other side. “This feels weird.” You rested your head against the non-painful side of his chest. “But better than no cuddles.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn’t have won, so I wouldn’t be in pain right now,” he responded, followed by a small chuckle, letting you know he was just joking.    

“You are the most ridiculous person I have ever met,” you muttered. Before closing your eyes, you quickly leaned up and pecked his cheek. 

“Wanna bet on it?”

*

*

*

JATP Taglist: @hannahhistorian92 @marinettepotterandplagg @thequirkybookaholic @bookdealer5 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hemmingsness @iainttakingshitfromnobody @ifilwtmfc @angryknightstatesmantrash @kiss-themoongoodbye @rudysbay @thedarkqueenofavalon​ @caitsymichelle13​ @calamitykaty @wiselight @kcd15​ @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @stars-soph @kinda-really-lost

Charlie/Luke taglist: @parkeret​ @lukeys-giggle @gingerxarmy @lovesanimals @lolychu @perfectlywrongformend3s @luckylouiebug @camiladelrio98 @myfriendscallmebeans

Lemme know if you wanna be on my taglist! 

[clareguilty]

In Vino Sacrificium

Read it here on the AO3!

Thanks to Stella for helping me with the Latin! Lady Alcina Dimitrescu/Unnamed Maiden Rating: Explicit | Warnings: dubcon, drugging, erotic horror, power imbalance, the works Word Count: ~2400

The summons came late at night. Just as they had the night she left home. The heavy sound of heels on stone like an echo of the pounding on the wooden door in the dead of winter. It was past midnight, and the other girls had all gone to sleep, but she was awake, waiting.

Her time at the castle had been short -- for surely tonight would be her last. Spring had not even yet come, and she had only arrived in the darkest days of winter. It was not uncommon for the young women of the village to be summoned to Castle Dimitrescu in service of the Mistress, and it was not uncommon for them to never be heard from again.

She had not wanted to go. The castle was unwelcoming, dark and foreboding, with endless spires that disappeared into the mist. Every girl that had entered the castle had disappeared, and no amount of pleading from the village would give them answers.

But there was no denying the Lady Dimitrescu. She had sent men in the night, through the wind and snow, just to take her from her bed and bring her to the castle.

Louder and louder the footsteps approached. The door opened, heavy wood scraping across the stone floor. A few of the other girls stirred in their sleep as candlelight flickered from the hall.

Lady Daniela. Her painted black lips curled into a wicked gleam when she found exactly who she was searching for sitting on the side of the bed. Waiting.

“Mother wants to speak with you,” she said.

The Mistress of Dimitrescu herself. The maiden’s blood turned to ice in her veins. It was as bad as she feared. She had been berated on many occasions by the young ladies of the house for her missteps. Among all of the girls who worked at Dimitrescu Castle, she was among the weakest, frail and clumsy. Her frequent mistakes had made her an easy target for the sisters and their wicked punishments.

But she had never been brought before Mistress Dimitrescu before. And now she knew her fate.

Those bottles. Those damn bottles. Dark glass gleaming in the firelight. The kegs and decanters. The sly smiles of the ladies as they brought their goblets to their lips. Underneath the thick, sweet aroma there was no masking the metallic smell.

Sanguis Virginis. She had uncovered their secret. It wasn’t very well hidden to begin with, but she had refused to see that which was right in front of her until she had no other choice.

And when the Mistress had demanded a drink, asked her to fetch a glass, her hands had shook so badly with the knowledge of just what she was serving.

The bottle had crashed against the tile. Red spilling across the floor. She had cut herself on the glass trying to clean it, and could not even see where her blood had mixed with the wine.

And now she was to die. There was no forgiveness for wasting The Mistress’s precious wine. She would make up for what she had spilled by becoming the next harvest.

Numbly, she followed Lady Daniela up to the Mistress’s private chambers. The stone and wood of the servants wing gave way to dark wood and smooth tile and then to gilded filigree. Lady Daniela was quiet, but she did not bother to hide her gleeful expression. She would delight in whatever torment awaited the young maiden. Among all of the sisters, she was always the cruelest.

She pushed open the double doors to the Mistress’s chamber, and the maiden took a few tentative steps inside.

Mistress Dimitrescu was sitting in front of the fire. Even sitting on the sofa, she was eye level to the maiden. She remembered the first time she had seen the Mistress after coming to the castle, the fear and awe she had felt. Tall enough that she had to kneel to pass through any door. Pale, white skin. Her senses were more keen than anyone the maiden had ever met. She couldn’t be mortal, but that was impossible. Just like everything else at the castle.

Lady Dimitrescu stood as the maiden entered; her white silk dressing gown looked much softer than the stiff fabric of the maidservant’s dress. She was breathtaking, silky black hair curling around her jaw, bright golden eyes. Skin like porcelain, smooth as the silk she wore. Even without her dark makeup and painted lips, she was powerful, intimidating.

“Mistress,” the maiden bowed low. Surely the racing of her heart was audible to the Mistress, who seemed to hear and see everything that happened on the castle grounds.

“Little one,” Mistress Dimitrescu’s voice was melodic and saccharine, pitying. Far from the shrill, gleeful giggles of her daughters.

“Leave us, My Daughter, I would like a word with our little one here.” Her words surprised the maiden, who was sure that her punishment would be a public affair.

Lady Daniela huffed. Clearly she was anticipating the same. Still, she obeyed the orders of her mother.

The door clicked shut, and Mistress Dimitrescu sat back on the white sofa. She delicately patted the seat next to her. “Come sit.”

The maiden did as she was told, carefully sitting on the edge of the cushion, stiff and awkward as she kept her eyes to the floor.

“The girls tell me you’ve had a hard time adjusting to life in the castle,” she said. 

There was nothing the maiden could do but nod, her voice was trapped in her throat. She was certain the Mistress was going to kill her. Whatever terrible process created that horrible elixir, she was soon to find out.

“It can be hard to get used to such a change, but you have shown a lot of potential.” She recrossed her legs, silk swishing with the motion. “You’ve made a few mistakes, and that has cost us, but you can always repay the damage.”

The maiden shuddered. She didn’t want to know how much that bottle was worth. The acrid smell still burned in the back of her throat. It had taken hours to scrub the stains from her skin.

“Worry not,” Mistress Dimitrescu cooed. “You have everything you need.” She plucked a bottle from the side table, it looked so small in her hands. The sight made the maiden wince.

“Don’t be afraid.” She insisted again. She set two crystal goblets on the low table before the sofa. The pop of the cork did little to ease the maiden’s nerves, nor did the sound of the thick liquid pouring into the glasses. “It’s hard to know just how wonderful it is until you’ve had a taste.”

She picked up her own glass, swirling the dark liquid before taking a drink. Her dark eyes watched the maiden over the rim of the glass.

“Come, my dear. You do remember you have to make up for the bottle that you broke.” She leaned in closer, pale lips now stained with red. “Do as I say, and drink. It’s a rare honor for one such as you to taste the pride of the Dimitrescu name.”

The maiden nodded, but still didn’t reach for the glass. Her eyes were wide, fingers pressed into her thighs. Mistress Dimitrescu tapped her tongue to the back of her teeth. “I see,” she mused. She brought the glass to her lips once more, and reached forward for the young maiden. She wrapped her fingers over the back of her neck and tilted her head back, squeezing her jaw until her lips parted.

The Mistress leaned in, pressing her lips to the maiden’s and licking into her mouth. Her tongue was still coated in the damned drink. The young maiden had no choice but to drink from the kiss, moaning and struggling gently against her hold. She knew it was futile.

The drink was potent, heady. The flavor burned on her tongue and in her throat, thick and sticky. Mistress Dimitrescu moaned soft and low. “That’s a good girl,” she crooned as she pulled away. “Isn’t it wonderful? My pride and joy -- aside from the girls of course.” She watched the maiden’s eyes, watched her cheeks flush and her pupils widen. A drop of wine slipped from the corner of her lips and The Mistress licked it up carefully.

Not releasing her hold on the girl, she brought her own glass to the maiden’s lips. “Don’t spill, little one.”

Unable to do anything else, the maiden drank. Her eyes fluttered shut as the liquid burned through her. It was terrifying -- how quickly the wine took its hold. When The Mistress finally pulled away she was breathless and dizzy.

“That’s a good girl.” The words only heated her blood more, and she gazed at Lady Dimitrescu with adoration and want.

“Mistress…” she whispered, “may I have some more?”

Mistress Dimitrescu chuckled, low and warm. “Not just yet.�� She pulled the maiden to her, practically lifting her off the sofa so she could bring their lips together. This time, the maiden was eager, seeking out that strange flavor on her Mistress’s tongue.

She let the maiden succumb to the drink, running her hands over her skin and digging her fingers into her hips. When the poor girl finally pulled away for breath she was panting and flushed, desperate for anything The Mistress would give her.

“Now, now,” The Mistress soothed her, stroking her face gently with her long, delicate fingers. “It’s time you began your repayment.”

She gently lowered the young girl so she was on the floor before her, kneeling at her feet. Slowly, she untied the fasten of her dressing gown, delighting in how the maiden’s eyes stayed transfixed on the motion of her hands. The silk parted, revealing the soft expanse of her breasts and stomach. She was a venus of the underworld.

The mistress pulled the dressing gown aside, uncrossing her legs and parting her thighs. She was completely bare. Wet. She had been aroused from the moment she decided the poor maiden’s fate.

“Go on,” she encouraged, winding her fingers in the maiden’s hair and pulling her in close.

The maiden leaned forward tentatively, already drunk off the wine and even more intoxicated by the woman before her. She pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of her thigh. The skin was so soft. Inch by inch, she trailed soft, wet kisses towards where The Mistress needed her most.

Without the effects of the wine, the poor maiden would be paralyzed with fear. She knew the danger she was in, but a burning desire had taken hold of her, and she wanted nothing more than to do everything Mistress Dimitrescu asked of her.

Desperate to please, she pressed her lips and tongue against The Mistress’s pussy. It was clumsy at first, as she kissed and sucked experimentally, searching for praise and low moans of pleasure.

The Mistress did not hesitate to guide her, holding her in place with her strong grip and whispering instruction. The maiden herself let out small, pleased sounds in response to every gasp or moan. She wanted to please, wanted to serve.

Her own desire was aching, like nothing she had ever known before. Still, she pushed past her own need in favour of her Mistress.

“Such a good girl.” She was rewarded with a soft caress and sweet words. “Make me come. That’s it little one.”

So the maiden doubled her efforts, she dragged her tongue through the wet heat of her Mistress. Every shake of her thighs and roll of her hips and hitch of her breath was an encouragement.

And when she came, she pulled on the maiden’s hair and held her firmly in place and took her own pleasure until she was satisfied.

The maiden sat back on her heels, lips and chin dripping and glistening in the firelight. She gasped for air, eyes glassy and unfocused.

The Mistress composed herself much quicker, pulling her dressing gown closed and tying it once more. “You did very well, little one,” she said with a softer smile than the maiden had ever seen before.

“Please,” the maiden begged, not even entirely sure what she was asking for. “Please, Mistress.”

She was more desperate than ever before in her life, blood thrumming with arousal and shaking with want. Beneath her skirts her thighs were soaked.

“Oh come here,” The Mistress lifted the young girl back to the sofa, delicately wiping her lips with an embroidered linen square. “Have another drink,” she pressed one of the crystal goblets into her hands, eyes shining and eager as the young girl quickly drained it all.

But that wouldn’t sate her. The drink made her dizzy, and tired, but she still wanted. “Mistress,” she tried again. “I need- I need…” she trailed off unsure how to ask. She had never known desire like this before. And it would be improper of the Mistress. And her thoughts were so cloudy from the wine.

The Mistress tsked and grabbed the maiden’s hand where it was unconsciously reaching for the hem of her skirt. “I know what you want,” she said, voice dripping with pity, “but you must stay pure. We can’t have you sullied and dirty. Your blood is perfect just like this. You smell so sweet.”

The words sparked fear somewhere underneath the haze in her mind, but all she could think of was the Mistress’s strong grip on her wrist. She needed her touch.

“Here,” the Mistress pulled her close, nearly on her lap. The closeness didn’t erase her desire, but it soothed the ache. “Lay back just a bit, why don’t you drink some more? Won’t that help?”

Of course. More wine. The maiden let the liquid flow past her lips, held against her Mistress’s bosom and drinking from her glass.

The room spun, and then fell into darkness.

When she woke, it was to the sound of low voices. The Mistress. Lady Daniela. She couldn’t open her eyes, nor move her limbs, but she strained to hear their conversation.

“You can take her downstairs. She’s so ripe, so precious.” The Mistress sounded overjoyed. “I can’t wait to taste her.

“Yes, Mother.” Lady Daniela did not sound as enthusiastic. There was the sound of footsteps, and then the maiden was being lifted, carried through the halls. The gentle sway lulled her back to sleep. She wondered if she would ever wake again.

Part 2

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[thatslikely]

Fireball - F.W.

Fireball- Fred Weasley x fem!reader (unspecified house)

Warnings: food and allusions to sex

Word Count: 3k

A/N: did I go overboard? yes. do I want to go to an amusement park with Freddie? yes.

Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name and Y/L/N is Your Last Name

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @probably-peeves @anchoeritic @theweasleytwinsgirl @horrorxweasley 

if you wanted to be added, send me a dm or ask!

“Sweetheart, have you got everything all packed up? I hope you didn’t accidentally pack any Canary Creams this time!” Fred jested from the room across the hall of the Burrow as you eagerly stuffed various waterproof jackets, sticky bottles of sunscreen that smelled pungently of hot summer afternoons spent loitering by the lake, and stacks of Muggle ‘cash’ into a small backpack.

“I think so. And do you really have to bring up that one time every time I’m in charge of snacks?” Zipping up the pockets of the sack, you gave it a satisfactory pat. 

“Don’t worry, I thought you still looked cute, even as a bright yellow birdie.” You were helpless to stop your eyes from rolling in your skull with a sarcastic grumble.

As Fred sauntered over to you, arms extended and ready to give you a bear hug, you extolled, “are you excited? Your first time at an amusement park!” His muscular arms tightly wrapped around yours’; so tightly, in fact, that you lifted off the ground, still wrapped his playful yet loving embrace like a familiar blanket of comfort. The shirt handsomely draped over his figure smelled like home; of the common room after the crackling fireplace ceased, the deserted aisles of a fluorescent convenient store at midnight, burnt popcorn kernels smoking from the microwave. 

“Of course I’m excited, Y/N. You’ve only blabbered about this place since the beginning of time. It better live up to the stories you’ve told!” he said cheerfully into your ear, his warm breath fanning your face, causing electric shocks of thrill to pang every one of your nerves. 

“Today’s gonna be so much fun!” Your chest fluttered as Fred gently set you down like a prized china doll, throwing the stuffed backpack over his broad shoulders.

“I hope the fun carries over into tonight, too.” Fred painted a devilishly handsome suggestive smirk on his features, barely fighting off the urge to buckle your knees with his signature wink.

“Oh shove off, Freddie!” you giggled as you friskily swatted your boyfriend’s bicep. “Let’s just focus on the park for now, we can worry about that later.”

His intoxicating lips pressed a small peck to your forehead before he asked, “You ready to go have the best day ever with your impossibly amazing, handsome, clever, boyfriend?”

“Yes, Fred,” you smiled as he unsheathed his spiky-handled wand, “yes!”

With a quick, pickle-jar-lid pop! you and Fred were instantly engrossed in the eye of a large crowd of joyous Muggle families scurrying around in circles reminiscent of the windy spirals of a cyclone. Most grinning adults had a tiny, chubby hand gripped in their palm, and most of the bubbly kids had a drippy strawberry popsicle in theirs’. 

The familiar plaza surrounding you flooded your heart with comfort and security. Wheeled food stands with bright, enthusiastic neon signs formed street-like pathways; the distant screams from speedy roller coaster riders melded with the thematic music echoing from speakers.

“We’re here!” you squealed, running over to a stand to grab a neatly labeled map of the park, despite knowing its layout like the back of your hand. Fred had been prone to getting lost before, especially in non-magical places, such as malls or airports (We have a lost boy named Fred Weasley, lost at gate thirty-six, and he’s looking for his, er- significant other, Y/N Y/L/N. He’s sixteen years old, quite tall, and has bright red hair, impossible to miss. Please come pick him up at the travel counter, thank you). You were tempted to tease him as you handed him the map, but considering the high possibility he had some sort of prank secretly stashed on his person, you wouldn’t dare risk it.

Fred uttered a “whoa,” as he took in his surroundings with enchanted, curious umber eyes, “this place is absolutely wicked.” His gaze then downturned, scanning the map, intently awaiting the vibrant, printed graphics to spring to life like pamphlets in the Wizarding World do.

“The map’s not going to start moving, if that’s what you’re waiting for, silly,” you teased, pointing to your location on the detailed unfolded brochure. 

“Pfft, I knew that.” His insincere arrogance didn’t help to conceal the slight pink tone that heated his cheeks at all. Pure-blood wizards were truly an enigma.

You ignored his unsuccessful cover-up with an expression that screamed, ‘yeah, right’, as you explained to him (a bit condescendingly) like a schoolchild, “we’re right here, at the entrance. There’s a list of the rides, bathrooms, shops, and places to eat off to the side.”

The blazing sun overhead coated your surroundings with tepid, dandelion-hued light, and the relaxed summer breeze softly ruffled your flowy strands of hair, as well as Fred’s. He quickly combed through his fiery mane with his fingers, a smirk quirking his lips at the promise of so many exciting things to do and see.

“We’re gonna start off with my favorite ride ever: The Fireball.”

Fred dropped his jaw to respond, but you wasted no time maneuvering to the beloved orange scream-producer. You hastily snatched his large hand before weaving him through the cluster of people, scuttling towards a looming bright, tiger-orange arc towering above everything in the distance: the peak of the Fireball. The Fireball was the single best roller coaster ever constructed: its seats were comfortable and secure, its extensive track was fluid and fast, and the excellently paired loops and corkscrews were enough to spark terror in even the bravest riders.

You had been savoring the thrill of the beloved flame-colored coaster for as long as your crown had finally surpassed the minimum-height indicating green line on the sign before its intimidating crimson gates so many years ago. 

Tears streamed horizontally across your face, a painful, open-mouthed smile etched onto your features. Screamed giggles echoed from your toothy mouth as you firmly gripped the bar in front of you, letting the rapid twists and turns of the coaster envelop you wholly. By the time the track had slowed and looped back to the station, your head was spinning, allowing you to barely think, let alone walk. Your hair was fluffed out like a bird’s nest but you couldn’t care less. All you knew was, you had to ride Fireball again.

No other coaster could even dream to compete with the beast of an attraction; it drew you in like a magnet, and hadn’t let you go since. Every other ride just felt inexplicably off in a way that even the most eloquent weren’t capable of articulating. And you finally got to share your favorite coaster with the person you undoubtedly love the most: Fred.

“Freddie, are you ready to go on the best roller coaster of all time? It’ll blow your mind!” you excitedly asked, pulling him towards the coaster’s spaghetti-twisted track. The look of pure bliss that exuded from your body was so, so difficult to say no to. There was something so child-like about your pupil’s vivacious glow; it reminded him of the days so long ago when his biggest stressor was whether he should pull a prank on an unsuspecting Ron or Percy next. 

But an equally childish emotion struck his heart: fear. Fred Weasley feared nothing. A furious Umbridge, maniacal Dark Wizards, and even speedy rogue Bludgers wouldn’t even make him flinch. A roller coaster however, was different. Whether it was the sketchy-looking track held together by metal bolts, the loopty-loop that he would surely fall out of, or the fact that it was made by hands, not magic, inexplicable waves of nervousness flooded his body, causing his heart to boom faster and louder in his chest and his palms to condensate with sweat.

“Hey, uh, angel, it’s actually getting pretty hot, don’t ya think? Why don’t we go have some ice cream first, my treat?” Fred nervously asked, an unshakable stutter in his words. He delved into his pocket, revealing fistfull of bills and coins, eagerly looking for an ice cream stand. “I hope you know where the ice cream is?”

“‘Course I do, Freddie. The best cones are this way, follow me.” You giddily guided the lanky ginger through twists and turns, passing a multitude of fun (and tamer) rides Fred had never seen before. At long last, the two of you reached a small, dark and light blue-striped stand with a snowman holding a cone of strawberry deliciousness hung out front. The best ice cream in the whole park.

While the prospect of romantically sharing a cone of ice cream with Fred sounded tooth-rottingly sweet, the both of you were a tad too stubborn to be willing to share a single frozen treat. He did generously give you a lick of his drippy strawberry cone, however, and you relented to his pitiful puppy-dog eyes and quivering lip, letting him have a bite of yours’.

The ice cream almost instantaneously sent Fred back to summers at the Burrow when he was still equally adorable, but a far cry from who he was now. He was short, only an inch or two taller than Ron, his grin was crooked, and the bridge of his nose was dotted with bright orange freckles. Every cherished summer afternoon was spent slashing in the creek, throwing mud pies at Percy, digging up worms in the dirt, and daring Ron to bite into a cattail to see what it tasted like (that didn’t end well).

Once the delicious cream safely resided in your stomachs, you eagerly asked if the vermillion-haired boy across from you was ready to go on the ride of his life. When he responded with an inscrutable expression, the trips of his ears pricking with nervousness, you added persuasively, “c’mon Freddie, the line’s gonna get long if we wait much longer. The park’s filling up fast.” 

“Hey! I have an idea. Instead of waiting in a boring line that’ll take forever,” -he exaggerated each syllable- “I could try to win you a prize at one of those booths over there. How does a giant teddy sound?” The grin on his face was impossible to renounce.

“Only if I get to play too. We’ll see whether you’re gonna be the one lugging around a huge stuffed bear!” 

Fred yanked you to the nearest carnival game like an eager golden retriever, which evidently was a vibrant water gun race. The object of the game was to position your water gun to hit the target perfectly, and whoever held the jet until the quota was filled won. 

Fred slapped a few bills onto the counter proudly, and the Muggle worker eyed him confusedly, before handing back a stack of greens to Fred. “It’s only five to play, sir.”

Fred took the vacant stool to the right to you, eyes glued on the prize: a large, bubble-gum pink teddy bear. Before he could even learn how to play, the bell rang, and water spewed out of the guns in front of you. Easily, you lined up the stream to the orange target before you, causing varicolored lights to flash and spiral., clashing the darkening sky above. Fred, however, wasn’t so lucky; he accidentally drenched the less-than-happy carny’s clownish uniform. The dripping employee sharply handed you the teddy before grumbling for the both of you to leave, preferably immediately.

“Ha! I won!” you boasted, rubbing the plushie in Fred’s amused face as you walked hand-in-hand past coasters and rides. He chucked before grabbing it from your hands, offering, “I’ll hold your prize for you, Miss Champion-water-gunner.”

“Okay, let’s go ride a coaster! I’m sure you know which one I wanna ride by now.” However, Fred was still nervous as ever. He’d never admit it, so naturally, he came up with every possible excuse. 

“I- erm, why don’t we go ride that spinny one over there?” 

“The carousel? That’s a toddler’s ride!”

“If I want to ride a horse-y, I will ride a horse-y!” Fred swooped you up in his arms, carrying you to the roped-off queue bridal-style while you flailed your arms, your face reddening with embarrassment.

In the blink of an eye, you found yourself seated on a jewel-embellished caramel horse, one of your hands gripped onto the golden pole lifting your pony up and down in a galloping motion. Your other hand was intertwined with Fred’s, who was perched on a mahogany horse draped in orange and green carpets and tassels beside you. Astonishment swam in his cocoa pools; his toe tapped in the stirrup to the old-fashioned circus music playing, he fiddled with the plastic emeralds of the horse’s bit, and he gave you the most innocent, heart-melting grin you’ve ever seen.

Once the bejeweled horses’ hopping halted, and the melodic recording of the march slowly faded, the sun crept below the horizon, granting the prussian blue air a chilly nip; it looked as if a Monet painting were suspended above the millions of flashing cabochon bulbs. 

“Freddie, it's getting dark. We have time for probably one more ride,” you said, not failing to note the lively glow drain from Fred’s rosy cheeks and faint saffron freckles.“What’s wrong?”

“I uhh… I didn’t want to tell you this before, but…” -he scratched the nape of his neck with furrowed brows- “I’m scared of roller coasters.” Fred cracked a nervous side-mouthed smile. “Something about it just… I feel like I’m gonna fall out!”

“Oh, Freddie, I had no idea,” you said apologetically, resting your hand on his flanneled shoulder. The coruscating glow of the kaleidoscopic lights highlighted the fearful darting of his pupils.

“I wanna ride Fireball, it looks sick, but I’m more scared than I’d care to admit.” 

“Here it’s okay, we can go on a smaller coaster if you want. Rocket’s always a classic, too,” you suggested, gesturing towards a short, blue and silver arch suffused in colorful carnival irradiance.

“No, I need to face my fear! Let’s go ride Fireball, darling. No buts!” Fred ushered you towards the Fireball, despite not having a clue about where it’s spaghetti bowl of track was grounded.

“It’s just like riding a broom! More safe, actually.” Fred lifted the chains of the queue for the both of you to mischievously slip under; you were pleasantly surprised to see the line was relatively short. 

“Oh by the way, you better not tell anyone that I, Fred Weasley, star Quidditch player and most popular student, actually can get scared, or expect a foul prank in your future.” Fred embraced you with a hug from behind, not shy of showing some more risque displays of affection to the other teenaged riders to cement the unwavering fact that you were his, and only his.

“Well someone doesn’t seem so nervous anymore,” you teased, poking his chiseled chest playfully.

“What can I say? You’re too distracting.”

You gave him a sarcastic simper as you pulled him by the collar closer and closer to the loading station which was packed with workers and thrill-seekers alike. Fred continued to stay tricksy, a permanent smug smirk upturning his lips as his hands stayed glued to your body, in one place or another.

At long last, the mechanical locking of lap bars and revving of coaster-cars stiffened the slightly cocky Weasley (his nervous form reminded you oddly enough of a breadstick). You gave him more compassionate touches of affection, combing your fingers through his messy hair and tracing small circles on his back, humming.

When the menacing silver gates opened, allowing the two of you to climb inside the fire-truck red carts, Fred looked as if he would explode at any given moment. You grabbed his large, defined hand, your thumb soothingly rubbing vertical strokes on his metacarpal. Fred’s knees were nearly level with your chest once he was securely seated; the lap bar was generous with your wiggle room, but you didn’t mind, as long as Fred felt safe.

Fred’s hand’s grip was tight on yours’; you could feel his heart pump through each of his branchy veins rapidly. He asked seconds before the train was off to slowly climb the first daunting hill, “promise me you won’t let go?”

“I’ll never let you go, promise.”

The next approximately two minutes of ride time were a fantastic blur, just as magical as anything the Wizarding World had to offer. Streaks of golden lights shone around snippets of swirling orange tracks that subjected your body to addicting G force. Your weightless figure flew up and down serpent-esque hills and valleys, you were firmly pressed into your seat, hair hanging down in a flame shape on loopty-loops, and on corkscrews you swear your insides were rearranged.

As promised, you didn’t let go of Fred, in fact the opposite. On the first steep drop, he mustered the courage to hold your intertwined fingers above his head as he emitted a bellowing scream of raw pleasure. He submitted to the following expertly engineered twists and turns, letting his lanky body swish and fly at the mercy of the ride. It felt like a fierce match of Quidditch to him, except for the fact that his eyes were scrunched closed with joy, not open and alert for Bludgers. 

Once Fireball came to an impossibly speedy ending, reality smacked you like a bus. As you got up from your seat to exit the dock, your legs wobbled and shook due to the copious amounts of adrenaline coursing through your veins. You concernedly surveyed Fred, who graciously supported you out of the station.

You peeled your awe tingling lips open to ask how he felt, and almost physically, he uttered a single, “wicked!” 

“How could I have been ever scared of that? I feel like my bones are shaking inside of me!” he managed to exuberantly smile. He swished his arms back and forth pure joy flooding through him, prickling at his every nerve.

“I’m so glad you had fun, Freddie.”

“Thanks for helping me, y’know, have fun, let loose. I feel alive in a way I never have before, it’s insane!”

“I think we may be able to squeeze in one more ride. Wanna go for round 2?”

Fred pressed a rough, passionate kiss to your unsuspecting lips, his electric taste overwhelming you, coating every inch of yourself with red-hot desire, a new and welcome sensation that would linger for weeks.

“You know it.”

[rvspberry]

Idk if I’m gonna end up posting this on AO3 because it’s very different from what I usually write.

But below the cut is some Johnny Lawrence sexuality crisis angst with a happy ending if you feel like it. (Heavy Christian themes and Lawrusso ending ahead.)

He was righteous, on high, the Almighty personified. Forgiving, and gracious in victory, and good through and through. Set his mind to something and he could make the whole world come alive.

That’s how Johnny felt at the Tournament, at least, when the entire crowd swarmed the floor and lifted LaRusso onto their shoulders, and Johnny snagged the first place trophy. Handed it up like an offering, a sacrificial lamb — all that Johnny had at stake, all that he’d lost, given freely and openly to this holy being.

The crowd grew louder. Johnny called out, “You’re alright, LaRusso. Good match.”

Got a pained, “Thanks,” in return.

He’d touched someone holy and lived to tell the tale.

~

Once Johnny is at Bobby’s house that night, since Sid and Laura flew to Miami for the week before Christmas, he asks Bobby to pray with him.

“You okay, Johnny?”

Johnny glances up to find worried blue eyes looking over at him, sizing him up — no, not quite. Measuring him, trying to gauge Johnny for what no one could see. Bobby’s eyes are such a different blue than Johnny's, clear and crisp but never cold. Johnny wonders if Bobby sees anything, if Johnny shows anything.

“I just…” Johnny rasps, gripping the glass of water in hand again and taking a hesitant sip. They told him at the hospital that he’d have to rest. Asked if he wanted to press charges, but Johnny just shook his head. “I need some guidance.”

“No better place to look to than to Jesus,” Bobby agrees, reaching out to take Johnny’s hands. He closes his eyes, and Johnny pauses for a brief moment, body going stiff, before he follows suit. Takes a deep breath as Bobby begins. “Our Father, who art in heaven. Hallowed be thy name.”

Daniel.

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” Bobby continues.

Johnny squeezes his eyes tighter and tries not to let his grip tighten, too.

“Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

Please forgive me. Please. Daniel. I’m sorry.

“And lead us not into temptation—”

Daniel’s eyes. His grin, his mouth, his lips. Daniel’s body. The confident smirk when he gets up into Johnny’s face.

“—but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory,” Bobby finishes, squeezing Johnny’s hands. Johnny blinks his eyes open, jaw clenched, to see Bobby giving him a small smile. “Forever and ever. Amen.”

“Amen,” Johnny repeats weakly, clenching his teeth against the urge to cry. To sob.

To throw himself onto the floor and mourn the loss of a life he’d had for years now, the life he’d fought so hard for. The life of a champion, of a winner, the life of a kid from Encino Hills. The life of someone normal, a leader, head dog even though he came into this life late, no rules established, flying blind and feeling his way into his place.

“You’re sure you’re okay, man?”

“I’m not,” Johnny chokes out. Hangs his head.

There are too many thoughts in his head, too much guilt and shame, and he can’t focus on one without the other flaring up to take his attention. Back and forth, back and forth, between Kreese almost killing him and Daniel’s sensei saving him and Daniel winning the match, to needlessly tormenting Daniel all semester and making a bigger ass of himself each and every time. Over and over, like it was on a loop.

“Do you want to pray again?” Bobby asks, voice dropping lower. “Sometimes it helps. The… repetition. Try to focus on the words this time. Focus on God. Let the spirit take you.”

Take me where? Johnny thinks, but he just tightens his hands around Bobby’s and nods.

“Our Father, who art in heaven…”

~

When Bobby leaves at the end of the summer to go to college in Oregon, a special school for religious studies, he leaves Johnny with his new number and a prayer book.

“If things get hard, turn to God,” he reminds Johnny. Pats Johnny’s back while they hug tightly. Johnny hasn’t been apart from Bobby since they became best friends at thirteen, both newly enrolled in Cobra Kai. “God has a plan for all of us, and you can find all your answers in the Lord, man. You just have to be open to hearing them even when they’re not the answers you want.”

Johnny keeps the prayer book. Says a prayer every night. Calls Bobby once a week, like clockwork, and stops drinking. He gets kicked out of Sid’s house when he turns 18 in July, gets a job as a handyman, then starts apprenticing for a carpenter, then starts working construction. It’s hard work but it’s honest work.

~

Every time his eyes turn to one of his coworkers, when they catch on the sweat and grime smeared over their muscles, or the curve of their ass, or the line of their jaw, Johnny recites one of those prayers in his head.

Dear Lord, please give me strength when I am weak, courage when I am afraid, love when I feel forsaken, wisdom when I feel foolish, comfort when I am alone, hope when I feel rejected, and peace when I am in turmoil. Amen.

Every time he gets asked out for drinks by his well-meaning colleagues, he politely declines and spends ten minutes praying in his car after his shift is over, hands blistered, muscles aching.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among sinners and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

Every night, Johnny lays in bed and freestyles his prayers. God needs to know, he probably already knows, but he needs to know that Johnny doesn’t want to be like this. He wants to change. He wants answers. He wants to be open to them, just like Bobby told him.

~

“Go out tonight,” Bobby laughs when Johnny calls him on a Saturday at his usual time. “Just get out and have some fun. Go to a movie. Buy yourself dinner, whatever. Go meet someone. You’re just working and sleeping. You need to live a little, Johnny.”

Is that what God wants me to do? Johnny thought to himself. To go out and find a woman to settle down with? Is that God’s plan?

It’s what Johnny’s supposed to do, right?

“Okay, okay,” Johnny groans into the phone, ready to slam it back onto the receiver when Bobby whoops in elated triumph. “Some good, clean fun. Fitting for the best friend of a pastor’s son.”

~

Johnny goes to the movies. The new sequel to Alien, aptly titled ‘Aliens,’ looks halfway decent. Definitely not a good clean movie, but Johnny can live a little. It’s on its last leg, only playing the earlier showings, so Johnny snags the ticket since he figures he can be mostly alone that way. He loiters in the lobby trying to decide between popcorn or an overpriced box of candy to go with his soda. The bored teen behind the counter pops her gum and rolls her eyes as she waits for him to make up his mind.

He doesn’t fidget as he looks in the glass case, even as much as he wants to. It’s been conditioned out of him.

“Back straight, shoulders down, chin up, Mr. Lawrence.”

“Hey, can I get a large popcorn please?” comes a voice from beside him.

Johnny glances over, shaggy hair whipping around his face, and spots the one person he thought he’d never see again. Daniel LaRusso looks the same as he did before — a little taller, maybe, his long limbs filled out a little more, but still the shrimpy kid who kicked his ass.

Same eyes, same voice, same body.

Same mouth.

Dear Lord, please give me strength—

“Johnny? Johnny Lawrence?!” Daniel’s words cut through his prayer.

Johnny inhales sharply. He has to control himself. Give me the strength when I am weak, courage when I—

“Holy shit, man, look at you,” Daniel laughs, tapping Johnny’s bicep tellingly. A year-plus in construction had done wonders for his body, and his arms in particular. “Like a brick shithouse. Are you on steroids?”

“No, I work construction.” Johnny doesn’t know why his voice sounds so rough. He clears his throat and tries again. “Hi, LaRusso. Small world meeting you here, I guess.”

“Yeah, man! You here with anyone?” Daniel glances around, as if trying to pin someone else in the lobby to Johnny, but there was no one to match him up with. No one to match up Daniel with, either.

“No. You?”

“Flying solo today,” Daniel croons, running his hands down his chest. Johnny blushes and looks up at the ceiling.

Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee—

“What movie are you seeing?” Daniel asks, taking the tub of popcorn from the teen and passing a bill over the counter. He snagged a handful and popped a few butter-soaked pieces into his mouth.

“Uh…” Johnny glances down at his ticket. “Aliens.”

“No way! Me too!” Daniel says around chewing the popcorn. He pauses and looks at Johnny with his head cocked curiously. “You wanna watch it together?”

~

O, my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended You. I detest all my sins because of your just punishments, but most of all because they offend you, My God, who are all good and worthy of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Your grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasions of sin. Amen.

~

The movie theater is empty. There’s butter on Daniel’s bottom lip, shining in the dimly lit room. Johnny licks it off in the black silence of the end credits.

Kissing Daniel feels like coming home. It feels like touching something divine, and Johnny’s stained gold in all the places they touch.

Is this God’s plan? Johnny asks himself. Daniel’s fingers tug at his hair, nails scraping gently over his scalp. Johnny pulls Daniel across the seat and into his lap as he swallows Daniel’s moan.

Below Johnny’s hands, Daniel feels like an answer.

[marvelobsessedteenager]

All The Hurt - Chapter 5

Pairing: Peter Parker x fem!reader

Warnings: ANGST, Peter was an ass, reader is a hurt and petty bitch, fluff to make up for the angst, curse words, lots of “coincidences”

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: had to make this one short because the next one is hella long

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Phew, all right,” you wheezed through fast pants as you finally reached the computer room, hand numb and aching from the dripping ice pack in your palm, “you need to explain to me what’s happening. Because- man, I’m out of shape.” You placed your hands on your hips and bent slightly for a moment, taking a huge gulp of air before marching over to Ned and giving him the pack, “I’m confused as fuck, Ned.”

One of his hands continued its work while the other reached out to grab the pack. His fingers continued to type away with speed you’d never seen before as he spoke, eyes never leaving the screen, "Okay, long story short, the day you were at the bodega-” you flinched, “-was the same day that bank was robbed using high tech weapons. Those weapons were part human and part alien, and were being created by a dude who has wings on his back. Peter found out that that guy is Liz’s dad, and now Peter’s going after him to stop him from selling even more weapons.”

He hissed as he placed the ice on his eye. You blinked, nodding once as you felt entranced by the layered codes on Ned’s screen. It was weird how you understood it and read them like they were normal words and letters. You mentally thanked your summer coding camp for the extra knowledge. "I..feel like there’s a lot more to the story than that but yeah, okay, I got it.”

A buzzing from your purse interrupted your entrancement. You shook your head and opened your purse, pulling out your vibrating phone.

Incoming call from..Flash.

You furrowed your eyebrows and rolled your eyes, taking a seat across from Ned and starting up your own computer, "Now’s really not a good time, E.”

"It’s not Flash, it’s Peter!” Peter practically screamed, making you wince from his panic-stricken voice and loud background noise that was filled with New York’s most obnoxious honks.

"Wha- did you steal Flash’s phone?” You asked incredulously, putting him on speaker while you typed away, hearing the same swift clicking coming from Ned’s side.

“No! I asked him for it!” He paused for a moment, “And his car!”

“What?!”

“You stole Flash’s car?” Ned asked, jaw-dropping and eye-widening in amazement, “Cool!”

“Yeah, it’s awesome, it’s awesome!”

"Peter! You’ve never driven before! How can you be driving?!” You scolded, suddenly feeling a twist in your gut at the thought of an accident due to his lack of experience in driving. Peter was never one to make impulsive decisions as dangerous as this. You guessed he changed over the months that passed.

"I know, this is a really big step for me and- ahhhhh! Get out of the way! Get out of the way!” Your hands froze in their place as you awaited a crash with a thundering heart, but it never came, which made you sigh in relief. The engine’s sound increased in volume as the car accelerated, but Peter’s voice was still louder, "I can’t see anything in this car!"

"Which car did you..borrow?” You asked, fingers returning back to work. You figured if you could help him, he’d get out of the vehicle at a much faster rate, and all you wanted to do was keep him safe and unharmed.

"How many does he own?” Peter asked in awe, honking the horn multiple times and screaming a couple of‘ move’s!

"Not important right now! What’s the logo of the car?"

"The four Olympic circle thingies."

"An Audi.” You said under your breath. Thank God, you thought, a car I'm familiar with, “Do you know how to turn the headlights on?

"No!"

"There’s a knob on the left of the steering wheel. Turn it clockwise.”

Peter repeated your instructions, and released a small laugh of victory, ”How’s Ned doing with Happy?”

“Uh,” You peeked over your screen, noticing beads of sweat form on Ned's forehead, even with the cool ice helping his eye, “Ned?”

"Getting to him..” He said, not paying you any attention.

"Have you found my phone yet?” Peter asked.

"Working on it, sit tight,” you replied, finally seeing a moving blue dot pop up on your screen, "He’s on Jackson Avenue and 48th Street."

“Perfect! And Happy?”

You once again awaited Ned’s answer, and worried when a distressed look flashed upon his face, “He hung up on me.” He frowned, "I’ll try again.”

You looked back down at your screen and realized that the blue dot had suddenly stopped moving. You squinted, “Hey, he stopped at 10th street and 43rd avenue in Brooklyn.”

"What? That makes no sense!"

"Welcome to my world,” you mumbled, hearing a small chuckle come from Ned before he focused on talking to Happy again.

“He said he was going out of town!” Peter explained, obviously having heard you, but it did nothing to diffuse your confusion. Why would Liz’s dad stop in Brooklyn when he said he was leaving?

"Weird..” You commented, rubbing your eyebrow as you started to feel the pressure. Jesus Christ, is this what Peter goes through?

“Dammit,” Ned muttered, catching your attention, "Happy sounded like he was catching a flight,” he said, “he mentioned something about taking off in nine minutes."

"What?” You and Peter simultaneously said, and you fought the butterflies that made their way to your stomach. Now’s not the time.

"He was surrounded by a bunch of boxes,” Ned clarified.

“Boxes?” Peter wondered out loud, and you were sure you could see his face as he put two and two together, "It’s moving day! It’s moving day, it’s moving day, he’s gonna rob that plane, I gotta stop him! Shit, I don’t know how to get the directions on this car.”

You jumped at the chance to help again, pleased that Peter finally had a destination to get to, "I’ve got his location, I’ll lead you.” You pulled up Flash’s location from the Find My Friends app, eyes jumping back and forth between your phone and the computer’s screen as you voiced the directions to Peter.

Peter’s foot pressed harder on the gas pedal, causing too much skidding, and you had to try your best to hold your tongue as to not to be a backseat driver. You wondered if you were in the position to berate Peter for impulsively stealing Flash’s possessions and driving recklessly. You found it amusing that the crime fighting Spider-Man had committed two crimes as of tonight.

"Slow down, there’s a right turn up ahead. You’re gonna take it.” You directed, just as Peter’s dot passed his exit, "Parker! Turn right, turn right!”

Peter screamed as the engine roared and the car skidded so loud you were barely able to hear his web shoot out. Your eyes widened in fear as you heard metal grinding against the concrete before coming to a halt with a harsh thump. Peter’s hasty breathing seemed match yours.

"Are you okay?!” You and Ned asked, your voice cracking and brain melting.

"I’m okay.” He breathed, making you drop your head in relief, shoulders easing up, "Just keep trying to get through to Happy.”

"It’s been an honor, Spider-Man.” Ned saluted, and you gave him a look of disapproval.

But then you both turned your heads at the piercing sound of high heels clicking in the hallways that were getting louder as the person headed in your direction. Ned’s face became as white as a sheet, surely matching yours.

'What do we do?' He mouthed, eyes rapidly bouncing back and forth between the door and you.

You bit your lip and glanced at the door before sighing and getting on your feet, “I’ll distract her,” You whispered, removing all traces from the computer, “keep calling Happy.”

Ned nodded in affirmation as you straightened out your dress and took a deep breath, cautiously opening the computer room’s door and stepping outside. Ms.Warren was peeping into the science lab across the computer room, and you took this as your chance to make it look like you were just making your way in.

She turned around and jumped, “Jesus!” She placed a hand on her chest, “What are you doing-“

She stepped closer and squinted at your figure in the dark, “Y/n,” she seethed.

She said your name with poison dancing on her tongue, causing a deep frown to settle between her eyebrows as she popped her hip and crossed her arms, "What are you doing here? There’s a dance, and you know it’s prohibited to be in this area.”

“I know, Ms.Warren,” you surpassed the urge to literally bite this woman’s head off and pretended to be vulnerable for a moment. You looked down at your feet, trying to conjure up an excuse that was easy to believe - Ms.Warren wasn’t exactly gullible, and wasn’t fond of you, either. Your reputation for causing trouble in her class cost you her trust, but you frankly couldn’t give a fuck. Plus, it was fun to mess around with her, what’s one more time?

“I just..” Your mind went blank as her eyes searched yours, a small glint of mischief shining in them. Oh, you bet she fantasized about the day she’d get you expelled from Midtown, but you weren’t ever going to let her see that day. So, you did what you always did when you got into trouble.

Play the absent parents' card.

“I just..I just w-wanted to call my dad. It’s quiet in here.” You said, faking your wobbly voice. No teacher liked it when they had to deal with crying students, especially those who hid the fact that they had no role models around them, like yourself. A look of confusion flashed in her eyes.

You were getting somewhere.

“It’s just..h-he’s been gone for so long, Ms. Warren, and I never see him. He called me tonight, and he never has before.” You fiddled with the ends of your hair, “What if he tells me he’s here? Here to see me? While I’m partying down t-there?” You sniffed for extra effect, somehow feeling your eyes swell with tears.

Weird.

You took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling to make it look like you were trying to hold yourself from falling apart, “I-I just wanted to call him,” you repeated, thickening your voice even more, “maybe he’ll apologize for never being there for me, especially after m-mom left us when I was ten.” You were almost impressed with yourself as you felt hot tears run down your face, traced with the mascara you applied before coming here.

In Ms.Warren’s shadow, you could tell her eyebrows were furrowed, and she was looking anywhere but you, clearly trying to choose between two options.

“I’ve never had a parent in my life.” You pushed, "No one taught me how to ride a bike, or swim, a-and I feel so left out because all the other kids have parents and I don’t!”

You grabbed onto her arms, looking her dead in the eye, “Please, please, just let me piece my life back together. Let me call him.”

For a moment, you swore you saw her demeanor soften. Just a moment where you felt like she understood you, not pitied you. But, just as quick as it came, it disappeared when she cleared her throat and looked around.

“Okay, okay.” She sighed, "But make it quick,” she stepped back from your grasp, ready to bolt, but you took the chance to make her slightly more uneasy.

What?

This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, of course you were going to take it.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” You sprung into her, arms folding around her tightly as she stiffened, clearly feeling uncomfortable about the affection you were displaying. You breathed in through your nose, hard, and nearly laughed when you felt her hands on your shoulders, trying to peel you off of her with a face of disgust.

“Don’t mention it, s-sweetie.” She said, discreetly rubbing her hands on her dress, "You better go now before your dad gets busy again.”

“You're right, you’re right."

And for your final act, you pretended to sniff and wipe your nose with your arm, catching Ms. Warrner’s eye twitch. She was known for being a massive germaphobe, which really only came in handy during her class - until now.

She cleared her throat once again, turned around, and marched down the hallway, practically running away from you until she was gone. You placed a hand over your mouth, muffling your giggles as you entered the computer room once again, slowly closing the door behind you.

“She’s gone?” Ned swiveled in his chair to face you, cracking a smile when you happily nodded and wiped at your face.

“How about you? What’d Happy say?” You walked over to him, running your eyes over the lengthy call history, which was mainly filled with declined calls from your side.

“Um,” Ned rubbed his arm in shame, “he cursed. A lot. And he..he blocked me,”

Your face dropped, hearing Ned sigh and imitating him.

“What do we do now?” Ned asked, desperate as ever.

You waited for a moment, feeling a lightbulb go off in your head as you rushed to the other side and opened your phone.

“Give me his number,” You said, dialing the number Ned voiced to you and putting him on speaker. You crossed your fingers and waited for him to pick up, each ring only causing you more anxiety.

“Yeah?” Happy said, sounding quite annoyed.

“Well, damn, you don’t sound like a Happy to me. You sound like a grumpy.” You rolled your eyes, immediately regretting what you said.

“Not this shit again,” He said angrily, and you were pretty sure he was going to hang up, making you panic all over again.

“Someone’s going to steal Mr. Stark’s shit!” You blurted, wincing when you heard nothing from the other line for a moment. You were going to check if he hung up on you when you heard a, “what?”

“T-the plane!” You exclaimed, "The plane with all of Tony’s stuff! There’s a guy who’s going to steal it and Parker’s going to stop him!”

“You know what? How about you tell Parker that he has some delusional, weird fr-“ His voice suddenly faded out, “Holy shit.” He breathed.

“What? What happened?”

"The plane just crashed.”

Your heart dropped to the feet as the color drained from your face, feeling the blood rushing through your ears and fear spiking in your chest. Somehow, somehow, you knew Peter was where the crash was, and you feared the worst possible outcome. You didn’t even hang up as you rounded the table, picked up your keys, and ran out the door.

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tags: @peachescream06

[imagineddworld]

Favorite victim

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: You are Fred’s favorite prank victim, which creates a lot of hatred towards one another. Until a mistletoe proofs you both wrong.

Word count: 2 k (2000) 

Author’s note: I am so sorry for being this unactive. Also sorry for the lack of quality. University is taking up all my time and has given me a headache that lasts for a week already. Thanks for understanding. I hope you enjoy this shorter fic.x

You and Fred had a complex friendship, if it even could be considered that. He always seemed to take the piss with you. For some unknown reason you were his favorite pranking victim. It all had started innocent. Hiding your ties, placing your books at the highest shelves that were impossible to reach, and switching your ropes with one of the other houses. Putting potions in your food that made it taste odd, made you sneeze, and made your voice a high pitched squeak. But over time they became more evil. The potions no longer got their innocence. They coloured your hair in plenty vibrant colours, made your nose bleed, and made you cough up feathers. The twins put traps everywhere, so you would trip and get covered in a thick, stinky liquid. In class they made your books explode, messed up your potions so you would end up with a loud explosion to the face and getting covered with whatever concoction was in the cauldron. 

It was getting out of hand. Last week they had replaced your soap with one of their own brewed ones. It was supposed to make your head purple, but instead you had started to swell up. Your face felt as if it was about to pop. You angrily approached them during breakfast. “Thanks a lot mate. Good luck explaining to McGonagall why I can’t attend her class”, you threw the soap at them, shaking your head in disappointment. “This hurts a lot”, you said through gritted teeth, before leaving them. You quickly headed over to the hospital wing for the umpteenth time. Later on you found out that you had a bad allergic reaction to one of the oils the twins had put in their soap. Your swelling first got worse, before it vanished. You barely could open your eyes and breathing had became difficult too, but luckily it faded soon enough. Their stupid little prank had resulted in you spending a good few days in the hospital wing. As soon as you were released form your bedrest, you gave the twins a lecture about the dangers of their pranks. Luckily for you they never used that oil ever again. But they managed to cross the line many more times in various other ways. You started to grow more hatred towards the beloved twins. One day they would actually kill you. 

Today they had stolen your alarm clock. You were woken up by annoyingly loud ticking noises coming from your closet. Over time it grew louder and more unbearable. As if being late wasn’t bad enough, they also had to steal all your clothes and replace them by those idiotic toys. They didn’t even had any specific shape, just odd metal forms. As if a robot and car got merged together but had melted during the process. After you finally found some clothes, hidden somewhere safe, you stormed out in search for the redheads. They were sat in the common room, happily chatting with some other students. “Weasley!”, you slammed the door shut behind you, angrily stumping your feet on the ground as you made your way over to him.  “I swear to Merlin, If i find another of your stupid little - toys- I will personally stick all of them up your throat till you choke to death”. As you were yelling at Fred, you had earned the attention of the whole common room. Even if the constant bickering had become a daily routine, they still waited impatiently for the scene in front of them to unravel into your usual fights. “Wow (Y/n), relax”, Fred showed his famous smirk. He stood up, meeting you halfway of the common room. He towered over your small frame, looking challenging into your eyes. But two could play his game, you didn’t budged as you gave him your darkest, murderous glare. You raised your eyebrow as a signal for him to explain himself, already knowing that only nonsense would be spewing from his mouth. “It was just a joke. Not even a dangerous one-”, the last part of his sentence got cut off by a loud exploding sound coming from the girls sleeping room. Or more specific, your closet. At the same time, the toy in your hand had exploded as well. You let out a scream of shock, while throwing the lightly smoking object to where Fred’s feet were. He jumped as a reflex. His face turned angry for a slight moment, but you could care less. You were beyond furious. The day were he would succeed in killing you, would came sooner than you had thought. “Not dangerous?! Not da-dan- Are you joking me?!”, you stuttered due to your overwhelming emotions, mostly furiousness and hatred. “Well, that’s kind of the point”, he cocked as if nothing had happened. As if he didn’t just could have injured someone really badly with his stupid prank. “I still could have been in there”, you said, hitting him on the chest to have more impact on him. “Someone could have gotten hurt, or worse -” Which each word that left your mouth, you hit him a bit harder. But he didn’t moved at all, he just grinned down at you. As a foolish idiot, loving the sight of your angered state. His smug face only made your anger worse. Nothing would ever sink in his brain, he just brushed it off. You wanted to comment on it, but found yourself unable to. You were just going to waste your time, so you decided to storm off to somewhere you wouldn’t need to see his face again. Somewhere you could calm down. 

Once you vanished out of the room and the watching crowd returned back to their daily routines, George stepped up to his brother. “Well well, Freddy. You know we are meant to play nice”, he smiled with a hint of a smirk hiding in the corner of his lip. “Shut it. I’ll play nice when she does”, He glowered, looking like a grumpy little child. “Oooh, so you want her to play nice with you”, George teased, as he wiggled his eyebrows at his twin. “Shut up”, Fred responded again, leaving his twin alone. George just smiled and shook his head at the foolishness of his brother. 

Luckily for you, you didn’t saw Fred’s face until your study session. You were nearly done with your potions essay, when a huge amount of ink fell out of the sky. Your clothes were soaked by the black liquid. As you looked down to your desk, you saw your essay covered in huge spots. “Noo”, you said a bit too loud, voice lightly cracking from your exhaustion. Your head shot towards the chuckling sound. “You”, you spat out, as if he were a poison in your mouth. You murderously glared at Fred while approaching him. “What have I done”, he smiled innocent. You bit down on your teeth, clenching your jaw. It was hard not to slap him across the face right now. You dug your fingernails into your palm, while deeply breathing in. “Do I really need to explain it?!”, you grumbled through gritted teeth. “Be my guest”, he smiled, beaming with excitement and mischief. His hands rested on his hips with much attitude. “You- Ruined - My- Essay”, with each word you stepped forwards, closing the gap between the two of you. You slapped your essay onto his chest, staining his clothes with the black ink. “I’ve spent days on it. And you know for a fact that Snape won’t care”, you pushed him away from you, making him stumble the slightest bit. “Ruin your own essay for once”, you said in a small voice, as the previous event slowly started to sink in. You were devastated, all your hard work was for nothing. Your eyes started to water a little. You were exhausted, not only from the long nights you had spend on the now ruined essay; but also because of how draining these pranks had gotten. Ever one of them gave you more reasons to hate these beloved twins.

As you looked up from your ink-covered hands, you saw Fred with a dumbfounded look on his face. Only seconds ago, he was beaming with joy. “What?”, you asked harsh, but nowhere near the intensity it usual would have. He gave no response, so you sighed and tried to walk off. But you found yourself unable to do so. A force kept you in place. “What do you want?”, you muttered in a mix of anger and despair. You were too exhausted and too distressed to have a fight. “Just let me go”, you said with a much softer voice. You were still turned away from him, as you were trying to hold in your tears. “I don’t have a hold of you... I thought you had a hold on me”, he said slow, confusion knitting his eyebrows together. “What? Why would I-”, you started, turning your head back in his direction. As you eyes trailed to his face, you caught sight of something green above Fred’s head. You let out a frustrated sight as you realized what it was. Stupid mistletoe and its bright green leaves.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, totally over this whole situation. You desperately tried to free yourself with some spells. But the mistletoe wouldn’t move, neither could any of you. “(Y/n), you know that won’t work. You should know that. You are lots better at charms than me”, Fred said, sounding sincere. A unexpected heat raised to your face. Fred Weasley just had given you a compliment, what a rarity. “But we need a way to get out of here before any teacher catches us out past curfew”. You used the lame excuse. You truly didn’t care if you were out past curfew or even got caught. You just wanted to get away from Fred before he could pick up on your emotions. Not that he would care. Everything just seemed to be a joke to him, surely when it included you. “I know a way”, he responded casually. But you were unimpressed, showing it clearly with your facial expressions. “Trust me, okay?”, he muttered softly, his voice almost coming out as a whisper. His big hand cupped your cheek, leaving a warmth at the place where your skins touched. “Just this once”, you replied, before his sweet lips pressed against yours. His other hand went to the small of your back, pulling your body tighter to his chest. Your hands lightly tugged on the fabric his shirt, staining it even more with the black liquid. Neither of you caring how big of a mess it would be. 

The kiss lasted longer than you had expected. You melted in his touch, losing yourself in the heavenly kiss. Your hands found their way to his jaw and the back of his neck, leaving a trail of blackness everywhere you had touched his soft skin. Only when you broke apart to breath, you realized what had happened. Your eyes slowly fluttered open. You were met with a grinning Fred, who now also was covered in the black liquid. But you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction he wanted. He was not going to get you that easily. “This changes nothing, Weasley”, you suppressed the smile that desperately wanted to curl your lips upwards. You turned away from him, relieved that you finally could move again. You were about to head over to your belongings, when he pulled you back by your arm. “Well, I think it does, (Y/l/n)”, he grinned the biggest smile he had ever had, “Mistletoe only sticks to people who have feelings for each other”. The smug bastard. Of course he would know such a thing. As he pulled you in for a second kiss, you couldn’t help but smile against his lips.

[joonkorre]

The Boy King

@drarrymicrofic prompt: king

to understand what you’re reading, you have to read my entry for ‘sunset/sunrise’ beforehand. enjoy.

AO3

The Boy King exists in many forms. Three, to be specific. It is a small number, but his subjects can only dream of having more than one restricting form. That is if they can think in the first place, let alone dream. Alas, they cannot. It is why he is the Boy King and not them.

Being the ruler, the Boy King is responsible for watching over his domain. One may think that as he cannot leave the Fourth Layer, it is impossible to do so. One does not know that he has eyes and ears everywhere: below the window sill, hidden in a dusty corner, and inside the walls to name a few. One underestimates him. It is why he is the Boy King and not them.

The Boy King’s will is absolute, his law iron. However, he is fair. His subjects are allowed to have their own spaces and schedules, and their little quirks and needs are addressed. It does not always run smoothly; once in a while, blood is splashed and an eye is taken. But it is the Boy King’s system, and his system always works. It is why he is the Boy King and no one else.

No one else.

Except.

He is not omnipotent. The Boy King has a king of his own.

His master is merciful. Everything is within the Boy King’s control as long as he keeps an eye on the intruders. He cannot keep them from coming in, but he can do unto them whatever he wishes if they break the rules. He just needs to take care of the rule breakers and heathens, the rest can freely traverse his domain. That is all he needs to worry about. His master is merciful.

There is always a ‘but.’

But the Boy King wants more. His power comes with the freedom to do anything he wants, within reason and within closed gates. Therefore, if he wants complete omnipotence, he needs to be completely free. He needs to be free. He needs to be free.

Ever since the day that ridiculous notion entered his head, he has been haunted by visions. They feel like memories, but the Boy King has no history. No before's and after's, only his kingdom and his subjects. And yet, they come anyway like rats in the night. One, a levitating feather. Two, a cloak nowhere to be seen. Three, pure green. Four, five, six, seven, so on and so forth. The eleventh and twenty-fifth contain a freckled face and a mane of curls respectively. They keep appearing in his head, in bits and hints when he opens his eyes and roams his land, in dreams and nightmares when dawn comes and he sleeps. They persist even after he remembers the word ‘friends.’

Then, ‘best friends.’

Then, ‘where are they.’

‘Why don’t they get me.’

‘What good are outlaws if they don’t bring anything of value into my land.’

‘Why can’t they bring my best friends.’

He keeps the interesting ones in his court, but most are awfully boorish. Some even remind him of bad things. Bad people. He drives them out. When he feels like it, he collects their eyes. The Boy King cannot just get help from any intruder he finds.

Something screeches. He does not need to look to know that The Thing is banging on the windows on the Third Level. He never lets it in, because he knows better. Many intruders do not know better, however, and he has to clean up their messes. It is fine. It is simply another duty of the Boy King.

Tonight, the expected crash of glass giving way does not come. The Thing’s limbs slap against the windows as it crawls this way and that, trying to get the intruder’s eyes on it. When it does not get what it wants, it screams louder and slinks its body to other Levels. The Boy King can see its twisting shadow on the floor as it slams on his windows as well. He does not relent, and neither do his other subjects, the knowledge that it will give up impaled in their subconscious. Soon enough, no sign of it remains. His eyes return to the spotless windows, watching another intruder navigate the grounds below. A shadow is stalking her, but that is for her to deal with.

Meanwhile.

The footsteps make no noise. Their owner knows the art of silence and is exceptional at it. The Boy King knows better, for his eyes are watching in the corners and his ears are listening between the tiles.

The Crawlers are slumbering, thus the intruder has nothing to fear. Nevertheless, he is afraid. The Boy King does not mind. Fear is fragrant.

When the footsteps nearly reach the top of the staircase, the Boy King unfolds himself from his seat. He looks at his small hands and short legs. He knows he looks like a child, an infant, even, in the standards of his world. He is not called the Boy King for nothing.

But, he feels like doing something different tonight. His joints pop, his knuckles grind. He arches his back and feels the knobs of his spine knocking against each other. He curls his feet, blood rushing to his throat. One moment, his head feels overinflated, overstretched, and the next, he is fine. He is taller now, his jaw sharpened, his neck thick. He spreads his fingers then clenches them into fists.

The shift is unpleasant, but he likes this form. His power is challenged less often when he is no longer a child.

A bright burst of light comes from behind him. Ah, the intruder is here. The Boy King turns around to face him.

The hand holding the flashlight shivers before righting itself. Intruders always wear a uniform, for some reason, and this one is no different. And yet, this one is quite different, indeed.

His hair is of the lightest shade of blonde, akin to snow. His skin is tan, littered with scars and tattoos, but something tells the Boy King that it used to be paler than ever. Unmarked, unmarred. His silver eyes are glassy under the moonlight, to the point where they seem transparent.

Rage piles up in the depths of the Boy King’s stomach. He keeps remembering something—something!—but he cannot understand what. All he knows is that this man is here to see to the Boy King’s demise.

The lips of tonight’s intruder form a two-syllable word, the bottom one trembling.

“P-Potter.”

The Boy King does not know what it means. Murderous anger subsides for a moment. No intruder has called him that before.

How strange.

Should he keep this one alive?

“Come,” the Boy King tilts his head. “Let’s take a walk.”

The intruder flinches. His feet shuffle like they will back away from the Boy King. His eyes pin on those feet, and they stop moving. The intruder quivers like an old branch trying not to succumb to a thunderstorm. Then, he straightens and squares his shoulders. His eyes narrow. Interesting.

Despite himself, the Boy King is curious. He hides a smile.

“Sure,” the intruder’s hand clenches around his flashlight. “Lead the way.”

The Boy King leads them both through the dark.

[elsonambulo]

@rvspberryjvm wanted finger kink, so he gets finger kink with a little breathplay in the form of Terry/Johnny.

Tbh I'm not sure this qualifies as finger kink? Not even sure this is sexy but I tried and I felt evil and cackled writing it so that's enough for me for now :3

The thing about Terry Silver is that his hands don't seem like they should belong to him until you realize there's no other hands he could have.

Not that Johnny spends a lot of time thinking about Terry's hands. Of course not. It's just hard to not give them at least a passing thought when Terry likes putting them all over him.

"Where's your head at, pretty boy?" Fingers curl in Johnny's hair and pull his head back, and he bites his lip to keep from making a sound. He's already being fucked on all fours and clearly into it; he doesn't need to give Terry another reason to feel smug. Above and behind him, the man in question lets out an amused sound.

"You know I like it when I can hear you," he says. Johnny doesn't bother to open his mouth, because he knows what Terry also likes; a few seconds later Terry's other hand lets go of his hip and reaches forward to grasp his jaw instead, forcing it open. The moan Johnny lets out is definitely a sound he's heard from himself often since starting this thing with Terry, but it doesn't make it any less embarrassing.

A hoarse whisper in his ear: "That's right, there's my good boy," before his hair is let go, the fingers on his jaw tightening as if to make up for the small mercy. Their grasp loosens for just a second, but only so Terry can shove two of them in Johnny's mouth, and Johnny can't help himself: he starts sucking.

Because when Johnny had first shaken hands with Terry, he had been surprised. The man had stocky hands, not at all elegant, but his long fingers curled around Johnny's hand like they could envelop it if Terry willed it so. No calluses, but not really smooth either. Not a working man's hands, but not the prissy lotioned up things Johnny would expect from a man who dressed to the nines either.

From there he couldn't help but notice them, and Terry clearly caught on, because he took every opportunity to brush a hand on Johnny's arm, fix his collar condescendingly, even ruffle his hair once or twice while Daniel seethed somewhere behind him. 

And if he couldn't touch Johnny, Terry made sure to keep his hands front and center: twirling a pen, holding a coffee cup, patting down his ascot. It drove Johnny insane, until the day he decided to confront Terry after hours in the Cobra Kai dojo, and Terry had popped up out of the shadows and put him on his back from one second to the next. He had the gall to not even say anything, just grinned at Johnny, put a knee on his stomach, and proceeded to undo his own slacks with careful precision; fished his hard cock out and started stroking slowly with those long thick fingers while Johnny could do nothing but watch.

Terry came all over his fingers and all over Johnny's shirt, didn't even bother to clean up before standing up and tucking himself back into his slacks. "I'll be seeing you, Mr. Lawrence," he had said, grinning with all his teeth before turning away to walk into the office, his fingers still dripping with his own cum.

A primal, desperate part of Johnny thinks he's been trying to suck the taste from Terry's fingers ever since that night, begging for what he was denied even now that they've done more than just a one-sided jerk off session. 

Terry forces another finger into the O of his mouth, just for a little bit, then wrenches his hand away so he can grab both of Johnny's hips as he fucks him faster. Johnny whimpers, and at this point he doesn't know if it's more from his mouth being suddenly emptied or from being fucked so hard. It hurts almost, but Johnny breathes and moans through it. He's not a pussy.

Besides, he knows if he takes it like Terry likes him to, Terry will reward him in turn.

It isn't long before Terry comes, draping himself all over Johnny's back and bites at the back of his neck, just below the fuzz of his hair. Johnny cries out, and Terry laughs shortly, still grinding into Johnny slowly, working his release in as far as it will go.

He pulls out and flips Johnny onto his back, making sure to keep his legs spread like Johnny's some blushing maiden who's going to get shy on him all of a sudden. Johnny doesn't really care; all he cares about is the pleased smile on Terry's face, the one that means not even a drop of cum has left Johnny's hole yet. 

Terry leans over him and kisses him, soft and slow, muttering praise into his mouth while Johnny simultaneously tries not to melt under him and not hurry him along. Luckily for him, Terry must be feeling generous tonight, because he backs off after a few seconds and then slowly slides a finger into Johnny's hole, slides it out, and then slides back in with two.

Johnny throws his head back. This - this is what he likes, for Terry's fingers to reach deep inside him, stretch him out even after he's already taken dick, make him feel the bumps of his knuckles and the pads of his fingers as he gets all his cum out. A dick is almost too smooth for Johnny - something Terry picked up on fairly early into this thing of theirs, which is why they always do it like this. Terry gets to manhandle Johnny, come inside him, and then gets to move him around some more as Johnny gets what he came for.

And see, Johnny would feel ashamed, has felt ashamed, at how he wants to know that something foreign is in his body (none of that romance novel crap, where people fit their bodies together like two puzzle pieces. No. Johnny wants the uneven spread, the slight discomfort of several somethings moving within him). But it turns him on a little, to feel the slight humiliation, to know he's good for it as long as he can physically feel that it isn't supposed to be there.

Aside from that, nothing can really be more shameful than getting it on with your psycho former sensei's equally psychotic sugar daddy (benefactor, Daniel always insists, but Daniel is weirdly stuck up about anything to do with Terry Silver, though he won't explain why. Johnny gets a little thrill thinking that maybe Daniel noticed Terry's hands too, and is jealous.)

Terry's up to three fingers now, and Johnny wriggles from the oversensitivity, but clenches around him all the same. He wants to come, needs to come; a little pain is worth it. Terry laughs, at him not with him, and Johnny's face burns even before Terry slides a hand up his torso and pinches one of his nipples.

"Fuck," Johnny breathes out, then does it again, louder when Terry punches in with his spread out fingers and bites his other nipple at the same time.

He feels his cock throb, and God he's so so close, he can feel it, he just needs Terry to slide in a fourth finger, maybe even a fifth and he'll be good to go.

But of course Terry doesn't do that, because Terry's a sadistic bastard. Slowly, so Johnny knows exactly what's going to happen here, Terry slides his hand up to Johnny's throat and lets it rest there. Johnny's breath catches, and he feels tears spring into his eyes- tears he successfully withheld until now. That must be why Terry decided to do this.

The thing is, Terry likes seeing Johnny cry, and Johnny likes not giving him the satisfaction if he can help it. And in the end, Johnny can never help it, because if nothing else works, Terry will pull out his trump card.

The hand is still just there, not doing anything, even as Terry's other hand is busy between Johnny's legs. Johnny clears his throat, and still his voice comes out raspy as he whispers, "Please."

Please not this. Please do it. Please don't bring this here. Please replace his fingers with yours.

Terry licks his teeth, a predator playing with its food, and before Johnny can wonder for the millionth time how Terry Silver can make him feel like the prey animal he isn't, the hand squeezes at his throat, lightly at first and then tighter, tighter, tighter.

Johnny gasps for air, he can feel his face turning red, and he wants to claw at Terry's hand but he clenches the bedsheets instead, arching up into the hold and riding Terry's still moving fingers. No mercy, not even for yourself.

Terry laughs again, this time loud and delighted, and he pins Johnny with his gaze the way he's got his body pinned at two opposing points, and that's how Johnny comes, staring into wild eyes and sobbing from the intensity of it.

The fingers in him jab at him one last time, the fingers around his neck squeeze once more, before Terry pulls away and pats his thigh in a mockery of care, making sure to smear cum on it. "Good job, golden boy. I can always count on you for a good time." Johnny flushes, but still silently sends out thanks to whatever higher power there might be for Terry not pulling out the nickname during sex. It's happened before and Johnny always comes immediately, and that particular shame isn't one he really likes to visit. 

He lies there, catching his breath, already knowing he's about to knock out, and he thinks that maybe next time he gets fucked like this, he wants to wake up to it already happening. Terry would like that, probably.

He very carefully doesn't think about how this thing between them was never meant for planning ahead.

[writer-k-pop]

Picnic

식이오법에 최소한 약간의 야채가 필요해. You need at least some veggies in your diet. 

Description: Just going on a picnic with Mingyu because Mingyu deserves the fluff and love.  Warnings: None Genre: Fluff, BF!Mingyu x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1.9k

Seventeen Masterlist | Masterlists

"MINGYU!" You yell and his head pops into the doorway, eyes bright with excitement.

"Yes?" He coos at you with a silly smile.

"Did you grab the portable charger?" You ask, a hand still resting on the open drawer where the charger should've been.

Mingyu quickly nods his head, "Yeah, it was the first thing I packed."

You pout, "Could've told me." Closing the draw, you pick up your purse from the bed and walk towards the human embodiment of a puppy you get to call your boyfriend.

"I did." He pouts back when you reach him, "But I think you were busy wrestling with the blanket."

You search your brain for the memory of his voice telling you he packed the charger but your brain sits silent. "I definitely didn't hear you."

"Get better at hearing then." Mingyu jokes and wiggles the tip of your ear between his fingers.

You bat his hand away, "Maybe you need to get a louder voice." You joke back.

As you take a step towards the door, Mingyu sucks in a large breath, preparing to do just that. Quickly, you realize what he's doing and leap to cover his mouth with both your hands.

"No need for it right now, though." You say softly and Mingyu's shoulders shake with a muffled chuckle while his squinting eyes mirror the laughter.

Mingyu lowers your hands and reveals the smile on his lips. "We should probably get going so we can find a good spot." He reasons and walks past you to grab the picnic basket filled with your dinner, drinks, and some desserts for after.

You silently agree and grab the blanket, all zipped up in its built-in bag. As you walk out of your apartment, Mingyu's excitement grows steadily. You can see it in the way his hand opens and closes around the picnic basket's handle and in the way he takes a few tiny fluttering steps after every few steps. You can feel it in the way his hand holds yours tightly and how he swings your intertwined hands between the two of you.

"Do you think there'll be a lot of people?" You ask, watching as most of the people around you head in the opposite direction with similar accessories as you and Mingyu.

Mingyu shakes his head, his eyes following two children as they laugh happily, "It hardly ever is and I don't think the holiday is going to change that."

You nod, "Okay, if you say so."

"I know so." He sasses with a smirk.

Rolling your eyes, you let out an airy laugh, "Whatever."

"See, what did I tell you?" Mingyu lifts both of his hands, gesturing at the empty park in front of you.

You smile and nod in agreement, "You were right."

He skips ahead a couple steps, "Let's set up over here. We'll be able to see everything from here." Mingyu stops just before the hill breaks away and sets down the picnic basket.

Making your way over, you take in the view. The city is spread around the park and the river splits the city right down the middle. Along the river banks, people mill around while they spend the evening with their friends or family, enjoying a meal and waiting for the fireworks. From up here, you'd be able to see the whole show and your ears wouldn't be terrorized with the explosions.

"Ack!" Mingyu yelps in surprise. You break from your thoughts and look over at him. Somehow, he slipped the blanket out of your grasp and was attempting to lay it out but the slight breeze had other plans. The unfurled blanket is now sliding down his front side and an unimpressed expression paints his face.

You press your lips together to suppress a laugh but a smile still shows.

"Help please." He pouts holding out the crumpled blanket.

"Okay." You nod and pick up the two corners he's not holding. Within seconds, the two of you have got the blanket flat against the ground. Clambering onto the blanket, you use your shoes to hold down two of the corners while Mingyu copies your actions.

"I wonder why no one ever comes here to watch the show." You wonder as Mingyu begins pulling items out of the basket. "It's such a good spot."

Mingyu hands you a container of pasta and answers, "It's pretty far away and I guess most people like to be down there with all the other people." He holds out a fork and you pluck it out of his hands.

"Lucky for us that we don't mind being alone then." You smile happily.

"Very lucky for us." Mingyu repeats before taking a large bite of pasta. "Mmm," He hums happily, "This is so good. I'm such a good cook."

"I helped!" You retort, twirling red stained noodles around your fork.

Mingyu swallows and nods, "Right, and my sous chef did an amazing job of opening the noodle box and placing the noddles in the boiling water."

You roll your eyes but let the comment slide and bring a bite of pasta into your mouth. "Who's recipe is this?" You question, taking in the flavors as you chewed.

"Uh, I found it on the internet on a blog of some sorts. Though I tweaked it a little cause I know you don't like some of the things that were listed." Mingyu explains before taking another bite himself. "OH!" He mumbles with pasta hanging from his mouth. Quickly slurping up the noodles, he reaches back into the basket and pulls out two more containers of food.

One container holds garlic bread and the other a simple salad.

Picking up a piece of garlic bread, you hum happily, "I was starting to think we were forgetting a pivotal side dish."

"I would NEVER forget the garlic bread." Mingyu feigns offense that you would even think that about him, "Also make sure to eat some salad. You need the veggies."

"Mingyu." You state and straighten your back.

"(y/n)." He mimics you while righting back a smile.

"When eating pasta, the only thing needed to complete the meal is good bread to dip into the sauce." You argue, "Salads were never invited to the carb party and I don't know when they decided to show up but I'm not giving into their presence. And you can't make me." You point your fork at Mingyu, teasingly.

Mingyu's mouth twitches into a playful smirk and his eyes sparkle with the laughter he's holding back. "But eating all those carbs isn't really that good for your health. You need at least some veggies in your diet."

"I eat veggies!" You counter, spinning more pasta around your fork.

Mingyu chuckles, "Nibbling on a slice of cucumber every other day is not enough."

You pout while chewing and he can't help but smile adoringly at you. With another glance at you, he lifts a forkful of pasta up to his mouth.

"Garlic bread will always be the right hand man to pasta." You say while stabbing some lettuce pieces grudgingly.

Mingyu nods, letting you win the banter, but you don't notice the corners of his mouth tick up. He, honestly, can't help it. He loves you and whatever playful mood you're in whenever. Whether it's when you're so certain that you could do something better than him or when you're like this and know he's correct but will do everything in your power not to outright admit defeat.

"I made it with your favorite dressing so I'm sure you'll like it." He tells you and follows your actions of stabbing some salad onto his fork.

You chew in silence before sighing happily. The weather is perfect, the view is perfect, and the meal Mingyu prepared fits the mood perfectly.

"I can't wait to see what kinds of fireworks they have prepared for this year." Mingyu comments, looking up at the sky.

You nod in agreement, "Last year's show will be tough to beat."

"Especially the heart eyed emoji. That was the best." He nods and twirls his fork around.

"No, that wasn't the coolest." You shake your head, "The coolest was the one that exploded like three different times. The first was into three stars and then the points of those stars exploded into more stars and then those points exploded into hearts. That was the coolest."

Mingyu chews and glances at the sky in thought before swallowing. "You know," He says with a laugh, "I don't remember that one. Must've not been that impressive."

Your fork drops into your pasta container and your jaw drops as well. "What do you mean you don't remember that one? You weren't even there!" You nearly exclaim, remembering that he had to miss the fireworks last year, but then you see his squinted eyes and the wide smile on his face. "Kim Mingyu. Why do you do this to me?" You sigh and pick up your fork again.

"Because it's fun to see your reactions." Mingyu explains a little too happily.

"One of these days..." You let the threat dissipate and put another bite of pasta in your mouth before taking a bite of bread for completion.

Mingyu rolls his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, one of these days, I'll pay for all this." Then, he leans closer, "I am looking forward to it."

Nearly choking on your food, you push him away while he laughs giddily.

30 minutes later, when all the food has been finished and put away, Mingyu opens his arms and you scoot over to him. Resting your head against his shoulder, you sigh in content. The sun has just disappeared from the sky and the park lamps are slowly illuminating one by one giving the park a warm, artificially yellow glow.

"I'm glad you could come this year." You say, staring out at the city as it lights it while the sky darkens. "Last year was very boring without you."

A chuckle rolls through his chest, "I know, trust me, I was wishing I was with you watching fireworks every single moment. Stupid work." He says, playfully angry but in reality he loved his job. Though it did have its downfalls with having to miss attending some events with you.

"Promise me next year?" You ask, hopeful but knowing that it was a slim chance as a year is a long time to promise something.

"I promise I'll try to keep my schedule clear for next year." Mingyu says and places a kiss on the top of your head. "It would suck to miss another one."

"If you can't come next year, I don't know if I will go." You tell him, "It was weird doing it without you and I don't know if I want to go through that again."

Mingyu pulls back slightly, "Then who's going to show me blurry pictures of the fireworks and who's going to tell me about the coolest fireworks?" He asks, a touch of panic in his voice.

You shrug, "Someone else?"

"But you explain them the best." He shakes his shoulders making your head bounce up and down.

"Okay, fine. I'll go but know I won't enjoy it." You smile at the thought that Mingyu likes your explanations of fireworks.

"I love you, (y/n)." Mingyu says softly as the first firework is launched into the sky and explodes into shimmering flames.

"I love you, too, Mingyu." You reply, snuggle closer to him, and let your eyes wander up to the sky where another firework is exploding into specks of green and red.

[silverarmedassassin]

Please, Mr. Barnes

CEO!Bucky x Reader | NSFW, 18+ only please | 2163 words | Masterlist

You’ve just started a new job as the executive secretary to the one and only James “Bucky” Barnes - founder, owner, and leader of Barnes Bionics, the most successful prosthetics companies in North America. Everything is going smooth until your royally fuck up and Bucky is forced to punish you the only way he knows how...

Warning: Like I mentioned above, 18+ only, please! There’s a little tongue action here, some spanking there. Nothing explicit but, ya know.

Note: Listen, despite consuming more than my fair share of smut, I’ve never actually wrote anything remotely smutty, so this is very new to me. Please be nice 😭 I was inspired after seeing this post, where I accidently went off in the tags because I was feeling some kind of way. I’m also dedicating this to @wonderlandmind4​, because they called me out on my shit 😅 Enjoy!

To say you fucked up is an understatement. Forgetting to send an email is fucking up. Forgetting to water the plant’s in your boss’s office is fucking up. But this? This is a next level, idiotic, you-deserve-to-be-fired mess. And you haven’t even been here a full week.

You started at Barnes Bionics as an executive assistant to the CEO. You’d heard great things about the company - the relaxed and family-like corporate atmosphere, casual Fridays, and the down-to-earth, laid-back James Barnes, aka the founder, owner, and leader of the most successful prosthetics company in North America - and were eager to start your new position. Not only was it going to be a significant pay raise, but it was also going to give you a change of pace. You’d struggled for so long to find a position that would help boost your career, so when your best friend informed you she was stepping down from her assistant position to stay home with her soon-to-be-born daughter, you were ecstatic.

Except right now, on this bright and warm Friday afternoon, you wanted to be anywhere but your desk on the 90th floor of the One World Trade Center Building. While the executive offices began to empty, your new co-workers filing out in clumps, chatting excitedly about their weekend plans, you sat impatiently behind your desk, trying to make yourself as small as you could.

Earlier in the day, right after you returned from lunch, an email from James popped up on your screen. “Plan to stay after this evening,” was all you could read from the preview. In naive, blissful ignorance, butterflies erupted deep in your belly. Your boss was attractive. He looked like he could be sculpted from marble with the way his muscles strained against his smartly pressed button-downs, and the slight clench in his jaw when he’s concentrating on something was mesmerizing. The giddy feeling quickly dissipated, however, as you continued reading.

“I received a strongly worded voicemail from a distraught Tony Stark this morning. Asked why I’d waste his time by not showing up to a meeting that, the last time I checked my calendar, is scheduled for next week. I should be back at the office at 5:15. I expect you to be prepared for a one-on-one meeting before then.”

Your eyes flick to the small clock in the corner of your computer screen, and your stomach feels like it’s wrapped itself into a constrictor knot. 5:12. If your boss was anything, it’s punctual. As Sam Wilson, Barnes Bionics’ chief operations officer, closes his office up, the elevators just down the hall ding, signaling their arrival.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Sam laughs as he laughs before departing with a jaunty farewell.

You hear the two men exchange the usual pleasantries, the elevators shut, then the ominous echos of James loafers meeting the polished marble floor. You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm your nerves, but as soon as he beckons you to follow him into his office as he passes your desk, you actually think you’re going to throw up.

“Mr. Barnes, I’m so sorry I-”

He holds his hand up to silence you as he leans back against his large mahogany desk and uses his free hand - the metal one, that one that started this entire company - to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You realize Tony Stark is one of my biggest investors, right?”

You open your mouth to answer, but he fixes you with a rather threatening, so you simply nod and look down at your heel-covered feet. He’s going to fire me, you think as you wait for him to continue with his lecture. I haven’t even received my first paycheck, and I’m getting canned.

“You could have cost me a lot of money today, Ms. Y/L/N.” He pushes off his desk and slowly makes his way to where you stand just inside his spacious office. “There is no room for such vital mistakes like the one you made in this industry. I didn’t build this company from the ground up by missing meetings with the men and women who fund our research. I didn’t become one of the world's leading tech companies by allowing my assistants to make careless mistakes and piss off my partners.”

“Mr. Barnes, please,” you beg. God, you sound so pathetic, but you really don’t want to lose this job. And the fact that you messed up so bad within the first week of being employed at Barnes Biotics is embarrassing, a total misrepresentation of how organized and punctual you usually are when it comes to the workplace. “I...I’m trying really hard, there’s just so much to learn in such little time and I...I don’t know what happened.. I’ve never made a mistake like this before, and I never will again. Please, you don’t understand how much I need this job. I’ll do anything, I’ll work overtime without pay. Please…”

“Fire you?” James snorts as he stops in front of you. He’s so close you can smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating off his broad chest. “Oh, honey, I’m not going to fire you. But mistakes do come with consequences.”

You force yourself to look up at him. The anger and pure disappointment you expect to find on his face is surprisingly absent. In its place is something a little darker, dare you say a bit lustful. His powder blue eyes are almost covered with the black of his pupil, and a little smirk is playing in the corner of his lips.

“Go stand by the desk,” he commands. You go to question him, but he tuts his tongue. “Go on. You know how impatient I can be.”

Confused, you slowly make your way across the room, stopping in the space he had just been occupying. You’re about to turn around when two large arms around you. James’ metal hand settles on your lower stomach as his other arm wraps around your shoulder.

“Do you know,” he says, hot breath fanning across your exposed neck, “what happens to bad girls?”

You swallow thickly before you answer. “Uhm, no, Mr. Barnes.”

“They get punished.” Before you realize what’s going on, James pushes you forward onto his desk so that your bent over the top, his muscular torso resting gently across your back. Gently, almost agonizingly slow, he begins to drag his metal arm across your stomach, around until it’s just barely resting on your ass. “You’ve gotta tell me you want this, or I’ll stop,” he whispers. “But I’ve seen the way you look at me. I think you want this as bad as I do.”

“God, yes, please, Mr. Barnes!”

The words have hardly slipped past your lips before he’s bunching up your skirt and nudging at your panties. You should feel ashamed, you think, at how wet you already are at the simple action, but by god did you touch yourself thinking of this man.

“Soaked already,” he practically purrs as he teases at your entrance. Before you can get too much enjoyment from the sensation, he quickly pulls his hand away. “But you still fucked up. Still almost cost me millions. I need you to know,” he says as he eases himself from on top of you, keeping one hand pressed gently to the center of your back and the other resting on one of your exposed cheeks, “how bad that could have been.”

Before your brain can register what is happening, James’ palm connects to your asscheek with a loud smack. You jump, having been unprepared for the assault. Just as quickly as the last, his palm connects to your ass two more times before he is rubbing the sore spot in soothing circles.

This was...different. Never mind the fact your boss of five fucking days has you bent over his desk, ass and pussy exposed for all to see, but it was actually turning you more on. Spanking had never been something you’d thought of when it came to sex, something you probably wouldn’t have even considered with past lovers. But with James, it just felt right.

“No more silly mistakes like that, okay?” he whispers softly in your ear as he continues to rub your now burning cheek. “Or I’ll have to do this again.”

Smack. Smack. Smack.

A wanton moan drips from your lips after the last swat, and you’d be embarrassed if your boss wasn’t spinning your dazed body around, shoving the miscellaneous papers away to clear a spot for your to sit. You watch in stunned as he slowly lowers himself to the floor in front of you, lust-filled eyes never leaving yours.

“Something tells me you might like that, though,” James smiles as he grabs your ankle and carves a path of gentle kisses up to your skirt's hem. Both hands slid the material up your thighs, providing a peculiar sensation of both warm skin and cold metal at the same time. His metal fingers brush ever so slightly at your still-exposed bundle of nerves, and he smirks at the gasp it pulls from you.

“Would you like that, Y/N,” he asks, planting a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Because I know I would.”

He quickly buries his face between your legs, first with a flat-tongued swipe up your pussy before he begins to suck on your clit. The heat of his tongue, mixed with the shallows breaths he takes between sucking and lapping, causes your blood to run cold and the coil in your belly to twist so tight you’re sure it’s going to snap any second.

“Please, Mr. Barnes. Fuck,” you exclaim louder than intended, and you’re suddenly very aware of where you are. You can’t seem to find the thought to care, however, not with James drinking you in like a man just returned from the desert. He responds to your cries of satisfaction with a light bite to your clit.

As slides down, he tongues at your entrance, his nose applies just enough pressure to your clit to send you reeling. Your hands land in his perfectly styled hair, pushing and pulling at the chesnut stands as he helps you ride out the intense waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

As you begin to settle, James plants small kisses here and there on both your thighs before pulling away. He looks up at you, your juices glistening on his lips and the slight stubble of his beard. He looks as fucked out as you feel, and it makes you slightly self-conscious of what you must look like. He licks his lips and hums quietly, causing another jolt of want to rush straight to your core.

“You taste as good as you look,” he smiles and stands. When he’s back to his full height, he reaches a hand out to help you off his desk. You can’t help but catch the noticeable bulge straining at his slacks, and he must see your quick glance because he laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.,” he says, bringing his hand to his lips before making his way around to sit at his desk.

You left standing there, in the middle of an office whose furnishes cost more than your entire year’s rent, fucked out and in shock at what just happened. You don’t know how long you stand frozen, eyes fixated on a vintage Brookly Dodgers poster, but a deep chuckle and the rustling of papers draws you out of your trance.

You turn to find James straightening up the papers he had shoved out of the way, and cleaning up the pen holder must have spilled. You stagger forward, hands out ready to help your boss clean up the mess, but he simply waves you off.

“I hope you didn’t have any plans after work,” James says sheepishly, almost sounding guilty for keeping you over. Almost.

“No,” you say as you anxiously rub at your arm. “Just your average, boring Friday night.”

“Well, I hope I added a little fun to help kick off the weekend.”

You can feel your face heat up as you nod. He winks before turning back to tidying his desk, and you take that as your cue to take your leave. You scurry across the room quickly, and right as your hand touches the door, James stops you.

“By the way, great job on your first week. I was more productive than I’ve been in years thanks to your organization. I really appreciate it.”

You smile, face heating up even more. You take the compliment to heart, bathe in the way it fills you with pride. “Thank you, Mr. Barnes.”

“Hey, uh, call me Bucky. Mr. Barnes or James or whatever is too impersonal, and I think we’re well past that stage.”

[nose-bandaid]

cat treats are meant for cats (only)

Jun x (gender neutral) Reader comedy, fluff?? | 1.4k

synopsis: the faint meowing you’ve been hearing for the past half-hour was actually, in fact, just your boyfriend.

a/n: this idea popped into my mind one day and i had to write it so... not as elaborate as my writing usually is (i think), this was just for funsies but i hope you enjoy !!

=====

It started faint, almost non-existent, so you didn't pay much attention to it and brushed it off as some distant noise from one of the neighbouring units.

But then it got a little louder and more persistent until you really couldn't deny something was going on and that it wasn't just a trick of the ear. So you put your phone down and stared into the hallway, eyes unfocused as you strained your ears. You waited until the sound came again.

Meow.

There it was. You knew your building allowed for pets, and you knew that if you walked onto your balcony, you would be directly facing a community park. However, you also knew that no one on your floor owned a pet, and as far as your memory goes, you've never seen someone take their cat out for a walk. Even if it was a sunny day today.

And the meowing sounded far too close to you.

"You idiot, why would you — arghgh."

Now that was definitely Jun's voice echoing down the halls. You put everything down and shuffled your way over to the bedroom where your boyfriend was, head leaning out of the open window. He had his hands stuck out as well and was waving them around a little. The fresh air cooled the room, and you instinctively took a deep breath before speaking up.

"Junnie, love, what in the world are you doing?"

His head whipped around, and his eyes lit up, delighted to see you.

"Y/n! There's a cat in the tree outside." He promptly went back to sticking his head out the window to make sure that the cat was still there.

You stifled a laugh at his statement and joined him. Sure enough, there was a cat perched on one of the large branches closest to your window. It was a tabby cat, if you identified it correctly, and its cream coloured fur was decorated with a unique pattern of white. It must’ve gotten frightened and scurried up the tree.

"The meowing just now was you?"

"Oh, you heard?" Jun asked, turning his attention from the cat to you. He seemed surprised to be told that you heard him.

"I know there are kids outside screaming in the park, but it's hard to not hear you meowing from the other room. What exactly are you trying to do?" The boy seemed so happy to have his day entertained with the presence of a cat and you wanted to indulge him. He's told you many times how he's always wanted a pet of his own, but you've both never had the chance to actually decide and commit to one. Nor have you guys really gone into depth on that discussion.

"Trying to communicate to it, of course! I want to help it climb down from the tree." He proceeded to meow again at the cat, only to have it stare indignantly back at him.

"Is this what you were calling an idiot before, too?" You quirked your eyebrows as you asked.

Jun blushed and hid his face with his hands for a moment at your question. "It just came out, I didn't mean to insult the cat I promise — many apologies were said afterwards. I told it to move back but instead, it stepped forward and almost fell off and I got worried." He pouted and you laughed at his concern for the feline.

"So I'm taking that it hasn't been cooperating with you, because I swear I started hearing the meowing at 1:00 and now it is," You paused to check your phone for the time. "1:37."

"Listen, we have something going on! I can feel the connection, it's just not quite there yet. How about you try?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, you."

You faced him, suddenly feeling a sense of pressure, partly because of the responsibility he had given you, but also because you felt like you had to prove yourself to a cat of all things. "Like, just... meow?" You clarified.

"Perfect! But do it to the cat, not me. Unless you wanted me to meow back." He blinked at you expectantly.

"No, I'm good." You chuckled when you heard him still meow at you underneath his breath.

"Here goes nothing." You pursed your lips and waited for the cat to at least look somewhat in your direction. "Meow."

It simply went back to caring for its front paws.

"Meow." You tried again, putting a little more emphasis onto the "meow" (trust, that totally makes sense).

This time, it meowed back and you gasped, turning towards Jun who was staring at you in shock.

"I spend ten minutes just trying to get it to look at me and you get it to reply on the second try?" He sputtered out, scandalized at the unfair results.

"Well, what can I say? They all call me the cat whisperer." You replied haughtily.

"Y/n, no one has ever called you a cat whisperer before."

"Let me have my glory, would ya?" You playfully poked his side and meowed at the cat once more. Just like last time, it meowed back.

"Bro I'm getting good at this." You giggled, rubbing your hands together as you tried to think of a plan.

"Okay, kitty—"

"How is it going to understand English now?" Jun interrupted your focus.

"Shut up, we have a bond here."

"Okay, kitty," You started again and eyed one of the large branches. "You need to step back and climb down. Stop coming closer to us—"

You shut up when the cat meowed loudly back at you and inched in the complete opposite direction as what you instructed. When it plopped itself closer to the edge of the branch than you would've liked, you shot a worried glance at your boyfriend who seemed deep in thought.

"I think I've got an idea." He hummed and went over to one of his drawers to pull out a bag of cat treats. 

"You just have cat treats lying around? In your room?" You gawked incredulously at the unopened bag. 

"You're not eating them are you?" You then blurted out, concerned for the boy.

"What?!" He quickly shook his head in denial. "No, of course not. I give them to the stray cats I see when I'm out."

You let out a sigh of relief. You had asked that question as a joke, but hearing him confidently reject the idea was also reassuring. You never knew what your boyfriend was capable of.

Jun grit his teeth as he tried to open the package and you watched the fight between him and plastic intently. Just as it began to rip open, his hand slipped and a few of the treats fell out of the bag and onto the grass way below you.

Three heads turned to look at the fallen treats.

Yes. You, Jun, and the cat.

Two heads then turned to look at the cat.

With a happy meow, the tabby leaped off the branch it was on and landed on the grass gracefully. Now both of your jaws dropped at the scene in front of you.

"You're telling me it could've done that the entire time?" Your voice faltered.

"Sneaky! You deceitful creature!" Jun half-heartedly shook his hand angrily at the cat.

"I already miss it." He then said quietly and you let out a small laugh, rubbing his back in consolation.

You watched the cat scour the ground below for the lost treats for a while before you spoke again.

"Hey, why don't we go down there and see if it's actually a stray. If it is, maybe we can take it in? Bring it to the vet first to get it checked out and whatnot." You trailed off and smiled when he brightened up at your offer.

"Seriously? You're alright with that?" He gasped.

 "If everything checks out, I don't see why not." You happily shrugged your shoulders and pointed your head at his drawer. "We already have the treats aspect down anyways."

Jun pulled you into a hug at that and continued to ramble on about how happy he was to take in the cat, despite how troublesome it may have been earlier. 

“I have many more cat treats in my drawer.” He whispered into your ear and you sighed, smiling at his love for the creature. 

Then, Jun leaned out the window again to yell at the cat.

"Stay right there! We're coming to get your autograph!"

Needless to say, there were a few curious glances sent your way because a grown man yelling out the window really wasn't an everyday sight. But that didn't matter when you saw how big the smile on Jun's face was when you both returned home that day with a new pet in hand.

[venushasvixens]

Ch. 4 Back to Beginnings -Life is But a Dream (Spike Spiegel x Reader)

 WARNING: mild sexual content 

- 

The cool air that snuck its way between the buildings blew into you harshly. You placed your hand over your mouth, silencing yourself. You clenched your jaws to keep yourself from chattering, afraid that every little thing was going to give your position away. Whoever you were chasing should've been hiding from you, not from them. 

You could hear running in the distance against the pavement, echoing in the alley. It grew closer and closer. Your heartbeat was in your throat, threatening to jump out. You could feel the soft pulse through your fingertips. You couldn't tell if it was from the cold, or from the adrenaline. Was it a bad time to admit you needed to pee? 

You were a horrible bounty hunter. You were too loud, you were clumsy with your gun, and body is just far too slow to give chase. Matter of fact, you looked rather ridiculous. But then again, everybody has to start somewhere, right? 

Home was far away from here, across the solar system. And as much as you were homesick, fuel for your small, dingy ship cost money, and that was something that you did not possessed at the moment. Not one single woolong. Maybe a few coins and a token from the local arcade. You needed this bounty, and you needed it now. 

The running grew louder and louder, the noise filling the alley. You squeezed the handle of your gun, afraid that your it was going to slip. Suddenly, the footsteps stopped. You never really prayed before, but maybe you should start now. One step echoed in the alley. Then another. And then another. Each one growing louder than the next. 

You placed your finger on the trigger gently, your hand surprisingly steady. You could see the outline of the woman that was now hunting you, her silhoutte growing bigger and bigger. Even though you were in the shadows of the alley, you definitely were sure that she could see you in the dark clear as day. Then she stopped, maybe a few feet in front of you. In an attempt to scare you, maybe elicit a reaction from you, she flipped out the barrel of her gun, spinning it, and popping it back in, over and over. 

"You're sure one shitty bounty hunter." she spoke. You could hear the smile in her voice, one of the last insults in your short life. You could also hear the age as well, scratchy and hoarse. "But what I will let you keep for the next minute is the smallest bit of nerve for trying to take me out." 

"You have nerve now to assume that I'll accept that." you blurted out without thinking. It may have been stupid, but do you have all the time in the world now to think it over? 

 She scoffed. " Oh, please. You're the one thinking that I'll give up myself that easily. And to a little girl with a gun." 

You swallowed. "You're not wrong, but I might surprise you." 

"Hiding in an alley waiting for the enemy to come to her? Yes, that is very surprising." she cackled, her hair flaying everywhere in the wind. Her arms outstretched, like a villain who just told the hero their heinous plan to take over the world. The dramatics certainly didn't work on you, but you sure thought it was funny. 

You start laughing as you got up and dusted yourself off. Not in a mocking tone, or in a conniving way. It was totally genuine. She noticed this, and immediately stopped laughing.  

"What"s so goddamn funny?" she ran up on you, her faces inches away from yours. You continued laughing, your head down. "Tell me, or I'll blow your fucking brains out!"

She stuck her gun underneath your chin, snarling and hurling threats at you. This still didn't stop your hysterics. "I-i think.." you couldn't even finish this sentence without a chuckle or too. "I-i honestly think.."

"You think? Spit. It. Out." she growled. 

You smiled. "I think.. you are sure one shitty criminal. Your barrel's been empty since your laughing fit a minute ago." 

Her face went blank as she looked at her gun, the barrel unloaded. 

 "Also all your bullets are on the ground behind you." You stated, your mouth into a fine line. She back up, accidentally stepping on few of the bullets. Her legs flew up, landing on her back. You could hear her start wincing and groaning.

"Seriously, how old is your gun?" You snatched her gun out of her hands, inspecting it. At a first glance, it could've been mistaken for a prop gun in an spaghetti western movie. "Wow, this is older than you. And you're ancient."

"Its my lucky gun. Its been with me since I first started in the game." She muttered. She struggled to pick herself up, but before she could, you swiped underneath her knees. She buckled down, stunned.

"I don't think I can let you off that easy. After all, I'm just a little girl with a gun, I don't know what I'm doing." You shrugged.

You aimed your gun at her leg and fired, the shot echoing. Your bounty gasped in shock, then started wailing in agonizing pain. Clutching her leg, she cried out. "Are you fucking insane?!"

"No, I'm just tired." You sighed. "Alright, let's pack it up, John Wayne."

- 

As you finished the story, Spike and Jet could not stop laughing. It wasn't that funny. But with at least with five shots in, it was hilarious. 

"John Wayne?!" Jet choked out, clutching his chest.

 "I'm not kidding."You smiled. "I thought I was a total badass." 

As you all tried to catch your breath, Spike waved over another round of shots. Jet noticed this, and put his hands up. 

"No more, Spike." he said, yawning and stretching. "I think its time we hit the hay." 

"Oh come on, Jet. At least stay for one more round." you lied, secretly wanting Jet to leave so you could have Spike all to yourself. It felt so odd, wanting someone you barely knew near you. Before today's events, you caught yourself multiple times delving into fantasies where you were confessing your love and affection to this mysterious man, and him returning just as much. He would place his hands on either sides of your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb. His eyes looking into yours,  And then, that classic fairy tale moment would come. A sweet, soft tender kiss, and the flying off into the sunset. Then you realize that you were just creating a version of him that you wanted, and that he probably wasn't thinking of you at all. 

And then there was moments where your mind wanders off, and you begin to think of all the ways he could absolutely destroy you. Emotionally and physically, but mainly physically. You imagined the way he would pin you against the wall, cornering you in.  Trailing his lips against your neck, biting and kissing that sensitive spot that made you go crazy. He would grab your hair, pulling your head back to face him. It wouldn't be harshly, but that he had full control of you. Spike would crash his lips against yours, desperately and passionately, like it was the last time he would ever kiss someone. 

Moaning and whining for more, you would try to snake your wrists from his grip to touch him.  But he would keep you pinned down, only torturing you more. 

"I don't think you deserve to touch me, " he would tease, pulling back from you. "Unless I hear you beg for it. Tell me how bad you want me to fuck you." 

After that, you would put a lid on it for the moment. You would feel the immediate need to drink some water, and an even greater need to take a cold shower. Its not that you didn't want these thoughts, its just you didn't want them to intrude on your mind when you were  conversing with THAT person. Who was now trying to get your attention because you were spacing off. You were spacing off so bad, you hadn't realized that Jet actually did leave, and it was just you and Spike. 

"Hey," he said, waving his head in front of you, "you okay?" 

You nodded, hoping that it wasn't obvious that you were thinking of Spike fucking you six ways to Sunday. "Yeah I'm good! Why you ask?" 

"You were just staring at me like I was a piece of meat." he replied, lighting another cigarette. 

"Well, I don't even like meat, so." you smirked, taking a sip from your drink. 

He raised his eyebrows. "From what I saw earlier at dinner, I know that is a fucking lie." 

You giggled, twirling the small stirring straw in your cup. A little tipsy, and more confident than you usually were, right now was the perfect time to flirt. 

"I do like a sausage every now and then, but, "you shrugged, looking anywhere other than Spike. That was a little too bold. You looked back at Spike, who was just smirking away. 

"I think I'll that hang in the air for just a minute." he replied. 

"I'm sorry, it was just there. I had to." you chuckled. 

You noticed the faintest bit of blush on Spike's face. It could've been from the amounts of drinks he had, or the teasing earlier. You were pretty sure that it was from the drinks. Little comments like those definitely didn't influence that one bit. Or did it? 

"How longer on you planning on staying here?" Spike asked. 

"Until I'm ready to go to bed, and I'm wired." you responded, a little discouraged if Spike was implying that it was time that all parties were going home. 

"No, I mean staying here on the planet. I'll be here until next week." he said. 

"Oh my bad." you replied, your face burning slightly in embarassment. "I think the same as you, until next week. "

"Ah, okay." Spike mumbled. He looked at the tabletop, you both sitting in complete silence. What he said next made your heart jump into your throat. 

"I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to do this next week? Dinner and drinks?" He asked, finishing his cigarette. "Right before we leave, I mean." 

As much as you wanted giggle like a school girl, you played it cool. "Mr. Spiegel, it sure does sounds like you're asking me on a date." 

Spike leaned his head on his hand. "And what if I am?"

"I'd say yes. I need a little fun every now and then." you stated, mirroring Spike.

You both sat there in silence for a little bit. You wanted to say something else, but the silence was doing just right for now. Talking to someone was nice, but just enjoying another person's presence? That felt just right. 

"Question?" you asked. 

"Answer." Spike replied. 

"What  do you do for fun, besides drinking and being cool?" you smiled. 

Spike chuckled. He sat there, thinking. "If you would like, I can show you." he finally said. 

"Show me. I'll follow you wherever you go." you said, taking that last shot. 

"Alright, follow my lead then." Spike said, getting up. He held his hand out to you. You  took it, jumping out of the booth. You staggered backwards, but Spike wrapped his arm around your shoulders to steady you

"Easy there." he grinned. You were a little too tipsy to care about Spike touching you, but it was gladly welcomed with open arms. 

"Let me show you were the real fun is." 

- 

The real fun was in a small jazz bar, with a single man on stage playing the sultry notes of a saxophone. You were prepared for anything, but you thought it was going to be a little bit more exciting than this. But if this is what Spike likes, then you will definitely respect that. 

He sat next you, his arm on his knee, leaning his head in his hand. He looked mellowed out, a blank expression. You were watching him out of the corner of your eye, seeing if his face would change. But it didn't. He kind of looked bored. Hoping you weren't making him bored, you cleared your throat. That got his attention. 

"Hmm?" he asked, his eyes still fixated on the saxophone player. 

"How often do you come here?" you asked him. 

He sighed, leaning back. "Man, I want to say every time I'm on Mars. I've been going to this place since I was younger. Its almost like a safe haven for me. Where do you think I get my good taste in music from?" 

You nodded, chuckling. "I get that." 

"Besides drinking and enjoying some good music," you continued, "what else do you like to do? I already told you my hobbies earlier at dinner, so I guess its your turn to spill." 

Spike leaned backwards, hands interlocked in the back of his head. "My hobbies." he thought. "I want to say make money, eat, and go to sleep." 

You smiled. "No, I'm serious. What do you like to do for fun?" 

"I'm serious too. Now that I think about it, I want to add on watching TV and practicing some punches, so I'm not too rusty." he replied. 

"Who do you practice punches on? Not on anyone on the Bebop, I hope." you said. 

"If I could, I would. Some of them really do know how to push my buttons." he muttered, sticking a cigarette in his mouth, but not lighting it. 

"I'm not pushing any buttons by interrogating you, am I?" you asked, leaning closer. 

"Of course not. I'm just answering some questions for a curious cat." Spike winked at you. 

Your heart felt like it was going to pop out of your chest, this man was so fucking fine. You bit down your lip, tapping your leg. You hope it wasn't too noticeable that Spike's flirting was taking a HUGE toll on you. You couldn't go back on to your thoughts from earlier, you can't right now. If you did, boy you were in for a treat back at your ship. 

The silence this time was a little different, like something was off. You were expecting the conversation to bounce back, but it didn't. As much as you wanted to initiate talking, you felt like you could be talking too much.  Spike was quiet, and he hadn't really changed positions for a hot minute. You now knew that when Spike got like this, he was thinking. His face would be expressionless, tapping his leg lazily, and just staring whatever direction he felt was necessary. During dinner, while you and Jet were talking, he would get quiet and travel off into his own little space. Now that it was you and Spike, you felt like you were intruding on something. 

You turned your focus back onto the music. Coursing their way into your ears, the deep notes felt like they were pulsing in your body. You still couldn't get over the air between you and Spike. It felt a little somber. 

"Hey," you said softly, touching his arm, "is everything okay?" 

Spike looked at you, his eyes turned down a little. He looked right back at him, waiting on a response. His eyes traveled from your eyes, down to your lips, and then to the rest of you. Was he checking you out? His lips formed a soft smile. 

"Yeah, I'm okay, " he said, "but besides that, did I ever tell you how nice you look tonight?" 

As flattered as you were, you were still concerned over Spike. "No, but thank you. Spike, seriously, you seem off. You were just fine and chatty earlier, but your vibe is definitely off." 

"I don't think we've been hanging out that much for you to see that." Spike shot back. 

"Yes, but I kind of got a knack for reading people." you replied, crossing your arms. You were a little taken aback by his sudden hostility, but you really didn't know what was going through Spike's mind. 

"If I said something that offended you, I-" you began, but Spike put his hand up to you. He shook his head, folding his hands together on his chin, placing his elbows on the table. 

Conflicted with pushing until he tells you and just shutting up, you sat there. You began to distract yourself with thoughts of getting another drink, what you were going to do when this "date" was over. 

"Alright, (y/n)," Spike spoke, his voice smooth, "do you want to know what's really  bugging me?"

You hesitated, anxious that you awoken something that would surely make this the last date. You nodded, turning to face Spike. 

"The past." he murmured, scooting closer to you. 

"The past? Why?" you asked quietly. 

"Why the past? Let's see." Spike stared into your eyes, his gaze unwavering. You looked back, but averted your eyes when you felt like you were overstepping. You already were overstepping with asking if he was okay, but there was something about eye contact that made you uncomfortable. 

"I've had a long, long past (y/n). I've made many stupid mistakes. And even though I know they are all in the past, they keep finding ways to ruin my present. I guess you can say I'm torturing myself with being here, since this was such a big place to hang when I was in-" Spike stopped abruptly, clamping his mouth shut. 

You nodded. "You don't have to say anything else. I understand." You gave him a small smile, placing your hand on his shoulder. Fuck comfort, you thought. Maybe it was just a human thing, to reach out to others when they're in pain, forgetting boundaries and anything that could hold back support. 

He looked at the placement of your hand, then back at your face. It seemed like eternity that you were both like this. He returned the smile, a silent thank you in the air.

 "Now I know that we already kind of drank a lot earlier, but how does another round sound?" you grinned.

 Spike's face lit up. "You read my mind, (y/n)." 

-  

You stumbled your way out of the bar, clinging onto Spike as he led you out onto the street. You were a giggling, drunk mess. You weren't rowdy or anything when you drank, but you sure were the comedian. Spike sobered up a little earlier, so he was a bit straighter than you were right now. 

"I would say, Spike," you slurred, "you sure are a pretty man." 

"Oh thank you. Now lets get you back home." Spike replied, just holding onto you while you tried to walk without falling over. 

"No no, you're not listening. Like you are really, really gorgeous. So gorgeous, you could put Valentine to shame." you laughed. 

Spike chuckled. "Okay, I'll take that." 

"Say thank you."

 "No." 

"Why?" 

"Cause." 

"Why?" 

Spike sighed. Now you were getting a little annoying, but he didn't want to get rid of you for the night just yet. Even if you were drunk and acting a fool, your company was something he needed for a long, long time.

 "Its a pretty night, don't you think, Spike?" you said, pointing out to the stars. 

Spike looked up, amusing you. "Sure." 

"No, say that it looks pretty. Or else you'll hurt her feelings." you smirked, giggling.

 "Whose feelings?" Spike asked genuinely, because you were definitely talking out of your ass. 

"I honestly don't know. But I do know that I'm tired as shit." you mumbled. 

Spike was tired too, but for some reason, he didn't want the night to end just yet. You haven't noticed this, but Spike was walking around buildings to see if you would follow him and not the way home. And your dumbass just did that. It was actually kind of funny, but it was a joke only for Spike. For a brief moment, you walked completely normal, and then the spiral started again.

 "Look miss, if you keep harassing me, I'm going to have to call the police on you, and I really don't want to do that." Spike teased, only adding more fuel to the fire.

 "Ahh, no, please don't do that." you replied sarcastically, putting your hands up. "I've been a good girl, I promise." You half smiled at Spike, and continued staggering to the port where your ships were. 

Spike place his hands in his pockets, trying his best not to reply to that last bit from you. But maybe he could let a little something slip. 

"From what I've seen, you've been a bad girl." Spike taunted. "A very, very bad girl." 

You turned around slowly, raising your eyebrows. Now it was your turn. 

"And what are you going to do about it?" you asked, sauntering over to Spike.

 "Give a guess." he said softly, his voice low and husky from the cigarette he just finished.

 You moved in closer slowly, finding your balance. You looked up at him, boldly running your hands up his chest. Spike flinched from your touch, but melted into it. You ran it all the way from his chest to his shoulders, and finally up to his face. Placing both hands on either side of Spike's cheeks, you brought his face down to yours gently. The smell of alcohol and smoke filled your nostrils, tingling your senses.

 You tilted your head, chuckling softly at how you had Spike wrapped around your finger at this moment. Spike closed the space between you both, taking into account how your hands framed his face so kindly, like you both have been doing this for forever.

 "Mr. Spiegel," you began, smiling, "you're not going to do a goddamn-"

A loud blast burst through the air, scaring you enough to become completely sober. Orange flames and clouds of smoke could be seen from behind the buildings. Alarms from the surrounding structures sounded off, people yelling and asking each other what the commotion was.

 "What the fuck?" you yelled as you watched the flames grow at a steady pace. You shielded your eyes, coughing. 

"Its from the port!" a person shouted. "There was an explosion at the port!" 

You and Spike looked at each other. Without thinking, you both bolted towards the chaotic scene. Every step brought more anxiety, not only for your ship, but for the Bebop. People ran around, to and from the port. You covered your mouth from the sudden inhalation of smoke, coughing more and more. As you came to a clearing, you could see the tumultuous scene before you. 

Your ship was burning, engulfed in a blaze of violently whipping flames. You shielded your face from the heat of your destroyed home, backing into Spike.

 "(y/n), we have to get away from here!" Spike shouted over the screams of panic surrounding you both. He wrapped his arms around you and started pulling you away, your feet dragging. 

You began to hyperventilate, unintentionally filling your lungs with smoke. Either from shock or the smoke, your vision blurred, and finally, slipping to black. 

- 

AN: Thank you all for sticking around. With these last two months, I've lost two jobs and gained one where I'm finally in a good place, financially and mentally, so that's good. I want to push out more fics for characters listed on here and my tumblr (same username as my Wattpad). Once again, thank you guys so much for enjoying this fic, and please, stay safe.