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judyfromfinance · 1 year ago

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Dead to Me.

(Obey Me/Reader)

Summary: ‘The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb’, it was one of your favorite quotes. It meant that found family can often mean more to you than the family you were born with. The ones you share blood with. And often times it would get shortened down and paraphrased into meaning the exact opposite of what was initially intended.

But after coming back home from your year long stay in the Devildom, your house and family in shambles, it is no longer your favorite quote. The water of the womb that you shared with your sister meant more to you than any blood spilled between you and those 7 demons in hell.

Warnings: Violence. Death. Fighting and Shouting. Thoughts of suicide.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I totally forgot to post this to Tumblr. Oops. Just know this story would not exist without the talented earthliving on AO3 or @another-lost-mc here on Tumblr. My inspiration came from their headcanons Taken. (Hope you don’t mind me tagging you again girly. I totally thought I posted this here rip.)

Your stay in the Devildom was far from easy. Not just because demons threatened to kill you, eat you, or worse. Yes, there was a worse apparently. But because you had to leave behind everything you knew and loved. How the Prince of Hell even had a file on you to begin with was a mystery to you. You for sure don’t remember signing up for any exchange program. Supernatural or otherwise. But they did. And you were chosen. Just like that. Not because you were special or anything, no Lucifer made sure to drill it into your skull that you were chosen by happenstance. And nothing more.

In the beginning everything was rough. And it didn’t help that your ‘dorm mates’ were complete assholes. Stealing from you. At least what little you had to your name. Be it snacks or trinkets. And others ridiculed you. On your fashion sense or lack there of. And, peculiarly enough, on your lack of knowledge on Devildom gaming and anime. You thought for a second that Leviathan could be a friend to you considering your similar interests. You and your own sister grew up around video games and anime. You thought he’d be easier to befriend. But no. He couldn’t care less about you. You remember almost shouting at him after a particularly harsh verbal lashing. You wanted to remind him that anime (and you’re pretty sure video games too) were a human invention and he should get off his high horse and stop gatekeeping like a total incel. But no. You didn’t. Because even though you were upset, you still feared for your life here.

But slowly, things that seemed unnatural almost became… normal. Like some of the food. Although you couldn’t stomach some of it, others weren’t too far off from some human ingredients you were used to. Although no matter who cooked dinner or whatever take out was bought, it could never satisfy your hunger for a home cooked meal. And by home cooked you mean from your home. You didn’t cook often. You were kinda shit at it. But your sister? She liked cooking. And she would sometimes make you foods based off of tiktoks she saw earlier in the day. They may not have come out perfect, but they were great. And you would tell her time and time again how amazing her food was.

Being surrounded by a group of brothers would often bring up thoughts and memories of your sister. Though you tried not to linger too long, otherwise you might cry. And god forbid any of these demons caught you crying in the middle of the hallway. You wouldn’t be able to deal with that embarrassment and ridicule. No, instead you tried your damnded hardest to get used to living here. You’d be here for a year. A whole ass year. Not long for immortal demons sure but it was a lot for little human you. A year away from your little sister. Away from your loved ones and everything you knew. But thankfully, things got better. A lot better.

The brothers started to warm up to you. Starting with Mammon and Beelzebub. I guess it was inevitable with Mammon considering you had made a pact with him on your second day here. He was assigned as your protector. Or as he put it, your babysitter. And you would often tell him he did a shit job at it at first. But eventually after a few too many get rich quick schemes he started to learn more about you. Your dreams. Your fears. He tried to play it off like he didn’t care but it was hard to not care for somebody you eventually spent every waking moment with. He learned to love you. Just like Beel did after he formed a pact with you as well. After you protected him from Lucifer. You both shared stories about your siblings. Yea, Beel was the only one that knew you had a little sister. And he wiped your tears away as you cried about how much you missed her.

And after that each and every brother started to fall like dominoes. You remember the second to last brother to fall. Belphegor. You remember freeing him from the confines of his makeshift prison in the attic. He had tried to kill you. You can still feel the slight scratching of his claws as they grazed against your throat. No wait. He did kill you. You were pulled away by a strong magnetic force as you look at your own corpse on the ground. Bile rose up your throat. You remember your back colliding into a wall and when you looked up, all you saw was dazzling amber. Lord Diavolo and is ever loyal butler Barbatos were quick to arrive on the scene. They had explained who you were. And that maybe you were picked for a reason. The universe wanted you here evidently. Considering you shared blood with their long since dead sister. That day they all found out that Lilith survived and was turned into a human. To spend the rest of her days on earth happily. And you were her descendant. You remember looking around the room at the brothers. Some tearing up and others just looked at you in either awe or confusion. Except for one pair.

Belphegor had a hard time adjusting to this newfound knowledge. His hatred for humans ran deep and it was hard to override something that spanned eons. Even if his beloved sister had become human, it still didn’t mean they weren’t at fault for what happened. And he tried to hate you. He really did. But you wormed your way into his heart. Slowly but surely. Just like you did with the rest of his family. He learned to love you and all of your weird little human habits. He came to remember why he fell in love with the human realm all the way back in his Celestial years. Every time he looked into your eyes he remembered. And he hopes this time he doesn’t forget. Not just for you. But to honor his sister. He wishes he could burn the color of your eyes into his brain so he could see them every time he blinks. He told you that once. You just called him a weirdo and walked away.

You carved out a spot for you in this dysfunctional family. And you learned to love them. Though you had to set boundaries for each of them, lest they walk all over you. You were still human, you had to stick up for yourself ya know? But just because you learned to love these demons as much as they loved you, they can never fill the hole in your heart. And you started to get antsy. You weren’t allowed to contact anyone back home. To protect the Devildom and all that. But you swore up and down to who ever would listen that you wouldn’t jeopardize them like that. You loved them too much to do that. But you also loved your family back at home. And you wanted to just make sure they were ok. And although Lord Diavolo seemed to understand where you were coming from, all your requests were still denied.

Lucifer could tell you were trying to figure out ways to circumvent your denials. So he made sure to tell the other exchange student, mostly Simeon and Solomon, that they were not to help you contact anyone in the human realm. Simeon understood, considering he wouldn’t want to jeopardize his home, the Celestial Realm, either. Solomon just laughed it off but agreed once he saw Lucifer’s glare. He didn’t believe that you would come talk to him or better yet, ask him for a favor. He knew the brothers filled your head with rumors about him. Conniving, sly, shady and untrustworthy little wizard man. He still laughed every time he remembered the hushed whispers, that were a little too loud to still be considered whispers, that Mammon spewed to you about him. No, you wouldn’t come to him for help.

But color him surprised when you showed up at his bedroom door the very next day asking for help for the very thing that Lucifer warned him about. You pleaded your case very well in hindsight. He could see the hope in your eyes as you looked towards the only other human in Hell for help. Sadly for you, it’s been a long time since Solomon has felt such an intense love for a family member such as you do right now. He just didn’t understand your need to contact anyone. And he told you what everyone else did. It’s better for everyone if you just waited till the year ended to see them again. So you did.

You pushed your love for your sister to the back of your mind and tried to cover it up with the love you had for the brothers. You spoiled them rotten. Lucifer too when he would allow it. But he was often times the one to tell you to stop babying his brothers. Asmodeus would shout that you were a grown woman and if you wanted to baby him then Lucifer should let you! Everyone decided not to acknowledge the fact that he only mentioned you babying him and not any of the others. You learned how to cook with the best of them. Though you were still kinda scared of knifes. But you had to. To help feed Beel and his never ending appetite. You felt so bad for him that you always made sure to make extras for him every time you cooked. It must be Hell to feel like you’re starving all the time. You even bought him a mini fridge to keep in his room. Lucifer admonished you for that too.

No brother was left out of your loving and giving ways. Gaming with Levi was fun, though you did mention how much he hurt you at the beginning of your time here, he soon went on a spiel about how he was a yucky otaku and he didn’t deserve your friendship. You kind of wanted to let him know that this manipulation thing wasn’t cute but it was already 3 in the morning, you were too tired. So you just said you forgiven him and went to bed. Once in your room you noticed Satan on your bed, asleep with a book you had bought him from the human world open on his lap. You set the book aside and curled up next to him. He grumbled about pirates and treasure islands as drool dripped from his lips. No these brothers could never replace your lovely little sister. But they were becoming more of a family to you than some other members of your real family. You soon fell asleep and dreamed about memories long since passed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You were sitting on your bed as your sister sat beside you. You both watched your tv and laughed as your favorite streamer said something stupid again. She turned to you and spoke.

“You know, I love it when I infect you.”

“What? What does that mean?” You questioned.

“I just like to see you enjoy stuff that I like. I like showing you my special interests and you actually listen and enjoy them too. It makes me feel nice. Appreciated isn’t the right word.” She grumbled, trying to find words for her jumbled thoughts. “I don’t know. I just like that you’re here with me.”

You stare into your sisters eyes as your own begin to tear up. You were always the one to cry in your family. A big ol’ crybaby. But you couldn’t help it. Sometimes you just ‘felt things’ way too much.

“I understand what you’re saying. I like that you’re here with me too.” You pull your sister into a hug. “I’ll always be here for you. No matter what. You wanna talk about something you like for hours on end? Let’s do it, just let me get comfortable first.” She elbowed you. You kiss the top of her head. “If you ever need someone to talk to about your feelings, or if somebody is scaring you or bothering you or whatever, I’ll be here. I’ll always be here. You know you’re the person I care most about in the world right?” She lifts up her head and smiles.

“I know.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It’s been a year. A whole year away from your family and you’re getting ready to finally see them again. You can’t wait to see them… but it feels… wrong somehow. Like you’re leaving a part of you behind. The whole house was in dismay this last week. Everyone was quiet. The brothers were contemplating on how they were going to get on with life without you. Some of them believed they can go about their regular business just fine without you. But they knew. In the back of their minds they knew that you stepped into their lives and shook up their world. Altering it forever. They loved you. Fully. And when these 7 demons loved something, it was hard for them to unclasp their claws from that something. But with you, they couldn’t hide you away. Lock you in a room and throwaway the key. Though some contemplated it. No. They had to let you go.

And like you said, it wasn’t just hard on them. You loved them too. Through all the blood, sweat, and tears you survived and came out the other side with a whole new perspective on life and a new family. It was gonna be hard leaving them. So when the day finally came to go, you cried. You couldn’t bring all your Devildom trinkets with you, considering some of their origins. So you gifted them back to the brothers that would cherish them the most.

You gifted Asmo a peculiar hexed hair comb that a RAD student gave you. It was supposed to be cursed so the user would always have bad hair days if they used the brush. Luckily for you, that person flunked their Hexing 101 class, so it literally did the exact opposite. You told Asmo that his hair was beautiful and he’d never need it, but he should have it, just in case. He wept into your shoulder as he hugged you. Levi got a anime figurine that you bought yourself. It was from a random Demonic Anime that you’ve never watched but you bought it because it was cute and pink. He told you exactly where he would be putting it and how he’d dust it everyday. You just giggled as you moved on.

Satan got a spell book from you. It belonged to your spell casting teacher that took a particular liking to you. Satan didn’t have the heart to tell you that he already had that edition. But he still cherished it regardless. Beel and Belphie got scarves that you crocheted yourself. Apparently the yarn was magical and imbued with a special silk webbing that would take the makers feelings and use them to keep itself warm. So if you loved the person you gifted it too, it would exude heat. And boy, were they toasty every time they wore it. Luckily it was always decently cold in the Devildom.

Then came the next two, Mammon and Lucifer. You stopped in front of them both as you knew you were keeping everyone too long. You took out a necklace and a ring. Both bought for you from your own mother. You felt a little bad giving these gifts away. They did mean a lot to you. But so did the 2 demons standing in front of you. You handed the necklace with a simple sunflower charm to Mammon as you handed the accompanying sunflower engraved ring to Lucifer. You told them they didn’t have to wear them or anything. Especially since the ring won’t fit Lucifer’s fingers anyways. But still, you wanted to leave a little part of you with them. A small sliver of your soul. Solomon told you once that if a human wore something or had something on their person for long enough, that object could retain pieces of that person spirit. Their energy. And you wore those bits of jewelry your whole life. It felt right to give these two men something from the heart. Since they truly stole yours.

You walked back over to Diavolo and Barbatos as you stood side by side with Solomon. They asked if you were finally ready to go back home. You nodded as you turned towards the portal, you wiped away your tears and pushed your way through the fog. Leaving this place you called Home.

Mammon looked down into his hand. The simple silver chain and sunflower charm glinting in the moonlight. He could feel a tear slip down his cheek as he saw your aura encapsulate the pendant. A beautiful shimmering glow that only creatures such as him could see. He quickly closed his hand into a fist, already feeling his sin clawing at his heart. Wanting no one to see the beautiful piece of yourself that you left for him and only him. Well, him and Lucifer. Lucifer ushered his brothers back the House of Lamentation. As they all walked into the parlor, a silent yearning filled them all. Belphegor was the one to brake it.

“I miss them.” All the brothers could do was nod, as they all felt the same.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

No. No no no no. NO. This was not supposed to happen! What the fuck happened!? No no, you promised her. Now look what happened. YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE THERE! WHY WEREN’T YOU THERE!?

You sobbed and begged and pleaded. You choked on your own vomit as you heaved into the trash can. The people around the police station looked towards you in pity as you screamed and wailed that this was all just a bad dream. They had to interview you, as were a potential suspect but they could tell you had no idea what happened. The pain in your voice, in your eyes, was real. Now the interrogation was more so a formality , for the paperwork than to get any real answers.

You couldn’t go home. There was no home to go to. It was infested with men and women in blue uniforms and wrapped up in yellow tape. Your house was a crime scene. Your sister was gone. You promised her. No. You lied to her.

You look towards your phone and see the millions of messages and calls that never went through to you since you been stuck in hell. The last one replayed in your head on loop. Your little sisters voice pleading for you to come home, she’s scared. There’s someone in the house. She called 911 but their not here yet. Why’d you leave me? What did I do? Oh god. Their in my room. I can see him. No no NO! HE’S… than nothing but blood curdling screaming and sobbing came after that. You hear a wet squelch before someone picked up the phone to end the call.

You heaved into the bucket as you cried. Your baby sister. Your everything. Is gone. She’s gone. And it’s your fault.

This is all your fault.

It’s ALL YOUR FAULT!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It’s been months since any of the brothers have seen you and they’ve, for the most part, have gotten things back to normal. All of them miss you dreadfully but there’s nothing they can do. Despite how hard some of them try.

Belphie has tried multiple times, along with Satan, to open up a portal to the Human realm to visit you themselves. Lucifer thwarted each and every one of their attempts. Mammon tried bribing Witches and Warlocks alike to take him up top so he can see you all by himself. Of course, none of them helped him. And then there were the others that held onto their sadness but kept chugging on anyways. Like Asmo or Beel.

It was just a normal day in the House of Lamentation when Lucifer gets an urgent call from Lord Diavolo. Ordering him and his brothers to come down to the castle now. Lucifer rounds up his brothers and leave’s immediately.

“What’s the big rush? Why does he need us there right now?” Mammon shoves his hands into his pocket. Toying with his little piece of you.

“I don’t know but he sounded urgent. If there’s something wrong in the Devildom and Lord Diavolo needs our help with it, then we shall abide.” Lucifer storms off in front of everybody as he knocks upon the ginormous doors of the castle. Barbatos opens them and ushers everyone inside.

“Barbs~, what’s the problem? I don’t feel like getting my clothes dirty today.” Asmo groans as he glided next to Barbatos. He sighs. “It’s quite… difficult to explain. They’re back.” Levi rolls his eyes as he toys with his D.D.D.

“Who?”

“(Y/n).”

And with that, all the demons went sprinting towards the main dining area. As they got closer they heard shouting and screaming. They all feel their pact with you flare up. The burst through the doors as they see you being pinned down to the floor by some royal guards. All of them shifted into their demonic forms but only two of them went in for the kill. Mammon and Belphegor were held back as Lucifer and Beel struggled to keep them in place.

“What in the Hell happened here!?” Lucifer shouted. Satan looks around the room and sees destruction of plates and chairs. He looks towards Diavolo and notices a very slight reddening on his cheek. Had you… Had you hit him? How did you achieve that? He looked towards you and all he could see was a mess. Clothes dirty. Hair oily. Face splotchy and red. Your eyes were even redder. Puffy. Like you haven’t slept since leaving them all those months ago. But you didn’t look tired. You didn’t look sad despite the constant tears running down your face. He didn’t need to be the Avatar of Wrath to be able to tell that you were furious.

Lucifer has also came to the same conclusion as he eventually let go of Mammon and made his way to you. He kneels down by you as he ushers the guards away. The reluctantly let go and you slowly push yourself up. He tries to help you but you smack his hand as hard as you could. You sit on the floor as you try and catch your breath.

“(Y/n)… what has gotten into you? What has happened that would cause you to behave this way?” You wipe your face and look at your hand. Red blood smeared across the surface. Your nose was smashed pretty harshly on the ground when the guard tackled you. Lucifer just keeps calling your name. Spewing questions left and right. You don’t answer any of them. You don’t need to. No. No. They answer to you. You pull yourself with the broken chair beside you as you look towards Diavolo once again. There’s a sadness in his eyes that you refuse to acknowledge. You wobble your way closer to him but the guards stop you. You can hear A few of the brothers growl in the background but you pay them no mind.

“It’s your fault.” You whisper. Barely holding back a sob. “It’s… it’s all your fault!” You cry. Diavolo tries to ask you about this perceived slight that you have against him. But you cut him off. “Out of all the shit that I’ve been through…” spit flies past your teeth as you stutter out your words in barely veiled anger. “All the shit I’ve done for YOU!” You point towards him. “For THEM!” You wave your arms towards the 7 demonic entities behind you. “And all I ask for was a call. Not even! A fucking text! Anything. FUCKING ANYTHING!” You grab a broken shard of something off the table as you chucked it at the Prince with all your might. You barely grazed his arm. “And look what fucking happened!”

You fall to your knees as you sob and heave. “She’s gone. I promised her and because of you I couldn’t be there. SHE needed me and YOU took me away!” You bang your hand against your chest hard enough to give yourself a bruise as you moaned in despair. The air in the room seemed to vanish. The brothers were told about your sister from Beel. You had never mentioned her to them. But Beel took it upon himself to mention her. They grew excited at the prospect of meeting another one of Lillith’s descendants. You were the oldest? Sooo, were you more like Lucifer or more like Mammon? The thought of meeting this person that you clearly loved, at least from what Beelzebub had told them, instantly left their minds as they all connected the dots. Your little sister was dead. She had died while you were down here. Having fun with your new family.

Asmo gasped silently into his hand as everyone else took their turns as shock and horror ran through them. Beel and Belphie however, stood stock still. The complet and utter pain you were feeling. They new it all too well. All the brothers did. But the twins had dealt with a different type of pain. Considering they were once triplets. Belphie made the first move to try and comfort you. But you just shoved him away as you clumsy maid your way to Barbatos. You cling to him as if he was the only thing keeping you alive. Sane.

“Please. You can bring her back. You did it with me you can do it it again. Please bring her back. Please just please do it. Please I’m begging you please…” you sob into his chest. Tears soaking into his butler uniform. He pays your back and says. “I’m sorry (Y/n). But that’s just now how it works.” You fling yourself off of him.

“YES. YES IT DOES! It has too. You have to bring her back. You did it with me. Why not her!?” You slowly raise your hands, palm up. “Or… or… you can take me instead? Yeah. You can do that right? My soul for hers.” You ask quietly but his constant shaking of his head just angers you. You claw at your head, pulling at your hair.

“You’re a fucking demon! Souls are your thing! Not only that but you’re the only demon in all of Hell to have fucking time powers. LIKE HELL IT DOESN’T WORK THAT WAY! Are you really that fucking stupid!? That fucking WEAK?” You feel arms pull you back towards a warm chest. Belphegor holds you close as he tries to overpower you with his Sin. You can feel yourself get sleepy. You start to fall back towards the ground but Belphie holds you up. He whispered in your ear.

“I know (Y/n). I understand your sadness. Your anger. Your violence. But let’s sleep for now.” You try and struggle out of his arms but your arms feel like lead. You feel numb to the world. So instead you use up your last bits of energy to spew out one more sentence.

“I don’t give a shit. You’re dead to me.” Because even though you knew they could understand you better than most, the guilt that warped your brain lingered heavily. The day your sister died was the same day you told the brothers during dinner that you considered all of them your family. Levi jokingly asked which of your family was better? And you jokingly replied… them. So in the back of your mind, to keep you from killing yourself in despair you pushed every single negative emotion you felt onto those around you.

“You’re fucking dead to me.”

#Dead to Me.#Obey Me/Reader #obey me x reader

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caubri · 3 months ago

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✧･ﾟ:RAVENWOOD LEGACY CHALLENGE:･ﾟ✧

When I was a kid I mainly played 2 games; Wizard101 and The Sims 4. So let’s mix the two!

Each generation is inspired by the seven schools from Wizard101. Unfortunately this will not be Base-Game Compatible but all pack requirements are listed next to their respective generation.

I'm not a writer so please excuse the quality of my writing <3

BASIC RULES:

Have fun! If there’s a rule that’s holding you back from having fun with your game, pretend it’s not there! (This is meant to expand your gameplay, NOT limit you.)

Match your sims wardrobe to the colours listed under each generation

Add any extra lore you’d like to. The more the merrier :D

The challenge is completed once every Generation 7 goal has been completed.

If you play this challenge, and you’d like me or others to see it, add #RavenwoodLegacy to your posts!

GENERATION 1: FIRE requires Lovestruck, Cats & Dogs

“If the mind is like a candle, the Heart is like the sun.” - Kingsisle

You’re quick to anger but you have a great passion for the loves of your life. They tend to walk a fine line so be careful, because those passionate flames could one day burn and consume you. Being completely obsessed with all things romance, you’re looking for the one that will match all the characters you’ve been writing about in your romance novels. To most people, your standards are impossible. Although you’ve dated many, you never end up settling down with anyone. On the plus side, your many dates make great writing inspiration.

Traits: Romantic, Hot-headed, Self-Assured

Aspiration: Romantic Explorer

Career: Writer: Author (Specializes in Romance Novels)

Rules:

Master Writer Career and complete Romantic Explorer Aspiration

Master Romance and Writing Skill

Adopt a Cat or Fox

Never keep a partner for longer than two sim weeks

All partners must be met through Cupid’s Corner

Next Generation Heir can only live with you, not the other parent

Associated Colours: Red, Orange, Yellow

Name Ideas (From W101): Dalia, Ashley, Bernie

GENERATION 2: ICE requires Seasons, City Living, Get Together, Nifty Knitting, Spa Day

“...with Persistence, Victory is assured.” - Kingsisle

“Slow and steady wins the race.” they say. Or at least you do. You grew up in a semi-broken household. One of your parents drove the other away shortly after you were born but that didn’t mean you had issues knowing what real love was. You didn’t realise until you were older that your parent’s standards weren’t actually that crazy. Your highschool sweetheart made you discover that whatever that was written in your parent’s romance novels can actually exist in real life. Even though you have it all, you can always be better. Whether it’s painting, skating, or knitting, you can never be less than great.

Traits: Perfectionist, High Maintenance, Loyal

Aspiration: Renaissance Sim

Career: Painter: Patron of the Arts

Rules:

Master Painter Career and Complete Renaissance Sim Aspiration

Master Painting and Fitness Skills

Have a hobby of Skating

Complete Snow Globe Collection

Marry your high school sweetheart (only remarry if your spouse dies)

Be the leader of a club and attend meetings weekly (ex. Book Club)

Take up Knitting as an elder

Associated Colours: Blue, White, Dark Purple

Name Ideas (From W101): Lydia, Kelvin

GENERATION 3: STORM requires Get To Work, Crystal Creations, Get Together

“That which can be imagined, can be achieved.” - Kingsisle

Growing up around an artist, you got to embrace your creative side at a young age. As an adult, you used your creative prowess to carry you through your career as a scientist. “Eureka!” To you, your career is like catching lightning in a bottle but to others… you may be a tad bit insane. Whenever you’re not in the lab, you express that spark with your crystal collecting. (You may have stolen a few from some co-workers… oops) And just between us… You dance in your bedroom when no one is watching.

Traits: Creative, Ambitious, Dance Machine

Aspiration: Crystal Crafter

Career: Scientist

Rules:

Master Scientist Career and Crystal Crafter Aspiration

Master Logic and Gemology Skill

Have a hobby of Dancing

Complete Crystals and Metals Collection

Have multiple children (a non-heir child must have a daughter)

Associated Colours: Purple, Yellow, Dark Green

Name Ideas (From W101): Halston, Torrence

GENERATION 4: MYTH requires Discover University, Realm of Magic, Kids Room Stuff

“To control the Future, one must look to the Past.” - Kingsisle

Your imagination is everything. Nothing means more to you than the power of your mind. Many people described your parents as crazy and the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. You value your relationships with animals and robots over other sims. Or at least you thought you did until you met your niece. After that you realized maybe having a family wouldn’t be so bad. As you were researching spellcasters in the Magic Realm of Glimmerbrook, you met someone who caught your eye. As a young adult you built yourself a robot without realizing that said robot would become your best(robot)man at your wedding.

Traits: Erratic, Genius, Jealous

Aspiration: Spellcraft and Sorcery

Career: Engineer: Mechanical Engineer

Rules:

Master Engineer Career and Spellcraft and Sorcery Aspiration

Master Robotics Skill

As a child, complete the Voidcritter Collection

(optional) Get a degree in Physics (must live in a dorm)

Marry a spellcaster, and become a spellcaster

Build and befriend Servo

Be your niece’s godparent

Associated Colours: Yellow, Blue, Black

Name Ideas (From W101): Cyrus, Ivan

GENERATION 5: LIFE requires Eco Lifestyle, Cottage Living

“As we have been Created, so must we Create.” - Kingsisle

Your entire life has been about growth. You grew your love for music since you were a kid, and as an adult you grew your plants and watched your animals grow right in your backyard. Your music breathes life and spirit into your green-filled home. As a child you were just as nurtured by your parents as your farm is by you. You wish to do the same for your children.

Traits: Good, Music Lover, Green Fiend

Aspiration: Country Caretaker

Career: Gardener: Botanist (optional)

Rules:

Master Gardener Career (optional) and Country Caretaker Aspiration

Master Gardening and a music skill of your choice

Have the next gen-heir be born in the last half of the Adult Life Stage

Attend the Finchwick Fair occasionally

Always have a Cow or Cowplant on your lot

Associated Colours: Green, Brown, Gold

Name Ideas (From W101): Linda, Blossom, Sylvia

GENERATION 6: DEATH requires Vampires, Cats and Dogs, Get Famous, Any pack including apartments

“Timor mortis conturbat me.” (The Fear of Death Confounds Me) - Kingsisle

Your earliest memory was listening to your parents singing and playing their favourite instrument. They passed away when you were decently young. As soon as they passed you moved out on your own into an apartment, adopted a cat and tried to get your life on track. You did some odd-jobs here and there to make ends meet as you could only handle having a part-time job. You visited your Parents’ graves in Forgotten Hollow and discovered the existence of vampires. This discovery seemed to give you a purpose in life, a way to potentially cheat death unlike your parents.

Traits: Loner, Cat Lover, Self-Absorbed

Aspiration: Master Vampire

Career: Any Part-Time Job

Rules:

Master A Part-Time Career and Master Vampire Aspiration

Master Pipe Organ and Vampire Lore Skill

Start a part-time job as a teenager and keep it until you retire

Keep your cat alive as long as possible using Healthy Treats

Get your spouse to eat Ambrosia at least once (if they’re not a vampire)

Live in an apartment for most of your life

Associated Colours: Black, Red, White

Name Ideas (From W101): Malistaire, Malorn, Mortis, Dworgyn

GENERATION 7: BALANCE requires Discover University, Cats and Dogs, Spa Day, Strangerville, For Rent

“Eye of Newt, and Toe of Frog, Wool of Bat, Tongue of Dog.” - Kingsisle

You believe that every part of you was once a part of the generations before you. You’re like a perfect blend of them all. It’s as if you’ve stolen little bits of everyone and turned it into one unique being. The good parts and the bad. You’re just as smart as your ancestors but also just as crazy. You do good deeds during the day by bringing justice to criminals, while committing your own crimes at night… But it balances out, right?

Traits: Generous, Paranoid, Kleptomaniac

Aspiration: Inner Peace

Career: Law: Judge

Rules:

Master Law Career and Inner Peace Aspiration

(optional) Get a degree in History

Master Wellness and Research and Debate Skill

Have a Dog

Must have a Son and Daughter (keep going till you have it)

Associated Colours: Brown, Red, Orange

Name Ideas (From W101): Arthur, Niles, Alhazred

created by @caubri

If you run into any issues involving the writing of this challenge, let me know so i can fix it, as I have not gotten a chance to fully play test this yet.

#ravenwoodlegacy #ravenwoodlegacychallenge #the sims 4 #legacy challenge #the sims #sims challenge #sims 4 legacy challenge #caubri

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togalnu · 1 year ago

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Do you have any specific hcs for fem togainu or just fem nitrochi as a whole? I'd love to hear them! ^^

Oops I meant to answer this earlier. Anyways yes! I will be putting this under a read more because. Lol. Enjoy!

You wanna know a secret? Earlier this year I was researching parodies and the legalities of them because I had the grand idea to make a togainu remake but yuri and with some story changes. A whole ass visual novel. I was seriously planning on making it. Suffice to say I have put in some thought in turning these yaoi boys into yuri girls.

We will be here all day if I list every little thought and headcanon I have! I'll def make more posts about my visions in the future, but for right now I need to talk about Shiki. I NEED TO TALK ABOUT SHIKI.

First and foremost, my overall thoughts about Shiki: wasted potential. His route was a huge disappointment when I finally got to it. It was fumbled so fucking badly and it pains my soul because Shiki is hot and I love the concept of his character but.. man. What a let down. I ended up thinking about him a lot because of this. What I would do if I were in charge of writing his route, parts of his characterization that I'd rid of or ameliorate, and maybe even giving him some new quirks to not make him so one-dimensional-evil-villain type. And then along with this, I started thinking about what if he was a woman. because I am attractdd to women. Typical thought process.

First, his design. I am a sucker for black haired red eyes bitches. I love black and red. I'm dying my hair black and red at the end of the year. The majority of my wardrobe is black and red. I do not play around #EMO. I love the almost leather gothic look he has but unfortunately it is not enough for me. I felt that he needed more unnecessary accessories and belts and other clothing items, as any goth should have. I've had a few ideas in mind for Shiki girl outfit and they all lean into these more, like giving her extra bracelets, belts, necklaces, crosses, whatever. I want her DECKED OUT!!! But I also struggle coming up with outfits so I can't really decide what looks good LMAO

Things I love about Shiki's outfit:

- The gloves. UGHHH gloves are so fun. The longer the gloves are the better.

- His stupid coat

- The spikes and crosses. The silver adds a lot to his appearance

- Turtleneck<3

Things I don't like about Shiki's outfit:

- those stupid ass notches on his pants. I can't tell if he has insane thigh-high boots or strange pants, and neither can a lot of artists it seems like? Though it seems pants are the consensus. SAD!

- Turtleneck should have long sleeves

- Or his coat should have long sleeves. One of those two

- What the hell is going on with his belt. It'd look fine if it didn't have those strange hanging.. circle... things

NOW MY IDEAS

I like the idea of her having a corset and fishnets, so I've been including that in whatever iteration of her design I'm working on. I gotta keep the coat too as it's like, a Shiki classic. I've also been trying to decide how a skirt for her might look (I love the idea of it having a slit so you can see her fishnets and thigh high boots).

But I'm torn on including the turtleneck as much as I love it.... I feel like it kinda clashes. Idk maybe i should just move her skirt up so it's not hanging off her ass but also it's fun to draw it that way.

Although adding another belt with the skirt could work too, and have the fishnets peaking out from the skirt slit... not gonna draw that rn though im just brainstorming here

Like I said earlier I'd love to give her way more accessories than base Shiki has but I need to definitely play around with outfit ideas more bc I don't want her to look too cluttered either. Also sorry all the pics are torso only because for some reason I struggle HARD with drawing calves and feet

I don't have much to say for hair ideas.. I just like the idea of it flairing out + two long.. idk what to call them... strands of hair? Down her cheeks?? Okay well u see what I mean in the pic. Bangs pretty much stay the same

And ohhh my god I know togainu is set in the post-apocalyptic future, but considering it came out in 2005 I feel obligated to rework some of the designs to be a little more y2k.. Akira with low waisted flared jeans... making Shiki even more gothic... it's so fucking fun HOW CAN I NOT!!

Also the other day I saw this one corset that I LOVED and wanted to see if I can Shiki-fy it but hmm... idk... I definitely need to play around with the idea more but here's a quick sketch i did just for funsies so you get the idea

Okay moving on

Second, his characterization. I love the idea of what they were going for in terms of his relation to Nano. I wish so badly they had expanded on this past Shiki just hating line users and killing them because he's unable to kill Nano (although I do think this is a pretty good bit of characterization). I'm pretty sure the Chayamachi manga goes more into this but idc we are talking about the game so I'm gonna pretend it doesn't exist.

Shiki is smug and cocky. Incredibly so. But a big part of his character is how hateful he is, so much so that it's this hate that motivates everything he does.

I love it. I love his hatred. I wish the game went more into it sooo badly and like if he found out Akira had anti-line blood before the end of the game and there was time given to show his reaction? Would he hate Akira for it??? Would he feel any kind of resentment?? If I was Shiki I'd definitely feel complicated as fuck over it!!!

Anyways I'm still working out how fem Shiki could be improved upon in terms of this, and I LOVEEE LOVE LOVE LOVE writing personality and backstories and relationships with other characters and how they all interact with each other. I have very deep oc lore because of this but i will not get into my ocs rn because they have nothing to do with togainu.

This post is already long enough however and if I were to talk about all the ideas I had for Shiki characterization upgrade... well it'd take even longer. To say the least. One day I'll talk about it though! In a more comprehensive post including other characters and whatnot. It's something I definitely also need to work out in my head more tho

It's been a pretty fun project so far that I hope to do more with in the future. Side note that doesn't really matter but there's this song that I always imagine fem Shiki amvs too oops.. RIDE IT by LustSickPuppy... this part especially.......

(the part is around 1:17 if you don't feel like listening to the entire thing. But u should)

Urggghhhh I love lsp ugh ughhhhhfuhrhhcuuhfhuufghh sorry for posting lyrics and a spotify link. It will happen again

OKAY. AMYWAYS

I do not give a fuck if all of this seems too self indulgent. If anything it's supposed to be!!! It's a labor of love!!!

Thank u to anyone who read this far. I appateciate it

#asks #im crazy #tnc #shiki

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sio-lokistiel · 1 year ago

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Hi!! So I'm a fairly strong chuck won believer (i have been given some Extremely convincing evidence and I think its interesting to think about so) but I saw a post you made about how that theory disregards cas and jacks arcs and I was just wondering if you could expand on that? I'm super open to interpretations lol and I'm really curious to hear the other side (i haven't seen too much anti chuck won stuff so I dont know the arguments)

Okay, oh boy. I guess part of it is what exactly you mean by “Chuck Won” because I understand it on a censorship level. Yes, Chuck was representing the network. Yes, the network meddled and cut Dean’s reciprocation and we ended up with that garbage finale with pages of [OMITTED] in the script. So, if that’s all you mean by “Chuck Won” then yeah, whatever I guess.

Idk, some people probably feel it’s a legitimate theory simply because Dean died. It seems a lot of the fandom thinks death = bad…and that’s just not the case now that Jack freed the souls. I mean, I can throw quotes from The Mummy and Lord of the Rings at you about how death is the next step in journey. So while I’m no longer upset about Dean dying in general, especially because it was foreshadowed, the way he died was so fucking dumb. That doesn’t mean I think it has anything to do with Chuck.

Cas’ arc was all about self-actualization. His speech in Gimme Shelter explains a good part of it with how he found purpose having a family and becoming a dad, BUT him also realizing that having himself is important, too. Then, oh goodness, we reach the culmination in Despair (The Truth) when he realizes happiness is in the saying, in accepting your truth, both the good and bad bits of yourself. The Empty comes and he reintegrates with his Shadow to become whole and saves Dean, the world, and himself in the process. Yes, that’s a whole bunch of Jungian psychology stuff and it’s a lot to process and I’m probably not doing the best job of explaining it. Most of the Chuck Won theory stuff I’ve seen ignores all that and seems to ignore the canon that Cas IS in heaven. I understand the disappointment of Cas and Dean not reuniting, YET. Corporate fuckery (and Covid) kept it from happening in the finale with the original Roadhouse ending that was planned and then scheduling conflicts and Jensen and Misha agreeing Cas needed more than a cameo kept him from being in The Winchesters.

And Jack. Jack was literally the whole goddamn point. The two big things are he’s possessed and sometimes dead because of this, or he is corrupted somehow. I have never seen a convincing damn argument for either of these things. There’s one post that tries to compare some his mannerisms to Chuck, but is filled with so much straw grasping and reaching I’m surprised the author didn’t need a doctor afterward. Another is that some people project on the poor boy so much and just they don’t like his arc, they want to think something is wrong. There is a lot more Pagan stuff about Jack and the number of mythologies where some god is brought down by being a power hungry dickhead and that comes back to bite them in the ass as a grandchild in Jack’s case removes them from power. There are better people to explain all the Pagan imagery surrounding Jack; my tag #jack is the orphic egg should get you to some really good stuff. I’m also not down to argue about how the last 3-5 seasons are meant to read with a Pagan lens. There was one group who predicted the end of the mothership months in advance and then all of The Winchesters and it wasn’t the people clinging to some white Christian reading.

Last thing, I just personally find the theory really lazy as well. I would legitimately be so disappointed in Jensen and whoever ends up writing the next chapter whether that’s Robbie or someone else if they went that route. Luckily, they are all smarter than that and I can see them seeming to lean into it, but then having the most fabulous rug pull! This is very long, oops.

#jack kline #castiel #spn #spnwin #fuck chuck won #anon ask #hermeticism #long post

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mikkimadison · 2 months ago

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Ed had not been having a good day.

First, he woke up an hour before his alarm because Jazz made a mess in her crate. While cleaning that up, he'd found out he was almost out of cleaner and almost out of dog food, which meant he had to cram a trip to the store in on his lunch break. But then the meeting before lunch ran just five minutes longer than it was supposed to, leaving Ed scrambling to get food, get home to let Jazz out, and get to the store before he had to be back at work. And then he hit every red light on the way, so of course he was late.

Which meant he was late for his post-lunch meeting, and his manager reprimanded him, and it meant they might lose out on a very lucrative contract. Then, when he finally sat down to each lunch, stomach growling, he discovered he'd gotten the wrong order.

When he got home and saw Jazz had gotten out of her crate and proceeded to destroy his couch, Ed decided someone had it out for him. And he had a pretty good idea who.

He put Jazz's leash and harness on her, stuck a little bottle of wine out in the pocket of his coat, and went for a walk.

Jazz was thrilled about the walk, shoving her head into every third bush to smell whatever was living there, but Ed hauled her out with a promise to let her sniff as long as she wanted on the way back. With his luck right now, she'd get attacked by a cat he hadn't seen and they'd have to make an emergency trip to the vet, and that would delay this even longer.

The temple he needed to visit wasn't in one of the city's main districts, but further off the beaten path, in an area where there were a few temples to regional gods. Smaller gods, as it were.

Ed stomped up the stairs with his dog in tow and muttered the usual prayer at the door, and then set his small wine bottle in the alcove nearby for gifts. Now, now maybe things would go back to normal.

"No."

Ed whirled at the voice, but there was no one there. Only a cat sat on the ground a few feet away, fully black except for a ring of white fur around its eyes. It was almost lost in the evening shadows between the hanging lanterns except for its furry white mask and ̃glowing yellow-green eyes.

The cat meowed, and then repeated, clear as day, "No."

Jazz sniffed at the wall of the temple, showing no indication that she'd heard the cat at all. Which meant...

Ed glared at the cat. "No? What do you mean, no?"

The cat flopped on its side and lazily stretched. "It's been six weeks since your last visit. No prayers, no gifts, not even hardly a thought spared for old Min. One bottle of wine isn't going to cut it."

"I've been under a deadline at work," Ed said. "I've been busy, and every weekend's been booked."

Min's tail twitched. "And yet I bet you've made time for the others, haven't you?"

Ed winced. No point in lying. "Well, I was already in the temple district..."

"Oh, of course." Min scoffed. "Already down there, easy enough to bring gifts for health and travel, safety and fortune. So easy. So much harder to find your way to this temple, the temple of your childhood. So hard to spare a few minutes for the god of little lucks."

Ed closed his eyes and counted to ten. It was frustrating, but Min wasn't wrong. He got onto his knees and bowed. "Min, o god of little lucks, I'm sorry for neglecting you. Please accept my deepest apologies and tell me how to make it right."

Min rolled back up into a seated position and its tail twitched thoughtfully. "Make this pilgrimage each evening for one week, and bring a gift each time."

"A week?" Ed gaped. "Every day?!"

Something cracked above his head, and a tree branch landed just a foot away from him and Jazz.

"Oops," Min said.

Point made. "All right," Ed muttered. "But I can't afford wine each time."

"Tuna's fine." Min trotted to a low pillar and hopped on top of it. "And bring your mutt. She could use the exercise, hm?"

Ed looked at Jazz, who was still happily sniffing everything in a six-foot radius. This was the first time they'd been on a real walk in over a month. He'd been neglecting her, too. "Okay. I mean, yes, o god of little lucks."

Min purred and hopped down from the pillar, and then disappeared into the darkness without so much as a parting yowl.

Then again, maybe Ed really didn't need a god to say goodbye to him. Especially one who had him on its shit list.

He sighed and got to his feet. Jazz trotted over and leaned into his legs, her tongue lolling out between her teeth as she panted.

Ed gave her a good pat on the side. "What do you say we take the long way home, girl?"

Jazz woofed.

"Yeah, I thought you'd like that."

Ed led her back down the stairs and onto the street, letting her sniff to her heart's content. Maybe after a longer walk, he'd feel like he'd made up for neglecting her for the past few weeks.

And maybe he'd also pick up some tuna on the way.

You’re a deity of something small and seemingly unimportant. You’re the first one the people stop praying and sacrificing to when things get dire. Oh, what fools they are.

#m writes #short story #the god of little lucks #I wrote some stories for random prompts last November and so trying to finish posting them now XD

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aqueousablution · 15 days ago

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(March 2024) At long last, I think I finally have an armor design for Alex that I'm mostly happy with

Inspiration struck after I realized it might be fun to make him an etherist (read: mage) now that I'm adding ether to the setting, which means he'd probably be wearing lighter armor than what I had initially planned. His armor is still a fair bit heavier than what would be typical for an etherist (think medium armor instead of light or no armor), and he still carries a vibro-saber, but he primarily fights with ether attacks at range now instead of… whatever I was going to have his niche be (I never really figured that one out, tbh; I liked the idea of him using a snake gun or something along those lines in reference to his namesake, General Alex Dumas, being a dragoon at one point in his career, and dragoons being named after the "dragon" firearm, but it never quite felt right). The Three Musketeers vibe is because both that and The Count of Monte Cristo were written by Alexandre Dumas inspired by the stories he heard as a child of his father's exploits, so I thought it fitting for a man named after General Dumas and who styles himself after General Dumas to have that sort of look for his armor. His white-and-blue color scheme is meant to contrast with sorXa's black-and-red armor (since he's the more levelheaded of the two), and also ties in a bit with Jos's white-and-green color scheme (since they're siblings). The gold eyes also tie into the addition of ether to the setting; since he and sorXa were both supersoldiers, I thought it might make sense to pull an FFVII and have him be mako ether-infused, and for that to give him strangely colored eyes. It also would help explain why sorXa has golden eyes - even setting aside that she's now an ether-powered anthropoid, that would have been her eye color when she was a human, too.

Post-Cohost note: This armor design is no longer relevant and etherists aren't even a thing in the setting anymore haha oops

#Thomas-Alexander Bonheur #Machine at Arms #Aqueous OC #Aqueous art #concept art #character design #armor #Clara's Cohost backlog #Queuetaro Kujo

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journalofsorts2 · 2 years ago

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i know this isn't a super common experience or whatever but for me as a trans man, periods aren't really that dysphoric. like i know a ton of trans men feel dysphoria around their periods and that's totally valid and alright, but for me it just doesn't feel that dysphoria-inducing. idk i think it's because i don't really view periods as like a woman experience and i never really have. i think when i was little and looking forward to getting my period, it wasn't because i would be a "real woman" or whatever, it was because i knew it was inevitable and it was happening to all my friends and i wanted to be like everyone else. idk, i'm still like pre everything transition wise, so i still get regular periods, but it's not really like a 'oh no i feel like a woman' time, it's a 'oh no i'm in pain' time (i get super awful cramps). i just view it as just another thing that happens y'know? i don't really pay it much attention when it does happen either because i use pads cause tampons are icky and so i can just leave a pad in all day and basically forget about it until i have to go to the bathroom, unless i didn't take ibuprofen that morning. idk i just kinda wanted to talk about this somewhere that was just me y'know? i still feel out of place with being trans. like i feel like i was late to the party. cause you hear so many stories about people who knew their whole life, and had people who fought them every step of the way, or people who got bullied for being trans. but for me i only really figured out like a half a year ago. and before that i was non binary for a couple years, but i basically lived as a woman, no one even really used they/them with me too. but i didn't know my whole life, little me wasn't uncomfortable in dresses because they felt like a man, little me was uncomfortable in dresses because they hated themselves and their body. little me liked being a girl. little me didn't even know being a boy was an option. little me liked 'girl things', little me liked hanging out with the girls. i didn't know my whole life. i was comfortable enough to be a girl for a big part of my life. i didn't really consider that being trans was an option, i didn't really know that other girls didn't hate having boobs, and didn't wish to have a penis, and didn't like being addressed as sir or mister. i thought the way i felt was just how girls feel and i was comfortable enough to be a girl. and so i still feel a bit uncomfortable being trans because i feel like i don't belong. which is dumb i know, there's not like a checklist to being trans or whatever, but it's just how i feel. idk this post is way longer than i meant. oops.

#journalofsorts rants

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writingmysanity · 3 years ago

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Petals petals, everywhere

Prompt: March daily prompts

Day 3: Petals

Word count: 1200

Pairing: Eskel x reader

A/N: so I wrote this yesterday, and totally didn't post it for whatever reason. please enjoy a day late. oops. also, as always, unbeta'd and all mistakes are my own. Thank you @queenxxxsupreme for helping with some ideas- though I wasn't able to do them all bc it would have been significantly longer than it already is. I will do the rest in other pieces. bc they are incredible.

“I'll only be out for a few hours,” you promise, hand resting on his cheek, soft smile making him relax. This isn't the first time you've been through these parts. You know what to expect. Sighing, he nods, hand moving to rest over yours, turning his face to place a gentle kiss on your palm.

He blinks, hearing your heart rate spike, but otherwise, doesn't mention it.

It's such a small gesture and you deserve larger gestures, he convinces himself

“If you’re sure,” his voice is so soft you just about melt, lifting yourself onto your tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his lips, trying to keep your basket from getting in your way. He chuckles, not letting you pull away, an arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him, lifting you slightly so your toes barely are able to scrape the ground so he can kiss you properly. You squeak a bit, fingers curling in his shirt.

“Eskel!” you laugh into the kiss, hands moving to his shoulders, fingers winding in his hair. You don't miss how he shivers at the contact.

“Hmm?” he smiles a bit, nipping your lip, eyes lighting up playfully. Sucking in deeply, you fight the whine that gets caught in your throat, breath coming out heavy and thick, eyes lidded. You know full and well that there's no way to hide how he's affecting you- his damned senses being too strong. He's aware of how hard your heart is slamming against your ribs, and you're sure much more as you lean forward the best you can with next to zero purchase.

“I..” you hum, each kiss a bit more chaste than the last, much to your displeasure. “Need… to go.” he just nods, kissing you again.

“Yes.”

“Then set me down,” he chuckles.

“What do you say?” whining, you try to hide the way your shoulders shake with quiet laughter.

“Please?”

With that, he sets you down on your feet gently, helping smooth your skirts back to normal, his grin making you want to kiss him again. But you cant. You need to hurry to the market before you end up home well after dark.

“Is there anything specific you’d like from the market?” you ask, clearing your throat, clutching your basket. He just shakes his head, smile softening.

“Just get home safely,” he answers, pecking your cheek lovingly. Nodding, you squeeze his hand once.

“Yes, my darling Witcher.”

He stands there, watching you head down the path until he couldn't see you anymore, looking around him at the growth.

“Something… Nice,” he whispers to himself. “Pretty, she likes pretty”

What he meant to be a simple gesture quickly got out of hand.

The sun is setting by the time you’re making it home, the fiery light glistening across the lake beside the cottage you’re currently calling home, the sight leaving you breathless.

“Eskel?” you call, turning to slide into the small abode, finding yourself having to squint to see anything. He hasn't lit the hearth yet, that's odd. There's no sound at first, making you frown. Suddenly, something moves to your left. The shadow all but pops out of nowhere, standing suddenly, moving entirely too quick for your liking with the fact you cant see.

Shifting too quickly, you slip, yelping in surprise and fear, closing your eyes tight expecting to hit the ground. Instead, two familiar arms wrap around you, holding you hovering above the floor. Head snapping up, hand on your chest, heart thundering you cant vaguely make out Eskel’s face. His expression is unreadable, bright eyes hard, making you swallow hard.

“Esk?” you hate the tremble in your voice, but you still haven't calmed your heart. He takes a deep breath, eyes softening sadly, mouth moving to speak, but his lip trembles so he clenches his jaw. The breath he lets out is slow, controlled.

“What’s wrong?” you ask slowly, hand moving to cradle his cheek. To your surprise, he sets you down, not letting you touch him.

“You…” he pauses, eyebrows furrowing, jaw set, taking a breath. “You’re afraid of me?” you pause, staring at him, gaping at him.

“No, no” you stammer out, words trying to pour out all at once as you rush to grab his hands, looking up at him. “I am not afraid of you, my love. You startled me. You haven't lit the fire. I can't see well in here right now. You were just a large shadow coming at me. I haven't your eyes, dearest witcher.”

He nods slowly, looking around as if he is only just realizing how dark it is in the room before taking his hands from yours gently.

“One moment” he whispers sheepishly, his voice still too quiet as he walks to the fireplace signing Igni to start the fire. The warm glow quickly envelops the room as he makes no moves to come back to you, shifting on his feet, staring at you nervously.

Frowning, you start towards him until you notice the floor feels funny under your boots. Looking down, you kick at the substance littering the floor in a literal blanket, eyebrows raising.

“What is all this?” he clears his throat, smiling sheepishly, petals falling from his hands when he bends to scoop some up.

“I uh… was trying to surprise you.” he hums, scratching the back of his neck, taking a steadying breath to look at you fully. “I guess I got carried away,” he grumbles, making your lips twitch. Looking around, you notice that petals cover every inch of the floor.

“There's so many” you laugh, bending to copy his previous action, watching them fall slowly back to the floor. “How did this even happen?” he pouts.

“It started with flowers,” he starts, motioning to the table where a bouquet of flowers are bundled beautifully, each of the blooms brightly colored and expertly placed. You nod, following, moving to look at them more closely.

“They are beautiful,” you hum, bringing them to your nose to sniff. He smiles wider, happy he didn't mess that up, your heart much calmer- if fluttering just a bit. Besides the bundle is a small package wrapped in brown paper, secured with twine. Grabbing it gently, you hold it up.

“What’s this?”

“Chocolates.” he looks nervous, eyes downcast, glancing up at you occasionally. “I got them in the last town we were in,” he explains.

“These were costly, Eskel,” you frown a bit, placing them down with the flowers, turning to him, placing your hands on his chest to look up at him. He shrugs.

“Worth it, if you like them.”

Smiling, you lean up to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips.

“Why?”

“Because you deserve it?” he looks at you confused. Shaking your head amused, you pat his chest gently.

“No, my love. Why all of this?”

“Because you deserve it,” he repeats as if it's obvious. Softening, you nod. No need to upset him more. He's worked hard.

“I love my flowers and chocolates,” he relaxes, shoulders slumping in relief. “And my thousands of petals.” you tease, making him whine pitifully.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Tag list: @errruvande @thesleepy1 @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @queenxxxsupreme @screechingdreamercollectorsblog @open--till--midnight @one-eyed-captain-kinky

If you would like to be added to the tag list, please send me a message or ask or something.

#eskel x you #the witcher #eskel #eskel x reader #the witcher imagine #netflix!eskel x reader #witcher eskel #netflix!eskel #eskel x oc #eskel x y/n #netflix eskel #netflix!eskel x reader fluff #netflix!witcher #eskel imagine #game!eskel

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xanofmercia · 5 months ago

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Hmmm, interesting. Thanks for your take!

For me, the reason why I like “shittier draft” is because it gives me permission to do it badly. Almost like… “I *meant* to do it that way”. Sure, I’ll be pleasantly surprised if I come back to edit and find some gems there, but “shitty” is a vibe for me more than just a quality or moral judgment, so I expect it to seem rough around the edges and let myself do more experimenting or “good enough” stopgaps to get it done. Whereas “worst version” actually feels… to me, the same way “shittiest” feels to you! Like that’s not a vibe; that’s just a statement of quality. The worst version. It doesn’t matter that it’s relative; it still feels really bad even if it’s true. Calling something a “worst version” or “worst draft” would actually sap all of my motivation and morale to work on it.

All this is to say, it’s really interesting how different words can have massively different impacts on different people, even if we agree on their definitions.

Anyway, part of it might be things like.. I’ll say “oh this is so shitty but I love it”. The word with respect to quality kind of evokes grittiness, like “oh this isn’t smooth but the potential is there. Shaping and honing it will be fun but so is just getting it out there.” Whereas I’d never say “this is the worst but I love it.” To me “worst” carries more of a sense of… “irredeemable”, even though that doesn’t necessarily logically follow.

Also “shitty”, when I say it about my own work, doesn’t really bother me at all. It has no harmful impact and instead just lowers my expectations, which makes the process more fun. Slapping a “shitty” label onto something lets me know that this is the “quantity over quality” zone where I can dick around with things.

“it just needs to be done” doesn’t really work because it’s a mouthful and also not an adjective. It’s also not accurate! It implies I’m just trying to get it over with, like the process is a struggle but as long as it’s done that’s good. When I’m doing something shitty, the process isn’t a struggle. It’s just deliberately not trying to be good. And that feels a lot more fun! Whereas the “done version” (idk what one would call it) makes it sound like a boring slog that I definitely wouldn’t want to keep working on.

I’d never heard of “zero draft” before your post and checked out your posts on it. It sounds interesting and I’m really glad there are people it works for, but WOW that could not be me! I don’t even number my drafts at all, usually; I edit as part of the writing process (I.e. go back to read a previous scene to refresh myself on what the vibe was and where I left off, only to end up revising the scene because there are parts that need work). So it’s all one continuous first-to-final thing, until I’m at least halfway through and a really huge change comes up, and then I make a new file so it’s easier to delete big chunks and replace them. But if it isn’t halfway through, then I just move the big chunk to a section called “deleted scenes” and write the new chunk right there, making it still part of the same draft. Now that I think about it, I don’t actually use “shittiest version” at all, so oops on misleading! I’ll just classify works as “this one is ‘shitty’”, as shorthand for “this one has absolutely zero expectations, do whatever you want, write it all in dialogue if you want, or do half of it in comic sans”. And others as “no this one is actually good, so you have to be in a more serious mindset to do it, and it’ll be slower because you’re being a lot more deliberate and planning what to do, and also the structure of the plot is already in place and the style is already set so you’ll have to match both until it’s done and you start editing”. For those, I don’t actually like “playing” or experimenting, because that’ll just slow things down. I’ll come back to it and find it doesn’t fit, or it made the story way longer than I wanted it to be, and the extra length isn’t doing anything. So it needs to be tight. And I know some people hate writing immediately like that, since “that’s what editing is for”, but I don’t mind doing that sometimes; it’s a different form of fun for me. I’ll still go back and edit afterwards, but being deliberate from the very start is challenging and interesting in a different way than… being shitty 😅

I'm so glad Tumblr brought me across the guy who won't let people talk bad about their singing voices because I am his sister in another artistic line.

"It's my shitty draft."

No! It's not shitty, it's just early in the writing/rewriting process!

#swearing #Writing #discussion

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pigeonwhumps · 2 years ago

Text

A Mix-Up

So the BBU piece I was writing has accidentally turned into a series. I... oops?

Sanctuary masterlist

An unwanted box boy is mistakenly delivered to the animal shelter Anita works at, changing her life forever.

1.7k

CWs: BBU and all the fuckery that comes with that, pet whump, deaf whumpee, internalised ableism

Anita sighs as she scribbles her name and signature on the delivery man’s clipboard.

“Here. Has someone really couriered their pet to us?”

“It seems so. You guys never had that before?”

Anita shakes her head. “We’ve had them dumped on the doorstep, but never posted.”

“Well, I don’t think this one’ll cause you any trouble. Quiet as a mouse the whole way. Need any help carrying it inside?”

“No thanks, I’ll manage.” She doesn’t want any more of the man’s rough handling of the animal.

“Right. Well, if you need any help don’t hesitate to call.” He hands her a slip of paper with a wink.

“Goodbye.”

He saunters off, whistling, and she takes a look at the slip of paper. A phone number. Of course it is. As soon as the delivery van pulls away she crumples it up and drops it in the gutter. Then she turns to the large wooden crate punched with airholes, a smudged and unreadable black logo on the side. Whatever’s inside isn’t making a sound.

“Right then. Let’s get you inside. I know you’ve been in there a while but it won’t be long now.” Still no sound, and she bends down, picking up the box and almost falling backwards when it’s far lighter than she’d prepared for. Either they’re smaller than she thought or underweight. She heads back inside and into an empty intake kennel, kicking the door shut behind her. At least they have spaces free. And she should really wait for the vets to arrive for the day to start the intake, but it’s still several hours before anyone else starts and she can’t leave the poor creature in the box for even longer.

“Let me just find something to get you out with.” She hurries out the back and grabs a crowbar and a screwdriver, then returns to the kennel. There’s still no noise from the box and she begins to wonder if there’s even anything inside at all. Please, if there is, don’t let it be dead.

The box isn’t empty. Not in the slightest.

There’s a boy blinking up at her.

No, not a boy, a young man, dressed in a cheap white t-shirt, black shorts, and a black plastic collar, with bright ginger hair and a long scar on his cheek. She circles around to the side of the box again, and this time the logo’s recognisable.

Well, fuck.

Anita crouches in front of the box, trying to look the man in the eye but he won’t meet her gaze. “Hey sweetheart. You can come out if you like.” She beckons towards herself encouragingly as she does so and he crawls out onto the red-tiled floor. Once out, he bows down in front of her, forehead pressed to the ground.

“No. No, don’t do that.” She lifts him up when he doesn’t seem to even hear her, and he shivers at her touch, pressing into it. The poor thing’s trembling, and she shrugs off her hoodie and holds it out. “Here. Sit down and put this on.” The young man seems to understand that and does so. The hoodie swallows him, sleeves coming down past the tips of his boney fingers. “Okay. Good. I’m going to see what else is in the box, sweetheart, they must’ve sent something with you, so you stay here, alright?” Without waiting for a reply she walks over to the crate and pulls out a shoebox with the abbreviated name of the shelter, LAPH, scrawled on the top in black marker. The WRU didn’t send him, then, it’s not a mix-up in orders. Why the hell would anyone send them a human pet? They’re an animal shelter.

The first thing she sees is a muzzle, and she picks it up. It’s not very well padded, and looking back at the man she thinks it’s meant for someone bigger. Someone with a wider mouth, judging by the metal bit. Next to it is an out-of-date epipen, and underneath is a folder stuffed full of paper. She sighs, emptying it onto her lap. She hates paperwork.

The stapled form on top is a pre-processing intake form, like the ones they give to people to fill out at home before they surrender their pet. It’s marked with a logo and address for the Last Adventure Pets Home. So that’s why there was a mix-up. Same acronym. She scans the page. No name, just a number. 743065. He’s 28 and been with his previous owners for seven years.

How do you own a person for seven years and not give them a name?

Combination domestic/platonic designation. Peanut allergy. Well, that explains the epipen. And he’s profoundly deaf.

She replays the last half hour or so in her head. No wonder he was acting like he couldn’t hear her.

There’s a short paragraph under Reason for Surrender, and her heart breaks for the poor pet as she reads it.

My wife and I bought this pet cheap seven years ago, in a deal with a full-price one for a bonded pair. We’re divorcing and keeping one pet each, and I don’t want him anymore – he reminds me of my wife’s betrayal. I can’t bear to send him back to the WRU, I think they’ll put him down. But he’s so sweet and quiet, I’m sure you’ll find him a new owner.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs. He’s been abandoned.

There’s also a WRU booklet on how to communicate with deaf boxies in the folder. Virtually everything else is owner transfer documents, giving her an idea. She can’t just leave the man here, after all. They’ll have to wait until another member of staff arrives before she can take him home, but that shouldn’t be too long now.

Her paati’s going to kill her.

She turns to face him with a sigh.

“Come with me, sweetheart.” He’s roughly at a height with her chin as he stands and follows. He can definitely lipread at least a little, which is good. He really needs a name, and as they head towards the break room she thinks on it. 743065... 7430... she imagines the numbers written digitally, all straight lines and angles. If she contorts them a little they could become letters, like they used to play with calculators in school. That’s definitely EO, and 7 could become T...

She stops suddenly and spins around, the pet almost bumping into her. “Theo! What about Theo?”

743065 stops short as his new Mistress rounds on him.

He thinks she’s his new Mistress anyway. He was ordered into a crate and then everything moved and he was almost sick, like when he was first shipped, and then a woman unpacked him and started ordering him around. There’s even a cage ready for him. 065 doesn’t understand though. Why the warmth? He’s done nothing to earn it.

Stupid pet. He doesn’t need to understand, just obey. And be grateful for what he’s given.

He sees Mistress’ mouth move. She’s talking, and by her frown he can tell this isn’t the first time. He swallows nervously and concentrates hard on her mouth.

“Theo... permission to speak.” That’s all he can make out, she’s talking too fast for anything else. Is she naming him? He thinks so. Regardless, there’s only one answer. He moves his mouth clumsily, waiting for the mocking of his strange voice.

“If it pleases you, Mistress.”

“Yes...”

Okay. So he’s Theo now. Not 065, Theo. If she wants him to be that then he will be.

She starts walking again and he follows, wondering what his punishment will be for forcing Mistress to repeat herself. Maybe he’ll be caged outside and sprayed with freezing water, or blindfolded and forced to kneel on broken glass, or maybe she’ll just tie him up in a stress position and leave him there. Anything’s possible with a new owner, and she won’t be more lenient than his previous ones. They’re too lenient with him anyway, they always say so.

Said so.

065– Theo follows Mistress into a small, grey-panelled room with a set of red cushioned seats in the centre. Maybe she wants him to act as a footrest. Or an ashtray, there isn’t one here. She’s definitely going to muzzle him, he can see an open cardboard box full of muzzles. How many pets does she have, to need so many muzzles?

He thinks of 785. She was always so eager for new accessories.

Mistress sits on one of the chairs and Theo kneels at her feet, keeping attentive eyes on her face. She looks disconcerted.

What’s he done wrong now? He can’t look away or he won’t be able to follow her orders.

“I’m Anita... stay... later.” She says more, far more, but Theo can’t make it out. He’s not even sure the name was Anita. This isn’t a good place for lip-reading, the lights are too low.

No. Mistress likes this place, so it’s perfect.

This is why 785 was the favourite. Only stupid pets have thoughts of their own.

Hopefully Mistress will punish him now, so he can learn to be perfect for her, like he wasn’t before.

Mistress has left, he’s alone, but he doesn’t dare move. He won’t. Mistress ordered him to stay, and he’s going to be perfect for her.

He does wonder where she’s gone though. Probably to fetch something to punish him with. He stays kneeling, expectant. It won’t take long. She might use a cane, or a lighter. Not a whip, there’s carpet in here. Unless cleaning up his blood is part of the punishment. But minutes pass and she doesn’t return to his sight.

Has she abandoned him here? He’s a useless pet, he’d deserve it. This room is new and scary. What’s he even doing here? Was the naming a joke? 743065 has done nothing to earn a name, after all.

Even longer passes. There’s a clock on the wall but his head feels like it’s splitting open when he tries to read it. Forgetting yourself there, 743065, you’re only a stupid mutt.

Good pets don’t have desires. But despite that, he wishes 785 was here for company. Or that he could hold Mr Bear. He’s never going to see either again. He tries to stifle his ugly tears, no-one wants to see their pet cry, but they keep coming.

Just another thing for Mistress to punish him for when she eventually returns.

If she returns.

#box boy #box boy universe #deaf whumpee #pet whump #whumpee and caretaker #sanctuary pigeonwhumps #whumpee thinks caretaker is new whumper #Anita oc #Theo oc

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tinyhistory · 4 years ago

Note

Hey! Love your stories so much I just had to ask! Do you have any favorite drarry authors/stories? I sometimes compare the quality of other stories to ROA (oops!) because ROA is just that good. My personal favorites are ROA (of course!), the Foundations Series (saras_girl), the ordeal of being known (louisfake), denouement (the_never_was), Good to Me (And I'd Be So Good to You) (AWickedMemory), and To Hurt and Heal (cassisluna). Have you read these? Have a wonderful day! :)

Thank you, so glad you’ve enjoyed my stories! And thank you for so patiently waiting for a reply. I haven’t been online much in the past couple of weeks. Unfortunately I haven’t read any of your recs, but I’m always happy to add another fic to my to-read list.

I did a rec post a few months ago, but I’ll post an updated version now. The Skyhawke Archives appear to be down, which is crushing news. I’ve had to update a lot of the links.

So here are my favourite Drarry fanfics:

And We Are At Our Apogee (PG-13) by angelgazing

Summary: Draco wanted revenge, but it didn't work out that way.

My notes: Californian beaches, supermarkets, road trips, and a bittersweet ending.

A Reckless State of Mind (T) by Lomonaaeren

Summary: Draco is a Psyche-Diver, and his newest patient is Auror Potter, who’s been a pathological liar for over a year—and has just tried to violently end his own life.

Notes: The plot alone guarantees inclusion on this list. Probably the most creative fic I’ve ever read, and the twists and turns will keep you guessing.

Berlin, In the Year of Our Lord (PG) by Are

Summary: Harry is a green-tea addict. Draco stalks him.

Notes: Probably my all-time favourite fic, along with Blue Vase. It’s sparse and minimal and I love that writing style.

Blue Vase (M) by ivyblossom

Summary: Let’s pretend.

Notes: Draco finds an amnesiac Harry and befriends him, pretending they were once lovers. It’s pensive, short, and bittersweet.

The Boy Who Only Lived Twice (E) by lettered

Summary: Harry Potter is an Unspeakable. Draco Malfoy is the wizard who shagged him. Adventure! Intrigue! Secret identities, celebrities, spies! It's all right here, folks.

Notes: Action-heavy fics are damn hard to write, but lettered nails it. The action scenes are breakneck speed, the conversations are threaded with double meaning, and even the silences are tense.

Draco in Darkness (T) by Plumeria47.

Summary: Following an accident in his seventh year, Draco loses his eyesight.

Notes: This is one of the first fics I ever read (when it was over on FF in 2003) so it’s probably here just for nostalgia points alone. I read it when I was a kid and just thought it was a lovely golden fairytale, the best romance I’d ever read in my (very short, thus far) life. I love reading it again, even years later as an adult when I can see the tarnish on it; the things my childhood eyes didn’t notice. I don’t care. It’s my soft and fuzzy comfort fic.

The Flesh is Frail (NC-17) by wildestranger

Summary: None

Notes: Draco has injuries from curses and spells, and Harry keeps him company. Draco is angry; Harry is stubborn. They argue their way into a grudging relationship. It’s a short read and well worth your ten minutes.

Good-bye to Yesterday (NC-17) by furiosity

Summary: Draco felt ready to face even a million years in Azkaban as long as it meant that at the end of it all, he would make Potter pay.

Notes: It’s not a dark fic, but it certainly dips in and out of the shadows. If you like your romance to be sharp as a razor and bitter as black coffee, give it a read.

Hymn to Color (PG) by Lomonaaeren

Summary: Months after Draco cast a curse that took Harry’s eyesight, Harry is still trying to come to terms with it. Draco still wanted forgiveness, which was probably the problem.

Notes: Probably my very inadequate idea of “fluff”. It’s a quiet, introspective fic. Draco and Harry are well-written.

Kings among runaways (PG) by enderxenocide.

Summary: Later, the toast will be slightly overcooked, Draco will burn the eggs, and there will be another fist fight in-between the living room and the front door, but they’ll eat breakfast with second-hand plates and Draco’s great-grandmother’s silverware.

Notes: Dreamy descriptions, abstract scenes, and the characters are lovingly delineated. Beautiful writing.

On Broken Glass (PG-13) by coffeejunkii

Summary: After the final battle, Draco is holding the shards that are left of his and Harry’s life.

Notes: Established relationship. Harry’s forgetful and seems to suffer both short-term and long-term memory loss; Draco stays by his side through six years of post-war amnesia. Very short, just a tiny ficlet. There’s sequels (in bite-size pieces) but I prefer to read the first ficlet and leave it there.

Paper Dolls (M) by cupiscent

Summary: In the final year of the War, Draco gets a letter, makes a choice and pays the price.

Notes: Short, succinct, and packs a punch. No character deaths, in case the summary has you feeling nervous.

Portrait (PG-13) by Silent Blast

Summary: None.

Notes: Dorian Grey, but Drarry. Of course it’s going to be good.

Shattered (NC-17) by femmequixotic

Summary: One damned accident involving one too-lucky curse, and suddenly you'd think he was five again, with their Harry, be carefuls and their quick Levitating charms ready the instant the potion gives way and his rebelling hands lose hold of whatever's in their grasp.

Notes: Draco’s an artist. Harry’s intrigued by his sculptures and paintings.

Snatch (PG-13) by didntyoupotter

Summary: Harry is comatose, Hermione and Ron aren’t much help, and Draco isn’t sure about anything anymore.

Notes: The opening scene fools you into thinking this will be a light read with a streak of good humour. Don’t fall for it. By the third act, you’ll be hanging onto every word and feeling a lot of emotions. Also, back in the day, this was one of the Draco/Harry fics. Everyone knew of it. Pay your respects to your fandom history and read this beloved classic.

The Stages of Acceptance (T) by Lomonaaeren.

Summary: Harry, already happily married to Ginny, receives the news that he's Draco's mate. Law and custom don't give him the option of ignoring the news. The stages of his reaction, one by one.

Notes: This is not a romance, and I love that the author just casually chucks all the Veela tropes in the bin and says “nope”. In Lomonaaeren’s own words, this fic is more practical than romantic. Harry is unfamiliar with the Veela concepts and hates the very idea of being “shackled” to someone; he rejects Draco at once. Draco is miserable and lonely. They do eventually come to understand each other better, but it’s a huge struggle with lots of setbacks. The general air of pessimism and misery does make the small glimpses of compassion and empathy feel so well-earned. I love a fic that rations out its happiness.

The Stately Homes of Wiltshire (E) by waspabi

Summary: Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

Notes: This one needs no introduction. The writing is polished, the characterisation perfect, and the dialogue is fun. I love the humour woven throughout it.

Then Comes a Mist and a Weeping Rain (E) by faithwood.

Summary: It always rains for Draco Malfoy. Metaphorically. And literally. Ever since he had accidentally Conjured a cloud. A cloud that's ever so cross.

Notes: Another one that most of us know. It’s a lighthearted and fun read.

Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow (M) by novembersnow

Summary: In the war-torn years after Hogwarts, one man has no knowledge of his yesterdays.

Notes: Another classic back in the feverish heyday of the Harry Potter fandom, when books were still being released and everyone had worked themselves up into a shipping frenzy. And no wonder this fic was an instant hit. Draco has lost all his memories and Harry’s investigating as an Auror, but the longer you read, the more you start questioning everything. Good twists and turns that lead to a tender ending.

Turn by Saras_Girl

Summary: One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

Notes: An inevitable inclusion on any favourites list. I think my favourite thing about it is the characterisation. Everyone is so well-rounded; the characters are brought to life and feel like old friends. All their habits, styles, mannerisms, even the way they walk or talk. While I love everyone in this fic, I have to admit that Blaise is just amazing. Of all the thousands of Blaises imagined by fanfic writers, I love this one the best. “Old bean” indeed.

Under the Ivy (PG-13) by coffeejunkii

Summary: It is impressive how much you can learn about someone by simply sharing a few rooms. They don’t spend time together, not really, but Harry still knows that Malfoy prefers raspberry jam over strawberry, that he hums along to the Wireless when he thinks no one is around, and that his leg is bothering him more than usual when the temperatures drop below freezing.

Notes: Another old, old favourite of mine. It’s like snuggling into a soft blanket. Remus owns a cottage and Harry moves in after the war. Later, Remus lets a room to Draco, who is an outcast after the war and has limited housing options. Harry isn’t happy at first with the new lodger, but he eventually warms up to Draco. A slow and gentle romance.

Vale Sanare (M) by rurounihime

Summary: Draco’s world gains a new component, just when he thought he’d sorted everything out.

Notes: London nightclubs, one-night-stands, loud music and lonely nights. Draco has seizures due to a curse from the war, and the seizures have led to a fear of intimacy. Short and sweet.

The Way Down (T) by lettered

Summary: Malfoy’s all, “Come out of there,” the way you say to a cat who is badly behaved. And Harry’s all like, “No, what, I’m a hermit! And I have a chest-monster! And I am crazy magically powerful!” and Malfoy’s all, “We all have problems, bub.” (thoughtfully) “You are crazy though. I’ll give you that.”

Notes: I just adore this fic. The fic starts well-grounded, giving you a solid backstory and matter-of-fact context, but as it goes on, it slowly unravels into dreamy scenes, lush settings, and repeated motifs. It’s just such a beautiful story.

When Love beckons to you, follow him (PG-13) by megyal

Summary: Draco wakes up, lost, somewhere in a forest. He has no idea where he is or how he got there. As he is blundering around trying to find his way home, he hears Harry's voice in his head, telling him what to do.

Notes: I generally like my fics to be bittersweet or with a bit of heartache — but this fic is just a little cloud of softness. If you need something light and lovely without being syrupy-sweet, this is a good choice!

The World of the Living (M) by fourth_rose

Summary: A traumatised war hero and a convicted criminal under the roof of an eccentric journalist make for a rather odd ensemble, but Luna has never had a problem with oddities as long as they make sense.

Notes: The story is told from Luna’s perspective, which gives everything a lovely dreamy quality. She takes in a couple of strays after the war — first Harry, who is avoiding his other friends and has quit his Auror job — and then she offers a room to Draco right after his trial. Draco is rude, angry, and ungrateful; Harry is churlish, withdrawn, and moody. Luna doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, and over the course of the next few months, her house guests slowly warm up to each other.

Voices From the Fog (E) by noeon

Summary: After years of running away, Harry crosses paths with an all-too familiar face and follows him to Amsterdam.

Notes: Harry drifts across Europe, trying to forget the war. He ends up in a woodworking shop in Amsterdam, alongside a moody Draco. Atmospheric settings and solid characterisation.

#draco/harry fanfic #drarry #drarry fic recs #drarry fic #answered asks

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fanfic-me-up · 4 years ago

Text

Capture This! || Kaminari Denki

Synopsis: You walk in on Denki, your best friend of five years, getting off. Two questions: Why is there a picture of you? And why do you want him to take more?

Pairing: Kaminari Denki x fem!reader

Warnings: M/E+, 18+, explicit sexual content

Word Count: 6k+

A/N: This is for the @bnhabookclub bingo event! Thank you @shoutogepi and @im-here-for-the-heroes for beta reading. Shout out to @whats-her-quirk this fic was born from me poppin in during your thirst hours lol

“Lotion? Check. Tissues? Check. Pictures?”

Denki swallows.

“Check.”

It’s routine for Denki, really the only ritual he sticks to in his otherwise scatterbrained schedule of kickin’ ass, chilling with friends, and playing Fortnite till ungodly hours of the morning.

But he can’t help it. You’re fucking gorgeous, and Denki has needs - his brain programmed to get off at least three times a day else he can’t function. The first time it happened, he felt a deep sense of shame, twisting his gut, disgusted with himself that he defiled your image. He couldn’t look you in the eye for a week until you had enough and demanded to know what was up. It was the first time he lied to you.

But one time became two, and three, and suddenly Denki needed an image of you all the time. The one of you looking all pretty in that stupid summer dress was his favorite. You bought it that one time you dragged him to the mall because you needed a “guy’s opinion.” He rushed to the bathroom because if he didn’t get out fast, he was gonna drag you back into the changing room and rip that dress off himself.

You’re adorable, hot, sexy, and absolutely terrifying, wrapped up in one perfect package.

Oh, and did he forget to mention?

Totally off-limits.

This is why Denki has to resort to hanging out with you, listening to you vent about your boy problems, and how you just want to meet “the one” already. Denki’s heart breaks a little more every time you shove him deeper into the friend zone, all the while pretending like he didn’t just jerk it to you a couple hours before.

He works his hand up and down his shaft, growing harder by the second with each stroke. It doesn’t take much to get him going, not when it’s you. You’re wearing his hoodie, toes buried in the sand, roasting a marshmallow in front of a bonfire. You’re smiling at something Kirishima said, Denki doesn’t remember what, because all he could see was the light in your eyes. A genuine spark lit only when the cameras were off, and you were unaware of anyone watching. Denki loved witnessing these rare moments; wanted to commit it to memory, so he did. When you posted the picture on Instagram, Denki was more than surprised; you had scrunched your nose when he showed you the picture, displeased with how you looked.

This should not be happening. Any normal person would feel ashamed when staring at a picture of their best friend and touching themselves. No one knew about it, and Denki was surprised he was able to keep it a secret for this long considering he’s friends with fucking Mina of all people.

Enough pre-cum bubbles at the tip that he doesn’t even need the lotion. Staring at you on the screen, wearing his hoodie that’s way too big it covers your thighs completely, makes his mind wander to all sorts of ways he wishes he could get you out of that hoodie. He leans back into the chair, spreading his legs with his eyes half-lidded, imagining what your lips might look like wrapped around his cock.

“Fuck yeah...”

Groaning at the image of you on your knees, lips bruised and slicked with spit from fucking your pretty little mouth has Denki tightening his fist, hips fucking into his hand in a continuous rhythm.

He’s on the verge of coming when the door swings open - the first and last person Denki wants to walk in is standing there in front of him.

“Hey, I called, but you didn’t - ah!” You squeak, throwing the box you’re holding. A sea of random knick-knacks and hero merch rains over you. You hear a thump when the yellow polaroid camera you bought for Denki at a thrift shop hits the floor.

“Fuck!” Denki jumps from his chair, an array of pens fall in a heap to the floor.

You whip your head away, heat spikes your body, embarrassed that you saw your best friend in such a compromising position.

Denki mutters a repeated “shit shit shit” to himself for a good minute before he finally addresses you; his voice rising with each word.

“How did you get in here!?”

“Spare key, dumbass!”

“That’s for emergencies only!”

“Are you talking to me with your dick out!?”

Silence.

“No?”

You huff at the uncertainty in his tone. It’s only two o’clock, and you can already feel a migraine coming on.

“Denki, if I turn around and you’re not covered, so help me god I will-”

“Okay, okay, I got it. Pants are zipped.”

You don’t move until you hear the confirming “zip” before slowly opening your eyes (you have no idea why your eyes were closed in the first place), and you turn around to find Denki leaning against the desk. He’s trying his best to appear casual, but the flush on his face and frazzled hair give away what he was doing moments before you walked in. You don’t know where it comes from, but the thought alone stirs something inside you.

The confusing emotion is replaced by hot-blooded anger when you lock eyes on the screen behind him.

“Is that my face!?”

Denki’s smile drops as he turns around. Dammit. Of course, he forgot to close the tab.

“Uhhh…”

He has no words, none, not when you’re standing there with that intense look in your eyes you get when you’re about to rip someone a new one. Your anger could rival Bakugou’s, and Denki has unfortunately been in the middle of one too many screaming matches. He’s surprised his eardrums aren’t blown out by now.

He clicks to exit out, or at least he thinks he does until he comes to the dumb realization that he’s clicking the zoom button instead.

“Ho-hold on, let me just…”

With each click, it zooms a little more into your face until only your nose is in the frame. Denki sheepishly looks up at you.

“Oops?”

Denki’s had a good life. He’s already come farther than most ever dream in their career when becoming a pro-hero, and he’s made some amazing friends most spend years trying to find. The only regret of his is not confessing his true feelings to you, but really what’s one regret? He’s totally a-okay with saying goodbye to this cruel, cruel world if it meant not being subjected to this torture any longer.

“Denki Kaminari.”

Denki gulps. Oh no. You only say his full name when you mean business.

“Explain right this instant or I will walk out this door and tell the whole world how you and grape boy took body shots off cardboard cutouts of each other!”

“Hey! We were really fuckin’ drunk and thought it might score us some pity sex with the ladies!”

“In what world would you licking fuckin’ Mineta equal oh yeah, fuck me, Denki?”

Denki cowers with each step you take, gulping down the lump in his throat when your face is close enough to hold in his hands. He’s never been more simultaneously turned on and terrified in his life. Especially when he just heard the words “fuck me, Denki” escape your lips.

Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Whatever you do. Don’t. Look. Down.

The last thing he wants is you flinging him out the window because he couldn’t keep his eyes on your face. Don’t get him wrong; he could look at your face forever, even when you look like your one move away from killing him. But… he’s a dude, and there’s boobs in front of him, not to mention your boobs.

“Hello? Earth to Denki?” You wave your hand in his face.

“You may wanna sit down for this.”

“I’m fine where I am, thank you very much.”

He huffs out a breath, annoyed you didn’t take the bait. The suggestion was more for his sanity than yours. With you standing so close, his brain is going haywire; the tantalizing scent of strawberries and cream short-circuiting his brain quicker than when he overuses his quirk. It never fails to make his mouth water, if only he could bend down and bury his nose in the crook of your neck, god, he’d never let you go.

How does he even begin to work through the feelings he has for you when they’ve been bottled up since the moment he knew he was in deep? Where does he start?

The fact he’s been in love with you for the past five years?

Or that he’s been getting off to you for half that time?

Denki’s mind is running a mile a minute, like a computer in overdrive. He can’t make enough sense of his emotions to convert into words. But, instead of waiting to open his mouth, like a normal person, Denki spews out embarrassing word vomit that connects his two thoughts.

“I love getting off to you.”

A pin could drop, and it’d be as loud as a freaking hurricane.

Denki groans in frustration, facepalming his forehead. What the hell did he just say, and can he take it back? How long would it take for him to hack into a database and find someone with a time manipulation quirk? He doesn’t even know how to hack, but he’d wrangle his one brain cell and fucking learn if that’s what it takes.

He’s usually good at reading you. You’re one of the few people he cares enough to pick up on how you’re feeling. The myriad of emotions that pass on your face from shock to confusion to a hint of amusement lets Denki know he can breathe easy. At least you’re not trying to kill him anymore.

“Oh-kay that’s not what I - what I meant to say was - hold on, lemme just, rewind.”

He makes some weird, loopy gesture with his arms. His brain was firing a million synapses at once, each connected to a different thought, some deep like the fear of losing you and some not so deep - like he’s really excited to eat the cheeseburgers Bakugou promised he’d grill tonight.

But he tries his best to reign in the million and one thoughts to focus on you, who’s waiting for an explanation. He takes a deep breath to steady his heart that’s about to beat out of his chest. He only hopes you don’t stomp on it after what he’s about to say.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N. I have been since our first year at U.A. I wanted to tell you for the longest time, but then you got with Bakugou. Then you broke up, and you needed a friend more than ever, and how could I say no to being ‘your best bro’ when you were crying on my shoulder? It was just never the right time.”

The more he rambled, the more uncomfortable he felt. Out of all the scenarios he imagined of how he’d confess to you, this one was at the bottom of his list to be prepared for. He never expected to be forced into confessing because you caught him masturbating to pictures of you. He rubs the back of his neck and gives an awkward laugh when you stay silent.

“I get it if you wanna, like, shun me forever or something. I deserve it for being such a creep.”

Denki lowers his head to the floor, the clutter of fallen pens and knick-knacks looks way less intimidating than staring into your eyes. A soft hand touches his chin, lifting his face to meet yours.

“Hey, look at me, it’s okay.”

Your voice does wonders for soothing the nerves shaking him up.

“I guess it’s not that creepy when you put it like that, and for some weird reason, you’re like the one person I can catch jacking off to my pictures, and I don’t feel the need to report you as a registered sex offender.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, but Denki’s heart drops at the idea of you labeling him as the neighborhood perv.

“Please, don’t do that,” he squeaks before clearing his throat, “But for real, Y/N, I’m so sorry. It’s wrong to disrespect you like that, and I promise I won’t do it again.”

Denki has no idea how he’s gonna get off now, but that’s his future self’s problem.

“I can’t help it, you’re gorgeous, and I love ya, and I don’t remember the last time I got laid.”

Fuck. He didn’t mean to say that last part, but it’s the truth. You’re the reason he couldn’t even look at another girl, because they weren’t you, and that’s why he had to resort to pulling up pictures of you. Pictures that aren’t normally deemed “sexy” and of you dressed modestly, without much skin showing.

That doesn’t stop Denki from coming in record time with your name rolling off his lips every time.

“How bad do you want me?”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t the least bit curious about what sex with your best friend would be like. You heard he wasn’t a bad lay from a couple girls back at U.A.

You’d also be lying if you didn’t say you were just as horny as said best friend.

It’s difficult finding time to date as a pro-hero. When you do, it doesn’t last very long anyway - the other person growing tired of always coming second to your career. Don’t even get you started on one night stands. They’re practically impossible to uphold as once the media gets wind of it, you’re slapped on the cover of “Hero Times Magazine,” and everyone and their mother is calling for you to “spill the tea.” This is why pro-heroes either end up with other pro-heroes or end up alone.

Denki’s eyebrows shoot straight to his hairline. If someone were to tell him you were attracted to him in any sense of the word, his heart would double-time it, but he’d ultimately brush it off. He knew your type, and he could not be farther from it. The aggressive, beefy, gym rat who could match you move for move in a heated spar of harsh words and hot-blooded passion. You dated Bakugou for fuck’s sake! There was no hope for Denki after that.

But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take what he can get. The words pour out of him like the dam’s been broken and the unforgiving flood rushes.

“I want you so bad, Y/N, fuck, I’ve waited so long, so fucking long, you don’t know how crazy you make me.”

Your breath catches. His words have an unexpected effect on you, but your heart drums in anticipation. If you listen close enough, you can hear Denki’s beating at the same rate, waiting for what you’re going to say next. Power surges through you. In your past relationships, sex was always seen as this competition. Your exes never wanted to relinquish their pride or control, but Denki is nothing like your exes. He’s laid-back, always cracking jokes, and never dwelling too much on the past, always moving forward to the next moment. He’s perfectly fine with letting you take the reins most of the time. You determine what will happen next.

“You love getting off to me?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but he answers in earnest.

“You’re the only one I get off to.”

You slide your dress off, and it falls to the floor.

“Show me.”

Denki’s eyes travel over your body, his mouth slightly open in disbelief at your undressed state. He wants to capture this moment in case this is as much as he gets, even if he can never use this mental picture because he promised you he wouldn’t. His fingers itch to brush along the lace trim of your bra, to graze along your nipple, and watch your reaction. Are you sensitive enough where you’d full on moan, or would he have to strain to catch the small hitch of breath? Denki was never top of his class. He preferred to wing it and hope for the best, but for you, he’d take his time to study every inch and crevice of your body until he could read you cover to cover with his eyes closed. His gaze travels down to the matching lace panties you wear, a cute little bow in the front waiting to be untied with his teeth.

Did you plan to get fucked today? Or do you usually wear matching sets on the regular?

Your skin looks so soft and supple, he’s aching to dig his fingers, but before he can, you step away. Denki cocks his head. Have you changed your mind? But any doubt leaves Denki when you make your way across the room to sit down on the edge of the bed.

You start with feather-light touches dancing along your collarbone. Your eyes are locked on Denki, getting high on the way he drinks in your every move. Your touches are teasing, especially when your finger dips down to your cleavage. Still, instead of giving Denki what he wants, you change course, making your way back to your shoulders. Denki exhales a breath at your teasing, but says nothing, too afraid he’ll ruin the mood if he says something stupid.

When you make your way down again, you don’t disappoint; you pinch your nipple through your bra, and the way Denki swipes his tongue over his lip has heat rushing to your core. You slide your hand down your stomach, stopping when you reach your clothed slit. Denki stares, hungry and buzzing in anticipation for what you’ll do next. Smirking in victory, you spread your legs open and pull your panties to the side, giving him the view to capture the perfect picture of your dripping pussy.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

You taunt breathlessly, tracing your folds with your fingers.

Oh shit. Were you for real? Please, tell him you were for real because he legit might cry if this was some elaborate prank. Where are the fucking cameras?

“You don’t want to?” You bite your lip, insecurity seeping through the confident smile you wore just a moment ago.

“No! I mean - yes! Yes, I do, holy shit, let me find - where the fuck is…” Denki whips around, trying to find his phone. Fuck! Out of all the times to misplace it, it has to be now. But then he spots the yellow polaroid camera sitting on the floor, and before he can think, he’s picking it up and praying it has film. He kneels, so he’s eye level with your pussy, but also making sure the angle gets your whole body in the frame. The light streaming in gives you an ethereal look, your skin glowing, and adding to the cute flush on your cheeks. The camera clicks, and a second later, the picture slides out. You giggle at Denki’s impatience. He’s waving the picture frantically in the air, so the color comes through faster. He completely stills when he can finally take a good look at the beauty he’s captured.

“Fuck, Y/N, you look…”

Denki can’t control the groan that escapes. He looks back up at you, eyes darkened with lust before he’s ripping his shorts off so fast, his foot gets caught, and he almost trips in the process. Once he’s out of them, he plops back down in the chair across the room. You’re surprised when all you feel is pure, unadulterated lust. You expected to be at least a little bit weirded out staring at your best friend’s cock, but all you want is to put it in your mouth and explore all the different ways you can make him come. The tip is oozing pre-cum already, and the way he works his hand with a sense of urgency suggests he’s been hard for a while. It doesn’t take long before you hear Denki grunt.

“Fuck, I’m close.”

You look so pretty spread out for him. For the last five years, he wanted nothing more than to see you like this. His hips jerk up, and he throws his head back, but he makes sure to keep his eyes open like his life depended on it; he didn’t want to miss a second of this. You, with your legs wide open giving him a view of your perfect little pussy. Your panties soaked by you rubbing your clit mercilessly, and your pupils blown wide as you watch your best friend get off to the show you’re giving him. It’s erotic as hell, completely different from the pictures Denki has of you. This one easily tops all the others. He tightens his fist - he doesn’t want it to end without feeling your skin on his at least once.

“Let me touch you, Y/N, please, I just wanna touch you, need to feel you.”

Denki doesn’t give a fuck that he’s begging at this point. He’s waited too damn long to care about pride or dignity, not when the chance to fuck you is placed in his shaking hands. You bite your lip to suppress a moan, but it comes out anyway.

“Touch me.”

That’s all Denki needs. Before you know it, you’re pushed down on the bed, and lips smash against yours. He’s eager, a little too eager, shoving his tongue in your mouth and touching everywhere that he can. You don’t have much room to breathe, so you gently push at his chest.

“Chill, Denki.”

He huffs out a breath, muscles shaking like he’s restraining himself from overwhelming you.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,”

He mumbles, peppering kisses into your neck before making his way back to your lips. It’s much smoother this time, his tongue sliding out to tease your bottom lip, asking for permission this time. He groans when you open up for him, your tongue meeting his. Hands trail up until they reach around, resting on the clasp of your bra. Honey eyes meet yours, but you cut off his question.

“I’ll stop you if I need to, but you asking me if it’s okay every time you try something is gonna seriously kill the mood.”

You reach around to place your hands on top of his, unclasping your bra along with him. His eyes darken at the sight of your bare chest. You try not to squirm at the intensity of his gaze. It becomes near impossible when he dips down to flick his tongue over your nipple before biting with his teeth. He pays the same attention to the other one before kissing his way down your stomach. You arch your back when he spreads your legs and positions himself between them. He makes his way around, avoiding your dripping pussy, teasing your thighs with soft kisses. You huff in annoyance, and he smirks up at you, biting into the flesh of your thigh. This time he places a kiss to your heated center, enjoying the way you squirm under his touch.

“Is it everything you imagined?” You ask.

He looks up at you, with such a serious expression, one you’ve only seen a couple times since knowing him.

“Everything and more.”

Your heart flutters, and you know you’re going to say something you’ll regret if you don’t stop counting the different shades of gold in his eyes. You clear your throat before throwing your hair back.

“You gonna fuck me, or am I gonna have to do it myself?”

You pull his head in for a demanding kiss, biting on his lip to distract yourself from the rush of bubbling emotions threatening to surface.

“One sec,” Denki whispers, placing one last kiss to your lips, before getting up.

You gape at the giant box of condoms he casually pulls out. It hasn’t been opened, and oh my god, you didn’t even know they made huge boxes like this. There were at least a hundred in there. What person thinks to buy a big box of condoms if their plans don’t include… fucking a whole ass army?

“What the fuck, Denki?”

People usually have one, maybe two condoms in their wallet at most. Some guys don’t have any at all, which kills the mood when you’re in the heat of the moment, so I guess you can be thankful that Denki is... extra prepared?

“What?”

He pulls a condom out and drops the box. It thumps when it hits the floor. You’re taken aback by how nonchalant he’s being about this.

“I- you- wha- How many times do you think we’re gonna do it!?”

Denki slides the condom on, smirking at your shocked expression.

“Till we finish this box,” he says as he slides into you.

You gasp at the stretch. He pushes to the hilt, and stays there when he notices the slight furrow of your brow. It has been a while since you’ve fucked, but soon enough, you crave more so you roll your hips, but he doesn’t move.

“Denki?”

His head is pressed into your neck, warm breath tickling your skin, and the stuttering heartbeat matches to the beat of your own.

“Just… gimme a minute, don’t wanna ruin it by coming in two seconds.”

His words are muffled, voice raspy with desire, and you can only imagine what his face looks like. It makes you want him all the more. Finally, someone who doesn’t see sex as an opportunity to one-up you or to put you in your place. It’s scary how the last twenty minutes have changed five years of friendship.

“Hey,” you hold his face in between your palms. He already looks completely fucked out with his face flushed and eyes glazed. You place a tender kiss to his lips, unlike the previous kisses you shared.

“You couldn’t ruin it even if you did come right now.”

You caress his hair in an attempt to reassure him.

“You’d just have to make it up to me,” you wink.

His smile is so pure, lighting up his eyes that’s unique to Denki; it makes your heart do somersaults in your chest. But the moment passes as the previous heat between you two spikes when Denki circles his hips, taking his time to feel you inside and out. He’s touching and kissing you wherever he can, your cheek, neck, chest, thighs, like it’s the first and last time he’ll experience you like this. It might very well be.

This thought doesn’t sit well with you.

Once he’s mapped out your sweet spots, he digs his fingers into your thighs and pulls your hips flush towards his. He pulls out of you until only the tip is brushing your opening and pounds back into you, taking your breath away. He pumps in and out of you faster, and you cry out when he hits that special spot deep inside of you.

“Denki,” you moan. He grunts and spreads your legs even wider, grabbing one and hauling it over his shoulder to pound into you deeper.

He’s getting close, hell, he’s been close even before you walked in.

“F-fuck…” Denki groans, thrusting at an uneven pace and feeling the familiar tightening in his groin.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you flip him over and begin bouncing on his cock in a much more steady rhythm. Denki’s staring up at you, eyes wide in admiration.

You’re a goddess. An absolute fucking masterpiece that needs to be put in a museum for his eyes only. God, when did he get so fucking mushy? You always brought out different sides that Denki, himself, didn’t even know he had. He can’t keep his hands off you, grabbing your boobs, sliding down the curves of your thighs, gripping your ass. He wants to commit it all to memory in case he never gets to know this pleasure again.

“Y/N, ah, shit, I’m gonna...” he trails off, unable to finish his sentence.

He’s holding on to that sweet release for as long as he can. He’s been craving it since he met you on the first day of class at U.A. His balls tighten, unable to hold it in any longer, before he gives in to the long overdue orgasm. It hits him hard - his entire body tingling from head to toe like 1000 volts of electricity bolt through him. Denki had no idea he could come for this long, but he doesn’t want it to end - it feels so fucking good inside you. He rides it out for a couple more thrusts before he relaxes, completely sated. You try to pull off him, but he grabs your hips and forces you back down. You squeak, clearly not expecting him to care enough to help you out after he finished.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The tone of his voice sounds foreign in his ears, too gruff and too deep, but you seem to have no problems with it as you moan in response, working yourself on top of him. Your thighs crush his hips, shaking with need as you seek a release of your own. You’re tired from bouncing, so you resort to grinding, swirling your hips deliciously around his cock. Denki squeezes your ass in appreciation.

“You close?”

“Close, so close, Denki, please…”

Your eyes well up with tears, desperate to finish; the coil in your stomach wound too tight that you might burst any second. Denki helps you by thrusting his hips to meet yours, his hand rubbing your clit. You jolt at the sudden zap to your clit, you look down to see a small spark leave Denki’s fingertip. He does it again, and you cry out, your pussy fluttering from the electrifying touch.

“C’mon, baby, you can do it, come for me.”

Fuck. Denki didn’t mean for the pet name to slip out, but then you’re moaning louder than before that Denki would’ve had to quiet you if you weren’t alone. Words are tumbling out before you can stop them.

“Oh, fuck, Denki, I love this so much, I love you, I-”

You slap your hand over your mouth. Denki’s eyes widen for a second before a dangerous glint takes over, and he wretches your hand away from your mouth.

“Lemme hear you. C’mon, Y/N, show me how much you love this.”

You hardly recognize the scream as your own; you flush at how loud you are, but Denki doesn’t seem to mind. It seems to spur him on. He sits up so your chest to chest before he bends down to tug at your nipple with his teeth. You throw your head back in pleasure, your hands coming around to grab at his hair. Golden eyes look up at you from your chest, a slight smirk curving his lips.

“I’m no photographer, baby girl, but I can sure as hell picture us together.”

Leave it to Denki Kaminari to make you come with a cheesy pickup line.

He gives one final thrust, balls slapping against your ass and hitting the spot deep inside you just right. Your thighs quiver from the pleasure wracking your body, a scream lodging out of your throat so loud that the people next door bang on the wall. You’re overwhelmed to the point that all you can do is rest your head on his shoulder, whispering his name in a broken whimper as you finish.

You fall next to him on the bed, sweaty and completely wiped, both of you trying to catch your breath. Denki tosses the condom in the trash while you stare at the ceiling, watching the fan swirl round and round. Your mind is no different at the moment, going round in circles, and you’re trying to catch up. Your body feels weightless, tingling all over and loving the high you didn’t think was possible. The bed shifts, and suddenly you’re faced with your best friend of five years. Before he can get a word out, the front door slams shut, and two very familiar, very masculine voices are down the hall, getting closer by the second.

“Kaminari, you lazy shit, get the fuck down here!”

“Shit!” Denki jumps from the bed, ruffling through the mess to find his pants.

“Denki, just lock the door! Hurry!”

It’s too late as the door swings open, and yeah… if today taught Denki anything, it’s that he really needs to lock his door more often. He doesn’t have time to think as he hops back into bed with you to avoid flashing any of his other friends today. Bakugou would probably threaten to chop his dick off and… yeah, Denki doesn’t wanna think about the rest.

You squeak and cover yourself with the blanket when you’re met with two sets of equally shocked crimson eyes.

Kirishima drops the bag of chips he’s holding. It seems like dropping things when walking into Denki’s room was a common theme today, and he’s sure as hell not looking forward to the cleanup. Denki regrets chancing a glance at Bakugou; nostrils flaring like a rabid predator on the loose and Denki’s his target.

The four of you stare at each other for who knows how long before Kirishima breaks out into a full-on grin.

“About time, bro, congrats!”

“Congrats?” You turn to Denki, confused.

“The fuck!? You bangin’ my ex, dunceface!?” Bakugou shouts.

“Please don’t hurt me!” Denki squeaks, hiding underneath the covers.

“Oi! You fuck like a man, you better fight like one, too!”

You roll your eyes, hardly affected by Bakugou’s exploding presence, unlike Denki, who is literally shaking beside you.

“Oh fuck off, Katsuki, listen to yourself. Keyword ex-girlfriend.”

Bakugou sputters, and Kirishima drags him by the shoulder.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s been in a mood since he found out he’s gonna be the next star of the Bachelor.”

“You wanna die too, shitty hair!?”

You and Denki burst out laughing at the absurdity of Katsuki forced to act like a gentleman on live TV. The image of Katsuki in a suit and tie, holding a rose and actually smiling, is comedic gold to you.

“C’mon, bro, let’s give ’em some space.”

“Oi! You’re on my shit list now! All of you! Aye! Get the fuck off me!”

Kirishima drags Bakugou the rest of the way, giving you a quick thumbs up on the way out.

You and Denki are still cracking up, but your laughter dies when they leave, and you’re faced with the tension from before. Denki sinks lower into the sheets, hating that he keeps getting walked in on. Who decided it was ‘make a fool out of Denki day’ anyway?

“So…” you start.

“So…” Denki finishes.

You both stare straight ahead at nothing.

“Did you mean it?”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly asking him to elaborate.

“What you said, when you... you know...” he makes a clicking noise with his mouth like that’s universal code for fucking, “Or was it just a heat of the moment thing?”

You take a moment to think before you give your response. You want to be as honest as possible, and not lead Denki on in any way. Of course, you loved him, he’s your best friend, but did you love him?

You think back on your friendship, and suddenly a supercut of all the times he was there for you flashes before your eyes. He was there when you needed someone to drive you when you had your wisdom teeth pulled out. You didn’t expect Denki to stay with you the whole weekend, buying you ice cream and watching your favorite movies, but he did.

He was there when you and Bakugou became an item, always listening to you swoon over how amazing a boyfriend he was. Denki would always respond with “But can he do this?” and would proceed to overuse his quirk like an overpowered Pikachu just to make you laugh. It sends a knife through your heart, knowing Denki was in love with you while you were talking about how great of a boyfriend his friend was. Not to mention how he was there when you and Bakugou broke up, heart-broken and vowing to swear off boys for good. Denki held you in his arms while you cried, staying silent the entire time, which you knew was against his nature. Denki was always there for you as a friend. There’s no doubt he’d be there for you as a lover.

“I meant it,” you say.

Tears threaten to spill, and your heart might burst out of your chest and land right into his hands. You hope he holds on to it forever. He squishes your cheeks and leans down to plant the softest kiss on your lips. This is what you’ve been missing - more like who you’ve been missing. You open your mouth to deepen the kiss, and he meets you move for move. He pulls away, hands still on your cheeks, grazing your cheekbones with his fingertips as he stares into your eyes.

“Denki, I…” You bite your lip, overcome with emotion. You desperately want to say the words to capture this picture-perfect moment forever.

Until you feel something poking your thigh.

“Denki!”

You yell, affronted he popped a boner in the middle of what was supposed to be a romantic moment.

“Sorry!”

“Ugh! Worst timing ever!” You slap his shoulder.

“Ow! I said I’m sorry!”

You wiggle out of his embrace. Silence eats at the room, and you can feel Denki’s energy radiating in uncomfortable frequencies. The last moment had been thoroughly ruined.

But you have all the time in the world to make more.

“... round two?”

Just seeing Denki’s face light up like Christmas is enough to promise the birth of a new moment. He bends over to grab his box of condoms, some spilling on the floor and adding more to the mess, before saying, “hell yeah!”

You roll your eyes with affection. What a weirdo, you think. But he’s your weirdo.

That night, or rather the next day since it was currently three in the morning, Denki plops down on his bed exhausted from the day. He’s fluffing his pillow, trying to get comfortable, when he feels something underneath. His eyes widen when he takes in the picture he’s holding. You must’ve taken it when he was downstairs and snuck it under his pillow. You’re bent over with that same damn lacy bra that sends him for a loop. Your cleavage deliciously on display as you bite your lip and stare at the camera with those innocent eyes. Denki can’t help it, his hand sliding down on instinct and cupping himself through his boxers. He turns the picture around and smiles at the cute little message written on the back.

“To add to your collection 😉”

#kaminari x reader #kaminari denki x reader #bnhabookclub #kaminari denki smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #kaminari denki #denki kaminari #denki kaminari x reader #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #kaminari imagine #kaminari denki imagine #kaminari smut

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bunnykawa · 4 years ago

Text

don’t ignore me (kageyama x f. reader)

summary: Kageyama and you were together for a long time, but he became too much for you. You thought breaking up with him was enough to get away. Turns out you were wrong.

A/N: hi. idk what this is i got bored and wanted to try writing something. anyway this is my first time posting so sorry if it’s shit ahaha. i’m illiterate oops

warnings: 18+, yandere-ish vibes, abuse, noncon/dubcon/rape, choking, brief mentions of stalking, restraints, slight manipulation, kageyama is just mean and abusive sorry

You really missed the comfort of the bed sheets in your new home.

Kageyama paced silently across the floor of your formerly shared bedroom. It was late at night. He was getting restless as he constantly glanced at you sitting in silence on the bed. Your eyes were visibly zoned out, your gaze fixed on an empty corner in the room.

The desire to knock his teeth out and run back home was growing stronger, but you knew your strength was nothing compared to his and it was basically impossible with your situation right now.

"(Y/N)," he finally spoke. His voice strained itself trying to catch your attention. You stayed still, stuck in the same position you've been in for the past few hours with your legs hanging off the bed. You remembered when you used to love the way he said your name, but that was before he changed. You felt him approach you, causing you to flinch so terribly. He's always been bigger and stronger than you. It was a constant reminder back then, and it's a painful reminder by the zip tie cutting into your wrists that were forcibly restraining your arms behind your back, courtesy of Kageyama.

"(Y/N), please talk to me," he begged.

You don't bother to respond.

When you had first met Kageyama, he was completely different. Although a little awkward and somewhat antisocial when it came to you, you found it quite endearing. Most days were spent spectating his volleyball practices and matches after school and arguing on what drink is the best to buy from the vending machine.He would even walk you home. Although you never ever told him your address, he somehow led the way to your house the first time he walked you home.

You found yourself being more and more attracted to the dark-haired volleyball boy as time went on. All throughout high school, you would have said you were in love with him.

Then you two started officially dating.

You thought he was a little overprotective. He seemed to have a terrible temper. He just seemed...entirely different. The once aloof boy suddenly became super clingy. You were together everyday and when you weren't, he was constantly texting you or calling you. When he was angry, it felt like the whole world would end because somehow it was never his fault. Sometimes he became violent with you just to hold you when you cried. Your friends stopped talking to you all of a sudden. You lost contact with your family because Kageyama believed that they would take you away from him. He would get jealous of anyone and everyone that tried to get close to you. You only needed him.

"Look at me."

So, you broke up with him. You finally felt free after his presence overwhelmed your senses for years. You could finally breathe. Kageyama would no longer be there to pester you or scare you. You could finally make friends and go out as you pleased!

Except he kept pestering you. The calls and texts never stopped. The new friends you would make would suddenly start avoiding you, too. Sometimes you would even dream about his hands around your neck. You weren't sure if you were becoming paranoid or not, but you always felt like he was watching you from afar. One thing about Kageyama that really stuck out to you was that he absolutely hated being ignored.

"I brought you here so you would stop fucking ignoring me!"

You yelped in fear as he forced your body down on the bed with his clammy hands wrapped around your neck. You were forced to stare into his dark blue eyes that sent a chill down your spine, knocking you out of your thoughts. You shift uncomfortably because now you were squishing your hands behind your back. He was holding in his anger for too long. The frustration of not knowing what you were doing at all times of the day hurt him in a way he never thought was possible.

Your legs were spread open with his torso between them. If your hands were free, you know for sure you'd be grabbing at his iron grip for release.

"Don't ignore me! I just want you to speak to me again, (Y/N)," he hissed, "I want to hear you say you love me again."

But you don't love him. The words flashed in your mind over and over again. I don't love you anymore. You pressed your quivering lips together to silence yourself, staring up at him with wide and tearful eyes only to avert your gaze to somewhere else. The longer you drew out the silence, the more he felt his blood boiling. You need to love me, he screamed on the inside. We were meant to be together!

"Fucking pay attention to me, dammit!" he yelled, squeezing your throat a little tighter. You begin to panic. You try to kick him but your legs are restrained by his stronger ones. You just wanted to be somewhere far away. You left him for a reason, but he just dragged you back to your old apartment against your will.

And Kageyama couldn't help the fact that his dick hardened against your luscious thighs at the sight of your struggle.

Then he kisses you. Hard and heavy. The grip on your throat was weakened enough to let you gasp silently for air. Both of your lips forcefully molded together because of how he held onto you. No matter how much you don't want to kiss him, you have no choice. He finally lets go of your throat, only to grip harshly onto your thighs. You pull away from the kiss to inhale a deep breath that you desperately needed. You sniffled away your snot as you began to cry.

"Why the hell did you even bring me here?" you blubbered through your tears.

“Because we’re not finished! You weren’t supposed to fucking leave me,” he growled through clenched teeth. Kageyama looked down at your crying face in disdain, but also with a new fire igniting behind his eyes as well as in his groin. He hated seeing you cry, but he also loved seeing you like this. The battle in his head of whether or not he should comfort you is fully overtaken by the fact that he was so upset because of you leaving him.

He ignores your cries as he lifts up the ends of the oversized shirt you wore with one of his hands. He smiled a little at your usual pajamas; a big shirt and cotton panties. Just like how you used to sleep with him.

You shift uncomfortably at the small smile on his face. “There’s nothing to finish. We’re over with. You need to understand that!”

"You've been ignoring me," he mutters, “How can I understand if you won’t even reply to any of my messages or calls?” You felt so exposed and vulnerable. Whatever he wanted to do, he could do it to you.

“You already know why I left." Your voice was so hoarse. "I have a reason for everything." He grabbed onto your throat again with one hand while the other hand sneaked below your vision to remove your panties, exposing your cunt to the cold air of the room. The shiver that moves throughout you makes your face hot with embarrassment.

"Don't you know how much I love you?" His question almost distracts you from the way his two fingers suddenly started dancing on your clit dangerously.

"Do you even care at all? I haven't stopped thinking about you ever since you left me here alone," he says with a quiver in his tone. It hurt entering the apartment to find your things missing and having to sleep alone that first night.

He rubbed over your slit, hoping to elicit a physical reaction out of you. He missed how soft your skin felt beneath him. Especially how you shook beneath him just from his small touches. He dips his fingers into your entrance. Although you weren't as wet as he wanted, he didn't hesitate to push them further into you.

"Kageyama," you gasped in horror. You cringed when he started to move his fingers in and out of you. You were angry, scared, upset, and unbelievably uncomfortable, but you didn't have the strength to stop him from assaulting your insides when your hands were stuck behind your back. You cried again, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He kisses you again. "It's okay, baby," he whispers against your lips, "It'll feel good. I promise."

"I don't want to."

"You don't know that." His fingers move in a way that makes your whole body crumble beneath him. He always knew how to please you. Your hips begin to wiggle and you hate how much it starts to feel good. You let out a moan that makes him smile. It makes you feel guilty for even seeming like you enjoy his palm crashing down on your clit carelessly and his fingers filling you up roughly when he's just forcing your body to react. "You don't know what you want. If you're not with me, then who will take care of you like I do?"

"I-I..." you stutter. Was he right? Who was going to take care of you? It has even been a struggle since you left him, but no. It was always suffocating being with him. Even feeling his long fingers inside you wasn't enough to distract you.

He removes his hand from your throat just to pull his own pants down. His hard length springs out and hits your thigh. "You're so wet already, too," he hums in satisfaction, "I'm here, baby. It's okay. Me and you are forever." You writhe from beneath him, feeling as if you were about to explode. You desperately try to escape his fingers by jerking away, but he catches you every single time.

As if to piss you off even further, he says, "I'm not mad at you. It's okay now." As if you were the problem in the first place.

"No," you spit at him, "You're being fucking crazy. It's not my fault." It was impossible to see him clearly through your tears. He positions his cock behind his fingers that were inside you. His gaze was so sharp as he stared down at you. He loves you yet you couldn't understand how he only expressed his love this way.

He removes his fingers and places himself at your entrance. The view of your tear-stained cheeks and trembling thighs were so beautiful to him. He moves your legs up against your chest so he can see more of you.

"Let me go!" you scream. Something connects with your cheek. Then your head whips to the side and your head starts pounding. One side of your face swiftly becomes hot with pain. The sharp smacking noise echoes around the room from how hard Kageyama slapped you.

"Shhh, if you struggle then it'll hurt more. I'm trying to show you how much I love you."

And before you know it, he's filling up your cunt with his thick cock in one swift thrust. Another scream erupts from your bruised throat as he begins to thrust into you harshly. He grabs the sides of your face so you're forced to lock eyes with him. You feel him slide in and out of you, leaving a burning feeling in your walls. Gasps are forced out of your mouth from the force of his thrusts.

You wish you were somewhere else. Or someone else. Just not in this situation where Kageyama would be in full control of what could happen to you.

But you were so warm and your insides were so pink that he couldn't stop himself anymore. So pretty, he thought. How could he allow anyone else to handle you like this? Of course, you looked the best when you were only underneath him.

Kageyama's face is contorted in absolute pleasure. He's always wanted full control of you ever since he first met you. Seeing you with your pussy unwillingly spread open from his hard cock and your legs pressed against your chest so deliciously makes him feel so powerful. This is how it should always be. There's no way you'll leave him now. Not when he's splitting you open raw.

"Baby, you're okay," he cooed in a gentle voice, although it's useless to even attempt to comfort you. "You like it, don't you?"

Nothing left your lips except for gasps and throaty moans. The way he spoke to you made your chest hurt, but it was also leaving a burning feeling in your lower abdomen that messed with your head. You couldn't believe yourself. Why does it feel so good? Why is the one man that you hate the most fucking you in the most appetizing way? He lets go of your face to hold onto the bottoms of your thighs.

"Answer me," he demands. You began to cry out from the pain and pleasure of his forceful fucking. He's doing this because he loves you? Because he's the only one you'll ever need? He presses his forehead against yours.

"You love it when I fuck you like this, right?" he whispers gently against your lips. For a second, your focus entirely shifts to the feeling of him filling you up so roughly.

You were confused, but you couldn't stop your hips from trying so desperately to meet his with every thrust he made into your wet core.

"Kageyama," you tried to plead. You couldn't stop yourself from moaning out his name in bliss as he continued to move against you. It was impossible to stop the pleasure from building up inside of your core. You weren't even sure if you wanted him to stop anymore. That's what hurt you even more. Do you even know yourself?

"Tell me." He begins to rub your clit in desperate circles, making you arch your back in response. You feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as the pleasure engulfs you. In the back of your mind, you're screaming no. The man you were trying to escape is making you feel good. He was making you feel dirty. So fucking dirty.

But you didn't even realize that you weren't crying from the pain anymore. You even ignored the soreness in your wrists from the zip ties. You were a moaning mess beneath Kageyama's athletic build. He grinned as your body responded wildly to him. It felt like he was claiming you as his again.

It was rewarding seeing you beneath him again.

"Mine," he hissed in pleasure, "You're all mine." He was in a euphoric state from the thought of you even being in the same room as him and responding to him. But the fact that he was actually forcing his hard length into your aching wetness right now was the best feeling in the fucking world.

"I missed you so much, (Y/N)." The tightening of your slick cunt around him made him groan.

You were disgusted with yourself. "Please don't stop," you gasp. Kageyama continued to drill into you in happiness. He knows you love how he's abusing your cunt and disrespecting you, but he was also thinking about how he could love you so much more after he made you his again. It makes him even more excited.

He suddenly started thrusting into you harder, the impact of his hips jerking you away from him briefly only to bring you back to him just as quick. A scream erupted from your throat as you went cross-eyed from how Kageyama was beating your pussy raw. He leans down towards you once more.

"Don’t ignore me ever again. Tell me you'll stay with me. Tell me you still love me," he whispers with an evil smile.

I don't love you anymore is what you wish you could say, but with your head clouded with guilty pleasure and your legs shaking from how good it feels when he's tearing you apart from your cunt, the only words you could manage to breathe from between swollen lips were "I still love you."

Kageyama couldn't have been happier.

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yeojaa · 4 years ago

Text

( SOMETHING COMFORTING. )

Jeon Jungkook loves Overwatch, drinking games, and Halloween. What he loves more than that? You.

pairing. gamer!jjk x named f!reader.

genre + rating. idol!au set in room filled with bunnies and a cotton candy machine that’s exploded. it’s just that fluffy. (but also explicit cause why not.)

tags / warnings. established relationship, gaming (overwatch), dorky weeb references, mentions of drinking, yugyeom makes an appearance (!!), fingering, soft soft soft love making in the shower.

wc. 9.7k

beta reader(s). the lovely @kerikaaria read through this to make sure i didn’t get too nerdy. tysm! 💛 i may like further changes once my beloved @hobi-gif gets her hands on it but i’m a potato who wanted to post this quickly. oops...

author note. this fulfills the “jeon jungkook” square of @btsholidaybingo‘s bts holiday bingo 2020 and this is the couple from angels & airwaves. while this story isn’t super plot-driven, it’s meant to be a little peek into the lives of a couple that live in my mind rent-free and continue to make me soft and gooey inside. i hope you enjoy it!

You don’t know how he talked you into it or how it really happened. You remember, faintly, the mention of a party. Something about it being a small thing - just a few close friends, the members, etc. He’d said it so offhand, like commenting on the sky or asking for another package of Choco Boys, so you hadn't given it a second thought. If it was important, he’d bring it up again and if not, well, you hardly remembered it anyway. Win-win or whatever.

So you’d given up some intelligence points, traded them for space to fit more gaming knowledge. Somewhere along the line went your memory too - the conversation wiped from your brain like Will Smith had lasered it clean.

“Zarya’s one! Zarya’s one—“ You’re not sure how many times you can repeat yourself, shrieking through comms to a team that doesn’t seem to want to listen. You’re blasted into oblivion, Mercy’s prone body launched across the map as you watch your Rein fall too. There’s an irritation bubbling in your stomach, fizzing uncomfortably like the Japanese honeydew soda you’d had at lunch. “Zarya’s actually one!”

No one cares. She’s healed by the time you respawn and make it back across the map.

“Jesus—“ Your push-to-talk remains off for that flippant comment, distaste colouring your words a bitter shade of blue. You almost want to let your Ashe get headshot by the enemy Widow, only switching the stream from damage boosting to healing when your teammate starts spamming their hotkey.

I need healing! I need healing!

What you need is a team that listens to your calls or at the very least communicates in some way. Doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen though. There’s near radio silence in the voice chat, the only other person remotely helpful being your bouncing booping Lucio that’s trying to keep a flanking Tracer off point. Stupid. You almost feel bad for him, Guardian Angeling to him when no one else seems to want to offer any support.

Ah, the life of a support player in masters ranked. So infuriating and yet— nope. Just infuriating.

You lose the first round with 1:56 to spare, to no one’s surprise. Okay, maybe to your Reinhardt’s surprise. He’s being surprisingly chipper in text chat, sending WP and a dorky smiley face. You think he must volunteer at the local animal shelter and buy coffee for the people behind him in the drive-thru. He’s far too well-adjusted, not shooting off a single accusation to anyone on the team. A silver lining, you suppose.

Your second round starts well enough. Your comp is solid - as much as it can be in the current off-tank dominated meta. Hog, Zarya, a private profiled GM Widowmaker, Tracer, Lucio, and you as Ana. You’d prefer to play Mercy - find the most comfort in her skill set - but on an attack map, you’re not risking a headshot right out of spawn. Broken maximum damage good stuff means healers are squishy and you don’t have your usual DPS to boost. (He’s off doing god knows what - maybe filming an ad for Samsung or breaking the internet with his permed man bun.)

You make it through the choke without much ado. The enemy Rein is wildly out of position, eager to make some big brained play that goes terribly wrong. Your Lucio chuckles through voice and you join him, tossing a nade when your Zarya looks like she’s about to die to a poorly executed 360 shatter.

“You winning?”

It’s your boyfriend peeking over your shoulder, so close you nearly scream, mouse launched across your desk with the intensity of your reaction. You hadn’t heard him come in, the stupid sneaky bastard as quiet as a mouse.

(It’s not your own fault. He knows you can’t hear anything when you’ve got your headphones on, the noise cancelling in your state of the art Sennheisers not something to scoff at.)

“Jeez, Kook!” You want to be more mad. Really, you do. You’re scrambling across your desk to retrieve your mouse, squeaking a quick apology into team voice when your hero stays in one place for too long. Luckily, Hog - previously sweet kind Rein - throws his big fat piggy self directly in front of you, effectively saving you from an otherwise miserable death at the hands of Torbjorn.

“What?” Jeon Jungkook has the audacity to look scandalised, shiny eyes so wide and innocent they feel more as if they belong in an early 2000s anime.

You’re not even looking at him when you huff - too invested in your Overwatch game to give him the hell he deserves. All you manage is a swift don’t scare me like that! as you pump your tanks back to full health.

You notice Jungkook hasn’t moved away, still peering curiously over your shoulder. You know he hasn’t had much time to play lately, too involved with appearances for their comeback, his schedule too packed even for you some days. You don’t blame him when he pulls his chair up behind you, rolling into place so he’s just within your periphery.

It’s a little distracting; he smells good, like his - and by extension your - favourite laundry detergent and a fruity, nectarine-heavy shampoo you’d picked up for him when he’d run out of his usual. You notice then that his hair is wet, just the wrong-side of too damp with droplets beading over his neck. Moisture soaks into the top of his shirt and you think it might be more soaked than you can see; it’s hard to tell when it’s a jet black shirt, one of the many he keeps in your closet for the nights he stays over. You realise then that he must’ve been home far longer than you’d thought, if his freshly washed pink cheeks are any indication. (Because he takes seriously long showers, nearly doubling your water bill in the year you’ve been together.)

You want to ask what he’s doing here - you’d sworn he was busy for the next few days - but can’t find the adequate brain power to do so. You’re playing an incredibly high skill character (your words) and if you don’t get this goddamn shot on your Lucio to keep him up, your team is going to die (your ego’s words).

‘Ask Kook about his day’ gets scribbled on a paper on the desk in your head and filed away under To Do Later in your overflowing brainiac filing cabinet.

“Can we pleaaaaase focus their Zarya? She has grav.” Though you offer the tidbit of information, you don’t assume it’s going to be relied upon. Your team is well on their way to taking first point - surprisingly - and there’s still nearly three minutes left on the clock. If the six of you idiots can keep it together and kill that goddamn Zarya, there’s no doubt in your mind you’ll win the game.

Alas, fate is but a cruel mistress and said Zarya gets said grav off, sucking your own Russian tank and Tracer-turned-Soldier into her hell void. Not even your well-timed nade can save them from the Genji that dragon blades directly into their faces. Your poor Lucio dies to the same ult and you imagine you or your Widow are next. Your Hog’s just respawning, his lumbering silhouette not even on screen.

“Rip,” says your boyfriend - like the sound, not the letters - from beside you, a droplet of water splashing across your wrist when he shakes his head. He looks disappointed - as if he’s the one that’s lost the match. It makes you laugh, the sound tripping off your tongue despite the overwhelming rage you’re currently battling.

“Rip is right,” you mumble back, tossing yourself off the map. If you’re gonna die, it'll be on your own terms. Jungkook chuckles at that.

By the time you respawn, both you and Widow are joining a fight that looks like it’s going surprisingly well. There’s no one on point and you’re capping uncontested. Widow even headshots a wayward Moira.

“You should go top left.”

You don’t turn your head. Jungkook’s always been a bit of a backseat gamer, whether he’s watching your stream while he’s out of town or sitting right beside you. Sometimes, you love it; other times, you hate it. Most times, though, he’s right. He has surprisingly good game sense, despite being lower ranked than you (something you remind him of constantly, without shame).

“Can we go top left?” You parrot into your speaker.

For once, your team listens, most of them running up the sidewall with Widow right down main. Not for the first time you wish you were playing Mercy, if only to be able to damage boost your sniper while she distracts the enemy team. Still, you make due, taking your boyfriend’s next piece of advice when it comes, unsolicited. “You should be back right by the stairs. You can see up the hall and still heal Widow on top.”

You’d kiss him if you weren’t so intently focused, unable to tear your gaze from the screen when the enemy team seems to pluck their strategy directly from Jungkook’s skull and hold conservatively on point. Amazing.

“Your Zarya has grav. She’ll probably throw it on point so you should nade as soon as you get in and Widow can pick them off without full charge.”

If he were anyone else, you’d probably be giving him hell for mansplaining your favourite game to you. As it stands, you follow his instructions to the letter and the Team Kill marker flashes across your screen.

“Told you,” he quips, ever the snooty dork you adore.

“I was going to say thank you.” Just not right now. You can’t multitask quite like he can.

If you could look over, you think you’d see him grinning from ear to ear, buck teeth and dimples on full display. “I know.”

As it stands, the other team has trouble getting on point fast enough and you’re left with a whopping 3:56 left on the clock. Thank freaking god. You can win this, you think. Easy. No problem.

“Go Ana on defense.” At some point, Jungkook had gotten up to find a snack and he returns now, bag of shrimp chips in his hand and packet of matcha Pocky held between his teeth. You open your mouth for a stinky tasty treat and he shoves four crisps in, unceremoniously and with his signature dummy grin.

You manage to crunch crunch crunch through it all but shoot him a glare the entire time. He only smiles wider, all perfectly white enamel and enough cuteness to make your heart skip a beat.

“Do you just want to play?” You don’t mean it seriously. You don’t mind him watching and you know he enjoys pretending like he’s better than you. It’s a strange give and take but one that’s uniquely yours, built over nearly a year of online friendship and another year of a real-life relationship.

“Nah, I’m snacking.” He punctuates his response as a child would, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. You wonder, briefly, why you love him so much when he’s a certifiable goon.

The third match begins and you’re not too proud to say you spend most of it following Jungkook’s directions. He tells you to sleep the enemy Genji trying to scale the right wall - you do. He tells you to nade once their Rein gets in because your own Rein is going to shatter - you do. He tells you to do the macarena and— okay, that, you don’t.

You sweep the match, leaving the other team without a single tick.

When it comes to the final round, he seems to have lost interest in the game, instead rolling himself back to his computer with a parting, wayward ruffle of your hair. You don’t blame him but you thank him nonetheless, blowing a kiss before he settles his headphones over his ears.

You, of course and unsurprisingly, win the game. There’s nothing like using a Sym portal onto point when they’ve got a Bastion set up off point and no shield to protect him from the back.

Satisfied, you don’t bother requeueing and instead force yourself into your boyfriend’s personal space, draping your arms across the idol’s neck as he scrolls through YouTube like a zombie. “We won,” you sing-song into his ear, proud and a little smug.

“Of course you did.” He sounds equally smug and you suppose the win does belong to the both of you. He’d been a great coach.

“What’re you doing here?” It’s pure curiosity offered in the form of a kiss to his cheek, fingers locked across the broad expanse of his chest. He’s delightfully warm beneath you, familiar and unyielding as you sink over the back of his computer chair. (You can feel the chair creaking as it reclines. You don’t care.)

“Whaddya mean?”

The look he levels you with makes you think you’ve grown a second head.

“Your schedule said you had a thing tonight.” You remember, because you’d been disappointed. Halloween was one of your favourite holidays and all you’d wanted was to watch some campy horror movies and use him as a personal eye shield and security blanket combo.

“We have a thing,” he states, like he’s talking to a moron. You know it isn’t meant meanly, too emphatic and amused to hurt your feelings.

When you echo his words (“We?”) you swear you see him roll his eyes in the reflection of his computer screen. Luckily, he laughs, sweet and cracky, somewhere high in his throat - a barking hyena. It’s so cute - your favourite thing in the world - that you don’t have it in you to shame him for it.

“Yeah, we,” Jungkook repeats around something close to a snicker. “Halloween party, baby. Seriously— you forgot?”

It’s then and there you have two crises: (a) you don’t have a costume and (b) Halloween party? You didn’t think idols had those. Weren’t they all too hip and cool to get together to dress up and act stupid?

(You know the answer is no. Exhibit A being the costume-wearing dance practices BTS put out.)

“I don’t have anything to wear.” It’s truly the one thing holding you back, creasing the soft skin between your brows to resemble a peach. It’s also nearing seven in the evening and you’re absolutely certain you’re not going to find something so late in the day.

To your surprise. Jungkook looks flabbergasted, that same you-have-two-heads stare wrought across his face. It’d be endearing if it were directed at anyone else but with it trained on you, it’s rubbing you and your confusion the wrong way. Why’s he looking at you like that? Why’s your memory so bad? Why hasn’t he said anything to answer all of life’s questions?

“You said you’d go as witch Mercy.”

All at once, you’re pulled back to the offhand conversation, the pleading in his eyes, your half-asleep acceptance. It’s the memory you’d lost somewhere along the way in upgrading your in-brain video game storage. A conversation had in bed, his cheeks so big and full of joy they’d waned his eyes into crescents, and your uncoordinated answer because you’d just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything after indulging in a few too many mochi cream buns.

“I— don’t remember that.” You’re lying through your damn teeth. Your parents would be devastated, all their hard earned money wasted on the braces-straightened enamel that was now letting lies pass.

“But you did!” He’s like a kid being denied candy, rounded bottom lip dropping into a pout that should, frankly, be illegal. It’s far too powerful on him, paired with those Bambi eyes that scream don’t eat (hate/deny/etc.) me! You can only scowl at him, because you know your own puppy dog eyes only work 100% of the time half of the time whereas his track record was immaculate.

“Okay, but I forgot to get the—“

“I have it!”

Jeon Jungkook has an answer for everything, it seems.

“I picked it up on the way here. It’s in your room along with my costume.”

The knowledge of his own intrigues you, squarely centring your curiosity on that and not the fact that you apparently need to get tested for early onset dementia. “Who’re you going as?”

“You’ll see.”

Your costume is spectacular. You can’t even find it in yourself to put up much of a fight when your boyfriend reveals it like you’ve won the lottery, throwing his arms wide in a flourish.

It’s incredibly well made, intricately tailored in a way that makes you worry how much it costs. (When you bring it up to him, Jungkook simply shrugs. You think it’s as much a gift for you as it is for him.) It’s witchy and eye-catching, the belt hung across your hips clipped with an actual book - hollowed out, thank god but also poor thing. The hat that sits on your head is neatly crumpled, sitting at such an angle you worry whether you’ll need to avoid too-low door frames. Your wings - well, you’re almost too afraid to touch them; Jungkook has to help you pull them over your arms, falling into near hysterics when you twitch your elbow the wrong way and smack him right between the eyes.

“I don’t think I can pull this off,” you state, somberly, despite the fact that you’re not terribly self-conscious. (You were, once. Being in a relationship with someone that worships your body has helped with that.)

The top of your outfit is fitted, boned and ribbed and snapped together in all the right places. Leather stands in stark contrast to your skin - summer-soft and gently golden - and hugs curves that don’t quite exist, falling short in a way that has you glaring down at your own chest. You’ve never wanted a Playboy body but in this sort of costume, it practically demands it. (You try not to dwell on the fact that you’ve been conditioned to want to look like an impractically designed video game hero.)

From the foot of your bed comes a snort, a derisive sound that draws your attention. Jungkook’s unabashed in how he admires you, stare roving over every inch like he’s about to devour you. You’re not sure how you can feel so soft for him when he looks completely the opposite, jaw set and expression sharp. A Greek god carved from hardened honey, dressed in Balenciaga blue. “You look great, angel.”

Your heart skips a beat - plays a funny little game of tag with itself - and you can’t help the smile that comes, brought to life by his reassurance. It isn’t necessary to rebuff him then - eyes rolling, laugh spilling - but you do it anyway. “You have to say that. You’re my boyfriend.”

“I don’t have to say anything,” he retorts, levelling you with a look that has your insides molten. It’s the look that reads don’t test me but also I love you and you’re my idiot. It’s your favourite look in the world, lending wings to your flimsy heart. “You look great because you always look great, no matter what.”

“What about when you found me in the shower ?”

Jungkook hesitates then. He’s no liar and he had almost had a heart attack the first time it’d happened. He’d been minding his business, half-asleep and battling the need to piss, when he’d noticed you curled up in the bathroom. How he hadn’t realised you were missing from bed, he’s not sure. All he knew was that you’d terrified him, mentioning something about invading refrigerators when he was pulling his dick out of his boxers.

His scream was what had woken you up; yours was what had him bashing his head into the wall, foot slipping on the soft pink bathroom rug. You could laugh about it now but at the time, you’d thought he’d cracked his skull right open, shouting his name so loudly the neighbours had complained.

(Lucky for you two, they were a nice elderly couple who sometimes had you babysit their grandson. They’d laughed it off when you’d apologised with a loaf of fresh bread and a bandage wrapped around your boyfriend’s head.)

“Okay— that was scary. I thought you’d crawled out of the drain or something.” A shudder rolls through Jungkook’s body, shaking him from his shoulders all the way down to his knees. It’s a strangely adorable reaction from someone who looks like he could bench press you.

“You’re calling me the Grudge?” You’re deeply offended, gloved hands clasping over your chest as if to pull out the treacherous dagger he’s just lodged there. He only rolls his eyes, leaning forward to catch you in his arms; he’s relentless as he drags you to him, side of his face pressed to the bare skin of your thigh. His cheek’s searing but you’re not surprised; Jungkook ran hot, keeping you warm in winter and sweltering in summer. (Ah, the price you paid for love.)

“Yeah, you haunt me in my dreams.”

“That’s not the Grudge, Kook.” Your scoff earns you a pinch, right where the top of your stockings end. It blooms red beneath his fingers, a little reminder of his competitive I’m-never-wrong nature. You swat his hand away, not too bothered when it only finds a home elsewhere, hooked behind your knee. Jungkook had a habit of needing to be in constant contact. A little quirk of his you adored.

“I’m serious. You look—” You should clock the look on his face, the wiggle of mischief up his nose. A dead giveaway shining bright - a beacon. “—bewitching.”

If the book weren’t attached to your hip, you’d be clobbering him with it. Instead, you’re left to whack him with the equally intricate Caduceus staff, booping it over his shoulders. You feel like a certain shamanic mandrill, Jungkook the idiotic lion that’s asking for an earful.

“Shut up!” You’re laughing despite yourself and he is too, holding you so recklessly close it’s hard to hit him without hurting yourself. All part of his plan, you suppose. “You’re so freaking corny.”

“It’s because I’m a-maize-ing, ang—”

Another wap! to the head, shielded only by a tattooed hand that curls over his ear.

“Okay! Sorry!” Except he doesn’t look very sorry. More pleased that you’ve stopped the assault, dark hair pushed back from his forehead as he stares up at you. You hate how he’s so handsome - how you forget yourself when he smiles that smile, nearly yeeting your whole heart directly into the sun.

“Are you going to put on yours yet?”

It’s quarter past nine already and all you’ve done is rope him into eating some chapaguri - you’ve been obsessed with it since a few weeks ago - and play real life Witch Barbie. You have a feeling if you don’t get him into his own costume soon, you’re never going to leave the apartment. (Not that you really mind.)

Your boyfriend - bless his heart - pretends not to hear you, suddenly intently focused on an indiscernible spot past your hip. It’d be more believable if he was glued to his phone or doing anything remotely interesting. Instead, you stare down at him and count the seconds until he realises just how silly he looks. It usually comes around six, paired with a forced chuckle and that lisp you love.

Today, it comes after the fourth count.

“You’re gonna think it’s lame.” Well, of course you will. As his girlfriend - and one of his best friends, you’d like to think - it’s your relationship-given right to shame him for his more often than not absurd ideas. It’s what you deserve for suffering through all his bad jokes and 3 AM Instagram spams.

With a hand on his cheek, you squeeze the apple like you’ve seen a certain member do a million times. “So?”

He’s not really sure how to respond to that, mouth drawn into a pout that reminds you of children’s television show about penguins. It’s unfairly adorable. Still, you push. Jungkook’s bad at saying no to you - always has been, even before he really knew you. From “one more game!” to “bring me bingsu”, you always got what you wanted.

(Which wasn’t to say you asked for a lot. You were happy - more than that, ecstatic and over the moon - with the bare minimum. A selfie while on the plane, some shoddy cinematography during dance practice, a voicemail to wake up to. You didn’t love Jungkook for all the things he gave you; rather, you loved him for who he was, who he’d always been even before you knew who he really was.)

“Don’t laugh.” By the look on his face, you’re worried it’s something awful. The cheesiest thing in the world come to life to haunt you on your beloved spooky holiday.

It turns out to be the opposite: one of your favourite characters realised in the form of your achingly handsome boyfriend. He looks so good you’re not certain whether it’s your attraction to him or him in that particular guise that’s stronger. You figure it doesn’t matter one way or another. For tonight, they’re one and the same.

“Joker? Seriously?” You can’t hide the delight. It colours every syllable, sets them glowing like a neon sign.

Your boyfriend only rolls his eyes, as if he’d predicted this reaction. Dressed as he is, the movement is impossible to miss, brought into focus by the white domino mask. “Don’t sound so excited.” It’s an actual concern of his. He’s seen you sink upwards of ninety hours on the video game, playing it in the early hours when he’s fast asleep and you’re battling another night of insomnia.

Once, he’d asked whether you loved him or Joker more. He hadn’t liked the answer (joking as it was) and had spent the better part of the evening pouting.

This time, you’re sweet as pie, eyes so dark and twinkly he wonders whether he’s staring at the night sky. You wonder the same yourself almost every night, lost in the constellations of his irises. It’s the most intimate form of stargazing you can afford, a luxury you indulge in frequently. You’ve mapped the different formations, named them in honour of all the special moments you’ve shared; you think to label one for this night too.

“You look so good.” You don’t hesitate to brush his hair from his eyes. It’s still relaxing from the perm he’d gotten days ago, curling like classic calligraphy over his eyes. It’s surprisingly soft between your fingers, silk despite the constant heat styling. Bastard. “I can’t believe you’re going as Joker. You don’t even like Persona 5!”

By how Jungkook looks at you then - the same way he did the first time you met standing on the street corner in Dotonbori and a hundred more times since then - you realise it doesn’t matter. He’s dressed this way because you like the character.

“Oh,” you say, because there’s not much more to say. Nothing that needs to be said as he grins down at you, so heartbreakingly handsome you’ll never get used to it.

“Yeah,” he parrots back, a little smug.

Bangtan’s golden maknae is having the time of his life. He’s four cups deep into a game of beer pong that’s played like the Wimbledon classic, back hunched, jaw set. You’d think he was battling it out for the title of God of Beer Pong if you didn’t know better. (You suppose he is.)

“Angel, come here!” He’s giddy - slightly glazed in the eyes - as he waves you over, a red-gloved hand beckoning you to his side. Despite how good he looks in the costume - every weakness of yours encapsulated by the intricate dress shirt that hugs him like a second skin - the gesture is decidedly adorable, an eager puppy seeking unconditional love. There’s simply too much affection in his voice, so much sugar-spun love that you can’t deny him (even as you consider jumping his bones at a party full of people).

He’s shining as bright as the sun and you want nothing more than to live within his warmth.

With your fingers twined, he pulls you to him, drawing you tight against his side like he doesn’t need that same hand to throw another ball. You don’t mind. You know he’ll sink it even with his left hand.

“I’m winning,” he states, as if it weren’t wildly obvious by the fact all cups remain untouched on his side.

Across the table, Yugyeom’s eyes roll so far back you want to laugh. Jungkook’s competitive side is endearing at best and infuriating at worst. Luckily, his competition is enjoying himself too much to give him shit.

(He’s also probably too drunk to, given how badly he’s doing.)

“I see that.” You’re not a big drinker yourself but you like seeing Jungkook in his element. He thrives in this sort of setting, showing off all the talents he has and then some. It’s just another stage to him, somewhere he can prove himself (even if it’s over something as small as how good his bounce-shot is). “How many games have you won?” Because he’s been at this table for the last hour, dropping his competition like flies.

“All of them.” God, his ego. You know you shouldn’t stroke it but you can’t help it, brushing a hand through his tousled hair in the way he likes best. Fingers over his scalp, thumb rubbing soothing circles across the nape of his neck. He nearly melts then, tilting his head into the gentle caress.

“Good job, Kook.”

You’re so lost in your own little world that poor Yugyeom has to pull you both from it, launching a poorly-aimed white ping pong ball at the two of you. To no one’s surprise, it careens past your heads, hitting the wall behind you and disappearing off to god knows where.

“Can we play?” Again, that eye roll, visible just past the bandages that loosely wrap his cheeks. You know he’s only teasing, that he’s actually quite a fan of your and Jungkook’s dumb coupling (he’s told you), but you return his mockery with a raised hand, thumb and forefinger waving in salute.

“Losers don’t get to complain.”

The idol throws a hand to his chest, the gesture bordering on sloppy from the liquor that threads his limbs. Still, it’s cute, earning a sweet laugh from you and a witch’s cackle from your boyfriend. (How fitting.) “I’m hurt, Yoojin-ssi.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to tease, brattiness flipped on like a haywire lightswitch. “No, you’re just bad at games!” He’s a sniggering schoolgirl, lines wrapping the delicate skin of his nose, streaking joy into the wrinkles beneath his eyes. Slightly-too-big front teeth are on full display, his expression the embodiment of an “uwu” emote.

That riles Yugyeom up, powder puff of hair bounding over to you before you have time to blink. In the next moment, your boyfriend’s half-wrestling with him, their arms locked around each other like some sort of weird four-limbed octopus. (Video game protagonist vs. hot mummy— who will win?) You jump back just in time, avoiding a wayward fist and laughing merrily. Idiots, the both of them.

“You guys have fun.” And then you’re gone, off to busy yourself with people who won’t accidentally give you a black eye or knock over the nearest thing not bolted to the ground.

You can still hear them tussling when you latch yourself to the back of a certain blond. He’s dressed like one of your greatest nightmares - an actual clown, drawing inspiration from a certain 2017 blockbuster - and yet somehow still manages to look good. You don’t understand it and frankly, you’re a little envious, but such was life.

“Jimin-ssiiiii.”

“Ahhhhhh, stop!” It’s the same reaction he always has, paired with wiggling shoulders and sweet laughter that bounces around the room and stirs to life your own. Indisputable and lovely, the sound is brighter than the sun or the lights that currently swing through the chandelier lights above your heads. “You two are ridiculous.”

“He’s ridiculous, not me!” You know it isn’t true. Separately, you and Jungkook were idiotic enough, finding humour in the silliest things (funny threads on r/Relationship_Advice and four year old Vines). But together? It was a two-person circus, graduate professors at clown college.

You absolutely loved it.

“Sure, sure,” the dancer hums, delightfully disbelieving as he takes another shot. One of three lined up across the counter, clear in little orange cups made to look like pumpkins. A whiff tells you they’re strawberry soju - your least favourite flavour. You decline with a wrinkled nose and waving hand when he offers you one. Jimin shrugs and downs the next, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth when he misjudges the pour. “Aren’t you drinking?”

You wiggle the half-empty Cass bottle in your hand in response and receive a scoff, different bottle - green, unopened - thrust into your other.

“Drink this!”

“You want me to drink an entire bottle?” You’re incredulous. Jimin’s seen you on the edge of intoxication and more than a little sloppy, giggling like a schoolgirl. It’s not unbecoming - you know better than to get blackout - but laughable nonetheless. Something to record and post on Snapchat with a voice-altering filter.

“It’s Halloween!” The pumpkin shot glass makes you go cross-eyed before he’s knocking it back too. “Live a little!”

Who are you to say no to the recent birthday boy? It would simply be bad manners and you were nothing if polite (though, you’re sure some might beg to differ - Yoongi, maybe?).

The remnants of your beer are swallowed down in the next moment, so quickly you almost choke on it. Your life flashes before your eyes, Jimin’s hand on your shoulder as he beats breath into your body. “Don’t die!” He cries, despite the fact that it’s his fist that’s making it worse, doubling you over with hacking coughs.

“K-Kook’s g-going to kill you—”

“No, you’re fine.” He’s reassuring you just as much as himself, laughing too loudly as you straighten up. You wonder how red your face is when he takes your place, slapping his own knee as he shakes with amusement. “Your face, oh— Your face.”

It’s not meant to be offensive but your buzzed brain demands payment for each giggle.

The base of the green bottle collides with the back of his knee - gentle, gentle - just hard enough to have him properly toppling over, collapsing onto the carpet like a frail old grandpa without his cane. You can’t help the snicker that careens off your liquor-laden tongue.

That is, until he’s pulling you down with him and the two of you are a giggling, giddy mess, tucked beneath the edge of the bar as you laugh together. It’s a chorus of sound, unrelenting and building the longer you both sit on the floor. Jimin’s practically hunched over, head caught between his propped up arms. You imagine it’s a funny sight - two people in their twenties acting like college freshmen.

“Baby?” It’s your boyfriend, amused and confused as he stares down at your and Jimin’s prone bodies. He’s got that dent between his brows, the colour of his eyes all but swallowed up by the way his cheeks press wide with his smile. “What’re you doing down there?”

“Just hanging out,” you answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. At your side, Jimin’s still trying to collect himself, parroting your words around his lungfuls of quieting laughter.

“Are you drunk?”

You’re not, but that doesn’t stop you from gasping, overdramatic and with your unopened bottle of soju held aloft. A modern day olive branch. “No?”

Jungkook snorts and then all at once, he’s close. Too close - smelling of beer and your favourite cologne of his, citrusy and woodsy and every other nice thing you like. It fills your senses just as his smile does, blindingly bright and bunny-like. Even behind the mask, his good looks take your breath away. You must be staring up at him idiotically, all one hundred and sixteen pounds of ooey gooey tenderness. “You sound drunk, angel,” he teases, warm red-covered palm coming to cradle your cheek. It sears heat everywhere it touches, guiding the same hue over your skin. It creeps up your chest and over your ears, standing in contrast to the material of his gloves. “Pretty.”

(He really is, you think.)

“Get a room,” comes Jimin from beside you. There’s no malice in his voice - just soft affection for a couple of lovesick idiots.

“That’s the plan,” Jungkook replies, as if he’d been waiting for the moment. It skips off his tongue and settles into your ears, tipping your head curiously as you stare at him. He’s never been very shy about wanting you - at least, not since you’d made things official, so many months ago - but you’re surprised by the insinuation. When he speaks again, you realise your brain has been rolling around in the gutter, fallen out of your ears like candy from a worn pillow case. “Want to head home?”

You do. You really, really do.

When you stumble into your apartment - the same one with the polka-dot welcome rug and crisp white paint - you realise you were perhaps wrong about how drunk you are. Everything’s coming at you quite quickly, the ground beneath your feet somehow suddenly rushing at you like Mach Five.

“Whoa—” There’s an impossibly solid warmth against your back, fingers locked around your wrists that feel more like flimsy chicken feet. “Careful.”

Your boyfriend’s keeping you upright while stepping out of his boots - impossibly expensive supple dark leather - and you’re giggling all the while, practically sinking against him as he does his best to shuffle his shoes away and get you further into the hallway. “Sorry,” you offer in a terrible stage whisper, smiling wide when you catch sight of his, small and endlessly amused. It slips across his face even as he tries to bite it back, warring with the patience he holds in spades.

“Let’s just get these off.” He means the boots - the intricate, vaguely absurd things that creep up almost the entirety of your leg, neatly wrapped and knotted midway up your thigh. Dexterous as he is, it’s a task to unravel the strings and thread buttons when you’re weighing on him like a bag of bricks.

You’re fumbling for the tops, haphazardly smacking his hands away. “Here, let me.”

Somehow, you manage to get them off in what feels like record time. (In reality, it takes a good five minutes of futility before they’re left on the ground and Jungkook’s swept you into his arms, seemingly over waiting for you to do much else.)

“Oh, my prince charming,” you tease, clinging to him like a koala. You’re locked around him, practically suffocating him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s used to it when you’re this way, just a little too much liquid courage turning your level of affection to eleven. “Or are you the court jester? That’s what Joker is, right?” It’s a joke and a bad one at that. Still, your boyfriend indulges you, depositing a forced laugh against your shoulder as he navigates to your bedroom.

“You’re drunk.” He says it more kindly than you expect. Perhaps even more kindly than you deserve. You know he’s not exactly sober himself, his gaze verging on heavy-lidded. There’s sleepiness blending seamlessly with intoxication, softening the edge of his jaw, the narrow of his stare. It’s terribly tender, skipping your heart when you look at him dead on.

It comes without thought. You have to tell him. Your drunk brain and your puppy dog heart demand it. “I love you.”

Jungkook returns the confession with humour, eyes sparkling despite the haze of alcohol that dims them down. As always, he indulges you, giving you support in the form of his heart and his hands. (Literally, he’s still holding you even though you’ve reached your destination.) “Love you too.”

“Is it time for bed?” You’re surprisingly tired, despite the fact that you’d slept until late in the afternoon. You certainly wouldn’t mind falling face first into your mattress.

“You need a shower first.” It’s a simple statement of fact, you know that. You’ve got at least ten pounds of makeup on and your hair’s the furthest thing from soft and silky, carefully coiffed to mimic Mercy’s signature style. You still pretend like you’re just a bit offended, scowling into the face of your boyfriend even as he rolls his eyes, already somehow able to read the words written into your expression. “I meant we and no, I’m not calling you stinky.”

He’s stolen your thunder, as he so often does. You pout, as you so often do.

“Okay,” you relent, finally, moving to rest your head against his shoulder. You could get down - walk on your own two tired feet - but you’re enjoying the closeness, how warm and real he feels in comparison to the swimming surroundings. “Will you wash my hair?” You don’t really need to ask but do anyway, because you like the sound of his voice when it’s so close.

“You know I will.” Because he always does when you shower together (and it falls on a designated hair washing day - that was important).

You offer your thanks with a kiss, laid right over the jumping pulse in his neck. When Jungkook hums in acknowledgment, you feel the way the muscles constrict, his Adam’s apple jumping beneath your lips. You zero in on it with laser precision, mouthing over his throat. Somewhere above you - against the shell of your ear - he exhales a laugh, breath hot.

“We’re showering, baby.” As if that’s meant to stop you. He, more than anyone, should know how adamant you get, singularly focused on whatever’s got your attention. He’s been on the receiving end of it more than enough times, strung into playing another one, two, ten matches of Overwatch or hunting down the limited edition Funko Pops that now sit proudly on your white shelf (and behind your plants and on the ledge by the front door).

“We can shower and have fun,” you mumble into the expanse of his chest. He’s so pleasantly warm, unyielding and firm and so, so comfortable. You think you could live in the feeling of his arms. (You’re lucky you get to.) You don’t even mind the sudden cold of the counter or the space that forms between you when he sets you down, because he’s still caging you in where it matters most. “Right, JK?”

It’s a nickname you rarely use now - one that only comes out in times of desperation. You’ve never quite understood why it affects your boyfriend the way it does, stuttering the rhythmic beating of his heart, but you love it nonetheless. It makes you grin, high on power and giddy with nothing but sweetness.

He’d explained it to you once. Jay was how you’d met him, the version of himself you’d loved first. Jungkook was the side of himself he’d wanted to give you but couldn’t. JK was the in-between - the chaos and the calm. Hearing you say it brought back all the memories of year one and he liked that. You could only laugh at his sentimentality and tuck the piece of knowledge somewhere deep, to be pulled out in instances like this.

“Right, angel.” You don’t miss the colour on his cheeks - so pretty you reach your hands out to cup them, squishing them between your palms like an old grandmother testing a watermelon. You continue to hold him until he pulls your hands from his face, guiding them to the edge of the counter with gentle pressure. “Gotta get undressed to shower,” he chides, that twinkle in his eye that makes it hard to look away.

Really, how can he expect you to do anything when he’s got an entire unexplored galaxy hidden in his irises? It’s an absurd ask.

“Or I’ll help you.”

Your clothes fall away while you’re still staring up at him.

First, the gloves, peeled from your fingers with utmost care. Kisses fill the spaces between each finger, passed from knuckles to wrist, all the way up to your elbow. You squirm when his teeth graze the sensitive underside of your bicep. He stifles a snicker into the skin.

Next goes your cape and wings, hung on the door handle. His mouth warms the suddenly bare skin, pressing affection into the line of your shoulder, up over your neck. You don’t squirm this time, instead humming a noise of delight. You hardly notice when the corset goes next, undone by surprisingly nimble inked digits. There’s hardly a moment to savour the freedom - you can finally breathe - when his hands replace the cups, palms eager over your chest. He doesn’t hesitate to hold you, pinching your perked nipples with a sly grin.

“I thought we were going to shower.” The words are barely out before turning breathless, stolen by the way he easily palms your breast, dropping his face into the crook of your neck.

“We are, angel,” Jungkook teases, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, other hand moved to splay across the now-bare small of your back. It’s almost embarrassing how easily you fall into him, drawn against him like a moth to a flame. “Just need to get you warmed up first.”

“The shower’ll be warm,” you say - or think you say, anyway. It isn’t quite articulated, half your brain left somewhere at the party (or maybe caught dead centre in the coil that’s tightening in your stomach).

“Do you want me to stop?” It’s so quiet you almost miss it, too distracted by how he slips the rest of your costume off. Shorts, thong, stockings, silly witch’s hat. “Tell me if you want me to stop, baby.” Ever the gentleman, he’s patient, meeting your glazed stare with something close to concern. You almost laugh in his face then - stopping short only when you note just how serious he is, the tell-tale set of his jaw shining like a familiar beacon.

You return your hands to his face, palms cradling his chin like he might break otherwise. “I never want you to stop.”

That’s all Jungkook needs before he’s slotting himself between your legs, mirroring your motion with hands creeping up the side of your neck, fingers ascending into the roots of your hair. He holds you close and kisses you like it’s all he’s ever wanted. “I love you,” he breathes, speaks against the corner of your mouth.

You parrot the words back at him and he grins, stepping away in the next moment. He laughs when you pout, offering a kiss in apology as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping the soft cotton off. You stop then, entranced by the revealed skin, how it shifts with each adjustment of muscle, sinew tight over his arms and shoulders. You wonder, not for the first time, how you’d managed to luck out so spectacularly.

“Start the shower.”

You hop down with the direction, slipping past him to do exactly that. You don’t miss the way he rotates, brings himself closer as you move away. The magnetism is undeniable - always has been.

“I love you,” he states, again, bare against your back as you hover by the edge of the glass door, one hand stuck past to test the slow-warming stream. He’s solid, familiar and comfortable, as he slinks his arms back around you, heat burning the shape of his hands over your ribs, the shape of your hip. You think he might mark himself there, just as neatly as the floral ink does. You wouldn’t mind.

The water is welcome, bathing the both of you in steam when you step inside. It’s an incredibly relaxing feeling, being caught between the spray and the hard body behind you. You hum a noise of pure delight, turning your face toward the one that nuzzles itself into your neck, and bring your hands to rest over his, fingers slotting between ink.

“Hair?” You’re not in a terrible rush but you like redirecting his attention (pretending to, at least) - the teasing that formed the base of your relationship presenting itself in the quiet reminder. It earns the laugh you expect, muffled into your hair, featherlight over the delicate shell of your jewelled ear.

“Patience, baby.” It’s something Jungkook tends to say a lot, whether waiting in queue in Overwatch or in bed, with you a complete mess. He repeats it easily, like he’s the poster boy for the virtue. (He isn’t.)

“What am I waiting—” The question dies, swallowed whole by the gasp he draws from you with a wandering hand. Fingers slip across your stomach, digits deftly seeking out warmth as if you weren’t already enveloped in it. It’s a touch that’s tantalisingly slow, unfairly light, but it still makes you keen when it drags over your lips. A single digit pushes past muscle - so shallow you’re not sure you’re not just imagining it - before retreating, dragging your slick back up to your clit. The moment the pad of his finger makes contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves, you almost jump. Would, if he weren’t caging you with his other arm.

You feel the cold of his teeth bared against your neck then, the throaty laugh that pulls out of his chest and deposits itself into your hair. “Patience,” he repeats, swirling his fingers over your clit, his mouth moving in tandem with the twist of his wrist. He peppers love and affection in the form of kisses, presses devotion with the edge of his teeth, soothes all your nerves with a sweep of his tongue.

“Kook,” you sigh, already well on your way to being a boneless mess. There’s tingling in your toes, fizzing in your stomach, butterflies in your chest. A whirlwind of emotion and sensation that he stirs to life effortlessly.

“Relax for me.” You do so because it’s easy, because he’s so devastatingly good to you.

The figure eights skating over your clit cease, fingers dropping further down to nestle against your cunt. He pauses there, almost experimentally flexing against the muscle that aches and clenches around nothing, eager for more. You think he’s smirking by the way his lips form with his kisses, a little lopsided and devilish. (You wish you could see him.)

A single digit enters you then, to the third knuckle as if your body was made for this, for him. (It was.) He coos against your neck when a garbled mess skips off your tongue and nearly laughs when another slips in alongside it, turning the mess into nonsense. Despite how badly you want it - need it, really - it’s a sensation that’s too much and not enough all at once, toeing the line between pleasure and pain.

It was how Jungkook loved you - recklessly, shamelessly, in no half measures. With more love than you could ever hope for, giving you things you didn’t even know how to ask for.

“Relax, angel,” comes as he begins scissoring both fingers inside you, stretching you out with an otherworldly amount of care. Even your neglected clit is given some sort of relief - anything to ease the sting of two long fingers - his thumb gliding over it with each stretch of your walls. He knows exactly where to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and you’re melting, lost in the feeling.

When he’s had enough and he curls his fingers within you, seeking out that particular spot, you’re trembling, caught off guard. Heat builds quickly with the precision of which he taps against that spot; it starts low in your back, climbing each vertebrae of your spine until you’re quivering in his arms.

“K-Kook.” It’s both a plea and a demand, nonsensical as he guides you through your orgasm, keeping you upright against him when your knees feel like they might give out.

“I’ve got you.” And he does - hook, line, and sinker. He holds you steady as the pleasure crashes over your head, keeps you anchored to the here and now and the pleasure that rolls through you like a relentless wave. It sinks beneath your skin, settles heavy into every atom, and he never lets you go. He’s got you.

When sensation returns - slowly, so slowly it feels like you’re stuck in the Twilight Zone - you only want to turn. See him, hold him, whisper sweet nothings as you kiss him silly and thank him for his service. Instead, you’re held in place, two hands firm upon your hips even as you crane your neck to look over your shoulder at him. You should recognise the look on his face. “Kook?”

“My turn.” It’s a statement more than anything, a kind heads-up as he nudges you forward. There’s that same twinkle in his eye, the only source of light around the pupil that’s blown out, otherwise engulfing the constellations he so normally offers you. It’s a black hole and one you’d gladly get lost in. “Hands on the wall, baby.”

You’d never been one for shower sex - it’s too small a space, too much happening at once, a guaranteed freak accident waiting to happen - but you can’t deny him when he asks so nicely. (It really hadn’t been that nice but you were a certified sucker for one Jeon Jungkook.)

Hands find themselves on the wall, palms flat, fingers splayed. In the same instance you wiggle your hips, there’s a ghosting touch over your spine. It trails up and down, soothes the residual heat that lingers, and then slips higher, palm gentle over your throat. His thumb rubs reassuring circles over the nape of your neck, pressing gently into the sensitive spot behind your ear. It’s distracting and you realise much needed when he sinks into you with one fluid press of his hips, filling you so full you can’t help the gasp that bounds past your lips and bounces around the glass enclosure. “Oh fuck,” he sighs, his grip on your hip tightening incrementally.

He sounds like sin and feels like heaven.

“Always so good for me.” Another thing he says, often and without prompting. It still feels just as good the umpteenth time, sparking pride deep in your chest as he pulls out and drives himself back in, staring in rapt fascination at where your bodies meet. “Always so perfect for me.”

“Because I love you,” you quip, more than a little out of breath and jostled by the way he thrusts into you, measured and with enough force to shake your legs.

“Love you too, angel.” He doesn’t need to say it back - you know, can feel it by how he holds you, drives you to brink of insanity with his cock - but he does it anyway. He always says it back, no matter what, even if he’s half-asleep or distracted. He’ll never stop saying it.

The hand on your hip falls, slinks across your hip and between your legs, and you’re pushed further forward, his feet gently kicking yours further apart. Jungkook assaults your clit then, timing each pass with each thrust. An attempted glance back has fireworks going off before your eyes, specks of pleasure lighting up your vision; it’s a technicolour lightshow, framing the way his face scrunches, brow set and jaw hard. He’s determined, focused on bringing you to another orgasm before he hits his own high. You assist him as best you can, swiveling your hips and grinding back against him even as the coil pulls impossibly tight in your stomach, barely held together by threadbare strings.

“Kook,” you whine when the tension becomes too much, hands scrabbling across the wall of the shower. The same overwhelming tingle sparks beneath your skin, entire body trembling like a leaf when the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you at just the right angle.

He doesn’t relent, rhythm turning almost punishing as he drives you over the edge, launching you headlong into your second orgasm. You’re not sure how you stay upright, near sobbing when you crash into euphoric bliss, neither his fingers nor his thrusts ceasing. It’s almost too much and yet you know how close he is, so you push back, whimper words you know he wants to hear.

“P-please, Kook. Please.” You’re reaching a hand back, desperate to interlace your fingers with his. He gives in easily, catches your hand in his own and plants it on the swell of your hip as he chases his own release with desperation. “Come for me, Kook. Fill me up.”

Jungkook does just that, balls tight as he spills himself inside you, hand at your throat so tight you’re seeing stars. Somehow - with the feeling of him grinding into you, overcome with so much sensitivity - you come for the third time, crying very real tears as the sensation washes over you. It’s weaker than your first two but unravels you all the same, seeping the energy from your limbs. You’re grateful for how well he knows you and the fact he catches you before your arms collapse, pulling you to him with gentle movements.

“I love you,” he whispers against your temple, out of breath and sweat-slick despite the water that rains down upon you.

“I love you,” you answer, pressing a kiss to the hand that still twines with yours. “But I still need you to wash my hair.” It’s cheeky and you know it so you don’t even mind when he bites into the meat of your shoulder, leaving a pretty red mark that’ll bloom for the next few days. “Ow!”

“You’re a brat.” Said even as he’s reaching for your shampoo bar, teasing it through your roots with practiced movements. He’s careful despite his scathing tone, gentle despite how he glares at you from the corner of your periphery. Each tangle is neatly undone and not a single bubble gets in your eye, much to your joy.

“I thought I was an angel.” You’re taking a page out of his book, speaking in fluent pout.

He catches your lips with his own, pushing your lathered up head beneath the steady stream when he withdraws and speaks. Suds run across your cheeks, eyes shielded only by the hand he keeps steady along your hairline. Even so mean, your boyfriend is still terribly nice. “You’re my angel - but you’re still a brat.”

You can’t argue with that.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi

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