#private label decors

[austinbutlerslovers]

But Daddy I Love Him

Label Mature 18+

Summary You are a well mannered socialite with a life carefully planned. Until you meet a reckless biker with a devil-may-care charm.

Drawn to his freedom and fire, you abandon the rules that once defined you, leaving behind a gilded life for one that finally feels real.

-Based on the Lyrics But Daddy I love him

💝Romantic Smut 💝 Secret romance • opposites attract• socially unaccepted• private affair• running away from home• lover to boyfriend• sweet talk •praising •body worship • P in V • multiple orgasms •creampies 🔗 Masterlist

But Daddy I Love Him

The New Year’s Eve gala is in full swing. Chandeliers hang from the large elaborate white tent spread across the sprawling lawn of an elegant estate, the lights glimmering above a sea of glittering gowns and tailored tuxedos on the dance floor

The clinking of champagne glasses blends seamlessly with the soft hum of the live orchestra. It’s like a scene straight out of a movie—one you’re desperately trying to escape.

You’re tired of the rules, the polite smiles, and the suffocating weight of “perfection.”

You’re fleeing to the only one who gives you solace—the only one who makes you feel alive.

Ducking back into the mansion through a side door, you move quickly and quietly, the lavish decor of the halls passing in a blur.

The sound of laughter and music fades behind you as you make your way toward the servants exit, the place you told him to meet when you called earlier, desperate to break out of this gilded cage.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you approach the door feeling the anticipation and the thrill. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. If your parents caught wind of who you were sneaking off to see, the fallout would be explosive. But that only makes you more determined.

As you push open the heavy wooden door, the night air greets you once more, crisp and biting against your bare shoulders. And then you see him-

Benny Cross

He leans casually against his motorcycle, his leather jacket catching the moonlight. His sandy brown hair is tousled perfectly, his piercing blue eyes gleaming with mischief as he watches you approach. A slow grin spreads across his face, the cigarette dangling from his lips long forgotten, crushed under his boot as his attention locks entirely on you.

“You look real fancy in that dress,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “Doesn’t look like it belongs on someone sneaking out the back.”

You grin as you saunter toward him. “And that bike doesn’t look like it belongs at a New Years Eve Gala,” you quip, slipping your arms around his neck.

“Guess we’re both out of place, huh?” he teases, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you closer.

Without another word, you kiss him, pouring all your frustration, your rebellion, and your longing into it. His lips are warm and soft, his hands gripping you like he never wants to let go.

You know your parents would lose their minds if they knew, but right now, you couldn’t care less. Benny is your secret, your escape, your freedom.

“Take me,” you whisper in his ear between kisses. “Take me to my parents’ estate. No one’s home—they’re too busy with their little party.”

His eyes darken with desire, and without a word, he shrugs off his leather jacket, draping it over your shoulders, the warm, worn leather carrying his familiar scent. He swings over his bike smoothly and pulls you up behind him without hesitation.

The roar of the engine echoes through the quiet night as he speeds through the residential streets, the cold wind whipping through your hair. You cling to him, your heart racing—not just from the speed, but from the thrill of being with him.

Your estate is eerily quiet when you arrive, the grand house dark as you lead Benny upstairs. When you reach your bedroom, you barely get the door shut before he’s on you.

His hands are rough pulling his leather from your body and sliding up your back to the zipper of your dress. “This thing’s way too fancy for you,” he teases, his voice low and gravelly against your neck.

With one fluid motion, he pulls the zipper down, his fingers brushing your bare skin as he lets the fabric fall.

Without wasting a second, his hands find the clasp of your bra, and with a practiced flick, he unhooks it, letting it fall to the floor.

He slips his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down swiftly, leaving you bare before him.

Stepping back, he takes his time, his eyes raking over you like a man starved. His expression hungry and raw. “Standing there, looking like that… you’re gonna ruin me, sweetheart.” He says his tone longing.

His hands go to the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one quick motion, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the tight ridges of his abs.

Then, his fingers work at the button of his jeans, the rough material sliding down his hips with ease before hitting the floor with a dull thud. Your eyes trail downward, catching on the sight of him—heavy and hard, the impressive size of his cock making you bite your lip.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes linger, a proud grin tugging at his lips.

You reach for him, desperate to feel him against you and pull him down into a kiss, your lips crashing together in a fiery collision of need and longing.

His hands find your waist, gripping firmly as he walks you backward toward the bed, lowering you down with enough force to make you gasp against his lips.

He settles on top of you, his weight pressing you into the plush mattress, his broad shoulders framing you as he pushes your thighs apart beneath him, claiming the space between them as his own.

His lips are rough and unrelenting as they trail down to your neck. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp, and he takes full advantage of the sound, pressing his mouth to the sensitive hollow of your throat as he flicks his tongue.

His hands explore you, leaving no inch of skin untouched. The calluses on his fingers drag over your soft curves, teasing and torturing until you’re panting and writhing beneath him.

“Benny,” you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, needing more.

“Patience sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice filled with promise. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He grips your hips, his strength overpowering as he pulls you closer, positioning you exactly where he wants you. His hand slides between your thighs, his rough fingers testing and teasing you as they glide through your slickness. A low hum of satisfaction escapes his throat, the feeling of how wet you are driving him wild.

“I can feel how much you need me,” he breathes, his voice thick with desire. “I’ll give you everything, sweetheart. Every last bit of me.”

His fingers slip away, leaving you aching for him and before you can catch your breath, he lines himself up, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a promise only he can satisfy. He pushes the thick unyielding length of his cock into you, stretching you wide, filling you in a way that steals your breath.

His size is overwhelming—the heat of it, the weight of it—and as he sinks in deeper, your head falls back, a moan spilling from your lips as his name escapes you in a broken cry.

His low groan follows, rough and guttural, vibrating against your chest as his body presses firmly against yours, leaving no space between you.

You clutch at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he pauses for the briefest moment, letting you adjust to the sheer size of him.

“I know just what you need, sweetheart,” he promises, his breath warm against your skin and he rolls his hips forward with a force that sends you arching against him, each powerful thrust driving you into a haze of pleasure as the world around you dissolves.

Your broken cries fill the room, each one more desperate than the last as his muscles flex beneath your touch determined to claim every part of you.

His hands grip your shoulders, holding you firmly in place as he pushes deeper, his pace relentless, every stroke of his cock sending shockwaves through your body, leaving you spiraling, completely lost in the raw, consuming heat of him.

You moan loudly, your nails digging into his back as the tension in your body builds to an unbearable peak. He leans down, his lips finding yours again in a messy, desperate kiss as his pace quickens.

Your breaths grow frantic, your heart pounding as your walls tighten around his cock pulling him deeper with every thrust.

“Benny!” you moan, his name spilling from your lips in broken cries as your orgasm crashes over you.

He groans in response finding his own release with one final thrust. He buries his cock deep, holding still as he comes, his cock filling you with warmth as he breathes heavily against your neck.

For a moment, neither of you move as the pleasure subsides, leaving only the sound of your ragged breaths and the feel of his steady heartbeat against your chest.

His hands slide up your sides, his touch tender as he strokes your skin, his fingers tracing soothing patterns. “I’ve never felt this way before,” he reveals, his lips pressing a soft lingering kiss on your shoulder then on curve of your neck.

“Me neither,” you whisper, your voice soft and steady, your fingers trailing along his back as you both linger in the moment.

The way he touches you, the way he takes you—is nothing you’ve ever experienced before. 

Benny is raw, he’s real, and he’s entirely yours.

Right before midnight, you return to the New Year’s Eve Gala, together on his bike, just as the first fireworks begin to explode across the sky.

The colorful lights cast you both in vibrant reds, blues, and golds as he helps you climb off his bike, your gaze drawn upward, mesmerized by the bursts of light painting the night sky.

His wraps his arms around your shoulders, holding your back to his chest as you both watch the fireworks in silence. It’s a perfect moment, fleeting but beautiful. You turn to look back at him, and he’s already watching you, his eyes filled with something you can’t quite name but feel entirely the same.

“Happy New Year Benny,” you say softly.

He pulls you closer, his arms tightening around you as his lips brush your ear. “Happy New Year,” he whispers, his voice low and full of longing.

Before you can say anything more, he turns you fully and captures your lips in a deeply passionate kiss filled with everything words could never convey.

Above you, the fireworks burst across the sky in a riot of colors, but all you can feel is him and the way he holds you, the way he kisses you, and it’s as if time has stopped in a moment where nothing else matters.

As the kiss ends, his hands cradle your face, his thumbs gently brushing your cheeks. “Next year,” he says his eyes searching yours with a mix of determination and longing “let’s make it so we don’t have to sneak around to be together.”

You softly smile, your heart full despite the knowledge that the morning will bring new challenges. Still, you meet his gaze with quiet resolve. “I’d like that Benny,” you whisper back.

As the fireworks fade, you know this is the beginning of something neither of you can, or wants to, walk away from.

As weeks turn into months, you secretly become Benny’s girl. You learn about his world—his biker crew, their late-night rides, and a freedom you’d only dreamed of.

He, in turn, is fascinated by your wit, your intelligence, and the quiet fire he sees growing behind your polished exterior whenever you’re with him. It’s a fire he knows only he can stoke, and it makes him fall for you even harder.

But the secrecy begins to weigh on you both. Your parents start to notice your frequent absences and your growing disinterest in their meticulously laid out plans for your future. Their questions start to surface, sharp and invasive, pressing against the fragile haven you and Benny have created.

Benny encourages you to tell them the truth but you always hesitate.

As Benny picks you up late in the evening, he leans against his bike, watching with an amused grin as you carefully climb down the lattice outside your window.

The pale moonlight highlights your outfit a simple leather jacket borrowed from him, thrown over a fitted black tank top and denim skirt, your feet in new leather boots for the escape. It’s a far cry from the polished dresses and heels your parents expect, but it’s undeniably you.

You cross the lawn to him quickly, your heart racing with both adrenaline and anticipation.

“We can’t keep sneaking around forever,” he says his voice low as you approach, “We’re not doing anything wrong. You deserve to live your life.” He confirms.

You roll your eyes as you throw your leg over the bike. “And what, Benny? You think my parents will suddenly roll out the welcome mat for the guy who picks me up in the dead of night on his motorcycle?” you retort, settling behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist. “Let’s be real—they’d lose their minds.”

He glances over his shoulder at you, his expression serious before you see the teasing curve of his lips. “Doesn’t mean we’re wrong,” he grins before revving the engine.

The clubhouse is quiet, the others long gone for a weekend rally leaving the space eerily still. Benny pulls his bike into the lot, parking near the entrance as you climb off, brushing your hair back from your face.

Inside, the air smells like leather, smoke, and the faint tang of whiskey—a stark contrast to the world you’ve left behind for the night at your father’s weekend tennis matches with all his influential friends.

Benny leans against the pool table, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with his piercing blue eyes in a way that makes your pulse race.

His arms look even bigger with his muscle tee revealing the taut, hard defined muscles of his biceps. The tension between you is unusually heavy, the air charged with unspoken words until he finally breaks the silence.

“How long are we gonna do this?” he asks, his voice tinged with frustration. “Sneaking around like I’m some dirty secret?”

You take a step closer, realizing how much he’s been hurting, and your gaze drops, unable to meet his eyes. “You don’t understand,” you plead softly. “They’ll try to destroy us, Benny. They’ll say you’re not good enough, that you’re a bad influence—“

Benny cuts you off. “And what do you say?”

The question hangs in the air, the weight of it pressing down on you, and as you lift your eyes to meet his the raw emotion in your gaze says everything. “I say I love you, Benny,” you whisper.

For a moment, Benny’s eyes soften, brimming with everything he’s been holding back. Then he closes the distance in an instant, his hands finding your waist as his lips crash into yours, his kiss hungry and unyielding as if he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment.

You clutch at his shoulders, your fingers tangling in his hair as the world around you dissolves. He lifts you effortlessly, setting you down on the edge of the pool table. His rough hands slide down your thighs, hitching up the hem of your skirt as he steps between your legs, his body pressing hard against yours.

“I love you so much ,” he whispers against your lips, his voice trembling with need. “You drive me absolutely insane.”

He tilts your head back, giving him full access to your neck as he trails kisses down your skin, his stubble leaving a delicious burn in its wake. Your breaths come in quick, shallow pants, the air charged with everything you’ve both been holding back.

He unbuttons and unzips his jeans, then his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him, his rough fingers slipping between your thighs and pulling your panties aside.

He hitches your leg around his waist, his hands gripping your thighs firmly as he thrusts into you hard, taking you right there on the edge of the pool table.

His movements are rough, relentless, each powerful stroke sending a jolt of pleasure through you as you wrap your arms around his neck, holding on tightly as he drives into you with raw, consuming desperation.

The sound of your gasps and his low grunts fill the air, mingling with the slick, wet sounds of his hips thrusting between yours, driving into you hard and fast on the pool table.

“You’re all I want ” he whispers against your neck, his voice strained and raw with emotion .”You’re everything I need” he says breathlessly, his lips trailing rough kisses along your jaw as his thrusts render you senseless. The way he snaps his hips pushes you to the brink, your cries echoing off the walls as he takes you apart piece by piece.

The rhythm of your bodies moving together becomes frantic, urgent, as if this is all that matters. His hands hold you in place, his fingers digging into your hips as his body claims yours on the table with unrelenting force.

The intensity of him—his strength, his touch, his heat—sends you spiraling into a place where nothing else exists. Nothing else matters—only him, only this.

As you orgasm, your body trembles, your walls clenching tightly around his cock, drawing a deep, guttural groan from him as his movements falter.

With a final thrust, he buries himself deep, his warmth spilling into you in surges, then his hands tighten on your hips as he pulls back entirely, the sensation sending a shudder through you both.

The room grows quiet again, the only sounds your heavy breathing and the faint noise of the city outside filtering through the walls.

He pulls you into his arms, holding you close to rest your head on his shoulder. He presses a soft kiss to your temple as he strokes your hair back, his voice gentle but serious. “We have to tell them baby.” He confesses. “I don’t want to hide like this forever.”

You lift your head to look at him, your fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. “I’m scared,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” he says firmly, his blue eyes locking onto yours with unwavering resolve. “You don’t have to go back. You could stay with me.”

Your heart aches at his words, the sincerity in his tone making it even harder as you look at him. “I wish I could,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “But they’d come looking for me. I need them to believe I’m still playing by their rules—for now.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he leans down and kisses you again, slow and lingering, to remind you that he’s yours, that this is real, and you feel it—the certainty that no matter what Benny is where you belong.

Benny drives up the familiar path to your estate, the low rumble of his motorcycle softening as he slows to a stop near the driveway fountain. As you climb off the back, you turn to him with a soft smile, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to his lips.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips, your fingers brushing his cheek.

“I love you too,” he says in return, his voice low and steady. His hand lingers on your waist, reluctant to let go. “Good night.” He whispers.

“Good night,” you reply softly, your heart full as you step back.

You dart toward the lattice outside your bedroom window, moving quickly to sneak back inside unnoticed.

But just as you climb the first rung, the front door flies open, spilling golden light across the lawn.

Your heart freezes as your father storms out, his voice thunderous. “You stay away from her!” he roars, pointing a finger directly at Benny.

Behind him, your mother and his influential friends with their wives file out, their presence an intentional show of force.

The women clutch their pearl necklaces and cross pendants, one muttering loud enough for you to hear, “What a mess,” her disdain cutting through the tension.

Benny, who had been idling the motorcycle shifts his weight slightly, planting one boot on the ground as he watches the group come toward him taunting and scorning.

His hand tightens on the handlebar as his piercing blue eyes flick to you, to see if you’re okay, but he doesn’t budge, ready to face whatever comes next.

You glance back at the lattice, your mind racing, but instead of climbing up, you drop to the ground, running toward Benny as the lump in your throat swells almost unbearably. “But Daddy, I love him!” you scream, your voice cutting through the night.

Gasps travel through the group. Your mother’s hand flies to her chest, and your father’s face twists with fury. You know what they’re thinking—this isn’t how their polished, perfect daughter is supposed to behave.

The disdain on their faces, the whispers of the scandal-hungry wives—it all fuels your next move. With the entire crowd watching, you look your father dead in the eyes and yell, “I’m having his baby!”

A stunned silence follows. Your father’s face goes pale, his mouth opening and closing like he’s searching for words that won’t come

The tension is suffocating, but you don’t give anyone time to react. You climb onto the back of Benny’s motorcycle, holding him tightly, your heart pounding as he shifts into gear, the engine roaring to life.

He glances back at you as you ride off, his voice low and urgent. “Are you really pregnant?” he asks.

“No,” you admit quickly, your voice shaking. “But you should’ve seen their faces.”

A grin breaks across Benny’s face as he shakes his head impressed by your wit, and the roar of the engine drowns out everything else as you ride away, leaving the estate and your parents expectations in the dust.

For the next month, you and Benny lay low in the clubhouse. The two of you live upstairs in a loft, savoring the freedom of being together without judgment. The loft is small and rough around the edges, but it feels like a haven —your sanctuary.

Days blur into nights filled with moments of joy, laughter, and quiet intimacy. Benny wakes you with slow kisses along your neck, his lips soft and lingering, pulling you into his arms as sunlight filters through the worn curtains. The warmth of his touch and the way he says your name to wake you feels like a dream.

Morning are spent laying with him in bed, his hands exploring you lazily, tracing soft patterns on your skin as if he has all the time in the world. He teases you with gentle kisses, and mischievously grins when he pulls you closer, whispering how much he loves having you with him.

Afternoons are carefree. He teaches you how to shoot pool downstairs in the clubhouse, laughing when you miss your shot and teasing you mercilessly. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says with a grin, leaning in to steal a kiss as you try to focus.

Often, the two of you take his bike out for long rides, the wind whipping through your hair as you hold him tightly, feeling the freedom of the open road.

Evenings are spent wrapped in each other’s arms after a dash to the diner, your bodies entwined in the bed of the quiet loft. Most nights are passionate, Benny’s touch both tender and possessive, as he makes love to you with an intensity that leaves you senseless, his kisses stealing your breath as he whispers how much he loves you.

“You’re all I need,” he says at times when the moment is just right, the weight of his words flowing from deep within his heart.

He says it when he watches you laugh, carefree and unguarded, in a way you never could before him. He says it when he sees you curled up in his oversized white shirt, a little piece of his world wrapped around you.

He says it when you make him feel like he’s worth something more than the rough edges of his life. You see past the chaos, and the rebellion, and you love him.

As you bask in your new life with Benny, you still can’t ignore the ache that lingers at the edges of your heart. As much as you’ve rebelled against them, you do miss your parents at times.

Then one morning, everything changes.

You’re in bed with Benny, tangled together in the soft light of dawn, when the shrill ring of the phone downstairs at the club’s bar breaks the stillness. Benny groans, burying his face into the crook of your neck as if trying to block it out.

But a moment later, there’s a knock at the loft door. Benny sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and pulls on a pair of jeans, his movements slow, before cracking the door open.

“Your girl’s mom is on the line,” one of the guys says, his voice casual but laced with curiosity. “Guess they figured it all out.”

The words jolt you awake. Quickly, you pull a robe over the shirt Benny gave you to wear to bed, your heart pounding as you follow him downstairs to the bar. The phone sits on the counter, the receiver waiting for you. You hesitate for a moment, nerves swirling, before picking it up.

“Hello?”

Your mother’s voice comes through the line, soft and hesitant but full of emotion. “Your father wants to see you,” she says. “We miss you so much, sweetheart. Please come home —please just come home, we need to speak with you urgently.”

You glance at Benny, his steady gaze on you, offering silent support. You nod, and he returns it, understanding without a word— if you have to go he’s coming with you.

Later that day, you and Benny stand in the grand living room of your parents’ estate, the tension heavy as your father sits across from you.

His demeanor is far from the fiery man who yelled on the lawn that night. He looks tired, even defeated as he finishes his speech “We’ll hold a wedding,” he says, his hands folded tightly in front of him. “You shouldn’t have to live this way—especially if there is a baby coming. We will do what is right.”

You almost laugh at the misunderstanding, but before you can speak, Benny rests his hand on your lower back. “With or without a baby,” he says firmly, his voice steady and unwavering, “I want to marry her.”

You look over at Benny, your eyes meeting his, and in that moment, the depth of his love and devotion leaves you speechless.

Your father stares at Benny for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as if weighing every word. Finally he exhales heavily as he nods, silently agreeing to anything to keep you in his life.

Three months later, the sun shines brightly over the estate as you dance in your wedding dress, the layers of white tulle catching the light. Benny’s hands are on your waist, his grin as wide as you’ve ever seen it.

Around you, the guests smile warmly, not just your parents’ influential friends, but Benny’s biker family as well. The unlikely mix of guests creates a vibrant, joyful atmosphere that you never thought possible.

Even your father, once disapproving, watches with a small smile as you and Benny share your first dance.

Your mother watches, her eyes never dry as she dabs back her tears with a handkerchief, unable to hide her emotions as she watches you and Benny make your way through the crowd, hand in hand, husband and wife.

The gossipers and scandal-lovers—the ones who sneered and whispered at your rebellion—are nowhere to be seen; requested off the guest list entirely.

When the sun dips lower in the sky, you take Benny’s hands, feeling the weight of everything you’ve overcome together. You’re his lady now, his wife, and as you glance at your parents, they smile, their expressions warm and accepting of your choice.

As you turn back to Benny, your heart swells with love as you look into his eyes, knowing you made the right one.

Overcome with emotion you lean in and kiss each other, pouring everything you feel into the moment. His hands tighten around your waist, steady and sure, as your arms wrap around his neck, embracing each other in the love you fought so hard to hold onto—finally living life the way you deserve.

END 🏍️

🔗 Masterlist

🏷️Always Tag Me List

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[immoralimmortals]

I READ THEM TAGS OFFER EM UP MY LEIGE I NEED MARRIAGE HEADCANONS FOR THE AKATSUKI

(EDIT: this is by far my most popular post! If you like this, I have a longform akatsuki x reader fic pinned on my blog and linked here!)

You water my crops and put the stars in the sky. I'm madly in love with you. I'm bringing this post to your feet much like a cat does their favorite toy. I have caught it. Be proud of me, mother.

Even if it's less about the whole life of being married and more about the actual act of marrying, hope that's ok!

Akatsuki Marriage Headcanons, for real this time:

Pain:

I am a huge proponent of the popular fanon opinion that if this man takes you so seriously as to express a label for it (love, spouse, etc.), he is at the brink of worshiping your feet. Don't get me wrong, in terms of the arrangement of proposal and marriage ceremony, the leader is still in charge; however, he is dictating with every detail painstakingly about you. If there is decor, it is your favorite color. If you expressed you like a certain gemstone, he tracks it down for proposal and gets the finest cut upon your finger. You don't want an actual wedding? No problem, you're just going to come home to several thousand lit candles and a profession of commitment as deep from his heart as a corpse is in the grave.

The idea is that it is necessary for this bond to be formalized, at least for his own sake. Pain would refer to it as something you need to hear. If he is nothing else, he is serious about whatever he experiences emotionally; that goes for both his immense suffering and his most delicate of joys. He declares you his, neigh: commands...but only after you assure him yes.

If a traditional proposal is done, it must be in private. He dares not be too exposed. It's already so much that he has become vulnerable to you.

It is a hard privilege to earn. And so, the Akatsuki leader pays you back in kind. As long as you both shall live, you are his deity. You will never want, not as long as he is allowed to bask in you.

Pain kisses you firmly, one hand on your wrist and one on your back. You are to feel both his presence and his commitment.

A wedding song for you: Take me to Church by Hozier (yes I am a sucker for this song, yes yes and yes) or Ship in a Bottle by fin

Konan:

All at once, her heart aches in the best and worst ways, as it is such a curse of the Akatsuki to have had their loves taken too soon. Up till this point, she has been passive, letting you lead the relationship, but now- despite how much she yearns for the same- the angel stands her ground.

"Why?" you ask her in retaliation. She's thin-lipped as she refuses the real answer. It takes a couple tries over a few, staggered moments in private for the truth to tumble out:

She does not want another person she loves to die because of her. It's irrational; your death is not predetermined by the commitment. And yet it remains. She is scared, and the closer you get the more she stings.

But you have to press closer. You have to assure, promise, fight your way back into her heart as it tries to close you out in self protection. You succeed, thanks to one of the reasons you adore Konan: her capacity to hope, no matter the circumstance. Reminder her of that, and she can only be yours.

The wedding is small, the two of you and whomever you deem precious enough to witness. (I imagine probably not even a full handful). It is twilight and the color of the world is shaded blue. Blue as her hair, blue as she feels whenever you're away, blue in the same way the purest of whites are to the human eye. You are pristine. The paper that folds the bouquets that drape around you are spotless and glow in the moonlight in such a way they're almost lanterns. Their starkly pale and crisply folded nature surround as if it is her prayer that everything that is good may stay that way.

Konan kisses you in such a way that no part of you but your lips touch one another. It is chaste, it is soft, it is a seal.

A wedding song for you: Saturn by Sleeping at Last (I cry every single time I hear this in full. I sincerely think there are few songs that have so viscerally touched me like this one has.) or Soul Meets Body by Death Cab for Cutie

Obito:

You cannot get his single-mindedness off of Rin. There is no way around it, and anything meant as distraction will not only fail but backfire on you. Therefore, if you are this deep into a partnership, you are there not in spite of her but thanks to her. You will be compared and contrasted to no end; this is not cruel, it is merely how he shapes his worldview in regards to goodness and love. You are his second chance. You are his solitude.

You don't get opportunity to propose. He will tell you first.

It is every definition of a ceremony, almost ritualistic, almost like they're crowning a king/queen. The ceilings are tall and decorated with the visage of ancestors and gods. Incense is lit and the setting sun sets the room on fire with orange and red. You are presented to him, ornate in the way he demands. A masked face cannot hide the lust and satisfaction in his voice. His hand reaches out, and you take it. For perhaps the first time, the mask is tilted to hide from their audience while still showing his scarred face to you.

His kiss is hard. Not sloppy, but hard. His hand is on the back of your head, and he going to press you into him until your soul enters his body.

A wedding song for you: Come Along by Cosmo Sheldrake or Sick of Losing Soulmates by dodie

Bad relationship songs because I can't control myself: Anybody Else by Dom Fera (THE song of all time for me, I love it) or Sex with a Ghost by Teddy Hyde

Zetsu:

Marriage? That's a fascinating concept. He's never had the desire for this kind of relationship before, but as you talk more and more of it, the more he grasps. In the end, it is a concept that matters to you, and he can appreciate the sentiment of it.

The weirdest part, honestly, is that you reserved such a thing for him.

Though he follows along (you must guide the entire arrangement), he quietly, curiously doubts the whole time. But your guiding hand is so soft as you take him and lead, so nice onto his skin as you select two rings and slide one on each color of hand. You make no mistake: it is both you are marrying. It is both you are committing to. That recognition is his first step into a hesitant acceptance of your eternal love.

When the time comes, you walk him to the first place you met, beside a large tree in a clearing with no human settlement in sight. None of the "don't see the bride/groom" tradition, it has no room here. Any amount of people you want are there, regardless of if it is everyone or no one. (He would prefer no one, but this is all for you, after all). As you're about to kiss him, he makes one request. It is the only thing Zetsu has asked for in all of this time:

Let him taste you.

How can you tell him no?

So his bi-colored lips part, taking your bottom lip into his first, and then rounded teeth gently drag the flesh into his mouth. Pressure is applied and you taste your blood, though fleetingly as he drinks it in. In all the time you've known him, this is the closest Zetsu has ever been to you. In this symbolic action, you have finally gained his full and complete trust.

Zetsu's kiss is metallic but it is not cold. It is pensive, meditative, doing his best to understand that which you crave, and so he does his best to crave you. He cups your face in both of his ringed hands so he need not focus on anything but your taste.

A wedding song for you: & by Tally Hall or Yes to Err is Human, So Don't Be One by Will Wood

Hidan:

At first he's going to make fun of you. He's going to tell you that this is the dumbest idea he's ever heard. And when you go quiet and don't bring it up again, he is going to pin you down and demand to be told why you changed your mind.

This man wants you so much, he can't fathom it. What is marriage if you must slaughter your neighbor? Well...a lover is a step above neighbor, isn't it?

Thank Jashin he doesn't need to kill you to get married.

If you do a traditional wedding, he will drag his feet but he will do it. It's to your detriment alone, really, how obnoxious he'd be. If you pin a flower to his lapel, he'll rip it off. He'll spit to the side in disgust at any mushy gushy talk done in front of others in this bastardization of another religion's ritual. This isn't a real ceremony. Let him show you what a wedding really is:

It's going to end up with your blood on his body and his blood on yours. He makes you straddle his lap, in the middle of the symbol of his lord that he's drawn upon the floor. The same sigil is dangled from a chain, his necklace held between you, from your view right between his intense violet eyes. The metal is cold as it plays a barrier between your lips and his.

Hidan's kiss is reverent. If this Jashinist is marrying you, he fucking means it. Do more than tolerate the cut a knife makes into your palm; pray to it.

...And then he will pray to you.

A wedding song for you: I Wanna Be Your Slave by Maneskin or Misanthrapologist by Will Wood

Bad relationship song I can't help but add: This is Love by Air Traffic Controller

Kakuzu:

Despite popular belief, this is not a man who fusses over money the way Scrooge does over every last coin. By the contrary, it is that he is a man that does not have much to give. This is in every sense, it turns out. Kakuzu is a man that has had all hope in humanity and for himself beat the hell out of him, so it's a shock to him if you hint at a desire for marriage. A mistake, that's what you're trying to make, here. At first he'll rebuff with few words but still sure, but it'll hitch onto him like a tick. A traditional man at heart, you know best to let him propose himself.

And so he does. It is the only time you've ever seen him doubt himself, but of course you tell him yes. As you throw your arms around him, that's when reality hits in the best of ways.

He does not wait, not if you don't oppose him. He takes you to a temple, middle of nowhere with no one either of you or your nations will know. For an old man, it's such a romantic, young man's task to arrange to elope. The priest marries you, as you sit side by side at the break of dawn upon his stoop. He wears his mask, still wears long robes to cover his stitches, but his silky brown hair drifts so beautifully with the wind; he will say this compliment is one he had of you and yours, when he looks back upon today. You are his world, intertwined in an immortal and mortal life.

Kakuzu does not kiss you at the wedding. That comes later, when no one else is there. He pulls down his mask and takes your mouth upon his, tangled until one of you can't breathe anymore.

A wedding song for you: Vanilla Curls by Teddy Hyde or Budapest by George Ezra

Deidara:

A flirt he may be, but a guy of commitment? Hell no. At first he's really flattered, chuckling and letting a large smirk trail up one side of his face. It falls when he realizes you're being serious. "Wait, really?" You nod, and his always-intense stare seems a bit closer to concerned.

"My dear...you're getting carried away, aren't you?" he offers like a second chance to not embarrass yourself.

Everything, as it always has for Deidara, has happened so fast it hits him before he recognizes what it is. Love is included, even and up until the point he's in this deep. Honestly? It terrifies him. He'll laugh and walk away, but it'll fucking haunt him.

A couple days of flying on a bird, all by his lonesome, and he returns with a bit of a different view. Life is short, beauty is fleeting: the opportunity is here and damned if he don't take it. He offers your hand- both in marriage and for a ride- and you soar into the sky.

There's no such thing as a traditional wedding, no need for it when the most beautiful things in the world are you and his art. Explosions and fireworks alike light up the night sky and he leans over to whisper his dedication upon your lips.

Deidara's kiss is, of course, bombastic. It's intense and with tongue and repeats, over and over, never lasting too long as he can't keep his love-drunk words to himself for longer than two seconds. Streamers and confetti flutter around your heads, grander than any parade for any newly wed prince or princess.

A wedding song for you: The Cult of Dionysus by The Orion Experience or Fear and Delight by The Correspondents

Sasori:

Only someone who knows him as well as you will pick up the subtlest shifts of the scorpion's expression, the way brown eyes barely widen. You bring it up, nearly like a dream you had, nearly like you're talking to yourself in your sleep, but he hears it. Sasori continues with his work, the monotony of woodwork allowing him to chew on the idea. A marriage isn't necessary, of course...but he also will lie to himself about how downright alluring the symbolism of a wedding is.

If the most beautiful things are eternal, why not your love?

If you've gotten him so far that Sasori will consider whatever form of affection he can manage in his barely organic heart, then he will make every second of your life never-ending bliss.

He decorates you, almost like one of his dolls, in the finest patterns of fabric and sleekest of jewelry. He pains over every inch of skin on top of muscle and bone, the way the ring slips on your finger and the way your wrist bends to do it. The ritual is an art piece, and you gaze upon him so marvelously... Your lips part with such slight but sure poise...

The venue is silent and you both are alone. Not even a bird caws, no insect chirps. Pure, clear as glass silence. You are the only two beings in all of existence. You will ascend time itself. A single candle is lit as you sit in the deepest depths of this cave, where no one may interrupt.

Where no one can hear him confess to you.

Sasori's kiss is soft, far too soft. He holds both of your hands so delicately, like they're on a string. Lines of chakra help you move into him in a way that is just right, just utterly perfect.

A wedding song for you: Thumbnail by Louie Zong and Brian David Gilbert or Dark of the Matinee by Franz Ferdinand

Kisame:

Shockingly enough, this guy is going to be your hardest sell. Perhaps predictably, it isn't because he dislikes marriage, settling down, falling in love. Disliking and opposing are very different things.

He panics, at least just a little the first time you mention it. "I'm a shinobi, you know. You won't see me very much." Time passes on, and your desire appears again:

"I'm a rough guy. Just take a second to think about what you're asking for, alright?"

More time, and more desperation on his part with your persistence:

"I am meant to die alone," he finally tells you outright. "Don't bother with me. You could be spending your time so much better than fussing over someone who isn't going to last."

But you do, and he does last. Unfortunately, he does last. It gnaws him to the bone.

"Alright," he'll ask you, a long time since you first expressed your wants, "Are you certain?" You say yes, of course you say yes. Bittersweet, sharp teeth smile. "Very well," the swordsman concedes.

You marry traditionally, though very small. A hood drapes over him, hiding his face as the priest speaks the seal of marriage. His hand clings to yours, so very afraid of losing you. Or worse: making you lose him.

With the formalities out of the way, his own way begins. Finally alone, you both plunge into deep water, a loud splash quickly muting to flooded ears. He holds your face as your hair drifts past him in strands noses nearly touching. Kisame gets a good look at you before he changes everything forever, closing his eyes.

Kisame's kiss is a leap of faith. It tastes like lake water and seaweed and his love. He presses all of you into him like a shell holds a pearl, limbs climbing around you as you suspend in water and sink. Breathe into him, breathe deep. Every last breath in his lungs is just for you.

A wedding song for you: Against the Kitchen Floor by Will Wood or If I'm Being Honest by dodie

Itachi:

The implications of this circumstance are astounding. He loves you- yes, of course he does- but what's more is that he loves you enough to be so selfish as to gift himself to you, even knowing the fate he's reserved. It is both impressive and heartbreaking. Have hope, you ask of him. That is all you ask of him. Give it a chance. It is what he wants, isn't it?

Of course it is. But are you okay if the inevitable comes true?

You pause, and he studies your naive, innocent eyes. But you know more than perhaps Itachi has realized. You know it is okay to treasure. It is okay to enjoy. The journey matters more than the destination. Yes, it is okay, you tell him, you love to love him all the same.

Dark eyes close. Then he will give you what is desired.

Kisame is present, of course, as well as the ancestors of the Uchiha clan in spirit. You are radiant, and he tells you so. You return the compliment in soft earnest. A single hand cups your cheek as he approaches, pausing to feel and taste your breath as it drifts into his mouth.

Itachi's kiss is barely there, like he's afraid of breaking glass. If you want to kiss deeper, you'll need to go in and get it yourself. Just don't mistake delicacy for a lack of interest. This is the most of his body he has ever given in his entire life. Just give him time.

A wedding song for you: Herbal Tea by Velvet Moon or Here For You by Good Co

[gyorouis]

── ✦ wit it this christmas.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⋆ synopsis⸝⸝ 'tis the season for some love-giving

꒰ genre⸝⸝ romcom, fluff, slight-suggestive pairing⸝⸝ party crasher!beomgyu wc⸝⸝ 1.6k warning⸝⸝ mutual pining, alcohol mentioned, reckless decision-making (breaking into places), they are both BIG flirt tune in⸝⸝ ariana grande —wit it this christmas ୨ৎ ꒱

“i’m telling you, this is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had,” beomgyu muttered, tugging at the lapels of his blazer as he stood outside the towering mansion.

“oh, come on, gyu,” soobin drawled, arms crossed, leaning casually against the hood of his car. “what’s christmas without a little chaos? you’re always saying you’re the life of the party. prove it.��

“yeah,” taehyun added, a smirk tugging at his lips. “or are you chicken?”

beomgyu scoffed, running a hand through his perfectly tousled hair. “first of all, i’m not chicken. second, this party isn’t exactly my scene. who even throws black-tie christmas parties?”

“rich people,” kai piped up from the backseat, grinning.

beomgyu rolled his eyes, but his pride wouldn’t let him back out. “fine. but if i get kicked out, you’re all buying me dinner for a month.”

“deal,” they chorused, clearly entertained.

with a dramatic sigh, beomgyu straightened his blazer and made his way to the front door.

the party was... fancy. too fancy. twinkling lights adorned every corner, a towering christmas tree stood in the center of the room, and servers in crisp uniforms carried trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. beomgyu stuck out like a sore thumb—not because of his outfit (he cleaned up well), but because he couldn’t shake the urge to do something stupid.

he grabbed a glass of champagne off a tray and scanned the room. just as he was debating whether to “accidentally” knock over a decorative wreath, his eyes landed on you.

you weren’t like the others, either. while everyone else mingled politely, you stood near the dessert table, inspecting a plate of macarons like they held the secrets of the universe.

beomgyu smirked. target acquired.

he sauntered over, leaning casually against the table. “you know, if you stare at them long enough, they might tell you which one tastes best.”

you glanced up, clearly unimpressed. “and if you stare at me long enough, i might ask you to leave.”

his grin widened. “feisty. i like it.”

you rolled your eyes but didn’t move away. “let me guess. you’re not supposed to be here, are you?”

“what gave it away?”

“the way you’re standing like you’re trying to blend in, but you’re also dying to cause trouble.”

beomgyu laughed, genuinely impressed. “okay, you caught me. but in my defense, this party could use a little trouble.”

you raised an eyebrow. “and you think you’re the one to bring it?”

“oh, absolutely.”

“prove it.”

within ten minutes, you and beomgyu were sneaking down a hallway marked “private.”

“you’re terrible at this,” you whispered as he struggled to pick the lock on a door.

“excuse me, i’m an artist,” he hissed back, wincing as the bobby pin snapped.

you pushed him aside, pulling a paperclip from your pocket. “move over, rookie.”

“where did you even—”

“shh.”

the lock clicked, and you smirked, pushing the door open to reveal what looked like a library straight out of a movie.

“wow,” beomgyu breathed. “okay, this is actually kind of cool.”

you grinned, grabbing a random book off the shelf. “think anyone would notice if we ‘borrowed’ something?”

“you’re worse than me,” he said, but his tone was admiring.

the night spiraled from there. you dared him to climb the tree in the front yard (“for science,” you claimed), and he dared you to “accidentally” switch the labels on the hors d’oeuvres.

“you’re insane,” he said, watching as you swapped the name cards for smoked salmon and candied figs.

“says the guy who tried to juggle champagne flutes.”

“i was proving a point!”

“yeah, that you’re terrible at juggling.”

hours later, the two of you found yourselves sitting on the mansion’s roof, legs dangling over the edge, sharing a stolen bottle of champagne.

“so,” you said, glancing at him. “what’s your deal?”

“my deal?”

“yeah. crashing a party like this, making a scene... what’s the story?”

he hesitated, then shrugged. “my friends dared me. they think i’m too boring these days.”

“boring? you?”

“shocking, right?”

you laughed softly. “well, for what it’s worth, you’ve been the most fun i’ve had in a while.”

he looked at you, his usual cocky grin replaced with something softer. “yeah. same.”

silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t awkward. it was... nice.

“hey,” he said suddenly. “what’s your name?”

you smiled, leaning back on your hands. “maybe i’ll tell you at the next party you crash.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “you’re trouble, you know that?”

“you started it.”

as the night wore on, the air between you grew heavier, the charged kind of silence that wasn’t meant to last.

“you know,” beomgyu said, his voice lower now, almost hesitant. “this might sound crazy, but i’m glad i came tonight.”

“even if you get kicked out?”

“even then.”

your eyes met his, and the world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of you.

“you’re staring,” you murmured, your voice teasing but soft.

“maybe i’m waiting for you to tell me to leave,” he replied, leaning in just slightly.

“maybe i don’t want you to.”

the space between you disappeared in an instant, his lips brushing against yours in a way that was both tentative and electric. the champagne bottle slipped from your grasp, forgotten as his hands found your waist, pulling you closer.

your heart pounded against your ribcage, each beat echoing in the silence that surrounded you. his lips were soft but urgent, like he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than he cared to admit. the scent of pine and cold night air mixed with the faint trace of his cologne, making your head spin.

“you’re insane,” you whispered against his lips, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth even as you fought to catch your breath.

“you like it,” he shot back, his voice tinged with that familiar cocky edge, but his eyes betrayed something softer—something vulnerable that you hadn’t seen before.

“maybe,” you admitted, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, feeling the silky strands between your fingers.

his lips curved into a smirk against yours, and you felt his grip on your waist tighten, grounding you in the moment. the kiss deepened, growing more intense, as if the world had shrunk to just the two of you. the chill of the night air was a distant memory now, replaced by the warmth radiating from where your bodies pressed together.

the muffled sounds of distant laughter and music from the party drifted up to the roof, but they felt like echoes from another life—a life that didn’t include stolen moments and impulsive kisses under a blanket of stars.

when he finally pulled back, his breath mingling with yours in the cold air, he didn’t let you go. his forehead rested against yours, his fingers still tracing lazy patterns on your sides.

“you’re trouble,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

“you started it,” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper, breathless and lightheaded.

he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your chest where you were still pressed together. “i didn’t think tonight would end like this.”

“what did you think would happen?” you asked, arching an eyebrow, though your lips were still curved in a playful smile.

“i thought i’d crash a party, maybe get thrown out, and laugh about it with my friends,” he admitted, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a gesture so tender it made your chest ache. “i didn’t think i’d meet someone who could keep up with me.”

you scoffed, leaning back slightly, though his hands stayed on your waist. “keep up with you? please. i left you in the dust the moment i picked that lock.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “okay, fair point. but you’ve got to admit, i make a pretty good partner in crime.”

“debatable,” you teased, though your grin softened the words.

he leaned in again, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that was slower this time, more deliberate. his hands moved up your sides, sliding over your back as if memorizing every inch of you.

“what happens now?” you asked softly when you broke apart again, your voice barely audible over the sound of the wind.

“what do you want to happen?” he countered, his eyes locked on yours, his usual confidence tinged with genuine curiosity.

“you mean besides breaking into another room and seeing what else we can get away with?” you quipped, though your tone carried a hint of seriousness.

“i like the way you think,” he said with a grin, but then his expression shifted, becoming more serious. “but... if you’re asking me, i’d say we stay right here a little longer.”

“just a little?” you challenged, tilting your head.

“maybe a lot longer,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “depends on you.”

you didn’t answer, not with words. instead, you pulled him closer again, your lips meeting his with renewed intensity. the stars above seemed to burn brighter, as if they were cheering you on.

his hands slid under the hem of your sweater, the touch of his fingers on your bare skin sending a shiver down your spine. “cold?” he asked, pulling back just enough to study your face.

“no,” you replied, your voice firm. “not even a little.”

he smirked, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “good.”

the minutes stretched on, and the air around you seemed to hum with unspoken promises. his hands continued their slow exploration, every touch igniting a fire that you didn’t want to put out.

“beomgyu,” you said softly, your voice laced with something that sounded suspiciously like vulnerability.

“yeah?” he replied, his tone matching yours, his eyes searching yours as if trying to decode your thoughts.

“don’t let this be just a dare,” you said, barely able to meet his gaze.

he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “it’s not,” he promised, his voice steady and certain. “it never was.”

and with that, the line between chaos and connection blurred completely, leaving nothing but the two of you and the infinite possibilities of the night.

gyo's note: just cocky beomgyu??? good heavens, i’ve been wanting to write something suggestive with beomgyu for ages, but every time i try, i end up blushing so hard i can’t finish it lol (i mean, can you blame me? i have a HUGE crush on him. i’m just a girl, please understand). this is only half of what i could've done and i can't believe that this is what i wrote for his holiday tales uhuu. anyway if you made it this far, thank you! (,,>﹏<,,) you will be loved, xoxo!

✮ 2024 gyozies, all rights reserved.

[fanaticsnail]

Drinking Drabbles

Masterlist Here

Themes: Two of scenarios with a few one piece characters x reader, gn reader, suggestive in some, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, romance, friendship. Drink responsibly!

Characters: Rosinante/Corazon, Mihawk, Buggy, Sir Crocodile, Koby, Smoothie, Fukaboshi, Vivi

Notes: Trying to get my sparkle back. Expressing gratitude to Discordant's OP OC discord server for hanging out and suggesting characters for me to try for. Love the characters, and I adore writing for new ones to me.

Drinking with Rosinante / Corazon

Looks like: sharing a glass of wine over dinner, hearing the uproar of laughter at the head of the table - his brother cackling at a joke he told. Sharing subtle glances, pouring a new glass for one another while stealing a moment where your fingers brush together while reaching for the same bottle.

Also looks like: Sharing rum in the cold, willing your bodies to keep warm while caring for the sick child in the snow. The burn ignites in your throat, but the heat is makes the night pass in a more comfortable fluidity. The only blanket available to you is tucking the child in, but you both make do by sitting beneath the dark cloak. Shrouded in feathers, sharing those touches you longed for back at the dining table, the rum feels more like home now than that wine ever did.

Drinking with Mihawk

Looks like: a bottle of his private reserve label, uncorked by a methodological approach of a saber to the glass lip. Expertly decanted, rested for the appropriate amount of time, and shown how to enjoy the glass properly. He does not invite your glasses to touch, for fear it would disturb the wine with such a crude approach, but he does indicate for you to drink it with him in unison.

Also looks like: drinking straight from the bottle neck, poured by his hands and coaxed back into your lips by cradling your head and ensuring you don't spill a drop, before doing the same for himself. Anything to get through the voice of the clown at the table. He will have you closer to him for moral support, and will enjoy ensuring you are both equally topped up while glaring at Buggy for the duration of your stay with Cross-Guild.

Drinking with Buggy

Looks like: Something fruity, decorated with an outrageous amount of umbrellas and shaved ice dancing at the brim. It's too sweet, too bubbly, and too much all at once. Paired with a nasally cackle, lively music, linking his arms with yours and dancing a jig on the table, drink sloshing from the side, everything is perfect for the clown: the star of the show.

Also looks like: Aiding him to drink straight spirits as he sits on the bathroom floor, icing the bruises he's received at the hands of Crocodile and Mihawk while he openly sobs and apologizes for looking pathetic. A quiver to his lips, the swell in his bruised eye, he expresses his gratitude by silently whispering it as intimately as he can to you.

Drinking with Crocodile

Looks like: a circular short glass with a small cubic stone cooled by frost, drinking the most expensive and lush whiskey to ever be produced. Not dampening the flavor with water falling from ice, simply cooling it to enjoy over the palate. Everything is lush, filled with luxury, and likely paired with a cigar as he gazes at you with a predatory look in his beady expression.

Also looks like: Sneaking it in your clothes and fishing it out once below the cells in Impel Down, feeding him through prison bars and apologizing that it's not his favorite. He's looking up like it is his lifeline and an angel is offering him their tether to the great beyond. Those eyes that once looked like a predator on the prowl now humble themselves before you as he sits on his calves and drinks messily from the glass lip of the rum bottle.

Drinking with Koby

Looks like: Sitting at the table surrounded by Alvida Pirates, letting the pink-haired ‘chore boy’ fill your tankard from the barrel and giving him praise for it. Alvida chastises you for expressing gratitude to the smaller pirate, but you hush her with a crass joke and continue to dote on him while you drink. You offer him a sip from your glass that he throws back with practiced precision, causing you to laugh with him and invite him to sit with you for the remainder of the evening.

Also looks like: Bound in chains, on your knees and contained within the brig, a pink haired captain, once pirate from long ago, offers you a kindness of a drink while transferring you to Impel Down. He was not as quiet as he once was, but his kindness was still present as you knew it to be. You humored him by drinking all he offered you with your hands tied behind your back, as submissive as he was all those years ago. Your gratitude is on your lips, smiling as a drop is collected and wiped by the pad of Koby's thumb. He utters apologies, and you reassure him that you won't take it personally.

Drinking with Smoothie

Looks like: Sitting at the table, surrounded by her siblings, enjoying something a little on the sweeter side. Something mixed in with juices, a precious concoction that paired beautifully with the sweets offered at the table. Brushing glasses with one another, your eyes meet hers and she gifts you a rare, soft smile reserved for when he desires to showcase her sweetness.

Also looks like: Draining the life out of her enemies, blood gushing over her full lips and spilling down her chin, she bows her head to you and gives you a mischievous grin. Pulling up a cloth, you press the material to her lips and remove all blemishes of fluids from the human she drank from. You would rather watch than participate in this brew, but she enjoys watching you squirm as she presses her lips delicately to yours soon thereafter.

Drinking with Fukaboshi

Looks like: A room filled with tension, barely a look shared between you while negotiations between humans, mink, and fishfolk sit and discuss how to progress in a proper manner. Once decided, all raise their sake bowls and salute them with one another. Finally making eye contact with the mer Fishman, you both share a glance before pressing the sake to your lips and draining it of their contents to solidify your fresh alliance.

Also looks like: Tucked beneath the figurehead of the vessel you served aboard, sharing a moment with one another in the silence. All softness, all secretive, all in a world carved just for you, you both enjoy a swap of culture. He, a bottle from his homeland, you, a bottle from your own. Discussing the differences in textures and flavors, you both feel a pull in your chests as the sun slowly slips over the horizon.

Drinking with Vivi

Looks like: Sitting around a table, shrouded in darkness and surrounded by the vapors of sour cigar smoke, and raising your glass to your glorious leader a the head of the table. Bananawani in the corner, several of the members strike up conversation, and you and Miss Wednesday are no different. There was something in her tone and demeanor that seemed out of place, but you paid it no mind because you had secrets of your own. Drinking and cringing a little at the burn, you both drank and discussed the various interweavings of Baroque Works and where your missions would take you next.

Also looks like: An uprageous celebration for the return of Arabasta’s princess, drinks of all bubbles and honeys swirling in a variety of glassware. Watching as she flawlessly navigates the room full of her supporters, she gives you a look like the one not so dissimilar from your years serving together in Baroque Works. Catching you in the corner, she brushes her glass against yours with a hidden smile peaking at the corner of her lip: a silent promise that she will keep you by her side all the remaining of her days as ruler.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @ane5e

[wisteria-lodge]

What do you think a wizarding wedding would look like, and what do you think Lucius' and Narcissa's specifically looked like?

The book does show us Fleur and Bill's wedding, but that was a wartime shotgun-ish wedding in the peripherals of the story's focus. I'm also not ever sure how much of the details there are things joanne really thought about and decided to include in her representation of a Magical wedding, and how much of it are just modern social customs she might have considered the forever universal default and put in the book.

Narcissa and Lucius also seem to be the rare fictional couple who'd actually enjoy all the pedantry and tradition and specificities in a wedding to me. Seeing as you're writing a fic with them in it, I thought you'd probably already thought about this aspect of worldbuilding/character writing, so I hope you don't mind me asking abt it. Thanks and have a great day!!

Okay, I love this ask, and I'm going to lay it all out, but first I want to lay out my Reasoning.

Here are my rules, when it comes to expanding on/filling in the Harry Potter world building:

ONE: If we’re dealing with any sort of political or social structure, my reference is England, year 1700. 

This does make sense with the backstory we get: the Wizarding World split away from the Muggle world in the late 1600s, wizards live a really long time, and wizards also didn’t need an industrial revolution (because magic filled the place of tech) so they wouldn’t have gotten any of the social changes that happened because of the industrial revolution. 

Also, this particular time period generally fits with what we see on the page. Education, politics, the police force, mental health care - it all seems to work in a very 1700s way. We don’t have any electricity, there’s no industrialization. (Like, Umbridge’s pamphlets are made by hand. I mean obviously they’re made by magic, but an individual’s magic, they’re not assembled in a magical factory.) So when Draco brings up a “museum”...  it makes sense to me that he’s not not thinking of a modern museum with a ticketing department running off grants and public funding, full of typed-out little plaques written by scientists and historians, telling you the provenance of whatever you’re looking at. If we went to a museum in Wizarding World, I would expect the type of museum you saw in 1700: a cabinet of curiosities assembled by one single wealthy collector, arranged in some eccentric way, handwritten labels or no labels at all, very probably in a wing of a private house. That feels correct and in-universe to me. So… whenever someone asks me something like ‘how do taxes work in the Harry Potter universe,’ I take 1700 England as a starting place, and go from there. 

TWO: If we’re dealing with aesthetic details or inventions, I draw from England 1700 - 1880

There isn’t much that’s Victorian in the world building… but there’s plenty in the set dressing. We see lots of 1800s fashion: women wearing hats with birds and flowers on them, men wearing bowler hats and top hats. There are 1800s hedge mazes, most of the holiday decorations are from the late 1800s, we’ve got radios and trains… and I’m completely fine with all that. It seems to me that if you’re a wizard walking through the Muggle world, it’s a lot easier to see someone wearing a cool hat, and say ‘I would like a hat like that’  - versus walking around and picking up the concept of, idk unions. So cameras are okay: they’re 1800s. Note that Rita Skeeter’s photographer Bozo has a magical version of a 1850s camera

while Muggle born Colin Creevey has… a modded 1930s camera? To communicate that he’s got a foot in both worlds. 

My point is, if you saw someone riding a bicycle in Harry Potter, you would assume they brought it in from the Muggle world. Bicycles showed up in England in the 1880s, so that’s slightly too late. It’s important to the feel of the world to keep up a good chunk of separation between the aesthetics of the Wizarding World, and the aesthetics of the muggle world.

THREE: Gender politics/gendered customs basically don’t exist

This is one of the things that makes Harry Potter a J. K. Rowling fantasy world. Obviously, JKR the person has a lot to unpack about gender politics, and there are all kinds of Doylist differences between the way male and female characters are treated in the Harry Potter books. But in universe, there is no Watsonian benefit to being a guy or being a girl in any particular situation. We get gendered bathrooms (although the prefects’ bathroom and the locker rooms seem co-ed), gendered fashions, gendered dorms… and that’s basically it.  

Of course there are some very old and baked in gendered things I doubt JKR even thought about… a woman taking her husband’s last name for instance. (Honestly - I would have loved a posh doubled-barreled name for Draco. Draco Malfoy-Black sounds quite sharp and public schooly.) There’s a thing where Dumbledore mentions that the Blacks prefer it when a guy inherits… but in the same breath, he’s completely convinced Bellatrix is about to inherit, so clearly that isn’t that important.

The only other example I can think of is the way we’re told the unicorns prefer the female students. But, the boys in Professor Grubbly-Plank’s class unanimously think this is bullshit, and I would argue that the framing of the book supports this read. We haven’t seen magic work like this before, so did Professor G-P get it wrong? And/or just doesn’t want to deal with the boys? Presumably this is why we are happy Hagrid is coming back

FOUR: There is basically no organized religion/spirituality in the Wizarding World. 

The narrative does a lot of work to not tell us who the random officiant at Dumbledore's funeral and Bill and Fleur‘s wedding is. Who is he? Who does he represent? How do you find him? How does he have authority to do this? Not important, doesn’t matter, keep moving along. We are definitely in a world where there is a holiday named Christmas… but it’s like the women taking their husband's name thing, that seems too baked into JKR’s worldview to question. But there is no mention of any religious dimension, it’s just presents and feasts and balls. 

If I’m writing something that’s interested in what these guys consider to be the sacred underpinnings of their world (like something focusing on a wedding, for instance…) then I think I would end up expanding on important magical rituals. I’m thinking Fidelius, Unbreakable Vow, sacrificial magic. Not for nothing, but considering how much importance the moment where Severus and Narcissa make an Unbreakable Vow is given by both the narrative and the characters… it feels more like a wedding than the wedding does, and I’m not even a Severus/Narcissa shipper. 

*

So when it comes to weddings… I’ve honestly found it uniquely difficult to research the history there, because a lot of people are very motivated to suggest that every wedding tradition has some deep, meaningful ancient origin - or that it was just kind of always that way. Take the concept of a “best man” and the term “best man" for instance. That starts showing up in the 1780s (so it’s a social custom that doesn’t make my 1700 deadline.) Harry is of course filtering everything through his POV, but if I were writing a wedding thing, I’d want to say that Sirius is filling a different position. Like “godfather” seems a very legally important role in the wizarding society, so lean into that.  Maybe the “best man” equivalent at a wizard wedding is the person who you’ve picked to get custody of your kids if you die. 

We also see things like white wedding dresses and matching bridesmaid dresses being treated as an absolute given at Fleur’s wedding, when both of those things pretty much only exist because Queen Victoria did them in 1840. One interesting thing is that JKR doesn’t seem to do an exchange of rings, and she’s changed up that moment to make it more reminiscent of (I think) a handfasting ceremony? Which is fine, I can work with that. (Also rings are just treated very negatively across the board in the Harry Potter books. No idea why.)

But, in-universe, the Bill/Fleur wedding is really hard to use as a model for what a typical pureblood Wizarding wedding looks like. For all the reasons Anon mentions: It’s war time, it was put together very quickly, Harry is not paying the most attention, we don’t get to see the whole thing. I would also add in the fact that the Weasleys are political radicals, and at that point especially would be very politically motivated to have a wedding that looks more Muggle. 

Okay.  If I were writing a pureblood wedding… like Lucius and Narcissa’s wedding… what would I do.

First, I don’t think I want a typical wedding from the year 1700. I want 1700 does renaissance/medieval. (Kind of Sir Walter Scott.) I like this because it brings in/explains the Merlin thing - the purebloods all use ‘Merlin’ as an oath, so I guess Merlin (and Arthur, and that kind of romanticized middle ages) is important to them culturally. Also, medieval influences are going to make your wedding feel impressive and established… which is exactly what the Malfoys are after. Make sure everyone knows what an old family they are. All these pureblood families have crests, so put them everywhere, front and center. The decorations should be banners and flags with the crests of everyone attending, no florals.

I also love the idea of fossilized fashions, old-fashioned clothes that don’t come out except during a very ceremonial, traditional occasion. (Think of the ways that veils used to be a pretty normal part of a lady's wardrobe, but now you only see them during weddings.) I’d have it so that during a wizard wedding… all the ladies bring out their long, draping, evil enchantress sleeves and the guys are supposed to wear half-capes and swords. It’s also a good excuse to bring out all the really old family jewelry, of which I am sure the Malfoys have buckets.

I also want this to be a very magical wedding. Like, there are parts of it you straight-up could not participate in as muggle, because I think (sadly) that would be the vibe during the timeline of the main books. Weddings are for showing off, and part of that would be showing off your magical prowess. I’m thinking - light the dance floor on fire before the first dance, and then the couple has to perform a Flame Freezing charm. This tradition started as a screw-you to the Muggles after the witch trials… but now everybody just kinda does it because it looks really cool when the newlyweds dance on a bed of flame. Oh, and we’re definitely doing medieval-style palm-touching dances. No waltzing for the first dance at a traditional Malfoy wedding.

And they’ll go all out for the wedding feast, which will be long. The 1700s and middle ages were both really into food that did stuff - food that transformed, or food that looked like other food, or food that had birds flying out of it. So  just lean into that times a million with magic.

I am also such a sucker for slightly sentient magical houses, and Harry Potter absolutely has some of that, with the way Hogwarts (the building) has various ways to fight back against enemies and infiltrators. So I think a Malfoy wedding would definitely be taking place at Malfoy Manor, and that the house itself would be a part of the proceedings in some way. Like it’s got to accept the new family member (we know, from little moments like Umbridge being barred from Dumbledore‘s office… that sometimes magical buildings just reject you.) Integrating a new person into the new space would be a multi-step process. Maybe there’s a ceremony where they present the new person with the family spell books, and another one where they present them with keys to various parts of the house, etc.

You could tie this in with the idea of a bedding ceremony (which also hits my medieval + 1700s markers.) Maybe the house changes in some way when the couple first sleeps together, like it redecorates with the belongings of the person moving in, or grows them a rose garden or observatory so they feel more at home. I bet it’s fun for the guests to stick around and watch this change happen. (A trope like this might be especially fun in an arranged marriage or marriage-law type story.)

I’m thinking this would also be a very long wedding, and the wedding party is probably staying at the house for a week or so beforehand. That’s part of the flex, the family’s ability to adequately pay host to so many people for such a long period of time. Like that’s what a house like Malfoy Manor is for, there’s a reason those places were functionally small hotels. If at the end my old-school pureblood wedding feels like a modern muggle wedding... I don’t think I’ve done my job. A Muggleborn who’s been invited ought to have culture shock.

And yes. It goes without saying that Lucius and Narcissa would have eaten up all this pomp and circumstance, with a spoon.

[bassband]

I want the foucault essay please.

Well... since you asked...

The thing is, the move from the London apartment(s) to the phouse represents not only a symbolic shift in the visual language of their videos but a material change in both Dan and Phil's lives and in their relationship with their audience. Furthermore, we can use it to understand some of the murkier aspects of phandom history if we care to delve into an investigation of sexuality, conformity, and desire.

The London apartment is a place well and truly of its time, from the geek chic decor to the midtwentysomething string lights in Dan's bedroom. It was a serious undertaking for two twenty-somethings who had just gotten a radio job, and were committing to live in a very expensive location on an entertainer's income. They have spoken about the difficulty they experienced in separating their work and their public personas from their private lives, which is perhaps most poignantly demonstrated by the fact that they literally slept with cameras and lights pointing at their beds.

In Discipline and Punish, Foucault (and forgive me, I've donated my copies of his books since I left college, so I'll be working from memory) describes the modern phenomenon of the "panopticon"-- a disciplinary tool of the modern era where rather than physically restraining or controlling transgressors, people are kept in line by the feeling that they are constantly being monitored. The knowledge of societal norms, and whether an individual has violated them, is the axis on which power turns.

During their time in London, Dan and Phil were experiencing a meteoric rise to fame which no one could have anticipated. Suddenly it seemed that their every gesture, every movement, every interaction with one another, was under constant scrutiny from millions of viewers. One can only imagine the degree to which that feeling spilled over into their day-to-day existence, because it must have-- I can't imagine putting on an act for the camera, scouring the footage for bits that seemed too revealing or vulnerable, and then trying to sleep in front of the same camera which, even if it wasn't on, represented the watching, monitoring gaze of the internet.

The social norm in question here, of course, was being gay. Mostly, anyway. A transgression of sexuality. Foucault has a lot to say about this too, of course, in the several volumes of his History of Sexuality. I won't get into that too much here. To summarize with a butcher's brevity, the modern conception of sexuality is, like that of criminality, shaped by the need to cognize, label, categorize, and scientifically observe it. At other points in the past, even when sexuality may have been perceived as deviant or wrong, it was treated as an act, not as an intrinsic flaw. To identify someone as being homosexual, or queer, or trans, or what have you, is a relatively new invention.

Were Dan and Phil gay? Were they just friends? Were they bisexual? Did they actually live together? Did they fuck? The near-rabid desire to get to the bottom of these questions was shaped in part by a societal urge in our culture to pin people down like butterflies in a collector's case. The knowledge of bodies, desires, and the latent Catholic urge to demand they all be confessed in excruciating detail haunted Dan and Phil wherever they went online.

In this new era then, are we doing any better? I think we are. Where the London apartment is documented by floor plan down to the last inch (and worse yet, was at one point doxxed), the phouse is an intentionally private space with plenty left to the imagination, where I do so hope the boys are living WITHOUT cameras pointed where they sleep. There's something interesting to me, too, in their disinterest in framing their relationship in concrete terms. The nature of their celebrity is bound to expose them to scrutiny, both from friendly and unfriendly gazes, but I feel like the main difference in their attitude these days is a plain refusal to allow the surveillance to dictate their lives. Some things, they just don't want to talk about. Some things they do (and oh boy, do they love to talk about those things).

Our cultural frameworks do us no favors in understanding this kind of ambiguity, but I think it's to our credit as an audience that overall I see more and more people embracing it. Foucault is a bit of a downer overall, but he concludes the History of Sexuality vol. 1 by saying something to the effect of, the best we can do is to follow our desires and try to find joy for ourselves and our communities in doing so. And a radically liberatory approach to desire and joy is I think exactly what this community cultivates at its best, for our boys and for ourselves.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Cryptid's Keeper | Yandere Obanai Iguro

When you were called to bring aid to an isolated village you were prepared to execute a minor cryptid that was probably picking at crops occasionally. It would make sense for a small town to consider that an emergency: it’s there supply. What you weren’t expecting was the threat to have been ravenously feasting on the residents of the town itself. The town was far too afraid to meet you at the border of their land without all of them linked to one another by each other’s hands. Elders and children, women and men, teens, and young adults alike tightly grasping at each other while they bowed in greeting.

They told of a mighty beast wrapped in pearl white scales with eyes red as the blood of it’s victims. Swallowing hordes of men armed with pitchforks and torches in one single night. The tales they told of this cryptid varied in all matter of atrocities–from swallowing the living to strangulating children to crushing those lucky enough to flee. But the stand-alone trait of ever story told to you was of the ghost eyed witch that’d walk the streets of the town. Without fail this witch would wear a thin veil that had the pattern similar to that of a zebra. They suspected their ghost eyes which they must have plucked from the peach trees themselves and an stone of jade from some treasure hidden deep in the forest. It would appear that any who crossed paths with the witch would be dead before morning on account of the beast, sometimes it’d be their whole family as well. 

The townspeople were willing to pay a hefty sum for your services, practically begging you to save them. Naturally you agreed. This was your job to hunt and trap troublesome cryptids in a world that knew nothing better. The aspect of the witch intrigued you the most. In your many travels you found that witch was just a word to label humans more in tune with their mystical side. Heck your sure if you hadn’t made a career of it you’d be labeled one yourself.

It was easy to track the beast, the clear mark of scales and muscle slithering on the ground led into the forest on an unmarked but used path. It made you wonder if they attempted to investigate at all. Trudging onward you prepared for the hassle it’d be to subdue a creature with track marks so much bigger than yourself.

It led to a cave near a river; a peaceful place for the horror that supposedly lived there. You head in, stepping over a wall of bones sticking up like spikes. Eyeing a few human skulls creating a path deeper inside. This place clearly has a human’s touch, while the decoration was dismal and dark there was clearly a sense of pride present. Navigating with the skulls it eventually led to a large opening where you found the cryptid culprits. 

Wrapped around itself was a giant white snake which reflected the minimal light given by one lone torch on the wall; giving it an orange glow. In the middle of it was a man, with long black hair a scar across his mouth and a single loin cloth draped between his legs. Feeling the heat on your cheeks, you knocked your staff on the rocky floor to alert them. You felt as though you were intruding on something private. Sure enough they startled awake both on the defense at your unexpected arrival. 

“Hello there! I’ve heard you two have been giving the town quite a few problems!”

You smile while dodging the giant snake’s strike, somersaulting over the expanse of their tail. It set you up to parry the primitive spear jutting at you from the wild man. He only responded in grunts and shouts that helped the snake coordinate attacks at you. But none of it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle; ultimately analyzing their teamwork.

“You two seem close,” you made an aerial over the snakes striking maw delivering a kick to the wild man who was charging a new weapon, “Makes me wonder why you’d bother the people in the village in the first place.”

An orange and green pair of eyes widened at that, standing a ways away while the snake hissed at you before attempting to strangle you again. This was getting more and more interesting. “So you can understand me? Then tell me why?”

The snake was getting tired and the man was getting irritated. This–by your prediction–would be ending very soon.

Once again taking the man head on you blocked with your staff as you egged him on. Despite not having the technique you did he had strength and a swiftness that rivaled the snake’s.

“All…deserved to be punished.” 

The voice that came was hoarse, like it wasn’t used often. The voice was so sudden it caught you off-guard, leaving you barely enough time to block and kick him back. The look on your face must’ve said enough.

“All of them deserve death!”

“Why? What did they do?”

He paused his attack, his pupils shaking with the answer to that question–looking down to compose himself. Sensing his distress the snake slithered from you curling around the man to comfort him. You also lowered your defenses your heart preparing for the pain he would hopefully share.

“They made me this way,” he sounded like he was fighting tears as he tightened his fists, “by trying to sacrifice me…for this they all must pay…Including You!”

He launched at you on the head of his snake, using the speed of snake and his own jumping to aim at your head. Like before you dodged this time shoving your staff into the ground. Without your staff occupying your hands you weaved underneath the snake and through it’s coils to strike at the reptile’s pressure points. The cave shook as the snake slammed limply on the ground. Rolling off to safety the wild man shouted running to cradle the snake’s snout, “Kabamaru!?” 

Hearing the light sound of sniffles you cursed yourself for going too far. Sitting down on the ground you leaned along the rocky wall opposite to the two. Pulling out a bottle of sake and two cups you brought with you, setting them down. 

“He’s not dead. Just sleeping.” he turned to look at you his eyes softening from a glare. You continued,”I figured without him egging you on you can tell me a bit more about yourself.” 

Offering a cup to him you took a sip of yours, letting out a happy sigh as the liquid tingled down your throat. Showing him that it was safe you let him down his zebra skin and come in closer to you. 

There you were able to piece lesser rumors with his own testimony. Apparently the town used to be ran by a tribe of women who idolized a giant snake in the forest. Organizing gatherings and practices to honor said snake. This tribe of women for generations had daughters to uphold it’s legacy of a matriarch loyal to this snake. Alas when they birthed a boy those in town deemed him a curse making the women decide that his death at the hands of the snake would be their blessing and atonement for his existence. Part of the ceremony included slicing his mouth wider and tying him with the carcass of the exotic creature—the zebra—in the forest to be eaten by their deity: the White Snake. Come to find that the snake was a peaceful creature that was truly infuriated at finding the poor boy in the state he was. Sheltering him, feeding him, protecting him, and one day attacking the people he identified as revenge for him. 

“I see now, why you attack them so viciously. What you went through was awful.”

You took another swig from the bottle looking at the man who was leaning on a sluggish Kaburamaru. He was watching you intently probably gauging your reactions to his story, it made you wonder when was the last time he spoke with any one properly.

It is then you yawned, standing up and stretching. Disregarding both their suspicious looks you walked to your staff, resting it on your shoulders casually as the both got into a defensive stance. You walked up that rocky path, waving over your shoulder with a smile.

“Tomorrow Iguro. I’ll bring you something sweet from the town. Until then.”

Just like that you returned to the townspeople all eager to know if you’ve slain the beast. Only for you to yawn in their faces and say your still investigating, retreating to the inn you were gifted for your stay here.

As expected violent cryptids were never just that in a world that knows no better. 

And as such it was your job to help.

Whether that was teaching the world or the cryptid themself.

In this case the cryptid and his keeper.

_____________________________________________________________

Obanai Iguro didn’t kill for no reason. 

When he walked through the town he was being gracious. An olive branch extended to an unforgiving people. All he was asking was that he be able to walk into town without injury or insult. Without fail though someone in town would either yell obscenities or attempt to attack him. 

He vowed the day he could freely walk in town would be the day no one would suffer his wrath. 

That day had never come. 

But the day someone looked in his eyes with no fear for him had come. A missionary with dyed hair and smile brighter than the sun was the first. She happened to catch him by his lonesome, asking for directions to the town. 

He cursed himself for letting his naivete consume him. 

Doing as she asked he hoped foolishly that the townspeople could learn. Take the missionary’s optimism and kindness as a symbol for peace. That when they saw the absolute vision of beauty hand in hand with a freak him they’d have a change of heart or at least touch the hearts of a few.

He was wrong.

So so wrong.

The collective gasps were a precursor to the violent screaming that followed. Rocks, fruit, eventually knives were thrown at both of them. He remembered taking the brunt of it turning the nun away from the spiteful horde. Looking down at her, even in the face of their berating she was smiling up at him. It warmed his heart. It made him willing to forgive. Until she caught sight of her convent, fellow missionaries standing silently aside, running to them with renewed vigor. She happily proclaimed that she’d found her mission aiming to help bridge the gap between the misunderstood and the collective. She recited different teachings looking pridefully as she waited for their response. Dropping her smile when they finally spoke.

“You’ve transgressed for the last time, Mitsuri. We had such high hopes.”

They pulled at her hair, they stripped her of her robes before encouraging the town to bring all their aggressions to her. Claiming it was a just punishment for the young and unruly nun who continued to fail with every task they gave her. 

He doubted he could’ve waited for Kaburamaru if he tried. Using his bare fists to pummel anyone who’s hand was raised to attack Mitsuri. Fighting them as best as he could but he was only one man. 

Strong but not strong enough.

By the time Kaburamaru arrived and had begun to swallow majority of the fleeing mob, it was already too late. Poor Mitsuri. The sun in Iguro’s night had set, giving him one last smile and an indirect kiss on the scar across his face. 

It broke his heart further. 

Shuffling his already broken heart, he took it’s shards and made a wall. A thorny wall that took his graciousness and shrivelled it to nothing. Now transgressions he would have chosen mercy for invoked his wrath all the same. Calling on Kaburamaru to help quell his fury. 

Once again returning to his precious solitude with Kaburamaru by his side. 

But fate would refuse this again sending a monster catcher to disrupt his peace. Agile, sly, and a powerful fighter the monster catcher was like no one he’d met before. Iguro did have a few encounters with unexplainable creatures and violent entities but none were like them. Never had he and Kaburamaru been brought to their knees (coils?) by  a single person, all who casually invites him to chat over a drink. 

“Come come its a creation of my own. This game is going to get us drunk so fast!”

Mitsuri was casual too but the interaction was surface. It was their first and last time meeting after all. The monster hunter spoke much more often, returning with another alcoholic beverage and cups to share while talking about nothing in paticular. Once again that estranged normalcy was creeping up again and Iguro refused to fall for it again.

“Oh wow that came out of nowhere, Iguro. Now let’s get back to drinking shall we?”

Holding the tip of his spear between two fingers the monster hunter continued to smile at him. Thwarting his attempts to chase them away or at least save himself the pain he was bound to feel. Even Kaburamaru wasn’t attempting to fight anymore, only watching when Iguro attempted to attack. 

He hated how little it offended them. And how much it hurt him. Already he was feeling the same warmth he felt back then. When he wasn’t trying to attack, the smile they shared was like the moon. Reflecting the light given to him so long ago. But he feared he’d lose it again. Like Mitsuri they were far too kind when regarding the people in town.

“At least the kids don’t know any better. Leave them out of it, okay Iguro?”

The night-terrors would start again picturing his hunter bloodied and defeated at the feet of an angry crowd. Hand-in-hand with Mitsuri as they both smiled up at him with incomplete smiles.

“You’ll forgive them, right?”

“For us you’ll be kind, right?”

He was tired of seeing that image again. The one where the only lights in his world were doused by the same people that bred hatred with every generation. It didn’t matter that the hunter was strong, that the hunter planned to leave. Iguro needed to keep them by his side, away from the darkness that had always engulfed his life. 

“I refuse to let them have you.”

To block out the new sun he needed the warmth of. It didn’t matter that the sun may burn or their anger would be his–they’d be safe. That was all that mattered at this point.

“The rest don’t deserve to feel your warmth.”

__________________________________________________________

You didn’t expect such an adverse reaction. Your plan to finally leave the duo with a warning and spend your time changing the town was going to be shot. You wanted to spin whatever narrative you needed to, to fix the town for good. Give them a healthier outlook and some mock defense against other cryptids would do the trick. But iguro didn’t seem to like that. More seriously neither did Kaburamru, hissing at you as he curled into himself.

“Look Iguro if you’d prefer you can come with me! Leave this town behind and find a place worthy of you both!”

“Not before I end it. They’d never let me have you if they can help it!”

He instructed Kaburamaru to slam his tail near you making you dodge further away from the exit. Already sensing where he was going with this, you stood your ground.

“Iguro. Stop this.”

Kaburamaru was curling around itself blocking the entirety of the single exit, with Iguro standing on his head. He was wielding his spear pointing it at you with a twisted smile. 

“I know we’re no match for you on our own. But you’re so eager to protect those rotten meatbags even you’d have trouble fending me off.”

“Iguro!”

He seemed to laugh to himself as he ducked down low, sliding on the snake’s back as the reptile slid through the exit en route to the town.

“By the time you arrive (Y/n) you’ll find we’ll be on the same level or they’ll all be dead. Either way I can’t wait to see how brightly you’ll burn!”

You immediately followed their trail falling behind; you were amazed at the speed they made darting through the forest. He planned to defeat you, by taking advantage of your divided attention. Running with nothing but the forest around you, you had to applaud him. 

“I’ve got to give it to him he’s greedier than any cryptids I’ve met. The world’s definitely going to learn about him if they survive him first.”

[honeytonedhottie]

IN DEPTH TUTORIAL FOR MY SCHOOL NOTION⋆.ೃ࿔*:･📄

i dont know how to make templates, so instead im going to make an in depth tutorial for how i made my school notion bcuz i didn't use a template.

STEP ONE ; go to ur sidebar and where it says "private" click on the + button (it should say add a page)

STEP TWO ; click the three dots on the upper right hand corner and set the text to serif and make the page full width. title it however u want, add an icon and a cute banner. i found mine off of pinterest.

STEP THREE ; press enter as though you were about to fill the page and click on the tiny six dots. go to turn into and make it to two columns

STEP FOUR ; decorate it however u want with cute photos from pinterest. i made 3 different toggle lists labeled "resources, knowledge outside of school, and digital notes"

TO CREATE A TASK BOARD ; click the + button and scroll down to where it says "board view" and go to "table" add a calendar and label it "school calendar" and thats all ✨ have fun with ur school notion. some things u can add into it to personalize it are ;

studying playlists

studying methods

links to important school resources

SOME PHOTOS THAT I USED ; all these photos can be found on pinterest + none of these are mine 💗

here's where i posted my current school notion for some inspo.

[darth-kote]

Fox Headcanons Pt. 1

Despises 79s. Not because of the noise and countless bodies, but because there's always so much going on that he finds it difficult to properly relax. He's hard-wired to keep Coruscant safe from threats, and it only heightens in a dark, loud place full of plastoid and spirits. Of course, if Wolffe happens to be on shore leave and invites him for a rare night out, he'll accept. But don't expect him to have more than two drinks the entire night - or for that rigid posture to loosen up while he's there. He saves that for later when he can finally, finally take his armor off and slip into his bunk. If he could have it his way, he'd have Wolffe over for a long nap and a few hushed laughs before one or both of them has to return to duty.

He's a certified overthinker. Like almost to the point it could be labeled obsessive-compulsive if he ever talked to Nala Se about it. He knows it would probably qualify him for "retirement." He understands it's not the norm for most of his brothers, and he's actually very grateful they don't have to experience the nagging intrusive thoughts he seems to battle with often. He checks on his brothers when the sudden creeping feeling that one of them might be hurt arises, he routinely asks about the condition of The Chancellor's wellbeing if he happens to be further from him than usual, and he craves symmetry and order almost to a haunting degree. He once spent an hour staring at his own bucket to make sure the red strokes of paint were just right.

It's safe to say this man cannot stand a lack of control. This piggybacks off the prev point; it drives him up the wall not knowing what is going on at all times. He asks for check-ins from his men every quarter hour, works longer hours than even a Kaminoan would recommend, and has no idea what to do when he's given time off. He doesn't know what it means to unwind. His muscles are constantly wound tight like a snake prepared to strike, and he often grinds his teeth without thinking. The headaches he gets would be unbearable if it weren't for his medics dutifully looking out for the commander.

He secretly feels anxious when he hears whispers from Senators, Jedi, or his brothers about the work some politicians are doing to set up a plan for the Clones after the war. He doesn't know what else he is other than a soldier. He's too high-strung to go off and be a gardener or a tattoo artist like he's heard some brothers talk about. One day Stone makes a quip that he'd be a good zoologist, and he admittedly finds himself daydreaming about working with nonjudgmental animals instead of people who did nothing other than cast judgment. Coruscant certainly wouldn't work for that, which drives another unpleasant nail of fear into his heart. He'll have to work through plenty of knots surrounding his attachments if he is to ever let himself leave. For now, he's satisfied to dream about it when he gets a quiet moment in his bunk.

For all the Clones, their bunk is practically the only private space they have. Fox's quarters, though some might expect them to be ship-shape and spotless, is decorated in a way that can only be described as his. Weapon leaflets are kept on a board near the door, just above a small desk cluttered with a mixture of endless paperwork and small seedlings given to him by Senator Chuchi after he'd escorted her on a particularly daring mission. She claimed they'd grow into vitamin-rich leafy greens he could ingest. His armor is always kept neatly if it isn't on him, prepared to be worn at a moment's notice. His bed, of course, is the safest, most private spot in his quarters. Some would describe it as a mess, and if he ever heard whispers of a routine check for contraband, he'd straighten out the sheets and ensure no wrinkles could be seen; he had no desire to be perceived as a slob. Most of the time, he prefers to have the blankets fluffed up around him; there's something so gratifying about being surrounded by softness and the comforting smells of himself and the people he treasures most. He has a favorite cloth he nuzzles close to when particularly stressed, which had been given to him by Alpha before he'd left for Coruscant. The scent is faded and weak, but what's left of it combined with the texture is enough to help him drift into unconsciousness.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dean Obeidallah at The Dean's Report:

Those are the very facts surrounding Matthew Livelsberger’s actions on New Years Day outside the Trump hotel in Las Vegas. Yet corporate media refuses to use words “MAGA terrorism”—and many are leaving out of their reporting the full details of Livelsberger’s final bone-chilling notes. We now know many of the key facts in connection with 37 year-old Livelsberger—whose Uncle explained “loved” Trump. He was a career Army Special Forces master sergeant who served three tours in Afghanistan and was decorated by the Army for valor. Reportedly, he suffered from some form of PTSD that likely drove him to take his own life by shooting himself while in the Tesla truck. Tragically, nearly 20 veterans each day in the United States commit suicide.

But Livelsberger didn’t commit suicide like many others in a spur of the moment event or in a private setting like a home. This was part of plot hatched over time. As FBI Special Agent In Charge Spencer Evans stated Friday, “It’s evident that [Livelsberger] considered, planned, and thoughtfully prepared for this act.” [...]

Livelsberger wrote point bank in a note he directed to, “Fellow Servicemembers, Veterans, and all Americans” that it’s, “TIME TO WAKE UP!” He continued on to explain, “This was not a terrorist attack, it was a wake up call. Americans only pay attention to spectacles and violence. What better way to get my point across than a stunt with fireworks and explosives?” But the corporate media articles almost all ignored other parts of his note and instead focused on his next comment: “Why did I personally do it now? I needed to cleanse my mind of the brothers I’ve lost and relieve myself of the burden of the lives I took.”

That is misleading reporting on a few counts. First, most articles leave out that in the next line, Livelsberger pledged his allegiance to Trump and the MAGA agenda and urged others to do the same. Livelsberger wrote, “Consider this last sunset of ’24 and my actions the end of our sickness and a new chapter of health for our people. Rally around the Trump, Musk, Kennedy, and ride this wave to the highest hegemony for all Americans!” (Boldface added.) Livelsberger was urging people in his last words to support Trump and other MAGA leaders. His note also amplified the MAGA agenda such as writing “DEl is a cancer” and he labeled Vice President Harris “the DEl candidate” who “thankfully we rejected.” He mocked Biden by referring to him as “Weekend at Bernie’s,” while sharing joy about Trump’s win, claiming now we will have a “real President.”

But the most alarming and sinister parts of his notes have been barely covered by the media. For example, under his call for “Fellow Servicemembers, Veterans, and all Americans” to “wake up,” he urged them to head to Washington, D.C. to “purge” the government and military from those who oppose them. He wrote, “Military and vets move on DC starting now. Militias facilitate and augment this activity.” He demanded them take control of the facilities until “the purge is complete.”

Those ominous words are made more concerning by the lines that followed. Livelsberger made it explicitly clear that the target of this purge are Democrats—who if they won’t give up power peacefully, force must be used. He wrote, “Try peaceful means first, but be prepared to fight to get the Dems out of the fed government and military by any means necessary.” He added, “They all must go and a hard reset must occur for our country to avoid collapse.” [...] In contrast, in the case of the New Orleans attacker Shamsud Din-Jabbar who drove his rented truck into the crowd on New Years Day and killed 14 people, he has rightfully been labeled a terrorist given videos showing him swearing allegiance to ISIS and his goal being to further their sick agenda. In some parts of corporate media, there has been nuanced coverage of what led him to this dark place from personal to financial issues, etc. But the coverage still includes—rightfully—a look into what radicalized him in the hopes of preventing ISIS from successfully recruiting others in the future.

The Las Vegas Trump International Hotel Tesla Cybertruck bombing was a MAGA-inspired terrorist attack, as the perpetrator Matthew Livelsberger was a die hard MAGA cultist seeking to inspire people to violently remove Democrats and anti-Trump forces from the world.

See Also:

Mediaite: ‘WAKE UP!’ Read the Trump Hotel Bomber’s Chilling Messages Calling on ‘Militias’ to ‘Purge’ D.C. of Democrats

[marlynnofmany]

Not Special, Part Two

(Part One is here)

Oscar Tennyson grabbed his purchases and hurried after the rest of his crew. As usual, they were walking quickly on their longer legs and bellowing for him to keep up. The teeth-and-scales Mighty had no patience for human weaknesses. Of which there were many.

But, as Oscar had just learned, there were some strengths as well. And he couldn’t wait to show them.

He scampered onboard before the door shut, wondering if they would actually leave without him if he dawdled too long. Probably not — who would handle their finances and hunting permits? They’d have to hire someone else, because they certainly didn’t want to do it themselves. But he didn’t want to test that.

He had much better things to test. While the stark metal walls vibrated with the engine’s revs, Oscar wove between scaled biceps and tails to his own quarters. He pressed the panel by the door, which was oversized and cracked like all of them on this ship. The Mighty were not fans of fiddly little buttons or keys. Not when they could have panels big enough to punch, which only broke sometimes.

When Oscar stepped through and closed the door behind him, he felt immediately relieved. This was his private space to decorate as he chose, without worrying that someone would take things down or make fun of him. Ship rules were clear about personal quarters. Oscar’s fake orchids and real cactus made the room homey, along with more posters than the walls could hold. They spilled onto the ceiling, lining it with nature scenes from Earth, sports figures he admired, media announcements, and a good number of fluffy kittens. This was the one spot on the ship where he could feel comfortable, and he was making the most of it.

The bag of refueling station supplies crinkled as he set it on his small table to remove the contents. A high-end store might have had Waterwill bags that evaporated after a day, but this place used regular old plastic. Inside were food cubes, bottled water, and the purchase he was most excited about: six cans of very weak caffeine.

He scanned the label. It was just like the other human had said. Tall cans in dramatic colors, but not much of substance inside. At least, not as far as the average human was concerned.

Oscar couldn’t wait until dinner time.

Before then, he had a permit to submit and several other things to check. The ship should be on the way to Argosha, which was notorious for welcoming outsiders in to hunt the Dagger Birds that were giving everyone so much trouble, but he had better get their paperwork in order anyway.

He grabbed his tablet and left his safe haven, heading back into the public parts of the ship where he could face taunts from any direction. Really, these guys were just like his cousins. At least it was familiar.

Fending off tiresome conversation — “How’s the weather down there?” “Why don’t you ask your mother?” —he reached the bridge and found a corner to stand in. The captain and the pilot were arguing about where to land when they reached Argosha.

“The main site will have more people to admire our ship!”

“The new one is closer to the hunting grounds!”

“Dagger Birds are overrunning the place; everywhere is a hunting ground!”

“Do you want to pay the damages for shooting a building instead of a bird? We can take it all out of your pay, if you want!”

“Fine, but if we land on some overgrown hedge and the ship is scratched, you get to pay for that!”

“Fine!”

The pair of them stopped yelling and sat back in their seats as if nothing at all was the matter, because it wasn’t. Polite disagreements were always held at that volume.

In the brief lull while the pilot manipulated the controls with more force than a lesser console could withstand, Oscar spoke up. “I’d like to come too.”

Both dinosaurian heads turned to stare at him in surprise. “Why?” the captain demanded. “One kick from a bird, and you’re useless to us.”

“Thanks,” Oscar said flatly. “I’ll keep out of the way. I want to take photos of your fighting prowess; I should be able to sell them.”

Both of the Mighty preened at that, as he’d known they would. Ego was big here. The captain agreed, and Oscar didn’t let slip any hints of his secret plan. He just finished working on his tablet, then retreated to his quarters to practice Dagger Bird mating calls.

The air on Argosha was breathable but hot, at least this part of it. Oscar was ready with his Tool in his pocket. (He’d gotten out of the habit of calling it a phone, since the Mighty were right in that it did a near-infinite number of things.) (He still smirked quietly at the potential innuendo, but it was a conversation he didn’t really want to have with giant dinosaur aliens, so he kept that to himself.)

“This way,” announced the captain, pointing in what looked like an arbitrary direction into the wilderness. Whooping with the alien equivalent of testosterone, the crew raised their blasters and tromped off the landing pad with Oscar following close behind.

True to his word, he did take some pictures as he went. But he was waiting for his moment.

It didn’t take long to come. The shouting scared off all the wildlife, then the Mighty found a boulder to crouch behind and wait for the creatures to come back. They played a silent counting game to see who was best at guessing when they’d spot something worth killing.

Distant footsteps on leaves made them smack each other in excitement, but nothing appeared between the trees.

Now or never, Oscar thought. Knowing better than to startled his crewmates, he whispered, “Here, let me.” Then he took a deep breath and let loose with his best imitation of a Dagger Bird seeking a mate. “Woarrrrrrk!”

While the Mighty shushed him and wondered what he was doing and started to figure it out, an answering woarrk sounded from nearby.

Then another, then, three.

Oscar wondered if he’d overplayed his hand.

No less than five large and eager Dagger Birds crashed through the undergrowth at once, croaking and flapping, taking offense at each other’s presence. The Mighty all roared and leapt out, firing in every direction.

Oscar dashed for a tree he’d been eyeing, the one with lots of branches, and didn’t stop climbing until he was out of beak-stabbing range. He held tight to the trunk, catching his breath and watching the chaos. Belatedly, he remembered to take out his Tool and snap some photos.

This was actually a good angle. He got a great shot of the captain aiming down the throat of a wide-open beak, then another a split second later when the beak snapped shut inches from his head. Another of the engineer shooting one from beneath. Two of the pilot tackling the largest bird and sinking teeth into the back of its neck where it couldn’t reach to stab.

Other species did their trophy hunting from a distance. The Mighty liked the fight as much as the kill. Their blasters were set on a deliberately low setting, and their teeth were sharp.

Safe up in his tree, Oscar grimaced at how bloody things were getting down below. He yelled another bird call to distract the one about to spear the crewmate who’d been knocked to the ground, and he got a cheerful “Nice save by the little guy!” which was as close to a thank you as he was going to get. The crewmate scrambled up and bit off a chunk while the bird was distracted. A couple of the crew looked like they were bleeding their own blood, but most of it was coming from the Dagger Birds, which were just as stubborn as the stories had said. Not one of them ran off. The last to die fell on top of somebody, which just added laughter from the rest of the crew to the triumphant cheers.

Oscar took a picture of the bird being dragged off his disgraced crewmate. That photo he wouldn’t sell, but would keep as minor blackmail if he ever needed it. Sticking it up on the wall to remind everyone of this moment could be a valuable strategic move.

“We are the MIGHTY!” bellowed the captain, and the whole crew joined in with a deep-voiced cheer. Oscar climbed down to more approval than he’d gotten in the last month.

“Good work by our human here! Who knew you could do that?”

“That’s sure an efficient way to hunt!”

“We should bring you out every time. That was great.”

Oscar took the praise with pride, not bothering with modesty. That was just another word for weakness as far as these guys were concerned.

He managed to dodge when one of them made to slap him on the back with a large bloodstained hand, which just made them laugh more. Luckily the captain directed everybody to gather their kills for dragging back to the ship, rather than chasing the human and messing up his clothes.

Oscar took a position on the lowest branch of his tree, taking a couple more photos as the victorious hunters figured out how to get it all home. If anyone had asked Oscar, which they never would, he’d have suggested going back for a hovercart, or taking them one at a time. But of course they did neither.

Definitely the type to insist on carrying all the groceries in at once, Oscar thought as his crewmates strained to drag the giant carcasses through the undergrowth. He hopped down and kept pace out to the side where there was no blood on the leaves.

They finally made it back to the ship, doing nothing to clean up the smears of blood they left on the landing pad. Oscar darted off to his quarters as soon as the door opened. The rest of them could handle getting the birds into cryo storage, or chopped up right away, whichever they saw fit to do. The lowest-ranking one without significant injuries would be in charge of clearing the blood from the hallways, but only after they’d all taken a walk through the water-and-air blast chamber that passed for a shower here. It had always reminded Oscar of a car wash.

He kept to himself until dinner, sorting his photos while everyone else dealt with the catch and the mess and the injuries. The mechanical medsystem on this ship was just as efficient as the shower. They’d all be in decent shape by mealtime.

And mealtime after a successful hunt was also drinking time.

Oscar usually ate in his room, wanting nothing to do with the raucous meat-tearing and drunkenness. But today was different, because he’d learned something valuable about the liquid they were getting drunk off.

Oscar considered the cans he’d bought, then decided it would have more of an impact if he just took one of the communal supply. So instead he grabbed his new food cubes and a premade tin of spaghetti from his mini-cryo, and followed the sound of laughter.

They were already a little drunk when he got there. Sprawled across chairs with a table full of meat slabs spilling over the edges of the plates. And as expected, there were tall purple cans everywhere.

“Heyyyy, it’s the little guy! Let’s hear it for the human with the surprise talent! Maybe you’re not useless after all!”

“Thanks,” Oscar said as they pounded fists against anything in reach as a form of applause. He leaned against the open doorway and shuffled his belongings so he could get a fork in a meatball without setting down the food cubes. “That was pretty easy where I’m from. You guys really can’t do that?” He popped the meatball into his mouth, casual as you please.

The Mighty of course, thought this was funny, and took it in stride. More gulps from their drinks, more savage mouthfuls of food, and a few questions about the surely-excellent photos he’d gotten, which would make them all look amazing.

Oscar said he’d share the best ones. These would make fine decorations in their own quarters, and would probably be appreciated by the right paying audience.

Then came the moment he’d been waiting for. The captain raised his drink in another cheer, and somebody noticed that the human was the only one without a can in his hand.

“Get the human a warrior’s drink!”

“Bet you he passes out after one sip.”

“Nah, he can take at least two.”

Oscar smiled quietly. If they’d been paying attention, they might have changed their bets at that smile. He set his food down in the hallway to free his hands. When one muscular, taloned arm offered him a can of their most potent intoxicant, he took it. Oh so casually.

Then he whipped his head back and chugged the whole thing.

“Oh! Human’s gonna die!”

“I’m not cleaning up the puke!”

“What the supernova! There are better ways to go than that!”

“Somebody drag him to medical so we don’t have to find somebody else to do the boring stuff.”

“Yeah, he was just getting interesting.”

Oscar ignored all of them, giving the empty can a thoughtful look. It felt like the same thin aluminum he remembered from Earth. And if there was anything his cousins had taught him, it was the proper way to dispose of a beer can.

He dug his fingertips in and crushed it against his forehead. Then while the room reacted to that, he wiped off the drips and threw the can across the room. When it went into the trash on the first try, he was internally very glad, but he didn’t let it show. Instead he picked up his food and resumed eating. “What’s the big deal?” he said. “Is that what you guys have been getting drunk off? How quaint.”

“How in all the black holes—”

“No, he’s gonna fall over any second; just watch.”

“Quaint, that’s hilarious.”

“He’s totally bluffing. Just wait and see.”

Oscar was enjoying being the center of the crew’s attention today. He made a show of sweeping his eyes across the various cans in the room. “None of you has finished a can yet, I see. Was that supposed to be strong?”

There was widespread laughing and elbowing of each other, most of them still clearly convinced that the silly little human was going to throw up and die any second now.

So Oscar set down his food, walked over to the table, and chugged a second one. It was a bit more liquid than his stomach was really happy with, but that was a small price to pay for the uproar that followed.

They exclaimed; they renewed their bets; they drank from their own cans; they got visibly drunker and abandoned their bets.

Oscar leaned against the doorframe, eating spaghetti and food cubes.

After one particularly unsteady crewmate tripped onto the table full of meat, and someone pointed out that the human wasn’t wobbling at all, Oscar said, “You guys don’t know much about my species, do you? Half of what I eat would liquify your insides.” He held up a food cube, eyeing the different colored specks of all the ingredients that made it balanced for an omnivorous digestive system. He laughed. “You guys just eat meat. How boring!”

They only got drunker after that. Oscar was pretty sure that the nearest two wanted to pat him on the back, but the floor was moving too much for them to make it all the way to the doorway. Somebody offered him a raw slab of Dagger Bird. He turned it down with casual scorn.

“Nah, meat isn’t worth eating unless it’s passed through fire. That’s weakling meat you’ve got there. Get back to me when it’s cooked brown.”

They loved that. The party was an epic one, only winding down when most of the crew was too drunk to reach more drinks. Oscar demonstrated his steadiness by picking through the mess to drop his food containers in the trash, then move back to the door.

“Well, it’s been fun,” he said. “I’ll send in the med-drone to make sure nobody’s going to wake up dead. Let me know if you want to get your tails handed to you by any more Dagger Birds. I’ll call ‘em in close for you again.”

He got groggy approval to that.

Oscar left with a smile on his face, and a mild amount of caffeine in his blood. Maybe after stopping by the medcenter, he’d use that energy on some exercise. Thoughts of the run to the hunting grounds, and the way his crewmates had paced themselves, suggested that it wouldn’t take much practice for him to out-endurance the Mighty on the VR treadmill.

I wonder what else I can do?

~~~~~~~~~

By popular request, this is the sequel to the story I posted last week, which is part of the ongoing series of backstory for the main character in this book. (It started that way, at any rate, and turned into a sprawling series in its own right. Fun stuff.)

Patreon opens the day after tomorrow, on May 1st! There's a free tier and everything if you want to keep up without strings attached! And you can even request more delightful nonsense like this.

Onward!

[austinbutlerslovers]

Avec Moi

Label Mature 18+

Summary

You are hidden away in Austin’s luxury Parisian hotel while he does his press tour in France. He tries to keep you separate and all to himself, the only normal piece of this life anchoring him down.

He sends you on a sight seeing tour preoccupying you for the day while he attends a photo call and his movie premiere. When he finally returns to you it’s almost midnight

Entering the suite he is so happy to finally appreciate you and spoil you, it’s your anniversary after all. Even though every day he loves you beyond compare, he makes it special. He takes your breath away with a beautiful view and an even more satisfying orgasm.

Established relationship girlfriend

Smut•romantic•gifts •traveling •morning/shower sex•nipple play•oral sex female rec• lingerie• blindfold•sex against a window•multiple •orgasms •cream pie•anniversary sex

Inspo: Austin in Paris France? 🇫🇷 Oui Avec Moi= With You

Avec Moi

Austin keeps his public and private life very separate. He values you as a treasure all to himself. Whatever career or life you had is now completely absorbed into his. He needs you with him at all times, bringing you every where he goes. You begin to lose track of the dates and times when he takes you on a whirlwind international press tour for his latest film.

You wake up early morning now in France, it is from a sharp knock at the door followed by a ring. Austin rolls over to hold you, the hot skin of his chest warms your back. He gives you a quick kiss on your temple before he climbs out of bed leaving you to rest.

You are in one of the most expensive hotels in Paris over looking the city. You arrived so late at night from your international flight you didn’t even have time to explore the room. The suite has 3 wings; the master suite, the living room, and the foyer, there is also a roof top patio.

Everything is white with gold overlays. Ornate trimmings wrap every edge and panel up to the hand painted high vaulted ceilings. It is a Baroque, Rococo dream. Words you learned reading your guide book about France on your multiple connecting flights from Mexico the previous day.

Austin ties on a robe and leaves the master suite. He closes the double doors quietly behind him to give you privacy and let you sleep. You can still hear everything through the thin decorative doors.

“Mr. Butler the hair and makeup team is here to set up may we offer you anything to eat or drink while you wait?” A woman asks.

“Yea I’m really craving some dark chocolate croissants, do you think you could get a few of those with a light breakfast, no dairy though” As soon as he asks his request is carried out.

Within a few moments a bellman rolls a trolley in with an entire assortment of fruits, sweets, juices, breads, eggs,and of course his dark chocolate croissants. Austin quickly eats before his big day.

He opens the doors to the master suite and closes them quickly behind him. He brings his event outfit with him from the stylist, hanging it the walk in closet as you sleep. His hair and makeup team need more time to prepare in the living room. He climbs back in bed resting on top of you staring at your sleeping face. He wants you to wake up.

He plants soft kisses on your lips as you sleep arousing himself more with each one. When you finally wake up he smiles down at you eyes twinkling his new favorite dainty chain swings on his neck catching your eye. He knows you’re exhausted from all the traveling but he wants you.

“You gonna be here when I get back later?” He asks teasing for making you travel so much. You sleepily nod yes. He pets your hair back lovingly and stares into your eyes. “Do you need money to go out today?” He asks gently. You nod again a smile forming on your lips. You know he wants you to explore Paris having fun while he works.

Slowly climbing off of you he retrieves his wallet and stands looking down at you laying in bed. He unfolds his wallet and pulls out a crisp bill. “How much?” He asks throwing one note and you collect it. He throws another just as you reach the first. You catch it as it flutters down.

You finally wake enough to chime in “Austin how much are these?” He smiles as he keeps raining them down on you one by one. “Hundreds I think” he says not paying attention to the amount, more excited watching you climb out of bed and bend down to collect them.

He makes a trail of them to the lavatory. “Austin this is like a two thousand then” you say in shock holding the stack of euros. He pulls you to him with one hand the money pressed between your bodies.

He takes the stack out of your hand placing it with his wallet on the bathroom counter and kisses you. He quickly kneels down stripping off your silk panties from your nightie set. “Austin we don’t even have time, you have a photo call and a premiere today” you say in a hushed tone knowing there are people working in the next room.

He’s already absentmindedly kissing up your thighs. “Austin.” You say firmly and he stands taller than you peering down at you softly. “But it’s our anniversary ” he confesses smiling. You didn’t even realize what date it was.

You smile back up at him appreciatively and give him a sweet kiss on his lips. “Go to work and when you are back we’ll celebrate.” you say gently. You reach around him turning on the shower to move him along.

He mock pouts starting to get in. Before he does he pulls you in too, soaking your nightie top and holding you against him under the shower head. He drenches you completely. ”Austin!” you shriek in surprise. He laughs as you smile at him he’s so so annoying when he sets his mind on something and nothing can change it.

He already has your soaked top over your head discarding it. He turns you to press your hands against the glass “Just real quick” he rasps and lines up his stiff cock with your entrance. You relax and he pushes his cock fully inside of you until his hips meet the back of your thighs. You let out a soft moan and your clit pulses from the stretch of his size.

He waits for you to adjust, and reaches his had around stroking your clit as he begins to gently thrust into you. He wants all his cum out of him and inside of you so he can work clear headed while you fantasize about him all day.

He squeezes your supple tit in his hand as he bends you over. The time is ticking. You help him by placing your hands higher above you on the glass spreading your legs wider and arching your back down. He wishes he had a picture your waist and back are a work of art at this angle.

He gives you several good thrusts holding your waist, then pulls you back by your hip bones pounding his cock deep making your core tighten as you gently moan for him. He thrusts faster bouncing you against his cock to make you quickly climax.

“Aus! I’m….” he pulls you back flush against his chest knowing you’re going to cum and strums your clit hard. You clench on him panting loudly and stifling your moans as you have your first intense orgasm of the day.

When you finish at your peak he presses your chest against the glass and grips his strong hands around your waist. He places his thighs beneath yours and plows into you repeatedly until his cock is swollen tight ready to release.

His abs constrict as he groans in pleasure throbbing his warm cum inside of you. He pants heavily as his hips falter slowing down.

He holds you still for a brief moment as you both catch your breaths. Once you settle he holds your waist and slips his heavy cock all the way out making you both moan.

He has to quickly finish rinsing off and leaves you in the shower. He rushes drying off and brushes his teeth before grabbing his wallet. He swiftly puts his outfit on in the bedroom to meet his team in the living room.

You finish in the shower a moment later. As you brush your teeth you stare at the stack of euros on the counter. ‘It’s our anniversary ’ his words repeat in your head making you smile. The wheels are already turning in your mind of what you want to get for him. You blow dry your hair and put on a simple form fitting dress. You can’t wait to see what Austin is wearing he must almost be ready by now.

You slowly open the double doors of the master suite a sliver to peek. He’s sitting in one of the ornate chairs in the living room having his hair touched up by the stylist. He is waiting patiently twisting the ring on his pointer finger around with his thumb.

He is dressed in all black as usual. It’s a double breasted suit paired with what looks almost like a construction workers boot and you giggle at the contrasting styles. He looks over to the master bedroom hearing the familiar sound of your happiness and locks eyes with you smiling.

His face is so stunning drawing you to enter the living room to get a better look. Several of his team members are bustling about. You sit on the sofa watching him as the stylist finishes.

He stands to look at himself in the full length mirror inspecting every little detail of his face and hair. He finds everything suitable and nods to his assistant who brings him a heavy trench coat to complete the ensemble. He flips the collar up as he lifts it over his shoulders and the stylist fixes it back. She goes over his coat with a lint roller.

Your eyes wander up his tall frame, he looks so handsome and powerful. You smile to yourself thinking he looks like a Parisian prince when in reality he’s a talented American actor from Anaheim.

Everyone begins last minute checks and explanations going over each detail of the schedule with him. He interjects a few questions and then they are set. Security informs the team down stairs that he is on the move.

Every one walks with him to the door almost rushing him out with excitement for the day “Wait” he stops looking for you “ Baby ”he calls out and you hurry to him.

Several people have to make space. He holds you close smiling down at you.“I love you and I’ll see you later “he says never breaking his gaze” I love you too” you say staring up at him feeling so enamored.

He plants a soft kiss on your lips and holds his hands cupping your jaw lovingly before he lets you go. You reach and squeeze his hand one last time before he slips away. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at you giving you a wink.

Everyone exits the door and it slams shut to silence.

You look around at the palace like room wondering what you should go do. You spot your Paris guide book on the living room ottoman and grab a chocolate croissant from the cart on your way to read it. You plop down on the sofa and begin to flip through the pages as you eat.

Suddenly the hotel room phones ring all at once around the suite making you jump. You pick up the closest one.

“Hello?” You answer

“Bonjour Mrs. Butler I am calling to confirm the arrangement time for your pick up.” She says in a heavy French accent. You smile at her mistake calling you his wife but you don’t correct her

“My pick up?” You ask to clarify if it’s for you

“Yes madame there is a driver to take you sightseeing today arranged by your husband” you cover your mouth shocked in delight that he planned this.

You don’t correct her the second time she calls you his wife either. You look to the gold vintage clock on the mantle it’s 8:15 am.

“I can be read in 30” you say confidently

“Excellent Madame the driver will pick you up at the main courtyard in front of the lobby. Please take a moment to write down this information.

Pierre black Mercedes license plate AA229AA”

You exchange goodbyes.

“Okay thank you goodbye ”

“Je vous en prie”

You are beaming with a smile. After you eat breakfast you put on your makeup and don a long back trench coat over your dress paired with slip on tennis shoes.

You collect your phone and purse heading down the private elevator to the lobby.

You find the car with the matching plate parked where the receptionist said it would be and climb in closing the door. “Piere?” You ask just to be certain “Bonjour Mrs. Butler, yes I am Piere I will be your driver for the day. This is from your husband“ he says handing you a red envelope. He begins driving you away from the hotel as you open it.

You slide out an elaborate crimson red card written in Austin’s handwriting.

It reads:

To my love,

I wanted to take you to each of these places with me but we don’t have time during the press tour. I’ll be thinking of you all day wishing I was there. I couldn’t ask for someone who loves and supports me more than you do.

I love you,

-Austin

Your pout your lip cutely he’s so thoughtful. You read his list on the opposite side of the card.

Arc de Triomphe

Fontaine du Jardin du Trocadéro

Lunch-Francette

Eiffel Tower

Marché Saxe-Breteuil Market

The Lourve

Dinner Le Garde Robe

You are taken a back It is a full day of activities when you were only expecting to be gone a few hours. Austin must really want you to enjoy Paris so you eagerly tackle the list.

You sight see, shop, and eat the entire day away. Ending the itinerary at Le Garde Robe winery sipping a glass of expensive Chateau Margaux. It’s such a spectacular and highly sought after wine. You spend the remainder of your cash to buy an entire bottle for Austin’s anniversary gift. You have it placed in a wooden gift box with 2 Reidel glasses and a wine opener.

You return to the hotel at 10:23 pm happy, exhausted, and lightly drunk carrying tons of bags. You walk through the enormous beautifully decorated lobby down a corridor to the private elevators swiping your card and entering.

As the doors close you swipe your key card again to gain access to your floor. You rest back against the elevator wall with all of your new purchases in tow letting out a breath. Paris is definitely an amazing city.

You exit on your floor and head to the end of the hall for the VIP Master suites. You swipe your card and the handle whirs as it unlocks. You enter into complete blackness.

You quickly set your bags down and reach for the light panel. You click on the lights and look down realizing you are standing on fresh red rose petals, you gasp. You follow the trail of flowers into the bedroom.

The bed is freshly made with a black Versace box placed on top with a bow. A note rests against it reading “Open Me” in cursive. Your eyes grow wide from the surprise.

You sit on the bed and pull the silk ribbon to open the box. Your fingers pull up the daintiest black lace bra of a lingerie set as you read the second note inside “Wear Me”. You smile so impressed by Austin’s romantic gestures all day.

You want to wear it immediately and walk toward the lavatory. Until your eye catches the closet doors and you stop.

The closet is tied shut with a big black ribbon wrapped around the handles. It has a note hanging in beautiful cursive which reads “NO Peeking!” Your eyes light up with excitement, you will definitely wait.

You wash off your body using a new Parisian fine milled soap you purchased that smells heavenly. You towel off and blow dry your hair. Sitting at the vanity in the lavatory you do your makeup and spray your favorite fragrance and rub lotion all over your body.

Finally you open your gift box from Austin and put on your lingerie. It practically glides onto you the lace is so fine. You look up in the mirror and instantly feel seductive.

You see your pussy and nipples through the silk so sheer against your skin. You trail your hands on your curves. You look incredibly sexy and you smile to yourself, Austin’s going to defile you immediately.

You hear the front door lock beep and whiz open filling you with excitement. You are unsure how to greet Austin quickly grabbing a robe and tying it tight to make the lingerie a surprise reveal later.

You emerge from the bathroom hearing his voice coming from the living room “ Baby did you get everything? Look at all these bags !” You hear him laugh. You peek shyly from the bedroom biting your pointer finger in your mouth cutely like buying all the items was a mistake.

He beams at you and you rush into his embrace. He smells crazy, like a mix of city air, his cologne, and light sweat. He looks exhausted. You hang your arms around his neck and stare at him in gratuity “Thank you baby , for all of this. I love it” he grins so big he can’t make it stop. “Let me shower I want to spoil you some more” he says staring in your eyes with a hint of naughtiness. You let him go and begin to move your bags under the entry way table to put away later. You completely dropped them where you stood when you saw the rose petals.

Once Austin is out of the shower fresh and comfortable in black boxers he calls to you. When you come to the bedroom he’s waiting at the closet grinning , it completely slipped your mind he had another surprise to give you.

“Did you peek?” He asks as his fingers release the ribbin. He grabs ahold of the handles making you wait in suspense until he hears your answer. “No of course not “ you out right admit.

He pulls open the doors. The entire floor of the walk in closet is covered in rose petals. You cover your mouth in disbelief. ”Austin this is too much” you say without thinking. He grabs your hand pulling you in. At the center sitting on top of the jewelry station is a large bouquet of crimson red roses as he pulls you closer to stand in front of them you see a red Cartier box resting on top. Your heart flutters wildly.

For a split second you think he’s going to propose but the box is bigger. He smirks watching you try to figure out what’s inside. He takes the box in his hands and presses the clasps to release the lid and unfold the panels.

It’s a pendant similar to his dainty chain with a diamond in the middle. Its so radiant the clarity sparkles flashing brilliantly in its case completely mesmerizing you. He sets the case down on the jewelry station and pulls the pendant out.

You turn to face one of several full length mirrors and finally reveal your surprise from him. You untie the robe and let it fall to the floor. Austin stares at you in the lingerie dumbstruck “Fuck baby…” he says low and husky staring at you as his mind wanders to fucking you until you’re screaming in satisfaction.

You pull your hair over one shoulder smiling at him to remind him of his task. He regains his focus and stands behind you unclasping the pendant and bringing it around to rest on in your chest before clasping it back shut.

He watches as you study yourself. You smell so good, you look incredible, and your body is covered in his gifts. His boxers are tenting with the massive erection he has for you.

Your breaths increase and your lips part admiring the reflection of how absolutely beautiful and stunning you look in the expensive lace lingerie and Cartier pendant. “Do you like it?” He asks as you lock eyes in the reflection.

You turn to embrace him kissing his lips, the real thing you want. He smiles against your lips knowing you like the gifts, until you kiss him so heavily he becomes aroused. He picks you up wrapping your legs around him and brings you to stand at the foot of the bed.

As expensive as the lingerie is he wants it off he wants to touch and see all of your skin. He slips his hands under you bra straps pulling them down reaching around you to unclasp it letting it fall to the floor.

He leans in and cups both breasts with his hands letting out a groan, they are so soft. He massages one and gently sucks onto the other flicking his tongue around the nipple inside of his mouth. He pulls his face back and laps at one nipple and then the other until a moan escapes your lips as you feel the wetness pool in your panties. He continues to lick and suck the buds one at a time until he drives you over the edge.

He looks up into your blown out pupils. You are panting in desperation to be filled with his cock, but not before he gets his present first. He lays you down and settles between your legs placing his hand across your stomach. He trails kisses down your navel to your panties.

He runs his hand up to your knee and back down your thigh between your legs. He hooks his thumbs into the delicate lace and slides your panties to your knees. “Look at this beautiful gift I get to unwrap“ he says mesmerized staring between your legs.

He pulls your panties all the way off and gazes in lust at your slick wet folds warm and ready for him. Once he settles back between your legs he places a kiss your inner thigh “Mine” he says peering up at you with a devious grin, you giggle at his possessiveness.

The sudden touch of his soft tongue between your folds ignites you. He eats you softly and delicately taking his time on you. It makes your heart beat so wildly you feel like it will burst. You look at his soft blonde locks and his angelic face. His are eyes closed as he devours you like his dessert.

You place your hand in his hair giving a gentle tug as you moan. You want him to know how much you enjoy the feel of his soft lips and tongue giving you so much satisfaction. He moans into you and your thighs tense from the pleasurable sensation. He does a few final licks and tilts his face up smiling at you. Your body is completely relaxed and ready for him.

He lifts you from the bed to standing and plants a kiss on your lips. As you stand in place he slips a black blind fold tucked in his waistband up to your face and ties it tightly to your eyes.

He waves his hand in front of your face checking if you can see. When you don’t react he grins.

He turns off all of the lights in the room before pulling open the black out curtains flooding the room with glowing moonlight. He strips out of his boxers.

He takes your hands leading you across the room then he stops pressing you forward against a glass window. It’s so cold you gasp as your nipples react becoming harder. He stands directly behind you holding tight to your waist line. His soft lips never leave your neck trailing kisses down.

His hands massage along your waist down to your hips. He slips one hand between your thighs grabbing a handful of your sex. You let out a breath as he squeezes a handful of your pussy and kisses the shell of your ear. The way he’s breathing and pressing his naked erection against you makes your clit swell lusting for him so badly.

He can’t hold back either feeling his cock pulse against you. He widens his stance and rubs his hard cock on your wet pussy. A jolt of pleasure shoots up your spine as you let out a soft moan. He places one hand gently around the front of your throat the other he has on the base of his cock holding it steady.

He gently pulls you back by your throat lining his cock to your entrance to make you empale yourself on him. Chills expand across your body as you feel his tip pierce through your entrance. He pushes his hard cock through your soft walls making you clench on him and gasp as he pulls you flush to his body.

Another pleasurable moan escapes your lips once he’s fully inside. He caresses your throat as he kisses your temple on the silk blind fold. He pulls his hips back sliding his cock all the way out to the tip.

His hands grip your neck tighter as he shoves himself fully inside rocking your body against the window. You begin to moan uncontrollably as he gyrates into you.

He thrusts you harder into the window your tits pressing against it each time. It makes you so aroused that he is manhandling you. He increases his speed grunting each time he pounds between your legs.

Your core is pulled tight as a spark of pleasure ignites inside. You cry out his name in a desperate moan. “Are you gonna cum?” He breaths against your ear” “Yes Austin I’m so close�� you admit as chills cover your entire body.

Once you clench around his cock his hand releases the blind fold from your eyes and you see the the Eiffel Tower glittering radiantly against the black night sky.

“Uuuhhh Austin !” is all you can cry out as you orgasm. Waves of euphoria crash into your body at your peak of pleasure and he holds you firmer as you come down in bliss.

He gently gathers a hand full of your hair and sensually tilts your head back exposing more of your neck. He kisses your most vulnerable spot as he charges to release inside of you. He presses his thighs against the backs of yours and works his his strongest thrusts into you. He’s so powerful you begin going listless ready to cum again.

He wraps his strong arm around your chest to hold you in place against him as you orgasm a second time. He’s grunting heavily in your ear driving you insane. You love that sound so much when he’s about to release in you.

His grunts turn into deep moans. You feel his cock thump wildly inside of you as he orgasms spilling his thick cum into you. It fills you with so much warmth you both moan in unison.

His thrusts slow to a stop and he just breaths in your ear as you both come down. He places his hands on your lower back and carefully pulls all the way out. He rests his head against yours and wraps you in his arms.

“Austin it’s so pretty” you say staring at the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower. “I was looking at you the entire time” he says with a loving smile. He tucks your hair behind your ear placing his face next to yours to share the view “Happy Anniversary baby, I love you” he says gently in your ear where he plants a kiss. “Happy Anniversary I love you too Austin” you say endearingly. A smile forms on your lips remembering the wine.“I haven’t even given you your gift yet” you say coyly. He looks down at his cock “I could go again” he says absentmindedly.

You giggle turning in his arms staring up at him “Austin I have a vintage bottle of Chateau Margaux for you” he smiles at you face blushing in embarrassment, sex with you is always on his mind. ”Thank you, I can’t wait to try it“ he says bashfully.

You play into his wishes. “I definitely want to give you another gift after we drink it though” You admit staring at him seductively. He smiles pulling you into a kiss. “Lets get drunk and do it all over again” he says excitedly. You smile and bite your lip you are absolutely drunk in love with him and would happily do it all over again with him indefinitely.

~*End *~

Master List

.🏷️

@elvismylove04 @faegoddessog @lindszeppelin @obsessedvibee @burnthheparaphilia @abswifey @austiebuttbutt @jessica987 @oh-my-front-door @slowsweetlove @purejasmine @hardcoredisneynerd

[vhstown]

hobie green

— hobie brown x gn!reader

summary: You never knew punks could be into gardening — or into you.

word count: 2.9k

warnings: mentions of underage drinking, brief mentions of politics, fluff, not very edited

a/n: based on a silly headcanon me and @qiuweyballs came up with. 99% identical to my tag team fic arrest me i love friends to lovers (just lovers in my drafts prommie)

There were a lot of things you didn't expect about your friend Hobie. The first thing was that he was Spider-Man (but you kind of figured after all those patch-up sessions at your place.) Second, was that he lived on a boat — not the most outrageous thing; somewhat non-conformist, somewhat Hobie-like — he wasn't the only boater in Camden. The third thing you didn't expect, however, was that this “hero”, non-conformist, punk, anarchist and whatever other label he'd projected, would have so many… plants.

“You're lookin’ at me funny.”

The “hero”, non-conformist, punk, anarchist and now plant dad in question sat with his feet propped up against one of the many windows of his canal boat, an unassuming eyebrow raised.

“…Nah, don't worry about it,” you muttered, shifting awkwardly on your feet as you tried not to knock anything over, taking in the overflowing greenery of the room.

There was pretty much every plant you could think of: regular household plants under the windows, a tomato stalk in the corner, small cacti in odd places — he even had a pretty well-maintained chilli plant, bathing more gloriously in a patch of sunlight than you ever could. The boat felt more like a disorganised plant shop than a home, if it weren't for the rowdy radical posters and punk collages peeking in-between. Maybe these plants were as much like your friend as all the anarchy-themed decoration he’d made himself — or Hobie had just stolen a boat with a lot of plants in it.

Squeezing past some more foliage, you sat beside Hobie on his tiny canvas couch. He gave you a glance of acknowledgement before reaching for his guitar, setting it between his kicked-up legs as you tried to get more comfortable. The red coating of the instrument had almost entirely peeled off, instead covered by loud stickers and scratchy writing. You weren’t sure what any of it really meant, or why his guitar wasn’t tuned in the first place (it never seemed to be when you two were hanging out) — but right now, you were wondering why he was being so quiet. The silence was nice, though, so you didn’t let yourself think of anything else to ask.

Swaying gently from time to time, the canal boat hummed with the splashing of water and faint strumming of Hobie’s guitar. These quiet, almost tranquil moments were unexpected for someone as spontaneous as Hobie, but they were also welcome, you decided. The world was falling apart, but it was nice to be away from that in the middle of a canal with your best friend — even with his many plants.

You felt a tug behind your back, realising Hobie was trying to get something. Mumbling a quick sorry, you moved to let him get the thing you were sitting on. It was a pink jumper — much too small to be his. After carefully draping it over the backrest, he cracked a smile at you.

“Gotta give that to Gwendy,” he told himself, nails tapping on the back of the guitar neck.

Gwendy (Gwen? Wendy?) was a friend he'd made recently, and you’d never seen a trace of her despite the fact that they supposedly lived together. That was until now; the sweater looked nice, soft, high-quality — nothing like anything you could afford here. Maybe she was well-off. How old even was she? Did Gwendy like plants too?

“Yeah? Is she your roommate?” you inquired, leaning forward to look at him. “Boatmate?”

“You sayin’ this isn’t a room?” Hobie set his guitar against the wall as if the conversation was suddenly more important.

“More like a garden.”

He tilted his head to the side at your response, finally meeting your eyes with his own glinting with amusement.

“You want a tour, then? Private — totally elitist.”

“Have you got more plants or something?”

He crossed his arms at you. “You’re actin’ like it’s a problem.”

It wasn’t a problem, per se, you just couldn’t imagine living with so many plants. Maybe it was his superhuman reflexes that kept him from slipping and smashing his face into a plant pot; you almost tripped on some dead roots earlier.

“Nah nah, it’s not. You got uh… free oxygen.” Clearly there wasn’t enough oxygen going to your brain at that moment if that's the only thing you could come up with. You held back a sigh; you’d never be as fast as Hobie. He just snickered.

“They privatise oxygen too?” Not his most clever quip, you thought.

“Maybe. Is that why you have so many plants? To breathe better?”

Hobie gave you a frown. If you didn't know better, you might've felt bad. “You don’t want the tour?”

“Go on,” you beckoned, dryly.

“Get up, then.”

“Can’t be bothered.” The sofa creaked as you leaned back on it, folding your arms as if you were going to sleep. If it was still quiet, maybe you could’ve actually fallen asleep to the gentle rocking motion of the boat.

“You come over to have a snooze?” he teased, leaning over until you pushed him away — one of his usual ways of driving you mad; you wouldn’t have it. “Want to be my boatmate too?”

“Wouldn’t mind.” The words came out by themselves, but you figured they might be true.

“Gwendy’s only here sometimes — you could.”

“I’d miss my place,” you objected, feeling slightly uncertain at the idea now. It was probably better if that weird feeling in your chest whenever you saw Hobie wasn’t a constant in your life anyway.

“Your place is only good for the pub down the road.” Maybe so — you two certainly weren’t good for the pub, though. All you did was shrug in response.

Hobie tapped his foot for a moment, appearing to muse about something. Before you knew it, he slid his hand between your back and the sofa and you were suddenly your feet in one swift motion.

“Hey—” The floor creaked as he started walking you out to the front of the boat, arm slung around your shoulder. You sighed reluctantly at him, but his grin just widened.

“You starting the tour from here?” Despite the cool wind now rushing past the two of you, your tone came out less energetic than you’d like.

Your heart dropped for a moment as Hobie let go of you, suddenly jumping up backwards onto the barriers. He crouched easily on the edge as you let out a small breath of relief. Even if there was no chance he’d fall into the water, you’d never get used to that.

“Nah, no tour,” he replied, hands on his knees as he looked down at you with squinted eyes. “I ain't no elitist.”

The lingering fear in your chest from Hobie’s stunt died down, and the way the late-day sun was hitting his face replaced it with that weird swishing sensation you could never get used to.

Honey-gold sunlight reflected off of his skin, his face shimmering where there were angles and glowing softly where there weren’t. His eyes glistened like copper, your own face in the reflection like the rich people on coins as you searched for any trace of amusement in his expression. You couldn’t find anything; he was just looking at you. The swishing became more like a crashing tide, your chest growing tighter. Maybe you should’ve feigned interest in the plants when you could.

“…Okay,” you managed, after realising that you’d been staring for a while. Tearing your eyes away from the tall, glistening silhouette of your best friend who was sitting like the figurehead of a sailing ship, you looked back into the boat house before another little plant caught your attention. It was the only plant sitting outside — a young rosemary with a paper tag attached to it.

You squatted down to look at it, figuring that Hobie had nothing to say right now. Taking the tag in your hands, you read “Helen”, written in lovely cursive writing.

“Helen… you name your plants?” It was too nice to be Hobie’s handwriting, but you decided to joke a bit anyway.

“Yeah,” he answered, deadpan, and you tried not to let him catch your eyeroll. “Some lady comin’ through Regent’s gave it to me.”

“People give you plants?”

“All the time, actually.”

Huh… It made enough sense. You did see your fair share of plants in other boats; maybe people wanted to give Spider-Man a thanks or something, or just get rid of some plants they get lying around. You recalled aloe plant you saw earlier, having almost slipped on the pile of dead roots beside it — interesting to gift a rotting plant. It looked like it needed a lot of care; you wondered who could get an aloe to that point.

Deciding to sit by the much nicer rosemary plant with your back against the doors, you caught the faint aroma of the leaves. If Hobie already had vegetable plants, he’d probably make good use out of this one once it got a little more mature. Maybe as a seasoning, or make it into an oil somehow, or just leave it as decoration. There was a lot you could do, you realised, and having plants was starting to look just a little cool. Everything Hobie did was cool — as much as you didn’t like to admit it.

“…What’s up with you?”

Hobie’s voice caught you off guard. You looked back to see that the figurehead was now sitting opposite you on the floor of the little outdoor cockpit, hands loose between his bent knees.

“What do you mean?” He couldn’t just tell like that, could he? Nothing was different… until recently. Until you realised you had that feeling.

“You're quiet,” he stated, though his tone wasn't all that serious. “Y’don’t come over, or come see old Hobie.”

“Old Hobie,” you repeated, half of a laugh coming out of your mouth. “Like Old Tom?”

Tom was the bar owner of the pub you frequented — if your antics could be considered “frequenting”. The two of you were probably the reason why he was “Old” Tom.

“Need to see that geezer,” Hobie mused, leaning back against the wood with a creak.

“A lot of people you’ve gotta see.” It came out far too sardonic, and you held your breath like you’d just placed a bet.

Hobie stuck his bottom lip out, lip ring catching the light. “Like you.”

The sun had faded by now, but that feeling hadn’t, you realised.

“I'm right here,” you replied.

“I brought you.”

“It’s not like I knew which out of the hundred boats was yours. Half of them’ve got plants anyway.”

“You do now.”

“I guess.”

Stretching a little, you shifted to sit more like Hobie, leg brushing against the rosemary leaves for a moment. Hobie cracked his knuckles in the meantime, and you realised you hadn’t really seen him in a while. It wasn’t all your fault, he just kept disappearing. Maybe you should stop waiting for him to come to you all the time.

“I’ll see you again before you have to go to the care home, Old Hobie,” you muttered, getting a snicker out of him.

“They’ll never get me in one of those.”

“You don’t wanna be an elder punk?”

“Not in them institutions — I’ll bail you out as well.”

You never imagined the thought of growing old with someone would go in this direction. Well, it was Hobie.

“I appreciate it, Old Hobie” you replied, though not too enthusiastically. Hobie smirked.

“Come pub with me, then. Don’t need ID if I’m retired.” Despite your best efforts, you smiled just a little.

It wasn’t like you gave Tom ID anyway, but you found it amusing regardless. Maybe it was the idea of being like those old people at the pub: loud, obnoxious, opiniated… Nothing much would change, actually.

“Don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“How come?” Hobie leaning forward on his knees, as if to taunt you. “Scared you’ll get pissed like last time?”

“I did not get pissed!” you retorted, face aching with an incriminating smile. Your stomach churned with the memory of that night — or lack thereof.

“Had to actually peel you off me. My Spider Powers didn’t even help.”

You groaned and laughed at the same time, trying to ease the embarrassment by putting a hand on the plant pot; it was cool, and you felt a chip near the rim.

“Don’t lie.”

“Never did.”

“Fine, yeah.” It sounded like a bit like an admission to a crime; maybe getting that drunk was a crime. “Don’t wanna get pissed like last time.”

Hobie’s smirk faded a bit, before he let out a sigh — those were rare for him, you thought.

“Seriously though, we gotta go again sometime — it’s on you, yeah?”

You frowned at that, but it got no reaction out of him. “You’re the worst.”

“Like I don’t know.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” You weren’t exactly sure what you meant by that, but Hobie didn’t seem to question it.

Maybe he did actually know what was going on with you, even if you never tried to make a move. It was possible — the observant prick. A prick with a green thumb and looked like he’d been kissed by the sun itself and that you couldn't get out of your head.

If he did know, you wished he'd say something, at least.

Your hand lingered on the pot, and the paper tag found its way into your hands again.

“Helen,” you stated, glimpsing at the nice handwriting.

“You gonna call it that now?”

“Got a better name?”

“Yours,” he replied, too easily.

You weren’t sure what a rosemary plant was like, but it sounded enough like a compliment. Did rosemary have a meaning? Hobie wasn’t thinking that deep, of course. Not about things like labels, no matter how many you had for him.

“Am I like a rosemary?”

“Dunno. If you were a plant, I’d keep you though.”

That made you laugh, albeit awkwardly.

“…What are you on about?” you muttered, shaking your head. “Random… You keep like, any plant anyway.”

“I keep the ones I like.”

“Your boat's a greenhouse. Maybe you just like every plant.”

“Maybe I just like you.”

A jolt of pain ran in your mouth, eyes almost squeezing shut — you’d bit your tongue. Hobie was silent, so you couldn’t be.

“Maybe,” you murmured through gritted teeth.

“Maybe,” he repeated, with his usual unbothered amusement that drove your feelings back into hiding. Hobie Brown — “hero”, non-conformist, punk, anarchist — your best friend.

You’d get over it, you told yourself — not for the first time.

Now with a weird attachment to the plant, you tried to seem interested in the tag again — you could say it’d… grown on you. Would he make a joke like that? You wanted to crumple the tag. It looked too nice to do that, so you turned it around to look at the back instead.

“ROSEMARY — remembrance, friendship, love.”

A dry laugh escaped your mouth; even this plant was mocking you. Maybe it felt sorry.

“What’s got you laughin’?” You almost forgot about Hobie; that would’ve been nice. No, you’d get over it soon.

“You better name this plant after me,” you joked, more so to yourself, and in a very much self-pitying way even though he wouldn’t get it. As Hobie’s gaze trailed to the tag, that feeling in your chest threatened you, so you ripped it off before he could see it.

Thwip! Mistake. In a second, the tag was in Hobie’s hand. His face was unreadable as he looked at the back, no longer gold with sunlight.

“Yeah,” he mused, folding over the edge with his nail as his eyes met yours. You tried not to bite your tongue again.

“Yeah…?” You couldn't even give him an awkward laugh.

He held up the tag to show you the folded bit. There was a single word, the rest cut off — “love.”

“Your name fits pretty well.”

Your mouth was so dry, not even a cactus could live in it.

“I’d rather you not be a plant, by the way,” he continued, despite how lost you must’ve looked. “Be yourself, at the pub, tomorrow — opening time. Dress how you want.”

No words were coming out of your mouth. Hobie didn’t need you to say anything, though.

“It’s on me.”

You couldn't leave him hanging. You also couldn’t shy away forever, not when it was right in front of your face. Not when he'd just asked you out.

”…Like a date?”

“Better than a date.”

A smile formed on your lips. After that feeling had been buried under the soil for so long, it was starting to blossom, like the little blue flowers on a rosemary bush.

“Okay,” you replied, winning something that was neither a grin nor a smirk from him — a smile, warm like sunlight, and just like yours.

“Okay.” Hobie chucked the tag back to you, the edge still folded over as you took it in your hand.

“ROSEMARY — remembrance, friendship,”

“love.”

“I’ll let you keep it, if you want.”

Your smile turned into a grin as you brushed your fingertips over the leaves. “I’ll think about it.”

Spice, oil, decoration — this plant had one more use: getting you a date.

Maybe you liked plants more than you originally thought.

🕸️🔭🎸

thank you for reading !! honestly the friends to lovers thing was so not planned i just wrote this for fun (intended to be a drabble / imagine but it turned into this) less friends more lovers in the future hopefully?

thank you again to my friend chewy ^^ tom is actually his chr + the aloe plant detail

reblogs & feedback are super appreciated <3 catch the rest of my atsv stuff here!

[aka-indulgence]

"So. A Human?"

So i have in my head a slice of life au with Ramattra where he's not Null Sector leader and he just lives in the city in an apartment with Zenyatta, and you meet Ram at the gym... this is set after the meeting and you go to his apartment for the first time and are surprised to find your yoga teacher (Zen) there

And Zen finds out Ram has a human FRIEND??? And he's kinda mad he didn't tell him????? sjdfsd

I want to know these two so bad ToT

Through unforseen circumstances on Ramattra’s part, Zenyatta discovers that his omnic brother has set his eyes on a human. And he. Is. Furious.

(Ramattra x F!Reader) + platonic Zenyatta

(Ao3)

----

“Forty… forty one… Oh!”

You stopped in front of the door labeled 42. There was a plotted plant in the front like the picture Ram had sent you. You hesitated for a moment, shaking your hands. This’ll be the first time you visited Ram in his own home, and you’re blushing at the thought of being with him in a more cozy, private place. Of course he told you he had a roommate which made you a little extra nervous, but he’d assured you that you’d get along swimmingly.

You don’t think he saw your message that you’d arrive, but you didn’t want to spend all your time waiting out in the hallway, so you bit your lip and pressed on the doorbell.

“Coming!” A… strangely familiar voice called from inside. You heard the sound of metallic footsteps approach the door, and…

“Hello, what is it that you’re… oh?”

“... Zenyatta?”

Standing in the doorway was none other than your yoga teacher, the omnic that taught your class on Saturday.

“What a… surprised to see you here, (Y/n.) What’s brought you here?” He greets you warmly though with no less confusion than you’re feeling right now.

“Uh, sorry, I just want to check real quick…” you opened your phone again to see the picture, that you definitely didn’t hallucinate the number and potted plant in the picture. “I was looking for… this door,”

“That does look like my door,” Zenyatta commented upon seeing your picture. “How puzzling… who are you here to meet?”

“Um… yeah… does Ramattra live here?”

There was a pause from Zenyatta upon hearing the name, fixing his look at you. If he had human eyes, you feel like he’d be blinking at you right now.

“You are… looking for Ramattra?”

“Yeah! Um… does he live here, do you know him?”

Another pause.

“Of course. He’s my roommate.”

“You… you’re roommates with Ram?”

“........ Yes, I am roommates with… ‘Ram’…” Zen says slowly, before he breaks out of whatever trance he was in. “Come in, come in. Ramattra just went out to the supermarket, he said he won’t be long. Make yourself comfortable,”

You walk in through a little corridor with Zen closing the door gently behind you, following you into their decently sized apartment living room. It was decorated quaintly, with what looked like a perfect blend of both Ramattra’s and Zenyatta’s style, with tapestries and posters on the wall, a warm colored rug on top of the wooden flooring. A well loved sofa sits in the middle, facing the TV. The kitchen was immaculate and still shining, despite the assortment of stuff on top of the counter which had nothing to do with the kitchen.

“I apologize for the state of the apartment. He did mention he was having someone over today, but he failed to mention who exactly.”

“Oh no, it’s fine! I really like the aesthetic of this place, I feel at home already.” You tell him genuinely.

“So… how did you meet my brother?”

Oh? “Ramattra’s your brother?”

“Oh, not exactly in the way you’re thinking. We are brothers by title. We have no blood to speak of… we just have a close bond with one another, something you’d call ‘brotherly.’”

“Oooh, ok,” you nodded. “I go to the gym a couple times a week, the same gym you like to have your classes in. I’ve seen Ram around, and one day I guess I was doing my deadlifts wrong, because he came over. … I’ll be honest, when he came over I thought I was in trouble, he looks kind of scary when he’s approaching you,”

“I understand. Even other omnics are intimidated by Ramattra,”

“Yeah, enough that I’ve had people tell me to keep away from him, haha. But then he came over to me and asked if he could spot for me, and then we just exchanged numbers,”

Zenyatta puts a hand on his chin inquisitively. “How… curious,”

The sound of the door handle jingling brought both of your attention towards it. Ramattra enters, wearing a coat and scarf combo that made him look very smart. You smile instantly seeing him- it was hard not to everytime you saw him.

“Oh, you’re here. Sorry, I bought some food for you,” he explains, raising a box of sushi at you.

“Aww, thanks Ram!”

You turn, only to find Zenyatta staring down his brother. You’re not sure how you know, it’s not as if the omnic had any identifying facial expressions or visible eyes to get clues from, but the way he was looking at Ramattra felt… intense. When you looked back at Ram, he seemed to be sweating from his gaze.

“How… nice of you to do that for your human friend, Ramattra. Let me help you,”

Zenyatta stands up, bounding over to Ramattra, taking the box, and gently placing it on the coffee table in front of you. Ramattra stands there frozen, until Zen presses his hands together with a huff.

“Is it alright if I borrow Ramattra for a while human? I just remembered something I have to discuss with him.”

“Zen-”

“Oh uh, yeah! That’s no problem with me!”

“Thank you. Please feel free to eat while we speak.”

“Brother-”

Zenyatta cuts him off with a firm grab on his wrist. You’ve never seen Ram so… nervous all of a sudden, and you’ve never seen Zen look so… determined?

“Room, now.” He orders, and without waiting for an answer, he drags Ram into the room with a tapestry on the door.

… Were you in trouble? Was Ramattra in trouble?

You looked at the sushi in front of you.

… Aw. He remembered I like salmon,

*****

Zenyatta could not believe his brother, hiding something as exciting as a human ‘friend’.

“Why did you not tell me,” Zenyatta rounds on him as soon as the door closes, providing privacy for the omnics.

Ramattra sighs, sounding unlike a chided human teenager. “I don’t know what there is to tell-”

“You have. A human. Friend.”

“You don’t approve of me having a human friend?” Ramattra teases.

“You know that will never be a problem and I’ve always hoped for you to form a friendly bond with a human.” Zenyatta presses. He won’t let Ramattra get out of this one.

“You sound upset, though.”

“I am upset you’ve never told me about this,” Zen looks down, fingers pinching… somewhere on his forehead. “Why would you think this was something you did not need to tell me? I am excited! Did you not think how surprised I would be, to have a human knock on our door? And not only that she asked for you, she said that you invited her.”

“I… I did not want to cause a fuss. I was afraid you’d hound me for details,”

“Your efforts seems have been for naught brother, if you’ve decided to invite her over. You were only delaying the inevitable,”

Ramattra grumbles, knowing he’s right.

“How long have you known her?”

Thankfully, it seems Ramattra has given up trying to resist. “I met her about a month or so ago. I… I saw her looking at me. She’d always panicked when our eyes met, and I thought it was… endearing. I found a reason to speak to her when i saw her lifting improperly, and here we are.”

Zenyatta looks towards the doorway, as if he could see you. He opens the door a crack to take a peek.

You were happily eating the sushi in the living room. This might’ve been the first time anyone’s eaten anything in the house. Human food, at least.

“Did you know she’s a student in my yoga class? She must’ve had her gym days on different days, because I’m sure I would’ve seen her…”

“Yes… that was deliberate. I asked to meet her again, and I didn’t want you to see, so I had us meet on other days-”

“You’re regularly meeting her at the gym?!” Zenyatta almost screams, holding Ramattra by his hoodie. “Had I known you could enjoy the company of a human, I would’ve introduced her sooner. She’s a lovely human. She likes to stay back after class and talk with me about life.”

“She is lovely,” Ramattra concurs. “Look, I… I hid it because I’m not sure how this… happened. It’s frustrating. I vowed never to get too close to a human but… she was… I saw her in the gym and she was… cute. She was shy around me. I didn’t think a human could find the infamous ‘ravager’ attractive. She apologized to me for staring. I… liked her staring. I’m… I’m confused brother. I don’t know how she makes it so… easy to like her. I wish I understood what was happening to me…”

Oh, his poor, dear brother… he seemed so lost. It’s at times like this that Zenyatta is reminded that Ramattra is a couple years younger than him. It’s a little funny when a grown omnic like himself could be so troubled by… romance.

… Was his brother in love with a human?

“... You love her,”

Ramattra flinches, and if he were human, he’d be sweating.

“It’s! I wouldn’t… I don’t… I don’t know yet, ok?”

“This is wonderful,” Zenyatta gasped, “brother… are you opening up to humans? Are you seeing the light they possess, like I do?”

Ramattra scoffs.

“Don’t get your hopes too high, brother. This one’s special. I’ve never met a human as respectful, as kind, as sweet as her. She’s the exception, not the rule.”

“A journey of a thousand steps starts with one…”

“I appreciate your sayings brother, but you are expecting too much of me,” Ramattra puts his hand on his shoulder and gets to the door. “I need to get back to her, I can’t leave her alone,”

Zenyatta chortles.

“Of course brother, you’re unsure you’re in love…”

Ramattra makes a sound of embarrassment that Zenyatta doesn’t hear too often these days.

“Ahem,” Ramattra coughs, “I’m being honest when I tell you I don’t know yet… but I will admit that I like her quite a lot and, I’d like her to like me back. I want to make a good impression on her, so… please don’t mention too much about me.”

“About what?”

Ramattra dillydallies, like he’s biting his tongue, but through what would’ve been gritted teeth, he says “... About not liking humans or just… embarassing things. Please,”

… You must be really important to him. Zenyatta has to swallow his excitement as to not mortify his brother any further.

“... Alright. For you brother, I hope nothing but the best of you and your human,”

Ramattra is still for a moment. Then he mumbles.

“... My human…”

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Ramattra responds lightning fast, opening the door, clearly done with the conversation.

Zenyatta’s rage, having been quickly quelled, feels rewarded that as soon as they exit his room, Ramattra made a beeline for the sofa and sat next to you.

“Are you guys ok?” You ask, bouncing a little when Ramattra sits next to you. Ramattra looked oversized for you, making you sink towards him from the dip he made on the cushions.

If he could, Zenyatta would be smiling slyly.

“We’re fine. I hope you feel welcome in our home, I apologize for our rude departure. Would you like some tea?”

Zenyatta knew he liked you when you brightened up and nodded.

“Alright. I’ll be down to the convenient store,”

“Oh… are you sure? You don’t have to go buy some more,”

“Nonsense. Besides, we don’t really get to use our kitchen appliances here, I’m so excited. I’ll only be away for a minute, so I hope… you and Ramattra… enjoy yourselves,”

Zenyatta takes joy in your puzzled look while Ramattra looks like he’s barely restraining himself from attacking him.

He didn’t wait for a word of protest from his brother, and simply left the apartment.

…

Ramattra turned to you, your sushi unfinished.

“... Do you want to watch something?”

[808airsoftbros]

Fitness Trainer (Kim Seolhyun) (S) (BXG)

Author: This one was inspired from a Kdrama web series I recently watched so here it is... Also if you want to check out more of my stories take a peak at the Masterlist :)

Y/N’s POV

Hearing the news that a new gym has just opened in my town a couple blocks away from my house, I’ve already read positive reviews of the place as the staff and trainers are knowledgable of the equipment and proper diet and exercise along with all sorts of cool workout gadgets.

Not only that they also sell pre-workouts, protein shakes, and drinks, and of course the memberships required to enter the gym.

Honestly, the membership wasn’t too bad being the price of $25 per month and I decided why the hell not?

Changing into my workout attire, I grab my duffle bag holding all of my shower needs and a change of clothes.

I get into my car, start the engine, and exit the garage, the drive to the gym was about five minutes as it was close to my house.

Making my way into the gym, I was awestruck by the decor and how nice this place looked.

Walking up to the receptionist, he greets me and asked if I had a gym membership or not.

“Uhm, this is my first time here,” I answered.

“That’s perfect because we offer a ten percent discount to newcomers for the first three months and even a trainer,” The receptionists offered.

“Sweet, it’s a deal,” I accepted and he nodded.

Completing the transaction and getting the sweet deal, he gives me an access card that lets me through the doors and instructs me to wait in room 02 for the trainer.

Sliding the card on the electronic locking mechanism, it automatically unlocks the door and when I walked through the doors, I was again amazed by the amount of people working out and the top-of-the-line gym equipment.

Looking around for the private room, I saw a sign with the label “Room 02″ and the bottom text saying “Kim Seolhyun”. Guess she must be the trainer I’ll be working with so I politely knocked on the door.

“Coming~!” I hear a female voice shout.

Hearing footsteps approaching the door opens revealing a stunning woman dressed in a sports bra nearly exposing her beautiful breasts and yoga pants showing off her thighs and her thick ass.

“Holy fucking shit...” I said in my thoughts as I couldn’t believe my luck.

“Hello there, you must be Y/N, right?” She asked and I nervously nodded.

“Y-Yep, that’s me,” I answered and she smiled.

“Excellent! Please do come in!” She said and stepped aside.

Walking into her room, it was quite cozy and nice with two yoga mats set up on the floor along with a rack of weights and gym equipment.

“Please sit on the yoga mat, we will first begin with some yoga exercises,” She instructed and I did what she said.

Joining me on the mattress, she instructs me on certain poses and stretches which I find uncomfortable at first but I got used to it the longer I keep a certain position.

However, I can’t help but blush the fact at how close we are, her large mounds were literally smashed into my back.

Kinda makes me wonder if she was doing this on purpose...

Anyway, after the warm-up yoga exercises were over, we moved on to weight lifting and since I’m new, she starts me with 5-10 pound weights.

“Wah, for your first time, you’re doing quite well~,” She complimented and I chuckled.

“T-Thank you, Noona,” I nervously thanked her and she giggled.

Continuing lifting the weight bar, I squat down and up at a steady pace until she stopped me.

“Hold on! Your stance and position are wrong!” She called out and corrected me.

Once again, she takes my hand and legs, spreads them in the correct position, and tells me to continue my set.

“Okay, you’ve had enough for today, Y/N, great work today! Just make sure to follow the diet I’ve given you and you will be a pro in no time!” She explained and I nodded.

“Right, thank you again, Noona!” I thanked her.

“Anytime! I’ll see you again tomorrow!” She waved goodbye as I left the room.

Seolhyun’s POV

Damn, he is so cute... I don’t know what’s gotten into me but interacting and working with that boy made me feel butterflies in my stomach.

It’s strange to have such feelings after breaking up with my ex-boyfriend not too long ago.

However, I can tell that he took some glances at my boobs and my ass which I didn’t mind as I was used to men eye-fucking me whenever I’m jogging or in the gym.

But Y/N is different from those creeps that I train, he’s respectful, polite, and kind, and he’s a young boy so he has much growing up to do before he becomes a man.

And I’ll be more than happy to help...

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

A Few Weeks Later...

Y/N’s POV

It’s nearly been a month since I started being apprenticed to Kim Seolhyun and so far, she was the best fitness trainer I’ve been under.

Already, I can start seeing the progress as I’m starting to lose some pounds and my stomach was more toned.

I started eating less junk food and eating more vegetables and healthy foods like Seolhyun instructed.

Coming to another day of workout at the gym, I proceed into the room as per routine and was greeted by Seolhyun.

“Hello, Y/N, are you ready for your training?” She asked.

“More than ever!” I answered and she smiled.

“Good stuff! That’s what we like to hear! Now let’s get to our warm-up!” She commenced.

Getting onto the yoga mat as usual, she caught me by surprise when she said we were going to stretch together as she’s never done her daily stretching yet.

“Now can you hold my back for me, please?” She asked and I nodded.

Holding her back and hand as instructed as Seolhyun did her thing, it was embarrassing as my crotch was literally touching her ass.

Focus Y/N! Focus! DO NOT HAVE A BONER!!! NOT NOW!!!

I screamed to myself to not do it as it would make this situation very awkward and I’ll never see myself or Seolhyun the same ever again.

“Are you okay back there, Y/N? Your face is so red,” She concerningly asked and I shook my head.

“Huh? I’m fine, what about you?” I politely asked and she raised an eyebrow.

Right... I forgot to mention, as time went on, Seolhyun started to get ALOT more touchy with me.

I never questioned why she was touching places she wasn’t supposed to but who am I to stop her?

“Okay, that’s enough, now let’s get to the main set,” She said and we started our set.

After a few hours of weight training, running, and cardiac exercises, we were just about finished working out for today.

“Alright, that’ll be it for today, another job well done, Y/N,” She complimented as she drank water.

“Yeah, thanks,” I replied.

Grabbing our duffle backs, we get out of the room to see the gym was vacant and not a sight of a janitor or a clerk.

“Where is everyone?” I wondered and I take out my phone to check the time.

“Oh my God... The gym closed like an hour ago...” Seolhyun mentioned as she looked at her watch.

“Damn, must’ve lost track of time,” I said and she chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you work so hard, but let’s shower and get out of here,” She said and I nodded.

Walking to the men’s shower room, I was shocked to see Seolhyun following me as the Women’s shower room was down the corridor.

“What? Nobody else is here? Plus it’s closer,” She pointed out and I sighed.

With my mind racing, I step into the shower room, I placed the duffle bag onto the bench, and Seolhyun places her on the opposite side.

I take out all of my showering gear consisting of soap, a towel, and my change of clothes before taking off my shirt.

“Not half bad body, being that you’ve been working out for the past few weeks,” Seolhyun complimented and I blushed.

“Hehe~. I don’t mind you peaking at me, I trust you enough,” She assured.

“Aish, can you stop this nonsense please?” I begged and she giggled.

Taking off the rest of my clothes, I take a deep breath before going under the shower head and turning the knob to hot water.

To my surprise, Seolhyun joins me as well and of course, she was butt-ass naked which didn’t help my situation.

“Uhm, Noona, there are other shower heads you know,” I pointed out and she playfully rolled my eyes.

“What? Are you afraid of a naked woman?” She asked.

“N-No, it’s just, a man and a woman shouldn’t shower together unless they are a couple,” I replied and she grinned.

“H-Hey, don’t you get any ideas!” I stuttered and she slowly approaches me.

“Or else what? What are you going to do?” She asked and I gulped.

Staring deep into my eyes, I can’t help but stare into her eyes and she’s telling me that she wasn’t fucking around... She actually wants to fuck.

“Maybe it’s a good time, to be honest with myself, Y/N, I’ve had feelings for you ever since we first met, I don’t know if I’m just crazily in love with you but I don’t care... Because now all I want to is you,” She said before whispering the last part into my ear sending shivers down my spine.

“I’ve seen you stare at my ass... I’ve seen you glancing at my breasts and I know you love the feeling of them pressing on your back~,” She flirted as she wraps her hand around my cock.

“T-This is too fast, Noona, I-I don’t-” I was about to say but she tightens her grip on my cock making me squeal.

“Did I say you can talk~?” She asked and I shook my head.

“Now, what do you want your Noona to do?” She asked as she gets on her knees and slowly gave me a handjob.

“B-Blowjob...?” I nervously asked and she smirked.

“Hehe. Anything for you cutie~,” She replied before licking the shaft making me loudly moan and kissing the tip.

Engulfing my length into her mouth, it was clear that she was experienced as it felt really good and warm. She kept bobbing her head up and down and letting out a loud bop.

“Did you like it, baby, ~?” She asked.

“Y-Yes, Noona, it was really good,” I answered and she smiled.

“Good, now it’s time to show you some moves~,” She said and was about to place my dick in between her mounds.

*phone ringing*

“Ughhh... Sorry honey but will have to continue this another time, I have an errand but remember, I want an answer by then, understand?” She asked and I nodded.

“Good, but let me finish you off, real fast,” She replied and sucked me off until I came into her mouth.

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

The Next Day...

Y/N’s POV

After that strange interaction with my fitness trainer Seolhyun yesterday, I was left pondering as I don’t know how to feel about her.

Sure she was beautiful and all but this is all too sudden and quick for me as she’d be my first love.

I’m not sure if oral counts as taking my virginity or not but I felt like it was taken either way.

Anyway, I prepared myself for another training exercise, drove to the gym, and enter the room but I was surprised to see a different trainer.

“Hello, you must be Y/N, right?” The trainer asked and I nodded.

“Y-Yes, but where is Seolhyun?” I asked.

“Oh, well, Seolhyun is running a bit late so I’ll warm you up in the meantime, also my name is Kim Sohee and help you train until she gets here, so let’s start with some stretches, shall we?” She said and I get on the mat.

Glancing at her body, her breasts and ass were thicker than Seolhyun’s but I can’t help but feel as if she was trying to flirt with me.

“Wah, you’re so flexible and strong, Seolhyun trained you well, huh?” She complimented and I nervously chuckled.

“T-Thank you,” I thanked her and she giggled.

“No need to thank me, cutie, now let’s move on to our set,” She replied.

As we start weightlifting I can’t help but feel as if I was being watched by someone.

Seolhyun’s POV

Crap! Crap! I cannot believe this! My fucking ex-boyfriend shows up at my door begging for forgiveness for sleeping with another woman.

Of course, I shut him out and tell him to beat it and that I never want to see him ever again but he refused to leave.

Thankfully, I finally managed to make him fuck off, and now I’m going to be late because of him but I had a colleague of mine train him in the meantime.

I rushed to the gym as fast as I could hoping that Y/N will forgive me for being late. Parking at the lot, I ran into the gym, slide my card. and made my way into the gym and to my private training room.

I saw Y/N there with another trainer of mine but strangely, Jungkook wasn’t there instead it was Sohee.

Y/N never noticed my presence yet but Sohee did and she smirked at me as she gets behind him pressing her breasts on her back.

Obviously, I was infuriated as this was the same bitch who stole my previous boyfriend and I know she’s a playgirl and just wanted Y/N for herself only to dump him.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I’ll take it from here, Sohee,” I said.

“There’s no need for that, Seolhyun, I got this so why don’t you take a day off?” She offered and I gave her a fake smile.

“Thank you for the offer but I’ll have to decline it, besides, I know Y/N’s needs and everything he needs to do for today,” I replied and she frowned.

“Well, what do you think, Y/N? Do you want me? Or Seolhyun?” Sohee whispered into his ear making me clench my fists.

“U-Uhm...” He stuttered as he was unsure what to do in this situation making me feel sad. Did confessing my feelings not mean anything to him?

“Sorry, Sohee, but imma stick with Seolhyun, but thank you for your help,” Y/N answered making me sigh in relief.

“Aww~. Are you sure~?” She seductively asked and I’ve just about had it.

Pulling her by ear, she yelped in pain as I dragged her out of my room, opened the door, and threw her out before shutting the door.

Y/N’s POV

Seeing her harshly dragging Sohee-Noona out of the room made me realize just how scary she can be. She turned around to face me and gave me a deadly glare.

“Now, baby boy, about what I asked for yesterday...” She paused.

“W-What about it?” I nervously asked.

“You know... Do you share the same feelings as I do? Do you love me?” She asked and I gulped.

Pushing me down onto the mattress with her hands straddling my hand whilst giving me a lustful look and dived into my neck before biting it leaving a mark and drawing out some blood.

“W-What was that for?” I asked.

“For making your mommy jealous and to show everyone who you belong to, now it’s time I take your virginity and for you to grow up~,” She answered sending shivers down my spine.

Not wasting any time, she strips down her clothes as I did the same, she places her lips onto mine and made out until we ran out of breath.

“You’re such a good kisser being a virgin, baby, but now it’s time for the main event,” She said before inserting my cock into her pussy making her loudly moan.

“W-What if they hear us?” I concerningly asked.

“Don’t worry about them, baby, this room is soundproof. Now stop asking questions because not only I’m going to fuck your brains out but I’m also going to drain your balls,” She answered and I gulped.

When Seolhyun begins riding the daylights out of me, I never knew how tight she was and it kinda hurt but it felt so good.

“Oh my God, baby, your dick is so good~!” She yelled as she continued moaning.

Seeing her tits bounce up and down as she rode me turned me on even more and we switch position to doggy style and re-insert back into her before ramming into her.

Yes, darling, right there~!” She moaned as I hit her G-spot.

Arching back, I play with her tits adding more pleasure and latched her lips as I pounded her.

“Ah, I’m so close, baby~,” She warned.

“So am I,” I replied.

“Then let’s cum together~,” She said and we did just that.

Collapsing onto the floor together, my dick was still inside of her but she didn’t care as she hugged me tightly as she pressed my head into her mounds.

“You did so well, baby~,” She complimented.

“T-Thank you, Noona, you were amazing~,” I replied and she giggled as she caressed my head.

“I love you, baby~,” She said.

“I love you too, Noona~,” I replied.

From that point on, we kept having sex in her gym room and at our houses or whenever we can as I get addicted to her. I’ve never met such an incredible and caring woman in all my life and I’m forever happy to be with her as she felt the same way.

[curlysfist]

02. Bass Fugato

Pre-Chorus

Synopsis: While he struggles to adjust, your fingers wrap around his mouth, and let him choke until he manages to gulp it down. In other words, he's finally home. (tw too lazy to think of them, this is a darkfic blog theres gonna be dark fics, MINORS DNI.)

Word count: 1.3k

Chapter Navigation: [1] [2] [3] [4]

Notes: I love you curly grant.

The move was smooth, though you made it a point to donate all of his old furniture. Your home was sufficient enough. You’d even prepared a dedicated wardrobe for him, containing a meticulous replica of his style. 

The moving boxes were simply to humour his sentimentality. 

Curly never said a word when he saw his things reduced to neatly labeled boxes stacked in the corner of your living room. His eyes had lingered on them for a moment, his lips parting like he wanted to protest, but he didn’t. He just sat on the edge of your pristine white couch, shoulders hunched and hands clasped tightly between his knees, staring at the floor like it might offer some kind of escape.

You didn’t press him. Not at first.

Instead, you watched as he adjusted to the rhythm of your life—the way he moved through your space like a guest overstaying his welcome. He never quite settled, never left anything out of place, as if afraid of disrupting the careful balance you’d constructed long before he got here.

The wardrobe you had set aside for him remained half-empty for weeks. His clothes, though neatly hung, seemed to take up less space than you expected. You wondered if it was intentional—if he was leaving room for an exit.

"You can unpack, you know," you said one night, standing in the doorway of his private bedroom, watching him change out of his shirt with slow, deliberate movements. "You're not leaving."

Curly didn’t look at you, just swallowed and nodded, but you knew he wouldn't.

You weren’t sure if it frustrated or amused you more.

The days passed in a quiet, uneasy truce. Even when beds are shared and bodies spread bare, the morning remained the same. The simple and swift cleaning and redressing like the encounter was no more than two strangers sharing a night.

However, he took over small tasks without being asked—brewing your morning coffee just the way you liked, watering the plants you always forgot about, fixing the squeaky hinge on the bathroom door. Little things that said more than the words he struggled to find.

You knew to give him space. You weren’t entirely heartless. Matters of the mind you knew well enough. Fixing and adjusting people was the source of your wealth. Psychiatry. A room near the front of your home is reserved for visiting patients. 

Though your practices were rarely kept within those four walls. Ethics are flexible. And so, one night you intruded on the haven you let himself maintain as his private territory—so much so that you had no idea he’d taken the time to decorate it with the trinkets he had in his flat. 

He was reading quietly. Domestic. Though in your presence, he glanced up, then smiled sheepishly. You were an unexpected component to his night. “Yes?”

“Just missed you.” You murmured. 

“Thought you were busy with work, still?” 

You didn’t respond right away, crossing to the bed. He hesitates. 

“May I?”

“Oh. yeah, of course.” He shifts his hips to move to the side, giving you space to settle into the mattress. 

“...The boxes.” You glance at the corner, where pieces of decor and personal items remained, peeking through the cardboard. “What type of style is that? A subgenre of maximalism? Perhaps experimenting with industrial aesthetic?” You shift closer, curling into his side, nose nudging his shoulder. He smelled good. And he ran hot, like a furnace.

The arm you pressed against twitches. “I… No.”

“Oh.” You tip your head curiously. “So they’re boxes you haven’t unpacked?”

His throat bobs. “Uhm, yeah.”

“What stopped you from unpacking?” You nudge it again, and he finally opens his arm to wrap around your shoulders, his cheek pressing to the crown of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’ll get to that in a second. When you leave.”

“Good.” You traced the curve of his jaw, reveling in the warmth. “Put the book down.”

“I need to bookmark it—”

You pushed it aside. He didn’t protest. He turned to face you fully, and you buried your face under his jaw, pressing your cheek to his chest.

His heartbeat was steady. Familiar.

With a sigh, he kissed your hair and held you closer. You melted into him, the constant grind of your thoughts slowing for once.

For a while, there was nothing but the warmth of him, the steady cadence of his breath against your hair, and the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. His fingers moved in absent-minded strokes down your arm, and you wondered if he even realized he was doing it. Curly was always like this—hesitant, restrained, but so easy to break down with just the right touch.

You let the silence stretch between you, not pushing, not yet. Letting him believe, just for a little longer, that this was enough. That you could be satisfied with moments like these, with his arms around you, his lips pressing soft against your temple.

But you weren’t.

“Curly,” you whispered, drawing lazy circles against his ribcage with your fingertips. “I still didn't get the why haven’t you unpacked?”

He tensed beneath you, just slightly, his hand pausing mid-stroke before resuming like he thought you wouldn’t notice. But you always noticed. And you're sure he was sharp enough to know that too, even if it was at a subconscious level. 

“I... I just hadn't gotten around to it,” he murmured, but the words felt too careful, too rehearsed. “Procrastinating.”

You tilted your head back to look at him, taking in the way his brows knit together, the way his lips parted like he was waiting for you to challenge him. He looked tired. Weary.

“That’s not the real reason.”

He swallowed, eyes darting away. “I don’t know,” he admitted after a long pause, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe... maybe it’s just easier if I don’t.”

You hummed, thoughtful. “Easier for what?”

A sigh, heavy and resigned. “To leave.”

There it was. The admission you’d been waiting for, wrapped in the quiet vulnerability he hated showing. Or, what was more likely, that he didn't know how to show. His hand tightened around your shoulder, realizing he’d said too much.

You traced the edge of his jaw with a finger, feeling the tension there. Thumb gently rubbing the strip of coiled muscle, you spoke, “I told you,” your lips ghost against his throat, “you’re not leaving.”

He huffed a soft, humorless laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know.”

You pulled back enough to study his face, your expression unreadable. “Then why do you still act like a guest?”

Curly’s eyes met yours, searching, pleading for an answer he couldn’t give himself.

Room filled with the clicking of the analog clock chipped at your weathered patience. 

Finally, he spoke again, in a hushed, defeated voice.

“I... I don’t know how to be here,” he finally admitted. “Not the way you want me to.”

You considered that, weighing it against everything you knew of him. The years of running, the quiet insecurities he tried to drown in overwork, the way he folded in on himself whenever things got too comfortable. 

His sense of self—a delicate wreath of morals and principles he barely understood. Beneath it, a gnawing emptiness.

A human turmoil, you supposed. He knew what he liked. He didn’t know what he needed. That’s why you were here, right? His other half.

“You don’t have to know how,” you said, reaching up to brush a stray curl from his forehead. “You just have to stay.”

His lips twitched, but he nodded, slow and uncertain. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you echoed, satisfied.

He pressed another kiss to your temple, then to the corner of your lips, his arms tightening around you. Still gentle. You smiled at him, resisting the urge to sink your teeth into the smooth ivory of his skin and instead give him an equally-loving peck to his collarbone, then to the place where his heart laid under.

You would do anything for him. The thought consumed you.