#swipe type often betrays me

[orangepenguino]

When googling whether Rosh Hashanah starts tonight, tomorrow, or Thursday, my auto corrected swipe typing had a couple of issues, but Google figured it out anyway. L'shana tovah or Happy rush hahahaha to all who celebrate!

[c0ntr0l-c0re-angel]

I saw your post last night about the Rhys and Jack ship from a writing perspective and I just wanted to say that I don't think Rhys ever hated Jack. When he talks a little about it with Fiona and Loaderbot, he seems really sad and hurt. To me, that isn't how someone who hates someone's guts would react, but someone who feels betrayed and hurt. In the moment where he removes Jack from himself, it was out of survival, Rhys can even say that he's sorry to Jack (which is up to the player, but the option is there). He never says anywhere in the game he hates Jack, and you can correct me if I'm wrong there. And sure, there are parallels with Angel and Rhys but Jack treats everyone like that lol. No hate btw, just wanted to give my two cents on this

Hey!!. We were actually about to make a post talking about how Rhys acts as a foil to Jack. In Doglin's words, The utter antithesis to Jack. Who sacrificed his daughter and like his soul [metaphorically] for money and power. -Doglin.

Saying that Rhys hates Jack can be fairly subjective to playthroughs and interpretations of him, but you can still hate a person and feel sorry for them. Jack was his idol, he looked up to him for years of his life, and in the type of playthrough that mention, Rhys is still portrayed as the compassionate man we talked about in earlier posts. I play that type of playthrough more often than not, but even though it's not said outright, Rhys can still hate him without outright saying it. Often, hatred is an emotion that's expressed silently. Like in the crash of Helios, nothing is ever out right said about how Rhys or Fiona feels when they fall, but we can tell the strong sadness and melancholy not only from how they express, but from Retrograde playing. The song hints it to us outside of what's happening, even if nothing is said.

You can be betrayed, and hurt, and sad, and hateful. All of those emotions can exist at once. In that scene, we got small glimpses to how he might feel that way. Even before that too, where it's evident that he doesn't like what Jack does, even if he doesn't necessarily hate him yet. After the crash, and when Rhys rips off his arm to get away from him, no matter what you choose, he tries to swipe at him with glass out of desperation. Sure, it could be interpreted as just a thing of survival, but with all the other context clues I lean to think otherwise. And about the Angel thing. It's less the way Jack treats him, and more about the way he talks to him. As the playthrough progresses, and the closer Jack gets to Rhys, the way he manipulates him gets very of reminiscent of the way he talks to Angel. When comparing the voicelines, it's more similar to how Jack talks to Angel than to anything else, he's controlling, and in that way he does not treat anyone the same way as they do in BL2. Jack is narcissistic by nature, he's able to manipulate Angel because she's his daughter. They have a close emotional bond, and that's the only reason he can do that. He doesn't do that to any of the Vault hunters because he doesn't know them. He's rude to them, and threatens them, yes, but he rarely attempts to manipulate them in the way that he does to Angel. The only time is before her death, and even then it's out of desperation. He does do it to Rhys, because he's literally stuck in his head. The emotional bond between him and Rhys was never as strong as with Angel, but Jack was around him, and in his head enough to be able to manipulate him in that way. He's nice to Angel and Rhys, he spends so much time convincing them that he's on their side, only to hurt them anyways. Think the Control Core vs Jack's Office. We don't get to see Jack interact with many people, so the extremely similar parallels are too stark to ignore. The combination of that, and the parallels at the end of the game is what makes it so significant. -Splat

[shoezuki]

piglin techno confusing the fuck out of ranboo hcs

i jus be doin some shit sometimes n then my brain is like ‘hey think a this’ and i been tryin to type this out but my internet is so bad rn i couldnt even Open a new post what the fuck. anywayss. this ran so long. so fucking long

started with ‘i wonder how piglins act’ and now technoblade is doin some shit, ranboo is so confused, and philza is a delighted bystander who is having the time of his life

technoblade is 100% piglin. many people think he’s part human to some degree but hes Completely and Utterly piglin

most assume as much since he doesnt begin to rot in the overworld. but short answer; he’s Built Different

long answer is a blessing of the bloodgod but shhhhhh

techno never corrects anyone or talks about being piglin or Anything. he just doesnt care what other people think and assume. the only one who Knows is phil

phil had first thought it was out of some sort of shame or desire to Hide it but. yeah. no. techno jus doesnt care. build; different

although more Notable piglin traits come to like if he’s close to people

piglins are both social and anti social. kinda. they can be hugely independent, do well without ‘proper’ socialization for a Long while. but they group together for Lifetimes. once piglins find a family or friends and expend Full trust to them. its all or nothing you Cant break them up

how tommy betrayed and turned his back on techno just. its like a physical pain. once he trusted and respected him, the mere Idea of betrayal was nowhere in question. it never occurred to him

philza is now the only person that techno consciously and subconsciously considers him a part of his ‘pack’ (i cant figure out a better term but that one doesnt Fit)

techno never realizes when he acts piglin traits out towards those he trusts. he never does so in company outside of what he considers family. philza notices though.

phil tends to study and research other races and cultures a lot. he’s been around a long while, has met many people of all different backgrounds. he likes knowing and understanding what he can. its just fun too.

it mostly started when he first met techno because he wanted to figure out what the FUCK techno was doing without asking and therefore embarrassing him

but phil knows techno well. and he knows piglins well enough. and he Knows techno doesnt ever seem to be self aware of his more inhuman habits

but Phil knows. and he Notices when techno starts to consider ranboo a part of the pack

First, it’s gifts.

surprisingly, its ranboo giving techno the axe first

he wasnt there to see it. but phil might as well have been present, considering how Horrifically in depth techno ‘ranted’ to him bout it

but techno reciprocates it and Then he really starts to notice more and more

first, it was giving the enchanted apple to ranboo. sure it Technically had been swiped by techno out from under ranboo but it was still Something. techno wasnt one to give up valuables easily

then techno starts ‘complaining’ about ranboos living area. and his eating habits. phil looks away when techno smuggles golden carrots into ranboo’s shack 

eventually technoblade is crafting ranboo a cloak to match their own and he’s freaking out about ranboo’s height and his dimensions and how much cloth he’ll need but he refuses to ask ranboo and phil is holding his head in his hands

(phil forces techno to gift him the cloak in person rather than stash it under his pillow and run like he’d planned. techno bitched about it but after ranboo practically lit up, burying himself in the cloak and thanking techno so hard his throat mustve hurt, techno was so practically purring the rest of the day)

after gifts, its noises. 

techno is seemingly silent. he doesnt speak up much, moves so quietly people tend to jump when he appears. 

in reality, he talks to himself constantly. either when alone or when in phil’s company. philza knows that aspect is the ‘voices’, and also just technoblade’s tendency to fill the silence and wonder his own thoughts aloud

but the snorts, squeels, grumbles, and other sounds he makes without realizing are some phil knows are piglin

its often guttural, a noise he makes in the back of his throat that rumbles and reverberates through his bones. 

itd sound terrifying to anyone, but after years of techno trilling deep when phil enters a room, when he returns from some sort of journey, when he says hello or makes his presence known in anyway, phil realized its more like a greeting. excitement to see him. it became something sweet

long story short ranboo nearly jumped so high his head went through the ceiling when he’d first walked into the home, said hello, and some gruff purr sounded from the techno’s chest

theyd both jumped so hard, stared at each other as if they were trying to figure out what was wrong with the other 

phil was physically pained as he held back his laughter to the point he was crying. that changed the subject to him quickly

it didnt happen again for a while, but phil didnt say anything and just watched. it was too entertaining

techno would make his small squeals between breaths when he remembered something, muttered to himself, snorted and huffed even as ranboo was around

ranboo got used to it. he stopped jumping or even looking confused when techno trilled some sort of deep purr when ranboo would join them for dinner

lastly, techno was tactile

or, as tactile as he could be. techno wasnt touchy even on a great day. he was selective, reserved, would lean into phil or loop an arm over his shoulders but would never say anything about it

phil didnt question it and would just pat techno on the arm without saying a word

but. sometimes. when phil would be gone for a long time, techno would rest the entire weight of his head on phil’s shoulder, practically encapturing him, rumbling and grumbling so harsh it shook phil’s whole body

phil still wasnt certain on this one. he couldnt find much in the way of what it meant. piglin’s tended to stay with their own, and they never reunited after long periods of time because they never would dare to separate for long

 he was kind of guessing here, but the way techno would drop his shoulders and practically melt made phil think he was just missing him and wanted to confirm phil’s presence. 

it wasnt like he complained. it was sweet

ranboo had been gone a while. he was vague on why, or where. phil had a suspicion or two but ranboo kept a lot of secrets

neither techno or phil pried too far, but phil could tell it was disconcerting to techno. he was tense and kept himself almost deathly busy for two weeks

(piglin rarely if ever kept secrets from one another, phil had read once. omitting a few things here and there, maybe. but lying or deception was out of the question)

phil hadn’t been there when ranboo returned. he’d been gathering firewood after techno was insistent they completely top up all of ranboo’s stores

he’d heard the muffled growls techno made as he walked towards ranboos shack, before even seeing him. 

when phil found them techno had ranboo nearly completely obscured in his cape, and definitely he’d have been out of sight if he was any shorter. 

techno’s head was lofted heavy in the crook of ranboo’s neck, forcing ranboo to hunch with arms wrapped tight around ranboo. his arms were pinned. 

ranboo caught his eyes, looking so scattered and tired and confused and maybe even terrified. he might have spoken or maybe he just mouthed ‘help me’ but the gruff purr-like sound techno made was too loud to hear him anyways

philza shoved his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing

later that night ranboo asked phil if techno was going to kill him. phil wanted to scream

even later then, techno had admitted to phil that, yeah, okay, maybe ranboo was growing on him. phil had never felt so violent

[s-brant]

Cherry Bowl (3/8)

(gif: @kiekiecarrera) (PART TWO) (PART FOUR) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: When Kie cancels their plans together, Y/N asks JJ on a date to the Cherry Bowl Drive-In. Unsure of how to navigate his first ever date, JJ seeks out advice. Unfortunately, the night doesn’t go as planned, and both parties are left shaken by miscommunication.

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: Smut, public sex/exhibitionism, sexual choking, angst, depictions of mental illness, post-traumatic stress disorder, and implied/referenced abuse.

A/N: Welcome back to Tokens! Slight trouble in paradise is brewing for these two lovers, so buckle up and read because it’s gonna be a rollercoster for a little while after what happens in this chapter. I hope you all like it, and if you did, feedback is very appreciated. Have fun!

"I'm just saying that oatmeal raisin is superior to chocolate chip, why is that such an egregious crime, Kie?"

The lunch room is filled to the brim with students going to town on questionably cooked frozen foods, soggy tater tots, and sugary drinks from the vending machines despite the Obama-era posters on the walls advocating for healthier school lunches that never seemed to make their way to Kildare County High. The extent of their healthy lunches extended to a serving of overcooked canned green beans served with the worst slice of doughy pizza known to human kind, so it was sort of contradictory.

Y/N sits across the table from Pope and JJ, the latter of which being the one who launched into a full-fledged debate with Kiara about which type of cookie was better.

The clear cling wrap sits, unfolded, on the table with one of her stickers neatly placed on the back of it. As consolation for his epic loss yesterday at the beach, she paid an extra .75 cents to get him it when she arrived first to their shared lunch period—one of only two class periods they have together, the other being gym. He was still in line when she peeled a surfboard sticker off of her sheet and placed it at the center of the wrapped up cookie as if to remind him of her triumph over him in the waves.

"Thanks, hot stuff," he said, voice somewhat quieter despite the fact that hardly anyone was in the cafeteria with them. Then his smile dropped into an deadpan expression as soon as he saw her choice of sticker and looked back up at her. "You're never gonna let me live that one down, are you?"

"Never in a million years. I'll be gloating about it until I'm elderly."

"That's my girl."

The sound of the constant chatter surrounding them from at least two hundred other people drowns out the memories of yesterday that threaten to haunt her when she watches him debate with Kie. The mere recollection of their night in the back of the van has her reaching to pull the collar of her cropped tee up to assure that the hickeys remain hidden on instinct, and he catches the action out of the corner of his eye. It has him fighting a smile.

Kie quips, "Maybe on another planet, but, here, I think we can all agree chocolate chip is better, right Y/N?"

Y/N's eyes widen around a forkful of mushy "green beans" at the sound of her name being said bringing her from the depths of her memories.

Usually, she's quick to jump in and give her two cents on whatever stupid back and forth they're all having, but her mind was elsewhere. Unbeknownst to Kie and Pope, she was mentally reliving every second of getting fucked in the van last night, so her attention to detail when it comes to the Chocolate Chip vs Oatmeal Raisin case isn't all too sharp.

"Uhhh," she stops for a second, looking at the half eaten chocolate chip cookie in Kie's hand, "If I say chocolate chip is better, can I get a piece of it?"

Kie's face lights up at her words, and she's already pulling off a generous chunk of the baked good to hand off to her. The sound of a certain someone whose lap Y/N's legs are outstretched onto from beneath the table scoffing distracts her from the first bite.

"I know you prefer oatmeal raisin, you traitor," JJ says.

Their brunette friend's brows scrunch.

"Why is she a traitor?"

They try to keep from making any faces or giving anything away, but Y/N has to stifle the sound of her choking on her mouthful of cookie at the question. You'd think one of them came out and asked if they were dating or something with how she reacts, and she feels JJ squeeze her ankle in a non-verbal way of telling her to hold it together. It was her idea in the first place, yet he's a lot smoother with keeping it under the radar.

Under it all, the aspect of keeping it a secret does unnerve him to a degree. He doesn't think he'd be brave enough to communicate it, especially not when their relationship remains undefined, but the darker side of his mind wonders...

He shrugs, saying, "Cause we were friends first. Duh. Other than John B, I've known her the longest."

None of them stop to acknowledge the identical aches in their hearts at the mentioning of his name. They skip right over it like it never happened. After the funeral a few days ago, they've filled their quota on mushy-gushy sad talk for the next week and a half.

The real reason is something far more complicated than him having a claim staked on her loyalty through having the longest friendship. It's something tied up in days of slowly getting pulled into one another's worlds like the tug of gravity itself, in how he has to refrain from slipping his arm around her waist in the hallway or kissing her goodbye after a sleepover at the Chateau. But until she gives him the go-ahead, he won't let it slip to anyone.

Pope speaks up from beside him, "You literally met her twenty minutes before we did."

"Still counts. Technically, I did meet her first, so her betraying Team Oatmeal Raisin is enough to be tried for treason in Pogue Court."

"Pogue Court isn't a thing."

He crosses his arms after he pops the rest of the cookie into his mouth.

"It is now. You can be tried for treason for breaking the rules. Rule number one is that all Pogues have to admit oatmeal raisin is superior."

He's about to ball up the cling wrap to throw away later when the surfboard sticker catches his attention again. It's the same color as his board, which he'd like to think is a result of her being an evil mastermind that went out to get this sticker sheet for the sole purpose of teasing him, but he's the one who got her the sheet as a gift for her birthday, so he knows it was pure coincidence.

Last second, he peels the sticker away from the cling wrap and looks down to place it over the top of her yellow converse that were once a vibrant, paler color when Big John got them for her, but have since turned into an ugly mustard/dirt-dusted color they heckle her over.

"What are the other rules?" Y/N asks.

One of the hands holding onto where her feet are casually planted in his lap, something that they've done long enough that their friends won't see it as anything odd, slides down to caress the stretch of skin beneath the frayed hem of her dark jeans. Something she didn't know about him before whatever it is they have together started was that he constantly needs to be touching her. She can't say she doesn't love it though.

Pope answers, "The oatmeal raisin rule is not official"—a pointed glance at JJ—"But I'd assume the rest of the rules of Pogue Court would be no lying and no macking."

"So, basically you two break almost every rule except the oatmeal raisin one, and I lie," JJ says and turns to look at her, "How does it feel to be better than everyone, Y/N?"

"Pretty good, not gonna lie."

He keeps caressing little circles and tracing up and down her skin beneath the flared out pant leg of her jeans while he swipes his phone off of the table top without attracting the attention of their friends, who continue on to a new topic. She isn't too focused on what it is. She only picks up that it has something to do with a class they're in that's more advanced that hers, so she promptly checks out of the conversation.

Ever since John B died, she hasn't been performing too well in school. She tries, truly tries, but her mind outright refuses to absorb any of the information. When she reads her assigned reading, she hovers over the same paragraphs over and over until she shuts the book in a huff and hides it in her backpack again. Losing someone you love has a surprising amount of side effects.

Her phone buzzing in her hand brings her away from the impending cloud of doom that often accompanies any thoughts of John B, and when she taps in her passcode, her brother's birthday, a message bubble appears with a banner displaying JJ's contact name.

JJ (Derogatory) ur a good liar. prob could've fooled me if i weren't the one macking on u

Their eyes meet for a second across the table, then he watches her thumbs move to type a response.

Kief Princess Little do they know I break every rule now that I've switched sides on the cookie debate. Kinda impressive ngl.

JJ (Derogatory) triple threat, baby

JJ (Derogatory) thanks for the cookie btw

She smiles to herself, so wrapped up in their own world that she doesn't notice everyone in the room starting to pack up their stuff in anticipation of the bell that is due to ring any second now.

Kief Princess Had to repay you for last night somehow ;)

When she glances up to see his reaction, she watches his chest rise with a particularly large inhale, and he chews on the inside of his lip in thought.

JJ (Derogatory) strategically bringing up last night so i'm turned on in physics? ur an evil mastermind

Kief Princess I try.

Kief Princess Apparently whooping your sorry ass at surfing isn't the only thing I'm good at.

She hears him scoff.

JJ (Derogatory) first of all, ouch. second, u barely beat me

Kief Princess I'm happy to challenge you to a rematch. I have plans with Kie tonight, so I can't till this weekend. All it'll prove is that I am the rightful winner, but we knew that already.

JJ (Derogatory) what r the stakes this time

Kief Princess No sexual favors. If you beat me (fat chance) I'll formally rejoin team oatmeal raisin.

JJ (Derogatory) :( sex makes it more fun but i still accept those conditions

JJ (Derogatory) team oatmeal raisin needs u, even if ur a traitor

Kief Princess Why bet sexual favors if you're just gonna fuck me after anyway?

JJ (Derogatory) good point

The sound of the bell ringing echoes through the cafeteria, and they both pop their heads up from their phone screens to see everyone, including Pope and Kie, already packed up and raising from their seats to scurry off in the direction of their next classes. Meanwhile, their stuff is all bestrewn across the table, particularly JJ's belongings.

The sight of Kie walking away makes Y/N ask after her, "We're still on for tonight, right?

She stops with Pope's hand interwoven in hers. The look on her face when she turns would make you think she got caught doing something she wasn't meant to. Something like forgetting about the plans they made last week to watch Fear Street together. The Cherry Bowl Drive-In is premiering the first two movies as a double feature for the horror movie buffs of Kildare, so they decided to get tickets. Kiara shares a fondness of horror movies with her. Since gory movies make the boys squirm, though JJ pretends they don't, it's their own thing.

"Actually, Pope and I were gonna go to the beach. I'm sorry."

JJ knows she's more upset about it than she lets on, but Y/N simply gives the pair a smile that doesn't reach the eyes.

The sound of JJ behind her makes them laugh on their way out, diffusing the minor tension lingering in the air from the awkward encounter, "Use protection!"

After their friends offer them a goodbye, they gather their stuff quite leisurely, not really caring about being late.

It's something they've talked about before here or there: her feelings surrounding Kiara and Pope's sudden relationship. It's not as if she harbors any ill feelings for them, she doesn't, but the ripple effects of their pairing on the group, and more importantly the girls' own friendship, couldn't be clearer from her perspective. Between the missed hangouts, forgotten plans, and the convenient way she never seems to have time to hang out with her and JJ unless Pope is there too, it's been building up for a month now.

What makes it sting the most is how close her and Kie used to be. They didn't hit it off immediately the way she and JJ did as children until her thirteenth birthday when no one she invited showed up to the party Big John helped her set up in the yard of the Chateau.

She was the one who rallied the boys together to walk to ask their school friends from the year above to come hang out for an hour or two, promising a slice of the wonky-looking but delicious strawberry cake her and John B spent the morning crafting together. She can remember the sound of their high-pitched laughs and the cloud of flour that hung in the kitchen when they high-fived over the finished product like it was yesterday. In her heart, it was yesterday.

That night was when she fell in love with her friends, and that was when she first knew Kiara was her best friend. They wove friendship bracelets on each other that night and wore them for years until they withered away. No one had ever done something like that for her before. Not even JJ.

"You okay?"

Feeling his hand on her arm, slipping down to take her hand for a moment in the seclusion of the empty cafeteria, makes her glance up at him with a distinct sorrow washed over her features.

You know what? Screw this. Why should she be torn up over Kie and let it ruin her excitement for the double feature tonight? There's no way in hell she's letting her best friend ditching her for her boyfriend get in the way of her plans.

"Do you wanna go on a date tonight?" she asks him abruptly, then adds, "To the Cherry Bowl with me instead of Kie?"

The question sparks a pause in his mind, a halt of hesitation in which he worries about her avoiding having to answer what he asked, but he attempts to play it cool and not fuss over her outwardly. There have been times where being treated like that has made her feel suffocated, so he doesn't want to risk it. When she's ready, she'll talk about it, and if she takes too long and buries her feelings, then he'll intervene. For now, he tries to keep his face neutral despite the frown tempting his lips at her disappointment.

JJ looks around once more before throwing his arm around her shoulder to walk her out.

"You bet your ass I do."

What is a person supposed to act like on their first date that's not actually a date cause everything between them is the same, but kinda is a date because they called it one? If you ever find out, please find JJ and tell him because he has no clue.

Pope wasn't too much help in the Instagram group chat he made for it seeing as his and Kie's relationship is too fresh, John B isn't even alive, so he's out of service for advice unless there's Ouija Board he can borrow, and, thankfully, Kiara was his savior.

Their phones began blowing up as soon as he reached his class after lunch period ended. He couldn't under any circumstances let it be known that this mystery girl he had a date with was their friend, but thankfully Y/N already had the alibi of going to the Drive-In alone. All he had to do was make up a fake date scenario and get basic advice.

danknugstickiestickies added kiara-c and popeheyward to the groupchat

danknugstickiestickies named the group HELP ME

danknugstickiestickies i have a date with this chick i met on the beach when i was out with y/n last week. i need ur advice

His phone screen lit up with the notification that both of his friends were typing, signified with the three dot symbol bouncing in the bottom left corner as he thought it through. They couldn't possibly figure it out, right? They'd been careful, he'd been respectful of her wishes, and they'd been too busy together to notice anything new with them. He figured it would work. It was a risk, sure, but it was worth it to him. He didn't want to fuck this up with her.

Knowing her, she probably wouldn’t even treat it differently than any of their other hang outs. It's not like they haven't been romantic or sexual with each other. They've done everything but go out on an actual date, so why was he nervous?

kiara-c ummmm

popeheyward Yeah, I'm gonna need you to ELABORATE!!

kiara-c did hell freeze over? since when does jj maybank go out on dates??

danknugstickiestickies renamed the group hell froze over

kiara-c very funny, I'm laughing so hard 😐

popeheyward Do we know her?

danknugstickiestickies don't think u do. she moved here last week and hasn't enrolled in school yet. her name's steph

popeheyward What about Y/N though?

kiara-c ^^

JJ's chest muscles tightened with the question prompting a rush of anxiety that made his breathing feel slightly harder. He glanced up at his Physics teacher, who was essentially dozing off behind his desk with his hand in a bag of chips and an educational video on the projector as an excuse to not teach, and looked back down at his phone without the added stress of possibly getting his phone confiscated.

Pope's message might as well have been a sucker punch. Forget butterflies, he set a wasp’s nest loose inside of his stomach to tie it into knots and flip it every which way. His neglected textbook served as a prop for his phone to lean on as he set it down to think.

Did they know? As far as he was aware, they were getting away with it. No evidence, concrete or circumstantial, was there to prove it. At least the stress of the situation killed any chance of him being turned on by her reminder of last night in their messages. This shit was boner repellant of the highest degree.

He played stupid. Better to let them volunteer whatever information they had before he went in saying anything incriminating that they didn't already know. If anything would sour the experience of their first date, it would be him accidentally making their strange in-between relationship public behind her back.

danknugstickiestickies ?? what do u mean

Three dots bounced in the bottom left corner of his slightly cracked phone screen.

popeheyward ...

kiara-c I mean, you don't see it?

danknugstickiestickies see what

popeheyward I guess we were wrong, but all of us always thought you two had some feelings going on.

"You don't say?" JJ murmured sarcastically to himself under his breath. "Never crossed my mind, Pope."

danknugstickiestickies bro that's jb's little sister

kiara-c so?

danknugstickiestickies forbidden fruit? making john b roll over in his grave? do those ring a bell or am i speaking in tongues

He was already a proficient liar in real life, but, fuck, it was easy in text messages. There's no chance at deciphering facial expression or tone, just a plain message with no room to budge. Thank God he didn't do this in person with them. He could've survived, but it wouldn't have been as quick and painless as the group chat was.

kiara-c jeez, sorry

Pope didn't voice it, but he noticed something.

He looked up from his phone and stared off at the wall in thought in his AP European History class. It piqued his interest that JJ simply said she was off limits, forbidden fruit as he put it, but did not outright deny having feelings for her. In fact, he didn't even address the question. He made excuses for why he shouldn't have feelings for her, but he never said he didn't have feelings for her.

Kie did not notice. Not because she wasn't smart enough to either, but because she was too busy hiding her phone behind her backpack to think too deeply about it. Her teacher was one of those teachers that would flip shit if they saw a cell phone turned off and faced down on the desk, let alone being used by a student during a lesson.

In his classroom across the hallway, JJ bounced his leg up and down beneath his desk in an absentminded urge to release the built up energy the anxiety produced in an over abundance.

popeheyward Our bad then. Even John B thought y'all were sus lmao.

Since when was that a known fact? Could he tell? Did he talk to Pope about him and Y/N before he died? Either way, it wasn't the time to pry about it.

kiara-c yeah you guys honestly could've fooled me if you wanted to

danknugstickiestickies well thank u, glad ur invested in our friendship but

danknugstickiestickies please help, i have no fucking clue how to act on a date and this girl is too cool for me to screw this up

That was when they finally dropped the interrogation session and started offering up tips. The best ones came from Kie, which made sense to him since women are more likely to know what other women like than two dudes who share one collective brain cell and never had real relationships.

Rule One: Be ready to pick her up five minutes early.

He wasn't ready to pick her up five minutes early. His bike broke down by the time he made it halfway down his street, so he had to push it back up the road and into the yard before setting off on foot to reach the Chateau quickly enough. And by quickly enough, it means he got there five minutes late, not early.

Rule Two: Compliment her after you get in the car.

She tossed him the keys to the Twinkie from across the hood, not giving him the chance to open the door for her, and it wasn't until they were setting off down the road that he remembered the next piece of advice he was given.

Side-eyeing her in his peripheral vision, he tried to find something to compliment her on specifically rather than the general compliments about her being pretty that she never fully believes when he says them. He was intending to say something about the skirt she had on, but when he chanced a glance over at her, she caught him and asked—

"What is it?"

Sent into panic mode, JJ blurted out instead, "I like your shoes."

He could've bashed his face against the steering wheel twenty times right then and there at the utter absence of reaction on her part for the next few uncomfortable seconds. It wasn't that it was a bad compliment. She appreciates any compliments at all...but her shoes were hidden from his view. Not to mention, they were the dirty, mustard yellow converse that the Pogues bash on a daily basis.

She laughed, lifting her leg to expose the sneaker on her right foot, and asked, "These? Dude, you roast me for these all the time. You and John B said they look like Big Bird shit on them."

The skin on the apples of his cheeks scorched hot with embarrassment, and he was never so glad that the overhead lights in the van were burnt out until that moment. He would've died on the spot if she saw him blush like that, face flushed pinker than sunburn. All he could do to save himself was murmur something about the color growing on him and keep driving in the direction of the theater with his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel he fantasized about banging his face into.

Rule Three: Insist on picking up the check.

In this case, it meant insist on buying the popcorn and drinks, and he miraculously managed to drop his wallet somewhere along the way when he ran over to the Chateau, so when he stepped up to the makeshift concession stand with her standing at his side, he felt around for his wallet in his jeans to no avail.

His thoughts echoed back to him, You gotta be fucking kidding me. Seriously? Is this actually happening right now?

"JJ, it's honestly fine," she said softly as he leaned over to search back of the Twinkie for the wallet. "We can look for it on your street right now if you want. It has your ID and stuff, you don't want a stranger to have that. We don't need to stay—"

It took all of his control to not shout it in reaction when he said, "No way. You've been waiting for this, and Kie ditched you, so I ain't ditching you too. We're staying."

His wallet could go kick rocks.

He came too far to be dragged down by the old leathery piece of shit anyway. Would he go out and search for it tirelessly the second the date ended? Hell yeah, that fucker had twenty dollars and his debit card in it, but he couldn't bear the thought of abandoning her or ruining her anticipated movie night by taking her out to search the streets with their phone flashlights for a wallet they might not find. He'd wait till the movies ended, take her home, then haul ass around the Cut searching for it after.

Thankfully, he found a couple bucks crumbled up in his front pocket while she scavenged for coins in the glove compartment, and they came up with enough to buy a water bottle and small popcorn to share together.

Rule Four: Don't have sex on the first date.

And it may sound easy enough to not act like a complete Neanderthal for the length of two movies, but the girl makes it pretty damn difficult if he's to say so himself.

That's what led him here, laying in the back of the sideways-parked Twinkie in the farthest corner of the outdoor theater with her practically on top of him. In any other instance, he wouldn't be opposed in the slightest, but with the cursed fourth rule in mind, he isn't too thrilled with the feeling of her hand rubbing up and down his thigh.

It isn't even meant to be sexual. They're constantly touching one another this way. She'll even slip her hands up under his shirt just to feel the warmth of his skin or when he asks her if she can get an itch on a part of his back he can't reach, but for some reason his brain is short circuiting right now.

The thing is, when Kie and Pope said he shouldn't do it on the first date, they meant it for his and Steph's made up circumstances, not his and Y/N's full-blown relationship without labels. When you've had sex with someone as many times as they have with each other, the hesitancy on the "first date" is nonexistent. It doesn't matter. But JJ, trying to follow the advice given to him to the letter for the sake of being the date she deserves, doesn't think about it that way.

It shouldn't be this nerve-wracking. They've been best friends since they were children, they've been flirting since they found out what basic attraction was in the first place, and they've been forming this relationship ever since John B died. Why can't he relax? Why is this so different compared to how easy it felt between them yesterday on the beach or today at lunch?

Rule Five: Be yourself.

It takes him another few moments of laying here with her before he realizes quite abruptly what went wrong in a quick flash of a thought that brings the fifth rule back to him. The problem wasn't the bike, or the weird compliment about her Big Bird sneakers, or the lost wallet.

The problem is him. The problem is that he's trying way too hard to make this something it isn't. The part about them that he adores so dearly is how they never have to try when they're together. With any other girl or guy, they'd have to fake something or act a certain way, yet when they're together, they can simply exist and everything is runs smoothly. That's not to say they don't disagree or bump heads, they do, but short of those outlier moments, it's easier than anything else they do in life.

His eyes flicker away from the screen for the first time since the movie began, which, by the way, is gruesome enough at times that he had to divert his eyes to prevent himself from seeing it happen. They land on where she lays, completely content with the night in spite of its mishaps, with her head propped up on the pillows they brought from the Chateau.

He wonders if she can tell he's acting differently. Surely she must notice. She's the type of person that typically never misses a thing, perfect for the gold hunt they went on in the summer with picking up the clues and helping her brother unravel the mystery, so maybe she noticed how flustered this date has him. Does it bother her? Does he bother her?

With a confirming glance back up at the movie to see nothing important happening, he can't fight the urge to speak anymore.

"Can I tell you something?"

His voice appearing through the darkness of the shut off van after spending the past half hour in complete silence makes her jolt at first before realizing who it was. Though she loves horror movies, she can't claim to not be affected by them. The night she falls asleep after watching one, she often finds herself compelled to turn a light on and keep her feet from dangling off the edge of the bed. It's worth the fear, though.

When she turns to look at JJ, there's a warm smile on her face. She's cuddled into his side with a hand placed casually atop his thigh, caressing with no purpose or intent, and her movement halts when the light from the movie on the projector allows her to see the expression on his face.

Anxiety has become an increasingly significant presence in his life with the recent events in mind; John B and Sarah, the four-hundred million dollars they lost out on, and dodging his father whenever he sneaks home to switch out the backpack of clothes and personal belongings he keeps at the Routledge house.

It manifests itself in jittery nerves, stomach pains, shortness of breath, and, at worst, panic attacks striking either at random or in response to a specific trigger. It's one of the few things he still tries to hide from her, and she tries not to push him too hard with opening up about it.

She abandons the movie for the time being and rolls onto her side to face him, upper body propped up on her elbow as she examines his face with downturned features.

"Of course," she says.

The words left unsaid are, "You can tell me anything. Whenever you need someone to listen, or to talk to about shit, you can tell me." He's heard her say it enough that he doesn't need to hear it now to know it's true.

There's a pause, then—

"I feel like I fucked this entire date up," he starts to ramble and cuts her off before she can think about saying what she wants to, "and I know it's okay to you. You have way too high of a tolerance for my bullshit, and I've been trying so hard to make this perfect, but all that did was screw it up."

She's left quiet for a second, taking it all in.

Maybe if he hadn't been so anxious about it, he would've realized what was wrong with his bike when he rode it home from school, or he would've noticed his wallet fall out of his pocket. The point is, he wishes he hadn't let the label attached to this freak him out so much. He isn't sure why it does, but it does.

But she doesn't do what he expects. She isn't drowning him in reassurances and, "It's okay's" because she knows he doesn't care for them much. When he, the most stubborn person she knows, apologizes for something he did, he doesn't want it to turn into the person accepting the apology coddling him.

Y/N sighs.

"Is that why you've been acting so different all night? I scared you with the whole ‘date’ thing, didn't I? It doesn't have to be a date if you don't want it to be."

What she doesn't know is that he wants it to be a date. He wants it to be a date so badly, he risked Pope and Kie finding them out for the sake of getting some proper advice on it, and now he's caught up in the same game of tug and war in his mind that always occurs when he wants to tell her the truth about his feelings for her.

Part of him doesn't understand why he doesn't outright say it. With every other girl he once showed interest in, he had no issues in letting them know he wanted them, but this is different. This isn't simply wanting someone, he thinks he's fallen for her. But whenever he says he's gonna grow a pair and tell her after all this time, he chokes. Involuntarily, he's reminded of his parents. Other than his friends saying it platonically, the only people to tell him they loved him were them, and with how they treated him, he sure as hell doesn't think that is love.

From his dad's brutal physical abuse to his mom's abandonment, he's too timid to tell her he loves her because of what could happen if she loves him back. Everyone else that has said that to him has either hurt him, died like John B did, or abandoned him.

He won't let that happen with him and Y/N. What they have, albeit undefined and codependent, is safe. It's the only thing he has left. Maybe it isn't right, and maybe he should open up about it to communicate the correct way, but somewhere in the misshapen logic of his mind, he correlates love to abandonment. And he doesn't want that to happen with her.

There are two sides of him at battle inside his mind. One side, the side that wants to do right by their relationship and actually communicate his feelings for once in his life, wants him to tell her everything. The other side, the side that responds based on the history of his past, wants him to hide it all.

"Will you be mad at me if we don't call it a date?" he asks.

She shakes her head.

The heavy sensation inside of JJ's chest nears a point of vitriolic violence against him as he starts to realize what he's doing to her, clearly letting her down, but he can't stop himself. Like a passive witness watching himself from outside of his body, the instantaneous trauma response to the sudden confrontation of his true feelings for her guides his actions without his permission. It shuts down any protest he has.

The sound of the movie fills the gap of silence between them the entire time. It’s a variety of bloodcurdling screams and disgusting sounds that would've made him gag if he weren't as distracted.

They can make out each other's faces through the darkness, but barely. It takes a flash of bright color from the film or a nearby car's lights turning on for them to fully see one another. Without the other knowing, they both put masks of calm and collected coolness on their faces despite the feelings raging beneath the surface—more so on his part than hers.

"Maybe," he says, pausing, "we should just keep things the way they've been."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, a soul-crushing amount of disappointment weighs her down. She said it was fine if he doesn't want it to be a date—and it is, she would never hold it against him—but that doesn't mean it can't hurt her. Things have been going so well, she almost thought...If tonight went well, she was thinking about no longer keeping it a secret, but if he said he wants things to stay the same, then maybe he isn't as ready for it as she is?

Meanwhile, JJ is on another page entirely.

She's embarrassed of being with you, a familiar voice in the back of his head croons. She's gonna leave just like everyone else does. If she doesn't even wanna tell your friends, why should you pretend you're dating?

The internal comments are the type that cause him to physically grimace when he's alone. Intrusive thoughts are just that: intrusive.

Sneaking into the guarded sanctuary of a person's mind, they set out to convince them the opposite of their reality. The only thing is, where most people's minds are guarded sanctuaries with walls of impregnable defense, his mind is the equivalent of a fortress blown to smithereens. The castle walls lay in rubble, the guards no where to be seen, and the path for these thoughts to slip past and straight to the vulnerability of his mind is left wide open.

In the privacy of his room, these thoughts attack him the most at night when he tries to fall asleep—when things get too quiet. With nobody around, when they get this bad there's nothing he can do except break down. It builds from the mere anxiety of attempting to force the thoughts away to full-blown panic attack mode. The more he resists them, the more aggressive they become. He'll gasp for air with tears streaming down his face, hitting his head with the heel of his hand as if that'd do something to stop his relentless mind.

But he can't afford to react in front of her, so the extent of his reaction is a subtle twitch of his face that she cannot see in the momentary darkness before the movie switches to another scene a second later. In a way, it does make the thoughts go away to have her here preventing him from spiraling alone. Having to focus on her keeps his mind away for moments at a time until the thoughts ease their grip on him.

When she hasn't answered for a while, he asks, terrified that he did something bad, "Are we good?"

The question seems to wake her up, snapping her out of the lonely direction her thoughts went into when he "rejected" her. It takes every bit of common sense she has left to force herself to understand that this doesn't mean he doesn't want her. He does, and not calling this a date doesn't mean they won't be together in the way they have been since John B's death, but she isn't perfect. She gets as unsure and insecure as he does.

As if the cloud of doom was lifted off of her, she makes her face lighten where she lays on her side next to him. Seeing this expression makes his chest feel less heavy, and he could let out a sigh of relief at the realization that he didn't break her heart and stomp on it. He should've known. Y/N is the sweetest person he knows, so she never would've flipped shit over him not wanting to label this as a date. That's not how she is.

And he's partly right. It isn't how she is. She would never hold it against him if he didn't want something further with her since she got herself into this position by pursuing him with his reputation with girls in mind, but she can't ignore it. Whether she wants it to or not, it had its affect on her as soon as he said it.

She leans in to kiss him, their lips meeting in the middle with the faint taste of popcorn salt mingling at the soft peck.

When she pulls away, she brushes the hair back from his face and says, "Don't worry. Nothing can change how I feel about you."

She has no clue what it feels like to hear that from her.

Despite the turmoil they unknowingly share beneath the surface due to this conversation, he could cry hearing her say it. It doesn't feel real to him that she feels the same way he does about her, because nothing could change how he feels about her either. That’s why he manages to work up the courage to repeat it back to her, and, for now, this is the closest he's physically capable of coming to telling her the truth.

"Ditto," he says.

It isn't what she wanted, but it's close enough, and if she dwells on this any longer, she might start getting too emotional and let the urge to tear up become too strong. Why does she have to be this sensitive? It's no secret that it's remarkably easy to make her cry, but this is insane to her. When all of this began with him, she didn't give a shit about him not wanting a label. She understood him, and she understood that he doesn't do this kind of thing, so why has it changed? Why doesn't she want to keep it a secret anymore? Why does she want this to be a date when she knows he doesn't want it to be?

Pulled by an invisible string back to him to silence her mind, she leans in to kiss him again with a hand cupping the back of his neck to guide him the rest of the way to her.

It shouldn't be laced with any sexual intention. She should be kissing him simply because she wants to, and, in a way, she is. Their kisses and touches are never lacking the motivation that is their underlying connection and mutual feelings for one another, but this is not the same. As he kisses her back with as much confidence and passion as always, she is reeling from the conversation that reminded her too much of a breakup.

It takes another minute of this for the kiss to heat up, their breathing becoming shallower in the moments they part to inhale, and she is undeniably the one instigating when she officially crosses the line between casual and sexual by crawling onto his lap. It's not hard for him to pick up on when their innocent moments take a turn. She's easy to read in that regard, and this has happened a multitude of times with them, so the shift of a mini make out session turning into something more is nothing out of the ordinary for them.

If he knew how shaken she is on the inside, he'd never want this. And the same would go for her if she knew what he was thinking before this. Neither of them wants to admit what they're feeling.

With her legs seated on either side of his hips, she kisses him like it's the last time she'll ever get the opportunity to. Her hands wander wherever they can, pulling at his shirt and feeling him up as his hands guide her hips to move against his in a steady grinding that she has no issue partaking in. It's an eagerness he hasn't seen from her in weeks. She's never un-excited when it comes to being physical with him either, but this is another level. The last time a girl was all over him like this, it was desperate touron at a party a few months ago.

In the span of time it takes her to glance over her shoulder to see if anyone could see them and reach to pull her skirt up until it bunches around her hips—no one can see them, by the way, since they got here late and were forced to cram the van into the back corner of the lot with no street lights illuminating the path—his brows raise at her presumptuous behavior. Not that he's one to complain, however, seeing as he's typically the one doing what she is.

Their next kiss clashes their teeth hard enough to make them wince, but he loves it. It makes him smirk into her parted mouth, alive with both the feeling her reassurance provided and the fuzzy-headed high that often finds him when they're together in this way. Incomparable to past flings or the high related to any drugs, she is the peak of everything to him. It's no contest.

His chest stutters against hers with a bout of amused laughter, asking within a brief pause in what feels like the most JJ thing he's said this awkward night, "Two for two in the Twinkie. What's gotten into you?"

Y/N's hand dips between where their bodies move together to unclasp the closed buckle of his belt in one smooth motion that has it falling apart with a clinking noise.

Her features are set with a look that tells him she means business. Whatever it is that sparked this, he wonders how the fuck to make it happen again another time. She's begged for it before, but never taken control so dominantly, and he can't deny what the role reversal does to him. The evidence is obvious in the distinct hardness she feels pressing up against the hand undoing his jeans.

"I was hoping it'd be you," she says, voice breathless and airy from the constant contact in a way that makes it ten times hotter for him.

If there were any chance of him not being in the mood prior to this, which wasn't the case anyway, it's gone now. He never wants to hear her say she doesn't deliberately try to tease him ever again.

He doesn't need to be told twice.

JJ surges forward to capture her mouth with his, this time with no intention of pulling away to breathe or speak again. No, he'll let himself get lightheaded and dizzy if it means he can stay with her for as long as possible.

With the circumstances of it all, them being visible to someone if they happened to pass by the open door of the van, they move at a pace quicker than usual. She's immediately helping him shimmy his jeans and underwear far enough down his hips to free his dick from the confines of his clothes, making him sigh out a breath of relief when her hand brushes against him in the process.

There's no opportunity to slow down, it has exploded into a full-throttle speed race that neither of them can halt.

His hand blindly flies out beside him to grope the floor of the van for the set of keys he tossed carelessly to the side once the movie started, eyes shut in the midst of the hot, messy kiss they share. His fingers find the fabric of one of the blankets they brought in case they got cold, then drifts again and lands on her Big Bird sneakers until he feels the sharp metal of her keys meet his calloused palm.

After the events of last summer, she bought a switch blade to keep on her key ring alongside the keys to the van, HMS Pogue, and Chateau. She may not like violence or weapons, seeing as she was a skeptic of JJ keeping the gun alongside her friends, but she saw it necessary. Between Rafe, Topper, and Kelce, how could she leave the safety of her and her friends up to chance knowing what some of the kooks did to them not long ago? What happened to Pope on the golf course alone was enough to make her skin crawl.

Right now, though, the knife flips out from the pressure of his thumb pushing the button to release it. He holds it out away from her at first to assure it doesn't nick her in the process, then uses his other hand to tug the side of her panties that hugs her hip far out enough to press the sharp side of the blade onto the inside of it.

She can hardly believe what she's watching as JJ cuts the delicate maroon underthings from her body as if he were doing something so normal, like it's something he's done before. Her forehead is pressed against his, her mouth parted both in shock and in a need to pant for oxygen, and she watches the knife ruin her favorite panties. The stitches come apart with a satisfying ripping noise that can hardly be heard over the sound of people reacting to the movie in the background.

Other customers of the Cherry Bowl Drive-In are too glued to the screen as a beloved character is chased down, reacting in shouts when she's seized by the killer and shoved onto the table of an industrial bread slicer, so they remain wholly unnoticed.

The lace, now ripped in half, dangles on the tip of the knife when he lifts it away from her, tosses it aside, and presses the button once more to retract the blade. It clatters to the floor, but is in no way forgotten with them resuming in a desperation to keep going until they both satisfy the need clawing at them from the inside. But her sense of need is different from his, and even with the fresh memory of him with the switch blade in mind, she's still somewhere else the whole time.

Her mind is faraway, muted through layers of sadness, anger, and disappointment as he reaches between them to line himself up to her entrance. The sensation of him running his cock, hard and messy with a few drops of precome, through her dripping pussy to coat it in her slick arousal is enough to make her moan pathetically. Yet when he's about to guide himself inside of her, she stops him.

"Wait, wait, wait," she breathes out rapidly, heart pounding so hard she can feel herself pulsating between her thighs, "Condom."

They were so antsy to get to it, they almost forgot.

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, and his eyes flicker from where they were trained between their bodies to glance back and forth around the van before it hits him. "I lost my wallet..."

But right when he thinks their public rendezvous in the back of the Drive-In is over due to his unfortunate mistake, she shakes her head and slips away from her perch astride his lap to crawl over to her bag.

She fumbles with the old tote bag and plunges her arm in to sift through the hodge podge of things that are purely Y/N in nature—stickers, glitter pens, a half-eaten bag of candy, etc—for the square foil package she decided to toss in before she left just in case. She usually doesn't keep them on her because he never fails to have one, but, thankfully, she had the random instinct to bring it tonight.

The only thing to bring her out of her cloudy, malevolent storm of feelings when she settles back onto his lap with the condom wrapper ripped open for him is him saying, "So you planned this, huh?" with his mouth tipped in a familiar self-satisfied grin.

She didn't plan it. In fact, she threw herself at him the second she sensed him withdrawing from her and can't stop herself despite the fact that she constantly feels two seconds away from letting a tear slip down her cheek. If that counts as "planning it", then sure.

"Maybe so," she answers, cool, calm, and collected—the antithesis of the truth.

They usually don't lie to each other.

They're thrown right back into it without any other hiccups once he rolls the condom on, and he takes in a shaky breath at her hand wrapping around him to align their bodies up. Before she can do anything, though, he takes chance to swipe the blanket he found a moment ago and wrap it around her back to keep her covered in case they get caught.

Y/N sinks down onto his cock with her lip caught between her teeth to stifle the sound that threatens to escape. JJ, on the other hand, doesn't bother concealing the sound of the groan he makes at the sensation of having her wrapped around him like this. The tension in her entire body from the anticipation and the looming threat of being seen by someone has her squeezing him so tightly, he can't help but be a little louder than he should.

Her soft palm slaps over his mouth with enough pressure to force his groan to quiet itself, and she watches his pretty blue eyes widen in reaction to the dominant action. Who is this girl and what has she done with his sweet, submissive Y/N? Don't get him wrong, he is very turned on by it, but it's unlike her to take the lead this way. He can't figure it out.

"What's wrong, angel?" she asks in a whisper into his ear, her hand over his mouth and her hips starting to slowly rock against him, "Watch the movie."

Once the words leave her mouth, she drops her hand, just in case he wants to stop and can't say anything because she had his mouth covered, and JJ is pretty sure he's died and gone to heaven.

He doesn't watch the movie, not at all, because he's too busy watching her. For someone losing their mind internally, she does not let it show, nor does she let it distract her from what's happening. If anything, the distraction in this situation is the sex, not what's going on inside of her head.

There's a moment of adjustment and going as slowly and gently as possible while waiting for the dull pressure of feeling him inside of her to fade away, but, for the most part, she doesn't waste any time. As soon as she feels comfortable enough with the ache between her thighs giving way to a spark of pleasure when she grinds her clit down on his pubic bone, she starts to ride him at a better pace than the initial slow movements of her hips.

She raises herself up and takes him again inch by inch, enjoying the sense of fullness she gets from having to fit him in spite of the slight discomfort at first, and she could swear that he'll leave bruises in the shape of his handprints with how tightly he clutches her hips. It's all he can do to prevent himself from moaning or saying something, ever the vocal lover she's come to know.

Unless his mouth is preoccupied like it was on the beach yesterday afternoon, JJ is usually impossible to shut up, especially in this context. With him always whispering dirty things to her, whether it be praises, pet names, or plans on what he wants to do to her, she has come to find it breathtakingly hot. He could likely get away with saying something if he wanted to, but he isn't sure he wants to risk it. If he opens his mouth to spew something filthy to her, he won't trust himself not to make a louder, different kind of noise that won't fit in the with background audio the other moviegoers are listening to.

The wet sound of their bodies colliding that fills the space of the van is drowned out by the loud and violent sequence occurring on the screen far ahead of them, and hearing it makes her bounce herself on him a little harder. She's fueled on by it all, and, strangely, what happened before she practically pounced on him is the main contributor.

Similarly to the nature of his intrusive thoughts, the harder she resists the memory of how it felt when he told her he didn't want this to be a date, the more forceful it is in its return. Her eyes trail down to watch where they connect with her forehead pressed to his, then she's thrown back into the feeling of helpless disappointment and insecurity. His head tips back against the window with his bottom lip dropped open and his brows furrowed just enough to create a crease on his forehead, and she's bombarded with the look of relief on his face when he realized he didn't have to be tied down to her with a label.

It makes her want to get rougher, harder, and she doesn't even care if it'll make her sore later on. She presses herself down so far every time she slides down on his cock, her teeth draw blood on her lip with how hard she must bite it to remain quiet. The pain of her hipbones rubbing against his doesn't even matter to either of them at this point. They're both too lost in the pleasure that has begun to take control of them to care about something as minuscule as that, or the burn in her thighs from the repetitive physical strain.

She grabs his wrist and brings his hand between them, flattening hers overtop of it and pressing down on the base of her abdomen in the midst of the increasingly feverish thrusts.

"Feel you here," she murmurs to him through a quiet moan, hoping he can hear it over the movie, and pushes down on his hand for emphasis. And if the way he reacts by cursing under his breath tells her anything, it's that he picked up on it. "JJ..."

He reaches out to grab her by the throat with his free hand and tug her forward to kiss him, as if something inside of him snapped in response to her doing that. The motions of her jolting up and down throws the already messy and uncoordinated kiss off-kilter, but they don't mind. It has them separating every time she lifts up, producing this heady little head rush from from them breathing in each other's air without actually letting their mouths meet in the middle.

Though they're trying their hardest not to alert anyone outside of what's happening, it didn't occur to him until now, when his eyes catch John B's old bandana swinging back and forth where it's secured around the rear view mirror.

They're worried about moaning while the entire fucking Twinkie is rocking with their movements. Well, at least it makes good use of the corny sticker he gifted John B last year as a gag gift. He tried to peel it off after JJ snuck it onto the side window to no avail. So, now Y/N is stuck with a sticker on her car reading, "If the van's a-rockin', come on in, we like orgies," rather than the more common phrase.

It almost makes him start laughing, and he prays no one takes that shit seriously, 'cause he is never intent on sharing this breathtaking girl. Ever.

Y/N isn't anywhere near laughing like he is, in fact, she's finding it difficult to keep herself together. She feels her eyes sting with the promise of tears, and she's never felt so pathetic before. Is she seriously about to cry during sex? Is she really that girl that is so ill-equipped to handle rejection, she can't get through it without tears?

She won't cry. Perhaps if he sees how glossy her eyes have become in a rare moment of good lighting, she can blame it on the hand around her throat putting pressure on the sides of her neck.

The worst part about her being near to crying is the timing of it.

The emotion of what she feels mentally mixes with the swirling, building sensation she feels in the pit of her stomach that tells her she's close to going over the edge, and it's so overwhelming. Was she imagining that their friendship had changed? More importantly, is this all she'll ever be to him? Sex is the only thing she's sure of with him, it's the only thing that doesn't require deeper emotions, and when the ground beneath their fragile relationship felt shaky...

He can feel her starting to unravel, and he knows that he'll come before she does if he doesn't do anything now, so he decides to take control.

JJ pulls the hand he had resting on her abdomen away as though he were burned by it, wrapping his arm around her waist to steady her body against his and using the hand around her neck for leverage to thrust up into her, effectively reducing her to a teary-eyed, moaning mess atop him. They both stopped caring about making noise the second he began to fuck her like this.

She cries out in ecstasy at the sudden change in pace and depth that has him hitting all the right places. Every time he thrusts up into her, just as rough as she wished for, the tip of his cock nudges into that perfect spot inside of her that makes her incapable of silencing her moans. This time, it's JJ that puts his hand over her mouth, letting the one he had around her neck move away to keep her from alerting everyone around them of what's happening.

There's nothing she can do to stop her climax as it barrels through her in its initial sweeping wave of bliss to contrast the venomous doubts in her mind. She's never felt such conflicting, yet powerful feelings before—the intensity of the physical pleasure that makes her whine into the palm of his hand, then the part of her mind replaying every word he said in their conversation before this.

Her body is rigid and tense through it all, squeezing down around his cock with the involuntary spasms of her orgasm, and he can't help himself anymore. All it takes are a few more frantic thrusts for him to bury himself inside of her one last time and spill into the condom, uncovering her mouth so he can drown out his own groans into a kiss.

Their skin sticks to their clothes on the inside with sweat from the exertion of their actions, and he can feel her stomach tremble where it presses up against his with each undulation of her hips that meet his as he rides it out.

But even with the added distraction of the sex, she can't rid herself of the feeling that started plaguing her as soon as things went awry. That was why he was acting weird all night. He must have been so worried about her thinking this was anything more than their typical hangouts that he couldn't bring himself to act normally.

She forces herself to look happy when they pull away from the kiss, panting, and JJ, unaware of what she's been thinking, doesn't notice the small deception.

Tag list: @gabiatthedisco

[burnedbyshoto]

hole in the wall

In a party for the ages, Shouto comes across a room with hole in the wall that has him coming back for more.

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pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, PWP, cult activity, drug mention, alcohol consumption, glory hole, cursing, degradation, praise, possessive jealous!shouto, stuck in the wall, spanking, overstim, bruising, bleeding, breeding

word count: 7,831

a/n: read the fucking warnings bro, im tired, I hate formatting, here’s to finally writing what I wanna write! also, this is for a lovely bnharem collab that kept getting pushed back... make sure to read the intro to understand my story! anyways, gloryholes is peak anonymous sex and I just,,, if thats the only way imma get to suck shoutos cock, I will. I had something else to say... I forgot. oH THIS IS WRITTEN IN A NEW STLYE-ISH??? porn from shoutos pov!!!

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Traditionally, when people think of the connection between heroes and cults, they expect that the heroes eradicate the cults, not that the heroes are a part of a cult.

It was somewhat ironic that a group of people who advocated for public safety, for the wellbeing of every citizen of the country - the world - would demand compensation in areas that didn't involve financial compensation. Heroes saved the day countless amounts of times, but when they needed... help at night because they've been so busy saving the world, there needed to be compensation.

It had shocked nearly everyone within the hero community when none other than Yaoyorozu Momo brought them a solution. For nothing more than loyalty to saving the day, all heroes granted the benefit of joining the Savior of Eight Million, an… organization brought forth by the prodigious hero. It had shocked the hero community at first that the once thought of a modern-day princess, putting together a wicked group that served the beastly needs of heroes, was almost laughable. But as time passed, as trials tested the organization (cult), the more heroes realized how lucky they were that it was Yaoyorozu who created this.

The Yaoyorozus, in all their riches and connections, made this group untouchable.

Police were bought off, apprehended, silenced.

Heroes with the savior complex were put down.

Villains were never believed.

The Savior of Eight Million held ties with the greatest, the most esteemed people in the world. The parties were unworldly, dripping with diamonds and gold, the sweet smell of champagne barely drowning out the bitter acidic and burning plastic smell of the drugs used vicariously at their gatherings. All heroes joined, politicians and celebrities fought to get in, and commoners wished they could be the servants of the night, whether that meant they would be serving food, drinks, or drugs, or allowing the heroes to do what this was all started for: to fuck them.

Of course, it didn't help that each commoner was paid for their service, discretion, and loyalty. Those who attempted to give away the secrets of the nights were always taken care of, and every gathering after someone tried to snitch, there was always a complaint that a sex slave just wasn't good enough.

Yaoyorozu Momo was a sweet girl, a helpful woman. She was a hero.

Heroes far and wide grovel at her feet in thanks, and even more surprisingly, even her old class supported this. Oh, how great life was when you were the most significant, greatest, and most untouchable cult in history.

To Todoroki Shouto, well, he didn't really have an opinion on this all, not really at least.

The cult - the organization, was created to help out heroes such as himself live comfortably while having such a busy lifestyle. His sex drive had never been that high, with his twenty-fifth birthday approaching, he could count on his two hands the number of times he'd been attended to with the help of the organization within the past five years.

Yes, two years after debuting as heroes, Momo had approached the graduate class with her plan. Todoroki Shouto could never deny a friend, especially not someone as smart and intentional as Yaoyorozu Momo. He had been one of the first - if not the first - voice to approve of her project.

However, the fifth-anniversary gathering (it was not a party) was finally here. Two months ago, the first round of reminders came around in the form of a beautifully handwritten card by their fearless yet kind leader. Shouto wondered if she really had handwritten each and every card, or if she had created it with her quirk - while he wasn't that heavily involved, he was not ignorant to the numbers of the cult, group, organization.

TO TODOROKI SHOUTO,

I WRITE THIS LETTER TO ASK IF YOU WILL BE JOINING US IN TWO MONTHS FOR ONE OF THE MANY GREATEST CELEBRATIONS WE - THE MEMBERS OF THE SAVIOR OF EIGHT MILLION - WILL HAVE FOR OUR FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF BEING SUCH A WELL RECEIVED AND INFLUENTIAL ORGANIZATION. I AM GRATEFUL TO RELAY THAT OUR ESTEEMED MEMBERS BAKUGOU-SAN AND MIDORIYA-SAN WILL BE HOSTING OUR EVENT!

I FEEL AS IF WE HAVE NOT SEEN EACH OTHER IN SO LONG, TODOROKI-SAN, AND I MISS YOU SO DEARLY. I HOPE THINGS IN YOUR LIFE HAVE BEEN FINE AND THAT WE SHOULD MEET UP AS SOON AS POSSIBLE! PLEASE MAKE SURE TO RESPOND TO THE RSVP TO EITHER JIROU-SAN, KAMINARI-SAN, OR ME!

UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN, YAOYOROZU MOMO

The letter had been kind, inviting, and so fleeting it made Shouto feel like he needed more from one of his most missed and trusted friend. Still, there would be time to catch up with everyone, no use in pushing now.

Grabbing his phone, Shouto typed in Momo's contact name into the search bar, tongue swiping his lower lip while he typed in his message and sent it. He had never been one for these parties. Too often, there were just too over-the-top. The festivities and friends were fun, but having to fight the impossible crowds for a moment of peace kept him from attending.

A truly mundane member.

But this was different after all, it wasn't every day that they celebrated five great years of service.

I'll be going, Yayorozu.

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Two months went by before Shouto had even realized it.

In those two months, he had received a formal invitation with a day and time. 

2X28, OCTOBER 23

STARTING FROM 20:00

Of course, the lack of an address is a precaution for keeping their organization out of the limelight should they be betrayed. Events of all shapes and sizes were always planned by the upper board of the organization. Only a specific few knew the place where the night would befall, and the rest of the members would be brought to the festivities by a chauffeur provided by the Yaoyorozu's. Getting to and from the party was always stressfree, no matter what befell that night, their safety of getting home was still safe.

The invitation was tucked away into the inside pocket of his jacket, it was his ticket to getting into the party, and it was best to not leave it behind. 

With the invitation now securely placed into his jacket, the smooth inflexible material stiff against his chest, Shouto stared into the mirror he stood before.

An elegant full-length mirror reflected his image to him, and truth be told, he was impressed with his presentation.

A charcoal grey Italian suit trimmed glinting silver nearly gleamed against the white light; the jacket was undone, exposing the white-collared long-sleeved shirt underneath. Typically, Shouto was a tie man, but the sleek black tie he was to wear lay hanging on the hanger, the first few buttons of the shirt undone. It highlighted his toned chest, the few pale scars on his chest just visible enough on his exposed skin to look like it was intensional. He looked good.

His fingers touched his hair, the once long style had been cut in a recent fight with a villain. It hadn't mattered much to Shouto, and in fact, the sudden haircut had spiked his overall ratings. It was short now, just long enough for his fingers to graze through the locks. It was slicked back, the swirl of red and white mixing and strands of red falling into his sight.

“Todoroki-sama, the car is here.”

Shouto didn't bother turning to the attendee, his gaze taking him in one last time.

"I'll be there."

His footsteps were quiet in the hallway, his waxed shiny black shoes gleaming in his hands as he walked to the front room. He slipped on the tight shoes and looked up to his servant, who stood at the front door with a patterned, black mask.

Nodding, he grabbed the mask and slipped it inside of his jacket as well.

A kitsune.

"Safe journey."

"I'll be back tonight."

And into the car, he went, the warm smell of leather and spices filling the backseat of the self-driving car. Shouto relaxed against the black leather, his eyes staring at the road while he slipped the mask out from his jacket. There was no reason to don the mask while stepping out of the house, being caught with it at his home always smelled trouble. 

In the car's silence, his fingers rested onto his lap, his lips set into a firm line while his thoughts lingered to what was to come at this party. 

The last time Bakugou and Midoriya hosted anything, it had ended with an overall disaster. Thankfully then it had been for their agency's founding party and not something dealing with the organization. But before he could muster the will to seek out further information on the private event, he realized that the car was already pulling into the large mansion where the event was being held.

People emerged from the cars before his own, the sleek masks donning on their faces, keeping their identities from unwanted eyes. The covers were specially made by none other than Yaoyorozu with the assistance of Hatsume Mei to ensure that those who wore it would be unrecognizable unless they were within a certain radius.

A small puff of air escaped Shouto's lips as his car pulled up to the unloading zone, and his strong fingers slipped on the mask before the car door opened. With the confidence and power, only those who worked as a top-ranked hero had Shouto emerged from the car immediately greeted by the entrance staff. 

With his hands moving to button his jacket, he nodded his head when receiving information on what to expect upon entering. Shouto felt like he nodded forever while making his way up the entrance of the event, his hand reluctantly offering his phone and wallet over and receiving a ticket for retrieving it. Of course, the ticket came the bundle of condoms.

An eyebrow arched under the mask, and Shouto couldn't help the amused smirk that befell his lips as he pocketed the condoms.

The fuckers made this a sex party.

Why they even bothered to deny that they were a cult was beyond him at this point.

But as the grand doors opened, Shouto couldn't help but tense at the room's mixing aroma.

The sweet smell of champagne bubbled in his nose, wafting in powerfully with the perfumes secreting from every person in the room. If it had been his first time at an event like this, Shouto would have missed the undertone of burning plastic in the air. His eyes followed a civilian dressed up in a zebra zentai bodysuit holding a silver powder with most definitely not cocaine to who looked like the Prime Minister since he had his mask on.

Rolling his eyes, Shouto walked further into the room, ignoring the offers of drugs and alcohol as he carried on. 

"Todoroki, my man! You made it!" came the loud and energetic voice of Kaminari Denki.

It shouldn't have shocked Shouto to immediately be swarmed with who looked like Kirishima (who wore a mask resembling a bear) and Kaminari (who had his mouse resembling mask resting on around his neck), who by the smell at least, were not sober.

"You're the last one to show up, dude! We almost thought you were gonna flake!" Kirishima added, his hand coming to land on Shouto's shoulder, his lips perked into a broad smile. "Everyone else decided to join the orgy room a few minutes ago, but this guy here—" he made a pointed jab at Kaminari's chest. "Was causing a large enough disturbance that we were kicked out."

"Bro, it's not my fault that those dummy civilians can't handle a few jolts of pain!"

"You literally electrocuted everyone in that orgy and left everyone unable to speak for a solid minute, bro!"

"Everyone else is here?" Shouto interrupted rather impressed to here that even Mineta was invited to this party - or maybe he had snuck in - choosing to ignore the mention of an orgy room.

Typical cult things, he reminded himself.

"Yeah, Denki and I don't have to go in tomorrow, so we pre-gamed at his place before coming. Sero did too, but after a few minutes of talking with some trapeze girl, they went into a room and well…" Kirishima trailed off, letting Shouto put two and two together. "Mina is flirting with the crown prince, Yaomomo and Jirou are in the orgy room, Bakugou and Midoriya seem to be micromanaging everything—"

"Those two need sex the most out of the entire class! Have you ever seen a bigger work pole up anyone's asses than in those two?!" Kaminari groaned, his fingers roughly rubbing the skin of his face, and Shouto laughed softly in agreement. It was somewhat ironic that their virgin classmates were the ones who organized and put together a sex party.

"I can't begin to imagine Midoriya having sex. Although that man is basically becoming sex on legs," Kaminari continued to gripe, Shouto grunting softly in thanks when Kirishima handed him a cup filled to the near brim with a copper liquid that burned smoothly down his throat. Shouto grimaced as he managed to down the entire thing. "I can see Bakugou just blowing a hole into the wall and fucking it and considering that sex. Ain't nobody normal who can — OH MY GOD!"

Shouto looked at his friend with nearing annoyance; however, the alcohol already taking a humming effect over his body made the annoyance slip easily.

"Bro, you're gonna get us kicked out of this party, and that's gonna be the shittiest thing!" Kirishima groaned while Kaminari spazzed with what seemed to be the biggest lightbulb of an idea.

"The hoes — the holes! For the glory!" Kaminari slurred with how fast he was speaking, his hands fisting into both Shouto's and Kirishima's jackets, his yellow eyes burning bright in his excitement.

Shouto tried to keep his annoyance down, and the itch to rip Kaminari's iron grip from his shoulder.

"I don't know what you're talking about—" Kirishima tried again, his hand resting on Kaminari's ribcage to steady him. 

"Ei, the gloryholes!"

Gloryholes? 

Shouto numbing mind searched the banks of his memory to figure out where that word came from and why it sounded vaguely familiar.

"Oh, fuck," came Kirishima's strained approval, and Shouto looked at his two friends who were grinning pervertedly at each other.

"What's that?" Shouto asked, his lips buzzing slightly as the alcohol was fully absorbed into his bloodstream, and somehow the smell of sex filled his nose, and the noises of unadulterated carnal lust filled his ears.

"Oh man, Todoroki, if you don't know," Kaminari trailed off, his lips pinched into an elfish smirk, and electricity coming off his hair in his evident excitement. "Just trust me, you gotta experience this shit!"

Shouto wasn't sure if it was the alcohol that thrummed merrily in his veins or the knowing glint in his friend's eyes that whispered to him to find out just what it was, but he felt his head nod without his full awareness. The feeling of their hands on his upper shoulder felt fuzzy as they took him away, intent heavy in every step they took.

He could barely take in the passing rooms as they went, the aerial artists, the sex rooms, the orgy rooms. There were so many rooms designated for just about every kink imaginable that even the stoic Shouto felt his cheeks flaring in embarrassment. With each passing step and opened room, the smell of sex, pheromones, and lust grew in Shouto's nose; the more the sticky sweet moans and screams of the cult members clung to his skin.

For a hero that was never too hot or too cold without his own ministrations, his skin was feeling feverishly hot with cold feet when they finally stopped in front of the only closed door in the hallway.

"Welcome!" came a cheery voice, Shouto blinked, and a woman appeared from nowhere.

She wore a powder blue ava tea dress; it was elegant, sleek, yet too old-school for an event such as this one. Shouto immediately assumed that she was not partaking in the sexual activities, but was instead acting as a hostess of sorts.

"Just you three patrons tonight?" she asked, her head tilting to the side and Kirishima speaking up in agreement for the group of three. "Good, good. We do have enough openings for the three of you, most people haven't found our little… hole in the wall, if you would," she took a moment to giggle joyfully, her gloved fingers pressing to her ruby red lips and Shouto fought the urge to walk away. "So please, feel free to look around and stay as long as you want!"

Her words were light and breezy, but still, there was rising suspicion and tension in Shouto's spine at her small quip.

With an innocuous smile and a glint in her eyes, she opened the door with a gentle, "have fun," and Shouto's friends ushered him in.

His initial reaction? What. The. Fuck?!

The room they entered was large and spacious, or well, at the very least, Shouto assumed it would have been if it wasn't for the obviously installed maze of walls. But with every wall, there was a collage of pictures. Faces of women, men, humans, mutants, everything you could think of plastered above a hole. Curiously enough, the images above one hole were of the same person.

His eyes swept the room, and he saw a few spots already taken, men with their pants and underwear dropped to their knees pressing up against the wall so that their noses were smushed to the makeshift walls.

Shouto blinked.

Gloryholes? Pictures of random people?

Were they fucking ghosts?

"This is paradise!" Kaminari groaned in pleasure, his arms spacing out as if he had come with fantastic news. "These normies always look at you so weirdly when you fuck at orgies, here… you get the nut and don't have to have them staring at you!"

Paradise?!

Shouto stared as his electricity wielding friend approached a hole that adorned photos of a girl with hooded eyes and a tongue piercing. He dropped his bottoms before sticking his hardening cock into the waiting hole with two raps of his fist. At this point, Shouto wasn't sure if what he had drunk was actually alcohol now. 

"These aren't dead people, are they?" Shouto couldn't keep himself from asking, his palms sweating while Kirishima laughed deeply in his chest.

"Not at all, man, it's real people, I promise! Pick your hole and have fun!" Kirishima encouraged, placing a solid pat on Shouto's shoulder before approaching a hole with a picture of a girl with bright eyes and a bright smile.

Nodding numbly to himself at this point, Shouto meandered the different walls, his eyes absorbing the various pictures on the walls.

But he fell on the spot with a picture so vivating that drew him in. The chasms of your eyes defiant yet shy, a smile that called him in, and lips that looked supple and strong.

He stood no chance in defying the itching, burning need to follow suit of every other person in this room. Shouto approached the hole, his fingers pulling at his belt, quickly lowering his charcoal grey slacks and black boxer briefs. He stared into your pictured eyes, mesmerized by them, and grasped onto his hardening cock.

A soft shudder invaded his skin as he pressed his cock through the awaiting hole, the skin of his heated cock scraping against the hole, making him strangle a grunt in his throat. But when the wet heat of your mouth enveloped his cock past the hole in the wall, Shouto's face nearly crashed against the wall.

Shouto wasn't sure what to have expected, but he had summed up that this was some over-glorified handjob, a vigorous clumsy jackoff he could have done himself. But he did not expect, in any sense of what this was, to be met with warm, wet lips and a tongue that pressed underneath the head of his cock.

A guttural noise slipped past his lips, and Shouto's palms pressed against the wall, his head spinning dizzyingly from the sensation.

Shouto's breathing was erratic, his cock hardening more, twitching within your mouth as he felt your head begin to bob against his length at a slow, leisurely pace. 

His hips thrust toward the wall, his vision spinning from what this heightened sensation of what he always thought to be a mundane act. Shouto's slacks were too far up his thighs; however, the fabric spread to his max despite his attempt to lower down. He wanted to get closer to the wall, get whoever you were past this wall to take in his entire cock without an issue, so mindlessly, instinctively, he shoved the slacks further down, grunting with relieved pleasure at being able to spread out further, at getting closer to you.

"Holy shit," Shouto grunted, his forehead pressing against the cold wall, undoubtedly crinkling the paper of your photos. His hips came forward, hitting the wall dividing him and you with low, vibrating thuds, and you let him, allowed him to keep his rutting hips at the pace they were. You took him in as if it was nothing, the smooth skin of your lips gliding against his throbbing length, your tongue running alongside the bottom of his cock, tracing the veins of his skin, twisting against the sensitive skin, providing new sensations and shivers.

Shouto knew immediately that you were letting him fuck your mouth however he saw fit.

He felt you moan around him, a long, deep, undeniable noise that somehow drifted through the hole, vibrated against his cock, and could be felt against his curling toes. The sound and sensations were proving to be effective, a pooling heat building in his balls, simmering up and down his spine and neck. How he wished to grab you by the back of your head and drive his cock down your throat without mercy.

Snarling in the back of his throat, suddenly fueled by the image of fucking you, the thought of you on your knees, tears built in your bright eyes and tears rolling down your cheeks feeding him. And as if you knew what he wanted, Shouto's knees near bucked out when your mouth took him in even further, the soft choking noise, the feeling of his cock pressing against the back of your throat sending his fingers digging into the wall.

He drilled in faster, grateful for your ability to keep up, the feeling of his cock pressing down the back of your throat sending his jaw flying open, curses and praises spilling past his lips with every inch you took him further down your throat. The area of his cock unable to be taken in your mouth was surrounded by your fingers — by god, what fucking fingers you had — warm and robust, they held his skin, sliding effortlessly against the spit lubricated skin.

"You can hear me right, whore?" Shouto growled against the wall, the hot air of his breath almost fogging the area he was standing in. Somehow, he heard the choked noise of agreement, the bobbing head vigorously nodding, sending you into a sputtering choke from the awkward angle. But Shouto liked hearing you choke, liked hearing the needy tone in your whining agreement, and he swore he was feeling his heartbeat in his balls. "You're not here entirely on your own will, are you? Came here for money, to suck some rich mans' cock?" His hips stammered when you sucked your cheeks in around his length, his eyes rolling in the break of his concentration, his blood pumping in his hormone pumped euphoria. "I want you to fucking choke on my cock, you hear that? Take me all the way in, don't be scared, I know you probably don't see much cock, but I promise if you can handle me, you'll never want other cock, slut. Take me all, and I promise you, you won't regret it."

A hiccuped breath came from your side of the wall, and Shouto almost wanted to simply burn the wall down to claim you for all his need and glory, someone with a mouth as gifted as yours definitely needed to be fucked correctly. Still, his hips reigned down, slamming against the wall so that the thuds of his impeding hips were heard softly in the other areas. 

And you? Behind the wall?

He could feel the weight of your head pressing forward, the feeling of his length sliding further and further down your throat. The pulsing of his cock ridiculously stilled with the restrained muscles of your throat, and the almost excessive drool and spit that dripped from his length with your choking movements.

More, he wanted more, he needed more.

"Fuck, slut, you're taking me so fucking well. You almost have me entirely in your mouth," Shouto growled, an inch or so of his cock still not entirely in your mouth, but not letting your tight fist work his cock. "Don't give up, take me all, I know a whore like you who shows up to be a sex slave can take my cock."

A whine (was that a horny or a frustrated whine?) emitted from the wall, and with a strained noise, Shouto felt your wet, hot lips make contact with the base of his cock as he continued to drill into you. Spluttering groans poured from his throat, the feeling of your hot cavern and resisting throat, sending him over the edge.

"Yes," Shouto gasped, the smell of sex, electricity, and barely burning walls simmering in his nose. "Fuck, yes, just like that."

Shouto could feel his nerves being shot out, the feeling of the compliant mouth keeping him pumping into the hole, his fingers digging further and further into the wall into it cracked and crumbled, his grip trying to keep his shaking legs from giving out, to break through the wall to get to you. He was almost there, so close, but needed to get over the hill. And then Shouto was swallowed completely when his slamming his stopped, he could feel your lip press to his skin hidden by the hole. He had no doubt that it must have been sorely uncomfortable for you, yet you were doing it to the point where he was fumbling for words, fumbling to keep his head on straight as your tongue wrapped around his cock, massaging the skin. Fuck, fuck, "Fuck!"

His head dropped back with the shooting electricity in his blood, sweat dripping from his temple and you, the stranger behind the wall, gave one vicious, strong suck, your mouth only surrounding the head of his cock, your wet tongue flicking the slit on his head, and he was spilling over.

Hot, thick, heavy ropes of white cum spurted from his cock and Shouto shuddered, his shaking breath echoing in his ears, and he could still feel your tongue moving, coaxing out the finality of his orgasm, teeth scraping against his sensitive cock just enough to have him seeing stars.

But the giggle that erupted in your throat was well noticed by Shouto, and he grunted in slight annoyance. Pulling away, a soft, almost unwanted pop echoed on the other side of the wall.

Shouto watched as his spit and cum covered cock pulled back to his side of the wall, and he grunted unwillingly. His forehead still rested against the wall, and he looked up to his left side with a disgruntled noise to see that he did, in fact, scorch his fingertips into the wall.

As he tucked himself back into his underwear and slacks, Shouto's blissed-out eyes fell onto the hole where your hand was perched out of it, your pinky the only finger visible.

"Pinky promise you'll come back later?" your raspy voice asked, and Shouto wondered if that was how you usually sounded or if it was from what happened.

"As long as you promise to do something like that again," Shouto smirked, his pink taking yours anyways.

He could promise that to the hole in the wall.

Shouto slips out the door and is immediately greeted with a bummed out Kaminari and a profusely apologizing Kirishima. He later finds out that Kaminari let out yet another round of voltage of electricity (he's banned from fucking anyone that can't absorb his quirk without damaging themselves), and that Kirishima in his blissed-out state accidentally went into his unbreakable mode and tore a hole into the wall. Shouto didn't bother telling them of the scorched walls and left with his friends.

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It only felt like a few minutes before Shouto found himself outside the same closed door of the room with gloryholes. The alcohol had long since been burned from his system, he is practically positive that you managed to suck it out from his bloodstream.

For the past two hours, he had been around the mansion, aiding Kirishima in his objective to keep Kaminari from accidentally killing a sexual partner. It had been for the best, Shouto believed. He was no prude and definitely didn't hate indulging in the occasional orgies - especially at parties like this. But for some reason, as strangers attempted to shed him from his clothes, lips, and fingers roaming his scarred, heated skin, he thought of you and only you.

Your tantalizing mouth and fingers.

He had exited the orgy room faster than All Might at his peak. 

He was strangely obsessed with a stranger, a person who was no more than someone past a hole in the wall. Who knew if your picture was what you looked like, but he sure hoped it was.

But when Mina had appeared out of nowhere, her perfectly manicured fingers pressing against Kirishima's chest as she emerged from behind him. She was, obviously, one of the few easily discernable members of the cult. 

"So, the crown prince does not know how to use his dick, and I am disappointed in men all over again!" Mina pouted, but her usual sly grin was back on her face before Shouto could ask if she needed help scouting potential 'dick appointments' as she so fondly calls them.

This was where things got strange in that Kirishima pointed out that Mina should just fuck a woman to teach men how to fuck women properly. Kaminari filled Shouto in with a horribly done stage whisper that the two of them had fucked before and that despite the experience of any man, Mina was never truly satisfied. 

"Alright, student Kirishima," Mina had thrust her finger into Kirishima's chest. "Follow me to the hole-y wall and watch the master do her job!"

Once more, Shouto was outside the door, the woman seemingly materialized from thin air in her same powder blue ava tea party dress and ruby red smile. 

"Welcome back! For four patrons this time?" the woman gleefully smiled, her gloved fingers clasping below her chin.

"For one, actually," Mina spoke up first, "I'm teaching these boys—"

"I've actually never had a problem," Shouto spoke up, his calm and collected gaze unwaveringly met the hostess despite the chilling horror and embarrassment of his words that crawled up his spine. At the same time, Mina looked up him and down with a small, small smirk. "I'll be taking a spot."

"Ho ho, well, excuse me," Mina giggled, turning back to the hostess with a brightness to her stance. "Two spots then. I have boys to teach!"

"Of course!" the hostess spoke unaffectedly by the group's dynamics. "Please enjoy yourselves! This part is a special treat for you lovely patrons, don't forget to be mindful of our poor angels stuck in the wall!"

The door opened, and in the group of four walked in.

If Shouto had been taken by surprise the first time, he was beyond belief the second time he entered this same room. His first time coming, there had only been those beautiful glory holes, but this time? There were no material holes.

Where the holes used to be, there were only large holes where the person assigned to the area was now presented to the public.

Asses curved to the sky, asses pointed to the ground. Cocks leaking, limp, and red with overstimulation, cunts soaked, throbbing, and swollen with overuse. It was indeed as if these individuals had been stuck in a wall, and Shouto already felt his cock twitch in his carnal lust and need to see just how you were positioned. How he prayed that you were at your spot, laying on your stomach, ass hanging out to the world waiting for his cock to claim you, waiting for him to ruin you. He wanted to feel your liquid lust drip from your cunt, splashing and trailing down your inner thigh.

Shouto didn't bother saying goodbye to his friends, the smell of sex, and his own lust switching his brain onto a one-track mindset with the growing need to get to you immediately. 

And almost to his raging hormonal anger, he came to the aisle where you were parked, and while his heart hammered with the growing pleasure to see your ass hanging in the air, your thighs pressed to the wall, his vision turned red at the sight of some no-named man rutting his ugly cock between your dry folds.

In no time flat, Shouto was behind the man, his hand fisting into the collar of the man's shirt and tearing him away from him.

"Mine." he all but growled, his aura darkening while he glared at the red-faced idiot who attempted to cover himself up in the act of running away.

It didn't matter that what Shouto did was probably entirely rude and could result in him getting thrown out, you were his, and no way was someone going to fuck you when he was there. The weirded out gazes that fell upon him temporarily did nothing to Shouto, his focus back onto your squirming bottom, no doubt weirded out by the sudden lack of contact.

But with a sigh, his fingers combing the few falling free strands of hair out of his face, Shouto stood centimeters from your shifting thighs, watching you continue squirming until he finally moved. His hands pressed against your supple, smooth ass, enjoying the way you fit against his hands perfectly. 

He stepped forward, allowing the bulge of his strained cock to press against the top of your ass — the perfect height for him. Shouto leaned forward, his forehead once more pressing against the cold wall, his eyes taking in the still visible scorch marks he had left behind and chuckled deep in his throat.

"I'm back, my precious whore, I bet you missed me," Shouto spoke through the wall, hoping that you would respond back to him. He thought he could hear an agreeing sound on the other side of the wall, another layer of muffled, and he wondered if maybe you had been gagged. The thought made him exhale slowly, his hips strained from rutting against you, but against his belief, your ass ground against his hardening cock, sending waves of pleasure through him. "You did miss me, huh?"

His calloused fingers moved from your supple ass to the outsides of your thighs, feather-soft touches skimming your skin, leaving behind trails of goosebumps and twitching nerves. Shouto's gaze remained hard on your body, watching how you completely stilled when he found his fingers against the inner part of your thigh and just shy of the excessive heat that was radiating from your cunt.

And he leaned down, his lips pressing against the curve of your ass, his eyes partially hooded when he felt you relax against his hold. But the relaxed position you held quickly erased the moment his teeth sunk into your skin, and his finger pressed against your swollen clit. 

Immediately, your body arched, a weak attempt to buck out of his hold while he heard a muffled cry from the other end of the wall. But Shouto was a hero, he was some with extreme control over his body, and as his tongue moved to soothe your throbbing ass, one finger continued to delicately dance against your clit, while the other shifted over to your softly beating cunt. 

Shouto groaned against your skin, his pants feeling too tight, the material of his underwear too hot and stiff for how strained his cock was right now, yet it was nothing to the feeling of your tight, wet, hot cunt. In and out, he pumped his finger, curling the long digit against your puffy spongey walls, the thumb on your clit circulating in slow, intentional figure-eights until you were pathetically rising and falling against his finger, a garbled whine for more barely audible through the wall. He chuckled at the feeling of your inner walls forcible clenching against his intruding finger, and he rewarded you with a second finger.

"Doesn't this feel good?" Shouto groaned, his body straightening back up so that he was flushed against your ass, his forehead resting on the wall, and his now free hand slowly grinding your ass against his crotch.

He watched you with the intensity of a predator stalking their prey, his mouth twitching into a smirk when your toes curled with a sudden drag of his fingers over a ribbed area of your core. Growling in need, Shouto's hips slammed into you, mindlessly fucking you even with his clothes on. His fingers doubled in speed and intensity until the rapid clenching of your walls was unignorable around his fingers.

His forearms ached slightly with his continued fingering, his thumb almost stiff as he continued to assault your clit, but with the arching of your back, the stuttering of your hips as an impeding orgasm was growing bigger and stronger. Shouto barely registered the sight of his own hand rising and falling heavily onto your ass, the sound of the spank echoing loudly, but that had pushed you over the edge.

A loud mewl sounded from the wall, your legs trembling entirely uncontrollably against Shouto, who still drove his hard crotch into your soaked cunt. He didn't care if you were to wet the expensive suit, his mind now solely on the fact that he needs to claim you, needs to sink his cock all the way in, and make sure you were bruised for days to come. 

Wasting no time, Shouto sheds off his pants and his underwear, letting them fall to the floor with a soft thud before aligning his already hard and swollen cock head to your clenching, sopping cunt. Shouto nearly shivers as he grips his fingers into your ass, his eyes mesmerized with how your flesh molds to his grasp, moving and shifting accordingly. With only a moan as a warning, Shouto wasted no time in pressing his cock to your cunt, and thrusting in with a single, sharp thrust.

If he had thought your cunt was tight with just your fingers, if he had thought the instance where you had vacuumed your mouth while sucking him off was tight, he was in a world of surprises when he came through from entering you. Your cunt was hot and oh so fucking tight around him, milking him dry of all and any precum that he had gathered at his swollen slit. Your inner walls flutter around him, intensely and quickly trying to adjust to the monstrous thickness that he was, and he could hear the pained panting pleasure of you through the wall, and he almost lost it at the keen whine on your tongue.

He shifted, moving his hips just so slight as to regain what little sanity he had left to ensure that you were thoroughly and roughly fucked. 

"Fuck," Shouto moaned, his fingers digging bruises into your skin, his skin feeling sticky and sweaty as he felt you continue trembling beneath him. "For a fucking whore, you have a really tight cunt. I bet you wished I had used fucking lube, huh?"

Shouto took a tentative thrust into you, his legs quivering at the feeling of the way your cunt gripped his cock, making it almost impossible for him to move as he did. "Should've made your pussy wetter then," he spoke in a near whisper to the wall, unsure if you had heard him as he began his conquest in fucking you.

With his fingers gripping your hips, he enjoys the way you bruise against his hold, almost as much as he enjoys the way the wall rocks with every slam of his brutal hips.

The sounds of his cock slamming into your sopping cunt send loud, wet noises ringing in his ears, sending a few other nearby patrons to turn their heads to look at him - to look at him in his conquest of claiming you as his. It only fueled him on, and he picked up his pace until there was a medley of sounds: his thighs crashing against your ass, the squelching of your wet cunt against his thick cock, and your thighs slapping the wall. 

Shouto growled at the feeling of your cunt stretching for him, the tremble of your legs, the way your feet twisted and curled against his knees, almost as if in a silent beg to get him impossibly closer, to make him fuck you impossibly faster, harder. 

His gorging fingers break your skin, and Shouto delights in the painful, garbled scream from your side of the wall. Your body is weak against him, yet he can still feel your hips jutting against his rutting hips, your body desperately trying to keep up with his insane speed and lust.

And when his hand presses to your lower back and the other right above your crotch so that he can raise you higher, the new angle of penetration sends Shouto fumbling for strength. It's then he can feel the head of his cock pressing against your cervix, your toes digging into his skin as he continues to pound away at your cervix, and he takes the rolling shrieks and moans from your mouth like a good thing. 

"Such a good fucking whore, I never found many of you who enjoyed when I literally rearranged their guts," Shouto huffed, his fingers tweaking and yanking at your clit until you were shaking in his arms. "You're enjoying this so much, I bet you wanted this the entire time after I left, didn't you? You wanted my cock in your pussy, I wanted to have my seed pumped into you until everyone knows that you're mine. You'd look so pretty pregnant with my babies, your stomach swollen, and your tits just fucking leaking milk for our children, huh?"

It's then that your cunt around his cock becomes a vice grip, and Shouto shudders at the feeling of your orgasm rocking through you, your pathetic keens barely audible in his blood rushing ears. And he continues, Shouto could feel the familiar sensation of his nerves being shot out, the feeling of your cunt desperately trying to milk him of his seed and worth as you grew limper in his arms, his fingers raking raised lines against your ass, forever marking himself against you, his grip trying to keep his shaking legs from giving out, his mind solidifying over the need to somehow appear where you were now so he could fuck you with no restraint. He thought of your crossed eye gaze, the possible spit pouring from your mouth as you took his every drop of seed greedily into your cunt. He imagined seeing your eyes spilling with tears, seeing your fingers rip into the fabric as he fucked you with no restraint, and with his imagination, he lost himself.

Shouto continued to blindly ram his cock into your cunt, a savage, insane last attempt to spill himself into you, fumbling to keep his head on straight as your cunt pathetically clenched against his hammering cock, finally sending his left hand to the wall, fire bursting from his palm as finally his orgasm tears through him. Shit, shit, "Shit!"

Shouto's temples are damp with sweat, and his vision swims with his overwhelming desire for you and the need to get to your room without destroying the wall to completion.

He picks up his pants and underwear, quickly fixing himself up so that he's almost remorse in the way that he can't appreciate watching his cum spill from your cunt, but the lack of you on his cock is enough to have him zipping up his pants and racing to where the hostess appears.

She doesn't stand a chance when both fire and ice bite against her neck.

"How do I get into the rooms?"

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

After being caught flirting with whoever you had pinky promised, you had been gagged. It wasn't a bad thing per se, that man had been the last person to visit you when the room was still functioning as glory holes. With the new stuck in the wall theme, it only invited men and women to be aggressive, and a part of you guiltily and ashamedly enjoyed how rough they would get in there attempt to hear you against the gag.

But you couldn't help the flutter in your cunt and in your heart when the familiar voice of the pinky promise man sounded through the wall. Right now, however, your body felt wholly and thoroughly used. Every inch of your asscheeks and cunt was abused, but the orgasm that came with his fucking was otherwordly. 

There was still nothing to prevent the shameful clog in your throat when he abandoned you after a single orgasm, but then again, you didn't expect the door to your cubicle to be thrown open, and a man stood there with a black kitsune mask. You wondered who it was, but there was the distinctive, infamous red and split white hair behind the cover, and you whimpered at the sudden shame at being caught like this by a Pro Hero you absolutely adored. 

The mask was torn from his face, the door closing behind him, and you were ripped back into the tight cubicle, pressed flush against his chest as he sealed off the hole with his ice. You were speechless as his obviously hard cock pressed against your diaphragm, and you trembled upon hearing the zipper of his pants coming down.

And the voice of one Todoroki Shouto sent shivers down your spine, reigniting the flame in your cunt.

"I got to fuck your mouth and your cunt through other people's rules, I think it's about time I get to fuck you however I see fit."

[xo-cuteplosion-xo]

Oh? You have extended the event I see. In that case...

Route 1

A- 7 and 11

B- Fyodor

C- Fluff

D- playing a chess game 😁

I’ve only had this in my inbox since the 19th…

Fyodor x reader

#7 You think you can win? & #11 You’re adorable when you pout.

Fluff-

Words- 1518

Warnings- none well some religious themes. (you know the usual Fyodor god complex)

~

Often nights like this were spent huddled around the fire. Getting the strong, tall, yet malnourished god to settle down and rest was indeed a rare occurrence. Stressed from the recent hardships of the last mission he cuddled against his lover. The warmth of the fire helped to keep his body warm. The shivering he never noticed calming with the warmth of the fur blanket, the fire, and the presence of his lover. It was truly an unusual sight to behold, even as the moonlight shed its dazzling beams through stained-glass windows. If anybody were to catch sight of this spectacle, they may be confused and accuse Fyodor of not being the real Fyodor. This was the side of him, even the man's lover hardly saw. A gentle calm in the thunder of his complexes. He showed you the calm side of god because he thought his lover (like himself) was above all other beings on this earth. If he were the god of this world, that made them his guardian angel. Maybe one day this mortal would be more to him than that, they were already settled inside his cold heart, but maybe one day he would make them a deity within a similar perspective as he was. 

As you sat cuddled against him, you noted the distraction within his eyes. To others, he still appeared well calculated and focused, but to you, somebody who knew him, he was far from calm. He never went into details about who he was outside your life or what he did. The only starts to him you truly knew were what he did tell you. The risk of loving him, his views on this hell-bent earth, how some people considered him, and of course, you knew he killed. It wasn’t a problem for you though, only because you had found out after he’d stolen your heart, and made you his in both mind and body. You believed he was making a better world, for the Fyodor you knew was different from the Fyodor the agency, mafia, and even the Decay of angels knew. Unlike the others, you knew that there were still shards of humanity within him. The way he protects you against people, the way he’d look at you when he was truly exhausted, and on the verge of passing out. He spoiled you with his music, his touch, words, and gifts. He told you constantly how only you knew the way he could be. From a wrathful and destructive god to a pleasant fair one. He also knew of your intelligence, he understood you were not somebody who would be easily taken advantage of. 

Glancing towards him with a smirk, you placed your lips against the pale male's luke-warm skin. He hummed turning to look at you with disinterested yet excited eyes. He always knew when small unexpected acts of affection appeared from you, something was going on within your head. His violet eyes danced around your expression before his lips parted, and the tired heavy voice that belonged to him met your ear. “Is there something you'd like to request? Use your words, little mouse.” he was always one to tease you, even at times like this he’d refer to you in small degrading names. 

With a small eye roll, you flicked his forehead. “Come on, let’s play a game of chess. You always wind down better doing something you enjoy.” You often requested him to play his cello in times like this, but instead, you offered to play against him. You were not horrible at the game, but he was a god at everything he did. In honesty, you may be an expert player, but challenging him was never a good idea. You had yet to ever request such a thing with him but here you were, doing that exact thing. He stood up immediately from the couch. His confident smirk, placing itself back on his lips. Looking down at you he offered out his hand. Pulling you to your feet as you walked to his chess table. 

Sitting across from him, you leaned your head on your hand with a confident smile. His eyes watched you with a brimming curiosity in their violet hues. He understood the position you settled in was mocking his own posture. He tended to rest his chin atop his hands whenever he was getting cocky or had a brilliant idea. This thought made him chuckle; he was not cocky. In his thoughts, that was the attitude a god such as himself ought to have. However, to see you mocking his stance was an amusing sight. There was never a truly dull moment with you in his sight.

Moving both his hands under his chin, he tilted his head ever so slightly. His eyes staring into yours as he smirked. "You think you can win?" he asked with his gaze never faltering or becoming less intense. That gaze alone was enough to cause a slight contraction in your movement. While many would have not seen the alteration of your eyes, the slight dilation, the momentary flex of your back and corner of your mouth, it was all too easy for Fyodor to notice. A contempt, larger smirk spread evenly across his face at the sight. His eyes grew dangerously clouded as he turned the board and provided you with white, the first move. The mock that rested with that action had your blood boiling with annoyance

Rolling your eyes you smiled kindly but held within your tongue a sharp snarl. “We play for a max of 45 then. No longer.” In an attempt to appear threatening, you spoke to him using the Russian you had learned. This seemed to gather his attention rather sharply. He hummed with a nod but did not reply, waiting for you to start the game.

Starting the game by moving a pawn to D5 he snickered watching you. With a lazy gesture, he moved his own pawn to D6. From there the two of you moved your pieces throughout the board. He played recklessly, like a true master, he was fine with sacrificing any piece he saw fit. While you played to counter this way of playing. Avoiding the pawns he wanted to be sacrificed. It took him all of five to work around that counter. The two of you changed the play type every few minutes. With a confident smirk, you played out your final two moves. If he were to place his pieces the way you expected then you would win with 5 minutes left to spare.

It was no shock the clever Russian man had seen this three turns ago. Having made a small counter if you went the way you went. So as that piece moved forward he brought his queen the opposite of what you needed to capture his king and win. Seeing the slight shock among your eyes as you panicked and made a move to counter, induced a soft chuckle. Holding back a sigh as you noted you still had the upper hand, at least that was what he was letting you on to think. As a master in deceiving his opponents and giving them false hope, it was something he rather enjoyed. So with the movement of one piece, he lifted a hand and swiped your king. “Checkmate darling,” he smirked, watching your eyes widen and that confidence from earlier fall. He’d admit it eventually, tell you how you lasted the longest against him than any other had. He may have shed that compliment to you now, but watching the shock settle into an angry pout led him to chuckle. Reaching a hand across the table he placed it against your cheek. Running his thumb close to your lip he watched the shiver run down your spine. The chilly cold of his hands against your warmth was a dark contrast between the two of you. “You’re adorable when you pout.” he hummed leaning in to peck your forehead. He was not one to show so much affection but as you melted within his touch he decided to show you more of his gentle side. “We shall play again, twas not the most interesting, but it was not boring either. You managed to surprise me, little mouse.'' The way he remains collected and his words smooth, yet teasing and threatening, was always a shiver that ran through you. 

He released your cheek and stood. His feet carrying him to stand next to where you were seated. With a single fluid tug, you were standing and against his chest as he played with your hair. Looking down at your eyes he noted the tired embers starting to dull. Debating between resting with you tonight, or finishing the work you had pulled him from, inflicted a tender sigh. Lifting you into his arms he carried you off to bed. Lying beside you, he buried his face into your neck. Relaxed within the warmth of the sheets and your body his eyes betrayed him as he fell into sleep with you.

[funtimebunnyblog]

Me: *receives this request*

Me: *sips my 3rd coffee of the day from my raccoon mug in the pitch dark of my room* 

Me: My time has come...

Pillarmen (separate) with a coffee addicted, sarcastic, career focused s/o (who doesn’t get enough sleep)...

(under the cut for length!)

Kars:

"Have you eaten today?" The Pillarmen questioned you, looming over your desk in the dark of your Office.

"Yes." You answered simply, not bothering to tear your eyes from the laptop screen or the sea of words it held sitting before you. Kars however knew better than to leave it at just that, folding his arms across his chest as he cocked an eyebrow.

Kars frowned to himself as his eyes took in your workspace, trying not to focus on the fact that was littered with disorganized papers, food wrappers and a few empty mugs.

He would never let his desk degenerate into something even close to this mess.

"Alright. What did you eat?"

Kars clicked his tongue, letting out the sigh he knew he was going to make upon making the decision to check in on you in the first place. He had known very well this conversation would be steered into a direction like this.

A silence fell over the room, your the clicking of keyboard keys stalling for the briefest second before resuming.

"Coffee." Came the answer.

"Coffee is NOT a meal." He said curtly.

"I know it's not a meal, it's a vegetable." You replied without missing a single beat.

He pursed his lips, "Now what makes you say that?"

"It came from beans."

"Something to eat first, then you may finish your work. And then it's straight to bed with you." He ordered, carrying you downstairs to the kitchen. It was late and he knew that if he didn't set these boundaries you would be hunched over, typing away at your messy little desk all hours of the night.

Without another word you were picked up out of your office chair like nothing more than a common house cat and thrown over his shoulder, the massive man rolled his eyes as you whined that you had only a couple more pages to do and you were trying to finish.

He ignored your protests as much as he disregarded the sluggish pounds of your fists on his backside.

Needless to say, he didn't want a repeat of last time that happened. Coffee and redbull brew was a potent mixture he wanted to keep out of your reach from now on, no matter how tired you claimed to be.

"Ok, Mom." You bit back, finally giving up on your futile squirming for the night. You shot him your best glare as he set you down on the kitchen counter, the rings under your bleary eyes only becoming more prominent as he once again ignored your words and your stare, getting right into fixing you something quick to eat.

Kars wasn't a person to be spoken to in that way by anyone (they never usually lived long enough to get such remarks out) but you were much different of course. In fact, your sharp tongue was easily matched by his quick wit; it only made you an even stronger pair to be reckoned with in his opinion.

With only a quirk of his lips as a response to your sarcastic quip, a cookie was shoved into your mouth.

"Here. Perhaps this will sweeten up your sour, my child." He said, now fully getting on your level as he busied himself making you a sandwich.

A smile curled at the corners of your full mouth as you chewed away, your demeanor just a little lighter as sweet chocolate goodness tickled your senses. However, chocolate did little to coat the silver of your tongue.

"Bite me." You spat playfully, a few crumbs escaping your lips along with the words.

"You know better than to threaten me with a good time, dearest." Kars responded, not even lifting his eyes from the cutting board as he sliced away at a cucumber.

You nearly choked on the sweet you were savoring as you doubled over in laughter, making Kars smile to himself in triumph.

Esidisi:

"What are you doing?" Esidisi watched you with curious interest as you began to depart from the kitchen, just seconds after making your entrance, the entire pot of black coffee he had just prepared in your hand.

The steaming pot of rich and buzzing Caffeine was snatched from your grasp in a fraction of a second, you blinked to find squirming tendrils of veins spiriting it away back to your Husband.

"I'm flipping oyster burgers for the King of Spain, what does it look like?" You asked without even a thought, an impressive feat as it seemed like you were mere seconds away from falling over.

Disheveled wasn't even a word to describe your appearance. Your hair in disarray and wearing the same clothes as you had yesterday; you looked like you had been put through the ringer not once but a few times.

"Hey!" You cried, fully turning on him. It only made the smirk at the corner of his mouth grow as you advanced on him, stomping angrily as you went; inevitably you were only making yourself more adorable in his eyes. "Give that back! I need to get some work done!"

Taking the entire pot with you was the most elegant solution in your eyes rather than coming back downstairs every so often to refill your mug. You definitely needed the quantity of this pot if you wanted to stay awake any longer to complete your workload.

"Ah ah ah, not so fast little oyster flipper!" He laughed, holding the pot far out of your reach and pushing you at arms length as you attempted to make a grab for it.

Esidisi was always amused by your fiery determination when it came down to your work and the lengths you went through to get it done but he knew when enough was enough.

"What I want to know is, did you get any sleep last night?" He questioned, a bare brow raising; a look betraying his genuine concern for you in the midst of his jest.

The Pillarman was not going to let you take the pot of coffee all the way back to your office to chug like an oversized movie soda as you pushed through more piles of papers. You had been up there practically three days straight, basically just surviving on the stuff at this point.

If you weren't going to take care of yourself, he supposed he'd just have to do it for you.

"Er... uh..."

You blinked slowly, the raw stinging of your eyes didn't quite help you in forming a convincing response.

You could've swore you nodded off once, maybe twice, at your desk sometime in the middle of the night but you weren't sure for how long exactly. It probably didn't even come close to qualifying as "sleep" in terms of rest.

"Mm-hmm. That's what I thought." He hummed, putting the pot of coffee back in its rightful place. A sound of surprise managed to escape your lips as he picked you up, carrying you out of the kitchen like you were nothing more than a toddler.

"Wh-Where are we going?" You questioned, blinking stupidly and trying to recover from your slight shock.

"Hmm, not Spain. Sorry, you won't be flipping any burgers today, my little spit-fire." He responded, his tone fluid enough to rival your second-nature sarcasm.

Your lips came together, squirming in his hold as you connected the dots. "I can't go to bed! I still have woooork!" You whined, pushing against him as if that would do anything in his powerful grasp. "I'm not tired!"

"Really? Oh, you could've fooled me." He chuckled, the rumbling of his chest against yours only making sleepy shivers dance through your body.

"I just need some coffee! That's all, c'mon!"

"No more coffee for you. You drank enough to last you a fortnight, yesterday."

He was so warm and comfortable, a much better feeling than any sized mug of coffee you could guzzle down would leave you; your fidgeting had come to a complete stop without you realizing it.

"I just..." You were cut off by a yawn forcing its way out of you. "...just a few more... p-papers..."

"Not today you're not." He chided softly, a hand rubbing tender little circles into your back with heated fingers. You knew that he knew it was only making you more sleepy (not to mention more frustrated) by the second. "You're having a sleep, something proper to eat later and a shower and then you can work and drink all the coffee you want."

Just a few more papers. Just a few more papers.... Just a few more papers.... Just... a few... more...

By the time Esidisi had reached the top of the stairs, your struggle had ceased all together and you had fallen limp in his arms; completely and utterly asleep.

The litany in your head fell silent as your eyelids drooped, losing yourself in the warmth of your Husbands embrace as the swaying of his movement rocked you as he walked along.

So many cheeky things you wanted to say died like flickering embers in your brain, unable to escape your lips this time.

Wamuu:

"Beloved?" The Warrior pushed open the door to your office, peering into the dark room with a frown. "Are you in here?"

"No. I'm on the Moon." Your voice (sounding a little worn but still holding that familiar pinch of playfulness) cut through the dark, coming right from your desk where you were hunched over and drawing away; the dim light from your tablet was the only thing cutting through the shadows of your cave.

He couldn't help but notice it was the exact spot he had left you when he departed early this morning to go do some training.

Warm, golden light shrouded you and your cluttered desk area, making you blink in surprise. You hadn't really realized that it had gotten dark at all and for the briefest of seconds you wondered how late exactly it had gotten; you shook your head quickly as you regained your focus on your work.

Nonetheless, Wamuu smiled softly and entered your workspace. It was an easy feat for the Pillarman to make his way through despite the darkness cloaking the room as he had most excellent night vision.

However, upon reaching your side, he reached over and flicked on your table lamp. He knew that the dark wasn't exactly doing your Human vision much good.

"Thank you." You mumbled, swiping your digital pen across the screen with slow and careful movements.

Wamuu hummed softly, leaning over you with a curious eye to see your work better.

"That looks very nice." He commented, the corners of his full lips tugging into a sweet smile as he admired your handiwork. You never ceased to amaze him with your little drawings and sketches.

You needed to get this piece done by the weekend and you wanted it done today so it could be out of your way. Each slip up of your hand or a line only made you feel more exhausted and more picky, lines overlapped and blurred and you could no longer take in the picture anymore; just your mistakes and its flaws.

A tired sigh escaped your lips, "I just can't get the shading right. I think I've had to redo it 8 times now..." you grumbled, only getting increasingly frustrated at the setback, a hand unconsciously reaching up to scrub at your eye.

Your eyeballs were starting to burn from focusing on the screen too long, a feeling much akin to being rubbed raw with sandpaper.

"Have you been drawing all day?" He questioned, turning his gaze down to the crown of your head with worry.

The Warriors smile fell as he took in your awry state more closely, he definitely didn't miss the umpteen mugs of coffee littering your space (some of which were only half-finished and long gone cold by now).

Did you even move at all while he had been gone? When was the last time you showered? Ate? Changed your clothes?

Really it was the best answer you could give, all you knew was that it was dark and you were sore and tired and your hand was cramping... so it was more than likely you had spent the entirety of the day working.

Once again, your movements stalled before slowly regaining focus, your movements slothy and lacking your usual grace.

"I guess..." you answered lamely.

Again.

Wamuu shook his head, you had been drawing all night last night and you had promised to go to bed after he kissed you goodbye this morning. It was obvious you forgot your promise and kept working.

The drawing tablet was easily plucked from your grasp, making you jump in surprise and reflexively make a grab for it.

"Wamuu-- wha--?!"

"This won't do." He said, quickly hitting the save button on your piece of art as he pulled the tablet further from your reach. "You're done for today."

"What? No! I--" You made an attempt to snatch it back but the hulking man wasn't having any of it, gazing down at you with stern double-ringed emeralds.

For now, he was taking matters into his own hands.

"No. You've worked far too long. Look at you beloved, you've become nothing but a shell!" He chastised, walking past you and placing your tablet on the highest shelf of your office; far, far from your reach.

You would only get it back once you were rested and cared for.

He pushed open the bathroom door with careful ease, not even struggling as he held you and set you down on the toilet.

You were picked up with ease, cradled in the Warriors arms like he was rescuing you from the battlefield as he marched out of the room. Your whines and cries and pleas to be put down went ignored, even as you pounded weakly on his chest.

You had originally thought he was taking your straight to the bedroom to put you down for a sleep but no, he walked right past the room without even a passing glance.

"Sit there." He told you, pressing a tender kiss to your head; the softness of his actions rendering you silent. "Let me handle this."

Your previous protests, your frustrations and any and all thoughts to your work had died all together by the time you two had stripped and were sitting comfortably in the warm scented water.

You blinked, watching him as he puttered around the bathroom; filling the tub with warm water and adding a generous portion of your favorite bathsoap, making a luscious and soothing scent fill the air and your senses.

A warm bath together would do you both some good, he was a little rumpled from training all day himself and you were worn down from your own work. Wamuu always enjoyed washing your hair and bathing together was always a good de-stressor in his eyes.

"You're too persuasive," you remarked, the words coming out as more of a sigh as he combed his fingers through your damp hair.

You hated to admit it but this was just what you needed; you could literally feel all the stress and overwork just washing away with the water rolling over you.

Wamuu chuckled softly, squeezing some of your favourite shampoo into his huge palm. "And You're negligent of your own needs. But don't worry, that's why I'm here..."

Santana:

"You are tired."

"I'm not tired!" You groaned, the exasperation in your voice was short-lived as the corners of your lips quirked up into a teeny grin. "...I'm y/n."

Santana tilted his head, pursing his lips. Usually you would chuckle at his obvious confusion (Santana still couldn't quite grasp puns and dry humor like sarcasm well, despite it being something you used more than often) but today you were too busy to sit down and explain it, let alone spend any time with him.

You still had work to pick at upstairs and judging by how things were going, you weren't going to be done anytime soon.

It didn't help the fact that Santana was becoming increasingly worried about you; he had caught you pouring yourself a bowl of orange juice and a glass of cereal this morning when you begrudgingly trudged downstairs for breakfast. The growling of your stomach neglecting its needs had become too unbearable.

Either way; you weren't going to let the fact you haven't seen a bed (or a fresh change of clothes) in days stop you.

"I just need to get some work done, Santana..." you sighed, emptying the pot of coffee into your mug. "I have a deadline at the end of the week."

"Sleep is for the weak." You replied, bringing the steaming mug to your lips for the first sip.

"You have not slept in days." He pointed out, the deep timber of his voice rumbling around the room. You could feel his eyes staring into your back as you fumbled around the kitchen.

Damn him for being so perceptive.

"Your kind is very weak." Came the immediate and factual response. "You require sleep to function and survive."

Like it or not, he was spitting straight facts.

You nearly choked on the gulp of hot liquid, it burned in your throat as his words hit you. Your mate watched as you opened your mouth and fumbled with a response to conteract that statement; ultimately having nothing.

It was always hard to argue when you felt so sluggish, your brain running just as well as an old windows computer, let alone when Santana stood there blinking so innocently.

You groaned, shuffling out of the room; mug in hand and the migrane you had been trying to rid of slowly regaining its pounding pulse in your temples.

"Oh honey, I'll be fine..." you whined, trying to ignore his eyes still watching you as you began your slothy trek up the stairs. "I may be a 'Primitive lifeform' but I can handle a little work."

The Pillarman watched you go, frowning to himself as you disappeared up the stairs; the hard shut of the door to your office the only sound following your exit.

Your energy was very low, he had only seen you eat a handful of times and it seemed like you were running into walls and doors more often than the average Human lately.

Santana was getting worried.

The hours of the morning ticked bye, eventually Noon rolled around and then passed and you didn't come down for lunch (or more coffee). The primal instincts of protecting you as his mate inevitably kicked in and Santana found himself at the door to your office, peering in with a curious eye.

There he was met with the sight of you slumped over at your desk, your back rising and falling slowly and rhythmically. The sounds of your soft breath hit his sharp ears, even from all the way across the room, and he found himself wandering in, coming right up beside you where you lay crumpled.

You stirred slightly, making his hair stand on end as a groan barely passed your lips before you settled down again, resuming your quiet snoring.

Upon further inspection he found your eyes were closed, cheek smooshed right against the wood of the desk and papers sticking uncomfortably to your face. Even your pen was still gripped in hand.

His eyes skimmed over some loose papers, nothing but meaningless words and numbers scrawled across the white without rhyme and reason to him but always it held some deeper meaning to you; your supposed work.

Your coffee had barely been touched, gone cold and sitting quite forlorn among the foodwrappers and empty water bottles and papers scattered across your workspace. Santana reached for the mug, sniffing curiously at the coal black liquid sloshing around inside. Throughout all the time he had known you, you always had a strange attachment to this drink; you claimed it was what kept you functioning.

Curiosity got the best of him and he brought it to his lips for a taste, wondering the exact appeal of it. He shuddered, growling, almost spitting the shallow mouthful of it out and turning his head away as the bitter and cold liquid overwhelmed his senses as it slipped down his throat...

Disgusting.

He brought the mug to his mouth again, unable to stop himself as he dove in for his second taste; doing the very same thing as before.

Not bad, actually.

The red-haired Pillarman pulled the mug close a third time, throwing his head back gulping back the liquid as if his life depended on it. Licking his lips and blinking rapidly, he cradled the now empty mug to his bare chest as his nostrils flared and toes curled, riding out the waves of it overpowering his senses.

It was so terrible but so good at the same time; so good he didn't want it to end but so terrible he wished the bitter and overpowering aftertaste would leave his tongue.

He turned his attention back to you, with a tilt of his head. You were still sleeping, nonethewiser to his very presence; it was likely you would stay that way for some time.

With only a moments thought he shuffled out of the room quickly, returning just moments later with a blanket and pillow in tow.

You needed your sleep to function, as he had told you, so he would leave you to it as he went downstairs to prepare more of that delicious "coffee" for when you woke.

With all the carefulness in the world, a massive hand slipped under you, lifting your face just inches off the had desk as he slipped the cushy pillow under you and let you down softly.

Gently, he draped the blanket over your back before leaning down, smoothing your hair and pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

He planned on having another mug himself.

Or two mugs.

Or five.

Or maybe three pots worth...

[s4ijoh]

meet me halfway (across the globe). suna rintarou

SUNA RINTAROU X GN! READER

GENRE: slice of life; facetime call; fluff

WORD COUNT: 1.4k+

WARNINGS: established relationship; mentions of stress

in which suna is somewhere far away…

[10:22] rin: “you up?”

[10:23] rin: “big game tomorrow morning.”

[10:23] rin: “cant’ sleep. need to see u.”

the phone buzzing on the bedside table startles you out of your morning somnolence. the empty spot in bed next to you feels a weird type of unfamiliar. you drowsily stretch your arms out, reaching for the ringing device while dragging out a loud yawn.

you are taken aback by surprise once you take a look at the numbers displayed on your phones lock screen: 10:25am. its already past midnight in his timezone. he shouldn’t be up this late.

swiping through your phone's screen, you waste no time in dialling his number once you come across the green facetime icon and luckily, it is only a brief moment until he is picking up and oh boy are you met with a sight to behold. if it werent for your concern, you could’ve just stayed there, marvelling in awe at your boyfriend, sitting shirtless against the headboard in all his glory. his pale skin is gleaming a beautiful shade of orange under the dim light of the table lamp thus reminiscing a statue made of gold; his tousled, black feathery hair sticking in all different directions yet with just a few loose strands cascading down the sides of his temple and framing his face in such way that made him look effortlessly handsome.

he looked as beautiful as ever. however, despite the apparent picture perfect scenario, you would be a fool not to notice the clear signs of restlessness showcased on his features nonetheless.

“sorry, did i wake you?” suna apologizes tenderly with a doting frown on his face once he notices your lids still heavy with vestiges of somnolence just barely peeking from the bottom of the screen. your phone is propped up on your chest, the lower half of your face hidden away from him as you refuse to get up from your comfortable position laying under the warm blankets.

“dont worry about it, baby.” you hurriedly push his apologies aside whilst rubbing the sleep off your eyes to try and not make him feel too bad about it “you know you can call me anytime. im always waiting for you on the other end whenever you need me”

he offers you a subtle smile, although its odd — its weak, not sincere. it is not the usual signature smirk with a teasing remark on the side you earn whenever you say something cheesy. it is also hard to miss the darkening spots growing under his tired eyes, his usual sparkly green orbs now nearing dull, heavy with underlying frustration. it made it all crystal clear.

rintarou is not an outwardly emotional person and definitely not one to voice his concerns. his pleas for help were often left unspoken and it takes a sharp eye to see through his unwavering surface. for the most part, the blank expression he's seen wearing most of the time did a pretty good job at shielding his feelings yet his eyes often betrayed him.

he had taken off a couple days ago to somewhere foreign for an important match. you know how sometimes, before a decisive match takes place, he lets pressure get to that pretty head of his and relies on you to keep him grounded and soothe his racing mind. for the longest time, he had been capable of keeping his emotions at bay and deal with his troubles on his own but ever since you came around, rintarou found himself growing selfish and craving your comfort, finding solace in your reassuring words and warm embrace.

you miss the old days when your lover was just at an arm's length and all it took was for him to say the word for you to drop everything and come running to his house, to hold him in your arms and make it all feel better. you remember people in highschool claiming suna was bound to fade into the background given his lazy tendencies and lack of enthusiasm. (what a waste of potential, they would say) suna would shrug. he never payed any mind to it — you praised him on his unshakable nature. it should be a major ego boost for rintarou to know that, not that many years later and against the spiteful tongues of some of your classmates, he made a name for himself as a first division professional volleyball player, thus proving them wrong.

however, he still has quite a few demons to tame inside his head. one of which was self-doubt.

you let your eyes roam his tired features for a moment. “you need to get out of your head, rin”

suna knew you could read him like an open book. you made him feel vulnerable under your scrutinizing gaze. he felt exposed. to have you stare directly into his naked soul was intimidating, more so than to have you stare at his nude body, like you have done dozens of times before. but just like you did with his body, you had taken your time to get to know every corner of his soul. you knew him like the palm of your hand — both mind and body.

“i know.” he tears his gaze away from yours, looking down while running a hand through his disheveled hair and down to scratch his neck in frustration. “tell me how have your days been?”

the silence of his hotel room was eating him whole and he needed you to distract him. most of the time, suna was fond of the silence. after a rough day he found comfort in laying down in his bed and basking in the quiet. he found peace in it. sometimes it was in the quietness of his own little world that he found the solution to his problems. but upon your arrival to that mysterious world of his, your voice soon became his favorite sound. he craved you to fill in the silence that he once treasured.

and so he listens. suna listens as you talk throughout the night (who would’ve guessed you had just woken up), rambling on about your days as other trivial things — namely how you could never get used to starting the day without his morning cuddles. he found it endearing how you seemed to speak enough for the two of you. he was a man of few words so he was lucky to have found someone to fill in the silence for him. and so he listens until his eyes start progressively feeling heavy, your voice lulling him to sleep.

“hey, baby” he calls in a barely audible raspy voice. suna lays down on his side under the cold unwelcoming bed sheets, holding his phone next to his face on the pillow “put your pretty face on the phone”

a soft smile crawls its way up to your flushed face at his sugar coated words, his voice although drowsy sounding sweeter than saccharin. you were so lost in the lovely image of him that you failed to notice that your face was barely on the frame, just your eyes peeking shyly from the bottom of the screen.

you shuffle in bed, turning on your side to mirror his position. its almost as if you’re not a hundred miles apart and he's lying right next to you, if you squint hard enough.

“there you are” he mumbles weakly under his breath, a loving smile on his pillowy rosy lips that you miss dearly.

his eyes appear weary through the screen yet he never fails to look at you with the utmost love. dumbfounded, you wordlessly stare at each other as you fall into a comfortable silence that is however, filled with a hundred unspoken words.

his love is quiet, hesitant at times but never shallow. he felt deeply and feared he wasn't the best to put it into words so sometimes, his love, it hides beyond lingering stares and shy touches. it remained unuttered most of the time but words are futile when he has shown his devotion to you countless times before.

“hey rin. you think you can go to sleep, now?” you notice him fighting the urge to let his eyes close shut, battling to stay awake for a little longer to try and memorize your face for later so he can dream of you tonight.

he simply nods with his eyes shut, too sleepy to pronounce a single word.

“call me tomorrow after the game, alright?” he nods yet again, noticeably starting to drift away at last but not before muttering a quiet i love you before the last hint of consciousness leaves his body, eliciting a tender smile from you.

“i love you, rin. ill meet you in your dreams tonight.”

[a/n]: so! writing this fic made me realize that im undeniably in love with suna and he now owns a 51% share of my heart. (oikawa. ill never forget you. its not you its me (suna) maybe its time i move on. 🤒 jk jk ill have both pls and ty 🥰)

anyways ye i guess im back from my mini hiatus (as a full suna whore) :))

this is honestly a word dump, initially this was supposed to be like... what.. 500 words long? i just thought of the prompt “put your pretty face on the phone” and the rest is just me pouring my love for him into words ah-ha. (you probably noticed how it is unnecessarily cheesy 🙄)

just for the record!! i havent finished season 4 just yet 🐸 lmao. i took inspiration off of nooras (@/inarzki) characterization of suna because she was the one who made me fall in love with him in the first place.

[nootgi]

Hello it's me haha ehm, do you do imagines? I wanna request for Albedo; if it's ok, just a small fic of Klee catching her big brother kissing his S/O and Albebe is stumbling in his words trying to reason with Klee 😂 if it's ok-- *scurries awayy*

A little help please? - Albedo

A/N:// SORRY FOR THE WAIT, it was taking longer than expected to do other requests but, here ya go ^-^ one embarrassed and mortified Albedo comin your way

You couldn’t breathe. 

It was impossible, every intake seemed to be cut off with a harsh exhale. Your lungs began to burn, sides started to ache and tears rolled down your face. Albedo watched in dismay as you keeled over, laughing your ass off at him. He couldn’t believe you still had it in you to laugh for 20 MINUTES after what happened. Every moment you feel as though you calmed down you look at his flushed cheeks and it sends you back down into a flurry of giggles.

What happened 20 minutes earlier? Well it begins with Albedo sneaking into the library during his lunch break to visit you. He catches you off guard as he presses you between the bookshelf and his sturdy chest. He had you pinned between his two arms. The book you were holding falls out of your hand, landing on the floor with a thud but you two don’t pay any attention to it. Both of you are looking into each other’s eyes, one hand came down to intertwine his fingers in yours.

“What brings Mr Alchemist here?” You whisper, bringing up his hand to kiss it softly. 

“I missed seeing my precious dove.” The press of your lips against his hand bought that colour you loved seeing on his cheeks but that didn’t stop Albedo and that smoulder of his. It did turn your gears how easily he slipped into his flirt mode, how his body seemed more imposing with his relaxed posture. The small quirk of his lip brings it up into a barely visible smirk, only noticeable with how close he drew his face to yours. 

“Ah did you now? It didn’t seem like you did the way you left today.” You smile, playing along with his mood, leaning up to bump your foreheads together. Today morning when you awoke, Albedo was already leaving out of the door mumbling something to himself. He took his portion of breakfast along with your morning kiss.

“Forgive me dove.” His eyes slightly darkened at your words, as if taking offence to your doubt, you were his world and stars and he wouldn’t let you doubt that even as a joke. You raise your eyebrows at his change in mood, about to question what he is doing when the hand that was holding yours so delicately, came up to hold the back of your hair in a firm grip. The kiss started out soft, his lips parted to draw your tongue in and dance along with his. Gradually the passion increased, causing you to lose yourself in the kiss. You felt your balance leaving you so you wrapped your arms around his neck, his arm that rested on the bookshelf moved to band around your waist. You let out a whine when Albedo pulled back to move his head down your neck and move his wet lips to drag lightly over your collarbone.

“You see dove I had something,” between each word was a swipe of his tongue against your most sensitive spot, every puff of his hot breath sent tingles down your spine and goosebumps to flourish everywhere, “To attend to for-”

“ALBEDO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO (Y/N)!?”

“KLEE!?” 

Klee had escaped from solitary confinement with the secret help of Kaeya! She had a secret mission of infiltrating the library to recover her story book that Lisa confiscated from her. It was very important that she got it back, it had all her survival tips and treasure maps! She made sure that Miss Lisa was gone to lunch with Miss Jean before sneaking into the library, the knights that stood guard turned a blind eye to the small girl since they knew she had no explosives. Upon entering she heard a small thud, her active imagination put her on high alert so she ran over to see what was wrong. As she was about to rush over, she remembered that Kaeya said stealth was key in these types of situations. It took Klee a while and a few bumps to quietly sneak down the stairs and cross the squeaky floorboards in the library. When she turned the corner she wasn’t expecting to see big brother Albedo and (Y/N). The two of you instantly separated, you turning away from Klee to recompose yourself. Redoing the buttons that got undone in that rush and fixing your hair as Albedo was silent. Klee stared Albedo down with her arms crossed and an unusual angry look, Albedo just stared back. It was like that for a few seconds before you cleared your throat and turned back around, stifling a laugh at the scene in front of you.

“Albedo what were you doing to them!?” She stomped her little legs over to take your hand and drag you away from Albedo. Putting herself between the two of you as to protect you from him and his mouth. Albedo’s eyes, comically wide, glance to yours to plead for help but you just shrug with a face splitting smile. 

“Y-you’re misunderstanding Klee.” The confident Albedo you knew a few minutes ago was gone and in his place was his blubbering embarrassed self. It wasn’t often you saw this side with Albedo so you savoured every second of it. You knew you could help but why waste such a good opportunity. 

“You always told me seeing is believing! I should trust what I saw and not your words!” You swear you were gonna have jaws of steel with how hard you're clenching them right now. 

“Well- uh you see Klee, me and (Y/N) were…” Albedo never thought his science tips would bite him in the ass this hard. “Kissing.” Honesty is the best policy? 

“I saw kisses in my story books! That was not kissing!!” Right, Albedo forgot Klee had some picture story books about love stories and all kinds of fluff. You could see the blood draining from Albedo’s face as his hands flapped about trying to make up an excuse. And honestly…

“When two people love each other…” It became harder to listen to. 

“Big brother Albedo deserves to be in solitary confinement! Klee goes there when she hurts people so Albedo goes there too.” She reaches her final verdict, her hat bouncing as she does a satisfied nod. By this moment, Albedo’s puffy hair is flattened from how many times he nervously ran his fingers through it and you were holding onto a bookshelf for support to hold in your laughter. 

“How will you be getting Albedo in there Klee?” You ask after composing yourself a little with some deep breaths, ignoring Albedo’s betrayed look. 

“Miss Jean will after I tell her!” Albedo has never been more at loss in his life, he was so used to being able to find an answer to everything or at least be on the right path. But with this, where was he to go. Every route was a dead end and his precious dove, his lifeline, left him stranded. Well there was one thing he could do.

“A little help ple-” His voice cracked. As did the dam holding back your laughter.

You sent Klee off, reassuring her that you were okay and could punish Albedo yourself. The two of you stood in by the table, listening to her grab her book and leave the library before turning to each other. Albedo looked worse than he did after a long night in the lab, hair messy, eyes bloodshot and dry from how wide and unblinking they were moments before. He made sure to clear his throat before speaking to you however when he caught your eye, you were back into your fit of giggles. 

All he wanted was to get his missing morning kiss and instead got a lifetime of embarrassment and a suspicious pat on the back from Kaeya.

[spencer-reid-in-a-pool]

Three’s a Crowd

Summary: When Geralt leaves you and Jaskier behind to go hunt, you are pulled into spending the day in town with Jaskier. Fluff and mischief ensues. 

Warnings: None!

Pairings: Jaskier x genderless reader *(see A/N)

Square Filled: Kissed to keep quiet

Word Count: 2,595

A/N: Here is my second submission for the 2021 Witcher Bingo! @thewitcherbingo While this is a genderless reader fic, there is a scene involving the reader with jewelry, so that could be seen as “feminine” if you really squint. Of course, boys and theys can wear jewelry too! Also, thank you to @toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account​ for letting me use a hilarious phrase they came up with! 

Tags: @ayyyyitswednesdaymydoods @blackjay04 @mxsmwndr @bravelittlesunflower @weaselbee04

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

Truth be told, I was glad when I realized Geralt had left without us. Were my feelings hurt? A little. But I forgot about it when I realized it meant I got to sleep in. 

However, I was only a few minutes into my next bout of sleep when the door to my room came crashing open. 

“(Y/N)!” the cause of the commotion yelled. Jaskier. 

I didn’t even open my eyes. I should have known this would happen. Sleeping in? Never heard of it. 

“What?” I snapped. 

The door closed and I heard footsteps coming closer. Then all of a sudden, the covers were yanked off my body and I felt his rough hands shaking me. 

“Geralt left without us! Can you believe him?”

My eyes shot open and I pulled the covers back over. But not before glaring at Jaskier, who looked genuinely concerned about the whole thing. 

“Yes, actually, I can believe him. And I was trying to sleep in. Do you mind?” 

Jaskier scoffed and took a few steps back, raising his hands in an apology. 

“Fine, fine. I see that I am more worked up about it than you are. Although normally it is just me that you two tend to leave behind,” he said, a bit of a sad look gracing his features. But in a split second it was gone and replaced with a much happier one. A mischievous one. Oh no. 

“Come on, let’s go find something to do! I cannot simply sit in this dusty old inn, wasting away as the hours go by,” said Jaskier as he fell onto the foot of my bed dramatically. “I am far too beautiful and talented for that.”

I sighed. “If I come with you, will you be quiet?”

“Absolutely not.”

Well, at least he was honest. 

~

The town was far more active than I expected it to be at this time of day. I wonder what there was to do. 

Currently, I trailed behind Jaskier through the groups of people crowding around the shops and stalls in the market. At least he was easy to spot with his lute strapped to his back. 

“Jaskier,” I called to him. I didn’t think he would hear me, but he stopped and turned to look for me. 

Once I caught up, I huffed and said, “Do you honestly carry that thing everywhere we go?”

He gave me a look as if to tell me I was insane.

“Of course! You never know when musical inspiration might strike.” 

I rolled my eyes, but honestly it was one of my favorite things about him. His antics never failed to make me laugh. 

“So do you have a plan for us, or are we to wander aimlessly through the town square?”

“Does this not suit you, my friend? Oh please, do tell me what sits so heavily on your heart!” Jaskier announced dramatically. 

I laughed and he smiled back at me. How childish. 

“Fine. I want to find some food. Lead the way, lute boy.” 

Jaskier gasped indignantly. But there was a twinkle in his eye that let me know he was happy. We often played this type of game with each other. Feigning annoyance or being dramatic or something of the sort to make the other laugh. It was almost a contest, although there was never a clear winner. Simply spending time with the other was enough. 

“Anything for Your Majesty,” Jaskier declared with a bow.

~

Eventually we came to a stall that looked to be selling sweets. The colors and textures of the food caught my eye from afar, and as soon as I saw it I grabbed the sleeve of Jaskier’s doublet to pull him over. 

“Oi, this was very expensive you know. Try not to rip it, hmm?”

Ignoring his comment, I continued to pull him over until we were in front of it. 

“Ohh, I see. Finally found something you’d like? I knew you would come around.”

I let go of his sleeve and he turned to the man selling the sweets. 

“How much are your goods, fair merchant?”

While Jaskier talked to the man, I looked around at other stalls in the area. A jeweler’s stand caught my eye next. I knew anything over there would be too expensive, but I wanted to look anyway. 

As I turned back to Jaskier, he had bought both of us a piece of candy from the man, and I took mine from him with a smile. 

“Thank you, Jaskier. You didn’t have to pay for mine.”

He unwrapped his candy quickly, and glanced at me with that crooked smile that makes women and men alike weak in the knees. 

“I wanted to. Now- where to next?”

My eyes betrayed my mind, settling on the jewelry that I knew would be too expensive to even consider purchasing. 

Jaskier followed my gaze across the square to the bits and baubles I was focused on, and a forlorn look fell onto his face. 

“Darling, I don’t mean to put a damper on things, but I can smell how expensive that place is all the way over here.” 

I sighed and looked up at him. 

“I know, but I just want to look. Can we, please?”

His face softened, and he gave me a small nod to signal it was okay. I didn’t even try to hide my happiness when I grabbed his hand and pulled him around the square for the second time today. Not once did he complain, which I felt very undeserving of. 

I realized how large his hand was in mine, and I truly couldn’t remember if I had ever touched him in this way before. Of course, I had imagined it countless times. It felt nice. 

I think that both of us knew we were crazy about the other. We were both just too scared to say anything. Or maybe we were just comfortable with the way things were, without a label. 

Either way, I couldn’t suppress the tingling feeling in my fingers as I let go of his hand when we made it to our destination. And gods, it didn’t live up to any expectation I had formed in the past few minutes of wondering. 

There were rows upon rows of every kind of jewelry you could imagine. Necklaces, rings, bracelets, barrettes, brooches... there were simply too many to name. Numerous golds and silvers alike glistened in the afternoon sunlight, enough to take your breath away if you weren’t careful. 

“Wow,” Jaskier breathed next to me. 

“I think this shop is worth more than both of our lives put together. Especially yours,” I murmured so only he could hear. 

“I- what does that even mean?”

Before I could comment something smart back, the lady caught us in her sight and came over with a smile plastered across her face, ready to try and sell us something. 

“How can I help you two today?”

Jaskier and I glanced at each other, not sure of what to tell her. 

“Uh, we’re just looking for now. Thank you though,” I said in a bit of a hurry. 

She seemed content with that, nodding slightly and then walking away to help someone else who would probably actually buy something. 

Once more I couldn’t help but stare at all the rows in front of me. I think I could look at them forever, imagining myself wearing all the pieces to some fancy ball or banquet. 

The only thing to drag me out of my thoughts was a small, timid tug on my sleeve. I turned and saw Jaskier looking at me. But he wasn’t really looking directly at me. His mind seemed to be elsewhere. 

“We should go,” he said in a low tone. 

“What? What’s wrong? Five more minutes. Let me dream a bit longer.”

He looked over me and around me before looking behind himself. 

“No, I think we should really go, okay?”

“You’re acting weird, Jaskier. What’s got your doublet in a knot?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the merchant woman walk towards us once more. Everything seemed fine until Jaskier turned to see what I was looking at, and then the woman seemed a lot less friendly. 

“Hey!” she yelled loudly, drawing attention to us. 

My eyes widened and I looked at Jaskier, who was now stock still next to me. It was then I noticed that a gold chain was dangling out of his pocket that wasn’t there before. 

“Shit,” he hissed. 

Without another word he grabbed my hand, and we took off running. We weren’t the only ones however. Behind us, I heard thundering footsteps and the sound of metal on metal. The guards were after us. 

“Jaskier, did you really swipe something off that woman’s stall?”

He turned over his shoulder slightly to look at me as we ran, but didn’t say anything. Maybe I was crazy, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. 

He had a death grip on my hand, and it didn’t let up as we ran through the streets taking twists and turns trying to lose the guards behind us. It was exhilarating, to be honest. So much so, that a laugh bubbled inside me and burst out before I could stop it. 

“You’re crazy!” I yelled to Jaskier over all the noise and the rush of the wind. 

He chuckled breathlessly, exhausted from the sudden sprint we had started. 

“Just keep running! And don’t let go of my hand- I don’t want to get separated.”

I smiled to myself and looked down at the ground where my feet met the dirt in a rhythmic sort of way. And once again, I laughed. Only this time, Jaskier laughed with me, out of breath and unashamed. Running this way with him, hand in hand, was freeing. I felt so alive. I didn’t care where he was leading me- wherever it was, I would follow. 

Jaskier pulled me around one last turn, and then into an alley. The guards were significantly farther behind us now. Even so, we cowered into a dark corner of the alley, and tried to catch our breath. However, when we looked at each other, a fit of giggles overtook us both. 

“That was..”

“That was-”

We both spoke at the same time and stopped at the same time, causing us to giggle once more. My chest and stomach were aching from the lack of air, but it was a small price to pay for how happy and carefree I felt right now. 

“So, what in the gods names did you take, Jaskier? And why?”

His smile fell a bit before he dug into his pocket where I had seen the gold chain earlier. But before he could get it all the way out, a familiar sound of thundering footsteps began to get closer. 

“Shit,” Jaskier hissed, shoving the chain back down into his pocket like before. 

He suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me farther into the corner, but there wasn’t much room left. 

“Jaskier, we’re gonna get caught!” I whispered. 

His eyes scanned the area frantically and then came back to settle on me. By the sounds of it, the guards would be on us any minute now, and we would be caught. 

In a split second, his mouth fell open a bit and he looked as though he had an idea. Without saying anything, he reached up and pulled the hood of my cloak up on my head, before shedding his doublet, leaving him only in his white undershirt. He threw his doublet into a passing carriage, and grabbed me roughly by the shoulders before turning me around and placing me roughly against the cold, stone wall. 

“Jaskier, what the f-”

Right as the guards rounded the corner, Jaskier shoved his face onto mine and kissed me feverishly, pushing his body against mine until my back hurt against the hard wall behind me. Needless to say, it threw me off a bit, especially when he pulled my hood to the side so that it shielded both of our faces from the guards who were now running directly past us, paying us absolutely no mind. 

Only when the sound of their feet faded into the distance did he pull away, eyes wild and hair sticking up in every direction imaginable. The only sounds that could be heard now were our heavy breaths, though we were still so close together it could have easily been mistaken as just one. 

“Um, Jaskier...”

“I’m sorry,” he croaked in a hushed whisper. 

“Uh, well, actually. I think the guards are coming back. Don’t you hear them?”

For a second, a look of utter confusion overtook his face. But almost as soon as it had come, a devilish grin replaced it. 

“Actually yeah, they’re quite loud, aren’t they? Just to be safe...”

This time, both of us met each others lips at the same time, and it was much more pleasant than the first one. Our mouths moved in sync, in perfect harmony, as they had meant to all this time. His hands came up to hold the sides of my face tenderly, causing my hood to slip away and a rush of cold air to make me shiver. However, as soon as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders to bring him closer, the coldness was replaced by warmth, and I smiled into the kiss. Not once did he break from his aggressive, almost hungry kisses, and neither did I. We had both wanted this for so long, and neither of us wanted it to end. 

Unfortunately, I had to pull away for air, so I begrudgingly stopped kissing him. But that didn’t stop him. He continued kissing me, on my cheeks, down my neck, and finally on my forehead, one last, gentle time. 

“Why hadn’t we done this before now?” I gasped. 

“Well,” he said in between kisses down my neck and face, “Geralt is usually around and...”

He stopped to place a gentle, final kiss on my lips, much different from the desperate ones before. 

“Three’s a crowd after all.” 

I smiled dumbly at him, still panting, and he mirrored my euphoria. 

“Oh, right,” he muttered, pulling out the chain from his pocket. 

“I got this for you.”

He reached out to me, danging a gold chain off his fingers. It was decorated with my favorite stones and colors, and it almost brought a tear to my eye. He remembered my favorite things?

“Jaskier, you stole that for me?”

He opened and closed his mouth several times before scratching the back of his neck. 

“Uh, yes? I just- I saw how badly you wanted something from there and I couldn’t help but imagine how beautiful this would look on you. Before I knew it, I had it in my hands and was making to put it away.”

Rolling my eyes, I gave him a laugh and took it gently from him. 

“Thank you so much. Truly... it’s wonderful.” 

Jaskier smiled shyly at me, not at all matching the fierceness I had seen on him moments ago. 

“Shame about your doublet though. I seem to remember you saying it was quite expensive.”

He chuckled and kicked at the dirt, flipping his hair out of his eyes. 

“Yeah, well, there will be others. Now, let’s go. We probably shouldn’t hang around here.” 

I smiled before placing the necklace around my neck, making sure it was covered by my clothing. 

“Lead the way, lute boy.”

[natasha-romanoff-deserved-better]

Clintasha Advent 2020 

Day two - Music 

(small trigger warning for brief mentions of red room abuse.) 

.

At first, Clint thinks Natasha just really, really likes music.

She is constantly listening to it- through the Bluetooth speakers she had bought for every safe house and apartment she had, through her laptop as she types away while doing research, through her headphones plugged into her cellphone. He even discovers she keeps a second pair of headphones in her pocket “just in case” the first pair dies or is somehow broken.

It doesn’t seem to matter what type of music, either. Her favorite seems to be rock, but he’s heard her playing everything from rock to country to EDM. Once he even caught her listening to the full soundtrack of Hamilton.  

He’s teased her about it several times since noticing it- poking at her and asking if she is making her own life soundtrack. But she’s never actually said much about the habit, usually just rolling her eyes or maybe flicking him off on particularly feisty days.

Sometimes it was annoying to constantly have her playing something, but it was easy enough to tune out and ignore. Usually.

Tonight was not one of those nights.

Their mission had been hard and grueling, eleven days spent in the sweltering desert of Africa only to discover the intel had been bad at the last minute after engaging the leaders of the trafficking ring. There had been a casualty- an innocent bystander who had happened to wonder into the wrong place at the wrong place.

They’re sitting in the tiny room SHEILD had directed them to wait in while awaiting extraction. It’s nothing special- a small mattress on the floor tucked into a corner with some blankets thrown on, a Bunsen burner in the other corner, and a bathroom so small it might as well have been a coffin. All Clint wants to do is drift into thoughtless sleep, but Natasha has her headphones in, and she is blasting the music in them so loudly that she might as well have been playing it out loud on full volume.

He tosses a sock at her, hitting her square in the head from where she is sprawled out on the floor while writing a report. She glances up at him, an eyebrow raised in question.

“MUSIC TURN DOWN PLEASE” he signs at her. Using his voice would be useless right now.

She stares at him for a second, and then signs a simple “no” as she goes back to her writing.

Clint is slightly taken back at first. Sure, Natasha often ignores him on things, but he didn’t expect a struggle over some songs. But fine.

He pushes himself up from the mattress, leans in closer to his partner and yanks her headphones out of her ears. She makes a grab at them, but his reflexes are faster and he snaps away his hand, the headphone wire still attached to the phone and dragging it away from her.

“What the fuck, Clint?”

“Tasha, please. I just need some quiet for a couple of hours, okay?”

“Give them back.” She growls, eyes fixated on his hand where he is wrapping the cord around the phone.

“I will in a bit. But you need to get some sleep as well. You haven’t slept since-“

“I don’t care! What I need is my music back.”

Clint’s brows furrow at her voice, the slight panic creeping in and the faint hint of desperation in the word need. That’s weird. She had never referred to the constant music as a need before.

“You don’t need it,”

Natasha swipes at him for her phone, but he catches her wrist and holds her still, not allowing her to pull away from him. “Yes, I do.” She says, breath hitching. “You have no fucking idea.”

“You’re right, I don’t. So tell me.”

Natasha struggles slightly in his grip for another second, before giving in to the exhaustion and heat and slumping against the wall, head dropping into her hands. “It never stops.” She moves a hand up to grip at some of her hair. “I can always hear them. My trainer’s voice every time I do something wrong telling me how failure is unacceptable. My ballet teachers voices constantly critiquing my body and my form and how im holding myself. The screaming of the girls when punishments were happening. Ivan telling me how special”- she spits the word- “I am every time I make a kill. They’re always there, I don’t know how to make them stop.”

She looks up at him, making eye contact as the moisture in hers threatens to overflow. “And I can’t stop thinking how I betrayed my country. How many innocent people I’ve killed. How many lives I’ve destroyed and didn’t even care.”

“The thoughts never fucking stop and the only thing that works is drowning them out and I can’t do that if you won’t give me my phone.” There’s a slight hiccup in her voice, something Clint has never heard from her before. His chest aches as he listens to her and he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close into his side.

“Focus on me instead.”

“What?” She stares up at him as if he’s insane.

“Focus on me instead. The texture of my clothes, if they’re soft or rough or itchy. My scent, which is probably not the greatest, sorry about that- remind me to pack extra deodorant the next time they send us to a damn desert- or trace the scars on my arms some. Hey, and my voice. Here, listen.”

He holds her close and sets off on a tangent about anything and everything he can think off. He tells her all about the childhood dog they had had, the silly pranks he and his brother would play on each other, fun stories from his circus days. Eventually, when he runs out of stories to tell, he begins giving random opinions no one asked for. “Fuckin ping pong,” He snorts. “Who the hell came up with that name? They really couldn’t think of anything better than ping pong? Is that name racist? It feels like it might be a bit racist.”

He keeps talking and talking, even as Natasha’s breathe begins to even out and her body finally gives away to sleep against him. Some of the first silent moments between them since he had brought her to SHIELD so many months ago.

[honeyhuun]

different types of dates with lee jangjun

~ type . headcanon

~ requested . no

~ pairing . jangjun x gender-neutral!reader

~ genre . fluffy fluff !!

~ tw . mentions of alcohol 

~ song recommendation . hold by winner

~ a/n . so i was watching that one jangstar episode with daeyeol and seeing jangjun on the rooftop screaming into the open air, gave me an idea... hence why this scenario exists. hope you enjoy and continue to love our jangstar with all the stars in the universe.

.

.

.

- now jangjun would absolutely LOVE spending time with you

- it is probably his favourite thing to do in the world 

- when both of you guys are free he is attached to you at the hip

- when you meet at your date place he would hug you so so tight and like not let go

- you had to remind him that you had a date to be continuing but he’d be all whiny and ask for five more minutes in your arms

- dates for him are the perfect way to gain energy

- because of his busy schedule he isn’t able to see you as often as he wants too

- so maybe one or two dates a week if he isn’t extremely busy

- now let’s get onto jangjun’s personal favourite dates

- he would always ask for your input but these are his favourite ways to spend time with you

- ice cream dates !!

- jangjun seems like such a sweetie

- and what’s a better way to prove that than buying you something that’s as sweet as both of you

- the two of you are frequents to the ice cream place near his dorms

- i swear even if it’s -1 degrees outside he would be like “ight it’s ice cream time”

- he would drag you into the store by your hand and asked what flavour you wanted

- when you said something different to the usual he said “ooo spicing it up a bit now aren’t we jagi, would you be able to handle it ~” (teasing shit)

- his eyes would grow so large at the wide array of flavours, watching them being scooped into bowls diligently

- jangjun would order one bowl of the dessert instead of two, having your chosen flavours on one side and his on the other

- he just loves sharing things with you and it makes it easier if he wants to feed you some of his ice cream

- if your order was slightly incorrect he wouldn’t hesitate to call out the poor worker 

- “excuse me sir, my jagi ordered two scoops of cookies n’ cream, why is there only one?”  *you dying of embarrassment next to him* “jangjun honey, it’s alright-” “nu uh, my baby doesn’t deserve this absolutely disgraceful service. y’know what? we are going to a different store next time, this is unacceptable-” *then proceeds to go to the same place with you next week*

- would sit you down in a small booth in a corner and just talk to you about your day

- dates are basically like catch up time for him

- because of the nature of his work there aren’t very many times where he can just talk with you

- he loves to be filled in with all the things happening with your life

- jangjun is an amazing listener, he would bring up shit you said like 50 years ago that you barely remember yourself “ahh y/n how was your weekend off at jeju? what did you do?”

- would totally do that thing they do in dramas. when you have some ice cream on you lips he’d lean in and swipe it off with his thumb (lee jangjun the napkin was right there >:) 

- he would get a bit embarrassed afterwards but it made you giggle so it’s one hundred percent worth it in his eyes

- insists to feed you, you’re his baby there’s no getting away from “say ahhh”

- loves to kiss you during these moments, his heart just swells with so much emotion seeing your cheeks full or seeing you suffer from a brainfreeze

- you would always taste the syrupy sweetness on his lips and the cold from the ice soon turned into warmth

- laser tag dates !!

- jangjun lives for your smile

- it actually completes him

- there are two quick ways to make you smile

- making you laugh and teasing you

- and during laser tag dates he always does an over abundance of both ~

- on this occasion he brought joochan and donghun along (he didn’t do it willingly, they begged him to earth and back and promised not to mess up the date) (if you count stealing a good chunk of your attention from jangjun a ruined date, then yeah they did :)) 

- so we now have a pouty jangjun who wants your attention very much because you’re talking to donghun more than him

- he get’s the perfect opportunity to get back at you when you’re put on opposite teams

- you and donghun vs.  jangjun and joochan let’s go >:

- jangjun would always try and distract you by doing cute shit but it would never work

- even forgets about donghun he only has eyes for you, even when he’s trying to get you to lose 

- “it would be amazing if my wonderful very beautiful y/n came over here for a second.” “lee jangjun do you think i’m daft” “daft for my love now come here-”

- when you try to shoot him and miss (you swear you hit his sensor though) he pokes his tongue out and runs off

- strong advocator against camping, he says it isn’t fair and a cheap strategy (it’s just that he’s never paying 100% of his attention to the game and gets caught out by donghun because he’s too busy looking at you)

- jangjun is so so so so so so in love with you but will never out rightly admit just how much he does, but it’s so evident in how he looks at you and in the little things (like not shooting you when he has the perfect opportunity to) 

- i have a feeling he’d just randomly do the choreo to something like genie in the middle of the game and get pissy when someone catches him out

- turns out joochan wasn’t as good as a teammate as he thought when they lost to a cleverly planned ambush by you and donghun

- he swears his day can’t get any worse being betrayed by his partner and bandmates, but give him five minutes and a few pats on the head and he’s all yours again

- lovesick puppy ;-;

- board game dates !!

- sometimes the weather doesn’t always permit you to be able to go outside

- so on days of extreme weather he’d always show up to your door with heavy bags filled with unhealthy snacks, a blanket or two, alcohol (it’s no secret how much he likes to drink) and a few board games to try out

- after setting everything up he’d take a shot of soju to feel buzzed and doesn’t forget to feed you a bit before you start. he will not let his baby play with an empty stomach >:

- you guys always start with a classic: monopoly

- picks hat or dog; thinks the car is ugly

- cheats, like a lot.

- “jangjun you moved your piece ahead like fifty spaces bring it back- we both were on go a few minutes ago !!” “jagi what are you talking about? i was always there!!” *secretly moves his piece two spaces forward*

- goes to jail a lot but almost immediately gets a jail out free card (he isn’t cheating for this one, he just has luck you could only dream of)

- laughs so loudly when you land on his property and have to pay up, holds his hand out for the money and you wish you could beat him up; only with love though ~

- gets on his knees and begs you to give him four, hundred notes when he’s on the verge of bankruptcy 

- you never agree and he always ends up loosing, accuses you of cheating and you can only laugh

- “you won AGAIN? y/n stop cheating, it isn’t fair-” “lovely to hear that from you lee jangjun...” “at least i cheat with pride and dignity!”

- will reluctantly move on to jenga

- even more tipsy this time, you’re the same (if you drink that is)

- makes up stupid dares you have to do if you lose

- it’s probably shit like running outside of your place into the street screaming or aegyo

- both for his personal enjoyment and good photos

- this is where you guys get serious

- no love just “YOU WERE THE ONE THAT TOUCHED IT LAST” “NO I WASN’T MY ARM WAS RIGHT HERE” “LIAR-”

- once you had a really long game and it looked like jangjun was going to win but you sneezed and made him lose focus

- as we have already established you are his baby, you can’t be sick wtf that’s a crime

- gives you the death stare as the tower topples

- *proceeds to do the most over the top aegyo you’ve ever seen before going back to giving you the death stare*

- just kiss him and he’d forget why he was even mad at you in the first place

- now he’s basically drunk at this point, slurring his words and refusing to let you out of his vice grip

- being smart you try to get him to bed but he refuses wanting to play one more game. what are you supposed to do, say no?

- that game ends up being charades !! jangjun is normally really good at this game, when he is sober that is...

- can not guess what you are doing for the life of him

- “giraffe, polar bear, gorilla-” *you were acting out excitement. the emotion.*

- giggles cutely when you guess correctly what he’s trying to

- his cheeks are all red form all the alcohol and i’m-

- both of you (only him if you’re not drunk) pass out on the couch just wrapped in blankets with your bodies smooshed together

- jangjun wakes up in the morning very happy despite his raging hangover

- video call dates !!

- jangun is an idol, the nature of his work means he can’t see you as often as he’d like

- even when he’s free your schedule sometimes doesn’t match up with his free days

- this problem won’t stop jangjun from trying to spend time with you, if he can’t smooch you in person he would give his laptop screen all the smooches in the world to make up for it :<

- video call dates are absolutely necessary to your relationship and they are your most common date 

- jandjun would legit go insane without seeing your face for too long

- lost in the waves of constant dance practice, recordings and promotions you ground him

- you’re like his safe space, he can be as uncensored with you as he you wants (if jangjun is holding himself back in normal recordings just imagine how he’d be with you alone)

- so video call dates would happen very often definitely a minimum of three times a week

- y’all would do many things, maybe he would be studying japanese and you reading something required for work or school

- he could be working out and just called you to give him motivation

- but the most common type of video call dates are your mukbang ones

- jangjun loves to see you eat

- one of his favourite things is to share a meal with you

- so during dinner times, he thanks who ever cooked the food (ngl it’s probably takeout), took it to his room, told seungmin to go somewhere else for 30 minutes and turned on his laptop to call you

- smily when you answer and sees your face

- “y/n !! how was your day angel? i was missing you a lot today, have you eaten? no? go and get something then, i can hear your tummy rumbling from our dorm. we can have a little dinner date!!” 

- help i am helplessly in love with this man and i don’t know what to do >:

- brings his food up to the camera “it looks good right~”

- WILL try and feed you through the screen and ends up spilling a bit on his keyboard

- will let you do the talking, will just eat happily nodding along adding input when needed

- jangjun fluffy cheeks full of food; my favourite concept ~

- will pout when he has to end the call because seungmin needs something in their room

- “i’ll talk you later y/n, always missing you~”

- rooftop dates !!

- jangjun’s final fav type of date

- he doesn’t want to do these too often, they need to feel extremely special

- when he knows you’ve been having a hard time recently or he hasn’t seen you in a while, jangjun would ask you to come to the rooftop of his dorm or company

- this where you would see him at his most romantic

- jangjun isn’t one for grand gestures and deep heartfelt declarations of love

- he shows his love in little ways most of the time but he just feels the obligation to do something bigger once in a while

- when you arrive at the rooftop, it’s decorated with fairy lights and pillows

- jangjun would sneak up behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders giving you a jumpscare

- “BOO !! hehe i scared you right ~ so... do you like it? i had youngtaek help me with it, i promised to buy him food afterwards. see, i owe someone food because of you-”

- would lead you to the pile of blankets plopping down first, patting the space next him

- won’t hesitate to burry himself into you his excuse being “i might not be able to do this again for a while” ;-;

- he would prefer rooftop dates in the day because cloud gazing is much more fun to him than stargazing

- jangjun would point out like really obscure and hard to see shapes in the clouds “oh my god jagi, look at this one !! it looks like burger ~” “hun are you hungry?” “maybe...”

- he’d also enjoy looking down at the street seeing people going about with life, it just made him feel more apart of something and not just a lonely island in the idol world

- if you really really liked the stars he’d change the plans to be in the evening instead (only because he has more chances to stare at you when you’re concentrated on trying to find patterns in the sky)

- would say shit like “the sky looks amazing, but not as amazing as you ;)” and you’d want to push him off

- honestly you’re the only person jangjun would ever stoop this low for in the realms of cheesiness 

- moments like this would be the only times he’d ever tell you he loved you

- it’s not like he never feels it, because trust me he does every single moment he’s with you

- he would always say things like “you know you love me ~” often but it was always in playful jest (and when he mildly pisses you off oops-)

- those three words were only saved for perfect moments like this and you knew he meant them every time

- you guys would be looking up at the sky and he’d just grab your hand and rub your thumb saying how seriously lucky he is to know you and how he’d never imagine in a million years to be able to call you his, while cuddling closer to you. you’d just smile because lee jangjun- and he’d press his lips on the shell of your ear and say softly “i love you”

- (clock by infinite just came on DO YOU EXPECT ME TO BE OKAY RIGHT NOW)

- then he moved to your lips and i’m a goner-

- this is definitely the sappiest you’d ever see jangjun but this side of him was very very very cute n’ soft indeed

- would just lay with you forever and ever just enjoying your presence

- as long as your there jangjun would never look at anything that isn’t you

- lee jangjun just enjoys spending time with you so so much, it’s when he’s really at his happiest and most carefree

- make sure to take him to all your favourite places in return, he’d love to see all the things that make you happy :((

a/n . this killed me from the inside out, i love this boy so much- to whoever is reading this jangjun and golcha love you so much :(

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Probably crack and a result of staying up way too late, but how do you think an AU where Peter dated and married Naomi instead of Nora would go?

This officially goes on the list of “ships I never considered before, but now that you say it I can kinda see it.”  Peter’s clearly got a competency kink, between Eva and Nora.  Naomi deserves better than Dan.  They’re both overworked single parents who try to do what’s best for their kids, and don’t always succeed.  Peter’s good at the nurturing and hug-giving and supportive side of things, not so much at the day-to-day practicalities.  Naomi’s excellent at making sure everyone is fed and sheltered and keeping up in school, not so much at the touchy-feely stuff.  Yeah, I can see it.

Anyway:

They meet through the PTA, naturally.  Naomi’s there to stage a formal protest about the high school’s suspension of late-bus service, and Peter’s there because this is the once-a-month night out of the house that Marco keeps scheduling for him.  Naomi makes a sarcastic comment about the U.S. government’s idea of “sufficient funding”, Peter jumps in with a one-liner about science grants, and four hours later they’re still companionably trashing the NSF over their third round of bake sale brownies.  Peter makes the first move, of course.  Naomi sets the time, the venue, the curfew, the transportation, and the expectations for the night, of course.

Jake thinks this is the funniest thing that has ever happened to him in his entire life.  The more both Marco and Rachel call him to complain about their respective parents, the funnier he finds it to be.

Both Naomi and Peter are pleasantly surprised at how well their kids get along.  They were both vaguely aware that Marco and Rachel knew each other through school, but neither one is prepared for the instantaneous companionable banter the teenagers fall into the moment Peter first brings Marco over to meet Naomi.

The first four or five times Marco comes around Rachel’s house for dinner, Jordan hides under her hair and watches him in enraptured silence.  After about two months’ worth of this, Rachel drags Marco aside after an Animorphs meeting and has a stern conversation with him.

Neither of them will tell the others what they talk about, even though Ax expresses concern at the brilliant red shade both their faces have taken on and Cassie gives them a knowing smile.  Technically Tobias overhears the whole thing — the others tend to get so caught up in hawk eyes that they forget all about hawk ears — but he’s nice enough to keep his silence.

The next time Marco’s over at Rachel’s house, he lets out a seven-second belch after downing an entire can of Mountain Dew in one go.  Over the next ten minutes, he insults Jordan’s favorite boy band, picks his nose in front of everyone, claims he’s going to die alone because girls are gross, and (to Rachel’s quiet shock) too-casually acknowledges his raging crush on Brad Pitt.

Anyway, it works like a charm.  Jordan gets over her crush pretty quick after that.

“You didn’t have to go quite that hard in the paint, you know,” Rachel says to Marco much later.  “Pretending to like Brad Pitt, I mean.”

Marco is lying on her bed, looking through one of her back issues of CosmoGirl with the air of a forensic anthropologist picking apart the dismembered remains of a human sacrifice.  “What?” he says, back in that too-casual tone.  “I can appreciate a good pair of lips, no matter what type of human being they grow upon.”

Rachel spins around, looking away from the mirror where she was fixing her hair.  Marco is now staring at the magazine as if trying to detect a coded message between two lines of the spread comparing different brands of eyeliner.

“No matter what type?” she asks.

Marco lifts his chin.  He doesn’t back down, and he doesn’t laugh.  There’s a defiant set to his smirk, and the careful confidence in his expression is betrayed by the slight trembling of his fingers clenched around the Cosmo.

Their parents are engaged, that’s all.  And it’s not something he’s ever told anyone... but he also thinks it’s maybe the sort of thing that one tells one’s siblings.

“So you do agree with me and Cassie about Jeremy Jason McCole!” Rachel says triumphantly.

Marco gags so hard he risks straining his own throat muscles.  “I have taste!  You, clearly, have none.”

If Jordan still has any romantic interest in Marco at all even after the you’re going to be step-siblings news broke, it disappears the instant that Naomi announces Jordan and Sara are going to be sharing a room from now on, because Marco and Peter are moving in with them.  A week later, Jake’s mother has a stern conversation with him about the extent to which he’s been running up their phone bill.  He grumbles that he didn’t ask to be everyone’s agony aunt, but that doesn’t get him out of being grounded.

Marco teases Rachel endlessly when he figures out why she leaves her window open every night, even — especially — when it’s cold or rainy outside.  But he also helps cover for her and Tobias without being asked, and one night in gorilla morph he deforms the oak tree out in the back yard so that a sheltered branch rests directly underneath her windowsill.

Rachel stops in the door of Marco’s room the day after the confrontation with Visser One outside the fake hork-bajir valley.  She doesn’t bother to knock.  He didn’t bother to shut the door.

Marco’s sitting in the narrow space between his bed and the wall, staring at the blank blue paint in front of his face.  His knees are drawn up to his chest, his hands limp at his sides.

“They didn’t find a body,” Rachel says, blunt as ever, standing over him.  “I know that’s not good news or anything.  But I also figured you had a right to know.  There’s no sign of Vis—  Of her body.”

Marco squeezes his eyes shut, hard, but still can’t stop the tears.  “Shit.”  He lets his head fall back against the bedspread.  “Shit.”

Hesitating only a second, Rachel scoots in next to him.  She doesn’t try for a hug or anything stupid like that, but she sits shoulder-to-shoulder with him.  She’s the kind of person given to stillness, but she stays put as he struggles to breathe and swipes his sleeve across his face time and time again.

“It’s never going to end, is it,” Marco says at last, when he’s got enough air for words.

Rachel shrugs.  “I’m the wrong person to ask.”

“Shit,” he whispers again.  “Shit, shit, shit.”

“You wanna play Sega?” she asks.  “Not think for a while?”

Marco shakes his head violently.  “I just need some space, okay?”

“Sure.”  She stands.  “I’ll tell my mom not to expect you for dinner.”

Their parents are downstairs cooking.  Laughing.  Arguing companionably over one of Naomi’s cases.  Every clink of dishes, every fond word, feels like a spike driven under Rachel’s fingernails right now.  And if that’s how she feels...

“Anyway, I know you think I’m a crazy psycho killer, but for what it’s worth I think you made the right call.”  She says it sharply, standing to go.  Marco doesn’t respond, not that she expected him to, and she yanks his door shut when she goes.

Peter doesn’t try to be Rachel’s dad.  But he helps her with homework and shows up to her gymnastics meets and acts more excited than she is when she aces a history test.  He asks her what she wants to study in college, not whether she’s going or how they’re expected to pay for it.  He doesn’t try, and he does pretty well anyway.

The Animorphs meet in Rachel’s room almost as often as they do in Cassie’s barn.  It’s more centrally located, even if it doesn’t have nearly the selection of morphs right at hand.  Jake and Cassie both have preexisting excuses for showing up several times a week, and Tobias and Ax never bother using the front door anyway.  Marco’s also taken the time to confirm that no one in the house is a controller, so it saves everyone a little peace of mind.

Rachel wakes up screaming in the middle of the night.  No, that’s not it; she’s screaming in her sleep, and then Marco snaps the light on and wakes her.  He sets a glass of water on her nightstand.  Tilts the alarm clock so she can see the time.  Pokes her in the arm to remind her that she’s human, at least for now.  When it becomes obvious that she’s not going to talk about it, he turns and leaves without ever saying a word.

“I need you,” Marco says into the phone, middle of the night, apparently apropos of nothing.  “They took my dad.”  He gives the address, and then he hangs up.

He and Rachel have come to a decision, without discussion, without niceties like consulting Jake, by the time they’re done fighting off the half-dozen controllers who were dragging Peter toward the portable yeerk pool.  Rachel demorphs as Peter watches.  Marco goes through the explanation the first time, then the second.

Midway through the third round of attempts to convince Peter he’s not crazy, Rachel gives up.  She herds both Peter and Marco into the backseat, and drives back to the house.  “Pack for a long trip,” she tells them both, and goes upstairs to tell her mom.

Maybe, Jake concludes, exhausted just at the thought, they could’ve kept going if it was just his parents, or just Cassie’s.  But Rachel and Marco can’t both disappear without rousing too much suspicion, and getting rid of just one of them will put the yeerks on the tail of the other.  “I guess it’s time,” he says.  “Better get ready to tell our own parents, then.”

By the end of that day, Rachel’s and Marco’s blended family is in the hork-bajir valley.  By the time two days have passed, Jake’s and Cassie’s families are there too, even if Tom is currently secured with about a half-mile of duct tape and will need to be babysat by several hork-bajir for the next three days.  A week after that, Tobias shows up with Loren in tow.  One hellish mission later, and Visser One is dead, but her host is rapidly recovering.

Naomi and Eva circle each other like a pair of housecats thrust into the same room, at first.  They’re prim and aloof and wary, unable to know what to make of each other.  Peter helps exactly nothing by retreating from the conflict entirely, busying himself with an elaborate irrigation project the hork-bajir don’t actually need his help with.  But he can’t escape them forever.

One night, all three of them get roaring drunk on some kind of regrettable fermented-bark thing, and finally have it out.  Peter makes a passionate speech or two about his love for them both before retreating into morose silence.  Naomi’s sixth drink ends in her making an elaborate attempt to draw up a timeshare contract over who will keep Peter on which night.

Eva slams a hand down on the table, and they both fall silent.  She won’t share, she announces quietly, and she won’t be with a man who cannot choose.  She’ll find her own way.

Her own way, as it turns out, is even worse than Marco could have possibly imagined.

“Why?” Marco cries, flopping on the ground in the middle of the next Animorphs’ meeting.  “Why, why, why does this keep happening to me?”

“Pretty sure we’ve been over this before, back when it was your dad, and concluded it’s not about you,” Jake says.  “Anyway, the yeerks —”

“No!”  Marco sits up.  “We have more important things to talk about than yeerks.  Tobias, back me up on this!”

«Uh, yeah.»  Tobias looks over at Rachel.  «By the way, all those times you talked about how weird it was when your mom started dating again... Sorry for not being more sympathetic.  Now that I’m in your shoes...  It’s really weird.»

Rachel sniffs.  “You only met your mom like a month ago.  It’s still worse for me.”

“And it’s worst of all for me!”  Marco has flopped back over.  He emits a noise something like a wookiee being murdered.  “Please someone acknowledge that it’s worst of all for me!”

Cassie pats him on the back of the head.  “It’s worst of all for you,” she says.

“Thanks,” he says into the grass.

“Okay!”  Jake throws up his hands.  “Marco’s mom and Tobias’s mom have a thing going.  Now do we have it out of our systems?”

«Personally, I think Loren and Eva are most compatible,» Ax says.

«Nobody asked you,» Tobias snarks.  «And Jake, just imagine for a second if it was your mom who was macking on—»

“Nope!” Rachel says loudly.  “Nobody is thinking about anyone’s mom and anyone else’s mom.  Or dad.  We are ignoring it, we are pretending it’s not happening, we are carrying on as Marco and I have been for over a year now, we are killing yeerks.”

“Yeah, like I was saying.”  Jake rolls his eyes.  “There are aliens invading the planet, remember?”

“The horror,” Marco mumbles, still facedown in the grass.  “The horror!”

Cassie gives him another sympathetic pat on the back of the head.

[baby-grayson]

Kind Stranger|Part 4|GBD

Read Part 1 Here Read Part 2 Here Read Part 3 Here Word Count: 3k  Tags: @evergreendolan​ @someonetogray​ @vintagedolan​ @prettyboydolan​ @dolansficsandpics​ @graysavant​ @baby-turtles​ Image Credit to @graysonsbailey​ (her edits are THE BEST)

Ethan heard the front door close behind Grayson, but he was surprised by his brother’s embrace soon after. Ethan wrapped his arms around Grayson, somewhat confused while asking, “Whats up bro?” Grayson spoke from within the crook between Ethan’s shoulder and his back. “I love you bro” Ethan, still holding onto Grayson but, getting more confused by the moment replied, “I love you too bro”

Grayson pulled back to look at his brother, “I know you want the best for me and I’m sorry about what I said last weekend. I’m sorry for springing the news about Kate on you like that. But you should know that she makes me happy.” Ethan pulled back slightly at the mention of her name, a part of him had forgotten about her. But he released a small smile when he saw the kind, puppy dog eyes his brother gave him. A part of Ethan recognized these eyes as the look Grayson wore many times when they were teenagers: Grayson declared he met his soulmate no less than seven times. Grayson took the upturn of Ethan’s lips as a sign to continue, “I’m going out with her tomorrow.” Ethan tried to maintain a happy look for Grayson’s sake but inside he was skeptical. “I’m happy for you,” he started, “just be careful.” Ethan was the older brother afterall, even though Grayson was bigger in every way. But it was often Grayson’s’ big heart that needed Ethan’s protection the most. As if on cue, Grayson’s phone sounded with a ping. He dropped his arms from Ethan as the twins stepped apart. Ethan saw Grayson’s entire face turn upward when he looked down, “Is that her?” Grayson nodded, looking up to meet his brother’s eyes. Ethan felt like a third wheel and decided to leave the room. Grayson did not notice his brother step out of the room, too involved with the virtual version of Kate in his hands. He read her text a few times over: I hope living with your brother isn’t getting too unbearable. Grayson pressed his tongue between his front teeth as he smiled and typed: We’re pretty good at making up. Suddenly, he regretted the way that sounded. Does that sound too touchy feely? She’s going to think they fight all the time…well they DO fight all the time. He followed with: We never picked a time for tomorrow.

He swayed in his seat when she replied: I’m free all day, so whatever works for you works for me :)

Grayson sat in thought, trying to figure out the optimal time to visit an aquarium on a Tuesday. He knew he would wake up at 7AM and want to eat breakfast. Vainly, he questioned whether he should work out before going out with her. He knew his muscles would appear plumper and more impressive if he did. The idea of working out triggered the thought of showering and doing his hair. He tried to add everything together in his before writing: I can pick you up at 9:15 :) ****

A low, slung towel draped around Grayson’s waist while he picked out his outfit. He mixed and matched a variety of pieces, while cursing at himself for not bringing more options to the rental he was sharing with Ethan. He tried on a button-down shirt and some dark jeans before deciding that he looked way too formal for an aquarium on a Tuesday morning. He traded the button down for plain white shirt and looked in the mirror. He gulped down hard and stripped down to his underwear. He threw his clothes on the floor. He decided on a comfortable blue sweatshirt and shorts. Peering in the mirror, he wondered if he looked seasonally challenged with his long sleeves and exposed legs.

Grayson swiped the keys to the van from the top of his dresser. The keys to his shiny Porche were collecting dust in a jacket pocket Grayson hadn’t worn in months. The sports car was left to waste in the driveway while Grayson pulled out the van and set his phone to navigate for Kate’s apartment. Despite his usual confident demeanor, Grayson’s thoughts betrayed his self-esteem. Was he wearing enough cologne? Was he wearing too much cologne? Should he be earlier? Was he too early, should he be fashionably late?

He pulled onto her street, regretting his sweatshirt as he sweated like a sinner in a church. He almost didn’t recognize this part of LA. Graffiti lined some of the shopfronts; trash lined the street drains; people walked with their eyes pointed down. Grayson didn’t frequent this side of the city often. He pulled up to her apartment, beaming when he saw her sitting on the front steps of a large, white apartment building. Grayson stepped out of the van as Kate picked her purse off the stairs. “You ready?” her voice was sweet. When Grayson nodded, she added “Thank you again for offering to show me around.” “Not a Problem,” Not a problem at all.. Grayson opened the passenger side door of the van for the Kate, but immediately noticed her small stature. Kate tentatively raised her bad leg up to the edge of the van, intending to swing up to the van seat. She took in a sharp breath when Grayson’s large hands found firmly held her waist and lifted her up. Kate’s face converted to a blush tone while she muttered a few words of thanks, while Grayson grinned ear to ear and closed the door behind her.

******

“Tropical fish are actually migrating away from the tropics,” Kate remarked, and she and Grayson watched the insides of a large tank. They walked slowly, taking in more of each other than the aquatic life around them. “It’s because climate change altered the warm currents coming from the South Pacific.” Grayson nodded and took in a slow breath. How does he say this without sounding like an ass? “Why do you know so much?” Okay, maybe that was a little asinine. “You have all the facts, even back at the beach.”

The top of Kate’s cheeks turned a shade of pink, making Grayson regret asking anything. “I’m a Ph.D student at UCLA.” Grayson stopped walking. “I’m trying to be a doctor of Environmental Engineering; I do research in the effects of climate change.” Grayson’s mouth hung open slightly. He struggled to find the words to describe what he was thinking. He struggled to find the thoughts he was thinking. “That’s so cool,” his voice unsteady with awe. “I love the planet” Didn’t everyone? “I’m a vegan.” Kate started laughing, seeing through Grayson’s astonished exterior. “I’m not, guess I’m a bad environmentalist.” Grayson grinned and bit his lip, looking down at her. Her aura was infectious, her presence asked him to be the best version of Grayson.

“I miss Philly though. Home is home, you can’t beat that.” Kate almost looked wistful. “What’s it like?” “It’s a city of neighborhoods, there are so many different personalities in a really small area. In one day, you can visit Beverly Hills, San Francisco, and Nashville all at once. And the food is so good!” Kate gushed, more missing her home than telling Grayson about it. Her eyes went somewhere else for a second before meeting his gaze as he spoke.

“Complete opposite of New Jersey, “Grayson nearly laughed. “My brother and I used to ride our bikes and these four wheelers all the time. When we weren’t in school, we were usually covered in mud. This one time my brother and I were riding our bikes up this hill, and when we made it to the top—I shit you not—we saw a giant grizzly bear.” Kate’s eyes went wide, “No Way!” Grayson nodded vigorously, “We ran like hell. But then we got to the crest of the hill—this is where I am the hero in the story—I remembered from TV that you’re supposed to stay super still to avoid bears. And that’s how I saved my brother’s life when we were like seven.” Grayson wore a triumphant look, eliciting a giggle out of Kate. “So you know, come to me if you ever need rescuing from a bear.” “Hopefully I won’t ever need to,” the erupted in laughs together. Kate threw her head back and Grayson felt his face go warm when he realized how melodic she sounded.

“I do need to ask you a favor though,” Grayson’s eared perked up as Kate started, “Could you take a few touristy pictures of me to send to my mom back in Philly?” Grayson smiled brightly and nodded, “Of course I can. What about in front of the dolphin wall?” The thought of Kate sending cute pictures was endearing to Grayson, it reminded him to send pictures to his own mother. Grayson stood back and framed the picture in his phone while Kate sat on a ledge in front of a tiled wall. Her wide smile warmed Grayson’s heart. He was really so happy to take that picture, to create a memory of how beautiful and happy she was in that moment. Kate bounced off the ledge and over to Grayson to inspect the pictures he took before “Do you want any?” Grayson nodded and handed her the phone. He went to sit in front of the wall while Kate started taking pictures. Grayson smiled wide, saying “cheeeeeese” and garnering a warm laugh from Kate. Grayson pulled up the hood on his baby blue sweatshirt, hearing more giggles from Kate.

An older woman with two kids by her side gently tapped Kate on the shoulder and offered to take a picture of her and Grayson together. She sat beside Grayson, while he wrapped a muscular arm around her petite frame. She leaned her head in toward him, letting him drink in her sweet scent. ****

Grayson parked the van in front of Kate’s apartment. He turned toward her; his stomach became a ballroom for butterflies. Grayson tried to muster up words but found them lodged in this throat. Kate smiled at him, her eyes turning up, “I had a great time today. Thanks for bringing me out. It’s hard since I don’t really know anyone in the city.”

Grayson took in a large breath, he reached for her hand. He interlocked their fingers and noted how her dainty, soft hand felt against his large, rough one. He felt his face turn warm and his eyes go slightly glossy when he caught her looking down at their hands. “I had a great time too,” Grayson’s entire being felt light and airy despite his size. They took a minute to look at each other, letting the silence fill the cabin of the van. Grayson broke the silence and the stare to look at her apartment, “Do you live alone?” Kate nodded and pointed to a window on the left side of the building, “Yeah, it’s not much but it’s what I can do on a grad student’s salary. You know the life.” Kate chuckled and looked at Grayson, expecting a knowing look of understanding. Instead, she was confused by the slightly blank look in his usually warm brown eyes. Grayson looked at the floor of the van and muttered, “Yeah LA life is hard.” He remembered that he was holding hands with a beautiful girl and that now was not the time to be awkward. He gave her tiny hand an affectionate squeeze and followed with, “I’m glad I can make it easier for you.” Cheesy. Cheesy. Cheesy. He could do better.

Kate smiled at him, kindly. Grayson’s anxious inner monologue paused to make way for an affectionate, puppy dog smile. Kate ran her thumb gently over his from where they interlocked. Grayson felt a warm, happy feeling bubble up in his stomach. He squeezed Kate’s hand again, appreciating how familiar the feeling of her tiny hand was starting to feel. Grayson bit at his bottom lip. I should say something. I should say something. I should do something. He was looked down and didn’t notice Kate’s gaze to melt into a similar version of Grayson’s puppy dog stare. Her eyes wore pointed down slightly and her pupils widened, fixated on the enigmatic, hypnotizing, Adonis of a man sitting next to her. “Hey Gray,” her voice was just above a whisper, gentle, and kind. Grayson removed his eyed from the floor, escaping the trap of his thoughts while he looked back at her, “Yes?” Kate crashed her lips onto Grayson’s. Her lips wrapped onto his top lip while he ran a hand through her long dark hard, resting it on the back of her head as he pulled her in closer. Kate laid a hand against his chest, feeling his firm pec underneath her fingers. Grayson leaned into her, kissing her back and taking in her bottom lip: nearly intoxicated from her scent. At that moment, every love song Grayson had ever heard played in his head. I have loved you for a thousand years, I’ll love you for a thousand more…..And All of Me Loves All of You, love all your curves and all your edges…When I see your face, there’s not a thing that I would change

*****

Grayson bounced through his front door, whistling a happy tune and rocking on his heels as he stopped in the kitchen. Ethan looked up from where he sat at the island, “You’re happy.”  Grayson nodded and pulled up a seat next to Ethan. “I had my date. It was perfect dude,” Ethan recognized the wide-eyed look on Grayson’s face. “She’s amazing, like actually the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m happy for you dude. Did you talk to her about..everything?” Ethan didn’t feel like referring to the episode of Grayson yelling in a New Jersey diner parking lot.

“No. But wait until you hear this, she’s like a scientist who is trying to save the planet” Grayson beamed, very proud of his not-girlfriend. His beam dimmed when he saw the solemn look on Ethan’s face. “You should tell her Gray,” Ethan didn’t try to disguise the pragmatism in his voice. Grayson the romantic often forgot the hectic life of Grayson the business man; Ethan was the only thing keeping Icarus from flying into the sun.

“We just had our first date, I’m not about to show her everything I’ve been up to for the past five years” Grayson’s defensive tone did not match his relaxed demeanor.

“Look, Gray, if this is going to get serious. She deserves to know. You’d be doing yourself and her a favor by having this conversation sooner rather than later.”

***

Grayson’s wet hair soaked his pillowcase that night. The towel he wore out of the shower laid strewn on the floor. A thin white sheet rested over his waistline. He grabbed his phone from his nightstand. His intentions were to call Kate. He thought back to what Ethan said, about inviting her over to purposefully talk about what he did for a living. The idea of the conversation he didn’t want to have sat uncomfortably in his mind: not because he thought she would react badly but because he refused to accept that what his life was special enough to warrant a dedicated conversation. He was not looking forward to it. However, he was looking forward to kissing her again.

Her lips were plush and soft. Her tiny hands framed his face to well when she pulled him in earlier. Her sweet, citrusy scent only got better with proximity; her entire essence was completely decadent to him. She was like a guilty pleasure; there was something so invigorating about the escape she offered him. She intoxicated him: demanding the attention of every single one of his senses when they were together in an indulgent and dizzying way. She ignited his most innocent and romantic fantasies: he dreamt of sleepy Sunday mornings in a plush bed, dancing barefoot in the kitchen in the refrigerator light, and sharing the stars under the night sky from the safety of a shared sleeping bag. In a deeper place, Grayson’s other nighttime daydreams took hold: took enough hold to cause the thin sheet of fabric over his waist to start to bulge. Before his bodily functions got the better of him, the wet, naked, smitten man picked up the phone to call his not-girlfriend.

“Hey there,” her voice was sweet and song-like. Grayson felt a smile grow on his lips. “Miss me already?”

Grayson’s mouth went slightly dry when he thought of how to respond. Instinctively, he wanted to say miss you all the time. But he decided that was too much for after their first date. “I wanted to hear your voice,” oh shit, that was creepy. He quickly followed up with his next comment, hoping the first part wouldn’t sit on Kate’s ears for too long “I wanted to invite you over tomorrow.” He took a breath, thinking that he sounded like a second grader inviting their friend over for a game of soccer.

“That sounds good! You mean over like to hang out at your apartment?” Kate asked which elicited a blush from Grayson, maybe he did imply a non-truth earlier today. “Yes, kind of, I share a house with my brother not an apartment.” Grayson sounded formal; he knew he sounded format.

“Oh,” Grayson noted the hint of surprise in Kate’s voice, “Is your brother going to be there?” “He should be but I’m not entirely sure.” From the other side of the phone, Kate’s thoughts stopped for a minute. Was the genuine, sweet guy who could barely muster up the courage to kiss her really asking her to hang out at his house when no one else was home? “I would ask you on another real date, but it’s hard since everything is closed” Grayson felt bad for giving her a half-truth. He also felt thankful that his thin white sheet was soaking up the sweat from one of his hands. From the other side of LA, Kate nodded but then realized he couldn’t see her. “Text me the address and I’ll be there. Same time tomorrow morning?” “Great!” Grayson grinned, his smile beaming at the ceiling above him. His toes wiggled underneath his sheet, dancing in celebration for his romantic victory. Riding the high of today he felt the courage in his stomach build until it bursted out of his lips as “I had the best time today.” “I did too,” Grayson heard Kate’s smile through the phone. “And Grayson..” she started cautiously, “you’re a good kisser.” Grayson’s blush overtook his face. His stomach bubbled with a mixture of confidence, victory, nervousness, joy, romance, and surprise. “You are too,” and with that he felt his happiness bulge under his sheets once more and instantly knew he should gently end their call before his excitement turned his white sheet into a tent. A/N: Hello! This chapter was really hard for me to write, any feedback is valuable! I tried to make this progress the story, give the correct amount of information, but also be kind of fluffy. Let me know what you thought~

[lord-tathamet]

Dinner Plans

A short story almost two years of age, that I once wrote for a university class. Found it again, dusted it off, polished it slightly, but let it retain that little bit of amateurish writing simply to marvel at how far I’ve come with my writing ever since. 

Enjoy. 

For the fifth time in the last two hours did the man with the moustache and sunglasses look up from his research and look at the face of the clock of the broken church. He scowled beneath the moustache, but forced himself to look at it regardless.

4:18 pm.

They were late, as per usual. He shook his head and focused back on his literature. He made the mental note to have a number of alarm clocks be send to each of them for next time. Flatteringly Photoshopped pictures of the Mexican coast reflected in his sunglasses while his eyes skimmed through the brochure's whimsical descriptions of the rich culture of its indigenous people and beautiful beaches.  He skipped through a couple of pages until he found what he was looking for. A decidedly too sharply fined and too pale fingernail stabbed into the page displaying the photograph of an ancient, grey pyramid.

The man sitting behind the shining aluminium table was tall, narrow and sharply dressed: a suit jacket with bloodstone cufflinks, black suit-pants, a clean white shirt only slightly wrinkled and  two buttons open. His legs ended in a pair of shiny, pointy shoes. His face was stern and angular, with pronounced cheekbones and a pointed chin. Bushy eyebrows sat above the pair of sunglasses that protected his eyes against the sun, and a long white moustache grew beneath the hooked nose which gave his appearance a certain roguish charm. A wavy mane of grey-white hair surrounded his face and hid the pointed tips of his ears, giving him certain qualities akin to an old lion. It was difficult to clearly guess his age, but anyone briefly passing by and glancing at him would take him for a very spry looking gentleman in his mid-fifties.

Leaning in on his read, the man with the white moustache made a few notes on a small block of paper. The pen he used was black, ornamented with silver filigree and absurdly expensive, as was the ink held within. Next to the note pad stood an untouched and by now cold cup of coffee, its content as pitch-black as a dark winter night and reflecting the bright afternoon sun above.  Disgusting in taste and disgustingly cheap in comparison, but he needed the table, and none of the waiters would bother him as long as he had at least one beverage in front of him, as maligned and untouched it was.

Cars rolled by exhuming grey fumes, the nearby fountain shot water into the air and people passed his table. Most of them in casual summer clothes, sundresses and cargo pants and shirts and some of them even with hats to gain some shade. For a moment, the man looked up from his notes and allowed himself a brief indulgence – the eyes behind the sunglasses darted from one healthy neck to another. A small, wolfish smile parted the pale lips and if there had been anyone to pay close attention, they would have gained a brief glance at his very pointed, very sharp and unusually long canines.

“Good afternoon, count.”

The man in the white moustache begrudgingly pulled his eyes away from his current mark – a lovely Turkish woman with streaming black hair that was climbing the stairs around the fountain just a shy dozen feet from his table, close enough for him to smell the sweet mixture of blood and perfume she exhumed – and he turned to the youth that had seated herself opposite of him, soundless and sudden as if she had appeared out of the thin air.

��And to you, countess. You are looking lively as always.”

She seemed young enough to be his granddaughter, though no one within their right mind would have thought to imagine a superficial familiarity between the two. A girl of fourteen years, with a healthy, rosy complexion and flowing, lush dark hair that curled at her shoulders, the sunshine twisting golden shimmers into its waves. Large doe-like eyes that projected innocence and hid a vicious intellect, a petite body that suggested fragility and cloaked the strength to bend iron bars as if they were straws. She was in white, of course she was, a pretty, knee-length dress and a white handbag in her lap and with her hands folded atop of it. The lid of her bag, the man with the moustache noted with a mild amusement, was riddled with numerous, colourful stickers and badges, and around her wrists hung several loops and bands of tiny gemstones like rainbow wreaths.

They were the only change about her since their last meeting.

“Thank you. My sincere apologies, there was an unfortunate delay with the train between Kassel and Hannover.” She shook her head. “More than five centuries since the invention of rail transport and still a simple thing like an open door may stall a train's journey for almost an entire fifteen minutes.”

She nodded at the travel brochure still open in front of him. “Are you already planning your next journey? I thought you would stay in Berlin a little while longer.”

“I am a traveller at heart, milady. Although my beloved home will always be in the heart of Europe, the other continents do possess their own charming allure,” he replied, setting the brochure and note block aside. “And besides, it has been a while since I have last visited the Americas. There must be much exciting game to be hunted there.”

“Always about excitement, is that the reason you wanted us all to meet here of all places?” The countess nudged her chin toward the broken church spire in the background, a disgusted sneer cracking her face. “And mirroring glass everywhere around us. One of these days, your thrill-seeking hunts might cost you your life.”

“How would the youth of your seeming generation say? No risk, no fun.” The count let his eyes wander around the square for a moment. “Where is Laura? The two of you were practically bound at the hip when we last met.”

The young-seeming woman stiffened in her seat. The snarl dissolved into a very neutral, very calm expression that seemed like it was carved from marble. “Laura is... no longer with us.”

A single eyebrow rose, but otherwise the count's face remained unmoved. “Hunters?

“No.” There was a subtle tremble of her lip, the count noted, before she continued: “She could no longer bear it, she told me, moments before she drove the knife through her own neck. She betrayed me, just like the others before her.”

“My condolences.”

She nodded, her face remaining neutral. “It has been over three decades since. I have moved on as best as I could.

“In fact,” she allowed herself a smile,” I happen to have a date just after we met up with our friends.”

“You still insist on fraternizing with your prey?” The count sneered. “Now that is a carelessness that will get you killed one day.”

“Because unlike you, I seek actual companionship?” Her eyes glinted like sharp icicles in the sun. “Because unlike you, I do not wish to to prolong myself in solitude and run afoul like some pack-less dog? Because I want to spend this blasted eternity with someone like myself?”

Blue flashed and briefly turned red. For a moment, the two stared at each other with an intensity not unlike of two big cats, every individual muscle tense and ready to pounce. Then as quickly as the moment came, it passed.

“I did not mean to insult you, milady. Forgive me. I only worry about others of our kind. We are already so very few remaining,” the count sighed.

“Do not kid yourself, count. You care for nobody but yourself,” the countess replied, but she too relaxed in her seat.

The next five minutes they spent in silence. The count returned to his brochure, only briefly looking up to take notes and to send another quick glance up at the clock tower. The young woman had produced a smartphone from her handbag and immersed herself in the screen, brief smiles lighting up her face in between her typing and the brief ping of sent messages.

“Empusa will be here in half an hour,” she said after little while and looked up from the screen. “She is picking up Lamia from the airport and helping her through customs right now.”

“What about Schreck?”

“The sun is still up, remember? He will meet us after dusk.”

“His mutation is as highly fascinating as it is impractical,” the count murmured. “Why didn't they update me about it?”

“We do possess a text chain, you know. I'm surprised you are not part of it, since you are always the one organizing our meetings.”

“I refuse to touch one of those damnable Apps ever since Lestat sent around pictures of his own rectum to everyone.”

“Suit yourself. Why the Americas?”

The count tapped his finger on the table. “The Mexica people of pre-Columbian America possessed fascinating religious rites related to blood sacrifice to honour their gods...I wonder if there might be others of our kind still in their old territory.”

The countess fiddled with her smartphone. “Sometimes, I admit, I envy your ability to travel without restraint. I tried everything, yet I still must return to my family's tomb ever so often.”

“Have you considered moving your tomb in its entirety, stone by stone? There are still many old woods and mountain valleys unmolested by human hand. I am sure the hags you usually travel with would be most grateful for the exercise.”

“I have tried, once, when Laura was still with me.” A twinge of sorrow crept across her face. “I wanted to go far, far away from home and take her with me. But then, my body began to wither, my senses to decay the longer I prolonged returning to my tomb for a night. Laura, too, could not go long without a place to return to. Horse-carriages can only get you so far. And when we tried to move a single stone, what little strength I had left in that moment was about to leave me.”

The count hummed. Then his own phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, swiped across the screen, read the message in silence. A wolfish grin split his face.  

“Then you'll be happy to know that I plan on putting an end to these laws that seem to bind us.”

“What to you mean?” The countess leaned forward, an eyebrow arched.

“I planned on surprising all of you when Schreck, Lamia and the others would be gathered with us, but I might just as well reveal it all now,” the count smiled and leaned back, hands tapered together. There was a red gleam to his eyes, behind the sunglasses. “In my studies of the Americas, I came across a new initiate to our little circle – one that shares many of my own tastes and wishes to help others of his kin. Among such, is breaking the accursed bindings placed upon us.”

He extended a pointing finger. “He is currently sitting on the other end of the Breitscheidplatz. The tall man, olive skinned, with the gold rings in his ears.”

The countess followed his direction, narrowed her blue eyes to a glint. “What is his name?”

“The old Mayan people called him Camazotz. And he might very well be one of the first of our kind to walk this earth.”

On the other end of the square, the tall, olive-skinned man with golden rings in both his ears turned his head and nodded at them. His eyes gleamed in a blood-red, and for just a moment, both of the undead nobles could catch a glimpse of his shadow flickering across the wall behind him.

For just a split-second, they saw the shadow of a bat the size of a small house, stretching its wings and enveloping the street within its grasp.

[honestsycrets]

Finally Mine | [Harald x Reader]

❛ pairing | harald x reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | after what he’s done, he has no right to come home like this. but he does.

❛  warnings | mention of death, sibling murder, magnus as halfdan’s son.

❛ requests | + size request for Harald having to step up his game and declare hiself to the woman he’s in love with. She works with kids and is happy sad because she doesn’t think she’ll ever get married and have her own babies. She’s got shit luck in romance because guys she’s interested in end up friendzoning her to the extreme so she’s gotta low self esteem with intimacy. Like some people are made for love and she ain’t one of them. Harald wants her as his woman and to give her as many babies as he can. was this you @alicedopey

He stops outside his Great Hall. The magnificent doors are turned shut toward him. He should open the doors, go in, and face what’s become of his reputation. Only this time, there is no Halfdan there to save him. His eyes close, dark lashes pressing together, and he’s forcing the memories to the innermost parts of his mind. The recollection of what happened on that bloody battlefield is at the forefront of his mind. This is it. He shelves his guilt as he pushes in, feeling as if everyone watches him approach his throne, low and level were his guilt-filled steps.

“Uncle!” cries his small nephew Magnus.

Harald bends down to greet the boy, bobbing on excited steps until he reaches his uncle’s safe arms. Behind him, his nursemaid. Her long skirts sweep to a stop, hands on top of one another, and she tilts her head in regard for him. Thought of her plagues him like the same sword he ran Halfdan threw with. He’s alone in this world, torn away from all the certainties of life.

“I told you your uncle would come home,” your lips purse. “He spent quite a time in Kattegat. It must have been victorious.”

His world calms at your words. You’re here, in front of him, donned in clothes that have been gifted for honest service. The others in the Great Hall are great contrasts. Their dull browns and clotty reds reflect their standing-- and yet, they’re all welcome in the hall of a man who made himself a king.

“Ivar is the king of Kattegat,” he tells his nephew. Magnus’s lips part. “The cripple?” he almost laughs, though it is no matter to laugh at. How little his sweet nephew knew. “Then you will be king of Kattegat soon too!”

“Yes,” Harald laughs, bellowing from his chest humorously. Something betrays that laugh, and you gently pat Magnus’s back to shoo him off of Harald’s thigh. “I am sure you’re uncle would like to change from his sea clothes and drink. Let us go to play.”

Magnus hops from his lap.

“Wait,” Harald corrects, low and rumbly. “I have something to speak to you about. Magnus can go with the thralls.”

You cross your arms, the long sleeves waterfall down, tickling your dress. You whisper softly for Magnus to go, instead of straightening out your dress and its modest train. Harald steps toward his secluded rooms where everything is much more personal and private. For what he has to discuss, it’s better that you go to his inky dark rooms.

“Thank you for caring for him,” he stops, you thumb the candles to life in a hiss of small flames. There’s pressure for him to carry on, to explain himself. “Magnus…”

“He doesn’t know who killed him,” you snuff out the source of the flame, stoking the fire now at the hearth. “It is war Harald, I am sure you had your reasons. You are his father now. Halfdan was… always wayward. It has not been a hard adjustment.”

You say that, but it isn’t true. He knows it isn’t by the way that you look at him, exhaustion behind those eyes. Perhaps it was more tiresome for you, than him, but its all the same. He searches for a clue of how you felt about it. Not this evenness that you so often wore, strange for a Norsewoman with their constant open lips. He’s unsure what to say next when she stands before him. With nothing seeping from his lips, you almost move past him. His hand jolts, stopping you where you were.

“The clothes…!” You stare at him, feeling his dark and needy eyes focused upon your own, needing something to pick him up again. “They fit you. You’re wearing my necklace.”

“Oh,” you say, bringing your hand up toward the neckline, embellished with the symbolism of your home, dipping between your round breasts that bear his war hammer. He drinks it in, chasing the gown toward sumptuous round curves. “I hoped it would bring you luck. I should take set it back in your things now that you are home.”

“No,” He asserts, leaning a bit closer. His body is toned, firm, handsomely etched. You set a careful arm to his bicep, his gravelly voice filling your ears. “It brought me all the luck of the gods. Wear it for me. Tonight I will have a feast. You’ll come. Feast with me.”

You’re soft, and maybe a little drawn to the luxury of excess, but not stupid. You know the way Harald acts during feasts. He drinks. “You know that I do not like to be around couples. They are always so…”

“Happy?” he leans into you, and you feel his body, tearing your grievances apart. He’s firm and steady, and handsome in his old age. Like an old bull, whose age hasn’t affected him in one bit. His forehead wrinkles up an extravagant tattoo.

“Harald-- you know how men treat me.”

“That is why you should share my horn and be happy with me. If that is what you want.” You settle your hand over his chest. You’re unfocused when he leans in, nudging your soft chin up in a gentle kiss to your neck. “Would you like that?”

It’s been so long.

He steps closer, one step, two steps, and your back hits the dark oak walls. His swords shudder against the wall. He lingers there but isn’t intimidating. You shudder against his soft kisses, guiding him instead to your lips. It felt like ages had passed since your lips had run against another's, plump and soft. He wanders, first to your neck, prodding for more skin.

“If it’s just sex--”

Harald pauses, caught by your assertion of his interest. If it was just sex, he could get it anywhere. If it was just sex, he wouldn’t be here. Or he might be, with how his calloused hands dip around your soft waist, prodding you for more.

“It’s not,” Harald brings his hand to your cheek, caressing your soft skin. “You know I have always wanted a wife. And a family with that wife.”

“A family… with children of our own?” you prompt. It’s not that Magnus wasn’t a blessing from the gods, as open-mouthed and idiotic as his uncle as he was, but a woman longs to bring up her own children. It’s natural, you tell yourself. He looks to you, forehead creasing in wrinkles. Waiting for an answer as he holds you with rapt interest. You swipe his hand up, leading him toward the entryway.  “I want a large family.”

“Is that so,” Harald pulls the curtain apart. You doddle out after him, your long hair bobbing. “Then we will have to start right away.”

Your smile isn’t forced this time. No, it’s full and open. You couldn’t wait.

@alicedopey  @flowers-in-your-hayr @artxfuck @fireangel1978

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