#this is my truth. it’s still pretty loose waves but like

[zukkacore]

Freak accident happened in the cloning process, somehow Jace’s dormant curlpattern got released onto j2

[celeryb1tch]

spencer reid x student!reader

18+! this post contains nsfw content

when spencer gets home from work he finds that you haven’t finished your essay, so he tries to ease your mind.

content: lots of pet names, fem!reader, you’re getting an arts degree lol, age gap but not too intense since this is early-ish seasons spencer, slight degradation at the end, reader orgasm, oral and fingering (r! receives), overstim, forced orgasm.

(i’m literally gay but i’ve been so delusional and in love with this fictional man lately i had to write something to get it out of my system!!!)

—

when your boyfriend came home from work, tie loose and satchel abandoned on the kitchen counter, you felt a wave of embarrassment flush you. you were still working on the same essay you had been last night; the one spencer made you promise you’d finish today.

“how is my pretty girl?” he asked, laying back beside you on the couch. when he leaned over to kiss you chastely, your stomach churned and you shut your laptop quickly.

you could feel hot tears start to pool in your eyes, biting back the sob you so desperately needed to get out. spencer took one look at your face and sighed, wrapping an arm around you.

“oh, baby. you didn’t finish it?”

“i tried!” you protested, your eyes squeezed shut to avoid seeing his disappointed face. “please don’t be mad at me.”

spencer’s gentle hand cupped your cheek, running his thumb across it lightly. “look at me, angel. i’m not mad.”

the floodgates opened when you finally dared to look at him, seeing his mouth pressed in a flattened line. tears streaked your face and it only added to the embarrassment. your boyfriend was a capable man, and here you were crying because you couldn’t finish a stupid essay before he got home from his 9-to-5.

he tried to hold you closer, but you struggled against him. you didn’t deserve his comfort or his sympathy. he settled for running his free hand through your hair soothingly. “hey, just talk to me. what went wrong, can i help?”

you shook your head, fighting through a hiccupped sob to answer. “i couldn’t find the last source i need. i was sifting through articles for like four hours, and i just gave up.”

ever the problem solver, spencer smiled down at you softly. “okay, let me take a look. you know i have fairly good research skills, they’re kinda required for my job.”

“you don’t get it!” you huffed, frustration evident in your voice. “you go to work all day and i can’t even find one source. one! i shouldn’t need your help for everything.”

recognition flashed in his eyes, and then he really pulled you in. it was useless to relent, you could feel the determination in his touch. he shushed you softly, one hand wrapped around you firmly while the other drew patterns on your back. when your breaths slowed and your sobs subsided, he pulled back to hold you at arms’ length. “baby, you are one of the smartest people i know.”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, and spencer grabbed your chin to ensure you couldn’t look away.

“i wouldn’t lie. no one i know is as sensitive as you are, as empathetic and in touch with their emotions. that’s what makes you so good at this program. i certainly couldn’t complete your degree.”

and you knew how bad at concealing the truth your boyfriend was, so reluctantly you believed him. “thank you,” you just about whispered.

his eyes cast pure adoration on you, even as your tear-stained cheeks were red and raw. “your incredible brain is one of the reasons i fell in love with you. so if you can’t find anything, there must be a reason. could you please just let me take a look?”

spencer had indisputably won you over, one arm still holding you to his side as he opened your laptop on his own lap. you relaxed into him, head pressed to his chest where you could hear his heart beating perfectly. with a hum, he scanned your tabs in a matter of seconds, scrolling to the bottom of the search result page at a speed the computer could barely keep up with. “i know what it is, but you’re not going to be happy.”

lifting your head, you squinted at your boyfriend inquisitively.

“you were typing the date wrong, honey. the last two numbers were flipped.”

you felt that feeling of incapability rush through you again, your eyes stinging in preparation to cry. but spencer was right there to prevent you from shutting down, hand on your head passing slow strokes in comfort.

his lips hitched into a small sympathetic smile when he looked down at you. “my poor girl, worked yourself up so hard your brain stopped working. too much essay writing this week.”

and of course, he was right. you’d been running yourself ragged recently trying to keep up with deadlines, not to mention the extra work you’d taken on early to prevent overwhelm for finals. when you’d told him your plan, spencer had advised against it. he didn’t want you sacrificing your sanity now for a bit more time with your boyfriend in a few months. but never not supportive, he relented and instead helped you draft a schedule to complete everything.

you couldn’t feel too stupid with spencer’s sweet voice telling you that you weren’t. “it’s not even due until next week, remember? i just wanted you to finish it tonight so i could take you out to dinner,” he confided sheepishly. “you’ve been working so hard, i wanted to reward you.”

despite knowing it was physically impossible (as spencer reminded you often), you could feel your heart swell from the overwhelming love you felt for your boyfriend. you pecked kisses all over his face incessantly until he swatted you away, blushing crimson from the unexpected affection. “okay, where are we going?”

spencer hummed mischievously in faux thought, tucking your wild hairs back from your face. “you didn’t finish your essay, so i actually think it’s only fair to punish you. at least before i take you out anyway.”

a heat bloomed in you, both in your cheeks and between your legs. it was rare that your boyfriend was anything but tooth-achingly sweet with you, saving his more dominant side for certain circumstances. apparently this was one of them. “oh, really? how are you gonna punish me, sir?”

he pulled you into his lap, mouth finding your neck immediately. “if you’re going to be stupid, i might as well treat you like you are. i know how much you like it when i call you a dumb slut, despite the fact that we’re both aware of how intelligent you are.”

your core ached with need, fluttering at his words. “that’s kinda fucked up, huh? i shouldn’t want that.”

“actually, it’s fairly common, especially for women with a high amount of stress in their everyday lives. most people enjoy some form of degradation and or praise when having sex.”

“spencer,” you groaned. his beautiful brain always had to get in the way of the fun, not that you seriously minded.

he smiled, pressing his lips to yours again. “sorry, baby. yes, it makes you a very naughty girl.”

despite the pure love in his eyes and his touch, you felt a pang of arousal when he degraded you. it felt good to be demeaned by someone who thought so highly of you. so you let him pin you against the couch, clothes long forgotten, and relished in his nasty words as he sunk to his knees before you.

your laptop was somewhere on the ground, still open to that unfinished document. but it was the last thing on your mind when you felt spencer’s mouth trailing down your front. his fingers hooked your panties, pulling them down with a string of arousal attached. “fuck,” he grumbled. “you are a little slut, aren’t you?”

you struggled to respond as his fingers passed through your folds, thumb toying with your clit lightly. “mhm, yours.”

“that’s right, baby.” all of the showy dominance dropped for a second when he smiled up at you, that familiar twinkle of passion in his eyes. and then he ate you out.

all you could do was grip the bedsheets, small whines leaving you each time he ran his tongue roughly up your clit. he’d take a moment to kiss your inner thighs, slipping two fingers inside to hit that sweet spot when he wasn’t lavishing it with his mouth. it wasn’t long before you were on the edge, feeling the knot snap in your stomach. with a start, you gasped through your orgasm, spencer’s hand finding yours to soothingly stroke his thumb across your knuckles. but as your breaths slowed, he didn’t.

“spence, i’m done,” you panted, hand gripping his hair.

“no you’re not.”

with a roll of your eyes, you tried to pull your hips away to no avail. his fingers were still pumping into you at a relentless pace. his head raised to meet your eyes, slick across his lips. he looked wild like this, disheveled, so different from your normal boyfriend, who was almost too sweet for his own good. “i told you this was a punishment.”

even knelt between your legs, this spencer was in complete control. his gaze was locked on yours, watching every tiny movement when he skimmed his thumb across your clit again. your core reignited when you realized what was going on. he was going to force you to cum again.

“please, too much” you whined, free hand pushing the top of his head away in a superficial effort. you couldn’t think properly with the intensity of the overstimulation.

spencer licked his lips, voice gravelly in a tone it only reached when he was purely aroused. “you can take it, honey. i know you can be a good girl for me. don’t you wanna be good?”

you nodded silently. there wasn’t much you could do but let him fuck you stupid.

“that’s it. gonna make you dumb, yeah? i’m gonna fuck you until you can’t think.” his head dipped down, resuming his wet, sloppy kisses to your clit. and with the combined effects of his words and actions, you were cumming again quickly.

you were unabashedly moaning now, jaw slacked open and eyes screwed shut. you were far past the point of caring what you looked like to the man furiously devouring you between your legs. your hand gripped his tighter, feeling his fingers pound a bit harder in acknowledgment.

your second orgasm felt like being catapulted into the atmosphere. it was sharper, practically knocking the air from your lungs. it took you a few moments to stop panting.

spencer grinned up at you, a sight for sore eyes in your clouded vision. “thinking about anything, baby?” he asked. and when he only received a small shake of your head, “good.”

his mouth returned to your core, soft kitten licks causing you to twitch and wince away. he squeezed your hand firmly, giving you a stern look. “only cleaning you up this time, promise.”

once you weren’t dripping arousal down your thighs, spencer pulled you onto him when he sat back down on the couch. all you could focus on were his warm, strong hands tracing sequences on your skin. he loved to imagine binary code, mapping it out on you because he knew the motion calmed you down.

you were barely conscious, brain buzzing like tv static in the post-sex bliss. you heard spencer chuckle to himself before saying, “so i think we’re getting takeout.”

[the-kr8tor]

You stay the night at Hobie's for the first time

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Synopsis: You sleepover at Hobie's houseboat.

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, established relationship, FLUFF, smut implied.

My Masterlist

Inspired by this post

*I don't consent to having my work translated/published on other platforms*

Obsessing over the pimple on your forehead, you try to pop it in between your forefinger and thumb. 

"Ughh" you grimace while staring at your reflection on Hobie's grimey mirror. 

You glimpse at your form, you're wearing one of Hobie's numerous band shirts, after you accidentally spilled mouthwash on your pajama shirt, you asked to borrow one. You're giddy that you smell like him.

He joked that you spilled mouthwash on it on purpose just to wear his shirt. 

"Stop it, you're gonna make it worse" Hobie says as he watches the disaster in front of him. He's lounging on his bed, arms tucked under his head. His dark jumper rides up a bit showing his toned stomach. His legs are properly tucked under the patchwork comforter.

"But it's bothering meee" you kick your legs like your throwing a tantrum.

"It doesn't even look that bad," Hobie pats the open space beside him "come to bed, lovey" 

"Says the man who has clear skin even though you wash your face with the same soap you use on your body" You turn to face him, ignoring his exposed skin. 

You've never seen him this relaxed before. He's a pretty laid back guy already, but this? His half-lidded eyes looking at you, paired with him in his comfortable non-spiky clothes– maybe you should come to bed.

"It's genetics, all natural, baby" 

"It's actually au naturel" you cross your arms on your chest, hiding your uneven breathing.

"No, it's not" 

"Yes, it is" you step forward.

"Nuh uh" 

"Yea uh" 

You stare at each other for a second.

"...C'mere" Hobie concedes defeat or else you would be at it all night. He takes his left arm from under him to reach towards you. 

"Fine" you head towards the bed, your sea legs swaying when a small wave hits the houseboat. You crawl under the covers. 

"Why are you so far, get over 'ere" he grabs the cover under you to drag you towards him, closing the already small distance. He's been waiting for this the entire day. He feels elated, he couldn't wait to finally cuddle with you, 

You hoped he didn't notice the small distance you made, but alas he's a perceptive one who doesn't like admitting he likes cuddles. Truth be told, you're actually nervous spending the night with him for the first time, you're not expecting for something to happen tonight, but if something did happen you're prepared for it, kind of, sorta, maybe?

Not to mention, the houseboat is a little intimidating, like what if you get sea sick and puke all over his carpet, well you're floating on a river, but nonetheless the rocking motion could still give you motion sickness. Or what if you kick him off the bed while asleep, or you sleep walk and you fall overboard. Or what if–

Hobie pinches your nose, keeping his fingers around it. "Oi, where did you go?" 

"Nuhn of yhor bhismes" you swat at his hand. 

"Your eyes went glossy for a second, thought I lost you" 

"I was actually thinking about your houseboat" 

"And here I thought you were thinking 'bout me" he holds his arm out behind you, unsure if you're okay with the action. 

Noticing his uncertainty, you swallow your shyness, you lean against his arm placing your head softly on his shoulder. Any doubt from Hobie is quickly washed away by your reaction. He pushes you closer to his warmth with the hand around your shoulder.

"What about the houseboat?" He stares at you while you play with a loose thread on his jumper.

"Like.. how'd you get it?" You absentmindedly twirl the thread around your fingers.

"Bought it off a bloke"

"That's it? No crazy or wacky story behind it?" You stare up at him suspiciously.

"Yes, there's no wacky story behind it" he mocks your word choice by copying your voice. "I needed a place, my friend's cousin's friend sold it at a cheap price. That's it, nothing madcap 'bout it" 

"Hmm, Do you even know how to drive, wait no sail? Is it called sailing when it doesn't have sails? Nevermind you get what I'm talking about, do you know how to do that?" You ramble, he finds it adorable.

"Yes, how do you think I brought it here from Amsterdam?" He's now curious whether it's sail or drive.

You gasp, sitting up "See! There IS a wacky story behind it" you poke his chest playfully.

Hobie grabs your finger to stop you "There IS nothing wacky about it. Well-" he remembers something, you perk up "we had to dodge the coast guard, but that's about it" 

"THE COAST GUARD?!" A huge grin blooming on your face.

"All right calm your beans" Hobie pushes your head back down lightly.

"How long did it take you to get back?" You snuggle closer to him.

"It would've just taken us 6-7 hours, but we had to hide from the coast guard so it took us about 10 hours" 

"Who were you with?" You fight a yawn.

"Why? You jealous?" Hobie shakes you lightly, he wants to talk to you more.

"Why would I be jealous of your friend's cousin's friend?" You rub one of his unruly eyebrows, shaping the strands back into place.

Hobie chuckles. He wants to stay like this with you, sleep be damned.

"What do you want for breakfast?" A yawn escaping you. You situate yourself on his chest.

"You gonna cook for me?" Hobie holds on to you tighter.

"Hmm, if you're nice to me in the morning, yeah" 

"What do you mean? I'm always nice to you" 

"You say that as you're staring at my pimple" you start to close your eyes. 

"Well, gorgeous, I'm not staring directly at it, I'm looking at you, you wear my shirt really well" 

"Well, handsome," you tease him back "anything looks better when I wear it" you feel sleep taking you.

"You're right," Hobie whispers against your hair "I like my eggs sunny side up by the way" 

"Hmm" a soft smile on your face.

Since you're wearing socks, with a sly smirk on Hobie's face, he slowly lifts up the leg hem of your pajama pants with his cold foot, once there's enough space, he quickly lays his ice cold foot on your leg. 

"Ack! What- Hobie!" You shoot up from your position. 

Hobie laughs loudly, you feel the houseboat shake lightly.

You playfully slap his chest.

"You!" Slap "Menace!" Slap

In one swift movement, he grabs your slapping hand, then he flips himself over you, his legs on your sides, caging you in.

You gasp at the weight above you, a wide smile blooming on your face.

"Hobie! You're too heavy!" Drowsiness is now completely gone.

He half kneels on your sides so he doesn't completely crush you.

"You're not allowed to sleep" Hobie leans slightly towards you, you can see his playful smirk illuminated by the moonlight.

"What do you mean I'm not allowed?! You invited me to a SLEEPOVER, you dork!" You gasp out as he's a few inches away from your face.

"Lemme guess you're the kind of person who falls asleep first in a sleepover? you're the dork here, sweets" he leans closer his lips ghosting over yours. 

You close your eyes in anticipation. Instead of a kiss, you feel Hobie blow raspberries on your jaw.

"Ack! HAHAHAHAHAHA" your legs kicking up trying to stop him from tickling you.

Hobie pulls back breathlessly.

"Oh you're ticklish? Got it" he smirks devilishly. "Wonder where else you're ticklish?" Hobie tilts his head.

"No! Don't you dare, Hobart!" Your eyes widen when he winds up his arms to tickle your stomach, despite the threat you can't help but grin.

"Oh using my government name now, huh" Hobie tickles your sides relentlessly, your laughs echoing throughout the space. 

"Okay! Okay! I'll stay up!" You say in between laughs.

He finally stops his attack, letting you breathe. 

"Yeah?" He takes his tickling stance again.

"Yes" you giggle "please stop or I might piss my pants" 

"Ooh kinky" he squeezes your cheeks together as you glare at him. 

"Can you please kiss me already so we can properly cuddle like you wanted" you say with your squished lips.

Hobie chuckles "saw right through me, huh" he leans down finally giving your most awaited kiss.

He eases up from squishing your cheeks so you could kiss him back properly, you hold on to the back of his neck, grounding you. 

Hobie pulls away, he stares at your wide eyes lovingly. You lift yourself up using his neck as leverage, quickly peppering his face with kisses, until he laughs with every peck.

You pull back, taking in his lovesick stricken face, his smile lopsided, eyes basically shaped like hearts. You're sure you mirror his expression. 

"I should invite you more often" he lays back down next to you, arm wrapped around your torso, half of his body staying on top of you, his legs splayed over yours. Hobie relaxes immediately.

You crane your neck "yeah you should. I really love your home, babe" you rub his arm soothingly.

"Really? You're not sea sick?" 

"I gotta be honest with you, I took a kwells tablet beforehand," you laugh.

"That's pretty smart" Hobie fights a yawn "you're really smart, love" he rubs the side of your neck.

"You're only saying that so I'll make you breakfast" you whisper, once you notice his eyes slowly close. 

"No, you're really smart, and lovely, and a bloody good cook" he parks his head on the crook of your neck with a sigh.

You chuckle softly, pulling the covers up to his chin, you lay your head just above his. 

You both fall asleep listening to each other's steady breathing with the houseboat rocking you both rhythmically.

A/n: I'm sorry that my last fic made y'all cry lmao, here's some fluff. As always thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are appreciated ❤️

*picture above is from pinterest*

[the-cookie-of-doom]

"I don't want to talk about this." Kim doesn't have anyone he can talk to about this.

Porsche takes three shot glasses out from behinds the bar and lines them up. Fills each. "Drink," he orders.

Kim side-eyes the glasses. Looks around the bar; near-empty at this hour.

He drinks, one after the other. It burns going down.

"I'm still not talking about it," he says.

"I know." Porsche pulls a single shot for himself. Kim admires his restraint. Then again, only one of them can afford to get laid out, and Porsche has decided it's going to be Kim.

Kim taps one of the glasses, and Porsche obliges him with two more pours. By the time he sets the second face down on the bar top, he feels it. Warmth in his face and cotton in his head. He can convince himself he's barely tipsy, so long as he doesn't move his head, because then the earth tips out from under him. Tipsy.

"Ready to talk about it?"

"Ask me."

"Are you trying to sleep with my baby brother?"

Kim hums. Shakes his head. Regrets it. "Nope, not ready."

Porsche whistles, impressed, and pours another shot.

"You're going to be so fucked up tomorrow."

The six shots Kim sucked down slam him twenty minutes later. He should have expected it; Porsche probably did, and that's why he's laughing at Kim now, snapping pictures of him slumped over the bar and moaning in misery, offering no comfort. It was Porsche's idea to get him loose-lipped with truth serum in the form of alcohol, but Kim let him do it, so it was his fault, really.

Once Porsche has gotten enough blackmail material to last a lifetime, he closes up the bar, then drags Kim over to a booth so they can talk.

"So. Porchay."

"Porchay," Kim agrees, a lyrical slur into his arms.

"You wanna tell me what's going on there?"

"I like him s'much. He's so, so-mmm, good, he's good, and nice, and..." Kim trails off, mumbling something incoherent. "Kissed him."

"What?"

"I kissed him. On his face. I missed. He smells s'good. I wanna kiss 'im again."

Porsche laughs. "Are you trying to sleep with him?"

"Mmmno. Maybe?" Kim tries to push himself upright, and only manages to slump enough enough that he can side-eye Porsche as he says, "Dunno how."

"What?"

"Are you gonna be mad?"

"Probably not. What do you mean, you don't know how?" Kim makes a miserable sound. His eyes are fever-bright, and his cheeks are flushed, and Porsche is pretty sure it's not just from the alcohol. Kim buries his face back in his arms to hide. "Kim, are you-?"

"No." He waves a hand at Porsche. "Kinda."

"Kinda."

"You know."

Porsche does know, but he a mean part of him wants to make Kim say it, because he's an asshole, and bullying little brothers is what he does. He's definitely not going to bully Chay about this, his poor brother would die. So he can harass his own boyfriend's younger brother instead. He relents, though, because Kim looks all kinds of pitiful and sad when he next surfaces from the sanctuary of his arms. Scratch that, he looks distressed.

"I think I want to, I do, I want it - but I haven't - and Chay - I don't want to - what if I'm not-"

"Take a deep breath, kiddo." Kim does. "What, you're afraid of disappointing him?" A small nod, and Kim looks so young, and nervous, that it pulls at Porsche's heart. "Aww. You couldn't."

"Yuh-huh," Kim mumbles.

"Nah. Trust me. That kid is so gone on you." This makes Kim smile. Bright and beautiful and bigger than Porsche has ever seen. In person, at least.

"I love him so much."

"Yeah?" Porsche knows for a fact that Kim has not told Chay as much. He already knows how smitten Kim is, and has for a while - it's why they're having this conversation at all, because Kim is over his head in love, and doesn't know what to do about it, and God forbid he talk about it sober - but the confirmation is nice to hear.

"I gotta - gotta tell him." Kim squirms around until he successfully gets his phone out of his pocket, pushing at the buttons on his lock screen in an unsuccessful attempt to open it. Porsche careful reaches across and take it from him.

"Hey, no, absolutely not. The first time Chay hears that from you is not going to be in the middle of your drunken ranting. He deserves better than that."

Doesn't mean he won't want to know about it later, though, which is why Porsche has had his phone on and recording this entire exchange. He'll save it for their wedding.

"I'll write him a song," Kim declares. "I'll write so many songs, a whole album. all about him, I'll-I'll-" He seemingly loses his train of thought, patting around the table like he's looking for something. Probably a pen. Porsche helpfully hands him one, and Kim latches onto it, scribbling lyrics into a napkin. Porsche can't wait to see what he comes up with later.

"Why haven't you talked to him?" Porsche gently prompts, interrupting his creative flow. He's pretty sure whatever lyrics Kim is coming up with right now are nonsensical anyway.

"Afraid."

"Oh what? Of him rejecting you? Because that's impossible."

Kim shakes his head, looks like he's about to throw up, manages not to. "The other thing."

"What other thing?"

"Him wanting me." Except Chay does want Kim, and Kim has to know it. He's not blind. Porsche tells him as much, and Kim shakes his head, says, "He thinks so, because he doesn't have me. But if he does, and he doesn't want me anymore, because I don't, I don't..."

Porsche thinks Kim might say, I don't know how to be loved, and it breaks his heart. He slides around the booth so he can pull Kim into his side, and tries not to react when Kim bursts into tears. He didn't know Kim knew how to cry.

"Chay's so good, he's everything, and I'm not, I'm not, I don't-"

"Hey, hey, stop that. Calm down, it's okay, you're okay. Come on, what's all this?" Porsche ruffles his hair and laughs. "You're Wik! You're Khimhan Theerapanyakul.

Kim wheezes, "Not good," and Porsche crushes him in a one-armed hug that Kim doesn't even try to fight.

"Good enough for my little brother. Kay? Trust me, I'm the expert, and I'm giving you my blessing. So pull yourself together."

"Nnng?"

"Yeah, idiot, I'm giving you my permission to defile Chay."

"I wanna hold his hand and kiss his cheek and take him on a date. A real date. Imma get him flowers. What kind of flowers does he like?"

"He's allergic."

"Oh."

"But you can still do the other stuff."

"Oh." Another brilliant smile. "Yay."

"But before that..." Porsche waits for Kim to put it together, but he doesn't, blinking up at Porsche with his big brown eyes and waiting for direction. Porsche finishes the thought. "You have to talk to him first."

"Oh. Not yay."

"Hey, at least you already know what the answer's gonna be." Porsche cuffs his shoulder. "Do it for Chay, so you can have all that filthy hand-holding and cheek kisses and dates."

-

The next day greets Kim with the worst hangover he's had in his life, his body violently rejecting every ounce of alcohol he forced into it. When he can stop throwing up long enough to string together a coherent thought, he texts Porsche to inform him he's the worst person alive, his ideas are horrible, Kim is never trusting him again, and he's going to kill him the next time he sees him, just for good measure. His body hurts in ways he didn't know were possible, and it's Porsche's fault, and vengeance will be had. Just as soon as he can walk again.

Drink plenty of fluids! Porsche cheerfully replies. And don't forget to talk to Chay. Or else I'm sending him the video of you last night.

Well.

Fuck.

[girls4liyah]

welcome to my world ︴ning yi zhuo

ning yi zhuo x female reader ⬳ pair.

ningning gets dared to visit a cemetery, but she doesn’t expect to find a scary, horny demon with a penchant for getting into trouble there. she doesn’t expect to fuck you, either. ⬳ sum.

noncon to dubcon, demon!reader, dom!reader, human!ningning, mentions of murder, intoxicated ningning (this is mentioned once and never brought up again), cheating, anal sex, tentacle sex, none of this is ethical behavior ⬳ content.

3k ⬳ wc.

“And one more thing,” Yeji starts, throwing you a strict look. 

You groan, throwing your hands up in irritation, “I know, I know. Don’t get into trouble. You do not have to give the monologue again.”

“Do you know? Maybe I should give it again, y’know, for safe measure,” Yeji huffs, arms folded. Her yellow eyes are glowing in exasperation as the memory of the last time you went off-script unfolds behind them. “The last time we let you meander outside the underworld, you killed a human.”

“So? People die all the time.”

“You bit her. With your teeth. Injected venom into her bloodstream.”

“I’m still not seeing the issue.”

“We have unique teeth and venom from, say, earthly beings,” Yeji snaps, “People will get suspicious. You’re lucky we have connections or your ass would be hot. Literally.”

You throw her a wry smile. So maybe you got a little carried once or twice. Possibly five times. No big deal. At worst, all those humans would just start to believe in vampires. It’s not like they could prove random pretty girls were being targeted by horny demons. 

Humans don’t know anything about demons at all. There’s so much more to you than evil red horns and sinister faces. You live in a society with other demons and you’re much more familiar to humans than they believe.

“Relax,” you chirp in a way that has Yeji running her hands through her hair, frustrated. When you say it like that, she can’t help but not relax. “I’ll be an angel.”

Yeji visibly recoils at that word. Not the word itself, maybe, just the fact that it leaves your mouth of all people. “Just get out of my sight. I can’t save you if Hyungwon finds out you killed another girl.”

You scoff, “What’s he gonna do? Kill me? I’m already dead, babe.”

“Don’t press your luck,” a masculine voice says in a clipped tone from behind you.

You turn, spotting Hyungwon, grim as always. You’d say it would kill this guy to smile, but he, too, is already very dead. “Hyungwon!” you sing, “The man of the hour and just the guy I wanted to see—”

“Save it,” Hyungwon spits, having none of your acts, “You have twenty-four hours. If you’re not back by then, I revoke your privileges for a year. If you kill another human, I revoke your privileges for a year. Am I clear?”

You bite your lip to fight an irritated scowl, not one to be bossed around, but you suck it up. “Crystal, sir.”

Ningning waves the flashlight around loosely. It’s pretty thick; heavy, makes her wrist hurt. But it was big and she was surrounded by nothing but pitch black darkness and dead people who were probably a mere heap of bones by now. 

She hates her friends. All of them. She hates Karina for suggesting they play truth or dare. She hates Giselle for daring her to go to a creepy, dark cemetery after the sun has already set and she can’t even see the clouds. She hates Winter for not agreeing to come with her, letting her wander all alone.  

You won’t be alone, she said. You’ll have a handy-dandy flashlight, she said. 

On the bright side, despite the fact that Ningning can hardly see anything at all, the cemetery doesn’t look like something completely out of a horror movie. It’s not foggy out and the moon isn’t full. It’s not cold and the trees are thick with leaves that she’s sure are green. Instead, there are no stars and the moon is concealed by dark shrouds of mass. 

Which might be a little worse. 

Just an hour. She only has to withstand this torment for an hour and she can go back to Winter’s apartment—maybe without any severe trauma, she hopes. Checking her watch, the one her boyfriend got her last year for her birthday, she notes that she’s been here a grand total of five fucking minutes. 

I’m not gonna make it, Ningning tells herself, losing all hope within the first few minutes. I’m not gonna make it, I’m not gonna make it, I’m not gonna make it—

She hears a rustle, immediately turning on the balls of her feet, and lets out a tiny, shocked squeak. She waves the flashlight around but sees nothing. Because why the fuck would anyone be in a cemetery at three in the fucking morning? Hell, she shouldn’t even be here her damn self. 

It’s probably just some random critter, like a squirrel or whatever the hell else roams around at night. Maybe it’s a bird. Are they nocturnal? Ningning doesn’t really know. Bless her heart. 

She doesn’t even know why she agreed to this. She could have easily said no, though of course they would have made her down an entire bottle of disgusting beer and she’s already had three—so it’s even worse that she’s intoxicated in the middle of nowhere by herself, but it’s not like anyone in their right mind would be here. 

There’s another sound. Ningning turns again, shrilly shrieking out in terror, but when she tries to use the stupid flashlight it only flickers before rendering itself entirely useless. “Fuck,” she groans, throwing the flashlight. 

“Ow, shit!”

Ningning startles when she hears a string of profanities, because she’s not the one to say them. She can’t see at all now, but just the knowledge of someone being there alone has her shuddering. 

“Who’s there?” she asks, glancing around, trying to find the source of the noise, but she doesn’t really know where she is.

Suddenly, the flashlight flickers back on, but she’s not the one holding it. The light is shining at her. “You forgot to turn it on, dear. See, like this,” you demonstrate, “On, off. On, off. On—”

“I’m not stupid,” Ningning hisses, crossing her arms. 

You snicker, coming into view, “Could’ve fooled me.”

Ningning stills when she sees you, actually sees you. She sees your completely black eyes, lacking any color at all. She sees your long braids. She sees your horns protruding out of your head. She sees the lines on your skin that look like vines almost, and it chills her to the bare bone. 

She steps back, eyes widening, “What are you?”

“Nothing important,” you mumble, focusing on your prize. She’s got to be the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen — human or not. She has the prettiest round eyes, the sweetest quivering lips. You’ve been observing her in half amusement, half curiosity for the past ten minutes, and you have no clue why this random human girl is wandering around a cemetery in short, tight pajamas, but you won’t get caught complaining. 

Your tongue passes your teeth, and Ningning sees your eyes shoot pink with hunger. It frightens her. 

Ningning tries to run, but one of your braids fly out to grab her, pulling her back to you. She glances at you, cheeks wet with fresh tears and she frantically begs, “No, no, no. Please let me go.”

Had Hyungwon and Yeji not gotten on your last nerve earlier, you might’ve showed her some mercy — no you wouldn’t have, but having them to blame your urges on makes you feel better — but you’re just so angry, and she looks like the perfect way to blow off some steam. 

Swiping a tear out of her eye with your thumb, scalding hot skin and sharp talons gently brushing against her cheek in a way that makes her tense, you coo adoringly, “What’s your name, pretty?”

“Ningning,” she sniffles softly. 

Even her name is cute. You’re going to have a fun time with this one. 

Setting her on the dirt, watching her trying to get away again, you chuckle at her naivety and restrain her with the rest of your brains without moving a finger. You lower yourself to her body, ignoring how she squirms and pleas for help. Your attention is drawn to how the tight tee hugs her breast and you poke a hole into the shirt with your claws, stretching it until her tits pop out. 

“Stop!” Ningning cries. “I have a boyfriend!” 

“That’s cute. Don’t worry, I’ll send you back to him in good shape,” you whisper carelessly. Then your head tilts in thought, wondering if you can keep that promise. “Probably.”

Your uncertainty doesn’t console Ningning in the slightest, but she has to admit, it’s a little hot that you’re a… whatever you are. She’s never seen anything like you. She’s scared to death, but also a little turned on. 

Her tits are so soft, you realize while fondling them. When your fingers pinch her nipples, she accidentally moans, and she would cover her mouth if she wasn’t fully restrained by your braids. If she wasn’t powerless. 

She wonders why your hands are so warm, it feels like you’re burning her skin whenever you touch her. You wonder why you didn’t spot a find like her on your past visits to earth, but it’s probably a good thing. You, though not on purpose, would have killed her. She’s too perfect to die. 

Thinking about the girls you happened to have killed makes you remember why you’re so angry in the first place and you start to get irritated. It’s not your fault if you lose control sometimes when you’re fucking these girls. Fuck, not when they look so pretty, with their scared eyes and cute faces. Not when they taste so good and they’re so tight—now you can’t help but think of how Ningning tastes and how small her pussy must be. 

Ningning moves to her hands and knees but not on her own accord, but because your braids move her. “What are you doing?” She asks innocently.

“Don’t worry, Ningning,” you say, grinning cheekily. “It’ll feel so good.”

Ningning gasps when you rip her tiny shorts off, then her panties, and you find it so cute that they’re so wet, sticking to her cunt. Before you ripped them to shreds, at least. Ningning, against her better judgment, gets excited at the thought of you fucking her, wiggling her ass a little.

You growl, a sound that makes Ningning giggle, although a little terrifying. She’s oblivious, though, when you grope her cunt and damp your palm with her wetness, just moaning at the feeling of being toyed with. She’s oblivious when you spread her juices all over her ass. She’s oblivious when you slide down your pants, freeing a tentacle from your underwear. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” you warn while sinking to your knees, which is nice enough, although you’re feeling anything but. 

Ningning’s visibly anticipating it, her pussy still leaking with all her wet fluids. So much for her having a boyfriend. To be fair, though, the poor guy wouldn’t believe you if you told him that his sweet girlfriend was slutting herself out to a demon — in a cemetery, no less. So, really, there’s no point in confessing to the act. 

She’s disturbed when she feels it, the slick rod slithering around her rim, confused as it dips inside her ass and not her pussy. She gasps, but you don’t have the patience to stop, impaling her on your long tentacle, fitting as much as you can in one swift go. It’s too long for her pussy, especially as tiny and frankly tight as it is. 

Conflicted, Ningning stills in shock. She doesn’t know whether or not she should ask you what the hell that is inside her, or tell you that you’re in the wrong hole. She writhes, seeming to forget that there’s nowhere to go, trapped by every inch of you as you force her into a cage of yourself. 

“Where you going, pretty?” You ask, laughing at her desperation. You like that nickname on her. It’s fitting. 

“Wrong hole,” she exhales with half a breath, like you knocked the wind out of her. “No, pull out! Wrong—”

“Right,” you hiss, already drawing yourself in and out of her, face twisting. “It’s the right hole, baby.”

Tears prick Ningning’s eyes as you fuck her unprepared ass, her hand slipping out of the dirt as she reaches behind herself to make you quit it, but her arm is grabbed again by one of your braids that obey your every command like little serving serpents. 

“B-but,” she stammers, evidently worried. “I’ve never… I’ve never been fucked there before.”

Something about that just lights up the biggest spark in you. “Never?”

Ningning shakes her head, and you wish you could see her eyes, knowing that they’re so round with innocent twinkles. 

“Fuck,” you hiss loudly, but it’s not really an issue. What, are you gonna wake up the dead? “Guess I’ll have to break you in, huh? Send you back home with a couple of pointers for your boyfriend.”

Ningning only blinks at the mention of her boyfriend that she’d seemingly been so loyal to only moments ago, and she seems to remember for the first time in a minute that she’s vowed to a commitment, but it’s forgotten in the same instant as she feels you press inside her fleshy ass and her head tips back, a sweet-sounding, light noise filling your ears. 

Her ass is so pretty and tight, and it’s all that you can think about. It’s such a shame that her boyfriend’s never fucked her there, but not for you. Matter of fact, you love that you’re her first. You love that no one’s ever felt what you’re feeling right now, like it’s something especially reserved for you. 

You don’t want to send her back to her boyfriend, really. You want to keep her with you like a pet, take her to the underworld and fuck her holes whenever you please. Yeji and Hyungwon would never approve, though — guardians of the underworld and all — and somehow that only upsets you even more, fucking her sloppy holes rougher. 

She arches her back, and it’s the prettiest arch, too. The prettiest arch you’ve ever seen. You hiss, slapping your palm against her ass. Ningning cries out, and you’ve heard that blend of pleasure and pain before, recognize it as something all too familiar. It comes with the territory. 

You ease up, letting your braids slacken, knowing she won’t try to get away from you anymore. Not with the sinful sounds that sound like music to your ears and how she lets you use her ass, lets you have your way with her entirely, like every rational thought has been fucked out of her fuzzy brain and the idea of preserving herself for survival doesn’t even occur to her anymore. 

Instead she’s more focused on being such a slut, reaching behind herself again, not to stop you, but to spread her ass for you. The sight is something out of your dreams, you’ve never been more thankful for your excellent vision. That’s when you know she has you, and from her giggles, she knows it too. 

“You’re such a nasty little thing,” you chide, smacking her ass again. She whimpers, her soaked pussy tightening around nothing. “Spreading yourself for a demon?”

Finally able to put a name to the monster she’s exposed to, corrupting her. You’re so deep inside her, as deep as you can go, because if you could go any deeper without hurting her too much, you would. She knows that you have more to offer — she accidentally felt your slippery, slick tentacle when she reached behind her back. It’s raw and slimy, gushing inside her ass. She loves it so much now, babbling about how full she feels.

“Yeji and Hyungwon don’t know what they’re talking about,” you rant mindlessly, not caring that you’re exposing your world. Ningning can tell that you’re upset from the tone you ramble in, she could tell from the pace you fuck her with. “I can protect you. Other demons would only destroy your precious soul in minutes, I would take care of you. I’d never let anything take you.”

Ningning’s not sure what you’re going on about, but she’s gone too dumb to care, just agreeing, “Uh huh, y-yeah. Please.”

“Shit,” you curse, because she’s so much, but not enough. You extend another four tentacles that Ningning didn’t even know you had, stuffing two up her soaked pussy and forcing one inside her mouth. The other one joins the one in her ass, because they’re not too thick for her to take, too thin.

Ningning’s noises are muffled against your tentacle, but if she could, she would go on and on about how full she is. She thought she was full before, but that was nothing compared to now, how over occupied she is. You’ve filled all her holes and she feels like she’s floating. It hurts, but it doesn’t. There’s something so mysterious about it. Something so enigmatic that she’ll never understand. 

You desperately want to bite her, but for once in your life, you try to have some control. She can’t die. Not after you just went on your whole spill about how you would protect her, and you weren’t just saying words, you really, really do want to keep her safe. Even if it means from yourself. Yeji would be proud — if you left out all the other details of this tryst. 

In fact, there’s only one real reason why she’s less strict than Hyungwon.

Ningning gets the most surreal feeling and it’s not just the knot in her gut, growing with every thrust. She’s getting off to being fucked not just by some stranger, but by something she thought she’d only see in her dreams. A demon with horns and slimy tentacles that stroke her in all of the right places. Her pussy is gushing around you, her tongue is warm and flat, and her ass is so tight and small.

No human has ever gotten her this aroused. She’s dripping onto you and it’s borderline embarrassing, because all she can think about is the fact that you’re a demon using her holes. Fuck, she doesn’t know why, but that thought alone is making quick work of her. 

She shoves gently at the tentacle occupying her mouth, because she doesn’t want to hurt you, and asks sweetly with a hoarse throat, “W-what’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you whisper. 

And she almost screams it. The last push hits, the waves come in, and everything breaks loose, and she cries your name in between a string of expletives as her pussy spasms around your tentacles in orgasm. It’s the most intense one she’s ever had, making her whole body quiver and the world around her reel as she starts to feel lightheaded. 

You’re not finished, though. She notices that immediately. It drives her mad, the overstimulation. She’s so sensitive that she thinks she can’t handle it, whining, “Too much—”

“Take it,” you order sharply. 

“I can’t.”

The tentacle is back in her mouth in a matter of seconds to shut her up, your braids back to restraining her as she attempts to sneak away, but you won’t let her go. Not before you’re finished with her, done using her. Ningning’s not used to this. Not used to the stretch, not used to pleasure to this extent, not used to the overstimulation. She just feels like a set of holes for you to fuck. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, pretty,” you convince her. “You can take it for me. It’s what you were meant to do.”

Ningning hums, bobbing her head around you as she sucks you off greedily. Gobbling is a better word. It keeps her attention while your thumb massages her ass, and she grinds her ass back against you, too. The most inconsistent girl in the world. 

She’s like a rot, corrupting you from head to toe. It makes you burn, makes you wish you could fuck her forever, because you would. She’s perfect, and you don’t throw that word around loosely. She’s making you lose your grip in a different way than any other mortal has, in a way that’s probably dangerous, too, but you can’t be bothered to care. 

Thoughts of keeping her consume you alive. That’s all it really takes for you to blow your load, a couple more slams before you halt entirely, moaning her name too loudly. “Shit, Ningning—”

She moans, too, you feel it around one of your tentacles. It fills her everywhere — sticky, gooey cum, seeping into her ass and her pussy and her mouth. Ningning tries to swallow all of your cum, but it’s too much, dripping down her chin messily. It’s why she doesn’t feel empty when you at last pull out of her holes, because this icky substance is keeping her nice and full. 

“Oh my god,” Ningning whispers. She’s ironically never felt more alive. “That was so…” Perfect. 

Her chest heaves, her entire body drenched in sweat and slime and goo. It’s nasty, she feels nasty, but she likes it, too. She doesn’t think of how she’ll get back to Winter’s apartment when she looks the way she looks and her clothes are nonexistent. Thanks to you. 

Then it hits you, after climaxing. It wouldn’t matter, really, if Hyungwon banned you from visiting earth, if you snuck Ningning to the underworld. 

Your world. 

“C’mon, pretty,” you say with a coquettish grin, helping her stand. “I just had a bad idea.”

[imperfection-in-one-human]

The odd one.

Tav x Everyone

Warnings: depressions ; self harming behaviour ; bad english ; bad written lol ; im not good at writing endings ngl ; self doubts ; thoughts about suicide and even mentions ; descriptions of wounds ; teeny tiny bit of fluff ; drama ; angst ; idk poly relationship?

Note: hello everyone who thinks this is gonna be good lol. Its just a little drabble i really wanted to write but thats like my first fic/drabble ever so please be kind :') still i hope you enjoy that small thingy. Also i used they/them as tavs pronouns and theres no specific description to their look. Also there might be typos etc. English is not my native language!

If someone has to describe tav than they would probably take the word "odd". Odd because they were so clumsy that it was nothing new when they tripped over their own feet or stumble right into a trap, indicators where most started to think that they're absolutely not capable of fighting or at least not being good at it. Most would think that they're just gonna stumble into sword, or spells, and call it a day. But, much to everyones suprises, it wasnt like that. Tav was rather good at slaying things, beheading goblins or punch someone so hard that they're loosing foot - they were even good at taking hits until their nose run bloody and their lips were chapped, even bruised. The description of "odd' was perfect for them and still, it seems that there were even more things about them that made them so weird. Not only had they a habit of not treating their wounds probably, no, they also tried to downplay them and saying that they are not as bad as you think it is. Even when shadowheart tried to heal a claffing wound on their arm they just tried to get away from her healing spell - something about "dont waste it in me shadowheart, keep it until someone really needs it. Wyll got wounded too". It was weird but no one really questioned it, they shoved it onto the fact that tav was indeed a very selfless person. Always trying to do something good or even trying to give most of their being to people so that they didnt have to suffer - may it be a healing potion, a weapon or even the safe space behind a wall. Tav would always give up things like that, taking hits for every companion they got ans smile at them afterwards with reassuring words because "it doesnt hurt that much! Dont you worry!"

It was only time later when they found out the truth and its all because of that artist. Someone who they thought they're never gonna see ever again but here he was with a ghost in front of him and said ghost was just so mad at him that everyone was ready again to fight but instead they got to hear the whole story and when the ghost said why she was dead tavs eyes got dull for a second.

A second where it felt as if the ocean crashed right onto them, waves of unspoken sadness and a hidden longing no one wanted a admit, tidal waves who threaten to consume every last single bit of them, swallowing them whole and keeping them right into their embrace. It was as if someone spoke the right words for a curse to be lifted, a lingering curse everyone knew that it existed but no one wanted to admit. It was only then where everyone kind of knew why tav did things the way they did, why they never quite let their wounds heal or reopening them again in a battle. Why they never quite cared enough about themself to even try to heal anything about them. Why they never really took onto the pretty words everyone said to them in and out of camp, why they shied away from any ounce of love even though every single one loved them with such a burning passion that it would burn them and they would happily accept it. They would love to crumble under that heat and still they never really got it, of course they exchanged small little affecrionate gestures like hugs, cuddles or kisses on the cheek but it never seemed to go further than that. They knew that their tav was in shatters and pieces, still they tried to but them back together.. it just seemed that they never quite made it. As if it they were million miles away even though tav was right infront of them. Still that didnt stopped any of them to express their love for their leader, there was still hope that one day they would get into that broken little heart. Maybe they just needed time? Maybe love wouldnt heal them completely?

Maybe everything came into a full picture right here and then even though it was just a small second. After that incident everyone went back to camp where the inevitable came - all of them wanted to know what was going on but no one really dared to ask. It was such a delicate topic, they were scared that their beloved leader would built up even more walls, what they didnt know was the fact how much tavs heart ached - how much they yearned for the love they could have and even the relationship what was right infront of them. The only thing holding them back was fear. Fear that every single of them would see them as they see themself. That they would leave them with their heart in their hands and crush it like fallen leaves from a tree. They were so love and touched starved sometimes it felt like they were going crazy! They wanted all of this to be real and still there was a small voice in their heads telling them that they deserved none of this, that they are not important enough that someone would even care when they were gone. Just died in a battle or got swept away from the absolute. That all of them just love them because they were travelling together and as soon as the journey ends they going seperate ways. Astarion would live the life he wanted, karlach would get her own small home again, laezel fullfilling her wish of ascending, wyll roaming the coast, gale going back to tara and his tower, shadowheart living with her parents and halsin going back into the shadowlands so he can be with his old and beloved friend. That sounded real. That sounded like it would happen and not their little dream of living with them until death itselfs collects them. Still.. they dreamed about that little fantasy everyday, selfishly wanting that and nothing more. Just living in peace with every person they love.. then why does their heart hurt so much as soon as they're showing love for them? Is it too good to be true? Were they scared? Probably everything of the above.

So they really needed to talk to them all of them. And they're gonna do that, letting all of them into that broken heart of theirs and allowing themself to be happy?

... maybe if they let a little bit of sunshine into their pierced heart they may allow themself to dream a little longer with the. To accept the love they wanted to give. Maybe it wasnt such a bad wish after all?

[sickiesope]

Hey:) Could I request sick Yoongi with caretaker either Jin or Namjoon? Thanks already!

Had a busy summer but catching up on my writing! Thank you for requesting anon I hope you're still around! 💜

Sick and tired

Sickie: Yoongi

Caretaker: Seokjin

TW: emeto

Yoongi was hoping for a productive weekend. He got a lot done on Friday and planned on doing the same for Saturday. But his plans are abruptly thrown off by a random illness. Yoongi gets home feeling tired and nauseous. He doesn't even want to look at his laptop.

"Ugh, I'm only halfway done. This stupid headache is slowing me down." He huffs.

"When did you get this fever?" Jin feels Yoongi's forehead. "You really shouldn't be working tomorrow."

"I mean, I'll probably just sleep it off" Yoongi claims. But his mouth is filling with saliva, that's his stomach warning him he's about to be sick.

"What? Sleep it off?? Yoon, are you--"

Yoongi gags and rushes to the bathroom. He barely makes it to the toilet and a spout of vomit shoots out, mostly in the bowl but a little got on the floor. "Ah, shit.."  Yoongi scrunches his face as his stomach twists and forces up his dinner.

Jin looks pitifully at Yoongi hunched over the toilet. The retching and despairing moans in between make his heart sink.

"It's okay Yoon, let it out.." the oldest rubs his back.

Yoongi sputters a few times and sighs heavily. His back hurts and Seokjin helps him up. The older wipes the floor and flushes the toilet. "Do you think you're done, baby?"

Yoongi looks at his sickly complexion in the mirror. He holds his middle and puffs his cheeks. Truth be told, he knows he's going to be sick again.

"Mm..not sure hyun--" Yoongi suddenly gags and throws up a waterfall in the sink. "Oh no--" he vomits with another thick wave rushing out of him. He's caught off guard by how fast his stomach flipped. Jin is just as surprised. The sink's now a pool of brown murky liquid with little pieces settling at the drain. It's not a pretty sight.

"S-sorry hyung, I didn't mean to--" Yoongi's stomach cuts him off with another heave. He retches and brings up another layer of slop, coated with a sour taste. His stomach contracts harshly as it forces it all out.

"Awwh don't worry about it Yoongichi" Jin assures. "That sounded pretty rough, does your tummy hurt?"

Yoongi nods with a pitiful epxression. "Mm..yeah.." he groans, holding his stomach.

"Let's get you to bed" Seokjin murmurs. Yoongi is exhausted and desperately wants to sleep.

"Here, this should help a bit." Seokjin gives Yoongi the hot pack to help his tummy pain but the weight of it on his stomach is too much.

"Ahh" Yoongi winces, hastily taking it off and grabbing the bin as his stomach tenses up and he pukes again.

"Oh no, I'm sorry Yoongi!" Jin frets.

"It's okay hyung" Yoongi murmurs, laying back down. "You're right, I can't work tomorrow like this. I'm so tired.."

Seokjin changes the garbage bin and brings Yoongi water and medicine to help ease his stomach. "There you go Yoonie, try and get some sleep. I bet you want me out of your hair now"

"No hyung, please stay with me" Yoongi whispers, gently pulling his arm.

Seokjin smiles warmly. "Sure thing" the oldest climbs into bed with him.

Yoongi is usually so introverted but right now he wants all the comfort there is. He's so thankful for Seokjin taking care of him and he would do the same. Yoongi yawns, the nausea's fallen enough that he can relax. His stomach is tired and finally calming down inside. Yoongi falls asleep with Jin loosely holding him. He hasn't slept this comfy in forever. He could spend the rest of the weekend in bed.

[george228732]

A little fun fact about my AU here since AU Posting is busy.

You know that in several art pieces, I used Film Tape symbolism? My AU, basically can be interpreted as a theater play, in which the outcome is always a bad ending.

In context, Cosmounse made the script that way, and Fylass wants to rewrite the part of the script that's not written yet, based on countless other scripts he managed to see in back stage (Note, this is not literal, just an interpretation of certain outcomes based on that idea since the AU was partly written with that interpretation in mind, that's why in my fic, the names of the chapters are from other stories or plays).

Which for it, means that Fylass helped in changing the ending, with the help of the others, reason on why some parts of my AU seem to be very fitting in the context of a play. I made jokes about Fylass "Undooming the Doomed narrative" but it's not really that much of a joke, which pretty much implies that if no one had done anything or be made aware of what was happening, my AU would've always ended up in a hypothetical Bad Ending.

Besides the religious take on it that's basically what happened in the Garden of Eden with Fylass being Lucifer, and Adam and Eve being the ones he loves. The Apple is the "Forbidden Knowledge" so in this context is basically The Truth and yet another reason why Fylass' main color is Red.

It kinda goes along with the lines of Fylass hating Magolor! Just that in Magolor's case, He's both Jesus and Judas, but in Fylass' case, God and the Devil are one and the same, since at the end of the day, you can figure out he has both roles. Fylass did bring down the Pardus Clan with him, like how Lucifer brought down Adam and Eve, but also in Popstar he tries to take the role of a messiah figure to save 4 people, also why Crowned Fylass both takes inspiration from the bible and pagan holidays, with the main one being Walpurgisnacht (Witches Night).

Also for more parallels, Walpurgisnacht was a celebration for the person "Saint Walpurga" who seemingly kept the witches away from the masses and healed the sick, not too dissimilar from how Fylass behaves with the Dream Team and Wave Three. And last but not least, it was rumored that Saint Walpurga was a witch herself, and the reason why Fy is a basilisk, which are creatures that are kings of serpents, fire, and usually come from Hell.

Now Niru

Niru, for the ones that don't know, is Void Termina when Kirby was still part of him, being the body that surrounds Void's Soul. He is often associated with Water, but specifically fluids in general, since he's meant to be something that flows as time passes. He gave impurities and some darkness to his creations to truly enforce free will, but overall, he was sad seeing his creations be sad over these things and knowing that if they believe in god, they would be begging for them to cleanse their sorrows, so at one point, he regretted his decision and started to slowly consume those impurities himself, being something like, carry the burden of others upon himself, but eventually this made him lose himself in corruption and became Void Termina.

Before he was sealed though a part that wasn't corrupted by the Darkness was separated from him and became Kirby, while the Darkness that got loose in battle became 0, who can reincarnate constantly thanks to Niru's impurities.

At the end of the AU, both parts reunite, and Kirby swears that he, along with the others will help him carry the burden and cleanse him of his Impurities, something they achieve.

In terms of Motifs, if Fylass' motifs are religious, Niru's are Cosmic.

Normally, when a Star gathers insane amounts of energy, they explode and become supernovas, a thing that parallels Niru but instead of Exploding, he gets consumed by a Black Hole he did himself.

Also the fact that he's based on Owls, being Night Birds, and Lovecraftian Entities, specially Cthulhu, who belong to Cosmic Horror.

He also shares a motif with time and a play along with Fylass and Cosmounse

If Fylass is the Pendulum and the script writer, and Cosmounse is the hands and the Director, Niru is the Hours and the Play itself, or rather, he's the End Roll.

Also he's based on The Happy Prince

[mrsstarkeyy]

the air in the dimly lit room was suffocating. the distant echo of waves crashing against the cliffside was a cruel reminder of how close freedom was, yet how impossibly far. rafe sat slumped against the wall, his lip split and bruises blooming across his cheek. beside him, john b’s sister, y/n routledge, paced furiously.

“you gonna keep pacing all night?” rafe muttered, wincing as he shifted.

y/n shot him a glare. “you think this is my idea of a good time? being locked in a room with you?”

rafe smirked despite the pain. “could be worse. at least I’m pretty to look at.”

y/n rolled her eyes but didn’t rise to the bait. she hadn’t spoken to rafe in months—not since they’d broken things off in an explosion of accusations and hurt. but now wasn’t the time to rehash old wounds. they had bigger problems, like singh’s goons patrolling outside the door, armed to the teeth and ready to kill.

singh had captured them both in his relentless quest for denmark tanny’s gold. y/n had been caught when she tried to warn john b about singh’s ambush, while rafe… well, Rafe had always been tangled up in singh’s schemes.

“i need to think,” y/n muttered, running a hand through her tangled hair.

“thinking’s not gonna get us out of here,” rafe said. “we need to act.”

“oh, and what’s your brilliant plan, huh?” y/n snapped. “ralk our way out? you don’t exactly have the best track record, rafe.”

rafe clenched his jaw, biting back a retort. he looked around the room, his blue eyes scanning every corner. “there’s a vent,” he said finally, nodding toward the ceiling.

y/n followed his gaze, her heart sinking. “it’s too high. we’d need something to stand on.”

rafe smirked, a glint of mischief in his eye. “good thing i’ve got you. you’re always climbing on my nerves—climbing a vent shouldn’t be much harder.”

despite herself, y/n almost laughed. almost

“fine,” she said. “we’ll need to work together.”

for the next hour, they meticulously planned. rafe helped y/n onto his shoulders, gritting his teeth against the pain from his injuries. “you okay up there, princess?” he grunted.

“shut up and hold still,” y/n shot back, prying the vent cover loose. she wriggled into the narrow space and reached down to help rafe climb up after her. it was awkward and slow, but soon they were crawling through the dusty, claustrophobic ductwork.

voices echoed below them, singh’s men unaware of their escape.

“left,” rafe whispered, his breath warm against y/n ear.

“i know,” she hissed, trying to suppress the memory of how his voice used to make her stomach flip for entirely different reasons.

finally, they emerged onto the roof. the ocean breeze hit them like a lifeline. but their freedom was short-lived—singh’s men spotted them.

“run!” rafe shouted, grabbing y/n’s hand.

they sprinted across the roof, dodging bullets and scrambling down the rocky terrain. y/n picked up the end of her dress as she ran, her heart pounded as adrenaline took over. rafe led the way, his hand never letting go of hers.

they reached a cluster of trees and ducked for cover, panting. “we can’t outrun them forever,” y/n said.

rafe nodded, scanning their surroundings. “we’ll set a trap. use their greed against them.”

together, they improvised. using a flare Rafe had pocketed earlier, they lured singh’s men toward a cliffside, where a narrow ledge crumbled under their weight, sending several goons plunging into the sea.

when the dust settled, only singh remained, furious and unarmed.

“this isn’t over,” he growled, retreating into the jungle.

y/n collapsed onto the ground, breathing hard. rafe sat beside her, his usual bravado replaced by something softer. “we make a good team,” he admitted.

y/n glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “don’t let it go to your head.”

but as they waited for john b and the others to find them, y/n couldn’t deny the truth—no matter how much history lay between them, rafe cameron had her back. and maybe, just maybe, she still had his too.

[qulizalfos]

[runs in after abandoning my blog all week and throws this on the table] HAPPY BIRTHDAY WAYLI @wayward-sherlock PLEASE ACCEPT THIS FICLET AS A SYMBOL OF MY GRATITUDE TOWARDS HOW FUCKINF AWESOME U ARE ALWAYS <3 I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU BTW!!! anyways i hope u enjoy 2k of college byler shenanigans :) mwah

home (is wherever you are tonight)

“Oh, my God,” Will says, sitting forward, face alight in ways that terrify Mike. “There’s another reason, there’s a huge reason you're here, you—” “It’s Valentine’s Day, right?” The shift in Will’s expression is instantaneous. It might’ve qualified as comical, too, if Mike’s heart wasn’t about to explode.

You’d think Mike would have scrounged together a better sense of how to backpedal when he’s about to do something incredibly stupid. 

He’s trying not to think too hard about how quickly they rattle off in his head, the world’s most inconvenient list of reminders. What is wrong with you? We’re just… not in the mood right now. You’ve been on the bench all year. Not for the first time he’s gritting his teeth and wondering if it would have been entirely too much to ask for him to have acquired, by now, some intricate sixth sense for recklessness. He’s well aware that there’s no cosmic cure against the potency of his own mistakes, but he’d take anything to help him generally steer clear of these specific situations.

Encounters with murderous, eldritch entities ought to do that to a person. In his —for the record, totally impartial— opinion.

No goddamn dice, he thinks as he raises a fist to knock.

Maybe it is different, he supposes, because he’s less consumed by a wave of defensive volatility and less likely to bury the truth at the first sign of scrutiny, recoil at any chance of being left behind, and more willing to stop before he gains too dangerous an amount of momentum. It still happens, obviously— (case in point: now, loitering in an empty corridor, bland wallpaper finding a way to make it look like it’s laughing down at him, shifting his weight as he waits) he’d just convinced himself he had it more under control.

It’s ridiculous anyway. This whole thing is clearly careening towards a setup for a copious amount of slip ups on his part. But, it’s whatever.

Will’s probably out, anyway, he considers, belatedly.

It’s Valentine’s Day, —granted, a Wednesday evening dragging by with a sluggish, hazy quality— but a significant date all the same. Will is, Mike hedges, almost definitely out, maybe with the mystery guy in their joint history lecture, whose name Mike neglected to wheedle out of him last week. Maybe they’re both walking home from some fucking café, and Will would be getting cold like he does when the threat of snow looms at every waking moment, and to make matters worse, the other guy might do something sickeningly romantic like wind his scarf around Will’s neck, all while Mike’s standing at his dorm door like an idiot.

It’s possible he’s not very committed to the whole “breathe” thing El suggested, the day before the sky turned blue again, the day he was most convinced it never would again.

He threads a nervous hand through the disaster-prone section of his hair, hoping to smoothen it out, as he lifts his clenched hand, setting his face in concentration and aiming to knock one more time, and—

He has to flinch back to avoid accidentally punching Will in the face with his knock. Needless to say, that would be pretty counterproductive.

Will. Standing in front of him, soft furrow between his brows, loose sweater, lips parted.

He’s beautiful.

He shoves the thought to the side. It’s not the safest one to have when Will is less than two feet in front of him.

“Mike?”

It hits him about an hour too late: Maybe it’s ironic, how this holiday, composed entirely of spontaneous lovesick bullshit and cordiform chocolate boxes, doesn’t warrant him showing up at someone’s door unannounced. Not when it’s already 7pm.

It isn’t that he hadn’t brought that into consideration, just that now it’s not just an inkling in the back of his mind he has to ignore if he has any hope of getting ready with minimal distraction, but a real, pressing concern, and—

Will’s face splits into a grin, and the thought vanishes as quick as it came.

“Hey,” Mike tries, too hastily. The longer Will stands, just blinking at him, the further Mike burrows his hands into the pockets of his jackets.

He snaps out of it fairly quickly, and the expression has melted into something pleasantly surprised. Mike can work with that. He’s done much more with much less. “Uh— hi.”

“Are you busy?” Mike cranes a neck to peer around Will’s shoulder, unsure of what he’s looking for but appreciating the lack of anything all the same. “If you’re busy, I’ll totally come back, to— fuck, maybe not tomorrow, you have that—”

“Mike.”

“Yep.”

“I’m not busy,” he says with bright eyes, stepping back from the door to accommodate him. “I— don’t just stand there, come in, of course I’m not busy. Why, what’s up?”

“Thought maybe you were off at a candlelit dinner,” Mike remarks, because it’s easier to get out than the other thing, kicking off his shoes and trying not to think too hard about Will, the same Will in the same shadowy alcove as him, whose expression is tinged with fondness, at dinner; with warm lighting and a muted hum of chatter and someone else sitting across from him. “With the fancy napkins.”

“I think I would’ve mentioned the horrors of scraping together enough money for anything like that,” he says, and Mike’s efforts at miming cradling the aforementioned, hypothetical napkin receive a raised eyebrow. “Seriously, is something going on? If Max—”

“Nothing’s happening,” Mike tells him, passing him out and swiveling around to keep walking backwards, reversing into the couch and pretending he didn’t whack his knee as he drops onto it, picking at the edge of the nearest cushion, sprawling out as much as he can manage to. “Which is precisely why I’m here. Well, one of the reasons.”

Will hums, folding his arms and leaning on the back of the couch, contemplative. It has no right to be as endearing as it is. “Are there a lot of reasons?”

“I’m not allowed to visit you anymore?” Mike jokes. “Should I have called and given you a week’s notice?” He sits up, relishing the back and forth. “Should I—”

“No, you’re just… I dunno.” Will pokes his shoulder and skirts the couch, settling in the space Mike makes for him. “You seem nervous. Like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Shit.

Mike lets out what may be considered as the fakest laugh he’s ever mustered, darting his eyes away and plastering on a frown. He gives a half-hearted attempt at an unconvinced, hopefully somewhat assuring scoff, tugging free the crease that’s formed at the ankle of his jeans. “What makes you say that?” he asks. He’d like to describe it as nonchalant. Maybe he’s not as good at hiding as the boy in front of him, but he’s been sidestepping the obvious for what feels like his whole life. He’s had more than enough practice.

“Oh, my God,” Will says, sitting forward, face alight in ways that terrify Mike. “There’s another reason, there’s a huge reason you’re here, you—”

“It’s Valentine’s Day, right?”

The shift in Will’s expression is instantaneous. It might’ve qualified as comical, too, if Mike’s heart wasn’t trying its damndest not to explode. Again, counterproductive.

Will’s mouth drops open a little, the line of his body stock still, and just hovers there, close enough that the warmth of his breath brushes Mike’s face, and the room slips into little more than a backdrop. Mike searches his eyes for a sign that’s not there. He lifts a hand from where it’s resting on a dark green cushion, weighing the implications and consequences of reaching out against the part of him that doesn’t want to consider technicalities until far, far later. The moment stretches, engraving itself into Mike’s memory. 

And then it shatters.

Will slumps back, clearing his throat twice in rapid succession, and the corners of his mouth quirk up in diplomacy. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

Mike’s throat feels unreasonably dry. “Nope,” he says, omitting any mention of the crisis he’d had marching down the hall, questioning whether he’d gotten the date wrong and everything would blow up in his face tenfold, and just drumming his fingers against his thigh.

“So—” Will frowns, “what are you trying to say?”

This was all going much smoother during the numerous rehearsals in his head. “It’s Valentine’s Day,” he parrots, trying not to think about Will’s sharp inhale too much, “and I haven’t done something on Valentine’s Day for years, and you’re free, and I’m free, and…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “I don’t know, I thought we could hang out.” 

Silence.

It’s about to backfire, he can sense it, so he rushes to add: “In solidarity.”

“Right,” Will says, faraway. Mike sort of needs to run outside and scream for an untold amount of time.

“Doesn’t have to be super special,” he says, sensing the need for a prompt change in subject. “Unless you want it to be special, but I just figured— like, what were you gonna do before I came?”

Will glances at him once, quizzical, but drops it. 

—

It’s a short walk from the dorm to the closest Circle K, and one spent wrapped up in pleasant, amicable conversation, catching up on the various aspects of each other’s lives that aren’t entwined already, and about halfway there Will stoops to tie his shoelace. As Mike waits he considers how scary it could be if he dwells too long on how noteworthy the most mundane tasks become in Will Byers’ company.

They wander inside, Mike leaning on the door to open it for Will in what he hopes is a courteous manner, and trails down an aisle beside Will, the faint beat of a trashy pop song barely covering the echo of their footsteps on the tiles.

“Just the sodas?” Mike checks, swerving to avoid a display stacked high.

“Yeah,” Will says, nabbing a coke and gesturing to the fridge. “Take your pick.”

Mike reaches for a 7Up.

“Knew it,” Will says, something indecipherable in his tone. And then he’s extending a hand, covering Mike’s for a split second — long enough for an odd sensation to bloom in his ribs, but short enough for him to want to say, fuck it, and tangle their fingers, but Will teases the can out of his grip, leaving Mike with a cool smear of condensation on his palm.

“We can pool our resources,” Mike quips as Will deposits the cans on the counter. The cashier flicks a lazy glance at them and tells them the price. “I have a quarter.”

“Generous of you,” Will observes, producing a crumpled dollar note from his back pocket.

They settle on a wall outside, and Mike kicks the solid stone intermittently with his dangling heels, sipping away as Will starts to talk. The sky runs like spilled ink above them, perforated with only a smattering of stars and a few dark clouds, but Will is bathed in the gold ring of a streetlamp. There’s a lull in conversation, but it’s fine. Mike’s content to stay here all night.

“This was nice,” he says, in lieu of everything else.

Will bumps against his shoulder. “Yeah?”

A tiny droplet of rain lands on Mike’s nose, and three more freckle more of his exposed skin. A low fizz kicks up, drilling into the gray landscape surrounding them, and more dots pepper on the wall.

“Yeah.”  Will turns away. Mike scans the area around them, but they’re alone save for a few empty chip packets strewn across the concrete. Will’s gorgeous. Mike can’t explain it, but he knows when warmth floods your veins it’s a sign that merits extra morosis, and his intentions are in the right place, and it’s so hard to steer himself in any direction other than pitching forward and propping up a hand on the other side of Will’s jaw. Mike doesn’t let himself think too much of it as he presses a kiss to Will’s cheek.

It’s as short-lived as it is sweet: Will’s answering gasp, all wide eyes and questions in every line of his face, the beads of rain on his skin, near lucent in the orange lighting, the tickle of his bangs getting in Mike’s eyes a little when he turns.

And then Will’s breaking away to set down his Coke, and closing the gap between them.

Truthfully, Mike didn’t know that kissing could feel like this. It seems like something so untouchable, so far from what’s in his own comprehension of the world, that finding this kind of warmth could happen, but Will’s slinging an arm around his back and all coherent thoughts promptly dissolve in the now steadily falling rain. 

[wordtotherose]

"It's so ugly, let me fix it!"

"Ugly is perhaps a little harsh, don't you think?"

"I can make it better, give it back." She holds a hand out, palm up, expectant. "Halsin has been giving me tips, and a new knife. I can fix it."

Astarion hides the small wooden statue behind his back as he leers at her. "Oh I am aware. It's not the only knife he'd like to give you."

An eyebrow rises in disapproval. 

Continue Reading on AO3 or under the cut

"What?" He asks, leaning back, free hand pressed against his chest as if he's shocked by her audacity to be unimpressed with his teasing. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed, darling. The man is practically drooling after you at all hours of the day."

"Oh I am aware." She deadpans, mimicking his tone of voice from before. 

His scowl is much more of a pout as he backs up a step, one arm still behind his back hiding what she's after.

"I don't love this copying habit you've developed."

"And I don't love your being rude about Halsin, he's been nothing but lovely and respectful."

"You say that like I'm not."

She rolls her eyes but does soften her body language; he's one of the most damnably perceptive people she's ever known but sometimes he looks too hard into too little. 

"My apologies, I didn't mean to insinuate that."

He searches her face for a hint of a lie and, upon finding none, nods to himself and relaxes again. It's a complicated dance they've found themselves in. Astarion so hesitant about showing care. One moment confident in what he wants and who he is only to be conflicted and overwhelmed by self-inflicted guilt the next for anything from the simplest of touches to having made her laugh to having mindlessly ground his hips against her thigh when feeding at night. And then she has to count her issues too. The instinct to be stand-offish and spiteful when faced with pretty words, to assume lies before truth, to doubt sincerity. They're a mess individually. Together they're trying to be better. 

Astarion is the one to break the silence that's fallen over the tent. 

"I- Just- Out of curiosity," he finds his footing and throws a horrendously tense smile at her even as he refuses to meet her gaze, "would you uh, that is to say, would you..." He breaks off again with a grunt, scrunching his face up before spitting it out. "Would you be interested if he wanted to bed you?"

She blinks, taking a moment to process. It must stretch too long for his liking because he starts talking again quickly, waving his hands around with his words. 

"Because I definitely can see the appeal, he's certainly a unique creature and you do get along with him well and-"

"No," she interrupts, sure but not forceful as she cuts him off, "no, I would not and am not interested. 'Unique' as he is."

Astarion stills. Hands falling to his sides, the bear statue she'd been after at the start of all this held in a loose grip. 

"You don't have to say never, you know, not for my sake."

"I'm not."

"After all, one's feelings can change in the moment."

"Astarion-"

"I wouldn't presume to- I- Ugh. Look at me, this is your fault. I just want you to be happy so if he makes you happy then I'm sure we can figure something out. Hardly my first time sharing." He tacks on a charming smile and wink that has her wincing, his face falls before he can hide behind one of his masks. 

She crosses the distance between them to take his hands in hers, the wood carving held by them both. 

"He makes me no happier than any of our other friends. He definitely does not make me happier than you do." His eyes drop to the bite marks on her neck, he's become reticent recently about the lasting scars he's causing, another conversation to be had. "I do not want him like that. I won't. Astarion, I have not wanted anyone before I wanted you. You are as much a first for me as I am for you. He knows I don't see him like that."

"He does?" 

"Yes, I told him weeks ago, back when we were sorting out the Grove mess."

"He propositioned you?"

"Astarion, everyone in this camp has propositioned me aside from Volo and Withers and that's because I threatened Volo with my knife in his eye if he ever tried to touch me."

His smile is wicked and appreciative. "I wish I could have seen that, did he piss his trousers? Did you give him nightmares?"

"Not the point," she reminds him, "but he hasn't come to me with his surgery idea since. Feeling better now?"

"That depends, are you still trying to take back my present?" 

Recognising the end of the moment for what it is she tips her head back to the ceiling of the tent and tugs at the statue he immediately clamps down on. She pulls away, giving in to defeat. For now.

"I carved it in an hour, it's the ugliest piece of shit I've ever made."

"And it's all mine," Astarion crows. "You made me an ugly carving that looks more like a dog than a bear and I love it."

She huffs and heads towards where the smell of dinner is originating from, leaving him to whatever he wants to do whilst the rest of them eat together. "You just like having proof that I can be bad at something."

"Indeed I do!"

"Bastard."

"Heard that!"

[wanderingmind867]

A lot of criminals from the 20s and 30s in America entered the folklore of the country, but it still baffled me how many times i've seen the story of Ma Barker influence media. I've seen it at least twice, both times in the 60s and 70s. Batman 1966 had a villian modelled after her (Ma Parker as played by Shelley Winters), and the european disco group Boney M had a song loosely based on her in the form of Ma Baker. I want to say there was a lot more inspiration on media from Ma Barker, but my mind is not thinking of it as clearly right now.

But I suppose it makes sense it entered the folklore and public consciousness. A mother who led her kids on a crime wave across the Midwestern US? That's pretty interesting. Whether it's all true or not, I can't say. But the idea of it all? I see why it fascinated people. A family crime empire, and all led by one older woman. It was probably revolutionary as a story for 20th century america. It's like... it's the same way we still know of people like Al Capone or Billy the Kid or Jesse James. They were real people, but the myth becomes more powerful than the truth. And that is always fascinating.

[talulajones-stories]

"We are about to have our first fight."

She stared at him like he grew another head. She folded her arms at him, as he stood half-naked in their bedroom, looking almost human in the glow of her lamplight.

"Um, you and I have had plenty of fights, we've had more fights than anyone else I know in my life, we have fought so mu– "

He cut her off, "As your husband. This is going to be our first fight," he paused briefly before continuing, pushing himself to be honest, before resorting to drinking it away or draining it away, "You said, 'we' when you were talking to Marcel," Damon pointed out, watching confusion settle on Bonnie's face. "When you advised Marcel to tell Klaus to do a better job at the facade of being on the run, you said, 'we.' Which got me thinking," he paused and asked, "Does Klaus have a decoy you with him?"

She sighed deeply, "Yes, he has witches available, using glamour spells to resemble me. It adds an extra layer of protection, making it seem like we're constantly on the move together. It's a strategy to throw off the Coven and keep them off our scent, or at least that's been our hope."

His eyebrows shot up, "That's what I'm talking about?"

"What?"

"The 'we' and the 'our' you keep referring to means you and Klaus." He sputtered, his anger growing, "Meanwhile, he's out there with your son, roaming the streets with a witch that has your face, pretending to be a 'we' and an 'us.' Do you understand what I'm getting at now, Bonnie?" 

"No, I am not following your crazy train of thought."

He held a hand to his chest, "When I say 'we' and 'us,' I mean me and you." He explained before adding, "And I don't make life-changing plans and leave you out of the decision-making. "He stressed.

She looked as if she might spit fire at him, and it would have been deserved, but she managed to ask him what was really bothering him.

He then considered his witchy wife. His Bonnie. And he thought, Who was she, really? How did she change in his mind when he added Klaus to her story?

For him, New Orleans was a shapeless blur in his understanding of her—a mere blip in her life. He ignored the fact that it was where she became a mother and had been engaged in a romantic entanglement with their sworn enemy.

And it wasn’t like he’d interrogated her to fill in the gaps, to piece together the timeline. Because asking those questions would mean facing truths he’d been avoiding.

"Is Klaus hoping to reconcile with you?"

There was a moment of deliberation, where she turned her green eyes away and then reluctantly said, "Yes," triggering a wave of old emotions for Damon, reminiscent of when he was in a former love triangle.

"But I already tried to reconcile with him,” she added.

Stunned, he had to sit. Without thinking, he sank down on the bed next to her, his movements heavy. The first time he had heard her admit to being in a relationship with Klaus had been a revelation—a gut punch he hadn’t been prepared for. But now, hearing that she had entertained the hybrid a second time? That was something else entirely.

He couldn’t stop himself. "What happened?" He heard himself ask.

She gave him a pained look, the kind that begged, please don’t make me revisit this. But she sighed and then tucked a loose tendril behind her ear and started, knowing he needed to hear it.

"I thought we were done, you know? He���um—he got involved with someone else pretty quickly. Another witch," she said, her voice still hesitant. "They were together for, I don’t know, a month or two. And then he came back, saying he wanted his family. Wanted me." She stopped for a moment, her gaze dropping as if gathering her strength. Then she pushed on. “And I wanted that too. So, I tried to approach things differently, to... rebuild. But he—he just wanted to go back to how things were before." Her voice wavered slightly, but she continued. "And during that time, the witch he left behind... she showed up at Klaus’s one night and she tried to kill me." Bonnie paused, her lips tightening before finishing with quiet finality. "He killed her instead. And that’s why her coven is after our son. And you know the rest."

In his ignorance, he’d convinced himself that her getting with Klaus was because she’d been through too much. She’d lost too much. She’d been a ghost, an anchor, had died too many times to count. What was left for her in Mystic Falls? What was left for her with friends like them—friends who had taken her for granted? He’d reasoned that her running off to New Orleans had been a good bet, that she deserved a life of her own, far away from them. Far away from him.

And even hearing that she’d gotten mixed up with Klaus had made sense at the time. He’d shrugged it off as her good girl gone bad phase. Hell, if he hadn’t been so far up Elena’s ass back then, maybe she would’ve gone bad for him instead.

But hearing her say she’d tried again with the hybrid? That did something else entirely. Made him feel things he didn’t want to name. And still, it made him ask for more questions, even though he didn’t know how he’d handle the answers.

A masochist to the end, he pressed on. "Do you still love him?"

She traced her fingers slowly along his spine, grounding him even as his chest tightened. She paused, her lips hovering near his shoulder before she kissed it softly. "There’s history between him and I," she said finally, her voice steady. "We share a child. But I am not in love with him. Not anymore."

Her words were measured and sure, cutting off the feelings that threatened to take him down. She met his eyes, her gaze unwavering. "I love you," she stressed, offering him a small, knowing smile—one that came with the press of her mouth to his and a quiet whisper: "It’s always been you."

He let out a deep exhale, his mouth curving into a placated smile. "I want to help," he said, his fingers grazing her cheek in a gentle caress.

"I know you do," she conceded. "And I need your help."

Hearing her say that sparked something in him—ready to be put in the game, to prove himself. He assured her with a smirk, "I’ve taken out my fair share of witches, you know."

She rolled her eyes. "Now, what were you saying earlier? Something about packing?"

He revisited his plan to move back to Mystic Falls, speaking in detail about returning as soon as possible—not just for the arrival of their daughter, but for Gabriel.

"Your son will be safe there, with all of us protecting him. I promise you," he said, pulling her into his arms. "Trust me, baby," he added, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

[ecosystem-administrator]

Reintroduction

Timeline: 2.0 beginning

Mayhem Moondrop returns to Gridania for the first time in a decade, looking for a fresh start as a registered adventurer.

(I'm posting this during FFXIV Write, but it's not an entry; instead, I'm going to pin it as an introduction to my Warrior of Light.)

Luckily, they were too surprised by the sight of the Moogle, so soon after waking from another dizzy spell, to react to it out loud. As they watched it bob in the air and steal the wine of the merchant who’d joined them at an earlier stop, it became clear that they were the only one on the cart who was seeing it, and they didn’t want to start the process of returning home by convincing onlookers that they were prone to conversing with thin air.

“Have you chanced to witness anything suspicious, kupo?” The little creature hovered and dipped anxiously in the air, and after a moment’s consideration Mayhem shook their head, hoping their fellow travelers would think they were still clearing away the cobwebs. They knew what Moogles were, of course, having grown up in Gridania as a child and heard plenty of stories about them, but they’d never glimpsed one up close, and certainly never before been able to see through the glamours that concealed them when they didn’t want to be found. Maybe that, too, was related to the strange dreams and dizzy spells they’d begun having after the Calamity a few years ago? The fits had only grown more frequent when they’d returned to the Shroud’s denser aether, enough so that they’d decided to take this carriage for the final leg of their journey back to their childhood home.

The Moogle seemed disappointed but not surprised by this response, and flitted off into the woods after a bit more chatter: Mayhem watched them go, hoping that they’d have a better opportunity to converse in the future without looking like they were losing touch with reality.

The gregarious merchant who sat across from them had by this point moved past the sudden inexplicable emptiness of his wine bottle, and resumed engaging them in conversation. Bremondt, as his name turned out to be, seemed a pleasant enough fellow to pass the time with, and as the two young Elezen tucked into a corner of the cart didn’t seem eager to join in with any stories of their own, Mayhem was soon caught up in laying out their pre-adventuring background for him. They explained about the theater troupe they’d traveled with before the Calamity, first as a guard, then as a stagehand, and eventually taking small parts onstage as well. “Unfortunately, the Calamity made things too difficult for us to keep on as a group,” they sighed. “I admit I’ve been a bit at loose ends ever since; coming here to register as a guild adventurer seems like the best idea I have for a fresh start.”

“Plenty of folks lookin’ for just that, these days,” Bremondt agreed. “Did your traveling theater band ever come by Gridania, or is this your first time down this way?”

Now, Mayhem hesitated. The players had been on their way back to Gridania for the first time in a few years when the Calamity had struck, having picked Mayhem up on their previous pass through the region, before they’d hit their full growth and back when they were still going under their childhood name. So they hadn’t traveled here with the troupe, but it was far from their first time being here among the trees. Not that they felt they owed a near-stranger like Bremondt the entire truth of their story, but was it really worth coming up with a lie over something so minor?

Luckily, the man seemed to have taken their pause as a response in and of itself. “Ah, don’t mind old Bremondt,” he answered, waving off his own question. “Everyone’s got a couple dozen things they want to keep to themselves, don’t they? I don’t need to pry into what your history with the place is or isn’t, but let me update you on the latest developments, as someone who runs these roads pretty regular-like.”

Mayhem let him go on a bit about the state of the roads and the forest, the beast tribes and the merchant guilds. It had been almost a decade since they’d left the city - maybe more than that, with how hazy time had gotten for a little while in the immediate wake of the Calamity. Most of the guilds had been handed over from the masters they remembered growing up to one apprentice or another; everyone had known Beatin was the only real candidate to take over the Carpenters’ Guild, but there had been a bit of rivalry among the leatherworkers, and it was interesting to learn that the haughty and exacting Geva had been the one to come out on top in the end.

Not that they were going to let on to anyone just how well they knew these people. They’d changed enough in both name and appearance that they didn’t expect to be recognized as anything but a newcomer, and so a newcomer was what they would pretend to be. Instead they chimed in politely just enough to encourage Bremondt to keep carrying on as the carriage wound its way up toward the gates of the city, until at last they rolled to a stop.

“And here we are, lad,” Bremondt said, dismounting from the cart with a grin. “Didn’t mean to talk your ear off quite so much, but I hope some of it helped you get settled. I’ll be headed for the markets and then back on the road once I’m done there. If you don’t mind, what’s the name I should be listening for the next time I come? There’s something about you, I don’t doubt you’ll be the talk of the town soon enough.”

Mayhem grinned back at him and jumped down as well, then bowed with a flourish. “Neither lad nor lass, actually, but always a performer to the core. My name is Mayhem Moondrop, and I do indeed mean to be memorable.”

[chewtoyfrank]

@pisshandkerchief

Holy fuckkk. I. Fuck. Yeah. Yeah. Fuck.

Okay so. Favorites are probably, in order: Bang The Doldrums, I've Got All This Ringing In My Ears, This Ain't A Scene, The (After) Life Of The Party, and Hum Hallelujah.

I feel unwell.

Below are the notes I took while listening to each song 2 or 3 times. View at your own risk.

Thriller

Holy shittttt what the fuck

Starting off fucking intense

Oh

Holy shit

Ily vocals

Well. Uh Oh.

"The Take Over, The Breaks Over"

Ooooooo woah

Vibey

Broooooooo the chorus fuckss

Oh shitt

Shittt the guitarr

SHITTT the drumss

This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race

Woah

Woahhhh

Bro???

That little guitar bit. fuck

The likee buzzy lil emphasis on God Damn is soooo tingly holy shittttt

Fuck. Okay. Yeah. Okay.

I'm Like A Lawyer With The Way I'm Always Trying To Get You Off

Vocals ilyyyy. Pretty

Yeah

Hum Hallelujah

That bass fucks

Someone who knows someone who knows-

The chorus is so prettyyy

The pronunciation makes brain go brrrrrr

Crunchy ass ending

Golden

Mmmmm piano

Godd i love fucking backing vocals

Oh???? Pretty???

OH SHIT

OH SHITT

Fuck. Yeah okay

Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

Oh shit it's this song i know this one! Kind of

Very dramatic

Oooo clickity clackity

OOOOH THAT GUITAR

Don't You Know Who I Think I Am?

👏👏👏

Epic gamer moment!

I need to take vocal lessons. blease

Sexy ending

The (After) Life Of The Party

Oooooooobh prettyyyy

Damnn

Thw change into the fucking drums and to the next verse good shit

God DAMN the fucking VOCALS

Fuckkkkkkkkkkkk

This Slaps

GOT DAM THAT FUCKING fuckin uhhhh the last 'loose' fuck man

fuck.

The Carpal Tunnel Of Love

Sexy guitar

The drums fuckingg. Dun dun. Dun dun. 👍

More sexy guitarrrr

Vocals

Woag bridge what the fuck

God damn girl.

VOCALS

Bang The Doldrums

I LIKE? SEXY RHYTHM

Ooooo HELL YEAH Guitar!

Oh shitt

Oh Shittttttt it's fuckin bang the doldrums

I don't know it but I've heard about it so that means its popular right

Girl. Girl help.

Uh oh. Autism

This fucks so hard

It's giving uhhhhh piratey? Idk but I like it

Goddamn. Yeah. Yeah.

Fame < Infamy

Sexy guitar, chef's kiss

Haven't deciphered the lyrics but I'm feeling some type of way abt them

More guitar yummm

👍

You're Crashing, But You're No Wave

SEXYY GUITAR

This fucks

Oh shitt the fucking silence after hushed fuckk

👍👍

Woahh damn the choiral part, shit

I've Got All This Ringing In My Ears And None On My Fingers

Oooooooo

Shittt

The truth hurts worse part is so brain tingly fucking chills fuck

Fuckk

Ooooooooo

OOOOOOHHHHHHH

FUCKK, MAJOR AUTISM SLAY

���💞💞

God Damn. Fuck. Shit

G.I.N.A.S.F.S.

Ooooooh cunty ass intro

Oh shit this slays

CUNTY ASS GUITAR HELL YEAH

Love the energy this fucks

She's so mysterious. What does she stand for

It's Hard To Say "I Do", When I Don't

Oooooooo

Damnnnn hella lyrics

Ooooooo that buildup Yessss

The ending that fucks

Dance, Dance - Live

Ily drumsss

ILY BASS

Believe it or not. Ily vocals

Good shitt

This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race - Live

STILL FUCKS.

Fucks more i think actually

Extra cuntyyy i love it. ILY LIVE VOCALS

Autism hungry feed it fob

Fuckkkk this SLAYS

Thriller - Live

CRUNCHYYYYYY

pretty

Crunchy AND Pretty. Impeccable.

FUCKING CRUNCHYY

pretty again. shes versatile

Slayyy

I want to gnaw on this song like a dog bone

[nedconte]

Tom Cruise fic recs

If someone had told me a year ago that this is what I'd be reading in 2023, I probably wouldn't have believed them. Anyway, here I am with a list of some of my favorite RPF fics.

This list is pretty PWP-heavy and includes mostly bottom!Tom because I'm predictable like that. There are a few different pairings, but they're all m/m. No archive warnings apply to any of these fics.

With you, I'm already winning by Fuddlewuddle 4k, E Tom Cruise/Miles Teller, secret relationship, semi-public sex, belly bulge

Tom and Miles go to the Oscars. The ceremony goes on for so long, no one is going to miss them for a few awards while they go to the bathroom together. Just as long as they're back for the Best Picture award, it'll be fine. Miles isn't sure he'd be able to stop himself, even if it wasn't.

Oscars fix-it! This was lovely and really hot.

Kinkmeme fill: Asphyxiation by anonymous Not rated/E Tom Cruise/Miles Teller, asphyxiation, unsafe kink

Prompt: Tom has a thing for Miles' hands. It's only a matter of time before he asks Miles to choke him in the bedroom.

This kinkmeme fill is short but amazing. It's extremely well written and the characters are very believable.

all we are is indestructible by yellowdressilsa 4k, E Tom Cruise/Chris McQuarrie, wingfic

Chris always wears his wings up and out of the way - Tom finally gets him to let them down.

Somehow an AU where they have wings just makes so much sense for them. I love the intimacy of this.

so come take my hand, come on by notyourwinter 1.5k, E 🔒 Tom Cruise/Chris McQuarrie, shower sex

Tom would stay in the gym forever if McQ let him. McQ doesn't intend to let that happen.

Chris taking care of Tom is just so sweet, I want to live in this fic.

reading about yourself on a plane by yellowdressilsa 2k, E 🔒 Tom Cruise/Chris McQuarrie, topping from the bottom

Tom looks at him a moment; his expression is unreadable but then again, Chris isn't wearing his glasses. "You want to have sex?" Tom asks finally.

I think this was the first Tom/McQ fic on AO3. 10/10, absolutely perfect.

Truth or Dare by anonymous 3k, E 🔒 Tom Cruise/Miles Teller, armpit kink, boot worship, praise kink

"Truth or dare." "No!" Tom said decisively, waving his finger at Miles. "I'm way too old for that." "I'm also too old." Miles shrugged. "But it will be fun! We'll get to know each other, and all that."

This is really hot, I love the praise kink (and so do they).

Turn it on, knock me up, turn me loose by yellowdressilsa 2.5k, E 🔒 Tom Cruise/Glen Powell, pregnancy/breeding kink, top!Tom

Tom probably means "I wish I could have carried them" as an offhand comment, but it starts a wildfire in Glen.

I know I keep saying this about every fic on this list, but this is super hot.

twice as sweet as money earned by Saturn 5k, E Tom Cruise/Paul Newman, first time bottoming, praise kink

Tom could pretend he doesn't understand what Paul is offering but there is no denying the meaning behind Paul’s proposition. They’ve been building toward this for weeks. Tom’s not certain what the details entail, and he’s not sure he wants what’s on offer, but he still manages to sink his next four shots. It’s about options. While filming The Color of Money, Paul teaches Tom far more than he anticipated.

This is the only fic on this list with younger Tom, and I just adore how he's written here. And of course I love how Paul takes care of him.