#this will take some time to adjust to to say the least

[flowersforbucky]

either way, i'm going your way

logan howlett x reader (worst!logan x reader)

word count: 4k

summary: logan doesn't remember the last time he celebrated valentine's day, and he doesn't have any reason to believe that this year will be any different. then he runs into you, wade's neighbor, who happens to love the holiday despite not having anyone to celebrate it with.

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only mdni, sex in a public place kind of, oral (m&f receiving), unprotected p in v, logan's pov, neighbor!reader, reader is afab, reader is described as being shorter than logan, no use of y/n, hints of grumpy x sunshine

this is my entry for @yxtkiwiyxt & @lubdubology valentine's writing challenge! thank you both for hosting this, i can't wait to read the other submissions ❤️

logan howlett masterlist

Logan has been alive for two centuries worth of Valentine's Days. He can count on one hand how many he’s actually celebrated, and he can't recall the last time he had a reason to even acknowledge the day.

To him, Valentine’s Days have always been just another Tuesday, or Thursday, or whatever day it falls on that year.

He hates how commercialized the holiday is thanks to the multi-billion dollar corporations that fill department stores with trinkets the second that Christmas is over. He hates all of the pressure and unrealistic expectations that come with planning the perfect date. And as much as he hates to admit it to himself, he hates that it's a stark reminder that he's just as alone in this universe as he had been in the last one.

Technically he can't say that he's entirely alone. Romantically? Yes. Sexually? Yes.

Physically, however, he’s lodged between a blind eighty-year-old cocaine addict and a ten pound living tumor - the latter of whom keeps trying to French kiss him.

Wade might be out with Vanessa for Valentine’s Day, but for Logan, this is any other Friday night – watching Who Wants To Be A Millionaire reruns with Al and Mary Puppins.

Something about his current predicament makes him feel even more alone than if he actually were alone. Maybe it’s how unfamiliar and foreign this universe still feels in so many ways – he’s been here for some months now, but there’s some things that remind him that he still has a ways to go in terms of adjustment.

He'd never admit it aloud, but just maybe the fact that he can’t keep his thoughts from straying to a specific next door neighbor certainly doesn’t help. He hates to use the word crush at his grown age, but he can’t really think of a better word for it. If it’s not a crush, why else would he be wondering what your plans are for this evening? Why else would he feel the unmistakable, undeniable twinge of jealousy when he thinks of the mere possibility of you spending your night in the arms of someone other than him?

He has no one to blame but himself, and he knows it. He had the perfect opportunity to ask you out just last week, and he didn’t take it. The two of you were both taking the elevator up to your neighboring apartments when it broke down for the third fucking time in the last month. It took nearly an hour for maintenance to get it back up and running, and he couldn’t find the nerve to simply ask if you have any plans at any point during the time you were trapped in the fifteen square feet of space together. Instead, he awkwardly rambled about he had walked in on Wade and Vanessa in a compromising position the day before.

He cringes at the memory, tossing back another swig of whiskey when he realizes the bottle is empty. He sighs, earning a side-eye from Mary Puppins.

If this is how he’s going to be spending his evening, he should at least be a little intoxicated.

“I’m going to the liquor store,” Logan announces as he transfers Mary Puppins from his lap to Al’s before standing up from his position on the couch for the first time in hours. “You need anything?”

“Pick me up a couple of scratchers and a pack of Newports.”

Just her usual requests, then.

Logan throws on his leather jacket, dreading the cold and dreary February night but willing to face it for a bottle of bourbon and some cigars. He’s been out of those since yesterday, so a trip to the nearest convenience store is much needed, anyway.

The door to the apartment complex’s singular outdated elevator is sliding to a close when Logan hears a familiar, feminine voice call out.

“Hold up!”

Logan immediately pushes the hold button, freezing the door in place. A second later, you appear in the doorframe. You’re slightly out of breath, with a relieved expression on your face.

“Thanks,” you greet him as you lean against the wall of the elevator, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your plaid skirt. “I’m running late to my dinner reservations and really didn’t wanna have to take the stairs in these.” You glance down at the heels of the uncomfortable looking thigh high boots that you’re wearing.

Uncomfortable looking and hot, he thinks, before your words sink in. Dinner reservations – of course you’d have plans tonight. He feels a slight pang of disappointment (and jealousy, if he’s being honest with himself) at the realization, but he isn’t surprised.

“Well, let’s cross our fingers that we don’t get stuck in here again and that you make it to your date on time,” Logan says with a forced laugh and smile as he pushes the button once again to close the door, followed by the button that says lobby.

“Oh, no. Not a date,” you correct him quickly with a bashful grin. “Well, maybe. Is it considered a date if I’m dining by myself?”

“You’re going to dinner by yourself?” Logan asks, unable to hide the surprise in his tone. “Looking like that?”

Your eyes widen in shock. “What’s wrong with how I look? And what’s wrong with going to dinner by myself?”

“Nothing!” Logan begins to backtrack when he realizes how his questions came across. “You - you look great. I'm just a little surprised. Would’ve assumed that you had a date tonight is all—”

He trails off when he realizes that you’re pursing your lips together in an obvious attempt to hide a smirk. The mischievous glimmer in your eyes gives you away.

“I’m just fucking with you, Logan,” you snort with a playful slap to his arm. “I know it’s a little unconventional to take yourself out on Valentine’s Day. But I’ve always loved the holiday despite being painfully single, so I thought why not? Better than sitting at home and sulking all night.”

The corners of his lips threaten to twitch upwards at the words painfully single as he contemplates the rest of your response. He can’t help but admire your way of thinking. He was content with staying holed up inside the apartment and drinking himself into a stupor, but he can’t deny that your outlook on the holiday is far less depressing and boring than his.

“What about you?” you ask as the elevator comes to a stop with a melodic ding. You exit, looking back at him over your shoulder. “Are you on your way to your Valentine’s plans?”

He chuckles at the question. For a second, he considers lying to you. He considers telling you that yes, he is on his way to pick up his date right now, just so he doesn’t have to tell you the truth – that he’s on his way to buy bourbon, cancer sticks, and lottery tickets for him and his elderly roommate. But with his luck, you’d run into Wade tomorrow and he’d open his big fucking mouth about how Logan actually spent his night, and the thought of that is even more mortifying than telling you the truth to your face.

“Not unless you count making a liquor run as Valentine’s plans,” he sighs, averting your gaze as he opens the door to the apartment building for you. “The only thing I plan on doing tonight is listen to Althea scream at her game shows.”

You come to a stop outside of the apartment building, wrapping your coat tightly around your chest to fight off the chilly night air. There’s a peculiar look on your face that Logan can’t quite read – something between amusement and hesitation.

“You could have worse dates, I suppose,” you laugh.

“That’s true,” Logan agrees. “At least I have Vanessa to thank for a Wade free evening. But I’ll let you go, don’t wanna make you late for your—”

“Do you like Korean barbecue?”

Logan freezes, taken aback by the question. He snaps his mouth shut, realizing he’s staring at you like a deer in the headlights.

“Korean barbecue?” He asks lamely. “Don’t think I’ve ever tried it.”

He’s had barbecue. He’s had Korean food.. maybe? He’s been alive a really long time, he’s sure he’s had Korean food at some point in the last two hundred years.

But he can’t say that he’s had Korean barbecue.

A nervous looking grin appears on your face, and you cross your arms over your chest before taking a small step towards him.

“Are you hungry?”

••••••

All it takes is one look at the table that the host takes the two of you to for Logan to realize that he has indeed never had Korean barbecue.

You don’t appear to be the slightest bit confused so he assumes that the circular grill built into the middle of the table is normal, though he’s never seen anything quite like it in a restaurant before.

You giggle when you notice the curious expression on his face.

“It’s kinda like hibachi,” you begin. “Except instead of someone cooking it in front of you, you cook it yourself.”

Logan takes in the array of various meats on the tray to the left of him. You pick up a piece of what appears to be some kind of beef with a pair of tongs, and place it on the grill. It sizzles, and he watches as you add a few more pieces of meat onto the hot surface.

“Isn’t that kinda the whole point of going to a restaurant? To have someone else cook the food for you?” He asks the question as gently as he can, not wanting to hurt your feelings. He’s just happy to be here with you – even if he doesn’t fully understand the appeal of going to a restaurant to pay to cook your own food.

“It’s about the experience,” you explain with a shrug. “To be fair, when most people come to a Korean barbecue restaurant, they usually come with a group of people – hence the large amount of meat.” You nod towards the arrangement of the meats that have yet to be cooked.

“It’s a social thing. But all of my friends had plans with their significant others tonight, so…”

You trail off as the server places another tray on the table – this one covered in various colorful side dishes that he’s definitely never had before. He wouldn’t exactly describe himself as adventurous when it comes to trying new foods – for the most part, he lives off of ham and cheese sandwiches and frozen TV dinners. But he tried shawarma when he’d first arrived in this universe and ended up loving it, so he’s determined to try a bite of everything on this table.

“Sounds like it’s a good thing that you ran into me, then,” Logan murmurs when the server walks off.

You take your eyes off of the pieces of meat that you’re paying careful attention not to overcook, looking up at him through your lashes with a soft smile.

“I'd say that you’re right about that.”

••••••

Despite the breeze and the chilly night air, Logan feels perfectly toasty on the walk back to the apartment thanks to your tight hold on his arm and the wine that you had insisted that he try.

He'd learned a lot tonight – a lot about you; your hobbies and your interests. He’d learned all about Korean barbecue, and that he likes bulgogi and buldak.

Most importantly, he'd learned that he was stupid for ever being nervous about asking you out.

He feels at ease with you. He already knew he enjoys your company from all of the times that you’ve joined Wade’s movie nights and get-togethers – but he’d never been alone with you (with the exception of getting stuck in the elevator with you last week). Wade, Vanessa, Al, Peter, Yukio, and countless others always seemed to be present, making it near impossible for him to get to know you in the way that he’s wanted to since he first met you.

But now, with your arm intertwined with his and the scent of your perfume hitting him each time there is a gust of air, he knows that he is going to do all that he can to keep having moments like this with you.

“I have a question,” you state as the two of you turn onto the street where your apartment building is. Logan glances down at you in curiosity, but you’re not looking at him – you’re looking ahead, your teeth biting into your lower lip.

“What’s that?” Logan murmurs.

You hesitate, your eyes flickering up to him before quickly looking away again. “Did you actually like the kimchi?”

Logan can’t help but cackle, taken off guard by the question.

“That’s your question?” he laughs, thinking back to the spicy and tangy flavor of the fermented vegetables.

You come to a stop next to a streetlight outside of your apartment building, pulling your arm away from his to stand just inches in front of him.

“No,” you admit with a smirk. “Though I am curious about that, too.” You take a step closer to him, your chest ever so slightly brushing against his. He feels his breath catch in his throat at the way that your eyes twinkle in the glow of the streetlight.

“Last week, when we got stuck in the elevator together,” you begin in a low voice. He swears that your eyes flicker to his lips for a split second before meeting his gaze once more. “Were you nervous?”

He thinks back to his nervous rambling in the elevator, to how you looked so pretty that he found it difficult to hold direct eye contact with you, and to how it felt like half of his brain was screaming at him to ask you out and the other half was screaming at him to not make himself look like an idiot.

Yeah, nervous is accurate.

“That obvious, huh?” he sighs.

“Just a little,” you shrug. “But don’t worry. I was too.”

“Is that right?” Logan asks, trying not to give away just how happy the confession makes him. “And what about now?”

He doesn’t have to ask – he's standing close enough to you that your increased heartrate is easy for him to detect.

“Something like that,” you whisper, and before he fully process what’s happening, you’re raising up on your tippy toes to capture his lips in yours.

The taste of the fruity wine from dinner still lingers on your lips. He places his hands on the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. Your hands cradle his face, pulling him down closer to you. The warmth of you is a balm against the brisk night air, making him feel like he can’t get close enough to you. You don’t pull away until you’re breathless, looking up at him with dilated pupils in the florescent street lighting.

“Do you wanna come up to my place?” you breathe, nodding your head in the direction of the apartment building.

“What? You don’t wanna come to mine and hang out with Al?” he teases, nudging you in the direction of the building’s entrance.

“As tempting as that sounds…” You trail off, following his lead.

The second that the elevator door comes to a close, his hands are back on you. He backs you up against the wall, his hands gripping your hips as you spread your legs enough to allow one of his thick thighs in between them. This time, he’s the one who kisses you, wasting no time in slipping his tongue between your lips. You whimper into the kiss, your tongue fighting his for dominance.

It isn’t until he pulls away for air and opens his eyes that he realizes the elevator has come to a stop. It couldn’t have been moving for more than ten seconds –

“Fuckin’ hell,” you groan. “Not this again.”

Logan looks at the panel of buttons to his left. Sure enough, the number reads that you’re still a floor beneath your apartments. He beats his fist against the elevator wall, as if that’s actually going to help the matter.

Still pinned between his body and the wall, you pull your cell phone out from an interior pocket of your coat. You quickly find the number for building maintenance in your call history, but it just rings, and rings, and rings.

“I could probably pry the doors open,” Logan muses as he begins to pull away from you. He thinks back to how it took maintenance nearly an hour to get the elevator back up and running last week, and knows that he wouldn’t have the patience for that now. The thought of having to wait even a fraction of that long to get back to your apartment…

“Let’s not do anything that could potentially put the elevator out of commission permanently, yeah?” You pull him back to you, grabbing his face in your hand and making him look at you. “I think that we'll be just fine right here for a while.”

There’s a mischievous look on your face. Before he can question you, you’re sliding down the wall until you reach the floor. You reach for his belt with your hands, making quick work of undoing the buckle and then the button to his jeans.

Oh.

All Logan can do is stare down at you in wonderment as you tug his zipper down.

“This okay with you?” you ask, but the look on your face says that you already know the answer.

He nods, his mouth suddenly feeling too dry to speak. He helps you shimmy his boxers and jeans down enough for his cock to spring free. He glances around the elevator, double checking that there aren’t any security cameras. Considering this elevator is ancient and doesn’t even function half the time, he isn’t surprised to see that there aren’t any.

You take the base of him in your hand, languidly massaging the length as you tease his slit with your tongue. You lap up the beads of pre-cum before easing him past your lips.

The sight of you on your knees for him is enough to have him twitching in your mouth. Add in how your soft lips and tongue feel working his length, and he knows he won’t last long like this.

You bob your head around him, gagging when his head juts against the back of your throat. You pull off of him, leaving a thick rope of saliva that trails from his cock to your mouth.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything prettier. He could spend hours looking at you like this.

But this isn’t how he wants to finish – in your mouth, before he’s even had a chance to make you feel good. So as much as it nearly kills him to do it, he pulls himself away from your sweet lips and yanks you back up by the tops of your arms. There’s the slightest hint of disappointment on your face, but it quickly disappears when he pushes your coat off of your shoulders and down your arms. It falls to floor, leaving you in still too many articles of clothing for Logan’s liking.

Later, he tells himself. He’ll get you naked later, in the privacy of your apartment, where there’s no risk of the elevator doors sliding open at any given moment.

For now, he settles for pushing the restrictive fabric of your skirt upwards, bunching it around your waist. He sinks to the ground in front of you, splaying his palms on your inner thighs and spreading your legs open for him. He rubs the pad of his thumb over the soft material of your panties, right over your clit. He feels shudder at the sensation, and notices the goosebumps that appear on the skin of your thighs.

He hooks his index finger through the cotton fabric, pulling it to the side. He looks up to see if there’s any kind of hesitation on your face, but you quickly pull him to your center by the back of his head, erasing any doubt. He chuckles lowly, and flattens his tongue over your slit.

Your cunt tastes as sweet as the fruity wine from the restaurant did on your tongue. He eats you like he wants to get drunk off of you, alternating between soft licks through your folds and fervent kisses to your swollen bud.

He feels your legs quiver around the sides of his head. He supports you from below, letting you go all but limp above him. He glances up at you, your head thrown back in pleasure and your chest heaving with ragged breaths.

His name slips through your lips, your voice strained with desperation. He loves the sound of it, and wants more than anything to hear you keep saying it. He snakes one of his hands between your thighs, and teases your hole with the tip 9t his finger. You involuntarily sink down, nudging the tip of it past your entrance.

He groans against your clit at how fucking tight you feel around his finger. God, he can’t wait to be inside you. He pumps the digit, your walls already clenching around him.

“Logan,” you moan from above him. “I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he hums against your clit. “Let go. I got you.”

Your climax washes over you with a sharp cry of his name and Logan mentally prays that the elevator walls aren’t as thin as the apartment walls.

When you go still above him, he reluctantly takes his mouth off of you and stands up. His jeans and boxers are still bunched just above his knees, his erection painfully hard and his balls full. He wipes the excess of your slick from his mouth with the back of his hand, and then begins to stroke his own length in his fist.

“Do you.. wanna wait until we get back to your..?”

“God, no,” you exhale, and pull him to you by grabbing his flannel in your fists.

His lips crash against yours as he nestles himself in between your legs, teasing your slit with the head of his cock. He coats it in your juices and eases into you slowly. You groan into his mouth and he has to try not to cum on the spot.

You’re tight, and warm, and your walls flutter around him just right. He hikes one of your thighs over his hip, deepening the angle before he pulls almost all the way out. He rocks back into you, working up to a steady pace.

The small, confined space is filled with the sound of your body meeting his and the sweet noises you make that are music to his ears. You grip around him like a velvet vice and he knows that he isn't going to last long.

“Gonna cum, honey,” he warns in a grunt next to your ear. “Ya feel too fuckin’ good.”

He feels your walls pulse around him at his words and he can tell that you're just as close as he is. A few more deep thrusts that hit your cervix just right and he’s spilling into you as you cum around him.

When he’s empty, his movements cease but he doesn’t pull out. He nuzzles his face against your throat, pressing kisses to the soft but sweat-slicked skin.

“Happy Valentine’s Day to us,” you murmur in a borderline delirious voice. He laughs, pulling back just enough to press his lips to yours.

“Mind if I still come back to your place? I know we just…” He trails off, glancing down at where he’s still tucked inside you. “But I just realized I forgot to pick up cigarettes for Al and she isn’t gonna be too happy with me.”

You roll your eyes, and playfully push him away from you so that you can tug your skirt back into place.

“I think I can find a way to be okay with that,” you smirk. “If we ever get out of this fuckin’ elevator.”

not my favorite thing i've ever written by any means, i've been feeling really unmotivated to write and have felt kinda burnt out, but i still wanted to get this out before valentine's day bc if i didn't then i never would have finished it at all, lol. so i'm sorry it's short ���� hope you still enjoyed

reblogs/comments are always appreciated, thanks for reading!

[fisherrprince]

friends, countrymen. if you feel the urge to go to the chiropractor because your body aches, you do not want a chiropractor, you want a massage.

“but fish” you may say. “that sounds. scary” it’s not. if you really have an aversion to people touching you, at all, ever, maybe this isn’t for you. but a chiropractor isn’t for you either, because they also touch you a lot. In the case that you think you’d be chill with it for an hour, im going to describe in detail more or less what to expect at a massage appointment.

-

why not a chiropractor?

we’re not going to get into it, but a chiropractor tries to put your bones back in alignment. This is functionally useless if your tight muscles are pulling on your bones in the first place! They’ll just go back to being achy and out of alignment within the week. You need to be addressing the root of the problem. a massage may not fix it (sorry. it takes work on your part), but it may help your muscles relax so you can train them to chill out and sit in their correct spots. plus it feels nice. if you feel like you need something more intense, go for a deep pressure therapy massage. it digs into your sore muscles without the danger of a chiropractor.

what does the room look like?

in most cases, when a massage parlor has an official building, the massage room is a small dim-ish room with one massage table, maybe a chair, and some cubbies or cabinets either for the masseuse's tools or for your clothes. there may be decorations, candles, fake candles, little speakers, a mirror, or pillows. the massage table looks like a little twin mattress with a donut pillow sticking out the top and blankets covering the mattress. The table is also usually heated, and you can adjust the heat by asking for it.

what stuff is also there?

smells there are smells in there, usually woody, floral, or natural scents like cedar, eucalyptus, lavender, chamomile, or peppermint. sometimes you get to choose your smells. if there's a smell you don't like (eg lavender, which makes me sneeze), politely ask not to use that one. very few massage parlors have no smells at all, but I've found that most places aren't nearly as overwhelming as, say, a bath and body works, which sucks to be in.

music or nature sounds. think stereotypical soft spa music. I've never encountered a situation where the music bothered me, but you can also request to change it.

lotions and/or oils they go on your body, because rubbing your hands against your skin for a long time without a buffer irritates your skin! they are where most of the smells comes from, if there's not a diffuser in the room. again, if a smell is bad, politely request to not use that smell. the oils may also get in your hair or on your underclothes, if you keep them on.

warm things sometimes the masseuse will use warm things, like warm towels or warm rocks, on you. they're usually nice in the same way a hot tub is nice - a little hot at first, and then warm. if they use a warm towel, it's probably going on your feet or back or neck. warm rocks will usually go on your back. I've never encountered warm rocks but they're in the promo pictures so, i suppose you'd need to do something other than a deep pressure therapy massage to get warm rocks.

some talking at the beginning, the masseuse may instruct you to take some deep breaths and relax, like the beginning of a meditation. she will usually not keep talking the entire time unless you're talkative. I often fall asleep.

what am I expected to do?

you'll enter the room, the masseuse will ask you what you want her to focus on, and she'll leave for a few minutes to let you undress. You can undress to your comfort level, but I usually at least decide to go topless, because it helps them reach my back better and my upper back hurts. once you're as comfortable as you can be, slide in under the blankets (both blankets if there's two) on the table and leave only your head poking out. if she doesn't tell you to start on your back or stomach, pick one, doesn't often matter.

you are fully expected to let her know at the beginning if there are areas you don't want her touching, and you're expected to let her know if she's going too hard or too gentle on your muscles. her goal is your comfort and relief!

then what happens?

chillax for a while. the masseuse will move around the table, addressing your muscles bit by bit. usually, they'll start with a scalp massage, and then move down. aside from massaging you, she will often move your limbs around, tuck the blanket around you, or put things like rolled towels or pillows under you at times. you are just supposed to lay there, relax, and let her do so.

good massage feels like anywhere from a nice backrub to that good sore you feel poking a bruise or moving after working out real hard. it should not actively hurt -- let him know it hurts if it does.

what do I do after?

when she leaves the room to let you redress, do that, and then go meet her in the lobby to pay her (if you haven't already) or for a brief touch base. if this is like, a fancy resort massage, they'll have a whole dressing room you're supposed to go back to, so you won't see your masseuse again. he's probably washing up.

drink water! often they'll give you some water afterwards. It's because loosening your tight muscles opens them up to water your body wants to give them anyways, so you might get a little dehydrated.

eat a snack with vitamins in it, like nuts or fruit. if you had a massage that really beat you up (I asked for this a few times while recovering from an injury), take an advil too. Normally, you won't need pain reliever even a little bit.

if it was nice, leave a little tip.

miscellaneous tips

if this is your first time, go for the shortest option so you can see if you like it or not. often, they'll have a first time client discount.

don't be afraid to fall asleep or snore or anything. they don't care.

they also shouldn't care about your body type. To be polite, take a shower at least the night before going in, but I guarantee they couldn't care less about what you look like, only that your muscles are stiff.

don't be too annoyed if you asked for neck and shoulders and the masseuse is hanging out at your feet. remember to specify exactly what you want at the beginning, but your muscles are all connected, and your legs are probably tight too.

try to find an independent company. massage envy might be good for a first attempt if you're worried about them pushing too hard, but they aren't as good or personalized as some guy who's been doing this for 40 years.

when you lay on your stomach, stick your face in the donut pillow in a way that lets your face stick out the hole, but try not to line the middle of your neck up with the edge of the bed. it's a little uncomfy.

you are fully within your rights to wear a mask during your massage.

please tell them your allergies! especially if it's to coconut oil!

[delilahsturns]

— ୨୧ getting older . . . m.s

in which . . . two childhood best friends bump into each other after drifting apart.

warnings . . . resolved angst, fluff toward end.

a/n 💌 : based off of real life experiences lol, it’s been a while since i’ve written angst so i hope you like it!

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

The coffee shop in boston, massachusetts smelled exactly the same as it always did. a nostalgic and sweet blend of cinnamon and espresso that floated around the air. you had been avoiding this cafe for quite some time now, considering that you had just moved back to boston around a year ago to be closer to your family and friends. too many memories were wrapped up in this place—so much laughter, whispered secrets, and mostly of all…him.

you sighed heavily, adjusting the strap of the bag slung on your shoulder as you waited in line, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. suddenly, you heard a voice call out your name. a warm, and familiar voice you hadn’t heard in nearly eight years.

“y/n?” the voice asked softly. your heart stalled, something in your mind clicked. fuck, this couldn’t be, this had to be some sort of illusion, hallucination. but it wasn’t. you slowly turned around, and there he was.

matt sturniolo. the only man you’d ever been in love with.

he looked older, of course. his shoulders looked broader, his hair was a little messier as it fell effortlessly over his forehead. but his blue eyes—those hadn’t changed one bit. they still held the same welcoming expression and warmth you remembered, the same warmth that persuaded you to believe that you and matt could have been something more. but that wasn’t possible, not in this lifetime at least.

you lightly swallowed, your eyes darting in different directions as your breathing grew slightly quicker. “matt.” you spoke, emptiness present in your tone. it felt…odd. the way you interacted with him felt nothing like when you and matt were kids, running around recklessly in his backyard. all the stupid arguments over mario kart, and so much more. nothing felt the same, and you were sure it wouldn’t ever feel the same ever again.

silence. complete silence. that was, until matt spoke. “you still drink caramel lattes?” he asked, nodding at the menu as he stepped closed to you, now standing next to you in the line. you blinked, caught off guard. “you still drink black coffee and pretend to like it?” you grinned. matt chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “yeah, some things never change i guess.” matt turned his head to look at you, giving you a somewhat smile.

but, things do change.

all you could think about was your past with matt. how you both talked every single day, how you once knew everything about each other—your fears, your dreams. the way you and matt were absolutely inseparable, everyone in both of your families knew it, and so did you. however, your lives changed. college and matt’s career drove the both of you in different directions. you and matt promised to stay in touch no matter what, but that quickly faded into distance, and silence.

“you live here again?” matt asked, shifting on his feet. you quickly nodded. “mhm, moved back here last year after i finished college, you?”

“y’know, me and my brothers are just visiting our parents for the weekend, then we’re gonna head back to LA.” matt said, glancing down at the ground as if he was unsure of what to say to you next. then, with a hesitant smile he finally spoke up. “do you maybe wanna…sit down and talk for a minute? it’d be nice to catch up.” matt asked. you hesitated. it would be easier to make an excuse, to walk away and let the past stay where it was. but, something in matt’s expression—the way his eyes softened as if he was pleading, made you nod.

the both of you ordered and collected your drinks, finding a small table by a window. and for the first time in years, you both talked, it felt genuine this time. you both talked and laughed about life, catching each other up on what had been going on with your lives for the past few years. somewhere between the occasional stolen glances and laughter, you had realized something. even though time had pulled the both of you apart, with matt smiling at you the way he used to, it didn’t feel so much like the end anymore.

after all, it felt like your friendship was just beginning again.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

[hyuny-bunny]

seasons // series

part vi

summary: minho has met his competition...

warnings: MXM (?), fem reader

part v • masterlist

You quickly drag Jisung away with your hand clamped over his mouth, bringing him to the same bench you had left your things at. His words are muffled by your hand until you get him to sit down, he licks your palm trying to get your hand off his mouth causing you to shriek in disgust.

"What is wrong with you?!?"

"Me?! What about you?! What was that about!?" Han shrieks back as you settled on to the bench.

Your mind spins as you try to calm yourself. You straddle the bench turning Jisung to do the same as you look at him dead in his eyes.

"The guy I slept and went home with on saturday night is currently in Minho's dance class right now."

Jisung's eyes go wide before he lets out a loud 'WHAT?' causing you to shush him all over again,

"SHHH THEY DON'T KNOW EACH OTHER!!.... at least not yet?"

-

one hour prior

Minho walked into the dance studio seeing some of the younger members who rushed to him like eager puppies to greet their hyung. In the corner Felix talked to Jeongin as he stretched warming up. Jeongin wasn't apart of the class but would often sit in the back working on music with his headphones on or sometime assisting Minho with rewinding or slowing down music for them.

The two talked casually as they watched some of the dancers crowd Minho in awe of him.

"How come you guys never came by Saturday night? I was hoping to see you would... mostly for you know who but I still wanted to see you guys," Jeongin asked as he sat criss cross in front Felix looking at him as he stretched.

"Uh... Jisung and I got a bit sloppy towards the end of our night, Y/N ended up meeting some guy she went home with. Sorry, Innie, although she was looking forward to seeing you before she met the other guy." Felix says as he ruffles the younger boys hair.

Jeongin pouts and groans throwing himself back, he didn't necessarily have a crush on you so much as he thought you were so undeniably hot that he'd grovel on his knees if it meant you gave him a chance. He sits up on his elbows as he looks at the blonde boy who stands up.

"So who was the other guy if it wasn't Minho?" He asks as glances at Minho who was still being hounded by a few needy omega girls.

The girls had been pining for Minho all last year. Hoping he'd either take one of them on a date or at least to bed. Jeongin had overheard too many times these girls talking about what he must be like in bed and wondering what it would be like to share their heat with him. Even he knew all too well that you were the only one Minho had his sights set on but that didn't stop other omegas from trying.

He knew this year would be no different then last year had, the only thing changed was that Minho led the class.

"No one I knew, just some rando from all I could see. He was hot though, no denying that." Felix said as he started to tie his hair half up.

"What did he look like?" Jeongin asked curiously as he wondered what the lucky guy had that he didn't.

"Pretty tall, dark hair, uhh, he had a woodcut. He looked like a model I swear. I remember seeing him when we came in, he was wearing a tank top and he had a rose tattoo on his back, so hot." Felix rambled as he adjusted his hair.

"Like that guy?"

Jeongin's eyes glanced around the room landing on a guy that had come in while Minho was still being bombarded by the girls. He listened to Felix's rambling as he watched a guy with the same description walk in and to the corner shed off a hoodie showing off a black inked rose tattoo on his back. He blank several times as if his mind was playing games with him.

Felix looked up to see the same tattoo he saw that night being covered up as a t shirt was pulled over. It was him, the beautiful stranger you had told them you had the best sex of your life, right here in the flesh.

Hyunjin looked around the room seeing the blonde staring at him, he was taken aback by the pretty face. He had such elvish pixie like features. The freckles on his face, the pink pouty lips and the slim nose that came to a button. Hyunjin's gaze dropped down to the boy on the floor resting on his elbows watching with those fox like eyes framed by ginger hair.

Hyunjin started to walk towards them figuring these would likely be the best two people to befriend on the first day. The one from the floor stood tall next to the blonde who started to look a bit more familiar as he approached.

"Hi, I'm Hyunjin, I just transferred here. Do I know you? You look familar."

Hyunjin held out his hand to Felix first, his smaller warm hand grabbed Hyunjin's. Hyunjin could smell he was an omega. He smelled sweet like marshmallow and vanilla, reminding him of cookies and sweet milk. Felix looked at him wide eyed, a slight blush creeped onto his face as Hyunjin addressed him.

"H-Hi I'm Felix, welcome, um, I don't think we've actually met but you know my friend uh, Y/N..."

It was Hyunjin's turn to flush as he sheepishly smiles knowing Felix knows the invisible string that connects the two of them.

"Oh right! Well it's nice to formally meet you then I.." He trails off with a sheepish smile.

Felix can't help but admire the way his eyes disappear as he smiles. Jeongin clears his throat as he's annoyed by the how stupidly handsome this guy is and how Felix has completely folded,

"Sorry, Hyunjin this is Jeongin, he's also a friend of Y/N..."

Jeongin shook Hyunjin's hand firmly, irritated by his perfect face and the way his eyes kept flickering back to Felix.

"So do you know who the dance captain is here? I was hoping to introduce myself before the class started." Hyunjin asked glancing around the room.

"Uh, uh he's a bit occupied right know but uh... one second, sorry." Felix said as he dragged Jeongin away.

"What do we do?!" Felix whisper shouts to Jeongin with big pleading eyes.

"We pull the fire alarm and clear out the room."

"No! Minho can't find out that this is the guy! What if we just keep them separated for as long as we can?"

"Too late," Jeongin says as he watches Minho talking to Hyunjin, shaking his hand. They seemingly get along well... for now. Felix gulps praying that for the next 2 hours they don't find the common ground that both know you.

Minho calls Felix over, his heart drops as he walks over carefully, while Jeongin takes up residency at the counter in back with their music equipment sitting back watch like a giddy kid. He pulls out his phone to text the group chat he has with Chan, Han, and Changbin to tell them the exciting news.

"Felix, this is Hyunjin, show him the ropes for today will you?" Minho asks patting Hyunjin's shoulder. Felix nods silently, causing Minho to laugh at as his reaction. "Relax, it's just the first day back, you're gonna be a great co-captain."

Felix's eyes go wide "Hyung! Really!? I'm your co-captain!?" Minho laughs as he walks over to Jeongin to set up the music.

For the next hour or so, Jeongin relays everything to Chan and Changbin as Jisung seems to be either ignoring or not reading his messages. He keeps track of the music as Minho leads the class, watching the way Hyunjin interacts with Minho seemingly oblivious to fact that share a common interest, you. Jeongin sees the moment you arrive outside the dance room taking up space on a bench. He watches you pull out a book to start reading.

Felix stands to the left of Minho to Hyunjin right beside him at the front of the class. Many of the other dancers were impressed by how fluid and in control Hyunjin was of his body. He was up there in the best of the class with Felix and even Minho. Felix noticed the way the other omegas were already deciding to set their sights on the new eye candy.

He couldn't help find himself tinge with jealous as he watched their eyes grow hungry with every movement from Hyunjin. Had it not be for the fact that you had already seemed interested in Hyunjin, he would have sought after him. Felix respected his friendship with you to even entertain the idea. Felix's eyes drift to the door way as they take a small break, seeing Jisung approaching, waving excitedly, he also sees you running at full speed towards Jisung.

oh no! he thinks to himself.

Jisung is barely able to announce the first few letters of your name as your hand claps over Jisung mouth. You turn frantically towards the two boys who watch you with grins on their face, waving in your direction as you pull Jisung away. That's when it Minho turns to Hyunjin confused.

"You know Y/N?" Minho asks naively

"Yeah! We met saturday night. First friend, I've made here." Hyunjin says sheepishly with a slight flush as he scratches at his neck, Minhos smile drops from his face.

"Saturday?"

"Yeah, at this place called.. Layla's!"

Felix freezes in place as he watches Minho connect the dots, Hyunjin stands there a bit clueless before he's dragged away to grab water as. Minho walks towards the dance room door to see you in the hallway panicking to Jisung, looking frantic and worried until your eyes lock on each others.

"Did I say something? Does he not like her?" Hyunjin asks confused and worried that he's created an enemy as Minho seemingly drinks his own water aggressively.

Jeongin laughs as he saunters to Hyunjin and Felix.

"It's what you didn't say. Y/N is Minhos longtime best friend... and longtime crush."

The realization clicks now. Hyunjin is met with a nasty glare as his eyes meet Minho's. Something tells him he should be afraid but the other part of him... takes this as challenge.

part vii

[izvmimi]

cw: reader has textured hair. fluff. feet mention ig.

“Quit staring at me,” you finally pipe up, after pretending to ignore the audacious pirate whose gaze has not shifted in the least in the past ten minutes. You’re not even doing anything interesting - just in the throes of the sometimes complicated process of detangling your hair after a wash, and being stared at like a curiosity might just put you on edge.

But that’s not why Luffy’s staring at you, is it?

“Why not?” he asks, instead moving closer, so that half his torso is laying prone at the foot of your bed. His eyes are still on you, watching carefully as you comb through curls carefully and preserve them in thick braids. 

“It’s distracting. Feels like there’s something gross on my face.”

Luffy props himself up by his elbows, he tilts his head. “But I’d tell you,” he replies simply. 

You frown. 

“That’s not the point, Luffy,” you insist, nudging at him gently with your foot. Without moving any of the rest of his body, he grabs your foot in his left hand, his grip strong enough that you find that it’s not an easy feat to pull it back. His gaze shifts to your foot for a second, and you almost worry he’ll put it in his mouth, before he decides not to, and goes back to staring right in your face.

“What’s the point then?” he asks.

He hasn’t let go of your foot yet, now stroking at the sole gently with his thumb. It tickles and you tense a little and he grins as you come up with an answer that will satisfy someone as straightforward as him. 

“Maybe I feel a little self conscious,” you murmur, finally.

“About what?” he asks. “You’re pretty and there’s nothing on your face.”

He’s so simple at times that it’s both frustrating and reassuring. He draws closer, climbing onto the bed, then adjusts the damp towel over your shoulders.

“I can’t be that interesting to look at,” you insist. 

Luffy clasps your face in his hands. “Interesting isn’t the word for it,” he admits, and you’re wondering if he’s about to upset you, but he smiles and presses a kiss to your lips.

“I just feel happy when I look at you. Even when you’re telling me to go away.”

His words stir in your chest, and you find yourself biting your lower lip as you look into his eyes. 

“I’ve already backed off touching you as much as I want to. Let me have this?” he asks. He doesn’t whine this time, but nods slowly, eager for you to agree.

You lean forward, and let your lips join his again.

“Fine. But also consider taking pictures sometimes. It’ll last longer.”

He pouts.

“But they’re not you, and-” He pulls you in his lap, and you expected you’d end up like this, so you nestle comfortably in his hold, “-you’ll last forever.”

“Are you telling me I’ll never die, Mr. Sun God?”

“Yup. We’ll both live forever,” he says. 

You find yourself laughing, then allow him to breathe in the scent of your conditioned hair.

“I’ll trust you then,” you say.

But you do make a note to see if the next time you dock near a city, you can take some pictures together. Even if he prepares to just stare at you as is, you want to see your smiles side by side.

Just in case.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sparkle in my Eye 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Captain Syverson

This AU is called Watcher Anonymous and will include different series for different characters. This is our introduction to Syverson and Gem.

Summary: there's more growing in the garden than flowers.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Oh, I’m just getting ready—yeah, yeah, we can go tonight.” Her voice trickles down from the open doors of her balcony. 

Sy wipes a sheet of sweat from his brow and snips another thick stem with the pruners. He nearly catches the fingertips of his thick gloves. He’s working off of instinct rather than focus. He’s entwined in her conversation, though the other side he only catches pieces. 

“Ew, Margo, please, you know I'm not doing that. The kind of guys that take you home aren’t what I’m looking for,” Gem scoffs and sets something down. “Oof, I cannot get my hair to behave!” 

“You look fine,” the muffled response comes from her phone speaker. 

He knows she does. She always looks perfect. He pulls away a dried out stem and drops it in the clutter. It’s a nice day out but the sun is burning through his shirt. It’s like fire on the back of his neck. He pauses to adjust his hat and looks up. 

He sees her shadow looking off the balcony. The house is just as immense as the yard. His work takes at least a day but he can’t complain; her father overpays him for what he does. Who wouldn’t? With a house like this? A family? You’d want it all to be kept just so. 

“Ugh, don’t be a bitch,” Gem sneers. “It’s my car, I can take it when I want--” 

“Yeah, but daddy--” 

“Do you even want me to come over?” She snips. 

He laughs but not loud enough to be heard. She has some fire and her friends deserve that. They're all spoiled. She is too but she’s not like them. 

She closes the doors. Good. She forgets to do that sometimes and from the right angle, anyone could see in. If they knew the gate code, they could even get in. 

He shoves the snipped ends and dead bits in a compost bag. As he rolls the edge, she comes out. He keeps her in his peripheral but doesn’t look directly at her. She waves. 

“Is my dad gone?” She asks. 

“Em, yeah, think he left a while ago,” he peeks over at her. He takes off his cap and wipes his face on his arm. 

“Oh, it’s very hot. I should’ve brought you some water,” she tuts. “Anyhow, I’m on my way out. Looks nice out here.” 

“Thanks, miss,” he says. 

She smiles at him, “Sy?” She asks, hands on her hips. 

“Yes, miss?” 

“How does my hair look?” She turns to show him all of it. His eyes dart down to her checkered skirt. Quickly, he lifts them back to her face. 

“It looks very nice,” he assures her. It always does.  

“Aw, thanks, Sy,” she shimmies. “Well, have a good day. I’ll see ya next week.” 

She dances off in her platform heels and digs in her purse to find her keys. The white mercedes beeps and unlocks and she takes her time getting everything sorted. Purse in the passenger, pink leather knapsack in the back.  

She’s finally in. She backs up and the gates open at the push of her button. She swerves around and drives through. He watches until she’s gone. He just needs to clean up anyway. 

He leaves an hour later. He leaves his truck at home. It’s too obvious. He takes the pontiac in his garage instead. The pet project put together from his fruitful business and scavenging in junk yards. He drives past Margot’s and parks a block down. 

There’s a place around here where he does the hedges. They have a nice tree in the back too. It’s not exactly cozy and a bit of an effort but he gets to the top and perches between the branches. He’s been trying to cut weight but he’s always been on the thicker side. 

He can see almost right into Margot’s room. Gem is there. She has a glass bottle with bright pink liquid inside. He doesn’t think she should drink so much or so early but that’s why he keeps an eye on her. 

The girls eventually head out. He follows them to the mall. He eats while they waste time at that makeup shop. They come out and he gives them a bit to get ahead of him. He’s tired but he doesn’t have any other jobs to do. 

Dinner at a fancy place that demands ties and jackets sees him scrolling on the Discord. A few of the other men say they made progress, whatever that means. Some of those guys are a bit off. Especially that Cole fellow. Clumsy, to boot. 

After, the girls go down the street to a flashing marquee. They head into the bar without being stopped. The pretty ones never have trouble. He waits an hour, restless, then goes in after them. 

He trawls the place. He finds her. She’s got another drink. A bad habit. He nearly drowned in the stuff after he got back from serving. She’s young, she’ll learn. 

A man approaches her and Margot. He’s up on Gem before she even notices. She grabs his hand and moves it away from her hip. The other girl giggles. It’s obvious her friend is uncomfortable but she just thinks it’s amusing. 

Gem deserves better. She deserves people who care about more than labels and credit cards. She just needs that bubble popped. One day she’ll see.  

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Yandere Arlong and daughter reader

I'm slowly starting to get better, but I'm still not going to say that I'm officially back yet. I was, however, able to finish this.

Psychosomatic

Yandere Arlong x Daughter Reader

2.6k words

Summary: You've finally struck out on your own, and you're starting to build a life for yourself. Hopefully you leaving without telling your father won't come back to bite you.

Warnings: yandere themes (platonic), female presenting reader, unhealthy father-daughter relationship, abuse, self harm, alcohol mention, Arlong-typical racism, angst, hurt no comfort

Everyone can benefit from having a fresh start in life. At least, you know that you certainly have. These past few months have been some of the best months of your life. Sure, there were a couple of people that you missed now, but maybe you'll get lucky and run into them later.

A quiet tune flows through the air as you whistle to yourself while walking back to your home with a bag of groceries. Cold, albeit gentle, wind tugs at your scarf, making it slip down your face. Despite being alone as far as you could tell, you're quick to readjust it. The soft fabric is tightened around your neck until you're sure that it won't come loose again. 

It would be for the best that no one else sees anything they weren't supposed to. You've got a good thing going for you here, and you don't want to lose it because you got chased out for… things that are out of your control. 

The place that you've learned to call home comes into view. It's not much, barely more than a shack really, but you're happy with it. Even if it's more than a little dingy and dilapidated, it's yours. You’ve got plans to do some work on it once the weather warms up.

Just as you're about to enter, you notice something. The door is ajar. You know that you wouldn't do something as careless as leaving the door open like that. Shit. Did someone really look at your home and think to rob it? That seemed unlikely given the state of it. If they looked through the window, they would see that the most valuable thing in there was probably a fishing rod. 

So, it stands to reason, robbery likely wasn't the motive. 

Carefully, you set down the bag of groceries while continuing to whistle in an attempt to not let whoever is inside know that you're onto them. Both of your hands grasp the sheathed swords dangling from either sides of your hips.

After taking a second to prepare yourself, you kick the door open and rush in with your swords drawn, ready to fight. 

The oil lamp you rely on to light the place is off, leaving only the natural sunlight filtering in through the window to illuminate your humble abode. 

Your deduction proved correct. Someone was in here waiting for you. As your eyes struggled to adjust to the dim lighting, he was nothing more than a silhouette to you. But you didn't need to see the details to figure out who this was. You would recognize his distinct side profile anywhere. 

But what was he doing here? Your swords are slid back into their sheaths as you sigh deeply, already feeling a headache coming on. 

“Arlong. Why are you here?”

His own sigh echoed yours, though it teetered on sounding like a growl. He pushed himself away from the wall he had been leaning against and slowly stalked over to you. “How many times have I told you to quit calling me that? I'm your dad. That's how you're supposed to refer to me.”

Your eyes rolled and you crossed your arms over your chest, “I asked you a question. Why are you here, Arlong?” You dragged out every letter of his name with a smirk on your face.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and he had to take a deep breath to calm himself, “I'm here because I'm your father and you vanished without a trace. Do you really think so little of me that I wouldn't come looking for you? You didn't even tell anyone that you left, you could have been abducted for all I knew. 

“I didn't just up and leave without telling anyone. I told Hachi.” Arlong’s eye twitches at this revelation, but he doesn’t necessarily look surprised either. You also told Nami about your departure, but you weren't about to put her in Arlong's line of fire by saying that. “Also, if I'm being completely honest: No, I didn't think you would come looking for me. Frankly, I thought you would just be relieved that I was finally gone.”

Even as a child, you could tell that you were seen as�� undesirable. And that was putting it mildly. 

A quick glance up at Arlong's face revealed that he hadn't been expecting such a blunt answer. His eyes are wide, and his mouth opens and closes as his mind scrambles to formulate a response but keeps falling flat. When he finally does find the words, he sounds more offended than anything, “How can you say that? I know that we may not have the,” his eyes drift to the side, “closest relationship, but I'm still your father whether you like it or not.”

A sarcastic bark of laughter rips out of your throat, “Not the “closest”? Our relationship is nonexistent. You may be my father objectively speaking, but that's it. You've never been my dad.”

In an instant, one of his hands juts out and grabs your jacket. He yanks you closer to him, so close that if you were a little taller you would have been lobotomized by that nose of his. 

“You listen to me, you ungrateful little brat. You could do a hell of a lot worse for yourself than to have me for a father. I've fed you, clothed you, kept a roof over your head, and made sure you were safe, and this is the thanks I get? I could have abandoned you like my father did to me, but no, I stuck around despite everything!” His raised voice is booming in your ears, and it surprises you a little. You haven’t gotten such a strong reaction out of him since he first took over Cocoyashi Village.

Just as suddenly as he had grabbed you, he threw you away from him. You stumble and crash into the wall, making the old wood groan in protest.

Arlong turns away from you and punches a hole clear through the opposing wall of your home. The force of it damn near makes the entire wall topple down, and for a moment you're worried that the whole structure will collapse, but it doesn't.

His furious eyes dart back to where you're standing, “I didn't have to raise you, but I did, and I think I deserve some damn respect for that! Maybe I would have left you if I knew that this was how you were going to turn out!”

This man… this bastard- this delusional mother fucker really doesn't see any of the problems here, does he? He really thinks that he hasn't done anything wrong. He thinks that HE raised you as if Hachi isn't the sole reason that any of your needs ever got met growing up. As if Hachi isn't the closest thing you have to a real father. 

Fuck this. You meet his glare with one of your own, one filled with complete and utter contempt and loathing. If he wants to go this route, then two can play this game. 

“I wish that uncle Jimbei never gave me back after you were let out of prison.”

That definitely got his attention. You could see a storm of emotions roiling within his eyes. His voice was low and just barely containing the violent impulses within him, “Don't you even start with that shit again.”

Maybe it's time to rip the bandaid off. If this isn't the time to clear the air, then that time will never come. 

You step forward and meet the cold look in his eyes with your own, not willing to back down no matter how hard he tries to intimidate you into doing so. “Why not? Me keeping my mouth shut won't make it any less true. You and me both know that I didn't want to go with you back then, and you sure as shit haven’t done anything to sway my opinion.”

“You little-”

“I mean, really, who are you kidding? There's no way that you seriously think that I prefer your company over Jimbei’s. He actually loves me, unlike you.”

Arlong’s eyes go wide at that, but he's quick to recover, “Watch your fucking mouth.”

“What? You can't really be surprised that I noticed. Come on… when was the last time you had a conversation with me? Actually, scratch that, when was the first time? When have you ever tried to genuinely get to know or spend time with me? Can you even tell me what my favorite color is? What my hobbies are? Oh wait, you can't because you can't even hardly look me in the fucking eyes without choking on your own disgust toward me! Toward what I am!” You had wanted to maintain a cool and unbothered façade during this confrontation, one that you had fantasized about for years, but as the words flowed out, so did the bottled up emotions. 

“I get it, okay? You don't need to tell me that I am not what you wanted. I don't know if you ever even wanted a kid in the first place, but I know damn well that you never wanted one that looked like me.” Your hand comes up and rips off the scarf you were wearing, revealing the fishman trait that you had inherited from your father. The gills on your neck flared uncomfortably from the friction of the scarf. You jab a finger at your gills, “Hell, I bet that if it weren't for these you would have gotten rid of me just like you did with my mom!”

He snapped out of the fog he had been in moments ago and bristled at the mention of your mother, “I didn't do a damn thing to her! She left! And I never… I… never…”

Arlong's words stall, then completely stop as he stares at you. His brows are knitted together. His abrupt change in demeanor completely baffles you, threatening to smother the fires of your rage from pure confusion. What happened? What is he so focused on?

When he speaks again, his voice is hushed; like he's talking to himself more than you, “How… How are you wearing those gloves? Your fingers are webbed… I know that they're webbed.”

Oh, shit. You got so caught up in the heat of the moment that you hadn’t even thought to hide that. 

There's a vain attempt to stuff your hands into your pockets, but Arlong was faster. One of his hands locks around your wrist, and the other rips the leather glove off it. As soon as his eyes lock on what was hidden underneath, he drops your hand and recoils away from you.

Your hand falls to your side and balls into a fist, helping to hide the angry, red scar tissue between all of your fingers. 

“What…” Arlong's eyes narrowed as horror gave way to anger once again, “What happened? Who did this to you?!”

Well… the cat's out of the bag now, isn't it? You heave a sigh as you slide the glove off your other hand. Fingers splay out as your hands raise up to eye level so you can admire your handiwork.

“You're looking at her… I think I did a pretty good job on this, all things considered.” Given how much you drank before doing this in order to work up the nerve to go through with it, it's honestly miraculous that the cuts came out so clean. The cold from the ice had made your hands shake terribly, you can't believe you were even able to hold the scissors properly, much less put them to use. 

“You? You did this?” It sounds like Arlong is trying not to choke on every word. Like his mouth can't bear to form any of it. His eyes finally break away from your hands and they flit everywhere- anywhere that isn't you. “How could you do that to yourself? Do you really hate being a fishman that much?”

“I don’t hate that I’m a fishman. I’m not one. I’m only half, if that. That’s what I hate. I’m not fishman enough to have ever earned your love or approval, but I’m not human enough to seamlessly fit in with them either. I’m just some in between of the two. A freak that couldn’t go one way or the other and kept to an inconvenient middle.”

“As for this…” You flex your fingers as you stare coldly at the scarred flesh between them, “I mostly did this to keep the rest of the people who wouldn’t be able to handle what I am from figuring it out. It's easy enough to hide my gills, but the webbing was harder. Sure, I could have gotten away with wearing mittens for now, but that'll start to get suspicious after it warms up, you know?” Hopefully the scars will be faded enough by then to not draw too much attention to themselves.

Despite your calm demeanor, Arlong was still visibly disturbed by what he saw. “Stop being so casual about this! You mutilated yourself!”

While accurate, the description still made you cringe. You didn't like how it made this sound. “Don't say it like that. I just… had a little work done, you know? This is no different from any other cosmetic surgery.” Your lack of training and professionality aside, of course. 

“That is not the same thing! Are you insane? Have you actually lost your mind?” Arlong pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head, “Forget it. We’ll discuss this later.”

“Later? You better not be planning to stay here.”

Arlong’s eyes rolled and he quickly closed the distance between you and grabbed your arm, “I’m not. We’re going home. Come on.” Without even waiting for a response, he starts dragging you through the broken remains of the wall he punched out.

His bold declaration shocked you. In an instant, you drop like a sack of bricks, making Arlong almost lose his balance. You kick at him, trying to take out his legs, “No way in hell am I going back! I’m an adult now, if I want to go out on my own, then I can!”

A snarl ripped out of Arlong’s throat at your protest. He yanks on your arms, flinging you up and over his shoulder with ease. He steps out of the ruined shack while pointedly ignoring your punching and kicking, “You don’t get to decide that! Not when your first instinct once you’re on your own is to mutilate your body! You’re coming home where I can keep an eye on you before you can do anything worse!”

“I’m not going back!” In a desperate attempt to get away, you grab the hilt of one of your swords.

The distinct sound of a sword being unsheathed alerts Arlong to your actions. He grabs the back of your shirt and throws you to the ground. You hit it hard and gasp as all of the air is forced out of you. Your lungs and gills try to work at the same time in a confused but desperate attempt to get oxygen back into your body one way or another. 

While you’re struggling to breathe, Arlong rips off the belt your swords were secured to and flings it away from you. You cough and hack as you roll onto your side and try to crawl away, but he’s able to pick you right back up just like he had before. 

“Put me down… you piece of shit… stop pretending like you care,” your chest aches with every labored breath it takes.

Arlong doesn’t respond or bother to refute your claim. He just marches onward to the nearby shore, seemingly intent on no longer engaging with you as he drags you back to Arlong Park kicking and screaming. It appears that you have no choice in this matter anymore.

At least you’ll be able to see Hachi and Nami again…

[kabr0ztrousers]

Kabr0z Writes Episode 38: Date Night

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Interspecies; knotting; implied impregnation; poor food hygiene

A/N: I'm getting back to requests tomorrow, and will actually make the effort to get ahead of them, this challenge (project?) has really started fucking with my sleep schedule so provided this is published before 1am then I'm on the right track

##################################

You came home at last, back aching from the office chair you've been planted in for the last 10 hours. If you never see another spreadsheet, it'll be too soon. At least it's Friday, so you've got some time to recuperate from the week, maybe with a glass of wine. Plus, your husband was making his famous spaghetti tonight.

You stepped Through your front door and dropped your briefcase, hanging your coat on the hook and kicking off your heels. You could hear him cooking up a storm in the kitchen on the other side of the house, the smells of tomatoes, onions and garlic inviting you in.

You stood in the kitchen doorway and watched him. He was a flurry of soot-grey fur as he stirred, seasoned, tasted and adjusted the boiling pot. His tail swishing this way and that. You always wondered how a werewolf was able to cook without getting any hair in the food, you still haven't figured it out. He spotted you watching, and his face lit up "Good timing, it needs to simmer for a while before we add the sauce to the pasta" he stepped over to you "What do you say we work up an appetite?"

His hand was already on your hip. You let him slide your blazer off you and nibble at your neck, unbuttoning your blouse so he could slip a hand inside and grab a tit through your bra. He pulled you up onto the kitchen table and pushed his head up your skirt. Carefully, he pulled your undies off with his teeth before diving back in with his tongue. You held his muzzle to your cunt as his tongue pushed into you, lapping up your juices as you wriggled with the sensation of him licking deep inside you.

You pulled him away before you came too soon, the fur on his muzzle slicked down with your juices as you kissed him, tasting yourself on his tongue as you took it into your mouth, one hand pulling his already-hard cock from his pants and guiding it in to you.

You shook as he stretched you out, you've been married for a year but you still needed a moment when you started to adjust to his size. Your mouth lolled and eyes crossed a little as you slowly pulled him in. Your legs pulled up over his hips, holding him close as he started to thrust, first gently, then harder and harder, the table creaking with the motion of your love making. You felt the orgasm you put off rising in you, your heart quickening as you wrapped your arms around your lover, pulling him yet closer to you. You buried your face in his fur, inhaling his scent as you rode your wave. Your yelps and moans of release muffled in his chest as he railed into you

You felt his knot slip in and start to swell up within you. His panting rang in your ears as you felt his cum fill you up, held in by the girthy knot stuck inside you. You held him close, stroking his back as his tail wagged behind him, creating a draft over your legs.

You groaned as he stretched your opening, pulling his cock out with a splattering of cum onto the floor. He grabbed some paper towels as you lay back, still full of his seed despite how much fell out of you.

You hadn't told him you'd stopped taking the pill. He was always saying how he wanted pups

####################################

Well, failed to not let this go super late into the night!

As always, any requests, ideas, commentary, et cetera, drop me an ask or a DM and it'll get added to the queue. I do intend to write every request I get, so rest assured, it'll get written

[tls12lessthan3]

*looking disdainfully at orv top kudos page* kdj doesn't even fucking hate himself in these

anyway, have you made a fic rec post? I would love to see some well characterised orv fics but I don't know how to find them and you are the only person who knows hsy personally through prophetic visions :DD

i have not made a general orv one! im honoured you trust my taste enough to ask though honestly i'm not the biggest kim dokja angst fiend so im unsure if you'll get what youre looking for. still i'll give it a shot

i am the dreadful need (and the devotee) - i have recommended this before and i'm doing so again. a vaguely orpheus and eurydice inspired story focused on the inevitability of looking back. it's technically yoohankim but mainly a sort of yoo joonghyuk character study that i highly enjoyed

The Act of Creation - a post-epilogue tranfem yoo joonghyuk fic that is a fandom classic (to me at least) by my dear mutual! a very sweet fic and a good extrapolation of many of the trans themes/moments in yoo joonghyuk's story

The cough that won't go away - an adorable hanahaki au ( i shant spoil who between) set about 10 years post epilogue. made me laugh a lot and captures a lot of the warmth in the relationships in kimcom

the false last act - top 10 fics that make me wanna puke and throw up and die and kill myself and die again. slash pos. really good epilogue fic!!!

The Scars of Dreaming - a fic centred on conversations between oldest dream and kim dokja carried out over a period of time as they both try to adjust post-epilogue.

and you will find your way in any given storm - thee na bori/lee jihye fic as far as im concerned.

what the living do - another good epilogue fic. epilogue fics tend to be a favourite of mine im realising.....what can i say im fascinated by that time in their lives and i think this fic portrays it well

Moments that the Words Don't Reach - another epilogue fic this time focused on han sooyoung taking care of yoo mia after yoo joonghyuk leaves for space. when i say this devastated me beyond belief i am not joking. i will be thinking about the scene on the subway forever and ever

a couple general author recs are:

stuffandsundry has a lot of good fics but i especially recommend this selencroft fic, this 0th turn fic, and this 999th lee jihye fic! theyre all short oneshots that capture moments of relationships in orv that make my heart hurt

namci is another i recommend, they have a lot of good oneshots that i think i've recommended before. alternatively making me cackle and nod thoughtfully at character analysis. i would especially suggest this yoohankim university au

sonasona is an orv veteran and has a delightful array of works to show for it. what remains is a particular favourite as i adore cigarettes and the metaphorical implications thereof

i'm sure there are others im forgetting right now but these are more or less the best from my bookmarks so..hope you enjoy :)

[peachy-panic]

Febuwhump Day 7: Alternate Timeline

When I saw today's @febuwhump prompt was AU, I said SIGN ME UP.

Have some alternate universe Jaime & Sebastian, in which they are closer in age and this night in college goes a lot differently.

HEAVY TW for alcohol abuse, emetophobia, past noncon, implied attempted noncon, implied drugging

Jaime is too tired to be at this party. 

Derek, who convinced him to come party with the team in the first place, disappeared upstairs with the goalie from the women’s team twenty minutes ago, leaving Jaime sullen, sober, and alone in the crowd. The adrenaline from tonight’s win against USC has long burned out of his system, and they have practice early tomorrow morning. He doesn’t want to be here, with all these drunk strangers knocking into him as they dance. He wants the comfort of his dorm bed, a tall glass of water, and an audiobook in his headphones, lulling him to sleep.

Fuck Derek and his apparent new girlfriend. Jaime is going home. 

He doesn’t bother trying to find any of their teammates to say goodbye, and he doesn’t text Derek that he’s leaving. He can text Jaime, if he even cares to. 

Some part of him knows he’s being a little selfish, a little reckless. A little jealous. He’s too tired to investigate those feelings too closely. 

The back door is through the kitchen. Jaime elbows his way through the crowd until the exit is in sight. But something else catches his eye before he can bolt.

Someone is at least halfway passed out at the kitchen bar, a shock of red hair spilling out over the marble. His head is lolled onto his arm, his eyes closed and mouth slightly agape. He’s not quite unconscious, Jaime sees as he slips into the room. He still has enough dexterity left to keep himself atop the barstool, even if the position is precarious at best—one foot propped on the wooden rung of the chair, the other extended out to the floor to keep him balanced. 

The man is alone in the kitchen, with the exception of one other person. A face Jaime knows well. 

Matthew is on the soccer team with him, but Jaime has made every effort to avoid him all year. He never told anyone about the incident in the locker room during the first month of practices, but the memory glows red in his memory like a warning sign as he watches Matthew slide his arm around the half-unconscious stranger’s waist and coax him to standing. 

The man is tall, maybe even a little taller than Matthew, though it’s hard to tell with the way his body slumps as he’s guided toward the back door. Jaime doesn’t recognize him, but he recognizes that this isn’t right, and he won’t be able to live with himself if he doesn’t intervene. 

“Hey.” Jaime’s voice comes out firmer than he expected. 

Matthew stops in his tracks, head whipping back to him. His eyes narrow, and Jaime wonders if he realizes it’s the first time they’ve spoken off the field since the night he cornered Jaime and put his hands where they didn’t belong.

“Quinn,” he says pleasantly. “Not like you to show up to one of these things. Did Derek drag you out?”

Jaime ignores him, nodding toward the man who is struggling to stay upright at Matthew’s side. “Who’s your friend?”

Matthew’s jaw twitches like he can read the accusation in Jaime’s eyes. Good. “I’m helping him back to his dorm.”

That doesn’t answer the question, asshole. “You know him?”

“Do you?” Matthew’s eyes narrow again, annoyed this time. 

Jaime takes a calculated risk. “Yeah,” he lies. “He’s here with me.”

This quiets him for long enough to make Jaime think he’s won, but then Matthew’s mouth curls into a sneer. “You must be pretty shitty company if your date is leaving with another guy.”

The “date” in question is starting to slip, his knees buckling, and Matthew has to adjust his grip to keep him upright.

“He’s not going anywhere with you,” Jaime snaps. Anger simmers beneath his skin, fists curling at his sides. This interaction with Matthew has given new life to the rage Jaime has spent two months pushing down, ignoring, talking himself out of. 

Matthew’s eyes scrape up and down his body, either in a lewd attempt at intimidation or possibly sizing up what kind of physical challenge Jaime poses. Whatever conclusion he reaches makes him laugh, a curt, dismissive sound.

“Stay in your lane, Freshman.”

Then he makes another move for the back door, his victim in tow. 

Jaime is moving before he has to think about it. He pushes past him, shouldering in as a barrier between Matthew and the door. “Let go of him,” he says.

Matthew’s amusement gives way to a flicker of anger now. “It doesn’t look like he’s putting up much of a fight.”

“He’s barely fucking alive.” Jaime nearly shouts it, but the music keeps his voice from bleeding into the crowd. It is enough, however, to rouse the intoxicated stranger. 

“Who’re y… ‘m not…” is all he gets out, broken and slurred alongside a quick flutter of green eyes, before his head lolls back against Matthew.

Jaime feels sick watching Matthew’s hands on him. He can’t stop himself from reaching out and trying to take the man’s weight, forcefully if necessary, away from him.

Matthew resists. Of course he does. Fingers dig into the man’s side hard enough to look painful, and it makes Jaime falter his grip. But before he can attempt anything else, the jostle of movement stirs the stranger again, but this time it isn’t words coming out of his mouth. The man’s body crumples entirely, dragging down Matthew’s side as he falls to his knees and retches on the kitchen floor. 

The sound coming out of him is one of pure misery, one that drowns out the sound of Matthew’s groan of disgust. Matthew steps back—though not in time to save his shoes—and shakes off the man’s weight from his leg like he’s a stray animal. Jaime manages to crouch in time to catch the stranger’s shoulders before he can fall into his own vomit. He steadies him through the worst of the sickness, knelt awkwardly on one knee at his side. By the time it’s over, he looks up to find the kitchen empty. Matthew left.

There’s another flare of rage, but the moment is quickly stolen by the sound of crying. He looks down, alarmed to see tears tracking down the man’s face. His green eyes look so sad and maybe a little afraid as he gazes up at Jaime, body swaying. 

“I think I threw up,” he says quietly. 

Jaime nods, ignoring the rather damning pile of evidence in front of them. “I think you might be onto something,” he agrees. “Maybe we should go outside for a minute? Get some fresh air?”

He doesn’t get a response. The man is already starting to fade from awareness again. 

“Shit,” Jaime mutters. He doesn’t waste precious seconds of the man’s partial mobility, hooking his grip underneath his arms to hoist him to his feet. “Come on,” he whispers, trying to sound gentle and encouraging as he kicks open the back door, narrowly stepping around the vomit on the floor. “Just a few more steps.”

The cold, November air is a sigh of relief against his skin. He manages to keep his new friend on his feet long enough to reach the porch steps, where he sits him down long enough to retrieve his phone from his pocket. A rideshare back to campus will cost him the whole of his fun money for the week, but he can’t imagine a world in which he leaves this stranger to fend for himself tonight. 

He opens the app and hovers uncertainly over the search bar.  “Can you tell me where you live?” he asks softly, crouching down next to the man, who barely lifts his head from the railing. 

“At the college,” he slurs, pointing vaguely to their left, in the opposite direction of the university. “It’s over there.”

“Right,” Jaime says. “Okay. Do you have an ID?”

“Mhm.” The affirmative answer is not accompanied by any attempt to retrieve his wallet.

“Can I see it for a second?”

The man manages to get as far as pulling his wallet halfway out of his pocket before his limbs go limp, his head tilting back against the railing. “I don’... feel good. ’m sorry.”

Jaime hates how sad he sounds. “It’s okay,” he promises. “I’m just going to grab your wallet out of here, okay?” 

There’s no answer, not that he’s expecting one, so he pulls the wallet the rest of the way out of his pocket, careful not to touch him without his permission. When he flips it open to the ID card, he’s greeted by the photo of a man who is barely recognizable as the person next to him. His smile is self conscious but handsome, his eyes wide and bright. Sebastian Tate, the name says. 

Jaime knows it was a bit of a gamble, that most college kids keep their parents’ address on their license until they move off campus, but he recognizes the address on Sebastian’s ID as one the dorms. One small bit of luck.

He enters the address on his phone, wincing at the price tag before he accepts the ride. 

When he looks over to let Sebastian know that a car is on its way, he sees tears on his face once again. 

“We’re gonna get you home,” Jaime promises. 

****

Sebastian is mostly deadweight by the time Jaime gets him into his bed. 

The other half of the dorm room is sparsely decorated, with a bed that looks mostly untouched. Jaime wonders if Sebastian has one of those roommate situations where they only really see each other on moving day. It’s a positive in the sense that Jaime isn’t barging in uninvited on a stranger tonight, but it does leave Jaime with a bit of a dilemma. He can’t imagine leaving this person alone tonight. 

Jaime helps himself to a cup on the sink in the corner of their room—it looks mostly clean, he thinks—and fills it with water from the tap. 

“Hey,” he says, giving Sebastian’s shoulder a gentle shake. He stirs blinking up at him, and Jaime holds the cup for him to see. “You should try to drink something.”

A groan of displeasure rumbles deep in his chest. “Tired,” Sebastian argues. 

“I know. But you really should try to drink some water before you fall asleep.”

Sebastian peels his eyes open again. Jaime wonders if throwing up back at the house was the best thing he could have done for himself. His gaze is starting to look a little less glassy. Maybe he had gotten some of the alcohol—and whatever else he might have ingested, a dark voice whispers in the back of his mind—out of his system before it could really take root. 

“It’s okay,” Sebastian tells him.  “I’m a doctor.”

Jaime furrows his brow. “I don’t think that’s true.”

But Sebastian nods sagely. “I will be,” he says.

“Oh.” Jaime blinks. “Are you pre-med?” A nod. “Well, then you should know all about the detriments of dehydration and alcohol poisoning, Dr. Tate.”

His head lifts from the mattress at the name—not without what appears to be great effort. He blinks a few times and squints up at Jaime like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Nobody’s ever called me that before.” He sounds so awed, Jaime can’t help but laugh. 

“That’s probably because you’re not a doctor yet,” he says. “Sit up, please?”

It takes a little bit of support on his end, but he finally gets Sebastian to an upright position and helps him steady the cup as he brings it to his mouth. Jaime takes his time, waiting patiently until he’s downed the whole glass in tiny sips. 

“Good job,” he says. “I’ll get you more to keep by your bed. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

As he gets up to refill the glass, he hears shuffling on the bed behind him. Sebastian is already laying down again when he turns back to him, but this time his eyes stay open, tracking Jaime across the room.

“I don’t know who you are,” Sebastian observes aloud. 

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” Jaime says. “I’m just helping you get home.” 

With a completely straight face, Sebastian looks at him and says, “You’re like an angel.” Then, blinking slowly, “You’re so pretty.”

“Oh my god,” Jaime bubbles out a startled giggle. “That’s… I—Um, thank you.” He feels his own cheeks redden. “That’s nice. I think you’re very drunk.”

As if Jaime’s words serve as a reminder, Sebastian’s face falls again, eyes squeezing shut. “I don’t feel good.”

Jaime’s face falls, too. The tear tracks are still visible on Sebastian’s face from earlier, a tangible reminder of the darkness shrouding these circumstances. 

“I know,” Jaime says. 

“Are you angry?” Sebastian asks, eyes still pinched. 

“Not at you,” Jaime assures him. 

“Okay.” Sebastian swallows, then moves his mouth like he’s trying to find his tongue. When he does, he asks, “Are you going to leave me here alone?”

Jaime stiffens. “Do you want me to?”

He is pretty sure the movement of Sebastian’s head against the pillow is supposed to be a no. 

“If you want me to stay with you tonight, I will,” Jaime says. It’s not like he’s in any hurry to watch Derek stumble into his dorm at four in the morning, with or without his one-night-stand. 

“There,” Sebastian slurs, slipping closer to sleep by the second. He raises a finger to point vaguely in the direction of his roommate’s side of the room. “That thing. Folds into a bed. Comfy.”

Jaime turns and spots the foam chair in the corner. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll stay.”

He kicks off his shoes, pulls a spare throw-blanket from the foot of Sebastian’s bed, and unfolds the chair into a thin mattress on the floor. When the lights are off, he feels his own exhaustion crashing over him. He stares up at this stranger’s dorm ceiling and lets himself drift closer to the darkness that pulls at him from behind closed eyelids. 

Before he can slip away, a tentative voice rouses him back to the surface. 

“What’s your name?” Sebastian asks into the darkness between them. 

“Jaime,” he answers. 

“Jaime?”

“Yeah.”

“Jaime, I feel very sad, I think.”

Jaime swallows, wishing he was better at offering comfort to someone who so obviously needs it. “Yeah. I know,” he says instead. “You’ll feel better tomorrow, though.”

“You promise?” Sebastian asks.

But that’s not a promise he can keep. Jaime doesn’t know anything about this man, other than that he had come close to something very bad happening tonight. Tomorrow, likely, he will be sick and shaken, probably regretful, probably confused. But there was one sure truth Jaime could offer this stranger for now. 

“Go to sleep, Sebastian,” he says. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

***

*AGAIN THIS IS FULLY AU, BUT I'LL TAG YALL JUST IN CASE YOU WANNA READ*

@whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump @nicolepascaline 

@anotherbluntpencil @hold-him-down @crystalquartzwhump @maracujatangerine @batfacedliar-yetagain 

@thecyrulik @pumpkin-spice-whump @finder-of-rings @melancholy-in-the-morning @insaneinthepaingame 

@skyhawkwolf @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @mylifeisonthebookshelf @dont-touch-my-soup @whump-world 

@inpainandsuffering @cicatrix-energy @quietly-by-myself @whumpsday @extemporary-whump 

@the-whumpers-grimm  @thebirdsofgay  @firewheeesky @whumperfully @hold-back-on-the-comfort  

@termsnconditions-apply  @cyborg0109  @whumplr-reader  @pinkraindropsfell  @whatwhumpcomments 

@honeycollectswhump @pirefyrelight @handsinmotion  @alexmundaythrufriday @scoundrelwithboba 

@starsick1979 @b0rgid@whumps-and-bumps @bilightningwhumper @technicallydeliciousdeer

@taterswhump @shit-people-probably-didnt-say @roblingoblin285 @hellodecisionparalysis @shinmich

@anonfromcanada @morning-star-whump

[goshikkuseo]

Harley Sawyer x Female Reader [Not Safe For Work]

Hear me out on Harley Sawyer.

His voice is so hot. I'm also going to be quoting few of his voicelines from the game because he's making my mind foggy. I don't know much about the lore and just watched gameplays, just following my heart <3

This is also my first post, so sorry for any mistakes.

Imagine before the whole disaster, when he was still human, you were in a secret relationship with him. He kept this relationship a secret because while he loved and obsessed over you, he had work to do. Despite this, he was still able to sate your “needs.”

Starting off with some details… Harley's dick is big. Long, thick, and veiny. Even when soft. His “soft length” is no less than 8 inches. His “hard length” on the other hand, is a solid 10 inches. He's cut and tip color is around #e89797. Width is 2 inches. You would definitely need some time to adjust.

Borderline hyperspermia. One load of his is almost enough to fill a bucket, meaning an average condom won't help. Semen consistency is thick and creamy.

Harley is vanilla at first. He's very good at it and still had you mindless for a while. But as your relationship with him develops, so does his way of satisfying you.

His libido isn't very high. 4/10 at least and 6/10 at most. Sex is amazing, though.

Harley's favourite position is missionary or you riding him while he fucks you so he could see your breasts bounce. He can also do you from behind if it's a quickie.

He has a thing for pulling your hair, forcing you to look at him, then kissing you. He doesn't mean to hurt you, he just gets carried away. This also happens when he grips your arms, hips, waist, and wrists.

He also has a thing for your hands. He loves to hold them, kiss them, and even sucks your fingers. He likes to massage your hands for you whenever you're exhausted from working.

Harley likes to give, but isn't against you giving him a blowjob. All you need to do is to moan and arch your back for him. He's not only good at fucking, he's also good at licking. This is really important because he needs to prepare that cunt for his big dick.

“Please, do keep making this enjoyable for me.” He'd say that as he tries not to fuck your face during a blowjob. Still, you'd see him holding onto whatever else he could reach.

Harley tries to hold back his moans. He thinks they make him sound submissive. Instead, you'll hear gasps and groans from him. As well as cutoff moans…

He can last up to four rounds. The both of you also agreed about protection. He's always the one to bring condoms and will even buy your birth control for you.

Harley would call you names like “darling,” “doll,” and “love.” He always tells you how much he loves you, but doesn't praise you. He shows it through “action.”

Very good aftercare. He would check the spots where he held you, looking for any bruises, scratches, and even wounds. Since you would likely pass out, he would clean and change your clothes before him. If you somehow didn't, he wouldn't be less caring. He kisses and cuddles you.

He would act like nothing happened when he gets back to work, but you'd see him with a slight tent in his pants whenever you look at him in the eye.

Now, imagine this. Imagine when you start sensing something isn't quite right with the company. You also noticed how defensive Harley becomes when you ask him about certain things. So, with careful consideration, you decided to tell him about your decision of leaving the company and ending your relationship. He remains calm, but doesn't take this very well.

Harley knows this wasn't an easy decision for you. He knows you still love him. So, he waits for you to be at your lowest before he strikes. He finds a way to make you his - and that is to leave a piece of him in you. In that womb.

“Let's test the response to said fear when pushed into action.” He says as he forces you down, ready to fuck you without protection. No condom, no birth control.

Harley fucks you without mercy. His dick's outline would be visible from underneath your stomach's skin because of how big it is. He hits that sweet, sweet spot that makes your eyes roll back and your back arch. It doesn't take long before he's practically trying to penetrate your cervix as he bruises it with his tip.

You cry, kick, scratch, scream, try to talk him out of it - everything. Nothing works. That's when you start to regret your decision. You now have to face the consequences.

“You realize the futility of this, don't you?”

He makes you cum multiple times until you're on the verge of passing out. He then leans down, whispering how he'd impregnate you.

Before you could even say anything, Harley lets out a guttural groan and you feel his hot seed being spilled directly into your fertile little womb. You try to wriggle away, but it was too late.

“Don't fight. Fighting only makes it work quicker.”

Right before you pass out, you heard Harley whisper, “I have seen enough. Thank you. You may proceed.”

He still cleans you up, though. He may have given you some space, but he still loves and stalks you~

There's no way you're not pregnant after that.

[seijorhi]

Good day (or night) Rhi!!! I've been reading your stuff since 2021 or something, wild ride. And I have to say pressing on reading that one Oikawa Yandere fic of yours (Bully I think?) 4 years ago was ONE OF THE BEST DECISIONS OF MY LIFE. Like no shit your fic changed my life now I read them everynight as my bedtime story and you're one of my most my fav writer, not just yandere. You and your writing inspired me so much, so even though we're just strangers on the internet, please take all my love Rhi!!! ﾟ+.ヽ(≧▽≦)ﾉ.+ﾟ

Anyway enough with my rambling. The thing is All In has been my new obsession lately (not a surprise), have been rereading it too many times and deliciously chowed down on the answers you gave on other asks. Truly life has been beautiful. And I have some questions for you if you don't mind how far behind this ask is:

What did the trio do after they got the reader to their nest?

Considering how sick she was, did they at least give her some times to recover physically and adjust or just jump straight to the sexy stuff with the excuse "she's their beta, she can take it"? 👀

And lastly how was poor reader's reaction of waking up in a strange room smelled and filled with the predators that kidnaped her, knowing she was fucked??

Lots of love, thank you!! ❤️🌹

ahhh thank you thank you bby!! bully feels like a lifetime ago but then so does the start of this blog tbh

as for all in, it's straight to the nest. i would say straight onto a knot but the tendou and semi aren't heartlessly cruel, and unlike ushijima, they're not in a rut – they've got all the time in the world to work their girl up to taking their knots. don't get me wrong, it's still gonna hurt, and she'll be sore for a while yet, but it won't be the violent frenzy it was back at the restaurant.

for her part, it's a mixed bag. she's angry and terrified and hopelessly fucked, but the mating bond's working against her – she'll feel her pleasure AND theirs. physically, she's doing better than she has in days. she wants to hate them and claw their eyes out, she wants to bury herself under the covers and scream through tears. she can't bear their touch, can't bear it if they stop. every orgasm is twice as intense. it's everything she thought she wanted delivered on a golden platter in the worst possible way.

[rarepairdumpster]

Rival Kingdoms AU Part 1

Pairing: Viktor/Silco (Arcane) Rating: M C/W: King Silco, Prince Viktor, House Arrest, Viktor turned being stubborn into an art

Silco and Viktor lead two nations that have been mortal enemies for years, and Silco is deeply, confoundingly, in love with Viktor and has been for years.

Viktor expecting to be executed when Silco and his forces, finally, breach the border and push through to the capital city.

And instead, Silco asks for his hand in marriage

Viktor says no on instinct but is surprised when he isn't thrown in the dungeons or executed for his answer. He's instead allowed to stay in his quarters, just under armed guard.

Viktor is "invited" to dinner in his own palace, and Viktor scoffs at the audacity, before slamming the door in the messenger's face.

Several hours later, Viktor hears a knock at the door and is very tempted to not answer, but he can feel his stomach rumbling and knows they likely won't let him starve.

Viktor opens the door and sees Silco standing there with a tray.

Viktor purses his lips and lifts his chin defiantly, despite his hunger.

"I suppose I'm to be force-fed, then." 

Silco arches a brow.

"If you insist."  Silco pulls the cover from the tray, revealing a meal that is still freshly steaming from the wood-fire stove. "But I was hoping that wouldn't be required."

Viktor's stomach whines at the smell of the food and he sighs. At least his chefs haven't been killed.

"Just leave it on the table," Viktor says, stepping aside. "And leave quickly, if you don't mind."

Silco smirks. "As you wish."

Silco strides through the doorway, and Viktor notices the man is confident enough in his control of the capital that he isn't armed  -- not that Viktor can see, at least.

Silco sets down the tray, casts only a passing glance around Viktor's personal chambers, and then bows slightly before leaving again.

"Arrogant man," Viktor mutters once the door snaps shut.

Silco knows that this won't be easy, but he is certain that if Viktor could just see past his anger and resentment, they could be good together.

The "I would never marry a monster" that came after his proposal lives rent-free in his head.

Viktor isn't even the first to voice such words, but at least this time....it was warranted, so to speak.

Silco would just have to show Viktor that he didn't have to be a monster.

Silco isn't an unjust or unkind ruler; his people would attest to that. But nor is he a fool. He can understand how those who live outside the borders he protects would see otherwise. 

Viktor would come to see him in a more positive light 

Silco was certain of it.

The obstinate prince just needed time to adjust.

Viktor, conversely, has never wanted to stab a man so badly.

Viktor finds it maddening. He contemplates accepting the marriage proposal, if only to lure Silco closer, so he can throw him out the window. But Viktor knows Silco is too sharp for that to work. He's also too strong for Viktor to overpower alone.

Viktor doesn't have the physical prowess that Silco has.

Viktor knows he needs some sort of stimulation though. He won't last for long cooped up in his room. The next time Silco comes with his dinner, he takes the opportunity to at least feign being nice and... tolerant.

Silco arches a brow, but doesn't comment on it immediately.

He waits until he's about to leave before saying, "I thought we might take a walk in the gardens tomorrow. Perhaps you could show me your favourite blossoms."

Silco is suspicious of course because why now? However, it was possible he was just too used to people having ulterior motives around him that it was automatic to think there was something else to it.

"I would like that," Silco smiled. "I'll have you know in the morning if I'll have time to take you."

In the morning, a messenger arrives to let Viktor know that Silco isn't available to escort him.

And after the messenger leaves, Viktor just flops on his bed and growls a string of curses into his pillow.

He would really, REALLY, like to leave this room. 

Even if only for a few minutes.

Viktor watches for Silco out the window that day, seeing if he had just lied to prolong Viktor's torture.

When he doesn't see him, he's almost a little disappointed. Maybe it was that he had gotten used to getting some entertainment out of watching him walk the grounds and train.

(Silco was down in the township, settling disputes between his men and local townsmen/merchants. There'd been enough bloodshed already; he didn't want more. It wouldn't help his case when pursuing Viktor in marriage)

Viktor doesn't even get a chance to turn down dinner that night. Silco shows up with his tray of food regardless, albeit a little later than usual.

Silco looks tired, the skin around his eyes more pinched than usual.

"What held you up," Viktor asks dryly, "squashing a revolt?" 

Silco scoffs.

"You wish. I haven't had to squash a revolt since I got here."

Viktor huffs. "Probably by oppressing them enough for the both of us," he mumbles a little loud.

Silco just smirks. He always liked how mouthy Viktor was, ever since they first met during a parlay that didn't pan out.

Viktor sighs and looks over at the plate Silco has already set down. "If that's all, I'd rather idle my time away in private."

"You're the one who asked me to go on a stroll," Silco reminds him mildly, amusement glinting in his blue and white eyes. "I presume there was a reason and I doubt it was my charm this soon."

"I also assumed you'd keep your word," Viktor bites back. "I've been rotting away in this room for weeks. Every book in here I've read ten times over, I have none of my journals or notes, but you still seem intent on keeping me alive so what else can I do but ask my captor for a reprieve?" He lets out a breath and sits on the bed, his posture almost defeated.

Silco is silent for a moment and then he laughs, the sound rich and deep.

"You're allowed to leave these chambers," Silco states once the laughter ebbs. "I never said it wasn’t permissible. You just need an armed escort -- either the guards at the door or myself."

Silco adds like an afterthought, "I want you to be my husband, not my prisoner."

Viktor flinches a little at the mention of Silco wanting to marry him again. "If you truly want that from me, then forcing me to have a armed detail every time I want to walk around my own castle is far from inviting."

"I'm not a fool." Silco sighs. "I know this situation is difficult and far from ideal for a courtship. But I also know that letting you run loose unmonitored is a recipe for getting my throat cut."

"Courtship," Viktor scoffs. 

Silco had a point at least. Viktor already had 3 assassination plans he had drawn up if he ever slipped past the guards. Maybe they could come to a compromise. 

"One guard," Viktor finally says. "And they must leave me be when I'm in the lab."

"And give you time and space to concoct poisons or an incendiary?" Silco gives him an unimpressed stare. "One guard and he will keep watch in the lab, but keep to himself unless he detects a threat to me or my men."

Viktor looks away but smirks a little. It was nice to finally meet someone that didn't underestimate him, but it unfortunately made things that much harder.

"Fine," Viktor finally relents. One guard was at least better than the five that were usually outside his door.

"Good." Silco smiles, the expression almost handsome. "I'm glad we could come to an understanding, Your Highness."

"I suppose I am, too," Viktor nods sharply and then walks over to his plate, popping a grape into his mouth. "I still don't plan to have dinner with you."

Silco just tips his head in the faintest bow before leaving, feeling some small swell of triumph.

It wasn't an acceptance of marriage, or even to a shared dinner, but it was still an acceptance of a kind.  And that was more than enough for now.

Part 2

Arch + Woods

[machinesandman]

Vile wasn't surprised to learn that the other Sigma of this alternates timeline also covered things up. But for good or ill? Who knew, if they were unaware of motives yet. Recent discovery maybe? Perhaps their area moved along slower on certain events that always seemed so... Well, locked in place, for lack of better understanding. A part of the war machine almost wondered if he wouldn't prefer taking a step over to just exist in the other time for a while. Ah, but that would just make things more complicated and confusing. Not worth the hassal for either of them.

The older reploid slowly turns and adjusts his stance again, confident and prepared for the counter of his kick that had sent the other moving backwards from the sheer power alone. Good to know he was quick to guard despite the fake out. It was interesting that he hadn't gone to counter so quickly, already the strategist section of his brain flicking through the various possibilities. Ready to use any opening. Just as he did once against other hunters in far higher stakes matches.

And still did they speak, as normal as they could at least. Not at if they were about to start ripping apart each others armor to try and see just what lurked beneath it all, further differences between what their outward twin appearances may be hiding.

Cold and freezing to slow, terminal infected otherwise. That sounded only a fraction close to how it had been before the virus had evolved further. "That's how it started in my side, but it didn't last long. Extreme's no longer changed it, too virulent. And then it stopped melting or ceasing the brains or bodies, and began driving Reploids to madness, rage, and then full intelligence. Very quickly. I took enjoyment in the chaos for a while..." Who wouldn't? It was the perfect thriving environment for a war machine with a damaged electronic brain, that Sigma kept damaged and he never knew back then. "Now, it can work it's way almost anywhere-"

A swift movement, Vi closing in at a rapid pace that would not work for a side step. They were both far too good for that, no, only way out of that would be block- it's an upper cut! Defense was unwise, would stagger. Letting it connect just to get a hit back foolish. Not with another version of himself. Split second data and strategy flickered through his mind, while eyes scanned every inch of position. Evaluation complete.

Vile lunged himself upwards and back in an arc, as a burst of jets from his armored boots kicked on. Sending him into a backwards wide arc, not unlike a back flip away. The momentum sending him back down once the arc was complete, only for one hand to catch himself at the earth below and shove, thrusting himself upwards into the air, position right side up at the end of his weight shifting, now about 15 feet up. Hovering there in mid air. Boots hissing with the specialized jets that work along his dash boosters. "-And it's why I can't let you be without knowledge on how to fight us." The collective of maverick Vile's, he knew damn well what he was capable of.

"You say there is no cure, has anyone made any head way into trying? They said the same thing where I'm from. Here I am."

On cue of his words, a shift of energy coalesced across his right forearm. Taking the form of a purple energy shield of some sort, high in power output as it locked into place, unwavering. That arm took its position in front of his face, and legs threw back, the boosters and jets kicking into high as he rocketed himself right at Vi, intending on going for a full weight bash on that hard surface. Or at the very least getting the other caught in an impact shock wave if he dodged wrong. Vile may be carefully planning his moves to avoid putting the other completely down, but he sure as hell wasn't pulling his proverbial punches.

Vile said the cure used on him was a prototype, hadn't he? One part luck, one part brute force. Not the kind of lightning that strikes twice, and even if it could... what lurked in their worlds was far too different for sharing data to be of any use.

An everchanging and adaptable threat... Maybe I've got it easy. To think the virus that afflicted his alternate had a stranglehold because it never stagnated, always morphing into a new and dangerous form. Worse, Sigma changed along with it-- for this aspect, Vi can only feel mortified. To be haunted by someone once so trusted, tormented and manipulated... "Can't say I envy you."

Clearly this was the reason the other Vile kept a watchful eye on him. As if hoping to prevent the same gruesome, undying nightmare that plagued the older unit for years.

You must be clean if you've got a soft spot. Comforting, in a weird kind of way. "Sigma was the Commander for a reason," a begrudging agreement. "...he covered a lot up here, too. Can't say I know the motive." Not yet, but they'd only just started digging.

His other self changes stance, matches his energy as the twin weapon drops to the ground. They're speaking a very specific language now; the kind where they both let loose.

"You have yourself a deal."

Next to no warning before it begins-- and yet he'd expect nothing less. It's the same way he'd handled the rookies at HQ. The enemy won't give you a heads-up. Won't play fair. His visor HUD flashes a proximity alert-- of course you'd go for the bad side.

Vi ducks slightly to avoid the fist coming his way, only to realize the real intention almost too late. He braces with his now lower posture, having reacted too slow to avoid the blow-- but quick enough to keep from losing his footing. The hit sends him sliding back, but he remains steady. Don't lose your cool.

"The virus is completely lethal. No cure, only a few ways to slow it down. Cold environments... flash freezing... it's the only way to study it." For what little good it would do. "Protocol is to terminate infected individuals immediately." Even other hunters.

He rushes his opponent, keen to get his body moving. His own swing is an arc upwards, a right hook uppercut aimed for his alternate's chin. An attempt to get that helmet off as quickly as possible.

[deci-doodles]

A collection of doodles featuring Kyrena absolutely losing it coz I only found out recently that I’d been misspelling her name

And then HSR gave us a character named Cyrene LMAO

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Of my 2% capacity to be attracted to anyone, my type is like 90% women, 5% pretty men and 5% men you would swear are super fucking manly, and never questioned being straight and cis, but are now suddenly *stressed* that they can't figure out why their attraction to me [fully socially interpreted as a woman and labelled that way up until relatively recently] feels incredibly fucking gay