#whatever i come up with will probably sound so stupid

[spookyrea]

For Years to Come (maybe even more)

After revealing to Loki that you two are soulmates (in an admittedly less-than-ideal fashion), the two of you finally discuss your matching soulmarks.

Chapter 2 / 3 - read on AO3

A soulmate-identifying mark AU - heavy petting involved in this chapter (kinda *shrug emoji*) - epilogue will contain smut

(chapter one) -- (epilogue)

If Loki was going to avoid you, you decided that it was well within your rights to avoid him, too.

You spent the last week of December on Natasha's couch, pretending to help her knit by unwinding her skeins of yarn while watching whatever wintery drivel you could find on television. She never asked you what was wrong but you suspected that she already knew, between her super-spy attention to detail and the compromising position she had found the two of you in on Christmas Eve. There was a decidedly Loki-shaped hole in every conversation, a vacancy that she would open to you with a side-long glance. Thor and I are going to go look at the lights before they take them down, she might say. His brother will probably join, since they're attached at the hip.

You never took the bait, which she respected (if sometimes with a rolled eye). Inevitably, by virtue of there being twenty-odd people living in one designated tower, more people were folded into your menagerie of distraction, and you made it all the way to the new year without having to think about the letter burning a hole in your kitchen counter.

That wasn't to say that Loki's absence wasn't festering inside of you; you hadn't realized how large a role he played in your day-to-day until he was gone. You had been so hyper-aware of his presence every time he entered a room, and now you could only focus on the emptiness where Loki should have been. On the churning discomfort in your chest that one day he might finally enter the room and not come sauntering up to your side to try and vie for your attention. Occasionally, you would catch the low hum of his seidr in the buzz of a fluorescent light, or in the twinkling sound that preceded snowfall, and would yearn for the sweet kiss of magic against your cheek.

“You have to tell me what happened,” Wanda insisted, eventually. She laid beside you on your couch, her feet propped up at awkward angles to avoid smudging her still-wet nail polish. “Or else I’m calling Steve and then you’ll really be in for it.”

You weren't in the mood for one of his pep-talks, though, so you pulled your blanket down from your head and sighed. “Loki is my soulmate.”

That must not have been the answer she had been anticipating. You watched one foot slowly drop, then the other, and then Wanda was turning on the spot to look at you, her black-rimmed eyes blinking over at you. “You’re joking.”

“He kissed me.” It felt good to tell someone else. It made it all real, somehow. “We got into an argument because he likes me and I’m so awkward around him that I can’t look him in the eyes, and then he kissed me.”

“But you like him.”

“Yes.”

“You got in an argument because he likes you and you like him.”

“I wrote him a letter.” You scrubbed your hands over your face, trying to will the hysteria away. “It’s stupid. It’s so stupid. What a mess.”

“Was he any good?”

You laughed, watery, your eyelashes a little damp. “Yeah. Yeah, he was.”

“Okay.” There was a sincerity to her voice that was uniquely Wanda. As if she had approached the world upside-down and somehow come back with exactly the right thing to say. “Imagine if he was a bad kisser. Then he’d be nothing but a pretty face.”

“You can teach someone to be a good kisser.”

“He’s ancient. If he hasn’t learned how to kiss someone by now, it’s hopeless. And also – Loki. He would see it as a personal attack. He would kiss worse on purpose.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

The television droned in the background; two men were making intricate sugar cookies decorated to look like disco balls. They had an easy kind of camaraderie that spoke of years of work together. You watched in a companionable silence until an advertising break broke the spell. “So are you two… together now?”

“Um… no. No, I don’t think we’re going to be together.”

“You know he goes a little,” she spun a finger through the air, flashing red for extra effect, “when you’re around?”

“The seidr thing?”

“I was thinking about the ‘I'm-the-coolest-guy-in-the-room’ thing but sure, that too.”

You sighed. “Why couldn't you be my soulmate? I can talk to you.”

Wanda was a pragmatist at the end of the day. She was a little like Steve in that way -- fiercely empathetic in a practical way. “How does ‘talk to your soulmate’ sound as a resolution?”

“It sounds like a start.”

“Mine is to learn how to cross stitch.” There was a plan forming behind her eyes; she took you by the wrist and hauled the two of you off the couch before stomping off in search of her coat. “We need to go get you a new outfit.”

“We do?”

She nodded. “A dress. A pretty dress. A dress that says ’sorry I was so awkward but you’re really scary and hot and I’m only a puny mortal’.”

“You just want an excuse to go shopping.”

“I am a woman of many interests.”

You bit back a smile. Linking your fingers together, you gave her hand a long, strong squeeze and let her pick the first store on your agenda.

You were running a little late; there was a shoe malfunction, and a missing eyeliner pen, and before any of you realised it was almost ten o’clock. You took the train; in New Year’s Eve traffic, it was a tight fit – each car was full to bursting, humid and smelling of sweat and cologne – but you only had to make it three stops. You held onto the rail and Natasha, Carol and Wanda held on to you, giggling, sidled up close.

The bar Tony had rented was, mercifully, only a few feet from the subway entrance. The three of you picked your way through the snow while Natasha, ever the pinnacle of grace, somehow glided across the sidewalk in her five-inch heels.

The place was dingy in a homely kind of way. All exposed brick and wooden beams, the walls were covered in sports memorabilia and framed Playboy covers, and a net of twinkling lights was strung up along the ceiling. A low drone of chatter and jazz hung in the air, a nostalgic sound that reminded you not of winters passed, but of years from now when you would look back on this moment. Outside a snowstorm howled, blanketing the city streets in a navy haze, but for now you were warm and dry and a little lovesick.

Natasha kissed your cheek before slipping away to find Clint, who no doubt had already turned his hearing aids off and was nursing a beer in some secluded corner. Wanda clung to your elbow for support while she scanned the crowd, balanced on her tiptoes. “Do you see him?”

“No. Hey, wait–” You caught a loose bobby pin, hanging on by a thin curl, and smoothed her hair back in place. “Ok. Better. Have you found him?”

“Thanks.” She had that look in her eye, that fit-to-bursting expression she got when the whole extended family got together. It seemed the entire Avengers rota was in the room. “And yeah, there, with Thor and Steve.”

A long table – which you suspected was actually three or four pushed together, based on how haphazardly the chairs were scattered around it – sat slightly askew near the back of the bar. Your team had congregated at one end, grinning, a few clearly inebriated.

Loki was tucked away at the very opposite edge, rolling a glass between his hands. His perpetual rain cloud seemed to have given way to a veritable storm because a few of the lights overhead were sparking, glowing green around the edges. Some pretty creature hovered by his side, twirling her shiny blonde hair and batting her eyelashes. 

Her neck was exposed; her mark was a stark thing made up of sharp geometric lines, and you admired how bold she was to approach him knowing she wasn’t a match. She was leaning over the back of an empty chair, tracing a neatly manicured nail down its woodgrain. Her comment had Loki smiling, rolling his eyes good naturedly, preening a little under her attention. She tilted her head toward the dancefloor; though you couldn’t see her face, the question was obvious. 

“You look great,” Wanda whispered.

“Thanks. So do you.” 

You watched Loki consider her offer. He enjoyed company, of course; Loki was seldom alone, even if that meant hanging around crowds who weren’t very fond of him, or that he was fond of. Maybe it was survival, or loneliness, or some combination of the two, but Loki liked to be included in the joke, even at his detriment.

Yet his eyes scanned the crowd, seeking someone else’s attention. Everything felt right when they found yours.

You took your time rounding the table, lingering by Steve and Rhodey so you could watch Loki unwind to a petulant slouch. When you reached the end, Darcy leaned over to give you a kiss on the cheek, smearing her lipstick a little in the process, and pushed a drink into your hand. “Happy new year!”

It was a short distance but a long walk to the empty seat next to Loki. The closer you got, the more excited his seidr seemed to grow; it whispered sweet nothings in a language you couldn't understand, crowding up against your cheek like an affectionate cat. Ushered you close so it could kiss you so tenderly while Loki looked on with cool disinterest. He waved the girl away.

“You looked lonely,” you hummed. “All the way over here.”

“My ill mood was making our colleagues’ devices malfunction.” He tsked, taking a long pull from his glass. “I’m afraid you have the same effect. On my seidr, I mean.”

“You mean it doesn’t… play with other people?”

His expression was unreadable. “What was it you said? ‘You make me nervous because I’m attracted to you’?”

“The other you didn’t seem all that nervous. Ginger-Loki.”

“You do like him better, then.” It was meant to be a joke but the mirth didn’t quite reach Loki’s eyes; he watched you a little despondently, like a man who had spent his entire life just shy of perfection. 

“I told you before. I like this Loki.”

“He’s not very nice.”

Your right hand tiptoed across the table to lay over his wrist. Now was not the time to be shy. “I’m sorry about the letter.”

“I’ve been called worse in languages older than you.”

“Maybe so. I wasn’t done, though. It was supposed to say something like ‘You’re vile and–” Something about his expression made you pause; Loki’s gaze had gone far-off, fixated on the snow accumulating on the windows. “...It was supposed to be a love letter.”

He snorted. “Charming.”

“I’ve had a crush on you for forever. I could barely stand to look at you sometimes because I thought you would notice. I wanted to put everything down on paper but then I just… couldn’t.”

“So you attacked my character. Delightful.”

“Loki. Look at me.” It was his turn to avoid your eye, it seemed. You pressed on his cheek until he was looking levely into your eyes. “Have you been trying to hit on me?”

“‘Hit on’. No, I was not trying to ‘hit on’ you. I’m a prince. I was trying to woo you. Or at the very least, manufacture conversation.”

“How many times have you tried?”

“How many times have you run away, kitten?”

There was a great commotion across the bar. Steve called your name, hands planted on his hips. “Tell the kids they have a curfew.”

Peter, Ned and MJ began to complain all at once. They had commandeered one of the overhead TVs to play someone’s Nintendo Switch and were passing the controller back and forth to beat a boss. Morgan sat in Wanda’s lap, too young to understand the mechanics but eager enough to cheer on, and each of them wore a knitted cap that Natasha had made for them.

It came over you all at once. You were sure that Scott and Sam would join them in a few minutes to help beat the boss. That Clint would come by and take Morgan somewhere quieter when she started dozing off. That Bucky and Steve would pick people at random and swing them around to club music that didn't match the sock hop, just for the fun of it.

You had a soulmate but it didn’t really matter, at the end of the day. All the anxiety, the fear and loathing and stoicism -- none of it was necessary. You would pick these people no matter their marks, and they would pick you because love was an innate but fickle thing; there was no use trying to control it, only to appreciate it when it happened.

“Let them stay, Cap," you called back. "Until the crowds die down.”

Peter and Ned whooped. Steve smiled like he never intended to run them off, anyway.

Loki tugged on your shirt sleeve; how he loved to do that, to commandeer your attention. Like a dog not yet done playing fetch – look at me, he demanded. I’m starved of your affections already. His fingers threaded through yours.

“I’m not running away this time, I promise."

A single curl was snaking free from his short ponytail, falling across his forehead in a little crescent shape. He pushed it aside with your linked hands, like letting go was out of the question.

“Why are you here,” he blurted out. “If it’s pity, or some self-sacrificing sense of duty, then I would advise you to leave.”

You watched him watch you.

“I think… We’re finally on an even playing field. And I owe you another letter.”

“You could call me despicable this time. Egregiously egotistical.”

“I could call you ‘mine’.”

Loki’s seat was askew, not quite tucked under the table, and he turned sideways to face you, one arm dangling over the back. He finished his drink in one long pull, tilting his chin just high enough to strain the crisp collar of his shirt. “Do not pretend. I have to warn you, I’m well versed in wanting.”

It was perhaps the first time since you met Loki -- before even being hired, back when you were a street-level hero who got roped into conflicts too big to comprehend -- that neither one of you was trying to fill an awkward silence. Loki played with your hand, puppeting your fingers open and shut with the same meanness that one might pet a beloved cat, while you sipped on your drink. You found that you liked the silence; when neither one of you was anxiously prattling on, you seemed to get along quite nicely.

“What does, um… Ket– kettlina? What does it mean?”

His other hand threaded through the elastic in his hair and snapped it free, vanishing it elsewhere with a flick of his wrist. “Ketlinkr? It’s a diminutive.” He shrugged. “‘Little cat’.”

Magic hummed – maybe his, or maybe the inherent magic of love – in the air, kissing your cheek so sweetly. Loki, seeming to sense it, traced the spot with the tips of his fingers.

Every breath you drew was heavy. You wanted him to lean in so badly that it hurt, worse than a pang, worse than an ache - there was a pain inside your chest that you felt only his mouth could soothe. “Kitten.”

He smiled – shy, almost. “Yes, but affectionate. T’eta minn ketlinkr. My kitten.”

At some point, his hand had crept over the back of your chair. In the half-circle of his arms, it was as though every dream you had ever dreamt had secretly been about him. Like every moment of déja-vu, every time you heard someone call your name and found no one there, every inexplicable instance of strange magic in your mundane life - it all traced back to him, in that moment. “Ketlinkr,” you tested the word. “I never did agree to the nickname.”

He drew the pad of his thumb over the lipstick smudge on your cheek, blinking uninterestedly down where his thumb came away red. “T’eta hverr, ketlinkr. Minn minikla ketti.” 

“Why not, um… Ben…” 

“Bendr,” he hummed. “Would you like to be my mortal wound?”

He knocked at one of your chair legs, tottling you backwards, then forwards when you overcorrected. You collided inelegantly with his chest, giving him the perfect opening to slide his arm around your waist and ‘catch’ you before you tumbled out of his lap. The new proximity pressed his cheek to yours. “Terribly sorry, kitten,” he spoke against the shell of your ear. “You’ll have to excuse my manners. All the alcohol I guess. I don’t know my own strength.”

You clutched at his collar. “You did that on purpose.”

“You have no proof. It’s your word against mine and I am excellent on the stand.” He held you tightly, winding his other arm around your back like a snare. You felt his cheek tip up in a smirk against yours, your shared giddiness seeming to overwhelm.

“I thought you were going to be nice.”

“That was the red-head. This is your Loki. Loki-Loki. He’s vile. ”

“Good evening, New York!” Tony had clambered up on the stage and commandeered the microphone. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, so many buttons deep that you could just make out the lines of scar tissue around his arc reactor. “Just a reminder that you have two minutes until midnight. So if you haven't found your soulmate yet, you’d better pick the hottest person in this room and settle for second best. Or hope! You never know.”

The crowd cheered. Loki deposited you on your knees, precariously balanced on his lap. “Hottest person in the room?”

“You’re supposed to kiss someone at midnight. Something about ringing in the new year and good luck in love.”

“Oh. Well, good thing I’ve already snatched you up. It would have been a blood bath if I had to find you with a minute until midnight.”

You tipped your head back and laughed. “My blood, more like. You should see the looks people are throwing you.”

Indignation glanced off his eyes; his hand rode up the length of your back, the heel of his palm slotting just under your skull to cradle your head. “I would never let anyone hurt you.”

“It’s less about ‘letting’ and more about a dozen peoples’ personal journeys to find out what’s under your collar.”

The televisions mounted to the ceiling flickered; a thirty-second countdown began ticking down overhead. You tested your weight against Loki’s chest, curling your fingers around his shoulders.

“Well, if it’s tradition,” Loki started, his voice coy but eyes burning hot, “then who are we to deny?”

 “You’re right. Tradition to uphold. It would practically be illegal not to.”

“Exactly. And I’m a good guy now, right? A hero. I am bound by duty to respect the law to the letter.” He paused. “That sounds horribly boring. Forget I said that.”

The crowd started counting at fifteen - a few stragglers at first, snowballing until the entire room was chanting. It was infectious, so heady that you felt as though your chest was fit to burst any second; you turned your face down to meet Loki’s, hardly able to stop yourself from just leaning in and sealing your mouth to his. 

“I like it when you look at me,” Loki murmured.

You slid one hand over his cheek and traced the lines carved by his smile. “I like it when you look at me, too.”

Five, the room chanted. Loki tilted his head, his lips parting with an inaudible sigh. You moved your hand back down to his shoulder to steady yourself. Four, three– 

You didn’t make it to one; Loki closed the distance early. Time slowed to an endless stretch that consisted only of his thumb, tracing a long, slow line down your ribs; of the amorous sound of your breath catching in your chest; of the weight of his legs pressed against yours. Though it seemed impossible, he drew you even more securely against the solid wall of his chest, so that you had no choice but to unfurl, winding both of your arms behind his neck.

The room must have been alight with noise and celebration but when you pulled away, you were only aware of him. His heavy-lidded eyes tracked your lips with a liquid kind of want, something that seemed to spill from him with every shaky breath. 

He kissed you again.

“Why don’t you bring me back to your room,” he whispered, “and I’ll show you why they call me Silvertongue.”

You crammed yourselves in the backseat of a cab with the middle seat yawning a respectable distance between you. The driver greeted you with a grunt, his eyes resolutely fixed ahead; at just past midnight, you had a feeling he wasn’t in the mood to listen to drunken drivel or to sit through a peep show.

The streets were chaos; why you thought this would be easier, you couldn’t comprehend. Later, you would blame it on the dizziness, or the lovesickness.

You blinked out of your reverie when something brushed against your wrist. Loki’s hand had crossed the distance between you and lay, palm facing upwards, next to yours. He’d wiggled his index finger under your pinky.

With every block that you crossed, your giddiness was melting away to something else entirely, something hot and wanting. Something like honey, or maybe whiskey. At three-and-a-half blocks away from the tower, the two of you tumbled out of the car with a lacklustre happy new year, which the driver waved off. You paid him with too many bills, not willing to wait a second more.

The tower was deserted; even the lobby, which was usually lit up all hours of the day, was dark. The security guards had all left for the night, waved away by Tony with the insistence that FRIDAY could vet potential intruders while they enjoyed their evening. Your footsteps were painfully loud in the empty atrium.

Loki followed you up to your room like a spectre. By the time you got to your door, your hands were shaking so badly that you could hardly get your key into the lock, too distracted by the way Loki was mouthing at your jaw, breath hot and humid on your skin, his hands riding up your sides to tangle in the fabric of your dress.

“You have to stop for a second,” you gasped. “I can’t– I can’t think with you like this.”

His tongue traced a line over your pulse point. He turned you around and plucked the key from your hand before crowding you against the door, the open curve of his mouth a teasing pressure against yours. You heard the key grind against the little pins, then turn; Loki caught you at the last second when the door swung open underneath you, laughing, equal parts arrogant and aroused.

Loki leaned against the doorframe, his arms bracketing it on either side, and watched you back away. His head tilted; his eyes pulled you apart like a butcher pulled pork. You continued until the backs of your thighs met your couch, your bag and coat forgotten to the side in a sad heap. 

The deadbolt slid into place with a click. 

You beckoned him forward for a quick kiss. Hardly more than a peck.

“Oh, I think I deserve a little more than that.”

You hummed. “Careful, ben.. .”

“Bendr.” He reached up and toyed with your bottom lip, then leant down and licked where his thumb had been. “Your accent is infuriating.”

“I’m trying,” you gasped. One of his legs slotted between yours so he could lean his weight on the couch, effectively pinning you under him.

“Loki–” You were cut short by a sharp roll of his hips against yours. A truly evil grin shaded his handsome face before he tipped his head to kiss you again. You squirmed, turning your cheek; undeterred, Loki pressed his mouth to the highest point on your cheekbone. “Loki, really–”

“It’s fun. We’re just having fun, kitten.” He punctuated his sentence by working his hand over your body, palming one breast upwards with a turn of his wrist.

“Stop interrupting me.”

His mouth closed over your pulse point, dull teeth scraping over your skin with purpose. The hand not groping your chest slipped under your skirt, hiking it up so he could toy with the waistband of your underwear, drawing a featherlight path along the edge before occasionally sliding his thumb under, admiring the soft skin of your hip. Any coherent thought fizzled and stuttered until your mind was a blank well for him to pour his desire into. Don’t I make you feel good, he asked. Imagine what I can do with my hands. With my tongue.  

He cooed at you, licking a long, flat stripe up your neck. The hand around your hip slid even higher, slotting nicely under the jut of your ribcage. He pressed his face into the dip between your neck and shoulder and sighed, his chest filling then draining to a terrible, shaky emptiness. He pretended to smile. “Humour me. Use me.”

Using the hand in his hair, you twisted his head to the side and kissed him, pressing all the things you couldn’t say into his lips. How sorry you were for not speaking sooner. How you hoped there might be a future left to scrounge. "Have I ruined it?"

His mouth twisted to a funny line. You got the impression that he wanted to continue pretending, to slip into a caricature of himself where your words hadn't hurt him. Maybe it would be easier to act as if the two of you had organically fallen in love and not stumbled, face-first, into a strange, unconfident dance. But then -- Loki had made many mistakes in his lifetime. Had fought losing battles until the end of days in the name of spite, or pain. He couldn't fault you for a mistake he would have made ten-fold, had he been in the same scenario.

So he kissed your knuckles for the simple pleasure of kissing you.

“Loki." You would write him a hundred love letters after tonight. “Look at my neck.”

His hands drew away slowly, though the ghost of them lingered; his seidr smoothed up and down your sides, as if Loki was committing to memory the feel of you unconsciously.

He twisted the top button from its buttonhole, then followed the placket all the way to the top of your belly until your dress was limp and wide open. It slipped down your shoulders; you would have expected him to be ogling you, or to make some lecherous comment now that you were exposed to him, but his eyes stayed neutral, his hands shy where they traced your upper arms.

“I’m going to turn around now.” You disentangled your legs and twisted, drawing your feet up and over the back of the couch so you were seated on the back. 

He was silent for a while. “Have I developed your mortal hysteria? I must have conjured you up out of lust.”

“No, Loki. It’s just a… a cosmic prank, I guess.”

Silence yawned and stretched, a creature warmed from a long slumber. Eventually, Loki rounded the couch so he could kneel on the cushions between your knees. You wound him in by the collar of his shirt, fisting it until he was close enough to be kissed, whereafter he met you in steps – realization, that you were kissing him; elation, that he might get to kiss you; and desperation, to keep you there forever.

"What else could you call me?"

"Duva. Ljufi. Ah, ja, minn ljuflinkr."

"Ljufi?"

"Love." The stereo system under your tv picked up, crackling with static. The air grew thick with ozone and magic, which settled like humidity over the back of your neck and whispered nonsense. “Alright, my skittish kitten… What do you call me?”

“Hm... Love, maybe? Um, sweetheart? My soulmate?”

He nodded gravely, hands on either side of your face. “We have weeks to make up for. Again.”

You threaded your fingers through his belt loops, urging him to lean his weight on you. He followed gingerly, drawn by your voice like a dog on a lead. “Soulmate. My soulmate.”

He couldn’t ask you a third time. He was too busy committing to memory the curve of your mouth against his.

The picture was uploaded to Twitter on January 1st at 3:47 AM – It was terrible quality, taken in a dimly-lit bar only a minute after midnight. You and Loki were perfectly framed in a sea of lovers, so wrapped up in the other that you weren’t aware of the flash. Darcy’s lipstick was still smeared on your cheek; few stray curls hung in a curtain in front of Loki’s eyes; and his right hand was balled up in the fabric of your dress, the tension just right, so that the top few dots of your soulmark peeked out.

You were both beaming. 

[firestorm09890]

starting to get way too into the weeds of Organization XIII warrior cats. Xion and Roxas are definitely apprentice age, but what about Zexion? in my mind kits are like the equivalent of humans from birth to 12 years old, and then apprenticeship is during teenage years, which would make Zexion probably a young warrior fresh off the heels of apprenticeship, BUT fucked up political intrigue is the bread and butter of warrior cats, as well as, uh, the bread and butter of Zexion. if we ignore the fact that he'd be too young to be any threat to Saïx's deputy ambitions (you have to have been a mentor to an apprentice to even be considered as deputy and cat Zexion's only like one year old, Xemnas's bizarre choices be damned he wouldn't even have the TIME to apprentice someone) and have him get assassinated for political reasons anyway... which cat afterlife does he go to? cats who commit terrible crimes get sent to the Place of No Stars (cat hell) based on decisions of StarClan members ("normal" clan cat afterlife), but he was literally a kit during the warrior cats equivalent of the Fall of Radiant Garden and was an apprentice for almost the rest of his life, and Warriors has never sent a kit or apprentice to cat hell. I don't think StarClan would do that even if Ienzo and Zexion did hurt people. They let Mudclaw in because despite attempting a coup, he was genuinely worried for his clan's wellbeing and his vision was clouded; they let Ashfur in despite being a jealous obsessive bitch who helped try to take one of Firestar's lives and almost killed three children because "his only crime was loving too much" (they were wrong about this one LMAO Ashfur went on to be a major series villain); they seem to give the benefit of the doubt. They'd probably pity Zexion's absolutely fucked situation and let him into StarClan. Now, which of the other Organization member cats they'd send to the Place of No Stars, THAT'S an interesting question

[biillys]

yo merry christmas i'm thinking about christmas at the hargrove-mayfield's house throughout the years

wanna think about their first christmas together as a family, maybe before neil and susan even got married, or maybe just after. wanna think about what susan got billy for that first december 25th that they knew each other and what neil bought for max. did neil just pass that duty off to susan and stick his name on the from: section of the gift tag or did he put effort in and actually go to the shops and try and find something, specifically for his new step-daughter.

wanna think about the following few christmas' in california where billy never heard from his mom, never even got a fucking christmas card, but max heard from her dad; spending the time between christmas breakfast and christmas lunch on the phone, thanking him for the present he sent in the mail. wanna think about susan listening in, hearing her ex sounding distant and barely focused, agreeing with everything their daughter says, and biting her tongue; half relieved max hasn't picked up on the fact that sam's handwriting and her own is exactly the same, and half mad that sam's willing to take the credit without even blinking.

wanna think about their last christmas in california where they don't even realise it's their last one there; billy hitting his stride in being the worlds moodiest and most hard done by teenager, max following quick in his footsteps. wanna think about how all the gifts hand-picked by susan would be too lame and embarrassing to be thankful for, both kids screwing their nose up at most presents. maybe billy and max exchanging small gifts that christmas becos they haven't been at each others throats all year, only some, and susan thought it would be nice.

wanna think about their first christmas in hawkins, with things still so messy and uncomfortable and rough, but somehow settling into it like it's their new normal. wanna think about it being cold as fuck, none of them prepared for hawkins winters, and everyone walking on eggshells around each other and pretending it's fine. wanna think about max growing up and officially moving into her teenage years and billy counting down the days until he leaves them, adulthood so close yet still so fucking far. wanna think about them all sitting down for christmas dinner and billy barely being acknowledged, things still so tense even though it's been almost two months since everything went to shit, and max forcing out answers every time susan tries to keep the conversation flowing, her doing her best to carry the christmas spirit.

wanna think about a world where there's no living nightmares, no government conspiracies, and no death, but billy still spirals out of control anyway, feeling trapped and cornered in an unfamiliar town with unfamiliar people, his only solution to lash out and fight, anger and violence and distrust being all he knows. wanna think about max coming to the realisation that there's bigger monsters than her asshole step-brother, that maybe billy isn't the start of everyone's problems, just always somehow the end of them. want her to trace the line back to the source and realise neither of them ever stood a fucking chance.

wanna think about a christmas where billy's eighteen and max is fifteen, and they still live on cherry lane, and neil still fucking sucks, and susan still fucking tries, and everything's still awkward, the four of them never quite becoming the family unit their parents try to pretend them to be, but maybe billy and max get along these days, in a way they never could when they were younger, them going from being against each other to realising it's team up or be picked apart.

max gives him a present she saved up for for months, maybe as they're all going to bed, and billy raises an eyebrow at her before sighing and unwrapping it, still too fucking stubborn to be able to say thank you, but somehow brave enough to reach a hand into his room and grab out a present he got for her, and it's unwrapped cos he hasn't wrapped a present since his mom left, so max does her little sister duty and tells him she loves the wrapping and effort he put into it, before actually looking at what he got her, and he walks into his room and closes the door before she can even acknowledge it for the gift it is.

wanna think about billy eventually moving out, but not making it far; too fucking broke to live out his dreams of going home. wanna think about neil clapping him on the back on moving day and telling him he's done good, that this is what growing up is. graduating school, getting a job, moving out, providing for yourself. that's what makes a man. that it was rough there for a while, and he was worried, but he's glad to see his son's shaped up and straightened out finally, thanks to his solid parenting. wanna think about billy having no idea how to react, thinking that's the closest he'll ever get to his dad saying he's proud of him. wanna think about max helping him move and helping him chose a couch, claiming it has to be comfortable enough to sleep on when she crashes there on school breaks. want billy to tell her to get fucked, but buy the couch she picked out anyway.

wanna think about his first christmas out of home, and how how he probably feels indifferent about it at best, and pain about it at worst. christmas was never like the movies growing up, no matter how much susan tried, so it's not like being alone and having no decorations or presents is going to hurt, but he has enough memories of his mum, and a few moments over the years from when max and susan tried, and there's such a build up and fucking atmosphere about it all in hawkins that he can't escape it even if he tried, and he's starting to realise maybe he's really fucking lonely.

wanna think about neil calling him up and billy answering, cos now that they don't live in the same house and billy's finally taking responsibility for his own life, neil's like a whole new person. he wants to do father-son shit like talk about cars, offer advice about fixing the kitchen sink, tell him when to hire someone to fix something and when you should be able to fix something yourself, wants to watch sports games and crack open a beer on a saturday afternoon, and billy makes up reasons to say no most of the time, but sometimes he caves and says yes, cos there's a small part of him that's always wanted this. wanna think about neil calling and asking billy when he's coming over for christmas, saying that susan's cooking his favourite. wanna think about billy not even knowing what his favourite is, but saying he'll be at breakfast by 7:30am before he can stop himself.

wanna think about billy staying 'til afternoon and max raising an eyebrow at him, muttering don't you have a home to go to? while they clean up after lunch, but then neil offers him a beer, so he ignores her, and listens when his dad says he's welcome to stay for dinner, too. wanna think about billy and max smoking a joint out the back while their parents end the day with a christmas movie, and max turns to him and asks him what neil's deal is these days, and billy shrugs her off, too stubborn to look at it all too closely.

wanna think about billy pulling some money out of his wallet cos he has some now, and he didn't have time to get a present, too busy working overtime, but he has cash, so that'll do. wanna think about max handing him a new zippo, then somehow unearthing a whole-ass wrapped present, and when he opens it, it's a set of cheap fake glass cups, becos billy doesn't have any yet and every time she comes over she has to drink something either directly from the bottle in the fridge or remember her own drink bottle, and it's a housewarming gift, asshole, and this isn't my house, billy thinks, this isn't my fucking home, but it's also all he's got, so he finds a place for them in the cupboard above the sink, and max hunts them down the next time she's over first thing.

wanna think about christmas' in their future, when max moves out, when they're in their 20's and 30's, maybe billy keeps coming home, finding an uneasy peace with his dad reserved for special occasions only, the only few times of the year he's willing to lie to himself and pretend things were never as bad as his memories made them out to be, or maybe everything eventually crumbles, and billy finally gets to put some real distance between them, and finally then, he can breathe and stop pretending.

maybe max continues going, her seeing her mom try and so she puts in the effort to try as well, and maybe that works for a while, maybe even a lifetime, but maybe it doesn't, and by the time both her and billy are closer to 30 than 20, the only family they see on christmas is each other, and billy never wraps her presents, and max only gets him practical things, and they drink and bitch most of the time, but it's so much easier to exist in each others space when they don't have to act and pretend and play parts.

[itsalwaysdark]

its so embarassing likee. going to talk abt a feeling you have but you already know ppl will be like Oh that sounds like depression lol and its like. well yes . i know . trust me i am so aware i am depressed . but its still like a thing ive been thinking abt and wanting to talk abt but ik itll just be like Ok hun 👍. idk idk what response i would want tho ig FNFNFNF

[sskk-manifesto]

!

[r1ghtwhereyouleftme]

Me: I hate [insert thing here] discourse

Also me: *gets so annoyed when people are blatantly stupid and do things thay make zero sense therefore making me go along with discourse bc I can only handle so much stupidity*

[exopelagic]

i can’t believe i managed to get fucking mono and didn’t even get it by doing anything fun

[playingonedchess]

eh now that im thinking about it again i think maybe my problem with fandom is mainly just that its completely incapable of remotely understanding how any sort of interpersonal relationship works in the slightest and portrays them in the most ridiculous stupid ways not only is everyone ridiculously too emoteionally expressive and self aware and way too eager to therapise each other and discuss things in ways that no one really ever would but they also way overstate the way the characters even think about these things and then when its not the writers invented versions of the characters psycological states its always just about stupid internet subculture memes that i refuse to believe anyones even capable of finding funny or else the other way of completely misunderstanding interpersonal relationships which is making everything about romance or family structures its either throwing away all their actual relationship to just be about kissing and they love me they love me nots and honestly i reckon its actually worse when you actually ship them cause then your actually invested in their relationship and think they could actually have a romantic relationship while still resembling the actual characters relationship, at least if you dont really ship them its less annoying and you can just appreciate it as a random story. and the only other thing these people are interested in writing about tends to be totally misinterpreting the non romantic relationships as well like its hard to believe these people have ever actually had family if this is how they write them but i suppose they can at least acknowledge thats actually a valid reason to care about someone? plus the ways they always have to make non familial relationships into family like its especially ridiculous who they think has a parent and child relationship like seriously just admit your brains too small to comprehend more than too types of relationships. also they way theyll insist characters have a parent child relationship based entirely on the fact that its the kid of one of the characters they ship together i mean thats just getting obsessive not everything has to support your ship and its ridiculous to think that every kid would see their parents partner as a parent let alone the way they insist its like this with adults like ypu know they can still have a good relationship and everyone can get on great without them getting another parent when theyre literally in their twenties

[screampied]

sukuna never says “i love you.”

to him, the words are meaningless. he’s been alive for thousands and thousands of years, of course he knows what it means. he’s not stupid, but for some reason—every time it comes out of your little human mouth, his heart aches. you say it so sweetly with the cheekiest grin on your face, not a single care in the world. he hated it. three words, eight letters of pure rubbish. at least, that’s what he thinks to himself. for sukuna, he expresses his love in a different way.

physical touch. flicking your forehead, teasing you, saying things he’d never say to you while you were awake. that was his version of love, he didn’t need those stupid, stupid words. or did he?

“love you, ‘kuna,” you’d pepper another kiss against his cheek. he tchs, the audacity for you to do something so embarrassing. he never says it back but you know deep down he’s got to feel at least something in that cold heart of his. he just has to, after all you did steal his heart in a way. and he stole yours. your eyes always had a glinting sparkle whenever those words would come out and he hated it. his response to you saying you loved him would always be the same.

“yeah yeah,” he gruffs. or a simple, “i know..”

but— there’d be a time where he’d regret not saying it back. a cold, cruel time where it’s just you and him, no one else. except, it would really just be him.

sukuna had a hard time at expression his feelings. it’s not like he hated you—despite his rough, barbarous persona.

he didn’t hate you but he did. it was complicated. it was a struggle trying to put it into words. all he knew was that he loathed how soft you made him, he noticed his behavior would change around you overtime. sukuna’s voice was get more gentle, his shoulders would relax, and he’d always finding himself flicking your forehead for some strange reason. it’s annoying,

you’re annoying.

the feeling was love though, it had to be.

had to be,

so the moment comes where he regrets not saying it back.

it’s something he’d continuously beat himself up over for. because now, here you are, laid all out near the ground in his arms. all four of his arms held you in a tight, cradling embrace and he’s got an expression you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. sukuna’s scarlet red irises were blown and fearfully dilated. his thin nostrils flared up and his slit brows contort in panic and confusion.

sukuna ryomen was scared.

“brat. get up.” he murmurs, three simple words was all he said to you. three simple words but you could barely even hear them.

all you heard was a brief inaudible mumble. you saw his lips moving but barely any sound came out. your body felt crushed, the pain was excruciating. your limbs, they felt like they were on fire. getting up was the last thing on your mind and you’ve probably sone the most careless thing imaginable.

you took a hit for sukuna, a deadly hit that was powerful enough to cost you your life. it’s funny though—all the talk of seeing your life flash before your eyes, and now, being snatched into the inevitable end, you were starting to really see it.

“get up,” he repeats, and this time, a single tear falls right onto your cheek. you meet sukuna’s gaze. the king of curses was a mere mess right before your eyes. he was like this for just you. teary eyed and sniffling, he can’t stand this pain.

you’re being held in his lap and not once does his eyes leave yours. sukuna takes a while to speak again and it’s as if he’s carefully thinking of what to say. time was precious right now, but he didn’t wanna think about anything. his focus was solely on you, his favorite little human.

“can you hear me? say something.”

“you .. you’re gonna get wrinkles if you keep frowning too much, ‘kuna.” you hum, a weak finger stroking against his cheek.

archons, for whatever reason, that little comment brought a smile to his face. you were so annoying to him and yet, he wouldn’t wanna be in anyone else’s presence. everything hurt though,

your body felt scorchingly hot, your pulse remains to ring through your ears and you were wheezing a bit. “hey, hey,” he watches as you try to cling onto his hand. sukuna didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what to say - all he did do though, was hold you. it was the least thing he could do. your hand was so small compared to his, his long fingernails gently tickling against your skin.

he didn’t have it in him to scold you for trying to protect him. as fragile of a being you knew you were, you did it anyway. you risked your life for him. sukuna let his guard down and you jumped right in the way without a second thought for yourself. that’s what love was, his heart bleeds at the recent flashback before a shaky breath leaves his lips. “this wasn’t supposed to happen. you can’t leave me like this, please.”

“i’m not l- leaving.” you reply, your voice weak and frail. sukuna knew that was a lie. the more you stared at him, how the look of worry on his face paints and marinates his features, he was really scared. you were his everything, his breath of fresh air, maybe even his one true love. “never gonna leave you, sukuna.”

and sukuna lays there with you on his lap. you seem still - too still. right before his eyes, he watches as your body’s temp run cold, final breaths making its introduction. everything was going so fast. he barely had time to react before he realized,

you were gone.

“no,” he whispers under his breath. the demon was at a loss of words. the feeling in his chest, it was indescribable. painful, and tight as he watches the light leave your eyes, something within him leaves also. a part of him. you were drifting away and there was nothing he could do about it. “no.” he repeats against, feeling a dull ache run cold through his body. sukuna didn’t know what to do. he’s seeing red, but perhaps that wasn’t just bloodshed and anger. maybe, maybe it was the one true feeling he was denying all along,

love.

his breaths become heavy once he realizes you’re actually gone. no movement, no cheeky replies, no random “i love you ‘kuna’s,” no nothing. the tear in his heart was enough to make him see the light with you. it hurt horribly, a lump in his throat builds up before he starts to weep. one tear comes then multiple shortly follow, landing past the thin fabric of his sown kimono and onto your lifeless body.

sukuna hated you. he hated how you made him so soft, so vulnerable, so weak. you came into sukuna’s life, stole his heart, and also broke it.

as his eye twitches, his smile had already faded once you left him.

for the first time in centuries, sukuna was defeated. his enemy wasn’t a sorcerer, a curse, or even himself who he believed was his true worse enemy. sukuna ryomen was defeated by four simple letters, love. not only did you leave him in tears, but you also left him with an engagement ring inside his right palm.

he was far too late, he was gonna propose to you. that way, he’d build up the courage to say those stupid, stupid words. opening up his right hand, he stares at the ring he wanted to give you way earlier before this incident even happened. sukuna waited too long, he’d actually plan this for quite some time but again, he was scared.

with a defeated sigh, he surrenders, glancing at you for one last time. no smile on your face anymore but he just used his imagination. there you laid, peaceful, almost as if you were asleep. taking a deep breath, sukuna gives you his last gentle forehead flick before finally telling you the words he’s been longing to say for years.

“i … i love you too, brat. never leavin’ you either.”

[monstersflashlight]

Alright, I love your work, maybe you could do Alien inspection part three? I genuinely need more of this alien! He’s so handsome. But maybe some character development? Like the one you did with the “gym slut”

A/N: Hi there everyone! Here it is, finally, alien inspection part 3. Everyone wanted this story to be here again, and I’m more than happy to do so. That said, this is a heads up that it’s the last part of alien inspection in Tumblr, from now on, all further parts will be on Patreon (info here). Disclaimer: I know cervix poking is not that fun, but this is aliens and it’s all in the name of horniness, so let’s pretend it is good. Enjoy!

Part 1 and part 2 as a reminder to read this.

Alien inspection: discovering alien dick

Alien x fem!reader || bondage, humiliation, degradation, fingering, double penetration (with fingers), oral sex, squirting

You wait three days before you surrender to your desire to see him again. You curse yourself all the way to his office and when you knock and get inside, he looks at you like you are not better than a cockroach. It feels awful, but a part of you ignites at that. Your pussy tingles and you can feel your panties getting wet. Why does he have to turn you on so fucking much?

“What are you doing here?” He asks, looking you up and down with unimpressed eyes.

You shiver either way, his eyes feel like a caress to your skin, making you hot and bothered. Sometimes you wonder if he has some kind of magic that allows him to arouse you with just a look. But deep down you know it’s not that, you are just the little whore he calls you, and he turns you on more than anyone ever will.

“I- I don’t…” You say, trying to play coy and shy in a way.

He is not playing, though. He stares at you like you are dumb. “Be truthful or get out, I have no time to entertain human liars.” His words sting, but you know he’s telling the truth, he’s probably busy with medical stuff and probably other humans, and you hate how much that idea annoys you.

“I want…” He makes a gesture for you to continue, anger rises inside of you at his impassive face. Fucking asshole. “I want you to fuck me again,” you let out, annoyed.

He looks at you and his upper lip twitches, like he’s hiding a smile. Stupid hot alien that makes your pussy drip. “Is that so?” He sounds so smug that you want to hit him. “Okay… Let’s make a deal, human.” You shiver at the way his tone drops, it’s like listening porn, his voice gravely and so, so deep. Your panties are so wet you can feel them sticking to your pussy.

“What- What kind of deal?” You stutter, trying to look like you aren’t nervous for it, but failing miserably.

He looks you up and down again, pausing as if deep in thought. “I will play with your body once again… But you have to let me do anything I want to you.” You stare at him in disbelief.

“I- No!” You let out, too fast. A part of you is more than ready to say yes, but your brain refuses, knowing you don’t want to give him all the power once again… But deep down you know that’s a lie. You definitely want him to do whatever he wants to your body.

He stares at you and simply says: “Then you can leave.” It hurts your ego that he can dismiss you so easily.

“What?! I- Wha- I-” you sputter, babbling nonsense as he looks at you like you are stupid, once again. You hate yourself a bit when you open your mouth to say no and what comes instead is: “Yes. Okay. Yes! I agree.” Your pussy is more than happy with your answer, your body filling with anticipation.

He smirks then, his teeth gleaming under the fluorescent lights. “That’s a good human whore.” You shiver at his words, shame invading your body. “Strip,” he orders.

“I- Now?” You don’t know what you were expecting, but for him to want to fuck you right there, right now… Well, you were kind of expecting him to say exactly that.

“No, tomorrow morning.” His tone is sarcastic as fuck and it angers you how much you want to slap him but also kiss him until you both are out of breath.

You look behind you, at the closed door. “Should I lock the door?”

“No. Strip,” he repeats. You shiver, the hint of danger on his tone mixed with the possibility of someone walking in on you naked in his office… It shouldn’t be as exciting as you feel. It shouldn’t turn you on the idea that somebody could watch him play with your human body until you are crying. But it does. It turns you on like nothing else ever did. Dang, you are truly perverted.

He doesn’t move when you start to take your clothes off. You aren’t wearing much, but the way his eyes lay on you is all kinds of hot. You take off all your clothes as he stares, not a word, not a hungry look, not even a smile. He just stares and stares… And you get hotter and hotter. He doesn’t say anything until you are fully naked and covering your boobs and pubis with your hands.

“Arms to the side, I want to see you.” His order makes you want to curse him, but you obey. “Turn around. Slowly.” You obey that too, your whole body pink with embarrassment at being inspected like that, almost in a dehumanizing way. Your clit is pulsating between your legs, you want to rub it so bad… He cuts your line of thought, “on the table. I’m going to tie you.”

“Wh- What? Again? But I want to touch you,” you try to argue. You do want to touch him. You want this to be more than one way…

“Then you will have to earn it.” The promise on his tone makes you shiver. The fact that he knows you will be coming back to him is infuriating but also kinda hot. And the idea that you can win a reward by being good for him… Maybe you have some kind of praise kink you didn’t know you had. But then again, he made you realize a lot of kinks you didn’t know you had.

To your embarrassment, you find yourself, once again, tied to the medical table with him hovering over you, his too-long fingers hovering over your nipples. He makes you gasp when he runs the pad of his finger them, his hands cold. He pinches and pokes at them until you are struggling against the restraints and your pussy is so wet you want to scream for him to fuck you already.

But before you can say anything about it, he moves and stands between your open legs, the spread bar in place. “I never tasted a human before…” He says more to himself than to you. He’s looking intently at your pussy, the clinical look of the first day in place.

“Wha- what are you-?” You don’t get to finish that question before his weird tongue is exploring your folds.

He licks every single millimeter he can, slurping on your juices until your face is hot with embarrassment and your pussy is dripping once again. He drinks you in as he explores with his tongue, so long that when you feel it against your hole, you beg silently. He doesn’t disappoint, getting deep and licking all of you. His tongue stops at your G-spot and when he starts to tickle you with it, you scream and come around his tongue, clenching over it. He grunts and pulls back, his face wet and his eyes blown with desire. He looks hotter than ever.

You look down his body to see his extra long fingers wrapped around what is roughly shaped as a dick. “What is that?” You ask, alarmed.

“My…” he says some words your translator doesn’t comprehend and you stare at him, dumb-folded. “I think humans call it a dick.”

“That’s your dick? It has ridges! And… and what is that at the tip!?” You sound hysterical, but his dick is as weird as the rest of him and you should have anticipated that but you didn’t and now you don’t know what to do.

He looks at you and explains, “those are prehensile muscles, don’t worry human, they will feel good inside of your tight human pussy.” His words make you hot, but it also worries you. Did he even do this with other humans? Why do you feel a spark of jealousy thinking about that.

“Wait!” You scream. You don’t know how that would work inside of you, what if it hurts?

“You said I could do anything. You promised.” There’s a hit of hurt in his eyes, like he’s expecting you to refuse him now. You sigh internally.

“I- I did. Just… Go slow?” You ask, fully expecting him to deny you and shove it in one go.

“Ohh,” he coos at you, “such a cute little whore you are, all excited to get fucked but as soon as you see a non-human dick you get scared?” You know he’s trying to tease you so you get angry and your nerves go away, and you hate that he succeeds.

“I’m not scared!” You tell him, offended.

“No? Let’s test that,” that’s all heads up you get.

He pushes inside you, slow and tortuous, and the weird tentacles at the tip start moving inside of you, touching and caressing and tickling parts of you that you didn’t know could be pleasurable. He keeps going and going, until he’s fully seated in you and he’s panting. You fist-bump the air (mentally) seeing him as worked up as you are.

And then he starts to move. The tentacles at the tip latch onto your cervix and they remain there as he starts to thrust in and out of you. The feel inside is completely alien, but so good your eyes roll back into your head. You start chanting ah ah ah as soon as he sets a good pace, not too fast, not too slow. He’s just perfect and you want to curse him for being so good at that.

“Be a good little human whore for me, come around my dick.” You are too fucked out to refuse, and you come again, clenching over his dick and feeling how the tentacles at the tip kiss your cervix in a weirdly hot manner. You don’t know what you are anymore, but a toy for his pleasure.

He doesn’t stop, you are sensitive but soon after you feel pressure on your asshole. You try to say something, but he shushes you, “don’t worry little whore, you know you like this.” You want to deny it, but it would be a lie. You enjoyed it greatly last time, and he knows it.

He pulls his fingers back and grabs some kind of liquid. He squirts some over your back hole. You whimper when he starts to push inside with his extra long fingers. His hips still thrusting into you. At first is uncomfortable, but soon it starts to be maddening in the best way possible. His other hands grabs something from the table next to you. You were too focused on him to notice he grabbed the same nipple suckers he used the other time. When he positions them over your breasts, you cry out, the feeling heavenly.

The combination of the nipple suckers, his thrusts, tentacles and his fingers… It’s too much, you can feel him everywhere and it’s driving you insane with pleasure. Something is building inside of you, and you don’t recognize it instantly, but when you feel the need to explode, you know. You have no time to alert him before you are squirting all around him, soaking his clothes and the table and probably the floor. You scream in pleasure as he jerks inside of you, warm cum filling your insides as the tentacles untangle and caress your insides on their way out. You feel his cum dripping out, mixed with your juices.

“I didn’t know humans could do that. Is it piss?” He asks you. Your mind is confused and fucked out and you don’t know what he means for a long while. He starts releasing your extremities from the restrains when you comprehend what he’s asking.

“It’s squirt, not piss.” He looks at you, confused. “It’s… It’s what happens when a human gets great pleasure,” you try to explain, not fully knowing more about it. He’s slowly cleaning you up, a wet cloth against your tender holes. He’s so careful you feel tears building in your eyes, but you blink fast to avoid them falling.

“Interesting…” He looks at you for a long moment, deep in thought. “I will have to study it more. Will I see you again?” His voice is weirdly tender when he says that, hesitant, like if he really doesn’t know how hooked up on him you are.

You want to be mean and tell him no, but you know that would be a lie, and he hates lies. “Yeah… Yes. I will see you again.” You congratulate yourself on not sounding as needy as you feel.

“Good.”

part 4

[marsmaximoff]

🦑 hwang jun-ho; headcanons 〇△□

content warning: gn!reader. fluff. mentions of death, coma and jealousy. pet names. no season 2 spoilers. let me know if i missed anything.

word count: 941

author’s note: well, my man is back, and i had to write some headcanons for him. the OBSESSION that i had back in 2021 needs to be studied, omg. anyway, as always, constructive criticism is welcomed, english is my third language, so i apologize for any mistakes. in case i don’t post anything else this year, happy 2025 everybody!! enjoy! 🩷

divider by @k1ssyoursister

〇 pre-games

best. boyfriend. ever.

that’s it, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

🙃🙃🙃

his love languages are:

1) quality time

he may be a police detective, but he ALWAYS tries to make time for you 

and see you every day, and if he can’t, he’ll save some minutes to call you

loves to hear about your day

big on communication, that’s key on your relationship 

type of boyfriend that picks you up after work, or anything really

he just wants to see your cute face :3

takes you out on cool dates

to the park, to eat, to cute animal cafés

he’s okay with staying in too, just cuddling, talking, watching something….

and 2) acts of service 

will drive you anywhere you need

you get ‘good morning/night’ texts every single day you’re not together

makes you breakfast 

and has no problem with cooking for you

opens doors for you 

pulls out the chair at the restaurant ☝🏻

he’ll simply do anything you need

loves coming home to you, it doesn't matter how shitty or overwhelming his day was, you just put a smile on his face

his favorite thing to do with you is eating

it may sound boring, but he loves to see you taking care of yourself, well-fed and happy

takes you to meet his family

his mom loves you

even his brother likes you

he’s a tease and enjoys seeing you all flustered

i feel like he’d be the type to have many pics of you on his phone that he goes back to whenever he misses you

you’re probably his wallpaper, perhaps even on his wallet too 🤭

some pet names like: “honey”, “love”, “beautiful”, “cutie”

would never cheat

a guard dog

not super jealous -a bit tho- but won't hesitate to step up if someone acts stupid 

(picture that one scene in season 2 when that man mocked him and didn’t believe he was an actual police detective hehe)

shows you off 🤩

checks you out :p

his hand is on you in some way when you’re out

has good emotional intelligence

big spoon

reminds you to take your make up off before bed if you wear any -he may even do it himself if you're too tired

or to take meds

he is just really caring and supportive

doesn't like seeing you worried or anxious because of his job

absolutely hates to see you suffer

doesn’t mind that you may be struggling financially, it won’t change what he feels

will help you with whatever it is

just don’t hide it, he hates secrets and lies

i hate doing it, but there always has to be some 🚩 

he’s the first one that would do it (lying and hiding stuff) to ensure you’re okay and don’t get worried

on a particularly overwhelming day, he will raise his voice at you

can get really overprotective 

some days you may not hear from him, or at least not much

will sometimes struggle to open up about his issues or what’s upsetting him

△ during the games

after your sudden disappearance, worry and fear ate him up

while checking your house he found a weird card

and once he discovered the exact same one at his brother’s, he knew something was going on

heard gi-hun at the police station rambling about some weird symbols and immediately recognized the design

interrogated him about you, desperate to know about your whereabouts 

as soon as he successfully infiltrated the games, he began your search

almost had a heart attack when he spotted you

had to make the effort of his life to stay calm and not run to you

would somehow manage to get you two alone so he can get you out of there (i’ll write about this soon)

almost gets caught

feels betrayed you didn’t tell him and quite angry you’d risk your own life like this

but mostly relieved you’re okay (and still alive)

watches you like a hawk from the distance, ensuring your safety

constantly around, you continuously sense his presence close by 

□ post-games (you died)

had to see your death and practically went numb

blurry vision, ringing in his ears, shortness of breath, sting in his throat

the worst thing tho, was finding out his brother had been behind everything

how could he have done this to you? you trusted him! 

feels completely disgusted

after his coma, he blames himself for everything

your name was his first word after waking up

dreams about you 

gets you a cenotaph given that your body will forever remain strayed

nevertheless, he still talks to you like you’re there

tells you about his recovery and his progress finding the island

you are his strongest motivation

he’s doing this for you, to provide the love of his life a much deserving peaceful rest

gets you new flowers every few days

he’ll never stop feeling guilty

〇 post-games (you survived)

has nightmares he failed and left you to meet your demise on those cursed games

always there when you have them, and so is his shoulder if you need to cry

reassurance king

hides the identity of his attacker from you

becomes even more overprotective

shared location on at all times

gets paranoid if you don’t text him all day

he swore to never miss a single detail of your possible struggles. not again

you can still tell he holds himself responsible for your time on that island

stays awake at night just watching you sleep safe and sound (will never say it tho)

babies you

bigger spoon

doesn’t let you go out on your own if it’s late, afraid that something may happen and those psychopaths will reach you again

[eowynstwin]

i’m drooling at ur older bf price (not much else to say except when/if u ever have more thots abt him please share 🙏)

previous

You curl in on yourself after sex, sometimes. It’s a pattern Price has noticed—you’ll finish, then he will, and in the humid moments after, the shutters in your eyes will close. You won’t meet his gaze.

He’s only asked once about it, and it had been so clear that the question disturbed you that he hadn’t pressed. You’d tell him, he reasoned, when you were ready—

(And he could nudge you in that direction in the meanwhile.)

The sink is put back together, cabinet door closed. Your sundress is wrapped and twisted around your midsection, naked breasts wet with his saliva and compressed against his chest as you lay panting on top of him. His shirt is in some far-off corner, thrown aside, and his jeans are around his knees.

“That was nice,” he murmurs in your ear, kissing your hair. He makes a home for his fingertips between your shoulder blades, walking the trail of your spine, up and down, slow as a tide.

“Mm-hm,” you say, out at sea. Far away.

He can’t deny that it disappoints him. But it isn’t about him, and he shouldn’t make it so. Even if it is about him, it isn’t actually about him—it’s about something else that has attached itself to him. Things are like that more often than not—deeper, older problems with hooks, the barbed kind that sink in and cling and won’t come out of their own accord.

So he keeps kissing your hair, and he keeps stroking your back. His softened cock hasn’t slipped from you yet, and he makes no move to dislodge it. You nestle closer to him; shift your body over his, a little, just for the feeling of it. He waits for the sigh—the long, steady breath you take after the act, after you’ve found yourself again in wherever it is you go after moments like this.

“This is probably weird to talk about after sex,” you say, and Price’s ears perk up.

“Nothing weird between us, dove,” he encourages. “What’s on your mind?”

You play with his chest hair a little, twirling it around with the manicured ends of your nails. (A manicure he happily paid for.)

“You’re the first man who’s ever given a damn about me,” you mumble into his neck.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says honestly. He kisses you again, because he wants to, and because he wants it to comfort you.

“You don’t make me feel stupid for not being able to do stuff on my own,” you continue. “My step—my mom’s husband. He used to make fun of me for, for getting confused about changing my car’s oil. Or he’d get annoyed at me. Or I’d need him to change my tires because I can’t do it on my own, and I’d call him for help, and he wouldn’t pick up the phone.”

“He sounds like a piece of work,” Price comments.

A younger version of himself would have offered to beat the shit out of the asshole. That self’s anger on your behalf sits radioactive in his chest even now—corrosive, roiling, righteous fury, ready to carve your name on whatever offal is left over after Price gets through with him.

But that would be for his own ego, not for you. That has no place here.

“Do you know—” and your voice breaks a little, “do you know how bad it feels when a man who’s supposed to look out for you treats you like you’re an idiot? Like you’re not smart enough to be worth helping?”

“Some,” he says. “It’s an awful feeling. I wish you didn’t know how it felt, dove. I’m sorry.”

He feels something warm and wet drip onto his chest, and your shoulders begin to shake.

It’s not the full-body, wracking cry of catharsis. Just an episode of something longer, something tired. A problem dealt with, over and over again—a wound that reopens sometimes, if it’s pulled the wrong way.

Price gathers you closer, wraps his arms around you tighter. He cups the back of your neck with one hand and murmurs “shhh” into your hair, soothing and quiet, squeezing you against him.

“I’m okay,” you say, a little watery. “Really, I am.”

“I know you are,” he says.

He tilts your face toward his, and kisses the center of your forehead. You meet his eyes with your own, wide and glistening with your tears.

“I’m always gonna help you, dove,” he promises, catching one that falls with the edge of his thumb. “And you can always ask.”

-

No I don’t have daddy issues why do you ask

[luveline]

i NEED anything with glasses reid or munch reid i’m literally frothing at the mouth 🙏

ty for ur request :D fem!reader

"Emily," you say weakly. "What is that?" 

Emily looks up from her desk, clearly desperate for a distraction, the lip of her coffee mug against painted lips. "What's what?" 

"That." You point. You feel sick to your stomach. "That right there." 

"Oh," Emily says happily. "You finally noticed. Yeah, Spence forgot to renew his contact prescription. He has to wear glasses for two weeks." 

Spencer stands by the photocopier with a perturbed frown, clicking a button, then another. His brow is furrowed and his hair is falling into his eyes. He has the stupidest, dorkiest, prettiest face, and practically every expression he makes has you weak in the knees.

"That long?" you ask. 

Derek looks up in concern at your pained tone, following the line of your eyes. When he realises what it is that's hurt you so, he skirts around the desk to shake your shoulder. "You could always tell him how you feel. I'm sure he'd keep the lenses forever if he knew you liked them." 

"I don't like them," you say. You sound faraway to your own ears. You hate them. They're gonna be your demise. 

Spencer runs a fingertip across the photocopier's screen, in his own world as the machine finally begins to chug out whatever it is he'd been wanting a duplicate of. The frames of his glasses sit snug on his nose. You can tell from even this distance that the lenses make his eyes look a tiny bit smaller. You could probably point out a misplaced freckle if he asked you to.

"Don't be cruel, he looks cute," Emily teases. 

Spencer collects his papers, shuffling them into a straight line as he makes his way back to the bullpen. You pretend to take interest in Emily's things. She sips her coffee too nonchalantly. Derek doesn't even bother pretending. 

"What?" Spencer asks, swift to spot your suspicious behaviours. "Is it the glasses?" 

You wince. "Of course not. You look… you look really nice, Spence." 

"You know he used to wear 'em every day?" Derek asks.

You would've died. "Before I joined?" 

"For a few years," Spencer says, looking you over. "You're unhappy. Is something wrong?" 

He looks to Derek and Emily for confirmation. Emily stutters for an answer while Derek laughs in the background, "She– you know. She just– She missed breakfast!" 

Spencer pushes his glasses up his nose by the leg and drops his copies onto the desk. "I have dried apricot in my bag. Two seconds." 

He bends over his chair to retrieve his bag from under the desk. Your eyes blow wide at his position, the sudden demonstration of well-fitted pants. Derek's laugh echoes up to the eaves. 

"And he has that twenty four seven," Emily says against the rim of her coffee. 

You scrunch your eyes closed and tilt your head back. After a few seconds, a hand touches your elbow gently, a hesitance that comes with only one member of the BAU. "You okay?" Spencer asks. 

"I'm okay. Headache," you lie. 

Spencer presses the apricot into your hands. "Maybe you should see an optician. You know they can tell if you have a brain tumour from one photo of your sclera?" He smiles morbidly, his glasses slipping down his nose. "They measure the size of your optic disk. It takes less than a minute. I can give you the name of my doctor, if you want. She's nice. Not as nice as you." 

Your throat is so dry you can't form words to answer him. He doesn't judge your rigid nodding. 

"I'll write down the number for you. And, Y/N?" 

"Yeah?" you choke out. 

"You look really nice today, too." 

Emily has to kick you in the leg to bring you back to earth. Stupid Spencer. Stupid lovely glasses. 

[fxstpace]

nice boys don’t kiss like that

summary: when your former rival chances upon your diary and reads all the unpleasant things you’ve written about him, he takes it upon himself to change your mind.

⇢ pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader ⇢ genres: fluff, developing relationship au, rivals to lovers au, pining, kind of suggestive? idk ⇢ word count: 3.3k ⇢ warnings: profanity, making out ⇢ a/n: inspired by this scene from bridget jones’s diary. reposted from my old account.

It is on a twilit Saturday evening, at precisely 7:01 P.M, that Kim Mingyu is accosted by a notebook for the first time in his life.

He lets out a startled grunt and finds himself with an armful of things—a denim jacket, a crumpled grocery shopping list, an empty box of Tic Tacs, a woollen beanie with a questionable brown stain he thinks is ketchup; all presumably from whatever depths of your drawer he can see you hunched over, searching for something that remains stubbornly elusive. The offensive projectile whizzes past his shoulder and lands on the polished wooden floor with a thud.

Mingyu stands at the doorway to your bedroom, having bypassed the living room and hallway that leads to the kitchen in favour of pressing heated kisses to your cheeks and collarbones. He watches you, bemused. A few weeks ago, he might’ve laughed at your frazzled state with derision. Now, he still wants to laugh, but more in an affectionate way.

You turn around swiftly, nearly tripping on a stray stocking on the floor, and he bites back a smile when you mumble a string of curse words under your breath. 

“Hi,” you say, breathing heavily. “I’m really sorry.”

Then you slam the door shut on his face.

Well, Mingyu thinks. This is the first time a girl’s closed the door when I’m in her apartment.

Faced with nothing else to do except wait for your arrival, he drops the Tic Tac box on the floor, hangs your jacket and beanie on the back of the sofa, and almost stubs his toe on the corner of the notebook.

Wincing at the close call, Mingyu glares at the book like it’s the cause of all his troubles. DIARY, it reads, embossed in ornate gold letters. The cover is a rich shade of red, rough and leather-bound. He picks it up; it’s rather heavy, and judging by the frayed corners and the random bits of paper poking out of the sides, it seems to be quite old too. Regardless, it is well-cherished—he knows this because he knows you, and you’re the kind of person who wears your heart on your sleeve.

Which is why he knows opening it is a bad idea. 

Mingyu shrugs and places the book on the coffee table, taking a seat on the plush, olive green sofa opposite it. He leans his elbows on his knees and interlaces his fingers under his chin. From the inside of your room, he can hear muffled screaming—should he be worried? The screaming stops. Mingyu lets his tense shoulders relax.

His eyes zero in on your diary once more. He shouldn’t open it—he really, really shouldn’t. It would be a horrible breach of your privacy. Your trust in him would be broken forever, and even if he somehow manages to win it back, it will always be a stain in the fabric of your still-developing relationship.

But.

One tiny peek can’t hurt, right? He’s only waiting for you to come out of your room, after all. Just one little look, and then he’ll close the book immediately. It can’t possibly hurt. Curiosity is both a blessing and a vice, he figures, and since he’s already stacked up on vices, there is no harm in adding to his karmic points.

So he picks up your diary and flips to a random page, freezing momentarily when he hears an irritated grunt and the sound of something hitting the floor from inside your room. Your handwriting is a lot messier than it usually is; you probably save your best penmanship for official things, and your personal diary is not one of them. That, or you were just frustrated.

12th June I fucking hate Kim Mingyu. I hope I never have to see him and his stupid handsome obnoxious face EVER AGAIN. I’m so DONE with him.

Mingyu’s cheeks prickle with heat. He’s thoroughly invested now. He turns to another page.

14th June Ran into KMG again today. He spilled coffee all over me what else is new but. he actually apologised!!! Crazy. Maybe he was just in a good mood. Either way, my new blouse is ruined so fuck him.

The strangest thing is that Mingyu actually remembers that day vividly. You were wearing a gorgeous cream-coloured blouse, and he was so caught up in staring at you talking animatedly with your supervisor that he zoned out completely and accidentally spilled his coffee on you because he tripped over his shoelaces. Now, knowing that your blouse was new at the time brings up a slight twinge of guilt. He’ll ask you about it later.

22nd June KMG is actually…… kinda nice? He supported me in the meeting today with the clients when they were being so tiresome. He has a nice smile I guess.

Mingyu smiles widely. 

23rd June Nevermind. I take back everything I said. Kim Mingyu is a prat with zero social skills. I mean, would it kill him to say hello back??? I get that he’s busy but i thought we’d made progress. One thing is for sure. Kim Mingyu is NOT nice. Not even a little bit.

His smile falters.

The next page contains a similar anecdote—something about how he always vehemently disagrees with everything you say, and how despite his good looks he was a complete and utter asshole. Further investigation reveals the same thing: you hate Kim Mingyu with a burning passion.

And… Well, he couldn’t lie and say the feeling wasn’t mutual at one point in time—but it has mellowed down since then, gently and slowly, like a fallen leaf being carried by a soft wind. There came a day where Mingyu found himself glaring at you, not with disdain in his eyes, but with a steady thrum in his chest where his heart lay. Later, he would realise that he didn’t hate you—not even a little bit.

He assumed you felt the same way. Why else would your smirks, so full of malice, melt into grins that could light up a whole town? Why else would you agree to go on a date with him when he asked you out, one day, after work, tripping over his words like an elementary schoolboy? Why else would you invite him home and ask him to spend the night?

Of course, it doesn’t explain why you’ve locked yourself up in your bedroom currently (frankly, he’s a bit befuddled about that). But the sentiment must still be there.

It’s a diary, he reasons. 

It’s your diary, his brain screams back, and that’s the real issue here, isn’t it?

Diaries are full of crap, anyway, he thinks to himself.

Diaries contain the Real Thoughts And Emotions of a human being, his brain hollers back.

Mind swirling, Mingyu closes the book and places it back on the coffee table, barely aware of his movements. Have you been lying to him? No, there’s absolutely no way—he trusts you far more than that, and besides, what would you even lie to him about? There are no benefits to stringing him along, and you’re not the kind of person who would do something like that, anyway.

You must have had a change of heart, then. That’s the only conclusion he can think of. Your diary entries come to a standstill after 27th June, which means you haven’t opened it in a while. It’s also around the same time you stopped picking fights with each other. Something must have changed by then; Mingyu is glad it did.

Satisfied with his deduction, Mingyu stuffs his hands in his pockets and crosses his ankles together. Behind your bedroom door, you remain suspiciously silent. He considers knocking on the door once to make sure you’re okay—or if you need any help, because staying put inside your room for over twenty minutes is certainly not normal when you have a guest and potential boyfriend over. 

Almost as if you’ve heard his thoughts, the door to your room swings open. You stand at the doorway, breathing heavily.

“Hey,” Mingyu says, quickly standing up. “Everything good?”

You beam at him. “Perfect. Sorry to have kept you waiting, I—”

Your gaze drops to the coffee table, landing on your diary. Mingyu keeps his gaze fixed on you. You look back at him, lips parted. 

“Um,” you begin. “It’s— It’s just a diary.”

“Clearly.” Mingyu fights back a smile.

You chew your bottom lip nervously. “Did you read it?”

“I did,” he confirms, nodding. “I’m sorry. I was just curious—”

You groan, lifting your hands and covering your face with your palms. “Fuck.”

Mingyu reaches out and encircles your wrists with his fingers, gently tugging your hands away from your face. He finds it oddly endearing. “It’s only a diary. I’m sorry I read it. I shouldn’t have.”

“I don’t care about that. You�� you probably read all the horrible, mean things I wrote about you.”

“Well,” he says, shrugging a little, “some of the entries were definitely… interesting.”

You blink. Unable to help himself, Mingyu drops a light kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” you tell him.

“Mhm.”

“I’m serious.”

“Mhm.”

“Mingyu.”

“I’ll tell you what I think about your diary later, ‘kay?” he says, hooking his pinkie finger with yours. “Come with me.”

“What? Where?” Confusion paints your features.

Mingyu huffs out a laugh. “Just trust me.”

Mingyu places the brand-new diary he’d bought for you on the dining table with a flourish. “D’you have a pen?”

You eye him suspiciously, gaze darting between him and the new, dark green notebook on the table. He grins, carefree and indulgent. Still wary, you hand him a blue ballpoint pen from the pen stand placed above the drawers to the left. He hums and uncaps it.

Flipping open the book to the first page, he bends down and writes slowly.

This book belongs to Kim Mingyu and

Mingyu stops writing and holds the pen out expectantly to you. “Here. Write your name.”

Confused, but curious, you oblige. Your name, written in your handwriting, next to his own semi-legible scrawl, makes a warm, affectionate feeling bubble up inside his chest. He wonders what it would look like when both your names are signed next to each other on a marriage certificate. Then, he wonders when and where your wedding would take place. A summer wedding sounds nice, but the sweltering heat might be a bit of a problem. Winter weddings are beautiful for sure, but neither of you is a big fan of the cold.

He’s in the process of thinking of names for your children and pet dog when you break him out of his daze. 

“Hey. What’s all this about, hm?” You nudge his shoulder lightly with yours.

Mingyu says, “It’s a diary, but for both of us.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. He swings an arm over your shoulder and draws you closer to him, smiling when flyaway strands of your hair tickle his cheek. 

“In your old diary, it was pretty obvious you, uh, didn’t like me much,” he explains, holding up his free hand when you open your mouth to protest. “I don’t blame you. We were assholes to each other most of the time. But we’ve moved past that. At least, I hope we have.”

Your reply is instantaneous. “Of course. Of course, we have.”

Mingyu trails his fingers absent-mindedly over your arm. “Right. And… It’s kind of silly, I guess—I don’t know—but I thought—if we kept a new diary together, one that we could use to document our journey, with both our perspectives in the same place—I thought it would be nice.”

Your mouth parts and you look at him, an indiscernible expression on your face. He shifts from one foot to the other, feeling suddenly nervous. You don’t betray any hint of emotion on your face, but Mingyu’s heart hammers inside his chest. What if you think he’s being silly and overly sentimental? What if you find the idea ridiculous?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he quickly backtracks. “I know we’ve only just moved past the idea of being more than friends, but—” He stops himself.

“But…?” you gently prompt him, twisting around to see him better.

Mingyu swallows. “But I can’t imagine not being with you.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, and in the next moment, the breath is knocked out of his lungs when you throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for a tight, rib-squeezing hug.  Automatically, his arms circle your waist, and he presses a light, barely-there kiss to the junction of your neck and jaw. 

Eyes shining happily, you pull back slightly with a wide grin on your face. “You’re so hopelessly romantic, it makes my chest hurt.”

“Consider this your trial run. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He sighs, content. “Okay, I won’t.”

“What should our first diary entry be about?” you ask, loosening your hold on him.

“About how you ditched me inside your house for almost half an hour after you invited me over.” He’s only half-joking.

You look away, embarrassed and sheepish. “I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“I’m being serious, Mingyu.”

“So you’ve said,” he agrees breezily.

“Actually,” you begin, a tad shy, “I was thinking it could be about this—about how you bought us a diary and then kissed me in front of the dining table after we christened the book.”

Mingyu’s eyes widen, but before he can get a word in edgewise, your lips are already centimetres away from his. “May I?” you whisper.

“Yeah. ‘Course,” he murmurs back.

The kiss makes him feel dizzy, like he’s had one too many bottles of soda—fizzy and light-headed. Your lips are soft, mouth warm; you taste like chocolate, and he licks into your mouth desperately. His fingers dig into your waist, bunching up the material of your t-shirt, and you run your hand through his hair, tugging gently. He’s kissed you before, of course, but something about this time feels important, a core memory sort of thing. Later that night, he’ll sit beside you on your bed and watch as you write in your shared diary, and he’ll make fun of the way you chew on your pen cap when you’re thinking of what to write next and you’ll shut him up with a kiss.

But for now, he indulges himself whole-heartedly. You let out little gasps which he swallows with his mouth. He tilts his head and kisses you deeper. Only when his lungs are burning does he pull away, and even then, not without a parting peck to the space in between your eyebrows.

“Mingyu,” you say, breathless. 

“Yeah?” he responds, unable to tear his gaze off of your kiss-bitten lips.

“I really am sorry about what I wrote about you,” you apologise, looking down once and then back at him. “It’s only a diary—everyone knows diaries are full of crap.”

“I know.” Mingyu smiles tenderly. “I’m not mad.”

“You should be. I would be, if I was in your place.”

His eyes dart back to meet yours, and he grimaces. “If you really think about it, I’m the one who should be apologising, not you. I shouldn’t have read your diary, no matter how curious I was.”

“I… don’t really care about that, weirdly enough,” you say thoughtfully. “I was more worried about the fact that you thought I hated you and you were gonna leave me. Not so much about you reading the diary itself.”

“Pfft,” Mingyu says, affectionately condescending. “If I left you, where would I go?”

Your mouth parts as you stare at him, dumbfounded. “Jesus. How do you say things like that unironically?”

“I could compose whole sonnets about you and it wouldn’t be enough.”

“That’s ironic, I hope.”

He tilts his head and pulls you close. “Only one way to find out.”

When he captures your lips with his this time, it’s with colliding bodies and biting teeth. He runs his tongue across your bottom lip, and you shudder in his arms, moaning. Somehow, you stumble back into the living room, a mess of tangled limbs.

Briefly pulling away, Mingyu sits down on the same sofa he’d occupied earlier and clumsily pulls you onto his lap. You brace your hands on his shoulders for support, lifting your head up when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw.

“Fuck, Mingyu,” you gasp, eyes falling shut.

He hums against your skin. “Tell me what you were doing in your room for so long.”

“I was—ah—it’s embarrassing.”

Mingyu stops his movements. “I won’t judge you.”

“I know,” you say, teeth worrying your lower lip. “I’ll tell you someday.”

When you purse your lips, ready for him to kiss you again, Mingyu lets out a soft laugh. “Sweetheart.”

“What?” 

“I think I need to correct some of your… perceptions of me,” he murmurs, rubbing his hands up and down your back.

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

“I’m sorry about your blouse,” he whispers. “You looked really pretty wearing it, you know. Got distracted. Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“Mingyu, I don’t know what you’re talking—” You gasp when he kisses the column of your throat.

“I’m sorry for being obnoxious,” he continues, lowering his head and pressing his lips to the pulse point on your neck. “But I’m not sorry you think I’m handsome.”

“Only your face,” you mutter, but you tug on his hair to get him to tilt his head up. When he does, you kiss him again, your hands warm and placed on the junctions where his neck meets his shoulders. 

“I’ll support you in more than just meetings,” he says, pulling back. His breath ghosts over your lips, prompting a shiver to pass through your body. Your eyes widen when you finally, finally realise what he’s talking about. “I’ll tell those stupid clients to shut up and take it.”

You laugh, bright and happy, and Mingyu wants to bottle the sound up greedily. “That sounds kinda wrong,” you say.

He shrugs, his smile turning lopsided. “I’m sorry for ignoring you when you said hi to me. I won’t do it ever again.”

You laugh again, teeth flashing in the warm glow of the living room lights.

There’s an odd feeling in Mingyu’s chest—something warm and golden—something he can only describe as being terribly, hopelessly lovesick for you.

He whispers your name again, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Tell me what you were doing in your room for so long.”

You groan again, your previous amusement turning into embarrassment. Your next words are muffled by his shoulder, your lips warm against his clavicle as you mumble something only you can understand.

“What’s that? I couldn’t hear you,” Mingyu says mischievously.

 Another sound of mortification.

“I won’t laugh,” he says. “Promise.”

“Underwear,” you mumble, just loud enough for him to hear. “I was searching for a better pair of underwear than the one I had on.”

To his credit, Mingyu really doesn’t laugh. It takes a lot of effort, though, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent his giggles from escaping. 

You lean back and narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, go on. I know you’re dying to laugh.”

He shakes his head, cheeks blown out like a pufferfish. You stare at him quietly.

Minutes later, he exhales shakily. “See? I didn’t laugh. I’m a nice guy.”

His lips find yours again, slower and more languorous this time. After all, he has all the time in the world now—to hold you like this, kiss you gently—and he plans to cherish each second. Your tongue swipes his lower lip, and he parts his mouth willingly. He feels like putty underneath you, as he uses one of his hands to cup your face and deepen the kiss. Your lips move against his, already familiar, but he could never stop craving it.

When you pull back to breathe, your eyes are wide and your lips are swollen—a fact that Mingyu notes with pride.

“Nice boys don’t kiss like that,” you breathe out.

“Oh, yes, they fucking do.”

[itsalwaysdark]

i do need 2 work on rewiring my brain so that my immediate very first thought whenever i dont do a small task (like brushing ny teeth taking a shower picking up my room etc) isnt 'We Should Kill Connor ." this would be pretty good for me to do. putting this on the list

[strcwbrryklss]

Could u do a fic similar to ur mustang fic, but the storyline being she moves next to him and her brother and him get close cos her mum begins to become friends with his mum so she has to come over a lot and ends up being obsessed with him

୨୧﹕ privacy .ᐟ oneshot

pairing ; au!nicholas chavez x fem!reader contains ; 80s alternate universe , brother’s best friend , tension. a/n ; 1980s alternate universe where nicholas is a rich kid. summary ; after y/n’s family moves house, her neighbour (and brother’s best friend) catches her eye.

THERE’S SOMETHING SO attractive about a man who is forbidden. maybe it’s the fantasy of it: the yearning for something that is just out of reach. it’s almost as if you’re looking at him through a glass wall, but all you can do is look.

y/n laid on her bed in front of her window, looking into the house next door. coincidentally, nicholas’ bedroom window was opposite her’s. she wasn’t sure he realised yet, but she sure did, and the lack of curtains on his end didn’t help.

she’d glance outside her window for a moment sometimes and be met with the sight of him and a girl, a different one every time. and it’s not that y/n was nosey, but what type of jerk brings a new girl home every other day?

whatever, it was none of her business. her fingers absentmindedly twisted a strand of hair as her mind wandered. suddenly, the shrill ring of the house phone cut through the peaceful haze of her afternoon. she groaned, tossing the magazine aside, and reluctantly swung her legs over the edge of the bed. It was always a race to answer the phone before someone else picked up or, worse, before the answering machine clicked on. downstairs, she heard it ring again, and she bolted for the hallway.

her feet hit the marble steps, carefully rushing down them in order to not slip (trust me, she’s learned her lesson) as she took them two at a time, and she reached for the phone just as it rang a third time. the long, coiled cord dangled like a snake as she brought the heavy receiver to her ear.

“hello?” she sighed.

“hey, y/n, it's me,” her brother's voice crackled through the line.

the girl rolled her eyes. he had been out all day, probably hanging out with his basketball friends from down the street. “what do you want?”

“i, uh... i left my watch at the chavez'.”

“okay?” she leaned against the doorframe, already regretting picking up the call.

“in the bathroom,” he added sheepishly. “i kinda need you to go get it for me.”

y/n rolled her eyes. “you want me to go to the neighbors' house and ask them for your stupid watch?”

“please?” he sounded desperate. “mom’s gonna freak if she finds out i lost it again. it’s the one grandma got me, remember?”

y/n sighed dramatically, twisting the cord around her fingers. she hated doing her brother’s errands. “why don't you go get it?”

“i'm, uh, not really around right now.”

“not around?” she scowled, though she knew he couldn't see it. “what, are you in another dimension or something?”

“i'm at the arcade,” her brother admitted. “and i can’t leave right now i’m with someone”

y/n gasped jokingly before mocking him, “you’ve got a girlfriend, you’ve got a girlfri-”

“shut up” he responded.

“why don’t you ask nick?” she moved on.

“if i call their phone his mom might pick up and i’ll have to explain and then she might tell-” he rambled before being cut off by the annoyed groan of his sister.

she could practically hear the grin on his face, knowing he'd dodged responsibility again. she thought about arguing but decided it wasn't worth the effort. “fine,” she huffed. “but you owe me.”

“alright, thanks bye!” her brother said quickly, relief flooding his voice before quickly hanging up on her.

with that, she made her way across the manicured lawns toward nick’s place. his family’s house, a massive mediterranean-style mansion, was just a short walk away. she’d been over a few times for pool parties and get-togethers, but it was always when his parents were throwing some lavish event. now, though, it was quiet, and she wasn’t sure if anyone was even home.

the front door was open slightly, and y/n knocked, stepping into the cool air-conditioned hallway when there was no answer.

“nicholas?” she called out, but was greeted by silence, except for the distant hum of music playing from somewhere upstairs.

the girl figured he must be in his room or something, so she headed up the grand staircase, walking down the hallway towards the bathroom her brother had mentioned. the marble floors were cool beneath her feet, and the whole house had that expensive, freshly cleaned smell that only rich homes seemed to have. don’t get me wrong, y/n was rich, but not this rich.

as she reached the bathroom, the door was slightly ajar, steam seeping out into the hallway. before she could knock, the door opened, and there stood nick, freshly out of the shower, a towel hanging loosely around his waist, his skin still glistening with water droplets.

y/n froze.

his eyes widened, clearly just as surprised to see her. his hair was damp, hanging messily over his forehead, and the sight of him standing there, looking every bit like a golden god, left y/n momentarily speechless.

“y/n?” he said, his voice smooth but amused. “what are you doing here?”

she swallowed, trying to find her voice. “um, my brother… he left his watch here earlier. i came to get it.”

nick chuckled, leaning against the doorframe, his towel shifting dangerously low on his hips, revealing his very noticeable v-line. “ah, the infamous watch.” he nodded back toward the counter inside the bathroom. “it’s right there.”

she glanced past him and spotted the watch sitting next to the sink. but her eyes didn’t stay on the watch for long, not with nicholas standing right in front of her like that, all muscles and damp skin. she could feel her cheeks heating up, and she hoped he didn’t notice.

“thanks,” she mumbled, stepping forward to grab it, but not before catching the faint scent of his aftershave. it was intoxicating.

just as she reached for the watch, he shifted, his arm brushing against hers. she couldn’t help but look up, meeting his eyes, which were gleaming with that signature smirk of his.

“you know,” he said, his voice low, “you didn’t have to come all the way over here for that. i could’ve brought it over later.”

her heart was racing now, and she tried to play it cool. “i didn’t want to bother you”

nick raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “bother me? y/n, you’re never a bother, you’re my best friend’s sister after all.” his gaze lingered on her for a moment, the air between them thick with tension.

she quickly snatched the watch off the counter, stepping back. “well, i’ve got it now, so I’ll just…go.”

the boy chuckled, taking a step forward, his eyes never leaving hers. “you don’t have to rush off. why don’t you hang out for a bit? i was about to make some food, and i could use some company.”

she hesitated, the idea of staying here, alone with nick, both thrilling and terrifying. the way he was looking at her — like she was the only thing in the room that mattered — made it hard to think straight.

“i don’t know,” she said, biting her lip.

he grinned, stepping even closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “come on, y/n. stay.”

it wasn’t really a question.

and before she could talk herself out of it, she nodded.