#wine drunk posting whoops

[breadvidence]

#has any adaptation delved into this parallel between eponine and javert? #genuine question#cause it's such an interesting thing to explore #javert #eponine

It's not just you, now I'm here too.

2. To answer the question in the tags: off the top of my head, no adaptation I've seen (and this is not something I've seen drawn out in the many-headed adaptation that is fanfic, either; someone should fix that. someone who is deeply invested in the Javert & Éponine parallels and writes excellent Brick-centric fic. hmm). I would say '72 Éponine would be most primed for this—simply because she's present and fucked-up and her own person in a way that most adaptations don't bother with (weirdly '58 has a well fleshed-out Éponine, but she's—girlish? in a way that is not commensurate with dog-child-of-a-wolf; no parallel there); unfortunately '72 has a very un-fleshy Javert and I don't think there's a connection. From my own notes Nivette in '25 impressed me, when I inevitably rewatch I'll try to take note and see if simply by its attempt to be loyal to the Brick it draws out some of that energy (though Toulout, despite in so many ways being a very book-loyal Javert, is a little too much a gentleman—IMO—and a lot of the parallel with Éponine happens in the space where he's failing to meet his own aspirations, or is in a history that doesn't get delved into).

I am most of a bottle down and might be talking nonsense, but if you were to play Hermine Karagheuz against Terrence Mann I feel like you'd have an Éponine and Javert who would vibe.

Speaking of the Javert-Eponine parallels—- another thing I’m bitter about in the 2012 film is the way they completely missed all the potential of “On My Own.”

Eponine is singing about the Seine, about the lights that are “misty in the river,” in a song that is meant to echo her book monologues about longing to drown herself. The 2012 film spends all its time on closeups of Samantha Barks being sad on one street, but! Like! We could have had shots of the river; of the lights and the reflections in the water of the Seine; we could have part of it take place on the bridge where Javert will later kill himself. It could have been the perfect opportunity to bring the weird Javert-Eponine parallels from the book into the musical’s universe, if only through visuals—- but they squandered it.

I mentioned before that one of the core parts of the Javert-Eponine thing is that they “trade deaths”— book!Eponine repeatedly talks about wanting to drown herself in the Seine but is eventually shot at the barricades, while Javert plans to be shot at the barricades but eventually drowns himself in the Seine.

In On My Own, Eponine is watching the lights in the river, and singing despairingly and suicidally about a world she can never belong to.

Her song ends

Without me, his world will go on turning/A world that’s full of happiness that I have never known

And Javert’s song ends

I’ll escape now from that world/from the world of Jean Valjean

And anyway! I just think that’s neat. I think we should’ve used Eponine’s song to set up the drowning motif and bring in that weird ambiguous character foil relationship she has with Javert in the book. But that’s just me

[badgerbl00d]

first dates with the one piece boys

☆ characters: shanks, crocodile

☆ up next: taking an aphrodisiac w/ one piece boys ft. ace, kidd, and law

☆ summary: first dates with shanks and crocodile, crocodile is kind of as asshole but he's whipped so like it's cute..., suggestive content

☆ a/n: i'm back! i'll try to post something else this week but uni is kicking my ass :p requests are open!

☆ 18+, mdni

shanks:

“Ready, sweetheart?”

You blushed, nodding as you tried to ignore the cheers and whoops that erupted from the rest of the crew on board.

Shanks shot a look over his shoulder and you were rewarded with immediate silence. 

He placed a hand on the small of your back and gently guided you alongside him onto the island. 

“Use protection!” someone called out. Definitely Yasopp. 

“Ignore ‘em,” Shanks said. 

“So you don’t wanna use protection?”

Shanks shot you a look, surprised at your quip, “No! Yes! I mean- well, no… We don’t have to y’know- Whatever you want to do ....”

“Very smooth, Captain.” 

He laughed, bringing you toward him, and placed a rough kiss on the top of your head. 

“Ya make me nervous, what can I say?”

Your chest contracted at this confession. You felt an embarrassing amount of pride watching him rendered so uncharacteristically bashful from your words. 

You slipped your hand into his, giving him a soft squeeze, “Just cause this is a date doesn’t mean anything changes between us.”

“Well, we might kiss. And according to you we might fu-”

“Shanks.”

He laughed, louder this time, “Sorry, sorry. I think you’ll like where I’m taking you.” 

There was a cool breeze making its way over both of you, giving you temporary reprieve from the summertime warmth the city was buzzing with. Overgrown trees and flower bushes poured into the lamp-lit streets. 

You talked with each other, never a dull moment between the two of you, as you walked toward wherever Shanks was planning on taking you. 

By the time you stopped walking, you’d made it to a much more empty part of town.

Shanks pointed to a sign on the corner, ‘Happy Hour 8 p.m. - 10 p.m.’

“A bar,” you mused, playfully rolling your eyes at him, “How surprising.”

He smiled and tugged at the strap of your dress, “Tsk, tsk. So impatient.”

He led you into the dinghy building, the wooden door damaged from what you imagined was years of drunk patrons spilling their drinks over themselves and their surroundings.  The inside was dusty and it looked as though no one had used it for years. 

“Your usual, honey?” Shanks asked, approaching the bar. 

“Please.” 

He smiled at you, “Yes, captain.”

God, he was handsome.

You watched Shanks ordering your drinks from where you stood, looking at his face through the mirror behind the bartender. You pressed your thighs together as a familiar pulsing sensation began coursing through your lower half. You accepted long before this date that it was beyond your control- he was just so handsome. He ran a hand through his hair, winking at you in the mirror. You blew him a kiss and though you couldn’t be sure in the dim light a pale blush seemed to spread over his features. 

“One martini please, with three olives. And a Gin and Glamour.” 

You shot him a look, Gin? You?

“Follow me this way,” the bartender said. 

A smirk settled onto your captain’s face and he beckoned you toward him. 

The bartender opened a tall door that seemed to lead to darkness. 

“Enjoy,” he said. Curiosity had completely taken over and you led the way through the dark hallway, the faint sound of a bass being plucked echoing through, until you reached the end which was covered with a thick velvet curtain. 

You pushed through, Shanks’ hand once again finding itself on your back, though much lower this time. 

Soft, warm light lit up the room. Your eyes immediately jumped to the jazz band in the center illuminated by a red light. “… and in July, a lemonade, to cool you…,” the singer was halfway through "I Wish You Love". There were booths stationed around, with dark mahogany tables and wine-red velvet couches. Several other couples were spread through the bar, the soft buzz of background conversation filling the room. 

“Shanks,” you gasped. 

“You didn’t really think I’d take you to a shitty bar for our first date did ‘ja?” 

“I’m going to choose not to answer,” you smiled, taking his hand in yours. For a split second your attention was taken away from the room you were in and you could only focus on the feeling of your hand in his- his strength apparent even without him trying. 

“Must suck having to be the guy up front, huh?” 

You giggled and pulled him toward an empty booth with a good view of the band, “I’ll say. Though I would like that martini.”

“How ‘bout you go sit and I’ll grab it for you, sweetheart,” he said, gently patting your ass as you turned. 

With your drinks in hand, Shanks sat next to you, pulling you in closer to him. “Looks like we’re the only new couple in here,” he whispered in your ear, gesturing over toward a couple in the middle of a heated makeout session. You smiled at him, your eyes glimmering with mischief, “Hm, wanna try blending in?”

Shanks smiled, catching on to your request. You sipped your martini and bit an olive off of the toothpick that rested in the glass. 

“We’ve kissed before, y’know.”

“We have!? I think I’d remember if we had,” he returned. 

“No, no, we did,” you said, and he gave you a look that begged you to elaborate, “It was a few months back- when we did that stupid drinking contest. We were both pretty drunk, but I’d drank a lot less than you. Anyways, um, everyone had gone to bed or, I dunno, gone to find something else to do and we were left alone on deck. Unsupervised.” 

You wiggled your eyebrows at him earning a laugh. 

“I don’t remember it well, but I remember we laughed after. A lot.”

Shanks was smiling, resting his head on his hand as he gazed up on you. You averted your gaze. 

He moved quickly and by the time you realized what was happening you were already sinking into the kiss, bringing a hand up to grab the collar of his shirt, anything to stabilize yourself. 

Your heart was crawling up your throat, Shanks’ eyes were closed tight and he was clearly trying to savor every moment of the indulgent feeling of your lips against his. It warmed your heart that a man so feared on the open sea was reduced to a gentle, eager mess the moment he kissed you. 

You leaned further into him and his arms wrapped around your waist, his hands palming at your hips. His facial hair tickled and poked your face earning a head-spinning giggle from you. Shanks pulled away, his breaths short and 

“I want to tell you how long I’ve been wanting to do that but apparently this isn’t my first time kissing you,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

The jazz band had started a new tune, longer notes and the steady strum of the bass playing a rendition of Waltz for Debby,  further amplifying the intimacy between the two of you. 

“Hopefully you remember this one,” you said smirking at him, “Or do you need a more memorable one?”

“Are you asking to kiss me again? Or do you just want confirmation that you’re a good kisser?”

“I am a good kisser. Better than you, anyway.”

“HA! You don’t even come close!”

“So arrogant, Captain. But I’d love to prove you wrong,” you took another sip of your drink. 

Pinching his cheeks between your fingers you pulled him toward you, this time savoring how he tasted. The bitterness of the whiskey on his lips coated your mouth as you slipped your tongue past his. Shanks’ breathing deepened and his fingertips sunk further into your hips- you could feel where you’d find bruises tomorrow morning. You brought a hand up to softly hold his throat and he moaned-

Oh god, he moaned! 

You pulled away pupils blown and lips puffy. 

Shanks’ cheeks were deep red, a sight that had your ego swelling. 

“You know,” he started, breathless, “I think you may be right.”

You smiled and finished the rest of your drink, “Need more evidence?”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead, running a hand through your hair.

“As a matter of fact, Y/n, I do.”

It was late when you finally found your way back to the ship. Shanks’ face was covered in red blotches of your smeared lipstick and your lips were equally messy. Your dress strap was falling off of your shoulder and Shanks’ shirt was plenty unbuttoned. 

“Well,” he said, placing a kiss on the back of your hand, “Now you get to choose.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“My bed or yours?”

You laughed and wrapped your hands around his neck to bring him down for another kiss. 

“Yours.”

(whipped!)Crocodile:

“You owe me money, Croc.”

“Let me take you to dinner.” 

He reached for your hand, which you let him take. 

He pressed his lips to it and started to trail kisses up your arm until you stopped him by pushing him off you and taking a seat on his lap. 

“If I go to dinner with you will you give me my money?”

“You’ll get it either way, sweetheart. A job well done is a job well done. I just want to take you out.”

Liar, you thought. 

But still, you took a second to think about it, letting him wrap his arms around your waist and rest his head on your shoulder, kissing your collarbone. 

You were intoxicating to him, completely overwhelming all of his senses. He knew how unprofessional it was to involve himself with the assassins for hire he dealt with but this was now his eighth time working with you and though you always did a fantastic and clean job, the quality of your work wasn’t really the reason he was hiring you anymore. 

“Where would you take me?”

“Desert Point. Or anywhere you wanted, really. I’ll cook for you if you’d like.”

You shifted in his lap, letting your thighs straddle his hips, and looked up at him. 

He pulled out a cigar from his breast-pocket, which you quickly snatched from his hand, “I hate the smell.”

He put a hand up in surrender and placed the cigar back in his pocket. 

Your eyes were focused on him, looking at his lips and trailing a finger up his neck. Your lips pouted as you considered his offer and the smell of your perfume filling every nook and cranny of his office and still, it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted all of you. 

The two of you had, of course, had a handsy encounter or two and you were more than familiar with how he tasted after a long night of office work and whiskey. But, greedy and selfish as ever, the warlord wanted more. He wanted you. In the mornings in his bed, and at night by his side. 

“Alright. You can cook for me, I suppose.” 

He smiled, not even trying to fight the rare display of happiness. 

“Any requests?”

You got up from his lap, batting away his hands which tried to grab you and hold you. 

“Don’t burn anything. I’ll bring a bottle of that whiskey you like,” you said heading open the door to his office, “Tomorrow night at 7.” 

Crocodile leaned back in his chair, savoring the lingering smell of you that had been making it difficult to concentrate for the past week, and waited until the click on your heels was far enough away to call Miss All Sunday and ask that she, “Please cancel all my appointments tomorrow.”

You knew Crocodile’s apartment well, having paid a few unknown visits and a few known ones. The last time you visited was after Crocodile had begged you to stop by for a glass of wine. You ended up drinking closer to five and neither of you could remember anything the morning after. You did, however, take note of the safe in his office where, if Baroque Works intel was anything to go off of, he kept the cash he used to pay black market hires such as yourself. Tonight would be a perfect opportunity to get your money, which you suspected he had no real intention of giving you. 

Dinner had gone well and you found yourself in his office, lounging on his couch. 

A jazz record played softly in the background and you’d both taken off a few layers of clothing. The only lighting was provided by a few candles he’d lit and you sat facing each other, each several glasses of wine in. 

“Stay here for a while,” he said, softly rubbing up and down your leg which you had draped over his lap, “With me.”

“I have work, Croc.”

“I’ll hire you, full-time.”

“No offense to your…. staff, but their work is a bit beneath me.” He laughed, “Then I’ll fund your stay here. You won’t pay for anything.”

This interested you. Staying a week in the nicest apartment on the continent with Crocodile wasn’t such a terrible deal. You swished your wine around in your cup.

“Will you cook?”

“For you? Of course.”

You stared at him and pretended to pass the thought over as he kissed your neck and palmed at your ass.

“Give me a chance to convince you to stay.”

“How do you plan on doing that?”

A smirk settled on his face and he pulled you in for a kiss. 

You indulged him and deepened the kiss, letting your tongue slip past his lips. 

You giggled and sunk into his hold on you, his big hands holding you steady.

“I’ll stay, I’ll stay,” you buried your face into his chest, trying to fight the warmth in your cheeks.

The warlord squeezed you even tighter, earning a bout of laughter from you that placed a smile on his face. 

“This is bad for your image you know. You’re getting soft,” you mused, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

“I promise you I am anything but soft right now.”

“Ha. Ha.”

He wrapped a hand up into your hair, gently pulling back at the base of your neck so he had full access to your neck, and sunk his teeth in biting gently so as not to draw blood but not gently enough to avoid leaving a mark. 

Your back arched into him and you mewled at the feeling, your nails digging into his shoulder. 

He brought your head back up and kissed you.

You brought your hands up to his collar and began undoing his tie, leaving it hanging on his shoulders. 

Slowly and without interrupting the kiss, you began undoing the buttons on his shirt. Crocodile leaned back into the couch to make your job easier and began undoing his belt, which you took from him. 

Crocodile went to bring his hands back up to your neck but- they didn’t move.

He looked down and his belt was fastened around his wrists. He tried to tear it but you’d done a damn good job and he was rendered rather helpless.

You got up and, after placing a soft kiss on his forehead, made your way to the safe behind the painting on the wall. 

“You said you’d stay!”

Not that it was much of a problem for him but Crocodile preferred when things went over smoothly. 

“Did I? Hmmm,” you said, ear to the safe as you turned the dial listening for the telltale click that let you know you unlocked it, “I lied.”

Click! 

“And if I make you stay? This makeshift restraint isn’t sea prism stone.”

You laughed and turned to look at him. 

“Go ahead.”

He scoffed. You both knew well you were the last person on earth he’d ever harm. 

“I’m gonna take my money and then some as a tip, alright? I will miss you though,” you said, making sure his arms were still tied in his lap. 

He couldn’t help but smile as you turned back around to the very empty safe. 

Your stomach dropped. 

“Where is the money-” 

“Like I’d keep it here, sweetheart. Especially not with you coming over.”

“You’re a thief. And a dirty one at that.”

“I’d take more offense if it wasn’t coming from you.”

You huffed and turned to his desk where you were quickly opening and closing drawers looking for where he’d moved the money. 

“Come and finish your wine, Y/n.”

“It isn’t here, is it? You’re a liar and a thief,”

He stayed silent and gestured toward your spot on the couch, a satisfied smirk settled on his infuriatingly handsome face. 

“Crocodile…” you warned, “I think you know better than to not pay me.”

He smiled, as though daring you to continue. Or what? the expression on his face begged. 

“Stay the week with me,” he said as you approached, “Please.”

You took your seat next to him and looking down at his hands noted the very significant absence of a belt tied around them. Your heartbeat picked up as he used a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.  

“You’re good, sweetness, but I’m better.”

You sighed and let him kiss you, reluctantly leaning into his touch. 

“You’ll stay the week.”

You nodded and were upset at yourself for feeling excited at the thought. You felt like a schoolgirl holding her crush’s hand. 

“Shall we go to bed then?”

He smiled and picked you up princess-style, one arm around your waist and one under your knees.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a kiss on his cheek, “If you keep this game going you’ll end up having to marry me, you know.”

He smiled, his most sincere smile of the night. 

“Ah, wouldn’t that be terrible?” 

[glossdebut]

Take a Bite Ch. 3

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you're finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off... Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You've accepted the fact that romance isn't for you, under any circumstances. You won't risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.

✧ TAGS: slow burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, producer yoongi, music journalist reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you'll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up

✧ WARNINGS: yoongi being RICH. also... remember that eventual smut? well it's kind of here! if you wanna skip, stop reading at [Maybe you should fix that.] and then continue at [After another moment, you roll over onto your stomach...]

✧ WORDCOUNT: 3.5k

✧ STATUS: complete

✧ AUTHOR'S NOTE: hi i normally post on wednesdays but we're about to get a HURRICANE where i'm at so i'm posting early lmfao. rating goes up in this chapter whoops! not sure when chapter 4 will be posted but i'll keep you guys updated. thank you all so much for the engagement i've been receiving on this fic!!! it's my first one ever and i never expected to get so many readers so quickly <3 you guys are keeping me writing so please feel free to send me feedback if you like this chapter. i'd love to read it if i have power over the next few days LOL

Chapter 3: I Wanna Fold Clothes For You

So, you and Yoongi are friends.

Of course, seeing him three times within twenty four hours was a fluke, and over the next six days you don’t see him once, not even in passing in your shared hallway. You’re not privy to his work hours, but you know based on what little he’s told you that working as a producer demands more than the normal nine to five, as does your job.

Still, there’s something about coming home every night and knowing that you have a friend right down the hall, if you need one. You haven’t had that in a long time, and you feel so much lighter now that you do have it. 

There is, of course, an upside to not being able to see Yoongi often. Given that you’ve only just met him, you don’t have his appearance committed to memory quite yet, and mercifully, you’re beginning to forget why you were so viscerally attracted to him in the first place. 

You reason that it must’ve been the alcohol. You were getting drunk when you met him, stupidly drunk when you discovered that you’re neighbors, hungover when you shared a tangerine, and drinking from a bottomless glass of wine (courtesy of Seokjin) when you drooled over his hands for a solid ten minutes. You have yet to interact with Yoongi clear-headed and lucid. Not to mention you’re just a little bit… pent up, recently. Drunk and horny Y/N had the wheel. That has to be it. Nobody is that hot. You’re sure of that. Men ain’t special!

So you go through your week business as usual, but with a slight spring in your step, and it’s lovely. You even venture way further away from the office for your lunch hour on Friday than you normally would to go to a restaurant you’ve been dying to try. You’re usually so tied to the office that the furthest you tend to go is the convenience store down the street for the instant stuff.

And then, since the universe demands correction (or overcorrection where you’re concerned), all of the floaty goodness comes to a screeching halt when you get in your car to head back to the office. Your car which, in the past hour you’ve been blissfully stuffing your face with tteokbokki, has decided it has done its job and is ready to retire.

It just straight up won’t start.

Sitting in the parking lot of the restaurant, you go into crisis management mode.

You’re thankfully not completely clueless where cars are concerned. It comes with the territory of owning a beater. You keep up with your oil changes, you don’t leave the lights on when you get home late. You replaced your battery semi-recently, so that shouldn’t be it. Unfortunately, you don’t have much time to troubleshoot. You need to get back to work. Okay… Damage control, then.

The most obvious solution is to call one of your coworkers to come and rescue you, but your coworkers are just as notorious for being tethered within a one mile radius of the office as you are, so that would more than likely end up being a waste of time. You could find the nearest bus stop, but who knows how long public transportation could take right now? Too unpredictable. You could call your boss and tell him that you’re not going to be back to the office anytime soon (or at all today) and get your car towed and repaired. But then you would suddenly have a reputation of being unreliable, because god forbid you have a human moment. That’s straight up not an option. You’ve been doing so good this week.

You’re sure there are other options. But isn’t this what friends are for?

He answers on the fifth ring, but he answers.

“Y/N?” 

“Yoongi.” You feel your shoulders slump in relief. You try your best not to sound as panicked as you feel. “Are you busy?”

“Um. I’m at the studio,” he says, confusion in his voice. “But I have a minute. Is everything okay?” Confusion and concern? That’s nice.

“Everything’s fine!” you blurt out. “Okay, maybe not. My car won’t start! I don’t know why, but it won’t, and I need to get back to work, but you’re at work, too! I don’t even know where you work, but I doubt it’s anywhere near where I am, and even if it is, I don’t want to tear you away from anything important—”

“Y/N.”

“—I know you said you had a minute, but I really don’t want to fuck up your flow. That’s a term, right? You’re a producer, you… flow. Anyway, I just don’t really know anyone here and I didn’t know who to call, and if I don’t get back to work soon my boss is going to kill me—”

“Y/N,” he says, more firmly. Your mouth snaps shut. “Where are you?”

“In my car,” you say dumbly, frazzled.

Yoongi sighs. “Send me your location.”

“For what?”

“I’m gonna send a car to come get you and drive you to your office,” he says, and he sounds just the slightest bit exasperated about needing to explain that to you.

Send a car? What the fuck? You have so many questions, such as: how fucking loaded is the guy who lives two doors down from you in your very shitty apartment building? What label does he even work for? How famous of a producer is he to be able to send a car to you? But your immediate instinct to turn down his help wins out over asking any of them.

“What? Yoongi, no, that’s too much,” you complain. “Don’t do that. I just freaked out a little bit, I can–”

“Y/N,” he interrupts. If you’re not mistaken, it sounds a bit like he’s trying not to laugh at you. Fucker. “Location.”

So you send him your location. What other option do you have?

“You’re not far,” Yoongi says once he receives your text. A few moments pass, and then: “Car will be there in ten.”

“Thank you,” you say. You feel nauseous, like maybe you’re going to cry, but there’s also a good amount of relief there, too. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“No need,” he says. “I’d come get you myself, but I really can’t get away right now.”

“Still, there’s a comically large bottle of an alcohol of your choosing in your future. Seriously, thank you.”

His responding laugh is enough to settle your stomach just a little. “Seriously, you don’t need to pay me back…” A pause. “But for the record, I like whiskey.”

You wrinkle your nose even though he can’t see it. “Gross.”

“Don’t be a hater.”

“As long as you don’t make me drink it with you, I’ll keep my comments to myself,” you say, finding yourself smiling.

“Oh, you think I share?” Yoongi teases back. He sighs again. “I really have to go.”

“Go, go,” you say. “Thanks for saving me. Even if it’s by proxy.”

“You can always call me if you need shit like this,” he says. You can tell that he means it. “I’m glad you called me. Means I’m doing something right.”

“You are,” you say, your voice soft. Your cheeks feel warm. Probably because you’re sitting in a dead car. “Thanks.”

Yoongi hums in response. “Text me when you get back to the office safe, okay?”

“I will. Bye, Yoongi.”

And that’s that.

★ ★ ★

True to your word, you text Yoongi when the stupidly luxurious car he ordered for you drops you off at your office, only ten minutes later than you’re due back from your lunch break. You’re able to slip in without anyone noticing that you’re late at all, which is great. Crisis partially averted.

He sends back a thumbs up emoji, and then decides to drop the bomb that he intends to pay for your car to be towed.

[1:21] You: YOONGI NO

[1:21] You: you can’t do that!!!!

[1:24] Yoongi: 100% I can and will as soon as I get ten minutes to make a phone call to sort it out.

The audacity of this man.

[1:25] You: seriously i cannot ask you to do that

[1:25] You: i was just going to take the bus back to the restaurant after work and deal with it from there. i’m actively researching towing companies and repair places on company time as we speak

[1:30] Yoongi: You’re not asking me. You’ve got enough to worry about. Let me take care of it. I know the places.

[1:31] You: still, i can’t let you spend money like that on me. i don’t even wanna think about what that car cost you

[1:31] Yoongi: If it helps you sleep at night you can pay me back on your own time. You definitely don’t have to though.

[1:32] Yoongi: That reminds me. You can use that car until yours is taken care of if you need to. I’ll send you the driver’s contact. Don’t take the bus.

You feel like you’re going insane.

[1:33] You: do you have a grammy or something? what do you DO to be able to afford shit like this? why do you live in our building? are you a drug dealer?

[1:37] Yoongi: :]

Of course, he gives you no clues about what exactly he does, but after a bit more back-and-forth, you finally give in and let Yoongi handle everything under the condition that you’re going to pay him back. He doesn’t seem all that worried about it, which infuriates you just a little.

You go through the rest of your day like normal, if not a tad twitchy. Come quitting time, you take advantage of having a driver at your disposal and have him stop a liquor store on your way home.

As you take the elevator up to your floor, comically large whiskey bottle (as promised) in tow, you text Yoongi and ask if he’s home yet. At his responding ‘No, why?’ you cackle to yourself and pocket your phone. The elevator doors slide open. You were hoping that would be the case. 

You clocked out at a semi-normal time tonight, a gift to yourself to cope with the stress of the day, and so you take great pleasure in setting the bottle down on Yoongi’s very tasteful cat doormat, flipping it off right back on your way into your own apartment.

You silently pray to whatever god may be listening that the whiskey isn’t swiped by someone before Yoongi gets home. Your cat, Pepper, is blinking at you lazily on the kitchen counter, and you give her a triumphant little scratch on the head before padding to your bedroom to deal with your laundry.

Your move, Min Yoongi.

★ ★ ★

“Do I need to be jealous?”

You take advantage of getting off work early to call your best friend Rina for the first time in what feels like forever. She’s in Paris this month, debuting a play that she’s been working on tirelessly about aliens and drug addiction. You’ve read the script six times over. It’s both campy and gut wrenching all at once, and you’ve cried every time. You picture her with her very chic haircut, sipping from a flute of champagne. The thought of her being jealous of any part of your life is laughable. 

“What do you have to be jealous of, exactly?” you snort, holding your phone between your ear and shoulder as you toss your laundry basket upside down on your bed unceremoniously. Your clothes are covered in a perma-layer of Pepper hair, and you think it’s lucky that Pepper is a black cat and most of your clothes are black. Very enviable.

“Of Yoongi, dipshit,” she coos through the phone. “You’re replacing me.”

“Sure,” you say, like she’s making total sense. You’re lying on top of your laundry now instead of folding it. You put her on speakerphone and rest your phone on your chest. “I’m throwing away ten years of being your best friend for a guy that I met a week ago. I’m glad you figured it out, honestly, because I was dreading telling you. I was going to wait until your matinée, but you don’t seem too broken up about it.”

“Of course. You have to do what’s right for you, I’ve always told you that,” she deadpans back, and you groan. You don’t want to hear it. “No, I just mean… It’s good. That you’re meeting people.”

“We’re neighbors,” you say, flopping over onto your front to rub at your temples. Rina is resting on a pile of your underwear now. “We talk about work. My work, not his, because he thinks it’s funny to act like he’s too cool to tell me about his job. He’s helping me with my car. We’re… neighborly.”

“And you want to fuck him,” she says. Maybe calling Rina was a bad idea. Debriefing over text would have sufficed.

“I don’t want to fuck him,” you say, indignant. “We’re friends. He’s nice. I can have a guy friend.”

“Of course you can,” Rina says, like you’re dumb for even thinking she would imply otherwise. “And you can be friends with him all you want. But you also want to fuck him.”

You groan in protest but she speaks over it.

“Baby, you can pretend, but I know how you talk about people you want to have sex with, even if you don’t say it outright,” she continues. “He may just be feeding you and helping you and talking to you about the weather, but I know you, and I know the whole time he’s talking you’re just agonizing over how he might fuck you if you let him.”

“That’s not fair,” you mumble, letting your face drop into your laundry. It smells good. Small comforts.

“Are you going to let him?”

“No,” you whine, muffled by the cotton. “I don’t need that. There are always strings. I hate strings.”

“You said he’s a super straightforward, honest guy, right?” Rina asks.

“Brutally so,” you grumble.

“So. Maybe he’d be cool with a lack of strings. You won’t know unless you ask, baby.”

You want to tell her that’s easy for her to say, but you don’t want to fight with her when you know you won’t hear from her like this again for a while. 

Rina has never compromised for anything. She decided in both of your sophomore year of college, after flirting with both performance and directing, that she wanted to be a playwright, and that was that. 

She wrote and wrote and wrote, and after you graduated together, her career blossomed almost instantly because she worked goddamn hard for it. She got opportunities to travel and work with theatre companies around the world, and she took them without giving it a second thought because she knew it was what she wanted. And she’s had a consistent, loyal boyfriend nearly the whole time. He doesn’t always travel with her, but he supports her in everything she does. They’re excruciatingly healthy about it. 

When your long-term college boyfriend dumped you unceremoniously two months into your first reporter gig because he felt he came second to your career, Rina was there for you. But you resented her a little bit. There was no way she could understand any of it. 

Still, as much as you hate to admit it, she has a point. You could just ask Yoongi if he wants to fool around without it being a thing, and you know he’d give you a straight answer. You’re even pretty confident he wouldn’t make it weird if his answer was no. That’s not the problem. It never is.

“The problem isn’t whether or not I think he’d be cool with it,” you mumble. “The problem is if he is cool with it, and then the strings come anyway. The friendship is nice. I’m attracted to him, yeah, fine. But I can ignore it if it means I get to be his friend.”

Theres a long pause on the line, and then Rina sighs.

“Your life would be a lot easier if you could do one night stands,” she says.

Don’t you know it. 

“Yeah.”

“I’ve gotta go, okay? Text me. Keep me updated on life.” You read between the lines. On Yoongi, she means. “I love you.”

“Mmmhh,” you mumble back, still burying your face into your laundry. 

When the line disconnects, you feel considerably more twitchy and irritable than you did before talking to Rina.

So, you’re attracted to Yoongi. Or you were, when you were drunk and he was all… hot and considerate. That doesn’t mean you have to act on it! You’re not going to act on it. You’re just pent up, that’s all. It’s been a long time since you’ve had an orgasm, self-inflicted or otherwise, and you can’t think straight.

Maybe you should fix that.

It’s clear you’re giving up on laundry for the night, so you shove the mountain of clothes back into the basket on the floor, sighing as you lay back on your bed.

You feel only slightly ridiculous as you shimmy your sleep shorts down your thighs, your hands sliding up your shirt to cup your breasts, squeezing slightly. Warming yourself up.

You quickly decide to get to the point, though. You’re struggling to immerse yourself in the fantasy that usually does the trick, too wound up and embarrassed (as if it’s not you in here by yourself, as usual) at groping yourself.

Despite the embarrassment, it becomes abundantly clear that you didn’t really need to warm yourself up anyway. Your fingers slide through your folds with ease, drenched like you’ve been that way all fucking day, unbeknownst to you, and a surprised moan falls from your lips. Fuck.

Closing your eyes, you circle two fingers around your clit experimentally, making your hips jerk up under you, sensitive. You do it again, a little firmer, starting a slow rhythm that makes you squirm against your mattress, your bottom lip rolling between your teeth.

It feels good. It usually does—you’ve always been able to make quick work of an orgasm to rid yourself of any lingering jitters before bed. But it feels really good right now, your pussy extra sensitive tonight, and you can’t figure out why. There’s nothing new about what you’re doing.

Rina’s words worm their way into your brain uninvited—the whole time he’s talking you’re just agonizing over how he might fuck you if you let him—and you’re too turned on to stop that train of thought, flashes of capable hands and pink tongue (tonguetechnologytonguetechnologytonguetechnology) filling your mind, and you’re moaning softly despite yourself as you rub your clit a little faster.

You continue to make soft noises of pleasure, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, dry from panting as the barrage of Yoongi-related thoughts keep coming, bringing you closer and closer to your release. 

Dark, dark eyes looking down at you. A delicate chain dangling above your face. You whimper, your fingers sliding down from your clit to sink into your pussy, curling up to rub at your inner walls. A thick cock sliding into you, filling you so deliciously.

You pump your fingers fast and desperate as you get closer and closer to that sweet edge. You wonder what Yoongi would sound like if he was the one fucking into you right now. Would he moan in your ear in that gravelly voice of his? He’s a man of few words. Would he be like that in bed, too? Would he call you sweet names? Not so sweet? Which ones?

Your walls flutter around your fingers, your hips stuttering up off the mattress as your orgasm crashes over you and you gasp out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

You stare up at the ceiling for a minute panting. The high of your release buzzes pleasantly through your body before it starts ebbing away, but the thoughts of Yoongi pervade. Well, fuck.

After another moment, you roll over onto your stomach to grab a towel from your laundry basket and wipe off your fingers, tossing it on the floor. You grab your phone, only to be greeted by a notification from the subject of your masturbation fantasy himself. He sent it about ten minutes ago.

When you tap it open, you’re greeted with a photo (!!!) of Yoongi holding your gift next to his head, the hand wrapped around the neck of the whiskey bottle almost dwarfed by its sheer size. A testament to the ridiculousness of it, because you’re well aware of how long Yoongi’s fingers are. There’s a lazy smirk on his face, and a mole that you’re just now noticing on his right cheek.

[8:23] Yoongi: Cute. 

Yep. Yep. Cool.

You swipe out, tapping on Rina’s contact.

[8:35] You: okay. i want to fuck him. 

[8:35] Rina: 🥂🥳🎉

Shit.

✧ shoot me a reply or an ask if you enjoyed this chapter! feedback is always appreciated <3 join my taglist if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

@dollfaceksj @jajabro

PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✧ MASTERLIST ✧ NEXT CHAPTER

[kingkatsuki]

— sleazy

Everyone thinks Red Riot is such a nice hero, but really he just loves fucking his cute, unsuspecting fangirls.

Pairing: Kirishima Eijirou x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, not proofread, non-con/dub-con, implied!drugging but could just be seen as intoxication, unprotected sex, teeny tiny bit of assplay, Kirishima promises to wear a condom but doesn’t, creampie, public sex.

Word Count: 2.5k.

“You’re so lucky!” You heard the voices around the table when the Red Riot had offered to buy you a drink.

Suddenly finding it difficult to speak when you gave him a nod in response, grateful that he’d looked down at your glass of wine as an indication of what to order you because you weren’t sure you would’ve been able to answer if he’d asked.

You felt hot as it seemed as though every set of eyes in the vicinity were on you now— from the women who wished that he’d picked them, to the men that he’d come in with standing around the bar. The angry blond more formerly known as Dynamight seemed to be glaring at you from across the room, shaking his head slightly before downing the rest of his whisky.

“Don’t worry about him,” Kirishima grinned softly at you as he handed you a glass, “He always looks like that.”

Kirishima had this perfect way of making you feel at ease, the friendly tone to his voice paired with kind eyes made it easy for you to melt into him. Silencing any objections you’d usually have if a guy leaned down to tug your chair closer to him, or wrapped their arm around your waist during a first date. It was different when it was Red Riot— you felt like you already knew him. From your television screen to the huge billboards that were up all over the city to promote his latest collaboration. The man that you followed on social media and religiously liked his posts, not that you’d told him that— although with another few drinks inside you, you might.

“You look gorgeous tonight, you know,” His warm lips brush the shell of your ear as he leans closer to talk to you over the loud bass of music in the club, “I just had to come and talk to you.”

You don’t even question it when he lays a huge palm on your bare thigh, his thumb disappearing beneath the hem of your dress. Ghosting against the lace of your panties as you give another glance around the bar to see if anyone is looking— the only set of eyes that match your gaze are the same crimson ones from earlier, Dynamight still watching intently as he nurses his drink.

The fact that the Red Riot has asked for your number, bought you countless drinks and given you his undivided attention has you bursting with glee. Certain that none of your friends will believe you, instead wishing they’d come to the bar tonight to see for themselves when you tell them that you’re courting the number twelve hero.

“It’s so loud here,” His palm squeezes your inner thigh and you can’t stop your heart from pounding against your ribcage, making it difficult to breathe as his warm breath fans your skin, “Do you want to go somewhere quieter?”

“Yeah, sure.” You find yourself nodding as he helps you stand, certain you weren’t this drunk before.

“Whoops—” He grins as he grabs your hips, his fingers brushing the curve of your ass as he keeps you upright, “I’ve got you.”

And it’s that moment you feel his hard bulge pressed against the small of your back. Even in heels he dominates your size, towering over you as a pure wall of strength and muscle as he guides you through the crowds. Stepping down a quieter hall that leads towards the bathrooms as he presses you against a wall, large palms still planted firm on your hips.

“I’ve wanted you all night,” He sighs, pressing wet open-mouthed kisses against your neck, “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“This is too fast,” You mumble, already feeling his fingers dipping beneath your skirt to grab your ass.

“Aw, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” He seems so sincere when he looks down at you with worried eyes, “Shall I call you a cab home? I just thought you wanted to have some fun.”

“I do, but—”

“But you’d prefer Dynamight or someone, huh?” His eyes droop, “I get it, that always fucking happens when it’s someone I really like—”

“No! I like you too,” You panic when he takes a step back, trying to step forward as you stumble into his arms.

“You do?” He coos, holding you tight, “I’m so lucky I found you.”

It’s embarrassing when he tugs you into the men’s bathroom, sets of eyes watching you with knowing looks from the urinals as he opts for a stall. Locking the door as he presses you against the sink, allowing you to look at him through the reflection in the mirror as he pulls your top over your breasts.

“You’re fucking stunning,” He groans, cupping your breasts as you grind yourself back against him. Alcohol inebriating your senses as he strokes your body, wondering whether you should just tell him to slow down now.

“It’s too much,” You mumble, unsure whether he put something in your drink as your head pounds.

But this is Red Riot, he wouldn’t do that, would he? He’s a Pro-Hero tasked to protect you from sleazy people like that, to make sure you’re safe.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He coos, “I’ll take good care of you.”

“We shouldn’t,” You slur, “Not here.”

“Oh? But I bought you all those drinks,” He mumbles against your neck, “I thought you liked me.”

“I do!” You panic, catching the forlorn look on his face.

“You do?” His eyes immediately brighten, “I’m glad because I like you too, sweetheart. A lot—”

He has you feeling like a giddy, lovesick schoolgirl as he reaches under your skirt to pull down your panties. Letting the fabric settle around your knees as he works on unbuckling his jeans. A large palm splayed on your back to push you over the sink as he guides the leaky tip towards your slit.

“Wait,” You mumble, trying not to slur your words, “Condom.”

You miss the look of annoyance that flashes through Kirishima’s eyes in his reflection in the mirror as you turn to look back at him before that same smile spreads on his face.

“Of course, sweetheart. What do you take me for?” He’s cooing at you as he reaches into his wallet to retrieve a large foil packet, ripping it with his teeth as he leans down to put it on, “Safety first, yeah?”

And the tip of his cock nudges against your ass, feeling the slickness of lube from the latex smear against your bare ass as you cling to the porcelain. Holding on as you watch him in the mirror as he slides the condom onto his cock.

“There,” His hand smooths along your ass, rubbing the lube against your skin to get it off his hand as he pushes his hips forward.

He’s big. The swollen tip enough to have a lump in your throat as you forget to breathe, wiggling your hips in a feeble attempt to reduce the ache.

“Shh, baby. I know, I know.” He coos, pulling back to fist his cock, “Let’s try again, yeah?”

But you don’t notice the devious smirk on his face, or the way his eyes glint with intent as he slides the annoying latex off his thick cock. Discarding it to the floor like trash as he wraps his cock in a large fist again, tapping the leaking tip on your slit before sliding it through your folds. Letting it catch against your tight entrance again as he can finally feel you without a latex barrier.

“Is this okay?” He hums, keeping his tip pressed against your quivering hole.

You nod in response as you try to remember to breathe, taking in large gulps of air as you feel him slowly push his hips forward.

“I’m gonna need to hear you say it, sweetheart.” He pushes.

“Yeah, I want it.” You groan as he immediately pushes forward, feeling the tightness between your thighs.

“Oh, shit.” His eyes roll back as he groans at the feeling of your walls sucking him in. He’s far less kind now he can truly feel you as he cants his hips forward without a moment for you to adjust, the pain comes sharp and fast as he stretches you out on his cock.

“Ow,” You choke, your head lolling forward as you try to breathe, the ache between your thighs throbs sharply as Kirishima feigns sympathy.

Telling you what a good girl you are for him, what a good job you’re doing, that you’re his favourite. Clever lines he’s rehearsed time and time again, and it just so happens that they’re working on you just like they have a hundred times before on other girls.

You think you’re special, and in this moment you are. He’s picked you.

“God, your pussy feels so fucking good.” He grunts, warm palms heavy on your ass as he spreads you apart to see his cock buried deep inside your walls. The messy tuft of hair at the base tickles your skin as he pulls his hips back to give an experimental thrusr, “Taking me so well.”

You’re a mess as he fucks into you, your tits bounce with every rough buck of his hips as he presses you into the porcelain sink, your cheek leaves a messy streak of foundation against the mirror as he sets a brutal pace. Telling you it’s because he’s worried someone could come in and see you like this, that he wishes he could have you for longer to really take care of you.

And you believe every line.

“God, sweetheart. Your pussy feels amazing,” Kirishima groans, his thumb brushing the tight rim of your ass as your body jolts in surprise. Embarrassed and terrified at the same time.

“Not there, please—”

“Oh god, baby. I would never.” He shakes his head, but presses down harder against your tight hole, “Relax, Red Riot’s got you, yeah?”

His words are soothing as you try to focus on the pleasure, trying to block out the sound of footsteps outside and the way your cunt clenches around him every time someone rattles the door handle.

“Fuck, you’re clamping down on me, sweets,” He slurs, drunk on pleasure, “You’re tryin’ to milk me.”

He sucks air sharply through his teeth as he bends his back to watch his cock disappearing inside you, the slap of his balls against the swell of your thighs sounds inside the dingy bathroom as your legs shake. Balancing yourself in heels as you try to stop the sink from digging into your hips uncomfortably, certain you’ll have bruises in the morning.

“Gonna cum, shit— gonna fill this little pussy up.” He groans, and you’re certain it’s just words. Dirty talk to help get himself off as he prepares to cum inside the condom, “You want that, baby? Want me to fill you up?”

“Yes,” You find yourself playing into it, your walls throb around him as he works you towards your own release.

“That’s my girl,” He grins, reaching around to press messy circles against your puffy clit, “Gonna stuff you full of my cum.”

“Oh my god,” You repeat, clinging to the sink to keep yourself upright as you feel yourself on the edge of your release. The familiar pleasure building between your thighs as Kirishima leads you into bliss, “Kiri—”

“Red Riot, call me Red Riot—” His fingertips dig into you bruisingly as your cunt begins to convulse.

“Red Riot!” You mewl, “I’m cumming, Red Riot—”

“Oh shit, you want the entire bar to hear you, don’t you?” He grins, spanking your ass as your cunt spasms around him.

Kirishima fucks you through your climax, roughly thrusting into you as you feel the tip of him as deep as he can go. Kissing your cervix with each forward motion as he focuses on his own pleasure, his own desire.

“Hurts,” You choke out as you try to ignore the throb between your thighs or the way your skin digs uncomfortably into the porcelain.

“I’m almost there, sweetheart. Almost there—” He groans, ignoring your pleas, “Gonna fill you up.”

It doesn’t take him much longer to find his own release, his balls tightening as they begin to empty warm, hot spurts of cum into your pulsing walls. His hands smoothing down your back before reaching around to palm your naked breasts before pulling back.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” He groans when he pulls out to see strings of your slick connecting his softening cock to your folds.

And that’s when you feel it.

Warm globs of his cum slowly seeping out of your quivering walls, dribbling down your inner thighs and dropping onto the dirty floor.

“Did you— the condom?” You ask in confusion as you turn your head to face him, noticing the shiny gleam of his cock in the fluorescent lights of the bathroom as he gives you a cheeky grin.

“Oh, it must’ve ripped,” He shrugs, sticking himself back into his boxers with no care about how messy he is, “Sorry about that, sweetheart. You’ll be okay, I’m clean.”

Kirishima has just enough manners to pull your panties back up, even though you don’t have a chance to clean yourself up. Feeling his warm cum continue to drool out of you and collect in the lace of the crotch as you shuffle uncomfortably. Tugging your skirt back down as you fix your top, hearing Kirishima buckle his belt again as he checks himself out in the mirror.

“I’ll call you yeah, sweetheart?” He presses a lingering kiss to your cheek before unlocking the door to the men’s bathroom stall and stepping outside. Leaving you standing alone in the room as you stare back at your disheveled reflection.

It’s only when you look down at the ground where you notice the drops of his cum that had fallen to the floor, and beside them the discarded condom still in the perfect roll from the pack.

That he hadn’t even bothered to put on.

[wren-kitchens]

we’re not bruised; they’re just party tattoos

2716 words CW: alcohol

scott is far too drunk to be making rational decisions. he knows this just as he knows that he probably should have switched from wine to water about an hour ago; as he knows that a game of spin the bottle is a very, very stupid idea right now. however, he knows all these things rationally, and scott has long since decided that he is going to ignore all rational thought and deeply regret everything tomorrow morning, hand in hand with whatever abysmal hangover is going to follow. so rather than acting logical or rational or like someone who wants to survive until the next morning, scott plonks himself down directly next to tango in the circle of his equally drunk friends, sitting close enough that their shoulders brush. it’s new years, okay, they’re allowed to be stupid; resolutions start tomorrow, not tonight.

this was meant to be posted on new year’s day. yeah I gotta stop expecting deadlines to work but hey we can pretend it’s a valentine’s day gift!

if you enjoyed, please reblog!

scott is far too drunk to be making good decisions.

he knows this just as he knows that he probably should have switched from wine to water about an hour ago; as he knows that a game of spin the bottle is a very, very stupid idea right now. however, he knows all these things rationally, and scott has long since decided that he is going to ignore all rational thought and deeply regret everything tomorrow morning, hand in hand with whatever abysmal hangover is going to follow.

so rather than acting logical or rational or like someone who wants to survive until the next morning, scott plonks himself down directly next to tango in the circle of his equally drunk friends, sitting close enough that their shoulders brush. it’s new years, okay, they’re allowed to be stupid; resolutions start tomorrow, not tonight.

the smart people in their group stopped drinking after they got tipsy, and so now they’re all being babysat by an amused pixl, a somewhat concerned xisuma and a deeply smug cleo. scott is fairly certain she only stopped drinking so they’d have a crystal clear memory of the fuckups they will all inevitably cause and so will be reminded of for the rest of their lives. the smart people, however, are the vast minority of the party, and so the world right now is chaos incarnate.

gem and scar have been giggling about the least humorous topics scott has ever heard—which includes the shape of the wine bottle that is positioned in the middle of the circle. grian has been extraordinarily bold for the entire night, and is actually flirting with mumbo, who seems equally enamoured and embarrassed by it all. scar whoops from across the circle each time grian manages to get mumbo to blush. lizzie has been flirting with joel idly, and seems to be entirely unaware of how flustered joel is getting—much to everyone’s amusement.

“are we spinning or what!” pearl yells over the commotion. unfortunately for scott, she is still leaning on his shoulder, and has very literally just yelled into his ear.

“yeah we are!” scott shouts back, and pearl shrieks with laughter, pushing him away. scott cackles and pushes her back.

the next few minutes is a blur of too-loud laughter and squeals through a haze of drunken grins. scott manages to make out joel and jimmy being overly dramatic about the smallest peck of the lips, the entire room screaming as mumbo and grian kiss for much longer than is strictly necessary—and then a very flustered mumbo and grian scurrying out of the room, presumably to finish making out in private—and cleo being eventually dragged in to kiss a grinning lizzie, to the mock-devastation of joel.

scott whoops along with everyone else as the bottle lands on him, watching with anticipation as the bottle spins a full three-sixty. except- it doesn’t spin a full 360, because it instead lands on.. tango.

and this is the second of the abysmal decisions scott makes. because instead of giving tango a brief peck on the lips and playing it off like a joke, scott’s idiotic, drunken brain decides that he may as well put some effort in. after all, if he’s only ever gonna kiss tango once, he wants it to be worth it.

“come on tango!” scott is laughing, watching for any minuscule sign of discomfort or apprehension from tango. there is none.

tango is grinning along, leaning forward into scott’s space. “well, I hope you live up to your reputation.” he winks, and it’s like he’s just set fire to scott’s brain.

scott grabs the collar of tango’s shirt, leaning in until their noses brush. “you’ll have to be the judge of that.”

the first thing scott registers is that tango’s lips are soft. like- really soft. he’d kind of assumed his lips would be almost harsh and rough, because of his netherborne roots, but void, he was mistaken. after this, scott is gonna ask what kind of skincare routine tango has.

except- he doesn’t really get a chance to, because tango nips a little at scott’s lower lip, and suddenly every intelligent thought is wiped from his mind. tango’s teeth, it seems, are just as sharp as they look. well, two can play at that game.

something in scott’s stomach ignites as he runs his own teeth over tango’s lip and hears the half-stifled gasp he elicits. scott suppresses the urge to smile, and instead slides his hand from tango’s cheek into his hair and grips it, relishing the heat that has begun to emanate from tango’s body.

scott is grinning when the whistles and shrieks from the group pulls the two apart, deeply satisfied to see the way tango’s catlike pupils have enlarged. “so? how’d I do?”

it takes tango a second to gather himself, and scott’s grin slips into a smirk. oh, he could get used to this.

“so-so.” tango shrugs, clearly attempting a nonchalant tone, but the way his eyes keep darting back to scott’s lips tells another story.

scott cackles regardless. “well then, I guess i’ll have to practice.”

with a rush of warmth through his chest, scott watches as tango budges closer to skizz and mutters to him, “I volunteer as tribute.”

“i’m not complaining.” scott says just loud enough for tango to hear, if only to watch the way tango’s eyes widen in panic as he realises scott overheard him. he winks teasingly, and turns back to the chaos, where grian and mumbo have just come back.

to his own surprise, scott finds himself zoning out, even as gem and pearl decide that they can’t be bothered to wait for the bottle to choose and instead make out in the middle of the circle. although, scott does make a mental note to make fun of pearl about this at any given opportunity—most likely after she makes fun of him for how intense his and tango’s kiss ended up being.

but- embarrassingly, all he can think of is tango’s lips. because- okay, seriously, tango is a good kisser—which- scott really should have thought about that—and it’d be one thing if scott was just enjoying the kiss, but- it definitely is not. the kiss was not so good that it warrants this level of thinking about it, and scott really doesn’t know why he even decided to actually kiss tango in the first place. like- does he even have any self restraint anymore?

wow, scott can’t believe he actually asked that when the answer is so obvious: no, he really doesn’t.

-—

unfortunately for tango, drinking is not doing one of its best jobs of making him forget everything about himself—more specifically, the kiss. in fact, he seems to be unable to focus on anything but, which is getting increasingly more embarrassing. if you couldn’t already tell, tango was absolutely lying when he said scott didn’t live up to his reputation. rather, he surpassed it by far, which is proving to be extraordinarily inconvenient if tango wants to get through this night without doing something stupid. again.

but of course, stupid is his middle name; literally (he lost a bet, don’t ask), so the plan of ‘don’t make an entire fool out of himself’ is going to be a lot harder to manage than it probably ought to be. especially if scott doesn’t stop looking at him like that.

“you thinking about something or just enjoying the view?” tango calls, foolishly, to scott. they’ve been out on the balcony of whoever’s house this is (he forgot sometime around when he kissed scott) for about ten minutes, intentionally avoiding each other’s eyes. scott, however, has apparently given up on this and has been gazing absentmindedly at tango for at least a minute.

scott gives a crooked grin, and tango so desperately wants to kiss it off his face. “why can’t I do both?”

tango scrambles for something equally witty to say as scott stands and moves over to him, something akin to curiosity in his eyes. “you know, you are unfairly pretty.”

if tango was speechless before, he’s entirely hopeless now. “you- I- I am?”

“wh- I mean come on,” scott brushes a loose hair out of tango’s eyes, tracing his fingers down his jaw. yeah, okay, tango has officially lost his mind. “you’re like a- a painting.”

well, if scott’s allowed to flirt with him, tango isn’t gonna take it lying down.

“there you go again.” tango takes scott’s hand in his own, pressing a delicate kiss to his knuckles. he watches with the utmost fascination as scott’s cheeks turn the faintest shade of red at the action. “i’ve never met anyone so much like a siren as you, scott.”

scott raises an eyebrow, and tango follows the action with his eyes. “a siren, huh?” he says, rubbing a thumb across tango’s hand. “why is that?”

tango gives the ghost of a smirk, watching as scott’s eyes flit to his lips. “you do this- this whole song and dance, you make me swoon, and then you’re gone.” he moves closer. “it’s like chasing wind with you.”

“come on.” scott gives a little breathy laugh, and tango’s mind reels as he realises he’s managed to fluster him. oh man, tango could get used to this. “you can catch me, if you try.”

“i’ve seen this all before.” tango tilts his head ever so slightly. “with jimmy, with pixl, with martyn.” he rests a hand on scott’s waist, heart leaping at the poorly stifled gasp scott gives as he does so. “I don’t know what to think with you.”

“i’ll tell you then,” scott says, and the flirtatious note in his voice is suddenly gone, replaced by an almost devastating honesty. “I have wanted you for a very long time, and i think this party might be the tipping point into insanity for me, because you look- you look like that, and you kissed me, and now you’re flirting back which is something i’ve never been able to handle.”

tango feels his mouth twitch into a grin. “well, i’ll tell you what, it’s amazing to be on the opposite end of all this.” he rubs his thumb against scott’s waist deliberately, smile widening ever so slightly as scott practically pouts at him. “don’t give me that look, I never get to be the flirty one.”

“it- it suits you.” scott says, and he’s breathless, and tango might also be going insane now he comes to think of it. “i’m- y’know, i’m perfectly happy to pretend this was all a series of drunken mistakes if-“

before scott can continue, tango once again lives up to his recently appointed middle name, and kisses him.

scott kisses back almost immediately, and tango finds himself leaning further into him as scott’s hands move to his hair and waist. tango, apparently, did not think this through, because last time his brain was reduced to mush without the insane knowledge that scott likes him back, which he’s still having a hard time processing. so when scott deepens the kiss, tango feels as if he may explode, and when scott nips ever so delicately at his bottom lip, tango melts.

it registers distantly in tango’s puddle of a brain that scott has managed to pin him against the wall as they’ve been kissing, and that at some point, he’s going to need some air. tango bites scott’s lip, relishing in the half stifled groan and shudder he elicits, and allows himself to forget about trivial things like breathing.

after a moment though, tango’s lungs begin to burn and they break apart, panting. tango is grinning, and scott’s bottom lip is bleeding, and tango probably should have remembered about his fangs.

“I would- I would very much appreciate if you didn’t pretend that was a mistake.” tango manages, and scott’s eyes glint.

“I wouldn’t dare.” he practically purrs, his breath hot against tango’s face.

there’s a explosion of noise from inside—loud enough for them to hear at a significant volume even outside. tango smirks at scott. “do you think they’ll miss us if we stay out here a little longer?”

scott’s lips twitch into a grin, leaning in so his nose brushes tango’s. “I think we have enough time for another round before they come looking.”

“let’s not waste it.” tango says, closing the gap.

—-

scott wakes up under an unfamiliar blanket, laying on what he’s fairly certain is not his own bed, where everything seems to smell like tango. he has no idea where he is and he doesn’t remember how he ended up here, which may not be the best sign. when he shifts in order to survey his surroundings, it takes a moment for him to realise that he hasn’t just been smashed in the head with an axe and that this is, in fact, the consequences of the far too much alcohol he had the night before.

he blinks against the faint light of the sun peeking through the cracks in the curtains and finds himself in a bedroom that is unmistakably tango’s. that explains why it smells like him, scott supposes.

before scott can fully take advantage of this (shoving his nose into the duvet for as long as he can get away with), a wonderfully familiar voice interrupts his train of thought.

“y’know, you’re even beautiful when you’re asleep. are you like- magic or something?”

scott sits up with great effort, smiling sleepily as he sees tango with two trays of what looks like cooked breakfast. “hey darling.”

tango blushes, laughing softly. “void, i’m never gonna get used to that.” he slides into bed next to scott, handing him his tray as he does.

“well, get used to it.” scott budges closer, pressing a kiss to tango’s cheek before tucking into his breakfast. “oh, you’re an angel.” he says through a mouthful of eggs.

tango is leaning against him. ��did we talk about what we are now and I forgot, or did we just make out?”

scott snorts. “I think the latter.” he admits, gesturing to a distinctly bruise-ish looking mark on tango’s neck with his fork. “I did good work.” he says absentmindedly, laughing as a flustered tango elbows him.

“shut up, you look like you got attacked by a horny vampire.” tango says, and scott cackles. “oh- don’t make fun of me, i made you breakfast.”

“I think you just called yourself a horny vampire, love.” scott grins. “but do you wanna talk about what we are?”

tango shrugs in a way that very clearly means ‘yes but I don’t want to come off as clingy’. wow, scott can read him better than he thought. “I mean, what do you want us to be?”

“I personally want you to be my husband, but we gotta do the middle step before we can get there.” scott says simply, and tango looks like he’s just almost choked on his toast. “see, i’m far more clingy than you could ever be, dear.” he winks.

“I want you to be my partner.” tango says, a little nervous, as if scott was ever gonna say anything other than yes.

“then i’m yours.” scott presses a kiss to the corner of tango’s mouth. “I mean, I was yours the second you started wanting me, but I may as well make it official.” he grins at tango’s bewildered expression. “listen, i’ve loved you for a long time.”

tango gives a flustered little huff, grinning almost shyly. “you’re a fuckin’ siren, I was right about that.”

“i’m just being honest.” scott teases, but he can’t quite stop the blush rising on his cheeks. “besides, i’ve been wanting to say all this for a while now, so i’m not gonna shut up anytime soon.” a smirk slips onto his face. “unless you find a way to make me.”

tango rolls his eyes, but he looks extremely tempted. “it’s too early to make out with you. at least give me time to brush my teeth.”

“i’ll grant you that.” scott smiles, leaning closer to tango in order to press a kiss to his cheek. “but only because I love you.”

tango smiles, looking completely smitten. “I love you too.”

[halfbakedideas]

i can hold my breath, i've been doing it since he left

After Aziraphale leaves, Crowley does a lot of waiting. And drinking.

Notes:

EDIT: changed the title from 'curse the wind, fan the flames, yell 'till your lungs are drained' (Quiet Company by Jack Harris).

CW for alcohol and a character being drunk. Do I still need to warn for 02x06 spoilers or has it been long enough now? This is essentially just word vomit on one speculation I had for Crowley post-season 2 & written during one of my writing classes. Figured I might as well post this otherwise it’ll just rot in my drive forever.

Read on Ao3

—x—x—x—

Crowley sits slumped over at a bar. Beer cans, whiskey glasses, and even a couple of empty wine glasses forming a barrier around him.

The barkeep had started shooting him worried looks when he finishes a second handle’s worth of whiskey after about three beers and two glasses of wine, and was still (mostly) upright.

It takes a lot of alcohol to get someone of angel stock properly sloshed. But when Crowley has spent more of the last eleven months with some form of alcohol in him than sober, that doesn’t really mean anything.

A glass of red wine rests in his hand, still filled a quarter of the way. He didn’t care enough to know which one when he’d gotten the barkeeper to pour him another glass.

Crowley raises the glass to his lips and takes a swig. A drop of wine traces its way down his chin. He wipes it away with a hand. He nearly knocks an abandoned whiskey glass clean off the table when he sets it down.

“Alright, I think that’s enough for you,” the barkeep speaks up, stepping towards the demon. Her hand is outstretched as if she plans to take the wine glass out of his hands.

“Nuh — not yet, not even drunk yet,” he slurs. He waves a hand in her direction to make her forget about what she had just been about to do and the events of the last two hours too. Whoops.

He drinks some more wine and manages not to spill any of it this time.

By the time the bar closes half an hour later — or is it fifteen minutes? He hats that particular stretch of time: fifteen minutes — Crowley is still upright and on his feet, by the sheer force of a demonic miracle.

‘On his feet’ does not automatically mean ‘able to walk in a straight line’.

The demon makes his way down the street, the path in front of him swimming.

He believes that he is going to make it back to his flat without becoming a serpent-shaped pancake on the pavement, so he would. More or less.

Logically, the smart thing would have been to miracle all of the alcohol out of his bloodstream before he left the bar. But the thought had occurred to him when he first started doing this, and it had been quickly dismissed. He isn’t going to change his mind now, eight months later.

Existence is so much easier to deal with like this; being too drunk to be able to think straight means that he doesn’t have to think. Thinking is overrated anyway.

Surprisingly, this much alcohol in him keeps him from doing something stupid like yelling in the vague direction of the sky. Would he be yelling at Aziraphale or God, he isn’t sure. Or go charging into the elevator to do something phenomenally stupider.

Alcohol certainly makes passing the time easier. Makes it pass quicker. Makes waiting less boring.

That’s what he has been doing for the last eleven months, waiting. Because, after the initial shock and heartbreak wore off, Crowley choose to believe that Aziraphale hasn’t truly abandoned him for Heaven. That he took the Supreme Archangel position because he has a plan, whatever it could be.

He isn’t quite sure what he would do if the opposite turned out to be true.

Die, probably.

So Crowley holds onto that flicker of hope (You’re a demon, demons don’t get to hope. Stop that.) and resigns himself to waiting.

But it is in times like this, the very very early hours of the morning when he is staggering off back to his flat or over to his bed, that hope starts to wane. When the ‘what ifs’ begin to creep in.

What if Aziraphale doesn’t have a plan or isn’t going to come back to Earth (and Crowley) again? What if he stays up there forever? What if the angel has forgotten about him?

He will either find out or spend eternity waiting. Some days he isn’t sure which is worse.

Crowley has just climbed into the Bentley when a flicker of light catches his eye. And there is a see-through version of Aziraphale sitting in the passenger’s seat beside him. Turned towards him slightly with his mouth open as if he’s about to say something.

Not this again.

“Know you’re not really here, so fuck off,” he tells the hallucination.

“Crowley…“ Whatever the hallucination is about to say next gets cut off.

“No. Don’t care. You aren’t real, anyway,”

The Bentley pulls out of the parking space and onto the road. It takes off in the direction of Crowley’s flat faster than an eighty-year-old car should have been able to. Crowley doesn’t see the sad expression that ghosted over the hallucination’s face before it vanishes from the passenger’s seat.

This is something that has started happening whenever the demon thinks too hard about what ifs and Aziraphale, a hallucination of the angel would appear.

When it had first appeared, it scared the wits out of Crowley (not that he would ever admit that to anyone) who had been in the middle of a Golden Girls marathon. He yelled at the hallucination for nearly fifteen whole minutes before he realised he wasn’t yelling at the real Aziraphale. That had made him yell some more, just in the direction of Heaven instead.

The next day plays out much like every day before it had. Crowley wakes to find himself very much, disappointingly sober but with a ridiculous headache. The cure, which he decided upon months ago, was to get up and go drink some more.

It wasn’t like he has much else to do. Hell stopped giving him any assignments after Armageddon’t and stopped communicating with him at all as of eleven months ago.

So all he has left is an indeterminate amount of waiting.

—x—x—x—

End notes:

Is Crowley really hallucinating Aziraphale, or is it something else entirely?

[flustersluts]

My oh my aren't you so eager, little flower🥀~

I think I'm more than capable of giving you the challenge that you so deeply crave. Why don't you come earn that taking over yourself

Oh, and you'll definitely be getting bitten for it~

-🫦

whoops sorry im answering asks top down for once bc im horrible (usually i do it oldest first i promise!!) so they're all out of order.

also i was gna post this but sometimes watching u both i just feel like an impotent king who's like wine drunk ordering his servants to fuck so he can feel smthn yknow. like im not even doing anything rn ive just got the popcorn out.. this isnt even my blog anymore i just live here

[accessible-tumbling]

[image ID: a screenshot of a tweet, followed by 14 replies and a tumblr tag screenshot.

Image 1: a tweet by dickpic van dyke (@/YoungCogan) that readswhen I had surgery I assumed that when they were giving me anaesthetic that they'd count down from ten like you see on the telly but instead a czech nurse just looked down at me and said "goodbye" and I was gone. i laugh every time i think about it.

Image 2: a reply by Mary Louke Hoare Greene (@/LHGLuke) that reads I was having shoulder surgery last year and the anaesthetic stung as it went in so I said "ah that stings", and the last thing I heard was "whoops, that wasn't supposed to hurt" right before I drifted off 😬.

Image 3: a reply by what now ? (@/yabbie5674) that reads Knee reconstruction, spinal block due to a cold Halfway through I come to enough to hear the surgeon and the nurse arguing over where the screwdriver was. Helpful me said "I've got one in my car downstairs" Fade to black.

Image 4: a reply by Dusk 🌙 (@/nekoromancy) that reads I still remember right before going under for my spinal fusion, the nurse said "So you'll be in anaesthesia during the surgery. I'm starting it now." A couple of seconds passed and I was like "So when does it kick in?" Well those couple of seconds were 9 hours later post-op. lol.

Image 5: a reply by 🌈 (@/Carmelomon) that reads When I was getting surgery they asked me what I wanted to listen to before I drifted off and I said I didn't mind. They said "cool because we only have christmas songs" before they gathered around me and sang Merry Christmas as I passed out laughing.

Image 6: a reply by Clifton Hill cat (@/CliftonHCat) that reads As they gave me the anaesthetic I said, "What if it doesn't work?" and the nurse said, "It usually works, but if it doesn't, we have a hammer."

Image 7: a reply by boscribbles (@/anna_bohac) that reads I have a very low resting heart rate. When waking up from anaesthesia, I kept dozing off to the point where the nurse said "you could just TRY to stay awake so we can let you onto the ward? Your heart rate keeps dropping off the face of the earth" lmao.

Image 8: a reply by emmy (@/EmmyStarked) that reads They brought me to OR and started arguing about which songs to put on the playlist (and not even a relaxing one - these MFs where choosing bangers). then one of them saw the look on my face and said 'okay you go to sleep' and just jabbed me.

Image 9: a reply by emphabet's Christmas lights are still up (@/CuddlePotato) that reads I went under one, for appendicitis. I remember this conversation: Me: can I have some water? Nurse: not right now, you're about to go in for surgery Me: I'm really thirsty, when do I go in? Nurse: you've already finished.

Image 10: a reply by Final Fantasy Feels Fiesta (@/CaliginousZack) that reads So I had jaw surgery when I was just over 17, and they had given me a light sedative before being wheeled into the OR because I was nervous AF. So, I was already high when I got into the OR, then the anesthesia came and I was like "I'm gonna fight it" I lost.

Image 11: a reply by DWSA [CC] Videos (@/13MTM80) that reads When I was 5 I had surgery and the surgeon "to help me feel less nervous" decided to show me all the knives he was going to use, right before I was anesthetized. This was at a children's hospital and it did not help me.

Image 12: a reply by Tara (@TheBluestStar) that reads When I had surgery, after the anaesthetic, I told a member of the surgical team that I couldn't possibly be operated on because my fanny was on fire.

Image 13: a reply by Mamba🐍��Forever💛 (@/Tbird_559) that reads When I had my [surgery] a nurse told me to count as high as I could, I asked what's the record (wasting time) and she said no one makes it to 10. I said bet, made it all the way to 2 😤.

Image 14: a reply by A Wine-Drunk, Barred-Out NYT Writer (@/PapiHustle) that reads My anesthetist put the mask on me and said "I want you to count down from 100" and I remember saying "no" and then waking up 3 hours later.

Image 15: two replies by untitled BooseGoose game 💾 (@/BooseGoose) that read Whenever they put me under sedation for colonoscopies I have no memory of them but they always ask "Is it working yet" as they start the IV and as soon as it hits I start laughing and then the rest of the day is pretty much a blank.

Also I remember one time my consultant told me he's scared of dogs and apparently while I was sedated I told him I was going to chase him around endoscopy with a picture of my Yorkshire Terrier. The man literally had a camera up my ass and I'm making threats.

Image 16: (screenshotted by @thefreewillagency) tumblr tag that reads #who do you think took your boobs

/end ID]

[fairyofthefriz]

(timelines what timelines...) Small Council meeting for the Red Wolf and She Wolf Mermaid goes sneaky sneak First blood for the Winged Wolf and Wild Wolf PoLiTiCs

[tywrites]

not your babe | the lost boys [marko x reader]

a/n: hi! this is my first time actually writing in around 9 months? so i apologise if it’s bad :’) it’s also my first time writing for the lost boys! i just can’t get this man out of my head >.< i found marko pretty difficult to characterise so i apologise if he’s ooc <3 as always feedback is super appreciated!

summary: you get stood and marko wants to make you feel better :( inspired by this post by @kurt-nightcrawler​

pairing: marko x gn!reader (i’m pretty sure i didn’t use any gender terms-)

word count: 2.2k

warnings: cheating :0, i think that’s it? maybe ooc marko

---

A sigh fell from your lips. The bright lights from the boardwalk shimmered around you, taunting you. Intoxicated whoops and screams of laughter echoed and swirled through the air. Your arms were comfortingly wrapped around your body despite the warm summer night. Gazing longingly at the people around you having such a good time caused your heart to ache. As much as you wished to join in with the festivities, there was a heavy bitterness lying inside you.

Your boyfriend wasn’t the most punctual person in Santa Carla, but standing you up completely was new. After waiting for nearly 2 hours, you were close to giving up and going on home, maybe drowning your sorrows in a bottle of wine and shitty late night TV. You glanced at your watch once more, the neon numbers only succeeding in making you feel worse. I mean, really? What kind of person leaves their partner waiting for this long? Had he forgotten or could he just not be bothered to drag his sorry ass here tonight? You’d only been dating for about a month, but you really couldn’t believe that you meant so little to him.

You surveyed the boardwalk, taking notice of all the familiar faces. You were a regular there, having lived in Santa Carla for pretty much your whole life. It may be dangerous, but it was home. In the distance, you could make out a gang of Surf Nazis messing around with Big Ed, the boardwalk’s night guard, as per usual. Clumps of people were scattered around, chatting at the top of their lungs; drunks and junkies wobbling their way around the stalls. The boardwalk was particularly crowded tonight, probably due to the weekend; but there was no sight of him. Biting your lip, you decided that enough was enough and began to gather your things ready to leave. It was particularly frustrating since you’d put so much effort into your appearance tonight. But whatever, dude didn’t deserve to see you looking so good if he couldn’t even be bothered to show up.

A sudden cacophony of motorcycle engines broke you from your thoughts. You dropped your bag back onto the bench and whipped around, hoping to see your boyfriend. He was never seen without his bike. Instead, you were met with a gang of boys who you were all too familiar with. Clad in leather and showing a tasteful amount of skin, they were definitely a hard bunch to miss.

A few of them frequented the record shop you worked night shifts at, usually the two blonds (the natural ones anyway...) They’d always been sweet to you, despite their reputation – even going as far as to chase away some guys who’d been harassing you one time. That happened all too often around here so you really did appreciate the gesture. Those guys never entered the store again. You understood why people found them intimidating, but to you, they were really fun to be around. Always laughing and joking around in the store, and more often than not, flirting too. Especially Marko. You’d found yourself drawn to the wild guy in a way you’d never been before. His fashion sense, his humour, the way he always made a point of making conversation with you whenever he’d come in. You kinda had it bad for him. Maybe he flirted a bit too much for your taste considering he knew you were taken, but he was funny and definitely easy on the eyes. Your boyfriend really didn’t approve of your friendship, he always seemed to pull you away the moment you started getting too close for comfort. The two guys really didn’t get along.

You struggled to tear your eyes away from Marko as he and his friends parked on the side of the boardwalk. They bantered good-naturedly, giggling with each other as they dismounted their bikes. The girl and kid that always hung around with them hopped off the bikes and wandered into the fairground, the rest of them speaking for a moment before Marko turned and headed into the crowd with Paul. They strutted around for a bit, looking around the area before Marko looked in your direction. You quickly averted your eyes, the ground suddenly becoming very interesting. He brought Paul in for a moment to whisper in his ear. When he pulled away, a large suggestive grin was plastered on Paul’s face and he clapped Marko’s back as if wishing him luck before continuing on. Marko rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics while heading over to you.

“Hey there babe,”

“Not your babe,” you reminded him, looking up to meet those mischievous blue eyes you’d grown so familiar with.

He smirked as he advanced towards you, looking at you intently. He was pretty close now, standing in front of the small bench you were sitting on. He bounced on the heels of his feet as he glanced around, gently nibbling on the skin of his thumb. Cute. “So… Where’s your little boyfriend?” He asked, quirking a brow.

You looked down, shuffling your feet. God, this was humiliating. “He, uh...”

“Didn’t show?”

You let out a short, half-hearted laugh. “That obvious, huh? Yeah, you got it right,”

“Asshole. Clearly doesn’t know what he’s missing. You look really fucking good tonight.” He grinned when he noticed the blush that rose to your face at that. You realised that you were genuinely smiling for the first time tonight. “So since he’s not here… you’re free tonight, right?”

“I mean, technically. But I was honestly just planning on heading home, not really in the best mood y’know? Wouldn’t wanna bring the vibe down,” you replied, fidgeting with the strap of your bag.

“Aw c’mon!” He took your hands in his, the leather of his gloves sliding against your soft skin. “The night’s still young, don’t let that tiny dick asshole ruin it for you,”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, your laugh only making Marko smile wider. God, your laugh did things to him. You knew this might be a bad idea. You were still taken. But right now, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. He was the one who fucked up, why should your night be ruined because of him? You mulled it over for a moment before replying.

“Fuck it. Why not?”

“Then let’s bounce, babe.”

–

Your arms were wound tightly around Marko’s torso, gently tracing patterns onto the bare skin of his stomach exposed by his crop top. The firm denim of his jacket was rough against your bare arms, the many patches layered over each other creating an uneven texture. You leant your cheek against his back as you sped through the night, sand flying up into the air as you rode. It was exhilarating. Your boyfriend never let you near his bike; it was his pride and joy. At this very moment, as the wind whipped through your hair, splaying it out behind you – you’d truly never felt more alive. You screamed in excitement and tightened your grip when he suddenly lifted the bike back into a wheelie, whooping wildly. The engine roared deafeningly. Your eyes clenched shut involuntarily as you felt the bike lean back, your stomach dropping. You could hear Marko chuckling at the screams coming from your mouth and found yourself laughing along.

The moon and his headlights lit the way in front, showing nothing but a long expanse of sand. To your right was the most gorgeous view of the ocean, to the left the vivid lights from the fairground. It felt as though the moonlight was stalking you both, following you through the shadows and bouncing off the waves. Part of you didn’t want the night to end. It was like a dream.

Unfortunately, the ride was finished too soon. Riding bumpily back up the stairs to the boardwalk, Marko parked his bike back where you’d first started nearly two hours ago. After that ride, your boyfriend wasn’t even a passing thought in your mind. All you could think about was the pretty boy who was currently helping you off the back of his bike.

“How was that?” He grinned as he slung his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side.

“Well, it was definitely worth the absolute mess that is my hair right now,” you giggled, trying your best to smooth out your locks but to no avail. Not that it mattered when two seconds later Marko’s hand found it’s way into your hair, messing it up once again. You glared playfully at him.

“It’s cute, you should keep it like that,” he winked. “C’mon!”

He grabbed your hand, dragging you into the fairground before you could protest. Not that you would have. You weren’t 100% sure where all of this was going – whether he was just trying to cheer you up because of the whole boyfriend thing or whether it was something more. But you put all of those thoughts to the back of your mind. You just wanted to have a good time.

And you did. He dragged you on pretty much every ride, no matter how many times you was chased off by the security guard. Laughing delightedly together on the biggest roller coasters, you clinging tightly to his arm as the cart teetered over the edge of steep inclines. The teasing quips he’d make about you being scared. It was a rush, a breath of fresh air. The pounding in your heart and lungs as you sprinted away from Ed hunting the two of you down. Of course Marko hadn’t told you about his ban from the boardwalk. You weren’t one to get in trouble a lot, but this was exhilarating. After getting pursued all throughout the fun house (you’d lost Ed in the mirror room, and Marko for a short while too, but you’d reunited outside the fun house), the two of you sprinted down to a ride at the very end of the fairground. A boat ride on a track tempted you, one you hadn’t seen before. Must be new. But hiding in the tunnel seemed like a good shout.

“Quick, on here!” You both hopped onto the ride, the boat rocking creakily in the water, and frantically urged the operator to start.

The bored teen cranked the lever and you were off, heading towards a tunnel lit up with pink tinted lights on the inside. You looked up just in time to see the lit up banner pasted on top of the tunnel. The Tunnel of Love.

Go figure.

You breathed heavily, desperately trying to catch your breath, clutching the side of the boat. Looking at your companion, you couldn’t understand how Marko seemed so unbothered while you were still fighting the stitch in your side. Instead, he was far more distracted by the inside of the tunnel. Huge heart-shaped arches lead you through the ride, flower petals were scattered across the water. Neon bulbs emanated a pink glow as a subtle, sweet smell spread through the air.

He looked at you, smirking. “Just wanted to get me alone, huh babe?”

You rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder with your own. “Not your babe…” you said quietly.

He giggled, intently gazing into your eyes. Carefully, he reached out and took your hand. You felt the cool leather of his fingerless gloves and rough callouses as he gently played with your fingertips. He smiled lopsidedly at you. Your heart fluttered.

“You still thinking about him? Your night still ruined?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head. “He’s the last thing on my mind right now.”

His gaze was intense, you felt so analysed. One of his hands left yours, coming up to cup your cheek. Your breath hitched but you leant into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed. You waited. Soft lips pressed against your own, capturing your mouth in a sweet kiss. It was so different than you expected, gentle and slow. Until he took his arm and moved it to your back, manoeuvring you onto his lap. His hand dropped to your waist, his grip firm as he deepened the kiss. You arms came up to settle around his neck, one of your hands tangled in his blond curls. He held you tightly against his body as his lips moved in sync with yours, the kiss becoming gradually more messy as it went on. You were breathless, chest heaving but unable to part from him. The gloved hand around your waist became more and more confident, playing with the hem of your shirt before sliding underneath. The cold leather made you shiver as it slid against you, tracing patterns on your side. It was so sudden when he bit your lip, a high whine escaping you. You could feel him smirk against your lips. Your head was foggy as he reconnected your lips, almost possessive with the way he held you against him.

“That’s enough kids, break it up!”

You hadn’t even noticed the ride stop. You sprung apart from him, still feeling as though your were under a trance. Looking up, blinking in the bright lights of the fairground, you saw the night guard hovering over you both, a triumphant scowl on his face.

“Uh oh-”

“I’ve got you now!”

Marko yanked you up, leapt out of the boat and – narrowly escaping Ed’s arms – the chase began once again. You ran side by side into the night, laughing manically. You’d definitely be giving your boyfriend a call tonight.

[whataboutmyfries]

Cigarettes and feelings

So, I took one look at this post here and naturally my brain went all over the place with ideas, so I've decided to make this my warm-up writing prompt list! The title is from the song of the same name by The Haunt and the prompt in question is:

1. whispering "kiss me" to your lover

Sirius had to double check to make sure he still had a heartbeat. Remus had gone and gotten that thing and then joined them for drinks like it was nothing. Sirius could tell he’d cast a healing spell on it from the way he laughed; the golden ring glinting against plush lips, making the slightest clink against his teeth.

Now, it wasn’t news that Sirius had been crushing on Remus for years. He’d been on the receiving end of many good-natured jokes from James and Lily. Lily had just given him a knowing grin while James slapped his back, laughing. And now, here they were; buzzed and laughing over the table. All their friends crowded into the small red booth, taking turns tossing peanuts into each others’s mouth. Remus whooped as he tossed three peanuts into Marlene’s mouth, and Sirius’s breath caught in his chest. He often thought his ribs would fracture with the pain of keeping his heart at bay, the rough undertones of Remus’s barking laugh grazing painfully against the knot in his throat. Lily looked up at him, concerned as he sucked in a breath and got up, jostling his friends in an attempt to leave. He had to get out, go home, go outside, go anywhere but here. Lily’s hand on his arm shook him from his thoughts and he turned to meet her eyes. Concern pooled under the wine-drunk haze on her irises. “Pads, you okay?”

Sirius nodded, trying his best to not allow Remus into his field of view. “Don’t worry Lils, I’m heading out for a smoke, I’ll be back before you know it.” She nodded, the crease between her eyebrows easing ever so slightly. It was all he could do to not run out of the damn place. The cold slap of the winter air was a welcome feeling, and he leaned against the cool brick wall as he pulled out his cigarettes, lighting one with shivering hands—of course he’d forgotten his coat inside, after all, it was just his luck. He sucked smoke into lungs, dropping his head back against the wall as he blew it out. He couldn’t stay here anymore. He couldn’t. He’d done everything in his power to keep his feelings at bay, but he’d always known that nobody he hooked up with could ever hold a candle to Remus. The honey-gold shimmer of his eyes in the moonlight, the way his soft laugh rasped along Sirius’s bones, skittering across his skin before settling somewhere deep in his chest. Remus was a ray of sunshine of a cold, winter day; Sirius could never stay away— no matter how hard he’d tried. The sound of footsteps distracted him from his little pity party and he turned, only to find the object of his thoughts standing there, grinning right at him. “Smoking without me Pads? Thought we were closer than that.” Sirius let out a resigned laugh, passing the cigarette. Remus’s cheeks hollowed as he sucked in the smoke, the soft lighting of the night making his hair look like a halo. Sirius had to look away. Remus hummed as he exhaled, dropping against the wall next to Sirius. “You okay Siri? You seemed a little off tonight.” If he wasn’t hurting so damn bad, Sirius would’ve laughed. “Well, of course you would’ve noticed.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Sirius turned his head for the barest second. “Nothing you should be concerned about.” Remus turned to face him. “Is is Walburga? I swear if that bitch said anythi—” “It’s not her Remus, just drop it would you?” Remus frowned. “Remus?! You never call me Remus.” “I do so call you Remus!” A shadow fell over Sirius’s face as Remus towered over him, bracing a forearm on the wall near his head. “Sweetheart, I did not suffer ‘pumpkin’ for a month just for you to lie to my face pads.” Sirius swallowed and Remus’s eye fell to the bob of his throat, before darting back up to meet his eyes. Just in time to catch Sirius looking at his lips. Remus licked his lips self consciously. “Is that it? Do you not like it?” Sirius’s eyes widened as he met Remus’s gaze. “No! No, that’s not it at all! It’s the opposite I—” Remus’s eyes turned to molten gold. “Oh?” Sirius’s breath was coming in staccato gasps, his eyes darting over Remus’s face as he fought to memorise every inch of that star-freckled face. Remus shone in the dim lamplight, the cigarette he was holding almost burned down to the filter. Hazel eyes met mercury and Remus bit his lip tentatively as he raised his hand. Sirius’s eyes flicked to long long fingers rising to cup his face, the tremble belying Remus’s nervousness. Sirius leaned into the warmth of Remus’s palm, watching as Remus swallowed. “Pads? Is this okay?” Sirius couldn’t help the soft groan that escaped his throat. “Remus.” It was more breath than anything. “Kiss me.” Remus made a strangled noise and surged forward to claim Sirius’s lips with his. Sirius moaned into Remus’s mouth at the feeling of soft, pillowy lips against his; the cold shock of Remus’s lip ring a stark contrast to the wet heat of his mouth. Remus let Sirius hold more of his weight, his thigh slotting in between Sirius's own, completely encompassing him in Remus’s warmth. Sirius’s hands flitted over Remus’s body, unable to get enough of him. Remus’s hand slid up to tangle in Sirius' hair to pull his head back, deepening the kiss. Sirius hummed— a low, rumbling sound that he felt down to his bones. He tugged at Remus’s lip ring with his teeth, swallowing the gasp he made, huffing a laugh onto Remus’s lips. “Mmmm, Pads I— fuck!” Remus pulled away with a choked curse,

shaking the hand he had braced against the wall. Sirius burst out laughing, grabbing Remus’s hand when he glared. “And that,” he whispered as he pressed a kiss to Remus’ burned knuckles. “Is why we put our cigarettes out before we kiss our best friend.” Remus laughed, dropping forward to bury his face in Sirius’s neck. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do that.” Sirius smirked, stroking the soft hair at Remus’s nape “Moons,” he sighed. “You have no idea.”

[sapphicquill]

Can I get a Caleb Lee gang tickle? It's what I need in these trying post finale times! -Poe

Ooops, got this prompt A WHILE GO and apparently needed almost a whole year to finish it. Sorry, my love. For you, anything <3

(ao3 link!)

fire wine and flustered wizards

rating: teen

characters: the Mighty Nein (Nott’s only there for a second WHOOPS)

wordcount: 3502

“Now really, darling, you think it’s smart to insult me like that?”

Despite the alcohol-fueled warmth coursing through him, Caleb feels a shiver slide down his spine at Mollymauk’s words. Which is infinitely silly considering Molly was talking to Jester and not him. But there was something dangerous and playful tangled up in the tiefling’s tone and the wizard might be steadily on his way to entirely drunk off his ass but he still has functioning ears. 

A yelp and sudden rush of giggles tugs Caleb’s attention back before he can get too deeply caught up in his thoughts. 

Across the small fire at the center of their makeshift campsite, Molly has Jester crowded in his lap, her back to his chest, his fingers fluttering with impressive speed up and down the young woman’s ribs. Jester’s head is tilted back and rests on Molly’s shoulder, her mouth open and light laughter falling freely from it. She squirms weakly and her tail jerks wildly from where it pokes out from between the two tieflings. 

“Anything you want to say to me, Jester?” Molly raises his voice enough to be heard over Jester’s bubbly giggles and Caleb can’t tear his eyes away from the pile of tiefling softly illuminated by the firelight.  

“Y-you’re a d-iiick!” Jester squeals before being overcome with laughter. Her giggles were quickly turning into deeper cackles as Molly’s tickling moved to her stomach. If his brain were working properly and not fogged with spirits, Caleb would be impressed with the purple tiefling’s dexterity considering the amount of fire wine he’d consumed thus far. As it is, Caleb can only stare. 

“Hmm, no, that’s not quite what I want to hear,” Molly says, a wide grin already growing on his face. At this, he changes tactics, one hand drawing rapid circles at Jester’s naval while the other climbs to her upper ribs, poking and skittering with deadly precision. To her credit, Jester doesn’t quite scream, but her squeals are loud enough to leave Caleb’s ears ringing just a tad.  

“Molly,” Fjord suddenly cuts in, “Knock it off already, leave Jester alone.” 

The rest of the group had apparently been content to watch the tieflings tussle from their respective spots around the fire, but Caleb isn’t all that surprised by the half-orc’s attempt at peacekeeping. They are, after all, in the middle of the gods-forsaken woods after sundown. 

(Add in some consideration of Fjord’s fairly obvious little crush on Jester and it’s really not that surprising he’d want to play the hero.)

What does surprise Caleb is the squeaky sound of Jester’s voice forcing its way through her unbridled laughter. 

“Fjord, it’s fii-ihine!” 

That’s apparently all that Jester can manage before being overcome by another bout of heavy laughter pouring out of her like a fountain. Molly, claws tracing swirls across her stomach, grins widely over at their resident warlock. 

“Yes, Fjord, it’s fine! I’m not doing anything this one dislikes, am I, darling?”

Jester just shakes her head and continues to squirm from her place in Molly’s lap. Caleb thinks he can see a hint of a flush creep onto Fjord’s face, though it could be a trick of the firelight—or, more likely, the firewine finally hitting. 

“Can you at least take it down a notch?” Fjord relies, voice softer—embarrassed, maybe, Caleb’s mind sluggishly supplies.   

“Nooo, Moll-hehe-y, don’t stop yet!” 

Jester squirms as Molly slows his fingers despite her protest, the other tiefling tracing across her stomach lightly enough to get her laughter to calm down to soft, squeaky giggling. 

“No, dear, Fjord’s right, we shouldn’t be making too much noise this late. You’ll put a target on us with all that laughing. Shame you’re just that ticklish, hmm?”

Caleb feels a rush of heat sweep through him as Molly’s light accent curls around that word. The human feels the distinct need to hide his face behind his hands, but powers through and lifts his cup instead. The firewine burns almost as brightly as the blush on his cheeks.

Jester, apparently entirely unbothered by the idea of making enough noise to attract attention from miles away, just whines and wiggles in Molly’s hold. Across the fire, Beau cackles while Fjord mutters something to himself that Caleb can’t make out. 

“So, I guess the whole thing about tieflings and tickling is true then?” The monk’s voice is rough in the way Caleb knows comes from a combination of drink and proximity to Yasha. Their barbarian compatriot had once again returned, just as mysteriously as always, and her sudden appearance had done a number on Beau’s ability to function. 

“Of course!” Jester replies enthusiastically, momentarily pausing in her attempts to grab Molly’s wrists and press his hands more firmly to her body. “It’s soooo much fun!” 

“You should try it sometime, might make you a little more fun to be around,” Molly adds, quickly tweaking Jester’s sides to pull a yelp and another stream of giggles from her. 

Caleb finally peels his eyes away from the tiefling pile to look at Beau. She’s leaning against one of the wheels of their cart, Yasha’s hulking form close enough to her Caleb can tell it’s probably affecting her higher brain function even more than the booze. She’s glaring at Molly rather intensely. 

“Uh, pass, but thanks anyway.”

Jester makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a giggle—probably thanks to Molly’s claws briefly digging into her sides again—before finally sliding out of the other tiefling’s lap and crawling over to her human best friend. 

“But Beau, it feels reeeeeally good!” 

Beau gives Jester an unimpressed look, her posture growing a little more guarded the closer the blue tiefling gets to her. Jester huffs, pouting in a way that Caleb would assume is exaggerated if it were anyone other than their bubbly cleric. Beau groans loudly.

“Aw, come on, Jes, quit it with the face.”

Jester, somehow, manages to pout harder. Then, like someone’s flipped a switch, the blue tiefling’s face lights up as an idea seems to hit her. 

“Maybe if I just—”

“Don’t you dare, no t—” Beau stumbles over her words, frantically crossing her arms across her chest, “No touching!” 

“I will never understand you humans and your hangups about tickling,” Molly pipes up. Caleb shifts his gaze away from the now exceedingly disappointed-looking Jester and back to the purple tiefling. 

He’s somehow found another bottle of firewire, uncorking it with one of his claws. Probably grabbed it out of their particularly sticky-fingered rogue’s pack. Caleb spares a moment to glance at Nott, still sound asleep on her bedroll next to him. She’d taken more damage than anyone else during a brief battle against a few blights earlier in the afternoon and passed out after downing little more than a single cup of wine. 

Molly’s own laughter catches the wizard’s attention once more. The purple tiefling is pointing at Beau, cork still pierced by a claw. 

“Like that, you can’t even hear someone say the word without getting embarrassed!”

Beau makes a noise of protest, but the deep flush on her cheeks can only be partially blamed on the alcohol. 

“Because it is embarrassing, jackass!” 

“And isn’t it a joy to exploit embarrassment, just a little bit?” Molly shoots back with the kind of smirk that makes it feel like Caleb’s stomach is doing somersaults. Gods, he should stop drinking. 

“Besides,” Molly continues, taking a long pull from the bottle of firewine, “It’s not just being on the receiving end that’s fun and all. You like taking advantage of people’s senses, don’t you?”

Beau opens her mouth to reply but seems to think for a moment before closing it and, probably unconsciously, nods. 

“Well, I like it. Uh, both sides, that is.” 

Yasha’s voice cuts through the night air like a blade, and Caleb watches as Beau nearly breaks her neck as she hurries to look back at the barbarian. Molly makes an excited noise of approval that’s almost instantly drowned down by Jester’s dramatic gasp.

“You do?”

“It’s nice, like you said,” Yasha replies with a shrug, face placid and earnest as ever. Their cleric makes a sort of chirping noise, one that Caleb is only kind of sure is a tiefling thing rather than a Jester thing, as she all but throws herself toward their monochromatic companion. 

“Yasha! Why didn’t you tell us sooner? There could have been soooo much more tickling happening!” 

A choking noise from Fjord’s direction manages to distract Jester from her complaining. Molly laughs again. 

“What was that, dear?” Molly calls, a contented purr blending with his accent and Caleb really needs to stop focusing on things like that when he’s drunk. 

“Er,” Fjord attempts, face aflame behind his waterskin. 

“Oh, Fjord, please say you like tickling too!” Jester whines from her new spot smooshed against Yasha’s side, tail wavering in the air just like Frumpkin when the familiar’s cosied up with someone for the night. 

“I, uh,” Fjord tries again, eyes pointedly looking toward Molly, “I’m with Beau on this, I think.”

“So a preference towards giving rather than receiving?” The gleam in Molly’s eyes, twinkling in the firelight, send another cascade of sparks down Caleb’s spine. 

“Sure?” Fjord nearly squeaks before taking a deep drink from his waterskin, clearly trying to shift the tieflings’ attention to someone, anyone else. 

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Mr. Caleb.” 

Molly’s words hang in the night air and Caleb nearly doesn’t realize he’s being addressed for the first time in almost an hour. He feels a bit like a prey animal when the rest of the group turn to face him. The tieflings’ eyes are twinkling even in the low light—and, based on recent revelations, this probably doesn’t bode well. He feels his face grow warmer under the combined gazes of his companions, but steadfastly moves his gaze back to the embers fluttering off of the campfire, resisting another ridiculous urge to hide behind his hands. 

“Ah, well, there is not… much to say, I don’t think,” Caleb finally manages, and as soon as the words leave his mouth he knows he’s said the wrong thing. A devilish smile fully fitting of his heritage forms on Molly’s face, and Caleb feels like his stomach is full of fireflies. 

“Nonsense, darling, go on. You’re the only one awake who hasn’t shared an opinion on the topic at hand, seems to me it’d be a bit rude to not say anything now.” 

Caleb suddenly wishes he didn’t actually care if the others thought of him as rude—but, tragically, these idiots have wormed their way past all of his walls. So he has to say something. Perhaps if he were less inebriated, he would have better control over exactly what he says.

“I… do not recall the last time I was actually—I’m not sure I am even, uh…” 

“Ticklish?” Molly supplies the barest hint of a teasing purr in his voice. Caleb feels the tiniest of shudders roll through him. 

“Ah, ja, that.”

A brief bit of a memory flashes across his mind, of being trapped between two bodies, Wulf keeping his wrists pinned firmly to the bed, Astrid perched on his hips, laughter and light and warmth filling the miniscule bedroom as the two other pieces of his heart take him apart with fluttering fingers and teasing words—

Caleb chokes down another mouthful of firewine and heaves his consciousness back to the present. 

“Well, there’s a fairly simple way to find out, and I’m sure with a mind as keen as yours you would know that already.” 

“Mollymauk, I do not—”

Caleb looks toward the rest of the group in hope of some sort of aid, but, surprisingly, everyone else is starting to get a look similar to Molly’s. His stomach flips again. 

With the lithe grace he’s come to associate with the blood hunter, Molly is crawling over to him and suddenly, the tiefling is crowded into his personal space. His eyes are almost brighter than the fire when he says,

“Let’s get to it, then.” 

Before Caleb can even attempt to scramble away, Molly latches onto his stomach and gently curls his claws inward. The wizard can’t help but gasp and jerk backwards in response. 

“Molly—”

“Now hold on, Widogast, we’ve barely begun,” Molly cuts him off with a laugh, repeating the motion a bit more quickly, over and over. Caleb grits his teeth, because gods above, yes, it tickles like hell and it would spell disaster if that particular truth was cemented as fact. But he knows that Molly can feel the muscles of his stomach twitching, and the head rush of the alcohol is making the giggles bubbling up in his throat extremely hard to keep tamped down, and after only a few seconds, Caleb feels his head loll back as his laughter escapes anyway. 

“There now, you see?” Caleb catches Molly saying, “Perfectly ticklish, it seems to me. And somehow, I think you already knew that, you tricky bastard.”

Caleb’s brain is too fried to be able to string words together, and instead hopes the increasingly desperate tone of his laughter convey whatever Molly might want to hear from him. He brings his hands up, perhaps to try to pull Molly’s away from his abdomen, but instead just clings to the tiefling’s forearms instead.

“Cay-leb, you’re so cute when you’re getting tickled!” Jester’s voice is suddenly much closer than it was before, and then there’s warmth pressed to Caleb’s back and another set of claws wiggling up into his partially exposed armpits. Stuck between two gleeful tieflings, Caleb whines between bouts of laughter and makes a valiant effort to keep from melting into a puddle on the ground. 

“She’s right, those giggles are downright precious,” Molly teases, claws now spiraling across his stomach, making a quick detour to his sides before drawing back and repeating the pattern again. 

Caught in the double onslaught, Caleb feels his face flushing redder than could be explained away as alcohol flush. Jester’s fingers wiggle cruelly at his underarms, her claws moving with the careful precision of someone who’s been doing this for years. Their bright zings of tickly sensation are enough to make him release Molly’s arms and pull his elbows down to try and protect at least one point of attack. Behind him, Jester makes a noise of complaint before seemingly slipping away, the usual cold of her presence disappearing—though Caleb barely registers it, as Molly skates a single claw up and down his sides, throwing the wizard into slightly more desperate laughter. Molly chuckles too, leaning close enough that Caleb has to close his eyes for fear of imploding out of embarrassment. 

“Uh oh, looks like you’re in trouble,” the tiefling purrs into his ear, sending a violent shiver down Caleb’s back, “Seems like Jester’s gone to recruit some accomplices. Though—”

Molly’s claws hit Caleb’s lowest rib on either side and Caleb wriggles like a fish on a hook, but not making any actual move away from the torture currently being inflicted. 

“It seems like you might not mind this much at all, dear.”

The other man’s words curl through Caleb’s mind like silk gliding across his skin and the human’s laughter ratchets up to what could reasonably be called hysterical. Another low laugh purrs into his ear. 

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it? You like hearing about how obvious it is you like me tickling you, hmm?” 

Caleb shakes his head back and forth as vigorously as he can, trying to form any sort of protest, but his efforts evaporate when he feels two large hands wrapping around him from the back and grasping his wrists. 

“You have to hold him suuuuper well, Yasha, make sure he can’t his fingers for somatics!” Jester crows from somewhere to his side. The barbarian hums deeply, and then Caleb’s entire world tilts as his trapped wrists are lifted above his head and used to pull him straight onto his back. Jester cheers, causing both Yasha and Molly to laugh, and then the tiefling woman is back on him, claws scrabbling under his shirt to reach the bottom edge of his book holsters. Loud laughter punches its way out of Caleb’s chest and oh gods, he’s going to die, he’s going to absolutely lose it, please don’t let them stop for anything—

“Fuck, do you think this much laughter is going to kill him?” Beau’s voice comes from somewhere near Yasha and the imminent threat of someone who so recently admitted to “taking advantage of someone’s senses” is enough to distract Caleb from ruminating even a little on the things his mind seems to think is okay to ponder. 

“Laughter’s good for you!” Jester happily supplies as she seemingly tries to slip underneath the leather currently keeping the last of Caleb’s sanity tethered to this plane. 

“I believe they say it’s the best medicine,” Molly adds, and Caleb can picture the smug grin that is no doubt plastered on the tiefling’s cruel, horrible, wonderfully torturous face. 

“You should help them.”

The human still had enough higher brain function left to pick out the soft, teasing affection in Yasha’s voice, and of everything that had happened in the last few minutes, that sent a twin sunburst of warmth and dread spiraling through him. 

And then, because Beauregard is entirely incapable of not doing exactly what Yasha says at any point in time, a third set of wriggling fingers touch down on his hyper-sensitive skin. Though not as precisely skilled as those of Jester and Molly, Beau’s fingertips are nimble and quickly zero in on the currently exposed undersides of his upper arms. It’s surprising and terribly ticklish and enough to make Caleb’s hiccuping laughter turn deep and frantic. 

“Oh, Caleb, you must reeeally like this, you’re not even telling us to stop!” 

Caleb can only laugh desperately. 

After what could have been millenia, Caleb feels Molly straighten up from where he’d been draped over the wizard’s currently prone body—though his fingers continue to mercilessly tease at the point where his lowest ribs meet his back. 

“Hold on, we’re missing someone—Fjord, get your ass over here and help us destroy the wizard!” 

“Uhh, I don’t know—”

“Get over here before we decide to go after you next.”

“Ooooh, yes!” Jester excitedly squeaks. Fjord coughs loudly, like he’s choking on his own spit, before Caleb feels the deep thump of footsteps approaching from across the camp. 

“Well don’t just stand there,” Molly drawls, shifting to sit on Caleb’s left side and dig into his ribs like a particularly overzealous pianist. An agonizing moment passes as the squealing human waits for three sets of hands to become four before large, calloused hands touch down on his knees and start squeezing in short bursts and that’s it. Caleb’s brain goes temporarily offline as the world hazes into ten points of contact and an impossible symphony of electric, ticklish sensation and he missed this so much, gods. 

“Seems to me like this needs to turn into a more regular occurrence,” Molly says over Caleb’s laughter, “Provided we don’t wake everyone in the next town over.”

“Wha—what’s happening?”

A groggy voice suddenly cuts through the night air, and everyone freezes, everything quiet—well, everything except his own damn laughter, which just turns into wheezy giggling. Through the fog that had descended over his mind, Caleb recognizes the concern in Nott’s tone despite her own sleep-addled state. 

“Oh, nothing to worry about, just tickling Caleb to bits,” Molly says casually. No one says anything immediately following that, and the silence is a little bit suffocating. Caleb slowly blinks his eyes open, only partially remembering closing them, and turns his head to the side. 

Nott, sitting up on her bedroll, is regarding the scene in front of her with a mix of confusion, curiosity, and caution. Caleb would say something, <i>anything</i>, except he’s pretty sure if he opens his mouth, the only thing that would slip out would be more laughter. 

The goblin must see something in Caleb’s eyes that even he doesn’t know how to put to words, because after another beat of silent contemplation, a sharp-toothed grin spreads widely across her face. 

“Huh. Well, alright. Night!” With that, Nott flops back down, rolls to her side, and closes her eyes. Caleb can hardly process her words before claws—Molly’s, definitely Molly’s—touch back down on his ribs and once again he’s lost in his own laughter.    

[mazin-empress]

So that went 1000x better than expected. Even more after finding out someone had brought Cards Against Humanity.

I don’t know how the fuck I’m so good at this game. I’m also pretty sure my mom’s never gonna look at me the same again, especially after my use of the black people card. Though to be fair, one, I could have used it much worse, and two, the look on her face was fucking hysterical.

My aunt Renee also played a worrying number of child abuse cards. But it was a fun time. I need to buy this game for myself.

[transphilza]

okay im stuck in the eternal hell of the dmv atm so im going to ramble more headcannons

okay so he smokes right? but he fucking hates the scent it gives him head aches and makes him nauseous as a kid he would leave the room he smelt a single breath of it. the stress turns him to try it in a last stitch attempt to make it go away. Then he trys again, then again, and well

After revival he promises he wont touch the stuff ever again. But thats not how addiction works does it?

this may badically be cannon but still revived wilbur could be having the day of his life the best fucking time but then he sees like a pothole or a dead bug even and its ruined. Life is terrible and can never be renewed thinks about all night and gets no sleep fully aware of how logically death is needed but in reality he cant stop the anxiety his life is being wasted.

Pogtopia was the first time tommy ever saw wilbur drunk, tispy sure in lmanburg there was a hidden wine bottle in every chest, but not shit faced and sobbing. He tried telling at him that its 'ten aclock in the fucking morning what is he doing! Hes WILBUR THE WILbur, why would he ever cry? They just need to make another ploy to get back into lmanburg and hell feel like himself again!' Wilbur doesmt scream in response simply mutters between sobs that he should 'go, and and , just go' Tommy shaken at this quiet whisper of wilbur obliges. He pretends nothing ever happened, that is till it happens again.

Whoops i wrote a fanfic in your inbox and the DMV STILL HASNT CALLED YEP love and peace this is great i can just write more for you to read not salty at all

oh god my condolences ❤️ i hope you’re free now that i’m posting this

thank you for the angst in my inbox /gen this is a good way of coping with the dmv

[newtonsheffield]

Hi, I was wondering you could write something about the Bridgerton spouses and them all spending the day together and the Bridgerton siblings wondering where they have gone.

Hello! Hello Hello! 

My god you have been waiting on this for just the longest time, and I am just so sorry! I have no excuse beyond: I am terribly disorganised and unfortunately sometimes I have to deal with my real life. 

So anyway! On with the show! This isn’t exactly what you asked for and I’m combining it with another request, again, terrible! So sorry! 

Anon asked: I love your little headcanon about the Bridgerton wives and their wine night. Do you have sth similar for the Bridgerton husbands too? The Bridgerton Wives Club is truly my legacy at this stage aaaaaaand I couldn’t be prouder of it. 

@esoterrifica was also a little interested in this concept 

And So, without further Ado, it is my greatest pleasure to introduce to you all The Bridgerton Wives Club and their sister Association  (If You’ve somehow missed my post about the BWC here it is here 

“And just where’s my shirt, Katie cat?” Michael Stirling had said nodding in the direction of the remainder of Frankie’s sister in laws wearing their infamous Bridgerton Wives Club shirts, gathered around the table that had been dragged into Violet Bridgerton’s back lawn. Kate raised her eyebrows and said nothing. 

“I’m a Bridgerton wife now as well, I think it’s only fair, don’t you?” He said, a charming grin on his face, Kate laughed brightly.  “I’m afraid, Michael, unless you want to get drunk and discuss breast feeding techniques with us you’re quite on your own.” Michael huffed a little indignantly at the exclusion. as Kate continued  “Besides, Simon was the first of you, he was never invited to wine and Whine night and he’s never minded, Have you Simon?” She called out as she passed. Simon looked up a little surprised, Amelia sitting on his shoulders waving down at Auntie Katie as she shrieked with joy “To be fair, I didn’t know it was an option.” Simon said mildly. Michael scoffed

“See! I’ll make the shirts Kate! Just give me the stencil!” a wicked little smirk twisted Kate’s mouth for a second, her eyes shining in a way that Michael had noticed even made his terrifying brother-in-law Anthony stop in his tracks. “oh no, Michael. I’m afraid now I’m quite looking forward to what you come up with, you’r a creative spirit! Let it fly free!” She said as she bent down without even looking and scooped her daughter off the ground who had been sprinting past in attempt to reach the newly revealed chocolate pudding, clearly intent on dumping it on her brother’s head. Michael frowned

“That’s fine, I’ll just ask Penelope. She likes me.” he said, turning to Penelope who had just arrived to their tiny group. “You’ll give me the stencil so I can make a wives club shirt for myself right?” Penelope’s eyes widened, scooting a little nervously to Kate who was immensely enjoying her own joke  “Remember who picked you, Eloise, and Edwina out of the drunk tank when you were 19 and never told your mother Penelope.” Kate sing-songed happily. Penelope paled a little and then, a smirk formed matching Kate’s  “You’re a clever man Michael, you’ll figure something out.” She said, laughing as Michael tutted and then quickly “And don’t even try to fluster Sophie into telling you!” Penelope and Kate laughed brightly amongst themselves as Generalissimo and Pen AND the Sword joined Sweet but Psycho and The heiress 

“What’s that look for?” Francesca said wrapping her arm around his waist, as an idea formed in his mind.  “Your sister in law is an absolute menace.” Michael said, smiling as he kissed his wife’s cheek.  “Here Here” he heard Anthony muter as he passed, on his way to take his son from... Gareth! “Frankie, I love you, you’re beautiful but I have to take care of something!” He said kissing his Bewildered wife on the cheek as he called out  “GARETH!”

_________________

A week later Phillip Crane was looking at Michael as though he’d fully lost his mind, and honestly, maybe he had. 

“You want me to wear this... in public?” Phillip said a little slowly, Michael nodded.  “Yes, Gareth made them.” he replied, throwing attention to the youngest member of their group, already proudly wearing his creation, the sleeves rolled up artfully his tattooed arms in bright contrast to the white fabric. Phillip tutted.  “I’m a little disappointed that you were so easily swayed, Gareth.” Phillip said resignedly holding up the shirt in front of him. Gareth grinned brightly

“I think it’s great! Excellent idea Mike!” He said, tying his hair back in his signature bun “And, Phil, you know Eloise is gonna love it.”  Phillip’s head shot up at the sound of his wife’s name, a small smile appearing on his face, and Michael knew he’d won. Phillip sighed “Fine, Michael, if Simon will wear his, I’ll wear mine.”  Simon Basset burst through the door, as if on queue, his shirt already on grinning broadly “Sorry I’m late boys, Daph needed a hand with Caroline. Love the shirts by the way, just spoke to Luce and she said she’s on route with the other girls, we should head!” 

Phillip groaned as he pulled the shirt over his head. Michael let out a whoop of joy  “Let’s go boys!”

_______________

Well Well Well, Ladies and Gentlemen it seems The Bridgerton Wives Club now have a Sister (or rather brother) Organisation. Generalissimo, The Heiress, Sweet but Psycho and The Pen and the Sword were Joined by four new members today on their monthly brunch meeting today, and they seemed to have named themselves everyone say a very flustered hello to The Bridgerton Dudes Club Members include Mr Football, Mr Handsome, Mr Flowers, and Mr Manbun Gentlemen of London: Lock up your wives and Daughters!    

Anthony Bridgerton: Have you guys seen this? Kate has been cackling since she got home and I did wonder why.

Colin Bridgerton: Seen it? I was whooping for joy! You know Mum is gonna frame that picture and send it around for the Christmas card.

Eloise Crane: Oh Look at him! Apparently it was Michael’s Idea, Frankie remind me to thank Michael for getting Phil such a tight shirt.

Hyacinth St Clair: Jesus Christ, That man is an absolute idiot. At least this explains why I dropped in to his shop the other day to find Michael and Gareth whispering away like old women. I didn’t think Michael had any tattoos 

Benedict Bridgerton: Mr Handsome? Bit much isn’t it? But also, if Michael has a tattoo Soph might let me get one. 

Gregory Bridgerton: Gareth’s artwork looks better than Kate’s she’s gonna be Pissed. Lucy says Michael does have tattoos but she won’t say where ???? Frankie?????

Daphne Basset: I love Simon but... Mr Handsome is right 👀👀👀👀GET IT FRANKIE

Francesca Bridgerton-Stirling: ... I’m NOT discussing Michael’s tattoos with you heathens. But also... He is Going to Get it tonight. 

Hyacinth St. Clair: YEAH HE IS!!!!  

Anthony Bridgerton: Sadly I can confirm my wife is currently redoubling her efforts on the Wives Club Shirts, partially to spite Michael, partially to spite me. Please don’t tell her I actually like them (looking at you, Greg.) And Young Ladies! Go to bed! 

[glassesandswords]

Ease Our Burden

Summary:

Late at night, the Survey Corps veterans head to a bar after wrapping up their year-end paperwork. What happens after a few glasses of alcohol is just plain chaos.

( When I read one of Erwin's official smartpass AUs, I wondered what kind of shenanigans the scouts pulled in the bar they headed off to after work. This is a story I've been wanting to write for so long, as drunk vets live in my mind rent free. Hope you like it.)

Originally posted in Ao3  and dedicated to @someonestolemyshoes

---

It was late at night when the wooden door of the bar creaked open, the sound of raucous laughter and footsteps spilling in. The old barkeeper looked up from his counter to see the veterans of the Survey Corps entering his almost-empty establishment, headed by their commander, Erwin Smith.

He gave a quiet nod to him. Soldiers frequented this bar often, as it was the closest to the military quarters. His eyes went towards the two Military Police soldiers sipping their beers in one corner of the room. The barkeeper had planned to close for the night after the MPs left, but now that the Scouts were here, he did not mind tending to the bar a little longer. Besides, he knew Erwin well from his cadet corps days- days that felt so long ago now.

The Scouts settled down noisily around a large round table, dragging in chairs from the other empty tables to fit them all. The barkeeper recognized quite a few of them. The loud, bespectacled brunette was Hange Zoe, someone who was poked fun of by the MPs and Garrison soldiers alike on a regular basis in the bar. She was a usual topic of gossip and trash-talk, as he had seen the customers mimicking her for some laughs, as if they were trying to talk to the captured titans in the same way that one would approach a pet.

His gaze trailed to the short man next to Erwin, the infamous Captain Levi, humanity’s strongest soldier. Rumors- fueled by drinks- always spread like wildfire around the bar, and even the barkeeper himself had heard whispers of how the captain was, earlier, a thug from the underground. As for how much truth the rumor contained, he did not know.

Captain Levi sat opposite Mike Zacharias, the tall section commander who was one of Erwin’s longest comrades in the Scouts. He could not recollect the names of the four others- two men and two women- as well, although he supposed he might have seen their faces somewhere before. After all, these soldiers were the best that humanity had to offer- for going outside the walls to face the titans and exterminating them required immense internal courage. The barkeeper could never imagine him voluntarily putting himself through such an ordeal. No, he was happy here just doing his family business.

Erwin walked over to the old barkeeper and enquired about his day with gentle familiarity. The barkeeper answered in like. He remembered the times all those years ago when he’d come over there with Nile Doc, the current commander of the Military Police, to stir up some trouble in the bar and to steal looks at the pretty barmaid- Marie was her name, he believed- during the evenings after their training.

His lips involuntarily quirked up with a smile at that memory. What a rowdy bunch they were.

“What would you and your team like tonight?” he asked Erwin.

“A glass of whiskey for me,” he said and turned back to the others. “What about you all?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Levi replied, looking bored.

“I’ll have some simple lemonade,” the short blonde haired woman said.

“Can I get a mug of beer?” Hange piqued, “I’m in the mood for some beer today.”

“I’ll have whatever Section Commander Hange is having as well,” said the tall man who sat on Hange’s other side.

“Alright, two beers and one lemonade for Nanaba then,” Erwin said. “What about you Gelgar, Marlene and Mike?”

The other two grinned, “Mike’s going to choose for us.”

At that, Mike stood up and approached him. “May I check your collection out?” he asked politely in his deep voice, towering over the old barkeeper. The barkeeper craned his neck to look up at him and nodded timidly.

Mike hopped on the counter and crossed his legs to the other side with ease. He ran a finger through the array of glass bottles, gleaming in the soft yellow lighting of the bar. Keeping his face close to the bottles, he took a sniff now and then as he went through the assortment of liquors.

The barkeeper let him do his thing as he poured the beer and whiskey in their glasses and chopped up a lemon to make Nanaba’s lemonade.

“Ah… I’m relieved that we are finally here,” he heard Hange’s husky, drawn out voice from their table. “All that year-end paperwork sucked the soul out of me. To balance it out, let’s have some fun tonight, shall we?”

“I’m curious,” Marlene replied, “What do you have in mind?”

“We are going to get Erwin as drunk as possible. I wanna see what embarrassing stories spout out of his mouth.”

Erwin gave a small chuckle. “A brave quest. Good luck with that.”

“You don’t need to get Erwin drunk to embarrass himself,” Levi drawled. “Just place him in the midst of the younger cadets and ask him to make small talk. You’ll watch him flounder like a fish out of water.”

“There sure is a generational gap, but I’m not that old, Levi.”

“Bullshit. You scared away my entire squad that day when you tried to be friendly with them.”

“I was just trying out a change in approach rather than my usual authoritative tone. It is important to connect with the younger-”

“Right, right, I get it. But you should know you suck at that. Just keep doing what you do and you’ll be fine.”

Another smile stemmed from Erwin. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

The barkeeper walked over to their table with the tray of drinks in his hand, as all his waiters had left for home already. He set the glasses and mugs in front of them.

“You know what would be a great idea?” Hange’s voice filled the room again. “Let’s have a drinking contest between Moblit and Gelgar. I want to see which one of you two is the fastest to chug three mugs of beer in one go.”

“I place my bets on Gelgar,” Nanaba quipped.

“Gelgar is obviously going to win, this guy is a straight-up drunkard if I’ve ever seen one,” Marlene chuckled. Gelgar, despite his weak protests, seemed quite confident in himself and eager to take part. Moblit, on the other hand, looked resigned- like he was forcibly dragged into yet another messy situation he’d rather not be in, but had no choice but to appease his superiors by participating.

Hange put an aggressive arm around Moblit’s shoulder. “You all underestimate Moblit’s drinking capacity,” she chided, “I’d bet my life on him winning this contest.”

“You do realize his chronic alcoholism stems from your recklessness, right?” Levi asked dryly.

Hange ignored him. “Get the beers rolling!” she signaled the barkeeper with her hand. “Let’s see who downs them the fastest!”

As the others banged their fists on the wooden table yelling chug chug chug, egging the two of them on as they gulped down the mugs of foaming beer, Mike and Erwin checked out the wine selection. Even though the barkeeper was used to their shenanigans, he was still weirded out by seeing Mike sniff at each bottle and give his smirk rating. Apparently, the wider the smirk, the better the liquor.

This went on for a while till Mike’s nose finally rested on an expensive bottle of plum wine. He gave the widest smirk he could muster and nodded his shaggy head at Erwin. The commander took the bottle from him and examined it.

“What’s this one?”

“The Reeves company’s finest plum wine, sir. I’ll have to warn you that it’s very strong. And a little on the pricier side.”

A commotion from the table made them look back at Hange who let out a delighted, victorious cheer, jumping and punching her fist in the air as Nanaba and Marlene rolled their heads, moaning in disappointment. “Pay up,” Hange declared, as the other two pulled out their wallets amidst the grumbles.

“We’ll have this then,” Erwin turned towards Mike. “I’ll pay. Consider this a thank you gift from my end. You have all done so much to help me, so I wish to treat you all to something good tonight.”

Mike crossed the bar counter to the other side and slapped a broad hand on Erwin’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said, his lips forming a smile that was way more heartfelt than one of his usual smirks. “Let’s go share this with everyone.”

There were whoops from the rest of the table as Erwin and Mike brought over the wine and uncorked it. Glasses, the barkeeper remembered, I have to take some glasses over and-

He stopped, his hand paused over the tray as he saw Mike chug down the wine straight from the bottle. Swiping the back of his palm over his mouth, he passed the bottle on to Hange, who took a deep gulp and handed it over to Levi.

The barkeeper watched in disbelief at the sheer disrespect towards the expensive wine as it got passed on to Erwin, who drank it in the same way. Apparently, he wasn’t the only flabbergasted one, as the two MPs on the other side of the room went quiet, their expressions scrunched as they watched all the veteran Scouts drink from the same bottle without a care in the world.

He did not have enough time to dwell on that, though, as Hange stalked over to the counter, looking slightly dazed. “That was good,” she said as she sat on a stool in front of him, “A little stronger than I expected, but I’m not complaining.” She rested her elbows on the countertop and leaned forward towards the barkeeper as if she were about to share a secret, her breath smelling strongly of the plum wine as she whispered, “Moblit’s birthday is coming up and I want to gift him something good. What are your recommendations?”

As the barkeeper put forth a few bottles of good liquor on the table, the door opened with a creak and an old man with salt and pepper hair entered the bar, his eyes darting outside as if to check that he wasn’t being watched by anyone. Once satisfied that he was alone, he walked into the room and sat on a stool next to Hange. One look at his wrinkle-webbed face and Hange let out a surprised sound.

“Commander Pixys?”

Pixys placed a finger on his lips. “I’m undercover,” he whispered, pointing towards his salt and pepper wig. “If Anka finds out I’m here, I’m screwed big time.”

“Don’t worry,” Hange smirked, “Your secret is safe with me.”

The barkeeper poured a glass of whiskey to Pixys as Hange sifted through the bottles, almost as meticulously as Mike did, minus the sniffing or smirking part. The old Garrison commander took this as an opportunity to strike up a conversation with the scout.

“I heard your titan experiments are yielding results,” he said over his glass, “How did you manage to capture two of them without any casualties?”

“We lured them to the walls and used spiked nets to pin them to the ground,” Hange replied cheerfully.

“As expected from the Survey Corps’ genius.”

“No, no,” Hange waved off his compliment with a light chuckle. “None of this would have been possible without Erwin’s support and Levi squad’s contribution. They did most of the work.”

“You’re too humble,” Pixys shook his head, his wig sliding down a little as he did. “You know what would be a better contribution to humanity, though?”

“Hm?”

“If you researched wine with as much passion as you have towards the titans,” he said as Hange laughed. “Just imagine the breakthroughs you’d come up with that the world can benefit from.”

“How about we combine the two of them together?” Hange proposed. “Think about it, we can make the ultimate Titan-wine!”

“Huh? How is that possible?”

“We can dig a pit outside the wall and fill it with a giant tub full of berries,” Hange went on in her half-drunk state. “Then we lure the titans to fall into the pit, resulting in them stomping the berries into pulp. Once they do the grunt work, we can dispatch Levi and Mike to kill them off. Their bodies would evaporate, leaving no trace of them on the wine. Who knows- the heat might enhance the flavour as well…”

Pixys threw his head back and laughed, patting Hange on her back.

“This is exactly why humanity needs you!”

During his thirty long years of running the bar, the barkeeper had heard many questionable conversations, but this was probably the most bizarre one of them all- considering it was one between a commander and a section commander of the military. He thanked his stars as Hange broke off the conversation after selecting the wine she needed with Pixys’ insight. Wrapping the selected bottle in brown paper, he handed it to Hange, who paid for it separately.

Once Hange left to join her comrades, the barkeeper poured another glass of whiskey for Pixys. Now that his conversation partner had left the table, he started talking to him instead.

“It’s so rare to see them having fun like that,” he said, looking wistfully at the Survey Corps, who were hooting and catcalling at Erwin as he loosened a few buttons on his collar with a lazy smile on his chiseled face. “It’s hard to maintain sanity and optimism when you see your dear friends get killed in front of you during every expedition.” He took a deep drink of his whiskey. “Maybe that’s why they are so optimistic. They decided to spend whatever limited time they have left enjoying each other’s company.”

The door opened again, the sound drowned by the chaos from the scouts table. A red-haired woman strode towards the counter in a huff, frustrated anger written all over her face.

“Found you.”

Pixys winced as his aide, Anka, grabbed him by his ear and dragged him out of the bar, paying no attention to his miserable pleas.

“At least let me finish that drink-”

“You weren’t supposed to drink in the first place! Did you really think you could hide under that stupid wig of yours? I’ve known you for years, you know, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life changing your diapers if you end up stuck in a hospital bed.”

The door closed after them. The salt and pepper wig lay on the wooden floor, having slipped from Pixys’ bald head while he struggled against Anka’s steering grip.

The Survey Corps paid no heed to the struggle or the aftermath of the fallen wig as they were too busy goading Nanaba to dance for them.

“Alright, alright,” Nanaba gave in with a laugh, “Just a few steps, but only if some of you guys join me.”

She pulled Marlene up on her feet, while Hange needed no prompting. After downing yet another shot of whiskey, they let themselves loose, snapping their fingers and shaking their bodies to the rhythmic clicks and claps of the rest. Nanaba really was good at it, and the barkeeper did not miss Mike’s longing glance at her.

Their laughter and whoops were interrupted rather rudely by one of the MPs who stood up and glared at them.

“Tch,” he said, his face twisted in disgust at the Scouts, “Can’t have a moment of peace and quiet in here. Stupid scouts, always kicking up a ruckus wherever they go.”

The other MP, however, did not seem so wasted, considering he was tugging the drunk one’s shirt, subtly signaling him to stand down. They were in the presence of the commander and the section commanders of the Survey Corps after all.

The drunk one did not seem to care about their ranks. “Go on,” he jeered, to the now quiet table, “Drink away all our taxes. That’s all that you all are good for either way.”

“What’s your problem?” Levi growled, his sharp gaze trained on him.

The drunk MP waved a hand at them. “Y’all are the problem,” he said, his words slurring together, “To the ‘ntire society. You Scouts are a sham in the name of soldiers. The world would be a better place if you imposters got eaten by the titans y’all love so much.”

There was pin drop silence in the bar. The barkeeper felt his blood pressure rise steadily as the air thickened with tension. The drunk MP, however, did not seem to notice the predatory looks trained on him, unlike the other MP, who desperately hissed at him to shut up already.

“The Survey Corps is too grand a name for what is nothing but a funeral parade,” he went on obliviously. “All you are paid to do is to lead a bunch of stupid, starry eyes idealistic brats that join your dumb regiment to their gruesome deaths in the maws of those titans. At least that saves some resources inside the walls for sane people to live-”

His words were cut short by a strangled choke as Hange strode towards him and lifted him up by his collar.

The barkeeper rushed out of the counter to mediate the situation, but froze on his tracks when he glimpsed the absolute fury in the section commander’s eyes.

“Hange,” Erwin warned, but she paid no heed. Her stare was fixed on the MP’s wild eyes as he struggled to get out of her powerful, vice-like grip.

“Do you know why you MPs can live such comfortable lives within the walls?” she asked, her voice shaking with barely contained rage. “It’s because we, the Survey Corps, risk our lives to seek the knowledge that can give humanity a chance at survival. We are humanity’s spear- fighting in the front lines so that you can meekly settle down behind the walls with a family.”

As the MP clawed desperately at her hands, she shook him harder and flung him across the bar with a grunt. To the barkeeper’s horror, he crashed right on the table they were occupying earlier. The table upturned and the beer glasses shattered, amber liquor soaking the wooden floor.

Hange was still glaring at them as she was pulled back by the combined efforts of Moblit and Mike.

“If you can’t learn to show some gratitude towards the fallen, at least learn to shut up.”

The MPs scurried out of the bar immediately after. The sober one shoved a wad of excess cash into the barkeeper’s palms before he dragged his drunk friend from the establishment. Erwin apologized to him on Hange’s behalf and assured that he’d pay for the damages caused as the others tried to get Hange to calm down- which wasn’t working very well, as Moblit was the only one chiding her for being reckless while the others sat with a suppressed smile, smug satisfaction written clearly on their faces.

“Can't believe the gall of these MPs!” Hange ranted angrily, watching their backs as they left. “If you guys hadn't stopped me, I’d have climbed up on him and given a demonstration of how heroic Erwin looks as he rides a horse outside Wall Rose.” An overly exaggerated, determined look morphed her face as she saluted, hitting her fist to her heart with an amount of force enough to make the barkeeper flinch. “Dedicate your heart!” she declared, deepening her voice considerably, as if she were imitating the commander.

Marlene, Nanaba, Gelgar and Mike immediately responded with similar salutes and a ‘yessir’, while Erwin looked slightly red. A soft, huffing laugh caught their attention, and all eyes turned incredulously towards the source of the sound- Captain Levi.

Hange gasped loudly. “Somebody take the wine bottle away from Levi! He’s so drunk that he’s actually laughing.”

“Shut up, Four-eyes,” his signature scowl returned back to his face. “I'm a human being, not a brick wall.”

“I could easily have mistaken you for one.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sometimes, I wish I could get drunk just so that I don’t have to hear the shit that spouts out of your mouth all the time.”

“Ah, the things that some strong alcohol can do to others but not to poor Levi here. How unfortunate. But there’s a way to recreate that drunken state without alcohol, y’know? Just don’t sleep for ten days.”

“Joke’s on you, I'm an insomniac.”

“So is this your permanently drunken state?” Hange tapped on the commander’s arm, “Erwin, you should look into this. Imagine how much more powerful he would be if he got an adequate amount of sleep each night.”

“Wrong, Hange. Levi is probably this powerful because he doesn’t get any sleep.”

Hange let out a bark of laughter. “You might be right there.”

As their banter continued, Moblit approached the barkeeper. “If it’s not much of a problem, may I request a pencil and a piece of paper?” he asked.

“Sure, sir,” the barkeeper replied as he pulled out his notepad, tore a page and handed it over to him with a pencil he found lying around in the cash drawer. Moblit accepted it with thanks and made himself comfortable on one of the stools with a good view of the Scouts’ table. He started drawing, the pencil scratching on the paper as he made stroke after stroke.

The barkeeper looked on. Even if the sketch was a little shaky- probably because of the alcohol influence- there was no doubt that the man in front of him was an excellent artist. He rendered a near-perfect, dynamic portrait of the team of Scouts who were laughing over one of Erwin’s old stories. Moblit did take some artistic liberties here and there, making the Levi in the painting smile the way he did a while ago, Erwin relax with his loosened shirt collar and pleasant satisfaction gracing his face, Nanaba laugh as she looked over at Mike, and a drunk Gelgar and Marlene with droopy eyes and arms around each other, sharing a joke only they knew. Hange was, by far, the figure Moblit put the most effort into- apparent by how in-focus she looked in the portrait- with her striking dark hair, wide grin and the mischievous twinkle of her eyes behind the glasses.

“You are not drawing yourself with them?” the bartender asked.

Moblit blinked at him, as if it was something that did not occur to him before. From over the table, Hange waved, placing a palm on the side of her mouth as she called him.

“Moblit, collect your stuff, we are leaving.”

“Will be right with you, Section commander.”

He shook his head at the barkeeper, casting a fond look over at his comrades. “It’s alright,” he murmured, “I just wanted to capture this memory.” The barkeeper nodded as Erwin approached the counter to pay for the drinks as well as the shattered glasses. The rest of the Scouts got up and stretched themselves, collecting their bags and belongings from where they kept them on the floor. Once the payment was settled, Erwin thanked the barkeeper and left, the Scouts joining their commander as the door creaked open one last time.

With his final customers gone, the barkeeper counted the day’s earnings and shut down the bar for the night. As he stood outside the threshold to lock the door, his lips curled in a smile as he heard drunken singing drifting toward him from the end of the moonlit road.

Some things never change.

So ist es immer

We live under the burnt clouds

Ease our burden

Long is the night.