#worst case scenario he's some kind of plant or something IDK

[eldritchcreatureofwords]

Better then Blitz Guy has a Goetia Symbol on His Arm.

And the half-black of his spade makes it look like a broken heart with the black forming the jagged edges. Ya'll I'm very worried.

[hexonthepeach]

ok but imagine y/n & johnny being assigned to some suburb as husband and wife to gather? idk something about surveilling a suspects home life etc. and just the mr & mrs smith vibes of it all. trying to fit in with the neighbors. setting down some sort of roots. trying to cozy up to the suspects family. maybe even jaehyun coming to visit every so often as johnny's "step brother" and just the potential chaos of a neighbor maybe seeing y/n and jaehyun through a window and being scandalized.

i'm genuinely dying rn because while this scenario did not come up in what i currently am writing for the d&s crew it is absolutely perfectly aligned with it. like this is scarily perfect to the point that i need to know if we've synced brain waves?

thank you for planting this seed i hope you don't mind me using it in the future [lemme know if i can give you credit even if you just want to pick an anon emoji]

i'm on my first ever watch through of The Americans and spy power couple in suburbia is such a fantastic trope, i love the tension of persona vs identity. Don't Worry Darling was a disappointment but it got me thinking about how the dark suburbia cliches used could be done more meaningfully. also dating myself here but my life was inexorably changed by The X-Files s6 ep 15 Arcadia (the real monster of the week are HOAs) and Scully's constant exasperation at Mulder's in-jokes--which is something Johnny would be relentless at, so he's the perfect suggestion for this

as always with this trio it would have to be sex comedy with dark elements and maybe a little more weird? it would be incredibly funny to have the whole thing go sideways on multiple levels including an increasing escalation of violence

here's how i imagine this playing out (under the cut for spoilers):

this is a long-term assignment/infiltration and one of director lee's "special projects" i.e. team-building exercise for the throuple. unbeknownst to them the agency has a secret betting pool on how badly this can go (the winner is someone who put a worst case scenario so outlandish it was supposed to be a joke)

johnny and y/n are currently in the middle of a minor disagreement on their approach for this op--maybe someone wanted to "borrow" a kid to make it legitimate and the other put a kibosh on that based on the stakes being higher. or we're just dealing with a petty argument about the level of lethality involved. (i have another idea but don't want to spoil current wip). they're bickering behind closed doors and duking it out in subtext every time they're forced to play their roles

jaehyun is running surveillance and infiltrating houses. for validity of him being in the neighborhood from time-to-time, he's brought in at the "Johnson's" housewarming party/backyard BBQ as the blue collar handyman brother-in-law. they can get into more homes now, but he's also finding that every sink repair or ceiling fan light bulb replacement has him dealing with escalating attempts at being seduced. our best boy is now the unwilling target for every future divorcee on the block

johnny ends up forced to participate in a variety of Stepford Husband-like activities to get access to more information/be inducted into some kind of club, leaving y/n frequently at home pretending to be a housewife and growing increasingly more sick of the assignment. and also maybe just a little (a lot) jealous when she hears the gossip about/is questioned about her "brother-in-law" by the other wives at the hair salon, grocery store, etc

cue y/n inviting jaehyun to do some household repairs and initiating a little role-playing scenario straight out of a bad porno. unbeknownst to them of course (or maybe knownst!) they are caught in a very lurid scene by one of jaehyun's new fans peeking through the window. (i'd absolutely have to write this from the POV of the nosy neighbor--it would be too funny to pass up)

gossip spreads, suddenly its common knowledge. but--here's the kicker--johnny gets into the good old boy's club where it's revealed that they're one of *those* communities where cuckolding and exhibitionism are a bit of a collective turn-on. a little bit eyes wide shut/bohemian grove/society type escalation of weird beyond sex stuff

now it's the three of them versus a neighborhood--a little public shunning of course, but mostly under siege from those who want to get them to participate in some kind of bacchanalian ritual. a perfect opportunity to get into the head honchos' house but also a perfect set-up for things to go absolutely and horribly wrong . . .

we're talking actual violence and maybe a little murder and mayhem under the cover of whatever anonymity those ritual masks provide. all of it conveniently walked away from by the fact that this can't become public information although it will certainly add to conspiracy theory fodder

the morning after has them pretending to be moving out/getting a divorce. definitely will need to end on the agreement that they're never setting foot in a planned community ever again

[llendrinall]

Omg what if Draco was also a spy for Dumbledore? Like imagine him biting his tongue when everyone is hateful and cruel to him cuz he's gonna have the last laugh when it comes out he was a spy. And in this version Percy still fucks off. Draco stays behind cuz he wants to see everyones reactions (especially his asshole boss that made his life fucking hell) He could be a seer in this and secretly became friends with Harry during Hogwarts. Idk, add whatever you want ❤

Ha! I don’t know why that “Idk” at the end made me laugh.

I have different mental versions of Draco. I can see him more or less happy, more or less certain of what he wants to do or of his relationship to the wizarding world. Other things are fixed, they are the things that make him Draco and appear in all versions of him, like:

1.- He can draw. He might have more or less practice, but he can draw pretty well.

2.- He is smart in the sense of doing very well academically, being able to understand something instantly. He doesn’t need to put many study hours, so he doesn’t.

3.- He doesn’t like Dumbledore. Regardless of his relationship to his father and Voldemort, he just doesn’t like Dumbledore as a person. It has nothing to do with how Dumbledore treats people (although that certainly doesn’t help) it’s more visceral. Just like some people will look at an actor or celebrity and go “no, I do not find Jimmy Fallon funny and can’t tell you why”. This is the same.

So Draco would never become a spy for Dumbledore. Dumbledore’s spy, hell no.

However, at some point Draco looks at Voldemort’s white flabby face and thinks “oh, no, I’m not doing this.” He decides he is going to work against Voldemort, but with whom?

(Draco is very proud of knowing when to use “whom” and also lives in fear of getting it wrong).

Draco has to find someone who can be an actual challenge against Voldemort. The Ministry is out because they are stupid, incompetent and infiltrated to the brim. And who else is there? Potter? Draco goes to class with Potter. He has seen how he spells, meaning both his charm use (Potter knows one a half spells and that’s it) and his orthography. He simply can’t consider Potter a serious contender against Voldemort. Nothing against him, Draco actually, (secretly) kind of likes the guy, but Voldemort can read minds, knows all kind of ancient magic and performs incredibly complex curses and conjurations.

Draco has seen Potter lick ice-cream out of his t-shirt.

If Draco wants to get rid of Voldemort, there is only Dumbledore. Draco doesn’t spy for him. He does nothing regarding Dumbledore that involves the preposition ”for”.

But he shares information. There is a “to” in there. Give information to Dumbledore. He can do that. Draco is quite smart, so he is able to deduce Voldemort’s strategy from little clues. He knows about Voldemort’s quest for information (both for the prophecy and the elder wand) months in advance.

This does not happen in the same universe as Percy Ministry Spy, but Percy is acting as a spy nevertheless. This means that Dumbledore has a pretty easy run setting his plans in motion and ensuring Voldemort’s defeat. It also means that he suffers though some absolutely miserable months which probably have something to do with his enthusiasm for the let-Draco-kill-me plan.

Each and every interaction with Draco is a reeling experience. Draco is not handing the information for nothing. He wants Voldemort dead by next month and when Dumbledore doesn’t deliver, he complains. He complains (note the italics). Draco doesn’t ask for the manager because there isn’t one, but he actually asks if Dumbledore has any older siblings Draco could talk to. You could say Draco acts entitled, demanding and full of expectations, but those words mean nothing. Draco breathes past entitlement to land somewhere between “Angel of Vengeance” and “Greek fury”, only instead of a flaming sword or claws, he has attitude and an excellent command of grammar. What a horrible little child.  

Meanwhile, Snape has developed the habit of twisting every conversation so he can say “pity you don’t have any other orphan available to sacrifice” and “oh, if only we had a child to endanger” and “yes, but how can we solve this by killing a child?”. It is very rich coming from him. Dumbledore is not amused. Apparently there is a line for Severus Snape and that line is drawn when sacrificing oneself for the greatest good.

(“Ah, but it is not yourself who will do the sacrifice, is it?” Snape says, and a week later Dumbledore tells Draco that of course he will let him kill him. Draco scoffs and rolls his eyes as if somehow that wasn’t enough).

And then, there is Percy Weasley. Neither Snape nor Draco are supposed to know about him, but they both know and it is unclear how. Probably Percy himself let them know (no, he didn’t). He would do something like that (no, he wouldn’t). Percy is a horrid nightmare (he… he may be). Dumbledore despises him (and how!). Snape will talk about Dumbledore not doing the greater sacrifice but Dumbledore honestly can’t think of anything worse than working with Percival Weasley.

(70% of Dumbledore’s dislike comes from the suspicion that Percy might be two or three points more intelligent than him. After almost a century used to being the most intelligent person in the room by far, Dumbledore does not like this new scenario. He misses Grindelwald.)

Dumbledore dies. Then so does Potter (briefly), followed quickly by Voldemort (permanently). Surprisingly, Snape also jumps into this dying fashion until he thinks better about it and survives, although severely wounded. Percy doesn’t die but as soon as the battle had ended and all Death Eaters are either dead or apprehended, he dissaparates right there from the Hogwarts grounds.

He sends a postcard to Draco a month later, which is kind of nice. There is also one for Snape and Draco props it next to the vase of flowers by his sickbed.

Thus begins the After-War.

By day two, Draco understands why Weasley left so quickly. It is a fucking disaster. Potter has to plant himself by Snape’s bed to stop the Ministry from arresting him. The man is barely coherent and barely alive and yet they wanted to interrogate him and transport him to a holding cell. The Ministry. The ones who allowed themselves to be infiltrated.

It is perhaps unsurprising that when the Ministry sends a hastily formed examining tribunal to Hogwarts, so students can sit their OWLs and NEWTs in August, the examining tribunal refuses Draco.

Draco doesn’t particularly care. He is rich enough that he doesn’t need to work and, in any case, once they finally start proper investigations and find Dumbledore’s trove of notes and testimonies in his sealed will, Draco will be exonerated and recognized as the hero he is. This insult or punishment, whatever you call the Tribunal’s unfair treatment of him, doesn’t hurt. Draco is immune to their attacks.

Soon after, he receives a letter from bloody Hermione Granger saying of course he can sit his exams, they expect him on Tuesday at ten. McGonagall will be there to put the fear of herself on the Tribunal and ensure they are fair.

And… he appreciates her intervention, he really does. Awfully nice of her. True moral backbone. It’s just that… Draco actually enjoyed the insult? He realizes now that he only attempted to sit the exams because he expected them to say no.

He sits the exams and aces them. They are particularly hard in the last one, the astronomy test. McGonagall coughs three times, rolls her eyes and finally says “bloody enough, don’t you think? He has shown he knows the material.” He sends her a handwritten thank-you letter just to be annoying.

Draco realizes that his behavior is very odd, but given that Weasley has fucked off to somewhere and that Snape refuses to heal so he won’t have to talk to people, Draco believes he is entitled to some oddities of his own. Thus, he begins collecting insults. From the low-brow and simple “Death-Eater scum” to the vitriolic “murderer”. The best, and the worst, are the ones that don’t come wrapped in words. Shunning and discrimination. Oh! He can’t explain it, but they taste tart and sweet.

He likes it. Not the dismissing, no, but the idea that they don’t know him and that their judgment of him is wrong. If that means they will also wrong him and treat him badly, so be it. It doesn’t change that he and Snape and Percy Weasley, are the heroes of the war.

He applies to a mediwizard program and is naturally denied. Then he tries a traineeship at the Wizengamot, also denied. Just for the fun of it, he applies to the Auror Office and receives a wonderful letter of rejection that has an actual dead spider inside the envelope.

It has been three months since the end of the war, now, and Weasley refuses to let himself be found. Snape barely manages to stay awake for three hours, and only with Draco. Evidently the stress of the war did a number on them, so it’s perfectly understandable if Draco keeps prodding and asking and applying to things knowing full well that he will get a resounding “no”.

You would think this was some sort of atonement for his past misbehavior and his admittedly awfully narrow views and even more abysmal manners regarding muggleborns. But Draco is quite sure he atoned for all of that when he lied to Voldemort’s face and, more terrifyingly, he lied to Aunt Bella’s face, stole their secrets and passed them to Dumbledore. He doesn’t need to punish himself any more.

No, it’s just… it’s just hard. He has spent three years with a carefully crafted lie as his only protection. It is not so easy to discard it. He liked that lie. It kept him alive.

And then, come October, the Ministry takes Malfoy Manor and all associated assets. Just like that. Puff. Seized. They haven’t even begun an official investigation on Draco, but they have taken his house as a precaution.

Now it’s personal.

It turns out that Draco is a vindictive asshole, who would have guessed? Probably everyone but him. Doesn’t matter. He will make them pay. The Ministry, the papers who ran the headline about Draco becoming homeless and the people who cut the page and framed it. They will regret it.

He moves into Snape’s ugly cottage because he has no other place to go and if Snape has any objections, he can say so when he pleases. Oh? He can’t talk? Too bad, then.

The Ministry has also seized his funds and Draco draws a line at using Snape’s meager savings (he assumes they are meager, he hasn’t actually checked) so he gets a job in the only place that would employ him: a seedy tea shop in the North side of Diagon Alley. The only reason the owner hired him was because the previous assistant tried to burn the place down and he was in a bit if a rush to find a replacement. After a week, Draco understands why someone would want to burn the place down, and that’s before his boss realizes that Draco is drawing a small crowd of people who like seeing him serving tables. From then on, he takes to screaming and insulting Draco for absolutely everything before turning to his customers with a smug smile.

Every time he or any of the customers complains, Draco smiles a cheap version of the smiles he used to give Voldemort and vows. Sometimes their words sting and sometimes they break against his armor. He lives in a weird state between immunity and pain.

Dumbledore’s actual true will, to be open by Hermione J. Granger (funny how he didn’t address it to Potter) is found in late December. Given the state of the Ministry, Draco expects that they will only get around summoning Granger by early February at best.

Weasley sends another postcard around Christmas. This one comes with an address, in case either he or Snape also want to drop everything and fuck off, he supposes. Draco writes back explaining he is bidding his time to exact just retribution over all those who wronged him and Snape is in no condition to travel. Weasley writes, well, he doesn’t write, he sends a third postcard with quite a nice drawing of a thumbs up.

Snape can now sit up and read the paper. He still can’t get a single sound out, but he can manage sighing in a very meaningful way. They receive another summon to have Snape declare before a Tribunal and he groans before passing out and staying unconscious the next two days.

All things considered, Draco is evidently the one coping better so he feels he can afford a little extravagant behavior like sitting in front of a mirror and practicing his own sighs of heroic suffering for when the vindication comes.

It comes in March.

The world goes absolutely insane. People knew that Snape had done… something, mostly because Potter had very obnoxiously advocated on his behalf.

(Potter is so obnoxious. He comes every Tuesday to Draco’s tea shop and asks for a cup of tea that he barely touches and stays there for an hour saying nothing).

But they had no idea of the extent Snape’s involvement. None. All the curses he surreptitiously knocked aside, all the misfired spells. It wasn’t just gaining Voldemort’s trust and acting on Dumbledore’s plans, he, Snape, personally saved two dozen lives with none the wiser. He was so good at acting covertly!

That should be enough to make any good newspaper editor foam in their mouth, but there is more. There is Weasley, going twenty steps ahead and being ridiculously clever and talented and just… knowing what to do. There is already a shrine to him in Coleraine because he did something very important there and the locals were merely waiting to find a name to put to it. Percy Weasley has been declared tax exempt in all of Ireland.  

Draco merely has a meager thirteen lives saved on his ledger, but he also has three years of cleverly betraying Voldemort. It doesn’t look like much, but once details emerge of how he stole information and passed it to Dumbledore, the whole thing becomes charming. Double-o-Drac-o, is what the muggleborns are calling him. Snape assures him it’s a good thing, but he doesn’t elaborate because he is a bastard who pretends that writing tires him horribly.

Snape wasn’t planning on surviving the war and for the first time in years he is unprepared. He deals with it by trying to shut the world off. If he wasn’t so weak from his wounds, Draco is quite certain that he would have buggered off to wherever Weasley is now, to sit on the sun and be silent together. He certainly does not appreciate the wizarding world’s earnest interest in him. You would think that the fact that he can’t (or, at this point, won’t) speak would deter them a bit, but it only adds to Snape’s tragic charm. Some women and many young men are particularly attracted by it. Fortunately, Draco has only had to chase two of them out of the house because even though Snape can’t say a word, he remains very skilled at non-verbal magic so he hexes every journalist and deranged fan that has the misfortune of coming close to him. Meanwhile, Weasley doesn’t want to be found (“nooooo” says his last postcard, Draco is a bit worried at the lack of capitalization) and has a ten-month head start. He won’t be found.

This means there is only Draco. Shameful bronze medal in the saving-lives business, but with a delicious aura of cleverness and bravery, a whole year of suffering in silence during the post-war, and a face that was made to be dramatically lighted, photographed and printed in the front page.

Wil you answer our questions, Mister Malfoy? Oh, but he will, he will answer every one of their questions and give all details. No one has given so much, sacrificed so much, suffered so much as him.

“I literally died, Malfoy.”

“And I couldn’t afford dying, Potter. I had to survive. Now, get out, these people have some more questions.”

Potter has moved from coming every Tuesday to the stupid tea shop to visiting them at Snape’s cottage. Draco only lets him in because he might annoy Snape into talking. Plus, he is nimble, he can avoid all of Snape’s hexes and the extra exercise will do Snape good.

His relationship with Potter is… strange, but fittingly so. Everything else has been weird lately, why not this? Potter had always elicited interest, but once people learn that Dumbledore had more or less raised him for the slaughter and that when Potter found out he nevertheless went ahead and died, the press and the public in general goes even more rabid. You would think that with so many shocking stories the scandals would dull each other. But, far from that, the public is on fire, incensed, and each piece of news is kindling for the flames.

Potter, unfortunately, does not have a photogenic face (he tends to look like a sad lost deer in all pictures) and all the attention stresses him out. Draco offers him a mutually beneficial deal: Draco will take care of the press for him and Potter will stop the Ministry from returning the manor and his fortune.

“How is that beneficial?”

“I want to tell the press that they took it from me with no evidence before they have the chance to hand it back.”

“Ah, fair enough.” Potter says. He does not seem to be a big fan of the Ministry, which is a pity because this time the Minister is not attempting to kill him, use him, or run a smear campaign against him, unlike the previous ones. It seems that the odd behavior isn’t restricted to Weasley, Snape and him. The other Weasley (Ronald), Granger and Potter are also displaying oddities. Mostly, there is a lot of yelling at the Ministry (Granger) and at every single adult who ever interacted with Potter (Weasley, Ron). Potter isn’t doing any yelling, but he has taken to following Draco around and chatting at Snape.

(No, not “to” or “with”, “at”. He chats at Snape and Snape suffers in silence having accepted that Potter will deflect every hex thrown his way).

Draco doesn’t judge. He is still working at the horrible tea shop with the even more horrible and petty owner (who has no idea how to treat Draco now and spends every waking second alternating between insults and clumsy flattery) simply because he wants to lord over the Ministry that they took his house and money. If Potter feels like he has to follow Draco and harass Snape into making a full recovery, so be it.

There is, of course, the question of Weasley (Ronald) wanting to know where the only tolerable Weasley (Percy) is. Draco doesn’t tell, despite having his address on postcard number 2. That would be a betrayal bigger than anything he did to Voldemort. He could never do that to a person who managed to annoy Dumbledore so much.

What he does is sit down with two cups of tea and explain to Weasley (Ronald) what his brother did and what he went through and why he might not want to interact with any one he knows when, instead, he could be lying face down on a nudist beach in Spain. It helps. Weasley (Ronald) doesn’t track his brother down, but he manages to get him to reply to his letters. He is overjoyed.

The news about having lost his ancestral home and fortune come out and people are adequately irate. He enjoys it, but not as much as he expected. Some people squirm and blush and walk into doors with the embarrassment of how badly they judged him. Some even apologize to his face which is frankly disrespectful because then Draco has to be civil to them. Overall it is unsatisfying. He wants more, but he doesn’t know what he wants.

He almost accepts one of the multiple offers he keeps receiving to enter this or that prestigious program. He would make a good a lawyer. Fortunately, Weasley (the cool one) talks him out of it via postcard. The postcard has nothing written on it other than a smiley face (evidently the brother talks are going well) but it shakes something inside him.

This gives him the idea of apologizing to Longbottom (extremely uncomfortable for both of them) and Granger, who gets him in a number or boards and committees as punishment. Draco competes to be the most disliked person in each committee, which is hard because Granger is in some of them. She asks for immediate liberation of house-elves and a transition program for them and Draco finds himself demanding (just like he did with Dumbledore, full of bile and entitlement) historic reparations. Each blood-line who ever held a house-elf will contribute proportionally to the transition program. He gets death threats over it, it’s great.

Two years after the end of the war, Draco finds himself back in his manor, with most of his money (he doubled his contribution to the elf fund because then the families who want to wash their names would have to do the same) and, mysteriously, Harry Potter in his bed. He has no idea how that happened. He is quite certain he was too busy being a little shit to seduce anyone. Was he seduced when he wasn’t looking? How dare he?

He also has half a dozen very important postcards on his mantelpiece. The only thing he doesn’t have is an ex-Death Eater, ex-potion professor, living in his mansion because the old bastard finally got well enough to say “bugger off, both of you” and then fled to Ireland where the nice Weasley has got a nice little cottage of his own.  

[our-smooty]

Flowerbeds and Fertile Soil: Chapter 3

Fandom: Good Omens

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens, )Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer

Tags:  Kidfic, Mpreg kind of, they can choose to present however so idk, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Vulva (Good Omens), OCs Galor, parenting, using your snake form to avoid confrontation, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pregnancy, if I missed a tag lemme know

Summary: They could do anything, go anywhere, all without the worry of Above or Bellow making a fuss. Even so, they mostly kept to their little patch of Eden, their cottage and garden and the simple life they’d carved out among the locals. Aziraphale opened a book shop in town, where he only occasionally sold any books (and the ones he did sell, were all modern and stocked specifically for that purpose). Crowley focused his attentions on the garden, and if he occasionally helped their elderly neighbour with her disobedient willow tree, then that was a secret no one needed to know. Lately, however, they had both been feeling rather restless, unbeknownst to each other. Aziraphale tried reorganizing his store, changing the way he tied his bowtie and even ate pizza –something he considered to be far too messy for him personally. Crowley had branched out into birdwatching, and then car maintenance (the human way), and even reading. Nothing scratched the itch for either of them.

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Crowley spent the two days drinking, thinking, and wallowing, in that order. First, he got rip-roaring drunk, then kept going past that into a maudlin type of drunkenness. That led to the thinking, which had been much harder than normal, but also much more honest.

The sun was just coming up over the horizon and he watched as all of London was bathed in warm light. He was scared. He could admit that to himself easily, especially when he was so drunk. What he was scared of was a little more complicated, and Crowley had been thinking on it for the better part of three hours. Because on the one hand, he was worried about Heaven and Hell and the safety of any hypothetical little ones. He really was. But on the other hand, he’d said something during their fight that he hadn’t realized he’d been worried about.

Demon spawn were A Thing, and they were generally terrible. Sometimes a demon decided to have some fun on the mortal level and demons weren’t known for being the most careful of beings. Best case scenario was something that was essentially a demon, but mortal. Worst case whatever came out was some sort of writhing mass of demonic energy and hatred. Would that happen to any of his offspring too? Or would the angelic influences cancel it out? But the Nephilim had been somewhat monstrous too, so was it a lost cause from both ends?

And that was where the thinking transitioned into wallowing. Because he was also drunk enough to admit that he really, really wanted to give in to Aziraphale’s badgering, hang the consequences. They’d at least have some time before having to face what they’d done. Who knew how long demon-angel hybrid babies took to form, or gestate or whatever (Crowley only knew as much as he did from his time working on a London pediatrics ward. He was supposed to have been sowing the seeds of evil in the new generation, but he ended up delivering and caring for more newborns than anything else). 

But the guilt would be too much. He couldn’t bring a child into this world knowing it was doomed to be some sort of horror that never fit in. He’d love them, of course, whatever they were or would become but to imagine the difficulty of growing up in a world that would detest them... Well, at least Crowley had been fully formed and matured when it had happened to him. 

He ran out of scotch on the balcony by noon of the first day. But he wasn’t done sulking so he moved back inside and on to the brandy. Brandy was the perfect spirit to drink while tormenting his plants, though there were only a few left in the flat. They were his favourite, and he kept them here to avoid the angel over-indulging and spoiling them. 

“Yooooou lot,” he slurred, brandishing his spray bottle in one hand and the brandy in the other. “You don’t argue with me! Y-y-you’re all jus’ plants!”

A hydrangea, who had long exceeded it’s expected lifespan by several years and was one of the most verdant plants in Crowley’s collection, leaned towards him sympathetically. Most of these plants had been with him for years and had grown a kind of fondness for their tyrannical, but caring master. Crowley spared the hydrangea a glance over, inspecting it for blemishes. He found none. 

“Yoooou’re not compli--complicated, you’re not good or-or-or-or evil. You’re jus’ plants!” The while lily near the door shuddered, knowing things were really bad if the demon was repeating himself. Crowley never liked to repeat himself. 

“If you wanna have b-b-babies you can jus’ drop seeds!” His voice cracked at the end so he wet his parched mouth with some more brandy. “I like sssseeds, such ma-marv-maver--nice little thingss.” Four letter words, good Lord he was sloshed. Dropping the spray bottle and picking up the watering can Crowley deftly overwatered a nearby ivy. Luckily the ivy knew better than to wilt. 

“Like little things, like babiesss, an’ kids. Not sooooo much t-teenagerss but they’ve got ssspirit!” All the plants were leaning in now. Some of them opened up a few extra blooms, offering comfort in the way only plants knew how. “Alwaysss thought I’d make a shit p-parent though, an’ look how Warlock turned out…”

“Could be different, though, raisin’ one and not t-trying to make it, you know, not the Antichrissst.” Indeed he hadn’t been so much raising Warlock as he had been coaching him. And if he and Aziraphale were to do it together properly this time who knows what could happen? “Still can’t though. Angel n’a demon, probably be smited for even trying. Smote? Sssmitten?”

He pondered that for a while, letting the last few glugs of water drip out of his watering can and onto the floor. It was a lost cause though because all he could think about was tiny angel babies with their soft, fluffy hair and little grabby hands. “D’you think they’d look like him? I hope they do.” Crowley was idly swaying back and forth, lost in his daydream. “Hope they have his nose an’ eyess at least, mine are terrible. But m’wings are nicer so…” 

“I don’t wanna be sscared,” he said quietly to his favourite rose bush. “I want to--I want to give Azirahale what he wants. I want what he wantsss, and if I gave in we could both have it but I’m ssscared!”

The argument last night had left Crowley unable to sleep, but he was getting tired now. Maybe he should use his last day and a half--he checked his fancy watch; day and a quarter--to sleep this off. Tossing the spray bottle somewhere towards the wall--it would be back in its place the next time he went to use it--and heading towards his bedroom, Crowley realized he hadn’t yet texted Aziraphale like he’d promised. No matter, his phone was on the bedside table anyway. He could let the angel know he’d be back tomorrow, and they could make up. Nevermind how that was going to happen, since they both still had opposing views on the matter.

The first time he had come to stay at the flat after he and Aziraphale had a tiff, the angel had blown up his phone with calls and texts. Crowley had done the same the first time Aziraphale locked himself away in his study and refused to come out. They had since come to an understanding and formed a system of brief check-ins and hard time limits to ease each other's anxiety. They stuck to the rules, and it seemed to be a good way of letting off some steam and ending arguments, as long as they talked about it afterward. 

This time, Crowley had been a little lax in his following of their rules. It had already been nearly an entire day of no-contact and Aziraphale had been sending worried messages for at least six hours. To his credit there were only a few voicemails, which Crowley would listen to later, and not the deluge there had been that first time. They were all standard fare, Aziraphale calling in the morning after Crowley left, then calling back around lunch. The angel was doing a good job of keeping the worry out of his voice, but Crowley could tell it was there. 

Immediately Crowley sent off a text assuring Aziraphale he was fine and had lost track of time, complete with heart emojis, then fell into bed. As drunk as he was it didn’t take very long for him to drift off, even though he forgot to change into anything comfortable or get under the covers. 

Crowley walked into their cottage in time for tea the next day carrying a selection of cake slices. He didn’t really have anything to apologize for, but coming back empty-handed felt wrong. Plus the cakes might distract from the hangover Crowley had. He’d meant to fix himself up before bed, but hadn’t and now his head ached too bad to focus on any demonic miracles.

“I’m home!” he called out into the foyer, toeing off his shoes and kicking them haphazardly out of the doorway. The house smelled like old books and tea, which was better than burning food. The second time Crowley had taken some time to himself Aziraphale had decided to take up baking to soothe his nerves. It hadn’t gone well. “I brought cake!”

Aziraphale came around from his study and stood in the doorway, hovering. “Welcome home dear. Did I hear you say cake?”

This was the routine when Crowley returned. Whether in the right or wrong he’d come back bearing treats and Aziraphale would flitter about like he didn’t know if he should stay or go. Eventually, they’d both sit down and talk about what happened, which had twice led to Crowley storming back out and more often led to lovely make-up sex. He wasn’t sure what to expect this time, given the thing they were arguing about. There wasn’t much to talk about, either Aziraphale dropped it, or he didn’t. Crowley didn’t want to think about what would happen if Aziraphale didn’t drop it.

“Yeah, picked some up on my way over from that little bakery where they mill their own flour. Figured it was pretentious enough that you’d like it,” Crowley teased, none too eager to get to the heart of their issues. What if he and Aziraphale couldn’t move past this? What if this was the thing that ended them, not their former sides, or the Apocolypse, or their opposing natures? Crowley wasn’t sure he could survive without the angel in his life, but he also wasn’t sure he could concede on this particular issue. He also wasn’t sure if he could stick to his guns for too much longer, given what he’d realized last night. 

“Oh hush you. Take it into the kitchen I’ll be there in just a tick.” Crowley nodded and went through, surreptitiously glancing around their home. Aziraphale was prone to fussing with the layout of things when he was left to his own devices, just like he had at the bookshop. There he’d been able to justify it as a tactic to confuse customers and discourage book purchases. In the cottage, however, it was obvious he did it from anxiety. Everything looked to be in order though, so Crowley continued on and set the cakes down on the table. With a snap of his fingers, the slices were laid out on plates and the kettle was boiling for tea. 

“Early Grey or Twinings?” he called over his shoulder towards where Aziraphale’s office was. He could hear the angel moving about back there and assumed he was cleaning up whatever he had been using to preoccupy himself with while Crowley was away. 

“Twinings please, dearest,” Aziraphale answered, his voice muffled. Must be messing with his book storage, Crowley thought, pouring each of them a cup with shakey hands. He really wished he’d spent less time drinking and sleeping yesterday, and more time actually thinking about what he was going to say to Aziraphale. All he’d figured out was that they had to worry about a lot more than just Heaven and Hell’s reaction and that if Aziraphale kept asking, he might not be strong enough to refuse. 

“Tea’s ready,” he mumbled, taking his own and perching on the edge of a dining chair. Of course, Aziraphale still heard him and walked quickly into the room looking more than a little flustered. With an excited wiggle he took a seat and began to fawn over the cakes. “Take whichever you want, I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure dear? That dark chocolate mouse cake looks right up your ally,” Aziraphale pointed out, digging into his strawberry shortcake. He was right, Crowley had bought that slice of cake specifically for himself. It would have been not too sweet and everything he liked in a desert, but the worry about what needed to be said had ruined his appetite. 

“Yeah, go ahead.” Aziraphale glanced down to his slice, then set his silverware down regretfully. “I said go ahead angel, I don’t mind.”

Aziraphale leaned forward a little, his hands disappearing under the table. Crowley knew from experience they would find their way under his thighs, crushed tight against the chair’s wood in an effort to keep them from flitting all over. Another habit from Aziraphale’s time with Heaven, where any stimming had been harshly discouraged. “No, I think we have a lot to talk about. And I want to apologize. Again.”

Crowley remained silent, knowing that Aziraphale had probably prepared what he wanted to say. As usual he was correct. 

“I was wrong to keep asking you about… it when you told me not to. I was being selfish, and not thinking about how you felt and terribly rude. And then you came back after I was so horrible and you came back with cake!” Aziraphale’s voice was getting louder and more high pitched as he went. It was obvious he was getting upset with himself but Crowley knew that interrupting him right now would only make things worse. “I got excited, and then I was pushy and I hurt you, dearest. I’m so sorry. I-I know I can be a little, well, tone-deaf but you said I was making you upset so explicitly and I just ignored you! How could I do that to you? Oh Crowley I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

Aziraphale had begun rocking back and forth a tiny amount, quick little movements that he probably didn’t even notice he was making. “You’re right, of course. It’s so very dangerous, and I wasn’t thinking about it when you obviously had. I want to make it up to you, Crowley, if I even can.”

It hadn’t been what Crowley was expecting, given how persistent Aziraphale could be, and it was honestly a little disappointing. He may have been secretly hoping that the angel would be able to convince him, or had maybe thought of something Crowley had missed that would give them the go-ahead. But this was OK too, this meant they wouldn’t have to fight anymore and he wouldn’t have to keep thinking about it and they could move on. 

“Oh uh, yeah. Apology accepted angel. I’m sorry I stormed out.” Crowley was always quick to forgive Aziraphale, it was like it was impossible for him to stay angry at the angel. Though the way Aziraphale’s disrespect of his boundaries still stung, Crowley didn’t want to hold a grudge and make things worse, so he wouldn’t. 

“Thank you, dear.” Aziraphale stopped rocking but kept his hands firmly under his legs. Usually, this was the point where they hugged and made up, but his angel was still sitting, slightly tense. “Was your time away helpful?”

Crowley shrugged noncommittally. Aziraphale didn’t ask what he did when he was he spent time away after a fight, and he was immediately suspicious. “Sure, checked on the plants, slept for a while. The usual.” He left out the drinking. Over the last 5 years or so Aziraphale had grown concerned with the amount Crowley drank, even if he was an immortal being incapable of experiencing withdrawal. He had cut back, but times like the other night were another story. 

“Good, good.” The silence was back, and heavier. “And I assume that, from this point on, you do not wish to discuss that issue again?” The tentative nature of Aziraphale’s vice made it hard to hear if he was disappointed, or just being himself. Crowley cleared his throat. 

“That's probably for the best yeah.” But oh he wanted, wanted, wanted. It was killing him to deny them this thing that any old human could have easily. They could have anything else in the world, with their powers, but not this. 

“Alright, you won’t hear me speak another word about it. If you ever want to--well I’ll follow you lead dearest.” And Now Aziraphale was leaning over, one of his hands taking Crowley’s and squeezing. It was extremely warm from being tucked under his legs, but the demon still felt cold. “Now, if you’d like, I think you should try that ca--”

They were interrupted by an insistent knock on the front door. It was very rare for them to have guests and even rarer that they should drop by unexpectedly. The only other time anyone arrived was for deliveries, and even those were few and far between. 

“Oh, I wonder who that could be!” Aziraphale seemed all too eager to have something else to focus on, and to be honest Crowley was as well. He rose from the table, cakes and tea forgotten, and bustled to the door. Crowley stayed in the kitchen, trying to collect the unspooled pieces of himself. It was over, they had Talked, and now they could move on and everything would be just fine! Crowley repeated that over and over in his head, trying to drown out the wanting; just fine. He was so focused on not wanting that he almost missed Aziraphale’s sharp “oh dear!”. Almost, but not quite.

“Everything alright angel?” He was on his feet and sauntering into the foyer. Sometimes a particularly brave canvasser for some local church or scam organization would show up and Crowley had to scare them off. Often Aziraphale was too polite to do so himself, especially if they didn’t take to his subtle hints. Only once had the angel gotten stern with someone, and that had been when they tried to good old ‘foot in the door’ technique. In that instance, Crowley had had to save the canvasser form Aziraphale. 

That wasn’t what he found when he waltzed through the doorway. Standing there was Gabriel and Beezelbub in all their Heavenly and Hellish glory. They wore the same expression, of annoyance mixed with a large dash of disgust. “Oh shit.”

[coffee-for-himchan]

Silent Treatment (Daehyun x reader)

Requested by: a nice anon

Word count: 4 k+

Genre/warnings: fluffy fluff ❤ (so sorry for letting my inner hopeless romantic slip completely while writing this - it just happened)

Summary: He was your source of true happiness, the one to always keep a more or less visible smile plastered all across your face - your one and only loving boyfriend, Jung Daehyun. But more than that, he was a bundle of annoying screams and badly thought out, clumsy moves. So once he did wrong and you decided to punish him with silent treatment for a little, he figured putting on a “cute mode” would be the most convenient way to get you to talk to him again. Which wasn’t far from being the truth, because he was oh so irresistible in any case, any day, really.

(A/N) I just melted into a puddle of feels while writing this. Not sure what triggered it, but I’m dead basically. Idk what can revive me now.

He was up to something once again, and you figured you had a mild idea in mind of what it could possibly be.

Out of all of the people on this planet, why did you have to fall in love with him? He was about the worst and the best person to love at the same time, and you were still trying to wrap your mind around this philosophy of yours - it was the best way you could describe it, even if the statement came in conflict with itself. He caused you so much trouble usually - well, not that you minded most of the times, as it wasn’t “trouble trouble”, but just the playful type of trouble that could be fixed up without breaking a sweat. But this time around he’d really done wrong, and his method of coping and searching for forgiveness wasn’t anything unusual, yet you silently chuckled at it because of how unusual it was for him.

He sure knew how to look cute. And he’d figured that this time around this was his one and only strong weapon that he could use against the silent treatment you’d decided to put him through.

“(Y/N)~~” he wandered into the room, looking like a lost, guilty puppy. His soft, puffy lips were curled up in a pout, and his eyes showed deep sadness and regret. He kept fiddling around with his fingers, taking unsure steps towards you at a slow pace. If anyone saw him now, they’d truly feel sorry and would take him in for asap hugs in seconds. Little did they know this was far from being his true face. He was playing a well thought-out game in order to make it seem like he really regretted what he’d done. Which he sure did, but his sudden guilt and shyness didn’t come from that. It came from this persona he’d put on - the complete opposite of the usually loud and bubbly Daehyun. The quiet, regretful Daehyun. The one who tried to make you feel guilty for not talking to him.

“(Y/N), are you still mad?” he asked, his voice relatively high pitched, sounding as innocent as ever. He must’ve noticed the amused stare you gave from the corners of your eyes, and took it as a green light. His method was showing itself to be effective. He was cute and you were melting into a puddle because of it. A puddle of forgiveness.

“(Y/N)~~” he kept calling in a pouty tone, making himself comfortable on the couch next to you. You turned away to your left side, seeming not to notice his presence, which made him let out the cutest noise of disapproval you’d ever heard. God, he had the voice of an angel for a reason, right? To say your name in the most different pitches and tones possible, and to make your heart race by different little noises he made here and there, expressing his feelings towards the situation. This was so.. Daehyun.

“You can’t keep ignoring me forever,” you felt his frame pressing against yours lightly, until at some point he rested almost all of his weight on you, wrapping an arm around you and putting his head on your shoulder carefully.

“Or maybe you can, but I’ll then keep on tagging along forever until you start talking to me again.”

To be honest, you didn’t mind. Lovely, cuddly Daehyun was your forte, and you were lowkey thankful that this fight resulted in nothing but a cute after-the-storm scenario. No plates were smashed this time around and no one left the house to go and cool down for a few hours before crawling back to the other person, regret written all over your faces as you exchanged phrases of being sorry.

You two took it rather playfully this time around, which was enough for you to consider forgiving him easily. Well, not that easily, but easily enough.

“You won’t be able to get anything done,” he continued babbling, his lips finding a soft spot on your skin and resting on it while he talked, sending warm shivers down your spine with every word he said, “I’m going to always bug you, you hear? Always, without exception.”

He started slowly planting soft kisses in the crook of your neck, and he thought he was slowly moving towards victory when he felt your body relaxing and warming into his. He continued at his desired, slow pace, murmuring all kinds of silly, annoying promises into your skin and now noticing how you lovingly chuckled under your breath at every single word he said.

“I won’t let you do work properly, okay?” he questioned softly, tightening his grip around you, “I won’t even let you get up to go to work. But if you somehow manage to do so, I’ll tag along, and I’ll hold your hand through the whole day, and I’ll tell your co-workers all of your embarrassing secrets. I know most of them probably involve me and the silly things I’ve done, but okay, I’ll suffer because of this. I’ll suffer in the name of love.”

Suffer in the name of love, oh God. He’s always been the talkative type, and this time around his sentences really made you chuckle, as you knew - if he really wanted to, he’d do it in the blink of an eye. Hell, he’d befriend your co-workers and gossip with them over lunch while you sat next to them, unable to keep up as he’d be center of attention and the number one gossiper in town. And he’d be telling them all about you - starting from how cute you snored to how you danced around in pajamas through the whole house to B.A.P’s songs when you thought he wasn’t around to witness. Knowing him, he’d even tell how he always appreciates your non-matching underwear, because you still look amazingly stunning in it. Not that you ever didn’t look stunning to him, to be honest.

“And I won’t let you do anything else as well until you forgive me, understood?” his tone had grown on you, and you really wanted to turn to him and stroke his hair. Tell him to act like this for a bit still, because you loved it so, so much. But you were a strong woman who had to hold her grounds. For a while still, at least.

“I won’t let you go and shower without tagging along, which, since you hate me now, you won’t allow to happen. So we’re just going to become gross and smelly if we stay here like this for days,” he had you chuckling a his absurd sentences.

“I won’t let you go and make diner, or breakfast, or anything else either. You’ll manage for ages probably, but I’ll starve within hours of not eating,” he said, considering for a bit.

“Or maybe not. I’ll let you cook, because if you don’t, this “clinging onto you forever” thing will end very soon. I’ll starve to death too soon and “forever” will be over in a day.”

Oh, he sure would, you were certain. If there was one thing that he claimed was just a tad bit less important than you were in his life, but you figured it actually shared the number one spot in his priorities list alongside with you, it was food. He ate everything, everywhere, always. And you kept on wondering how such a relatively tiny human being could eat so much.

“Do you really want me to starve to death?” he said in a shocked tone, lifting up his head and disconnecting his lips from your skin, quietly speaking into your ear as if he questioned your relationship as a whole now, “Me - your one and only loving boyfriend? The one who loves you so, so, so, soooo much, with, like, the whole of his heart? I swear, my heart’s bigger than my stomach. And you’ve got the whole of it.”

It was so sweet and, to be honest, you really felt like melting on spot. He knew exactly how to be perfectly cheesy, and how to hit your bare, exposed nerves, wiring them together with his and causing a wave of warm affection to travel all over your body. He knew exactly how to have you wrapped around his finger, and you didn’t mind. But you wanted him to suffer for a little longer.

“You’re really sentencing us to death here, do you understand,” he kept on talking, his hand how caressing your thigh up and down, “Because I won’t let go until you start talking to me. So I guess we’ll stay her like this forever.”

Forever in his arms actually sounded like such a pleasant thought. He hadn’t promised it to you yet in full seriousness, but even a situation like this, when he didn’t actually mean it, had you considering it with your whole heart. 

You and him - from now on until forever. Lazily poking him awake every morning just to get yourself squished under his weight, his voice purring into your ear softly, asking you to let him sleep for another ten minutes. Lazy kisses in the living room on cold afternoons, and cuddles in the kitchen in late evenings. Heated nights with a sweet aftertaste and the anticipation for more. And all of that lingering in the air until you’d lose track of time, and would only snap back to reality when you both would already be old and full of sleep. Looking back at all of the times - all of the crazy things that had happened during those years, and how you really didn’t mind having spent your whole life by his side. Remembering your first awkward meeting, and the first shy but surprisingly pleasant kiss. The first time you allowed yourself to call him your boyfriend - then the first time you called him your fiancee and, after what seemed like ages - your husband. How he freaked out completely before the birth of your first child, and how he freaked not a tad bit less than that before the birth of your second. How you, at some point, understood you were getting too old for certain things, but would never get too old to love each other, never hesitating to let the other person know how you still meant the world to each other. How he had always been the best that had ever happened to you, and would remain that forever...

.. You’d painted a vivid image in your head for sure, and it didn’t seem even a little weird to you. You were certain it all was still to come, and many years from now you’ll find yourself recalling it all just like that.

And recalling how cute he was when he begged for forgiveness like he did now.

“Come on, I know you looove meee,” he continued begging and pouting, his lips back on your skin, leaving a trail of wet kisses down your shoulder that he had managed to expose in the process, without you noticing, “I’m sowwy. Not simply sorry, but sowwy. That’s a whole new level of “sorry”. It means like “extra sorry”, or something among those lines.”

You shifted in his arms, and his eyes shot up to inspect your face within seconds. He was already celebrating his victory, anticipating anything at least half as cute from you. You cupping his face with both hands and playfully scolding him while he lazily nodded through half-open eyelids at every one of your statements - that seemed like it would be just about appropriate. Or you telling him anything really would do - he was running out of phrases by now, and needed you to say something so he had a thing to respond to.

Yet when he loosened his grip to let you turn, you used the moment to stand up and depart from his welcoming embrace instead. He still had to wrap his mind around what was happening, and when he reacted, reaching for your hand, you were already gone, and all he could do was sit and admire how your hips gracefully swung from one side to the other as you made your way out of the room, leaving him alone and in silence. But not for long.

“(Y/N)~~” you heard your name being called again, this time louder, and had to remind yourself that the original idea was to keep on walking. To let him stay behind for a little while you made your way to the desired destination. You knew he’d be back within seconds, but at least you’d be able to walk over to a place you needed to be at. Maybe you could even do something with him distracting you like this. It sure would take all of your willpower, but you knew you’d get all the desired and craved attention and affection from him later in the evening. He’d shower you with it today, and hopefully tomorrow as well - seeing on how he felt extra guilty about the fight.

What was it even that you’d fought about? You recalled the conversation from before, and felt a little stupid, but hey - at least you’d let him know how you felt about his constant absence. You knew it wasn’t his fault, and you knew that even thought the phrase “I didn’t choose the idol life, the idol life chose me” couldn’t really be used by him, since it wasn’t quite true, he still wasn’t the one making up schedules. He was just following them, doing what he had to do in order to keep his career going. And you were aware that it meant having to push you back sometimes, making you his second priority rather than the first one, simply because he knew you could wait and you would understand.

He was way beyond overworked, so you didn’t really take it all that personal when he snapped. And he hadn’t been that harsh either, so you weren’t really all that angry at him. It was your fault and his fault - your for demanding something from him that he couldn’t change, and his for snapping. So you didn’t really have any hard feelings towards the situation. You figured you’d manage - you just wanted to tease him for a little.

You wanted to go and grab your phone before heading to type away at a work assignment on your laptop, and were sure you’ll manage to do it all before Daehyun would approach. Yet sudden noise behind you made you jump a little in surprise, and the next thing you knew something crashed into you full force, almost sending you flying to the ground.

“You can’t leave without me,” he cooed, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as his head rested on yours, his breath itching at your ear, “I’ll follow.”

You turned, giving him a disapproving glance and suddenly seeing how his eyes lit up. Oh no, the change of position had caused an idea to come to his mind. And you had absolutely no time to wonder about it as you felt your body being backed up against the wall, getting trapped in between it and Daehyun’s body.

“No escapeee~~” he leaned in, poking at your nose with his, “Absolutely no escape, until you forgive me.”

He let his face linger this close to yours, knowing exactly what type of effect he had on you. His hands traveled to cup your face lightly, and he watched carefully as your lips slowly parted and a sense of desire could be seen in your eyes. You weren’t mad. You were just playing along.

“Tell me, what else do I have to do to make it up?” he asked rather casually, tilting his head to the side as a small, gentle smile made it’s way to his lips, “I just want to let you know that I’m aware I did wrong. And I regret my actions.”

You closed your eyes as you felt his lips on your forehead, leaving a firm kiss on a spot he’d learned to love especially over the years. He knew how pleasant and nerve-tingling you found his kisses to be, and he was using his most effective method of torture once again - he was going painfully slow at it, but making all of his movements seem like they really mattered. It took him long enough to press his lips fully against your skin, and even longer to remove them. But that only added to his aesthetic, and made you anticipate every kiss a little more. That’s exactly how big his advantage was - he knew the ways to treat you, and knew how to win you over. How to make you feel more than simply alright and at home by his simple touch.

“I really do,” he was slowly kissing down your nose, and smiled a little as your hands reached to tug on his shirt ever so lightly, yet fell back on your sides the second you realized what you were doing. Just a little more, and you’ll give in, he was certain.

“I shouldn’t have snapped, not at the person who’s always just wishing the best for me,” he kissed the very tip of your nose, and you silently hoped your lips would be next, yet slight disappointment arose inside your chest as he moved onto your cheek instead, and you hoped he didn’t notice.

“You’re always so nice to me, and you’re always putting up with me when I’m being bad-tempered,” he moved onto your jawline, and was a little surprised by how he still hadn’t managed to trigger a proper reaction from you with his actions, “I know I’ve been acting the wrong way more than simply a lot recently, and you’re still forgiving me every single time it happens.”

He was at your chin now, and as he pulled away a little, you figured he wanted you to look at him. So you slowly opened your heavy eyelids, glancing at his pretty face and resisting hard not to cup it in your hands.

“I’m still sowwy, you know,” he leaned in and kissed the very corner of your mouth, waiting  and making his presence seem oh so passionate, “So, so sowwy,” he murmured, yet refused to give you a proper kiss, continuing to test your nerves and tease the hell out of you. 

Hell, if there was one thing that you hated about yourself, it was how weak you were for this man. And as you felt your guard crumbling completely under the touch of his lips almost covering yours and his hands back on your hips, sneakily placed a little under your shirt so you’d feel his cold touch against your hot skin and how hard he gripped on it, you figured you’d lost already. Not to mention you didn’t really mind losing this time around.

“Jung Daehyun, you either kiss me the right way now or you leave me alone.”

And he didn’t need to hear it twice, and didn’t need any further instruction or time to consider. He obeyed immediately, like the good boy he was, and gave you exactly what you wanted, in the form of a firm kiss on your lips.

The taste of you - oh God, he loved it so much, and found himself completely drowning in an empty space that was completely filled and coated in it, with nothing there but the two of you. He’d always been confident in his kisses, partly because he had such a big advantage when it came to the shape and size of his lips, but he always felt so small and insignificant every time his lips met with yours. He suddenly considered if he was good enough for you, if he was doing everything right - all because he wasn’t really able to keep track of his movements and actions while kissing you. You were the first person he had ever kissed in a full auto-pilot state, since all his senses left him at the encounter with you, and he was left without the ability to think rationally

What was he even doing? Was it appropriate for him to move this way, and did he do the right thing when pulling away a little just to capture you lower lip a second later, biting down on it gently as he waited for response? He always thought too late, when he had already acted, but there hadn’t been a single time when he hadn’t pleased you with his actions yet. Your soft, tiny moans of pleasure always indicated you were so into the things he was doing to you, and as your arms gently wrapped around his neck, tugging him closer, he knew he couldn’t possibly do wrong.

Every single time it was like this - he patiently waited for encouragement, and when he’d finally gotten it, there was no way to stop him. He was back to his confident self - showing you exactly what he was capable of. And trying to prevent his knees from giving out, because you tasted so, so sweet. And he liked things that tasted sweet over anything else.

“Am I forgiven?” he playfully asked, slowing down his pace a little and chuckling as you weren’t ready to let go of him just yet, continuing to plant soft pecks on his lips, making tiny smooching noises fade away in the air as soon as they came in contact with it.

“Don’t rush things, I didn’t say that,” you reminded him, smiling as he smiled back with disbelief all over his face. What a lie, right? He knew it just as good as you did, but he was not only a great lover, but also a great friend, so he played along nicely.

“Well, you’re talking to me again. Isn’t the end of silent treatment an indicator that I’m forgiven?”

“No,” you said, kissing him again just after.

“And so your kisses are just another way to push me away and ignore me now, right?” he was barely able to speak, as his lips were busy doing other things, but he didn’t mind at all. Speaking was overrated at these moments anyways.

“Of course. It’s my way to shut you up, because I’m already tired of the non-stop babbling.”

“Make me stay quiet for a while then, in that case,” he said, causing you to chuckle, “Or I’ll just continue on like previously. As I said, I’ll just clinge onto you forever, and we’ll both suffer from-”

You really weren’t having any more talking, but were oh so up for a rather passionate make out session. He seemed to think the same way, so for a solid moment no complains could be heard. Just tiny inhales and noises of pleasure escaping both of you at the things you did to each other.

“How about now?”

You rolled your eyes, considering. It was about time to fully give in, right?

“Okay, you’re forgiven,” you said, and suddenly felt yourself being lifted off of the ground.

“Daehyun-ah!!” you cried out in happiness as he pulled you along to the middle of the hallway, and started spinning you around, making your laughs fill up the whole house and his heart and soul as well, just as always.

“I hate you for being cute,” you mumbled as he put you down, causing him to let out a laugh.

“You love me, silly-”

“No, I don’t! I hate you completely because I can’t even stay mad at you for a while. You’re playing around with my mind and emotions a little too willingly.”

“But hey, it’s for the better,” he gave you another loving look, and smiled sheepishly.

“I just wanted to say sorry since I did wrong, and looks like it worked. On top of that, in a pleasant way and manner for both of us. So you’re saying you still truly hate me from the depths of your heart after all of this?”

The happy-ever-after came back to your mind suddenly, and you looked up at him, smiling a little. A warm, fuzzy feeling had taken over your stomach, and you suddenly considered getting mad at him again, just to be held by his arms tightly. Just to be promised a “forever and always” again.

“I won’t if you promise me one simple thing.”

“Which would be?”

“The part about “staying by my side forever”, just in a less annoying fashion, please,” you’d decided to spill it, feeling the atmosphere to be just cheesy enough for it.

The widest of smiles was displayed on his face as he considered. Forever really did sound pleasant. Cuddles in the kitchen and lazy afternoon kisses when he should be busy with other things. He could call you his girlfriend only for a certain amount of time though, as eventually you’d become his fiancee at some point, and in case you’d really want to sign up for his endless screaming and laughing forever, you’d become his wife. And as he considered everything that could possibly follow - him loosing his mind before the birth of your children, him taking them along to kindergarten for the first time. Him realizing he was getting older, but so were you, and as time moved forward but your jokes and the love you shared didn’t change in the least, he was alright with seeming a little too old-fashioned and too in the past for younger people to understand. He’d have you on his side always, and wasn’t that enough?

Just the thought of remembering it all afterwards with you seemed pleasant, and he didn’t hesitate to say his verdict. Not that you didn’t know it already.

“I thought that was self-explanatory, wasn’t it? Don’t think it’s ever going to be otherwise. It’s me and you, from now on and until forever. And you’ll be sorry to yourself one day for signing up to my annoying presence for a lifetime, but hey. Just give me a dose of silent treatment, and we’ll figure it out.”

[iwriteficsnottragediesladies]

Girl can SING (Part 4 of ?)

A/N FULL DISCLOSURE: I am a virgin and a lesbian, so I know literally nothing about sex, especially not one with a penis involved. This is my first attempt at writing smut. BUT, I got a request from an Anon asking for virginity smut, and a request from @rindulacre to continue the story, so I combined them. Again, I have no idea what the fuck I’m talking about, but I hope it lives up to your expectations! Idk if you still want to be tagged, @multifandom-slytherin so I did anyways lol.

Tonight was the night: your first concert as an official member of Panic! at the Disco. It was a medium sized venue and just a casual gig, not on tour.

You’re nervous, but you feel confident. Maybe it’s because you were kind of baptized by fire when Brendon randomly pulled you onstage to sing last time. You feel like having that “first time” experience out of the way takes a load off.

Worst case scenario is you really fuck up a song. Would that be the end of the world? No. Everything was going to be okay. With Brendon by your side, you can conquer anything and performing is no exception.

“Are you nervous?” Brendon asked quietly backstage with a sweet smile.

“Little bit,” You nod honestly.

“I love you so much,” He said.

“I love you too,” You reply with a sweet smile.

The whole show ends up being more than you could ever dreamed it to be. It was so easy to perform with Brendon and the boys. Nothing had ever felt so natural in your life. The excitement from the crowd was contagious. They cheered and held handmade signs, some of them dedicated exclusively to you.

We love you Y/n! Welcome to the sinners Y/n! Beebo and Y/n/n forever!

You were really into it, dancing like crazy, especially during Miss Jackson. You and Brendon totally lose your minds during that song. Sometimes you would go to the edge of the stage and touch some of the audience’s hands and everyone was so excited, just to touch you. It was insane.

Occasionally Brendon would kiss you and the whole venue would just erupt into screams and cheers. Even when he would just walk towards you they would cheer. You pretended to pout when Brendon practically eats Dallon’s face during Sins. Brendon then pointed the mic to the audience like he always does for the rest of that verse and kissed you. Hard. Dear god.

You’re so happy that your first performance was a success and Brendon was so proud of you. When you get home, something comes over you. It’s one of those moods only Brendon could put you in.

You take Brendon by surprise when you knock him onto the bed and kiss him. He scoots up so you can both lay completely. He releases your lips and looks at you, pleasantly surprised.

”Well,” He laughed, “Hello there.”

”Hi,” You respond slyly, raising your eyebrows. You straddle his hips. He smiles at you and you dive back in. Your kisses are sloppy, open mouthed and hungry. Brendon is immediately turned on and breaks the kiss for a moment to rip his shirt off.

An onlooker would probably mistake you for a vampire, the way you are nibbling at his neck.

“Shit, Y/n,” Brendon says lowly as you hit that spot he likes, underneath his jaw. He thinks it’s so fucking hot when you take the lead, pushing aside his dominant personality.

You can feel his erection growing beneath you so you take your top off and release your bra. Brendon can’t keep his hands from grabbing your breasts, running his thumbs over your nipples. You close your eyes and sigh at the sensation.

Brendon releases his hands and begins to tug on your shorts. You lift yourself up so he can slide them down your legs, and you take the liberty of sliding his pants off as well. You press yourself back down on top of him, laying your bare chest against his. You roll your hips harsh and fast and you both moan, the friction between your underwear and his boxers just too good.

You soaked through your panties a long time ago, and now you’re leaving Brendon’s boxers all wet too. You roll your hips again and he can’t help but push back, desperate to prolong the feeling. In his excitement, he rolled you over hastily, your lips still attached in hot, practically pornographic kisses. He slipped his fingers underneath the sides of you panties and stroked your hips bones. He pulled his lips off of yours.

“God, Y/n,” He sighed breathlessly, “You are so fucking hot.”

You have a mischievous glint in your eyes and then buck your hips firmly into his. The fabric was so slick at that point you glide perfectly against his cock, earning exactly the response you wanted

“Fuck,” Brendon strained. Jesus Christ, he was worried he would cum right in his boxers if you kept that behavior up. He gripped your panties and tore them down your legs. He moves further down your body, allowing his hands access to you dripping core. He begins to rub your clit and heat rains down your body.

“F-fuck Brendon,” the words pour from your mouth and you move your hips aimlessly, immersed in the sensation.

Usually this is how things would go: he would finger/lick you till you finished and then you would return the favor, or visa versa. You hadn’t had sex with him yet.

You had told him you weren’t ready yet, and he never even flinched, telling you that he would do as much or as little as you wanted. He’s probably quite experienced, so it’s kind of adorable that he’s willing to put all of that on hold to make you feel comfortable. You’ve done everything in between with each other and it has never been anything but amazing.

What you didn’t tell him was that you had never had sex before--at all. But you undoubtedly knew: you want to lose your virginity to Brendon. Now.

Brendon goes to slip his fingers inside you and your hand flies down to grab his wrist, stopping him. It took all of your willpower.

“Stop,” you say, barely getting the word out. All you want him to do is keep going, but you had bigger plans.

He immediately withdrew his hands and sat up, giving you plenty of space.

“Baby?” He asked quickly, completely mortified, searching your eyes with concern. He wondered, did you not want this? Did he make you do something you didn’t want to do?

You slip your hand under the pillow next to you and pulled out the prop you had planted earlier, knowing you would probably execute your plan tonight. You held it out to him.

A condom.

He raised his eyebrows. This is not what he was expecting. He looked at you like you were crazy or something.

“Are you sure?” He asked you.

“Yes,” you replied, beginning to smile, waving the condom a bit.

“We don’t have to, Y/n,” He started, “You--”

You literally threw the condom at him and cut him off.

“Brendon Urie,” You say darkly, “I swear to god, if you do not fuck me right now...”

“Okay,” He squeaked, rushing to throw off his boxers. You, of all people, have the ability to turn Brendon Urie into a sexual mess. You love it. You giggled a bit at his desperation, looking at him. He looked down and saw the look on your face, and he felt almost a little embarrassed.

“You are evil,” he growled, leaning down to kiss you. He sat back up and opened the condom, rolling it onto himself. He can’t help but shiver a bit at the sensation with you looking at him like that. He positioned himself at you entrance, a bit lost in his enthusiasm. Suddenly he looks up, breaking from his frenzy momentarily.

“Are you sure?” He asks you, one last time, looking down at you with those big puppy eyes.

“Brendon,” You return his eye contact confidently, “I am so. fucking. sure.”

You smile at him with that mischievous look entering you eye, knowing one word would push him over the edge: “Please,” You whisper longingly.

And that’s all he needs. He slides into you, every inch, until his hips are flush against yours. It burns. Some girls can’t really get off without some clit or oral, and you suddenly think maybe you are one of them. You bite the inside of your cheek and press your eyes shut.

“Are you okay?” You hear a concerned voice above you. You don’t open your eyes.

“Yes, yes, please keep going,” you tell him, trying to play it off as pleasure and not pain. He obeys and begins to slide back and push forward again, so slowly. One more of those slow thrusts and you finally feel comfortable.

“Oh god,” Brendon sighs in pleasure, “You are so fucking tight.”

Yeah, cause you’re a fucking virgin and decided not tell him, you idiot.

“Please,” you murmured in exasperation, wanting to feel him move inside you.

He begins thrusting again, a bit faster. Your prayers were answered as the pain turned to hot pleasure. He picked up the pace, gripping onto your hips as he placed his head in the crook of your neck, licking you right where you like it.

“Oh-h,” Your breath hitched and you tangled a hand in his hair, “Brendon, yes,” you encourage him quietly.

With every thrust he goes all in, the base of him hitting your clit in just the right way. You tug on his hair just enough.

“Fuck,” Brendon breathed at the combination of sensations. He pumped a little faster. Heat pooled in the bottom of your stomach.

“Oh sh-shit,” you inhaled sharply, meeting his movements with your own hips, wanting him even deeper inside you. You claw at his back.

“You feel so fucking good,” Brendon growled, “So fucking good on my cock.” Just the dirty talk alone made you want explode.

“Please, god, fuck me,” slipped out of your mouth involuntarily.

“Yeah?” Brendon asked in that filthy tone you loved, “Is that what you want? Tell me what you want.”

He started to slow down, just to tease you. Your hand flew down to grab his hip, urging him to keep moving.

“Fuck me,” you replied loudly, “Fuck me harder.” You didn’t even know this side of yourself existed. Dear god, you are happy you’ve discovered it.

Brendon began to slam into you hard and fast, your skin slapping together with each thrust. You wrap your legs around hips, unable to keep yourself from the sensation. He starts hitting something inside you in just the right way and you can’t help but cry out.

“YES, fuck, right there.”

Brendon’s begins to moan, so turned on by the way you writhe underneath him like that.

“F-fuck,” Brendon stutters.

Your legs tense up around him.

“I’m so close,” you wince, trying to hold it together.

“Then cum for me, baby,” Brendon replied simply through gritted teeth.

And just like that, you unravel. Flashes of heat erupt from deep within your stomach and you lose control of the words coming from your mouth, your speech dissolving into a string of obscenities laced with Brendon’s name.

Brendon cums hard just from the sound of you and the way your pussy tightened around him. He slows down, jamming deep inside you as you uncoordinatedly grind your hips up to his, savoring every moment of your orgasm.

He pulls out and collapses next to you, showering you with kisses and praise. You are a shaky mess, basking in the glow radiating from your core.

Wow, you are most definitely not one of those girl who needs oral/clit to cum. Good to know.

You both catch your breath.

“Goddamn, Y/n” Brendon exclaims. “That was...”

“Amazing,” you sighed, finished for him. You both laughed. It was probably the most cliche thing in the universe.

He looked at you, the laughter in his eyes falling to seriousness.

“It was okay, though?” He asked again, needing feedback on your comfort level and his performance.

“Brendon Urie.” You state. “It was fantastic.”

“I love you, Y/n,” He said honestly.

“I love you too Bren,” you reply with a smile. You both look up at the ceiling, still entangled in Brendon’s arms. You feel a little guilty. “Hey Bren?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for being my first.” You said. His head whipped to the side to look at you. You slowly rolled over to look at him. He saw it in your eyes.

“You mean your very first?” He asks in shock.

You nod.

“Oh my god, Y/n!” He exclaimed with a worried look, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?“

“No Bren,” you laugh lightly, “And I’m more than okay.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He asked sweetly, “I would have been more gentle.”

“What if,” you started slowly, “What if I didn’t want you to be gentle?” You raised an eyebrow and bit your lip.

Brendon’s mouth dropped open.

“Goddamn,” He said kind of impressed. “You are too much,” Brendon glared at you with that low tone taking over his voice again, chuckling.

You kiss the smirk off his face and cuddle up some more in his arms. You relax and smile to yourself.

You lost your virginity. To Brendon fucking Urie. Fuck yeah.

A/N: Thanks for reading, hope it came out okay. Like/reblog if you’re feelin’ it! I do have plans for another chapter that would have, you guessed it, more smut, based on an anon’s separate request. If you have other ideas, please let me know!

[survivorkomnata]

Episode #5: "my wig is scalped. i am ascending, friends." - Jake

Just realised I forgot to confess about my winner pick yet. I have predicted correctly both the the times I have done this. Looks like this is the only thing I am good at in ORG's so why not keep the trend going. With that said, my winner pick for this season is Zac...wait nooo. I said I am done with playing nice. Gotta give myself a chance , so my winner pick is Karthik. GG

Okay so the swap continues to be great! Basically my relationship with Zach has improved a lot so hopefully he is down to work with me! And it would depend on what he wants if they wanna eliminate Jake or not, I personally don’t care lmao but I think that maybe keeping Jake might help me to have options with the original Kato aswell (who Idc about but as I said I can’t close that door) but anyways I really don’t wanna have to decide yet so I wanna win this challenge more than anything right now.

We going full crackhead

not much has changed. we are immune again, and so i'm final 12 (which is the common # for merge, but i anticipate otherwise this game). it's exciting because my main goal right now, bar winning/jury, is just single digits, and i think that's achievable.

on my current tribe, i think i trust karthik the most. i speak to him daily & we have fun conversations, and he likes to mock me which is really fun for me. tim i trust but we have been lacking conversation (though i believe that's due to inactivity opposed to us being weird). i already went through miguel & jake in my last confessional so i'm not going to regurgitate that. i love all 4 of these men so much.

i can't help but think i'm majorly fucking up with my physical side. i really carried in the puzzle immunity, which was a public immunity. this means that other tribes are going to notice me. on top of that, i was in a majority like i deadass could've lost and have been fine (afaik). i sent ally/liam to tribal in the minority (luckily they thrived) & i sent another og-takagi majority to tribal and i lost one. odd, but whatever. i'm just paranoid i think because my biggest thing is skewering others perceptions of me and i think i'm making it much harder by performing exceptional in most challenges.

i'm thriving tho. i lost my trail of thought but... king. love u all. i am talking to a friend about driving n life but there was something i wanted to fucking talk about im STRESESDDDDDD. idk. yeehaw.

oh i remembered - the exile decision. though this wasn't for the complete round, it was so stupid for tim to suggest 'jess' and 'stephen' or something. like???? sister???? either send alyssa so she lacks connection & they boot her or send someone else. idk. it made no sense to weaken the social game of one of our own, but maybe he's playing it odd. regardless, miguel and i spoke in pms about it and we were on the same page (and i made a mistake of saying ''hope they vote alyssa out'' or something similar, which isn't ever my game (to elaborate: i never directly say anything but rather insinuate because im ditzy n dmubb :p)). it was just annoying like maybe i'm overthinking it but ... bye.

im getting like 7th-10th i know it.

I’m ecstatic right now, my tribe won immunity and I have officially broken my Survivor ORG record. It’s also looking like an og Takagi is goi g home tonight which helps as going into merge I want as many og kato as possible. I’m a little wary of Stephen at this point but that’s the game of Survivor. Stephen is a strong player and while I like working with him, I think he needs to be voted out down the road because he is definitely a strong strategic player like me, maybe a stronger one. Right now I need to focus on getting back into the game as I definitely was limited for the past few challenges. It showed in this challenge as I helped my tribe win the challenge. The merge is coming soon and I’m hoping to make the merge and continue showing a new side of myself, like David did in Milennials vs Gen X. Doing this helped David excel in his game and it’s helping me excel in my season of Survivor. I’m pushing myself to see just how far I can go and see if maybe I can win this competition.

So glad we won, tribals are dumb. Would’ve liked to vote out Liam though. Still, can’t wait to be the only Stephen left in the game, Stephen Prime, Stephen Supreme.

It just feels like a repeat of my previous ORG where I make the merge without ever going to tribal council and get voted out soon after. I am not so sure if this is a good thing for me. Its getting a bit boring. I want to play the game, be part of strategy talks, organize a blindside. get blindsided etc etc. These are the fun parts of the game imo and I feel these are about to happen as I am expecting the merge soon.  Hope I do not flop like my last game and last for a longer while this time around. Zach seems to like Miguel and Miguel has been feeding a lot of info to Zach. Probably they know each other from the past or something but either way they appear to be close. Zach had been planting seeds in my mind, saying more than once that Miguel seems to be cool and loyal whereas Jake is sketchy. I personally seem to connect better with Jake and feel like he is a better person to work with for me personally. He is a strong competitor and even if he doesnt happen to be the loyal kind of player, he is more of a threat and its likely that he would be targeted later in the game which are the kind of players I need around whereas I find Miguel to be a less threatening player who could slip under the radar and steal your spot at the end. I believe there would have been a push for Jake to go if we had lost but glad that didn't happen coz I do not wish to create any waves yet and cannot afford to go against King Zach's words. Fun fact - Zach has added me in 4 alliances within the past 2 days but none of those are with people in the game :)

Daniel leaving at the last vote has been a big blow to my game, but it wasn't the worst-case scenario. With me and Jess still in I still have my most trusted ally on the tribe. I questioned Alyssa about having the idol since apparently I do that to all of my allies now, but she said she didn't have it. She brought up the possibility that there was only one Hallway idol available for everyone, and while I'm not sure I totally believe that explanation she did admit that she has reached 100.

We came up with a plan last night, where she convinces Isaac that the plan is to flip me and vote Jess out. Assuming Alyssa is loyal to the plan and Isaac buys it, I shouldn't be getting any votes tonight. I'll tell Jess everything when she gets back and hopefully this vote will be 3-1. But even if Alyssa is lying to me, there's a chance Jess might find something in the basement. And if she does, well.... I'll be trying to use it to "both" of our benefits ;)

So woahhhh that double tribal huh!! I did not see either vote out happening. TJ went out on a unanimous vote and Ratboi played an idol into a split vote!!! I wonder what TJ did or failed to do in order to get voted out. Did his enemies end up on the tribe with him? And what about Ratboi. When did he get an idol? Was this from Kato or the basement?? Who split the vote in the first place? I have many questions and not too many answers as of now.

Ok so here is what I concluded so far. TJ, Jake, Alyssa, and Stephen W (The Australian) are one side of the old Kato and the other side was Miguel, Fredrico, Isaac, and Luke.

TJ ended up with Luke in the swap but Stephen W on his side so I am confusion??? Ally and Liam were there as well so idk.

So we win the challenge and I am PUMPED. Our tribe managed to work together and draft some potential questions as well as help one another out during the challenge. I managed to get a score of 7 which is dope!! Oh and our tribe also finished in first place meaning we got to send someone from the losing tribe into the basement.

The losing tribe was Atila 2.0 which consisted of Jess, Alyssa, Isaac, and Stephen Z. Now I initially thought the person going into the basement was immune so I suggested Alyssa because I know that she is aligned with Jake and I wanted to try and work with them at merge potentially. However, once I discovered that the basementee would return I switched up and supported Jake in wanting to send Jess. This was great for me because Jess is my ally and I didnt immediately suggest her so that sheds some weight off my shoulders. But umm I was also kinda rude and I stiff armed Miguel from trying to send Isaac back there. I know that they are aligned so I could not allow that to happen. I made the decision for the tribe and @'d Anna to let her know that the tribe (Aka me....) had decided on Jess. Now this could hurt my game because this could make me seem like I am hard to work with or not willing to compromise but only Miguel would think so and he's one of my targets so lol.

Hopefully at Attila's tribal Isaac goes home and the merge happens so I can slay it.

What isn't going on? That is the real question...

Let's take it back to BEFORE Daniel's departure.

Prior to the vote ( literally 20 minutes before) I went on call with Alyssa and I can't tell if I'm just sipping Paranoid Bitch Juice™ or not.... BUT the first thing she asks me is if I have the idol. I was thrown off because.. 1) Why are you asking me this BEFORE A VOTE...AM I BEING VOTED OFF?. 2) Why do you have a SMILE on your face while asking me this. Anyways.. I've come to the conclusion that she may have an idol and isn't telling me because I want to kill her in this game. The purpose of this call was to warn her that I was actually voting out Isaac so she wouldn't be blindsided. I was trying to sugar coat it. Telling her I was conflicted and that Isaac may or may not have an idol but then the Google Hangouts link was sent and I didn't have enough time to tell her. After this Chaos and Daniel going I was hella shook. Alyssa seemed pissed at me and at that point I had no regrets. An idol was flushed and someone who would potentially come after me was gone. It was a major win/win situation for me personally. Then TJ going on the other tribe.. someone who potentially would have came for me... also: another freaking win.

THEN my night gets turned upside down and I'm summoned to the basement. I can't tell if the other tribe sent me there so I could find something and they LOVE ME or because they wanted to MURDER me in this game. It's still up in the air tbh. Being away from my tribe for a long period of time was scary. I'm kind of just hoping my relationship with both Stephen and Alyssa are solid and we can bo$$ this game up. However, am I afraid of Isaac possibly finding two idols in the basement? yes? do I want to be a paranoid bitch once again in a game? no? am I dying on the inside and thinking it could be me tonight? yes? am I going to drink wine before tribal? basically.

My game plan is simple. I'm going to be straight up with Alyssa and say I'm NOT doing Stephen. She either will vote out Stephen and we tie and we can go to rocks. 50/50 odds. Or she can keep Stephen. That's it. If an idol is played and I'm who they vote out.. I'll probably cry.

I refuse to even look ahead to after this tribal because I'm sort of extremely uncertain.

Fuck this week, man. I'm so glad that Ally and I went from a minority to a tie at the best, but I'm just not super confident in much right now. Hopefully we just keep winning.

hi i literally don’t have anything to say because nothing has changed since last round

i’m rly glad tj left i liked him but i liked everyone else more... and he VOTED me i’m glad daniel left in the tie on the other tribe cos we never spoke and i’m close to stephen z it’ll be interesting to see how their tribal goes this time with 2-2 tribal lines. i’m excited. i love jess and stephen so i’m rly hoping nothing happens to them that’s p much it. i got nothin. sry.

Sisters this might be the end of the road for me. I hope it’s not because I’m having a blast but this 2-2 fuckshit is annoying. If I go I have a successful idol play to my name and a few iconic one liners, see y’all in All-Stars. Rotten Luck.

Isaac is voted out in a 3-1 vote.