#mostly doing this because it's been in my head for so long

[sparklingchim]

game on 04 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x oc

word count: 2.6k

tropes: footballer!jungkook, fake dating, f2l

rating: 18+

warnings: shy koo 🤭( he can be pookie at times), jimin being extremely chaotic and stirring drama, thigh squeezes <3, talks about first times n doing it raw 😃

summary: jungkook did expect some interrogation by his friends - just not this type.

a/n: we're back!! a bit more chaotic and sillier!!

masterlist

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“How was it to fuck for the first time?”

Jungkook freezes mid-chew.

This guy’s audacity.

Of course. Of course it would be Jimin. The man's allergic to silence. And shame.

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away. Mostly because he’s trying not to throw his drink in Jimin’s face in the middle of a packed BBQ restaurant.

Mingyu's trying not to laugh while Chanyeol’s shaking his head like he doesn’t want to know where this conversation will go.

They’re all squeezed around a hot grill at one of those buzzy downtown spots. Neon lights, tiny stools, smoke clinging to everyone’s clothes. And you’d just gone to the restroom with Karina.

Jimin wasted exactly zero seconds.

“I’ll kill you if you say shit like that in front of her,” Jungkook warns, voice low.

“That’s why I’m asking now when she’s not here, duh.”

Jungkook exhales sharply trough his nose, jaw tight. He could just say whatever. Say something vague and let it go. But it pisses him off how casually Jimin talks about you like that.

“I swear to god –” he starts, but Jimin’s already talking over him.

“Did you cry after?” Jimin asks with a gleam in his eye. “Or wait, did you bust after two minutes?”

Mingyu chuckles beside him. “Jimin's got a death wish.”

Chanyeol huffs out a laugh, shoulders shaking. “If he lunges, I’m not stopping him.”

Jimin’s eyes widen with faux innocent. “What are you guys on about? I mean, you’ve probably been pining after her for so long now. Finally hitting it, you must have lost your mind, no?” he asks. “Was it everything you dreamed about when you put your d-”

“What the fuck?” Jungkook interrupts.

“It’s a genuine question!” Jimin insists. “No judgment here. Could’ve been a quickie for the memories. A warm-up round.”

“A quickie for the memories,” Mingyu repeats, snorting in pure disbelief.

“Yeah! Like, you finally get to sleep with the girl you’ve been obsessed with for months. Brain’s probably short-circuiting. Whole thing’s over before it starts.”

If Jungkook doesn’t keep his breathing in check, there will be blood.

“I’m not telling any of you my business anymore.” Jungkook reaches for his beer, downing a long pull. “Especially not about her. Not like that.”

Even if this whole scenario would be real, it wouldn’t be their business. Wouldn’t be something he’d toss around for laughs between food and cheap beer. You weren’t some hookup story to debrief after a night out.

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “So you didn’t last two minutes?”

Jungkook just stares at him.

Jimin grins, delighted. “That silence is loud.”

“I will literally strangle you with your own hoodie,” Jungkook says flatly.

“Look, I’m just saying,” Jimin goes on, because he loves pain apparently. “With that kind of tension, all that build-up… I figured the second she touched you, it was game over.”

“Bro,” Mingyu coughs. “You want him to kill you.”

“I’m romanticising!” Jimin defends. “The human body can only take so much emotional blue-balling. You don’t think he dreamed about it? Like full cinematic fantasy? Slow-mo? Background music? Montage of hand-holding and then bam, real life?”

Jimin doesn’t know when to shut up. Now he’s gone and put the image in Jungkook’s head – you, laid out pretty and flushed beneath him, hair messy on his pillow, your fingers locked with his while you whisper his name all breathy and soft.

Jungkook presses the cold beer bottle against his temple. This is fine. Everything’s fine. Nothing’s on fire.

Chanyeol speaks, voice amused. “Pretty sure Jimin’s just bitter.”

“Jealous,” Mingyu corrects.

“Both,” Jungkook mutters.

“Aw,” Jimin pouts dramatically. “You’re not gonna tell us anything?”

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head, tone final. “Not a thing.”

He hopes the topic dies there, but of course not. Not when his brain is still glitching with the image of you beneath him, tangled sheets and tangled limbs. A pretty mess. Just for him.

“So... serious, huh?” Jimin nods slowly, but then a cheeky smile curves his lips. “Serious enough to do it raw the first time?”

Mingyu chokes on his drink.

Chanyeol doesn’t even try to get involved. “You’re on your own, man,” he mutters, turning away from Jimin.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Jimin laughs nervously, hands raised like he’s innocent. “It’s a joke! I’m joking!”

“Shut up before I throw a bottle at you.”

“I feel like you wouldn’t react this way if you had fucked raw.”

“You’re fucking dead.” Jungkook stands up. Chair scraping back with enough force to make a point.

And that’s exactly when you and Karina return, both mid-laugh, until you feel the shift in the air and look at the boys confusedly.

“Uh…” Karina blinks. “What’s happening?”

“You’re just in time for Jimin’s funeral,” Chanyeol says, raising his glass like a toast.

“Has the number 2 played a significant role in your life recently, ___?” Jimin asks.

“Am I supposed to be scared?” You glance at Jungkook, asking him for help.

Jungkook waves it off, sitting down. “He’s being weird again.”

“Don’t overthink it. Yes or no?” Jimin raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Uh, no?”

He sighs, dramatically disappointed. “Case closed. I’m done here.”

You slide into your seat next to Jungkook, Karina settling in beside you.

“What did I miss?” you whisper to Jungkook.

He dips his head closer, muttering back, “Just locker room bullshit. You don’t wanna know.”

“Was is gross?”

“Very gross.” Jungkook pats your head, slowly reaching down to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “Your brain’s too precious for that.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitches up anyway.

Chanyeol sighs loudly, leaning back in his chair. “I love this so much,” he declares with a satisfied smile.

You glance over. “What?”

“It just all makes sense now, you know?” He gestures vaguely between Jungkook and you. “Like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place.”

Jungkook grins. He looks over at you, but you don’t look up at him. Your gaze is cast downwards, a shy smile creeping up your face. Cute.

Chanyeol pats his chest. “Just makes me really happy in my heart.”

It’s kind of funny, Jungkook thinks. How none of your friends questioned the sudden relationship announcement. They just took it in stride, like it had been a long time coming. Like they’d all just been waiting for the two of you to get your act together.

An unspoken sense of we were wondering when you’d finally admit it to us.

He just hopes the breakup goes down just as easily – like, oh well, they gave it a shot, and now they’re back to being friends, no drama.

“Chanyeol gets too sappy when he’s drunk,” Mingyu says.

“I love seeing people find each other. Makes me so happy.”

Okay, maybe Chanyeol is not gonna take the breakup that well.

You’re definitely gonna have to find a soft way to break it to him when the time comes.

“You have a soft heart,” you say, reciprocating his warm smile.

“You two work. Like, it makes sense. Real yin and yang shit,” he declares with complete sincerity. “I speak from the heart,” he adds, tapping his chest. “From here.” His gaze bounces between Jungkook and you. “Don’t you dare hurt it by breaking up.”

“Damn,” Jungkook mutters. “Pressure’s on.”

Your head turns to him then, a little too fast.

Karina lets out a surprised laugh at Jungkook’s reaction.

“Excuse him, ___,” Mingyu cuts in, eyebrows raised as he side-eyes Jungkook. “He’s new to relationships.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Jungkook quickly defends himself. He stares into your eyes. “You know how I meant it.”

How did he fuck it up so quick?

“I know,” you reply gently, but there’s something sharp in your eyes. Jungkook realises that this your way of telling him to not slip up. To act, pretend properly.

He shifts slightly, more alert now, then reaches for your thigh. His hand lands warm and familiar, fingertips pressing into your skin just enough to coax you closer. You move without hesitation, slotting into the space he makes for you.

“Am I allowed to ask a question?” Jimin’s voice cuts through the quiet.

Jungkook’s head snaps towards him, meeting him with a challenging expression. “You’re on thin fucking ice.”

“Why?” you ask, curiously glancing between the two.

“Your boyfriend’s a little sensitive,” Jimin says, sniffing a little laugh as he teases Jungkook.

Jungkook’s hand around your thigh tightens. His fingers flex, pressing into the curve of your thigh.

“How annoying have you been to Jungkook for him to be so upset?” you ask amused.

“I swear I’m innocent,” Jimin says.

“I’ll kill you.”

You brush your fingers over Jungkook’s hand, gently running them over his arm a little too. You feel the tension in his muscles shift beneath your touch.

“I just wanna know who said I love you first.” Jimin’s voice is annoyingly sweet. “That too much for you too, Jungkook?”

Despite wanting to strangle Jimin, Jungkook feels a wave of nerves rush up at the question. You didn’t rehearse this part. He glances down at you, and you’re already looking up at him with the same wide-eyed helplessness.

“That’s obvious,” Mingyu cuts in confidently.

Is it?

“Jungkook’s too obsessed with ___ to not spill it every single second they spend with each other,” Chanyeol says.

Reasonable, Jungkook thinks.

“Okay, but,” Karina chimes in. “What if they haven’t said it yet?”

“What the fuck?” Chanyeol grimaces like the thought disgusts him.

You start giggling at his expression.

“Be serious,” he goes on, waving a hand. “Have you seen them? They’re literally glued together.”

Karina leans forward across the table, peering at you two. Jungkook follows her gaze, then blinks down at your lap.

His hand is still on your thigh. Your hand is over his. Neither of you move.

Jungkook brushes his thumb over your skin. “We’re a little touchy.”

You play along, all soft smile. “You’re clingy. Which is why you said I love you first.”

“That sounds like me,” Jungkook agrees.

“Seeing Jungkook as a clingy boyfriend was not on my bingo card for this year,” Mingyu remarks.

You lean into Jungkook, resting your head briefly on his shoulder. “He is so clingy. Gets all pouty when I don’t text back within five minutes.”

Jungkook scoffs, squeezing your thigh. “Don’t do too much now,” he muffles into your hair when he turns his head to give you a little peck.

“Anway, this boy doesn’t like to be called cute and clingy too many times. Can’t take it that often. Can’t handle the truth in high doses,” you sigh.

“It’s called maintaining a rep.”

“What’s so bad about being a golden retriever boyfriend?”

“No, I’m fine with being a golden retriever boyfriend,” Jungkook answers. “But,” he adds. “I am a tattooed golden retriever. That’s different.”

Everyone laughs, and Jungkook feels your fingers subtly squeeze his under the table. It’s a bit ridiculous, this whole act, but it’s also weirdly easy. Fun, even. He glances down at you, catching your eyes for a second.

He wouldn’t have done this with anyone but you.

~

“Spill. Now,” you demand when you’re back in your dorm and Karina slipped into her room, leaving Jungkook and you alone in the living room.

“Spill what?” Jungkook asks as he wanders into the tiny kitchen. He starts poking through your cabinets. “For a med student, you sure you just wanna give your body ramyeon? Think that’s the healthiest lifestyle?”

“Not the healthiest but the cheapest,” you shoot back. You close the cabinet before he can open the next one and hop onto the counter in front of him, blocking his path. “Now stop snooping through my sad pantry and tell me what you boys talked about when Karina and I were gone.”

It’s been gnawing at you the entire way home. You’ve been pondering what the boys talked about the entire time. Especially knowing Jimin. Nothing wholesome comes out of his mouth.

“I wasn’t talking about anything.” Jungkook plants his hands on the counter, one on each side of your thighs “Jimin was the one asking bullshit questions.”

“Like?”

“You’re gonna make me repeat it?”

“It was about me too, no? I wanna hear it.”

“I meant it when I said your brain’s too precious for that filth.”

“I’ve heard and seen enough throughout our friendship already. You think I’m fragile now?”

“Not fragile,” he murmurs. “Just selective about what you let into that pretty head. Don’t wanna ruin it.”

“Stop using your charm and tell me.” You draw him closer by the hoodie strings and force him to focus.

“He asked how it was.”

“It?” You blink confused.

“You know. It.” He looks at you pointedly, trying to make you get through his expression. When he realises that his attempt is fruitless, he sighs defeatedly. “Our first time. How our first time went.”

“Ahh,” you hum, the realisation dawning on you. “But why are you acting like this? You’re never this shy when it comes to that stuff.” You tilt your head just a little, catching the exact moment when the tiniest flush blooms across Jungkook’s cheeks, delicate and rosy. “Are you blushing?”

Cute.

It makes something warm flicker in your chest, stupid and soft.

You didn’t realise it could be this easy to make Jungkook blush.

“I’m not,” he mutters, quickly looking to the side.

You giggle, turning his head back to you by grabbing his chin. “How come?”

“’Cause we’re talking about us.”

“I mean, it was obvious they’d ask stuff like that,” you shrug.

“It wasn’t just that.”

“Oh?”

“Jimin went on and asked if we had ever done it raw.”

You let out a little gasp. “That’s freaky.”

Jungkook takes a step back. “You think doing it raw is freaky?”

You assess Jungkook through squinted eyes. “You’ve probably done that before, right? You’re freaky like that.”

“Big yes on being a freak and big no to doing it raw.” He steps back into your space and pokes your side “Lowkey offended you think I’d risk it when I’ve never even been in a proper relationship.”

“I’m proud of you, Koo.” You pat his shoulder. “I deemed you responsible enough for safe sex, but I did have my doubts, I’ll be honest.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I like to fuck but I’m not stupid.”

You hear light footsteps, then your name called out. “___?” Karina peeks around the hallway corner and promptly freezes when she sees you.

“Oh, I – I thought you were in your room,” she stammers, eyes flicking between you and Jungkook. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” She smiles awkwardly, blinking fast.

For a second, you’re confused. Until you realise that you’re perched on the counter, Jungkook between your legs and his arms caging you in.

It hits you then, how intimate this looks. Like you’re actually a couple caught in the middle of something. Even if Jungkook and you weren’t trying to pretend.

“It’s okay,” you reassure.

Jungkook draws back, hands dropping. “I was about to leave anyway.”

“Oh, no! Don’t leave! Stay! I was just – I don’t even know – but please don’t leave.”

“It’s fine,” Jungkook laughs, already moving toward the door.

You hop off the counter and trot after him, catching Karina mouthing a panicked I’m so sorry at you before she retreats into her room and shuts the door.

“She’s going to feel bad about this for the rest of the week,” you tell him.

“Tell her even though I am obsessed with you, I wasn’t about to take you in the kitchen while she’s at home.”

“You’re not freaky like that?” you tease.

Jungkook short-circuits for a moment, momentarily even stares at your lips, before snapping back to his usual, cocky self.

“Wanna find out?”

It takes you all of ten seconds to wish him a dry good night and shove him out of your apartment.

“Can’t wait to see you at my parents’ this weekend and introduce you as my girlfriend!” he calls out from the hallway.

[wosospacegirl]

dinosaurs and...sex? - Alexia Putellas

Summary: Alexia's girlfriend is way too stressed out for her own good, so she puts matter into her own hands (fingers)

Word count: 2.2k

Warning: (+18) fingering and oral (r receiving) and at the end suggestive to oral (r giving) because we are all switches here at wosospacegirl

A/n: I think I've found my niche in fanfic and it's writing nerdy lesbian sex...sorry it's repetitive but it's just so fun to write them...

this is a scheduled post because I *actually* have a dinosaur test to study to and I don't have alexia to eat me out so--

..

"Can I come in, or are you still acting like a monster?" Alexia said from the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. She was holding something, but you couldn't quite see what, mostly because your eyes had stopped functioning after reading the word Mesozoic for the ninth time.

You had decided to go to university.

 And now you carry that burden every day. Every. Single. Day.

It was finals week, and you were an absolute wreck. You were so stressed that you had caught the worst cold ever known to humankind. Why your immune system gave up on you at the slightest sign of stress, you didn't know.

Alexia had taken care of you and made sure you rested. But of course, that meant you hadn't been able to study for three whole days.

And now here you were, at Alexi's house, sprawled across her bed, surrounded by books that were open at completely random pages, with class notes you didn't even remember taking.

Your eyes hurt. Your head hurts. Everything hurt. But mostly your soul, because you felt like you barely had one. Surely you had long lost it between the Jurassic and the Cretaceous period.

And when everything hurt, it made you angry, because you couldn't study the way you wanted to. And when you were angry, you were rude.

Alexia had shown up (to her room, in her house) and asked if the two of you shouldn't take a walk or do something relaxing. AKA: She was getting stressed from watching you mumble like a maniac about something called…Coelurosauria?

You, ever the sweet and understanding girlfriend, had snapped at her, questioning why the hell she was bothering you while you were studying.

It wasn't a "Hi, Alexia, I'm sorry, I can't talk right now."

It was a "Oh my fucking God, Alexia, can't you leave me alone for two whole minutes?"

Alexia–who was actually sweet and understanding– didn't say anything. She just stepped closer to where you were sitting, kissed the top of your head, and left a protein bar beside you before quietly walking away, probably heading for a lonely walk around Barcelona.

You cried while studying the skeleton of the Brachiosaurus because you felt guilty afterwards.

You didn't want to be mean, but finals brought out the worst in you. Still, Alexia wasn't the one to blame.

You knew Alexia was back when you heard the front door on the first floor opening and then closing. You heard her taking off her shoes and making her way upstairs.

You felt the mattress dip beside you, and when you turned around, Alexia was sitting there. You gave her your biggest, most apologetic eyes. 

"I'm sorry," you said, genuinely.

Alexia looked at you, cupped your jaw, and brought your mouth to hers. She kissed you sweetly. "It's okay," she murmured against your lips as you closed your eyes. 

"I know you get grumpy when you're overwhelmed with school. No need to say sorry."

"Yes, I do," you said, breaking the kiss and flopping back onto the bed, almost like a starfish. Your book was lying open beside you as you stared at the ceiling. "I was rude, that's not okay."

"It is okay," Alexia said, as she hovered above you, her hair tickling your cheek. "Because you sound hot when you're mad."

You rolled your eyes and pecked her lips. "Okay, now you're stretching."

"I'm serious," she said, getting off of you and sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed. "You pout and your brows furrow…It's like  exactly the face you make when you're about to cum–"

"Okay!" you interrupted, throwing your book at her, your face burning. Alexia could be so crude when she wanted to.  "No talking about sex, or–"

"--you cumming?" Alexia teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," you groaned. "This is literally the most boring subject ever. It doesn't pair well with dirty talk."

Alexia stayed quiet for a few seconds, and you took that as a sign to return to your notes and re-read them. You were lying on your stomach now,  your paper was spread out in front of you, when you felt Alexia climb on top of you and drop all of her weight onto your back.

Out of the sudden, you had a book to your face as well–your zoology and evolution of dinosaur book.

Alexia cheekily snatched your notes, and before you could complain, her voice filled the room as she read the book.

"Thyreophora, often known as armoured dinosaurs, were a group of ornithischian dinosaurs that lived from the Early Jurassic until the end of the Cretaceous…"

You listened as Alexia spoke, and you couldn't help but feel as if she was… reading it erotically?

You felt her weight on your back, the way she held your book right in front of you, holding it with one hand while her other hand stayed pressed to your ribcage.

"Primitive forms had simple, low, keeled scutes or osteoderms," she continued, her voice low as she pressed more fully into your body like she was getting cosy, relaxing. "Oh, those are cool, right, bebé?" she said against your ear, and you couldn't help the shiver that ran through you.

You had known Alexia long enough to recognise when she was doing this on purpose.

Sometimes, you had the willpower to push her away and to fight back. You had to study, your exam was tomorrow!! But right now?

Right now, you wanted to be pliant.

"Most thyreophorans were herbivorous and had small brains for their size," she said, her hand slipping under your shirt, her cold fingertips grazing your skin just above your ribs. 

"Oh, does that mean they were dumb?"Alexia asked innocently, placing a kiss on the back of your neck.

"N-no," you stammered as you tried to move, but her body was still pinning you down. "Brain size doesn't really determine intelligence…"

Alexia hummed against your skin, letting the book fall onto the bed with a soft thud. 

Now her full attention was on your neck, she was licking your skin before sucking the it into her mouth.

"I thought the bigger the brain, the smarter?" she murmured.

She sat up from behind you and turned you over, leaving you flat on your back. Then she kissed you deep and slow, biting your lip.

"No, it doesn't mean that," you mumbled, lifting your arms as Alexia pulled off your shirt, leaving your torso bare. "W-what is intelligence, after all, right? It's a very human construct and we…."

Your breath hitched as Alexia kissed your stomach, slowly making her way down to your navel, then she gently tugged at the waistband of your pants.

You lifted your hips, helping her in the process of getting you naked.

"Keep going, amor, "Alexia said, kissing you just above your underwear. "I don't want to distract you from your studies."

Her fingers slid down to your centre, where the wet spot of your underwear was. Your eyes were closed now, but you knew Alexia was smirking.

"What were you saying about intelligence?"Alexia coaxed, her voice innocent, as if she wasn't doing anything wrong, as if she really was helping you study.

But thinking about dinosaurs or intelligence or anything was nearly impossible as she hooked her fingers into the sides of your underwear and pulled them aside, exposing you completely. She slid her fingers just above your cunt, spreading your weteness slowly around your folds, teasing you.

You moaned as Alexia pressed just the tip of your finger inside of your cunt, your hips moving, begging for more contact, but Alexia didn't give in. She wanted to make you work for it for a bit.

"If you don't talk," Alexia said sternly, kissing the inside of your thigh, "I'll stop. Keep going. Tell me about the subject."

You were in silence, your brain mush. It was like you forgot you even knew any words, let alone the evolution of ornithischian dinosaurs.

Although you were quick to remember it when Alexia took her mouth away from your body.

You clutched at her head, pressing her against your cunt. 

"Please, keep going–"you whined. "I-I was saying that intelligence is a human parameter, and we shouldn't judge other species based on it because it's honestly a very anthropocentric concept…"

"There she is, my smart girl, "Alexia purred. And just like magic, she slid her index finger inside of you, and your body welcomed it immediately. "What else can you tell me about those Thy… Thry…"

"Thyreophora," You breathed as Alexia slid another finger in, thrusting into you so slowly it made you want to cry. "There are two major groups, th-" 

You didn't even get to finish, because you felt alexia's hot breath against your cunt, her mouth touching your clit, wrapping her lips aorund itand sucking gently. "Fuck–more." 

Alexia slapped your thigh; it didn't sting, but it was a warning.

"Keep talking." 

So you did.

Alexia ate you out slowly as if she was savouring every single drop of your wetness. You were very aware she was enjoying herself way too much; you also knew she was doing it as a form of revenge, too.

But you didn't mind for her motives, not when she kept fucking you like that. She only stopped when you stopped talking. 

She really was taking your studies very seriously.

Alexia's tongue was thrusting inside of you. You didn't know how she had mastered the ability to penetrate you so deeply with her tongue, but you (once again) didn't care.

Her hands were pinning you down on the mattress, clutching your hip bones, not letting you move an inch as she continued to thoroughly pleasure (or maybe torture) you.

It took you a while to cum, but not because Alexia wasn't giving you what you needed, but because your body had trouble switching from stressed, anxious and overstimulated to relaxed.

Alexia didn't say a word about it. She didn't make you feel bad that it was taking longer than usual. She just kept her mouth on your cunt, as if she had all the time in the word.

And when you finally came, it felt like your body had truly relaxed for the first time in days. 

You felt as if all of your muscles relaxed all at once. Your eyes rolled back, and you yanked at Alexia's hair with a little more force than you were intending to, but she didn't complain. 

You were trying to catch your breath when alexia finally lifted her face from your cunt. 

She made her way up your body, kissing your stomach and your breasts before (finally) kissing you, and sliding her tongue in to let you taste yourself.

"See," Alexia whispered as she broke the kiss. She lay her head on your chest, her finger gently tracing your face. "I was right."

"Rigth about what?" You barely manage to say. 

"Your face when you cum," She said against your sking, kissing your collarbone. "The pout, the furrowed eyebrows."

You blink, still pretty much dizzy. "Did you make all of this... too prove a point?"

"Maybe," she said, smiling. 

"I hate you," you murmured, closing your eyes and letting your hands run through her hair.

"You don't," Alexia said. "You just came in my mouth, I think that was a love confession, actually."

You chucked at Alexia's words. 

Maybe it was the oxytocin running through your body stream, or maybe it was the quiet realisation that this was the first time you and Alexia were properly intimate in days, mostly because of your schedule at uni and her schedule at Barcelona.

You surprised yourself by lowering your head and kissing her again, your hands slipping under her shirt to trace the back tattoos you knew by heart.

Alexia kissed you back–and what was a sweet kiss–turned into something urgent.

"I want you," you breathed against her mouth, your hand curling around the back of her neck. "Now."

"Yeah?" Alexia smirked. "How?"

"On your back, legs spread open," you said.

"Okay," she simply said.

She did what you asked of her. 

She lay down, but she winced slightly when one of your pens dug into her back.

You watched her for a moment, admiring her, and then you undressed her completely. You took her shirt off, and then her training bra.

You wrapped your lips around her nipples, sucking them until Alexia was gasping, asking for more.

Without wasting another second, you pulled down her shorts and underwear in one go. 

You spread her legs apart with each of your hands and began kissing the inside of her thighs, biting them softly,  leaving teeth marks where no one would see them.

You were in your moment now.  Feeling hot and heavy, watching Alexia's cunt dripping right in forn of your face, how pretty her cunt looked, how ready she was for you.

But just as you were ready to taste her, Alexia said.

"Do you want me to read your notes out loud while you do it?"

You paused, your mouth still slightly open, looking up at her. You truly had a problem reading her facial expression.

At the same time that it looked like she was teasing you, it also seemed like the proposal was sincere, like she might actually do it if you said yes.

You glared at her, your eyes narrowing, trying to make your point across without having to use any words.

"Okay," she said quickly. "I guess that's a no."

..

A/n: Got the dino infos on Wikipedia!

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[starryjake]

idea... reader being insecure about getting head but she has MUNCH HEE as a boyfriend and she ends up being addicted too

🫰🫰🫰🫰well yes.

“please, baby,” heeseung nearly begs.

his hands are rubbing your bare thighs, slowly making their way up and up and up.

he pushes the fabric of your skirt up as he goes, eager to get to what’s laying beneath it.

“i don’t know, hee,” you say.

you’re nervous, although you can’t deny how much just his hands rubbing your thighs are turning you on. you can feel yourself getting wet, an ache starting to from from the need to be touched.

“there’s nothing to be nervous about, i promise,” he tells you assertively. you look into his eyes and know that means it. “i just wanna make you feel good, sweetheart. that’s all i want.”

that was mostly all he wanted. of course he wanted to make you, his sweet girlfriend, feel good. but he also knew he would get a lot of pleasure out of himself.

since the day he started going out with you—hell, from the minute he met you, he wanted to taste you. he wanted to get his head between your legs and give you the head of a lifetime.

“but what if—”

heeseung cuts you off with a delicate kiss. he kisses you slowly, deeply, and it makes you realize even more so how bad you need him.

“you trust me, don’t you?” he whispers.

“yeah,” you answer, meaning it with all your heart.

“can i?” he asks, digging his finger into the waistband of your skirt.

“yes,” you finally tell him.

he practically rips your skirt and underwear off of you, beyond eager to finally get what he’s been dreaming of for months. you were worth it wait, he knew it before even getting a taste.

he lays down on his stomach, glancing up at you with his big doe eyes to ensure that you were okay. you still had that worried expression on your face, but heeseung was set on changing it to a pleasured one.

he kisses your thighs, his lips so soft and light that it tickles. you giggle a little, which in turn, makes him smile, relieved to know that you’re relaxing.

then finally, finally he leans in and licks a long, firm strip up from the bottom of your pussy to your clit. you gasp at the sensation, throwing your head back because suddenly it’s too heavy to hold up.

“oh my god,” you moan, thighs attempting to close around his head.

he pushes them back apart, tilting his head to lean on one as he focuses on eating your pussy. he licks up and down and circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, which has your legs twitching.

“heeseung,” you cry out, reaching down to entangle your fingers in his hair.

“mmm, yeah, baby,” he moans into your cunt. “you taste so good. you’re so wet for me, honey.”

“it feels…” you trail off as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks for a moment, quite literally taking your words away.

“feels what?” he asks.

you couldn’t remember what you were going to say. you couldn’t even think. he was eating you out so good it was making you dumb.

he didn’t mind. he could feel himself going dumb too, lost in how good you taste and how smooth and warm and amazing you feel against his tongue.

“my perfect girl,” he praises, slightly squeezing your thighs. “god, it’s so fucking good.”

all you could do was moan, getting confident enough to spread your legs wider and hump your hips up into his face. somehow, you needed even more, and he would give it to you.

he shifted his hands from your thighs and used his fingers to spread your pussy, then stuffed his face right back into it. the tip of his nose rubbing against your clit while his tongue thrusted in and out of your hole was enough to send you over the edge.

“hee!” you nearly scream. “i’m cumming! fuck, i’m cumming. i’m cumming, i’m—”

again, you couldn’t speak anymore. you were cumming way too hard to do anything but let it wash over you in silence. heeseung kept his head buried between your legs while you did, nursing you through your orgasm.

you yelped when you finally came down, and heeseung regretfully pulled away from your pussy. his lips, chin, and nose were glistening with your cum.

“fuck,” he growled, crawling up the bed to kiss you hard on the lips. “you’re so fucking hot, baby. can’t believe i finally got a taste of you. i don’t think i’m gonna be able to go a day without it now.”

and you had no problem with that. who were you to complain about your boyfriend starting and ending every day with his face between your legs?

[fragranticareviewers]

As someone who doesn't know a thing about perfumes, reading what you have to say about them is so unbelievably cool!

If I may ask something, what would a magical girl use, but not the pink main one, maybe the orange/yellow one?

ive been sitting with this for a little bit rotating it in my head... this will be a long one

so im putting my answers into two different categories:

one is for the Orange Magical Girl Archetype, which is how i was thinking of the first one. in my head, the orange ones are usually sporty, energetic, and have a sun or fire theme going on, while still maintaining a lot of that youthful sparkly fun vibe. (i also personally associate them with citrus, because, well, orange) so i was thinking of that. this will be my first category of answers.

olympea solar by rabanne - yummy! white florals and mandarin orange.

h&m sunray - golden warmth by h&m - straight up smells like summer. sunscreen, coconut, slightly floral?

orange ice cream by colornoise - i have no idea if this one is good or not to be honest. but it looks like it should fit. i trust it. i believe in it.

dr. botica poção da criatividade by o boticário - ok pause. i have never seen this mentioned before by anyone and found it by accident. what is this. this is ridiculously cute. how do i get my hands on it? the bottle is so cute! it has a star for god's sake

sundrunk by imaginary authors - "oh noo it's so linear" "it doesn't smell like a city on fire or bull's blood" i don't care. smells like artificial orange flavoring followed by neroli. yummy

...so this was my first thought.

then i started thinking: what about the actual orange magical girls from things i've watched? what do i associate with them?

and then i realized: WHERE ARE ALL THE ORANGE MAGICAL GIRLS?? i can think of, like, 5 total! all of them have completely different personalities! everyone's always like "ohh toei hates making green magical girls, we're starving, please feed us more green magical girls please" as if there is not currently a CRISIS of MAGICAL GIRLS WHO WEAR ORANGE in their series even greater than this...

with that said: the 5 magical girls i can think of who are primarily orange all have completely different associations for me, so i figured it'd be fun to pick a perfume or two for each of them.

cure soleil from star twinkle precure - i think they technically classify her as yellow so she might not even count. that's stupid. she's orange. being blonde does not change the color of her outfit.

for her, i pick aqua allegoria nettare di sole by guerlain. it has solar notes, which are critical for her IMO, along with beautiful white florals, which i think matches with her association with flowers.

hazuki from ojamajo doremi - ah, i'm struggling with this a bit.. she's very shy, naive, and studious, with an interest in things like violin and ballet. i was hoping i could find something with maybe a light varnish accord, but no luck. instead, i looked for things with an old book/paper smell without being overly dark or old, and i'm stuck between these 2...

gion by fantome - powdery rose tea with honey and books. light and cute.

morning room by solstice scents - you thought i was gonna do a recommendation post without mentioning solstice scents huh? huh?? *beats you up* this is another powdery and light floral, this time mostly based on violet instead of rose. and, of course, there's a paper note in here.

cure sunny from smile precure - i'm realizing that, in my head, she is the prototypical orange magical girl. i may be biased because she's also my favorite. i want to find something that evokes fire without being overly smoky or autumnal.

beach bonfire by alchemic muse - a firey gourmand with a little bit of nice sandalwood and amber, nice!

fire opal (orange 2; natural) by dsh perfumes - planning on getting a sample of this. bitter orange that people are complaining is "too masculine"

sailor venus from sailor moon - oh god. is she orange? anyways, i think i'd associate her with like, makeup accords, like the way lipstick smells. but fun and silly. it'd be cool if i could find a light and fun fragrance with a hot iron accord because she has a chain attack and all that, but no such thing seems to exist

iris crush by jimmy choo - powdery floral lipstick. yay!

nagisa momoe from puella magi madoka magica - is this even a question?

cheesecake by arcana wildcraft.

anyways, to be transparent, a lot of the time i don't answer fandom/character requests because it's always things i've never watched/read/played/etc. before. but mahou shoujo... well i've heard of it

[presepohne]

nsfw. knight john price.

Knight John Price who has been promised you as a reward. You're sweet, young, and innocent in the ways lambs rae and he has his heart on you. Such a beautiful sould, such a lovely little thing you are for him, now aren't you?

He's pampers you, spoils you rotten, acts on your wishes— he makes you grateful towards him, which leads to you always listening to him whenever he asks something form you.

It's mostly nothing, just a day alone with him in his chambers, or just spend your nights with him— just please him in every way you can as long his asks.

But John Price isn't a good man.

So you find youself between the clutches of three other men, who are holding you down, mouth on your body as one of them— Johnny if you head his name right settles between you legs. It's embarrassing, it's so wrong yo be used like this, but John had asked you to do this.

Please bird, they are my best men.

And it's even more embarassing because the other soldier with brown eyes and a beautiful smile is holding your legs open as Jhonny feasts on you, while John is holding down Simon head on his cock as he watches his men please you.

Beautiful, innit?

[rodeodeparis]

i’m mixed mizrahi & ashkenazi in the us myself, and i also read a lot, i have a lot of thoughts on this sentiment, putting it under a read more because it’s quite a bit

disclaimer: all of this is my personal opinion and may not be 1000% objective, and i know for a fact that not all sephardic/mizrahi/mixed jewish/jews of color-americans agree with me 👍

i’ve seen this sentiment from leftie american jews of all kinds over the past two years, and i get where it comes from, particularly due to israeli propaganda targeted at americans appropriating the language of racial justice to that end (and as a result a bunch of white jews going "jews are not white", and a circular argument about whether or not jews are white ensuing) and i am so so tired of it

for one, it's not accurate. people in europe historically didn’t see themselves entirely, collectively as “white people”. zionism was formed in the context of 19th century european nationalism, “jew” was a nation in europe at the time in the same way “french” or “german” would’ve been (and in some parts of europe still is, my sister's husband was born in russia and "jew" is listed as his race on his birth certificate). they were seeing themselves as a separate nation (with european jews in mind, but that's another can of worms) because europeans were seeing them as a separate nation. this view extended to groups like yiddishists, who were antizionist but used this to different ends. you can argue semantics about this particular point but "white people" wasn't the thing in the lexicon when they were comparing themselves to other europeans. as a result, like riki said, in the israeli context "white" isn't mutually exclusive with "jew". non-european jews were an afterthought, but they're still jews.

also, the european jewish connection to the middle east is like. not something zionists invented? it was a big part in why jewish people were discriminated against in europe, and to an extent the denial of jews having a connection to there is par for the course of european antisemitism. european antisemitism is essentially belittling jews for being both middle eastern and european, whichever is more convenient at the moment. (more on that later.)

a great book on this (and on how this impacted zionism and zionist racism) is orientalism and the jews, which you can actually read for free on archive.org. long story short is zionists (as well as some other european jewish political groups) ended up choosing "european" as the one of the two things they were assigned by following in the footsteps of other european ethnic nationalist movements, and looking at their own connection to the middle east through a euroentric/orientalist lens. edward said put it best when he said (to paraphrase) "white inside the country, and not white outside of it".

zionism is far from the only group of european jews who did something like this back then. there was the the alliance israélite universelle, which was an arm of french colonialism and set up "civilizing missions" more or less for middle eastern and balkan jews in the form of schools, which came to a head with the cremieux decree. (you can read about it in gross, racist detail here.) there's also ashkenazi american jews, who...well just read this article. i have personal experiences about this in jewish-american spaces and other mizrahi/sephardic-americans do too but i’d rather not make this all about me. and before that there were sephardic jews (predominantly western european but also in the ottoman empire) treating them the same way. even rich baghdadi jews like the sassoons, who were decidedly not european, got in on this, which reverberated back into israel in certain ways (which is talked about in orientalism and the jews).

so i would say that there is a much, much longer recent history of mostly european jewish tail-chasing about who’s more “like other white people” as the tagger put it than the other way around. in the american context, malcom x even has a little part in his autobiography about it. the hasbara thing is comparatively recent and plays on the insecurities of jewish americans and canadians as "in betweeners" so to speak in the context of the white supremacy of their home countries. people can make a big stink about how "no jews are white" for the sake of argument but everyone in my immediate family checks off"white" on the census ("middle eastern" is still under "white", after all).

so jews identifying solely as white has a bad precedent too. i personally can't really see statements like that taggers' and its exact opposite and not compare them to the more storied history of european-american jews aligning themselves to the white side of things at the expense of their syrian co-religionists, let alone the inter-jewish racism in israel. i've seen people pull out dna tests to either end. all of this is pretty ironic, considering that historically, european antisemitism has looked a lot more like this:

(pretend it just says jew, because it was like this with other jewish groups over there as well.)

it feels like both groups are trying to overcorrect a case of being hated for being "in between" by going either all the way one way, or all the way the other. ie defining themselves by the terms that they were discriminated against for not being easily definable by. and it ends up turning into a slew of either orientalism (in the not white camp) or genteel racism (in the white camp).

if you’re monoracial/ethnic it’s pretty easy to just belong to one category and not have to think about it much. in the us, an overwhelming majority of jews have ancestors who came here from eastern europe from the mid 19th century to the early 20th century, and most are also white, so i understand where the "jews" posturing comes from. when it gets annoying is when it's projected outwards, such as, of all things, an internet discourse topic from a few months ago.

(admittedly, there's more "important" things to complain about than this, but it's kind of the straw that breaks the camel's back, and i feel like once people understand this specifically, we can all make bigger strides towards the more important things.)

essentially, a bunch of people on the anglophone side of the internet were (rightfully!) criticizing the movie no other land online, and were referring to half-yemenite, half-ashkenazi director yuval avraham as a "white guy" as if that would make their points more poignant.

yeah, he "looks white" to most americans, and we can talk circles about comparative privilege in that regard all day long, but "white guy" is, from an american perspective, erasing his heritage to make a point. (and a specific heritage that there's been a long history of americans generally, and american jews specifically, erasing, not to mention one that's had an especially tough history in israel.) i'm sure i'm not the only one who's noticed this, but "white" has a few different implicit meanings in american english beyond how someone looks. one of the meanings is to do with the culture you were raised in. one means "has never been discriminated against on the basis of race and/or ethnicity (americans tend to mix these two up)".

i'm not entirely sure which one was being applied to yuval, but the implication in these seems to be that his "whiteness" is an intrinsic part of the film's problems and not like, idk, the very real material things that you can actually attribute it to, none of them in this case inherent to "whiteness". (the propaganda the israeli staff grew up with and probably internalized to different degrees, writing, funds management, representation and lack thereof, etc.) as if middle easterners can't be complicit in colonialism or be settlers or something, as if we're all innocent and dumb and in need of an american twitter user's defense, or else we're all "actually" white. genteel racism.

from experience, i can tell you that this is both a typical mixed person in america experience and a typical non-ashkenazi jew in america experience. (israeli society doesn't entirely "understand" mixed people either but that's another story.) ironically very similar to antisemitism in general. there's a lot of other things i can compare it too. if you know a little bit about queer theory, imo, what's going on here isn't too dissimilar from biphobia or the specific, weird transphobia towards trans men that self-proclaimed "trans-inclusive" feminists are fond of; essentially, "oppression and privilege are a binary and you, person who doesn't neatly fit into either one, get to be whichever one is most convenient to me at the moment". real people get pushed out of the way so a theory in someone's head can make more sense.

admittedly, a big part of this is the "jew/arab" binary that zionism created and the rest of the world adopted, so i'm not pointing fingers at the tagger here or anything. i'm not telling anyone to start checking off "other" on the census either.

i just like, wish that people like that tagger thought a little bit about what this affirmation that jews = white does for them personally? does it make them more comfortable to literally push yourself away from the middle east and associate yourself more with europe? isn't colonialism bad no matter who does it? are middle eastern jews "worse" than you for having a more recent connection to the middle east? should we just drop that connection so your anticolonialism can make more sense to you? if we're a different people, what's stopping you from excluding non-european jews from jewish things?

"white" isn't a barrier between you and other people, because "white" is ultimately made up bs. you and i aren't too different, even if we're not exactly the same. and i think the american jews who take "sides" in this argument re-reckoning with antisemitism as it is rather than making their experience in the us as a jew fully analogous to either people of color or white people full stop is one of the most effective ways to combat antisemitism *and* zionism, personally.

what made u anti zionist / helped u unlearn zionism

Unlearning is a work in progress, but basically finding out the information I was given wasn't true. I was taught the "a land without a people for a people without a land" - found out Palestinians, you know, lived here, actually. Was taught all the violence we committed was in self defense - found out we destroyed whole villages to take over the land. Was taught our military is very ethical and never violent without necessity - saw what we do to Palestinians even today (and by "today" I mean before the current escalation in Gaza, I have no idea how anyone can ignore this one now). Was taught we "made the desert bloom" - learned some about native and non-native plants, and about the colonialist nature of trying to transform a whole ecosystem to suit us instead of living with the land as it is. From "Israel vs the Palestinian territories" to learning that even the lands taken over in 48... were taken from them. From "this is our land because this is where we come from" to learning that we aren't the only people that originated in this land and we can't just override the claim of the people who lived here for generations.

None of this, like, inherently means you'll let go of zionism. I know zionists who would agree with me about many of these points. But, I suppose, for me it's a broader anti-colonialism and anti-isolationism thing, and... anti-exceptinalism?

Like, I had to unlearn the idea that antisemitism is a unique and singular kind of oppression that no oppressed group can ever relate to or have solidarity with. The idea that we're alone, we'll always be alone, we're destined to be hated and murdered in ongoing and repeated extermination attempts unless we segregate ourselves in our own state with our own military where we can double down on "kill or be killed" over and over. And because we're the only ones who are this completely rejected by the rest of humanity, anything we do to achieve that goal of safety is justified regardless of who we hurt. Or even that our unique state as victims means we can't actually cause harm in the ways that we were hurt.

Antisemitism is unique in the same way that anti-Blackness is unique and ableism is unique, they all have their own elements. That doesn't mean we can't fight together and form coalitions with other marginalized groups. Romani people are another example of how our experiences are both unique and not. They don't face antisemitism, but they were still part of The Final Solution. We're not The Ultimate Victims, we're one group among many.

All of this together, for me, meant going from "we're the only nation not allowed to have our own country, self determination," to understanding that the issue isn't the question of the right to self determination, it's the fact that we decided to exercise it at the expense of other people. Pretty sure Romani people would face the same reactions if they decided to displace another nation for the sake of their own self determination. This isn't a game of musical chairs, we can't just go "your turn in exile, get out" and expect that to be okay.

Some stateless nations live in a specific location under another country, and they can declare independence in that place without causing harm. It's unfortunate that we didn't have that. But Palestinians shouldn't pay the price.

And Jewish people should be safe everywhere, not just in the small patch of land where we're the oppressor.

Final thing is, had to read a bit about what Palestinians think of all of this. Which is complicated, no group is a monolith, and I don't think I'm qualified to break that down. But after unpacking all the "about us" things, I had to look at their goals from liberation, and now I try to do my best to stay informed and support those goals.

[hyunjincanraptoo]

I know you mostly do hyunjin fics but I was wondering if you could to a bangchan one? I was looking for one I was thinking of and I couldn't find it and I thought I'd ask you because your fics are so good! Could you try to make a first time with chan one? Kind of like your hyunjin one that you made buy a chan version of it idk I've just been so dululu lately and I need a fic like that, but if your but please dont rush if your doing other things♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Bed of roses- B.CH

First of all, hey!! I am SO sorry it took so long. I love your ideas, they are always great. And honestly at this point I am writing for all members + ateez hehe

And in second place, I want to dedicate this fic to beautiful @ktxoxoxo. Feliz cumpleaños, baby! I promised you a bed of roses and here it's hehe Wish you all the happiness in the world and I hope you had a great day 💜

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: smut

Alexa, play Bed of roses by Bon Jovi

You didn’t mean to break the bed, but in your defense, the bug was huge.

One moment you were peacefully folding laundry, the next you were shrieking and jumping on your bed like it was a lifeboat and you were on Titanic. And apparently, your bedframe wasn't built for dramatic bug escaping adventures.

It cracked beneath your weight with a crunch. Not totally broken, but enough to collapse slightly.

Which is how you ended up sitting on the floor, texting your new boyfriend in absolute shame.

You:

I broke my bed cause of a bug 💀

Channie:

😭 How big was the bug??

You:

Big enough for me to panic and jump like an olympic gymnast

Channie:

I’m coming over, babe

We’re going to IKEA

“Okay, but I thought you'd laugh more”, you say as he pulls into the parking lot, “Like, isn’t this the kind of thing you'd roast me for?”

Chan hums, “It is, but also I’m gonna romanticize this. We’re going to IKEA together like a new married couple”

You blink at him.

He grins, “Don’t tell me you never imagined walking around those fake rooms holding hands, pretending we’re furnishing our home?”

“Okay. Maybe once. Or twice”

He hops out and comes to your side of the car, lacing his fingers with yours the moment you step out, “Good! Let’s get delulu over furniture”

You roll your eyes. But your giggle anyway

•°. *࿐

It begins in the kitchens.

“Oh, I could totally see us making breakfast here”, he says, tapping a marble counter, “You scrambling eggs while I steal kisses and burn the toast”

“In your fantasy, I’m the one cooking?!"

“I’m better at kissing”

You blush and move on, but he follows with a lazy hand on the small of your back.

“Look at this one”, he says, pointing to a tub, “Our kids could splash around in here”

You choke, “Kids?!”

He shrugs, amused by your expression, “Too soon?”

You poke his chest him, “Way too soon”

He pouts playfully, eyes warm. “Fine. Just imagine you in it. Bubbles, candles and me on the rug beside it, feeding you strawberries”

You laugh, “You romantic menace”

But the worst is the bed section. He sits down on a queen sized one and pats the space beside him.

You sit.

Chan leans back, legs wide, arms resting behind his head like he belongs there.

“I could definitely see us making kids on this one”

Your breath catches.

He glances over with a smug grin, but it softens when he sees your expression— flushed, quiet, hopeful.

“Too much?”, he asks gently.

You shake your head, trying to stay cool, “Just... haven’t thought that far ahead”

He leans in, brushing his fingers against your knee, “No pressure. I like where we are”

You nod, “I like it too”

•°. *࿐

You buy the bed. And Chan insists on paying for half of it.

“I’ll cover half”, Chan says as he hoists one of the heavier boxes into the trunk.

You arch a brow. “You sure? I broke the bed”

He grin,. “And I helped you pick a new one. That makes it ours now”

You narrow your eyes, “Are you trying to co-own my furniture?”

He shrugs, slamming the trunk closed, “Maybe I just want you to think of me every time you get in bed”

Your jaw drops, “Christopher Bang!”

“What?”, he says innocently, but the smirk is anything but innocent

“I love you”

He walks past you, enlacing your pinkies together as he heads to the driver’s side, “I love you too, baby”

•°. *࿐

That night, you stay over at his place.

He tosses you one of his oversized shirts, makes you dinner, and kisses you slowly on the couch before pulling you into bed. It’s soft, domestic, like you’ve done this a hundred times already.

The next morning, he drives you to work, one hand on the wheel, the other lazily holding yours. As you unbuckle to get out, he tugs your wrist gently and leans over to kiss you, probably a little longer than necessary.

“Have a good day”, he murmurs. “And don’t worry, I’ll have the bed ready when you come home”

You blink, “Really? You don’t have to”

He just winks, “I’ve got you, baby”.

And with that, you spend the whole shift thinking about your disgustingly sweet boyfriend.

•°. *࿐

When you get home, the lights are low and your apartment smells like roses.

You blink at the trail of petals leading to your bedroom and then stop in the doorway— your new bed is built, fluffed, blankets folded neatly.

Chan stands beside it with a boyish smile, rubbing the back of his neck, “Hey...”

“Chan… what’s that?”

“I just… I thought I’d surprise you. Build it while you were gone. And the rest, well... I got carried away”

You step inside, eyes darting around, “This is... beautiful”

He shrugs, “No pressure or anything. I know we still haven’t… you know. But I just thought maybe…. new bed, new memories”

You look at him— his eyes are kind, gentle, nervous. And you know you want him too.

Not just because of the bed. You want him because he showed up, hands full of Allen keys and roses. Because he doesn't judge when you break the bed because of bugs and also dreams big. Because he makes IKEA’s aisles feel like home.

You walk to him slowly

“Can I kiss you?”, you ask.

His breath stutters, “Please”

You kiss him deep— full of all the things you didn’t say in the kitchen aisle, the tub aisle, the bedroom aisle.

He pulls you closer by the hips, mouth hungry but patient. You feel his hands spread wide on your back, guiding you gently to the bed like you’re sacred.

Clothes come off slowly. First his shirt, then yours. His fingers tremble slightly as they trace the curve of your waist.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, kneeling between your thighs.

You nod, “I’ve never been more sure”

He kisses down your neck, your collarbones, the sensitive skin just above your breast. You arch into him, heart pounding like a drum.

He takes his time. Every touch is mindful, every breath shared. He groans when you touch him, eyes closing.

“I got you”, he breathes, “We’ll go slow”

He lies back slowly, guiding you to straddle him but not the way you expect.

Instead, he tugs you down with him until your back is flush against his chest, his arms wrapped around your waist, your thighs wrap around his hips. You're cradled in his body like you're made to fit there like his lap, his hands, his chest were always meant for you.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs, his breath warming the shell of your ear.

You nod, pulse racing. “More than okay”

You reach between your bodies to help guide him in— careful, your breath catching as he slides into you from behind.

A shared gasp leaves both your mouths.

The stretch, the closeness, the sound of his moan against your neck—it’s overwhelming in the most delicious way.

His arms tighten around your waist, and you feel his lips press to your shoulder as he starts to move. Slow, rolling hips beneath you. He thrusts up gently, and the rhythm is steady, sure, tender.

Your head tips back against his shoulder.

“You feel so good”, he breathes, voice wrecked, one hand sliding up to cup your breast while the other holds your stomach close, “I want you like this forever”

You whisper his name, trembling slightly as pleasure builds. It’s deeper like this. Fuller. Every drag of him inside you makes your body curl back into him tighter.

He keeps you safe.

Your fingers lace with his at your stomach, squeezing as the pace picks up— soft wet sounds and shallow gasps filling the room, his lips open against your jaw, groaning your name.

You come first, your body arching, chest heaving, legs shaking around him as he whispers encouragements into your skin.

“That’s it, baby… just like that. Can’t believe you are all mine”

He follows soon after, hips stuttering, breath hitching as he holds you tighter— burying himself as deep as he can go with a strangled moan. His warmth fills you slowly, pulsing inside while you lie there— still trembling, still wrapped in his arms.

Neither of you speak right away.

Only the sound of shared breaths, kisses pressed lazily to your shoulder, his fingers drawing shapes over your stomach where your hands still rest.

“I’ve never…, he begins softly, voice still unsteady, “felt anything like that before”

You smile, “Yeah. Me neither”

You turn your face to him, “Thanks for building the bed, baby”

He chuckles, heart melting silently, “Guess we built something else tonight too”

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

taglist: @hyyunjinnn , @jehhskz , @mbioooo0000 , @nightmarenyxx , @rozsdascsaptelep, @thatonegirlonhere , @notmedina127, @sweetlifeofjoy , @jeonginsleftcheek , @yelhsaa, @my-neurodivergent-world , @hyunles , @lexlikesbts , @imagine-all-the-imagines , @mysterysold , @teenagepeterpan , @hangonhyunjin , @yxna-bliss

[undyingdecay]

helloooo, this is my very first time requesting anything on tumblr, but your writing is just too good to pass up the opportunity.

i cannot, for the love of all mankind, get dark!bucky barnes out of my brain. it’s like an itch that can’t be scratched, no matter how hard i try. and i’m talking about some straight up dark shit that would potentially make me look fucking insane if i said it out loud.

(non-con) WHO SAID THAT? 👀

(tw: very heavy non-con, translation: khoroshaya devochka — good girl)

ok everyone sit down and listen, so ideally — and this is so bad it’s good — i’m thinking very freshly post-hydra!bucky. the kind of fresh where he still moves like a fucking predator without realizing it. where his hair’s still got that dry, greasy texture because he hasn’t figured out conditioner and tony’s too much of a prick to explain it to him. where his eyes are still vacant half the time, like there’s a stel trap wrapped around his head, but then — then there’s moments. quick flashes. like his gaze catches on your neck a second too long when you tilt your head or his jaw ticks when you laugh a little too loud in the kitchen because sam’s being a dick. little cracks in the armor.

and here’s the kicker, steve asked you to look after him. not like he was a rabid dog. no. steve wouldn’t call him that. steve would never say it like that. it was more in that… do-it-for-me tone, that boyish all-american pleading like he’s just shy of getting down on one knee. it wasn’t fair. you were good at saying no. you were good at keeping boundaries. but when he asked, when those big stupid hands were scrubbing sweat off his neck post-run and his biceps were gleaming under the LED lab lights?

you agreed. because you’re an idiot.

and bucky, bucky didn’t talk to you.

not much, anyway. he barely talked to anyone, truth be told, and you weren't about to make him. you’d still check in. you’d talk at him, mostly. about dumb shit — what kind of cereal was on sale, how tony’s AI fridge locked you out for putting a can of off-brand soda in it, how nat had somehow learned to crochet and was currently making sweaters for the knives she kept under her mattress. normal stuff. and maybe you wondered if he was listening but only sometimes.

you kinda forgot who he was, to be honest. like, yeah, there were moments you remembered — like the time you were standing in front of the fridge, reaching for the leftover pasta you’d been thinking about all day, and he just… picked you up. didn’t say a word. just lifted your entire body out of the way like you weighed nothing. set you down a foot to the left. opened the fridge. pulled out a bottle of water. left. no ‘excuse me’. no ‘move’. just manhandled you like a fucking doll and dipped.

but then came the night. and you swear on your life you didn’t hear him come in. you didn’t. you always did before. you could hear the way his boots dragged a little or the click of metal fingers against the wall. not this time. one second you were half asleep, the next you were on your back, bedsheets twisted around your ankles and something cold and heavy pressing your wrist down into the mattress.

you knew it was him. even in the dark, even before you opened your mouth, you knew.

“bucky—?”

his hand was in your hair, not pulling but holding, fingers twisted so deep into the roots it made your eyes sting. the words didn’t register. he was speaking, low and harsh in your ear, and you couldn’t understand a word of it but you knew it was russian because natasha would curse under her breath in that same jagged way when she was pissed off.

he was grinding against you. fully clothed. all rough denim and stiff tactical gear, and you could feel the press of him through it. the sick, hot friction of fabric on fabric like it was enough for him. like he didn’t even care about getting his cock out, just needed to rut against something warm and soft and unwilling. his breathing was so fucking loud, low grunts slipping out every time his hips jerked forward.

you were pleading. of course you were. because what else do you do when a supersoldier’s on top of you with a metal hand around your throat? you were asking him to stop, babbling out whatever you could think of — please, bucky, you don’t wanna do this, you don’t wanna hurt me, please, please— but it barely mattered. didn’t even look like it registered.

and some part of you — some deep, shriveled, awful instinct — told you to stay still. like maybe if you didn’t move, didn’t scream, didn’t make it worse, he’d finish faster. like maybe this was the least you owed him. not as a person, but as a thing. a thing that had been torn up and stitched back together wrong. like maybe this was how you repaid the debt you never owed in the first place.

and it made you sick to your stomach.

he muttered something sharp in russian again, voice rough like gravel and whiskey, and his hand moved from your hair to your neck. not squeezing — not yet — just pressing down enough to make your throat work harder.

“stupid things,” you caught, because that was in english. “never listen.”

and then quieter — almost tender, which made it worse — “zhenshchiny ne mogut plakat', yesli oni mokryye naskvoz'.”

you didn’t even understand what the fuck that meant at first. not until later. not until you found natasha at the gym and repeated it in a shaky whisper and watched her face twist, real ugly and mean.

and she told you. told you what it meant.

'women can't cry if they are soaking wet'

and you’ve never slept right since.

you should’ve known better to.

the first time it happened, you thought maybe it would be the only time. some awful, one-time, trauma-fueled mistake. a sick, violent need in him that would burn out and leave you in peace. you even tried to tell yourself he didn’t know what he was doing — the way he’d snarled in russian, the cold clamp of vibranium fingers around your throat, the sharp rut of his hips into yours like an animal. the way he kept you pinned under him, fully clothed, grinding himself into your cunt through your shorts until your body betrayed you, slick gathering no matter how much your mind screamed. you thought maybe, maybe it would end there.

it didn’t.

he stayed after. lay there beside you in your own bed, that metal hand still curled around your wrist, eyes wide open and unblinking in the dark. watching. like a predator deciding whether to finish the kill or let the wound fester. he didn’t speak. didn’t explain. didn’t leave.

the next night, you thought about locking the door. stood there with your hand on the knob, heart pounding in your throat. and then you let it go, because what was the fucking point? a lock wouldn’t stop him. nothing would. not when the winter soldier still lived in his bones, moving his hands before his brain caught up. and sure enough, sometime past midnight, boots heavy on the floor, the oppressive presence of him filling the room — and this time, there was no hesitation.

he undid his tactical pants just enough, the harsh rasp of the zipper making your stomach twist. there was no slow approach, no pretense. his hand knotted in your hair, wrenching your head back, and then your face was in the pillow, his grip like a steel trap around your neck.

“stop—” you tried, and that was the last word you managed.

he spit on your cunt first. a thick, cruel thing, then smeared it with his fingers, muttering something in russian that you didn’t need natasha to translate. the intent was clear enough. then he shoved himself inside you, one brutal thrust, tearing you open like he owned the place. no prep. no care. the stretch was merciless, thick and unrelenting, your breath ripped from you as your whole body jolted forward.

and the worst part? you felt yourself get wet.

it wasn’t want. it wasn’t arousal. it was your body’s betrayal. terror slicking your skin, nerves on fire, every cell screaming and still — still the ache built between your thighs, heat blooming where it shouldn’t. he noticed. of course he did. leaned down, breath hot and ragged against your ear.

“khoroshaya devochka,” he rasped, rough and pleased. “knew you’d stop fighting.”

he fucked you like he didn’t need to be gentle, like your body was just a place to bury himself. every thrust brutal, grinding your hips into the mattress. teeth in your shoulder hard enough to bruise, to break skin. and every time you made a sound — a sob, a plea, a ragged whisper of his name — you felt him twitch inside you. like it turned him on more.

by the time he came, it wasn’t soft. a sharp snap of his hips, a guttural snarl in your ear, his teeth sinking into the muscle of your shoulder as thick, hot ropes spilled inside you. his hand never eased up on your neck. he kept you pinned there, limp and wrecked beneath him.

and then — he didn’t leave.

he rolled you onto your back, head resting on your stomach like it was some sort of goddamn prize, one hand lazily stroking your thigh while his cum leaked from you in slow, hot pulses. he stayed until dawn, and you lay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, praying for death or daylight, whichever came first.

when the sun finally broke through, you got up, made coffee. looked at yourself in the mirror. bite marks and bruises trailing your neck, fingerprints mapped across your skin like a claim. you didn’t tell anyone. not steve. not nat. not sam. what would you even say? that their broken weapon was breaking you?

he came back again the next night.

and the next.

each time worse than the last. new ways to bend you, to mark you, to drag desperate, shamed pleasure from a body that didn’t know how to stop responding. every night his cock inside you, his voice in your ear, muttering in that dead, cold russian.

you stopped begging. stopped trying to fight.

because deep down, you knew he’d decided you were his.

and stupid things never learn.

(ive officially lost it)

[strawberrystepmom]

"Are you in love with me?"

Even though Dante is pretending to be asleep, curled over your back with a forearm thrown over you to pin your body against his chest, the cadence of his breath changes as soon as you get the words out.

It's like you caught one and stole it for yourself – not an uncommon occurrence.

The question lingers for a second. And another. Then a few more. Thankfully you abandoned shame in pursuit of love long ago, leaving you free from the burn of rejection or pain in case that’s what the silence means.

It also helps that you are confident this is not what his silence means. 

You know he isn’t asleep, at least not all the way yet, but you can still practically feel the trepidation dripping from his fingertips where they skim your bare hip. 

“Silly me, I know you’re asleep,” a featherlight lie drops from your lips. 

He nearly exhales in relief, fingers relaxing against your skin. In response, you tense, back straightening and shoulders squaring. 

“So, I’m going to say this while I still have the courage. I am in lo–”

Dante’s hand slides from your chest to your mouth, covering it gently. 

“I am.” His disused voice rasps.

Pulling his hand down from your face, you pipe up. “You are…?”

“In love.” He kisses your temple for the briefest of seconds before lifting his chin to fully tuck his head beneath it, cradling you as though it’s what he was born to do. “Pathetically, stupidly, life changingly in love with you.”

Silence returns but your heart pounds so hard in your chest it echoes in your ears. You weren’t quite expecting him to drop the act entirely and fess up.

“This is, uh, harder than I thought it would be.”

Trying to lighten the tension, you clear your throat. “First time?”

He can’t see your cheeky smile but thankfully he can picture it.

“Yeah, actually. Never had any reason to say it to anyone else.”

What if your heart bursts? It feels like it may when you consider the implication of being the first woman he has loved aloud at the very least. Your clammy palms remain wrapped around his forearm, clutching him.

“You terrify me.”

Such a statement might not be the best method of diffusing the tension but he’ll try it anyway. 

“That’s fascinating coming from a big bad guy like you.”

Chuckling, he tightens his grip around you. His chin drops to rest against your shoulder, voice loud and clear right in your ear. “Maybe I’m not as big and bad as I look, have you ever thought about that?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, finally turning in his arms and slipping your calves between his legs. He can finally make out the smile you’ve been struggling to hide even in the dim light, his breath stolen once again. 

“All the time, handsome.” You reach up to brush his mussed hair off of his face. “Alllll the time.”

“And it never makes you love me less? I mean, let me not get ahead of myself here – you do love me, right?”

“If you would have let me finish before playing the hero you definitely would’ve heard me say it the first time. But…” 

You look away, a little flustered despite that abandonment of shame you were so proud of. 

“God, yes. I think I’ve loved you since that first night, as insane as it sounds.”

Insane or not, he’s always felt it too. 

“Oh, so that’s why you hid from me for two weeks after that?”

You roll your eyes, reaching behind him to pinch his thigh. “It was three and yeah, exactly. Now you’re getting the hang of things.”

Both of you devolve into a small fit of giggles, bodies rubbing together while sleepy laughter wracks your chest and shakes your shoulders. It dies down, the tension mostly dying with it.

Still, there’s just enough left that tells you he has more to say. 

“Permission to be honest?” He asks, in a far smaller voice than usual.

“You have my permission to be anything, Dante.”

You can only hope he understands how true it is. 

“You terrify me because I don’t think I would know how to live without you now that I’ve had the luxury of living with you.” 

Smiling, you raise your eyebrows. “The luxury, huh? What a flatterer…”

“Hey,” he warns, capturing both of your hands in one of his and pressing your fingertips against his puckered lips. “You gave me permission to be honest, remember?”

Straightening up, you purse your lips and suck them inward, pretending to shut your mouth tightly. Your wide eyed stare makes it difficult for him to keep it together, a laugh on the precipice of his tongue. Somehow, he holds back, knowing that this is his chance. 

“The luxury. The privilege. Whatever you wanna call it.” He continues, eyes soft despite the tense set of his jaw. “I don’t want to fuck it up or eventually make you regret ever signing up to be a part of this thing I call a life.”

The amusing expression on your face turns somber before his eyes. 

“Do you want to know why I eventually gave up the whole running away bit?”

Feeling guilty for dampening the sweet mood, he opts to keep quiet and simply nods in response.

“Because I wanted to be part of your life. It’s not a thing, Dante - it lives and breathes and…it matters.” You smile, shaking your head. “Your life, you, us. It’s more precious than anything to me.”

“The only thing you could ever do to disappoint me would be to hurt me.”

“I wouldn–”

“I know. Not you, not ever. You’re not the type.” You crane your neck to kiss him. “Plus, I’m almost surprisingly hard to run off once I find somewhere worth being.”

“Then I really did get lucky.”

“No. You’ve just ended up where you’ve always been meant to be.”

[brinasheqrt]

hi sweets <3

been craving a fic with sabrina wearing a perfume that has reader folding for her instantly, but no pressure to write!

Smell Like Trouble

summary - request <3

warnings - light kissing, suggestive.

wc - 2.3k

a/n - guys this is my first time writing something kinda sultry so please ignore if it’s terrible 😭

You’d been pacing the living room for at least fifteen minutes.

Well, pacing is generous. You were mostly standing in front of the mirror by the door, half-watching your reflection, half-listening for the sound of heels against hardwood. You’d dressed up — button-down tucked in, a leather watch that Sabrina always liked, your cologne a little stronger than usual. Your fingers were fidgeting though, tugging at your cuff, smoothing your shirt for the eighth time.

She wasn’t even late. She was just… taking her time. And that made you nervous. Sabrina never rushed when she wanted to make an entrance.

You heard the soft click of the bedroom door and stilled. A second later, the sound of her heels — slow, deliberate. And then she turned the corner.

You were done for.

Her dress was nothing overly dramatic — black, silky, hugging her body like it was tailored with you in mind. Hair down, glossy waves resting over one bare shoulder. Her lips were painted a deep red, the kind that always made you want to ruin her lipstick within five minutes of leaving the house. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way she moved. Effortless. Knowing. Like she was walking into a dream she already owned.

And then — the scent.

It hit you like a slow, warm wave. Something floral, but not sweet. Rich, sultry, just this side of dangerous. You actually stepped back half an inch, breath catching as she approached.

“You okay?” she asked, smile tilting as she came to a stop in front of you. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

You shook your head slowly. “Not a ghost. Just… death by perfume.”

She laughed, soft and bright, and turned in a half-circle like she was modeling for you. “Too much?”

You swallowed. “Not even close. What is that?”

She hummed like she was debating telling you. “Something new. Paloma gave it to me. Said it’d make people weak in the knees.”

You stared at her, deadpan. “It’s working.”

“Is it?” she teased, stepping closer. She smoothed her hands over your chest, like she was brushing imaginary lint from your shirt — but she knew what she was doing. She leaned in just slightly, and the scent got stronger. You felt your stomach tighten.

“I don’t know if I can take you to dinner like this,” you muttered.

She blinked up at you, feigning innocence. “Why not?”

“Because you smell like…” You trailed off. Shook your head. “Trouble.”

Sabrina’s smile turned smug, eyes glinting. “Good trouble?”

You looked her over again — the dress, the lipstick, that maddening perfume. You could already feel your self-control leaving your body.

“The kind that ruins lives.”

She giggled, delighted, and stood on her toes to kiss your cheek. “Then I guess you better behave.”

You caught her hand before she could pull away. “No promises.”

⸻

You made it to the restaurant — barely. The drive was torturous. She sat next to you with one leg crossed, her perfume curling through the small space like smoke. Every red light was a test of will. She kept shifting in her seat, adjusting the neckline of her dress or brushing her hair over her shoulder, and every time she moved, the scent rose again — warm and heady, and so her it made your chest ache.

“You’re quiet,” she said, peering at you over the menu once you were seated.

You glanced up at her. The lighting in the restaurant was low and golden, and it made her skin glow. Her collarbone caught the light like something sculpted. Your eyes drifted down, just a little too long.

“You’re doing it on purpose,” you murmured.

Her smile was lazy, slow. “Doing what?”

“That perfume. The dress. Looking at me like that.”

She leaned in, chin resting on her hand, voice quiet. “You’re the one who said I smell like trouble.”

You held her gaze, pulse thrumming in your neck. “I wasn’t kidding.”

The server came over, saving you from saying something that would’ve definitely earned a kick under the table. Sabrina ordered her drink with a sweet smile, then turned back to you like she hadn’t just had you squirming.

“Breathe,” she whispered once you were alone again.

“I can’t breathe,” you said. “It’s in the air, it’s on your skin—Jesus, it’s in my lungs, Sabrina.”

She tilted her head, amused. “You really like it that much?”

You shook your head, unable to form words for a second. “It’s… not just that it smells good. It smells like you, but dialed up. Like every part of you I already have no defenses against, turned into a weapon.”

She blinked. For once, she looked like you had flustered her.

“That might be the hottest compliment I’ve ever gotten,” she murmured.

You raised your glass to her. “To your villain origin story.”

She clinked her glass against yours. “To your downfall.”

⸻

Dinner was slow, indulgent — laughter over shared plates, the low light turning everything intimate. You touched her hand when you passed her the wine. Her fingers lingered a little longer than necessary. You didn’t even remember what you ordered. You were too busy watching her lips move, distracted by the way her perfume lifted every time she turned her head.

At one point, she caught you staring and leaned in with a smirk. “Is it the perfume again?”

You gave her a dry look. “It never left.”

“You know what’s funny?” she said, fingers playing with the stem of her wineglass. “I didn’t even put that much on. Just a dab on my wrists, behind my ears.”

“That’s it?”

“Mhm.” She leaned toward you, exposing the slope of her neck. “Want to smell?”

You froze. Just for a second. Then you leaned in.

Your nose brushed just beneath her ear — her skin warm, soft, and glowing with that exact scent that had been undoing you for over an hour now. You stayed there a moment too long, breathing in, nearly dizzy from the combination of her skin and the heady perfume.

You pulled back slowly, jaw tight. “Sab.”

She was watching you with wide, amused eyes. “What?”

“If we don’t leave soon,” you said, voice low, “I’m going to forget where we are and kiss every inch of your skin until that perfume’s the only thing I know.”

Her breath caught — just for a beat. Then she licked her lips and grinned.

“Check, please.”

⸻

You made it back to your place in record time.

The second the door shut behind you, she was on you — not rushed, not desperate, just that same confident, slow burn. She slid her hands up your chest, watching your eyes flicker as the scent swirled around you again.

“You’re so easy,” she teased, brushing her lips against yours.

“You’re evil,” you whispered.

Her grin widened. “And you like it.”

You didn’t even bother replying. Your hands found her waist, and you buried your face in the curve of her neck, right where you’d smelled her at dinner. Your lips grazed her skin there, barely a kiss — more like reverence.

“That spot,” you murmured. “Right there. It’s lethal.”

Her breathing hitched. “You really are obsessed.”

You pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “I always am. But tonight? You smell like a sin I want to commit over and over again.”

She blinked at you — then tugged you down into a kiss that made your knees go weak.

⸻

Later, after things had slowed, you lay with her curled up on your chest, her perfume now mixed with your cologne and the scent of sweat and skin. You were tracing lazy circles on her back, still a little dazed.

“I’m throwing out all your other perfumes,” you mumbled.

Sabrina laughed sleepily. “But I have like twenty.”

“Don’t care. You only need this one.”

“Mm. So I should wear it every day?”

You tilted your head, considering. “No. Only when you want something.”

She looked up, smiling. “Why?”

“Because I can’t think straight when you wear it,” you said honestly. “I’d give you anything you asked for.

Her smile softened, eyes shining even in the dark. “That’s dangerous, you know.”

You kissed her forehead. “So are you.”

[random-mha-one-shots]

bakugou x gn reader

Celebrating bakugou's birthday HIS way

It was April 19th, the day before Katsuki's birthday. For the past week, you had been planning the celebration. Kirishima even offered to help you throw a party, but you decided against it. Katsuki didn't seem like a birthday person, and he definitely wasn't a party person. So, instead, you set up something a little more private for just the two of you to do.

That day, after school, you and Katsuki hung out in your room. Both of you were sitting on the bed, watching TV while he had an arm wrapped around you. "You know what tomorrow is?" You said in a teasing tone.

Katsuki rolled his eyes and responded, "Yeah, I know what tomorrow is. You better not make a big deal out of it."

"Too late, we've already got plans."

"Cancel 'em. Whatever they are."

"What? No, I'm not canceling."

His grip around you tightened a little. "Then you're going alone, because I'm staying in my room."

"Come on, don't be boring… Trust me, it'll be fun." Katsuki didn't respond; he turned his attention back to the TV. You sat up a bit to face him better. "I'm serious, I'll drag you out of here if I have to." Still no response from him, but it was better than being shut down completely. "You gotta be ready by 9 tomorrow."

"In the morning?" He huffed.

"Yes. In the morning."

Katsuki grunted, "And you're not even gonna tell me where you're trying to take me?"

"No, that would ruin the surprise, stupid."

"Figures…" He was mostly quiet for the rest of the night, occasionally prodding you for hints on what the hell you planned to do with him tomorrow. Of course, you gave him nothing. Eventually, it got late, and Katsuki headed back to his room.

You said a quick, "Goodnight, love you," as he left. To which he bluntly responded, "Yeah, love you…"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, you woke up much earlier than usual to get ready. By 9 AM, you found yourself dressed and standing outside Katsuki's door. You knocked on the door, "You awake yet?"

"Gimme a minute." He walked over and unlocked the door for you. You smiled and said, "Happy Birthday, baby."

"Yeah, thanks…" He seemed very unenthusiastic. When you got inside, you sat down on the edge of his bed and watched as he finished getting ready. "Wear something comfortable… and flexible."

Katsuki was about to ask why the hell he needed to wear something flexible, but he honestly didn't care as long as he was comfortable. Once he got dressed, he picked up his phone and his keys. "I'm ready. Now, where the hell are you taking me?"

"You'll see when we get there…" You led him out of the dorms and outside to the lot. You got in your car with Katsuki, started the engine, and drove off together. He still seemed kind of tired, his head was resting against the window. He looked oddly calm, it was kind of nice…

After about 20 minutes of driving through the city, you parked in front of a tall building. "What is this place supposed to be?" Katsuki asked. This definitely wasn't what he was expecting. "If you ask me one more time, I'm gonna smack you. Just wait."

He grinned, "I'd like to see you try." He held onto your hand and followed you into the building. Once you were inside, you went up to the front desk and spoke to the dude behind the counter. Katsuki listened as you gave him your name, trying to get any information about what you had planned here. He heard you say something about a reservation, but that was it.

You thanked the receptionist and headed for the elevator, still holding onto Katsuki's hand. This whole thing had been a pain in the ass to plan, but it would all be absolutely worth it once you got upstairs. The elevator went up and reached its floor. You got off and walked down the hall, keeping an eye out for room numbers. Eventually you stopped in front of a large door.

Katsuki stood there, confused, as you looked at the door, "You gonna open it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll open it…"

You opened the door and held it so Katsuki could step inside ahead of you. When both of you were inside, you watched as he took in his surroundings. The room was huge. One wall was made up entirely of windows that showed an incredible view of the city. Another wall had a huge display case full of all kinds of weapons. The floors were covered in mats and various obstacles. Katsuki opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"This place is a training facility. A lot of pro heroes come here. But for the next 2 hours, you and I have this room to ourselves."

"You're kidding…"

"Dead serious. We can do some quirk training, strength training, mess around with whatever kinds of stuff they have in the case, we could spar… We can do pretty much anything in here."

He walked over to the display case to examine some of the weapons and smiled. "You better believe we're sparring."

"I was kind of hoping you'd say that…" You smiled back and stood next to him in front of the case. Katsuki picked up a spear-looking weapon and turned to face you. He took a fighting stance and waited for you to do the same. You more than happily met his stance and, before you knew it, the two of you were fighting.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

You and Katsuki seemed to forget about time; sparring, switching out weapons, and sparring some more. Neither of you were the romantic type, but sparring like this felt like its own kind of dance, something that only the two of you could share. By the end of your reserved time, the two of you were laying on the ground next to each other, out of breath.

Katsuki sat up to face you and said, "That was fucking insane…"

Between heavy breaths, you responded, "Yeah… I think I'm gonna pass out." You sat up to face him and smiled. "Happy Birthday."

Katsuki reached over and put his arm around your waist, his touch was much softer than it was just a few minutes ago. "Yeah, best birthday ever." You moved a little closer and leaned your head on his shoulder. "How'd you even get this place?"

You smiled. "I had to pull some strings…"

He smiled back. "What kind of strings, idiot?"

"Don't worry about it. Just cmere." You cupped his cheek and pulled him a little closer. Katsuki leaned in too and closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours.

[bigheartbuck]

i keep these longings locked

part i part ii mentions of abbytommy/tommy-centric/eventual bucktommy

tw: internalized homophobia/homophobic language

I promise the next bit is going to be more lighthearted!

tag list: @sweaters-and-silly (lmk if you wanna be added too) ______________________________

His chest is tight as fuck. Tommy breathes through it. Head between his knees, feels his pulse uncomfortably loud and present in his neck. Lockers have emptied out mostly. His vision is swimming. He feels like throwing up.

"Kinard? Oh shit, hey."

He can hear fast footsteps, and then a warm, big hand on his shoulder. "You got it," the voice says and Tommy's brain is desperately trying to place it. His hands are shaking. "Inhale.... hold your breath, three, two, one, ....exhale. Good. Again, come on."

By the time Tommy emerges from what feels like the deepest, darkest sea and comes up for air, he's realized that the warm hand and firm voice belong to his new captain. Hen had given him a week tops. But Nash has persevered. Four weeks and counting. Tommy would've rather been found dead before ever letting Gerrard see him like this but Nash has a softness to him. His whole lets have dinner together shtick, his we're a family and we ride together pathos, his unwavering determination to make them act like a team -- Tommy's not sure he quite fits in there. Right now, though, he's glad it's Nash who found him like this and not Howie or Hen. They'd stage an intervention immediately.

Nash hands him a water bottle, sits down next to him. "Better?"

Tommy lets out a shaky breath. “Thanks cap. I, uh, I don’t know what just happened." He rubs his hand across his face. “I don’t usually get… like this.” He forces a smile. "Guess it was a couple of tough calls."

Nash eyes him, somewhat curiously. Several beats. "Everything alright at home?" Tommy shrugs. He should go home. Sleep it off. He meets Nash's steady gaze, but there's a flicker of genuine concern. Tommy can't handle it, Nash's empathy.

"Yeah. Everything's good," he lies and reaches for his bag. Nash stops him. "Not so fast. I uh -- I'd been meaning to talk to you."

Tommy blinks, confused, his hand still hovering near the strap of his bag. He’s not sure where this is going. "Uh oh," he says dryly. His pulse is still racing and only slowly returning to normal. "Am I being fired, too?" Deluca is still pissed at Nash but Tommy knows it was the right call. He's been putting in the work, though. Doing his part. It would be really shitty timing for Nash to let him go as well.

Nash’s gaze sharpens for a moment, like he’s sizing Tommy up, and then he exhales softly. “No, you’re not getting fired.” He pauses, like he’s choosing his words carefully. Tommy's shoulders relax. "But?" he asks.

"But..." Nash continues, "I've been wondering if maybe you're not exactly who you're supposed to be."

"That so?" Tommy asks, aiming for casual. Nash doesn't know, does he? Fuck. He wonders sometimes if it's all over his face. Tommy Kinard thinks about kissing boys. Tommy Kinard is a queer. Don't ask, don't tell. But look at him, he tries so hard to be a big guy but he'd take it lying down, wouldn't he? Fuck. He needs to get his dad's voice out of his head. It's funny, the way he is still such a fuck up. How he tried to make it work so hard and how he still failed. He would've given everything to be happy with Abby.

He juts his chin forward. Nash looks at him with so much kindness it makes Tommy want to crawl out of his skin.

"You're a pilot," his captain says, oblivious to the dark spiral of Tommy's mind. Tommy exhales. Breathe. For fuck's sake. Breathe.

"And you're competent, skilled, you're quick. I'd love to keep you here. But I keep thinking maybe you belong elsewhere. And I hear the Harbor is looking for someone like you."

Tommy must look genuinely surprised because Nash lets out a huffed laugh. Tommy hasn't considered flying in years. "Seriously?"

Nash nods. "You're one of my best. But I saw the way you lit up when we called in air support last week. You loved working with them. So, my guess is, that's where your heart is."

Tommy thinks no one's ever paid attention to him like this before. His stomach unknots slowly. Shoulders uncurl.

"I'll -- I'll think about it."

Nash squeezes his shoulder. "You should. It can feel like suffocating. Denying yourself what you want."

Tommy stares down at his hands.

"Yes, cap," he says, throat working.

"Bobby." Nash points to the jeans he's wearing. "Off shift. I'm just Bobby."

"Bobby." Tommy echoes. His legs still feel like jelly.

He takes a few sips from the water. "I might --" His tongue feels heavy in his mouth.

"I might have to look for a new place soon."

He hasn't talked to Abby yet. But he needs to, has to. He wakes up, shirt soaked through with sweat at least twice a night. The darkest, deepest sea in his mind and his father's voice are so hard to turn off. He can't live like this anymore. He's been googling apartments. Abby doesn't even know yet.

"I really uh --" Tommy doesn't know why he keeps talking. "I tried to make a good thing work and it didn't work."

Bobby nods. "And that's causing the panic attacks?" He asks it matter of factly.

Tommy clears his throat. "One panic attack." Lie. But Bobby doesn't have to know or be right about everything. "And I guess --" He hesitates. "Gotta figure out some stuff. Big stuff."

Bobby doesn't say anything for a while. Keeps his gaze steady. Tommy thinks he could probably confide in him. Bobby would see the ugly, dark, twistedness of Tommy's insides and tell him it was okay. That it gets better. And the thing is, Tommy knows. He knows. He saw some kid online the other day on YouTube. They were what, 15? When Tommy was 15 -- well. He's mid thirties now, not any less terrified. It's difficult to explain, out loud. How his head works. How the stuff that goes for others, doesn't apply to him. How he's less deserving of it.

"The big stuff," Bobby says after a while. He looks at Tommy, face open. He says it like a question, gently prompting Tommy to continue.

Tommy's eyes prickle. He should go.

He exhales. "Yeah. Been pretending to be... Someone I'm not."

He's a teenager and his dad caught him with a magazine of naked men and his hand down his pants. He's in the army and Micah is kissing him. He's 34 and engaged to a beautiful woman and he feels nothing when she shakes around him.

His mouth is dry as cotton.

Bobby squeezes his shoulder. "I hear you." A beat. "Don't need to say anything else."

They sit like this for a little while longer. Then, Tommy gathers his things, shoulders his bag. The ground feels a little less shaky. His knees don't buckle. He'll find an apartment. And he'll tell Abby.

"Kinard," Bobby says when Tommy's already at the door. Tommy turns around. "Promise me you'll think about transferring, yeah? Go after what you want?"

Tommy huffs out a laugh. Shakes his head. His chest is lighter. "Aye aye cap." He gives a half hearted mock salute. What he means to say is thank you.

He's pretty sure Bobby hears it anyway.

On the way home, at a red light stop, a jeep comes to a halt next to his car. A guy leans out of the window and asks for directions to the LAFD training academy. He's young. Bright smile, short blond hair. Tommy tells him where to go and the guy thanks him profusely. "Starting a new chapter," he says enthusiastically and adjusts his backwards hat. Out of his stereo Tommy can hear hip hop blaring. Eminem. "Me, too" Tommy shouts back and watches the lights switch to orange. "Good luck then!" the guy shouts over the revving engine and grins. "See you around!"

Tommy laughs.

"You, too!"

Lights turn green.

[melia-an2fa]

Christ on a cracker, no one seems to be able to act normal about this SaveAFox shit. I remember even back a couple years ago, I'd heard some criticisms of how she handled things, simply agreed "Yeah that sounds a bit concerning, I won't be watching her stuff," and then moved on, maybe on occasion gave friends a heads up if they posted her stuff, but otherwise, just... moving on.

I remember getting agitated when what started as very mild criticisms started to evolve into post after post into dedicated tag for her into Google Doc Callout Post™ and just feeling deeply annoyed by this being a constant cycle, and unfollowed some folks because of it. People who remember my old blog probably remember my post talking about people on Animalblr (? is that the word) I found annoying, this was part of why.

And in a way, it's a bit... cathartic? That may not be the right word for it. The irony of it all, is that the people who were most vocal about this, I could say the same thing for them that I would've said about Mikayla, which is that they were well-intended (caring about animal welfare and having real concerns) but still irresponsible (documenting literally every thing the woman did in dedicated tags; this was bound to attract bad faith actors and concern trolls!)

I honestly hadn't thought about Mikayla for a long time until this happened today, because, again, my response was simply "Well I won't watch those videos" then moving on. I didn't keep a dedicated tag to documenting everything she did. Hearing the news was honestly devastating, because I don't care what a person did, they don't deserve to die. I never even thought of Mikayla as a bad person, just well-intended but irresponsible, even if she were a "bad person" I wouldn't think she deserved to die.

So, fuck you if you sincerely consider this a "win," if you have no regrets about anything you did. I personally now have regrets trusting the word of some of these individuals, seeing as it has now escalated to this point. And sure, Ethan said it was because of people she knew and other sanctuaries, but let's not pretend rumors don't spread. I remember when I saw the doc in particular, I was disgusted that her having an OnlyFans even came up, it just ruined the credibility of the entire doc, no matter what legitimate concerns you may have had about Mikayla's animal welfare, because her having an OF... has nothing to do with her welfare! But that being information other sanctuaries could've found out about could've still ruined her credibility with them regardless, since, y'know, people fucking hate women who have a sexuality?

I will also say, I do think some of her defenders are going way too far, and I do not approve of this. I think it's kinda ridiculous to accuse every single person who's ever mildly criticized her, especially if it was years ago, and/or came from a person who's been inactive on Tumblr for half a year, of being "murderers." I've seen people hurling slurs (mostly the R-slur), being transphobic (because Owlvid in particular is trans), making threats about doxxing people and/or raping them and their family members... what the hell is wrong with you? There is no childish "But they did it first-" here, you are engaging in the exact kind of behavior that lead to Mikayla's death, and that's disgusting, what we're learning from this shouldn't be "Let's keep up this cycle of vengeance!" or "Let's document everything someone we don't like does!" No, do not entertain the idea of the "callout post." That's how we get here in the first place. Block. Move on. Curate. That's what the people who didn't like her content should've done, too.

May Mikayla rest in peace, my heart goes out to her family, I hope Ethan can get the funds that he needs in order to take care of his daughter, and I hope the animals can, at least, be rehomed to other sanctuaries, should Ethan not receive proper funding.

There's been a lot of recent events making me rethink how quickly I and others jump the gun when it comes to animal welfare concerns, and this is one of them.

[writingwisterias]

hewwo hewwo

in case it hasn't been asked yet, id love to see your take on each leon era reacting to their partner who's also a fellow agent and also his pseudo captain on the field since they have a little bit more experience and level head compared to him

all your hcs are such joys to read <3333

HIII, This was so interesting to think about! I'm glad you enjoy my hc I'm sorry I took so long its been a really busy couple of months <3

Warnings: None

RE2: I think Re2 Leon would prefer someone with more experience in this Era. He has to sort of make a lot of choices himself and perhaps he could lean on someone to make more of them. It might ease the pressure he probably felt during the entire time. You can see how he reacts to Ada, he follows her instructions because there little else to do, so maybe it would have turned out slightly differently with someone else to talk in those situations.

RE4R: He seems a lot independent in this game so perhaps he would prefer if despite your increased experience it was more of a joint effort, maybe prompting an open discussion. With his head space and he's very protective I think he would also take control or make brash choices before he's really thought them through/ spoken to you about it. Infinite Darkness: Again I think he would accidentally ignore you advice as he gains more experience himself. I feel like Leon's battle strategy is to ensure people remain as safe as they can be. Which could result in him arguing with you about certain situations, mostly follows your lead though in terms of conversations and the general approach to a scenario but will overtake during an actual fight. Damnation: There no point in trying with him. He not going to listen to anything you say that could be a logical response to a situation. The mission requires really fast paced decision making and I feel like he would just take control. If you confront him about it there's no point he'll ignore you and pulling rank doesn't matter or affect him because as far as he concerned it doesn't matter in battle. I think maybe towards the end where he's sort of running on fumes and spite he might listen to you a little bit more, stopping his charging horse approach. RE6: The situation in the game is an interesting one tbh, I think at the start in Tall Oaks he might lean back and encourage you to deal with Helena and just work on being your support during the situation. However, in China I think his behaviour would switch to listening to you and himself depending on what point you are at in the game. I think he would ignore you the most when Ada is involved and he has the opportunity to prevent anything from happening to her. Maybe the encounter with Chris n Piers could strike up some arguments or angst between the two of you. Since he is laying his feelings on the table in the moments, depending on your relationship with him that could hurt. Vendetta: With how he interacts with Chris, I think he would prefer to take orders from you. Towards the start of the film he doesn't really seem interested in listening so it could be interesting if Chris used you as a way to get Leon to listen. Maybe he ran off instead of talking to you or something (Most likely)… I think he would just prefer to take the heat of decision making away for a change since he lost an entire team under his watch. Depending on if you were helping Chris for a while or not then I think he would also play it off as you having more knowledge on a situation. You can defiantly guarantee some stupid joke about listening to what the wife wants or some bs Death Island: I feel like he would prefer a shared opinion on the situation, talking out strategy's etc but I don't think he would argue if you took the lead, make some half-assed Whitty joke about it. instead? The entire mission is weird and there's a lot of opportunity's for you and him to get separated etc so I think it would just be a mutual if you make a call I follow it instead of actual argument's.

[cafedragons]

Thoughts on Previous "Final Fusion"

Heads up at a brief sui mention, nothing graphic nor detailed.

Hi, sysblr! I've had a lot of these thoughts for a while. I fully fused in sometime around May-August of 2024.

It fell apart around February-March 2025 after a series of unexpected life events and the unfortunate beginning of post-viral trigeminal neuralgia.

Literally, it peeled apart. Dissociative barriers between parts increased a little bit, and we split three new alters. Overall, we mainly have four: Theo, Sunburst, Relic, and a half-fragment guy who we're trying to elaborate a little more for stability.

Theo is the closest to our "fused whole" self, made up of Max, Mocha, Toby, Virtue, Jukebox, and Cirrus. Sometimes, they function as "multiple", but they're mostly fully integrated.

Sunburst, Relic, and the fragment guy were all new. Sunburst and Relic split as compliments or foils, while the fragment is still just kind of hanging out. There's not severe blackout amnesia like there was before recovery, even between them and Theo. It's mostly greyout and emotional amnesia, and it's not hugely distressing 99% of the time.

The main difference in our system now as opposed to before "final fusion" is that we actually function quite a bit better this way than as one whole. As I mentioned before, I recently developed trigeminal neuralgia. I already had chronic pain that was tough to manage due to a condition since birth, but I'd had that for so long it mostly didn't bother me. TN is a whole different beast. It is the worst pain I have ever experienced, second to nothing, and it incapacitates me entirely when it flares. I cannot move, speak, or eat when it's at its worst. I can only lay down and sob until I eventually am too exhausted to be awake.

We all need breaks to handle it. Without that level of dissociation, I don't think I'd be alive (genuinely, the pain is bad enough that I've made an attempt on my life). No medications I can have are very helpful, and I can't take the ones that might be helpful without aggravating my other conditions and risking a sharp decline in usable vision (of which I have very little), so dissociating into the void is... kind of the best I have. I can handle the pain in short bursts since I'm slowly sort of getting used to it, but I need to tap out every once in a while because it really starts weighing on my mental state. (This doesn't apply when it's in full swing. At that point, consider me dead to the world because even painkillers at the hospital do absolutely nothing. Those points are somewhat uncommon as long as I'm careful not to touch my face too much or get too stressed.)

Finding this point in my life was a fine balancing act. I don't want to suffer from my pre-recovered DID like I did in the past. (Thankfully, I don't! None of my parts are scary to me anymore since... all of us have been all of them and I don't have the awful night terrors or flashbacks I used to deal with.) At the same time, I don't want to be fully fused again. It quite literally hurt too bad to be alive and I doubt I'll seek FF again unless some sort of breakthrough treatment gets inserted directly into my body.

All this to say... final fusion isn't always final, nor is it the best path for everyone. There are a lot of factors to consider. Your recovery is your own, and nobody else's business.

(At the same time, if you start demonizing final fusion in my notes, I will block you and also kick you into orbit. Final fusion is beautiful and valid even if it's not for you.)

[hb-writes]

A Quick Question

Summary: Maya visits the Pitt to for an answer to a quick question.

Characters: Maya Bennett (OC - Robby's daughter), Jack Abbot, Parker Ellis

Prompt: A Quick Question

The Pitt Masterlist

Maya sometimes felt a little like a celebrity when walking into the Pitt, a distinction that was shared mostly by frequent flyers of the medical variety, but still, she supposed it was nice to come to some place where almost everyone seemed to know her name. A place where nearly everyone smiled when they saw her.

Even on night shift, the security guards let her right on through without question. 

“Robby left,” Parker offered as Maya sidled up beside her at the nurses’ station.

“I know.” Maya’s gaze shifted to the triage board Parker was studying and she slid two trays of coffee onto the counter—one hot, one iced.

Things seemed slow, which explained why her dad had actually left on time tonight, and why things seemed eerily quiet, as if the whole place was moving at half speed. Maya didn’t dare voice those observations aloud in the ER, and she half-wished she hadn’t thought it either, but there was no stopping her thoughts. 

“Like he just left.” Parker glanced at Maya before grabbing one of the iced coffees and taking a sip. “Couldn’t have been more than five minutes ago.”

“Yup,” she answered. “I know.” Maya had watched Robby's location bounce away from the Pitt on her phone screen before leaving the coffee shop to come over. “Is Abbot—?”

“That’s Uncle Abbot to you, kid,” Jack chided as he set down his tablet on the counter. Maya hadn’t called him that more than once or twice, same as with Uncle Jack. Something about those names hadn’t rolled quite right off of Maya’s tongue when she was younger, and once she tried out Uncle Abe as an alternative she’d never gone back. “Does your dad know you’re here?”

Since entering adulthood, she had shown up three times unannounced to the ER during the night shift where she tried to escape notice and avoid her dad finding out—all three times she was unsuccessful and every time, Abbot had done the duty as her dad’s best friend and placed the call, letting him know where his kid was. 

“Are you hurt?”

“Hey, Uncle Abe." Maya rolled her eyes, but welcomed the hug he pulled her into. "I’m fine. It’s a social visit. Brought you coffee.” 

“Hey, kiddo,” he answered, his tone lighter. Maya wasn't sure it was because of her health status or the caffeine delivery. “You just missed him.” 

Abbot reached around Maya for one of the coffees, briefly telling Parker something about the lady in C3 that Maya didn’t bother listening to, busying herself with her phone while they talked. 

"Was Robby supposed to wait for you?" Abbot asked. "He had a busy afternoon..."

Maya shook her head, cutting off Abbot's defending of her dad though she stowed the information about the long day away from later. “I’m actually here to see you. Had a quick question. 

Abbot hummed, eyebrow raised as he took a sip of the coffee. “Not that I’m not pleased to see you, but you do have my number, right?” 

“Yes…?" Maya answered. 

“‘Cause I haven’t heard from you in awhile and then you show up here out of nowhere with a quick question, so—”

“Of course I have your number.” She had pretty much everyone’s number who worked with her dad, but Jack Abbot’s was one of the first that had been programmed in her phone beside her dad’s—Abbot and Dana and Dr. Adamson’s, who’s cell number she still had saved even though it had been years now since he died. 

“Show me.” 

Maya sighed. “You’re serious?” 

“No cap,” he answered. “It’s important you have it. You know, in case of emergencies…or for quick questions…I hear some people even text each other memes. Tiktoks.” 

“You want me to send you memes and tiktoks?” 

“Bet.” 

“What are you even saying right now?” she asked, her question ending with a giggle as she pulled out her phone and started scrolling through her messages to find their conversation thread, a twinge of guilt rushing over her when she realized it had indeed been awhile since they’d last communicated. 

“Look, you’re right here,” she said, turning the phone to him, showing the contact she hadn’t changed in a decade—Uncle Abe. 

“Good. Make sure you use it a little more often. Help an old guy keep up with the young kids around here. Med students and new nurses coming in are your age these days. Literal children.”

Maya had every intention of arguing that point, but Abbot continued before she could even get started.

“Anyway, your dad says school’s been kicking your ass lately?”

Maya shrugged. “It’s fine. Just midterms.” 

“Well, he’s worried about you.” 

“What else is new?” she asked. “And he’s the one who always put such an emphasis on academics, so it's sort of his doing.”

Robby had been pretty laid back about most things, but health, safety, and education had been non-negotiable.

“Education’s important.” 

“Hence why I’m enrolled in a graduate school program when I could be free.” 

Abbot snorted. “Alright, so to what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked before taking a sip of the coffee.

“Quick question.”

Abbot's eyebrow traveled upwards while he waited for her to expand upon that. 

“Dad’s birthday is coming up.”

“And?” he asked, coaxing her along by moving his free hand in a circular motion.

Maya sighed, her whole body sagging. “And I don’t know what to get him.” 

“That’s not a question.” 

“Fine. Let me rephrase. Do you have any ideas? The man doesn’t need or want for anything.”  It probably wasn’t true, but it was certainly Maya’s perception. “I mean, half of his clothes are probably as old as me, but you know how he is...”

Stuck in his ways was what Maya was thinking. She didn’t bother saying it though because Abbot knew just as well as she did. 

“He doesn’t want you spending your money on him.” 

“Yeah, I know. Because he can spend on me and everyone else, but god forbid—”

“You’re his kid, Maya," Abbot interrupted. "He just wants to spend time with you. Do something together. Head out to the cabin for the weekend, if you want.” 

“That’s…” Maya tilted her head at the suggestion. She hadn’t even considered Abbot’s cabin. They hadn’t been there in ages, but they’d had a handful of really nice trips up there just disconnected from everything over the years.

“Brilliant? Perfect?” Abbot suggested when Maya didn't immediately complete her though. “Yeah, I know. If you don’t mind, could you make sure to say it loud enough so the rest of them will hear you?” 

“Well, honestly, yeah. It is brilliant,” she offered. “Would you maybe want to come with us?” 

“Me?" he asked, already shaking his head. "No, it’s your thing.” 

“But i’s your cabin,” she answered. “And you’re his best friend. When’s the last time you two hung out outside of this place?” she prodded. 

Abbot raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“I’m literally asking that question, so yes,” she said, though she didn’t wait long enough for him to supply an answer. “This is perfect. You can tell him you need him to come up to help with something for the day and then finangle the schedule to work in our favor and I’ll just show up and we’ll surprise him.”

“I’m sure he’d rather just have a weekend with his kid.”

“And maybe Jake can come, too,” she continued, almost as if Abbot hadn't spoken. “Just like old times. Can you both be off on the 18th and the—?” 

“Maya.” 

Maya blinked at hearing her name, almost as if him saying it pulled her from a trance. “What?”

“You and Jake take him," he said. "Just the three of you. He’ll love it.” 

Maya frowned, a small crease appearing between her furrowed brows. “He’ll love it more if you come.” 

“It’s—”

“It’s your cabin, and I want you to come,” she argued. “You just said we don’t talk enough. We’ll talk all weekend, and then we can kick their asses at cards…please please pleeeeease?” 

Maya took a breath, preparing herself for another round of pleading.

“Alright, alright. Fine.” 

A grin grew immediately on Maya's face. “Really?”

“You had me at ass kicking,” Abbot said with a smirk before he leaned forward, cradling the back of Maya's head as he kissed her hairline. “I gotta do my rounds and you should go catch up with your dad. He’s looking forward to seeing you. Text me later to work out the details.” 

Parker snorted as Abbot walked away. She'd already sipped two thirds of her iced coffee.

“What?” Maya asked.

“Nothing.” Parker shrugged. “Just surprised you managed to get both of them to take two days off.”

Abbot and Robby were both known for hoarding vacation time, and Robby was even worse now that his kid was grown up and out on her own.

“Oh,” Maya said. “I mean, my dad will probably be pissed for a minute." Maya shivered, almost as if she could see his stare and hear the tone he'd say her name in when he figured it out. "Hopefully he'll be more mad at Abbot than me...and I mean, the cabin was his idea after all...”

The Pitt Masterlist