#and I don’t like getting political on here nor come here to tell you what to believe or not to believe in

[gay-dorito-dust]

doing grocery shopping with the batboys

Could you write something fun and fluff please?

is one of my favorite activities.

I love what you write so much. My favorites are Dickie bird and Jay bird.

Don’t know whether this is fun or fluff as you’d wanted it (kinda went on a personal rant in Jason’s a little bit but I don’t regret it) but I still hope you enjoy it not the less. Also thank you for enjoying my Jason/ Dick stuff! 🫶🦦🐿️

Dick:

You go in for certain things that you need and come out with way more then you probably should. (And most of it isn’t what you actually needed)

Half of the stuff you get is mainly what Dick thinks Hayley might like and she ends up only liking 50% of it…the ‘daddy’s little girl’ doggy shirt was pushing it tbh.

Dick tends to wander off when your shopping together that when you went to ask him a question, only to notice that he was gone, you sigh and say;

‘Dick?’

A few isles over you heard a faint ‘yes honey?’

He was in the pet section. again.

You’d have to remind him that you were only there for specific things and nothing else, but Dick would always try to persuade you into allowing him to get something was wasn’t on the list at all, by battering his eyelids at you and saying ‘pretty please.’

You naturally can’t say no to you pretty boy who acts like a man child when shopping, especially if you’re the one who’s paying.

The shopping list you made might as well have been thrown in the bin with how often you come home, only to be reminded that you barely got 25% of the stuff on the shopping list thanks to Dick’s impulsiveness.

However Dick would only use this as an excuse to go shopping again later on in the week/month and do it all over again without remorse.

Also Dick is way too polite to tell people blocking the isle to move, he wants to, he really does but all he does is breathe in deeply and plaster on a smile before soldering on.

Jason:

Grocery shopping wasn’t a favourite of Jason’s but if he were to do it, he’d rather do it with you because he got to be a little goofy with it.

And by that I mean him getting a little affectionate and pinching your backside and you snacking his bicep and scolding him for being inappropriate in the frozen food section.

‘I’m not doing anything chipmunk.’ He’d defend himself as you glare him.

‘I’m sure as shit there isn’t a perverted ghost here that pinches people’s backsides for fun. Now pack it in.’ You hissed as you rubbed your ass in hopes of soothing the sharp pain you felt seconds ago.

‘Sorry sweetheart.’ He’d chuckle as he kisses your cheek in apology.

You couldn’t help but smile as you could never truly stay mad at your sweet Jason, not unless he was staining your carpets with blood from a night out on patrol, but that was neither here nor there.

Other than that Jason would take the trolley from your hand and storm the store with a determination to get the fuck out as fast as possible.

His long ass strides tend to leave you behind in some random isle somewhere. So to combat this from being a reoccurring thing, Jason would just grabs your hand and puts on the trolley before putting his own on top; Now you were being dragged instead of getting left behind in somewhere with people blocking the fucking isle.

How sweet of him.

(If you’re one of these ppl, go fuck yourself bc what the fuck is so interesting that you have to block the ENTIRE FUCKING ISLE? MOVE!)

Speaking of people blocking the isle, it’s Jason’s biggest pet peeve because WHY THE FUCK ARE THEY TAKING SO MUCH FUCKING SPACE?! FUCKING MOVE YOU LAZY BASTARDS!

He will fucking glare at anyone who even dares to lean over his trolley to get something and when you tell him about how obvious he was being, he’d only response to this was: ‘they’re privileged with the use of a voice, they should fucking use it sometime.’

You’re basically there to calm him down before he bulldozes some poor bastard by guiding him to a lesser crowed isle and get some junk food for later as a reward, followed by your magical cuddles and kisses.

Jason hates shopping but with you it was made just that little bit enduring, only a little bit…he still wants to fight the young couple who wouldn’t fucking move in that one isle and honestly you don’t blame him as you would gladly join him.

[mazojo]

I am like 20 minutes into Purple Hearts and I am trying to understand so hard how what anything that Luke or his friend say is like, normal and not like, idk, bigotry?

[physalian]

What No One Tells You About Writing Fantasy

Every author has their preferred genres. I love fantasy and sci-fi, but began with historical fiction. I hated all the research that historical fiction demands and thought, if I build my own world, no research required.

Boy, was I wrong.

So to anyone dipping their toe into fantasy/sci-fi, here’s seven things I wish I knew about the genres before I committed to writing for them.

1. You still have to research. Everything.

If you want any of your fantasy battle sequences, or your space ships, or your droids and robots, or your fictional government and fictional politics to read at all believable.

In sci-fi, you research astronomy, robotics, politics, political science, history, engineering, anthropology. In fantasy, you have to research historical battle tactics, geography, real-world mythology, folklore, and fairytales, and much of it overlaps with science fiction.

I say you *have to* assuming you want your work to be original and unique and stand out from the crowd. Fanfic writers put in the research for a 30k word smut fic, you can and will have to research for your original work.

2. Naming everything gets exhausting

I hate coming up with new names, especially when I write worlds and places divorced from Earthly customs and can’t rely on Earthly naming conventions. You have to name all your characters, all your towns, villages, cities, realms, kingdoms, planets, galaxies, star systems.

You have to name your rebel faction, your imperial government, significant battles. Your spaceships, your fantasy companies and organizations, your magic system, made-up MacGuffins, androids, computer programs. The list goes on and on and on.

And you have to do it all without it sounding and reading ridiculous and unpronounceable, or racist. Your fantasy realms have to have believable naming patterns. It. Gets. Exhausting.

3. It will never read like you’re watching a movie

Do you know how fast movies can cut between scenes? Movies can balance five plotlines at once all converging with rapid edits, without losing their audience. Sometimes single lines of dialogue, or single wordless shots are all a scene gets before it cuts. If you try to replicate that by head-hopping around, you will make a mess.

It’s perfectly fine to write like you’re watching a movie, but you can’t rely on visual tricks to get your point across when all you have is text on a page – like slow mo, lens flares, epically lit cinematic shots, or the aforementioned rapid edits.

It doesn’t have to, nor should it, look like a movie. Books existed long before film, so don’t let yourself get caught up in how ~cinematic~ it may or may not look.

4. Your space opera will be compared to Star Wars and Star Trek

And your fairy epic will be compared to Tinkerbell, your vampires to Twilight, your zombies to The Walking Dead, Shaun of the Dead, World War Z. Your wizards and witches and any whisper of a fantasy school for fantasy children will be compared to Harry Potter. Your high fantasy adventure will be compared to Lord of the Rings.

You can’t avoid it, but you can avoid doing it to yourself. When people ask about your book, let them say “oh, you mean like Star Wars” to which you then can say, kind of, except XYZ happens in my book. These IPs will never fade from the public consciousness, not while you exist to read this post, at least, but Harry Potter isn’t the only urban fantasy out there. Lord of the Rings isn’t the only high fantasy. Star Wars isn’t the only space opera.

Yours will be on the shelves right next to them, soon enough, and who knows? You might dethrone them.

5. Your world-building is an iceberg, and your book is the tip

I don’t pay for any of those programs that help you organize your book and mythos. I write exclusively on Apple Notes, MS Word, and Google Suite (and all are free to me). I have folders on Apple Notes with more words inside them than the books they’re written for.

If you try to cram an entire college textbook’s worth of content into your novel, you will have left zero room for actual story. The same goes for all the research you did, all the hours slaving away for just a few details and strings of dialogue.

There’s a balance, no matter how dense your story is. If you really want to include all those extra details, slap some appendices at the end. Commission some maps.

6. The gatekeeping for fantasy and sci-fi is still very real

Pen names and pseudonyms exist for a reason. A female author writing fantasy that isn’t just a backdrop for romance? You have a harder battle ahead of you than your male counterparts, at least in the US. And even then, your female protagonist will be scrutinized and torn apart.

She’ll either be too girly or not girly enough, too sexy, or not sexy enough. She’ll be called a Mary Sue, a radical feminist mouthpiece, some woke propaganda. Every action she takes will be criticized as unrealistic and if she has fans who are girls, they will be mocked, too.

If you have queer characters, characters of color, they won’t be good enough, they won’t please everyone, and someone will still call you a bigot. A lot of someones will still call you a bigot.

Do your due diligence and hire your army of sensitivity readers and listen to them, but you cannot please everyone, so might as well write to please yourself. You’re the one who will have to read it a thousand times until it’s published.

7. Your “original” idea has been done before, and that’s okay

Stories have been told since before language evolved. The sum of the parts of your novel may be original, but even then, it’s colored by the media you’ve consumed. And that’s okay!

How many Cinderella stories are there? How many high fantasies? How many books about werewolves and witches and vampires? Gods and goddesses and celestial beings? Fairies and dragons and trolls? Aliens, robots, alien robots? Romeo and Juliette? Superheroes and mutants?

Zombies may be the avenue through which you tell your story, but it’s not *just* about zombies, is it? It’s about the characters who battle them, the endurance of the human spirit, or the end of an era, the death of a nation. So don’t get discouraged, everyone before you and everyone after will have written someone on the backs of what came before and it still feels new.

[justauthoring]

Just to be Enough [1]

a series of snapshots of your life with geto and gojo -> this part: what if geto had called you that night?

a/n: this will more or less just be a collection of different one shots of potential moments of a relationship with geto and gojo. sometimes the plotline might change :)

pairing: satosugu x f!reader, shoko x f!reader

read the other parts here: one - two - three

-

His hands were shaking.

Part of you thought yours were as well.

You weren’t sure what to say – what was there to say? Being awoken by a call from Geto at three in the morning certainly wasn’t how you’d expected your day off to start; nor was the shakiness of Geto’s voice something you’d ever expected to hear. He was always confident, in your many years of knowing him that was something you’d come to expect – the unwavering confidence that both him and Gojo displayed no matter where they were, what they were talking about or what was happening.

He’d sounded afraid and distressed and on the brink of… you weren’t even sure what. Your heart pounded with fear of just exactly what.

Two girls. That’s all he’d manage to utter. Something about two little girls, locked and beaten and… his voice was twisted with something terribly painful and he was breathing heavily, words mixing together with his panic. You swear you’ve never called for Ijichi so quickly, now in a state yourself; enough that you hadn’t even had the politeness to feel sorry for waking the poor man up so early and abruptly.

It was when you were in the back seat of the car that you called Gojo.

“Something’s wrong with Suguru.”

“...what’s wrong?”

He’s away on a mission of his own. Just like he always was nowadays. It had been hard on your relationship, always missing one piece to make you all whole; but you understood, just like you understood that Geto was called on just as many missions. It was something you’d long ago come to terms with if you were going to be with the two strongest sorcerers, and you had no doubt about what that meant in terms of being physically with them.

Perhaps he’d answered, despite being on a mission, so quickly because, like you, he’d noticed the steady decline of Geto over the past few months like you had. Noticed but deflected every time you’d tried to ask. You’re a sorcerer yourself, and while you might not be as strong as them or sent on as many missions, you know the strain it puts on one's well being. You see it in yourself, in them, in your friends. 

It seems Gojo did as well.

And, if truth be told, not a single one of you had made it out of that mission last year the same.

It had taken you a second to reply, mainly because you weren’t sure how to. “I don’t know,” you confessed with a choked breath, “he just called me, said he found two girls. Satoru, they’d been locked in a cage, starving and with bruises all over them. I tried to get him to calm down enough to tell me where he was. But he sounded…. wrong.”

There’s an echoing pause, then; “you’re on your way now?”

You nod, even though he can’t see. “Yeah.”

“Okay, I'll be there.”

You hear the sound of him pulling away, as if to hang up; you can’t stop yourself from crying; “Toru!”

There’s a moment of silence before you hear him respond, rather softly; “yeah?”

“I’ve never heard him sound like that, Toru. I’m scared about what I’ll find when I get there.”

It feels wrong to admit – why would you be scared to see Geto? A boy you’ve loved since you’d first walked into class on your first day at Jujutsu Tech and laid eyes on him? But you are, terribly so; your hearts racing and it feels like you can’t breathe the closer and closer you get. You don’t know how to help – that was the whole issue of it all; how? How can you help him? How can you make it better?

What if you didn’t?

“I’m gonna be home soon, okay, Y/N/N?” Gojo whispers, gently; so opposite of how he normally sounds. “We’ll figure it out together, yeah? Just get him home.”

You nod, once again, “okay,” you whisper.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Toru.”

You’re pulled up next to Geto ten minutes after that.

He’s standing there, the jacket of his uniform taken off, left bare in his white button up and slacks. When your eyes flicker lower, to the two little girls standing beside him, you find his jacket wrapped around the two of them; big enough to envelop them fully, huddled together. As you pull up beside him, stopping just in front, you first notice the girls; bruises and scuffs marked all over their skin, what little clothing they have on them ripped, dirty and clearly old, and then you see their big, wide, afraid eyes staring back at your own and your heart breaks.

When you raise your gaze, you meet Geto’s. He’s already staring at you, but his expression is blank; like he’s staring right through you.

You send a nod Ijichi’s way before opening the door, slipping out into the cool night air.

The girls are watching you carefully, shuffling closer to Geto, clearly scared of you, and as you stand fully, letting the door shut gently behind you not to scare them, you glance at Geto just briefly before crouching, so you’re at eye-level with the girls.

“My name’s Y/N,” you introduce softly, voice extra quiet so as not to spook them. “I’m Suguru’s friend. What are your names?”

They glance at each other, slowly, unsure, before looking up at Geto. He nods, a simple, silent gesture and then, as if relaxing, their tensed bodies ease and the lighter haired one speaks up first; “i’m Nanako and this is Mimiko,” she introduces her sister for her, and when you glance at the twins, it’s clear who protects who. The thought brings a smile to your lips, thinking back fondly to memories of your past, and nod.

“Those are such pretty names,” you smile, eyes crinkling with warmth. “Are you both cold?”

Nanako nods slowly, and you watch as Mimiko’s lips tremble.

“It’s nice and warm in the car, and there’s a nice man named Ijichi who’ll give you some snacks, okay?”

They look to Geto for guidance once more, and all it takes is one more simple nod before Nanako is eagerly grabbing Mimiko’s hand, pulling her sister forward just as you open the car door. They clamber in, and you adjust Geto’s jacket around them better as they huddle to the middle of the back seat, still holding tightly onto one another, before you let the door shut gently.

Left with Geto, silence echoes as you slowly push yourself up.

Then, with a shaky breath, Geto whispers; “I wanted to slaughter them all.”

His words scare you, but you force yourself to swallow down the fear, reminding yourself who this is and where you are. So, with a small step forward, you close the gap that had existed between both you and Geto, licking your lips. “The village?”

He nods.

“They did that to them?”

Once again, a nod.

“They would’ve deserved it.”

Geto blinks at that, shocked you’d agree with him. “...what?”

“I’m not going to tell you that you’re wrong, because… you’re not,” you confess with a shuddering breath. The worlds feel wrong even if you believe them. There was a time that the simple thought of death upon anyone, even the worst of scum, would’ve made you feel ill. But now, it didn’t always feel so wrong — at least not in thought. Not in the deepest, darkest parts of your mind.

“But you didn’t,” you add, closing the gap completely between the both of you. You take a leap, ignoring your uncertainty and fear and everything in between and take his hand in your own, squeezing. “That’s what’s important.”

“But I wanted to.”

You meet his eyes and finally see something in it — a glimpse of hope, maybe. There’s something other then empty in those eyes, even for just a second, and you grab onto it, tightly, knuckles white as hope floods you because that was all you needed. 

Geto wasn’t gone.

“I’ve wanted to,” you confess, and it isn’t hard to know who and what you mean. “But I didn’t either. Do you think I’m a bad person?”

And his answer is instant; “no.”

“You aren’t either.”

His gaze lowers, and you think that’s all that can be said. At least now. Right now, those two little girls are important. Shoko’ll need to see them and when you get back to the school, Gojo will be there and he’ll help. You’re sure of it.

“Let’s go home,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his own. “Okay, Suguru?”

-

Gojo almost looks mad.

But one look at you, and his features soften, tense shoulders fading and he’s forced to remind himself of something maybe he just doesn’t quite understand. 

He’s never been good with words, at least not when it came to comforting. Not when it came to things like this.

So he doesn’t say anything.

After Shoko had checked the girls, and assured bith you and Geto that despite bruising, they were okay. They’d need water and food, but most importantly, sleep. 

You tuck them into your bed.

Geto is silent the entire time. He doesn’t say anything, just stands behind you, his presence is always there. There’s moments you catch, just faintly, where one of the girls will look at him and he’ll smile with a softness you’ve only ever seen directed at you or Gojo.

It fills you with a warmth, and that glimmer of hope you don’t want to lose.

The second he’s sure they’re okay and fast asleep, he slips out of your dorm and heads straight to his. A moment passes before you follow him, and when you finally reach him, he’s in his bed, back turned with the covers pulled up, as if hiding himself from everyone.

You stand there, watching, for ten minutes before Gojo arrives.

It takes him only one minute, after your look and after his acceptance to step forward, slipping into Getos much too small bed to carry two six feet tall men. But it doesn’t stop Gojo. He pulls the covers, slips underneath and presses his face into Getos back. It’s oddly soft for Gojo, caring in a way that words aren’t needed and comforting in a way only possible for him.

You feel distant from them in that moment.

You didn’t know how to help. What to say, what to do. You did what you thought was right, but it still hadn’t felt enough. Sure, you’d gotten Geto home, but he’d still been distant, cold and that look in his eyes still remained strikingly blank and gone.

Yet, you watch as the simple touch of Gojo relaxes Geto’s shoulders and he seems to ease, as if some, if not all, of the anxiety just washes away.

It hurts while comforts you.

You turn to leave, even if it’s your bed; maybe Shokos still up and—

“Y/N.”

Your body freezes, head slowly turning at the sound of Geto’s voice. He’s not spoken one word to you since you’d found him. 

He’s looking at you, meeting your eyes directly and one of his arms is stretched out towards you, as if inviting you.

Lips parting, you hesitate.

“Please.”

That’s all it takes. Your feet are moving before your mind can process, rushing towards the bed with an unfamiliar urgency. You’re desperate for acceptance. Desperate to help and comfort and be there for Geto — because that’s all you want. All you ask for. You just want to help.

He’s grabbing onto your arm the second he can, tugging you to the other side of him, back pressing against the wall your bed is pushed up against and your chest pressed against Geto’s own as he wraps his arms around your waist. You lay there for a moment, before Geto’s pulling you closer, a hand pressing to the back of your head so you’re leaning into the crook of his neck.

Everything washes away then, the warmth of Geto soothing you.

And the words he utters next could make you cry;

“Thank you.”

His words echo in the silence, and then, your eyes flicker upwards, meeting Gojo’s. His gaze is already on your own, soft, warm and there’s a smile on his face.

Everything’s okay then, you realize.

Geto’s home and so is Gojo, and you did help.

You did.

[wonysugar]

angel | jang wonyoung

synopsis : she was convinced everything you did was to seduce her.

pairing : wonyoung x 6thmember!femreader

genre : smut

tags : noncon, degradation, manipulation, gaslighting, objectification, wonyoung is genuinely a creep, blood mentioned, scratching, physical and verbal abuse, choking, slight mentions of tribbing, fingering, slight nipple play, just plain suffering tbh, death threats, ‘good girl’, ‘slut’

!! warnings : this is like. PURE noncon so please please please read with caution and please for the love of god read the tags before continuing :(( !!

word count : 2.1k

a/n : okay i know i made the poll yesterday and all but look i had ideas and here they are I HOPE YOU LIKE IT this was so interesting to write cause this is SOOOO OUT OF MY COMFORT ZONE AND LIKE?? idk it was a nice experience i hope you like itfkendn

also you know the drill THIS IS NOT OKAY NOR IS IT HEALTHY DON’T DO THIS IRL BITCHES CONSENT IS KEY YALL😭🙏🙏do not give tea to someone who doesn’t want tea CAUSE THEY DON’T WANT ITT IT’S SIMPLE

god, finally.

you sat on the corner of your mattress, still carefully drying your wet dripping hair with the fluffy towel that belonged to you. after a shower like that? you felt refreshed, you felt good and oh did you feel so ready to just pass out on your bed at that moment. that was until you remembered that you couldn’t; since you had to wait for wonyoung, your dorm mate, to come back from the mall with yujin— or, wherever the hell they were at this hour. her dumbass forgot to bring the keys with her, so you’d have to stay awake to be able to open the door for her.

grabbing your phone, you checked the time. it read 12:37 am, which then lead you to text her, very politely yelling at her through SMS to hurry the fuck home before turning it off again and plugging in the charger. 

what a hassle, you thought, groaning. you were fucking exhausted and were practically dying to get some amount of rest, especially after such a long day of non-ending schedules.

mentally sucking it up and shrugging it off, you put the towel aside and laid down on your back, grabbing your phone yet again as an attempt to cure the ongrowing boredom and impatience inside you; maybe instagram reels would make the time go by faster.

indeed, before you knew it, you were startled by a quiet knock at the door. feeling immediate relief, you quickly got up and rushed to open it, already thinking about the amazing night of sleep you were gonna get afterwards.

“any second later and i would’ve left you outside, wonyoung.” you complained as soon as you turned the knob, immediately greeted by her face. you particularly noticed her expression switch to one of slight guilt as she giggled nervously.

you also observed how she stared at you, as per usual.

“sorry, angel.” she apologized, looking up and down at your entire body, seemingly distraught by the sight of your naked thighs, before walking in and continuing. “we just got so caught up in conversation that we ended up just walking around for hours, i hope i didn’t keep you waiting for too long, though.” she scratched the back of her neck, still staring at you, this time more so focused on your chest.

here’s the thing, you loved wonyoung. she was one of your closest friends, that was undeniable. but for some reason, sometimes whenever you’d talk to her.. she’d have a certain look. the same look that she’d give you whenever you’re wearing a somewhat revealing outfit, or doing quite literally anything, for that matter. it always made you feel uneasy, it made your skin crawl. you’d never tell her, though; she was a sweetheart, and you knew that her last intention would be to ever make you uncomfortable. 

right now was one of those moments, though, and her staring was getting overwhelming.

more overwhelming than usual.

subtly trying to brush it off, you responded, “it’s— it’s fine. just, please bring the keys next time?” 

she simply nodded before apologizing again, clearly aware of her mistake and swearing to never commit it again. that gave you the permission you needed to finally get ready for bed. whilst you were doing that, she was changing into her comfier clothes and also getting ready to sleep as she  threw occasional warm smiles at you. 

until she squinted at you.

“man, you look pretty tired, y/n. did you sleep early yesterday?” she asked with a worried tone, afraid that you maybe weren’t getting enough sleep. 

you waved your hand around, “yeah, i did. today just wore me the fuck out really, but oh well.” you cut the conversation short, heading straight towards your bed. “goodnight wonyoung—“ but before you could do so, you felt her hand grab your wrist.

tightly.

“wait but— don’t you wanna cuddle like we usually do?” she asked, her mouth formed into a small pout.

and there went that stare. again.

“wony i’m sorry, i’m really tired and—“

“come on, please. i missed you.” she insisted, her grip on your wrist getting tighter as she kept her unsettling gaze on yours. 

your tired brain didn’t seem to register that, however, since you didn't even think about saying no.

i mean, she seemed pretty insistent on cuddling that night, so who were you to even say no? either way, you were gonna fall asleep immediately, so did it really matter if she was cuddling you or not?

you groaned dramatically, then signaled for her to lay on the other side of the bed. her eyes immediately lighting up, she rushed to jump on that side of the bed.

it didn’t take long at all for you guys to finally be settled in bed and you particularly thrived in finally feeling the warmth of your weighted blanket against your cold skin. she, on the other hand, just seemed to be happy to be there with you, considering the grip she had on you was quite strong for like, literally no reason. 

after telling each other goodnight, you expected to doze off immediately, but you couldn’t. you felt bizarre, you didn’t feel like yourself at that moment. every single ounce of exhaustion left your body and it was like insomnia just kicked in for no reason whatsoever.

frustrated, you tried to sleep. that’s when you heard her breathing heavily… very heavily. her inhales and exhales were loud and violent and you felt them on your neck, since she was especially close to it. you would’ve shrugged it off, 

if you didn’t feel her hands moving a lot more than usual.

“wonyoung?”

you felt her shift before hearing her hum, indicating you to keep going.

“you feeling okay?? you’re.. you’re breathing quite heavily.” was what you asked, somewhat concerned. “plus, you’re like, grabbing me—“ 

“sorry.” she responded immediately, “you just— you smell good, is all. i saw your hair was wet, you took a shower, right? you used the body lotion i gave you, right?” 

you nodded reluctantly, somewhat weirded out by her behavior tonight, to which she hummed again.

“i knew you’d like it, it’s so soft and sweet,” she leaned in closer to your neck, sniffing it closer, “just like you, angel.” 

what the fuck was actually wrong with her that night??

getting even more weirded out with each second that passed, you were about to let out a hesitant ‘thanks’ but got cut off by the sensation of her slowly sliding her hand up your pajama shirt as she kept sniffing you.

woah.

woah woah woah???

“wonyoung— what the fuck—“ 

“you smell so fucking good baby. fuck— so good. you used that body lotion just so i would notice, hm? i know you did.” she whispered into your ear, smelling your hair in the process as her other hand went down to your crotch.

triggering your fight or flight, you tried pushing her off of you slightly, but she simply wouldn’t budge. 

wonyoung had always been taller than you by a long shot.

your own breathing getting heavier, you were starting to get progressively worried. why was she keeping you in place, why was she smelling you like this?? why the fuck was she acting weird??? 

“wonyoung get off of me—“ 

“god your smell.” 

she just kept mumbling that same sentence as she sniffed you all over, gently putting her hand on your neck to keep you secure, making you squirm under her whilst you’re trying to break free from her tight grasp.

in a state of panic, “you’re scaring me wony stop it please—“ 

“stop moving or i swear to god i’ll fucking kill you.” was all she said back, it was dark, but not dark enough to where you couldn’t see her staring at you with that look again. you were shaking by this point, but you obeyed. you stopped moving, in fear of what she was actually going to do to you.

“look at you, being a fucking slut and putting on the body lotion i gave you, always wearing these outfits around me, and you seriously expect me not to do this shit? god, you probably sounded so good washing up too—” she rubbed your inners thighs with her free hand before adding on, 

“what do you want me to do when your ass is out in front of me all the time, y/n? i tried to be nice and do it only when you’re sleeping, but answering the door at midnight in booty shorts and tshirt this tight? baby, you’re asking me to fuck you.” her hand still reaching down to your thighs and squeezing them, hard enough for her acrylic nails to dig in slightly as you winced in pain.

you tried speaking up, but words wouldn’t come out. 

you could only stare at her, tears quickly welling up your eyes. 

“oh angel, don’t cry..” she pouted, quickly taking that same hand she used to hurt you and wiping your tears with it. you could only flinch “i’m so sorry baby, i— i just can’t help it. you look so good and smell so good and—“ she slid her hand up your shirt and quickly went under your bra, playing with the nipple for a few moments almost immediately as she breathed in more of your pheromones before exhaling sharply yet again. “fuck y/n your tits—“ 

“—i’ll be quick, okay? i promise it’ll be fine, i’ll be sooo quick.”

wonyoung very quickly slid her hand back down your crotch as she forcefully kissed you, tightening her grip on your neck whenever you weren’t giving her enough tongue. “come on baby, work for it, i know you want this.” 

you didn’t. you didn’t want it.

her fingers slipping under your shorts and onto your panties, she rubbed circles around your wet clit through the fabric of them, closing her eyes in euphoria when she heard your choked up moan.

“shit.. look at you, being all wet for me. i knew you’ve always wanted me to do this to you. hm? come on, say it.” 

“l-let go off me—“ 

her nails dug into your neck once more, making you whimper. “shut. the fuck. up.” she whispered, “i guess bitches like you shouldn’t be allowed to speak up, huh. that’s fine, we’ll have you be a stupid puppy instead, okay? you can do that, right?” 

you only cried out in front of her, clit still being stimulated from her long and cold fingers. her disturbing gaze piercing through yours, her pretty face exhibiting the ugliest thoughts she had about you. 

“i said, nod, bitch.”

and so, you nodded. eagerly, at that. of course you did, with the amount of strength this girl was putting on her grip, you needed to obey her every word.

even if you had abundant tears rolling down your face.

“you’re so pretty like this.” she breathed out, before kissing you then pulling back away, “you’re getting me so fucking wet y/n.” 

then, she gradually reaches into your underwear and puts her hands on your naked cunt, rubbing the slit and feeling how wet it is. in response to that, she laughed. 

she laughed in your face.

but before you could even process anything, however, she already had two of her fingers buried deep inside your pussy, already curling in all of the right places.

and that’s when you remembered the fact that she had acrylic nails on. 

“w-wonyoung— take them out take them out it h-hurts wonyoung it hurts p-please—“

“i don’t give a shit. you’re gonna be a good fucking girl and take it. you know what’ll happen if you don’t, don’t you?”

she pumped and curled her fingers in and out, watching you as your facial expressions changed with each movement she made, smiling and mocking you.

and that went for what felt like hours. 

until she decided she had enough of you crying and begging for her to stop. she believed that it was, in her words, ‘her turn to feel good’ now.

so she took off her own clothes and rubbed her dripping pussy onto your own, her hand digging into your neck if you moved in a way she didn’t like. 

her words rang in your head, things like “y-you’re so fucking selfish y/n, it’s usually so much better, whenever you’re sound a-asleep peacefully— oh my god.”

it didn’t take long for her to cum, since seeing you sob so prettily made her so unbelievably aroused. and when she did, she just went back to cuddling you. as if you weren’t bleeding from your nose, thighs and neck. as if you weren’t in pain, she just went back to cuddling you.

and you just had to silently cry in her arms. those were the only ones you could do that in at that moment.

[sufferingsokkatash]

THAT famous zukka hug in the atla north and south comic : an essay you did not need, by me.

i was thinking about how, in writing, there should be no accidents or coincidences in how and why something is described, or the detail the writer chooses to use. for example, zuko tapping his hand on his desk would be used to show that he is impatient or anxious about something.

so THEN i decided to apply this to the zukka hug, because why not be delulu about these things idk.

first of all, here are the zukka hug pages for context:

disclaimer: i don’t really know how the fandom feels about the comics. personally i like them, so i will proceed with that bias in mind. also please take this with the humour that is intended, it’s more fun that way.

i go down a sabre tooth moose lion hole below the cut.

this whole scene to me is largely what we all love about atla - humour and good characterisation combined with serious subject matter. king kuei and bosco are the comic relief and oblivious party in the face of quite a complicated issue, as zuko himself acknowledges. this humour then extends to kuei offering zuko the chance to join in on his hug with bosco, which zuko politely refuses. obviously, there is the clear issue of zuko being afraid of being eaten by a bear, but we’ll pretend that ernest hemingway is grading our papers here, okay.

it is a very deliberate writing choice and contrast to have zuko refuse hugs from one person/animal and then immediately and happily accept one from sokka. (see also: sokka running excitedly with a big grin on his face at the bottom of page 17 to greet them, naming zuko first, but remembering that he is a good ambassador to the swt and using their proper titles despite his excitement. more silliness mixed with seriousness. see also, also: HE RAAAAAN!) zuko may be touch averse and not a huggy person, but screw that when it’s sokka who’s offering the hug.

remember there are no accidents in good writing. kuei happily says: hello friends! to which, in both that panel and the next, he is clearly ignored. sokka and zuko are so absorbed in hugging each other that sokka neglects his duties in welcoming them both properly. zuko : 2 swt ambassador role: 0. also ignored is the fact that kuei brought his bear, which would normally be subject to some kind of smartass comment from our boomerang boi, even if he knows he’s obsessed with his pet from the ba sing se episodes.

this could be an actual mistake, but sokka ran towards zuko, who was standing in front of kuei. but in the hug panel, sokka is between them. that means kuei walked all the way around them trying to get their attention, and it still didn’t work. sokka, nor zuko, say a further word to kuei. like exactly how much tunnel vision is there in this, my goddddd.

bosco is protecting kuei and sokka is protecting zuko. could be why they mirrored them and their positions in the hug panel, so not a mistake. a swt person says: protecting foreigners, sokka?! but that is exactly what he does by ignoring the protesters and telling zuko not to worry about them. despite wanting to do his duty to everyone sokka puts zuko first, basically, and doesn’t care about what they all think of him. that’s kind of huge for sokka.

yes, hakoda is injured at this time and yes he’s proud of sokka, but surely as chief he would have gone to meet the earth king and firelord? why did the writers go to so much effort making sure that sokka was there to meet zuko and have them hugging take up a third of an entire page when printing and space in the comics is such a consideration? it is clearly important, y’all.

their faces when they see each other. sokka can’t stop grinning and zuko closes his eyes in relief he’s so happy. enough said.

sokka says: thanks so much for coming! like he doesn’t already know zuko would travel the world just to make him happy or help in what’s important to him. have you forgotten boiling rock, sokka? because that dude you’re wrapped around, acting like he’s been starved of you, sure hasn’t.

this comic is all about nations coming together and traditions being upheld and shared. in other words, marry him sokka. it is in your diplomatic interests to do so.

in utterly insane conclusion:

i am always surprised at how much they made the effort in the writing for this one scene. i don’t see the comics as something that tease ships, they aren’t natla. what i do see is two guys who clearly care about each other, almost to the detriment of their roles and responsibilities, and their relationship was worth the effort taken in the writing and artwork to show that. it is super heckin sweet. does this mean i think zukka is canon or could be? no. maybe did i have fun pretending and overanalyzing every detail? yes.

ps in all seriousness, the answer is that this is about my fav boy and how far he has come in his character growth journey - exhibit a from ‘the avatar returns’ episode:

the end, i am getting blocked and going to jail but it’s okay because zukka is my bosco hug.

[harmonicakai]

Look After You

Part 2 of the "Anyone Else But You" series

Pairing: Huening Kai x Reader

Summary: You tag along to the club in the hopes of finally confronting Kai for his weird behavior, but things don't go as planned.

Tropes: enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, fluff, angst

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: swearing, drinking, sexual tension/references to sex (mdni), reader is insecure

“I'm nervous, couldn't tell you why Touching me, hands warm on my thighs And I know I could turn a blind eye Afraid of what I'm gonna find” —North, Clairo

Somehow, someway, you were standing outside of Yeonjun and Kai’s apartment complex in the tiny dress he had picked out yesterday. 

Earlier, Yeonjun had texted to check in and assure you that he wouldn’t make fun of you if you decided not to come. Still, yesterday with Kai was just so unbelievably strange and now you’re hellbent on getting to the bottom of things.

Getting into this dress was way more complicated than you were willing to admit. Before you left, you had stared at yourself for almost ten minutes, your reflection unrecognizable. Usually, you’d cover up as much as possible, but tonight, everything is so… bare.

As you wait, you worry that it doesn’t fit you right, or that your makeup looks ridiculous. You don’t like when others look at your face, nor your body. That’s why you use your clothes to distract people. If they can’t see, they can’t notice everything that’s wrong with you.

When the guys finally come down to meet you, Soobin’s there too. He greets you with his dimpled smile, picking you up and twirling you around like you weigh nothing. It almost makes you forget about Kai, had he not been sulking in the background. 

It’s like every time you’re around, you somehow manage to suck all of his energy away. Clearly, last night was a fluke and he’s back to normal now.

“Hi, Y/N, it’s been a while,” Soobin says, running a hand through his short hair.

It’s true. You haven’t been assigned to styling the boys in almost three months, and only ever see Yeonjun outside of work or when he manages to track you down and bother you during a shift.

“It’s really nice to see you,” you reply, your hands running up and down your bare arms.

“Are you cold? Here, take my jacket,” Soobin says, stripping it off and handing it to you before you can politely decline. The material hangs off you like a tent, covering the dress completely.

“The car should be here any second now,” Yeonjun says, his shirt barely buttoned, exposing his smooth chest. 

You glance from him to Kai and note the stark difference in their outfits. Whereas Yeonjun is dressed to kill, Kai doesn’t even look like he knows where you guys are going.

He’s wearing an oversized black hoodie, baggy jeans, and skating shoes. It was something you would’ve seen him come to a photoshoot in before stepping into the clothes you meticulously laid out.

When the cab arrives, it becomes obvious that your driver is the grumpiest man in all of Seoul. You open up the front door on the passenger’s side.

“No room up here,” the driver huffs. You glance to see the seat full of ramyeon packages.

“There’s not enough seats,” you say, backing away from the taxi door. “Maybe I should just go home.”

“No, Y/N, you should come,” Soobin says, “I can go home if it’s an issue, or just meet up with you guys there.”

“Guys, there’s plenty of room for all of us,” Yeonjun diffuses, “Y/N can sit on Huening’s lap.”

“What!?” you squeak at the same time as Kai. The two of you lock eyes for a brief second before looking away again. His face is beet red.

“From what I’ve heard, the two of you just need to kiss and make up already. Plus, Hyuka’s so big and strong. It’ll feel like nothing to him.”

“Hey, I don’t have all day,” the driver reminds your group. You sigh and gesture for the boys to get in, Kai going last.

He gives you a look that reads “Are you sure?” before you climb onto his lap, doing your best to sit closer to his knees than his crotch.

Unfortunately, the ride to the club is a bumpy one. With each sharp turn, you jostle around the backseat. Your hands are pressed against the roof, searching for some stability.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Soobin asks. You’ve almost tumbled into his lap after the driver ran a red light.

Kai reluctantly wraps one of his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You nod to Soobin.

You’ve never been this close to a guy before, let alone one who's made it very clear he doesn't like you. Not as a friend, and certainly not as anything more than that. Still, the way his head nests itself over your shoulder feels… nice.

You shift in his lap before a pothole sends you flying. His grip tightens to keep you from bumping your head.

“Y/N,” Kai whispers through gritted teeth. His breath is hot against your ear. “Please. Try to stop moving.”

“Just a second.” You keep squirming as his arm wraps tighter around your waist, trying to adjust so his bunched up clothes don’t feel so lumpy underneath you. Why is he wearing so much damn fabric to the club?

Suddenly, your eyes widen as you realize the real source of the problem. Kai is hard.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice tinged with embarrassment and regret. 

“No, I should’ve been more careful,” you reply, staying as still as possible. You have to remind yourself that it's a purely physical reaction. Heat radiates off of his chest, growing warmer by the second.

Right, Yeonjun, it sure feels like nothing to Kai.

“What are you guys whispering about?” Yeonjun asks, leaning over Soobin. This was probably his master plan all along.

“Nothing,” the two of you say in unison. The rest of the ride is silent, but you catch the other two grinning out of the corner of your eye.

As soon as the cab comes to a stop, you practically leap out of Kai’s lap and into the parking lot. He follows shortly, pulling the hem of his hoodie down to hide any evidence of what just happened. 

Based on Yeonjun’s snicker, it doesn’t work.

The boys don’t even have to wait in line or show their IDs at the door. They introduce you to the bouncer, although he’d hardly recognize you again without the makeup or outfit.

The club is humid and packed, music blasting much louder than you’d ever willingly subject yourself to. You do your best to trail the boys, but get lost in the crowd.

A large hand reaches out and wraps itself around your wrist, guiding you forward across the sticky floor. It’s Soobin. You have never been more thankful for his constant devotion to being a gentleman towards you.

The group settles into a booth in the back corner, Yeonjun throwing his jacket down in preparation for finding his target for the night.

He locks his eyes on a girl with red hair. “I’ll catch up with you guys later,” he yells over the music, stalking back into the crowd of bodies.

“Do you guys want to start off with a round of drinks?” Soobin asks. 

“Nah, I’m good for now,” Kai says, sinking into the cushions of the booth. Did he actually bring his Nintendo Switch to the club?

“What about you, Y/N? Care to join me?” Soobin continues, extending his hand.

You’re not much of a drinker, but maybe with a little liquid courage, you’ll finally be able to confront Kai for being weird all this time. You nod and follow Soobin to the bar.

That was eight shots ago. 

A squeal from behind you catches your attention, and you watch as Arin leaps into Soobin’s arms, their reunion straight out of a K-drama.

Before he can introduce you, she drags him by the hand to the center of the dance floor, pressing her body against his. Soobin doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe the rumors were true.

Without anybody to distract you, the music grows louder and your head starts spinning. You stumble out into the hallway, desperate to get home and change out of the tight dress before you throw up all over it. 

“Do you like him?” a familiar voice says from behind, startling you. You turn to see Kai standing next to you with a glass of dark liquid in his hand.

“What? Like who?”

“Soobin. I… I see the way you look at him.”

“No, I don’t like him. I’d probably look at you the same way, too, if we were friends.”

“We are friends,” he says softly, although you can tell even he doesn’t believe himself.

“Don’t make fun of me. Everybody knows that you hate me,” you whine, your words slurring together.

“I don’t hate you, Y/N. I promise.” He’s staring at you so intensely that you can’t help but notice how warm his brown eyes are. The blue contacts he’s constantly being forced to wear don’t do his features any justice.

“Do you remember the first time we ever met?” you start again, snapping out of your trance. “You were in your dressing room fumbling with a harness, and it was only my second week. I came over to help you and you flinched away from me. Told me you didn’t need my help and walked away.”

Kai stares at the floor, no longer interested in his drink.

“And you always go straight into your room whenever I’m over. Or make up an excuse to go home early if you find out I was also invited somewhere. We’ve never even had a real conversation until now!” Your voice breaks, and it takes all of your strength not to let any tears fall.

“Okay, I get it,” he concedes, throwing his hands up. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I really am. But I promise that I don’t hate you.”

“Then what’s your problem? Why do you act the way you do?” You were getting more and more frustrated. Apparently, this whole time, you and Huening Kai were just the best of friends. “How can you actually look me in the eyes and tell me that I’ve gotten everything wrong?!”

“God, Y/N, you just—you make me so nervous!” His breath hitches, as if he wants to say more. Your face shifts from anger to confusion.

“What? What do you mean?” you ask, your knees buckling. Now really isn’t the time to be having a heart to heart.

“Y/N, I’m going to take you home,” Kai says, steadying you. The back of his hand presses itself to your forehead, recoiling at the burning temperature. You slump further into his chest. “Where the hell are Yeonjun and Soobin? Fuck!”

Kai lifts you up, his long arms wrapping around your body as you nuzzle your head into his neck and groan. The last things that cross your mind are raindrops soaking your skin and the faint smell of peaches.

—————-

It had been a couple of days since the club incident and all you got out of it was a really bad cold and some paid time off. 

Your head still aches, further exacerbated by the incessant ringing of your doorbell. 

“Y/N, it’s Yeonjun. Let me in,” your best friend’s voice calls from the speaker. You buzz him in, hoping he’ll be able to tell you what happened the other night. All you remember is waking up in his bed to him sleeping on the couch.

Less than a minute later was his signature rhythmic knock at your door. You open it, greeted by not one, but five smiling faces with their hands full of gifts.

“You didn’t tell me all of you were here,” you groan, slumping back onto your bed.

“We thought you might not want to see all of us right now. But we heard what happened and we wanted to check up on you. And bring you some fun snackies,” Taehyun grins.

“And also, to apologize for making you come in the first place,” Soobin adds.

“We’re sorry,” they say in unison, even though Beomgyu and Taehyun weren’t even involved.

Kai avoids your gaze, coughing into his elbow.

“Are you sick too?” you ask, handing him a tissue to deal with his sniffles.

“Of course he is, Y/N. He carried you home in the pouring rain! Our Hueningie is a total hero,” Soobin says.

“He even cleaned your throw up off the bathroom floor,” Yeonjun adds, his voice tinged with both disgust and respect. “And got that dress dry cleaned and returned to the building before anybody noticed it was gone.” 

You turn to Kai, unsure of whether or not they’re making this stuff up. “Did you actually do all of that?”

“Yes,” Kai answers, head down and twiddling his thumbs. You do your best to recollect the other night.

“I guess that does make sense. I remember your cologne smelling really good.”

“What? I don’t wear cologne.”

“Oh… then I guess you just smell good.”

“You know, Y/N,” Beomgyu starts, “When somebody likes somebody else’s natural scent, it usually means they’re attracted to them. Maybe you and Hyuka are soulmates and just never noticed.”

All of you stare in awe at Beomgyu’s lack of a filter. Taehyun elbows him in the side. 

Every time you and Kai have been brought up recently has been a joke, but he seems so genuine that you wonder if there’s something you don’t know. 

“Could you guys go pick up some breakfast from the café around the corner? I’m really hungry,” you say, doing your best to change the subject.

“But we brought all this food with us!” Taehyun complains, shaking the gift bag in the air.

“Just go. Kai can stay behind and fill me in.” The boys exchange knowing glances. 

“Fine, but give me your keys,” Yeonjun says, hiding a smirk. It takes all of his strength not to make a joke about how much Kai would love to fill you in.

“And 20,000 won,” Beomgyu adds.

“Here,” you say, handing over your Miffy keychain and a bill from your wallet. Beomgyu pockets the cash with a smile, clearly not intending to put it towards breakfast.

“We’ll be back before the two of you can make a baby,” Yeonjun winks.

“You’re such a pig,” you scoff, the boys filing out of the room one by one.

“A handsome pig! Bye!” he calls, shutting the door behind him.

It’s just you and Kai now. When his eyes finally look at you, you find yourself looking away.

“So, you really don’t remember anything else from the other night?” he asks.

“I mean, I think we talked, but I don’t know what about.”

“Oh.” He decides not to press any further on that part of the story. “Well, yeah, basically… you got sick and I brought you home. You threw up twice and then I helped you change and waited until you fell asleep in Yeonjun’s bed. I DID NOT look at you naked by the way. I slipped a t-shirt over you and you just went on autopilot and shimmied out of the dress on your own. Guess you wanted to get out of it pretty damn bad, huh?” 

This is by far the most you have ever heard him talk outside of interviews. The way he rambles is actually kind of cute.

“I also kind of had to watch and make sure you didn’t roll onto your back and choke on your own vomit, but other than that, I just sat on the floor next to you and played Pokémon. You snore in your sleep, by the way.”

He has a big smile on his face now, satisfied with his storytelling. You smile back. The moment is quickly interrupted by Kai having a sneezing fit.

“I’m sorry you’re sick because of me,” you apologize, handing him another tissue. When he reaches for it, he holds onto your hand for a split second longer than necessary.

“It’s okay. I’m just happy that I was there to help you,” he says, sitting at the edge of your bed. He’s much quieter without the other guys around to riff off of.

“Thank you for that, by the way. I really don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there.”

“Let’s not think about that.”

“Agreed,” you say, searching for a cosmic sign of how to continue the conversation. “Yeonjun tells me you’re quite the ladies man.”

A blush spreads across Kai’s face. You’ve made him flustered. “Uh, I, uh… No! I don’t think so? Maybe. Did he really say that? Because if he did, he literally sleeps with a different girl every night. Sometimes more than one! And one time he even asked if I wanted to join—”

“Kai! He didn’t actually say that,” you interrupt, hoping to stop him from revealing anymore of Yeonjun’s life in the bedroom. “I was just messing with you.”

“Oh,” he chuckles sheepishly. “Right. But, uh, that girl from the other morning. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s fine,” you say, although part of you wonders if it actually is. “So, is that the type of girl you usually go for?”

“No!” he replies. He mulls over his next words, “You’re going to laugh at this. Basically, the guys were making fun of me at the club because I always sit in the corner and play games, and Yeonjun tried to make a bet that I probably wasn’t even capable of bringing a girl home, let alone someone that looked like her.”

Someone that looked like her. Even if he says that she’s not his type, how are you supposed to feel when you look the complete opposite way? Did every guy have those kinds of standards?

Kai can tell by the look on your face that he’s said something wrong. He decides to change the subject. “I only ever see you when you’re all dressed up.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think anybody would be seeing me right now. Sorry if it’s not the best sight.”

“You look nice. I like your pajamas.” He gestures at the bespectacled teddy bear on the front of your shirt. “It’s Beomgyu.”

“Thanks,” you laugh awkwardly, looking down at it. “I guess it does kind of look like him.”

“Is he your bias?”

“Maybe. Don’t tell Yeonjun.”

“My lips are sealed.” He smiles and pretends to turn a lock and throw away the key. Your gaze lingers on his lips until you turn away, unsure of what to say next.

“I feel like we don’t know anything about each other,” he says, breaking the silence.

“We don’t.”

“Right. I guess that’s my fault.”

“It is.” You have no idea why you’re being so short with him. Weren’t the two of you just smiling at each other? It’s like you were used to playing defense and couldn’t figure out a way to switch it off.

“Y/N, can we start over? I’d really like to be friends.” He hesitates on the last word.

“I probably won’t be dressing you any time soon, so I don’t know when we’d get to know each other.”

“Let me take you out! We can do whatever you want.” 

“Whatever I want?” It’s a tempting offer.

“Yes.” There’s an earnestness to the way he’s speaking to you that you’re not quite used to.

Yeonjun usually decides your hangouts because he knows how stressed planning makes you, but it’s nice to pick every once in a while. You mull over your options.

“Do you want to go watch the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra perform this weekend?” you offer, a little apprehensive. You had only purchased one ticket, thinking you’d be going by yourself. Kai’s eyes light up.

“I’d love to! Hopefully we’ll both be feeling better by then. Though I do think the red nose works for you,” he says, brushing his hand across the blush spread across your face.

The other boys burst in with even more food than before, wearing grins that tells you they’ve been listening from the other side of the door. Kai quickly pulls his hand away.

“We’re back!” Taehyun sings, setting a large bag of pastries onto your lap. “We didn’t know what you wanted, so we got one of everything.”

“Are you guys official yet?” Soobin asks, mouth already full of a cream donut.

“Yes, Soobin, Y/N and I are getting married tomorrow. Will you officiate?”

Huening Kai is making jokes around you. He’s laughing and smiling and being the bubbly guy you’ve always seen from afar. The only difference now is that he’s finally within your reach.

—————-

Taglist: @orangesodafoam @deezbutz28 @ur-mother-realnotclickbait @iyeeeverydee @internet-folks @darlingz99 @foxyjun @stardustmooncakes @giaalorine @beomgyubabybear @niningtori @goquokka @csbenthusiast

P.S.: Please shoot me an ask or a reply if you’d like to be added to (or removed from) the taglist!

[strawberrystepmom]

cw omegaverse, cw yandere, cw predator prey dynamics. f!omega reader, alpha!geto. wc 698

pt. 2

“Fuck,” you mutter to no one in particular while inspecting the ingredients label of a jar of sesame paste to try and hide the flush that you know is painting your cheeks and the bridge of your nose crimson.

It has been a long time since you’ve felt like this and your hand shakes as you barely hold onto the jar enough to slide it onto the shelf in front of you.

You don’t even need sesame paste, you just need a distraction. Something to keep you from focusing on the twist of your stomach and the sweat prickling across your hairline and the back of your neck.

Today was clearly not the day to forego your heat suppressant, limbs feeling simultaneously light as air and heavy as lead as you drag your feet down the aisle with a basket dangling from the crook of your elbow. Your head hurts, your senses are dulled, but you don’t miss the clearing of a throat behind you nor the way it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Excuse me?”

The voice is rich as the cake you allowed yourself to indulge in on your last birthday and it wraps around you like a velvet ribbon. As if you cannot control yourself, you turn your head and gasp looking at the man who is beckoning you in a way that makes you feel completely out of body.

He’s tall, his raven hair spills across his shoulders, and his broad chest blocks out the sight of anyone on either side of him. Swallowing but your throat feels more dry after doing so somehow, your pulse speeds up as realization dawns.

Alpha. This man, Suguru Geto, is an alpha.

“I’m sorry, I know this is a strange thing to ask, but are you…” he trails off, indicating you should know what he’s asking, but your blank stare tells him otherwise. Your eyes are narrowed but suspiciously glossy and he knows, instinctively, the answer is yes.

You are an omega standing in the middle of a busy grocery store filling the entire place with the aroma of bergamot and vanilla. Unbonded, he can tell as his dark eyes dip downward and check out the contents of your small basket - all for one, he can tell. No ring. No visible mating mark.

Brave or stupid, he can’t tell which.

Your scent is overwhelmingly sensual to the man, his mouth filling with saliva if he dares inhale too deeply, and he can feel his natural urges overtaking any sense he has left in your presence.

“Forgot my suppressants for a couple of days,” you clarify with an embarrassed whisper, eyes still narrowed despite the pull you feel to go to him - to give to him - and you take a step backward to put distance between your bodies, giving yourself a victory in the battle of wills.

“Better be careful being out here then, you’re bound to catch a lot of attention.”

His voice is just as velvety despite the low note of warning in it and if you were less controlled by your base urges in this moment, you’d bare your teeth in an overly polite smile and walk away. Right now, though, you are frozen in place and your eyes meet his. They are molten bronze framed by the darkest lashes you’ve ever seen and you’ve never felt as pinned as you do right now, beneath his gaze.

Like a frightened rabbit, you become skittish. Two further steps backward put even more space behind you and you turn on your heel, eyes wide as you look over your shoulder to have the last word.

“Thank you for your concern but I’ll be fine.”

He nods politely and plasters on a serene smile, inhaling just deep enough that his pupils dilate after another overwhelming rush of you inside his head.

“Take care,” he raises his voice to speak back and you shiver, stomach twisting even more as you fumble your way toward the checkout and force yourself to keep looking forward to prevent running back in his direction.

You’ll be back in a day or two, Suguru assumes, and his alpha instincts rarely fail when it comes to getting what he wants and he’s more than content to wait.

[vminizzle]

Office break

pairing : husband ceo!jungkook x f.reader

genre : smut, fluff

warnings : making out, marking, praising, slight dry humping, manhandling?, teasing, lingerie kink, pet names, penetration, unprotected sex, creampie

words count : 3.1k

A/N : hey hey, finally, I’m done with this. I took so much time on writing sorry, I’ve been tired these days. I don’t know why it took me so much time, I mean I was struggling a bit. But anyways, it’s finished. I want to precise that, this fic, is part of the series "hope" so yup. REMINDER : POOR ENGLISH. Thank you guys for reading. Love y’all, take care of yourself. - sunny :)

HEAVILY UNEDITED ( I was exhausted sorry )

FEEDBACKS ARE WELCOMED 🕷️

M RATED

You entered the company with a little box in your hands as you walked to the elevator.

"good morning Mrs. Jeon." you heard someone said.

"oh good morning Mr. Choi." you greeted with a little smile.

"Mr. Jeon is in his office, if you’re searching for him. The meeting just ended, so good timing." Soobinsmiled politely making you nod.

"Thank you for telling me."

"You’re welcome, Mrs. Jeon. Have a nice day."

"Have a nice day Mr. Choi."

You knocked on the office’s door, hearing the deep "come in."

You pushed the door open, entering the office before closing it again, the sound of your heels echoing through the room.

"You can leave the files and usb key on the little table there." Jungkook pointed to the small table near the little couch, without caring to look who it was.

"Sorry Mr. Jeon, I don’t have the files nor the usb key." you said playfully, making your husband look up instantly from the computer’s screen.

"Mrs. Jeon?" he smirked getting up from his desk chair, approaching you.

"what are you doing here, pretty woman?" he asked, pecking your lips happily.

"Just wanted to deliver this, for my favorite ceo."

You handed him the little box with the name of the company’s cafeteria where Jimin works.

"You bought banana cake?" his eyes sparkled as you nodded.

"aw thank you my love!" he hugged you.

"did you eat lunch?" you asked eyeing him attentively.

"yes, don’t worry. I ate noodles."

"How was your lunch with Jimin?" he asked putting the little box on his desk, guiding you  at the other side of it.

"Good! Like usual." he smiled acknowledging your words.

"I’m happy you came." he said, sitting down on his desk chair pulling you down with him as he made you sit on his lap, your back against his chest.

"Is that so?"

"Of course! I love it when you come see me at the company."

"I missed you." a little pout decorated your lips.

"I told you to work with me! If you worked here, you wouldn’t miss me." he said playfully.

"ah shut up." you laughed.

"But, I missed you too." he hummed, leaving a soft kiss on your shoulder.

You caressed his cheek gently as you turn on your side, making him close his eyes, enjoying the feeling of your warm hand against his skin calming him down.

His large hand went down to rest on your thigh, caressing the covered skin slowly.

"it’s been awhile since you wore stockings."

he looked down at your legs, hand sliding higher under your skirt, fingers reaching the suspenders.

"Still like them?" you raised an eyebrow teasingly.

"love them." he whispered, breath fanning over your neck making goosebumps raised on the smooth skin.

"I remember asking you to wear them whenever you sneaked over at my dorm, when we were in college." he let a breathy laugh escaped from his mouth, making you laugh too.

"oh yea I remember too. You’ve always been horny for a little nothing." you joked playing with the collar of his shirt.

"nope! only for you." he snickered, his fingers playing with the elastic strap holding the stocking in place.

A confortable silence took place, as you watched his hand playing under your skirt.

"what were you working on?" you asked eyes travelling to his messy desk.

"ah i was finishing these papers. It’s for next week’s meeting for the deal we’ve been working on for a whole month." he groaned tiredly.

"oh did I disturbed you? I just meant to give you the cake and go home, you know. I’m s-"

"hey, what are you talking about? no baby. You didn’t disturb me at all. I needed a break anyway hm. I was getting way too frustrated, thank you for coming. You calmed me down." he smiled softly, hand resting on your waist as you smiled too.

"can I read them?" you asked curiously.

Jungkook always loved the way you were always interested in his work. You were so supportive, it made him feel touched. He always enjoyed working with you, he’s still disappointed that you don’t work at his company with him.

"go ahead."

Your hands went to grab on the dossier, your eyes wandering over the many papers he already worked on.

Jungkook was way too distracted to notice the way you nodded, agreeing with his notes, praising his work.

His eyes stayed on your covered legs, the fine silk complimenting your body so well.

And the way your skirt kept on raising up your thighs as you sat yourself more confortable on his lap.

He could only cursed internally, when he accidentally peeked inside your white buttoned shirt.

The beautiful black lacy bra cupping your chest so nicely, made him bite on his bottom lip, gulping hard as he wondered if you were wearing a lingerie set.

"I think you should switch these two paragraphs." you suggested still reading the document.

"and-" you continued blabbing, Jungkook was too lost to care about what you were talking about.

"but overall, you did amazing like always!" you smiled proudly as you turned on the side to face him again.

"babe, are you okay?" you tilted your head to the side, looking at your frozen husband.

"oh yes, sorry. I’m fine." he forced a smile as you shifted on his lap making him hiss.

"oh my- did I hurt you?" you moved again making Jungkook still your hips.

"stop moving.. please." he said lowly, perhaps slightly in pain? 

You looked at him confused, as he lowered his head…

Until you felt it.

"ah.."

"yea, sorry I didn’t mean to get.. you know. to get hard."

"no no it’s ok. I’m sorry, It’s probably my fault."

"no no darling, don’t apologize." he said, still holding you in place.

"I couldn’t control it." he sighed heavily.

"Well, you know what? Yes! Yes it’s your fault!" he suddenly said loudly after a few seconds, making you turn around offended.

"what?!" you stared at him in disbelief.

"you came here to seduce me, didn’t you?" he bit on his bottom lip trying not to laugh.

"Jungkook, stop!" you slapped his chest laughing.

"no because you’re really sexy today." he let his head drop on your shoulder feeling defeated.

"you’re really making it hard for me princess." he whined.

"Why are you so attractive? I don’t want my employees seeing me walking around with a boner."

"a big raging one." you added making Jungkook shook his head in disbelief at how you’re not taking the situation seriously.

He stared at you for awhile, pursing his lips while thinking.

"Jeon, what are you on now?" you put your arms around his neck pulling him close, a smirk plastered on your lips.

"solve the problem you’ve created, Mrs. Jeon." he stared at you with dark eyes.

Your breath hitched, his hands on your hips pushing you down on him, the feeling of his confined erection pressing down there made you feel dizzy already.

You stood up, kicking your shoes off, before straddling his muscular thighs, your legs dangling at each of his sides.

"how do you want me to solve it?" you asked, eyes staring deeply into his as you tugged on his tie.

"find a solution now baby. you’re smart, aren’t you?"

Jungkook looked at you with hooded eyes, his hands resting on your thighs.

Your eyes fell on his parted lips. He looked so good right now.

You cupped his cheek, bending down to capture his lips in a slow kiss. Your fingers sliding down his neck to his shirt, as you started playing with the buttons, unbuttoning one by one slowly.

Jungkook let a breathy moan out when your lips travelled down to his neck, sucking on the smooth skin, tongue grazing over the little reddish mark you’ve left.

You hips moving slowly, as you grind on him, pressing yourself more on his boner.

"I love when you wear ties." you whispered against his throat, as you slightly pull on the black tie.

"you’re such a tease, you know that?" he sighed, when your fingers went to ghost over this belt.

Jungkook’s started unbuttoning your blouse when the door suddenly swam open.

"Mr. Jeon, I can’t find the keys of the meeting room. I forgot my new purple pen in there-"

You turned on your side quickly, hiding your half-opened shirt, Jungkook holding you against his chest to cover you more as he glared at the young boy angrily.

"what the hell is wrong with you?! Didn’t I already told you to knock on the door before coming in!?" Jungkook said loudly irritated.

"I’m so sorry, Sir. I didn’t know you, hm, you were.. I mean.. good afternoon Mrs. Jeon." the panicked boy bowed quickly.

"Good afternoon, Yeonjun." you greeted back, not looking at him.

"Sorry for disturbing, I’ll leave now!" he bowed down again, rushing out the office making Jungkook groaned loudly, closing his eyes in frustration.

"god this boy!"

"It’s not the first time?" you asked curiously.

"Unfortunately, no. I mean, if the reason was important, I wouldn’t mind but he comes for every little random things. Last time he came just to tell me that someone stole his lunch.. I’m not even concerned! why did he tell me?! Soobin needs to educate his friend." Jungkook spilled out exasperate.

"It’s fine. he’ll learn." you pecked his lips quickly making him sigh.

Jungkook stood up, making you wrapped your legs around his thin waist, his hand placed under your thigh as he sat you on the edge of his desk.

"wait." he walked away making you looked at him confused as he went to the door, locking it.

"now, no one’s gonna disturb us." he smirked coming back to you making you shook your head, a shy smile decorating your lips.

Jungkook spread your legs more, making room for him to stand between them.

"did I already tell you that you’re really pretty today?" he bit his lip making you roll your eyes.

"shut up idiot."

Jungkook chuckled, putting his finger under your chin, lifting your face to look at him.

He kissed you, the kiss slow and sensual just enough to make your core tingle as his hands came back on the buttons of your blouse, unbuttoning it rapidly as he slid the sleeves down your arms.

"Jungkook." you moaned as you felt his fingers caressing their ways between your legs.

His fingertips grazed over your lightly covered clit, the lacy material of your panties made your husband cursed lowly.

"fuck, you sure you didn’t come here to seduce me?" he whined, resting his forehead on yours.

Your hands flew to his belt unbuckling it eagerly as he unbuttoned the last buttons left of his shirt.

"no." you grabbed his wrists as he started loosening his tie.

"keep it please."

"as you wish, princess." 

Jungkook pulled on the hem of your skirt, making you raised your hips a bit so he could slid it down your legs.

"damn." he dropped on his knees feeling weak, eyes wandering on your lingerie clamped body.

"you’re so ethereal." his hand went on your calve.

"Koo stop." you complained shyly.

"no because I could look at you all day." he said lust lacing in his voice.

You looked down at him, taking a hold on his tie as you pull him up with it.

"I need you Jungkook." you whispered desperate.

He didn’t say anything as he pushed his pants and boxer down at once hurriedly.

"I want you to keep your lingerie on, darling please."

His fingertips danced over the lacy material of your bra, watching as your chest moved up and down in excitation.

He bent forward, sucking on your skin slowly. His tongue caressing your breast, the wet muscle coming in contact with your skin made you moan softly. 

Two of his fingers pulling your panties at the side, sliding the long digits between your glistening lips making you whimper.

One of your leg snaked behind his lower back pulling him closer.

Your husband got the hint as he grabbed on his hard cock, teasing your entrance the tip as he slid it between your folds.

Soft moans escaped from both your lips when you felt his cock eased inside you, filling you right to the hilt.

"you good my love?"

"so good." you breathed out as he started thrusting in and out painfully slow.

His hips moving sensually, gentle yet steady. 

He peppered kisses on your neck making your fingers tug on his long black hair tightly. The well-styled hair now a mess.

He grabbed one of your thigh positioning it higher on his waist to get better access, making you arch your back. The sensation of him getting deeper made you let a sob as he hit on that spot that could make you see stars.

"Jungkook fuck faster." you moaned, furrowing your eyebrows, your hands holding on his shoulders.

A loud purely lustful groan emitted from Jungkook as he felt you tighten around him.

"ah fuck!" he let his head dropped on your shoulder.

He started picking up the pace making you cried out, closing your eyes tightly, your nails buried deep into the flesh of his back forming little crescents.

"you feel so fucking good!" he moaned against your neck, one hand travelling up to cup your breast, his thumb running over the lacy material.

"am I making you feel good, princess?" he asked between breath, lust fogging his mind as he looked at your ruined state.

"so fucking good! yes!" you sobbed when he bite on your earlobe gently.

His pretty lips melded against yours, you scratched his back making him moan into the kiss.

"shit!" he cursed the burning feeling of your nails marking down his back made him feel dizzy.

You lifted your other leg on his side, the silk fabric of your stockings grazing his bare skin.

The sensation made him twitch inside you.

"you love them that much, huh?" you teased breathlessly making him nod, earning a low whine from his mouth.

His eyes wandered down your beautiful body, when you grabbed on his tie pulling him on you again to capture his lips in a heated kiss.

His mouth cascaded down your neck, leaving wet little kisses on his path.

"I’m so close." you bit on your bottom lip when you felt his teeth sink into the flesh of your neck, nipping on it before licking the marked skin. 

"me too." you groaned, feeling your walls convulsed around him tightly.

Your legs started trembling around his waist, tears forming in your eyes.

Your fingers flew to his hair, entangling the black locks to pull on them making your husband moaned.

You gasped quietly surprised when you heard a knock on the door, Jungkook let his head fall on your shoulder.

"Mr. Jeon, it’s me Soobin. I came to tell you about next week’s meeting. I finished working on the files Mr. Hwang sent to us-"

Jungkook groaned annoyed as he kept on trusting his hips into yours harder, your hand coming to your mouth to block any sound daring to pass by your lips.

"Koo." you whimpered softly looking deep into his eyes, heart beating fast as you felt your climax getting really close.

"cum princess." he whispered, grabbing you by the back of you neck as he pulled you to his chest.

You bit on his shoulder blade, stars formed in your blurry vision, body on fire as you let your orgasm washed over you, your moans muffled.

"where do you want me to come my love?" he groaned lowly, his surroundings inexistant as he concentrated on you.

The sensation of your lacy panties rubbing on the side of his cock everytime he thrust in and out made him lose his mind.

"inside please. come inside me baby." you said pleading.

Jungkook bit on his bottom lip, the flesh turning white as his hips went faster and harder making you cry out.

"Sir, are you in here?" Soobin asked sounding confused.

"ah yes!" he groaned out loudly. 

Jungkook threw his head back, squeezing his eyes shut tightly, hands gripping on your sides, fingernails deep into your flesh as he came hard inside you after a few strong thrusts, his warm cum feeling you up to the brim.

He rode your orgasm, moving slowly making you breath slower.

"Mr. Jeon, I’ll come back. I have to take that call." Soobin walked away with his phone ringing. 

"damn." he sighed pleasantly as he rest his sweaty forehead on yours.

"I love you Mr.Jeon." you smiled softly before pecking his abused lips.

"I love you Mrs. Jeon." He grinned, nudging his nose with yours.

You caressed Jungkook’s cheek softly, brushing the long dark strands of hair stuck on his face.

You stayed into each others embrace for a few minutes before he cleaned you up and helped put your clothes on. You did the same, taking your time appreciating the moment.

Still sitting on the edge of his desk, you buttoned his shirt up, arranging his black tie.

"now, you good." you smiled proudly, pushing his hair back, putting some long stands behind his ears.

"handsome!" you poked his nose playfully making him shook his head with a wide smile.

"thanks darling." he kissed your cheek lovingly before sitting on his chair.

He grabbed his sheets again, taking a pen before looking up at you.

"tell me the two paragraphs you talked about earlier." he tilted his head cutely as he handed you the pen.

You’ve been staring at your husband working for a solid ten minutes. His eyes glued on his computer’s screen, his hand resting on your thigh as you were still sat on the piece of furniture. 

"Koo." you poked his cheek making him turned his head to the side as you held the little box you came with earlier.

"don’t you wanna eat it?"

"ah, yes!" he approached his chair closer to you.

"feed me?" he asked expectantly making you chuckle.

"Of course." you opened the little box, holding the cake for him as he bit on it.

"thank you. that cake was so good." Jungkook hummed as he held your hand before going back to work again.

—

You jumped off the desk, putting your shoes on making Jungkook look at you curiously.

"well, I’ll let you work now." you patted his head before walking away making him grab you wrist stopping you.

"where are you going?"

"home?"

"stay a little more." he pouted making your heart melt.

"It’s late already. I expected you to come with me instead." you pursed your lips.

Jungkook looked at his watch, looking outside.

"fine." he stretch his sore muscles before standing up.

"let me get my things quickly and we can get out of here." he informed making you nod.

"let’s go home." he smiled tiredly.

—

A/N : i know, I know … it’s def a weird way to end this lmao sorry. I hope you guys liked it :)

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Three-headed dragon (Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader)

Summary: Three times Rhaenyra marked you, and one time you did too. Or snippets of the love story I so wanted to tell but didn’t feel confident enough to write.

Warnings: Implied smut. Dance of the dragons. Canon character death (Not Rhaenyra)

Rquested: Yes!

A/N: I have not read the books, and I have only gotten one hickey in my life. I hope my ability to describe it's alright. Ignore the bra and the hegemonic body in the first picture, it's for the vibes.

“How many years have you spent by my side?” Rhaenyra asks, as you fix her hair in the mirror. It’s an important day, even if none of you know it at the time. It’s early. Her husband is off somewhere, no longer sleeping in the same bed as her. She is too pregnant, she jokes. You doubt it. You have long wondered what her relationship with Prince Daemon is. Are they star crossed lovers, who finally get their happy ending? Are they Uncle and Niece, married out of political convenience? You can’t tell.

You know which one you prefer, though. It must be kept secret, this deep-seated, long-lasting admiration for your Princess. You have been through it all, together. Youth, marriages, motherhood, widowhood. Ruining it now, with your feelings, would be foolish.

“Since we were sixteen.” You place different ribbons over her hair, testing, draping. It’s not your job, technically. You are a noblewoman in your own right, not supposed to be here on Dragonstone, but back in the North, where your long deceased husband’s bones rest.

Not meant for marriage, and ready to start your career as a Septa, you had found yourself as a companion to a much younger Rhaenyra. She had secured, in an admirable move, a marriage by proxy with some old lord. You had not even managed to reach the North when he had passed, leaving you as the sole heir to a small castle close to the Boltons.

With such undesirable neighbors, and the news that your Lord Husband was dead, you had decided to come back into Rhaenyra’s service. Her companion through childhood, now by her side during the trials of adulthood.

“Sixteen. Such a long time.” Rhaenyra squeezed your hand, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “Served loyally and never asking for anything in return.”

“Only your friendship.” Your love, you wanted to scream. Your love, for you to see me, since I am still here and I want you. Don’t you see how much it has hurt me, when I am yours, yours, and you were Criston’s, then- -

But you say nothing of the sort. Not wanting to ever risk what you had. Love is selfless, you remind yourself. You can’t have her, nor can you own her. Rhaenyra is the Seven Kingdoms, Aegon’s Crown. You cannot hope to own her or rule her. The Iron Throne, as everyone knows, was not made for a woman.

“You are not my friend,” Rhaenyra says, and the shock must show on your face because she laughs. Silver bells filling the room, the laughter of a golden Princess. “You are family, by this point. Haven’t you cared for the boys as if they were yours?”

And it’s true. You have loved those children because they are half her. You have been the preferred aunt, the accomplice, and the one to teach them things as important as the proper way to hold a quill. As the saying goes, it takes a village. The children are your combined efforts, alongside hers, Daemon’s and Harwin’s.

“You are as much a mother to them as I am.” Yours. Rhaenyra is saying the boys are as much hers as they are yours. “I have been thinking.”

You are so grateful for it, you could cry. But that’s not why Rhaenyra likes you.

“Oh? You are capable of it? We must inform the Maesters.”

Rhaenyra laughs.

“More respect for your future Queen.” She tries putting on a scolding expression, but is unable to keep her face straight.

“Oh, your majesty! I never meant to offend?” You give her a mock curtsy, and she giggles a bit more. You love her like this, you have come to realize. Rhaenyra is a woman of many flaws, even as a mother. She has grown into something larger than life, a presence that commands rooms yet manages to remain full of love to give.

“Stop it, you,” Rhaenyra complains. “I’m trying to do something here. Have a gesture.”

You sober up, a smile still tugging at your lips.

“I was thinking perhaps you should start wearing my house colors. And before you say anything, I mean it as an order. I already had you made three new gowns.”

You open and close your mouth a few times.

“Dragon got your tongue?” She teases, cradling her belly.

“Rhaenyra… I… Too much?” Because you are not sure what she is saying, but definitely she is not calling you sister. She would say it plainly, your Rhaenyra. That she is telling you to wear her house colors… That’s what men do. To their wives.

“It’s what you deserve.”

She is informed of her father’s death that day. The only person she allows in the room with her, as she loses baby Visenya, is you. From woman to woman. No one else gets to glimpse the fragile human who lives inside the dragon, not even Daemon.

You declare war dressed in black and red.

The Black Council is filled with fools, despite the support they show to Rhaenyra. You know it. She knows it. That’s why it doesn’t come as a surprise to you when you go to step inside the war room, and a guard bars the entrance with his lance. You have been expecting this moment. Dreading it, even. It was bound to happen.

“I am sorry, my Lady, but you are not allowed inside. Orders of the Prince consort.” Of course. Of course it's Daemon. Despite expecting it, you can’t help but be surprised at his boldness.

You don’t wish to make a scene. You truly don’t. But it scares you more than you thought it would. First, you will be banned from rooms. Then, dismissed, if not outright executed. This day had to come, you knew. Everyone had family on the other side of the war, with all the noble houses having intermarried at least once.

In the years to come, the conflict will be known as one that teared brother from brother. You don’t know this, you will not live to see it. Yet, it rattles in your bones.

“What? Prince Daemon?” You ask a little too loud. It attracts the attention of some other people in the hallway, including Rhaenyra who is just arriving. She looks more regal than ever in a black gown that compliments her pale skin.

Whispers start to break out among the gathered, surely reminding your heritage. Everyone is waiting to enter the war room, and the lance the guard has extended across the doorway is certainly drawing attention.

“What’s going on here?” Rhaenyra asks, placing a hand on your lower back and eyeing the guard with suspicion. The man lowers his head.

“My Queen, Prince Daemon has said…” He starts to explain, but Rhaenyra silences him with a dismissive wave of the hand. Ashamed, you lower your eyes.

“I do not care what he has said.”

“He has prohibited the Lady from entering…” The guard argues. Next to you, Rhaenyra tenses. You know he has already angered her, daring to speak above her like that.

“Is Prince Daemon King? Does he wear the crown?” She asks him, fiercely. The guard, wisely, keeps quiet. “She is my right hand. I will not suffer to see her disrespected.”

And with that, Rhaenyra moves the lance aside with a brush of her hand, leading you inside by the small of your back.

At the table, Daemon stands, moving some pieces along the map of Westeros. His back is to you, but he turns as he hears the commotion that precedes your arrival. A smug little smirk is on his lips, as he sees your discomfort.

“What are you…?” Daemon says, when he processes that you are, in fact, inside the room he had banned you from. Then, he notices Rhaenyra. “Ah.”

He squares his shoulders, getting ready for a fight. You try to pull away from Rhaenyra, but the hand on your back turns into claws, grasping at your dress to keep you right where you are.

“Why did you order the guards to not let her inside?” Rhaenyra speaks in a tone that leaves no room for argument. Daemon has to answer her or else. It’s a tone you had heard frequently when she tries to reign her sons in.

“Because I thought she didn’t belong in the war room, my Queen.” Daemon saunters towards you, no doubt trying to intimidate you. You lift your chin defiantly. Usually, you two avoid each other’s path. He resents your position in Rhaenyra's life, as her most trusted council. You resent that he gets to share her bed.

“You gave a ridiculous order.” Rhaenyra argues, rubbing your lower back in soothing circles, as if you were a spooked horse.

“Not so ridiculous. We have known for a long time there is a spy. Why should it not be your pet?”

“I am not! You truly think I would do something as vile?” Desperate and feeling powerless, you turn towards Rhaenyra. For a second, you truly think she might believe him. It’s the scariest second of your life. Losing her in a trap set up by Daemon? You hope she can see how genuine the next words you speak are. “I would never endanger the children, never endanger you!”

“I know.” Rhaenyra says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I know.”

“Come on. Her family is as green as they come.” Daemon raises his hands in the air, as if asking for patience to the Seven Heavens.

“My family is here.” You say, firmly. “Jace, Luke, Joffrey, Viserys, Aegon…”

“So you say. But they are not your family, are they?” It feels as if Daemon has burned you. Nothing has hurt you more. Not even the accusations about you being a spy, or the time you thought you would have to leave Rhaenyra to marry some Lord in the North.

You have spent all your life next to her. All your best years. Now, you are an old spinster, despite being barely thirty. You have always wanted children, like any noble lady in Westeros. It was too late for it now. No lord would want a widow past her prime.

Yet, you have always thought that the void the lack of children of your own had left could be filled by Rhaenyra’s boys. Secretly, you thought yourself a mother already. What else could you be, when your name had been Jace’s first word? When you were the one holding Luke’s hands as he learned to walk?

Daemon wasn’t saying it openly, but it was clear that was what he meant. Rhaenyra’s children were not yours. As they had not been Harwin’s.

“They are!” Rhaenyra insists, but you are barely hearing it. The thought of it has left you too distraught to care about whatever you are discussing. It feels as if your heart is being carved out of your chest. Were Daemon about to suggest executing you for treason, you doubt you would worry. How could you, when it feels as if he has gutted you already? “We are. She is family. And I will hear no more of this matter.”

Her hand curves possessively around your waist. A claim, for everyone to see. You lean into her, shell shocked by it all.

But Daemon isn’t about to let this go. He pulls out a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket, one you recognize too well. You slump in defeat, despite Rhaenyra’s hands urging you to stay upright.

Daemon clears his throat, dramatically.

“And I fear your time with the Princess.” He stresses the last word, making a long pause. You close your eyes, and keep them closed tight. “Has come to an end. I urge you to come back to the Stormlands, where no harm shall befall you. For King Aegon is the most merciful when the misguided sheep comes back to the herd.” Daemon crumples the paper, and throws it to the floor. You wince. “Nothing to say?”

You shake your head.

“Daemon…” Rhaenyra warns, arm around your waist turning into a vice-like grip. You do not understand it, then. It will be a long time before you do.

“Did or did not your father write that?” He whispers, dangerously.

“He did.” You answer, in a voice so small it’s nearly inaudible. Daemon slams his hand on the table, making you jump, and struts out of the room.

You start to sob, quietly. This is it. Rhaenyra is going to dismiss you from her service. It’s true that your father has been urging you to come back home, stating that you would be protected. Begging you, even. Promising all sorts of things, from freedom, to riches, to a husband, to becoming the wife of a Prince. That’s his level of desperation.

It’s unlike him, to worry so much. But you know part of it is not just fatherly affection and genuine concern for your well-being. No. Taking you from Rhaenyra’s side would be the greatest hit the Blacks could take. Lately, you are one of the few things keeping the Queen calm and tethered to reality. You love her, but ever since Luke passed, Rhaenyra has turned almost unrecognizable. She is paranoid and harsh in ways you had never seen before. Crueler. More Targaryen than usual.

And not only that. You hold an unusual amount of information inside your head. Battle plans, supply chains, locations. Everything that has been the key to the Black’s success so far, you know. The information is too valuable to pass on. If you were to turn to the Greens, you would have to share it, be it voluntarily or forcibly. You are not foolish enough to not know it.

“Breathe, darling.” Rhaenyra cradles your face between her hands. “It's alright. I know you would never betray me. Breathe.” She exaggerates her breathing, placing your hand on her chest. It’s only then you realize you have started to hyperventilate. She pulls you into her, hugging you. On the doorstep, Daemon watches.

You don’t know what has gotten into her. Never has she touched you like this. It’s not the first time you kissed. You had both been sixteen and curious, once. But it had not gone further than learning how to kiss another person without it being gross. Because that was what friends were for. Obviously.

She smells like soot and blood. It’s clear she has rushed to your side, not even taking time to change after the battle. You wonder who she killed, this time. What city has she burned, how many of the small folk she and Daemon have doomed?

“I thought… When they said there were revolts on the road….” And her mouth is yours, and you can’t think because you want her so bad you aren't concerned about the consequences. Half the Kingdom is against you, already. You are considered traitors on one side, she is the Queen on the other. What does it matter, really, that it’s called a sin? You will die anyway.

“You are mine. Please. Say it to me, love.” Rhaenyra pleads, kissing your jaw. She looks so gorgeous in armor, you feel like you might die any time you glance her way. And now, you get to have her. It’s intoxicating, having all that power at your fingertips. A goddess come to life, set on claiming you, you and only you.

“I am yours.” You say, kissing her brow. You won’t question it. Not when you are so close to getting your darkest fantasies come true. “I have always been.”

“Mine.” Rhaenyra kisses the hollow of your throat. “You are mine.”

She grabs your hand, pulling you towards a chair. The room you are in is not yours, nor hers. Neither of you care, too desperate for each other. Rhaenyra doesn’t care that her blood soaked armor is staining someone’s chair. You don’t care that your dress is getting thrown around someone's room. Just in your chemise, she pulls you into her lap.

It will have to be burned, after this. There is no way you will be able to salvage the white cotton shift after straddling her lap. The blood sticks the two of you together, but you are too joyous to care.

“I love you.” You say to her, as she bites down on the column of your throat, harshly. Still a little bloodthirsty.

A beat of silence. Have you ruined things before they truly began?

“I love you too.” Rhaenyra says, as she kisses your collarbones. “I love you, and you are mine.”

“All yours.” You answer, breathlessly. Purple flowers blooming across your collarbones, a red angry rose right by your ear. Her bloodstained hands leaving marks upon your arms.

“Yours, yours, yours.” You moan as someone clinging to a lifeline.

“All mine, all mine, all mine.” She answers back.

A bite where your shoulder meets your neck. It’s painful, stinging, your vision blurring into soft flashes of orange and red.

“Just take it for me, please. Please, sweet girl.” Rhaenyra sucks another bruise on your skin. Deep lilac that will bloom into soft green. “I need this. I need them to know you are mine, even if we can’t tell them.”

You pant. There is a certain pleasure to it, being kissed with the barest hint of teeth. But it’s more than just the kisses, what has you panting in arousal. It’s the way she treats your body as her own personal canvas. As if you were a precious artwork Rhaenyra is bringing to life with her kisses.

A maroon chrysanthemum, just over your collarbones. Front and center, the bruise blooms. Her hand, holding your jaw still for the softest torture.

You are uncertain if she is doing it out of fear, trying to make sure you are still there. If she is a bit sadistic, in the way Targaryens are. Or if this is simple, raw reassurance that you are willing to do anything she asks. You save the wondering for later, though. At the moment, you are too busy breaking down under the talented mouth of your Princess.

You don’t want to be separated from her. You know, you know, that something bad is about to happen. Some nights, you wake up, choked up in a bad feeling. You barely recognize her anymore.

Luke’s death had devastated everyone. You thought, after that, never again would you know such pain. You were mistaken. In the months to come, it was as if the children were falling as flies. Everywhere you looked. Jace, Joffrey, Viserys. And through it all, you had been by her side.

Rhaenyra has transformed into something that’s equally beautiful and terrifying. Far more determined and possessive, love harsher and unwilling to let go. Desperation does funny things to women.

As children, your love had been more pure. Untainted but also untested. Your innocence had been lost long ago. But a love that was not pure didn’t mean a love that meant less. it just meant it had grown and changed, as things often did.

Rhaenyra’s heart was not what it used to be when you two were younger. No longer filled with dreams of cake and laughter. But you weren’t the same girl, either.

Before, you had felt the urge to mark her and settled for being marked instead. You had told yourself you were not allowed to have her, that she was Laenor’s, Harwin’s, Daemon’s. And each and each time, you pulled back, curling into yourself. No more. It was not enough, to be hers. No. It was not enough to be owned. You had so little now, you wanted everyone to know she was yours as you were hers.

“Rhaenyra.” You ask her, as she pushes you down to your knees, tossing and turning in the sheets. “Rhaenyra.” As your teeth bruise her thighs, as you bring her over the edge over and over again.

“Darling. Love. Come here.” And you want to sob because it’s not enough. You want her to be yours. You want her to be yours, so you can drag her and the kids away from this madness, far away to a land where the war won’t touch you. Where there is no Iron Throne to destroy the family you have built little by little.

She will never go. Not even after all the boys die. Not even after Daemon is dead, in an incident that’s half an attempt to escape her, half a suicide mission. You have no other choice but to remain by her side, too far in to do otherwise.

Leaving is giving up. Leaving is losing. Leaving is renouncing the Iron Throne, her birthright. She will never go. Rhaenyra would rather tear the realm apart than save herself, and it terrifies you.

What terrifies you more is the fact that despite all the grief, all the pain, you do not regret loving her. You just regret not loving her in the way she deserves, in the way she has been asking for. The clothes, the hands, the bruises. Only now do you realize Rhaenyra has been trying to mark you, claim you. And it’s like you two are finally speaking the same language.

“Promise me.” You whisper against her hair, as you lay in bed together. “Promise you will never take this off.” And you are slipping her a silly thing, a medal of the Mother you always carry with you for protection. It’s not exactly your house’s jewelry, or your cloak, as a man would give to a wife.

Rhaenyra laughs. She finds your devotion to the Faith of the Seven silly. But she gets it, anyway. She puts the medal on, close to her heart.

You loved her differently now. No longer your silver Princess, your childhood companion. In your chest, curling around your heart, a dark possessive thread rests, tying you to her. Finally, you meet her in the middle.

Rhaenyra has always loved you like certain things are meant to be loved. In secrecy. In the dark. Not of her own will, but yours. Rhaenyra didn’t care what others thought. She had been so bold before, trying to get you to step in the light for once. You had not realized it at the time, you had not been ready. You had worried too much.

And now, with no time to worry left, with death threatening your doorstep, you realize exactly what you were missing out on. Every time she walks away, chain glistening between her breasts, you get a secret thrill. She is yours. You know it. It’s your mark Rhaenyra wears close to her heart.

[lidiasloca]

delicately; part two (cassian x reader)

summary: when cassian meets reader, he doesn't think past her privileged life. but what if there is more behind her appearance? what if, who she really is, is meant to meet with him on a cold night at the court of nightmares for a reason?

warnings: very vague mentions of abuse.

(angst)

part two

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

2 months later

You had been inside the castle for so long that you didn’t even remember how the spring court’s breeze against your cheeks felt anymore. 

But that was the least of your concerns.

Cassian.

Things hadn't ended the moment he had vanished in the night like you thought they had. No, he was still in your mind, daily and nightly. He didn’t seem to wish to abandon your thoughts nor your desires, and you knew for certain he never would. 

Your mate. 

“Y/n, come on, honey. You have to get changed,” your mother tells you as she enters your bedroom, heading to the wardrobe. 

From where you are lying on the bed, you lift your blurry gaze to her, noticing her fancy clothes, and then digesting her words. Get changed for what?

“Y/n?” At the lack of your answer, she at last turns, and you watch as her features turn worried when she takes in your teary eyes, your trembling lips. It is the worried look on her face you hate to be a trigger of. “Honey…” 

She silently walks to you and moves her soft hand to stroke your cheek, just the way she did when you were a child -  just like she had been doing it these past months.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, not sure of what.

“Don’t be, honey.” She keeps caressing your face, letting a comfortable silence unfold as you calm down. “I understand.”

Because she does, your mother was the only one you had told about Cassian. About your mate.

She eventually breaks the silence. “Y/n.” Her voice is sweet but careful. “You have to dress; your father is already waiting.”

You open your eyes at that. “Father? Why is he waiting for?”

She blinks, surprised.

“Don’t you know? We’re going to the Night Court.”

…

You felt numb as you got dressed. Numb as you walked down the stairs with your mother. And numb the moment you held your father as he winnowed you.

But the very second you step into the night court, everything hits you. 

It’s like you suddenly can feel it all. 

Feel him.

Something inside you tells you he is, somehow, close. Something inside you makes you take step after step as if guiding you to him. 

“What do you mean she didn’t know,” your father asks irritated, pulling you from your thoughts. 

You rush to free your mother from having to answer with an excuse for your error. “No, father. It’s just that I - I forgot about today’s plans. I’m sorry.”

You suppose you’ve been too distracted these days. Enough that every conversation you had with your father, you couldn’t even bring yourself to listen.

“Only the gods know where your mind has been lately, Y/n.” You keep silent, catching the thankful glance your mother gives you. “No more of that tonight, though. You are to be focused and sharp at all times. The hewn city is no joke, you know that - especially after the incident of last time.”

You bit your lip. Cassian was everything but an incident.

And if there is something you are certain of it is that it had been fated, that night; as if everything in your life had let you to that moment, with him on that terrace. 

And you had let him go.

And your father… he couldn’t know that. You had made sure he didn’t know what had truly happened. You’ve made him believe Cassian was some stranger you merely defended for politeness. And knowing what that excuse already cost you… you didn’t want to imagine if he had known the truth.

“That’s why you are here,” he tells your mother. “You’ll make sure no one gets close to her again.”

She nods.

… 

An eternity. You have been silently seated around your table for an eternity. 

You lift your gaze from your plate to watch as your parents converse. Glad that for once, he isn’t arguing with her.

But before your mind can wander through hurtful places, you see someone walking to your table. Not someone - the High Lord of the Night Court, accompanied by-

Oh, gods.

“Lord Damian,” Cassian greets your father, which makes him rise from his seat. Your mother does the same, and so do you, though your legs tremble slightly.

Your father’s eyes narrow at the general, but they don’t linger - not when the High Lord is next to him. 

“High Lord Rhysand,” he says elegantly, bowing slightly.

You bow as well, which draws Cassian attention to you. It’s only a quick glance, but you notice. Then he goes back to a serious stance, his eyes on anything but you, as if you were little else than furniture.

It breaks your heart; your mate, so close, yet so far from you.

But you deserve it. After all, you had wronged him, probably made him hate you. 

So you keep your eyes on the floor, not bearing the sight of him. 

“Rhys is enough,” the High lord answers, and it’s obvious in his tone that he’s not pleased by how your father had ignored his general. Maybe he even knows about that night. 

Your father nods tightly. “What for am I honored with-”

“Talking. The High Lord wishes a word with you,” Cassian interrupts, his face stoic.  

You lift your gaze, fear running through your veins. Never had someone dared that tone with your father. Never.

But Cassian isn’t just someone, you realize. He’s a general. An Illyrian warrior. 

Your eyes move on their own accord to his siphons. Your father had talked to you about them. Holders of power. Raw power. Cassian has seven.

And you feel… something. Something like safety. The thought of knowing that if you’d run to Cassian for help, your father wouldn’t even stand a chance against him. 

But seeing the way Cassian doesn’t even want to look at you, you know he wouldn't take you with him in the first place. He wouldn’t have a single reason to bother defending you from your father.

Only if he knew you were mates… 

“I see,” your father answers, sharing a swift glance with you - a warning glance - before following Rhys, disappearing into the crowd. And then they are gone, leaving you alone with your mother and Cassian.

He finally looks at you and you find no kindness in his eyes, only… anger. Quiet anger, as if he was trying to not let it get to the surface, but it was burning deep inside him. 

You try your best not to break at the sight. Not now, not in front of him. 

“Do you want-,” you start, because you need to talk to him. Hopefully explain, if the opportunity comes across. 

But he quickly cuts your words. “Enjoy the rest of the night,” he says flatly and turns away to leave. 

Your throat tightens as you watch him, once again, walking away from you. But this time you know it has to be different. You have to seize this second opportunity or you’ll regret it forever.

However, your steps are stopped by your mother. You turn to find her holding your arm tightly, her eyes pleading. “Y/n…” 

“I have to go. Please.”

“Y/n, your father,” she warns. But you already know. And you’ve already decided you don’t care.

You give her a sympathetic smile and turn to continue your path, and though now Cassian is nowhere to be seen, you are sure every step you take is getting you closer to your mate. 

… 

You end up, as if fate-chosen, on the very same balcony you were when you met him. 

He’s here. This big Illyrian warrior, watching over the sky with his hands resting on the railing, stands backward to you, looking much more peaceful than he did inside. You feel bad about being me the one breaking his peace when you take a step towards him. 

He turns immediately, his body looking as if ready to fight. A warrior indeed. He doesn’t quite let up on his rigidness even after he’s realized it’s you. 

You take another step. “Hi…”

He eyes you from head to toe and turns to the railing to look down at the city again. 

You don’t let it stop you. You take after step and only stop once you’re next to him, looking down to where he finds so much interest in right now. You let the silence in, giving you time to sort out all the words you need to tell him.

He, fortunately for you, concedes to you this silence. Maybe because he knows you’re currently debating your thoughts, or maybe because he wants not to hear you at all. Probably the latter. 

“Cassian…” 

He doesn’t move an inch, but you see how his eyes search you. It encourages you enough to start talking - mumbling. 

“It was all a misunderstanding, Cassian,” you breathe, trying to make your words audible. “Your hand - I wanted to take your hand and stay with you, but I was a coward. I have always been a coward - but now, I’m trying not to. I am trying to do the right thing, the thing I actually want to do. And what I want… I want to apologize, Cassian. To tell you how much I regret not choosing you then. And I want - I want you to forgive me and talk to me again, as freely as you did that night. Because I hate the way you look at me now.” 

He is now fully turned to you, studying you with his hazel eyes. “That’s what you want?”

You nod, out of words.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say his lips curve upward slightly, almost unnoticeable, but before you can truly see it, he turns again to the railing. 

“I- Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you - for being honest.”

You eye him wearily, having not expected that to be his answer at all. “It’s the least I could do… after everything,” you mumble in response.

“You didn’t do anything, Y/n. You had all the right to not choose me over your father.” Your lips part, taking in his words. “And I- I have no right to be mad at you, either.”

You open your mouth, but close it when no words get out. You try again. “But my father had no right to insult you, Cassian. And it was so wrong of me to not defend you - to go with him and let you go like that.”

He turns to face you again, his eyes calmer and understanding. “You are not responsible for what your father does, and I’m sorry I made you feel that way, I was just… sad.”

“Sad?”

And silence. His stare keeps you pinned in place. 

“I wanted you to take my hand, Y/n,” he speaks eventually, a faint smile on his lips. “I wanted it so bad. And I hated how much sense it made - what your father said; that you wouldn’t want to take my hand.” He mumbled lowly, “So much sense.”

You realize the true meaning behind taking his hand. Your mutual understanding of what it truly means for both of you. So much more than the mere feeling of his hand holding yours. 

And what your father had told him… It breaks your heart that he thinks they could be anything close to true. 

“My father spoke out of anger and prejudice, Cassian.” You hold his gaze, making him understand how good he is through your eyes. “And I told you I wanted to take your hand,” you remind him softly, still processing his confession. 

He looks down at your stiff hands, as if he may touch them. You wished he would.

“I have something to tell you,” you whisper, not quite preventing the words from getting out.

You watch him blink slowly, his eyes darting away before landing on you again. He knows. You instantly know he knows. You feel it. 

“So you feel it, too?” he asks. “I wasn’t sure then, but now… I feel you.”

“What?” you breathe. 

“We are mates,” he says, sounding both sure and uncertain. 

You feel it again; the string between you.

Your mate.

And after what feels like a lifetime of silence, you finally smile, not helping yourself. Feeling tears roll down your face, you jump into his arms. 

Of course he knows.

(previous part)

-Characters by Sarah J. Maas

a/n: i will (very quite surely) write a third part, which i have already written a bit. sorry this one took me so long, but i am, and will still be these days, busy. thanku for reading and i love love when yall comment, so yeah... thanku and bye :)

[fatuismooches]

I've written a few pieces about Dottore with a fragile! reader which you can see here, here, and here. I wanted to expand on this concept a bit because the brainrot is real.

You befriended Dottore at the Akademiya (I think the same reader from this piece too) and life was good. Those 20-page papers were a pain but dorming with your lover made it all better.

Until you begin to feel a bit off. Headaches become more frequent, and you start to feel a bit more dizzy than usual, but you chalk it up to just stress. Being a scholar is no easy task, after all. At first, Dottore seems to believe this as well too. (He has forced you to down the most disgusting medicine to make you feel better after all.)

Only this time, the medicine seems to have no effect. All you can hear during the lectures is the pounding of your head and ringing of your ears. After classes, the only thing you can manage to do is flop down onto your bed while you listen to Dottore fiddle with some parts. He doesn’t let you leave until you feel better. It may be some kind of new bug going around, he hypothesizes.

Even after a while, you don’t feel better. It feels like your whole body aches if you even move a muscle. The food tastes like nothing and you struggle to hold your hand still to even write a sentence. The worst part is that you can’t hide your predicament from your lover. You two literally live together in the Akademiya after all. The only thing that baffles your lover, is that he can’t seem to understand your sudden condition. He makes you stay in the room and forbids you from doing anything extraneous. 

The only problem is, you have missed dozens of classes already. And whenever you go, the professor always ends up calling you out in front of the whole class for your dropping eyelids. The less-than-polite words of your fellow scholars ring in your ears.

So it doesn’t come as a surprise to you when the higher-ups tell you that they’re kicking you out of the school. If only the Akademiya actually cared about their students. You’re very, very, very tired on the way back from the office, holding onto the walls for support. As much as you want to stay with Dot, since you were kicked out, you can’t live in the dorms anymore. You feel far too ill to live by yourself much less get a job, so your only choice is the local hospital.

Perhaps this is where the more… illegal activities begin. Hospital fees are no joke, you know. Someone had to pay to keep you there, and neither you nor Dottore had that kind of money. So really, no one would notice if a few people started disappearing, right? Dottore’s always wanted to dissect a human body. It would be quite educational as well as worth the money. And the classmates who made fun of you? They’d meet a similar fate.

But the doctors there aren’t much help either. So you just spend your days either by yourself, maybe passing the time with a book he lent you, or with Dottore whenever he visits. Runs tests on you without the staff knowing because there’s no way he’s trusting them, but it was to no avail. You let Zandik do what he wants because it was hard for you to care much anymore.

Also - you bawling your eyes out about how miserable you feel because of this stupid sickness. It ruined your life. You can’t do anything by yourself anymore. Your smile is virtually gone. What if he leaves you, you cry. You’re useless to him. It’s at this point, that Dottore swears that he would cure whatever illness you were afflicted with. No matter the process or the atrocities that he would need to commit. No matter who gets hurt. No matter the insults that get hurled at him. He would see to it that you were back on your two feet, cooking, fighting, studying, whatever you wanted.

Also - Dottore bringing you to Snezhnaya after Pierro recruits him. Only thing is that you’re in a coma at this point so you don’t wake up until a few years later. Waking up to the sight of three other Dottores’ in the room almost shocked you back to sleep. At this point with all the fancy technology and funds he has, your health has been better than your school days.

Also - the clones kind of being in awe of you. All they’ve seen of you is your sleeping form. Only Prime actually knew you. So that’s why you always have at least one of them following you around wherever you go. Prime is amused at this. Okay, and remember when the Omega Dot said that he was the most selfish clone of them all?? Him hogging you from the other clones. Nah because I don’t think he likes the other clones very much. Wants to keep you to himself so the clones absolutely dread whenever Prime leaves them alone. He hates when you ask the other clones for things. Smirk drops rather quickly.

[icallhimjoey]

AAHH my favorite bitch back at it again! This will be a 5 chapter fic, correct? Because we best make him the FILTHIEST of martinis that makes him drop to his knees and kiss the floor we spill drinks on walk on. He better recognize we are more than just cute 😤😤😤

well, best we can do is TRY, isn't it? And that is, if Martin will let us... Wordcount: 3.7K

---

Mistaken, Not Stirred

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“Surprise, surprise. Look who's back again. For the, what, fifth time this week, is it?”

“That’s... that’s no way to speak to a customer.”

You let your mouth smile so hard, it made your sarcastic eyes disappear entirely.

“What can I get you?”

“Oh, that’s all right, I think...” Joe started, and Martin reached to place a drink down on the bar where Joe would usually sit. Joe pointed at it for you to see, like you were dumb to even suggest you had to take his order. “I’ve already got one waiting. But thank you. Next time.”

Disrespectful idiot.

You didn’t like Joe.

You did. You liked Joe a lot. But you didn't like him, you know?

It had been a few weeks of this now, and the comments had become more and more biting. Always said with smiles – ones that didn’t reach your eyes, nor his. Never mean or actually bitter, but there was definitely a “you suck at this job you stupid cow” vibe coming from him, and a “you come here too often you sad sack of shit” vibe coming from you.

It made Martin bite away sly smirks and swallow his obvious laughter when he witnessed you interact with each other.

You just didn’t like how Joe seemed to act like he was above you in this bar, even though he didn’t even work there. Only vaguely knew the manager. Came in a couple nights a week, mostly by himself because he didn’t have any friends.

You didn’t know if that was true, but who the fuck spends hours in a bar by himself if they have actual friends to hang out with, you know? Man was a loner. A real loser.

Shame he looked so good. And shame that it always made your heart beat faster when you saw him walk in every couple of days. You’d tell it, fucking knock it off with the palpitations, I don’t have time for this shit, he called us inadequate, you stupid bitch.

Cute too, sure. He had called you cute as well. It was why he made you blush just by looking at you.

But he’d wished Martin good luck with that one and he obviously had meant you. So you didn’t like Joe. Even though you did. And even though he’d been right.

Because Martin really did need good luck with this one, you thought, mentally pointing a fat thumb at yourself. Martin hadn’t called you inadequate to your face, yet, but… the message was clear.

No one else got told to just go sit and to closely watch what he did. See how he made drinks. Learn from what you could observe. 

Martin had said it all politely, but had grabbed onto you by the shoulders and steered you around the bar without any hesitation. Gestured at the barstools there and… you were a little dumbfounded at first. 

“Just... so I just sit…? And watch?”  

“It’s a little too busy to have so many bodies behind the bar.” 

You were in everyone’s way a lot, is what he meant.

James had shoved you aside more than once and had dropped a bottle of sticky syrup when he bumped into you. Somehow that was your fault. You’d been standing in a spot you weren’t meant to be standing, because apparently you had to by now be able to anticipate his every next step all night long.  

You sat down closest to Martin’s station.  

Decided if you were going to be tasked to watch and learn, you might as well watch and learn from the best.  

It had been three days since you’d been called cute by a stranger and three days of trying to mix the perfect dirty martini.  

And it really shouldn’t be so difficult. You knew the steps. You knew what went into the glass. You could do everything exactly the same as Martin would do it, but somehow, you thought it always didn’t come out right.  

Martin said yours was good. Had tasted the dirty martini you’d mixed before opening just to show him you knew exactly how now, and he’d said, “Yea. Good. So that’s one drink down.”  

Only thirteen more to master from the current menu.  

And then whatever other random off menu drinks people would ask for. Like frozen cocktails that weren’t on the menu. But there was blender behind the bar, and people would go, “I see you have a blender, can I have this drink, but have it frozen, please?” and Chloé would tell them, of course! And then would have you try your hand at it. 

You weren’t sure if she was giving you the orders she knew you were going to fuck up just to mess with you.  

But you were kind of fucking everything up, off menu or not, so, probably not. It was likely more an issue of incapability on your end than a malicious thing on hers.  

Martin made you sit and watch him, and after a little while, he passed you a little notepad and a pen. It was weird to have someone rest their head on two stacked fists on the bar all night. Taking notes made it look like you were actually doing something. So Martin started giving instructions on what he was doing whenever he could, whenever he felt he had the time to do so, to give you things to write down.  

He didn’t have a lot of time to do so, though, so you just started writing down what you saw. Wrote down ingredients. Step by step instructions. Utensils and glassware used. 

You had to be quick though. 

Martin was fast.  

You had to keep eyes on his hands and hope that what you were writing down was still readable after.  

In your focus, you hadn’t noticed that someone sat down next to you. 

Someone who now had to sit at the long end of the bar, cringe, eyeroll, so very annoying, because you so happened to have taken the seat he’d usually occupy.  

Joe sat down and sort of watched you for a little bit. Looked at what you were doing. Puzzled together why you weren’t behind the bar doing your job, or trying to do so at least, and instead hogged his favourite seat.

He saw how you didn’t break eye-contact with Martin’s hands and chuckled to himself when he saw your handwriting.

There was no way you’d be able to decipher that. Didn’t even look like you were writing down words.

He looked on as your pen slipped off the paper and left a mark on the bar. 

“Careful, that’s the end of the note right there,” Joe said, condescending, too late to actually be helpful.  

You rubbed at it with a finger and quickly got your eyes back on Martin. 

You’d missed a step. 

Shit.  

“I’m sorry, I’m trying to pay attention because,” you paused, wrote down what Martin did with some lemon zest.  

“Because…” Joe egged you on. 

“Because apparently, I can’t mix my cocktails right.”  

“Oh,” you heard next to you as you watched Martin finish the drink, followed by, “So, you’re aware?” 

Hm?

What the fuck? 

You frowned as you looked down at your note and tried to process if what you just heard had been right. Then you slowly looked up, eyes first, then your head followed, and, oh no, this was the guy.

There wasn’t even time to think of a smart comeback quick enough, because the realization immediately made you move onto different things.

“Dirty martini!” you exclaimed, eyes wide, and you immediately got up. Well. You tried to immediately get up. The barstool scraped against the floor loudly, but it didn’t move back far enough, and you got caught between the chair and the bar and it made your tits land on the edge awkwardly before you turned and let your feet find the floor properly.

The whole scuffle of it made the little smile on his face break into an actual laugh.

“Careful,” Joe laughed as he hovered a hand near you that did nothing, all pretend helpful.

But the second you were off the seat, you got instructions to get back on.

“Sit back down.” Martin said, eyes not even on you, and it was stupid how quick you climbed back onto the seat again. It was also stupid how you were legitimately proud of yourself for succeeding at something Martin asked of you.

“This one’s for Joe,” Martin said as he placed the drink he’d just finished right in front of this guy. Joe, you’d just learnt. “But you can get him a dirty martini next if he’ll have one.”

Martin looked at you like you were a child, eyebrows raised up high on his forehead, and then when he turned to Joe, he broke into a grin. It felt like it was a smile that made fun of you a little, but then he said, “Let me know what you think, I need to sort the Christmas menu.” and you hadn’t even considered the menu changing soon.

Fuck.

That meant there were more drinks you were going to have to learn how to make. Things with seasonal ingredients. Things that were more festive. Things that included fire maybe, and you weren’t ready to light yourself on fire. You weren’t ready to see the horrified reflection of your hairdresser in the mirror as you explained that it was just an accident, and could she please fix it because you had a big New Year’s Eve party to attend soon?

 You didn’t get to make Joe his dirty martini that night.

Or the next time he came in.

Or the time after that.

Instead, you got to listen to him wince, hiss and then laugh when you dropped a full tray of drinks over yourself before you could even step around the bar to bring them over to the right table.

Instead, you got to see him hide a giggle when you held a bit of orange peel the wrong way when you squeezed it over a drink, spraying the juice right into your eyes.

Instead, you got to see how he seemed playfully impressed when you bit back at a comment Chloé made about you needing to get out of the way after she bumped her hip into you, and you’d said that it wasn’t your fault she had a fat arse.

When you looked at him though, he’d pretended to be absolutely scandalized. Like he was on her side for it. Like he was about to go, "Are you just going to take that, Chlo?" and egg this on.

When he didn't see you look, you'd seen him smile softly to himself and, you know what, he could actually piss off for real, who did he think he even was in the first place?

You’d apologized to Chloé immediately after, terrified Chloé would be offended, mortified you’d started an actual fight, but you’d seen a flicker of joy across her face, and you had felt comfortable enough to show a little of a smile in return. Felt like the first little bit of acceptance, of you speaking her language, and all it took was a little gas to the fire.

Instead of getting to make Joe a dirty martini, Martin made you do a million other things. He had you take peoples orders, had you learn how to close the bar to make opening easy and efficient the next day, had you prep ingredients the correct way, and had you do mundane shit like cleaning floors, tables, toilets, et cetera, et cetera.

You basically got to do anything but make drinks.

And Joe was the type of person to give you tips from where he was sat. Unwelcome shit. Things like, “Missed a spot here,” when you would wipe down the bar, or, “That table has been waiting for ages,” when you were just about to go over to take their order.

But Joe was a guest, and you were meant to be friendly and polite.

So you’d smile your most inauthentic smile and would tell him thanks in your flattest voice.

It always made him laugh.

Which, in turn, always made Martin smile.

Weird how that worked.

“Good evening,” you’d tell Joe when you’d see him walk in, all exaggerated faux politeness which he easily accepted from you. Before he’d even be able to go and sit down, before the coat was even off, you’d raise your pen to your pad and would ask, “What can I get you?”

And Joe’d just smile, like he couldn’t help the grin, and then he’d nod his head down, scrunch up his nose and point towards the bar before walking over to where he always sat. Where he’d take his coat off and reveal he was wearing a shirt with the first three buttons undone, sometimes even four, showing off literal cleavage. You didn’t need to get him anything. He’d get whatever Martin was already loudly shaking in his shaker.

It felt a little like you were put on the bench. By Martin. By Joe. Like you got to be a part of the football team, but didn’t actually get to play at all.

Didn’t get to take Joe’s order.

Didn’t get to make any drinks.

After a few shifts like that, James took pity on you, and when Martin left him in charge for the rest of the night, he’d given you an order to make.

Fuck yes.

Excellent.

And Joe was there, too!

Maybe if you did this right, James wouldn’t bat an eye if you just started on a dirty martini after, to slide over to Joe and to do what Martin always did. Ask him what he thought of it. Ask him to give a lengthy review which you knew was going to be nice words only, topped off by the satisfaction you’d get from him expecting the worst and then tasting the best.

You wanted to see that face. Feel it in your bones.

The Simon-Cowell-watching-Susan-Boyle-for-the-first-time face.

But then you didn’t do it right, did you?

You poured all liquids into the cocktail shaker and closed it properly, like you’d been shown how, but, you weren’t meant to put all liquids into the shaker, were you?

You were meant to keep the carbonated drink to the side and add that directly to the glass after you’d mixed the rest of it.

You only shook it twice.

Maybe three good, violent times, to really get the ice to rattle.

The cocktail shaker exploded in your hands.

You gasped as the cold drink hit your front, and stood there, frozen as the drink dripped down your face.

You saw Joe very slowly reach and wipe underneath his eye with his middle finger as he rapidly blinked, like a little drop had made it onto his face.

There was no way any of that had gotten onto him, but the fact that he pretended that it did was just as infuriating as it was embarrassing.

James and Chloé stood there frozen also, until James reached for a dishtowel and hit you in the face with it.

“I think maybe Frank needs help,” he had then said after you’d finished cleaning, and were sent upstairs to join Frank by the door.

Not the worst job.

Frank was nice, didn’t mind a break from playing solitaire on his phone for a chat, but... joining Frank by the entrance was the bar equivalent of being put on time out, and Frank knew it too.

When he saw you come into view as you dragged your feet up the stairs to where he was sat, he smiled and said, “What’d you do this time?”

You plonked onto the barstool next to him in the small little hallway and sighed as you leant back against the wall.

“Put fizzy drink into a shaker.”

You bonked your head against the wall behind you, once, twice, three times.

“Shook it.”

Frank huffed a laugh, said, “Nice.” and got back to his game on his phone.

“When do you think I'll get fired?” you asked jokingly.

“Hmm, a week, give or take.” Frank answered, eyes on his phone, and you couldn't help but laugh.

“Nice.”

As the night came to a close, you saw people out along with Frank. Opened the door for them. Wished them a lovely rest of their night.

Just when you thought you might as well go down to help James and Chloé with closing, the both of them came up the stairs, talking, laughing, both in their coats already.

“Hey, what’s...” you faltered, confused. There was no way they’d actually finished already.

“We’ve done most, you’ll be fine finishing up, yea?” Chloé asked. It wasn’t a question for you to answer though. She was already standing outside when James tried to give you some last instructions.

“Use the key in the cash register, leave it in the letterbox after locking up.”

You just looked at him. Blinked a few times, because, were you allowed to do this on your own? Would Martin be okay with you closing the place by yourself?

“You got this!” James smiled, and you knew it was just that he was happy to be fucking off early for once.

When the heavy door fell shut behind them, you stared at it a second before you huffed a humourless laugh.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I still got half an hour on my clock,” Frank said after checking. “Do you need any help?”

You considered it for a moment.

“That's kind of you, but... I actually don’t, thanks.”

You didn’t.

Martin had practically let you close on your own before. He’d just been sat at the bar whilst you worked around him, big grey folder opened and pen in hand, doing whatever admin needed doing.

“Join them. Have a... somewhat early night.”

It was late.

“You sure? Can’t place blame with me for anything if I’m not around.”

“Fuck off,” you laughed. “I’ll be fine.”

You said goodbye to Frank, closed the door behind him and sighed.

Fine.

This was fine. You could close by yourself. Lock up by yourself. You’d be there for opening the next day anyway, so if you were to leave anything undone, you’d be able to pick up where you left off, stepping on your own toes, no one else’s.

You made your way back down the stairs.

Around the corner. 

Past the toilets.

Down the dark hallway. 

Into the bar, where... there was loud music playing. Loud music.

When you stepped inside, you were fully expecting to be alone but then realised: you'd not said goodbye to Joe yet.

And there he was.

Behind the bar.

Hands near the sound system, like he was trying to figure out how to use it. The song skipped to the next one, and Joe clapped his hands together once before he held both arms out wide as he spun around.

Teeth bitten into his lip, he made eye-contact with you near the entrance and... danced. Did a stupid hip and shoulder shake to the beat before he clapped in his hands again.

You frowned, loudly shouted, “Guests aren’t allowed behind the bar!” as you made you way over.

Joe completely ignored you. Got really into his old-man-at-wedding dance as he lipsynced along, all playful, all goofy.

When you were close enough, he grabbed a wet dishcloth and was about to throw it over. He waited for you to hold you hands up, to get ready to catch it, but you just said, “Yea, great, the tables probably still need doing, thanks.” as you slapped him on the shoulder, passing behind him to get to work behind the bar.

Not before you changed the song to something you liked, asserting power over Joe, because you worked here. Not Joe.

He could treat this place like a second home all he wanted.

You were closing the bar, so you got to choose the music.

And you expected to turn back around and see Joe get into his coat, dishcloth abandoned on the side.

You expected an overdone smile, a snarky comment, a mocking smile with narrowed eyes as he’d insincerely wish you good luck.

You expected to have to go and look to see if Joe paid for this drinks.

You expected he probably hadn’t, because by now you’d clocked in on this weird agreement Martin and Joe had, but you were going to make him pay regardless.

What you weren’t expecting was to turn back around and to see Joe bent over a table, hips wiggling as he wiped it down, focussing on a seemingly extra sticky bit, mouth pouted and brow furrowed.

Oh shit.

You didn’t like how that worked something in the pit of your stomach.

You also didn’t like how you watched Joe clean a few tables and then saw him catch you staring.

You snapped out of it and pretended you dropped something, just so you could duck down behind the bar for a second.

When you got back up, Joe had moved on to do more tables, and you were glad that he ignored the staring. He could’ve absolutely made a sassy comment to embarrass you, but he’d chosen peace over violence tonight, so it seemed.

Dirty martini.

Yes.

A filthy one.

You could make him a dirty martini as a silent thank you, because there was not a chance you were going to say those words aloud.

Just make one and then leave it out on the bar for him to find as you cleaned up behind the bar so you could pretend you didn’t even care if he liked it or not. Be all casual about it.

But then Joe looked up at you again, and a small smile grew into a wider one and there was no way he wasn’t going to slag you off for something, so you abandoned all plans and just... went for it. Asked him in an almost challenging way, no smile to be detected, with eyebrows slightly raised,

“Dirty martini?”

---

The Taglisted

@adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @chrissymjstan, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

[corroded-hellfire]

Okay okay so dad!Eddie picking up his kid after preschool instead of Reader and taking them out for ice cream as a treatttt? ily wifey

Anything for you, my darling! So glad that you love dad!eddie just as much as I do! 💖

Words: 1.8k

“Surprise, baby.”

The hands on your hips startle you, making your husband chuckle against your ear. He slides his hands around to your front and tugs your body back against his.

“What’re you doing home?” you ask.

“Slow day at work,” Eddie says, pressing kisses against your shoulder. “Figured I’d take the afternoon off and spend it with my family.”

Grinning, you spin around in his arms, and reach up to cup his cheeks. “Well, aren’t you just the sweetest man ever?”

“That’s what they say,” Eddie retorts with a wink. 

“Well, I was just about to leave to pick up the little troublemaker,” you say. “But I think he’d like it if his Daddy showed up instead.”

Eddie’s eyes light up, the most adorable expression on his face. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” you say with a laugh. “But watch out for those moms.” You pout, holding a finger up at him. “They all think you’re hot and you’re mine.”

“Like any of them could compare to you,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. He presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Should we go out to dinner tonight?”

“Spoiling us today, aren’t you?” you ask with a smirk. “Sounds nice, though.”

Giving you one last kiss, Eddie pats your ass, making you squeal as he pulls away. “Maybe tonight we’ll try and give the rugrat a little sister.” Before you can respond—a flush coming to your face—he throws you a wink and is heading out the front door. Eddie could be a menace, but he knows you love it. 

The halls of the small school are loud as Eddie makes his way to his son’s classroom. There’s a small crowd surrounding the classroom door, mostly of mothers waiting to pick up their small children. 

“Eddie, right?”

Eddie turns his head to see a vaguely familiar looking woman with short black hair, giving him a blindingly bright smile. 

“Yeah,” he says, giving a polite smile in return. He really hopes she doesn’t expect him to remember her or her child because he’s coming up short. 

“I’m Eva. Andy’s mom.”

“Right,” Eddie says, nodding his head. He’s almost positive he’s never heard her nor Andy’s names before.

“Your wife is usually here, right?”

Obviously, since I’m not, he thinks. 

“She sure is. Figured I’d come get the little one today,” he says. 

“That’s so sweet,” Eva coos. “You’re such a good dad.”

I mean, he’s my kid too, Eddie thinks. 

Thankfully, the classroom door opens, saving Eddie from having to come up with a response. Over a dozen tiny humans pour out of the room, scattering like ants to find their parents. A joyful and familiar gasp greets Eddie’s ears.

“Daddy!”

“Jack!” Eddie grins and scoops his son up in his arms, peppering kisses all over his face. He’s distantly aware that some moms are watching him, and he’s not sure whether he should tell you about it to say that you’re right, or to ignore it so you don’t get that little nerve twitch in your eye that happens when you get jealous. 

“I missed you!” Jack wraps his little arms around Eddie’s neck, making his heart swell. The four-year-old pulls back to look at his dad. 

“I missed you too, pal,” Eddie says. “How was school?”

“S’good,” Jack says as Eddie places him back down on the ground. He reaches his little hand up and grabs onto his father’s. “We learned a new song. And then we got to color, and I stayed mostly in the lines this time.” 

Eddie can’t help but beam as his son chatters on about his day, leading his dad by the hand towards the exit of the school. Once they get to the car, Eddie picks Jack up again, pressing a few more kisses to his face as the little boy giggles.

“Daddyyyy!”

Ceasing his attack, Eddie chuckles and smooths down the light brown curls adorning his son’s head. His hair might be a little lighter than his dad’s, but his eyes are that same intense brown that has mom melting with a simple look, just like she’s always done with dad. 

“Let’s get you buckled in, yeah?” Eddie sets Jack’s small backpack down on the seat and helps Jack get situated in his booster seat. Unable to resist pressing another kiss to his boy’s head, Eddie does so one more time before getting into the driver’s seat. “I was thinking. How would you feel about getting some ice cream?”

Jack’s eyes light up, making Eddie grin from where he can see him in the rearview mirror. 

“Yes!” Jack squeals. 

Eddie turns the radio on as he pulls out of the parking lot. Ozzy Osbourne’s Crazy Train is playing and as Eddie begins to sing along, he hears Jack attempting to sing along, mostly babbling along to the general tune of the song. A glance in the mirror sees Jack shaking his head around as well, an honorable attempt at head banging for a toddler. When Eddie parks in front of the ice cream parlor, he unbuckles his seatbelt and turns around to face Jack, playing the air guitar to the song. The little boy giggles and starts to flail his hands around in a good imitation of air drumming. The song ends and Eddie lets out a deep breath. 

“Ready?” he asks his son.

“Ready!”

Getting out of the car, Eddie scoops his son out of the backseat and holds him up over his head. 

“Super Jack!” Eddie calls. The toddler holds his tiny fists in front of him like Superman soaring through the skies. Grinning, Eddie lowers him and holds the boy on his hip as he steps into the ice cream shop. “Okay, what flavor do you want?” 

Jack hums as his big brown eyes take in the wide variety in front of him. Eddie can practically see the drool leaking from his mouth. “Stwawberry!”

“Strawberry,” Eddie repeats. “Sounds good. Sprinkles?” Jack turns his head to give his father a look of, “duh.” Eddie chuckles and rubs his hand against his son’s stomach. “Right, right.”

Once Eddie has his cone of mint chocolate chip and Jack has his strawberry with sprinkles, the two sit across from one another in a red vinyl booth in the 50’s themed parlor. 

“How was school?” Eddie asks. 

“Good,” Jack says, little legs kicking underneath the table.

“What did you do?”

“Dunno,” Jack answers.

“You don’t know?” Eddie raises his eyebrows. “You telling me that I send you to preschool everyday just for you to come home and forget everything you did? Are they brainwashing you?” Jack giggles and shakes his head. “They hypnotizing you?” The little boy continues giggling even though he’s not sure what “hypnotizing” means. But it’s his daddy joking with him, so he’s going to laugh. 

“Had show and tell,” Jack says after another bite of ice cream. “I showed the buttons you put on my backpack.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks with a grin. “How’d the rugrats like the Iron Maiden and Megadeth pins?”

“They liked Casey’s pet bunny better,” Jack says with an adorable pout. 

“Kids got no taste,” Eddie says, shaking his head. 

“Daddy?”

“Jack?”

“I want—.”

“A bunny?” Eddie interrupts. “Sorry, pal. I don’t think so.”

“No,” Jack says. “S’not what I want.”

“What is it then? More ice cream? We’re going out to dinner with Mommy, so no more.”

“I want a baby sister.”

Eddie almost chokes on the lick he just took of the bright green ice cream. “What?”

“Brian brought pictures of his new baby sister,” Jack says of his best friend. “He told us all about her and I want one.” 

“Jesus, you and I are more alike than we already knew,” Eddie mumbles under his breath before addressing his son. “Uh, I’ll talk with Mommy about it, okay?”

“K,” Jack says as he finishes up his ice cream. “Brian says his Mommy carried the baby anyway. So yeah, ask.”

Eddie chuckles, knowing his son is envisioning his mother holding a baby in her arms, instead of how Brian’s mother carried the kid’s baby sister. 

Eddie carefully opens the front door, balancing his sleeping son in his arms. Whether it was the sugar rush or the lulling drive home, Jack had passed out halfway to the house. Quietly shutting the door behind them, Eddie presses a kiss into Jack’s curls. Padding softly down the hall towards the little boy’s bedroom, Eddie meets you coming out of your shared room.

“Hey,” you whisper, smiling at the toddler tucked up in your husband’s arms. Eddie rests his head against the soft curls and throws you a wink.

“Hey, gorgeous. Looks like all the excitement from having Dad pick him up has worn him out.”

“Either that or a sugar high,” you say. Eddie’s eyes widen and before he can open his mouth, you laugh and gesture to where a pink splotch has smooshed against Eddie’s shirt from your son’s. “Strawberry, huh?”

“What a messy rugrat,” Eddie says with a sigh. He smooths down some of his curls, gazing down fondly at the sleeping boy. 

“Like father, like son,” you tease. 

“Oh, more than you know,” Eddie says with a smirk. Raising an eyebrow at him, you follow him to Jack’s room. 

“What’s that supposed to mean? The moms at school aren’t flirting with him too, are they? Because then I have serious concerns.”

Eddie huffs a laugh as he lays Jack down on his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle blanket. 

“No,” he says as he stands back up. “Though apparently Andy’s mom knows me for some reason. Ah, there’s the twitch of the eye! Anyway, no, your son told me he wants something today. Something I very recently told you I’d like as well.”

“And what might that be?” you ask, following Eddie as he walks out of the bedroom. 

Eddie snorts and shakes his head. “You’re going to think I’m lying.”

“Since when have you ever lied to me?”

“Okay,” Eddie says as he walks into the kitchen. He turns around to face you, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Jack told me he wants a baby sister.” Your eyes widen, making Eddie laugh. “Swear to God. He said Brian brought in pictures of his baby sister and now he wants one.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you decide to throw a curveball at Eddie. “Okay. Come on.” You turn on your heel and stroll out of the kitchen.

“What?” Eddie asks, following you into the hallway.

“Do you want to get started or no?” You look down at your watch. “We’ve probably got half an hour before he wakes up. Want to get a move on it, or what? Babies don’t make themselves.”

“Shit, yeah!” Eddie wraps his arm around your waist, practically throwing you into your bedroom. Your laughter crackles through the house, but Eddie puts a hand over your mouth. “Gotta be quiet, sweetheart. Or am I going to have to put that mouth to use?”

[pinguwrites]

very polite request asking for reader coming home late to find neil eating out his fleshlight because he misses you please? 🥺

I grinned like the grinch when I saw this 😃

Drabble: You catch your boyfriend Neil eating out his fleshlight

Pairing -> sub!neil lewis x girlfriend!reader

Warnings: um eating out fleshlight?, oral sex f receiving, sub!neil, dom!reader, established relationship, slapping, baby & good boy nickname, mild degradation/praise

Disclaimer: Watching the Detectives characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

“Mmm.”

You paused in your tracks, setting the groceries down on the kitchen counter as you strained your ears to listen for the strange noise. When you didn’t hear it again, you let it go and put all the diary products you bought in the fridge, but then it happened again—another “mmm”, but this time, you could tell where the sound was coming from.

The neutral expression on your face was immediately pulled upwards into a grin. Now you knew what it was.

You walked as quietly as you could to the master bedroom, expecting to see your boyfriend with his cock in his hands, only to see him with his fleshlight, mouth to the entrance, licking and sucking and groaning as he rutted his hips against the bed, occasionally slapping his own face like you did to him during sex.

You giggled, delightfully surprised. You knew Neil was needy, but to pretend he was eating you out? That was something else entirely.

He whipped his head around the moment he heard your laughter, and immediately, his face went beet red. He pulled his tongue out of the fleshlight and tried to cover his cock with a nearby pillow, even though you’d seen it about a thousand times, and whimpered.

“If you wanted to eat pussy, you could have just asked, baby,” you teased. “Such a loser.”

Flustered, Neil hid the toy underneath the blanket. Like that would do anything. “I—I thought you were going to a friends house,” he said, tone raspy and needy. “You said you weren’t going to be home till midnight,” he added.

“Yeah, well, my friend canceled.” You looked him up and down, gaze predatory. “I’m glad she did. Otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten to see this.”

“M’sorry,” Neil apologized, a terrified look in his eyes. He was never this nervous when you caught him being horny. “I won’t—I just, I . . .” He looked up at you. “I missed you! You’ve been gone all week. Working, running errands, and we haven’t been able to—you know—and I just got,” he tried to make a gesture with his hands, when he realized he didn’t even know what gesture to make.

You walked over to him and straddled yourself in his lap over the blanket. He placed his hands on your hips, like they belonged there, the glint in his eyes desperate.

“I’m not mad,” you said softly, running your fingers through his hair. “I think it’s kinda hot. You like pleasing me so much?”

Neil’s muscles visibly relaxed. “Yeah. Makes me feel good, too.”

He watched as you took of your pants, sliding down your panties slowly. He tried to pull it down faster, but you swatted his hand away, and he whined an, “Ow!”

He retreated, watching carefully. He didn’t dare touch his own cock, nor place his hands on you again. He didn’t want to be met with a punishment, not when you were clearly letting him get off.

“I’m right here.” You hovered your wet pussy over his face, intent on riding him till his nose and lips were covered with your cum.

He lifted his head up, almost touching your folds. But he waited for your permission, like the good boy you knew he was.

“Well? Eat me out, Neil. I don’t have all day.”

Taglist:

@henrywintersdearestgirl

@shroombloom-rry

@meetmeatyourworst

@mrkdvidal1989

[phonydiaries]

I am begging politely for something with number 20 from your one word prompt list?? Maybe something fluffy to save me from the angst of whatever bloodbrown has asked for? (Luv you bloodbrown)

Hope you are doing well <3

I am SO excited that not one but two people asked for 20 because I was so so hoping for an excuse to extrapolate on my promise headcanon from this post so here it is! Thank you so much for the ask <3 megafluff ahead!

Promise Me - P x Reader

It was well known that sunny days were not so easy to come by in Krat, a city most commonly overtaken with a stark and looming gloominess. So on a rare sunny day, eager to take advantage of the warmth which so often eluded you at the hotel, you practically dragged P to the kitchen in search of decent picnic-ing supplies. There, you loaded up your pack with sandwiches and fruit and a bottle of some sparkling something-or-other. Pino of course couldn’t really partake in the food, but it was more the aesthetic of the picnic that really mattered, and he had seemed interested in the whole ordeal besides. 

Along with all the goodies, you stuffed a carefully folded blanket and a hardcover book into the pack. Lately you’d spent a great deal of time wandering the library with your trusted puppet, and he’d taken quite the liking to simply lazing about as you read to him in hushed tones, often with his head settled comfortably in your lap, listening intently. 

Now, as you headed for the shimmering daylight of the courtyard you realized one very important piece of the picnic was missing; P himself. You huffed, sure that the damn puppet had wandered off again, as he so loved to do. It was not the first time he’d silently slipped away from you, either distracted or whisked away or otherwise lost in his own thoughts, and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last. 

For the better part of the next hour, you were relegated to the rather painstaking and exhaustive task of lapping the hotel in search of the lost puppet. At one point you even entailed the help of the other hotel’s guests, but neither Sophia nor Eugenie could offer any better guess at where he might’ve disappeared to. Finally, tired, rumpled, and out of breath from your efforts, you stalk back to the courtyard, your head hanging low in anticipation of a far less rewarding picnic alone. 

As you round the path, digging around aimlessly in your bag, you come to an abrupt halt. The picnic pack falls to the ground with a light thunk and the puppet crouched in front of you glances up. He grins in blissful ignorance of the tremendous effort you’d just expended in search of him. He motions for you to come closer and points to a blue butterfly which emerges, glistening, from its cocoon, buried away in the branches of a rosebush. He’s seemingly enamored by the unfurling of the insects iridescent wings, and offers a finger of his legion hand to it gently. 

Lovely, just lovely. You think.

I’ve lost him to a butterfly.

Exasperated, you pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. “Yes, it’s very beautiful P, don’t get me wrong, but your habit of running off like this is frankly…” you pause, wondering how to put it delicately. “Just. The worst.” 

P’s shoulders sink and he looks almost hurt by this, though you can tell that even he can’t deny his tendency to explore precariously and without warning. It had landed you in loads of trouble at the worst of times, namely active combat, but this was neither here nor there. 

“You know what, I ought to make you promise to knock it off.” P opens his mouth, about to speak before you press a finger to his lips. “No no- a regular old promise won’t do either. Pinky swear it.” You say, offering your finger to him. He only stares blankly at it for a moment, then tips his head quizzically at you. This must be a new concept to him, you realize, and a creeping mischievousness takes root in your mind. With faux bewilderment, you gawk at him. “Your father never told you about pinky promises?” 

Pinocchio shakes his head fervently, now obviously eager to gain this oh-so-coveted knowledge. You take both his hands in yours and speak sotto-voce, as if the matter were of great importance. “It’s an ancient human tradition, a vow of the utmost seriousness. It’s a promise so great that once spoken aloud it would bond the two of us forever!” 

P leans in, enamored, and gestures between the two of you with curiosity. He seems, if anything, eager to engage in the grand ritual you’ve made this silly little thing out to be. You turn away with a saddened look. 

“Though I don’t suppose you’d be interested in such a thing. After all, it’s quite the big responsibility-” But P is already tugging you by the hand and nodding vigorously. You can’t help smiling at his enthusiasm; he is after all, nothing if not incorrigible. 

Swiftly, you situate yourself in the grass across from P. 

“Now,” you start, taking the puppet’s wrist in your hand and turning it over as if in careful examination. “This is a very serious business. I mean it.” P’s chin juts forward and he looks up at you, his head tilted in rapt attention. He looks like such a little boy, you think, sitting criss-crossed in the grass, hanging on your every word. 

“Once the oath is taken we can never ever break our promise. Ever. Are you sure you’re ready for that, P? To pledge your fealty right here, right now?” You ask, punctuating each grave word with a squeeze to his hand. P’s brows knit together in unbearable sincerity as he offers you a lone dutiful nod. 

You exhale deeply, giving P one last solemn look. “Well then. I warned you.” 

You hold your own hand out, elbow resting on your knee, your pinky finger extended in P’s direction. He watches you and with precision copies your posturing. He takes a moment though, to deliberate between his legion and human halves, before propping the fleshy arm upon his knee just the same as you. 

You straighten up a bit and clear your throat, speaking in a manner uncharacteristically clear and commanding. 

“By the power vested in this hand, I, and Pinocchio too of course-” You say, gesturing towards the boy. You assume, being a puppet of few words, he won’t mind you speaking for him. “Swear to always stand by each other's side, ever valiant.” 

P’s gaze is locked with yours as you speak, hanging on your every word. He is painfully earnest, and in a moment of overwhelming fondness for the poor puppet you add, perhaps getting a bit carried away with the whole thing “And.. and to always protect one another, never allowing harm to befall their most trusted friend.” 

You expect some surprise or even protest at this added condition, but instead Pinocchio settles the palm of his legion arm calmly over his heart, leaning ever closer with all the conviction in the world. 

And with that your finger brushes his, and you find much to your surprise, that you’ve begun to believe in your own dumb joke. Somehow, as your tiny fingers lock together, you feel the tremendous weight of this promise in the depths of your heart. You wonder if somehow by mistake you made magic here, in the soft green grass with a puppet much too naive and trusting and eager for his own good. You decide if there truly was an unbreakable contract forged between the two of you this day, you don’t mind. You don’t mind at all. 

When you glance at Pino, you find his eyes squeezed shut, his pinky finger wound tight around yours as if bracing himself. 

“Your oath is sealed.” You say, and watch P’s eyes open one at a time, uncertain. “Bonded for life. How does it feel?” 

P blinks a couple times in consideration, and allows his fingers to thread neatly through yours. With his other hand, he leans in close and presses it firmly but with the utmost care against your chest, and although you know logically he’s only a puppet, you swear you feel warmth radiating from his touch. He presses his forehead tenderly against yours, so close that you feel the breath of his words dance along the surface of your skin. 

“Safe.” He says simply. 

And although the circumstances are silly, you can’t imagine a truer word.