#challenge fic

[beyondthesefourwalls]

And You Will Find Me

Summary: The last thing Bradley expected when he was assigned to the unofficial “singles without a plus one” table at an old friend’s wedding was to meet who he thinks might just be the love of his life. But that’s exactly what happened. 

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n)  (can be read as Forgetful Boy and Pumpkin from RYEWID, but not necessary to read that first)

Word Count: 3.8K 

Warnings: Language, fluff, love at first sight. 

Notes: Written for @roosterforme's ‘80s Rocktober Playlist Fic Challenge, and as part of The Forgotten Moments Collection, but can very much be read by itself. Song selection is Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper. 

The Forgetful Boy and Pumpkin first meeting one shot that I’ve been wanting to write since I referenced it in part three of RYEWID. The fact that I could do it for a challenge for one of my favorite people makes it even more exciting for me.  

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Bradley Bradshaw: Table Four 

He grabbed the gold trimmed cardstock with his name on it, sipping on a glass of bourbon as he made his way into the reception hall. It didn’t take long to find his placement with the elaborate centerpieces displaying calligraphic numbers. 

There were only two open seats left at the table, which was occupied by a group of people who were all staring down at their phones. He glanced around the rest of the venue, seeing all of the other tables bustling with conversation and laughter. He raised his eyebrows in surprise at the awkward silence that seemed to hang over this one in particular. No one seemed to know each other, and it didn’t look like they planned to make any effort to change that. 

He groaned to himself and wondered, not for the first time, why he had thought attending this wedding was a good idea. 

He hadn’t seen Sean in years, and had never even met Lucy. The two had been roommates for two years at UVA and had somewhat kept up with each other over the years, if only barely. They had always joked about how on the off chance either of them got married, they’d make each other's guest list. Bradley had laughed when he got the invite in the mail. He had waited until the last minute to send in the RSVP, but had ultimately decided why not? He wouldn’t know anyone there, and hadn’t managed to find a date in time, but he hadn’t been to Philly in way too long. He’d make a quick weekend out of it and see an old friend.  

He hadn’t realized until he got into town how awkward going to a wedding on his own would be. 

He sat in one of the empty seats, nodding to the guy on his right who forced a smile that looked just as awkward as it felt before turning his attention back to his phone. 

Bradley was glad he had thought to refill his drink before cocktail hour ended. 

He was scrolling through his phone when he saw a flash of orange out of the corner of his eye at the same time the seat next to him was pulled back. 

He glanced up briefly to offer a quick smile to the new arrival and looked back down at his emails, only to do the quickest double take of his life. His breath caught in his throat and he swore his heart stopped, only to start again three times faster. 

Holy hell. 

“Is anyone sitting here?” you asked, and Bradley had to blink a few times before he realized you were talking to him, because your voice was mesmerizing. 

“All yours,” he managed to say. He would have winced at how his voice cracked if he wasn’t trying to remember how to breathe. You offered a warm smile as you gracefully sat down. You were a vision in a long sleeve, burnt orange dress that looked like it would be silky to the touch. When he glanced down, he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop from groaning when he saw the slit going up the side and the nude heels on your feet. You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you were sitting beside him fiddling awkwardly with your place card as he stared at you.

“I’m Bradley,” he finally managed to introduce himself, extending a hand out. You looked at him in surprise. 

“Oh! Hi.” You took his hand with a soft, gentle grip, your eyes locking onto his as a spark went through his whole body. Your eyes widened a fraction and he wondered if you felt it, too. He almost didn’t catch your name when you said it because he was so distracted by the feeling. “So, bride or groom?” 

“What?” 

You laughed softly, and he worried about going into cardiac arrest at the sound. “Are you here for the bride, or for the groom? I assume since you’re at this table it’s either one or the other and not both.” 

“This table?” 

You glanced around at your other tablemates, still busy with doing everything they could not to make eye contact with anyone else. Then you leaned closer to him, and he couldn’t help but do the same. You whispered to him like you were sharing something salacious. “The singles table. The ones who came alone and who wouldn’t know anyone else, and who they’re kind of surprised RSVP’d ‘yes’ to begin with.” 

Bradley let out a loud laugh, and you giggled right along with him. The sound was like music. It earned you both curious and maybe even annoyed looks from all those at your table. He hadn’t considered that before, but now that he thought about it, you were absolutely right. 

“Groom,” He replied, “College roommates. You?” 

“Bride,” you told him. “Ironically, also college roommates.” 

“Well would you look at that,” Bradley smirked, and he knew the amusement that sparkled in your eye was mirrored in his. 

He was interrupted from saying anything else from the DJ tapping on the microphone to formally start the reception. As the bridal party danced their way into the room to Celine Dion, he kept stealing glances at you. To his pleasure, you were stealing them right back. By the time Sean and Lucy were seated at the front table and the DJ announced that dinner would be served momentarily, Bradley could barely look away. There was a smile on your face that indicated you didn’t mind at all. 

It continued that way through the meal that was eventually placed on the table. You didn’t speak much as you ate, both of you feeling like you were disrupting the other six people spread out on either side. But you kept catching each other’s eyes and smiling before you looked away, and his cheeks were nearly hurting at how big his smile was.

Fuck. 

Bradley barely even knew your name, and he was already down bad. 

You leaned over to him during the speeches that started immediately after dinner, and he caught another whiff of your perfume. He tried his best not to noticeably take a deep breath of the scent. “Do we think the best man is already drunk?” 

“Oh, he absolutely is,” he confirmed. The man in question was laughing hysterically at a joke he just told, already swaying on his feet. “I saw him throwing back an entire flask right before the ceremony.” 

Your nose scrunched up in the most adorable cringe he had ever seen. “Yikes. I don’t really blame him though. The maid of honor is his ex-fiance. I’m pretty sure she left him for groomsman number three, but I can’t confirm.” 

He looked at you with wide, curious eyes. “Did Lucy tell you that?”

“No,” you laughed, mindful of keeping your voice down to not draw any attention to yourselves as the slurred speeches continued. “I drove up last night and then was bored before the ceremony today. Social media is very informative, you know.” 

Bradley choked out a laugh, absolutely amazed at you. “Are you a private investigator or something?” he asked, genuinely curious. 

You picked up your wine glass with a smirk, and you winked at him before you took a sip. “A journalist, actually. But close enough.”  

A journalist. Bradley filed that information away in a new folder in his brain that had your name on it. 

Clapping drew his gaze away from you, and he realized he had completely shut out the rest of the speech. He cleared his throat and joined in, and the two of you watched as the bride and groom did their first dance. It felt like it lasted forever, but that was probably because he was itching for it all to be over so that he could talk to you again. He wanted to know more about you. In fact, he found that he wanted to know everything about you. 

Everyone clapped again when the dance came to an end, and Bradley was turning to you before the DJ even finished announcing the beginning of the party. 

“What are you drinking?” he asked, and he thought the look you gave him was a mix between delighted and amused. Your eyes cut to your mostly empty wine glass where he could very much see exactly what you had been sipping on. He felt heat creep up his cheeks in embarrassment. 

“White wine,” you said anyway. “What are you drinking?”

He fought the grin that was threatening to take over his face. You were keeping him on his toes, and he found he quite liked it. “Bourbon.”

“Ah. Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m about due for a refill.”

“Is that so?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. You glanced around the table where the other occupants were back to scrolling through their phones or focusing on anything that wasn’t another human being. He almost laughed at the look on your face when you turned back to him. You grabbed your clutch from the table and the two of you rose out of your seats at the same time without even having to say anything. 

“After you,” he grinned, and your smile made him dizzy. He ordered another whiskey while you got Pinot Grigio. He laughed when you told him you weren’t allowed another glass, because too much white wine apparently made for a very interesting night. He filed that little tidbit away, too. 

With fresh drinks in hand, you turned to walk back to your assigned seating. The lights had dimmed and the music had turned to something upbeat and very cliche, and the majority of the attendees had converged on the dancefloor. You navigated around them carefully. His hand hovered over your lower back, not quite touching, but wanting to. You drew to a stop when you were only a few feet from the table, your head tilted to the side. 

“I hate being seated at these tables,” you muttered. “Always makes me feel like maybe I shouldn’t have come.” 

Bradley had been thinking the same thing until you had sat down beside him and shook his hand. He couldn’t help but flex his fingers as he remembered how his skin had buzzed at your touch. He glanced around the whole venue again, not quite knowing what he was looking for until he caught sight of the patio through the large windows.

“Do you want to ditch and go outside with me?” he found himself asking before he could stop himself. He held his breath when your eyes snapped to his, slightly wide in surprise. But they softened quickly, and you nodded, tucking some of your hair behind your ear with your free hand. 

He held out an arm, and after only a moment of hesitation, you slipped yours into it. He almost felt like he was floating as he guided the two of you toward the open doors. 

The patio was decorated beautifully. It stretched almost the entire length of the building, and twinkle lights lined the ceiling and the pillars holding it up. Smaller tables and furniture were spread out amongst the concrete and the two of you settled into the soft cushions of one of the outdoor coaches. 

It was a mild night, even for early February in Philadelphia, and the heat coming from the fire pit in the middle of the table in front of you was enough for it to be comfortable. You sat in silence for a beat, but it wasn’t awkward. Your fingers danced over the rim of your wine glass and Bradley’s gaze followed as you brought it to your lips. You caught his eye as you swallowed, and he felt the heat creep onto his cheeks at being caught staring at you again. 

He cleared his throat, taking a sip of his own drink to gather himself. “So. A journalist. What do you write about?” 

“The hypocrisy of old men, mostly,” you shrugged, and Bradley’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You laughed at his expression. “I cover politics,” you explained. Your joke registered with the context and he chuckled. 

“So just how hypocritical are the old men of Philadelphia?” he asked, and you seemed delighted that he was going along with it. 

“Eh,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “Very, I’m sure. But I cover Washington, which is definitely worse. I live in DC.” 

Bradley’s breath caught in his throat. Excited disbelief had his eyes widening. There was no way. In the back of his mind he had admittedly already been thinking of how often he could feasibly make the drive from Andrews to Philly, because he knew he had to see you again. Tonight couldn’t be the only time, not with how he was feeling and how he was pretty sure you were, too. 

“Small world,” he finally managed, trying to keep his voice steady despite his racing heart, and now your eyes were widening back. The happiness in them was hard to miss, and, holy shit, you were excited about this. He felt the urge to pinch himself. 

“You live in DC?”

“I’m at Naval Air Facility Washington doing extended training at Joint Base Andrews,” he told you, still in a bit of disbelief, but feeling giddy. 

“Ah. Navy man, huh?” 

It took a moment for Bradley to realize his cheeks were red again. He doesn’t think anyone has ever made him blush before, or at least not as many times as you had tonight already. 

“Naval Aviator,” he elaborated. 

You smiled, and it felt like the whole world disappeared except for the two of you as you held out your glass. He raised his to tap against it in cheers. “Here’s to small worlds, then.” 

“And to college roommates,” he added, and your laugh took his breath away. 

The two of you sat there with your drinks in hand, and the conversation flowed effortlessly, talking about everything and anything. He found himself hanging onto your every word. He couldn't help but be drawn in by every single thing about you. He learned that you grew up here in Philadelphia and, like him, you were an only child. You got your undergrad in journalism and then a masters in political science and moved to DC before the ink was even dry. You were a little bit addicted to coffee and true crime podcasts, and you were a huge Philadelphia Eagles fan. He told you about growing up in Virginia and being in the Navy, and about his love of the 80s and playing piano. 

But you talked about more than just the surface level stuff, too. As the occasional sound of laughter drifted outside from the dancefloor and the fire pit glowed in front of you, you told him how sometimes, you wondered if you were really cut out for your career, because the nature of what you had to cover drove you absolutely crazy, and you felt like people focused on the wrong things. You tended to have a self-imposed terrible work/life balance and your anxiety crept up on you because you’d ignore it for too long. You weren’t close with your parents, and your bucket list was full of things you were scared you’d never be able to do. 

In return, he let you in on the reason he wanted to join the Navy in the first place, and growing up with a single mother and what it was like when she got sick. He confided how he had a bad habit of hesitating both in and out of the air, and how he didn’t really have any connections or relationships outside of the Navy that went more than just skin deep or a memory of what used to be. 

He shared more with you than he had with anyone else, and somehow, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. It was like he had always known you, or at least like he was meant to now. 

You were so caught up in each other that neither of you realized just how much time had passed. Before you knew it, the music from inside was starting to soften and the lights were turned back on, and the servers came outside to start collecting empty glasses and trash. 

“Oh wow,” you breathed in surprise, “We missed the whole reception.” 

You stared at each other in silence for a moment, and then at the same time, you burst into laughter. 

“Can I walk you back to your hotel?” he asked you once you had calmed down. You had mentioned how you were staying just a few blocks away, and the thought of you walking alone or getting a car this late at night didn’t sit right with him. It was strange, how he already felt the urge to protect and care for you. 

Plus, he wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet. 

“I’d like that,” you said softly, much to his relief. 

The bride and groom were inside wishing everyone goodbye, and you both took a moment to speak to your respective reasonings for being there. Neither of you lingered for long, and the balmy night air greeted you again when you exited the building after collecting your coats. 

You didn’t hesitate to link your arm with his when he held it out this time. He felt warm all over with you this close to him. Despite the late hour, the city was still alive with people out and about and laughter and conversation spilling out onto the sidewalk from every business you passed. He held onto you a little tighter when you walked by some decidedly way too drunk people, but you didn’t seem to mind. You kept the conversation going just as easily as it was when you were sitting on the patio, swapping embarrassing stories from your college days. You were walking through the park, nearly at your hotel, and it was when you mentioned something about dancing on a table at a frat party after too many shots of Fireball that he came to an alarming realization. He stopped so abruptly that you were slightly yanked back into his body, and you looked at him in concern. Before you could ask what was wrong, he was blurting the words out. 

“I never asked you to dance.” 

You gave him a confused look and then snorted in amusement. “I suppose you didn’t.” 

“Oh my god,” he groaned, tilting his head back and slapping his palm to his forehead. “I had the perfect opportunity to dance with you and I never asked.” 

You were still laughing, your feelings clearly not hurt at his lack of consideration. But he was already digging his phone out of his pocket and swiping open his music app. He held it out in your direction. “Pick a song,” he told you. 

“What?” you laughed. “Bradley!” 

“I’m serious! Pick a song.” 

He pushed his phone a little closer, and with an amused look, you finally took it. You bit your lip as you thought for a moment before you started typing, and then the soft sounds of Time After Time were floating in the air. 

“You said you loved the 80s,” you said almost shyly. But Bradley smiled, taking the phone back and slipping it into his jacket pocket. The music was muffled now, but you could both still hear it. 

“It’s perfect,” he told you. He held out a hand for you to take, and once you slipped your palm into his, he pulled you close. You rested your head on his shoulder as you began to sway. The night was quiet and serene as you danced, and he didn’t know what he did for his night to turn out this way, but he was so glad that it did. 

When the song came to an end, you stopped moving, but didn’t separate. You picked your head up and looked at him, your eyes locking together. You didn’t say anything at first, but eventually, you sighed and a soft, reluctant smile tugged at your lips. 

“I should probably get back,” you whispered.

“Are you sure?” he asked, desperate to stay in your presence for as long as possible. You had entered his life so unexpectedly, and he was wishing with everything in him that you wouldn’t be leaving it anytime soon. “You aren’t going to turn into a pumpkin once the clock strikes midnight, right?” 

You shook your head at his joke, giving him a playful wink in return. “I don’t know. This does feel a bit like a fairytale.” 

Your words made him grow a little more serious, and he swallowed thickly as a charged energy seemed to settle over both of you. You bit your lip as you stared, your gaze wide and saying a million things at once. You had the most expressive eyes he had ever seen. He wanted to look at them forever. 

"You know," he said, his voice lower now, like he was afraid to disrupt the moment by being too loud. He brought a hand up to your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.  “This is not how I anticipated my night going.” 

The air between you crackled with unspoken words, his hand still lingering near your cheek. Then, in a move that felt natural and inevitable, he leaned in, and you met him halfway. Your lips touched softly, a spark of electricity passing between you. It was a kiss filled with promise, a taste of what could be. It was as if time stood still, the world around you fading away until it was just the two of you.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were left breathless. Bradley looked at you with a mixture of desire and genuine affection that should have scared him, but it didn’t. 

"Wow," you whispered, your lips curving into a shy smile. He knew exactly what you were feeling with that one word, because he felt it too.

He brushed his nose against yours, breathing you in. “Tell me I can see you again when we get back to DC,” he begged. 

You let your hand rest against his chest, and he was sure you could feel the pounding of his heart. “I was hoping so,” you said, and he breathed out a happy laugh of relief before kissing you again.  

Standing there under the soft glow of the lampposts, Bradley thought he might love you already. 

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Masterlist

Notes: I hope y'all loved this one as much as I did! I miss these two so much.

Special thanks to Mak and Em for all of their help, and to Mak for the banner!

Tag List: @roosterforme @mak-32 @wildxwidow @gretagerwigsmuse @lilyevanswhore @too-fangirl-to-fuction @fav-fanficssss @notroosterbradshaw @teacupsandtopgun @sometimesanalice @sunflowersteves @littlezee80 @je-suis-prest-rachel @khaylin27 @infamous-reindeer @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @yanna-banana @avengersfan25 @wkndwlff @sylviebell @lt-spork @indynerdgirl @greatszu

@mssleepy876b @kassieesworld @mizzzpink @a-serene-place-to-be @sexualparkour @sadpetalsstuff @almostgenerallyalways @alilstressyandlotdepressy @ccbb2222 @taytaylala12 @shelbycillian @mavrellover91 @vici111 @lunamooncole @blackwidownat2814 @pisupsala @bellaireland1981 @jynxmirage @shanimallina87 @na-ta-sh-aa @callsign-magnolia @chaoticassidy

*I do not give permission to copy/steal, translate, or publish elsewhere*

[strawwritesfic]

Legolas x Female!Elf!Reader: Adore

Summary: Gimli had better just get used to the fact that he’ll never understand Legolas completely. 

Rating/Tags: All (Gimli & Legolas; post-Return of the King; Mirkwood Elven Guard!Reader; some lingering Dwarves vs. Elves tension; pipe smoking)

Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Tag List: @imaginesfire​

Adore

Good was finally ending one long, uncertain journey to start another with a certain end. Better was a journey of companionship and seeing sights one could not rest for on the first. Better yet was being an honored guest in your companion’s home where your kin had once been prisoners and little else. Still, Gimli felt, one could grow tired of elves–and dwarves could grow tired of them more quickly than anyone, warm welcome or no. Better than all the rest was quiet, stars peeking through the Mirkwood trees, and a chance to get at his pipe.

Legolas’s feast would continue on for many hours more. No one could celebrate like his people. For all Gimli knew, he could rest for the next night and day and wake to continued revelry. There would be time enough for him to return. 

Gimli settled himself comfortably against the base a wide tree trunk to smoke at his leisure. He took his first breath in of sweet-smelling smoke and was in the process of blowing it in rings toward the leaves above his head when a slender figure stepped silently past him into the nearby clearing. Eyeing the figure's back, Gimli wondered if Legolas realized that he was there. The sound of singing continued in the distance behind them, but Legolas’s back was to the celebration, his head turned up to watch the sky.

Five minutes of that, and Gimli decided he had had more than enough. Patient dwarves might have been, but friends had no need to be patient with the sudden oddities of a friend. He cleared his throat. 

“Do you plan to join me, or do you intend to stand there like an Ent for the rest of the night?” Gimli asked.

Legolas made no sign that he had heard. 

Snorting, Gimli put his pipe back in his mouth. Now that he thought about it, this behavior of Legolas’s was nothing new. They had left Gimli’s family in high spirits, but as the road wound on toward Mirkwood, Legolas grew more and more introspective. The silent rides atop their horse had nearly driven Gimli to insanity, but he had hoped that coming home would lift his friend’s spirits. Clearly nothing had happened except to make Legolas seem less communicative than ever. 

Gimli ran a hand down his beard. Perhaps going back to the food would not be so bad. It would save him sitting there worrying fruitlessly over Legolas.

Just as Gimli made to put out his pipe, Legolas turned, stepping again toward the feast. Then his eyes fell on Gimli. Gimli blinked once at him. Whatever Legolas was thinking about, he did not want to share it with him. The elf blinked back, and his lips pulled up into a vague smile. He changed direction and soon was close enough for Gimli to touch.

“I had not realized you had left the celebration already,” Legolas said.

Gimli only squinted in reply. Was Legolas so truly out of sorts that he had missed Gimli entirely? Had Gimli been more familiar with any elf other than this one, he might have spoken with one of those here of his concern. As it was, all he could assume was that this was normal behavior for an elf and that coming home had turned Legolas more normal somehow.

“Aye,” Gimli answered gruffly. “I had thought my greeting five minutes past would have been enough warning for you, but I suppose you might have got into a bit of that Elvish wine.”

To his great surprise, the wan smile on Legolas’ face faded further. His eyes turned again to the stars. “Forgive me, my friend. My thoughts are elsewhere.”

This did not entirely discount Gimli’s suggestion that Legolas was simply drunk. Really, though, that would not explain Legolas’s silence over the many miles. Wherever his thoughts were still, Gimli was not wanted.

“Blasted elf,” he grumbled, though there was some good-nature in his tone, for at least Legolas was sorry. Mirkwood had not reclaimed him so much that they were no longer friends. “How about you tell me where your thoughts have been for the past fortnight? Perhaps that will make me more inclined to forgive you.”

“The past fortnight?” Legolas repeated. Gimli was pleased to see that this had at least got Legolas’s attention back to present. Legolas blinked again, then he let out a small sigh. “My thoughts are ever elsewhere, I suppose.”

“That is not an answer, of which you are well aware.”

“I am.” Another sigh. Though Gimli would not admit it, his attention was piqued. In all their time of knowing each other, Legolas had never acted in such a manner. “I am sorry, Gimli. I have been worried about returning here for so long that I did not realize that you had noticed my concern.”

“Concern about what? Either tell me or do not. So long as I can rest this evening knowing you will be leaving this place with me in due time, so much the better.”

Legolas’s smile turned sad. He did not look away this time, yet Gimli felt somehow that Legolas was no longer looking at him but rather through him. 

“What good does it do to dwell on that which will not be?” Legolas asked. “It only makes the absence that much more apparent, speaking of it more so to those who were otherwise ignorant of the absence to begin with.”

“The absence of what, pray tell?” 

It rankled, Gimli realized, knowing that Legolas wanted to keep secrets even after all this time. There had been no holding back during their visit to Gimli’s family. Legolas had been treated just as a dwarf, a dwarf prince even. Gimli had been treated well by Legolas' family, too, but he hardly cared about the niceties of elves when there was only one elf he truly cared about remaining in Middle Earth. 

“Spit it out, Legolas! Have we not been together long enough to speak frankly to one another?” he said.

“I do not mean to keep you in the dark. It is only that I received bad tidings from my father this night. I fear that coming home might have done me more harm than good. There is but one thing I hoped for on the way here, and now I know there is no chance of it happening.”

“You are more difficult to interrogate than an orc!” Gimli bemoaned. He threw up his hands in defeat. A long night of singing it was. “Keep your secrets, Legolas. I need them not. I only hope that you will be back to your old self by the time we make ready to leave.”

Legolas smiled a bit more sincerely at that. “I do not intend to speak in riddles, Gimli. It is only that–”

A snapping branch interrupted him. 

Gimli’s hand went straight to the ax at his hip, but Legolas was even faster, his bow strung and arrow drawn before the sound came again, louder and faster. There were still elves close by, but this was closer, and not everything in Mirkwood could have been fixed by Frodo and Gollum’s deed. 

Gimli could hear Legolas breathing in the dark; his own breath sounded too loud in his ears. They stood together like that for several minutes, ears straining as the snapping condensed into swift footsteps. A straggler rushing to the party?

No. Just when Gimli thought that danger might be upon them, a young woman burst into their clearing. She was so out of breath, so obviously exhausted, that it took him half a minute to realize that she was an elf. Thankfully, it took him less time to understand the look Legolas gave her–and therefore the whole of Legolas’s behavior this night and those before. The bow fell immediately to Legolas side, and there was something in his gaze that Gimli had never seen before.

“[Name],” Legolas breathed.

There were many odd things about this elf. Never had Gimli seen one so tired, not even Legolas after taking down an Oliphant. Stranger than this, however, was your reaction to Legolas. Your eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but at the same time, you lifted one hand to your mouth.

“Legolas?” you asked.

Legolas joined you in a single bound, leaving Gimli to stand on his own once more. This time, Gimli did not feel the faint burning of frustration in his veins. No, this time Gimli felt nothing but amused. He hid a smile in his beard as he leaned back against his tree. He had not been sent away, after all, and this was something he most certainly wanted to see.

“My father told me that you were away on patrol, too far away to get here in any short time,” Legolas said in a soft voice.

You stood just a little away, as though frozen to the spot. When Legolas continued to look at you expectantly, you looked down for one moment before looking back up at him. 

“I was,” you admitted, then: “I am. They told me you were here, and I…ran.”

That much, Gimli felt, was obvious. 

Perhaps Legolas did not feel it was so, because he lifted a hand to gently cup the side of your face. “You’re warm."

“I ran as swiftly as I could.”

Legolas let out a soft laugh. 

Laugh? To think that all this time, Legolas was mooning over some woman in the forest. Gimli did not know whether to be annoyed or entertained. Both, he decided in short order--short enough order, in fact, that you and Legolas were still busy staring at each other in the dim starlight by the time Gimli had come to his conclusion.

“Does my father know you’re here?” Legolas asked.

“No, and there are so few of us left to look after the border. I should not have left, but–I had to see you.”

Legolas beamed. 

What could Gimli do but clear his throat? Much more of this presentation and he was likely to fall ill. Thranduil would not take that kindly, he was sure. 

The two of you practically leaped apart at Gimli’s interruption, though to both your credits, each of you recovered quickly enough. The familiar crease of the brow that appeared whenever Gimli first met an elf appeared on yours as well. This smoothed away as Legolas stepped over to him. Gimli suspected shock, as was common when anyone came to know if his and Legolas' companionship.

“[Name]," Legolas said, placing a light hand on Gimli's shoulder, "this is Gimli, son of Glóin. He is my closest friend, and it is to him that any thanks are owed for my safe return.”

Frowning, you looked first at Gimli, then slowly returned your gaze to Legolas’ face. Gimli expected it to stay there, but soon you were looking at him again. Then you inclined your head toward him. “Thank you, Gimli. For keeping him safe when I could not follow to do so.”

“My pleasure, Lady [Name], and it is a further pleasure to know of your existence.” 

It was Gimli’s turn to grin. His doing so made Legolas smile as well. It was a nice change from the consistent frown he had worn of late. You simply threw Legolas an appraising look and came nearer to take his hand. 

“He needs looking after, this one. I appreciate any help that you are willing to give,” Gimli added.

You opened your mouth to reply, but Legolas beat you to it. Unsurprisingly, his attention was elsewhere once more: “You said my father does not know that you are here,” he said, leaning closer to your face. “If you were to join us, he would know for sure. I would hate to subject you to his displeasure, and yet…”

Gimli could tell Legolas wanted to leave his welcoming party. Well, it was not as though Gimli could not sympathize. He hated to be left alone with Legolas’s friends and family, but this seemed a more important reason to run off. 

With a shake of his head, Gimli waved you and Legolas toward the deeper recesses of the forest. “Go on. I shall make your excuses for you.”

There was the briefest return of Legolas’ smile. “Thank you, Gimli.”

You two did not wait for him to wave you away a second time. Gimli watched until you disappeared into the tree boughs across the way. As he turned back to the feast behind, it was with a considerable weight gone from his shoulders. Legolas would be fine. Furthermore, if–and Gimli certainly hoped it so–you joined them as they headed onward toward the sea, maybe you would prove better at conversation than Legolas had proved to be.

[ncdover1285]

Title: Withdrawal

Author: ncdover1285

Pairing: Wincest

Rating: Teen

Warnings/Spoilers: wincest, self induced angst, he gets over it

Summary: After Sam and Dean have their moment, Dean decides that he has to look out for Sam and tries to pull away from his brother. It doesn't turn out the way he planned.

This was written for the @wincestwednesdays September Challenge

Word prompt for September 5: Withdrawal

AO3

[lokislastlove]

All In Good Fun (Billy Russo x Reader) one-shot

Summary: You’re the newest camp counselor, but you refuse to tolerate the senior counselors bullying.

Warnings: Teasing, pranks, sexual tension, heavy petting, groping. (Under 5k)

Notes: This is my contribution to our dearest @saiyanprincessswanie 3500 challenge. Congrats love, I hope you know how much we adore you around here! PROMPT: “I said I was sorry! What else do you want from me?" & Enemies to Lovers! 💕

🔥

“Okay, newbie, show us your fire-building skills.”

The group of counselors chuckle in unison as you look around the circle nervously. Your friend Tara elbows you gently until you get up from your camping chair and bend over the pit at the center.

One by one you delicately balance the logs against each other into a teepee shape around a pile of smaller kindling. Once satisfied, you move to reach for the box of matches when suddenly a rock comes hurling toward you and knocks down your meticulously-built pile.

“What the fuck?”

“Not sturdy enough, if those logs fell over they could’ve hurt someone.” Billy smirks before biting into a red apple with a loud crunch.

“Come on, Billy. Don’t be a dick,” Frank drones from the chair to his right.

“Hey, I just want us all to be safe,” Billy defends with his mouth half full.

“Well maybe start with not throwing rocks at people,” you snap before setting back to work.

Billy chuckles as he watches you rearrange the logs to a log cabin structure instead. You put a small teepee in the center and light it, vindicated by the rapidly crackling wood that fills the circle with a warm glow and the pleasant scent of cedar.

You stand with your hands on your hips and raise a brow at the way Billy’s dark eyes drink you in, “anything else?”

He grins into his apple, using his snack to stifle the No-doubt inappropriate joke on the tip of his tongue. You huff and go back to your seat when he doesn’t answer.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Tara says. “He’s been working here longest so he likes to act like he owns the place.”

The group settles into comfortable side conversations, with occasional interruptions to share a funny story. You start to relax into the group until your nerves spike at the mention of truth or dare. Downing the rest of your beer, you lean back and try to make yourself as small as possible, with any luck they’ll forget you are here.

You make it through half the group, letting out a breath of relief when Billy chooses Frank to torment instead of you, but that’s when your luck runs out.

“Newbie,” Frank grunts as he wipes his mouth, having successfully eaten a whole banana from between Billy’s thighs without the use of his hands. “Truth or dare?”

You eye Billy warily, “uh, truth.”

“Ha… there’s a shock,” Billy sneers.

Frank punches Billy in the shoulder and turns back to you with a smirk, “who is more attractive, me or Billy?”

The group collectively “ooh”s and giggle as they lean forward awaiting your reply with eager grins. The silence is palpable broken only by the random pops of the fire, though you can’t quite understand why this seems like such an important question. Billy remains perfectly still, the orange firelight casting a menacing shadow on his humorless expression. Frank just smirks and nods encouragingly.

Your eyes narrow at Billy, bitterness on your tongue just at the sight of him. The choice is obvious and you answer without a hint of uncertainty, “Frank.”

The group erupts into laughter and mockery, nearly everyone throwing jabs at Billy or cheering for Frank. Frank stands up and does a little bow. “Guess that settles it Billy. I win.”

You laugh along with the rest of the counselors, glad that you made it through your turn without further embarrassment, though admittedly still a bit confused. What did he ‘win’ exactly?

“Billy and Frank have asked all the girls which of them is hotter,” Tara rolls her eyes. “Every damn year they ask everyone. And for the past three years they have been split down the middle, but now that you’re here…”

She gestures to Frank gloating happily and you watch him as you relax back in your chair. Reluctantly, you look to Billy and find him glaring at you through the flames. His hard dark gaze sends an icy shiver down your back despite the warmth of the fire only feet away.

Shit. Day one and you have already made a dangerous enemy.

—

“Hey newbie, go grab the ketchup will ya,” Billy waves you toward the kitchen as he takes a seat at the large picnic table with the rest of the counselors.

He knows your name, he just refuses to use it because he knows it annoys you. Tara throws you a sympathetic look from her spot on the bench, but you are the last person standing so it would be rude to tell someone else to do it.

“Anything else, boss?” You sass as you begrudgingly set down your plate and round the table.

“Why? You offering?” Billy smirks as he stuffs a chip in his mouth and his eyes flick down to your chest.

Your lip curls angrily and you kick up dirt as you storm toward the building fifty paces away. God he’s awful. That smug handsome face and that sonorous voice only make you hate him more. Why is it the cute ones are always the biggest assholes? … Probably because they can get away with it.

You grab the basket of condiments on the kitchen island and head back to the table. Your cohorts chatter grows louder as you weave your way through the large trees, in a hurry to get back to your food. You glare pointedly at Billy as he watches you return but then suddenly his eyes are on your feet and his expression changes.

“Snake!” He yells, pointing to the ground in front of you.

You look down and startle at the sight of something coiled among the grass in front of you. An unnaturally high girlish squeal escapes as you drop the basket and jump backward. You stumble and collapse ungracefully to the ground as Billy and the rest of the table howl with laughter.

“Oh man,” Billy exhales, wiping away tears through his fading giggles. “That was too easy.”

You frown and look down at the rubber snake laying among the spilled condiments. That fucking asshole. You stand and brush off your clothes as you clean up the mess you made.

“That was a good one,” you concede, patting Billy’s shoulder as you place the grassy ketchup on the table in front of him. “I’m gonna get you back for that.”

—

“Girl, are you sure you want to do this?” Tara asks as she follows you into the kitchen pantry. “Don’t you think you talking out your differences would be easier… and less messy?”

You hand her the jug of maple syrup while you fetch the bag of bird seed shoved to the back of the bottom shelf. You sigh as you stand up and turn to face her with a serious expression.

“Are you serious? After he dumped that full jar of spiders into my canoe yesterday?” You scoff. “No, I think he definitely deserves this.”

She winces at the memory of you screaming bloody murder out on the lake before tipping the boat over to escape. You had to swim all the way to shore while Billy laughed so hard he almost capsized too.

“Ok, yeah that was bad. But.. you did put pink hair dye in his shampoo and plastic-wrapped all the boys toilets…”

You chuckle at the thought of Billy’s irate expression as he ran screaming from the showers with a towel clutched around his waist and half of his dark hair dyed petal pink.

“Aw come on it was funny and it will wash out in a couple days. And the plastic wrap is a classic!”

“Uh huh, except you did it to all the toilets in the mens room and ended up pissing off all the boys,” Tara sasses with a raised brow.

You grimace, “yeah, Frank was pissed… but he forgave me when I reminded him of how he had to help me fix the cabin after Billy flipped all our furniture.”

Tara let’s out a tired sigh, “yeah, OUR furniture. That’s my point. While y’all are trying to one up each other, it’s the rest of us that have to suffer. We didn’t ask to be apart of all this. It would be better for everyone if you would just stop and get over all this prank rivalry bullshit.”

You look down guiltily. You know you can’t do it forever. The kids will be showing up in a couple more days and you are supposed to be the mature ones, set an example. Tara’s right, you can’t keep this up.

“Okay, I hear you. You’re right…” you bite your lip as you eye the syrup in her hand and the bird seed in yours, “but just let me do this last one. I can’t let him off that easy after the spiders. I promise just one more and I’ll be satisfied.”

You bat your lashes and smile pleadingly at her until she groans out, “ugh. Fine. But I’m just a look out. Ain’t no way I’m going to get caught messing with Billy, got me?”

“Totally fair,” you grin and follow her out of the kitchen and into the silent night.

The crickets chirp loudly as you sneak through the trees, trying to minimize the crunch of the pine needles beneath your feet. You round the main building and head for the small dirt clearing used as a parking lot. The slick black Mercedes stands out among the beaten up hand me down cars. The blue moonlight practically sparkles off its spotless surface, the epitome of Billy’s pride and joy. He loves this car more than anything and that makes it the perfect target for your revenge.

“He’s gonna kill you if you put syrup on this car. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he makes you lick it clean,” Tara whispers, one hand on her hip as the jug weighs heavy on her other arm.

“You’d probably be into that wouldn’t you,” you quip, giggling at the way she tries to kick you as you pass. “But don’t worry I’m not an idiot.”

You tear open the corner of the heavy plastic bag filled with nuts and sunflower seeds. You reach in and pull out a handful of seeds before tossing them onto the hood of the car. The loud clatter has Tara hissing and you flinch in fear as you look around, listening for signs of trouble.

“A bit louder please,” Tara drones sarcastically.

“Sorry,” you whisper as you dip your hand in and quietly place the food in little piles all over every available flat surface.

By the time you are done the bag is half empty and you decide to scatter a few more handfuls of feed onto the dirt surrounding the car, just for good measure.

“Okay,” you huff. “All done. With any luck by the time he finds this it will be covered in bird and squirrel shit.”

Tara shakes her head at you, but the faint smirk betrays her amusement. “So what’s this for?”

She holds out the half-gallon jug of maple syrup and you take it with a wry smile. “You’ll see.”

There are six medium sized counselor cabins, all divided down the center to creates two identical sides, each side houses two counselors. It’s one of the better accommodations for camp counselors you’ve experienced. Still, you have to make sure you play nice with your roommate and neighbors or things can get awkward quickly.

Billy, however, has his own cabin separate from the rest with a prime location, central to the camp and near the nicest restrooms. But best of all is the wez golden view of the sunrise over the lake. It was meant for the camp owner but, due to their reoccurring absence, Billy used his seniority to stake his claim years ago.

“Not uh,” Tara shakes her head as you peek around the corner of the boat house. “There is no way I’m going anywhere near that cabin, and neither should you.”

“I’ll be fine, I’m sneaky,” you wink. “Just keep an eye out for anyone wandering to the bathroom or something, okay?”

“Mmm,” she hums disdainfully. “I swear if you get caught I am hightailing it out of here.”

“Yeah yeah, I heard you.”

With one last smirk you leave her in the shadows of the boat house and sneak toward Billy’s cabin with the jug of maple syrup tucked snuggly under your arm.

The cabin is dark but the closer you get you can hear his faint stuttering snores through the open window. You squat beneath the battered wooden frame as you inch toward the door. The window is a no-go, simply trying to remove the screen would be enough to wake him. Thankfully, almost everyone leaves their doors unlocked.

As you reach the small step beneath the door you slowly unscrew the maple syrup and set it down beside you. You stand and ease open the notoriously squeaky screen door, careful not to make a sound.

You let out a small breath of relief as you reach for the handle of the solid wood door and it opens without resistance. The door groans quietly after a few inches and you hear his snores break before returning to their quiet rhythm.

You push it open enough for you to squeeze through and venture inside before you can lose your nerve. You reach back and grab the jug, using a nearby rock to wedge the screen door open for an easy escape.

Finally, you turn to look at the cabins dark interior. The moonlight shines through the windows just enough to let you make out the small kitchenette on the left, the loveseat and coffee table in the center and the full bed tucked in the corner on the right.

Squinting, you sneak closer to the bed to find him sprawled across the mattress, one arm hanging off the side along with half of his head. The pink in his messy black hair is still noticeable even in the dim lighting and it makes you smile. You hold your breath and adjust the jug in your hands before tipping it onto the ground.

The gelatinous sugar pools on the ground silently as you swirl the jug around to make a large puddle along the side of his bed. The sweet scent of maple fills the room causing Billy to twitch and grunt. Your heart pounds against your chest as he turns his head into the mattress before laying quiet once more.

“Shit,” you mouth breathlessly. That was close.

You slowly back away toward the door, covering the whole floor with the sticky substance. In your focused state you accidentally bump into the door causing it to groan and your nerves to jump. You turn on your heel and rush out the door with a silent giggle, too anxious to look behind you and see if he had woken up.

“What happened?!” Tara whispers nervously as you reach her and take her hand, dragging her back to your shared cabin.

You laugh as you toss yourself onto your bed, adrenaline still coursing through your body, “oh, he’s going to be so pissed.”

—

“Ants! Fucking everywhere!”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing and duck your head down over your plate, focused on your food instead of the wild man storming into the mess hall.

“And my feet were covered in syrup, I couldn’t even put on my shoes! Which means I had to walk barefoot to the shower. It took me twenty minutes to scrub them clean!”

You choke on your toast as a laugh bubbles up your throat. Tara kicks you under the table and you cough, casually taking a sip of your juice.

“You!” Billy roars, as he stomps over and shoves a finger in your face. “You’re gonna clean it up.”

“Clean what up?” You ask innocently.

“Don’t give me that, you know damn well what mess,” he slaps his hand on the table in frustration, making the trays and glasses shake.

“Sorry, I meant to say WHICH mess,” you smirk, an evil twinkle in your eye at the look of confusion on his face.

“The syrup in my cabin… wait, what else did you do?”

You shrug your shoulder and glance out the large side window with a partial view of the parking lot. You smile as a few birds flutter past the window and draw his attention.

“Wha…” he breaths, his jaw going slack as he stumble runs toward the back door.

You had gleefully watched as whole storm of birds and squirrels feasted atop his car until all that remained were scraps and droppings. Your plan had worked just as intended.

“My baby!” He screams as he stands in the open doorway before rushing out to wave away the stragglers stick pecking at his hood.

“Shit, girl. I’d start running if I were you,” Tara advises with a smirk, the rest of the counselors gathering outside to watch Billy’s breakdown with smothered laughter.

“No way, I’m no coward. He deserved it. But a promise is a promise, no more after this,” you grin victoriously and Tara nods her approval.

—

Later that evening, just as the sun is about to set, you find Billy still obsessively rubbing down his car with a kitchen rag and muttering angrily to himself. He had barely spoken to anyone all day and didn’t participate in any of the counselor bonding activities or prep duties. So finally, after several pleas from your fellow counselors, you swallow your pride and search for him with the intent to apologize.

“Billy?” Your voice comes out a bit meeker than you wish so you pause and clear your throat. “Look, I think we should come to some sort of truce. The kids will be here the day after tomorrow and we can’t do our jobs with all this hostility.”

“Hostility?” Billy stops and turns, face twisted in incredulity. “I played a few practical jokes, sure… but what you did was way beyond hostile.”

“I’m sorry, but… what? That ‘joke’ with the spiders was, in fact, very hostile.”

He scoffs, “they didn’t even touch you. You jumped in the water like a scared little girl so fast it was hardly worth the trouble.”

You grind your teeth, jaw clenching as you try to remember you are here to make amends, “I’m sorry, alright? That’s all I came here to say. I won’t be playing any more pranks.”

You hold out your hand as he nears you, his scowl mirroring yours as he looks down in what can only be described as disgust.

“You think you get to ruin my car and my cabin and all is forgiven?” He sneers. “I don’t think so newbie.”

You scoff and turn on your heel to leave, “fine. Whatever. Fucking asshole.”

“Bitch,” he calls after you but you don’t turn back. Can’t say you didn’t try.

At dinner there is a tension in the air. Tara is quiet and Frank is uncharacteristically outspoken, trying to keep up a light conversation that continues to die quicker than he’d like. You chalk it up to the unsettled dispute between Billy and yourself. His scowls and passive aggressive remarks make it clear he is still bitter, and it’s likely everyone can feel it.

You, however, couldn’t care less. He deserved to get taken down a peg. It’s probably the first time anyone has been able to serve him a piece of his own medicine… or perhaps you’re just the only one stupid enough to try.

“Well, tomorrow is our last day of freedom before the kids come. So I think we should call it a night and get some sleep while we can,” Frank announces when the table goes quiet.

Tara stands quickly and you frown as you watch her rush off from the table without looking at you. What’s gotten into her? She can’t possibly be mad at you. You tried to apologize, but Billy is an insufferable arrogant dick head.

“Hey,” Frank says softly, grabbing your elbow to stop you. “Uh, so I just want to say that everybody was talking and we decided that you and Billy really need to settle this before that kids come.”

“I tried, Frank,” you defend. “I apologized and he just insulted me. What else am I supposed to do?”

“I know, I know,” Frank rubs the back of his neck. “And I’m sorry too… about him.”

“It’s not your fault. Hopefully when the kids get here he’ll be so distracted he’ll forget all about it and we can move on.”

“Yeah…” he grumbles and nods when you wave Goodnight and head to your cabin.

Your eyes follow the circle of light from your flashlight as you walk to your cabin and stomp up the creaky wood steps. You open the door and sigh as you switch off the flashlight.

“Hey wha…” you freeze as the screen door slams behind you.

You look dumbstruck at Billy stretched across Tara’s bed, feet crossed with one hand behind his head and another holding a book. He glances above the pages with narrowed eyes, likes he’s more offended to see you here than you are him.

“What are you doing here?” You growl.

“Well, someone turned my cabin into an ant farm so I had to relocate.”

“But… where is Tara?”

He drops the book to his chest with an annoyed sigh, “she is bunking with Frank, apparently. Very scandalous in my opinion. What will the children think? But they insist that this is for our own good.”

Your nostrils flare as you suck your teeth, “great.”

“Sure, for you maybe.”

You take a calming breath, “just stay on your side and try to keep your snoring to a minimum.”

He sits up suddenly, swinging his long legs off the bed to sit on the edge. “I think if anyone should be pissed about this it should be me. How do I know you’re not going to hang a steak over my head and try to feed me to the wolves?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you roll your eyes. “I respect wolves far too much to feed them something so bony and bitter.”

He scoffs out a laugh, “you really are a bitch, you know that?”

“Hey I’m not the asshole here,” you defend, resting your hands on your hips. “I said I was sorry! What else do you want from me?”

He goes quiet, glaring back at you until you shift and jut out your hip in irritation. His gaze follows your movements and you watch his eyes dilate as he scans your figure unapologetically. It is… disarming, to say the least. You cross your arms again, subconsciously trying to cover your body which causes him to smirk up at you through his thick lashes.

“What else are you offering?” His voice deepens as he lets his tongue poke out to wet his lips.

Your jaw slackens at his salacious tone, yet you cannot find the words, or coherent thoughts, for what it does to you.

“N-nothing,” you stammer getting flustered by your own weakness. God, why does he have to be so hot?

He hums and combs his fingers through his hair to brush it away from his face then stands. You take a startled step back by the unexpected movement. Has he always been so tall?

“I don’t bite… unless you’re into that,” he chuckles as he slowly nears you with his hands up as though approaching a nervous kitten.

“What the fuck are you doing, Billy? I apologized, okay. No more pranks.” It has to be a joke. He’s trying to get a rise and embarrass you.

“God, you’re cute when you’re mad,” he brings his hand up to pinch your chin and you shake him off stubbornly.

“Stop,” you frown, though your voice wavers at his soft touch and the way he looms over you so easily in the small space.

“Make me,” he smirks with a teasingly arched brow.

His breath is hot over your face and you shudder at the way your body yearns for him to embrace you. Both of his hands find your shoulders, those long nimble thumbs rubbing smooth circles over your strained muscles. Despite your best efforts to remain angry you find yourself relaxing into his touch.

“Billy,” you breathe as he dips his head down to yours, lips so close you can almost taste him. Your eyes close in anticipation… but nothing happens.

A small disappointed whimper slips past your lips when you open your eyes to find him pulling back and looking down at you with a victorious grin.

“Admit it,” he demands.

“Admit what?”

“Admit that you think I’m hotter than Frank. We both know that’s why you’ve been trying so hard to hate me.”

You scoff, “are you serious?”

“Say it,” he prods again and you twist against his hold, pulling his hands from your shoulders.

“God, you’re such an arrogant prick,” you try to turn away, intent on climbing into bed, but he stops you by slipping his hands around your hips to grope your ass.

You gasp softly and try to stifle the moan as he kneads you through your shorts. Shocked and secretly turned on by his sudden show of dominance.

“Mmm,” he hums happily. “Even better than I expected.”

“What are you doing?” You manage.

“I’m calling a truce,” he smirks before his lips crash against yours.

The kiss steals your breath away. Unlike your previous nervous first kisses, Billy’s confidence overwhelms you. It’s reflected in the way he is able to mold you to him, bend you to his will without a single word. You find yourself pliant to his subtle directions, so much so you barely notice when he has you laying back atop your mattress.

“Wha…”

“Do me a favor and stop thinking for a minute,” he stops you with a finger to your lips.

You nod dutifully, enchanted by his calm commanding voice and hypnotic brown eyes. His energy calls to a docile submissive side within you and you know, in that moment, you will let him do whatever he wants. The freedom of relinquishing that control is a surprisingly heady experience that leaves you fuzzy and buzzing with excitement.

“Good girl,” he praises when you relax into the bed, though you’re limbs still shudder slightly in anticipation.

A gasp catches in your throat when he cups your jaw and turns your head so that he can pepper kisses down your neck. Moans slip out without care, no longer concerned with propriety - or dignity for that matter.

“I could get used to those noises,” he chuckles as his hand slides beneath your shirt, slowly trailing toward your chest.

You arch your back trying to get him there faster. “Please,” you whine as he tickles the skin beneath your breasts.

“Mmm, so she begs too,” he teases and bites his lip as he watches you squirm beneath him. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

“You.”

“No no no, you can do better than that.”

You groan in frustration, your hips swiveling as his thigh gently presses against your core. You push into him, grinding against him as your need threatens to turn you ravenous. “Billy, please… just… use me.”

You don’t know why you said that or where that came from. Dirty talk has always made you feel silly, and this is the first time you’ve had to beg a man to touch you. It feels awkward to hear yourself in such a state, but you are far beyond caring.

“Oh, baby,” he groans, lowering his pelvis to rest against your stomach. “Do you feel how hard it makes me when you say things like that?”

All you can muster is a frustrated groan as your greedy hands travel up and down his chest, trying desperately to pull him closer now. Your neck strains in your attempt to reach his lips, he smiles into your light kisses before dragging a hand up your thigh. His fingers feel cool against your hot skin as they dip beneath the hem of your shorts.

“Oh,” your eyes roll as his deft hands meet your slit over your panties.

He presses firmly along the center, humming at the slick wetting his finger through the fabric. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

Your head tilts back in pleasure as he teases your clit. Barely a minute and you’re already nearing the crest of your first orgasm, embarrassingly really.

Your breathing picks up and he groans as you let out breathy moans of pleasure, higher and higher until the sound of the door rattling in its frame tears it all away.

“Shit!” You exclaim, sitting up and pushing Billy away.

He rolls off of you and reaches for your pillow to cover his crotch just as Frank takes a step into the room.

“Look, maybe this was a bad i-“ Frank stops his apology as he takes in the scene. His lips part in shock before twisting into a sly smile. “Oh, uh - never mind then.”

You bury your face in your hands, hot with humiliation. Oh god, will the embarrassment never end? Billy chuckles as you whine and fall back onto the mattress. You hear the quick zip of his jeans as he kicks them off followed by the click of the lock on the door.

“Now, where were we.”

Tags: @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @caffiend-queen @queenoftheworldisdead @emberenchanted @buttercupfangirl @needleandhammer @lokiswildheartcantbebroken @thiskindahotkindamusic @threeminutesoflife @jaspearl31 @queenyanna111 @phildunphyisadilf @delightfulheroshoeflap @mischief2sarawr @thebeastywithin666

[fracktastic]

Oh cool ok since I want to be tortured, let's do #11

Clearing out some prompt debt. The prompt was: 

11. things you said when you were drunk

Here I was, thinking I’d do something goofy and cute with it, but you want to be tortured, you say? Somehow, a certain scene from early S4 comes to mind.

---

She’s been dealing as good as she’s been getting. She deserves it - she knows she does - but it still stings to have it thrown back in her face. (It wouldn't feel like this if it weren’t true.)

She wants to snarl something back at him, shred all the overly hopeful, painfully naive predictions about her prospects he’d insisted on spouting when she’d first told him it was back. He’d tried so hard to put a positive spin on things, but it’s clear - painfully so - that he’s never seen doloxan work up close. It’s easy - so easy - to dismiss the treatment as a foregone conclusion when you haven’t smelled the vomit, cleaned the sores that won’t heal, prepared meal after palatable meal only to throw them away uneaten. And for what? A death that’s slower and messier. 

And of course she’ll die alone. Everyone does, in the end. They might be around you. Next to you. But nobody can be with you as you take that final step.

But meaningless?

Afraid her death would be meaningless? Where the frak did he get off? Every pilot, every crewman aboard the ship believed that if they died in the line of duty, it meant something. He said as much at every funeral and he made sure they believed it, because it was that thing, that kernel of promised valor that let the rest of them face it, day in and day out. But hers would be meaningless. Frakker.

So much for his rosy frakking outlook and his delusional insistence that it would all work out. She should’ve known taking him up on the offer of hospitality was a mistake. They still have the dregs of a civilization to run and even with the tears out of her system, she can’t quite imagine facing him again. Not now. 

Oh, she’d played her part, too - showed her claws, and let out a side of herself she’d almost forgotten about - catlike and vicious, looking for the weak spots to strike. She wouldn’t deny that now but with so much weight on her shoulders, a drunken Bill Adama is one more burden she cannot take.

There is an impulse, however brief, to leave that fistful of hair behind. Let him find it. Let him see. Let him clean up the mess for once and know - really know - what they're in for. Petty. Childish. Passive agressive. She wads up the strands and stuffs them in a pocket. Sets the impulse aside. Washes her face and sets about finding somewhere else to be.

[anniebotao3]

For the purposes of having a neat catalogue of my AO3 fic, I will re-create my old fic promo posts here, as well as add any new fic promo to this particular sideblog. The newest fic should be at the top.

I’m adding tags for filtering to this post too.

[hergan416]

Chronology: A Case Study

I haven't actually put my latest on tumblr! It is a late post for October 2021's DPOD Discod challenge for Seto Kaiba's birthday.

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!

Pairing: Seto Kaiba/Atem

Characters: Seto Kaiba, Mokuba Kaiba, Kisara, Amelda, Atem

Chapters: 1/4

[itsfirecat]

(text description in ALT and below the cut)

Based on some rumblings I heard, I ended up quickly throwing together a fun little WIP bingo sheet! I'll admit I largely wrote the prompts for writing, but I think a good number of them should also apply to art!

Ultimately, the goal is to have fun, and finish whatever WIPs you can (without burning yourself out or having a bad time). If you needed a sign to pick up that project you've been putting off, the time is now!

3x4 Bingo square titled "Finish your fucking fics february"

the top three across left to right read "Update your oldest WIP", "Finish a WIP that's been buried deep in your drafts", and "Finish a WIP that you haven't posted yet"

the second row reads "Finish a recent WIP", "Finish a WIP you're scared of" and "Finish a WIP that's been haunting you"

the third row reads "Update a partially posted WIP", "Finish any WIP/Free Space", and "Finish the next WIP in a series you've been avoiding"

the last row reads "Update your newest WIP", "Finish a WIP that's been ignored for at least 6 months", and "Finish the next chapter for a fic you've been meaning to for months"

[bebx]

AO3 writers when canon sucks:

[thevioletcaptain]

i genuinely don't care how good a piece of ai generated art or writing looks on the surface. i don't care if it emulates brush strokes and metaphor in a way indistinguishable from those created by a person.

it is not the product of thoughtful creation. it offers no insights into the creator's life or viewpoint. it has no connection to a moment in time or a place or an attitude. it has no perspective. it has no value.

it's empty, it's hollow, and it exists only to generate clicks (and by extension, ad revenue.)

it's just another revolting symptom of the disease that is late stage capitalism, and it fucking sucks.

[strawwritesfic]

The Tenth Doctor x Companion!Reader: Kiss

Summary: You can only hope he’ll give you more credit in the future...and maybe more kisses, too.

Rating/Tags: All (Post-Rose; Human!Reader; Mechanic!Reader)

Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Tag List: @imaginesfire​

Notes: Hey! I only saw Doctors 9 and 10, and the latter I stopped watching after Martha left due to becoming a busy college student who wanted to spend most of her time sleeping and watching anime with her friends. Thus A) This is probably not all that accurate and B) Please don’t send requests for more Doctor Who-related things, because I haven’t watched a single episode since, like, 2010, and I’m not likely to start again now. 

Kiss

Would it be cliché of you to remark that, when you decided to run away from your Podunk town hand in hand with a who-knew-how-powerful alien, you had not expected so much running? Yes. Yes, it would. Besides that, the Doctor had made it pretty clear just how in shape you needed to be on that first little adventure of yours back on Earth. What you had not expected, even after several weeks, months, years (you weren’t really sure how long it had been), was that the save of the day would once rely on your running.

“Get back to the TARDIS!” the Doctor snapped, when you’d spun about to help him.

The entire venture had been your idea–a mechanical planet? Well, it turned out to be more a planet inhabited by mechanical beings, a bit like Cars, but not ridiculous–and that seemed to rankle him more than usual. You stood, blinking at him, until the ground began to shake underneath your feet. The Doctor gestured wildly for you to run off.

“You’ve got a better chance of getting it going in this mess than I do," he said. "Go!”

You knew better than to ignore a direct order. The Doctor had reminded you only that morning that failure to obey him would land you right back home working endless hours at the body shop with no hope of bigger and brighter things ahead. Still, the thought that you could fix the TARDIS was laughable, and you figured that the Doctor only wanted you out of the way long enough to prevent you from getting crushed.

Sure enough, the only problem was that the Doctor had left the emergency brake on. Again. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out (unless said genius hadn’t spent enough time reading the manual to decipher the mess of wires and handles). You wrenched the brake into the off position with your heart hammering. Twisting back around toward the doors, you expected him to come sprinting in to start the process of leaving. 

All you got for your efforts was another massive explosion that rocked the floor so hard you nearly shoved the emergency brake back on.

From the sound of things, the fight outside wasn’t going well. You were far enough away that you couldn’t hear the Doctor, but the metallic screech of what was after him sounded off every few seconds. 

What if he didn’t come back?

Oh, the Doctor would come back. You didn’t have to fret over not having someone getting inside to get you off this planet and back to the relative safety of the void of time. But it might not be the Doctor that you were used to–the one that told you time and time again that his regenerations were like death. 

“Sure, my memories will still be there,” he would say when the silences between you got too long, “but they’ll be inside some other man’s head.”

What if that other man didn’t want you coming along? Worse still, what if you didn’t get along with him? What if he stuck you back on Earth without so much as a goodbye?

Even as such frantic thoughts bounced around your head, you cast about the TARDIS’s interior for something you could use to help. You were just a run-of-the-mill human, nothing that could take on the gigantic Transformers-esque beasts outside! 

Then you saw it: the damaging beam weapon you’d thrown together a few days ago from parts lying around the place.

“No,” the Doctor had said firmly, wrenching the enormous bazooka-like item from your grasp. When you tried to protest, he’d scowled. “Too much like a gun! I didn’t bring you along to weaponize my ship.”

But he hadn’t turned it into scrap yet, and, given how busy things had been since, probably hadn’t had time to disable it either. You grabbed the object without a second thought and burst out of the TARDIS while still struggling to heft your “gun” into place.

Outside, the noise was nearly deafening. The fight was closer now, too. You vaguely thought you remembered this whole thing beginning when the robot-alien-things (you had a mind for figures and parts, not names and species) decided the TARDIS probably had parts that could help the planet’s inhabitants along with their invasions, but you didn’t know for sure. 

The large figure continued to stampede, shaking the ground tremendously; the Doctor darted about, stabbing the air with his screwdriver to no discernible affect. As you watched, the creature made a grab for the Doctor that had him stumbling backward. It was time for you to act or resign yourself to whatever regeneration came next. 

You chose the former. Without even knowing if you were in a range close enough to do any damage, you yanked the trigger and kept running forward.

A massive white blast erupted from the other end. Did it do anything? You had no way of knowing. The kickback was much more than you expected; it sent you not only backwards, but up. 

What went up, must therefore come back down. Your back collided against the planet’s rocky surface, knocking all the wind from your lungs. You lay there gasping for breath and staring up at the red sky, hoping that you’d managed to take the alien out and not your road trip buddy. The fact that you could no longer hear the grinding and explosions from before was somewhat heartening, but you could also just have lost your hearing in your fall.

Then the Doctor appeared right above you, frowning one of his angriest frowns. You’d seen it thrown at no small number of beings that got too big for their britches, but never at you. 

You didn’t care. He was okay and himself, as far as you could tell.

Without waiting for you to speak, he grabbed your hand and yanked you to your feet. You lost no time in grabbing him in a hug and burying your face in his chest. He did not return the gesture, but also did not shove you away.

“I told you to go to the TARDIS,” he said.

“I did! And I ‘fixed’ things. But you didn't come back, and I was so worried!”

“I regenerate!” He pointed out waspishly. “You won’t!”

At last, he pushed you an arm’s length away. Still frowning, he looked you up and down. Your face stung from several small scrapes, and your back felt terribly bruised. You tried not to let that show, however; you would hate it if the Doctor decided to abandon you back on Earth because you were unfit for further adventures. 

Unfortunately, whatever he saw there, he wasn’t pleased.

“[Name], I told you just this morning when you asked if we could come here that you had better do everything I say unless you wanted to go back home. You have directly disobeyed my orders and put both of us and the TARDIS in danger!”

He continued to go on, spouting off a list annoyances so fast that you could hardly understand them. You weren’t trying to anyway. Your relief was still too strong. The fact that it was still your familiar Doctor standing in front of you and reaming you out was worth every bit of his frustration–not to mention that you felt a certain amount of satisfaction over being the rescuer yourself for once. As the Doctor’s tirade went on, you stood on your tiptoes, pressed his cheeks between your palms, and brought his face down for a kiss, right on the lips.

When you pulled away, you were panting nearly as hard as you had been after being knocked to the ground. The Doctor looked no less out of breath, though he recovered much more quickly to give you a look of utmost incredulity.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. “You can’t kiss me while I’m lecturing you! You could have died, and–”

“And I didn’t!” you said all in a rush. Your elation was starting to break through your anxiety. You could almost have danced, you were so happy with the situation, the Doctor, and yourself.

After a moment of staring at you as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, the Doctor cracked a smile. More than that: A second later, he let out a whoop of laughter. “And you didn’t!” He grabbed both your hands and leaped once into the air. “We did it!”

“We did it!” you crowed. Both of you were still alive! The TARDIS was fine! The Doctor was the same one that you’d seen that morning over breakfast!

And he felt it too, even if he didn’t admit so with words. He kept his hand around one of your and led you back to the ship. You hummed as if to pretend that you weren’t there to interrupt the mood, but the Doctor refused to play along. He hummed, too, and every so often he would lean down and kiss the top of your head.

[sailoryooons]

Boyfriend Material | jjk (m)

☾ Pairing: Hockey Player!Jungkook x f. Reader 

☾ Summary: Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material – except when he is.  

☾ Word Count: 2,127

☾ Genre: FWB, Hint of Angst, Smut

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Friends with benefits who are very obviously pretending not to have feelings, being in a confusing relationship that is basically a relationship without titles, feelings of confusion and self-doubt, lying to oneself, mentions of some toxic interactions with other people/women, repressed feelings, explicit sexual content including oral (f. receiving) in the shower, honestly, in general, some very cliche/stereotypical conflict you’d find in a relationship with someone of status 

☾ Published: March 23, 2024

☾ A/N: This is a self-insert of one of the most confusing relationships I have ever had in my life and I will die on the hill that no one should date athletes because 98% of them are the rule, not the exception no matter how much they seem like it! TRAUMA!!! Also, should I have been dating a professional athlete for the sport I worked in? No!!!! This is for all the people who have been in a not-relationship-that-is-a-relationship why the fuck do people do that like it is okay to have feelings and call ur partner ur partner?? 

☾ A/N 2: This is drabble number six for the Drabble Challenge that I have been utterly failing at! Today I rolled for ‘athlete’ but I didn’t feel like writing actual sports so I was like :) I worked in sports for ten years, I can just share a glimpse of my life when I was 23 years old :) Enjoy 

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾ Song Inspiration

“Fuck, I’m so tired,” Jungkook groans, leaning back in the chair and stretching his arms. Sun beats down on his golden skin. You feel the heat of it on your back and the top of your head. It’s pleasant, the cool spring breeze threatening to send the napkins on the table running. “Wanna lay out at the pool?”

Finishing the rest of your coffee, you nudge the empty plate away from you. Where once an eggs benedict had stood is now smears of leftover yolk and a single onion you missed when eating your hashbrowns. 

“Not sick of me?” you ask, raising a brow. 

Jungkook isn’t looking at you, scrolling on his phone. The bill of his hat is pulled low, hiding most of his face as he squints down at the device held low in his lap. You wait patiently for his answer, running your finger up and down the now-empty glass as it sweats from the sun. 

“Nope,” he answers, popping the end of the word sharply. “Did you ever get your desk fixed? Yoongi said he would fix it if not.”

“I have not.” 

He nods. “He said he’ll swing by this afternoon. We can lay out at the pool at my place and then head to yours after?” 

Your mouth twitches. You don’t say it out loud because you don’t want to risk him backing out, but another full day spent with Jungkook is a surprise to you. Not because it doesn’t happen often – it does. But rather because it keeps happening more often.

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material. He’d established that the first night he met you at a bar. Him being a professional athlete was a warning sign enough that you didn’t want to romance that but what had come afterward has been nothing short of surprising. 

Friendship and… well. You don’t know how to explain the extras. 

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material. But you do your groceries together on the weekend. You drop him off at the arena when they’re heading out for a road trip. You take him to doctor's appointments to monitor the knee injury from last season. 

You’re not Jungkook’s girlfriend but he takes you to team events. He lets himself in and does your laundry at your apartment while you’re at work so you don’t have to do it when you come home. He has his teammates fix furniture for you and they’ve asked you to babysit their kids. 

“Babe?” the endearment makes you blink a few times, realizing you’d been staring into your lap. Jungkook’s dark eyes are focused on you now, phone shoved into his pocket. “We don’t have to go to the pool. We can just nap.”

We. Not you. Jungkook is going to hang out with you regardless if you like his original idea or not. Your stomach flips in that way you hate, the way that you know you’re doing everything you said you wouldn’t.

“Sounds good.” 

Jungkook flashes a grin and you become acutely aware that thinking you could be friends with benefits without being anything more was a stupid idea. Jungkook is not made to be resisted, with round eyes that darken when he’s turned on, a giggle that contrasts with the big, broad-shouldered athlete built, a smile that lights up the room and can dispel any tension, a sweet voice that can tempt anyone the moment he pouts or when he decides to pur. 

You were fucked - literally and figuratively - that first night you let him in your apartment. 

Instead of thinking about it, you hide from the truth. Again. Jungkook is not boyfriend material, despite the fact that he pays for breakfast despite your protests, and reaches over the center console in the car to squeeze your thigh. 

“Mmm,” he hums, fingers skating over your flash and making you squirm in the passenger seat. “Warm.”

“I was sitting in the sun.”

“I like it.”

Jungkook likes a lot about you. He tells you all the time, very open about how he likes the way you taste, likes the way you organize your books by color, likes the way you sing in the shower, likes the way you speak in Star Wars quotes. 

Perhaps that’s what makes you the most wary about him. He says he’s not boyfriend material, but his actions betray his words. And you let them, every single time. 

Jungkook smells like sunscreen, sweat, and a little bit of his cologne from earlier that morning. You’re hyperaware of him as you lounge on the cabana bed together, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his firm body. 

His tattooed arm is tossed over his eyes, blocking out the sun as he snores a little. Careful not to knock into him, you lean over him and grab his phone to check the time. You haven’t been lounging in the sun long, but you don’t want him to get a sunburn.

Again. 

You wager you can stay a little longer, placing the phone back down under his discarded shirt where it can hide from the sun’s heat. Sitting back in your spot, you pick up your book from your sweaty thighs as the sound of the gate to the pool yard opening catches your attention. 

Some of Jungkook’s teammates live in the same apartment complex. It’s easier that way, especially for the players who get sent up and down from the minors. You catch a few of the younger players with a few girls you don’t know the name of tugging a cooler on wheels behind them with a speaker blaring. 

Jungkook doesn’t so much as move. He can sleep through anything – has slept through you falling into his gaming setup while trying to get to the bathroom drunk. His slumbering leaves you to watch them head to the beds a few over from yours. 

One of the girls notices you. You don’t recognize her specifically, but she recognizes Jungkook. Looks back at you. Frowns and mutters something to one of the other girls, who is not very subtle as she cranks her head around in your direction. 

You don’t wince anymore. It’s not an uncommon thing, among these circles. You refuse to engage with any of it. You used to tell yourself it was because a casual whatever-Jungkook-is simply isn’t worth the drama. At night, you know you don’t engage with it because you don’t want to know. 

Ignorance is bliss, especially in this dangerously plastic world Jungkook exists in. 

Thankfully, you’re not alone in the matter. Jimin appears out of thin air, dropping down on the empty bed next to you. Namjoon – arguably Jimin’s better half and team captain – is nowhere to be found. Jimin lowers his shades and looks beyond you to the group of now rowdy players. 

“Gross,” he huffs. He slides his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and stretches out on the bed like a cat. Jimin doesn’t play, but he certainly has the body of an athlete, all fine lines and corded muscle. “Ignore them.”

“I was doing that already.” You lift your book as if to prove yourself.

He snorts. “You were thinking about it, be honest.” Your silence is answer enough and Jimin grins, lacing his hands behind his head as he tilts toward the sun. “Don’t let Jungkookie burn again.”

“I’m not,” you huff before snapping your book shut. Jimin is in the circle of player’s partners that you genuinely enjoy, but he has the keen ability to get under your skin and tell you all of the truths that you don’t want to be voiced out loud. Still, having him on your side has more benefits than just keeping the hyenas away from you. He’s also genuinely nice when he wants to be. “Jungkook, wake up.”

The man mumbles and turns his head away from you. You sigh heavily, squeezing his strong, very sweaty arm gently. “Come on, you’re gonna burn if you stay out here any longer.”

“Mm. Feels nice.”

“A sunburn won’t feel nice.”

“You can rub aloe all over me.”

“I will not.”

“Just five more minutes.”

“Jeon.” 

He drops his arm from his eyes, squinting in the bright light at you. His hair is damp with sweat and hangs in his eyes. He’s been growing it out longer and longer, especially since Seokjin keeps encouraging Jungkook by telling him he has the best flow on the team. 

“So you don’t want to rub aloe all over me?”

“You don’t need to get sunburned for me to touch you, Jungkook.”

“Bleh,” Jimin grunts. 

That makes Jungkook sit up, rolling his shoulders and twisting to pop his back. He sighs for a moment, closing his eyes as though willing himself to get up. When he opens them again, there’s a light in them and he smirks, looking you up and down.

“Wanna shower?”

Your mouth twitches and you roll your eyes to hide how much you want to shiver. “Come on,” you sigh, getting up, the fabric of the sunbed clinging to your sweaty skin. 

Eyes cling to you as you pull the sundress over your head and slide your sandals on. You don’t have to glance over at the mini-party a few sunbeds over to know you’re being watched. You suppose they’re watching Jungkook more than anything, but you’re in direct view behind him, grabbing your book. 

You know Jungkook notices them. He says nothing, though. Instead, he offers his hand out when you shove all your belongings in a bag, wanting to carry it. You grin and hand it over to him, smile growing as he shoulders it easily and offers his hand again, this time for you to take.

And you do take it. Perhaps the satisfaction that thrums through you as he leads you out of the pool yard and onto the deck that crosses the lake toward his apartment building is a little bit insidious. You don’t care. The momentary triumph that you shouldn’t be feeling at all is far too powerful and Jungkook’s hand is far too warm and safe in yours to care about why you feel good about the public display of affection.

It isn’t like he hasn’t done it before. Jungkook isn’t shy with others in front of you. It’s what makes the whole thing worse, somehow. Because Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he introduces you to people and friends and slides between your legs to lean on you when you’re sitting on a barstool. He holds your hand when you go on a lunch and shopping spree with your mom and he brings her coffee and flowers. 

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but you don’t care when the shower hits the warm skin and runs down your back as he presses your chest to the cold shower wall in front of you. The cool stone stings against your nipples, over-sensitive and sending a shiver down your spine as your eyes flutter shut. 

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he curses low under the sound of the shower as he pries your legs apart, tongue seeking the heat between them hungrily. Your mouth falls open as Jungkook’s tongue licks you soft-slow, lips sucking gently against your clit. 

“Shit,” you hiss. The difference in temperatures between the hot water and the cold wall makes the room spin. Steam makes it harder to breathe, your head pleasure-dizzy as Jungkook laughs and rolls his tongue lazily around your dripping cunt. “Fuck.”

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he eats you out slow and hungry. He doesn’t care that the water starts to lose its warmth as his mouth works you, smacking his lips loudly and moaning, vibrations going straight to your core where you drip on his soft tongue. 

His hands grip your ass, fingers digging into the flesh as he pries you apart further, tongue delving into your aching hole. He slurps at you, mouth loud and sticky over the sound of your panting and the water hitting the tile floor. His little hums of appreciation buzz through you, making the room spin.

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing your cheek to the wet, cold stone as you try to ground yourself. You twist an arm backward, gripping Jungkook’s wet hair. He lets out a loud groan in appreciation, always pleased when you pull on his hair. “Don’t stop.”

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he does whatever you want him to. His tongue delves in, working you to orgasm until you’re shaking against the wall, knees knocking together and nearly collapsing on him. He catches you easily, standing and pressing you against the wall as he grabs your chin and brings your mouth toward him, his to devour.

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material. 

But more than anything, you want him to be. 

[vanteguccir]

Baking blind, deaf and mute | Chris Sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where Y/N participates in the Baking Blind, Deaf and Mute video, but things don't go as planned.

Warning: Begin of a panic attack, anxiety.

Requested?: Yes, @ecliphttlunar

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Alright guys, it's been almost a year since the last time we filmed one of these, I think..." Nick began, his body appearing in the camera frame, stopping next to Matt.

"Yeah, and today we have a special guest-" Matt was interrupted by Nick, who swallowed all the rest of his energy drink, stumbling back as he shook his head hard, feeling the burn go down his throat.

"Like she doesn't appear in almost every video." Chris ignored Nick's reaction, momentarily pointing to his girlfriend next to him.

A laugh escaped his throat, followed by a dramatic sound of pain as he received a slap from Y/N as a response, who rolled her eyes at him, crossing her arms and looking at the camera.

"They love me more than they love you guys at this point." She murmured, pointing at the camera with her chin, blowing an air kiss towards it.

"Anyways!" Nick shouted, casting a scolding glance from the corner of his eye at Chris and Y/N, focusing his eyes on the lens. "Today we're going to do the baking blind, deaf and mute challenge, and we have a guest with us, Y/N!" He raised his left hand, pointing it towards the girl momentarily, who smiled big and waved.

"Exactly, and since there will be four of us, instead of three, we will repeat one position. Y/N will be blind with Matt, while I will be mute and Nick will be deaf." Chris explained, wrapping his left arm around his girl's shoulder, pulling her close and massaging her biceps slightly, sealing his lips over her head momentarily.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"Okay, today we're going to cook a carrot cake with chocolate frosting since it's our guest's favorite." Nick spoke, his voice coming out louder than normal since his ears were covered by the headphones where music was coming out at full volume.

Y/N nodded, resting her hands on the table, unable to see exactly where she was, her eyes already covered by Chris's red bandana.

"Y/N doesn't eat ready cake mixture, so we're going to make it from scratch!" Matt added, his back resting on the counter next to the stove.

His arms were crossed, and his head was turned in the direction he thought the camera was.

"Let's begin!"

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"Can someone preheat the oven, please?" Y/N asked, her head turned to the side where she heard footsteps.

A tired sigh escaped her nose when she received no response. The girl moved slowly, using her raised arms for support, feeling wherever she went.

Sudden hands on her waist made her jump in fright, relief coursing through her veins as she quickly recognized Chris's touch. The boy holds her tightly, guiding her slowly through the kitchen, until they reach the stove.

Chris lightly held her wrist, guiding her hand to the button to turn on the oven, waiting for her to do so before letting go of her hand, moving away slightly.

"What is happening? Are you still here?" Matt's voice cut through the air, his figure doing a 360° turn as he tried to understand where the others were.

"In here, Matt." Y/N replied as she walked back to the table, feeling around until she found the ingredients already separated.

The girl reached for the carrots, feeling them to check if they were peeled. They weren't.

"Chris, can you peel it for me, please?" The girl asked loudly, lifting her chin in the air so her voice could echo better.

Footsteps approached, and soon, the carrots were taken from her hands, the sound of a knife hitting the cutting board filling her ears.

The sound of screams filled the kitchen, Nick singing the songs he was listening to as loud as possible, probably dancing around the space, checking every now and then if the others were making the recipe correctly, despite Y/N and Chris knowing it by heart.

"Nick, can you shut up?" Matt asked loudly, turning in the direction where his brother's voice came from.

Nick noticed Matt trying to talk to him, looking back while furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

"What?" He screamed.

Y/N, who was blindly measuring the correct amount of oil using a measuring cup, jumped in place in fright by the sudden loud sound. Her hand holding the oil shook slightly from the movement, spilling some of the contents onto her other hand and the table.

Her shoulders slumped, but she just kept going, knowing that there was nothing she could do at that moment other than fulfill her task.

After measuring the oil and flour as correctly as possible, the girl felt the table on her right side in search of the cut carrots, no longer feeling Chris' presence there.

Her hands ran across the wooden surface, grabbing the first thing she found in the belief that it was the vegetables, but instead, it was a knife.

A wince escaped her lips, feeling a sharp burning sensation spread from her right index finger to her hand. She had cut herself.

"Can I have a paper towel?" Y/N asked in a low tone, her voice coming out choppy from the pain she felt. "Hey, somebody, a paper towel. Please?"

No one answered her, Matt and Nick's arguing voices only growing louder and louder.

The girl took a deep breath, wiping her finger on her t-shirt, feeling pain and disgust at the same time at the thought of cleaning a wound on a fabric that wasn't as clean as something specific for hygiene.

Her attention returned to the things in front of herself. Y/N replayed her last steps in her mind, making sure she did everything right.

With that, her hand rescued the fuê that she knew was on her left side and began to mix all the ingredients in the ceramic bowl carefully, despite the pain in her hand.

She felt her senses were more heightened than normal, perhaps because her eyes were covered, which made her hear the different steps of each of the triplets, their voices, and in which direction they were going.

But at that moment, her attention was so focused on the mixture that she forgot to pay attention to the three boys.

"Matt, I'm not listening to anything you're saying!" Nick shouted, his tone full of sarcasm.

"I'm just asking you to stop-"

"Don't touch me, Chris!"

"Nick, stop doing that-"

"Stop talking, I can't hear you-"

The impact came suddenly against Y/N's back, causing her to hit her belly on the corner of the table and, consequently, pushing the mixture forward due to the impact. She was certain that everything had been spilled onto the wooden surface when she heard a loud gasp coming from Matt.

Y/N's lips trembled before the tears even came. She felt her eyes burning behind her bandana while her cheeks and chest ached with anguish.

"Y/N?" Chris's voice came out softly, his hands quickly ripping the bandana from his mouth, approaching his girl, ignoring the guilty looks from Nick and Matt as they both removed their respective bandana and headphones.

Y/N didn't respond, resting her hands on the table and lowering her head, feeling the fabric over her eyes getting damp little by little.

"Baby?" Chris whispered, slowly untying the knot on the bandana behind her head, being careful not to pull out any hair. The last thing he wanted was to cause pain on his girlfriend.

He felt his heart sink at the sight of her eyes closed tightly and her eyelashes damp against her pink cheeks. His own eyes quickly caught her chest rising and falling faster than normal in agitation.

Chris moved closer to her, positioning his hands on both of his girl's hips, lightly squeezing the covered skin in an attempt to ground her.

"Hey, hey, pretty girl, it's okay. Deep breaths, hm?" The brunette whispered close to her ear, casting a quick look behind his shoulder at his brothers, silently asking them to move away. "That's right, just like that. You got it, my love."

Y/N sucked in air through her nose, holding it for a few seconds before releasing it through her mouth.

After repeating the process a few times, she could finally feel her heart calm down and the anguish slowly disappear. Y/N opened her eyes slowly, blinking a few times to remove the remnants of tears.

"There's my pretty girl. Are you with me, baby?" Chris smiled kindly, his eyes shining as he looked at Y/N, waiting for her answer.

"Uhum, I am good. Thank you, baby." Her voice came out still a whisper, but in a healthier tone. "Can we continue? I really want to-"

"Wait, is that blood? Baby, are you hurt?" Chris noticed the reddish tone on her right hand, interrupting her sentence and holding her hand delicately with both of his, analyzing the small cut.

"Yeah, with that knife. It was an accident, but it's not hurting anymore." The girl tried to assure him, stroking his hands with her thumb slowly.

"Can we at least clean it? Before we continue." He asked, his tone full of hope while his eyes run through her face, trying to find any trace of pain.

"Okay." Y/N nodded, whispering with a small smile decorating her face.

The boy guided her to the sink, turning on the tap to cold water and slowly bringing her hand closer to the jet, letting the water hit the injured skin slowly, so that it didn't make her feel any more pain.

A wince escaped Y/N's throat when she felt the contact, suppressing the urge to pull her hand back.

"I know, baby. I know, I'm sorry." Chris whispered, his lips pressed against the side of her head. His free hand made small circles on her back, trying to reflect calm to her.

After a few seconds, Chris finally turned off the tap again, drying his own hand before rescuing a few sheets of paper towels. He wiped Y/N's sensitive skin slowly, wrapping her finger around a clean sheet.

"All done, honey."

"Thank you." She smiled, sealing her lips on his jaw slightly. "Can we bake now?" She asked innocently, looking at Matt and Nick, who were still watching them with guilty eyes.

Chris let out a low chuckle at her comment, waving his brothers closer again.

"Are you good, girl?" Nick asked as he approached Y/N, stroking her left shoulder lightly, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I am good, Nick. I promise." She smiled big at her best friend, hugging him sideways and laying her head on his right shoulder for a few seconds before stepping away again.

"Okay then, let's bake a cake!" Matt smiled at the camera, grabbing the nearest roll of paper towels, ready to clean up the mess before they could start baking again.

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Extra - comments:

"omg I would die on Y/N's place, all this was so overwhelming 😭"

"chris is such a good boyfriend and you can see it in here, the way he helps her at the beginning? bf goals 😫😫😫"

"chris and Y/N are so beautiful together 🥺"

"the way chris was super worried about Y/N so he ripped off his bandana too quickly to help her 😔😔😔"

"I want what they have so bad"

"nick and matt feeling guilty and then worrying about her was so cute!!"

"them baking it from the beginning again only because Y/N wanted to eat that cake is so thoughtful 😭"

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

My asks are always open. Feel free to send requests or anything at all 🩷💋

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

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[steveseddie]

up against the wall (with me) @steddiemicrofic prompt: pin, 388 words | rated: t | cw: none apply

Eddie can admit he’s thought about Steve pinning him against a wall at least once.

More like twice. Maybe three times. Four if you count that daydream where Steve pinned him against his car.

He always thought reality would be better than fantasy, and while he can appreciate feeling Steve’s hands on his waist and the length of his body against him instead of just imagining it, reality lacks an important detail from Eddie’s fantasies.

Steve isn’t kissing him.

Sure, it would’ve been confusing if Steve randomly pushed Eddie into an alley and started making out with him, but he isn’t any less confused by Steve dragging him here and then not kissing him.

“Steve?”

One of his hands covers Eddie’s mouth. “Shhh.”

Eddie gets momentarily distracted by the weight of it against his mouth. Before he embarrasses himself by moaning or something, he licks Steve’s hand.

“Ew!” Steve wipes it clean. He should’ve known Eddie would pull that move.

“Why are we here?”

“Kelly Donald was coming our way,” he says, which doesn’t explain anything. “She’s been to the store a few times to ask me out. I turned her down again yesterday, said I’d be busy all day.”

And he had been- hanging out with Eddie.

“Why not take her up on the offer?”

Steve shrugs. “I don’t feel like going on dates with random girls anymore, kinda have my eye on someone.”

Eddie’s face falls. “W-who?”

“Well-”

“Steve! I thought that was you!” Kelly says. “What are you doing here, silly?”

Her eyes widen when Steve shifts and she sees Eddie. He expects her to yell, and maybe so does Steve, who moves to block Eddie from view, shielding him.

“Sorry!” She says, surprising them. “Didn’t see you there. Eddie, right? Sorry to interrupt, I’ll go!” She hesitates, then faces them again. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything. Sorry I kept asking you out, Steve, whoops!”

When she leaves, Eddie says, “You should go after her, explain this isn’t what she thinks. This is how rumors start, Steve, you don’t want the girl you got your eye on hearing about-”

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re the person I have my eye on, you idiot,” Steve says, and then he’s kissing Eddie! Against a wall!

Eddie takes back what he said- reality is so much better than fantasy.

[anniebotao3]

One More Try

Published 25 October 2022 | T-rated | 3733 words | Oneshot

Tags: Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan; Wang Yi Bo; Xiao Zhan; Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; Famous Wang Yi Bo; Olympic Skateboarder Wang Yi Bo; Sports Photographer Xiao Zhan; Only One Bed; Getting Together; Flashbacks; Mutual Pining; Blue Haired Wang Yi Bo; Long Haired Wang Yi Bo; Fade to Black

Accepting the open spot on the Olympic Skateboarding press team was guaranteed to mean that Xiao Zhan would cross paths with Yibo again, it's just a matter of what kind of reunion it will turn out to be.