#every single time i go to tag this tumble is like i have never seen that tag in my life

[abandoned-as-mustard]

Hey there Delilah is quite possibly one of the easiest songs to play on ukulele. But nooo the guitar has to have two barre chords that switch quickly. I checked the music video and yes he does use those exact shapes.

But lazy me has just transposed it down and put a capo on 2 so I can get away with doing the comparitively easy 4 string F chord. Wooh.

[feyhunter78]

Pink Pastels

Description: Single dad Miguel who replaced himself in a new universe meets his daughter's favorite teacher, you, who just happens to have a shitty boyfriend and doesn't yet know how much the O'Hara family wants you to stick around

Pt 2

I cracked y'all, and I blame TikTok

“Ms. Y/N, watch me, watch me!” Gabi calls, waving her arms in the air to catch your attention.

“I’m watching, go ahead.” You encourage her, smiling brightly when she does a successful cartwheel, her hair spilling from the loose braid one of her classmates had done for her during quiet reading.

You know teachers aren’t supposed to have favorite students, you tell each and every one of your students that you don’t have favorites, that you adore all of them equally. But Gabriella O’Hara holds a special place in your heart.

“Did you see, did you see?” She asks excitedly, running up to you, dark curls tumbling wildly around her shoulders.

You kneel down, and brush the hair back from her face, still smiling brightly. “I did, that was amazing, who taught you that?”

“My dad, he helped me practice.” She says, giving you a toothy grin, one front tooth missing from where she’d knocked it out eating an apple yesterday.

A tear-filled lunch that had been until you reminded her that now the Tooth Fairy would come visit her. The idea of a sparkly fairy leaving her money in exchange for her tooth dried her tears quickly, and soon enough she was proudly showing off her lost tooth (safely contained in a Ziploc bag) to anyone who would listen.

“Well, it seems like your dad is a very good teacher, then.” You say, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze before her friends dragged her back onto the playground.

You stood back up and rejoined the other first grade teachers.

“She’s adorable.” Janey says, nodding at Gabi who was playing tag with a few other girls.

Janey taught in the classroom next to yours. You started teaching at the same time, but she’d been hired at Steve Rodgers Elementary a year before you. Janey was the first friend you made when you got hired, and you soon became close friends inside and outside school.

“She’s so well-behaved, too; I wish I knew who her mom was, so I could thank her.” You say, a slight grimace on your face, when you watched two boys from your class begin to shove each other.

You called out to them, and they stopped, giving you guilty looks before running towards the swing sets.

“There’s no mom, she walked out on Gabi and her father after she was born.” Melissa says, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched her kids.

Melissa was a senior teacher at Rodgers Elementary. A tough love works the best teacher with the confidence of a god, and a nose for gossip like you couldn’t believe.

“Oh, that’s so sad.” You say, your heart hurting for the sweet little girl who always wanted to sit next to you during story time. Gabi had told you about her dad many times, but never mentioned her mom, you just assumed she was away for work often, or that they didn’t have many things in common.

You looked at Gabi, watching as she helped one of her friends tie their shoes. Sitting beside them and patiently demonstrating on her own sneakers. How could anyone walk away from her?

“It is, but her dad…he’s hot, I’ve seen him in the pickup line, he’s like a male model or something.” Melissa says, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

You gave her an incredulous look. “Melissa! That’s a parent you’re talking about.”

She shrugs. “Hey, I’m married, I’m not gonna do anything, but one of you could.”

Janey turns her head to hide her laughter, and you smack her arm. “Janey, hitting on a child’s parent is wildly inappropriate, besides I have Todd.”

Melissa snorts, and you bite the inside of your cheek. Todd was not a popular man around the school, especially after what he pulled on your birthday.

The bell rings signaling the end of recess and your kids begin to line up, ending your conversation as the three of you are pulled in different directions.

There’s a knock at your door, and you look up from grading papers, to see Janey. “Hey y/n, Gabi’s father is here to see you?”

You shoot her a look of confusion and begin to tidy up your desk, then stand, smoothing out the wrinkles in your baby pink dress. “Oh, yeah, sure, let him in.”

Janey disappears, and the space is filled by a giant of a man. He towers over the desks, making them look even tinier than they already were. His shoulders are massive, his biceps you swear are bigger than your thighs, though you could be exaggerating, but you’re honestly not sure, and when he fixes those dark brown eyes on you, and suddenly the floor beneath you feels unsteady.

“Mr. O’Hara, how can I help you?” You manage to get out, motioning for him to take a seat in front of his desk.

“I’ll stand.” He says curtly. His voice is deep, settling in your bones, the faint whisper of an accent, and confidence behind his words makes you nervous for a moment, then you recognize the feeling, not nerves…something else, something much more inappropriate.

“Oh—okay, is there something you need, is Gabi okay?” You ask, realizing she isn’t in the classroom with him.

“She’s fine, just sitting outside with her book.” He explains, his eyes piercing straight through you.

“Margaret and Margarita, right? Your daughter an exceptional reader, in both English and Spanish, you should be very proud.” You say, giving him a smile, hoping the compliment will soften his expression and make it seem like he didn’t want to murder you.

Melissa was right, Mr. O’Hara was gorgeous. With a strong jawline, high cheekbones, a mess of thick dark hair, and perfectly formed lips, all tapering down to the body of an Adonis, clothed in a white button up that stretched across his broad chest, and black slacks that clung to his muscled legs like it was their job and rent was due next week. But his expression was flat, his eyes cold, his stance rigid.

“Why did you lie to my daughter?” He asks flatly, looking down at you, as if you were a bug on his windshield.

You blink up at him in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“You should be.”

An indignant expression flashed across your face before you could stop it, and you saw Mr. O’Hara’s lip twitch. “I’m not apologizing, I’m asking for clarification.”

“You told Gabi that the Tooth Fairy was going to visit her, I wasn’t going to do the Tooth Fairy , she doesn’t need false hope.” He snaps, leaning forward slightly, towering over you.

The hair on your arms stands up, but you brush it off as a stab of guilt goes through you. He was a single dad, maybe he couldn’t afford such frivolous traditions. “Mr. O’Hara, if this is a financial issue, I am so sorry. I should’ve tried to comfort her another way, my sincerest apologizes.”

“This isn’t a financial issu—comfort her?” He stops midsentence, his brows furrowing.

“She was upset because she lost her teeth, it’s her first one, a ton of kids get a little scared, but the promise of a reward usually clears those tears right up.” You tell him, holding your hands up in a pacifying way as you talk.

His eyes dart down to your hands, then back to your eyes, lingering for a moment on your lips. “I didn’t—Gabi didn’t tell me she was scared.”

“She was probably a little embarrassed. She talks all the time about how brave you are and how she wants to be just like you when she grows up.”

His expression softens.

“I actually—”you turn to rifle through your desk until you find Gabi’s latest assignment—“have something for you.”

He takes the paper from you, and you can’t help but notice how his hands dwarf yours, his tanned skin is scattered with small scars, and his calloused fingertips brush against yours. “What is this?”

“I had the kids draw a picture of their hero and then write a few sentences about why that person is their hero. I think she was one of a few who didn’t draw Spiderman.” You laugh softly.

He cradles the paper and a soft smile spreads across his face as he reads her writing under his breath. “Porque mi papá lucha contra los monstruos en mi armario.”

“I had to look that one up, my Spanish is terrible.” You admit sheepishly, watching as he reads her words over and over again.

“Thank you, for this, and for comforting Gabi.” He says, folding the paper carefully and sliding it in his pocket.

“Of course, I love Gabi, she’s such a pleasure to have in class.”

He looks at you, really looks at you, and you’re struck by how similar he and Gabi are. They have the same nose, the same almost curls that frame their faces, and when he tilts his head ever so slightly to the side you almost burst out laughing. You can’t count how many times you’ve seen Gabi do that exact same thing.

“You know Gabi talks a lot about you, how pretty you are, she was right.” His voice is low, smooth, and sends a jolt through you. Then he takes his leave, with you standing there stunned, wondering what the hell just happened to you.

Eternal Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir

[theemptyislost]

Ecstasy

Originally posted on ao3 - link - Heed the tags.

Pairings: Raphael/Haarlep, Astarion/F!Tav, Raphael/Haarlep/F!Tav (Raphael/Haarlep/F!Tav/Astarion if you squint really hard)

Summary:

Raphael take the time to indulge in Haarlep's newest addition to their collection.

Tav has yet to feel the repercussions of her pact with Haarlep. It is both a relief and a constant blade hanging over her head. Her carefully constructed house of cards comes tumbling down when Haarlep strikes at the least opportune moment.

Rating: 18+ | Explicit

TW: NSFW | Dubcon /Non-con | Possessive Behavior | Explicit Detail | Bloodlust | Edging | Forced Orgasm | Anal Fingering | Creampie | Rough Sex

“All suffering originates from craving, from attachment, from desire.”

― Edgar Allan Poe

Tav raised the cup of mead to her chapped lips and took a hearty swig. The honeyed alcohol, on the threshold of being sickly sweet, burned on the way down. She relished the familiar tingle that burst along her taste buds and teeth-worried lips. It was a nice reprieve from the questionable water and stale wine they scavenged.

“Another?” Gale slid up beside her, a warm smile painted on the wizard’s face; eye crinkled and twinkling. He smelled of fresh pine and vetiver rather than the usual musk and funk they had all been rocking the past month.

“I think this is going to be my last.” She sighed. “Its been too long since we have had good alcohol, and I am not keen on a hangover.” The glass clicked as she set it back on the bar.

“You know Shadowheart, or I could fix that.” Gale snorted; hand raised to wave the barkeep down.

“That is definitely not a good use of our resources or magical reserves – but thanks.” Tav laughed. Her eyes carefully looked around the bar tucked beneath the small inn. This was a secluded settlement comprised of some wayward Tieflings, Drow deserters and the like. A village built and solidified from the bond of trauma and war; idealistic and peaceful.

It made Tav hesitant, unsure what their angle was.

They had been on the road too long; had seen too many atrocities, massacres, Mind-Flayers, Devils and Cambions – Incubi.

Tav shuddered.

Goddess did her pact with Raphael’s plaything settle like acid in her stomach. She tried not to dwell on it but found herself tensing at every passing shiver. Paranoid that it would escalate into something more unbearable; the embarrassment would be too much to bear.

The group did not know – yet.

Tav hoped they never would.

So far there have been minimal repercussions. She single handedly retrieved the hammer; much to Astarion and Shadowheart’s disapproval. Everyone was against sneaking into Raphael’s domain, but Tav could think of no other way. So, she snuck in by herself, and made the reckless executive decision to leave the party behind.

It had all worked out. She was in and out without too many scratches. Haarlep had been kind enough to bathe her in Raphael’s, ridiculously ostentatious, healing pool. The evidence of their pact washed away leaving just a hint of cherry on her skin, which was easy enough to explain away.

“Well…” Gale interrupted her musing, taking a sip of his own cup of wine. “If you aren’t interested in drinking, perhaps I might be able to show you some magic that could help ease some of that tension?”

Tav’s frustrations bloomed anew.

Why were they all so horny?

“Ah…I will have to pass. I do appreciate the offer though – I just...” Tav felt her shoulders tense and the hair on the back of her neck raise; knew their conversation had piqued the interest of another party member. She could feel those piercing crimson irises she was avoiding like an eldritch blast along her scalp.

“I know – I know.” Gale sighed shoulders slumping slightly before his pep came back. “You like to keep things professional, no complications. I got it.” He took another swig of wine. “You can’t blame a man for trying.” He laughed low.

Tav nodded, eyes falling down to her empty glass. “It’s just better this way.” She reasoned. “You are all very attractive in your own ways…it just better for everyone if we keep it friendly; at least with me.” She tried to soften the blow. Especially now. She thought quietly to herself, recalling her pact with the Fiend.

Goddess, she had been turning them all down since day one. So unused to the attention and propositions it was hard to maintain her air of friendly indifference. Usually, people just overlooked her, it seemed all she needed was an illithid parasite and new instrument for them to flock to her like bees to honey. Thankfully they all seemed to accept her gentle rejections – all except one.

“You know – “ Tav started, remembering the inn keeper’s earlier inquiry about the pirate-esque looking magic junkie. “That attractive half-elf was asking about you. I am sure she would be more than happy to partake in one of your lessons on magical theory.” Her eyes slanted to observe Gale’s expression, eyebrow raised.

One of his hands came up to scratch the stubbled hair along his chin; a playfully pensive look on his face.

The wine was definitely doing its job.

“That is not a bad idea, oh gorgeous fearless leader of ours.” The Wizard slammed back the rest of the wine, wiping any spillage with the back of his hand. Eyes dancing with mirth as he gave her a goofy salute and ventured off to find his prey.

Tav shook her head.

There was rarely a dull moment in their ragtag group of misfits.

She took some gold out of her pocket and slid it across the bar. The barkeep walked towards her as he buffed out the imperfections of a glass with a rag.

“What can I do for you, sweetheart?”

Tav cringed. She would never get used to people mis-aging her. Half-Drow she may be, her parentage was also distantly infernal and as such, even though she was older than most here; she still maintained her youth.

“May I get another – but could I possibly take it to go?” Tav pulled out the flask she swiped off one of the Druids in Emerald Grove. Halsin would not approve – or he might; the large Elf seemed to have a soft spot for her. Which was good, because they were going to need all the allies they could get.

“Sure thing, doll.”  The barkeep filled her flask and took her coin. Tav thanked the elder human; grateful everyone in this village was so amiable. It was a nice change of pace, even if it made her a bit paranoid.

This type of peace always seemed like the calm before the storm.

Tav took another quick swig, felt the light buzz spread through her chest and down to her fingertips. She swiftly tucked the flask into her light armor and turned to leave. She was excited to finally sleep on a mattress again. The last time she had the pleasure of partaking in such a luxury had been Raphael’s and sleep was the last thing on her mind then.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Astarion’s silky accent, perfectly scripted and dripping with a hidden agenda shattered her bubble of serenity.

Tav jumped back to avoid colliding with the Elfin Vampire’s chest.

His cool hands immediately flew up to hold her upper arms in an attempt to help stabilize her. Crimson irises glimmered with what looked to be frustration at her reaction, before melting to his usual bedroom eyes.

Tav carefully stepped back just out of reach.

There was something about the damaged Spawn that put her on edge. She had no qualms with helping him achieve his goals; she planned to help everyone in their party. It was that look that danced in his eyes when he thought no one was paying attention. He observed and calculated, used tactfully gained knowledge to influence or manipulate their enemies – and group – to get the outcome he desired.

She had seen it with Gale, Shadowheart and Lae’zel – then with the goblins.

Astarion seemed almost put off by her until Abdirak came into the picture and helped ease her guilt. He had not struck up conversation until after the battle that ensued with High Priestess Gut and the entirety of the Goblin encampment.

Fuck – Astarion had the audacity to proposition her before Shadowheart had even healed the rest of Abdirak’s attentions from her back.

If that was not enough of a warning, Tav did not know what was.

“Astarion.” Tav swallowed and nodded in greeting. “I hope your evening is treating you well. I was just heading off too – “

“Oh, I heard.” He cut her off, eyes glimmering. “Our magic-hungry-goddess-obsessed-wizard struck out again, did he?”

“I would not say he struck out.” Tav responded, voice even. “I am pretty sure he went to grace the Inn Keeper with his presence.”

Astarion scoffed. Crimson eyes rolled haughtily, arms crossing over his chest. He had foregone the usual armor and was dressed in his loose white shirt and leathers. The few strings along the top of his shirt had been undone enough to let the soft fabric part, highlighting the perfectly sculpted muscles of his chest and upper abs.

It should really be criminal for predators to be that attractive. Tav supposed that was the point though; how would one lure in prey if not with pretty lies and attractive features.

She needed to leave before the mead muddied more of her inhibitions.

“Of course, he struck out, darling.” Astarion’s timbre dipped low. “You are quite the treat. A pretty little thing like you, packed with all that power – unafraid to use it. You have been tensed to the point of snapping for days now – what do you say we find our own little place of nowhere. Somewhere we can lose ourselves and forget all this madness?”

He took a step forward. Tav stepped back at the same instance, keeping the distance between them. Astarion’s features contorted in a half snarl then smoothed out again – indifferent; like he caught himself.

“Look, you are very pretty – beautiful – with all the right words readied at the tip of your tongue.” Tav started, trying to be firm but also gentle. She had the inkling that the Vampire had been used for seduction; a type of Spawn honeypot, for his master. Sex was how Astarion controlled others – she refused to be a part of that, no matter how pretty the package. “I am sure there are plenty of gorgeous women,” as Tav looked around, she was starting to think this may be more of a brothel than an inn. “courtesans, men, human, or creature that would be more than ecstatic for your attentions.”

“Darling, you wound me – “ Even with his flirty tone, Tav could see the irritation in his body language. She did not understand his need to have her under his thumb; other members of their party were far stronger than her. “I only wish to help you relax. It must be so trying – given the entire time we have been traveling together, you have yet to cave to any form of carnal release.”

Tav’s cheeks flushed at his brazen words. Heart fluttered in her chest with a combination of anxiety, embarrassment, and adrenaline.

Of all her companions, Astarion had slowly become the pushiest. As helpful as he was in battles and picking locks, he was sassy, haughty and a bit egotistical. Tav started leaving him at camp more and more – but since she had come back from Raphael’s House of Hope, he had been unrelenting in his pursuits.

Damned near possessive: snappy and aggressive when outsiders appeared to show any interest. Covetous of any interaction they shared – desperate.

He was testing her boundaries more and more. Tav would not have believed it, if she had not experienced it firsthand. The thought had not even crossed her mind, that splitting the illithid tadpoles between their party was a bad idea. Until she felt Astarion try to influence her during one of their conversations – nothing outright in its aggression.

It was a subtle push from his conscious to her own, similar to when the Absolute tried to invade her thoughts and control; but done with the care of a long-lost lover. That is when Tav stopped inviting him to feed on her; there were too many unanswered questions and possible repercussions. She did not know enough about vampiric compulsion and the consequences that may have.

It was too much of a risk when illithid tadpoles were added into the mix.

“It is not my intention to wound – only to keep things friendly. I do not want to complicate the party’s dyna –“ the words caught in Tav’s throat.

A gentle touch tickled her spine. Fingers caressed each vertebra and claws scraped along the base of her skull.

Oh gods. Tav thought. Not now.

She swallowed thickly. This was very bad. Very, very bad.

“Darling, are you alright?” The soft, artificial, concern in his tone was enough to kick her survival instinct into gear. She needed to get out of here. Sequester herself away in her room – or in the depths of the forest – until Haarlep’s play passed.

“I’m so sorry – I have to go.” Tav bolted to the side, gave Astarion a wide berth and took off out the front doors of the inn. She did not look back to see the suspicious glare that trailed her or the questioning stares of strangers. The only thing left in her hast was the shiny metal of her room key, forgotten on the counter.

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

Tav burned.

Sweat beaded along her brow, her small clothes were completely drenched with arousal and her limbs were starting to quake.

Haarlep and their partner were ruthless – teasing and edging her form for over an hour now.

A breathy groan of distress turned moan left her lips. The sound danced along the trees and into the night.

Lips trailed back down her thighs, a finger parted her labia and dipped into her center. Then trailed back up and circled her clit.

Tav fell against the rough bark of a tree; leaned her whole weight against the cool, rough, texture as the onslaught of her body continued.

“Goddess – please, I cannot…” Another moan and her core clenched around nothing. Cheek pressed harder into the bark; willed the small prick of pain to chase away the tidal wave of arousal Haarlep and their partner drew forth.

Lips pressed against her vulva. Warm hands hooked her knees over broad shoulders and wings. Her hands came up to play with her breasts. A devishly long, dexterous, tongue dipped into her and licked up. Lips closed around her clit; rough tongue rolled roughly against her bundle of nerves then sucked.

Tav gasped, a new wave of slick trailed down her thighs. Nails bit into the bark, almost to the point of breaking. She could feel that tongue, that mouth locked around her, devouring her as if she really were pinned to that velvet duvet again. She felt the phantom touch of her own fingers dip into her mouth, drag over her heated flesh to rub her clit as that tongue pushed into her cunt.

At the next phantom swipe, she collapsed.

Cold hands caught her on her decent.

Astarion jerked her up against him. Her back collided with his chest, forcing the breath from Tav’s lungs.

The chilled flesh and tensed muscles of him pressed against her spine; only just drawing her attention to the fact that her armor was missing. She shed it at some point in her buzz, hast, and arousal. Stripped down to just her soft trousers and billowing undershirt in an attempt to escape the inferno that coursed through her veins and hellishly hot phantom touches.

The contrast between Astarion’s undead flesh and the heat that radiated from the Fiends was too much.

Tav was far too dazed and overstimulated to think clearly. She wanted to press further into the chilly reprieve behind her, wanted to rip off her trousers and find relief – as Haarlep kept stopping their partner just as she was about to orgasm.

She wanted to cry, scream, and just come - She wanted to sleep on her soft mattress.

When this was over she was going to pay a visit to Raphael’s little devious consort and rip up their pact – they could have the hammer back for all she cared. Then, she was going to find out who their partner was and flay them.

The conniving Incubus had neglected to tell her just how much she would experience when they used her form.

Another involuntary raspy gasp was ripped from her lungs. Her head tipped back against Astarion’s shoulder, body slumping heavily against him, eyes pressed tight.

Embarrassment coursed through her – she might as well be masturbating in front of him at this point.

She could not bear it – of all her companions to find her, track her down, in this state…

“Pet.” Tav’s core clenched at the animalistic growl. “You play a very dangerous game with me.” Astarion’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, just over her breasts. His other caressed down, pressed against the trembling muscles of her abdomen until his fingers dipped just under her waistband; emboldened by alcohol and thirst.

Tav’s hands flew up. Wrapped around the corded muscles of his forearm and wrist, to stop him.

“Its not –“ another shaky inhale, “ – no game. Just…just let me go.” Tav clenched her jaw, sight grew hazy with lust as two thick phantom fingers penetrated her cunt, scissored; withdrew then repeated the action. “Fuck –“ She swallowed the heady moan. “It will pass. Just go, I’ll be fine!” Her voice pitched as she fought to control her body.

The assault did not stop. Every touch Haarlep experienced was projected onto her and amplified. The slight buzz brought on by the mead and sleep deprivation did not make matters easier.

Astarion tightened his grip around her. Compressed the air from her lungs and canted his head so his nose brushed against her clavicle. The arm around her shoulders loosened enough so he could reach up to her chin and tilt her head further to the side against his shoulder – exposing her jugular.

He inhaled deeply against her skin; the tip of his nose and cool lips dragged up her neck until they met her ear. “You reek of sulfur and cherries, darling.” He hissed. Sharp vampiric teeth grazed her neck, scratched back down to the junction where her shoulder started; fangs pressed down - not enough to break skin, but to warn. His tongue lavished the skin trapped between his teeth, tasted her, and sucked.

He pulled away with a salacious pop – Tav could feel the beginning of a bruise form from his attentions. “You taste of desire – needy, wanton, lust…let me help you.”

“Astarion.” His name unintentionally came out as a moan. She meant to deny, tell him this was a bad idea – something he would regret come morning.

Hands gripped her hips painfully tight as if they heard her cry out another’s name. Velvet duvet dragged along her bare spine as she was roughly jerked to the edge of the bed. A thick, textured, inhuman cock bumped against her pelvis. Hips pressed forward. Pushed their rigid length through her folds and along her clit, let her feel the entirety of them; like they were cautioning her of what was to come. Wider at the base then they were at the tip and intimidating.

Tav whimpered. Tears pricked her eyes in both fearful anticipation and unwilling respite; hope this would be over soon.

“This is dark magic, precious thing; Incubi magic.” The vampire behind her snarled, somehow putting the pieces together. “You constantly avoid me – but let a fiend touch you…touch what I already laid claim to.” The bloodlust was evident in his voice. His control pushed to the breaking point by the scent of her desire and fluttering pulse.

It did not occur to Tav that Astarion would not search out another to feed from. He acted so aloof and flirty with everyone. Always asking her how she thought the others would taste; she did not think he was truly interested in her; if anything, she was merely convenient meal on the go. There was nothing extraordinary about her that should have drawn his attention.

Yet here they were, and he was physically stronger than her – they were both not in their right minds.

The dread never made its way into her system – she was too strung up and lost in Haarlep and their partner; did not have the mentality or strength to push Astarion away.

It was the perfect storm.

Haarlep’s hand rose to pinch her nipple. The other slid down her stomach and found her clit. Nibble fingers circled, dipped down into her labia to obscenely present herself to their partner. The scalding heat from the head of their cock notched against her cunt. Fiery hands gripped the bottom of her thighs, just beneath her knees and pressed her thighs apart, then against her chest. The hard muscles of pectorals and abs pressed against her as a giant form leaned over her. Narrow hips pushed forward, their thick cock invaded her cunt – the intrusion made easier by the amount of foreplay and Haarlep’s fingers – her fingers – guiding the way.

“Raphael!” Haarlep and Tav screamed in union as the Cambion thrust in fully. The tip of him collided with the deepest part of her. The base of him stretching her to the point of painful pleasure. Tav voice danced along the night air, tone drenched in shocked horror as the name of Haarlep’s playmate reverberated through their link.

“I think not.” Astarion’s hand pushed past her own. Dipped under her trousers and small clothes, through her groomed thatch. Pressed over her clit, through her slick and into her core. Fingertip expertly locating the sensitive spot just past her entrance. He curled his finger in a come-hither motion and Tav jerked in his grip.

Teeth pressed into her lips to stifle the debouched sounds. The force of her bit caused her lip to split. It was too much. Raphael was far too big, Astarion too well trained – The phantom touches combined with the physical sent Tav careening towards her precipice.

Goddess, she was going to come on his fingers in the woods, while a half-devil fucked her image in another plane.

Haarlep’s incubi magic stopped her.

She felt the invisible blockage slam down robbing her of yet another orgasm.

Tav hissed out a whimper between her teeth. Tears of frustration pricked her eyes – Why? Why torture her so? What would Raphael even want with her body? She was no one!

Astarion had pulled his finger from her. Nimble fingers worked the strings of her blouse and buttons of her trousers. The crisp night air grazed her skin providing a passing sense of calm, before her back pressed roughly against the bark of the tree.

Cold fingers snatched her thighs to jerked them up and pressed them around narrow hips. Her hands immediately fell to his broad shoulders for support. Thighs trembling as Raphael’s phantom cock fucked her and Haarlep held them at the sharp edge of rapture and pain. Eyelids pressed tightly together, trying to navigate the insanity of chaotic sensations.

Astarion pressed against her. His own rigid length would have intimidated Tav – if her form was not being misused – edged for the last hour; railed by a half-devil in their Cambion form.

A cool hand came up to brush sweat drenched locks from her forehead. His hand trailed down her cheek, fingers gripped her chin and thumb swiped over her bottom lip. Finger catching up the droplet of blood that bubbled to the surface from her earlier ministrations. His other hand cupped the bottom of her ass; pulling her against him. Fingers dug painfully into her curves.

Astarion’s eyes were blown – pupils so dilated from arousal and bloodlust the familiar crimson was fully eclipsed. He brought his thumb, painted in her blood, to his lips and sucked the evidence of her mortality from the digit. The Vampire Spawn moaned as he savored the flavor of her. Eyes closed in delight.

Tav swallowed thickly – half registered that she was fucked either way. Infernal Fiends or Undead Vampire. She was surrounded by predators who had their sights set on her as their prey.

Her breath stuttered in her lungs. Muscles of her core winding tighter and tighter with no sign of mercy in sight. Cunt fluttering around a ghostly intrusion, skin alight with the rough grip along the crest of her hip and dual sensation of Haarlep dragging her hands along her breasts and gripping Raphael’s jagged horns as he fucked the visage of her into his mattress.

Astarion leaned forward, caged her in and held her against the tree with his lithe form. His chilled skin and the cool night air were a small kindness from the hellish heat Haarlep shot through their connection.

A hand curled in her hair – she could not tell if it was Raphael’s or Astarion’s – jerking her head to the side. Astarion’s lips pressed against her quickened pulse. Lips whispered ferally against her dewy flesh. “Darling – I am going to fill you with my cock.”

“Wait – Astarion…” Tav’s head tipped back as Raphael slammed against her cervix. Thigh trembling around Astarion, hips jerking forward. She wanted to tell him he was too lost in his bloodlust and confusion – could not possibly want some half-Drow bard with no real talent. That he did not have to fuck her for her to want to help him.

“No more waiting – We have waited long enough.” Tav barely recognized his voice – deep and guttural, wild in its intensity. “You were put on this mortal plane to tempt me; and I swear.” His voice cracked with thoughts Tav was not privy too. He moved so the tip of him pushed against her drenched labia, pressing in enough for the head of him to kiss her entrance.” His mouth found her cheek, then kissed the point of her ear. Soft lips ghosting her earlobe. “You were my first – first true meal…The first to see me – and I see you. You are mine, my sweat treat; and I have no intention of sharing.”  

Tav did not understand. Did not have a chance to, because suddenly Astarion was in her. His hips pressed against hers, hands gripping her ass to hold her as close to him as possible. His fingers bit into her curves to the point she was sure his nails drew blood.

“Astarion!” She cried out. “Fuck!” Toes curling, her own nails digging into the muscles of Astarion’s back. Her body quivered, completely overwhelmed; struggled to process what was actually happening to her physically.

Somehow, Haarlep and Raphael knew. Tav heard the demonic growl, ancient and ominous across Haarlep’s bond.

Claws gripped her thighs viciously. Haarlep was roughly spun around. Breasts pressed cruelly into the velvet duvet. Hips jerked up and back. Then Raphael was pressing into her again – slowly and deliberately. The snap of his hips resonated through Haarlep as they used her body. A tail curled around one of her thighs and spread her legs apart, Raphael pressed a hand along her spine. Arching her back and giving him access to hit deeper than before. Her hands gripped the velvet for support. Larger, warmer, hands spread her cheeks as Raphael kept a steady pace. Something wet slid along her back entrance. A thick finger pressed against a hole she was not keen to explore.

��With me, darling.” Astarion rasped. Breaking her away from the hyper fixation of what Raphael was doing to her form. “Eyes on me. You are here with me.” Another thrust, gentler this time. Astarion’s eyes were less endlessly black, more crimson now. Tav felt the trickle of blood dripped down her neck and over her breasts.

How gone was she to not have even felt his bite?

“I am going to take care of you.” A hand cupped her face, thumb brushed a tear from her cheek – she had been crying. “I am so – “ His voice hitched with a moan as her cunt fluttered and contracted around him; then roughed out, “I did not intend for…I should not have given into the chase in my previous state.”

His voice held such sincerity and remorse that Tav nearly believed him. She swallowed down another whimper as Raphael’s finger pressed into her over lubed back entrance. Her body shook as if it were physically happening to her.

The phantom sensations stronger now – seemed to become more tactile with every denied orgasm.

“Please – “ Tav realized she was in trouble; her body was not made for this – could not possibly survive unscathed what the Fiends were doing to her. “I don’t know how to make it stop.” A loud cry left her.

Raphael’s finger curled in her while his tail and free hand gripped her waist to force Haarlep further against him. She could feel the painful stretch as the last inch of his hellish cock was ground into her.

“Help – “ she could barely whisper around the tension of her muscles, the cold sweat that dripped down her spine and coil that was wound tighter than anything she had ever experienced. Tav did not know what she was asking for.

“Shh.” Tav made out the flicker of rage in Astarion’s eyes; not at her, but at the Cambion and his consort. “I have got you, pet. Focus on us – on me.”

Tav nodded.

Astarion moved them so her back pressed against the cool blades of grass. Situated himself between her thighs and slid his length back into her. Fingers pet over her curves and face. Any time she whimpered or started to fret over Raphael’s rough handling, Astarion was there to chase it away with a tenderness she would not have expected.

“I am going to bite you again. It should provide a distraction from any of the more uncomfortable sensations. ” Tav did not fight him. Too consumed with the orgasm that was once again approaching at an alarming rate. Her thighs rose, ankles crossed along Astarion’s lower spine, fingers pressed along the scars decorating his back as she rocked against him.

Sharp teeth bit into his faded claim on her neck. The arctic shards of pain swiftly churned to a different kind of molten flame that curled around her and sunk low into her core. She undulated at the beginning of an intense orgasm.

Haarlep warned Raphael. Raphael’s finger left her ass. Claws dug into the fleshiest part of her thighs then flipped Haarlep over. Mimicked the position Astarion had her pinned in and fucked back into her. Hands gripped her waist and held her close. His pace doubled as he sought his end within her. Haarlep moaned loudly both in imitation of her and glee at their master’s rough handling. Raphael’s lips brushed her ear; whispered his threat directly to her – knew she could hear his words through his consort.

Tav clenched at the strum of fear that ran through her. The noxious emotion melded with her extreme state of arousal and blood loss. Her scalp tingled as anxiety caused her nerves to fire off with electricity, that coil in her womb; wound impossibly tight. Her inner thighs trembled, and nails drew bloody gashes along Astarion’s back.

The Vampire groans against her, blood escaping the suctioned hold he had on her veins. His hips stuttered against hers, a hand coming down to stimulate clit expertly. Her back arched, breasts flattened against his cool chest, head thrown back, and eyes clenched tight. Her brow was pinched with euphoria, frustration, and pain as she fought for her orgasm.

“I’m so close” Tav breathed brokenly.

Astarion’s bloodied lips found hers. Kissed her as if it were their last, teeth, lips, tongue, and passion. He rolled his hips, so he hit every spot that sent starlight flashing behind her eyes. “My name –“ He hushed heatedly against her parted lips. “I want my name on your lips, pet.”

“If you scream his name – I will gut him.” Raphael snarled against Haarlep’s ear as the incubus giggled and moaned in delight. Raphael’s pace became brutal – punishing, even so, he was able to hit the parts Astarion missed with certain thrusts.

The conflicting and contrasting experience pushed Tav over the edge.

Rapture corrupted her soul. The coil in her womb snapped tight and exploded. Her cunt fluttered and clenched painfully around the dual intrusions as Haarlep mirrored her experience this time. She screamed her release silently – too tense to form coherent words or thoughts. The sound stuck in her throat; her body convulsed.

Astarion groaned against her, thrust with the intent to find his own end. One cool hand curled around the back of her head to press her further against him while the other gripped her thigh up and tight to his side. With a final push he growled his release. The weight of him would have been comforting had Raphael not still been using her.

Thick cambion cock pressed deep, clawed fingers cut along her skin and his tail yanked her down to meet every thrust. Haarlep undulated against their master as his cock swelled and released his molten seed against her cervix. The half-devil made sure to grind every bit of his release into her. The final twitch of his cock, seated as far as he could go, pushed Haarlep to another orgasm.

Tav quivered again. The erotic feel of Cambion seed against her blending with Astarion’s cold release and the residual sensation of Haarlep’s orgasm would forever haunt her.

Her connection with Haarlep was severed.

Her body collapsed fully against the cold damp earth. Muscles still trembled in the aftermath of her unholy night. The post coital haze both a blessing and a curse.

Astarion gently pulled from her, rolled on to his back and hauled her dead-weight against him. He tucked an arm around her to secure her to his side. Hand lazily trailing the outside of her arm while she rested her cheek against his unmoving chest.

“Thanks.” Tav rasped out, voice hoarse; mind and body numb. It did not feel like the right word, but she did not know what else there was to say.

There was a very high probability she would have lost her mind had Astarion not provided a small sense of grounding – even if she had no intention before this moment in time of sleeping with him. Tav found herself somewhat grateful.

This was going to fuck everything up – she had fucked everything up by sleeping with Haarlep.

Astarion snorted at her response. Hand abandoned petting her arm to thread through her sweat tangled hair. Nails scrapped soothingly from the base to the top of her skull with no regard for how he was ruining her hair further. “Where your music is the instrumental embodiment of poetry, your way with words leaves much to be desired.” He kissed the top of her head. “Rest, darling. I am also not one for pillow talk.” The Vampire Spawn sighed. “I’ll keep watch until you are strong enough to move – once you are settled and able, we will address everything." Affection thick in his voice. The tension and darkness Tav observed during their time together seemed to all but vanish. This was a softer Astarion she did not know existed – had not taken the time to coax to the surface.

It was too late.

Tav tried to trance but could not fully commit to the act. She could not shake Raphael’s words from her mind. Knowing that it was only a matter of time before she would have to slink away from the ragtag party, she had become so fond of.

They would be in danger if she stayed too long.

She tucked herself closer against Astarion – took the first small true emotional comfort she had been shown in decades and cherished it. She knew this would most likely be the first and last time a tryst between them would happen.

Tav closed her eyes and willed the darkness to take away Raphael’s wicked promise.

“I will have you, little mouse – we will have you. When my claws come down, sinking in deep. Your mind, body and soul will belong to me. Anyone standing in our way will perish.”

[jihyocentric]

https://www.tumblr.com/jihyocentric/705445290222714880/so-im-sure-im-not-alone-in-wanting-to-see-a

This jeongmohyo where momo is at work and jeongyeon sends her a video of jihyo giving her a titjob and momo is basically hard the rest of the day. To her surprise when she gets home jeongyeon is still there and absolutely pounding into a completely fucked out jihyo who is basically just babling at this point. Jeongyeon commands her to sit and watch till its her turn

thank you for the link! continuation of this

momo gets stuck at work during the weekend and she thinks this might be some sort of punishment for depriving her wife of her company. she’s not around, but jeongyeon is.

since the first time jeongyeon tagged along with them for something more intimate than just having a few drinks together, momo has been coming to terms with her taste for watching jihyo getting fucked by someone else.

she’s always with a hard on when she peers at them and gets completely ignored by her wife and jeongyeon. it’s as if she’s not even there and momo secretly loves it. it stirs momo up how jihyo easily tumbles into orgasms when she’s in jeongyeon’s hands, how easily jeongyeon breaks her apart.

momo’s fists tighten under her desk when she receives a message from jeongyeon with a video attached to it. she has seen jihyo when she’s worn out before, when all jihyo can think about is being jammed with cock, but momo has never seen her this broken.

jihyo cries, every single drop falling to her chest and getting mixed with the glistening layer of spit. momo hardens when jihyo squeezes her tits around jeongyeon’s shaft, stammering a small ‘please’, as if asking jeongyeon to fuck them instead of making her do the work.

she cries because no matter how long she’s been there with the warmth of her breasts engulfing jeongyeon’s cock, working her up to get her load, jihyo couldn’t make jeongyeon come. jeongyeon pulls her face away when jihyo tries to lick the peeking head, a haughty sneer playing on her face.

“bet you regret missing this, momorin,” jeongyeon taunts, fist grasping a hold of jihyo’s head by the hair, making jihyo look right into the camera. momo’s cock twitches inside her pants and she has to cross her legs to hide the bulge. “your little slut is a try hard, ‘d you know that? she can’t stop until i cum in her. is she always like this?”

momo lets out a whimper when jeongyeon makes jihyo hold her own tits around her thick shaft, pounding into the tight passage, just like jihyo wanted her to. momo could almost feel the smooth warmth herself, hips bucking automatically when jeongyeon took off, fucking her tits.

but then the video ends, leaving momo high and dry behind her work desk, forced to come back to her senses and get back to work despite having an aching tent in her pants.

momo only gets home once she’s sure she finished all the tasks given to her. that was the main reason why she wasn’t at home, with her wife, on a saturday. and she refused to go to work on a sunday, so everything had to be perfect.

she didn’t expect to find jeongyeon still there, as it was already night and jeongyeon didn’t usually stick around for too long, but the moment momo locks the door behind her, she can hear jihyo’s wanton moans and the sound of skin clapping resounding through the house.

the hard on she got earlier had chipped away after forcing herself to focus on her paperwork, but when she hears them it comes back, and way harder than before. momo immediately drops her things, stumbling as she rushes to their room, finding jeongyeon pounding into jihyo from behind.

jihyo could hardly hold herself up, so jeongyeon had to place a couple pillows under her hips, keeping her ass up for her to use. momo pulses in her boxers, standing far enough to get a nice view of them. jihyo doesn’t notice she’s there yet, but jeongyeon has a smile on her face when she peeks at momo.

none of them say a word, momo and jeongyeon trying to catch on what jihyo was trying to say, but they can’t understand anything aside from the pleas for jeongyeon to fuck her. jihyo babbles mindlessly, gripping at the sheets as she cried out, face red with a light mark of jeongyeon’s hand imprinted on her cheek.

momo has known about jihyo’s fondness for being spanked. sometimes they'd play around that, but never going too far. with jeongyeon, it seemed jihyo got starving for it, begging to receive some slaps across her thighs, ass, even on her face.

reminding that jihyo enjoyed being jeongyeon’s pet and going as far as getting spanked on the face always left momo jealous, as jihyo never did such things with her. rough sex was recurring with both of them, but jihyo was the most submissive with jeongyeon.

“take a sit, momorin,” jeongyeon rasps, stomach tightening when jihyo clenches around her, apparently aware that momo was there. “i didn’t take her pussy. ‘s all yours when i’m done.”

momo grunts at that, knowing jihyo might be desperate to have something filling her pussy up, and she was craving to bury herself inside jihyo. momo sits on a chair that had been intentionally placed next to the bed, rolling the zipper of her pants down, releasing her shaft from the straining clothes.

momo licks her lips as she pulls her pants down along with the boxers, never looking away from them.

“let me join,” momo husks, drawing jeongyeon’s attention. “please, been like this all day ‘cause of you.”

“but what’s the fun in giving what you want?” jeongyeon muses, pace slowing down.

she keeps her cock deep inside jihyo’s ass, making her whine for more, wanting jeongyeon to move, trying to fuck herself on the cock lodged up inside her. jeongyeon coos, amused. after many rounds of sex, jihyo was still greedy for more.

“we can be both inside.” momo pleads, fist firm around her flushed cock, needing a release badly. “she’ll love this.”

“you will love this,” jeongyeon scoffs. momo pouts, nearly crying, knowing she’d wait too long until jeongyeon came to be inside jihyo, her own wife. “c’mere, then.”

momo gets up, a breath of relief escaping from her lips when jeongyeon takes pity on her. jeongyeon doesn’t pull out, raising jihyo’s hips so she could throw the pillows somewhere else then making jihyo lay on her side to give momo some access.

“can i?” momo asks jihyo, earning a mindless ‘yes’, jihyo barely aware of what she’s being asked, too fucked out to understand. she places jihyo’s leg over her hipbone, notching the tip of her cock inside jihyo with ease, the younger of the three drenched with cum and slick. “so fucking good,” momo grunts.

“good girl,” jeongyeon praises, lips next to jihyo's ear. jihyo closes her eyes, humming at the praise, head tucked in momo’s neck as she felt her wife sink inside. “look so pretty taking us, hyo.”

the pleasure is blinding once momo is fully in and jihyo mewls, nails sinking down momo’s back as they take off together. momo’s pace is rowdy, desperate, and jeongyeon has to match it, pulling out until only the tip was inside and then filling her ass when momo wasn’t all the way in jihyo’s pussy.

jihyo shudders as an orgasm hits her for the nth time, jeongyeon’s fingers rolling over her sensitive clit, biting down momo’s shoulders as she tightens around them. momo nears the edge entirely too soon, being squeezed by jihyo’s walls and jeongyeon’s cock, that was only separated from hers due to a thin wall.

“fuck, can’t hold it,” momo whines, gripping jihyo’s waist tight as she fucks into her with wild abandon, hot cum spurting deep inside jihyo, reaching her peak sooner than she would normally allow herself to.

“that fast?” jeongyeon teases, pulling out. she wanted to release her built up pleasure somewhere else. “look at me, hyo.”

momo pulls out, letting jihyo lay on her back to glance up at jeongyeon, who was kneeling next to her. jihyo can hardly get ready, jeongyeon’s load coating her cheeks and neck, a thick, warm essence leaving her even messier.

momo doubts jihyo has any power in her body to take them again, but she grows hard again with what she sees, cock standing tall against her belly as jeongyeon uses her wife’s face as a cum dump.

jeongyeon coos, ogling momo’s growing erection. “need some help, momorin?”

jihyo giggles, slightly dizzy but still conscious, and momo swallows hard at the suggestion, her pride vanishing when she reminds of the feeling of having jeongyeon inside her.

[timeofjuly]

And Four Papyri in a Pear Tree

Chapter 2 - Violently, Vividly Vibrant

Summary: You decorate the Christmas tree with Edge and avoid being restrained by tinsel.

Notes: The second chapter of And Four Papyri in a Pear Tree, my four-part holiday series focusing on festive-themed dates with Rus, Edge, Stretch, and Papyrus.

Tags: Reader/underfell Papyrus, tree decorating, fluff, established relationship.

Read it on AO3 or read it below the cut!

“Are you actually going to contribute, or do you just intend on sitting there and watching me do all the work?” Edge asks you, hands on his hips.

“I tried to put one bauble on, and you threatened to restrain me,” you say. “Forgive me if I feel a little safer outside of tinselling range.”

He sniffs. “It’s not my fault that you’re blind to my aesthetic vision. What kind of philistine does the ornaments before the lights?”

You and Edge are in the living room, surrounded by boxes of ornaments and the scent of pine. You sit on the couch, legs crossed beneath you as you watch him fuss with a string of lights. The Christmas tree, a lush evergreen, is in the middle of its festive transformation.

And what a regimented transformation it is. You should’ve known this process would be akin to a military operation the moment Edge brought the tree in. He meticulously adjusted the tree stand at least six times, making sure it was perfectly centred and level. It had taken you retrieving your spirit level from your toolbox to convince him that it was actually straight and even now, you’ve caught him nudging it with his foot a few times.

Actually, no, you should’ve known how seriously he was going to take this well before that, when you’d picked out the tree with him. He insisted on manually inspecting every single tree on the farm and grading them on overall shape, density of branches, size, and needle quality. Your joking suggestion to add another category, strength of pine-y smell, had been received with great enthusiasm.

You’re now the lucky owner of the largest, most conically shaped, most fragrant, and densest tree the farm had to offer. Unfortunately, you had needed to compromise on needle quality to satisfy the other requirements.

“No, I see the vision,” you say, eyeing the tree critically. “It’s definitely very… matchy-matchy.”

Edge’s browbone twitches. The fearsome affect is lost on you, though, as an errant piece of tinsel is clinging to a crack just above his socket. “Matchy-matchy? It is not matchy-matchy! I intentionally picked different ornaments in the same colour palette to avoid that. It is festive and timeless.”

Your gaze flickers to the tree. The tree, laden in red tinsel and red lights and redder ornaments, stares back at you. You’ve never seen so many shades of scarlet in one place, which is saying something considering that you’ve seen the inside of Edge’s closet.

The boughs are heavy with precisely spaced baubles and perfectly fluffed tinsel, each branch artfully uniform. It wouldn’t be out of place on the front page of a magazine.

You’ve always just thrown lights and tinsel at the tree and put ornaments wherever you thought they looked good. You’ve never had anything like a theme, or even a colour scheme. It’s not the holidays, in your opinion, if it doesn’t look like someone’s vomited rainbow everywhere.

“I just think it might be nice to get some more colour in there,” you try.

He looks unconvinced. You swing your legs down and jostle the nearest box of ornaments with your foot, the baubles inside giving a great rattle of plastic. “I bought these ones from home ‘cause I wasn’t sure what you already had. Do you want to have a look?”

Edge throws his arms up with a sigh. “If they ruin the aesthetic, I am removing them immediately.”

You grin, undeterred by his lack of enthusiasm. “Yay!” You rip the plastic tape from the cardboard box and tear it open, angling it towards him. The ornaments all tumble over each other, narrowly avoiding spilling over the sides. “This is just what wouldn’t fit on my tree at home, so it’s a bit of a mix.”

His long, slender phalanges dip into the box. His claws return cradling a misshapen clay angel, its lumpy surface covered in patchy pink paint and garish glitter glue.

“I made that,” you say.

His browbone twitches again and with admirable restraint, he says, “… recently?”

“No! As a kid,” you laugh. You pluck it from his fingers and hold it up to the light. “Don’t you think it’s cute?”

It’s cute in the same way that ancient, decrepit small dogs are cute, but whatever. You turn it around and show him the back, where your name is scrawled in huge, clumsy handwriting. “I made it in preschool.”

He considers the angel, eyelights narrowed. “I consulted several different sources on optimal Christmas tree decorating and none of them used ornaments that looked like that,” he says.

“Sources? What kind of – oh.”

The only sources you can imagine exist for tree decorating are beige mommy bloggers with their soulless, Pinterest-perfect décor. No wonder the tree looks like something straight out of a holiday display catalogue and to be fair, he has done an excellent job of mimicking that look.

That’s the problem. It looks everything like someone else’s style and nothing like his. The theme, though undoubtedly festive, contributes to the sensation that the tree is more of a stylish display than a reflection of the nature of the holidays.

“Yes, sources,” he says, taking the angel from your hands. He rubs a thumb over it, the bone coming away flecked in transferred glitter. “The first step in successfully completing a new task is to do extensive and comprehensive research. I couldn’t find a manual, unfortunately, so I had to resort to the internet.”

That… makes sense. You know that there was a tree for Gyftmas Underground – in this universe, at least – but you have no idea if it was decorated or, if it was, doing so was a communal activity. And even if it was here, you very much doubt that that would’ve been the case in his universe. No wonder he hasn’t done this before.

Well. That just means you get to make those memories with him.

“That’s true,” you say. “Oh, hang on -.” You dive your hand back into the box and unearth another ornament. This one is a small, festively framed picture, with a loop at the top threaded through with red silk ribbon. “Here’s a primary source for you; this is another preschool craft project. We made the frames from popsicle sticks and bought in photos from home to put inside. This is my tree from that year.”

You show him the picture of your parents standing in your childhood living room, your decorated tree between them. Your four-year-old self smiles toothily at the camera, very pleased at the explosion of colour behind them.

“It’s very colourful,” he says. “Aggressively colourful. A visual assault on the senses.”

You hold your breath.

“I like it,” he continues, and you exhale. “I want my tree to be even more violently vivid. I want it to be so vibrant, so bright, that it’ll leave a burnt impression in the human retina if you stare at it for too long.” He looks at you thoughtfully. “We may need to get you sunglasses.”

You hold the box up to him and shake it enticingly. “I think there’s a highlighter yellow snowman in here somewhere. That’ll be a good start.”

“A start,” he agrees, taking the box from your hands.

The two of you start adding your ornaments to the tree; you still eye the tinsel warily, but he seems more open to your input now that you’re not sticking to the original theme.

He’s delighted by the more ridiculous ornaments; some of them are childhood mementos, but most of them are just silly things you’d stumbled across in holiday markets or online. A handmade ornament shaped like a grinning cat wearing a Santa hat, more childhood crafts, the promised eye-watering yellow snowman. The tree slowly becomes more and more garish, a splash of hues breaking up the wall of red.

"We need to fix this section. It's too concentrated," he says, gesturing towards the bottom left side of the tree.

You tilt your head at it and squint. You suppose that there are a few extra pieces in that area, but it’s towards the back!

"Come on, it gives the tree character! Plus, the more, the merrier, right?" you say.

Edge’s answering looks makes it clear that he doesn’t share that sentiment. “Not when it makes my tree look lopsided, no. The more the miserabler, in this case.”

Well, he’s compromised on the ornaments, so you can give a little too. “Argh, fine, I’ll shift a few around.”

So you do. Soon, the tree is complete, covered in a mixture of the red ornaments and the older ones you brought from home. Countless multi-coloured lights twinkle from amidst the foliage, casting a festive glow that dances across the room. Strands of tinsel cascade down the branches, catching the light and shimmering with every movement. Hand-painted globes, paper snowflakes, and beaded garlands intermingle with the polished red ornaments, other pops of colour emerging as pastel popsicle stick reindeer and glitter-covered pinecones.

It’s still a lot more cohesive than what you’d normally do, but you find that you actually quite like the effect. A little bit of control amongst the chaos.

Edge stands back from the tree and scans it discerningly. “Violently, vividly vibrant, excellent bough-to-bauble ratio, and -,” he holds his hand straight up between his eyelights and then closes one, “- the weight of the decorations hasn’t compromised the tree’s structural integrity.”

“Don’t need me to get the spirit level out again to make sure?” you tease.

“No need. My symmetrical sensitivity is unparalleled,” he says, affect entirely serious. If you weren't so used to his brand of scathing sarcasm, you would've missed it completely. 

You snort and then look back at the tree. There’s only one thing left to do.

“Can I put on the topper?” This isn’t technically your tree, after all, but the disgustingly sentimental part of you wants to have your little Hallmark moment.

You spot the topper in one of the boxes. It’s not one of yours; it’s a star, bright and glittery, though it’s not red like the rest of the decorations he purchased. It’s a vivid yellowy gold and when you pick it up, little bits of light refract around the room.

“If you’d like,” he says.

“Awesome, I’ll get a stool,” you say. The top of the tree is far too high for you to reach, even on your toes.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffs, and then you’re flying through the air.

You squawk in shock, which makes sense, considering that you feel rather bird-like. You manage to avoid flailing; a good thing, since your windmilling arms would’ve ruined all of your hard work.

His hands are firm around your waist, phalanges pressing into your sides. He’s gentle; you can tell that he’s being careful to avoid poking holes in your clothes with the sharp points of his claws and he’s slow as he brings you to the top of the tree.

Even still, it takes you a second to get your bearings. How’s this for a romcom moment, huh?

“Is this what life’s like for you tall people?” you say, scanning the room from your new vantage point. “The view’s not bad.”

“Should I add shoe lifts to your gift this year?” he asks, managing to sound completely serious. “Or perhaps some stilts?”

You snort. “No thanks, I’ll leave the top shelves to you.”

You nestle the star at the top carefully, mindful of the delicate needles. Despite your best efforts, it’s lopsided, standing at a jaunty angle.

You fuss with it a little longer, but the fucker just doesn’t want to cooperate. You get it a bit straighter, but it’s never going to pass for level. You look down at Edge, craning your head back. “Sorry, I don’t think I can get it much straighter than that.”

You’re lowered back down, your slippered feet gently touching the ground. Edge doesn’t take his hands from your waist; he wraps them around you a little tighter and sets his skull atop your head. You both look at the tree – it doesn’t look any straighter from down here.

“You can fix it if you want. I won’t be upset,” you offer.

“No,” he says. “I think it’s perfect as it is.”

[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

The No-Skip Albums: tag game!

Thanks @ace-of-hearts-and-spades for the tag this was so cool. And difficult because I have so many no skip albums apparently? Also, yes, every Florence + The Machine and Tove Lo album is included, I just saved some space and made little collages.

rules: share the albums that you can listen to nonstop, those lightning in a bottle-albums that scratch ur brain just right. every single track, an absolute banger. u could not skip one if u tried, no notes, stunning, show-stopping, immaculate, ur no-skip albums.

bonus & optional (but imo, v fun) rules: 1) add a track rec for us to listen to! AND 2) share ur favorite line(s) from that track!..

Everyone is tagged. As a treat.

Track rec time. I didn't put lyrics for every song because I'm very tired✌️ Have fun.

Advanced Basics 💿 USS (Ubiquitous Synergy Seeker)

Song - Built To Break

My life in a cage I wake up shower, bleed, and blaze / And what would I know / If no one ever told me so

There's not much to say / In such an ordinary daze / There's not much to be / I'm such an ordinary me

Pain Killer 💿 Little Big Town

Song: Tumble and Fall

It's a want you, it's a need you, it's a hold on through the pain

It's a get through what you got to, 'cause it can't stay the same

It's a long talk with the lights off, it's the last breath in your lungs

It's the deep end that we jump in, it's the love that we become

It's a reach out, it's a white flag, it's a forfeit of the game

It's a let go of the ego, and the whisper of your name

It's a fight for, not a defend, it's a stay out in the rain

It's the knowin' that you love me more than anything

Mr. Misunderstood 💿 Eric Church

Song: Chattanooga Lucy

With Teeth 💿 Nine Inch Nails

Song: You Know What You Are?

Beauty Behind the Madness 💿 The Weeknd

Song: In the Night

In the night she hears him calling

In the night she's dancing to relieve the pain

She'll never walk away (I don't think you understand)

In the night when she comes crawling

Dollar bills and tears keep falling down her face

She'll never walk away (I don't think you understand)

Florence + The Machine

Album: Lungs Song: Cosmic Love

I took the stars from my eyes and then I made a map

And knew that somehow I could find my way back

Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too

So I stayed in the darkness with you

Album: Ceremonials Song: What The Water Gave Me

And oh, poor Atlas / The world's a beast of a burden / You've been holding on a long time / And all this longing / And the ships are left to rust / That's what the water gave us

Cause she's a cruel mistress

And a bargain must be made

But oh, my love, don't forget me

When I let the water take me

Album: How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful

Song: Various Storms & Saints

Now find a rooftop to sing from / Now find a hallway to dance / You don't need no edge to cling from / Your heart is there, it's in your hands / I know it seems like forever I know it seems like an age / But one day this will be over I swear it's not so far away

Album: High As Hope Song: June

In those heavy days in June / When love became an act of defiance

You were broken-hearted and the world was too / And I was beginning to lose my grip / And I have always held it loosely But this time, I admit / I felt it really start to slip

Album: Dance Fever Song: Mermaids

And the merrmaids, they come once a year

They climb the struts of Brighton Pier

They come to drink, they come to dance

To sacrifice a human heart

Album: Lady Wood Song: True Disaster

And the world is so much wilder than you think

You haven't seen nothing til you've seen an English girl drink

Tove Lo

Album: Queen of the Clouds Song: This Time Around

Album: Blue Lips. Song: shivering gold

Album: Sunshine Kitty Song: Anywhere U Go

Album: Dirt Femme Song: True Romance

[katnissmellarkkk]

I posted 2,329 times in 2022

524 posts created (22%)

1,805 posts reblogged (78%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@christmascookiekatnissmellarkkkk

@rosegardeninwinter

@jenniferiawrence

@in-love-with-movies

@capiture

I tagged 2,195 of my posts in 2022

Only 6% of my posts had no tags

#movies 🤍💫 - 562 posts

#🖤🤍​series and television🖤🤍 - 221 posts

#🤍✨🍿 films seen in 2022 🥀✨🎞 - 195 posts

#thg - 142 posts

#hunger games - 134 posts

#play with me 🥰 - 128 posts

#everlark - 112 posts

#everlarky 🧡 - 103 posts

#siads 🌅 - 74 posts

#pretty writing 💙 - 71 posts

Longest Tag: 142 characters

#i’m not allowed to reply but thank you so much my writing is literally the most important compliment i could get so thank you ❤️❤️❤️❤️😭😭😭😭

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I’m a broken record and I’m just repeating what I’ve said a million times before but :

Peeta was, from his very first appearance in chapter two, written as the love interest. I can’t explain it further really, you just see it or you don’t. There was never any real doubt to the reader he was the one Katniss would choose in the end, because he was the only one written as a serious possibility.

347 notes - Posted January 9, 2022

#4

Okay and also, another thing???? Why is Francis Lawrence so backwards with his opinion towards Ballad and the OG trilogy’s love stories? TBOSAS love story wasn’t a real love story? It was infatuation and manipulation and possession hidden beneath the guise of an entitled sociopath going through a rough patch in his otherwise cushy life. The OG trilogy was literally a love story between a starved girl who grew up too quick and the boy who she couldn’t let die, who reminded her of humanity in the face of insurmountable strife and grief, who showed her kindness when everything else fell apart, who proved that her life could always be good again, even after losing everything she ever held close.

So why did Francis Lawrence always downplaying Katniss and Peeta’s love story but now overselling Lucy Gray and Snow’s?

348 notes - Posted August 16, 2022

#3

I know I said this before — it was one of my first posts ever on this blog, if I remember correctly — but one of the parallels that gets to me from The Hunger Games to Mockingjay is one that I feel is criminally undiscussed.

Hunger Games :

“You have a . . . remarkable memory,” I say haltingly.

“I remember everything about you,” says Peeta, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re the one who wasn’t paying attention.”

“I am now,” I say.

Mockingjay :

At a few minutes before four, Peeta turns to me again. "Your favorite color...it's green?"

"That's right." Then I think of something to add. "And yours is orange."

"Orange?" He seems unconvinced.

"Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset," I say. "At least, that's what you told me once."

"Oh." He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. "Thank you."

But more words tumble out. "You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces."

Also we can discuss how Peeta’s line “I remember everything about you” is ironic considering Mockingjay. Suzanne Collins really is either a genius or her writing intrinsically parallels itself.

662 notes - Posted January 17, 2022

#2

It’s actually fascinating to me that for all the main characters in The Hunger Games (that we truly know and understand) Gale is the only one who never actually experiences his “worst case scenario” come to life.

We know right from chapter one that Katniss’ worst case scenario is losing Prim. She’s still got resentments towards her mother, she doesn’t have many friends at all because if she can help it, she won’t attach herself to people she can lose, and her father is long dead. But Prim is the one person, the one living thing that she undeniably loves without reservations or hesitation. Every single thing she does throughout the entire series can be tied back to her love for Prim.

And then Prim died at the end of the war.

Peeta’s worst case scenario was always losing himself, to the awful world they live in. He refused to just be another piece in the games, and that extended further than the arena. He believed he was destined to die in the games but he always, always tried to keep his purity of self in tact.

And then Snow hijacked him, corrupted his mind and forced him to completely forget who he was, what he stood for and who he loved.

Other important characters had their “worst case scenario” happen years before the books began. Twenty-four years prior to the start of the series Haymitch lost the three people he loved as punishment for his antics. Johanna lost everyone she ever cared for too (presumably for being rebellious or uncooperative). And in the course of the second and third book, in the background of Katniss’ story, Finnick lost Mags who practically raised him and his very vulnerable love got kidnapped and tormented. Yes, he got her back and they had a moment of happiness but then he went and bit the dust so.

But Gale never experiences this. When Katniss tells us in chapter one about Prim and her love for her, she mentions how deeply Gale loves his own family. The Hawthorne’s are sprinkled throughout all three books, more than any other family aside from Katniss’. Why would that be? We don’t know almost anything about Peeta’s family, even though his father and Mrs. Everdeen have some level of history. We know his mother is, best case scenario, sometimes temperamental (to put it lightly) and that negatively affected aspects of his development. Peeta is a much more prevalent character throughout the series, yet we know almost nothing about his family or background. Haymitch is one of the most essential people in Katniss’ life, he’s her lifeline in the games, the mirror image of what she could become in personality and trauma and her overall father figure by the end. Yet we know nothing about his family or his girl. Even though the loss of those people is likely the explanation to why Haymitch ended up the way he did. But we know the names and bits and pieces of the personalities of every single living member of Gale’s family. Why is that? Maybe because Katniss is more familiar with them? But she also went to the same school as Peeta’s brothers and she trades with his father once a week. Mr. Mellark has more of a connection to Katniss than Gale’s family does, through her mother. So, pretty apparently in my opinion, we learn more about the Hawthorne’s as a whole because it’s essential to Gale’s character. Because his family is everything to him. Because losing them would be his “worst case scenario”.

Saying this doesn’t mean Gale had it easy. His life was arguably one of the hardest we saw at the start of the series and he was put in awful positions throughout the books, he was whipped almost to death, he lost a lot that he cared deeply about along the way and he without a doubt suffered immensely. But he didn’t lose his family, in the end he landed a pretty great job, in a fancier district and presumably had his family with him.

I just find it interesting that even though his life was probably so hard, in the end of the story Gale is only main character who didn’t live through his “worst case scenario”.

804 notes - Posted January 15, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Haters : “Peeta is W E A K.”

Katniss Herself :

“All those years of having enough to eat and hauling bread trays around have made him broad-shouldered and strong. It will take an awful lot of weeping to convince anyone to overlook him.”

“He's so strong and such a good liar.”

“Sometimes when I'm alone, I take the pearl from where it lives in my pocket and try to remember the boy with the bread, the strong arms that warded off nightmares on the train, the kisses in the arena.”

“Strong arms lift me as I blast the head off a mutt whose claws have just grazed my ankle. I'm slammed into the ladder. Hands shoved against the rungs. Ordered to climb. My wooden, puppet limbs obey. Movement slowly brings me back to my senses. I detect one person above me. Pollux. Peeta and Cressida are below.”

“I wrap my arms around his neck, feel his arms hesitate before they embrace me. Not as steady as they once were, but still warm and strong. A thousand moments surge through me. All the times these arms were my only refuge from the world.”

1,158 notes - Posted April 19, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[zylaa]

I posted 6,611 times in 2022

That's 160 more posts than 2021!

35 posts created (1%)

6,576 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@cardcarryingcynic

@aiyexayen

@alyssterinec

@arcnoise

@procrastinatingplatypus

I tagged 2,054 of my posts in 2022

#dracula daily - 84 posts

#the untamed - 80 posts

#lotr - 77 posts

#religion - 50 posts

#tumbling about tumblr - 48 posts

#nona the ninth spoilers - 47 posts

#nona the ninth - 46 posts

#long post - 43 posts

#food - 42 posts

#writing - 40 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#in seriousness the 'seeing conflicting visions of a better world is...' bit hit me good and i'm gonna be thinking about it for a long time

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Sometimes I think about how text I added to a post could be floating around on a popular post seen by thousands and I would never know

13 notes - Posted April 28, 2022

#4

I may not have finished a book since March, I may not even be able to read fanfic right now, but I sure can reblog five zillion Dracula memes to bless and curse my followers

13 notes - Posted May 9, 2022

#3

So obviously, as a tumblr user for more than 10 years, I knew Destiel was huge. But somehow, even with the Mishapocalypse of yore, even with November 5, 2020, I didn’t comprehend just how huge.

According to the latest AO3 Ship Stats, not only is Destiel the only ship with more than 100,000 fics on AO3, Destiel has 37,000+ fics more than the second-highest ship (which is Johnlock, of course). It’s not even close.

Put another way, if the difference between Destiel and Johnlock was itself a ship... if there was another ship out there with that many fics... that hypothetical ship would itself be large enough to hit #9 on the list of top AO3 ships of all time.

And that’s terrifying.

17 notes - Posted November 16, 2022

#2

So in my general background knowledge absorption of Dracula mythos, I somehow got the impression that the novel introduced him as “Alucard”

Like, everyone in novel-world knew there was an evil vampire named “Count Dracula,” but somehow nobody suspected this man going around calling himself “Alucard”

So when I started Dracula Daily and read the postscript of “Your friend, Dracula,” it took me out

28 notes - Posted May 15, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Maybe this is because I was behind for a few days, but I haven’t seen a post properly appreciating our friend Jonathan Harker for the many delightful ways he describes buying men drinks. I was going to say ‘bribing,’ but no, these men are telling him everything anyway, he’s just picking up every single unsubtle hint of ‘sure could use a drink’ and going ‘why yes, good fellow, you sure could!’

65 notes - Posted October 4, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[weasleywinchester]

Slow Motion - Ch. 2

I Never Knew You Could Feel This Way

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4| Chapter 5

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Curvy Female Reader

Hey fam thank you to all those who gave the first chapter some love 💙 I’m in the midst of writing a few darker chapters for Save Yourself (Dean Winchester x Reader) and I Can’t Help Myself (Joel Miller x Reader), so this has been my slice of happy fluff! I hope y’all enjoy and thank you to everyone who asked to be tagged 🥺 love you much! (also almost at 230 followers 🥺🥺🥺)

Series Summary: I mean, love at first sight has to exist for some people. Guess you're one of the lucky ones. Bob had said it so nonchalantly. Like it was a thing that could, did, happen in real life. And yet here he was, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, falling for you faster than his plane could take off. But even if everything felt slow motion, was it possible the two of you were moving too fast?

Chapter Summary:

Goodness gracious, great balls of fire! Rooster made a small decision to give love a shot and a higher power has decided he will trip over Every. Single. Word he says to you the second he walks back into Top Gun. And he knows this isn’t… love, but you shake his nerves and rattle his brain. What he doesn’t realize, he has the same effect on you.

Monday

“Hey!” Bradley nods to a few people as he makes his way into the Admiral’s office. He waltzes over to the front desk, surprised it’s currently unoccupied. He leans over the edge of it, looking to see if he can spot anyone down the hall. When no one comes he takes a look around.

It’s set up differently than last time; everything is labeled [your last name] in metallic blue, and behind the desk there’s a gallery wall of photos and memorabilia. Some of it looks like world war two era, and some, like the one of his dad and Maverick, more recent. His eyes drift over every photo and he almost laughs out loud when he sees a small one of Captain America and Peggy Carter tucked right in the middle. How has no one noticed that? He chuckles.

“Like what you see, Lieutenant?” You ask from the doorway to the left of your desk. You’re not sure how the words even made it out of your mouth, let alone the sexy tone. Your heart’s rattling around in your chest; This is it, the moment he’ll look you over once and pass. Plenty of guys that roam these halls have done it, but, to be fair, you’ve done it too.

He slowly swings his head to flash you a smile and stops dead in his tracks, the girl from the bar! He immediately stands up stick straight, smoothing the front of his uniform, and nearly saluting at you. Your eyes are still twinkling with mischief like they did at the bar, even under the fluorescent lights. And he never thought red lipstick could make his whole body tingle.

“Yes Ma’am. Quite a collection.” He swallows hard, his heart beating like he just got caught cheating on a test. When you smile, and refrain from laughing, he relaxes a bit. “But uh, wasn’t Captain America with the army?” He cheekily adds, almost missing the lip of the desk when he tries to lean against it.

“Are you tellin me you are not, in fact, The Steven Grant Rogers?” You feign surprise, which earns you an eye roll and a small chuckle. “Although I guess Cap never had a mustache.” You hold a finger up to your top lip and wiggle your brows at him.

“Ha ha.” He playful adds, his eyes keeping yours captive. 

Guess he does like what he sees… Damn you Mav. You sigh.

“I don’t think Mr. Stark has you on the docket today, but you’re on time for the Admiral.” You walk around to your side of the desk, taking a seat and waking up the computer.

“Would rather go have a drink with Stark to be honest.” He tells you, the words tumbling out slowly as he admires your face. He’s seen plenty of pretty girls in his time, but something about you is so much more captivating. Your face is soft, full cheeks, rounded nose; your beautiful lips are gently pulled into a smile as your eyes are focused on the task at hand.

“Alright Lieutenant Bradshaw, here’s your badge; the Admiral will be waiting for you in his office.” You tell him as you hand him his things. You look up to see he’s got a cute little grin on his face, his eyes slowly moving but he clearly hasn’t heard a word you said.

“Lieutenant?” You cock your head to one side. Why is he looking at me like that? Oh god do I have lipstick on my teeth? You quickly lick your teeth just in case. It’s a liquid lipstick, it ain’t on your teeth you dolt.

“Bradley?” You try. His name feels good rolling off your tongue, like you were always meant to say it.

“Hmm?” He blinks hard a few times. How is she so cute? How could she look this adorable now and so badass last night?

“The Admiral is waiting for you.” You smile, leaning a bit closer to him.

He rocks forward onto the balls of his feet and for a second you think he might kiss you. He DOESN'T KNOW YOU, you dingus. You reprimand yourself. Still… 

He quickly flashes a smile and rocks back, slapping his hands against the desk as he slowly backs away; his gaze not letting go of yours until he makes a left down the hall.

He does know it’s-

After about two seconds he quickly walks the other direction toward the Admiral’s office and you giggle to yourself.

_______

“Flirty? Like Hangman ?” You look at your group of coworkers in disbelief. You had gossiped a little here and there but now they were full speed ahead since a certain group of fighter pilots have been arriving throughout the week.

“Hangman’s so pretty…” One girl comments.

“And the textbook definition of a player!” Someone else laughs.

“Rooster looks the part but he’s all talk; never taken anything farther than a few dates from what I’ve heard. At least Hangman takes you home…”

The lot of you sit and gossip like a group of hens, but not much can be said about Bradley.

As one girl tells her date mixup story involving Fanboy, the girl covering your break comes over and gives you an apologetic look.

“Sorry, Maverick asked for you.” She shrugs. You nod and stand up, giving the girls an apologetic look as you head back to your desk.

“Like what you see Captain?” You smile from the doorway. Mav’s standing almost exactly how Bradley was earlier. At the sound of his name he turns to you, flashing that million dollar smile.

“Need you to do one of these in my house.” He gestures to the wall. He loved the one you had in Mojave, but he loved that a few of his peers had given you a few photos to add.

“I’ll need Pennys approval in writing.” You poke him in the shoulder.

“If you put plenty of pictures of Amelia she’ll be fine.” He chuckles, wrapping his arms around you and giving you a squeeze.

“Ok well, then I’ll need what you just said in writing.” You squeeze him a little harder and you let go of each other.

“Walk with me?” He gestures to the courtyard. You nod and follow him out the door. “Enjoying Top Gun? Everyone respecting you?”

“Been good so far. Ladies were just starting to fill me in on a certain group of pilots.” You laugh. “Although they described Bradley differently then the impression I got.”

“You’ve met already?” Mav perks up, which makes you chuckle.

“He came in this morning and checked in. Got his clearance and all that.” 

“Did you talk? What did you think?” Mav lightly takes your arm so you stop walking.

“He’s polite, nice, can crack a joke, and a little flirty.” You shrug, trying to keep it cool. If you give Mav any indication that Bradley makes you feel like a blob of jello you’ll never hear the end of it.

Mav slowly nods at your words but that damn smile is as big as the runway.

“Did you tell him we’ve worked together?” You inquire. It would explain his better behavior from what you gather.

“Not a word, never let me get past the ‘I know a girl you should meet’. But I knew you two would hit it off.” He claps in victory.

“Think you’re jumping the gun there Mav.” You shake your head, looping your arm through his. And don’t give me too much hope.

“Maybe, maybe not. Either way could you join us for family dinner? Penny’s cooking.” He clarifies. Mav can grill just about any kind of meat, but he has no talent for anything else.

“Wow you’re not just going to throw us out on a date right off the bat?” You laugh. “But yes, I would love to come over.”

“Going to try the ‘if I’m nice I’ll get what I want’ route with you two.”

“And what do you want?”

“For you two to fall in love, duh. And dinner is Sunday at 6.” He slips his arm from your grasp and traps you in a bear hug as you waddle back inside.

_______

Wednesday

“Who’s the new girl at the front desk?” Rooster asks as he hands everyone a shot. They’ve been at The Hard Deck for all of an hour and he’s already three beers in hoping to calm the fuck down.

“(Y/N)?” Phoenix and Bob ask in unison as they circle the pool table.

“I saw her too. She’s… pretty.” Hangman adds, making a little face.

“Why’d you say it like that?” Fanboy frowns, taking a sip of his beer.

“She’s just a little curvier, which is fine, gives ya a little more to uh.” He makes a squeezing gesture with his hands. “It just normally comes with some body insecurity.” He shrugs.

“You kidding Hangman? She’s fine as hell.” Coyote sighs, thinking about when you wore a knockout outfit yesterday.

“And like you wouldn’t soak up the undivided attention.” Phoenix rolls her eyes. “Wait… wait a fucking minute! Didn’t she turn you down the other day? Flipped you off as she left?” Phoenix pokes. Hangman’s face pinches together and the whole group erupts in laughter. 

“She probably told Rooster to get lost too.” He fires back, turning to Rooster for confirmation. Rooster simply shrugs, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Not telling you shit Hangman.

“Oooo man, Rooster for the win.” Fanboy claps. “But seriously, what are all y’all doing here? I’m stationed here…” Fanboy steers the conversation to other things as Rooster reels over the last few days. Turns out you’re way more than a secretary, you’re an analyst who can do two jobs at once. You’re only ever called in on certain missions or programs but the Admiral was more than happy to have you on the staff. Rooster managed to keep his head on straight for once and asked about the Cap and Carter picture. You laughed and told him he was the first one to ever say anything. Her laugh is the best noise… and her smile, who could resist?

Bob quietly moves to sit next to Rooster, shaking his snack cup to wake him up out of whatever daze he’s in.

“(Y/N)’s really nice.” He tells Rooster. “We talked for a bit during lunch. She transferred from another base. She said she never thought she would work for the Navy, but apparently she has family here. Which explains why she brushed off Hangman’s advancements.” He huffs a little laugh.

“Think the only reason she didn’t pass me over was because I could barely talk like a normal person, let alone flirt.” Rooster confesses. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so-“ he grasps at the air, searching for something to describe this feeling.

“Nervous?” Bob offers, his brows raised in surprise.. He knows the feeling, especially  with confident women, but it’s fun to see Rooster squirm a little.

“It’s like trying to land a plan on your own for the first time. You know you can do it, but you’re still afraid you’ll crash into the ground.”

“Ooo, I hate- actually love to tell you,” Phoenix takes a seat on the other side of Rooster, “you’re falling for her.”

“What?”

“You can’t use your words like a big boy,” she starts counting on her fingers.

“You get that love struck look whenever you think about her.” Bob throws in and Phoenix holds up a second finger.

“What look? There’s no look!” Rooster defends. Is there a look? Do you give him a look? Although every look you give him is cute…

“It’s the one currently on your face.” Phoenix smirks. “ and you've asked everyone about her.”

“Not everyone…”

“Ok, you haven’t asked Maverick, or Penny. But I’ve literally seen you jump into all conversations about her.”

“Plus you specifically said the other night that you needed someone like that.” Bob nods.

“Well ya, like her… not actually…. her…” Rooster shakes his head. His heart might pound faster than his plane can fly when he thinks about you, but that’s normal…

“Think I have to disagree,” Bob nods. “I mean, love at first sight has to exist for some people. Guess you’re one of the lucky ones” He shrugs.

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT? Is that what this is? That’s fuckin crazy… no way. She’s just… just…

“Think you broke him Bob.” Phoenix waves her hand in front of Rooster’s face until he smacks it away. 

“She’s a smart, talented and beautiful woman, what’s not to like?” Bob looks at Rooster like he’s the crazy one.

“I know she’s those things… I just didn’t think-”

“And continue to not think.” Phoenix demands. “Not only does that advice work for being a pilot but also your love life, apparently. When you think too much you become a babbling mess, as you mentioned.”

“Maybe she’s the one you don’t have to put up a front for. Someone that you can lean on.” Bob softly adds, gently bumping Rooster’s arm. 

Maybe Bob’s right; maybe you could be his wingman in life, a home to come back to. You’ve known her for like three days man…

“You know Family Fun Weekend is next week…” Phoenix shrugs.

“And she’s going to be there.” Bob sing songs as he continues to snack on his peanuts.

_______

Friday

You got this. She’s just… possibly the love of your life. No, no, she’s a girl you want to know. No pressure. Bradley shakes the nerves away and walks out into the courtyard.

“Enjoying the San Diego air Agent Carter?” See? Still got it.

You look up from your phone to see Rooster walking toward you, a cocky smile on his face. That’s more like it.

“Good morning Rodgers.” You salute, trying to keep the tingly feeling under control. “Much nicer than afternoons back home.” You look up at the blue sky that’s dotted with clouds, seagulls squawking overhead as they ride the cool sea breeze. Somewhere in the distance you can hear the fog horns of ships and engines of planes.

“And where’s home?” He gestures to the empty seat next to you. You scoot to one side and he happily takes a seat, his arm coming to rest on the back of the bench. 

“Out towards Edwards Air Force Base.” You answer, trying not to sigh at the warmth of his knee against yours.

“Ahh, so you and Mav were neighbors.”

“Something like that.” You smile. Interesting that Mav hasn’t told him. “How was your meeting?”

“It was good, it was good; classified to civilians unfortunately.” He lifts his sunglasses up hoping you’ll do the same so he can lose himself in your eyes.

“You flyin soon? Or did they try to get you on the teaching route?” Did he just move his sunglasses to look at me? Maybe I should… You move your sunglasses up and you swear you hear him sharply inhale. Stay calm, stay calm, could be nothing.

“Always another mission. Startin’ in a few weeks.” He gives you that cute little grin, and it feels like he’s truly looking at you. Has to be real, can’t be hallucinating that good.

“So you’ll get training time here?” You ask, scooting a little closer, so your thigh is flush against his. He may be branded as a flirt but it can’t be just you that feels… whatever this is.

“Hopefully a little more training than past missions. And even a few days off here and there, maybe we could do stuff…” He leans toward you, fingertips lightly touching your shoulder.

“We can definitely do stuff… together.” You whisper as his face slowly moves toward yours.

“I’d like that.” His breath gently fans your face. Just a little closer-

“Rooster!”

You lean away from each other and turn to see Maverick waving him over.

“Duty calls Rodgers.” You whisper, bumping your shoulder against him.

“He always does.” He sighs, pushing himself off the bench and striding toward Maverick. 

You watch him go, trying not to admire the view too obviously. When he reaches Maverick they throw their arms around each other and walk back inside.

I love you Mav but you sure have the worst timing. You shake your head and turn back to your phone.

“Hey Red!”

You look up to see Rooster leaning out the door. “See you at the Family Fun day next weekend?”

“Sure thing Cap!” You laugh. See you a lot sooner than that though.

_______

Sunday

“Help Amelia set the table.” Mav directs, handing Bradley a stack of dishes.

“Yes sir.” he salutes as he walks over to the dining table.

“So you’ve met Mav’s friend?” He asks Amelia as the shuffle around the table to set it.

“Ya… you haven’t?” She cocks an eyebrow. “She works at Top Gun and comes by the bar few nights a week to chat with mom. Figured you would have ran into her by now.”

“I’ve only been here a week!” Bradley huffs in fake annoyance. Although it is his own fault, he got so wrapped up with his friends and you… he hasn’t given Mav’s friend a second thought.

“What’s she like? Mav is normally really good at not making friends.” Bradley chuckles.

“She’s cool. She managed to convince my mom to let me get this.” She pulls back her hair to show the tiny stud in her upper ear. “And she and Mav have the same sense of humor, so there’s too many inside jokes to keep track of.”

Bradley stops moving around the table, his brow furring at his new dilemma: does he tell Mav he’s already…in… love with you? But maybe he and mystery girl will hit it off and-

“Bradley?” Amelia interrupts. She’s trying her best not to laugh but he’s got the most confused and horrified look on his face.

“Ya?”

“You’ll like her, trust me.” She pats his shoulder and walks back into the kitchen to help her mom. The doorbell rings and Mav yells for Bradley to grab the door.

“Since when does she ring the doorbell?” He hears Penny ask.

It’ll be fine. You can have options. Maybe you’ll just be good friends after this. Bradley pep talks as he swings the door open to reveal

“Red.”

“Rooster.” You smile at him. You hoped if you rang the doorbell Mav would make him get it. His shocked expression slowly turns into that same cute smile he gives you when he walks by your desk everyday and you can’t help but bite your lip.

“Bradley.” Mav shouts. He darts his eyes toward Mav, who’s gesturing for him to let you in.

“Shit, right. Sorry.” He fumbles, moving far enough that you can squeeze by. He quickly shuts the door behind you, his arm gently pressed against your lower back as it clicks closed. His feet have decided they aren’t moving so now you’re almost pressed against his chest.

“Hi.” You breathe. Your heart feels like it’s getting ready to launch out of your chest with how close he’s standing. All he’d have to do is lean forward a little bit and his lips would press into yours

“Hi.” He mumbles back, his eyes taking in every detail of your beautiful face. Your eyes flick to his mouth and fuck could he want anything more then to press his mouth to yours?

“Kids! Dinner’s ready!” Penny sings and both of you snap out of the staring contest.

“Are introductions still needed?” Mav laughs as he hands the desert you brought to Amelia and swallows you in a hug.

“Bradley might need one.” Amelia giggles from the kitchen.

“I didn’t realize (Y/N) was your friend.” Bradley pokes Mav in the shoulder, handing you both a plate. You mumble a thanks and start dishing out your food, chatting with Amelia about your matching piercings.

Bradley turns to follow but Mav grabs him by the scruff of his neck.

“Maybe you should have let me tell you more instead of brushing it off.” Mav laughs in Bradley’s ear, ruffing his hair as he pushes him toward the table.. 

_______

“Think it’s time for the old folks to go to sleep.” You loudly whisper. Bradley and Amelia snicker as Mav and Penny groan from their places on the couch.

“Not old…” Penny remarks as she peels herself off the couch.

“You three just survive on no sleep.” Mav slaps your knee as he walks by.

“Ain’t no rest for the wicked.” You and Bradley say in unison.

“I’m going to bed too. School in the morning.” Amelia throws the remote on the couch before she gives you and Bradley both a hug.

“And then there were two.” Bradley smiles, holding up two fingers.

“We both have work tomorrow.” You groan, moving you ass over to the spot next to Bradley so you can lean against him as you pity yourself. Can’t we just be adults with endless money and without the confines of a job?

“Want me to drive you home?” He chuckles, gently putting his arms around you.

“Yes please.” You mumble into his chest. He chuckles again and the vibration makes you smile. “Maybe we can sit here for a moment?” you whisper. You can hear the grandfather clock in the hall mark the seconds of silence. Maybe I went too-

“I’d like that.” He whispers back, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

_______

Tag list:

@dilfsandtherapy

@kajjaka

@scott-mccall-could-lift-mjolnir

[jaskiersvalley]

Witchers didn't have daemons, that was a known fact. They were terrifying in their solitude, unfeeling and unaffected. Monsters made to fight monsters, they didn't need part of their soul for that. What the general public didn't know though was that the daemons weren't imprisoned somewhere, nor were they dead. The mages had figured out a way to separate daemon from child and force it into the most unnatural of shapes, another human. It meant two Witchers from a single child and the best part was, neither child nor daemon felt any connection to their counterpart once the process of the trials was complete.

In an effort to make sure full separation was certain and not even a sentimental link remained, daemons and children were separated and trained in different schools. Lambert had arrived at Kaer Morhen, still tripping over unfamiliar human feet and seething at being separated from his human. Over the years he tried to remember his human but, like all Witchers, they were given new names when they got their medallions and Lambert didn't think Luca still went by that name, nor would he be the scrawny kid Lambert remembered him as.

Whenever Lambert met another Witcher, he couldn't help but wonder whether it was his Luca that he was meeting. Though he wanted to believe that there would be a spark some kind of recognition there. He had been a little relieved when he met Letho and there was nothing there between them.

Of course Geralt had to be the first one to find his daemon. The smug bastard had found a bard who told people his daemon was a flea which was just like him; unnoticeable until he causes a nuisance. Most pitied him but Geralt had seen through the charade. He watched the bard without a daemon, curiosity and caution allowed him to permit Jaskier to tag along. The story tumbled out eventually.

"My great grandparents bought me. I was some kind of freak novelty some merchants were selling."

That was all Geralt had needed to hear and he was all but dragging Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in the winter. Nobody had expected Vesemir's face to close off completely.

"I remember you!" Jaskier said in way of greeting. "You were a dick."

"Julian." The reply was terse and tight.

Lambert got a front view seat to seeing Geralt's face flit through more emotions in one second than he usually did in a whole year. The embrace was tight, Geralt's nose buried in Jaskier's hair.

Jealousy trickled through Lambert's veins. For all he knew, his human was already a dead Witcher. There was no link between Witcher and daemon, the trials severed it all completely so when one died, the other didn't even notice, let alone die from it.

"Why isn't he a Witcher?" Eskel asked, eyes glued to the happy reunion.

"Kaer Morhen needed money. Your cohort, the daemons didn't become Witchers. We sold them to the highest bigger."

Lambert didn't expect Eskel to punch Vesemir across the jaw but he was sure as shit glad he saw it. It meant he didn't need to do it on behalf of Geralt and Eskel. For the first time though, Lambert had an optimistic thought.

"It might mean he's living a happy life somewhere. I mean, look at Jaskier. He's had it better than us."

That was a topic that came up repeatedly over the next few weeks. They dreamed up all sorts of fancy lives Eskel's daemon could have lived, the wonders he would have seen. Through it all, Lambert bitterly wished his daemon could have been anything but a Witcher. Alas, Vesemir rapidly disillusioned him from that idea.

"He's become a Witcher, probably dead by now. And if you met him, you'd probably wish he was."

"Is that so?" Lambert drawled, emptying his tankard with a disappointed sigh. He couldn't believe it was empty again.

"You suffered the same shit fate I did. Your human was trained by Cats. Guxart turned into an utter dick."

The words were muttered darkly and Lambert tried not to take it to heart how much hatred Vesemir oozed. It made him all that much more determined to not go the same way as the bitter old man. Instead, he turned to Geralt with a leer. "So, is it gay or is it masturbation to want to get off with your own daemon?"

To say the table erupted in uproar was an understatement. Geralt was scowling somewhat fierce, arms crossed over his chest in protest. It only egged Lambert on further.

"I think it's incest," he declared with a shit eating grin. "Technically it's part of your family because you have the same parents."

"It's masturbation at most." Geralt was growling and glowering. "Because the daemon was still part of you."

Through it all, Eskel stayed rather quiet. It was only when the other two looked to him for opinion that he leaned forward, propping himself up on the table with a serious crease to his brows.

"I think-" the words were low and measured, "-that as long as everyone involved consents, it's fucking hot is what it is."

"The only thing it is," Vesemir finally butted in, "is a disaster waiting to happen. You don't want to meet your counterparts. Trust me."

Except that only made Lambert all the more keen. He wanted to both prove Vesemir wrong and also have what Geralt and Jaskier seemed to be hurtling towards. So, come spring, he set out with the intent of fulfilling one contract only. It was one that he would pay himself for in emotional fulfilment. He was going to find every Cat he could until he found Luca.

He met Gaetan along his travels who laughed in his face and said he was much more into snakes than wolves. That was an encounter Lambert was more than eager to cut short because he did not want to think about how Letho and Gaetan were oddly complementary. It was also another jolt of bitter jealousy, another Witcher and daemon had been reunited while he was still out there looking for his own. Assuming Luca had survived.

Meeting Guxart was a bit of an accident and Lambert wished he'd not encountered the old Cat. He growled and hissed about his stupid daemon who would probably have turned into a useless pigeon if left alone. There was obviously no love lost between them and Lambert desperately hoped he wasn't going to have the same fate.

Third time lucky, as the saying went. Lambert had trailed the new Cat for a few days, learning his habits and watching him work. There was no ounce of recognition or familiarity. But then again, the last time Lambert saw Luca, they were being dragged away from each other, foreign hands on his rapidly shifting body so his eyes could barely adjust enough to see the screaming, tear filled face of his human. It was quite possibly the worst last image he could have had of Luca.

Satisfied that the Cat wasn't someone Lambert wouldn't want to associate with, he approached in the evening when the campfire was still bright but slowly settling.

"I was wondering when my shadow would make himself known," the Cat said easily enough, barely glancing up from where he was whittling something.

The last two times Lambert had tried to be careful with exploring the idea of the Cat Witcher being his human. He was tired and cut straight to the point.

"Luca?"

By the fire the man froze. It was only luck that meant Lambert could hear the shuddering exhales of someone trying to keep up the façade of calm and collected. Finally, the man set his carving aside and stood with an easy smile that felt like a thousand lies.

"I go by Aiden." It wasn't a reply and Lambert knew it.

"I don't remember my name," he admitted softly, desperately hoping he wasn't about to make an utter tit of himself. "People call me Lambert. But I'm looking for my Luca."

He didn't expect to suddenly have an armful of Witcher clinging to him like their very lives depended on it.

"It's really you!" Aiden sounded close to tears. "You never did have a single name, usually going by Idiot, Pain In The Butt, Menace and so many other equally flattering names."

"Guess that never changed," Lambert laughed wetly. He held Aiden close, wishing he could feel as he used to when they were connected. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

It was just that start of something Lambert never thought he'd have. Easy companionship, shared disdain for the whole Witcher thing, stories upon stories of contracts gone well, gone wrong, or just plain gone. By the time winter rolled round, Lambert was firmly of the opinion that he and Aiden would travel together, fuck the Path and all the teachings about it being lonely. If Geralt could have his bard then they sure as hell could have each other.

Getting to Kaer Morhen, Lambert gleefully had an arm slung around Aiden's shoulder, introducing him to the rest of his family. He especially delighted in the flaring of Vesemir's nostrils as he took in the situation.

"Cats and Wolves don't mix. You of all people should know that."

"And you should know it's my life's mission to prove you wrong, old man," Lambert shot back.

Perhaps the most curious part of the whole winter was that Geralt was already back with not one, but two guests. Jaskier was a known quantity and Lambert greeted him warmly. The other though was a near silent man who watched them through eyes that looked way too old for his body.

"This is Cahir," Geralt said when the man didn't even introduce himself. "We'd heard rumours of a Nilfgaardian without a daemon and went to investigate."

"Not a Nilfgaardian," Cahir grumbled with a half-hearted glare.

It took Lambert a moment to figure out just why Geralt would bring such a man back before his eyes widened in delighted realisation.

"You think that-"

"Mhm."

That was the extent of their conversation because Lambert was cackling in delight. He looked Cahir over with a newfound interest. Young, like Jaskier but so very different in behaviour. As much as they'd wondered about Eskel's daemon's fate, this wasn't one they'd predicted.

Three days later Eskel was leading Scorpion into Kaer Morhen's courtyard. Lambert and Aiden were all but bouncing with excitement, not wanting to miss the moment Eskel met his daemon. In their opinion Geralt was drawing things out and making it less fun by not having them all meet in the stables. Instead, Eskel was allowed to venture into the kitchen in the company of Lambert and Aiden who were vibrating in anticipation.

"Eskel," Geralt greeted him with a warm hug. Jaskier and Cahir were behind him, even Vesemir had ventured out to see what the outcome would be. "It's good to have you home. Allow me to introduce you to Cahir."

The two looked at each other with guarded gazes and Eskel gave a terse nod. It was as anticlimactic as fuck. No recognition, not interest, nothing. Just a slow once over which, if Lambert had thought about it, was pretty much a mirror image of each other, equally considering and closed off.

Despondent, he dragged Aiden off, helping lay the table for a shared meal. Vesemir was quick to follow, there was no way to tell whether he was disappointed or relieved by the lack of drama. Geralt and Jaskier wandered out, oddly deflated. Not two seconds later there was an almighty crash from the kitchen and they were all racing back. Only to turn right around and flee after a glimpse of Cahir pinning Eskel to a wall and kissing him like Eskel was the last gasp of air for a drowning man.

"So, are they?" Jaskier asked, glancing towards the kitchen. Something else crashed and thumped but it was best not to investigate.

After a moment it was Vesemir who tiredly said, "Does it matter? It doesn't seem like they much care."

All in all, Lambert didn't think he cared either. Cahir and Eskel seemed happy enough in their new acquaintanceship, trying to figure out their past could wait, if they even wanted to explore it. Though Lambert had a hard time imagining Cahir as a goat. Over the years he'd heard Eskel lament enough about how his daemon preferred to take the form of a goat.

Regret came the next morning at breakfast when Eskel and Cahir appeared at the table, seemingly indifferent. If the rest of them hadn't see the two almost violently making out in the kitchen before disappearing to a bedroom, they wouldn't have guessed anything had gone on between them.

"Hey Geralt," Eskel called, face passive. "You know the difference between a goldfish and a mountain goat?"

"A mountain goat could live in Kaer Morhen but a goldfish couldn't?"

Eskel rolled his eyes. "No, a goldfish mucks around a fountain."

"And a mountain goat fucks around a mountain," Cahir finished the joke. He and Eskel high fived without looking at each other. Lambert only smacked his head on the table when Cahir continued, "And I am no goldfish."

[yeojaa]

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud.  Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or:  Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing.  tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  slice of life fluff, light smut.  explicit (but only at the end). 

tags / warnings.  mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc.  7.6k.

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​, @papillonsgf​, and @yeoldontknow​​ 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note.  i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this.  it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless.  as always, feedback means a lot! 

You and forethought aren’t close friends.  You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree.  You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is.  Careful consideration?  Thoughtful patience?  None of that exists for you.  At least, not when you really, really want something. 

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.  

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this.  Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid.  By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.  

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment.  Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to.  When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed.  (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right? 

“Everyone’s fully booked.”  The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial.  (You don’t blame her.)  By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal.  You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue.  “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice?  Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable.  Well-known.  Considered one of the best in the city.  Surely their apprentice would be fine.  Just less seasoned, not as experienced. 

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter.  “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall.  “Last room on the left.  His name’s Jungkook.  His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.”  It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves.  Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told. 

“Jungkook?”  There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight.  (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.)  It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else. 

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting:  one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits.  Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine.  A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall;  one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it.  There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath.  All in all, very homey.  Reminiscent of your own apartment.) 

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space.  “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples. 

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for.  Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.  

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe.  It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin.  “Are you okay?”  He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way.  Good for him, but worse for you. 

He’s so cute.  Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.”  You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete.  “Um— I was told you might have some time?  For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering?  You’re never shy.  Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess.  People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!”  Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder.  He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway.  “Yeah, I’ve got time.  Come in.”  Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek;  the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip;  each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks.  “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no.  You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook?  He was that.  In spades. 

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”  He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table.  It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display.  “I’ve got a pretty big selection.” 

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him.  This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation. 

“So—”  He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen.  You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt.  It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion;  it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles.  He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling.  The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity.  “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.”  It really is.  You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink.  “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question.  Of course it did.  It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally.  “Like crazy, but it was worth it.  This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—”  He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.  

“A piece of cake?”  You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you.  (It doesn’t.  You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap.  “Do any of these interest you?”  He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash.  There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf).  They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.”  It catches your eye more than the others have.  Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines.  A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

���You like cats?”

You do.  “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.”  He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled;  you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion.  A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen.  “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy.  Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no.  You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.  

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though.  You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it.  You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life.  There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,”  you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.  

“Do you have your ID?”  You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form.  “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come. 

Alone, the nerves set in.  You’re actually doing this.  Getting a tattoo.  Putting something permanent on your body.  It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap.  Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come.  (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.) 

(But had you really made up your mind?  Was this going to be it?  It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise.  It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!”  Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope.  You eye it curiously.  “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”  

He’s really thought of everything.  Or the shop has.  Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?”  It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand.  (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.) 

You hadn’t thought about that.  You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away.  “My arm?”

“Upper?  Forearm?”  There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative.  He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you. 

“Tricep area, I think?  Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.”  Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same.  “I’m kidding.  That was cheesy.  But I’m sure it’ll look fine.  We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?” 

“That sounds good.”  A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement. 

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake:  wearing a turtleneck.  “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like.  Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon?  Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)? 

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule.  Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside.  Whatever you’d prefer.” 

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill.  You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.  

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way?  He was probably desensitized.)  

“It’s fine.”  You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly.  Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though.  Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater.  It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath.  Two. 

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him.  “All right.  Let’s do this.” 

“So, which arm?”  He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.  

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello. 

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers.  You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.”  It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror.  “It’s so pretty.” 

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face.  “Thanks.”  He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful.  “What do you think?”

“This is it.  Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool.  As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee. 

“All right.  We’ll shave you down and get started.  You like the colours, right?”  Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart.  It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes.  (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.)  He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him.  “Hop on up.  Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace.  It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.  

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?”  You’d misheard that, right? 

“Your skin.  You’re sparkling.”  He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.  

“Oh.”  Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly.  “It’s my soap.” 

“Sparkle soap?”  Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure.  He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before.  (Which, fair.) 

“It’s this specialty holiday soap.  It has pigment in it.” 

“That’s cool.”  He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm.  “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree.  It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does.  Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot.  “Thanks.” 

“Was that weird?  I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.” 

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.  

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle.  “Ready?” 

Honestly, you’re not sure.  Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog.  Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue.  “I think so.” 

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee. 

“All right—”“  The incessant buzzing stops.  Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel.  “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you.  Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.) 

“Can I see?”  You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face. 

“Yeah, go ahead.  Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right.  You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet.  It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you. 

“Careful!”  It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.  

“Sorry, sorry.”  You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede.  Everything straightens out quickly enough.  “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?”  He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall.  “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art.  “I’m fine.”  That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.”  The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open.  Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words,  “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention.  It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours.  It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.  

“You like?”  

“I love.”  You’d stare at it for hours, if you could.  Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie.  “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head.  Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose.  Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into.  “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one.  It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink.  (You half expect him not to answer;  you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.) 

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.  

“So, what’re you thinking?”  

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking.  Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history.  You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece.  “A sleeve?”

That surprises him.  His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously.  “Like, a full sleeve?”  It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable.  “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high.  “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,”  he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea.  “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.”  He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up.  For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing.  (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.)  “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan.  It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there.  He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.  

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”  

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions.  It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin.  A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep.  Another takes up the entirety of your forearm.  There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi.  It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.  

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch.  You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.”  Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap.  “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers.  Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat.  He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up.  Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.  

“You mean we did it,”  you return, giddy like a child.  

“Ah, right.”  The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled.  “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey!  Screw you!”  You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.  

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more.  It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head.  Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow.  You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm.  That in itself had hurt like a biiitch;  you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?”  He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to.  It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.  

“Yes, you are.”  You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares.  This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together.  (Not that you’d complain.  You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful.  “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration.  “You wouldn’t dare.”  You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.  

“Wouldn’t I?  I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”  

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed?  You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation.  Had he mentioned it previously?  Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain?  No, you would’ve remembered that.  You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.”  How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea.  You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway.  Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago.  (God, your memory is good.  If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.)  “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.  

“Gonna miss me?”  

Would it be inappropriate to say yes?  Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question.  You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).  

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own.  “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,”  he answers, offering honesty to your reticence.  “You can still send me funny photos though.”  

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile.  “I guess you’re right.  Will you still be tattooing?”  It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know.  You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.”  Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin.  “Actually, where I got most of mine done.”  You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith.  He’s finally come full circle.  You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.  

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to.  It wouldn’t feel right otherwise.  “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,”  he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair.  It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn.  “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,”  you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder.  You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go.  It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk.  “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”  

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you.  It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available.  (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.)  “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black.  You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.  

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?”  He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to.  (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?)  “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended.  “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”  

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you.  “Hey, I don’t judge.  You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there.  Used your own impulsive history against you.  “I would never.”  

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what?  Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.  “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him.  “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth.  There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up.  You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”  

“Really?”  You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face.  “Then why don’t you have one?”  He has a million others as it is:  a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs.  (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)  

“And hide all this?”  One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home.  “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual.  “But I’m cuter.  It’d be a shame if it were me.  You…”  The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean.  (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.)  “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”  

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him. 

“I’m kidding.”  You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries.  A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke.  “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them?  Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was.  Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met.  It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?”  The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.  

Were you?  You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really?  You can’t?”  You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it.  But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously.  It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears.  “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”  

Had he?  Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall.  Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of;  accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff).  Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought.  You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,”  you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.  

“I think you’re cute,”  he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff.  The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week.  The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb.  (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer.  “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.”  Where the confidence comes from, who knows.  You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering.  It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits. 

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go. 

Then he does the last thing you expect:  shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.  

(His lips are so soft.  A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate.  Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him.  French fries and beer and his Chapstick.) 

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.) 

“You just kissed me.”  It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.  

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.”  Speaking the words into existence feels bad;  you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.  

“I am.”  At least he’s realistic.  It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay. 

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose. 

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.  

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next.  (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass.  Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers.  An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,”  the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials.  You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation. 

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof.  The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin.  You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous.  It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left. 

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed.  He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders.  You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,”  he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity.  It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,”  you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped.  You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was.  As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though.  You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow.  He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?”  You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder.  Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again.  (You’re proud of that.  It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”  

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine.  You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness.  Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad.  Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around.  It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper.  He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror.  “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals.  Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care.  Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre.  You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life.  It means so much - like progressing to the next level.  

Which, you suppose it is.  This is a fresh start for you.  A new beginning in a new city.  

“Proud of you,”  he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips.  He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.  

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago.  A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,”  you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.  

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual.  “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that.  You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome.  From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.  

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this:  a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had;  to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.  

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that.  Made it worth it in ways you had never considered.  Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?”  He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself.  It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.  

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.”  The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?”  You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets.  It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that.  He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.  

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised.  “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?”  Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job? 

(It truthfully could be.  You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.”  All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine.  “You don’t like when I admire my own work?”  Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit.  The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need.  (Because you really do need it.  You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.)  It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once. 

“Kook,”  you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.”  He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin.  They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas.  A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care.  Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits.  When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”  

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt.  “I’ve missed this,”  he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.  

“Missed you too,”  you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.  

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​​ @snackhobi​​​​ @codeinebelle​ @xjoonchildx​

[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey business - john shelby x reader (part 6 of ?)

gif by my queen @michaelgreys, i'm basically her fanblog now but im not mad about it :) i mean just look at him!!1! i almost fainted

a/n: first of all, if you stuck around to this point, tysm for reading!!! this has been one of the most amazing fics ive ever been a part of and it's all thanks to the gorgeous @stxdyblr-2k, who generously took control of the next few parts. her brain is beautiful and we all owe her flowers or something. when i read what she sent me i couldn't bring myself to change much except for some small edits, so pls give her lots of love if you like it!!!! i'm still working on requests as well :)

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four five | my masterlist

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland, @lilymurphy03

prompt: nothing this good can last forever. john doesn't know how to feel, and neither do you.

warnings: nsfw! a teensy bit of smut, angsty as fuck prepare yourselves accordingly, a lil fluff if u squint, yeah this fucked me up

Obviously, it wasn't the last time.

Over the coming months you had many last times; his mouth pressed against your neck said as much. As his responsibility at work increased, you'd find yourself heading to his office after your lectures and night classes more often, perched on his lap, smoking, while he finished up his numbers under your critical gaze.

Thomas was more than aware; his snarky comments made it obvious he had his ways of monitoring your actions. You'd seen the dark car lurking outside your rallies and lectures, and no matter how you'd try to throw him off, not even telling Ada where you were going and even, in a moment of desperation, through your neighbours back window, somehow, his silent shadow was still looming. He was practically begging you to make a mistake, to give everyone an easy out. You just couldn't give him the satisfaction. You knew Tommy saw the world as a chess board, always several moves ahead of his opponent. Even when you played him in chess club all those years ago, you could outflank him if you thought on your feet and kept him thinking he was winning until you obliterated him in the end game. It was brutal, sure. But as he told you, there were bigger games at play. You had your own. Thomas could read your mail, intercept your phone calls and have you followed, but he couldn't hear what you said out of earshot. Your lot could smell an interceptor in your ranks, so spying at that close of a proximity was out of the question.

That's why he'd decided to let you have John. You knew his silent approval and his constant management of the narrative meant he saw a tactical gain. There was only so much information he could get from Ada, but John? He just had to agitate him in the right way and all your secrets would come tumbling out. It was difficult hiding your world from John; of what he knew of, he was supportive, quizzing you over current affairs and political discourse, listening intently. Yet, you had to watch your mouth. You had to keep a barrier up and you knew John sensed the distance. Fundamentally, there was nothing either of you could do.

So here you were, in a comfortable limbo. Your days were filled with work, evenings were for lectures and reading groups at the city's university, Ada and you often stopped for a drink or three; you'd go by your flat to freshen up, and then to John's office. Sometimes, you wouldn't visit for a week or so when the guilt sent you over the edge, it was draining to be living so many lives and knowing you were betraying the person you loved most on earth. Ada was oblivious, taking you on her nightly adventures filled with men, dancing and waiting while she was busy kissing in dark corners. Sometimes a young blinder would ask if you wanted to be walked home. The first occurrence you thought was sweet, but as the nights it occurred coincided with nights John seemed extra pent up, you'd decided to ask. The boy, who couldn't be older than twelve but who you knew was trained in using firearms and had a revolver pinned to his hip and a razor in his cap, looked confused.

"Mate, it's not a tough question. Why do you come and ask?"

"There's a phone call." He shrugs, "Isaiah or Michael tells us to go and get you."

Isaiah and Michael were somewhat aware? Fucking hell. Your fling was basically a military campaign at this point, so many of your friends were complicit. The little lads who ran as messengers around Birmingham were complicit. You had to just end it.

But when you sat on his thigh, his chin hooked over your shoulder, it felt so worth it. He never turned you away when you came crawling back. He never mentioned it until after you were finished, hooked under his arm.

"Fucking missed you, gorgeous."

Sometimes he'd remind you not to be a stranger with a wink, but you could tell it was tearing him apart too. He never once came to you. That's how he could justify it in his mind; obviously, the bare minimum was not having sex with his sister's best friend, but in failing that, waiting for you to initiate it was somewhat better. He barely talked to Ada now, citing work as an excuse, but truly the guilt sickened him. He couldn't believe he was prepared to continuously hurt his little sister and betray her. But every time you turned up at his door, he couldn't find it in himself to turn you away. In his mind, every single time you came to visit him was the last time he'd let it happen, yet he was always waiting for you to come back, his blind closed to signal he was prepared. He never would call, it had to be your choice.

You'd been off and on for over five months now. It was so difficult to hide in plain sight, but you just couldn't stop yourself. Neither of you purposefully meant for this to be happen but fuck, was it fun.

For your birthday he'd gifted you a fur coat from the same shop his sister, aunt and the fashionable crowd of Birmingham had purchased theirs. He joked that you looked like a "proper razor chaser", kissing you when you pouted at his teasing, begging you to wear only the coat when you fucked him next. It was a practice for blinders to buy a coat for their wives and girlfriends as a status symbol. You were neither, but John claimed that being his "favourite lass" also counted.

John was a laugh, but you knew at any time he could close his door to you. Until he decided he couldn't be bothered with you, you weren't going to get caught. You just had to be careful until he got bored.

***

You did end up putting a foot wrong. It was a Thursday night; you were sitting on the edge of John's desk while he was ridding you of your blouse. It was past midnight, Birmingham was asleep. You almost didn't bother coming out tonight, but you knew John had lost a deal and you wanted to be there for him. Your skirt and stockings were strewn across the desk with his shirt, vest and waistcoat, muddled into the files and papers which were once neatly stacked.

His fingers were pumping in and out of you, his mouth lapping at your breast, your head tipped back in euphoria, groaning. The stress made him more affectionate and tender with you, and it was nights like these that made you wonder. Wonder if this could ever be something more, something real.

John's body suddenly pulled away from yours, quickly turning the light off.

"John, what-" You were cut off by John’s hand over your mouth, muffling your words.

"Shut up and get behind the desk." He hissed. "Someone's coming upstairs."

You quickly grabbed your clothes from the shiny oak surface and crouched, hiding yourself from view, quickly making yourself decent. You weren't going to get shot through the head with your tits out. You listened to the stairs creek, and it sounded like a group. You two were easily outnumbered. They were talking, but the thick panels of wood muffled their voices.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, the cracks in the door giving the room a dulled glow, you could make out the figure of John. He was free of his shirt, toned body on display, standing with his back flat to the wall, revolver produced from a discreet notch in the door frame, gaze fixed on where they'd enter. He was tense, ready. The door was unlocked from the outside, the door handle twisting.

John's lip shifted in confusion yet still he kept his trigger finger ready, not a single shake from your general.

The light flicked on and a shriek rang out. It was blinding, and you stood up slightly dazed. Finn was in the doorway, John next to him clutching his chest, panting and lowering the gun.

"Jesus Christ, Finn, can't you knock like a normal person? Scared the shit out of us." John bellowed, shaking as the adrenaline coursed through his body, resting his hands on the edge of the desk as he regained his breath.

"You're the one who pointed a gun at me! I didn't even know you were in 'ere!" Finn yelped.

The commotion had attracted the attention of Ada and Isaiah, who had come running and stopped in their tracks upon seeing you standing behind John's desk in the middle of the night. They weren't stupid. John was topless, your clothes obviously rumpled, both with matching tousled hair and practically stinking of guilt. You'd been caught red handed. Ada's eyes flicked between both you and John, and you could practically see the pieces of the puzzle clicking together in her mind, all the moments she found questionable since you'd returned suddenly making sense, realising she had been deceived by the two people who she was meant to trust most in life. Finn looked absolutely crushed, he'd never been able to conceal his emotions as well as his older brothers and sister, linking his fingers through Ada's, squeezing her hand.

"I forgot to drop this off earlier." Finn stated, holding up a money box, "Ada had keys so we thought we'd sneak in so I wouldn't get done by Tommy. We did call round yours, Y/N. We thought you were in bed."

"I'm sorry." You said. It was not enough but you just didn't know what else to say. You couldn't make it right, you'd really fucked up this time. Tears pricked at your eyes, as Ada examined you in silence.

John stepped in front of you defensively. "Look, Ada-"

"How long has this been going on?" She asked, her voice shaking with rage. You and John exchanged a glance. "I said, how fucking long?"

"Five months, six in a fortnight." He answered.

Isaiah whistled lowly. "That's fucked. I thought it was only a few times, that it'd finished."

"Never really over when it's John is it." Finn interjects, you glance to him, were you just one in a long string? You shouldn't be surprised but it was easy to pretend he may actually care about you.

"You've been fucking around for six months behind my back?" Ada yelped, Finn trying to comfort her but she pulled away from him. "And you fucking knew Iz."

"I'd expect this from you, yeah? Wouldn't put anything past you these days.." she sneered at John, "But you? You?! You're meant to be my best mate, but here you are sneaking about fucking my brother?"

"Ada-" you began, eyes welling with tears.

"I thought I could trust you. You're just another fucking razor chaser, aren't you?" She spits. "That's why you came back."

"No it wasn't, Ada-"

Her eyes flashed with anger, but this time John was on the receiving end. "You bought her that fucking coat ,didn't you? The fur one. You did! Fuck's sake!" Her fists were clenched, shoulders squared. For the first time in your life, you understood why crowds parted for Ada Shelby. Understood all the free drinks and cab rides, the nervous serving staff declaring your meal on the house (always acknowledged by Ada with a hefty tip), understood why the men of Birmingham didn't last long with her.

"Did it feel good to swan about town in that fucking coat, while acting as though you cared about me? It's so fucking embarrassing. All trussed up because my knobhead big brother makes you feel special? Thanks for rubbing it in my face."

"Ada, I love you. I never meant to hurt you, I got caught up and that's on me. It's my fault."

"You're not acting like you love me. This isn’t what love is, Y/N." She retorted.

You couldn’t do anything but nod. She was right.

John opened his mouth to speak, Ada silencing him, a scowl darkening her features.

"I don't care what you have to say. Any of you. Who else knows?"

"Thomas, Michael, Arthur-" John listed off slowly, each name prompting Ada to break down a little bit more in front of you.

"I didn't know Arthur knew." You said pointedly, John sending you an exasperated glance. He was planning on dealing with that later, but right now was about his sister. Fuck him if he thought you were going to stick around much longer. You didn't want to hear him justify everyone else knowing about your fling with your best friend being left completely in the dark.

"That all you have to say for yourself?" Ada snaps at you.

"I have fucking no defense, do I Ada? I should've walked away." You pushed your hair back, frustrated at yourself, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You begged yourself not to cry. Tears wouldn't help anything.

"Why didn't you?"

You didn't know. Your silence only riled her up.

"Why didn't you fucking walk away?" Ada yelled, slamming her hands on the desk.

You felt hot tears run down your face, quickly moving your hands to dab at your tears.

"Don't you dare fucking cry. After all you've done, you don't get to cry in front of me." Ada growled at you, John going to shush her, obviously wanting to comfort you. "You can all fuck off. You've all lied to me and gone behind my back. Fuck’s sake, you could've just told me. You could've just told me."

"We didn't want to hurt you." John said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder but she flinches away.

"This hurts so much more. You get that you all lying to me is so much worse, don't you?"

"We weren't thinking."

"You really fucking weren't." Ada laughs bitterly, shaking her head, blinking away tears. "Fuck you lot."

She stormed out, tailed by Finn, begging her to slow down and talk to him, protesting his innocence in the situation. Isaiah hesitated in the doorway, his eyes flickering between you and John.

"I had no idea you two've been at it for so long."

"Iz, fuck off yeah? I've had enough today." John shot back, sliding across the desk towards you. "You alright, lass?"

"We're done here, John."

He slid off the table, his hand cupping your face, "Hey, gorgeous, I get it but don't go breaking my heart tonight. Can we just leave this for tomorrow? Sleep on it."

The idea of getting any sleep at all tonight was laughable, you'd be up all night replaying these moments and torturing yourself. Tonight couldn't get any worse so you had to finally end it. Now was the right time.

"John, it should've never happened."

"But it did."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's over."

"Y/N. You know for me it was never just about-"

"You're making it difficult. Stop making it difficult. Whatever you say isn't going to change that right now we have to do the right thing."

"I know you're right, but I don't want to let go. Is it so wrong to want you? I adore you, you know that."

You wouldn't meet his eyes. Sighing, John pressed his forehead to the side of your head, chin brushing your shoulder, eyes closing. He was begging you to stay with him. There had to be a solution, you'd figure it out together. His voice was cracking, eyes glassy. He looked so much younger when he was pleading. The tall bloke who terrorised the Midlands with his razor rimmed cap, a revolver in his hand, and a ruthless trigger finger had vanished. You wanted to stay, burning to curl up with him and for him to kiss it better.

"I should go." You told him. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, letting out a shaky sigh before pulling away, nodding.

"I'd drive you home but obviously-"

"Obviously."

John suddenly turned from you, eyes narrowing at Isaiah who was still hovering at the door. "Thought I told you to fuck off. Make yourself useful and get Y/N home safely." His tone was ice cold once again.

Isaiah nodded, offering his arm to you. You reached the door and instinctively looked back at John. His eyes met yours, staring at you from his desk, just as you knew he would. He prepared himself to watch you leave every night, but this time was different. That was it with you two.

Isaiah strode down the street with you in silence. You were tucked into his side as was customary with the upcoming blinders who were particularly ambitious, but there was no relaxed chat.

"Isaiah. What’re you thinking?" You asked, voice tinged with nervousness.

He sighed, running his free hand across his jaw, "That was intense in there."

"Just how he is." You shrugged.

"Does he love you or sommet?"

"Fuck knows… does it matter?"

"Of course it does. Do you love him?"

"Drop it. None of that matters, it shouldn't have happened in the first place so it can’t," You snapped, the anger at the situation you'd created suddenly overwhelming.

Isaiah whistled, raising his brow at your obvious turmoil. "You're in fucking deeper than you want to admit."

He walked you up your path, watching you turn the key to the side door leading to your bedsit. You paused, turning to him.

"Iz… I don't know what to do next."

It was so dark, you could see his face only by the lit cigarette burning to embers between his fingers. He inhaled deeply, pausing before delivering his carefully laid out plan of avoidance. Obviously the event of him crossing the Shelbys and losing their good graces weighed heavily on his mind. You nodded, listening intently, noting his ideas of relocation but he explained they were a final resort. The best thing to do was try to regain their trust; in the long run, he had calculated, it was the only option that didn't result in your life being haunted by the Shelbys. Even if they left you alone, their enemies would make a point to go after you, seeing you as an easy target. The other option was to leave the country.

"Good luck, Y/N. I mean it." He muttered as you turned the handle to the temporary safety of your home. You nodded, offering you cheek for the polite good night kiss you'd become accustomed to. He rolled his eyes and obliged, pressing an affectionate kiss to your cheek and ruffling your hair. "I'm serious. Watch your back."

***

John broke down when he finally heard the lock click shut. His eyes had been prickling with boiling tears, his jaw tensed to hold them back. He yelled out in anger, flipping his desk with force, a loud crash as the wood splintered against the stone flooring, glass shattering from the photo frames. His hands went to his head, unable to stop the gasping breaths escaping from his trembling lips, his face reddening.

"Fuck’s sake." He growled. He'd fucked everything up. He had nothing, just as he'd told you the first night you returned. The consequence was no surprise, he'd anticipated the fall out for a while, but he couldn't resist you. He was completely guilty and had no defense; his only justification being that you made him think with his cock, not his brain.

Fuck’s sake. Polly was going to murder him. She'd always had a soft spot for Ada, as the only girl in the family, and was no stranger to lecturing him over his flirtatious behaviour around Ada's friends. She'd murder him. He had a half mind to never go home. He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. Polly had no use for tears. That's what she'd tell him when he was a boy coming home with a skinned knee. This was far worse.

He was also sure that he was a worse brother than Tommy, perhaps the worst in the world. His baby sister, who he'd helped to toddle, carry proudly on his shoulders after school and race with her on his back through the fields on the outskirts of Small Heath, had walked in on him obviously in the midst of fucking her best mate. If he had swallowed his pride and actually talked to her, he wouldn't be in this mess. He could've told her that things changed, that for the same reasons Ada loved Y/N he had fallen for her, that he was truly sorry but she had to know before it got too far and someone got hurt. He couldn't go back.

He should've never approached you that night.

He should never approach you again.

He looked over the mess of his office, the splintered wood and shards of glass, a confetti of paperwork. Now nothing mattered. None of this mattered. He'd lost everything and he had only himself to blame.

[bohica160]

A little miscommunication with Alpha Chris (pt. 2)

ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗMinors gtfo, this isn't for youᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Chris was not too far behind you, following the trail of your pheromones with lidded eyes, pants unbearably tight. He was very grateful for the halls to be empty. Right as he turned the corner he saw your office door was surrounded by numerous alphas, each one trying to over scent the other. Some were calling out to you, while others were saying the most provocative things. A few of them jiggled the door handle, testing its strength. “Leave now,” Chris roared, chest puffed out fists tightly balled stalking over to the crowd. Thankfully they all scurried off, knowing damn well they had no chance against the Hound Wolf Capitan. He gave himself a moment to gather himself before knocking softly. “Y/n? You okay?” Not hearing a reply, he pressed an ear to the door. He could make out soft whimpers behind it.

“Y/n I’m coming in” Chris grabbed the handle, turning it with force, causing it to hang loosely in the wood. He pushed against the door with his shoulder. Even with the door open just a crack, the scent of you flooded his lungs, almost letting out a groan. “Y/n”, he called out again as he closed the door behind him. “W-what are you doing here?” you called out in a broken voice. Once when he came into view you covered your glands on your neck with your hands, Chris looked around the room before crouching down next to you, “need to make sure no alphas followed you.” You tried pushing yourself up, folding your legs next to you, “Y-you need to leave. I’ll manage”. Chris’s brows knitted together, “You hand a group of alphas outside your office, clearly you can’t” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“I didn’t ask for your help Capitan Redfield. Plus why do you care what happens?”. Once you were able to stand, you walked over to your desk, leaning over it with your back to him. “This is why-”, Chris began before whipped around and you marched over to him, finger jabbing him in the chest. “This is why what? Why omegas shouldn’t be in the workforce?” You hissed at him, "Is that what you were about to say? All you alp-". A growl rumbled deep in Chris's chest, he wrapped a hand around your wrist and pulled you into him. "Don't put words in my mouth omega", he scowled towering over you. You quickly backed down with a pout.

"I was going to say 'this is why you should be prepared'. Why would you think I would ever say something like that?" he asked, sounding a little hurt. "Because you don't like me. It's fine", you huff, trying to turn away from him but he pulled you back into him. "What are you talking about?", his eyes searching your face for answers. "You never seem to want to talk and you always move away from me." You glared at him, voice rising in annoyance. "Because I can't stand your smell", he responded, also raising his voice. His comment seemed to slap you in the face, quickly going from irritated to dejected. You tried to tug your hand out of his grasp.

"Let go of me", you continue pulling your arm, avoiding looking him in the face. For some reason having him confirming in some way he didn't like you made your inner omega whimper, wanting to go home to your nest. "No, I-.... that's not what I meant". You felt like if you opened your mouth, some noise of discomfort would slip out. You shook your head continuing to play tug of war with your limb.

Chris let out a long sigh, "I can't be near you because your scent is the best thing I've ever smelt. Even with the patches, I can get a small trace of it.” You stopped tugging your arm, you looked up at him in complete shock, "I can't form a single sentence let alone a thought. I didn't realize my actions made you feel like I don't like you." Your mouth slightly open, muscles in your face relax as you replay everything he just said in your head.

"But….", your inner omega was jumping for joy but you did not feel that excitement. Your eyebrows lowered, pulling together. "You've been avoiding me…. because you like my scent?" Chris's cheeks were now dusted pink, heart beating fast not sure how this was going to go. "Are you fucking kidding me!", you exclaimed as your pushed into him. Not expecting your sudden actions, you both tumbled to the ground, falling on top of the man. You quickly sat up on his pelvis slapping his chest lightly, huffing up a storm.

"I-I can't believe you! In what world would you think I wouldn't think that!" The heat started to rise in you again, your skin tingling. While you wiggled on top of him expressing your frustration, unaware that you were lightly rubbing over his groin. Soon everything you were saying started to merge all together in a mumble, as Chris was trying his hardest to calm himself, feeling himself getting harder by the second. His hands moved up to your hips trying to hold you still, but that did absolutely nothing on his part besides press you further into him. He flipped you over onto your back, him hovering over you, his forearms next to your head.

You stared up at him startled by the sudden change in positions, while he kept gazing between your eyes and soft lips. You unintentionally licked your bottom lip, his blue eyes following the pink muscle, causing his cock to twitch against you. A small gasp snapped him back as you both laid there not sure what to do now. Now that you have calmed down, you could feel the ache between your thighs as a wave of heat washes over you. Your omega yelling at you to scent him, touch him, anything. You bit your lower lip before reaching up, placing it on the back of his neck, pulling him down just enough to lightly rub your nose up the side of his neck. The sweet scent coming from your core started to grow stronger.

He froze, muscles tensing, throat bobbing as you rubbed your cheek against his neck, getting your pheromones on him before turning your head just a little, brushing your lips over his pulse. Pressure pools in your low abdomen, causing you to rut your hips up into him. He lets out a muffled groan against your shoulder before pulling back. He nudged your chin with his nose, you tilted your head to the side, giving him more access to your neck. Your breath hitching with every feather light kiss he placed on your skin. “Chris,” you whined, tightly gripping onto his shirt. He hummed into your skin, not stopping his ministrations. “Wh-hat if someone comes in?”, you turned your head to look at the door. As he switched sides of your neck, he started to suck right over your scent glands, ripping the most sweet-sounding moan he’s ever heard. He continued to attack that one particular spot, massaging it with his tongue. “I scented the hall”, he said with a raspy voice in between licks. “No one will dare to come down here”. You opened your mouth to protest only to let out a moan as he nipped over your gland.

The sweet aroma of your slick filled the room, making his head spin. Every whimper and moan went straight to his cock, grinding it against your clothed core. “Mmmm… Chris”, you whined as you tugged on his shirt. He pulled away from the marked up skin, chests heaving against each other, lust filled in your eyes. “It’s hot”, you mewed trying to tug his shirt up. His lips quirked up slightly before placing them over yours. As he sat up, knees placed on both sides of your hips, pulling the fabric over his head. There have been a handful of times you’ve seen this alpha’s shirt ride up just enough to show that v line cut accompanied with his happy trail. You could feel yourself clench around nothing as your eyes racked up his chiseled defined abs and solid pecs.

All self-restraint went out the window, your hands slowly caressed up his toned body, taking in every shudder. He reached down pushing his calloused hands under your flimsy tank top, pushing it up over your breasts. His thumbs grazing against your pebbled flesh poking through the bra. Your breath hitched in your throat, as he ran his thumb over your nipple a few more times over the fabric, before pulling both pieces off.

(ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ°˖✧.*:･ Tag list: @thatgoblin

[seita]

— live now: redlove | eijirou kirishima (m.)

pairing: eijirou kirishima/reader ft. katsuki bakugou.

genre: fluff, smut, pwp

wordcount: 𝟷𝟼𝟹𝟽

cw: cam couple!au, prohero!bakugou, established relationship

tags: voyeurism (bakugou’s pov), dirty talk, masturbation, humilation/degredation, begging, light praise, rough sex, doggy style, choking, hair pulling, light spanking, baku has a crush

note: i have no excuses for this lmao. i was originally gonna make this into a fic where bakugou joins u nd kiri but,,,i kind of want to make this like a series or something????

—  bakugou enjoys porn. especially live cam porn. he discovers the cam couple redlove and is immediately smitten.

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 next. the lottery: redlove ⇨

© all content belongs to seita 2020. do not modify or repost.    

Bakugou watched porn. Just like every other guy on the planet. He enjoyed it, especially since as a pro-hero, he didn’t have the opportunity to get into sustainable relationships. He was the #2 hero so finding himself someone who wanted him because he was Katsuki Bakugou and not Ground Zero was near impossible. 

So, he turned to porn. Sounds sad now that he thought about it but truthfully, he never thought twice about it. It was just the way things were. 

More specifically, he had an interest in cam porn. The live stream kind. He couldn’t quite pinpoint why that was ― there was just something alluring about watching porn live. 

Usually, he stuck to solo girl content, every once in a while he’d venture to the male side. It was only recently, however, that he discovered the booming community of couples cams. 

Watching couples have sex live was even more enticing than watching men and woman masturbate or watching amateur porn. It seemed so intimate, watching these couples together. Almost forbidden. 

And he was sure that was exactly what made him cum so hard every single time. He liked watching these couples have sex, feeling like he was seeing something he wasn’t supposed to.

Many times, he’d stroke his cock to the idea of being humiliated by a couple as he watched them together. Filthy thoughts and words filtered into his mind, his eyes closed as he panted to the idea. They’d call him disgusting, a pig for getting hard watching ―  how only a slut would act as lewd as he did. Maybe they’d shame him; #2 pro hero Ground Zero a pathetic whore. 

It wasn’t until one night, he laid in bed browsing the couple’s livestreams on his favorite website, he discovered one couple that immediately caught his eye. The thumbnail showed a redheaded guy with spiky hair sitting on the edge of the bed with a pretty girl with marvelously smooth skin sat behind him with her arms wrapped around his shoulders. The young man’s hair color must have been the inspiration behind their channel name: redlove. He could only assume they had just started the stream and were looking at comments when the picture set. 

The stream was titled “We had a long day”. Bakugou couldn’t help but scoff at such a title, it was hardly enticing. Most streams had things like ‘watch me squirt until i cry!!!’ or “he makes my pussy hurt so good” or some other cringy shit. He would have been tempted to scroll past but he couldn’t deny just how attractive the couple was. Not to say there weren’t attractive people doing cam porn, no he’d seen his fair share of beautiful women and handsome men. 

But redlove were stunning together. They looked like a perfect match, he could tell just by how you were holding him that just oozed affection for the redhead. 

Another thing that caught the blonde’s eye was the view count: most cammers had in the double digits ― 20 or 30 viewers. Every once in a while he’d catch a particularly popular cammer and see a few hundred but it had never exceeded 200. So the live view count, the number of people watching them at that exact moment, was currently displayed on redlove’s stream link had him baffled.

Edging on 800 viewers. Sitting at 782.

It was clear the two of you were immensely popular. There had to be a good reason. 

Curious and thoroughly intrigued, he tapped the screen of his phone to get into their stream. 

It took a moment to buffer, all the activity with the chat making it lag a bit. When it finally finished loading, Bakugou felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs. His cock was immediately hard, straining against his boxers.

It was clear the two of you had been streaming for a while, judging by the fucked out blissful look on your face. Sweat glistened on your skin in the illuminating light of your bedroom.

You were on your hands and knees, your redheaded boyfriend on his knees behind you on a messed up bed, a pillow nearby that Bakugou assumed had been used to prop your hips up at one point. Your hair was wrapped tightly in his fist, using it for leverage as he hammered his cock into what Bakugou could only imagine was an absolutely dripping wet cunt. 

The sounds you made were downright sinful, your lips swollen from no doubt kissing and biting. The redhead grunted suddenly, jerking you up onto your knees so your back was pressed against his chest. Bakugou couldn’t resist reaching down to palm his aching cock, throbbing and painful from neglect. 

Your boyfriend groaned, glancing at the camera, “Everyone’s got a good view of your little cunt now, huh?” he growled moving his grip from your hair to your throat, “You like that, I can feel you squeezing me at the thought of all these people watching your pussy stretch on my cock. You’re stuffed so fuckin’ full you can barely stand it, isn’t that right?”

Bakugou couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene. The4 dominance the redhead exuded rivaled his own and the way you so easily fell submissively to him was beautiful. There was so much trust in you ― knowing your boyfriend would take good care of you. Bakugou’s heart ached ever so slightly at the idea ― it was clear your relationship was a good one. It was something the pro hero would never hope to have himself.

You didn’t respond, your eyes rolling back in your head before closing. Your mouth was open, no sounds escaping due to the tight grip the redhead had on your throat. Your head rolled back to rest on his shoulder, legs spread to let him fuck your hole with everything he had. Your weight was braced completely on him, your partner dutifully supporting your body as you let him have his way.

With his free hand, he palmed your breast, pinching your nipple harshly to make you keen. Bakugou felt his cock throb at the sound. It was so whiny, pathetic. You were so completely submissive and at the mercy of your boyfriend. And you were loving every second of it. 

Bakugou couldn’t deny he enjoyed witnessing it himself.

Your cunt was stretched wide, the HD camera giving spectacular quality to the way your juices dripped down the length plunging into your body. It dripped off of his balls and down your thighs. So fucking messy. 

The redhead’s cock was big, something Bakugou himself could even feel envious of despite his own well-endowed size. Your cunt was tight, no doubt requiring a good amount of preparation to take him. He wondered if you enjoyed the stinging burn of pain when you took the cock. The blonde made a mental note to check out your part streams later.

“Gonna...gonna cum,” you gasped, warning your boyfriend. 

He scoffed, sounding annoyed, “Do it then. I don’t give a shit.”

“Please, can’t!” you sobbed, finally opening your eyes to look up at him. He wore a cocky grin, knowing your pleasure laid in his hands. 

“Why?” he teased, abandoning his hold on your breast to travel down the soft skin of your stomach, pausing right above where you needed him, “You need me to touch your little clit, hm? Is that what it is?” 

You nodded desperately, grinding your hips down every time he sunk his cock into you, hoping to get more than you were being given, “Please!”

“Alright,” he sighed, pressing a kiss against your temple. The gesture was oddly soft and intimate in comparison to the harsh, punishing pace of his cock, “You had a long day. I’ll be nice. You better thank me for making this greedy little cunt cum.”

Finally, his fingers reached your swollen clit. A couple practiced circles over the bud had you tumbling over the edge. Bakugou gripped his cock through the material of his boxers as he watched you tremble and moan as the redhead fucked you through the high. 

Letting out a sob at the overstimulation when your boyfriend still didn’t stop when you came down, you choked out, “Th-Thank you!”

“Good girl,” your boyfriend grinned, letting you fall back into your original position with your face buried in the blankets. The redhead tossed his head back, gripping your hips as he fucked into you, chasing his own orgasm. He laid a few harsh slaps against your ass, making you whimper, flinching at the impact but not running from it. Bakugou could hear the sharp sound of his hand making contact with your skin. Now that you had cum, the redhead let himself go. 

And he did. Your boyfriend let out a groan of pleasure, announcing his release. He didn’t pull out, pouring his hot cum into your overstimulated cunt.

Bakugou’s cock throbbed once, twice before he was spilling a load of hot cum into his boxers. The white cum oozed through the fibers as his thighs trembled.

When he came back to himself, he looked at the screen to find you had curled up on your side with a dreamy smile aimed at your boyfriend, Bakugou couldn’t help but smile at the screen at how cute you looked. He moved towards the camera with a grin, having already pulled out.

“Thanks for watchin’!” that was all he said before the screen went dark and bold white letters flashed over the screen that said ‘this stream has ended.’

Bakugou’s attention moved to the chat, checking to see what was being talked about. 

The comment that caught his eye was, “Eijirou and ______ are literally the power couple of porn.”

Bakugou sighed. Eijirou and ______. 

The names of his new favorite cam couple. 

[inactive17645]

Safe & Sound [1]

Chapter One: Pilot

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x Reader & Wells Jaha x Reader

Warnings: Swearing & Mild Violence

Word Count: 3637

Author’s Note: Welcome to the first chapter of my very first series here on tumblr! I hope you guys come enjoy the ride and stay until the end. I know there are a few Bellamy x Reader fanfic series on here now, but I really wanted to put my own spin on a The 100 rewrite. Also, please let me know if you want to be tagged in any future parts by either PMing me or through my ‘Ask Me Anything’ tab on my profile!

Season Masterlist

Series Masterlist

      It was supposed to be like any other day. I’d wake up, the guard would give me three small portions of food throughout the day, whilst rereading the various classics and Greek mythology books my father sent. Eventually, I’d fall back asleep with my mother’s dove pendant clutched in my hand as I gazed out the window, into the dark abyss scattered with diamonds. On every other day, you’d make sure to aside time to practice self-defence. Something that my father had guards teach me before I was locked up.

    Today was not one of those days. The chaos of yelling, screaming and grumbling outside the door ripped me from my trance. I shook my head and tried to engross myself again in the book I clutched, but the sound of the door flinging open broke it.

     It also didn’t help that this was the last day before I’d be eighteen. Before I’d be floated.

     “Prisoner 301, face the wall.” My breath hitched in my throat. No! I still had one more day! 

When you didn’t even move an inch towards a wall the guard stalked his way towards you, his presence towering over your sitting form. “Get up on your feet!”

     “No! I still have a day left you cunt!” You screeched.

     With a punch to the man’s groin, he collapsed to the ground and you scampered out to escape. Unfortunately, I’ve tried to escape my cell multiple times so it was no surprise when someone tackled me as soon as I left the room.

      “Get. Me. The. Fuck Off!” I yelled as punch after punch landed on the man’s back. The man grunted after each punch, but he never let me go until I was stood in front of the one man who turned me in a year ago. My own father; Marcus Kane.

     Although it was a relief to see him after so long, I couldn’t help but glare at the man. He was supposed to be there for you no matter what, yet he never visited. Too much of a coward to face you and sent books in his place. The kind of books you and your mom used to read together.

     “Dad?!” I hated him, but I still hugged him. I hated him, but I still loved my father.

     Your eyes glossed with tears that had every intention to escape.

 “I don’t want to die, not today!” I pleaded, refusing the tears to shower my cheeks. “I don’t want to be floated!”

     “You’re not being floated (y/n),” He told you. “You’re being sent down to earth.” A chill ran down my spine.

     “But I thought the earth was still uninhabitable?” Dad just shook his head as another guard hooked me over their shoulder and stalked away from my father’s now retreating figure.

     Typical. Just like when I was first chucked in the skybox. He couldn’t even muster a single goodbye. The punching of another guard ensued as he hauled me over to the dropship entrance.

     Suddenly, there was a prick in my arm and gradually I drew drowsier, and drowsier. My punches slowly weakened after each hit. The last thing I saw before I succumbed to darkness was the menacing smirk of one Commander Shumway, my eyes darkening in both anger and fear.

     In what felt like seconds, my eyes squinted open while adjusting to the poor lighting of the dropship. Screams and yells from others around me filled my ears. As my vision came into focus, I looked around to see the horror morphed on many of the teens’ faces. In the seat five seats down from me, I recognised a familiar head of blonde that I knew oh so well.

     “Clarke!” I called. The blonde whipped her head my way and relief settled on both our faces. “Thank the gods you’re here! If I could I’d smother you in a hug right now I would!”

     The two of us bursted out laughing knowing I’d actually smother her. Before I had the chance to ask her something else, Chancellor Jaha’s voice filled the room.

     “Prisoners of the Ark, hear me now. You’ve been given a second chance. And as your chancellor, it is my hope that you see this as not just a chance for you, but a chance for all of us. Indeed, for mankind itself. We have no idea what is waiting for you down there. If the odds of survival were better, we would’ve sent others. Frankly, we’re sending you because your crimes have made you expendable.”

     Expendable? What the hell?! All I did was try to spread the word that the life-support system for the Ark was failing, after overhearing a heated discussion between Jaha, my father and others in the Council.

     “Everyone here being expendable is bullshit and you know it!” My voice echoed throughout the dropship, catching the attention of everyone in the room. I gulped at the stares thrown my way, but it was the stare of the single guard in the room that caught my eye.

     No guards were supposed to be inside. So the only reason why he’d be here would be because he was escaping something… or to protect someone. Perhaps a certain younger sister that wasn’t supposed to be born?

     It had to be Bellamy Blake, the older brother of floor girl, Octavia Blake. His gaze seemed to linger on me slightly longer than the other delinquents around. I wasn’t sure if it was due to pure curiosity or how everyone knew I was Marcus Kane’s daughter. I tore my gaze away from his blank stare and stared down at the metal ground.

     As Jaha’s speech became muffled, I gaped at the floor and the room began to groan and shake. A familiar dark-skinned young man was suddenly talking to Clarke.

     “Wells?” I questioned. His brown orbs tore away from Clarke, his gaze landing on me.

     “(Y/N)! Thank god!” He floated over to me, pulled me up to my feet and smothered me in a hug. A giggle vibrated through my chest. “What’s so funny?”

     “I told Clarke I’d smother her in a hug, yet you’ve gone and did just that to me,” I chuckled. Wells only chuckled as I hugged him back.

     “This is nice —” We both started but ended in a fit of giggles. Two other delinquents then join Wells and I in standing up. I could hear Clarke softly calling my name to sit back down along with the others standing, but I just ignored it. 

     Strangely, Wells still held on to me and sat in the seat I was in just before, plopping me onto his lap and snuggling into me more. He and I did have a weirdly affectionate friendship before both our arrests, but even this was pushing the line between friendship and a romantic relationship. 

     The dropship lurched, sending three delinquents flying who had left their seats despite Clarke’s protests. I clunged to Wells’ neck as his grip on my waist tightened, closing my eyes tight. Something sickening yet sweet filled my nose. Smoke. Sparks went off right and left and with one final violent jolt, the dropship came to a stop.

     We were on the ground!

     The dropship powers down almost instantaneously and echoes of seatbelts unbuckling filled the room. Heat rose to my cheeks as I slowly clambered off Wells’ lap. His cheeks were crimson red as were probably my own. I helped him to his feet and took one of my hands in his, leading him down to the doors, waiting for them to be to opened as a crowd formed in front.

     A dark-haired girl stormed through yelling, “Bellamy!” The guy in the uniform I saw before spun around and stared at the girl in shock. So I was right! He was Bellamy Blake and that girl was definitely Octavia, his sister.

     “My God, look how big you are!” The two smiled at each other before the girl - Octavia - jumped forward and pulled Bellamy into a tight hug.

     “Where’s your wristband?” Clarke asked Bellamy as she sided next to Wells and I.

     “Do you mind?” Octavia cut Clarke off with an annoyed look. “I haven’t seen my brother in a year.”

     “Seriously Clarke?” I jumped in, everyone’s eyes turning to me as I let go of Wells’ hand. “We’ve reached the ground and the first thing you do is ask where the guy’s wristband is?” Clarke was surprised by my outburst, but Octavia and Bellamy looked at me thankful that I stood up for them.

     “Surely you’d like to be known as someone else. Perhaps the first person on the ground in a hundred years?” Octavia grinned in appreciation whilst Bellamy nodded my way.

     I returned the smile as Bellamy pulled on a nearby lever, opening the door to the outside. As a haze of smoke breaks, a bright light shone into the ship, momentarily blinding me but the lush colours of green, blue and brown eventually took its place.

     Finally, I’d be able to put my Earth Skills to use!

     Octavia slowly made her way down the ramp before she stepped onto the ground. She turned back towards the ship, a massive grin etched on her olive face.

     “We’re back bitches!” She threw her arms up as she yelled.

     A parade of teens stormed off the ship in a hurry, yelling and screaming that we’re back. A laugh resonated in my chest as a familiar presence took my hand in theirs.

     “Together?” Wells asked. With a soft sigh, I nodded, but not before I leapt onto his back. He shook his head as he wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck.

     “Ride on my noble steed!”

     A gush of air swept through my (Y/H/C) locks as Wells sprinted out the door, but within seconds of Wells being on the ground, we both tumbled onto the grass. One glance at each other was enough to send us into a fit of laughter.

     “I missed you, Wells —”

     “I missed you, (Y/N) —” A chuckle from above broke two of us from our trance.

     “It hasn’t even been a day and you two are back to finishing each other’s sentences.” Clarke towered over Wells and I, teasingly shaking her head at us.

     “Are you really surprised at this point, Clarke?” I retorted as I jumped to my feet, smothering the blonde in a tight hug.

     “Nope!” With a quick kiss to Wells’ cheek, I sauntered off in hopes of recognising someone else. Within two minutes I had lost the motivation so I found myself a sturdy and long enough stick I could use to fashion a bow with. Someone’s shoelace would probably work for the string.

     I sat close to the dropship, carving my initials into one end of the stick with a shard of metal that had broken off the ship, when someone sat next to me.

     “Hey, you’re Marcus Kane’s daughter right?” I turned to see Octavia and nodded expectantly.

      “That I am..” I replied slightly bitter. “But you can call me (Y/N).” I held my hand out for her to shake, but she hugged me instead. To say I was surprised would be an understatement.

     “Why aren’t you angry with me? My father was one of the people that got you put in the skybox in the first place.” I asked as she pulled away.

      “Because it wasn’t you who did it. It was your dad.” Well, she wasn’t wrong about that. A mischievous look appeared on her face. “Want to get into some trouble?”

      I mirrored her expression. “Oh hell yes!” We both giggled before I grabbed her hand and lead her to the dropship. We pulled up behind Clarke and Finn, who were recruiting two other guys to head over to Mount Weather. “Can we go now?”

     “Sounds like a party, make it six,” Octavia said as she gestured between the two of us. Clarke doesn’t protest, but a certain oldest Blake does. He grabbed Octavia’s shoulder causing her to let go of my hand.

     “Hey, what the hell are you doing?” Bellamy scolded Octavia.

     “Going for a walk,” she retorted as she pulled out of his grip. “Are you coming (Y/N)?”

     I glanced from the group to Bellamy a few times, debating whether to follow along to Mount Weather or to help Bellamy around the dropship. Although I’d probably be more help with the group of five, something in my gut told me I’d be just as helpful here.

     “I’ll stay here and help Wells and Bellamy with keeping order. As I’m sure they’ll need my help” I sauntered back over to the ship, ignoring Clarke and Octavia calling my name and a gaping Bellamy.

     Throughout the day I helped Wells with pretty much everything, but as soon as the sun was near the horizon I decided to stop for the day. I wasn’t blind to Murphy trying to get people to take off their wristbands. Such an action was most likely something Bellamy put him up to as he was the only one that could benefit from it. The only question was why.

     A shadow casted to the ground by the fire told me there was someone behind me.

     “If you even think you can get the upper hand on me to get off my wristband, think again Blake.” It wasn’t a long shot if it was him, and my suspicions were proven right when the man himself sat down next to me.

     “How did you —”

     “Your shadow gave it away you idiot and only you or Murphy would dare approach me from behind. Not that Murphy has though.” He just nodded as I finally turned to him.

     Although I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, Bellamy was handsome. His slightly tousled black hair, brown eyes and olive skin put him under the tall, dark and mysterious category. I tore my gaze away before it became borderline staring.

     “Was there anything else you wanted to talk about, Blake?” I questioned. He shifted in his spot slightly.

     “Thank you for earlier, with Octavia,” He admitted. “Although I’m certainly not a fan of your father, thank you.” Something in my gut told me he really did mean what he said.

     “I’m not heartless, Blake” I retorted. “Compared to Chancellor Jaha and everyone else on the council, I’m a puppy.” We shared a look and snorted, trying to stifle our own laughs.

     “Why a puppy?” He asked.

     “Because although I look innocent, anything can still set me off and my bite is much worse than my bark.” I stood to my feet, dusting off any dirt and sauntered back over to the dropship. 

     A couple of hours later the world was enveloped in darkness, our only source of light being from the fire. Everything in me wanted to ignore the world around me. However, the muffled sound of arguing grew louder and louder as I left my daze.

     “My father didn’t write the laws,” Wells’ voice admitted. My gaze looked up and landed on the arguing figures of Wells and Bellamy.

     “No. He enforced him, but not any more, not here,” Blake shrugged. “Here there are no laws. Here, we do whatever the hell we want, whenever the hell we want. Now, you don’t have to like it Wells. You can even try to stop it, change it, kill me. You know why? Whatever the hell we want.”

     I stood up, opening my mouth with every intention to object — at least get Wells and Bellamy to compromise on the situation — but Bellamy seemed to notice this and sharply shook his head. My eyes narrowed at him and scowled. He was taken aback by my scowl and I had no idea why.

     “Whatever the hell we want!” Murphy yelled out to the crowd. The crowd of teenager, minus Wells and I, followed in suit and started chanting the only rule established. A rule that would do more harm than good. 

     “Am I the only one who thinks this is gonna result in chaos?” I asked Wells.

     “You’re not the only one.”

     He wrapped an arm around my waist, holding me close and I rested my head on his shoulder. Something that didn’t go amiss by the eldest Blake. Bellamy’s face was unreadable and I didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

     A low rumble echoed from above before a downpour of rain decided to settle. Our first thunderstorm. A soft sigh left my chest as a smile formed on my face. The rain felt so good and I just didn’t care about getting soaked.

     I allowed myself to enjoy the rain a little while longer, looking around at the other delinquents with a smile. My smile fades almost instantly when my eyes meet Bellamy’s dark chocolate orbs. I scowled once more at him before scavenging around for something to collect water in. He needed to know I wasn’t onboard with his so called plan.

     The handrests of the seats inside the dropship ended up being perfect. I struggled a little getting some off, but I managed. With my small collection of water troughs, I sat them outside sitting in front of me as they collected the rain water. 

     The thunderstorm didn’t last for very long, but I’m left with a few troughs filled with fresh water. I drunk some water until my thrist was satisfied and I made sure Wells got some as well. Any water-filled troughs still completely full I snuck into the dropship to hide. 

     Wells then took my hand and lead me to a tree across the clearing and we helped each other up. We sat on a thick enough branch that could hold both our weights, sitting there in silence comfortably for a couple minutes, my head resting on his shoulder. Wells was the one to break the underlying tension in the air.

     “I think we need to address the elephant in the room…” Wells trailed off. He took my hands in his and turned the both of us around, our legs dangling on either side of the branch. I could only sigh and nod.

     “I know we’ve been best friends since we were toddlers and have always been affectionate with each other, but the cuddle in the dropship got me thinking.” Our fingers threaded through each other as he spoke. “I… I want us to be be more friends.”

     My head perked up at his words. Not going to lie, I did develop a crush on Wells two years before I was chucked in the skybox. However, I never acted on it as we had been best friends for years. We grew up together and at one point I thought he had a crush on Clarke.

     “But what about Clarke?” I mumbled as he took my cheeks in his hands.

     “It’s always been you.”

     His lips melted onto my own. Although his lips were slightly chapped from dehydration they were still incredibly soft. It felt as if a fire had started in my heart and I didn’t want it to stop. We eventually had to part for air, but he quickly slammed his lips back on mine, this time his tongue slipping into my mouth. We fought for dominance over each other, but Wells ultimately won. Our lips parted once more and we panted as we caught our breath.

     Wells rested his head on my own and we both sighed.

     “I’d hug you, but I’m worried we’d fall out of the tree.” Wells chuckled and pecked my lips. “I’ll find another tree nearby to sleep, we wouldn’t want people getting the wrong idea.”

     I pecked his lips before jumping down from the tree. Almost everyone was asleep, so I walked quietly as possible to the closest tree nearby. I laid down, resting my head and back against the tree. Just as I was about to succumb to sleep a familiar presence sat down next to me.

     “To what do I owe the displeasure of having your presence, Blake.” Bellamy snorted at what I said.

     “I’m flattered you knew it was me,” he smirked.

     “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” I clapped back. I finally turned to his annoyingly handsome face. Gods I wanted to kiss that smirk off his face — wait what?! I kissed Wells only minutes ago and I was already thinking about kissing someone else?

     “So…” he trailed off. “You and Jaha. When did that happen?” I gaped at the thought of how to respond. 

     “We both had crushes on each other, prior to us both being thrown in the skybox,” I admitted. “Neither of us acted on it before the Ground.” He nodded, but something in his eyes told me he was disappointed about something.

     Mentioning being thrown into the skybox reminded me why I was put in there in the first place. Me trying to expose to the rest of the Ark that life-support was failing, my father being the one to chuck me inside and throw away the key. It was a cowardly move and my father knew it. He never even came to see me the utter bastard.

     “I need help taking off my wristband.” Bellamy looked at me with disbelief. “I want to take it off, but I don’t want to hurt myself.”

     He stared at me right in my eyes, probably to see with there was any hesitation in them. However, when he saw none he helped with the wristband, slipping it off with ease.

     “Thank you.” He wasn’t really supposed to hear my thanks, but he did, just giving me a small smile before he walked off in the other direction.

     My eyes glossed with water, the teardrops threatening to escape but only a single tear rolled down my cheek.

     I’m sorry, Dad.

Taglist:

@hftff-lol​ 

[forever-rogue]

drabble #35 for din djarin would KILL ME if you're still taking requests - ive been binging your writing the last couple of days and it's so good, ty for all you write! ♥

Prompts | 35.  “Do you...well...I mean….I could give you a massage?”

Pairing | Din x GN!Reader

Warnings | none

Masterlists | Din, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Din groaned loudly as he came back inside of the small hut you were currently staying in on Sorgan. He’d been out all day working in the fields with the villagers and helping around the small town however he could while you were on baby duty. You’d finally gotten the little green bean down by the time Din got back. 

“Long day?” you joked as you sat in your small bed, nose buried in a book that you’d managed to snag in some random store on a planet you’d stopped on in the Outer Rim. He answered with another groan as you marked your page and set the book down with a fond chuckle. The Mandalorian perched himself at the end of your bed and looked you over for a moment. A warm flush washed over your body as you studied the floor in a vain attempt to hide your smile. 

“I don’t ever think I’ve ever felt so sore - or old before.”

You had a curious relationship with the Mandalorian - Din - as you’d come to know him. More than partners, dancing on the outskirts of friends, but definitely...something more. It was an odd dance of lingering touches and stolen glances that left you both on the precipice of something greater. You’d just yet to cross that threshold. 

But there was something about the way he was sitting there, one hand turned up in your direction that made your heart race. His whole body was lightly perched towards you as a comfortable silence fell over both of you. Unable to stop yourself, you leaned forward and delicately placed your hand on top of his, giving it a light squeeze. 

“Do you...well...I mean….I could give you a massage?” the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them. Your eyes grew wide as he looked at you, the black T of his visor refusing to look elsewhere, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I-”

“That sounds nice,” he stopped you before you could trip any further over your words, “that would be nice.”

“Okay,” your voice shook slightly as you nodded, “you’ll have to...strip - take off your clothes - dank farrik - the armor needs to come off. I-is that okay?’

You’d never seen once since Din without the helmet, but on the rare occasions you’d seen him without the majority of his armor. It had felt like a whole new religious experience to see the man of your affections stripped of so much of his identity. When the armor was off, his walls were down, and he was just Din, not the Mandalorian, and you were just you. 

“Yes,” he promised as he stood up to start taking off each piece of armor, bit by bit. You followed suit and stood up, standing in front of him before replacing his hands with your own. Din made a small sound as he let you work to slowly remove each piece of armor. It felt like a small thing, but it was so intimate and sacred at the same time. A lot of trust and love went into every single movement. 

Once you were done, you turned back to him and looked at him with a tiny little smile on your face. Din took off his leather gloves and tossed them onto the bed before reaching up and gently cradling your face in his hands. You practically keened into his touch as he mapped out the contours of your face with surprisingly soft and delicate fingertips, “you are so beautiful.”

“And you mustn’t flatter me,” your whole face felt warm as he watched you closely. You could sense that there was a little smile on his own face under the helmet.

“It’s not flattery,” he promised as he swiped a thumb over your cheek. Putting your hands on his wrists, you pulled them away from your face as you motioned for him to turn around. He slowly did so, and you sat behind him, tentative hands going to his shoulders. 

His muscles felt tense under your deft hands as you started kneading his shoulders and upper back. Din tried his best to hold back his little moans as you released tension he didn’t even know he had. 

“Can I ask you something?” he asked after a few minutes of blissful silence. 

“Of course,” your heart skipped a nervous beat but you tried your best not to let it show too much, “anything.”

“How come you’ve never asked to see me - my face?” his question caught you off guard as you paused for a moment before continuing on.

“It’s not my place to ask,” you answered simply, “I’ve always figured that if you want to show me, you’d do it in your own time. And if that was never then that was okay too.”

“I want to show you,” his words caught you off guard as he turned to face you and you gave him a shy little look, “I just…”

“Whenever you’re ready,” you promised him, “I’ll be here, Din. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah?” he asked with a slight of his head.

“Yeah,” you slowly turned him back around and put your hands on his shoulders again, “now relax and let me finish. Everything else can wait - for now, this is enough, you’re enough, Din.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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