#every time i (finally) get in a groove it's so late i have to stop

[reiderwriter]

I'm Your Fluffer!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x female reader (best friends to lovers)

For @imagining-in-the-margins FWB Challenge!

Prompt: "I'm your boyfriend without the benefits." "Do you want the benefits?" "Yes- No... I'm your fluffer!" (Inspired by New Girl) (yes, I suggested this prompt, bo idc if that's cheating)

Warnings: Mentions of BDSM, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, choking, mentions of spanking, and butt worship, slight Dom Spencer, bratty reader, creampie. The classics, yk.

A/N: I'm back!!!! I took a break because I couldn't bring myself to even look at a word document for about a month, but there's nothing like a Pom challenge to get me writing again! I did have a lot planned for my 1 year anniversary, but because I was sick, and then busy, and then work got hectic, I had to put it off. I still am going to try to finish my kink bingo Carr, though, even though its a month late, but I had two fics left iirc, and I have both of them plotted, so I may as well! I will, however, be abandoning the final epilogue of I Can't Help Myself, because I wrote myself into a depressed corner with that one, and honestly, some people were getting very pushy about it, and it wasn't fun anymore. Anyway! This one was fun to write, so I'm going to stick to one shots for the foreseeable future, or incredibly limited series.

Masterlist

Spencer was your friend. A good friend. Your best friend, perhaps. A really good, very best friend.

Obviously, you were good friends because he always knew when you were feeling down. He bought you flowers regularly when he passed by flower shops. He came over to your place and helped you build every piece of flatpack furniture you had, which, as a single woman in your mid-twenties, was every piece of furniture that you owned.

You really looked forward to the movie nights the two of you had weekly. The popcorn, the blankets, the cuddling, his lips by your ear, in-time translating the foreign movies word for word as you watched it, the shivers down your spine as you pressed further into the heat of him.

Spencer was the best best friend you could ask for.

He was also the most frustrated.

“Kid, what are you doing this weekend? I'm thinking of hitting some clubs, you know, getting my groove on, maybe meeting A few ladies,” Morgan smirked, rubbing his hands together as he gently moved side to side, already dancing to himself as he anticipated his big weekend out. “You in, or are you in?”

“I can't. I promised Y/N I'd help her with some document digitalisation. We're going to order pizza and watch Star Trek while backing up her entire paper trail.”

The smile on Spencer's face was so stupid that Morgan had to stop himself from wiping it off of him immediately.

“Man, you are so down bad for that girl,” he mused, shaking his head.

“What? Down bad?”

“You like her. It's okay to admit it.”

“We're friends. I'm happy being friends,” Spencer said, picking up his bag and walking to the elevator desperate to escape a repeat of a conversation he'd already had three times that week.

“You know everyone thinks you're dating.”

“Well aware. Despite the number of times we've both stated to the contrary, people don't seem to accept ‘we're just friends’ when they hear it.”

“That may be because you're doing things that just friends don't do.”

“Everything we do is totally platonic.”

“You buy her flowers-

“I buy my mother flowers,” Spencer said, turning on the man and raising his hands in exasperation.

“You know that's different. Do you buy Emily flowers?”

Silence.

“What about JJ?”

“I bought JJ flowers!” He grinned triumphantly until the other man spoke again.

“When she was in the hospital. Giving birth. Okay, what about the movie nights?”

Rolling his eyes, the younger man walked on, pressing the bell for the elevator and allowing his friend to keep bothering him.

“Friends watch movies together, Morgan. We've watched movies together, are we dating?”

“One, you are not my type, pretty boy, and two, you didn't exactly have your dick pressed against my ass the entire time we watched a film now, did you?”

“Be q- be quiet. I don't have my dick against her ass ever.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, was it pressed against her stomach instead? I know she likes to lie on top of-”

“Derek!”

The elevator arrived, and the two quickly jumped in, to Spencer's relief.

“All I'm saying, kid, is-”

“Hold the elevator!” You shouted, running to it quickly with Penelope Garcia on your heels.

“Thanks, Spence!” You said, smiling at him as you entered the small space.

And continued your not too unsimilar conversation with Penelope.

“So, as I was saying Penelope,” you shot her a look that told her you were finished with the conversation. You were not dating Spencer Reid, and you were unlikely to in the future because of his total and complete lack of interest in you.

“You can set me up this weekend, right? It's been an age since I've been on a date, and I would really like to-” you glanced around the elevator and whispered the end of your sentence, suddenly mindful of your company. “You know.”

“If you're absolutely sure, I have a few men in mind that could throw you about, but-”

You squealed and squeezed the woman as the elevator landed on your floor and jumped out of the elevator quickly, cheeks burning.

“Thanks, Pen, you're the best!”

“Y/N, wait,” Spencer called out behind you, desperately holding the elevator open for a few more seconds.

“I thought we were doing your papers this weekend? Star trek, pizza, remember?”

You stared guiltily at the floor as you forced your voice to sound as casual as possible, not sure you could make any excuse that didn't sound pathetic.

“Oh, sorry, Spencer. I totally forgot. We can rain check, right? I… I really need this.”

Spencer was aware of what disappointment felt like, but it never hollowed out his chest like your lack of eye contact in that moment did.

“Yeah. Sure, of course. We can do that whenever.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Spencer. You're the best… friend.”

He smiled and let the door finally shut, aware of the two sets of eyes now watching him.

It took a surprisingly long time for the ‘I told you so’ to come, but come it did, as if Morgan were unable to help himself.

“You're telling me that you're not into her at all?”

“I'm…not into her like that at all.”

“And you're fine with me setting her up on a date with a man that'll do somewhat empowering, somewhat disgusting things with her?” Penelope piled on.

“What? That's…that's not my business,” he ground out.

“No. Of course it’s not. Because you're not her boyfriend.”

“Exactly, I'm not her boyfriend-”

“You're her fluffer.”

With a pat on the shoulder, the elevator hit its last stop, and Morgan exited, leaving Spencer scrambling after him as Penelope waved the two of them off.

“What? No, what's a fluffer?”

Morgan chuckled and waved him off, walking to his car.

“Come on, what's a fluffer, and why am I hers?”

“You've seen porn before, right?” The older man asked, pausing as he opened his driver side door. “Actually don't answer that. The fluffer is the person who keeps the actors and actresses… ready between takes. Prepares them for the good stuff.”

With a bright flush across his cheeks, Spencer tried his best for an indignant look, landing somewhat closer to a petulant child.

“I am not her fluffer. We have never-”

“I know you've never. If you had, we wouldn't be standing here right now having this conversation. What I'm saying is you should.”

“We're friends!”

Climbing into the car and closing the door, Morgan dismissed the younger man quickly, but he wasn't finished.

Knocking on the door, Spencer waiting a beat, then two for it to open again.

“I'm not her fluffer.”

“You build her furniture and cuddle with her. You're doing everything a boyfriend would do, without any of the boyfriend rewards.”

“What rewards?” he gasped, exasperated.

A single look was all the reply he got before Morgan out his keys into the ignition and started driving.

Spencer never made the decision to turn up at your house later that night. He just found himself all of a sudden at your front door on a Friday night, pulling out the key from the plant pot by the front door and letting himself in. Unlocking his shoes, he called out through the apartment, letting you know he was there as he slipped into the house shoes you'd bought him after the first of many movie nights.

“Spencer? We cancelled earlier, remember?” you said emerging from your bedroom, fitted in the tightest dress he'd ever seen you in. He already had no answer for your question, but seeing you like that, getting ready, he had no answer to any question at all. If you'd have asked him his name, he wouldn't have known it.

Well, he would've, but only because you'd said it only three seconds ago and had reminded him that he was, in fact, standing in your apartment when he should've been literally anywhere else.

“Um. I'm…I'm just-” he scratched the back of his neck, waiting for something to come to him.

“Spencer, I'm leaving in like an hour, so there's no time to watch a movie, and I have to get ready, so-”

“I'm… I'm angry?”

You raised an eyebrow at his questioning tone, unsure where this conversation was going.

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah..yes. I'm sure. I'm angry. We, we had plans, and you gave me like an hours notice and cancelled them to go do something stupid-”

“Spencer! I'm going on a date. That's not stupid.”

“It is when you have me!”

He half shouted, half murmured the words, as if he himself were unsure of how confident he was in making that statement.

“That came out wrong-”

“Yeah, I think it did.”

“What I mean is- I mean…Morgan said that-”

You crossed your arms and sat yourself on the arm of your sofa, looking forward at him and waiting for him to get through whatever this was. You hoped the entire time that he was saying what you'd wanted him to say for the last year and a half.

“Have you ever watched porn?”

Not what you were hoping for, but a start, at least.

“Spencer!”

“That came out wrong, I- don't throw the couch cushions at me. I have a point, I swear!”

You lowered your next projectile and gestured for him to go on, not fully relinquishing it just yet.

“I'm your fluffer! I get you…in the mood for dates, and- and- I do all the boyfriend stuff without any of the boyfriend benefits!”

He stood in front of you, red-faced, and you stared him down a second or two as you collected your thoughts.

“Do you…want the boyfriend benefits?”

“Yes! No, wait - wait a second. I- I- What are the boyfriend benefits exactly?”

You threw the pillow down and turned your back on him, not entirely sure what you were expecting from the most oblivious genius on the planet.

“Y/N, wait. Wait-”

With a hand wrapped around your wrist, Spencer spun you around, and, tripping over your feet, you landed hard on your sofa. Your fall should've been relatively pain-free, but for the 6-foot man that landed directly on top of you.

“Get up.”

“What are the boyfriend benefits?”

“You should know if you're saying you want them! Now, get up!”

“Not until you tell me.”

“Spencer!”

“Y/N!”

You groaned and writhed under him, but he just dropped his weight onto you, unmoving, hands pinning your wrists lazily, leg poking between your two, hips pinning yours.

It certainly wasn't the closest you'd ever been, but in those circumstances, during that conversation, you felt more flustered than you had before.

“What are the benefits.”

“You really want me to say? You're not afraid it's going to throw off our friendship, ruin whatever good thing we have going?”

“I think that if you go out tonight, and enjoy your date, and get a boyfriend, that he's going to feel weird about this good thing we have going and it's going to be over anyway. Tell me.”

You desperately searched for a way out of this situation, but a stronger part of you wanted to simply wrap your legs around him and let him take as much advantage as he could.

You settled for disturbing him.

“Fine. A boyfriend would be able to spank me.”

“Y/N, be serious.”

“I am. I like it. A boyfriend would pull my hair back and make me count as he hit my cute round ass until it turned all red, and I couldn't sit down comfortably anymore. A boyfriend would then kiss it better.”

You'd never spoken about sex with Spencer, and you hoped the vulgarity would force him back to his senses. Instead, he didn't stir, and you had no choice but to continue.

“Another boyfriend benefit would be choking me. I like that, too. Are your hands big enough to wrap around my throat, Spencer?”

“Yes.”

The answer came so quickly and do confidently, you weren't sure you actually heard it outlook until he spoke again.

“What other benefits, Y/N?”

“A… boyfriend would get to cum inside me,” you whispered, suddenly aware of hips rocking into yours slowly as his cock poked up, listening intently to the promises spilling from your lips that you likely should've regretted.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I want the benefits.”

Your body was hot everywhere he touched you, but he didn't move, didn't follow through on anything just yet. But you were aware of his head moving closer and closer to yours and panicked.

“And what have you done? As my fluffer? To deserve those benefits?”

“What have I done?” He asked, pulling back an inch. Even as his chest rested, flush against yours, your breasts pushed up against him as his hands held yours over your head.

“I-I bought you flowers-”

“Emily buys me flowers, too. So does Penelope. Should I let them be my boyfriend?”

With your hands in use, you took advantage of his distraction and wrapped your legs up and around his waist, rolling your hips up into him.

“I suppose I do like flowers, though. What else?”

“I… We're always t-together?”

“We work together.”

Using the leverage of his weight against yours, you rolled up harder into his hips, grinding into him slowly as you watched his resolve melt away.

“The m-movie nights are-”

“The movie nights where you rut your cock into me while we watch a movie? Friends do that all the time. You're just translating the movie for me after all.”

“Y/N, please don't-”

“Don't say that? Okay. I'll just let someone else hump against my thighs to get off because you're too proud to admit you want to sink your dick into me and pound me?”

“Y/N-”

“Maybe that's why you don't have the boyfriend privileges, Spencer. Because I'm waiting for something, you're too much of a prude to try-”

His lips meet yours before you can finish the thought, and you're not sure whether it's a triumph or a defeat.

After precisely five seconds of his lips on yours, though, you no longer cared.

Releasing your hands gently, he lifted his hips an inch, distracting you enough to force his tongue into your mouth as his hand found its way between your legs.

“Did you really mean it?” He asked between kisses as you rake your hands through his hair, getting lost in him. “About the benefits?”

You allowed yourself to imagine it for a second, Spencer's hands on your throat. His hands on your ass. His mouth buried between your legs.

You moaned into his kiss, and he laughed - actually laughed - as he pulled away.

“Spencer!”

“No, no, please, don't let me keep you from your thoughts, I'll just be down here.”

His fingers reached your clit and he wasn't surprised to find you already wet, legs spread. Snaking another hand to your neck though, he wasn't exactly as opposed to the ideas you'd flung at him as he'd acted.

You gasped as his hand closed around your neck, the prettiest necklace you'd ever worn. You grabbed a hold of his hands as he pulled your underwear off, pushing them down your legs as he gently pushed your legs open wider and replaced his fingers with his tongue.

You curled up on yourself, craving your body to watch him devour your pussy as you tried your best to keep your breaths shallow, to keep breathing entirely as he squeezed your throat.

His tongue licked and flattened, his head bobbing up and down and then stilling as your hips began moving by themselves, letting you ride his face as you moaned and whined and desperately ran towards your climax.

You wrapped a leg around his shoulder, pressing down on his back to keep him in position, grabbing a handful of hair as you jerked against his face, fucking it as he looked up at you through hooded eyes, drinking down every drop of you.

His hold on your neck tightened, and you felt your body shudder as you squeaked out his name, not wanting this to end so soon, needing to feel more of this. He let you ride it out until you were whining in frustration again, hips twitching from the friction of his tongue against your cunt.

Then he pushed away.

He wasn't gone long, but you followed him up. You thought about pushing him down to the couch again, thought about sitting on his pretty boy face and doing it all over again. You thought of turning over and presenting your ass to him, letting him punish you like you'd promised. Your thoughts ceased as quickly as they came when he pulled his cock free of his pants, not even bothering to pull them off fully before pulling you into his lap, lining himself up, and pushing you down onto his hot, hard, lengthy cock.

You swear you would've screamed if his to guess hadn't already claimed your mouth. A good scream. A “holy shit holy shit holy shit” scream. Definitely a “I didn't know it was that big, and honestly I'm a little scared” scream. But overall, a “god that feels so good” scream.

From the lack of movement, you were sure that Spencer was giving you a moment to adjust to his intrusion, and you were thankful as you clung to his neck, hands balling in the material of his shirt on his back.

Although he was bigger than expected, he wasn't uncomfortably large, and you calmed quickly, giving him a quick nod as you buried yourself in his neck, hiding your face to stop yourself from drooling, mouth wide as he tipped you back against the couch pillows, lifting your legs slightly and slipping his hands underneath yous thighs, and began his steady pace of thrusts.

You were sure your world was imploding on itself, that all your senses had ceased except that of touch, and his touch was fire. But you heard the wet, slutty sounds of your pussy welcoming him, you smelt the sweat against his skin, and, opening your eyes, you saw the absolute pleasure blasted against his features as he groaned in your ear.

And before you could form another coherent thought, he'd claimed another boyfriend benefit, as, rocking his hips against yours, he slowed to a stutter as he emptied himself inside you.

“Spencer!!” you moaned, but he wasn't done, spitting on his fingers and finding your clit again as you squealed, twitching and turning and milling his cock with your movements as you found your second release.

You moaned his name again, though it sounded less like his name this time, and more like a definite noise complaint from your neighbours in the morning.

“Spencer?” you asked, still trying to regain your breath as he, once again, collapsed on top of you.

“Mhmm,” he said, slowly pulling out of you, watching the mess you'd made together drip out too, and resisting the urge to push right back into you and go again.

“Was that a friendly fuck, or a boyfriend fuck?”

His eyes snapped to yours again as you continued.

“I just want to give Penelope the correct reason for cancelling on her friend when I text her-”

“I came inside you.”

“So you did.”

“Y/N!”

“.... So that wasn't a fluffer thing, but a boyfriend thing, got i-”

With a kiss, he shut you up again, and you realized quickly that you probably wouldn't have the time to send that text anyway.

[nkogneatho]

۪۫❁ུ۪۪𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 °࿐

—a/n: first thing i wrote after hiatus so still a bit rusty but i tried my best to deliver my emotions. If this gets good response, I'll do part 2. Not proofread. fem!reader

#mlist #taglist #art commissions

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎.𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐎𝐖𝐒

For someone who's so confident, Satoru for the first time found himself anxious, legs trembling in the wonderment of what his bext action should be. He was standing at the altar in his neat pale grey suit. All eyes were fixated on him. But that's not what made him nervous. It was how he would react when he sees you. And just then, you appeared like the fragment of his best intentions.

The wedding band started playing the theme. Your white flowy satin dress dancing to the rhythm of the wind. Your beautiful face concealed a little from the veil. You looked so perfect. And just when you finally reached the altar, you stood parallel to him, smiling and satisfied with his reaction. You've never seen him so engorged in something—or someone.

The minister asked him to proceed with the vows.

"Y/N L/N. I usually am the one to talk a lot. But for the first time, I am short of words." You smiled at him.

"I think it's crazy how I see you everyday, but somehow you still manage to take my breath away with how beautiful you are. I know I call myself the honored one...but trust me darling, I am nothing but a fish in your ocean. You...you are my everything. And when I say that, I mean it. I want you to know that if the world is ever against you, I'll be in the front protecting you with all I have. I love you so much, baby." It feels like he's choking on his words.

This man that just said thst he's at loss for words, proceeded to make you tear up with a poetry. You've never been love so much in life. It feels unreal. But you know it's all true when as soon as you say "I do" his lips are on yours, reminding that every touch you feel is real.

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

The hall was decorated with white lillies and tulips that you loved so much. People grooving and chattering to the background music. Soon it was time for the moment you've been waiting for. The dance. Your first dance with Geto. The lights dimmed and the spotlight hit the floor as you and Suguru walked into the bright refraction on the floor. The crowd dispersing away to give the newly married couple their full attention.

One of his hands was on your waist while the other intertwined one of yours.

Put your head on my shouuulder...

You both smiled wide as you couldn't have asked for a better song. This was the song that you once told Geto you'd like to dance to. Since then, he remembered to play twirl you around to Paul Anka at every occasion. And this one had to be the best one yet.

Hold me in your arms, baby...

He mouthed the words and you couldn't help but giggle. Suguru doesn't usually sing but he has this deep voice that blend perfectly to the song. It sounds like heaven.

"Get ready to dance to this every anniversary, my love," he whispered.

The room was filled with so many people. Yet, when your eyes recasted your signature "i love you" look, he suddenly felt the world disappear, and only you two exist.

That's when he realized, he really did get lucky when you fell in love with him.

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍

As always, you woke up late. It's surprising how Toji looks like the one who'd be irresponsible when it's actually you. But hey! He can't complain about it. Weddings and Receptions are tiring. If he could, he'd let you sleep for one whole day if you didn't have a flight to catch. You quickly got dressed and rushed to the airport with your man.

The flight was awful since you were irritated by the snorer next to you. Trust me. You wanted to stuff the macadamia nuts in his nostrils but Toji stopped you from doing so. He had a better and more rational solution of putting headphones over your ears and playing you your favorite song. Your lips widened when his thumb started circling your thighs to calm you and make you relax.

Upon arriving to the hotel, you finally took a big stretch to wash all the tiredness away.

"IT'S HONEYMOON TIME, BABY!!"

You jumped in excitement and pretty much everyone at the entrance was staring at you and Toji. He won't stop you though. He loves watching you dance around everytime you're happy.

You both walked towards the receptionist, with Toji carrying all the luggage. Gotta use the big beefy man privilege baby.

"Good afternoon. How may I help you?"

"Good afternoon. We reserved a suite here a week ago."

"Okay. May I please know the name you reserved it under?" she asked.

"Oh it's Mr. And Mrs. Fushiguro." The moment those words left your lips, Toji felt his world shift. He knew that you were a Fushiguro when you signed the marriage certificate. He knew it when you said "I do" at the altar. He knew it when he placed the ring on your finger. But hearing it from your mouth made him have butterflies in his stomach. Wow. You are really his. He couldn't for one second believe it.

"So this is how heaven feels like," he mumbled.

"You said something, baby?"

"Oh nothing, my love. Just that you're beautiful "

"I'm running on four hours of sleep. My under eyes are darker than your black shirt," you whispered.

"I don't know what you're talking about. You're still the most beautiful person to exist," he argued and you just rolled your eyes. You genuinely wanted to know how he manages to find you beautiful at every occasion.

"Are you in denial?"

"No, darling. I am in love."

Taglist: @sugurini @princess-okkotsu @saturnsoups @cookingforsatoru @oldbutnotold @rin-vana @bimbno @arisaturn @tojigasam @bxrnthyfears @gojoxxluv @seqeva @nanamikentoseyebags @stariwrites @sluttoru @lvmxn @greycaelum @kokonoiscoconut @deskaisers @icyowl @thesimphouse @anxious-chick @monimonieee @sweet-yzabelle @keichartreusely @arguablyferal @kannra21 @bbytamaki @rwibbnz @ta-ni-ya @mamayan @strawwbee @jesi-pinkman @fueledbysano @psychiccloudobject @baewriites @wystericwoes @his-saiko

[cyberpxnk]

jealous | song mingi (1/2)

♡ part two

♡ pairing: mingi x fem! reader (afab) ♡ chapters: 1 out of 2 ♡ word count: 3.9k ♡ rating: mature/18+ (minors dni) ♡ genre: pwp, smut, established relationship 

♡ synopsis: choi san finds great fun in trying to seduce mingi's girl on the daily. on one particular night, you're left to deal with the consequences of san's actions after their concert. waiting alone in the dressing room, you fear that you're in for a wild ride.

♡ warnings/tags: idol! mingi, rengoku hair! mingi, brief mentions of ateez, smut, shameless tbh, jealous behavior, possessive behavior, sweaty mingi, san is a little shit but he means well, a lil bit of man handling, size kink, mingi GOT THE SCHLONG, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, praise, name calling, spanking, bruising, biting, hair pulling, slight dom/sub undertones, slight voyeurism

♡ author’s note: 

kinda proof read but not rly tbh

howdy, folks! this is my first time posting in the ateez writing community, so i hope this is to everyone’s liking. i haven’t written anything in a few years but the creative juices have been flowin lately !! 

this is also cross posted on my ao3, if you would like to support me there as well. this was originally a one part fic, but i’m currently in the midst of finishing up the second and final chapter. thank you and happy reading! comments r greatly appreciated :plead: :3

Swarmed by hundreds, your body is rocking amongst many others as the sounds of singing and shouting fills the air. The music is loud and pulsing through your ears, yet you feel at home within the crowd of fans. You don’t think you will ever get tired of seeing the boys perform live, despite spending nearly every waking moment around them. Similarly, Mingi is with you almost everyday yet you can never stop yourself from marveling at the sight of his lithe figure. It’s as if you’re seeing him for the first time ever with each new day.

With your hungry eyes following the fluid movements of his hips, he easily sways to the current song’s beat as he begins to drift further from your peripherals, heading toward the opposite side of the stage. Soon after his disappearance another figure soon comes into your view, their laced boots firmly planted on the stage in front of you. Even as those around you stir with excitement, your gaze barely strays from Mingi.

Only until hearing the screams erupt louder around you do you reluctantly tear your eyes away from his retreating back. Always being good at eliciting reactions from the fans, San’s sensual movements don’t go unnoticed by you or those surrounding him. The performer loved to get a rise out of making his fellow member jealous, although you were immune to his charms after many years of his ceaseless teasing.

To you, his flirting is almost always harmless and mostly just a hoax to get under Mingi’s skin. You can’t help but to roll your eyes at his obvious antics in trying to rouse you, but he instead begins to attract the aforementioned rapper back over to your corner. The male before you gyrates once more, hoping to further divert your attention from Mingi. It doesn't seem to take long for the other man to catch on as he practically stomps his way over to San.

Even if San's action never affected you, it always left a sour taste in Mingi's mouth. His jealousy was clear as day given how he was reacting now. Unseen by the public eye, his bout of anger was unnoticed by the fans — but not to you and San. In fact, the crowd is more than delighted by his quick return. His appearance beside his band mate prompts another round of enthusiastic yelling. Those around you wave and jitter excitedly and their mass of hands reach for the two idols, their phones held high.

Mingi is hovering close to the edge of the stage, mic in hand as he dances — his movements are aggressive, his irritations evident through the flow of his rhythmic dances. He bounces on his feet, rocking back and forth while following the groove of the music. It’s then that he tips his cap up slightly, immediately meeting your eyes with his own smoldering gaze.

Look only at me. The expression on his face says enough.

You can see a sliver of his tongue peeking out beneath his teeth before a shit eating grin is plastered across his features. He and his tongue do nothing but taunt you, slipping to and from his ample lips. You can’t help the flash of vivid imagery that briefly fills your mind. Eyes fluttering just barely, you find yourself imagining the wet appendage slipping into your hot cunt — his plump lips kissing at your wet folds as he eats you out. Fuck. The heat that rises through your body is immediate and you find yourself involuntarily shouting out for the man, joining the crowd as you all bristle animatedly from his interactions. He only smirks to you, as if knowing fully well what nasty thoughts were running rampant through that pretty little head of yours.

Mingi looks sinfully delicious in the fitted monochrome attire he adorns. Even he seems to know it, easily relishing within the attention he garners. You will definitely have to thank the stylists later. Even with little skin to show, limbs covered, the straps that hook around his lean torso only further excite you and feed into your fantasies. There's nothing more you want to do than to grab at the fabric of his shirt and yank him off the stage to make out. In front of the audience, you knew if he ever had the chance he would love to absolutely fuck you mindless on the stage. You also knew his sole purpose for frequenting your side of the stage so often was to get you hot and bothered.

You hated him for teasing you; loathed him for leaving you wanting and physically aching for his touch. The deliberate and slow thrusts of his hips are meant specially for you, but his cocky antics played it all off so easily. The fans would never suspect that he danced with such passion only to wind you up. Thankfully, you were not the only one amongst the fans feeling the heat from him. However, you did have the full satisfaction of knowing that at the end of the day you would be the one he was bending over.

Upon entering the dressing room, you could already see his sweat covered figure panting; exhausted from the concert yet seemingly more than ready to jump you. His breaths are labored with a primal desire and you can feel his heated gaze heavy on you. Yourself only adorned in a strappy crop top and tight little skirt left much of your skin exposed to his roaming eyes and little to his imagination. During the entirety of the set you two had exchanged many looks of yearning. The tension gave way and it was no wonder that he was ready to fuck you here and now. It isn’t long before his towering figure is looming over you, grabbing you abruptly as he practically tosses you against the nearest wall.

"Fuck!" A sputter of profanities. With the air being knocked out of your chest, you have no time to try to recover from his actions — literally breathless against his muscular frame. You can barely react as you're thrown up against the door with your back hitting the steel surface forcefully. Only the lean of his body and his taut muscles pin you up and you're nearly slipping down the door until you're scrambling to hook your legs around his waist. His broad hands find their grip on you, one squeezing a thigh to further hoist you up before the other grasps your hair tightly.

The impact has you feeling dizzy, yet you know you should be used to Mingi's roughness by now. There is a hard tug of your locks and you find yourself craning your neck to him obediently as he directs you by your hair with ease. The delicious expanse of skin is exposed to his eager mouth and he’s leaving hot kisses along your nape. Each brush of his lips burns into your skin, a fire further igniting beneath your belly. A whine bubbles from your throat once his teeth begin to graze along your throat, nipping gingerly.

Mingi has always been needier than you; always having to touch you, always wanting to taste you, and always needing to mark you. Despite knowing this, when he bites down between the junction of your neck and shoulder particularly hard, you can't stop yourself from crying out pathetically. His tongue allows you temporary solace, lapping against the tender wound before he begins to suck at the same spot. The hickeys he enjoyed leaving on the canvas of your skin were always welcomed, only fueling the desire that has been rapidly building over the night. The skin seems to bruise tenderly beneath his touches. Each mark is deliberate. He wants everyone to know that you were accounted for, especially San.

"You're mine." The baritone of his voice sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core and you're nearly keening at his words.

"Yours," you breathily say back to him as your hands grasp his shoulders.

"That's right. You belong to me. You're mine and only mine." His lips find yours briefly before he leans up to bite your ear, his husky voice raspy and hot against you. The trickle of words that leave his mouth don't stop even as his strong hands begin to roam your body once more. One arm holds you steady against the door as the other dips between the apex of your thighs. You gasp out as his long fingers inch closer to your core, stroking along the clinging fabric of your already soaked underwear.

"Look at you. Already dripping for me. You've been wanting me to touch you all night, haven't you? My needy girl."

Another startled sound comes from you as he easily tears the flimsy cloth from your body, hastily shoving your underwear into his back pocket. You can barely utter a word, instead settling for a choked noise of surprise as two of his fingers suddenly plunge past your slick folds. The stretch is immediate and he wastes no time pumping his digits within you as his thumb circles over your clit. With your mind reeling, you can barely catch up to his actions. His fingers feel so damn good scissoring within you that any coherent thoughts you possessed swiftly diminished.

The breathy moan that falls from your lips is delectable and much louder than anticipated. You’re both well aware that anyone passing by could probably hear you two, but that only seems to encourage the man to continue his efforts. If he was going to fuck you senseless, he surely had hoped San could hear him through the walls.

"Mmm.. You like that, babe? Do my fingers feel good?" Before you can answer, his mouth slots against yours with fervor. You two are exchanging sloppy kisses, teeth knocking into each other as your bruised lips move in unison — hot and heavy with your tongues intertwining. The desperation to taste you is too much. It's evident among his greedy touches.

You're pathetically grinding against his palm, his fingers furled to press deep at the delicate tissue of your g spot. With his soaked fingers expertly delving back and forth inside you, he easily reaches spots that have you dizzy with pleasure. You're soft and pliant to his ministrations, juices audibly gushing down his wrist with every pump. The sound is embarrassing to your ears, but your writhing body spurs Mingi on as he's no sooner curling his drenched fingers harder against your arousal.

He detaches from your lips, his own lingering down your shoulder blade. His nose is grazing along your skin as you're painfully arched between him and the door. Each thrust is driving you further away from sanity, your mind hazy with lust. With your mouth agape, you cannot stop the string of garbled noises that fall from your lips. Mingi always knows how to make you fall apart at his hands. The size and thickness of his fingers were nearly enough to have your orgasm peaking, but it was never that simple with the man.

The entirety that fills you is fleeting and you're soon whining out from his withdrawal. The actions have you locking eyes with him, his pupils blown wide with lust. Breathing heavily from his swollen lips, Mingi looks frenzied the way he bores into you. You can feel him undressing you so readily with his stifling stare. He looks crazed, his fiery locks damp and wild. The sheen of sweat on his skin is smooth and his musk is heavy, intoxicating your senses.

“M-Mingi.. Please,” you mewl at him pathetically, clenching around nothing but your own heat.

“What do you want, needy girl?” Your skin feels hot from his question. You are shy to utter a response and instead squirm beneath him, hips meeting from your movement.

“You want my fingers?” He grasps your jaw with one hand, grip tightening as his thumb grazes along your mouth. You're eager to wrap your lips around his finger, tongue brushing against his digit.

“Or maybe you want me to eat that pretty pussy of yours?” A strangled noise forms at the back of your throat upon hearing his words.

“You can barely keep quiet around my fingers. Everyone is going to hear you scream if I do that.” He says such things as if the results wouldn't be the same regardless of how you came unraveled. You would take him all the same.

With the absence of his hands between your bodies, you're suddenly free to grind against his groin. You're desperate and needy for him to be closer, chasing a temporary relief from being teased toward your orgasm. The action is welcomed as you finally feel the shape of his straining erection pressed to your dripping slit. The material of his pants does nothing to hide his size, fabric growing increasingly wet from your movements.

Just as you're enjoying yourself rocking against him, you’re unceremoniously dropped by him and you're staggering to try and find your balance as your feet shakily hit the ground, knees nearly buckling.

“Mingi, what the fuck?” Hands meeting his shoulders, you're holding on as you try to keep steady.

He ignores your pestering and busies himself with removing his trousers. The sound of metal clinking is heard as his belt drops to the floor. Haphazardly he is tugging down his zipper, pants and underwear pooling at his ankles. In all his glory, he’s left standing before you as you openly ogle his well endowed size. Everything about him is so big and it turns you on immensely.

The sinful sight has your mouth going dry. It’s hard not to stare at how his swollen tip smears a trail of precum against the toned muscles aligning his stomach. You would drop to your knees then and there just for a taste, but knowing Mingi, he wouldn't allow anything of the sort whilst in charge.

“Can’t wait to take my big cock, huh?” Mingi seems extra mouthy today. You roll your eyes at his words, though they do nothing to quell the fire in your loins. It’s not long before you're closing the gap between your bodies, hands tangling within his tresses. Thankfully, he gets the message and shuts up as your mouths reconnect in a heated exchange of saliva. Tongues are met feverishly, enjoying each other's taste as you card through his hair.

Between gasps and whines, there is a playful tug on the bottom of your lip when Mingi begins to withdraw from the kiss. His hands linger along your neck, trailing to cup your cheek as his narrowed stare grows more intense with each passing second. You swallow thickly.

“Turn around and show me that ass, pretty girl,” he instructs, the low grovel of his voice shooting a tremor straight to your core. The new position you take feels vulnerable and it's evident as your thighs seem to tremble with anticipation once you've swiveled to face the door. Despite your face growing hot with embarrassment, you can't help yourself from turning slightly to try and meet his gaze with curiosity.

His eyes are zeroed in at the exposed skin beneath your skirt. From this angle he can see just how wet you truly are, your folds slick and coated with your own arousal. Large hands are soon gripping at your ass, squeezing appreciatively as he spreads them apart with a guttural moan.

“Fuck, you’re so wet… Are you this needy just for me, baby? You want me to make you cum that bad?”

You whine.

With a rough shove you stumble forward, flush to the wall with your chest against the door as the solid metal meets your torso. Mingi maneuvers you to arch forward, his feet planted between yours while he's holding you by your rear. You're whimpering against the door, expectant and ready once you feel the intimidating length of his cock finding its way between your drooling slit. He pauses for a moment, enjoying your squirming against him. 

The room almost feels too quiet, tension thick with your combined breaths as you listen to the slick movements of his erection teasing along your aching cunt. You jerk yourself back against him, forcing his tip to slide past your clit. This earns a pleased moan from you, but you're met with his disapproving tsk as he slaps your ass a single time in warning. The pain is resounding, stinging so good that you cry out for him.

“Look at you. So impatient. You can't wait until I fuck you full, huh?” The head of his dick inches past your walls. His movements still, listening to you as you try not to sob out in frustration.

“You’re going to take all of me in your tight little cunt, and I want you to scream my name so loud that San will never think to cross me again. Do you understand?” Mingi's voice rumbles deep and firm against the shell of your ear, the implications behind his words are dangerous and clear yet another wave of hot arousal courses through your body. The fresh trickle of liquid that begins to trail from your wetness down your thigh is enough to show the man just how desperate and obedient you will be for his cock.

“I said do you understand me?” He repeats himself once, voice raising as he grasps a fistful of your hair. You respond with a wince, eyes springing with tears at the sudden sting on your scalp.

“Do you?!” Another slap to your already reddening cheeks.

“Yes! I understand! P-Please, please! Mingi! I need you inside me!” You sob out to him, tears slipping down your cheeks.

"Good girl." A harsh snap of his hips forward and he's plunging himself deep within your cunt. You feel yourself stretch around the entirety of his size, eyes rolling back in pleasure as your walls wrap around his thickness. Your tears fall freely at the relief that floods your senses, reveling in how deeply he reaches within you. 

There is a mix between a wail and moan that falls from your mouth once he begins to rut himself against your backside. The pace he sets is brutal, pistoning hard into you as he shifts back and forth inside your heat.

The sound of skin slapping is loud, messy and wet, squelching with his every thrust. Gods, he felt so big inside you. Each movement is met by his labored panting, a guttural noise bubbling from the back of his throat as he angles himself to fuck into you mercilessly. He wants you to cum fast and he knows you'll be unable to last with how you're barely keeping yourself standing against the door. An arm encircles your waist, ensuring you're somewhat upright as his other is gripping your hip bruisingly.

The way his hips buck into yours drive you mad and each drag of his cock within your fluttering walls has you keening. The fullness of his size fills you so well that you can feel the pressure of his heavy length against your g spot.

“Mingi!” You scream when he pulls out of you completely before pounding back in particularly hard, making sure to hit your g spot over and over as he resumes his rhythm.

“Good girl… Taking me so well,” he growls lowly against your neck, planting hungry kisses along your nape. Where he has already marked, he begins another trail of bruises down your neck, each love bite decorating your skin in a way that satiates his possessive nature.

“S-So close, Mingi…” You whimper into the door, meeting his thrusts with your own sloppy movements. You can feel the tension coiling within your belly as he jerks into you. Your cunt is twitching wildly around his shaft, encouraging his cock with the squeeze of your folds around him.

“You gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna fall apart on this big dick?” Languid kisses follow up your ear, and his words are igniting you, fueling the flame that is your orgasm. You barely process the hand that has slipped from your ass and now lays between your legs, fingers rubbing wet and slick against your throbbing clit.

The digits that play around your button have you chanting Mingi’s name in an endless hymn, mindlessly moaning as his tempo grows erratic. He knows that you're almost there, he can feel the way your cunt is clenching him so tightly.

“Come on, pretty girl. Come for me.” The way his fingers pinch at your clit and how he fucks himself into you with reckless abandon causes you to orgasm fast and hard. Your eyes are fluttering shut and you see stars, reaching the crescendo that is your orgasm. Your pussy is spasming around him when you come, your hips weakly pushing back against his thrusts to ride your high.

With your writhing and convulsions gripping his cock, it doesn't take him long to reach his own orgasm as he chases for release. He is sloppy, frenzied and desperate as he hammers into you, pace only stuttering as he begins to spill rope after rope of his hot cum into you. He peaks with a loud groan, hands finding their way back to your ass to grip at the mounds of flesh before his movements slow to a lazy grind.

You feel him pull out of you once he's had his fill, and it has you whimpering softly as you try to ignore the feeling of his cum seeping out of you. He is huffing heavily when he turns you around to face him, hands cupping your cheeks. Mingi peppers kisses lovingly all over you before pressing his lips to yours sweetly.

“God, I love you, babe… Let's get you cleaned up.”

“I love you too, Min.”

The people that await you outside of the dressing room are not particularly pleased as the two of you step from the door, both red with embarrassment. Bowing your head and grasping Mingi’s hand, you both flee toward the room that ATEEZ occupies. It doesn’t take long to reunite with the rest of the group, but entering the vicinity, the room is silent and the tension is palpable. The resident captain seems to be fuming near the back, motioning for Mingi to come to him before he begins to scold the latter. You definitely don’t miss the scalding glare he shoots your way too.

Shuffling awkwardly you turn to face the others, and you can see that Yunho’s ears are red as he refuses to meet your eyes. You can't help but to smile sheepishly. The rest of the group seems to be idling around, either playing on their phones or chatting together quietly. Similarly, some of them barely glance to you while others offer a shy wave in greeting. It's clear to you that the rest of the members and some staff weren’t exempt from hearing your loud ass shenanigans. You knew that you and Mingi would get reprimanded for it later, but at least you got some killer sex out of it.

Amongst Hongjoong’s bickering and Mingi’s apologies, it is San who stands from the couch and clears his throat as he casually saunters over to you. An arm is thrown around your shoulder as he ducks his head down close to yours.

You see Mingi’s head whip over to your direction. San smirks.

“So, I take it the plan worked?”

You only grin back at him.

[exhaslo]

hi I love your work <3

Is it okay to write a miguel o’hara x reader and the reader has a personality similar to regina george and he brat tames her + an age gap <3!

I can try! I haven't seen Mean Girls in a hot minute, but I'm sure I remember her personality. Totally going to have some fun with this~

Also, so sorry for how late this is!!! Trying to catch up with the sea of requests now!!!

Warning: MINORS DNI, smut, oral (f receiving), teasing, orgasm denial, dirty talk

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

Miguel let out a scowl as he watched the new recruits go through a new training session both Peter and Lyla had begged him for. Something about helping the new Spiders learn how to do certain things and yada yada. Miguel only agreed just to shut Peter up and to have Lyla stop shoving the program in his face every five minutes.

However, Miguel was quick to learn that he should have turned this offer down.

The main reason for this grim thought was you. Miguel had been watching you since the training began. You were one of the brand new Spider women who joined and were a rookie. It had only been a month since you took on the role of 'Spider Queen'.

A name so suiting for you. It wasn't long until you took control of the training session and had everyone nearly serving you. For someone only five years younger than him (23), you were the textbook definition of a brat.

--------

"Oh my gosh! You did such a good job with that backflip!" You gasped, cheering on a fellow Spider.

"Thanks! This was my first time," The Peter said with a laugh. You just smiled and waved until he left,

"Ugh, the form was so off. Hopefully he keeps practicing." You groaned lowly.

"May I remind you that this training is for newbies? Including you?" Miguel said with a harsh tone.

Your eyes sparkled as you turned towards Miguel. The leader of the Spider Society, the head honcho, the man you were hoping to try and win over. It was no lie that when you first laid eyes on him you knew that you wanted him to be yours. Who cares if he was little older than you?

"Sorry, can't help it. I was a cheerleader so my flexibility is higher than most." You cooed, rubbing your arm against his. Miguel scoffed,

"Enough to dodge a bunch of Goblin bombs?"

"...Yes...?" You questioned, unsure of what the hell a Goblin was. Miguel just smirked,

"We'll see about that."

Your jaw nearly dropped as you watched him walk away. That man was so hot. You were already wet in your suit. Letting out a small huff, you knew that you had to make him yours somehow. You just needed to keep winning him over.

--------

Miguel was about to lose his patience with you. It had been only two months since you joined and while yes, you were doing better than the other rookies, you were still a headache. It felt like you made it your life purpose to give Miguel more sexual frustration.

The man wanted to put you in your place so bad.

Every time you had something smart to say, Miguel had to hold himself back from disciplining you. Instead, he would say something equally snarky to get you to stop, but that was never enough. You kept getting bolder with your antics.

It started with your suit being too tight. Or a casual rip here and there. Then you kept offering to help Miguel, your arm slipping and you falling on him every now and then. It was torturing him and Miguel was unsure if he could hold himself back the next time you do something like that.

What's worse? Miguel enjoyed your brattiness. He had already thought of so many ways to fuck you into submission. He imagined how'd you look with his cock inside that smart mouth of yours. Or your slutty moans and begs for him to fuck you.

Miguel was just waiting for you to slip.

Waiting for you to finally learn you lesson.

--------

It was going to be just another average day for you. You had given yourself a pre-masturbation session to get you in the groove to bother Miguel. You were hot and ready to hear that man groan in frustration.

Entering his office with a skip, you smiled devilishly as you saw Miguel brooding up in his platform. With a snap of your wrist, you swung up to where he was. The second you landed, you heard that wonderful groan that sent a waterfall to your panties.

"Awe, missed me that much?" You cooed. Miguel glared towards you, his red orbs more prominate than before,

"(Y/N), I have a very small amount of patience right now." He hissed. You huffed childishly and sat on his desk, your legs slightly spread,

"But I need the attention~!"

--------

Miguel shivered as he caught whiff of your arousal. Oh no, he could not control himself. You needed to learn when to leave him alone, and Miguel was finally going to show you.

Webbing your hands to his desk, Miguel grabbed you by the hair and grazed his fangs against your neck,

"¿Por qué no puedes escuchar por una vez? (Why can't you fucking listen for once?)" He groaned lowly, licking up to your lips, "I'm going to teach you some manners."

"I'm such a good leaner," You said with a smirk.

Miguel just snorted before crashing his lips into yours. Hopefully you were a fast learner too, but Miguel was going to make sure to torment you. His hands already against your clothed cunt, rubbing circles around your clit as he kissed you,

"You like being a fucking brat, do you?" Miguel hissed as he watched you twitch and squirm, "No one's ever stopped to show you how to behave."

"Why don't we release my hands and I can be a really good girl for you?" You hummed. Miguel chuckled as he pushed you down against his desk,

"It wouldn't be a lesson if you helped," He used his talons to rip a straight line down your suit to your cunt, "My, what a sight. Already twitching for me?"

"What can I say? You're a good teacher."

Miguel just smirked as he spread your legs out for him. Your juices still flowing so nicely. You had already given yourself some pleasure before hand, but that was not enough. Glancing up at you, Miguel smirked as he licked and sucked against your clit.

"Hah~ W-Wait-" You gasped, body twitching as you felt slightly sensitive after abusing your clit yourself.

"Be a good girl and shh," Miguel hummed.

His tongue swirled and sucked against your clit. Your body squirming and trying to move against your face. Your moans were getting louder as you started to whimper his name. Your pussy started to clench as you arched your back. Right as you were about to cum, Miguel stopped and pulled away.

"N-No...I-I was...almost there..." You cried, trying to rub your legs for friction. Miguel kept them apart, watching you struggle,

"You haven't been behaving lately. Why should I give you that release?" Miguel asked. You panted heavily, feeling your high slowly disappear,

"I-I'm sorry! Please, Miguel! I'll be good!" You begged.

Miguel thought for a moment and returned to your dripping pussy. He licked against your clit, enjoying your desperate moans. Moving his tongue down towards your hole, Miguel resisted a smirk as he cried out his name. Once you were about to reach your high again, he stopped and moved away.

"Miguel! Please!"

"Will you promise to behave? If you don't I'll have to keep teaching you these lessons?"

"Yes! Yes! Please, Miguel! Yes!" You cried.

Miguel chuckled, watching you struggle after being denied of your orgasm twice. He finally decided to give you what you want and returned to eating you out. Despite your bratty behavior, you tasted so sweet.

Feeling you grind against his face, Miguel swirled his tongue inside your hole as you finally cam against his face. Licking up your juices and his face, Miguel moved away from your cunt. He wiped his face and watched you catch your breathe.

"Good girl. I'll give you a new suit, but if you come back and behave, I'll give you something even sweeter." Miguel hummed as he freed your hands.

-------

You laid against his desk, breathing heavily and feeling fucked out. Who would have thought Miguel was so talented with his mouth. If only he didn't torture you. Honestly, now you weren't sure if you should still be a brat, or behave to finally fuck him.

Slowly sitting up, you watched as Miguel returned to work by getting you a suit. A slight smirk formed against your lips as you made your way over to him, your hands reaching his buldge,

"I think you need some attention too~"

"Now, this isn't behaving, is it?"

"Guess I need another lesson?"

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

I hope you enjoyed!! Again, so sorry that this was late!!!

[deathbypufferfish]

~ click here to read the written story while you read this legacy post! It is under the cut as well ~

So many good things happened that night. Getting a fake relationship off your chest, coming out, touching. If only Ilya hadn't tried to kiss him. And if only he wasn't drunk enough that Haru had stop him. Maybe then Ilya wouldn't have run away and maybe then neither of their hearts would be broken. Too many things happened that night.

Full written scene under cut (word count: 1635)

Somewhere in-between Emi’s keg-stand and Joe’s flirting, Haru had lost track of Ilya.

What began as a simple scope around the room had quickly turned into a frantic search and a pit of anxiety in Haru’s stomach. The last time he saw Ilya he was downing his beer with fervor. It was something he had never seen before. He wondered if he had ever even seen him drink in the first place.  Anxious thought upon thought was stacking up in his brain when the most obvious location finally came to mind. His dorm room. 

The tower of thoughts toppled over and a new mixture of emotions arose. Anticipation and excitement. Haru had accepted weeks ago that things between him and the dancer would never be more than friendly, but the feelings he tucked away were hard to keep down. They haunted him at night and filled idle daydreams throughout the day. Imagining scenario after scenario. But that was all they were and all they ever could be, daydreams. He just needed to find Ilya already.

Once down the hall Haru could tell by the dim glow underneath his door that his bedside lamp was still on. He walked in and his hunch was confirmed. Ilya was sitting on the floor, his back leaned up against Haru’s bed, and his shoes were off . He lazily stroked the wooden grooves of the nightstand. Slowly and exaggerated. It was very apparent that he was drunk out of his mind.

“I’m sorry, I was looking at your stuff,” he slurred.

“Huh?”

“I’ve been looking at all your things. Like your pictures…and your books…” He barely spoke louder than a murmur. His fingers still traced the wood as he spoke.

“Oh, um, that’s alright.” Haru didn’t know what else to say. Not a single thing made sense to him right now. Ilya was drunk, in his room, and apparently perusing through his things. That pit of anxiety returned with a vengeance. Ilya finally turned to look at him. His eyes were red. His shirt collar was wet with tears. Haru’s actions came to him so naturally after that.

He let him help him off the floor and onto his bed. There was no protest or drunken apologies. Ilya simply stared at him with an expression that felt so blank and yet so sad. His gaze felt heavy on him. Intrusive even.

He knelt to the ground and grabbed his shoes. Without even thinking, he began to put them back on Ilya. He immediately felt like such a fool, but it was too late. Stopping now would be worse, right? Right? As he tied his laces he dared to take a peek up at Ilya’s face. He was covering his face with both of his hands, but Haru could still see furious blushing on the tips of his ears. He finished tying his shoes as quickly as possible as the blood rushed to his own face as well.

Haru sat next to Ilya on his bed at a respectful distance, and they both sat in silence for an uncomfortable minute or so. Ilya shifted back and forth every once and a while, seemingly always on the edge of saying something. At last he spoke in just a soft enough whisper to hear.

“I’ve never had a friend like you.”

“What do you mean?” Haru turned to look at him, but still found him evading his gaze. Ilya rubbed his hands along the knees of his jeans. Slowly feeling the rough fabric slide to and fro underneath his palms. Haru thought it almost sounded like the rolling of waves along a shore. Every sentence seemed to take him a great deal of time to form and think through. Whether it was the alcohol or nerves, Haru couldn’t tell.

“I mean, I’m close with Katya, but not like I am with you.”

“Well, she’s your girlfriend. Of course it would be different.”

“No, no, it’s not different,” he snapped. “She's not actually my girlfriend.”

Ilya squeezed his eyes shut and clenched the fabric in his hands. What was he talking about? Did they break up? Haru had seen them talking to each other just an hour ago. If he was honest, he hadn’t been watching them that closely. He’d rather not see his unrequited crush talk to his girlfriend, but he would have at least noticed any domestic tension.

The reality of Ilya’s confession dawned on him. They weren’t in a real relationship and maybe never were. They were faking it. When he looked at it under this lens, he realized that they never truly interacted as a couple. Of course, except when Katya would kiss Ilya in front of him. Maybe it was for show. Maybe it was Katya’s disdain for Haru. But Ilya had just confessed that their relationship was never truly romantic. More than that, Haru thought about what this may mean for Ilya’s sexuality.

“Oh…I see.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he whispered.

Ilya finally turned to look at him. They were closer together than Haru initially realized. He couldn’t help but examine every mole, every crease, every detail of his sorrowful, yet beautiful face. It was hard to breathe in such close proximity. The hugs they had shared before felt prudish in the shadow of this intimacy.

He tried to deny it, but he felt as if Ilya was doing the same thing. The way he was leaning in, the way his chest heaved with his shallow breaths. That far-fetched idea of him loving him back felt so tangible all of a sudden. And it was terrifying

“It’s okay. You could have never told me, and it would still be okay,” he whispered back. “I care about you.”

Ilya opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. His face was burning red again. His eyes wide and dilated. Haru couldn’t bear it, being so close. It was pure torture. As his stomach flipped and the heat rose in his chest he took his chance and laid a soft hand over Ilya’s.

It was stiff and terribly awkward at first. Ilya had frozen so quickly you would think he would shatter. Haru was wondering if he had made a grave mistake when Ilya’s deep breath interrupted him. In just a moment more he mellowed under his touch, simply letting his hand lay atop his own. For a moment everything fell still. They did not speak, they just sat in each other’s presence. After a while things began to feel tense again, overwhelming even, so Haru broke the silence.

“How about we get you some coffee?” he said.

Ilya was still staring at the floor, but a small smile had crept up onto his stern face. He nodded. Haru stood up and tried to gain his composure before leaving the privacy of his dorm room. Ilya followed suit, but wobbled at his own sudden movement. Haru grabbed his elbow and steadied him with a soft chuckle. Coffee was a requirement at this point. Ilya stared at Haru's hand on his arm and before Haru could even react he found himself in his arms.

Sure they had hugged before, but it was fleeting and friendly. This was something else entirely. Ilya was practically hanging off him, pressing most of his weight into their embrace. He pressed his face into his shoulder and sighed. Haru could have passed out right then and there. This entire night was threatening his ability to stay conscious, honestly. It was worth it, he decided, and pressed his cheek to the top of the shorter man’s head. His curls tickled his nose. It was hard to not think about how much he loved him.

Ilya pulled away only slightly, their faces mere inches apart. He leaned in further. Their lips had only barely made contact when Haru had brought a hand up to his chest. He pushed him away as gently as he could. He was drunk, too drunk, but those words could not get out faster than Ilya's face fell. Complete and utter horror.

”No, Ilya, please wait! I love you, I do!”

It was too late. Ilya bent his head under the weight of his shame. He shoved him off so hard Haru stumbled into the nightstand, knocking the lamp onto its side. He grabbed at Ilya’s sleeve, tears streaming down his face, but Ilya shook him off once again.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

His voice was layered with so much emotion it pierced Haru’s heart like a dagger. It was over. He humiliated him. He had humiliated himself. 

Ilya slammed the door shut in his escape. Haru ran after him, but lingered as he reached for the doorknob. He couldn’t run after him in the midst of the party. It would just have made things worse, much worse. He knew this, yet it took everything in him to not open that door and chase after him anyways. To tell him how much he loved him. How he didn’t want him to have any regrets about their first kiss being a drunk, crying mess. He couldn’t tell if it was the right or wrong thing to do. The heartbreak had crippled any logical thought or reason he could have come up with. It didn’t matter anymore.

He slid down the door as the floodgates opened up. It was hard to breathe. It was hard to even think through the sobs that tore through him. The banging at the door began as Emi shouted at him to move out of the way in-between asking what happened. Eventually he would let her in and eventually he would stop crying, but for now all he could do was lay down and hope he would sink into the floor. Into nothing. Never to be seen again.

[izzabela]

Hiiii! Hope you’re having a great day. You did such a good job on the “the other woman” fic (I totally wasn’t projecting at all requesting that- 🫥)

I was wondering if you could do a sequel to that where the reader finds out that her ex was secretly cheating on her and left her for a dude. Then she goes to Johnny and asks for help trying to get set up on a date with Mileena or Kitana (or any other female character you’d prefer writing for). Asking for relationship advice and feeling safe to be vulnerable with him after getting her heart broken and scared that it’ll happen again.

Keep up the good work ❣️

The Other Woman pt.2 - Johnny x bi!fem!reader

in which Johnny tries to help you heal after your circumstances turn even worse

a/n: WELCOME BACK please don't be sad, though. i'll write a fun fic trust

ship[s]: johnny x bi!fem!reader

warning(s): post-kanon, bi!reader, johnny endgame??

The spoon hits the side of your coffee cup loudly, the ceramic clanking and clinging as you wait for Johnny.

You guys agreed to meet after the latest shooting week for another MK movie installment, a movie based on Syzoth this time. After weeks of rescheduling, cancellations, and broken clapperboards, the movie finished.

You were healing well from your ex, slowly getting back into your groove and finding fun in life once more. Burying yourself in work, plus missions across the worlds, you felt like yourself again.

That was, until, shit hit the fan again.

You had been informed by someone that your ex was not single as you had initially thought. You didn't want to care, really, you didn't, but all reason left your mind when you saw your ex around LA with someone new.

Despite LA covering roughly 469 square miles (1200 square kilometers), you saw your ex and her mysterious man around the block, the mall, and the studios (for some forsaken reason). You dug around every niche and small-blogger for information on your ex, and came back practically empty-handed.

That was until your other friend texted you what she knew.

Apparently, throughout your entire relationship, she had a sidepiece. Yep. For the entire length of yours and her relationship, she had a bop she'd head over to squeeze and pull and everything in between.

All of the healing you had done, the tears you learned to keep to a minimum, the way you relearned your smile, all of it came crumbling down with that piece of shitty news.

And seriously, during the editing stage of yours and Johnny's movie? Really? You were supposed to oversee the weekly progress reports as Johnny would be sent on a mission soon.

So much for peace of mind.

You had kept the information bottled up, pushing through the final stages of filming before collapsing to your emotions in the privacy of your apartment. Similar to the party, you were wallowing in your sadness in the comfort of your bed.

It's been three days, though, and you had things to do. Life doesn't stop for you, so you had to keep moving. Besides, you could keep moving with friends like Johnny by your side.

"Hey! Sorry I'm late, doll face," an energetic voice interrupts your thoughts. "Syzoth was about to bite someone's head off for touching his tail."

You meet Johnny's eyes, smiling as well so you could hide the bags that weighed underneath your eyes. Unfortunately, it was no use as Johnny immediately knew something was up.

He immediately slides into the chair across you, tilting his head to meet your eyes for an answer on why you were so dejected.

"Hey," Johnny coos softly. "Hey, talk to me. What's got you so bummed?" You shake your head as you take the coffee from the sauce and hild it close to your chest.

"I, uh, found out some stuff about my ex," you begin, and he (reasonably) quirks his brows up.

"I thought we weren't talking about-." "I know!" you interrupt him again.

You sigh, "I know I'm not supposed to talk about him, but I couldn't... not with this information."

You take a good, hard, long sip of your coffee before meeting him with sad and semi-teary eyes.

"Well, she actually cheated on me," you lay the news down rather harshly. Johnny's expressions couldn't keep up as you kept talking.

"She had another person on the side the entire time we were dating," Johnny is looking visibly angry as you keep talking. "I can't believe I didn't notice... I mean, how could I with all the stuff we do and..."

Johnny grips the arm chair tightly, praying to any god up there to hold his anger back.

"I don't know, John," you call his real name. "Not only was I led on to believe me about being loved... but I was being led on period."

You don't realize tears are flowing down your face until Johnny's fingers are gently scooping them up. You flinch initially, but lean into it as you grab a tissue to blow your nose.

"God,I just feel even more stupid now!" you screech, head hitting the table causing the coffee to jump a bit. "I really need to talk to Liu Kang about my origin story!"

Johnny breaks, laughing at how unserious that comment was for a rather serious occasion. You look at him with an open jaw, shocked at his inappropriate display of emotions.

"No, doll, don't get it flipped about me," Johnny begins, wiping his eyes. "I'm just, agh this is too good."

You roll your eyes, "Johnny, spit it out."

"You want to discuss origin stories, probably complain to Flame-o about how shit your life is," Johnny eggs you by summing up your emotions.

It almost makes you want to punch him.

"But, you've practically overcome this part of your life- this chapter of your story," Johnny grabs another tissue to wipe your face again.

"You've healed from a non-physical injury to the point you were back to your usual self again," he keeps going with praises in your favor.

"And, you're making money." Of course he'd end like that. Still, you chuckle as you smile at the memories of the last couple of months.

He's right. So damn right. You were by his side making box-office smashers, had your name plastered in the credits for every movie too. You went on missions, fighting for a cause bigger than yourself. You rekindled friendships, spoke to your family after your post-breakup depression.

And yeah, the dough you were rollin' in was definitely something to mention.

Johnny shrugs taking your coffee and taking a quick sip as well (did he drink from the same place you drank?).

"And, I might know a couple of upgrades for you... if ya know what I mean," Johnny gives you a wink. "I know two princesses, wait her sister is taken. There's also a police guard- wait, she might be too old..."

As Johnny rambles about women, and some men, that are your type, you can't help but think about what would happen after you got back with someone.

Your brows are furrowed in, your eyes staring at the saucer in deep thought once more before Johnny snaps his fingers.

"Bravo to Watcher-1, how copy?" Johnny mimics a soldier. You match his energy.

"Watcher-1, just thinking again." He mimics a walkie-talkie, "Talk to me."

"How can I trust again?" you ask, holding the cup on its side as your thumb rolls over the edge of the cup. "How will I know I won't get hurt again?"

For once, Johnny is quiet. He's got his finger tapping his chin as he tries to figure out how to answer such a question.

"If I'm being honest, you're not going to know unless you take a leap of faith," Johnny begins. "Of course you'll have your instincts, and if something is off from the get-go, don't do it."

His hand gently plucks your fidgety fingers off the edge of the cup, and he slinks his hand in yours as his usual voice is soft snd gentle.

"But if your walls are so high, to the point where even you can't see over it, then what's the point of taking the risk?" Johnny says, a boyish smile on his face.

You look between him and his hand, and your body grows warm with how close he is to you. Sure, it's not physically close like at the party, but it's more intimate. Like your souls were touching.

Johnny lets go of your hand and whips out his phone, rapidly pushing on the screen as you hear the sounds the keyboard makes.

"What.... are you doing?" you ask as you bring yourself over to his side with the chair.

"I'm compiling a list of people I could set you up with!" Johnny excitedly announces. You see him swipe over Raiden, Kung Lao. In Kung Lao's DMs, he texts to ask for Ashrah and whether or not she'll come to Earth from Outworld.

He swipes to Kenshi's DMs, texting about princess Kitana and the First Constable Li Mei. Damn, Johnny and his networks.

You smile to yourself, though, and lay your head on his shoulder as he continues his incessant networking skills.

Johnny doesn't mind, letting you rest as he keeps making his list. He sends it to you, and you feel the vibration of your phone through your pants.

You two sit like that for a couple more minutes, just talking about your plans for the day and upcoming weekend, the numbers of suitable men and women in your private messages.

What you don't realize is that Johnny added his number into the list too, but you weren't checking your phone. Not right now.

Perhaps later.

Right now, you were listening to the calming sounds of Johnny's voice and his heartbeat as your own heart began to heal again, little by little.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

guys is this what a burnout feels like?

also anon, i really hope you liked this and see where i'm going with this

aight imma see yall in the next fic!

[ghostphobic]

t-thinking about... kissing your "friend" surfer!abby's shoulder under the sun? sitting next to each other, facing the sea, her skin that tastes like sunscreen and salty water ❤️‍🩹

this is, once again, sooo late and im so so sorry to whoever sent this skmfkg.. im still trying to get back into my writing groove, but i'm slowly getting there and have a few things planned i promiseee. ANYWAYS anon you are sooo brilliant for this. for this sort of situation i think surfer!abby and reader have very long and established friendship. i think they'd have a generally very touchy feely and kinda flirty relationship until someone really decides to make the first move. i hope i do your idea justice and thank you for sending it!

nights spent the beach with abby aren't even remotely uncommon. in fact, it had become a bit of a weekly thing. you'd decide on a night when you were both free and sit on the beach for hours just talking. sometimes you would pack a picnic or grab food on the way, but most of the time you were lucky to just sit and be with each other.

when abby picks you up for your planned beach 'date', something you had started calling it a few months ago just to hear her annoyed groan and brief lack of eye contact with you, she seems... nervous? she's bouncing her thigh up and down and biting one of her nails— a habit you've been trying to get her to break for years.

"are you okay, abs?" you ask when you get into her car, slight worry lacing your voice.

she holds her hand up and waves you off, "i'm fantastic." she clears her throat and turns to look at you. "now let's go. i don't have all day."

you settle yourself on the shore as abby takes off into the still water for a quick swim. the plush blanket that she brought is soft beneath your legs and there's a smile on your face as you watch her. she's so in her element here, so at peace, and you feel the same way watching her.

she finally makes her way back towards you after a few minutes, smiling at you before shaking her wet hair at you.

"abigail!" you exclaim, covering your face until she stops. "god, you're like a child." you say, though there's no true annoyance in your voice.

she doesn't say anything, just laughs as she grabs a towel to quickly dry herself off with before sitting down next to you.

her laughing fades into a comfortable silence, and you feel an overwhelming sense of contentment in this moment. every so often you can feel water drop from her hair and onto your shoulder. you can smell her sunscreen, the one she's been using for as long as you can remember, and feel the warmth of her skin against yours.

the feeling is so... good and so strong you feel as though you could cry. you turn to look at her and feel your heart start to pound just a little bit harder.

her head is tilted up towards the sky and her eyes are closed, likely enjoying the feeling of the breeze. the moon is bright and you can see her face so clearly. her freckles are so prominent due to immense amounts of time spent in the sun and her lips are fixed in a slight pout. you're sure she's unaware of it, but you've always noticed it and never pointed it out because it's something you love about her.

likely feeling your eyes on her, she opens hers and turns to look at you. her brows furrowing, "what? do i have something on my face?"

you don't say anything, eyes scanning her face before you reach to place your hand against her cheek. she sucks in a quick breath, suddenly seeming to register what you're going to do.

it takes you about two seconds to gather the courage, and another to silently make sure she's okay with it, before you press your lips to hers. it's quick at first, something just a little bit longer than a peck, before you pull back. she doesn't say anything at first and you're afraid you've crossed a line, until she reaches for you and presses her lips to yours again.

her hand is against the side of your neck, and her thumb is pressed against your jaw. the kiss lasts much longer this time around, and slightly more urgent as well. warmth blooms in your chest as your hand tangles itself in her damp hair, and you're hyperaware of how her lips feel against yours. they're soft aside from one spot on her bottom lip that she has a habit of nervously biting, and you can taste the tropical gum she'd been chewing in the car.

she pulls back first, albeit reluctantly, and you both look at each other silently for a second before you both grin.

"see?" you say, hand reaching up to brush her hair behind her ear, "i told you these were dates."

[lieslab]

Five, Six, Seven, Eight

Summary: You’re dating Lee Know and you have to remind him to take care of himself after a long dance practice. 

Word Count: 700

Genre: Fluff & slight angst 

Read the last post: 🍜

_ _ _

Sweat dripped down the side of Lee Know’s forehead. The sticky perspiration poured out of him like water. His gray shirt stuck to his body. He ran a hand through his damp hair and stared at his reflection in the mirror. The beat for the song started playing again. 

“Five, six, seven, eight!” He threw his hands up to repeat the same steps for a choreography he had been working on for the past two hours. 

Hand, hand, hip, swing, left arm, right arm, jump, and pump. The moves came to him naturally. He didn’t dare remove his eyes from the reflection wanting to make sure he hit every beat. He ignored the sweat dripping into his eyes and twisted his ankles together to spin around. He missed a step and down he went. 

He slammed into the wooden floor with a thud. He sat on his ass with a slight daze. Long legs sprawled out in front of him. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook himself out of the small shock. Forcing himself up with a grunt, he headed back over to the laptop to restart the song. Chan had sent him the audio file, all he had been doing was creating a dance. 

“That looked like it hurt,” you commented from the back of the room. You had walked in earlier and had been waiting for him to notice you for a while. 

“Oh my fucking god!” He threw a hand to his chest. “How long have you been standing there?” 

“Long enough to watch you fall on your ass,” you shrugged. In your hand, there was a small brown bag with the top folded down. “The guys said you’ve been in here for hours working your ass off, so I brought you dinner.” 

“Thanks, just put it down, I’ll eat it in a while.” He ignored the frown that appeared on your face and went back over to the laptop. He turned the volume up and turned back around to face the mirror. 

Again the music started up. He nodded his head and began again. Hand, hand, hip. He glanced back in the mirror and caught you looking at him. It was long enough that it threw him off his groove. Suddenly, he forgot what was next. Right hand? Jump? Left hand? You short circuited his brain without meaning to. 

“Can you just go away?” Lee Know spun around. His arms crossed over his chest. “I can’t focus while you’re here.” 

“Did you even eat lunch?” You asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“No,” he started. 

You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“But I had breakfast,” he continued. “I’ll eat when I’m done. I need to get this right. I have to teach it to everyone tomorrow and I-” 

“It is nine o’clock at night,” you butted in. “Chan said you’ve been in here, at least, since four. You’ve been working your ass off for hours!” 

“It’s nine?” His eyes widened immediately. “Fuck, I forgot to feed the cats!” 

“Don’t worry, I already fed them earlier.” You moved over to the laptop and hit the pause button to stop the music. “Please take a break and eat your food. I went to your favorite restaurant and got your favorite meal.” 

His shoulders dropped and he finally came over to you. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I thought it was only around six. I guess that explains why I feel so tired. I was so caught up, I wasn’t even looking at the time.” 

You handed him his bag of food. “I know you don’t like being interrupted when you’re dancing, but someone has to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.” 

Half of his lips turned up into the beginning of a smile. “Thank you for caring about me. I’m sorry I got upset, I just want to get it right. I keep thinking I have it and then I screw it up.” 

“How about you eat and then you can teach it to me? I know I’m not the best dancer, but it might help if you can teach it to someone. We can stay here all night if we need to.” 

He leaned over and placed a quick peck on your cheek, “you’re the best.”

Read the next drabble: 🥒

[fantasyandshit]

My girl

Pairing: Nesta x fem!reader

Type: Request oneshot

Based on this request

Masterlist here

———

A/n- I want to apologize for my absence, life has been very busy recently and I’ve had some serious writers block. But I’m back and gonna try really hard to get back into the groove of everything.

I adjust the neckline of my dark blue dress as I stare in the mirror attached to Nesta and I’s room. The dress is absolutely gorgeous, hugging my curves in all the right places, it’s a halter top, wrapping up and around my neck….but it’s just very…revealing. The neckline dips down to the base of my ribs, and a slit runs up each side, up to the top of my thighs. Nothing is left to the imagination as even the back is non existent. I feel bare to the world.

Finally, after a few more moments, I leave our room, making my way to the stairs. As I reach the top of the stairs case I pause for a moment, peaking behind a wall to see all of my family waiting for me, conversing with one another. They are al stunning as usual, dressed in blacks, deep purples and dark blues.

But Nesta

Fuck

Nesta looks drop dead fucking gorgeous. She wears a sparkling black dress, similar in stile to mine, however it’s only got one slit going up her right leg, stopping up her hip, something in me stirs at that- she’s mine and basically on full display. I let it go, my eyes catching on the swell of her breasts, partially visible due to the deep v-neck cut, a gold chain connecting the two sides.

I take another deep breath before finally stepping out from my hiding spot, slowly stepping down the stairs. “You look amazing Yn.”

“Thank you Rhys.”

As I meet the bottom of the stairs I turn to my mate, “You look absolutely divine my love.” Nesta voice is as smooth as velvet, traveling to my ears like a Melodie in the night. I reach forward, my hands meeting her hips.

“Have you looked in a mirror lately? You look like the prized piece of art in a museum, like the night sky and a field of flowers in the spring. You’re gorgeous darling.”

She smiles, her lips meeting mine softly, “you’ve always had your way with words haven’t you dove.” I smile at this, she’s always been quite the flirt.

“Ok love birds can we get going now?” We, begrudgingly, separate. Mor and Nesta take my hand, Feyre taking Rhys’ and cassian, and Amren taking Azriel’s, the three of us winnowing everyone to the autumn court.

Eris had officially become high lord, filling killing of Beron, and that meant a celebration had to be held. We land in the middle of the ball room, making an entrance as always.

“Ah Rhysand. You finally made it!” Eris throws his hands out in greeting, stepping down the dais to meet us. He shakes hands with everyone, all of us bowing to each other. “Well, enjoy. There’s wine and music, food and entertainment. The night is young and,” he pauses, turning up and projecting his voice for all to hear, “We. Are. Free!” I’ve never seen the young lord so care free, but it seems that with the burden of his father gone from the court, the air is clearer, the leaves brighter and the lights blinding.

Everyone cheers, high lords from every court, their guests, and the whole of the autumn court here to celebrate the new ruler.

Nesta wraps a hand around my waist, keeping me to her side as we mingle about the ball.

After some time, I decide to grab myself and my mate a glass of wine, I tap her as she speaks to a young female from winter and she turns her head to me. “I’m going to go grab us some drinks. I’ll be right back ok.”

She hesitates for a moment before sighing, releasing her hold on me, “ok. But be careful.”

I chuckle softly, nodding before reaching up to give her a kiss. I make my way to the bar, a soft smile planted on my lips as I wait for the bartender to get our drinks poured.

“Well hello there pretty lady.” A slimy voice hits me as a hand comes to my ass.

I spin, slapping the male across the face, “Get the hell off of me!”

“Oh come on. Don’t be such a brat. I just wanna have some fun.” He’s smirking, one hand rubbing the red molar I’ve left on his cheek.

“No. You’re a fucking creep, get the fuck away from me. My mate will be over here, and she won’t be so kind as to simply slap you across your greasy face. Do you understand?”

He chuckles a disgusting, wheezing laugh before moving back to trying to grab me, “Ooh, so two females, I can’t wait.”

Just then, he’s ripped from me, thrown to the floor. The music stops as he yelps. “You leave my mate alone. Do you understand, if you do not stay the hell. Away. From my mate. I will personally people the flesh from your bones and burn you slowly on a spick.”

He gulps, looking as if he’s about to cry as he nods frantically. Just then, Eris and two guards come forward, dragging him from the hall.

“I am so sorry ladies. He will be properly dealt with. I will make sure of it.”

I nod softly, “thank you Eris.”

I swear I hear a hiss leave Nesta, her hand finds its old place around me, “we’re leaving, take us home please darling.”

I nod softly, winnowing the two of us to the house of wind.”

Even after we land, Nesta refuses to let me go, fuming. “Nesta. Nesta it’s ok. Everything is ok.”

“No. No. Nothing is ok. His hands were on you. He touched you. He touched you and your mine.” She looks at me with furrowed brows and pinched lips.

“It’s ok now. You protected me. You got me out. It’s ok now.” I hug her tightly, kissing her softly as her hands relax in my hips. “It’s ok.” I breathe out.

—————

Sooo how was it for my first Nesta fic? I hope I did ok!

Love y’all, thanks for reading!

[an-au-blog]

An au where sanji cheats on charlotte pudding with zoro. But like not really. Is it cheating if u r about to be married off against ur will. Which is messed up. Sorry. But this has so much feelings. If u cd write as a one last time thing. A closure. He is forcefully being married off to her and one last time with zoro is all he asks for .

My first thought was... he wouldn't do that to a woman... but then I thought... well she's pretty honest about not wanting him though... plus - corruption happens gradually.

Idk how agreeable with the timeline hut uh...

EDIT!!! I started doing this in canon but then I stopped because I thought "okay, but this would be better in royalty au", so I started doing that. Sorry for taking a while. I haven't been on my usual groove lately:/

(ok, uhhh here I go making stuff up now)

Sanji had a bit of an on and off relationship, if one could even call it that. It started off as a moment of weakness but then they started enjoying the comforting touches, the hugs, the lingering kisses. It was nice to feel needed, wanted. And not long after, they became... something. Neither of them knew what... but it was something...

Then the WCI thing happened and Sanji felt more alone than ever. He heard how she talked to him behind his back. She started talking like that in front of him too. He was unwanted, unneeded. There was no Luffy, no Nami... no Zoro.

... ok so uh sorry, wait, royalty au now

Sanji was sent off to marry a princess. He had no idea who she was, but what he did know was that he'd get away from his family. Away from his brothers and father at least. That was enough. After his mother's death, his sister was the only one who he felt alright around.

At first he was so happy to have a chance with a beautiful girl like her. But whenever Sanji tried to meet her before the wedding, she told the guards to refuse him. During the wedding she acted sweet, but it seemed more like she was happy at the guests, rather than him. But he was sure it was fine. After the wedding she acted like he wasn't there. When they got to their bed chambers, she finally turned to him and told him she was "Oh, so tired, would you mind leaving the room for me just for tonight, husband dear?" And of course Sanji would! Sure it might have been a political arrangement, but he'd do all he could to be the best husband for her.

One night kicked out of his own chambers turned into two, turned into a week, turned into several months. She hated him. She didn't want to even look at him. Whenever he was in the room, she'd walk out, not even trying to make up an excuse. He would hang around the kitchens a lot, and from time to time he'd hear the staff whisper about how the mistress would talk badly about the mister. He would listen to all the insults she had said about him and how she wished he'd never been born.

It was better than living in fear of being attacked by his brothers or father... but he felt even more lonely.

He grew tired of having to listen to the servants talking about how she talked behind his back. Tired of having their eyes filled with pity on him every time he tried to distract himself with cooking.

He took a trip into town, he paid one of the servants to give him his clothes. Oddly enough the servants seemed to like him quite a bit. So at least he had some of them to cover for him (not that anyway would look for him).

He looked for a bar or restaurant. He had never actually gone out of the castle gates. No one offered to take him out for a tour or even tell him about his people. All he knew about the things around him was because of books and what he's asked from servants.

He soon finds a bar/tavern. Upon walking in, he bumped into someone. He was going to apologize, but then the man scowled at him. He looked dumb, with three swords and green hair. What a pretentious bastard.

Comments were exchanged and before either of them realized it, they were fighting. The owner of the bar/tavern came out - an old man with a braided mustache. He stopped the fight. Turned out that the moss-headed guy was named Zoro and was a bounty hunter, who was in town not for long. "Such a shame though," the swordsman said "I would've lived to spar again, you're almost like an equal."

"Oh yeah?" Sanji gave in "Come any time, I'd love to kick your ass."

"What do you know about anything, castle-loving freak."

Sanji stepped back at Zoro'z words. They were a joke, he was sure but how did he know? "Wh- what do you mean?"

"Isn't that the uniform of the castle servants?"

Sanji could breathe again. "Oh, yeah, I forgot to change..."

Time passed and each day Sanji would go to the tavern. The owner - Zeff, would let him cook in the kitchen sometimes. Zoro was there for a weeks woth of time and then left without a word. A shame, Sanji felt that they could have had a beautiful friendship... Life continued and not much changed. A year more locked out of his chambers, servants whispered about other people being more welcome in the young lady's room than her own husband. He didn't like that word anymore. It felt hollow when it came to her.

And then Zoro came along again. Sanji didn't know he could be that happy. They went back into a routine. Zoro left now and again for jobs, but the days of his absence started to get less and less. First it was several months, then five or four, until he decided to stay for almost a year in town. Sanji didn't want to hope too big, but he gathered up the courage to ask "why"? Why would he keep coming back to a town with no work for him.

Zoro didn't even try to lie that it was work. Sanji had seen him taking up small jobs and sleeping in the tavern for free. Sanji even tried giving him money, but he's as stubborn as a mule.

The swordsman looked at Sanji and told him why, it was "because you're here."

Sanji didn't believe it at first, he wasn't something anyone would want to stay or go anywhere. But then Zoro kept talking about how he wanted to take Sanji with him and travel. But how could Sanji say yes... how could he say no...

He said he needed time but Zoro took it as a no. He left and this time his voyage was almost as big as the first time. But when he came back, he wasn't alone.

Sanji didn't even notice that he was with other people. The moment he spotted him, he leaped into his arms and kissed him. He kissed him like he wished he did a year ago. He told him that he was an idiot and that he didn't mean it as a no, and then he heard the people behind him. Zoro introduced himself again, as the right-hand man of the future king of the pirates.

Luffy laughed and said "So you're the cook that my ship needs! That's so cool! Join my crew!"

[hughiecampbelle]

Good Mourning (Roman Roy Onesoht))

((SUCCESSION SPOILERS))

Character/s: Roman, Kendall, Shiv, Connor, Logan, Willa

Word Count: 1,621

Inspired By: I Bet On Losing Dogs by Mitski

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: Last nights episode was such a hard watch, it brought back deeply painful memories and the only way I know how to cope is to write. Omg Roman the entire episode. Omg that fucking recording Frank or whoever brought up, laughing at it. I know it's only fictional, but still. Omg the ending with Kendall and the running away. Omg this episode, I will never recover. I wanna go back to when he was telling Matsson to fuck off. I know I can make this better so I will lol. Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

You’ve talked about death, about the forever-ness of it. You’ve talked about what you want arranged once you’re gone. He was always hesitant, afraid, as if speaking about it would make it happen sooner, faster. As if Death herself were listening and waiting to strike for the right moment when he let down his guard and forgot all about her. As if Death were like the people in his life: cruel. Parts of you have been scared of her. She takes and she never gives back. She leaves a hole in your chest where something should be. She’s made you scream and cry in the past, leaving this gut-wrenching emptiness inside of you. Parts of you have admired her. When she loves someone, she loves deeply, effortlessly, showing affection to those who have never deserved it in their lifetime. She takes all, never discriminating. She takes fully, everything that they are and everything that they become. Death is not something you wish to be scared of for the rest of your life. People try to outrun her by denying their age, their time well spent, but you? You know you will welcome every gray, every wrinkly, every line and deep groove. It is a privilege to be able to see yourself live. It is a privilege to get old. You hope you can do so by his side, hand in wrinkled hand. 

Talking about it and coming face to face with it are two very different things, of course. You cannot take your eyes off it, the casket, heaving all the attention in the room. Inside is Logan Roy, the most powerful man you have ever met. The angriest man you have ever met. Gone. you knew there would be a crash. All his manic energy getting ready this morning, feeling on top of the world, pink cards in hand. You’d straightened his collar, smoothing his jacket, fearing the worst. You learned a long time ago that the Roy family burned as bright as the sun, hot and glowing, but they burned as bright as the sun, until there was nothing left of them. This morning he was the sun. He was confident, even joyous, but he was not feeling. He was not prepared for the reality of it all to smack him across the face as Logan used to do. There was nothing you could do to protect him from this, from them. This was not the funeral of a devoted, loving father, but of a monster. All his minions came to watch, to see if it was real. Was their leader really gone? It was a spectacle, another place of meeting. You were behind Kendall when Hugo started talking to him about Gojo. you shouldn’t have been as surprised as you were, though you would have thought they would have had a little more class. The whole way up the steps and through the church your hand remained in his, squeezing it ever so lightly when his rose colored glasses began to slip. You don’t know if he even notices, busy directing friends and business partners and even his cousin, who is not at all disturbed by his own behavior. Mencken gives you a hug that makes your skin crawl, but you do not object. This day is not about you, about any of you, rather it is about them and their grief.

You watch the pink cards shake in his palm. It's too late to stop him, to drag him back with you, to shield him from Death and her icy grip. What you wouldn’t give to go back, turn back the clocks, save him from himself. Ewan is finally finished, so he stands, shuffling towards the podium. You have given up on God a long time ago. You and Him, you never got along. But you pray to him in this moment, you pray that your love will get through this in one piece, that for once He will be kind to him. You pray and you hold your breath as you do, watching his hands begin to shake. His voice catches in his throat, tears welling up in his eyes. Fuck, you begin to think. Not today, please not today, not now, not him. Anyone else but him. Kendall, Shiv, Connor, they stand. You want to run to him, to hold him, but Willa grabs your hand. She can see what you’re thinking. She can see how dangerous it would look. What would they say if you came running to his rescue? He would be ruined. You can hear him, his head bowed: I can’t, I can’t do this. He is crying now, panting, motioning at the coffin. Willas grip tightens. You want to scream. Tears begin to fall down your face. Not for that bastard, the man who hurt him so many times he began to think that’s what love is. No, for Roman. For all the versions of him before you. The scared little boy attending his fathers funeral. For the wounded puppy that just wants him back. For the abused man that you love, that you cherish, the grief he’s been putting off finally settling in. He finds his way back to you, to the pew, shaking. Finally, she lets go, your arms finding their way around him, his head falling on your shoulder. You take one look back behind you, towards Logan's minions, and they are smiling. You shush him, his cries, wiping his cheek with your hand. It’s okay Rome, it’s okay, you say over and over again. To him, to yourself. It’s okay, no one will hurt you again, though you know you cannot make that kind of grand promise. You know it’s already too late. 

Neither of you stay long. It is Kendall who thanks everyone for coming, shaking hands, giving hugs, until he too is tired of the charade. All the way there he sniffles beside you, his eyes red, his cheeks flushed. You want to stop the car, stop everything, give him all the time and room to cry as he needs, but you know better. This world is not made to accommodate. This life is not one you are free to express even at the loss of a parent. They expect you to be normal, not to inconvenience them with your grief, not to show it. You hold him, keeping him close, feeling his racing heartbeat. You couldn’t have protected him from this. There was no way. Not from the funeral, not from the “burial” , not from Death herself. How you wished you could wrap him up in a cocoon and save him from all the heartache. Instead the car stops in front of the mausoleum. It is giant and lacking life. Sterile. Monstrous. Roman does not go in like his siblings, instead lingering on the outside. You and Willa stand off to the side, understanding your place in all this. No one notices this, but you. The way he stands, hands in his pockets, hunched, as if he wants to curl into a ball. As if he wants to disappear. When they bring the coffin up, his leg begins to shake, then his whole body. Finally he stands, talking to himself, not waiting for it to be over, racing to the car. You know better than to follow. He needs his alone time, he needs the tinted windows, he needs to do what he needs to get through this. You hope against hope that he isn’t spiraling, heading towards self-destruction. He never learned that it wasn’t his fault. Everything, everything was because he messed up, because he did or said something, because he was a fuck up. Logan taught him this and you, very slowly, very patiently, were trying to get him to unlearn it. All of it. 

The reception is packed. Too many people, too many bodies, they put an ocean between you and him. Roman struggles to meet your eyes. He’s back to himself, kind of, recovered in the eyes of the public. Only you can see him struggling, only you can see the mask slipping. He leaves you to get a drink, mingle, following his brother obediently. You want to remind him that grief is an all encompassing thing. It is unpredictable and powerful and it’s okay. But he won’t listen, shaking off any comforts. He wants to be uncomfortable, he wants to be in pain, it's the only thing he knows. The only thing he can love at this moment. You shouldn’t be hurt by it, but you are. He thinks he should be more like Logan, but you believe the opposite. You love him as he is, not for who he should become. You watch him carefully, understanding he does not want you near, unable to let him go. You talk to no one, you can’t even stand to look at them. The way they smiled, mocking him in his time of grief, as if the loss of father from son is to be taken lightly. You only take your eyes off him for a moment, but he is gone. You go to Kendall, panicked, but all he can say is he left. You’re running after him, calling his name, but he is too quick. Beyond the barriers he jumps into the crowd. Someone punches him, over and over, and you cannot help but scream. He keeps moving though, keeps instigating fights. You try to call him, but he does not listen. That same, scared little boy is running towards what he’s always known: suffering. 

You’re not sure what to do, how to help. You’re not sure you can help. He's made his decision. It has always been too late.

[dancingonmoonbeams]

odesta week: take me out tuesday

Annie looks above her at the vast expanse of sky. The waves are gentle today, carefully rocking her side to side as she floats on her back, calm blue water all around her and a blue sky striped with white clouds tinged gold by the late afternoon sun. She loves days like this, when the sky melts into the ocean and she can relax between them, letting her thoughts float away on the waves. Nobody around her but the fish and the gulls–no one watching her every move, their faces pinched in concern, no one saying maybe it would be better if you… like whatever they say will somehow fix everything she’s gone through.

The sun peeks out from behind a cloud and she squints up at it, lifting one hand to shade her eyes while the other paddles lazily to keep her afloat. She’s still getting used to not having places to be during the day. Before she would have training from sunrise to sunset, then “optional” film review after dinner, where the students who wanted to be at the top of the class would gather to watch replays of the Games to hone their strategy. It’s a structure she’s followed for most of her life and now it’s just… Gone. Ended like so many other things in her life the moment she raised her hand and stepped on that reaping stage. 

Now that thoughts of the Games have entered her mind she sighs in frustration and sits up rapidly, dipping her head below the water and smoothing her hair back before she surfaces and starts paddling to the shore. Salt water drips into her eyes and she shakes her head to flick the water away, feeling the pull of her muscles as she moves through the waves. When she’s a few lengths from the beach she stops, treading water and squinting as a figure on the shore comes into view. There’s someone moving along the beach, stepping over rocks and stooping to examine tide pools, sunlight glinting off unruly hair.

Annie sighs and finishes her swim, getting to her feet with effort when she reaches the shallows. Her legs wobble beneath her as she gets used to solid ground, her body pleasantly wrung out from the effort of her swim. She marches onto the soft sand and picks up her towel, tousling her hair dry and wrapping it around her body before turning to the visitor. He’s still keeping a respectful distance, clearly trying to look like he just happened to be here at the same time as her, and she finally gives up and waves her hand.

“Hello, Finnick,” she calls, her voice slightly cracked from disuse.

He looks up at her, at least having the decency to not fake surprise at her being there, and grins. “Annie,” he replies, stepping closer to her. “How’s the swim?”

She shrugs, holding her towel tighter as the breeze blowing off the water gets a little stronger. “Fine.” 

He’s within arm’s reach of her now, digging a pattern into the sand with his toe, the sun glinting off his bronze hair and tanned skin. His hands are behind his back and Annie narrows her eyes in suspicion as he moves to hold one out to her, something balanced in the palm of his hand. “Found this,” he announces, and she stubbornly stays put and waits for him to step closer. His lips quirk into a crooked smile as he does and she leans forward to see a small shell cradled against his skin. “I think it’s a conch.” 

She narrows her eyes, examining the shell in his hand. It’s soft white with light brown markings all over, with a pointed spiral that slips into grooves all the way down to the narrowed end. She raises her eyebrows at Finnick and grins. “You should be glad that’s empty,” she remarks.

“Why?”

She sighs and points at the shell in his hands. “A conch would have spikes. That’s a cone snail.”

Finnick’s eyes widen and he looks down at the shell in his hand in alarm. “Are those the ones that–”

“Are poisonous?” Annie finishes cheerfully. “Yup.” 

Finnick carefully picks up the shell with his other hand and examines it closely. “Huh. No spikes. Good to know.” 

Annie bites her lip, trying not to laugh. “It probably would have just stung a little,” she says, feeling a need to reassure him. “Brennan O’Lear got stung by one at the first night bonfire last year.” The first night bonfire is an Academy tradition where they all gather on the beach the night after training starts and enjoy their last moments of free time. She distinctly remembers tears of laughter streaming down her face as Brennan begged for someone to pee on the sting only to be told that doing that only worked for jellyfish.

Finnick drops the shell back into the sand. “That must have been nice for him.”

Annie shrugs. “His hand was just numb for a day or two.”

Finnick laughs softly, ducking his head under her gaze. She realizes she’s been staring at him and looks away, reminding herself that people get uncomfortable with her direct eye contact now. It’s like they think she’s seeing through them. Really she just forgets to look away sometimes. She sighs and runs her hand through her waterlogged hair, trying to tease out the tangles and quickly giving up. 

At least Finnick usually doesn’t look at her like she’s going to fall apart in front of him. He’s been a surprise to her since getting out of the arena. She knew him before, of course. Everyone who’s been through the Academy knows Finnick Odair. But it wasn’t until she came home from the Games that she really had a conversation with him, that she started to learn more about him. He seems to feel the same pull towards the water that she does and they run into each other on the Victors Village beach a lot, both of them clearly preferring it to the public beach as a way to get away from prying eyes. Their initial conversations were tentative–Annie has always thought he was a little arrogant, something she now knows is an act he puts on when he needs to. 

Slowly, she’s gotten to know the real Finnick as someone who listens intently and will scour the beach to find a unique shell to make her smile. He’s a little shy, too, something that continues to surprise her. Even now, he seems to be building up the courage to say something, carefully considering his words like he needs to make sure they’re perfect before he lets them out. Sometimes she wishes she could be more like that. She’s always been one to speak before she thinks, often realizing too late that she shouldn’t have said anything at all. It’s even worse now, when so many people are treating her like glass and saying whatever comes to mind is the only way she can think to cope with it.

“I wanted to ask you something,” he says finally, looking up from where he’d been staring at the sand below his feet. He looks nervous, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable as he meets her gaze. 

Annie’s heart drops, fearing what’s next. Anyone who has looked at her like this has asked her something about how she’s feeling, with their eyes wide and sad, asking like they want to see her fall apart. She tenses, steeling herself, and waits for him to go on.

Finnick runs a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in unruly waves. “Do you want to come over for dinner?”

It is so not what Annie expected and she freezes for a second, her thoughts trying to catch up. “Dinner?” she repeats, feeling like there’s a weight beneath his words that she can’t quite interpret.

A flush rises in his cheeks and he shrugs, twisting the shell around between his fingers. “Uh,” he clears his throat. “Yeah. Just… You and me. I can cook,” he adds hastily. “I’m pretty good at it.” There’s a shadow of the arrogant Finnick she thought she knew, only this seems more teasing, like he’s undercutting his ability by making fun of his confidence. 

Something flutters in Annie’s stomach and she blinks, trying to catch the threads of the conversation to pull herself back. Finnick is still looking at her, his eyes hopeful, and she feels herself smile. “Sure,” she replies, the answer coming naturally before she can second guess herself. “That sounds nice.” 

Finnick’s face breaks into a grin and he nods enthusiastically, closing his fist and sort of pumping it up and down like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “Alright,” he says finally. “Uh… Tomorrow?” 

Annie nods, suddenly keenly aware of his eyes on her. But he’s not looking at her like she’s fragile, or broken, or about to fall to pieces in front of him. He’s looking at her like he wants to see more of her, like she’s something precious he wants to hold onto. She smiles then, feeling her own cheeks flush, and points to the path back to the Village just for something to do. “I’m going to head back,” she says, not sure what else there is to say.

“I’ll walk with you,” Finnick replies, falling easily into step with her as she starts moving. 

Something flutters in Annie’s chest and she finds herself suppressing a smile, looking down at the sand with her cheeks flushing red. “Okay,” she answers, and the two of them make their way back along the beach, the silence between them a comfortable promise of something more.

For the record, the killer snail in question.

[crescentblossom66]

Character Analysis: Conductor and DJ Grooves

Before I start this analysis made out of reading too much into dialogue and overall being way too obsessed with chapter two of A Hat in Time, I want to clarify that I like both of the directors. Conductor is my favorite character in the whole game and DJ Grooves is another character that I enjoy (I agree with all of you DJ Grooves fans, that funky penguin isn't getting enough content).

I also want to try to make people think about those two more and make them less one dimensional in their fan works. I understand that it is very easy to see DJ Grooves as just the charming underdog with absolutely no bad bone in his body, and Conductor as nothing more than a deranged lunatic. I hope I can inspire with this and draw some attention to these two lovingly crafted characters.

I'll split this analysis into 4 parts:

First impressions of the directors

Conductor, the deranged psycho...or not?

DJ Grooves, charming or cunning?

Final Thoughts

1. First impressions of the directors

We first meet the two quarreling directors in Chapter two act 1. As soon as we enter the lobby of the huge building that we'll later know as Dead Bird Studio, we bare witness to an argument between the Sci-fi and musical making penguin, DJ Grooves, and Conductor, a strange-looking owl thing that makes Westerns. The first thing every player will notice is that both characters seem to act very differently to the whole argument. While the yellow owl stomps his foot in anger and seems very aggressive, his rival seems to not be too fazed by the whole argument, simply dancing and more or less ignoring the allegations and insults the other throws his way.

In the very first scene we learn that the DJ appears to be rather calm and collected, while his counterpart comes of as rather aggressive and downright vindictive, given that he locks the penguins into their side of the studio.

Those first impressions get strengthened even more if the player talks to the actors of the studio. The Express Owls appear very scared of their boss, the Conductor, informing the player that they're mere passengers on the train that the Western director operates, they also state that he makes unexpected stops and caused them to be late for their work and that they get randomly dragged into filming movies. The Moon Penguins on the other hand seem to idolize their boss, DJ Grooves, they even have a fan club in his honor. Those flipper-snapping birds also seem to be very hostile toward new people seeing the player as a threat for their idol and are rather rude to Hat Kid.

When the player makes their way through the vent to enter the studio itself, the interactions that the DJ has with his penguins are all pretty friendly, he encourages them and is pretty calm when his actors make mistakes during recording, even when the player disrupts the recording by jumping in front of the cameras, the former DJ seems to only act confused and just continues on with his filming.

The Conductor on the other hand yells at his actors nonstop, voicing his frustrations clearly, calling his actors lousy and terrible when they make mistakes. Unlike his rival, the yellow owl doesn't take kindly to his recording being disrupted and he yells and gets even angrier whenever the player decides to jump in front of his cameras.

All of this just reaffirms the impressions we had of the characters so far, and even the finale of the chapter only underlines this, as the penguin asks for our help with desperation, and even hands us a bird passport, while the owl wants to take us to jail for messing with the Annual Bird Movie Awards.

The player will come out of this drawing the conclusion that DJ Grooves is the underdog that needs help in beating his despicable rival, who seems to be a terrible person all around. As it is the nature of us humans, we want to see the lovable underdog win against the overconfident and cruel rival, as it is seen in most media.

The second act of chapter two, “Murder on the Owl Express”, takes us onto the beloved train of the Western director where we are greeted by said director on the small balcony at the back of the caboose. Nothing much will change for our perception of the character here. He seems to not care that he scared the owls and Hat Kid with a fake murder that the player will obviously notice as just a set up. He will once again remind us that he hates his rival's movies before we're given a time piece and go on our merry way back to the spaceship.

“Picture Perfect”, the third act of the chapter, brings us to a big set on the moon where the DJ greets us enthusiastically. He takes on a mentor role for Hat Kid as she tries to build her own fan base as she goes from endorsement to endorsement. We get once again remind that the DJ is the “good guy” of this story as the Moon Penguins around him are happy and upbeat as opposed to the tense Express Owls. This pleasant and colorful act also clashed hard with the more dreary and serious “Murder on the Owl Express” act that we went through earlier.

Things take a more drastic and extreme turn in the last two stages. In “Train Rush” the player will get told that there is a bomb on the train and they'll have to go and defuse it. It shows the lengths and extremes the Western director will go to just to get a few nice shots for his movies. His attitude toward Hat Kid is once again rather harsh and demeaning, as he blatantly states that he doesn't care for her or the owls, only his train seems of any concern to him. When the chapter is completed, he will brush aside the concerns of the young space traveler, telling her that all of this was done in the name of cinematography.

“The big Parade” also takes things to the extreme with electric floors and homing missiles. The DJ seems as pleasant as ever, informing the player that it will be easy and that all they have to do is walk around the place a bit which does little to prepare the player for the rather hazardous minutes ahead of them.

The final Chapter will be determined by whom the player chooses as the winner at the end of the four split chapters. If the player chooses the Conductor, things will remain like they were before, the Conductor will remain condescending toward Hat Kid and will even attempt to murder her, while the DJ will come to her rescue when he's needed the most. If the player chooses Grooves, however, things will take a twist, the DJ will betray the young girl and will fight her instead, and Conductor, very surprisingly, intervenes and saves the poor girl from certain doom.

If taken at first glance, it is pretty straight forward who the bad guy is supposed to be it's obviously the Conductor, right? He's a terrible person that treats everyone around him horribly, while DJ Grooves did absolutely nothing wrong and only tried his best to win all this time.

But is it really, dear reader? Is it really as clear-cut and black and white as that, I'll ask you? Is Conductor really an all around bad guy, as Mustache Girl would say, and is DJ Grooves really the uwu penguin that can't do any wrong like his Moon Penguins seem to view him as? Let's find out together.

2. Conductor, the deranged psycho...or not?

One of the crucial arguments people make when they talk about the narrative of story is that the Conductor is obviously a crazy, derange old man who cares about nothing and nobody aside from his movies and his train. It's easy therefore to shove him into the villain role, like the story portraits him, however, his character is a bit deeper than what people give him credit for.

The easiest way for me to explain this point is debunking or at least theorizing on a couple of questions to which the answers may be not as cut and dry as you may think. Those questions are:

Is the Conductor a cheater? Is he endangering his actors? Does he care about Hat Kid at all?

To answer the questions, we're going to look at it from the very beginning of the chapter again, starting with the first question, is the Conductor a cheater? In act one the Conductor accuses Hat Kid of rigging the awards in the favor of his rival, considering what his rival did as fraud and roping the young girl into helping him as well. He seems to have contempt for her as she disrupts the status quo, and the best course of action is to make sure that the odds are evened out again. Given that the owl is rather direct, straight forward, and quite honest, we can potentially see him as despising cheating. This can be further backed up as In chapter 6 he will mention that the DJ will mock him for cheating if word gets out that he cheated, this could imply that he never cheated before that, and thus the accusation that his rival based a lot of his argument on (Saying that he manipulated everything to make sure that he never wins, cheating, and fraud) could all just be illusions that the penguin made to justify that the yellow owl won every award except for one, and that the Western director never actually cheated and won his awards legitimately.

The second and bigger problem, and what is a lot harder to ignore is the question of whether or not he actually puts his actors into danger? I can already hear you facepalm and go “Duh! Have you actually PLAYED 'Train Rush'! That owl...thing is a psycho!” To which I will say “Method Acting” Regularly a technique used by actors to get into their roles by putting themselves into situations that the characters they're playing is in, in order to give a more convincing and expressive performance. The Conductor purposefully exposes the owls, and Hat Kid to the stressful situations and without telling them that they're recording to get better acting out of them.

This is confirmed when he tells Hat Kid that his script isn't ready in act 2, there he also says that he's not recording. We as the players know this whole scene is a set up, which is of course confirmed by the owl himself at the end of the act.

The owls seem just as clueless about it as the young space traveler, as they show fear and panic. (The only one clued in is the owl that plays dead, but none of the others know that he's pretending) This can of course be slightly debunked depending on the person or group you chose as the culprit. If you pick Hat Kid we don't know if she only picked herself just because, due to the owl simply saying that she put a rubber knife on him, but we were with Hat Kid the whole time...I mean we're controlling her so we would have seen if she had done that to the owl. It makes it probable that she simply lied, Conductor's dramatic retelling of the events also makes that more unbelievable, making it likely that she had no idea that it was a set up and just picked herself on a whim to see what would happen

To summarize, no owls were harmed during “Murder on the Owl Express”

I know you've been waiting, tapping your foot at me impatiently considering that “Train Rush” is the bigger issue. I can already hear you typing. “THE CONDUCTOR LITERALLY TELLS US THAT THERE IS A BOMB!”

Yes, that bomb existed, and yes, I know about that, but the important question is yet again, was anyone harmed? Where those risks calculated? What if I told you...that they were.

The owls do mention that they have more explosives on the train, which is true, but those are all on carts where we don't see any owls being in. The owls are all in areas that are more or less safe and none of them appear to be harmed. Even the band plays as if nothing is wrong, further confirming that they knew that they'd be safe.

As you know, the Conductor is at the front of the train the ENTIRE time we see him after the announcement. (I have no idea how he got to the front all the way from the caboose without us noticing, game logic, I guess) He could have switched that bomb off at any time. We never actually see the bomb blow up even if the time runs out, we simply die as if killed by an enemy, so it neither confirms nor debunks that the bomb blew up. Not even in chapter 6 do we see the bomb ACTUALLY exploding.

So is he endangering his actors? Physically no, mentally and emotionally, yes. His actions here still make it clear that he only see the owls as a means to and end, which is winning the award. The amount of stress and trauma he forces the Express Owls through is just collateral to him.

The last point on this list is does he show care toward Hat Kid aside from the finale?

Too many people say the switch in personality that Conductor shows when he saves Hat Kid from the demented DJ comes out of nowhere, and they do not see the build up that happened across the two chapters that lead up to chapter 6. I understand that wholeheartedly, because that build up is extremely subtle. It is very easy to go through both, chapter 2 and chapter 4, thinking that the yellow bird show no affection toward Hat Kid, especially when you consider that the DJ shows more affection for her in his chapters. The Conductor's shift in demeanor is very easy to miss. In act 1 the owl seems to dislike Hat Kid quite a lot for interfering, but there's two easily overlooked lines that show some growth.

I want you to look at those two pictures, the first is at the end of “Murder on the Owl Express”, while the second is taken at the end of “Train Rush”.

Do you see the slight switch in demeanor? The first one tells us that we should leave, but the line delivery even shows that he doesn't yell this time even if it has an exclamation mark. He speaks a bit more fondly of her in the second picture, saying that Hat Kid deserved the time piece instead of telling us to grab the supposed prop and scram.

I'm also going to briefly mention here that he still helps Hat Kid in chapter 5, and even apologizes for attempting to kill her (He tries at least, he's not very good at it) if he was chosen as the winner for the award. If he's the loser, he will express a bit of empathy for her for what his rival had put her through.

So, is the Conductor the good guy now? No...not by any means. He's still a very aggressive and competitive bird thing that doesn't value his actors too much and prioritizes his movies over everything. Some theories explain his behavior, but this analysis is based on what we actually see in game and theories and conclusions we can potentially draw from those facts. As it stands, he's very much still a bad person, but he has far more nuance when what people give him credit for, if you know where to look. I hope that my small analysis on him here has shown you that there is a potential for him to actually care about Hat Kid, and that the owl is just a tad bit kinder when he lets on.

3. DJ Grooves, charming or cunning?

Another thing that I and a few others hate to see is that people tend to view the charming and stylish former DJ as just the good guy that can't harm a fly, thus they think that Conductor winning, and the subsequent fight in which the DJ rescues us, makes more sense than if he back stabs the young girl he so affectionately calls his diva. Just like with his counterpart, there are a few things I have gripes with, but the ways in which the DJ is more twisted when he lets on are about as subtle as the ways in which the Conductor is kind.

Once again, we can ask a few questions to make it easier to understand where I'm coming from with this, those being: To what extend does DJ Grooves hate his rival? Is the DJ a manipulator?

I once again hear you guys typing a defense for the underrated costar of the second chapter of the game, telling me that the DJ never did anything wrong, that all he wanted to do was make good movies and defeat his angry and hostile rival once again. You may even say that the penguin doesn't really hate his rival all too much, seeing as he tries to stay mostly calm when talking to him...what you don't see is that he has a lot of contempt for the yellow bird, far more than he lets on.

When we first see him interact with his rival, he comes off as calm and collected, appearing to not take the argument too seriously. He takes a jab at the owl's struggles to come up with new ideas which leaves the yellow bird stunned for a moment. The fact that he know that his rival struggles with ideas and the fact he mentions it here is important, keep it in the back of your mind. The penguin seems to know exactly how to get under the other's skin and riles up the Conductor even more while he himself stays calm, he even dances during this whole exchange, showing how little it affects him.

The spite for his rival and his obsession with winning the award is a lot harder to see, and we only get a glimpse of it during act 6 itself if he's the winner were he makes it clear that he despises the owl, slandering his name even without the prove for it, and, if my own theory that I made earlier is true, that accusation has no leg to stand on.

The amount of vitriol in the voice of DJ Grooves (which is amazing by the way, kudos to the voice actor) shows just how frustrated and spiteful he really is, an amount of anger and hatred we've not heard from the penguin in any of his levels yet, is present. There is a few more instances other than this though that show his hatred for his rival and his obsession with winning the award.

These little newspaper clippings can be found in the basement of Dead Bird Studio and are placed on the wall outside of the trophy room. This room is situated right above the DJ's dressing room.

Conductor's is in a completely different area of the basement and not even adjacent to it, kind of making it questionable that the room belongs to Conductor like many people claim. There is a hallway, a room, and another hallway between his side of the studio and Grooves' side.

Also, why would he have a room above his rival's dressing room? But back to the posters. These poster show the Conductor in a bad light, the one on the top left seems to be an article on the Western director's first loss, while the one below that shows that something went wrong in his movies, saying that a “Calculated risk went horribly wrong”. It likely refers to the movie that cost the yellow owl award 42. It also isn't favorable for the yellow owl to be laughing at the misfortune of another bird, as the right clipping shows. All in all, those clips show embarrassing and more humbling moments of the owl, further proving that the room is Grooves', and that he hates his rival enough to remind himself that the strange yellow bird is far from perfect and in fact not untouchable. If that room really is Grooves, it shows an eerie obsession with winning, having over 200 plastic replica of the golden trophy, it shows just how far gone the penguin really is.

But it gets better, yes, dear reader, there's more, and this one can be completely missed if you pick the wrong character in a completely different act...and that act is “Murder on the Owl Express”!

You may be asking yourself “Huh? What does one of Conductor's acts have to do with DJ Grooves?” Well, the penguin mocks his rival not only in front of his whole crew...BUT IN FRONT OF HIS OWN AUDIENCE! I know pics or it didn't happen, so...here you go.

THIS is why I told you to listen when I said that he hated Conductor a lot more than he lets on, it may appear as him being friendly, but look at the context, he's helping his poor, idea-less, incompetent rival create a story line. Is that friendly or detrimental? I'll ask you! Keep this screenshot in mind, it will be relevant again.

Have I convinced you that the penguin, REALLY hates his rival now? That the amount of anger he feels might even justify him snapping if he hadn't already? That he hides insanity and hatred behind his fashionable shades. If not, stay tuned, there's more.

Now, let me shatter your view of the 'uwu, I'm incapable of doing anything wrong' penguin even more. Let's focus on another important factor in this whole story, the main character, Hat Kid. We get roped into helping the DJ after he pleads for Hat Kid's help, telling us that is penguins are terrible actors. No, I'm not saying that he hates the Moon Penguins, given that the story book “Groovy Underdog” exists. It makes it clear that he's frustrated with their acting, but still tries hard to make it work even with them being bad at their jobs.

What I have an issue with is that he manipulates Hat Kid into helping him, which is the very thing that prompts Conductor to accuse her of fraud. DJ Grooves simply spotted an opportunity to beat his rival and win the award, the goal was not to help Hat Kid become famous, he simply more or less cheated by dragging an outsider into their quarrel.

The second instance that shows that the DJ is amazing at manipulating those around him is in the first act we see him again, act 3 “Picture Perfect”. He demonstrates an uncanny ability to wrap the viewers at home around his flipper. Everyone on the moon seems to know him as he himself says that everyone knows his name, and it is backed up by the amount of followers Hat Kid gains after every endorsement.

The best example of this is when Hat Kid takes a page out of Conductor's colorful dictionary and uses the word “Peck” ,a swear word in the bird world. Here the DJ shows that he knows his audience rather well, explaining that swearing on TV would get him into trouble, he knows that his image could take a blow if Hat Kid says the wrong thing. He quickly sweeps the occurrence under the rug and tells the space traveler to scram.

The entirety of act 3 shows perfectly how amazing the DJ is at manipulating people to his advantage, even Hat Kid doesn't catch on to what he's actually doing. He's using Hat Kid's cute, childlike charm and likability to his advantage, this is backed up in act 1 where he refers to Hat Kid as an innocent soul with a heart of gold before dismissing her right BEFORE he gets the idea to use her for his own gain.

He continues to manipulate the public and even the player's impression of him by presenting himself as a charming mentor character to Hat Kid, and an overall likable funky fellow. It's all a facade, a charade put on by him to hide his desperation for the victory, show the player, Hat Kid and the public what they want, a charming director who can't do anything wrong at all.

The cracks show in “The Big Parade”, act 5 of the chapter. He explains to us and to Hat Kid, that the parade will be easy, that all she has to do was jump and run around the rooftops...with not a single line does he mention the dangers we're actually facing. Electric floors, homing missiles and carnage, all presented as a happy-go-lucky movie with nice effects and pleasant music.

The audience of the movie doesn't see the danger, the difficulty and the hazardous chaos that Hat Kid navigates through. They only see the pretty colors, the nice effects and the cheery music so out of place in this nightmare. The DJ either doesn't know that Hat Kid is in danger, which is unlikely, or he doesn't care. In “Train Rush” The Conductor blatantly tells us that there's a bomb and that were in danger of the whole train blowing up, here, the disco-loving director shows that he cares as little for Hat Kid's safety as the Conductor does, he just doesn't blatantly tell us.

To summarize, the DJ feigns to care for Hat Kid and only sees her as a means to an end, just like his, apparently seen as more evil, counterpart. Speaking of his counterpart, I told you to keep that screenshot in mind where Grooves “helps” the Conductor with his movie.

I mentioned that he ruins the reputation of his rival, but he also BOOSTS HIS! He even makes clear who is speaking! In the line before the screenshot I took, he announces to everyone in the room and the audience that will watch this movie that HE is here to help his poor rival. It not ONLY mocks the Conductor for his lack of ideas, but it might boost his own movies as he's seen as a generous and helpful guy by the audience of Conductor's movies.

Once again I'll ask, just how innocent is that penguin really? Can you STILL claim that his shift in demeanor is out of character, when everything he does can point to him being just as deranged as his rival if not more so. I think that I have at least given you some food for thought...Maybe you will look at this flashy disco penguin in a different way the next time you play his levels...and you'll see the cold and calculated show he puts on for the viewers.

4. Final Thoughts

I hope that I managed to convey that both the Conductor and DJ Grooves are far more nuanced and interesting when we give them credit for, that chapter 2 can be far more interesting and less black and white when what people say. I personally love both characters a lot. Don't go chasing me with pitchforks for ruining the character for you, it's okay if you want to see DJ Grooves as nice and a cinnamon roll, and Conductor as a cold-hearted bastard. Everything is up to interpretation which varies from person to person. All I tried to accomplish was give food for thought and maybe explain a little why DJ Grooves as the winner makes more sense when people realize.

I'm always up for discussing chapter 2, as it's my favorite. Thank you for reading and have a nice day or night! You're awesome!

-

@majormeilani Here it is, you wanted me to tag you for this. I hope you liked it. Chapter 2 ftw!

[sunflowersoldat]

All is Fair~ In Love.....

Chapter 27: In Love

Main Master List

Series Master List

Series Summary: Family is important, but so is the Family business. Everyone has secrets, some are deadly. Your the best in the business, but no one knows who you are. Tensions are high, will you raise the stakes or fold under the pressure?

Series Warning: 18+! Mentions of blood and violence, bad language words, smut, manipulation, gaslighting, death, trauma, please follow the warnings for each chapter.

Chapter warnings: 18+ Only! Major Character Deaths! Violence, Bad language words, mentions of torture, paranoia.

Pairing: Mob!Steve x Assassin!Stark!reader

Word count: 1.9K

A/N: OMG it has been so long!!! I am so sorry this took so long, I've been in a really funky headspace lately and I'm trying to get back into a groove. I really hope you enjoy this chapter, I have been so worried about it. But it is finally finished. I hope you enjoy!

Thor hadn’t slept well in months, he kept one eye open every night, completely on edge. Every little noise set him off, he didn’t know which noise was you creeping around a corner, or the sound of his own heart hammering in his chest.

Paranoia settled in when Jane’s body was discovered, then Heimdal; at a moment's notice you could be there to strike him down. Avenging those he took from you. Slowly the support he had in New York had dwindled into almost nothing 

He wouldn’t say he regretted what he did or who he killed. Collateral damage was impossible to avoid; whatever was best for the business. Tony was an unfortunate loss, but one he could still recover from. The rest of the bosses and families would bow to him, if it was the last thing they did. 

Unfortunately his brother and father refused to bow before his rule, and they were dealt with. Loki caused more problems than Thor had anticipated, now it was time to burn those loose ends once and for all. 

Or die trying.

—

Sitting up on your bike, you took in the serene landscape, after months of looking, you had finally tracked him down, the man who took everything from you. Thor was hiding. Hiding in Loki’s mansion far outside the city limits. 

It would do him no good, you had taken out all his avenues of support, what little security he had would be easy for you to sift through, even on high alert. 

The mansion was oddly quiet, as you made your way through the courtyard and into the foyer, Thor had little security for a man who was being hunted. It wasn’t entirely his fault, you had taken down Valkyrie and Heimdall, his security and men along with them. It’s not that he didn’t want good security, he didn’t have any left, and even the ones he scraped up were no match for you. 

You hadn’t been yourself since your brother died, there was no separation between yourself and your assassin personas anymore. There weren’t any edges of yourself to grasp onto, the lines between yourself and the assassin you were molded into no longer existed; you were left with this monstrosity. Your old life was a distant memory, you didn’t have a tether to the woman you had been before, she was a stranger when you looked in the mirror. 

Nothing but rage filled your entire being. Carbonell no longer existed, the Ace of Spades long gone, as for Wraith, she too had abandoned you. The nicknames your friends and victims had given you long ago seemed a little more fitting now. You were no longer a reaper doing someone else’s bidding, no, you were death incarnate, and you took who you pleased.

One of the guards tried in vain to surprise you behind an open doorway, your reflexes were too fast now, what once could have caught you off guard now stood no chance. He crawled backward, begging, blubbering for you to show him mercy as you advanced on him. You stopped raising your gun, gesturing to the door, “Run,” you sneered, watching him scramble to his feet and sprint out the door, “take the others with you. Anyone left won’t live to tell the tale.”

You catch a glimpse of yourself in one of the mirrors, your hair had grown out, the roots were showing, fading into the bone white they had given you with your Wraith identity. You weren't coming after Thor as an assassin, no, you wanted him to see your face, to know who he had wronged. You had forgotten the contacts, and your mask. You had no need for your tactical uniform, you doubted you would make it out alive anyway.

You made your way upstairs, at this point you were going through the motions, the men who were left didn’t even try. The moment they saw you, they would turncoat and run, their tails tucked between their legs. 

Smart.

Anyone who tried otherwise didn’t make it five feet from you. Sweeping each room, you ensured Thor wasn’t hiding, but something told you he wouldn’t cower in a corner. No he would face you head on and he would fight till his final breath.

This room was one of the master bedrooms, decorated in deep tones of green. The balcony doors framed a picturesque view of the lake on the grounds. A golden frame sat atop the dresser, a beautiful golden haired woman stood next to Loki. Freya, you recognized her, Odin’s wife and Loki and Thor’s mother. Loki is smiling in the picture, frozen happily in time forever, it's the same smile he gave you the first time you'd ever met. Your gut twisted, the memory of him laying lifeless in Stark Tower clouded your mind, you had been too late.

Squeezing the blade in your hand, the memory only strengthened your resolve, Thor wouldn’t survive the evening. Clattering behind the doors pulled you from your thoughts, you stepped closer to the door as it burst open and one of Thor’s men jumped out, knife swinging, slicing your cheek as he shoved past you. He sprinted down the hall, throwing himself into the main door on this level, Loki’s office. Sighing you pulled a pistol from one of the dead man's hands and pursued him. He looked back, eyes wide as he yanked open the door, flinging himself inside, slamming it shut.

—

He saw you on the cameras, before he could hear his men’s screams. There was no escaping you, he had already heard what you’d done. Hell he had to kill one of his own men just to keep you off his trail; their deaths were merely warnings of what was to come for him. 

Would he try to kill you? Absolutely, but then what? Would he run for the rest of his life from Steve and his men, or would Zemo come searching for him with the rest of the Aces? Thor knew he dug his own grave and knew he would lay in it, but not without a fight.

He flicked the camera’s off, standing to take in the serene landscape of his property, he engrained the beautiful rolling hills and summer blooms into his mind. What had started as a game of chess soon turned into a dangerous game of sharks and minnows, but even Sharks have predators. And he was no longer at the top of the food chain. 

The gunshots, clattering and screaming of men in the hall pulled his attention to the office door, just as it was ripped open, one of his own men flung himself inside. The man slammed the door shut, throwing himself against it. The man’s eyes were wide, his chest rising and falling frantically, Thor could see the tremor in the man's hands traveling through the rest of his body. Outside the door silence settled through the mansion; only for a moment. A single gunshot split the air, the man jerked before slumping to the floor, the smear of blood on the door was the only evidence the bullet had killed him. 

Thor watched as the doorknob slowly turned, the door creaking open on its hinges. His blood ran cold, his heart thundering in his ears as you stepped through the doorway, ignoring the body at your feet. You looked like something out of legend, your hair wild, your eyes, the ones he had always heard were hidden behind black or white contacts, were not. But they were not the familiar welcoming eyes he was used to, no, they were full of hellfire and brimstone; they scorched him, pinning him in place, his feet nailed to the floor.

A shiver ran down his spine, your familiar face not covered by a blood smeared mask, you were calm, your chest rising and falling at an abnormally slow rate for what activities he knew you had done mere seconds ago.

You approach him slowly, the embodiment of lethal grace, your head tilted slightly, a predator assessing its prey, he swore you could hear his heartbeat roaring in his chest.

Never had he had the bubbling urge to apologize, to beg for mercy, before, but with you standing in front of him, the urge surfaced. He quashed it, he would not cower to you, or anyone. He would stare death in the eye and smile saccharinely, and greet them like an old friend, but he wasn’t smiling now and you were no friend. You stared at him for a moment, your eyes not missing anything he waited on bated breath—

Next to him the cameras flicked back on, there was movement at the front gate, a familiar blonde head followed by several others passed through the gates in a hurry. A smirk lifted Thor’s lips as his eyes flicked back to you, “Seems you’ve run out of time little Stark. Better luck next time.”

There was a malicious sparkle in your eye as you drew your knives from their sheathes, stepping closer, “They won't save you Odinson whether it's days, hours, even seconds, it makes little difference.” you pause, a sinister smile curves your lips, “Hell awaits you, Odinson.”

Make it worth it, he thought, he rushed forward, yanking his blades from under his desk. “If I'm going to hell, I’m taking you with me!” Thor growls as he lunges at you in a flash of teeth and metal.

—

Steve and his men clear the grounds and first floor swiftly, but he feels they are already too late. The mansion is eerily silent the farther upstairs they clear, the more horrified he becomes. The inside of the mansion is chaos and carnage, he prays you hadn’t done all this on your own. Above them, sounds of struggles and broken glass thundered through the floor, he motioned to his men, moving quickly up the stairs.

In the final hall the sound had finally stopped, Bucky motioned to the last room, the door was barely cracked. Bucky had gone ahead of him, toeing the door open the rest of the way, gun raised. But as the door opened fully, Bucky froze in his tracks, Steve nearly slammed into him.

He looked over Bucky’s shoulder and nearly dropped his weapon at the carnage in front of him. He could barely stomach looking at the scene, his eyes locked on Thor’s chest, a bright white playing card sat pinned there by a blade, the embossed skull at its center now enhanced by the red blood casting shadows across it.

Bucky’s exasperated voice sounded next to him, “Steve, who the fuck—”

Bucky broke off, they both knew who had done this, you.

No, not you. Never you. You had been lost long ago, there was only one being that could have done this level of violence—

Death.

—

Freedom felt heavy, the ocean air whispering across your skin. Your heart is stranded in a city you could never go back to. 

Mourning a life you never had the chance to live. You had hope, hope that he would find someone to take your place, to make him happy in a way you only dreamed you could. Without a goodbye, you knew he wouldn’t let you leave, but couldn’t ask him to abandon his home and family.

With an empty heart and a million opportunities ahead, you couldn’t help but be filled with sickening dread.

—

His bed remained empty, no one would fill the hole in his heart that you had called your own. 

He had hope that he would see you again, maybe in another life, happy with someone you trusted enough to keep by your side.

With a million people around him, so many chances to move on, yet he remained completely alone with you gone.

@dontbescaredtosingalong @texan-tazzy @tianamontag @daiseychaindisaster @silently-killing-you @buckyfan12 @leyannrae @justlovelifeblog @austynparksandpizza @capson-of-coul @betareader7 @vicmc624 @bigphattygyal @calwitch @buckysteveloki-me @curlyladylazarus111 @talesofadragon @trudy-shams

[dustedmagazine]

Jennifer Kelly’s 2023 in Review: Still Human FWIW

I finally saw Sun Ra Arkestra

I first heard about Chat GPT in January this year, and it sounded bad from the start. I make most of my living writing things for big faceless corporations who view me as a cost. Cut that cost to zero and I’m out of a job. But for the first five months of 2024, I continued to be busy and I thought, well maybe it’s nothing. Then in May, like a light switch, everything stopped. I had one regular client who continued to pay a monthly retainer. Nothing else. And the usual mailings, pleadings with old clients, etc. had no effect. I’m close to retirement age. This summer, I thought I had arrived early.

Things have picked up since then, and right now, I’m in a good place. People are starting to notice Chat GPT’s ignorance of anything post 2021, its refusal to factcheck or footnote and its relentless blandness. Clients are coming back, but the floor doesn’t feel very solid under my feet. It could all go away at any time. (This is the lesson we all learned from COVID-19…that you could fall into the pit any time.)

The one thing that didn’t stop was Dusted, and for that I am very grateful. As I’ll explain to anyone who asks, there’s never been any money in Dusted, so there can’t be any less. We are more or less immune to economic pressures. And as long as we’re here, there is lots and lots of good music to write about.

My year started with two records that blew me away in January (and maybe December 2022) and held #1 and #2 slots all year. They were Meg Baird’s Furling and Robert Forster’s the Candle and the Flame. Next, came an email from Rob from Sunburned with a link to Stella Kola’s extraordinary debut, and then gosh, Sub Pop still sends me promos and here’s one from Mudhoney! Every time 2024 succeeded in getting me down, I’d get music from someone.

Live music was another solace. Shows that made me happy this year included Warp Trio, Sunburned Hand of the Man, Dear Nora, Vieux Farka Toure, Bridget St. John with Stella Kola, Sun Ra Arkestra, Kid Millions with Sarah Bernstein, Faun Fables, Sweeping Promises, Daniel Higgs, Constant Smiles, Baba Commandant (RIP), Xylouris White, Joseph Allred with Ruth Garbus and Ryan Davis with his Roadhouse band. Special mention goes to the always astonishing Thing in the Spring with Editrix, Rough Francis, Thus Love, Gorilla Toss, Equipment Pointed Ankh. Susan Alcorn, Marisa Anderson and Jim White and Bill Callahan.

The best show of the year, however, came late in the summer with William Tyler and the Impossible Truth band, an unbelievably talented, seasoned crew with Luke Schneider on pedal steel, Third Man mainstay Jack Lawrence on bass and Brian Kotzgur on drums. The way they opened up and fired up Tyler’s songs was a revelation, even to someone, like me, who’s been a fan since Behold the Spirit. Garcia Peoples opened, and they were great, too.

I should mention that we have recently been blessed with a bunch of excellent music venues nearby—Nova Arts in Keene and Epsilon Spires and the Stone Church in Brattleboro. Going to music used to always mean driving back from at least Northampton, sometimes further, late at night, and, as I get older and my night vision fades, it has been really nice not to have to do that. (Also, to all my Dusted-reader-musician-friends, if you play one of these venues, thank you, and let me know when you’re coming.)

With that, it’s time to talk about 2023 favorites. I’ll write about the first ten and then just list the rest.

Meg Baird — Furling (Drag City)

Meg Baird’s gorgeous solo album alternates between ghostly, inward-looking piano songs and bright swirls of 1960s psychedelia. Her extraordinary voice, high, pure, and unearthly, joins lush, burnished guitar grooves. Sometimes I think I like the swaggering bounce of “Will You Follow Me Home,” the best, but other times, the disembodied otherness of “Ashes, Ashes” is the prettiest thing I know.

Robert Forster — The Candle and the Flame (Tapete) 

Forster’s solo records are always good, wry and funny and stuttering with strummy punk energy, but this one, recorded with family while his wife battled cancer, is his best yet. “She’s a Fighter,” a group sing-along is prickly and defiant, the only song specifically written about Karin’s illness, but threads of enduring, life-long love run all through this album. “Tender Years” is especially moving, as Forster sings, “I’m in a story with her, I know I can’t live without her, I can’t imagine why,” in a voice cracked with sincerity and feeling. Very few albums make me cry, but this one does.

Anohni and the Johnsons—My Back Was a Bridge for You to Cross (Secretly Canadian)

The sound on Anohni’s fifth album with the Johnsons smolders in the pocket, its textures a nod to Marvin Gaye’s classic What’s Going On? It’s velvety smooth but taut with urgency, as the artist contemplates climate disaster and personal struggles. “It Must Change,” trills with the coolest falsetto, while “Sliver of Ice” reverberates with a low, hushed passion. Every song lands a punch, soft when it happens but ringing for days in your ears.

The Drin — Today My Friend You Drunk the Venom (Feel It)

“Venom” lurches and blurts, bass thumping, drums clashing, monotone vocals drenched in menace. It’s a punk song distilled to essence, a world in itself, a short, brutal blast that is also somehow psychedelically expansive. The Fall, the Swell Maps and Adrian Sherwood haunt this disc in various places, but the Drin is its own mysterious thing.

Wreckless Eric — Leisureland (Tapete)

“Get yourself a one-way ticket for the merry-go-round,” sings the Bard of Hull on the last and most exhilarating song from his ninth full-length. That’s “Drag Time,” with its indelible hook, its enveloping harmonies, its hint of Amy Rigby in the chorus. Let’s just go way out on a limb here and say it’s as good, maybe better, than “Whole Wide World.”  

En Attendant Ana — Principia (Trouble in Mind)

Good lord, was Trouble in Mind on a roll this year or what? I could put Melanas or Tubs here, with FACS not far behind, but instead, let us contemplate the light-and-dark wonder of “Black Morning,” with its giddy counterpoints, its bright, sustaining trumpet, its boppy beat and its underpinning, somehow, of shadowy melancholy. Or the skanky bass that kicks off “Same Old Story,” in a prickly way, the lone element of dissonance that gives a daydream teeth.

Stella Kola—S-T (Self-Release)

Everybody who’s anybody in W. Mass alt.folk does a turn on this magical LP—centered around Beverly Ketch and Rob Thomas but including PG Six, Wednesday Knudson, Jeremy Pisani, Willy Lane and Jen Gelineau. Despite the expansiveness of the ensemble, these songs are feather light and lucid, like Pentangle sprinkled with magic dust.

Mudhoney — Plastic Eternity (Sub Pop)

Psychedelic overload meets raw punk and potty humor in this 12th album from the grunge godfathers. I like the sheer rush and swirl of cuts like “Almost Everything” and “Souvenir of my Trip” best, but bare, belligerent “Flush the Fascists” is grade-A too, and how can anyone resist Mark Arm paying tribute to his best bud on “Little Dogs.”

Beirut — Hadsel (Pompeii)

Hadsel is surprisingly cheery for an album recorded on a remote Norwegian island in the dead of winter, with swoony harmonies and counterpoints, intricate synthesized beats and blares of an antique pipe organ. “We had so many plans,” Zach Condon sings, both mourning and subtly sending up his cohort’s response to the COVID pandemic, but this remarkably pretty album seems more like a happy accident.

The Feelies—Some Kinda Love (Bar None)

What a total pleasure it is when one jangly, drone-y, indie rock phenomenon pays tribute to the wellspring. In this case, it’s the Feelies covering many of the Velvet Underground’s best known songs at a live show in 2018 where everyone had a blast. Now you can, too.

More albums that I loved in the order that I thought of them.

Iron & Wine—Who Can See Forever Soundtrack (Sub Pop)

Melanas—Ahora (Trouble in Mind)

Sleaford Mods — UK Grim (Domino)

The Tubs — Dead Meat (Trouble in Mind)

Sky Furrows—Reflect and Oppose (Feeding Tube/Cardinal Fuzz)

Lonnie Holley — Oh Me Oh My (Jagjaguwar)

Yo La Tengo—This Stupid World (Matador)

The Toads—In the Wilderness (Upset the Rhythm)

Dan Melchior—Welcome to Redacted City (Midnight Cruiser)

James and the Giants—S-T (Kill Rock Stars)

Ben Chasny and Rick Tomlinson—Waves (VOIX)

Bonnie Prince Billy—Keeping Secrets Will Destroy You (Drag City)

CLASS—If You’ve Got Nothing (Feel It)

The Clientele—I’m Not There Anymore (Merge)

Devendra Banhart—Flying Wig (Mexican Summer)

Kristin Hersh—Clear Pond Road (FIRE)

Sally Anne Morgan—Carrying (Thrill Jockey)

FACS—Still Life in Decay (Trouble in Mind)

Setting—Shone a Rainbow Light On (Paradise of Bachelors)

Airto Moreira & Flora Purim—A Celebration (BBE)

Sweeping Promises—Good Living Is Coming For You (Feel It)

James Waudby—On the Ballast Miles (East Riding Acoustic)

Emergency Group—Venal Twin (Centripetal Force)

Ryan Davis and the Roadhouse Band—Sing Dancing on the Edge (Sophomore Lounge)

Tyvek—Overground (Gingko)

Wurld Series—The Giant’s Lawn (Melted Ice Cream)

Various Artists—STOP MVP (War Hen)

[andysandfordcomedy]

Some Things To Consider While Writing Jokes

Lately I have been doing one on one Joke Machine sessions with comics of all levels where I go over all the material they send me and see if we can improve upon that material. I’ll also watch a set they send and give feedback. It’s been interesting and very informative to see the different ways people stray from doing their best stuff the best way. Generally speaking, the comics who came to me were concerned with self awareness and open to criticism. That allows them to progress so much further than someone who would scoff at the very idea of doing that. I have a lot of respect for comics willing to do whatever it takes to get better. 

Earlier this month I was asked by Blue Ridge Comedy Club in Bristol, TN if I would be able to do a 3 hour joke writing seminar. Having recently done those Joke Machine sessions with comics turned out to be crucial in putting together a 3 hour lesson plan of sorts. That brings me to this: an attempt at a condensed version of that seminar. Just some things to keep in mind and steps to consider when writing jokes that I think will help you no matter what your particular style is. and with that; a caveat of sorts: I cannot make you funnier than you are. I can’t tell you how to guarantee yourself a successful comedy career. I can tell you that the most important aspect to a succesful comedy career is being good at comedy. I mean, really really good. Better than what anyone would expect. Try to get into a mindset of constant progression. Always try to envision what the better you looks like, and then be that you the next time you’re on stage. It’s the only way I know of to reach the level necessary to do comedy professionally. Ok, let’s get into it.

1st RULE TO WRITING JOKES: YOU MUST WRITE 

This is something people don’t like to hear. Many comics, when asked about their writing process, will say something to the effect of “I don’t really sit down to write.” Just know that this is bullshitting yourself. If you want to get good at something hard, you can’t be afraid to dive in and work. The time you spend on stage is a fraction of the time you put into your act, or should be. Set aside a couple hours every day to sit down and write. You will find that you can’t force your creativity to a tight schedule. That’s ok, don’t let that stop you from trying. When you are in a groove/the zone/whatever...when things are popping, RIDE THAT OUT. Cancel appointments if you have to. The time spent in the zone has to be maximized. That is as important as sitting down to write every day. Don’t bring things to a halt while you are in a groove and think that you will resume that creative rush later: you won’t. So, big takeaway here is write often, and when in a groove, ride it out. 

TALK OUT THE JOKE AS YOU WRITE IT

Stand up is only written to be spoken. As you are writing, talk out the joke. Find a comfortable rhythm. Find that perfect wording and assess each line. Always keep in mind that the joke’s final form is vocal. I personally hate writing in coffee shops for this reason. I can’t say messed up shit out loud in a coffee shop. I like writing outside if the weather is nice. If that’s not doable, I write at my desk. If you are able to, try to have a dedicated office space where everything you do while sitting at that desk is career related. The second you get away from important things and start dorking around on facebook, get away from the desk.  

WORD ECONOMY

My definition of word economy may be more in depth than other people’s, but it isn’t about just making everything shorter or using less words. Yes, conciseness is key, but overall just always consider every line you say. Does that line serve a purpose? Does it need to be said? Could it be said better? Remember that a setup is just the information needed to get the joke. If you can make the setup funny while being concise, perfect, but it’s more important that it is concise. One thing that helps me is to write jokes in outline form. Write down only the lines you know you need to say and have a space in between them. Then think, “get from this line to the next line as quickly and naturally as possible.” I find if I write down the transitional sentences I get hung up on them. It helps me to think of everything I say filling a balloon up with air, so the longer it takes me to get to the next laugh, the bigger the pop(laugh) should be. Sometimes I won’t be comfortable with how much setup is required to get to a mediocre pop, so I will find an “on the way” joke to get a little pop along the way. That visualization seems to help a lot of people I have shared it with. 

STEP 1 TO WRITING ANY JOKE: IDENTIFY THE PREMISE

If I were to ask you, “what’s the premise of the joke,” do not say “well first I say this...” No, I mean the concept of the joke. The idea that is funny. If you just come up with something that’s funny, assess it and be able to explain why. You don’t want to have to explain why it’s funny to an audience, but you should be able to explain what is funny so that you can find the best way to get that premise across to people. Drill that into your head: Know the premise. KNOW THE PREMISE. Know the premise. 

STEP 2: HOW MUCH MEAT DOES THIS PREMISE HAVE?

As you identify the premise, consider how much meat there is to that premise because that will determine what kind of joke it should be. You may think you have majority of the joke figured out and then need to stop and zoom out. Ask yourself, is this actually one aspect of a much wider premise than I originally thought? If so, the rest of the joke may kind of write itself. 

STEP 3: GET THE JOKE TO A STAGEWORTHY FORM

Remember to keep talking out the joke vocally and find that wording that works. Don’t work it most of the way out and put a pin in it. Get the joke to a point where you can try it on stage. Don’t put too much on yourself. Doing any joke for the first time is an undertaking, but you have got to follow through and write a complete joke once you start. Not doing that is a really bad habit. Once you try the joke on stage, consider what worked/what didn’t, then change the joke as necessary, and when you do: make sure you have a new complete version to try. Remember that a joke is always malleable. You can always change it/make it better. Do new jokes right up top. You may want to open with something reliable to get em first, but then do the new thing. Don’t put off doing the new thing. If you are confident in how funny it is, go ahead and open with it. 

KEEP IT SIMPLE

Stand up is just one premise presented to completion, then another premise presented and performed to completion. One after another. Over and over and over. Don’t make it more complicated than that. Don’t try to weave some complicated tapestry filled with little half baked joke ideas and expectations from the audience. Keep it simple, crisp, and clear. This joke, then this joke, then this joke. One after another. That’s it. 

HAVE FUN

I have learned over 15 years of comedy that the one way to make sure you don’t do well is to not have fun doing it. If you can see that this show is gonna be a nightmare, find a way to make it a fun nightmare. It’s the only way to do well. The good news is: this is always possible, I promise. You will bomb occasionally: There is no escaping it. Do not concede to bombing though. Don’t speed through parts of the joke to get to the part you think they’ll like. If you don’t like how things are going, slow down. If things are going well, speed up a little.