#hope u enjoy it anon!! thank u for this!!!

[zevrra]

Hii, i saw u were looking for requests and I was wondering if u could do a jjk x reader (any character is fine) where they get body swapped by a curse and decide to get freaky

[BODY?¿SWAP]

tags: 18(+) only!!, suggestive content, semi-nsfw, some dirty talk, gojo x fem!reader, nanami x fem!reader, one-shot, anon request

creator notes: thank you so much for the request anon! i couldn’t decide which pov i liked the most so i wrote both of them kshsjs. hope you enjoy! ♡

It was all Gojo’s fault. You were cautious and always careful when on missions. Yet somehow, this one time he distracted you a little too much with his constant flirting and now you’re stuck in his body while he was stuck inside of yours. It was obviously strange. His long arms and legs. The muscles underlying his skin. And the most obvious, different genitalia.

And it was still all Gojo’s fault what you two were doing right now. He insisted he wanted to know what it was like, doing it, in your body. Said he wanted to know how good he made you feel and what he could do differently to make you feel even better. And seeing as how you two were body swapped for the moment, it was the perfect time for a little experiment.

“God,” Gojo groans. Using your body to fuck himself on his own dick.

You can barely keep your eyes open. Out of embarrassment of watching your body move so erotically but also the fact it felt…good. Really good. It was a completely different pleasure than you were used to. Pleasure that was white hot to the point it made even your soul tingle.

“No wonder you’re always a mess when I fuck you.” Gojo pridefully says.

Of course he was thinking so highly of himself. You both knew your sex life was fantastic and this little ‘experiment’ was just further proving his point. But now he’d never shut up about it. You could already see him bringing it up every chance he gets. How your stomach tightens with every thrust of his cock. He’ll speak of how your pussy was made specifically to take the shape of him. Any time he wants to tease you, to make your face flush, he’ll just speak of how many times you cum with him deep inside.

You whine, moving your hands to hide your, his, drastically red face. “Shut up, please.”

Gojo laughs wickedly. Even as he pants heavily with each roll of the hips that he controls. His, your, hands run up the front of his chest. Feeling every detail he can while he is stuck inside your body.

“Mhm, at least I know—fuck—that I fuck you good. Your body is damn sensitive.” He teases, making it a point to grind himself down. The motion causes you to groan.

“Well, I must make you feel real good too cause your body is just as hot.” You shoot back. A broken up moan tumbling from your lips.

He chuckles at your remark. Biting at his bottom lip as he clenches around the dick you currently have deep inside of him. “You’re right,” He smirks. You can tell from the sound of his voice he’s up to no good. “Just makes me wanna fuck ya some more.”

It was going to be a very long night.

It was your idea. Body swapped by some cursed technique, hours later, and you wanted to show the love of your life how good he was to you. How amazing he made you feel every time you two lay together. Suggesting a more physical example to show him in a way words could not describe.

“Nanami,” You hum softly. Standing tall inside of his body. Watching as you move his cock inside of your body. Slowly slipping every inch in and out. Making sure he felt the pleasure he gives you. “Can you feel it? This is what I feel every time we make love.” You whisper.

Nanami lies beneath you. His, well really your, legs are wrapped around the waist you currently inhabit. You can feel him tremble at the words you speak. Watching your own face twist in pleasure and concentration. Makes you smile as you know he’s feeling good. Nanami may not be able to confirm your thoughts for the moment but you know he’s getting a nice grasp of what you go through every time he fucks you.

Doesn’t stop you from teasing him a little.

“I usually feel it really deep right here,” You hum. Moving one of his large hands across your body’s abdomen. Pressing ever so slightly in an area on your lower tummy where you know it’s sensitive.

Nanami gasps at the sensation. Fingers gripping the sheets beneath him so hard that you’re afraid he might tear the fabric. His mouth falls open as he cries out in pleasure. “Fuck!” He gasps, sucking in whatever air he could through his teeth. You knew what he was feeling all too well. The countless times he had fucked you senseless into the mattress, leaving you just as speechless as he was now.

“F-fuck,” He whimpers again. Muttering something about slowing down but you can’t. Not yet. You needed him to keep feeling good. Needed him to reach his climax and see the stars you’re so use to seeing on the other end.

After all of this, you only hope he realizes how good of a man he truly is. “Mmm, I love you.” You say with a chuckle. Watching as Nanami struggles beneath you, making your body shudder in pleasure. Wondering how many times had he watched you from this exact position and thought how pretty you must’ve looked.

Now at least both of you got to see each other from the other point of view. Maybe body swapping wasn’t so bad after all.

[creamsiclemelt]

not sure what type of prompts u wanted but maybe natejo where the team realizes jo is their solution to how angry nate gets

(or if u need smtg more specific and more ur beat in terms of freaky, natejo cockwarming ◡̈)

I decided to combine both of your prompts anon! Enjoy!

///

Jo is a nice guy. He’s always quick to smile, and is a hell of a hockey player. 

But if you ask Mikko, maybe the best part of having him here, above everything else, is how he has a handle on Mack. Mikko’s never seen anyone outside of Gabe know how to talk Nate down when he’s worked up. 

Jo, though, blows even Gabe out of the water in Nate-handling-skills. Mikko’s seen Jo happily step in between Nate and the target of his ire more than once, has seen Jo go over and make Nate crack a smile when he’s got That One Look on his face. Within the first two weeks of the season, Mikko already knows just how valuable he’s going to be strictly for that alone. 

Still, when Nate accidentally bats the puck into their own net in the last minute of a one-goal game, Mikko knows that the nice dinner out the boys had planned is about to be a whole lot less relaxing than they had hoped for. Either Nate’s not coming—which seems unlikely because Jo’s coming—or he will, and be snappy and irritable when he’s not trying to talk hockey with whoever’s caught next to him. Not to mention what he’s going to be like at practice tomorrow. 

He doubts any amount of Jo talking to Nate or trying to make him laugh is going to change that. 

Mikko stays and does a post-game TV interview right after the game and hopes idly that maybe Nate will have the worst of his anger out by the time he makes it back to the room. 

He’s not exactly optimistic as he approaches the locker room and hears the dead silence coming from it. When he opens the door, he’s expecting some kind of—well. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting. But it isn’t what he finds.

Because Nate’s sitting in his stall, slumped like the picture of relaxation, with his legs spread wide. And in between his knees, there’s a dark head of hair.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it is, but when Mikko cautiously approaches his stall, situated right next to Nate’s, he finds himself blinking down at Jo, eyes caught on the way his mouth is being stretched open by Nate’s cock. 

Jo’s eyes flick over to his, and although Mikko can see his face getting pink, he doesn’t try to pull away, just blinks once, twice, and then shuts his eyes. 

“Thank you, baby,” Nate says, his voice husky and maybe the calmest Mikko’s ever heard him sound after a loss like that. “You’re doing such a good job.” 

Then he looks up, glances around the room until he sees a member of the staff, standing in place, just as frozen as everyone else. “Can you guys do post-game interviews somewhere else?” he asks. 

And, well—

It’s a small price to pay in exchange for a content, calm Nate, all things considered.

[callmegaith]

Comic making today 👀👀

It's going reaaalllyyyyy well. Dedicating this comic to you guys specifically 🥰 love you guys and very grateful for your contribution to my stories. Thank u for everything. HL: change begins with us would not exist without the anon who gave Pete his Nate, and giving Marcel his Kit. Things you added to my story, names you've given the characters. I love creating things with my community 🥺💜

Hope you will enjoy the comic whenever it gets done 🥰🥰🥰

[violettwrites]

in the arms of the broken — daryl dixon

a/n: to the dear nonnie that requested this 🫶🏻 thank u sm i absolutely adored writing this (i rly should be sleeping but i can’t so here i am) i hope you enjoy !!

if you enjoyed reading this, please support me by giving me a like, reblog, and/or comment ! don’t forget to follow me either if you want to read more of my stuff !

request: anon said — “i also like the dialogue prompt ‘i don’t know… i’ve never seen her like this’ that tugs at the heart strings”

summary: reader cannot cope with the way the world has become, during a particularly hard night for themselves, daryl dixon is the one to comfort them.

warnings: angst/sadness ,,, thats it rly

word count: 1,241

recourses: divider by @adornedwithlight

➵ tp!daryl masterlist

➵ regular masterlist

here is my ask box !

the night was quiet except for the crackle of the fire, but it felt wrong—like the world had gone still, holding its breath. you sat by the flames, knees drawn to your chest, staring blankly into the flickering light. the heat touched your skin, but it didn’t reach you, didn’t chase away the cold that had settled deep inside.

daryl watched you from a distance, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed over his chest. he’d been keeping an eye on you for days, noticing the way you’d been pulling away from everyone, isolating yourself. you’d always been strong, always held it together for the sake of the group, but something was different now. something had changed, and it scared him. you were like a shadow of yourself, your spirit drained, your eyes distant.

rick approached him, eyes flicking over to you before meeting daryl’s. “how’s she holdin’ up?”

daryl didn’t answer right away, his jaw tightening as he watched the way you sat so still, your body hunched like the weight of everything had finally become too much to carry. he shook his head, his voice quiet and rough. “i don’t know… i’ve never seen her like this.”

rick nodded, his expression grim. “she’s been through a lot. more than most of us. maybe she just needs some time.”

rick can recall the first time they found you, smack bang in the middle of atlanta, all alone. you were covered in blood and guts, and if he hadn’t actually heard how you begged for help when he saw you, your voice barely audible, he honestly would have thought you were just another walker.

“time ain’t gonna fix what’s broken,” daryl muttered under his breath, the frustration simmering beneath his skin. time wasn’t enough when you were drowning, when you couldn’t see a way out of the darkness. and he hated that he didn’t know how to pull you out.

rick gave him a look, one that said everything he didn’t need to say out loud. “you’re the one she’ll listen to, daryl. talk to her.”

daryl stood there a moment longer, watching the way you curled into yourself, like you were trying to disappear. every instinct in him told him to go to you, but he hesitated, unsure if his words would even matter. still, he couldn’t just leave you like this.

he finally pushed off the tree and walked over, his boots crunching softly against the dirt. he lowered himself to the ground beside you, sitting close enough that you could feel his presence, but not so close that he’d crowd you.

for a while, neither of you said anything. the fire crackled between you, the only sound breaking the silence of the night. daryl wasn’t sure how to start, wasn’t good with words even on the best of days. but he knew you, and he knew the way you got when things started to spiral out of control in your head.

“you don’t gotta shut us out, y’know,” he finally said, his voice gruff but soft. “we’re all here for ya.”

you didn’t respond at first, your eyes still fixed on the flames like they held some kind of answer you were searching for. after a long moment, you sighed, your voice barely a whisper. “i’m tired, daryl.”

those words hit him like a punch to the gut. he’d seen people break before, seen the way this world could wear someone down until there was nothing left. but hearing you say it, seeing you like this—it scared him more than he wanted to admit.

“i know,” he said quietly. “we all are. but we’re still fightin’. you’re still fightin’.”

you shook your head, your voice trembling as you spoke. “i don’t know if i can anymore. every day feels like it’s getting harder. like… like i’m losing pieces of myself.”

daryl’s chest tightened. he’d always admired your strength, the way you kept going no matter how hard things got. but now, hearing you say you were falling apart—it made him realize just how much he hadn’t noticed.

“you ain’t losin’ yourself,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “you’re still here. we’re still here.”

you swallowed hard, tears brimming in your eyes. “i feel like i’m drowning. like no matter what i do, it’s never enough. i can’t save everyone, daryl.”

that was it, wasn’t it? the burden you carried, the weight of trying to protect everyone, to hold the group together when everything was falling apart. it was breaking you.

daryl shifted closer, his hand reaching out to rest on your arm, hesitant at first, but firm once it was there. “you don’t gotta save everyone. that ain’t on you.”

your voice cracked as you spoke, the tears spilling over now. “but if i don’t… who will?”

daryl’s heart clenched at the raw pain in your voice. he wished he had the right words, wished he could take that weight off your shoulders. but he knew he couldn’t fix everything. what he could do, though, was remind you that you weren’t alone.

“you don’t have to,” he said, his thumb gently brushing your arm in a way that was more comforting than he realized. “we’re all in this together. you ain’t gotta carry the world by yourself.”

you turned to look at him, and the vulnerability in your eyes nearly broke him. he wasn’t used to seeing you like this, so lost and fragile. he hated it. he hated that you felt like you had to carry the world alone, that you felt like you were drowning.

“i don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “everything feels so heavy.”

daryl swallowed hard, his own heart aching at how much pain you were in. he didn’t know how to take that pain away, but he could be there for you. he could be the one thing you could hold on to when everything else felt like it was slipping away.

“you ain’t alone,” he said, his voice low but steady. “you got me. no matter what, you got me.”

you looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time in days, you felt like you could breathe just a little easier. his words were simple, but they grounded you. daryl had always been your anchor, and in this moment, you needed him more than ever.

without thinking, you leaned into him, your forehead resting against his shoulder as the tears came harder, your body shaking with the force of them. daryl didn’t hesitate. he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back.

“let it out,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “it’s okay. i got ya.”

and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself fall apart. you let the tears come, let the pain you’d been holding in for so long spill out. daryl didn’t say anything more, didn’t need to. he just held you, his presence steady and unwavering, letting you know without words that you didn’t have to carry this burden alone.

the fire crackled softly beside you, but the world felt a little less cold with daryl holding you. you weren’t okay. you weren’t sure when—or if—you’d ever be okay again. but for now, in his arms, you felt like you didn’t have to be.

and maybe that was enough.

[phoenix-is-the-hottest-thing]

This is the same anon as before. I think I should thank you for bringing up how society for some reason believes that sapphic women cannot express our attraction to other women openly or as they put it 'like cishetallo men' in the context of Elysia's vocal attraction to Mei's horns. As a lesbian, as much as I really hate Elysia for retconning the story and in my eyes trying to ruin kiamei, I find her to be hot as fuck and I love her boobs but people online cannot believe that a woman can feel that way towards a woman and women are pure of heart being or some shit which is what terfs and fundamentalists say. Thank you for saying women being attracted to women beyond just holding hands is normal and I hope you had as much fun receiving my asks as I do reading your answers. I enjoy hearing viewpoints opposing my own.

Hell yeah, glad that was helpful!

Honestly I feel like Elysia enhances Kiamei if anything. Like Kiana got to have other relationships develop and bounce off of, but Mei was benched most of the story, so she only really had Raven as her own friend until ER. Kinda hard for her to be developed as a character.

Everyone's lives are enriched by the relationships they form and the ways they grow along with them. For better or for worse (the writing quality's sin wave) Mei did experience a lot of growth through her conflict and subsequent warming up to Ely and friends.

Mei had always been embarrassed by Kiana's frank flirting, so confronting a way flirtier girl probably opened up her perspective, no? Plus she's a lot more confident, less soft-spoken now. The whole terrorist thing made Mei very direct, but Elysia softened her rough edges again by ER Chapter 3.

Besides. Depending on how you interpret her relationship with Elysia, she might also have gained experience in... other ways...

If they're gonna be separated, letting your ship interact with other characters, especially foils and contrasting ones, is the next best thing u-u

ALSO. Can we stop being mad at Elysia for the retcons. Elysia is a victim of the retcons. The writers retconned her character and changed the direction from ER's story foreshadowing

[tickle-bugs]

For the warmup prompts can you do Beetlejuice and Lydia (platonic! I do not ship them romantically in any way whatsoever) with the dialogue of “I bet I can get you to say my name.” If not, I totally understand!

So for people who haven’t seen/listened to the musical the vibe is completely different from the movie LMAO less “this is our weird uncle beetlejuice the family won’t talk to him he’s wanted by the feds and can’t come within 500 feet of the house” and more “cool but still weird cousin beetlejuice who collects strange rocks, is always in danger of being actively actively on fire, and is wayyy too into dark humor”. It’s a good show! If you like comedy musicals with a rock lean to the soundtrack, you’ll probably like it. It’s got a Little Shop of Horrors sensibility to it, I think. 

If anyone tags this as ship w/ Lydia and Beetlejuice I will crawl out of your screen like the girl from the ring and gnaw on your bones I’m so serious

AU where the plot of this show doesn’t take like. A week LMAO. Basically Lydia hasn’t said BJ’s name yet but she also hasn’t decided what to do with her dad yet. So they’re at an impasse. Lydia regularly goes to hang out in her haunted attic and lament because Delia won’t go up there, thus making it safe. Beetlejuice keeps doing Say My Name-style ad pitches to get Lydia to summon him properly but he’s not very good at it. 

EDIT: FORGOT THE BODY HORROR WARNING OOPS!! It’s very mild but just in case anyone needs it <;3

Full-Time Spectres

Lydia’s life is far from conventional, perfectly so, but she’s started to adapt to the strangeness in the walls of her house. She doesn’t have the one ghost she wants most of all, but she’s got three that do just fine for entertainment and scheming purposes. She’s gotten used to the cold spots, the occasional flicker of the lights, and Adam’s habit of walking through walls rather than doors--he figured out that he could and never wanted to stop. 

Some things she’ll never adjust to, though, like her attic being strewn with scraps of brutalized board games.

Monopoly’s been pinned to the wall with a knife, Ludo sits perfectly still on a shelf with suspicious-looking green liquid in the shot glasses, and a chess board hovers in the air, eternally aflame. It’s a massacre and she doesn’t know where half of these things came from. 

“What’s, uh…what’s happening here?” Lydia kicks the door shut behind her. The door creaks open. She kicks it closed again with a frown.

Adam looks up and squints at the door. His eyes dart around as if he can see the schematics of it and diagnose the problem from halfway across the room. Lydia allows herself a tiny smile. 

“Adam’s teaching me to play checkers.” Beetlejuice beams, which is unsettling in itself. 

“Well, I tried to reach him to play chess, then a few other things…it didn’t go well.” Adam pushes his glasses up his nose and surveys the board in front of them. He captures one of Beetlejuice’s pieces with a triumphant little ‘aha!’.

Beetlejuice takes a long, pensive look at the board. Very thin tendrils of smoke curl out of his ears as he tries to decide which piece to play. Adam, sweet Adam, goes to help him make an advantageous move, but Beetlejuice shushes him. 

“What are you doing?” Lydia sidles over to Barbara, who fumbles with an old lamp. She sets it down before she can shatter it. 

“Well, it was going to be a surprise but…” Barbara gestures excitedly to a small nook in the attic. She’s rearranged various boxes of her former belongings to build a shoddy sort of booth. A heavy, ugly floral curtain hangs precariously over the doorway. 

“It’s a dark corner!” Lydia gasps sarcastically. 

“No—well, yes, but it’s supposed to be a kind of mini dark room? I don’t know much about them but I know you’re always taking pictures.” Barbara shifts awkwardly.

Oh. Oh. 

Lydia cradles her camera in her hands, running her thumb along the outside. The pebbled texture is a kiss to her fingertips. If she concentrated hard enough, she can remember the feeling of her mom’s warm hands over her own, showing her how to hold the camera. 

“If you don’t like it—“ 

“You made this for me?” She whispers. She tries to swallow the lump in her throat. 

“Still workin’ on it, but yes.” Barbara gestures lamely. 

“You…didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got nothing but time. Might as well use it right.” Barbara shrugs. Lydia bounces on her toes.

“I’ve still, um, gotta clear out all of our junk. Adam and I don’t need it anymore, not really, and you need room to breathe. I know it’s not much, but--”

Lydia crashes into Barbara for a hug. She’s icy to the touch, but her touch is the most comforting thing Lydia can imagine. Barbara pulls her in close, cradling the back of her head with her cool hands. There is no heartbeat in her chest, but Lydia can feel that it’s not empty.  

A memory of her mother prickles at the back of her mind. She pushes it down. 

“Do you want help?” Lydia pulls away and looks towards the dark room, ignoring the twinge of grief in her gut. She can see its potential around the edges.

“It’s your surprise! You can’t help with that!” Barbara gasps, affronted. 

The curtain falls heavily from the hooks and thumps into the ground. A plume of dust kicks up and Lydia coughs. 

“Okay. Maybe you can.” Barbara scratches her head. Together, she and Lydia hoist the heavy curtain back into precarious-looking hooks embedded in the wall. As they back away from it, silently begging it to stay in place, Beetlejuice sits up ramrod straight. 

“Adam, Barbara’s throwing away your coin collection,” Beetlejuice gasps and points over Adam’s shoulder.

“What? They’re vintage!” Adam whirls around. Beetlejuice moves a bunch of pieces around, making a bunch of captures, and eats a piece for good measure. He winks at Lydia. She fondly rolls her eyes. 

“You know I would never.” Barbara says. Adam deflates. She kisses his forehead. He grumbles a little but accepts it.

When Adam turns back to the board, Lydia has the express joy of watching him go through the five stages of grief in real time. He looks from Beetlejuice to the board in sheer despair. 

“Why do you keep eating the pieces?” Adam puts his head in his hands. 

“Because, Adam dearest, it makes you mad.” Beetlejuice pats his shoulder solemnly. Lydia snorts.

“Well, I’m officially out of games.” Adam pats his thighs and stands. He ambles over to Barbara and appraises the curtain. He puts his hands on his hips and starts muttering about supports and tracks. Lydia tries to follow along but her eyes near-instantly glaze over. 

“Sooooo, Lydia.” Beetlejuice slides over to her. “Have you given my offer any more thought?”

“You still haven’t given me a convincing argument. Calling yourself ‘the worst of the best’ isn’t exactly a glowing review.” Lydia wrinkles her nose. 

“These two like me!” Beetlejuice points at the Maitlands. Barbara gives a teasing ‘meh’ gesture just to see him splutter in offense. She laughs softly. 

“I’ll admit, I’m coming around on him.” Adam chuckles. 

“Thank you, Adam. Mwah.” Beetlejuice blows a kiss in his direction. Adam turns a little pink and goes back to working on the curtain. Barbara whispers something in his ear that makes him turn even pinker. 

“They like anyone. I’ve met cardboard with stronger opinions than them.” Lydia scoffs, then turns. “No offense.” 

Adam and Barbara both shrug. 

“Fair point. Counteroffer: you hate your dad, I hate your dad, let’s kill him.” Beetlejuice gives his most enthusiastic jazz hands. Lydia stares at him blankly. 

“Denied.” She pushes his hands out of the way. 

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that you suck. Your fate hinges on me and you can’t even get me to say your name. You spend all your time cheating at board games because you need me more than I need you. That’s pretty lame for a big, scary demon,” Lydia says mockingly, curling her fingers into claws. When Beetlejuice gives her the finger, she gives two right back with a smirk. 

“Lydia, be nice,” Barbara chides, goosing Lydia’s side. She yelps and smacks her hand away. 

Beetlejuice gasps. Lydia slowly meets his sparkling eyes. 

“No.” Lydia points at him. Beetlejuice smiles slowly, wicked and full of mischief. 

“I’ll kill you. I’ll bring you back to life just to kill you--”

Lydia steps back, Beetlejuice steps forward, and all hell breaks loose. Lydia springs over a pile of Maitland junk and ducks under Adam’s arm. She shoves him into Beetlejuice’s path.

Beetlejuice simply picks Adam up and deposits him elsewhere like a Maitland mannequin. He squeaks and leaps out of the way of their chase.  

The two of them circle each other around an unbuilt dining room table kit, Lydia just barely keeping out of arm’s reach. She bolts past a dilapidated spin-your-own-yarn kit and dives through Barbara’s legs to hide behind her. 

Beetlejuice stops and visibly considers the consequences of doing the same. Barbara gives him a withering look. He tries to circle around her, but Lydia’s excellent at moving her around like a meat shield. Beetlejuice visibly starts scheming. 

Barbara looks at Lydia, looks back at him, and slides out of the way. 

“Barbara!” Lydia screeches in outrage but there’s not enough time to screech and run. He grabs her and pulls her into a bear hug. 

“Thank youuuu, Babs!” Beetlejuice grins at her. She shakes her head fondly and honorably discharges herself from the battlefield. 

“Hey Lydia…I bet I can get you to say my name.” He cackles evilly. Lydia hisses at him, but damn it, she’s already giggling nervously. He swoops his hands over her stomach, wiggling his fingers but not quite touching. 

“B-Beetlejuice!” She squeaks and rocks up onto her toes in lieu of running. 

“That’s one!” He singsongs, finally touching down on her stomach. She folds into his hands—unwise, really—and curses Beetlejuice to the high heavens and below. 

“Think we should help her?” Adam leans over to Barbara. They both watch Lydia worm around in Beetlejuice’s arms, not making much of an escape attempt despite the volume of her threats. 

“Nah.” Barbara moves a crate of nearly-unused embroidery hoops out of the way with tender care. The curtain collapses again. Both Maitlands sigh. 

“Beetlejuice, you fucker!” Lydia growls, but quickly loses it to laughter. He’s doing this infuriating little pinchy-thing to her sides, one that makes her leap clear off the ground each time. She tosses her head back and cackles, her whole face scrunched with the force of it. 

God, she hasn’t laughed like this since…well, it’s been a while. She’d forgotten that she could. 

“Eh, that probably counts. One more!” Beetlejuice finds a deathly spot on her lower ribs and decides not to leave it alone. 

“Beeeeeeeeeeeee--AHHH!” 

“Hm, yeah. See, now we’re gonna have to start over.” Beetlejuice tasers her sides, right at that spot, and feigns disapproval. Lydia makes a noise at a pitch audible only to dogs and demons. 

Crunch. 

Lydia’s foot connects directly with his face in a frankly-stunning high kick. He drops her roughly. Something goes flying across the room and hits the wall with a quiet thump. Barbara gasps sharply and covers her mouth in shock. 

Beetlejuice touches his nose—or rather, the space where it used to be, and a thick hush falls over the attic. Everyone’s eyes drift to the nose, now fallen among jars of the most rancid-looking kombucha on the face of the earth. It twitches plaintively. 

He laughs, loud and boisterous. His lack-of-nose whistles as he does. Adam picks up the fallen nose and gags before tossing it to Lydia and wiping his hands on his shirt. 

“Got your nose,” Lydia giggles weakly, depositing it into Beetlejuice’s hand. 

“Nice shot.” Beetlejuice chuckles, uncomfortably nasally, and shoves his nose back into place with an awful crack. He takes a long, wheezing inhale and gives her a thumbs up. 

“So…” He sidles close to her, bringing back the jazz hands. 

“No.” 

“Yeah, that’s fair.” He sighs. 

“Lydia, are you alright?” Delia’s voice curls faintly up the rickety staircase. She climbs up, but not all the way—Lydia can tell by the shuffling of her awful shoes. 

Everyone freezes.

“Lydia?” 

She opens her mouth to answer Delia and Beetlejuice squeezes her sides. She yelps and whirls around, but he doesn’t even have the decency to feign innocence. He just does it again, waiting for the precise moment she goes to speak. 

“Y-Yeah, I’m o-okay.” Lydia wrestles with Beetlejuice’s hands, her voice shaking with barely-restrained giggles. 

“Oh god, please don’t make me come up there.” Delia’s ‘whisper’ is anything but. Beetlejuice snorts. 

“I’m fine! Just, uhm, doing spring cleaning.” Lydia calls back, stomping on Beetlejuice’s foot. He doesn’t even flinch. 

“Okay.” A long, heavy pause from Delia. 

“You can go now!” Lydia yells. Delia’s heels click quickly down the stairs, back towards the dreary living. 

“You’re insufferable,” Lydia hisses at Beetlejuice, punching his shoulder. He holds his hand over his heart and gives a grand, sweeping bow. When he stands up, he smacks his head against the dagger in the wall. Lydia snickers at him.

He turns around like a penguin, never one to do things normally, and makes a delighted noise at the pierced Monopoly board. He pulls the knife out of the wall and pokes his finger with it a few too many times, fascinated with the sharpness of it. 

He stretches, makes a bunch of vague measurement and aiming gestures, then lobs the knife straight upwards. It lodges into the ceiling with an enthusiastic ping! The blade warbles with the force of it.

Beetlejuice slaps the Monopoly board down on the floor and plops down in front of it. Adam bemoans the state of the attic ceiling as Barbara consoles him. 

“Wanna play?” Beetlejuice snaps his fingers and the board changes, shifting into black, whites, purples, and greens. Graveyard moss creeps along the edges of the board. Monopoly components spawn into existence on the board, appearing in puffs of fog and comically-quiet wails of the damned. 

“Sure.” Lydia sits opposite him. She pokes at some of the moss. It sprouts to meet her touch. 

“If you get stabbed, you lose?” Beetlejuice casts a cursory glance to the still-wobbling knife. The blade shifts slightly out of the ceiling. 

“Deal.” Lydia sticks her hand out to shake. Beetlejuice takes it with gusto. 

“You guys wanna play?” Lydia turns to the Maitlands. Barbara and Adam look at each other, communicating in that telepathic way of theirs. Barbara grins and leads Adam over to the board to sit. 

“I call thimble!” Adam reaches for it. Beetlejuice swats his hand. Adam reaches again. Beetlejuice swats him a little harder. 

“You can’t have the thimble. I’m the thimble.” Beetlejuice pinches it between his fingers. 

“Can I have the thimble?” Barbara leans close to Beetlejuice and looks up at him through her lashes. Lydia never would’ve guessed that a demon could blush, but sure enough, Beetlejuice’s face takes on the slightest bit of color. 

“I sense that I’m being manipulated.” He narrows his eyes. 

“Is it working?” Barbara smiles. 

“Yep.” He slaps the thimble into her hand. She passes it to Adam. He beams. Beetlejuice rolls his eyes but his gaze lingers on them for just a bit too long. 

“Well played, Babs. Well played.” Beetlejuice scoops up the racecar piece and frowns at it. Its tiny metal form melts and reconfigures into a small hearse. Satisfied, he places it right next to the cat piece—Lydia’s, of course. Barbara takes the top hat with pride. 

When Beetlejuice jumps Adam for his extra get out of jail free card—of which there are a suspicious amount in Beetlejuice’s version of the game—Lydia laughs and swipes a bit of Beetlejuice’s money. Adam’s hiccupy cackles are the backdrop for Barbara robbing the bank in broad daylight, taking as many bills from the tray as her heart desires. 

Lydia’s life is certainly very strange and painfully unusual, but she wouldn’t trade it for the world. She can only hope that her mom will love being part of the attic’s menagerie of ghosts and ghouls as much as she does. 

[hinamie]

god, i wish i knew you back when i was a kid / but when you stare into me now, it feels like i did

[majunju]

[osaka-lilac]

can you recommend any good lance posts or fic to read?

oh. oh. oh boy do i have some fic recs for YOU

if anyone who sees this has other recommendations, please feel free to respond in the tags or in the replies! hope you enjoy - and welcome to lance nation!!!!

(i will try to keep it not just a strollonso fic rec list, yes they're my main but i don't want to give a biased list to the masses. this is a lance fic list, not just strollonso.)

so. without further ado...

allie's lance fic recs (in no particular order)

steak and other strange situations | lance/yuki | G | @lil-shiro

-> bet you didn't expect a rare pair ship as my first recommendation, huh? frankly i love the characterization that ann has utilized here - just a guy that wants to get to know people. simple yet effective!

gone before sunrise | lance/fernando | E | zeolyte

-> oogh this one is a real kicker. i couldn't tell you why my stomach churns while reading the middle of this piece. you can really feel for lance in this one and yes it does end happy (as most if not all of the fics in here will have in common with), but if you are okay with explicit material, this is a must read.

baby hotline (please hold me close to you) | lance/esteban/mick | T | @shovson

-> woohoo my ot3!!!! we dont get to see a lot of this pairing per se, but we get a lot of seb & lance running the iconic baby hotline, an advice service lance starts to help others with anything they need, like mick and estie once did for him. lovely cameos from multiple drivers.

press enter and send it | lance/esteban | E | gothic_sevgilim

-> HOO BABY is this one HOT. office au in which lance is the sassy trainee of esteban, a minor manager at lance's father's company. the tension in here is NUTS man

between your collar and your jaw | lance/sebastian | E | @hurricane-heatt

-> if you know me you know how much i fuck with cowboys. THEN you should by association know that i would never pass up a cowboy au. THIS is what a cowboy au should look like. passionate, yet leaves you in a cloud of dust by the side of the dirt road, knowing you'll never see this man and his steed again.

clerestory | pierre/charles with a side of lance/fernando | E | @nobrakesdown

-> woah. i thought this was a lance fic list?? this is our wildcard for the list. lance only appears in this fic as a historical figure in the wild royal mystery pierre is studying as he heals from an injury after a major crash. frankly i just wanted to add this one because it genuinely is one of my favorite fics on the site and since it vaguely has lance in it, i will be including it

never too soon | lance/george | G | @userkritaaay

-> stressed unstoppable force george meets relaxed immovable object lance. this is just lance and george suffering together after singapore 2023. delightful

you're my fucking hero: the critic's review | lance/fernando | M | me. i wrote this

-> finally, who would i be on this site without a bit of self promo. the love labor of @no00000000's wonderful dirtbag au, in which lance learns to live and pursue his own passions after a run in with a rough criminal, fernando. it is formatted as a movie review for a hypothetical movie, inspired by the essays i would write while in my history of film course years ago.

[simplydnp]

okay what do you think, easter baking video?? april fools joke?? both???

dan and phil have made a point in their return to be like 'remember all the things you loved about the d&p era? they're all coming back! but this time more gay!' it was literally the focal point of their return: the tatinof dil head. and since then, they've proved this. sims revival, spooky week, halloween baking, google feud, calendar & calendar vlog, dan vs phil, gamingmas, wdapteo--these are all returning projects. the only 'traditions' they have left are pinof (not returning, though we did get pinof reacts), danandphilCRAFTS (which was intended for 3 years and completed them), and easter baking. ergo, why bring everything else back and not this? i won't be like, mad, if we don't get one, but i will be confused, given their all-or-nothing commitment to the revival of the gaming channel.

regarding april fools itself: dan and phil love april fools because they love fucking with us (earned) they plan their pranks out and i respect them for it. while there's been many good ones throughout the years, which other duo, who have been stuck in sexuality and relationship speculation for their entirety in the spotlight (and have finally gotten the nature of their relationship mostly out of the public eye), has ever or will ever do a joint fucking nude and post it. no context. no takebacks. no nothing. to me that is peak dan and phil shenanigans. i expect them to do something for it because they adore april fools. will it eclipse last years? who knows. to me, it doesn't need to, and almost shouldn't. cause that was such psychic damage and i think it should be perceived how it's perceived, but dan and phil are feeling ✌️🤪✌️ lately so i wouldn't put it past them.

[wexhappyxfew]

Kennedy and John with “feeling their pulse” from the prompt list? I love them already

HI ANON!!!! can i just say when i got this prompt request, i was so so excited because o m g i am so glad!!! despite the fact i don't have writing with them out yet (and their only interaction so far was a snippet from a while ago) i am BEYOND EXCITED to put this out!!! :D definitely a fun duo to write and something i'd be happy to go deeper with writing on as well! there is a LOT to unpack haha! please enjoy and thank you so much!

run along lover boy

(a/n): safe to say i could've kept writing these two in every possible way, but i held myself because alas, i have every opportunity to write more for them. so please enjoy my chaotic duo - kennedy farley and bucky egan in stalag talking about the one thing no one seems to want to talk about. enjoy!!! :D

"She's still out there." Lieutenant Bradshaw said quietly from where she stood on the opposite side of the table, her arms crossed over her chest, face both sternly held and downcast, the look in her eyes dismissive and cold, "I saw her when we dropped. She couldn't have been far from me."

Kennedy watched as Annie glanced towards Brady who stood next to her - it was unmistakable not to notice the level of protectiveness Brady had seemingly taken on when Annie showed up to the Stalag, limping and bloodied. And now, it was nearly every time they weren't forced to be apart, they were beside one another. And the look in Brady's eyes said enough these days it seemed.

"How far you thinking, Bradshaw?" Bucky said from behind Kennedy, "You jump outta those things and you're playing with fate."

"A bit more to my right. Bes was to my left, Kennedy closest. Margie was somewhere behind the three of us," Annie said softly, her voice trying to hold. Kennedy watched as Annie glanced around the group, "I tried looking for her, I really did." Kennedy watched as Annie met Kennedy's gaze before looking down again and letting her shoulders fall.

"You did what you could, Annie," Kennedy heard Brady whisper quietly, before squeezing a hand on Annie's shoulder, "that's what matters." Kennedy caught the look Annie and Brady shared, those few extra seconds they held one another's gazes.

"It's Margie Harlowe," Buck said from the other end of the table, "she's still out there. We know that."

"No body ain't a dead body," Hambone said from his own spot opposite Buck, "how far from here you think you dropped?" Annie looked to him and pulled a thinking face across her lips and then sighed.

"Had to be somewhere upwards of 50 miles. We weren't deep into Germany on the mission. Outskirts." Annie offered.

"Yeah, suicide run, if anything," Kennedy offered and sat back in her chair, "gotta hand it to Lieutenant Bradshaw though, she probably was the calmest outta all of us." The group looked to Annie who wearily smiled at the group and nodded.

"Guilty is charged." Annie said and the group seemed to share smiles amongst one another.

"Probably closer to 60," Bessie said from where she laid on one of the higher bunks, flipping through a book, "whatever it was, those Krauts are damn sins. One nearly took out my eye."

"Did he miss the goddamn Lieutenant bar on your neck?" Bucky asked her. Kennedy glanced back and sent Bucky a look who shook it off.

"Buck-" Buck started, but Bucky cut in and stepped forward.

"Any of those sick fuckos try anything with any one of you ladies, you tell anyone of us, alright?" Bucky said, meeting each of their eyes, ending on Kennedy, "You don't know how fucking brain-washed they might be. They even lay a finger on ya, I'll-"

"Hear ya loud and clear, sir," Bessie said, pulling her legs over and hanging off the bunk edge, "Kennedy popped a guy in the balls. Pretty sure we can all do what we can. In a pinch."

"Really." Buck said glancing at her.

"I'm impressed," Bucky said looking down at her from where he leaned back against the bunk, "how hard ya hit him?"

"Did he bleed?" murmured Benny from his own bunk - he wasn't tending well to the Margie news, but he was coping it seemed.

"Oh he bled," Kennedy said, leaning against the table and sending a look to Bucky, "he was on the ground. Beggin' for Ma at some point. Last time one of those Nazi-fucks tries to touch the hair on my head. You do whatever you damn please, but you don't touch the hair."

"I knew I always liked you, Farley." Bucky said with a smirk, Kennedy catching a glance of that grin in her peripheral. He held her gaze a second longer, which she quite enjoyed; the way his eyes lingered a little on her eyes and then the scar on her cheek that was finally healing.

"She's right on that, "Annie said, as Kennedy pulled her gaze from Bucky's face, "they think they can keep doing whatever they want. Don't think it's gotten through their minds yet that we don't put up with that sorta shit."

"Guess that they haven't met a member of Silver Bullets yet and they're finally learning they can't just do whatever they want," Hambone said with a chuckle as he flipped through a mangled deck of cards, "c'mon, Bradshaw, tell me what the one said again?" Annie chuckled.

"The guy said that he was overjoyed to learn that America had things like baseball and cold beer," Annie said, "what a lunatic."

"Hey, don't be knocking it now. They're the gifts that keep on giving." Bucky said, looking at Annie with a smirk, "Ain't that right, Farley." Kennedy rolled her eyes and glanced back at Bucky with a raised brow.

"For some people," Kennedy said, with a knowing look, "if you're team is actually winning, that is." Bucky smirked before looking at the group.

"That's because she's a Red Sox fan." Bucky said, lowering his voice with a chuckle, "Traded Babe Ruth and it was game over for 20 years. Still kinda is." Kennedy leaned back and took a shove at his arm with a roll of her eyes, a few of the guys chuckling around them.

"She'll show up, she has to," Annie said with a firm nod, "I'm gonna go take a walk along the perimeter. Find the Colonel," Annie shrugged her shoulders and sniffled, that damn cold doing its number, "get an eye on some of the higher ups."

"I'm coming with you." Brady said quickly from beside her and Kennedy briefly heard Bucky let out a chuckle.

"Try and figure out who the one guy was who wouldn't stop staring, alright? He got that crazy look in his eye," Kennedy told Annie and Brady watching as they pulled their scarves around their necks and their beanie's on, Annie looking much smaller than Kennedy remembered in her coat now, "taller, teetering son-of-a-bitch."

"Will do," Brady said as he followed Annie out of the room, a few of the others taking that as their note to disperse, settle onto cots or start up games of cards or chess. Kennedy let out a sigh and then turned towards Bucky behind her and raised a brow.

"Really?" she said, her voice unamused, and slightly monotone.

"What?" admonished Bucky, shoving his hands in his pockets, a big, winning grin showing on his face, "Brady's walking around like a love-sick fool, I gotta have a little fun." Kennedy raised her brow further.

"C'mon, tell me you don't hear it at night, 'It's just you and I….here….now.', and all this other lovey-dovey shit, too, Farley," he said, nodding at her, "swear if you heard it yourself, you'd lose your mind to."

"He's been crazy about her since she got here, let them live a bit." Kennedy said, standing to her feet and coming to his side before lowering her voice, "Especially here."

She looked back up at Bucky and noticed how soft his face had grown so close-up. His eyes gently resting on her own, lingering gaze, his presence something back at Thorpe Abbotts she would've scorn about, but something here she was latching onto more often these days.

Even with Bucky's roughhousing and good-natured fun, Kennedy found herself gravitating towards him more often than not these days - she remembered when she'd first come in, barely alive, hoping to get her eyes on even just one of the guys from the 100th who was familiar to her. And Bucky had been the first, pulling her from the arms of the Germans who had been dragging her, forcing her to walk as she was fighting a fever, who immediately had taken her to where the others guys had been, and gotten her soup, water, and watched over her as she rested.

Back at Thorpe Abbotts, he'd been someone she could throw a bit of flirty words and teasing nature around, just for fun.

Now, he was the one who had pulled her from those few days of being lost, sick and far from home and in the hands of the Germans.

"You have to remember the first time you were in love, John," Kennedy said as she leaned on the bunk beside Bucky and surveyed the small bunk room, "all those butterflies, that lusting feeling, c'mon, with a face like that, you oughta know." She looked to him with a grin, but instead was met with a sour-looking frown. Her smile fell.

"Seems I forgot to do that." Bucky said, reaching up to rub a finger along his upper lip and then sighed, sending her a glance, "And the butterflies, or whatever the fuck you're supposed to feel." Kennedy stared at him and waited until he met her gaze fully.

"Let me guess, you got a cushy guy back home, your Ma set up for you from the country club, and just broke a guys heart before you came out here," Bucky said, his tone falling into a somewhat jealous and distant mantra, "you don't even gotta tell me. Look at you, any guy woulda been lucky to know you." Kennedy stared at him, her heart beginning to race the longer she stared at him and his stupid pretty face.

"No actually." Kennedy said, about just as firmly and slightly cold right back, "Guys at the country club were stuck-up twits anyway. Only heartbreaking that was going on was mine." Bucky looked her way and opened his mouth, before closing it again.

"Yep," Kennedy said with a nod, "strung me on like fish to a hook with bait. Showered me in love or whatever the fuck he called it. He stole a whole lot from me that I'll never get back. Youth, whatever else." Bucky was rather intently staring at her and refusing to look away.

"What the hell was his name?" Bucky said, his jaw clenched a bit tighter, his shoulders broader as he had turned to look at her now, watching her with a look that was enough to make her insides twist.

"Stephen." Kennedy said and then shrugged, "It's stupid anyway. First love is a load of bullshit half the time." Bucky was still staring at her and she was sure anymore of looking into his eyes and she wouldn't hold back. Whatever she was feeling.

"Anyway," Kennedy said looking away and grabbing some of the canteens from the table, seemingly catching Bucky off guard with her sudden dismissal of the conversation, "I'll go refill some of the water. I'll be back." With that she turned, heart pounding.

"Wait, Farley-" Bucky said, reaching out to grab her free hand, his large fingers clasping around her wrist, his hand hot, sending goosebumps all over her form. She turned to him and watched as his wheels turned, trying to figure out whatever he was thinking of saying.

"I shouldn't have said that about you - the country club bullshit, and he sounds like a complete asshole. Steve - whatever the fuck his name was." Bucky said and then righted himself, his grip loosening, but not free, "I'll come with you. To get the water." She stared at him, mildly surprised, but almost not. He'd been giving her that quiet look for days now. Whatever it meant. Enough it made her pulse race. And she knew he could feel it. Kennedy smirked at him and then reached forward, pulling her hand from his loose grasp and grabbed a few more canteens and placed it into his arms.

"How chivalrous." she said, before giving him a smile and heading out the door. Bucky stood there silent for a moment, and was left with a snort from Bessie on the top bunk.

"What?" grumbled Bucky, glancing over towards the woman - whom he hadn't realized was still here nor paying attention. Bessie chuckled and flipped a page in her book and smiled.

"Nothing." she said with a chuckle, before glancing over at him, "Run along, lover boy."

[ughgoaway]

Blurb of Annie's birthday... Matty brings a cake to school to celebrate his little baby's special day... he stays a little while...

I'm loving all the blurbs

oh, I'm so glad you are loving the blurbs!!! I am loving writing them, little Annie Healy has my heart.

Anyway, yes yes yes I love this idea so much omg. 

(Can Ace write anything without saying “smile” and “eyes” 1000 times… wait and see!! (the answer is no.) Also, timeline wise this makes absolutely 0 sense but… I do not care!! All that matters is the vibe <33)

It's Monday when Annie comes in very proudly and announces “Miss y/n, I'm six on Friday” with her chest puffed out and a big smile on her face.

You pretend you don't know, despite having seen it on the system last week, “Is it really Annie? Wow! You're growing up so quickly” You smile down at her as she nods along to your words, holding her bookbag (do other countries have these? idk) in one hand and the other hand out, ready to gesture with when she spoke.

“My daddy says the same thing.” she starts. Then her face lights up further, “You know my daddy is coming in on Friday!! He asked Mrs Richards and she said that he could come and bring a cake for everyone!!” she recounts excitedly before her face drops, and she suddenly gets very serious. “But you can't tell anyone that miss y/n, it's a secret. Pinky promise?”

You smile at her but soon put on a fake stern face to match hers. You drop to her eye line, stick your finger out, and link it with hers, “I promise Annie. Now, how about you go put your bookbag away so we can get started?” she doesn't respond but instead nods and shuffles off to set her bag down.

Leaving you standing and reeling that Matty is coming in on Friday, in peak proud dad mode, to celebrate his daughter (who you love.) fuck. This was going to make your head spin.

/////////////

cut to the actual day, and Annie comes in wearing a little badge and a hat. You see Matty drop her off from the classroom. you totally weren't staring out the window waiting to see him arrive or anything…

he wasn't even really dressed up, just a chequered button-up and jeans. but for some reason, he still made your heart race. seeing him bend down and give her a kiss on the cheek, and a big hug almost made you audibly sigh, but you caught yourself before you did. because that would be inappropriate, you didn't have any feelings for him. none at all. totally neutral.

Annie came bounding in, a massive smile on her face showing off her gappy smile. she'd very proudly come in the week before talking about losing one of her teeth, and now, every time she smiled, her gaps were on show.

class started, and to avoid Annie literally buzzing with excitement all day, you allowed her to announce to the class the news of her big day.

with the happiest face you could imagine, she said, "It's my birthday today! I'm 6 and my daddy is going to come in with cake for everyone!" 

a chorus of cheers came out as you sat behind your desk, trying to stop your grin from growing an unreasonable amount. 

soon enough, you got the class back in order, and the day whizzed past. Suddenly, it was 2:30, and there was a knock on the door.

matty stuck his head around the door and quickly met your eyes, "hi" he breathed out, staring at you with adoration in his eyes.

“Hi” you breathed out in the same way. For a few seconds, you both stood there with stupid grins on your faces staring into each other's eyes. Of course, in a classroom of 5 and 6-year-olds, that peaceful staring didn't last long. But it simultaneously felt like a quick glance and a full minute.

Annie comes running out of her seat and to the door. Matty quickly catches on and comes fully into the classroom, managing to hold a cake in one hand and hugging his very excited daughter with the other.

“Daddy!!” she squeals with excitement, bouncing in her dad's arms as he tries desperately to balance a cake. Over the young girl's shoulder, he shoots you a worried glance, and you snap out of your trance and come to grab the cake.

“Ah yes, let me just grab this,” you say, and Matty smiles graciously at you. His other hand quickly scooped Annie up into his arms to greet her properly.

“Hi, peanut!! You have a good birthday?” he asks. His eyes flick between his daughter, babbling on about her day, and you standing at your desk showing a room full of mesmerised children the cake he brought.

In between his daughter's rambling stories, he manages to catch you chatting to the kids, “Yes Annie's dad Mat-” You pause and catch yourself before you slip, flicking your head up and making brief eye contact with Matty. “Mr. Healy brought us all cake! Let's all sit in our seats and get ready to say thank you like we practised!”

Matty's face briefly scrunched in confusion, but you did nothing to answer his silent question, only shooting him a sweet smile and spinning around to walk to the front of the room. The combination of the cheeky smile and the way your dress moved as you spun had Matty's brain stuttering through his thoughts.

Annie was still chattering along, completely oblivious to her dad being completely enamoured with the woman in front of him. She soon saw her classmates all in their seats and was wriggling out of her dad's arms, trying to join her friends.

Matty comes to join you at the front of the room, fighting every urge in his body to wrap you up in a hug. He wants nothing more than to grab you by the waist and pull you in, burying his face into your neck and breathing in the vaguely sweet smell that follows you around. He thinks about how his other arm would swing around your shoulder and pull you impossibly closer. Your arms would come around him, and he would feel you hum in enjoyment at the contact.

But he doesn't do that. He simply waves in a way that makes him feel so uncool that he internally cringes. You giggle at his clear discomfort and copy his wave, tilting your head teasingly at him. 

You somehow manage to wrangle your mind back to the task at hand, you clap your hands and grab your classes attention. “Right! Everyone, this is Annie's dad, Mr. Healy!” Matty cringes at you not using his name, loving the way it sounds coming out of your mouth.

“As you can see, he has been very kind and brought us a cake to share! Can we all say thank you?”

Matty was staring at you, lost in watching you work, but soon the ensemble of small voices wrang out, pulling his attention away from you.

“Thank you, Mr. Healy!!” says the sea of children in front of him, Matty looks out at the crowd, used to the number of people but not quite the age range. He sees a mob of gappy teeth and excited faces and can't help but mirror them.

“Wow! You guys are welcome! I hope you all like it. It's already cut up... sooo-” he looks over to you for further instruction, and you snap back into teacher mode quickly.

“Okay! Everyone, can we all line up in register order for our cake?” Some groans come from the crowd, but you quickly catch them, “and don't worry if you're near the end. There is enough cake for everyone! I promise.” You smile and wave your hand, and soon enough, each child falls into line, all bubbling with anticipation.

//////////

Quiet music plays through the classroom speakers, and the noise of children chatting and giggling permeates the room. At the front of the room, you are leaning against the desk as Matty stands in front of you with his hands in his pockets.

He stands with joy written all over his face as you continue to laugh at his stories and jokes, the sound of your laughter ringing in his ears in the best way possible. It's so melodic that Matty has the fleeting thought to record it and use it in a track.

“So you used a scooter to get to the smaller stage” you laugh, staring at Matty with an impressed yet questioning look. As he nods, his curls bounce. You briefly get distracted by how perfect they are, but his resonant voice brings you back to earth. 

“An electric scooter, I'm not just furiously pushing myself on a razor scooter in the middle of a concert” Matty corrects, looking faux offended at your forgetfulness. 

“Oh yes, sorry and electric scooter, of course.” You say nodding, “I don't suppose there's any video of this that I can see? I think I need to witness it.” You smile at him.

Matty pauses briefly, weighing up and showing you the video. On one hand, he can get closer to you to show his phone but on the other, you get to see a mildly embarrassing video of him whizzing away to the sound of “Vroom Vroom” by Charli xcx. 

You take his silence as offence and quickly start stuttering apologies, “Oh I'm sorry if that's too personal, you don't have to show me. I was just-” Before you talk so much it makes you dizzy, Matty cuts in. 

“Oh no don't worry love,” the nickname slips out without a second thought, Matty doesn't even consider it but you are sure you'll be thinking of his voice saying that on repeat for the next week, “I was just thinking how embarrassing this is going to be, but you're right. You do need to see it. Just promise me you won't think less of me, yeah?”

He makes intense eye contact as finishes, and you can't help but blurt out what you think of immediately, “I could never think less of you.”

A silent beat passes, and Matty doesn't say anything, just bashfully smiles and grabs his phone.

//////

Too soon for your liking, 3 pm comes, and it's almost time to leave, but before everyone goes, you have one more thing to do.

“Okay I have to play teacher now, sorry,” you say to Matty, standing up. He nods and steps back, letting you get everyone's attention and speak.

“It's almost time for our mummies and daddies to pick us up, so let's all do one last thing before we go today. As you all know, it's Annie's birthday,” Matty watches his daughter's eyes light up at being mentioned, “so let's all sing her happy birthday!”

You count them in, and the class starts singing to Annie, you and Matty included. Matty watches you sing for his daughter, pure joy on your face and a grin that makes his knees weaken.

The song ends, and everyone claps, just in time for the bell to ring, and you send them off. “Okay everyone that's the bell! Go grab your stuff and meet your mums and dads in the playground, Mrs Richards will be out there to help you find them if you need it!”

You wave each of them out until it's just you, Matty and Annie in the room. You spin around and bend down to her level, “Did you have a good birthday sweetheart?”

Her toothy grin comes out again, and she nods furiously, “Especially because my daddy came in, that was really fun” she says, looking up at Matty and grabbing his hand.

“I had so much fun too, sweetheart! Let's get going though, yeah? You've got Grandad and nanny at home waiting to see you!!” Matty says to his daughter, who immediately starts dragging him away and saying bye to you.

You laugh and wave them off, “bye Annie!!” You say excitedly. You make a point of lifting your eyes and meeting Matty’s.

“Bye Matty” you say softly, waving at him the same way he greeted you earlier.

He simply grins and waves back before returning his attention back to his daughter and continuing to be dragged away.

blurb masterlist here!!

[danganphobia]

i think because laios and shuro’s clashes in personalities it’s unavoidable that they will fight during their relationship. who do you think would be the first one to reach out first after a fight? (this is just an attempt to make you write angsty hurt + comfort laishuro)

DRABBLE INCOMING!

Toshiro wasn't sure how many beers he had tonight. He sat next to other patrons, the number of guests dwindling as the hours passed. He just wanted to get so drunk he wouldn't have to experience a sober thought until the next morning.

This bar was quiet, two blocks away from their university campus - compared to the ones on the flashier side of town where most students went on Friday and Saturday nights to party hard and forget about responsibilities for the weekend.

For Toshiro, beers sounded more tempting than any club to wash away the stress of exams and back-to-back assignments.

When he asked for another refill, his vision started to blur. Next thing he knew, he heard another voice within earshot.

"He's been here for the past three hours."

"Don't worry, I'll pay for it."

"Uh, that's kind of you, but he's already paid for the whole night."

"Then I'll tip you extra."

Toshiro groaned, facepalming. He didn't have to look to know who it was that just showed up. Laios leaned his body against the counter, trying to peek at his face.

"Kabru said you'd be here."

Saying nothing, Toshiro finished his last beer.

Laios' carried him back to campus on piggyback. It's silent, save for the occasional cars driving through.

"Why did you come?" Toshiro asked stubbornly, the alcohol he drank made him lightheaded. If it weren't for Laios, he'd be unable to walk - but the idiot didn't need to know that. Just two weeks ago, Toshiro remembered storming out of that party Namari and Kabru invited him to, with Laios following after him, asking what his problem was, and everyone outside looking on in curiosity.

"My problem?" Toshiro had asked, sneering. "Don't you see it? This - we - doesn't work! I'm sick of it! All I ever get are stares when I tell them-"

"You're with me," Laios finished with a bitter nod, stopping Toshiro in his tracks. "If you're that embarrassed to be with me, why didn't you say so?"

That was the killer. When Toshiro noticed the eyes on them, Laios staring right at him with disappointment and hurt, Toshiro decided to admit defeat. He had only given a sour apology, leaving the party without another word.

They hadn't talked to each other since then. Toshiro stopped coming to club meetings because he didn't want to risk running into Laios, and unfortunately, Laios was always present. It was fine, their campaign could go on without Toshiro considering where they'd left off anyway.

"Why did I come?" Laios repeated the question, exhaling as he contemplated his answer. "I don't know, actually."

This was why Toshiro couldn't stand him sometimes. He was a very logical person. This was how he was raised, otherwise he'd never be fit to be heir of his father's company. Laios Touden didn't need a reason to do the things he did.

"I don't get it," Toshiro mumbled. This should make him a walking red flag, after all. This was the guy who was known for smoking pigs at clubs, did kegstands at frat parties, and could squirt milk out his eyelids for the hell of it. He was the kind of guy that would make a pristine rich kid's parents like Toshiro's have a heart attack if Laios told them what he'd been up to. They were polar opposites; someone Toshiro would've avoided if it weren't for their mutual friends. "After everything I said to you, you still came to see me."

"Yeah." Laios said, like there was nothing odd about it. It only pissed Toshiro off even more.

"Why?"

"I can't just leave you there. What if you passed out in the middle of the street?"

Toshiro snorted, scoffing. "You are aware that I practice martial arts?"

Laios laughed. "I don't doubt you can probably kick my ass while drunk. Then again, you didn't." Instead, Toshiro was clinging to his back, Laios' cyprus scent calmed him, as it was so welcoming. He hated that. It should make him nauseous if anything. "I can't say for any other stranger that would see you this vulnerable."

"I can take care of myself," Toshiro huffed. "You shouldn't have come."

"I don't care if you're mad at me, because I've already forgiven our fight."

"That's - that's preposterous -" Toshiro sputtered in defense, "Why continue to torment yourself by being seen with me?"

Laios chuckled. "Who said being with you was tormenting?"

Toshiro stayed quiet.

"You might think so, so I'll just have to prove myself to you. Lucky for me, I don't really care what people think," Laios explained, pausing at a stop light. Toshiro's eyes widened when Laios turned his head slightly with a gentle smile. "And you shouldn't either."

Toshiro's heart pounded in his chest. The traffic sign flashed - as Laios was permitted to cross the street.

"Yeah, you were an asshole at that party. But at the end of the day, it doesn't change my feelings for you. I think," Laios sighed, "if you like someone, if you really really like someone, you should let them know as much as you can."

Toshiro reached for Laios' ear and tugged on it.

"Ack!" The noise Laios' made in pain just made Toshiro pull on it tighter until he let go. "What was that for?!" He asked, pouting.

"It's easy for you to say," Toshiro said bitterly. "I've spent my whole life trying to live up to the expectations of others. I don't just do impulsive, stupid things out of my own free will. Which is why - I don't even understand why I have feelings for you, either..."

"Toshiro..."

"I am not worth this trouble. You misguide yourself."

"That's not true," Laios countered in earnest. "Tell yourself that all you want, but to me, you're worth it."

Silent and brooding, Toshiro buried his neck deep into the crook of Laios' shoulder to hide the scarlet in his cheeks.

Laios was like a leech that wouldn't pull himself off Toshiro even if Toshiro tried.

And he'd never admit how nice it felt, to be around someone who didn't expect much from him; just his presence, so they could exist together in a world so unpredictable. The air felt easier to breathe the longer they remained, just being.

[callmegaith]

Anon requests :D part 1/?????

[witchboyjimin]

omg I'm on a public train and i almost yelled over the writing prompt 😍

So my prompt is:

One of them calling the other out of the blue and starting the call with:

"Hi, um- I... This is really short notice and if you're not- that'd be absolutely fine but-". He stops to clear his throat, trying not to give away he's crying. "But if you're free, could you maybe... Could you come get me?"

OOOOOR the absolute classic that I go feral for

"Who did this to you?"

- cabin anon ✨ (sending love your way)

4.8k of hurt/comfort ft. urban werewolves, omega!jm and alpha!jk

tw: domestic violence, physical abuse, attempted sexual coercion

-

jimin's face is throbbing, the vision in his left eye almost entirely obstructed by his swelling skin. the world is blurry and he can taste blood on his tongue.

his lip's split.

he tentatively licks at the cut, wincing when the rest of his face pulses in protest. the ache that had dulled out in his side from the adrenaline pumping through his veins, pushing him to clear nearly twelve blocks in record time, rears its angry head and jimin slumps down against the brick wall he'd slammed into earlier, lungs burning ferociously in protest.

but more than the physical pain he's in, sheer, unadulterated panic grips him, his chest compressing tightly. jimin squeezes his eyes shut, a hand gripping at the fabric of his t-shirt. the world shrinks down to his bare feet, to the smell of blood that is distinctly not his own, to the sound of jimin's shaking breaths.

he can't breathe.

there's not enough air and jimin's fingers dig into brick, his legs giving out under him entirely until he's curling into himself. he needs to become smaller, needs to disappear, only then, only then --

he's going to die.

he can't -- he can't breathe.

every time he inhales, he finds his lungs too small to take in the air and terror like nothing he's ever felt before, has him pinned down by the throat.

just like -- just like hajoon had.

the scream tears out of him unbidden, echoing through the alleyway with a hollowed reverence. for a split second, his wolf takes over, and every single cell in jimin's body fights to keep him alive.

and then jimin sags, all the fight leaving his body at once.

his panicked, shortened breaths even out and the blood in his mouth is joined by the taste of asphalt and the stench of garbage.

he lets his forehead rest against the cool ground, too tired to pull himself up. it takes a moment, but his claws retract, pulling out of the broken asphalt that he's managed to tear through in his fear, his devastation.

his head is swimming with images. hajoon's face darkening in anger, his scent deepening with fury, his hands ready and prepared to tear right through jimin.

somehow he manages to sit up.

there's blood on his hands. it's not his own.

he reaches for the curve of his neck, pressing his palm against the spot hajoon had nearly sunk his teeth into. his hand comes back clean save for some dried blood, jimin's skin healing over quickly.

jimin sits there for a moment, blinking through the pandemonium of emotions swirling through him. at some point, his wolf had taken over, protecting him from an unwanted bond.

he remembers his claws sinking into hajoon's neck, tearing through tendon. blood had poured out, splashing into jimin's mouth and he'd shoved hajoon off of him, scrambling back and bolting out of the apartment. he hadn't looked back once, too focused on getting away. he has no idea if hajoon had given chase, if jimin had even left him in a state where he could.

the sound of a car driving by the alleyway has jimin looking up, noting in passing that there's blood on his t-shirt and on his jeans. he pushes himself to his feet, noting that the bottoms of his jeans have been torn up.

had he undergone a partial shift?

it feels like something outside of himself is guiding jimin to move, like he's watching himself step out of the alley from somewhere up above. his body doesn't feel like his own or maybe it's that jimin doesn't want to be grounded in the sadness he feels beginning to moor him to the spot.

he needs to move.

hajoon could easily track him down by scent. he can't stay here.

he realises he's run all the way over to the pack alpha's neighbourhood. namjoon's house is a few streets over, and jimin would be impressed with how far he's run if the exhaustion wasn't catching up to him so quickly.

his apartment is nearly halfway across town. rent is cheaper in the outer neighbourhoods and hajoon's job didn't pay him much. at least, that's what he always told jimin. the rest of the pack lived closer to namjoon's house as most packs did.

the street is mostly empty.

he keeps to the shadows, making his way to the house as stealthily as he can. the kim pack boasted a history nearly as old as korea's itself. they'd lived on this land since the days seoul was called namgyeong, their lineage tracking all the way back to the days of the three kingdoms.

as such, their house, tucked into one of seoul's most affluent neighbourhoods, is massive. jimin spots it when he turns into the right road, self-conscious of his disastrous appearance as he makes his way down to the front gates.

he probably looks like he's homeless and if a security guard from some other rich family's house spots him, they'll call the police on him or simply try to drag him out themselves.

it's as he stands in front of the gates that he remembers: namjoon's not in town. he's at some conference down in daegu which means that if seokjin, namjoon's mate, has also gone along, there might not be anyone at home to let jimin in.

unlike some members of the pack, jimin doesn't have a key to the house nor does he know the access code to get past the front gates.

he's the newest member of the pack, had only joined a year ago after a few years spent packless. jimin had run away from his own pack, tired of pack hierarchies and being forced to submit to shitty alphas that wanted nothing more than to pin jimin down and mount him.

he'd met namjoon at an art museum, his hackles rising when the alpha had stepped into the same room as him. jimin had beelined for the exit but namjoon had called after him so softly that jimin's wolf had nearly forced him down into submission, desperate to be near someone of his kind after years of isolation.

eventually namjoon's unending patience and kindness coupled with the creeping madness of being packless had convinced jimin that he needed to join a pack again. and by all accounts, jimin loved his new pack. maybe city wolves were different from the rural, more conservative pack he'd grown up around but there were no restrictions placed on how jimin could live, no expectations on what his 'place' among the pack was.

the kim pack just expected all members of the pack to attend a communal meal on saturdays. there were some thirty odd members, enough that namjoon's house would get a little cramped despite how large it was. still, jimin looked forward to time spent with his pack and he ended up spending a lot more than just saturdays with them.

and right now, he wanted nothing more than for his pack alpha and omega to gently scent him and tell him that everything would be okay, that he'd done the right thing to defend himself, that he had the right, at all, to say no to an alpha courting him.

the tears are already trailing down his face before he knows it, tremors beginning to shake through his body. the panic from earlier sweeps in as if it had never left and jimin swallows, his breathing turning shallow once more.

where would he go?

hajoon -- hajoon would find him and he would want revenge, he was so angry --

"jimin?"

the voice startles jimin out of his thoughts, his heart jumping in his chest as jimin twists around to look at a familiar face.

jeon jeongguk.

he's got a bag of something in his hand, his scent sweeping up to jimin, sweet vanilla, warm amber, and the hint of pear.

the surprise on jeongguk's face sharpens quickly into concern, the alpha taking a step closer. his hand reaches out, touch far gentler than jimin would have expected and nudges jimin's chin so that he's looking directly at him.

"what -- " jeongguk starts, the concern hardening into anger. his eyes sweep over jimin so quickly they're a blur, irises glowing red. the sweetness of his scent morphs into something ugly, something rotten.

jeongguk's gaze is sharp, his brows furrowed together. "who did this to you?"

-

jimin can't seem to answer.

actually, he can't stop crying. loud, hysterical sobs spill out of him so quickly that he hiccups through them, breath stuttering through him in an attempt to keep up.

jeongguk, to his credit, doesn't stand idly by. one moment jimin is bawling in front of the alpha, unable to parse together enough words to be of some use, to explain, and the next, jeongguk is scooping him up into his arms and carrying jimin into the pack house.

at some point, they make it into one of the living rooms. jeongguk sets jimin down on the couch, kneeling in front of him and jimin is clinging, he knows, but he can't pull himself away from jeongguk, his arms wrapped tightly around the alpha's neck, face buried into his black tank top.

a hand is rubbing soothing circles against his back, the other cradling the back of jimin's neck, giving it the occasional squeeze. it calms him down and he feels silly, needing the same comfort as a pup to quell down.

he still can't let go of jeongguk, so drained of all energy that the thought of having to sit upright, unsupported, feels equivalent to being told to move a mountain right now.

he wants to sleep.

"jimin." jeongguk says his name so tenderly, with so much concern that it settles over him like a blanket.

the irony isn't lost on him.

jeongguk doesn't like jimin.

he's never liked jimin, cold and aloof and unwilling to trust him. there have been plenty of incidents where jeongguk has made a disparaging comment, glaring at jimin to remind him that he didn't belong here, that he was an outsider.

the rest of the pack had been of mixed opinion when namjoon had first introduced jimin to them. wariness was expected but jeongguk's open hostility had been scary because while namjoon was the pack alpha, jeongguk was the most outwardly terrifying. he had this way of looking at a person that left them completely devoid of confidence, like they could never measure up or prove themselves to him. most people, it seemed, weren't good enough for jeon jeongguk.

and now here jimin was, clinging to the very werewolf he'd done his militant best to avoid on saturdays.

maybe that was it though. jeongguk had no interest in jimin, he didn't like him, so there was nothing he could possibly want from jimin. his kindness was surprising but it felt real and it came with no ulterior motives.

even if jeongguk didn't like him, he could maybe see that jimin needed help and jeongguk is a lot of things, but he's never turned his back on someone in need.

"jimin, hey, look at me," jeongguk murmurs, pushing up so that he can sit down next to jimin. it's strange to be on the receiving end of jeongguk's kindness; it's something he reserves only for his closest packmates, keeping a respectful distance from the others.

moving up onto the couch has allowed jeongguk to tug jimin back, enough that he can take a look at jimin's beaten face. his arm cradles jimin still, eyes flitting over jimin's injuries. "are you..."

his voice trails off, as if realising that whatever he was going to ask already had an answer. jimin can't really tell what's going on in his head, exhaustion whispering sweetly to him: give up, give in.

jeongguk's hand curls over jimin's cheek, his touch barely there as if afraid that he would injure him further. "how could anyone do this."

he says it more to himself than jimin, a steeliness returning to his eyes the longer he stares at jimin's swollen face.

hajoon had slapped him at first. the force of it had left jimin's ears ringing, his balance momentarily slipping. he'd barely straightened back out before the next blow had come. and then the next and then the next.

it wasn't the first time hajoon had slapped him. he always told jimin how sorry he was after, eyes wet with tears, sobbing about what a terrible alpha he was. for some reason, jimin always forgave him.

but today it had been different. jimin had told him no. they'd only been dating for six months and hajoon had asked jimin eagerly if jimin would spend his rut with him.

jimin can still feel the way his gut had clenched horribly at the idea. he'd immediately said no, head shaking, even going so far as to take a step back from hajoon. they'd fought, hajoon unable to understand why jimin couldn't do this for him. didn't jimin love hajoon? didn't he want hajoon to be happy?

a good omega, hajoon had screamed at him, spittle flying from his mouth, is supposed to spread his legs when he's told to.

before long the slaps turned into punches and jimin found himself pushed onto the floor, his vision swimming, with hajoon clambering on top of him, pining him to the ground. jimin had sobbed, hajoon's weight suffocating him, rendering jimin immobile. hajoon had been unrelenting, his words spilling out of him so fast, jimin could hardly keep him. he'd told jimin exactly what he thought of him, how he'd wasted hajoon's time, that jimin belonged to him now and that if he wasn't going to agree to hajoon's request willingly, hajoon would make him agree.

after all, a mated omega couldn't say no to their alpha.

"the swelling is going down," jeongguk tells him, a thumb ghosting over jimin's left brow. jimin's injuries would pretty much be gone by tomorrow -- both a gift and a curse.

hajoon had punched him once, angry about some wager he'd lost with his buddies and jimin had made the mistake of getting him the wrong beer. the bruise on his stomach had looked horrifying when jimin had stared at it in the mirror that night but by the next morning, it was gone.

and jimin had known then that there was no use telling anyone about this. who would believe an omega over an alpha? especially when jimin had no proof.

jeongguk is staring at him intently, taking in the blood on jimin's clothes and his hands. jimin can only tell he's furious because of the lingering acidity of his scent. he's managed to hold most of it back, the usual vanilla wrapping around jimin in an attempt to soothe but the aftertaste is there, jimin can smell it. he's always been good at picking up on the subtleties in others.

jeongguk's brows are furrowed again, his hands carefully going over all of jimin's injuries as if to tally them. he seems to see right through jimin, pausing at jimin's ribs, his hand splaying over the throbbing in his side.

"do you want me to call chungha? or taehyung?" he asks, watching jimin carefully.

jimin shakes his head. of course he'd like it if one of his friends were here but it was the middle of the night and jimin had already ruined jeongguk's night. he wasn't going to ruin anyone else's, too. "'s okay."

"you're finally talking."

jimin shrugs a shoulder.

"tell me what hurts the most," jeongguk instructs, slowly guiding jimin so he can lean against the back of the couch.

jimin almost answers with my heart.

"i think he broke my rib," jimin mumbles, touching the same spot jeongguk had paused at mere seconds ago. "it hurts more and more."

"so it was hajoon?" jeongguk seems to have pieced it all together himself, looking at jimin only for confirmation.

jimin nods, shame flooding through him. he was so pathetic.

jeongguk lets out a breath through his teeth, his eyes flashing red and it takes him a moment to reign himself in. he nods, just once, staring at jimin.

it's too much and jimin finds his eyes slipping shut. he can't meet jeongguk's gaze, doesn't think he could bear to see contempt there, not now.

"i'm sorry," he says, mouth dry. his head is throbbing, the pain like a wave ebbing out of him, constant and pulsing.

"for what?" jeongguk's voice has gotten quieter, a tinge of something jimin can't quite place creeping in. "what could you possibly be sorry for?"

jimin opens his mouth, winces when his jaw aches and then closes it, his eyes barely opening to see the downward tilt of jeongguk's mouth. he shrugs, unable to put into words the misery he's feeling. he's sorry for existing, for burdening jeongguk like this.

"this isn't -- what hajoon has done, that's not how you treat your omega," jeongguk says with absolutely no room for argument. "this isn't your fault. it could never be."

jimin's eyes burn, his throat closing up and he nods, gaze falling down onto his hands. jeongguk's scent seems to swarm around him, eager to comfort and console, and jimin fights back the urge to cry. he's already cried so much.

jeongguk holds still, uncertainty written in the way his frown deepens, how his shoulders seem to have tensed up. he reaches out, gently taking jimin's hand in his own. "it...it'll help you feel better if i scent you. may i?"

jimin's teeth clench, breath shuddering out of him. did he want to be scented?

his mother had always scented jimin when he was upset, her nose carefully rubbing over his scent glands. she would give him a kiss on each cheek when she was finished and all of jimin's anxiety would have melted away, forgotten.

but his mother was his family and jeongguk was...

jeongguk was pack. is pack.

jimin nods, ignoring the warning sign in his head screaming at him to never let another alpha anywhere near him.

jeongguk hovers for another second before nodding and he leans in, pausing just outside of jimin's personal space. he can probably feel the apprehension coming off of jimin in waves, his mind wishing he'd run away and his wolf begging for proximity, for his packmate's comfort.

jimin flinches when jeongguk finally closes the gap between them, his touch feather light. he pauses, giving jimin the opportunity to pull away but jimin just holds his breath.

jeongguk's nose trails along jimin's skin slowly, moving back and forth over the same expanse of skin. it's a deliberate choice, jimin can tell, the languid movement like he's afraid that jimin will spook if he moves too fast.

slowly, jimin relaxes. vanilla and amber wrap around him until jimin thinks he can taste them on his tongue. his mind starts to blank, the tension in his body beginning to seep out slowly. jeongguk's touch never waivers beyond light, delicate. namjoon always scented jimin much more deliberately, quick and easy, a reminder that jimin was his pack.

jeongguk scents jimin like he's something precious, the tip of his nose skimming over jimin's scent gland, never applying pressure. he's careful, jimin's hand still in his own and jimin can feel how sweaty both their palms are, finds it sticky but he's unwilling to let go.

at some point, jeongguk's other hand finds itself cradling the base of jimin's head, his large palm holding jimin in place. his fingers dig into jimin's neck, squeezing, grounding.

with every passing second, jimin unwinds. jeongguk's nose ghosts over his neck from one side to the other, gently swiping over jimin's scent glands. his touch tickles, feels barely there, and yet it settles jimin down better than anyone else's touch ever has.

jimin lets out a sigh, his eyes closed and the pain in his body quells down to something manageable. tomorrow, he wouldn't even feel the sharp jab in his abdomen or the pulsing in his face. tomorrow, he wouldn't have reminders of hajoon's violence all over him.

jeongguk pulls back, just as slow. jimin has a hard time opening his eyes, stares up at jeongguk through blurry vision. he's so close. jimin can see the little mole under his mouth.

"i'm going to call namjoon and tell him okay," jeongguk says, his hands falling away from jimin. he pulls away entirely, taking his sweet scent with him and the further away he gets, the worse jimin feels.

he feels like crying anew. this time from frustration. why should he need so much from another alpha? why couldn't he just comfort himself?

"but first, let's get you cleaned up." jeongguk shifts to stand up and jimin finds himself reaching out, his fingers scrabbling for some part of jeongguk to hold onto.

jeongguk pauses, looking down at the hand jimin's buried into the fabric of his cargo pants. "i'm right here, jimin. you're okay."

he must realise what jimin needs because he scoops jimin up again, carrying him in a bridal carry all the way upstairs. jimin slips in and out of consciousness, the panic that had become second nature finally giving him a moment's peace.

jeongguk brings him upstairs into a bedroom that smells distinctly like his scent. jimin's mind is floating, his wolf curling up inside of him, content to finally rest. it's hard for him to take anything in, to notice anything beyond the dark colour of the walls. but jeongguk's scent is so nice. jimin wishes he could float in a pool of it.

his wish is answered in another form.

jeongguk lays jimin down on his bed -- it must be his bed because the sheets are soaked through with his scent. embarrassingly, he buries his face into jeongguk's pillow, momentarily forgetting that the owner of the scent is right here in the room with him.

"i'm going to need to undress you jimin," jeongguk says, kneeling down by the bedside so he's not hovering over jimin. "is that okay?"

jimin's so tired but he shakes his head. "i can...i can do it."

jeongguk doesn't look convinced, his mouth pursing but he nods. "i'll get you something to wear."

jimin's not sure how he manages to sit up but he does, his arms like lead when he moves to take his t-shirt off. a sharp pain cuts into him, his rib most definitely broken, and jimin gasps, his breath coming out in short pants.

the t-shirt smells like hajoon and blood and the panic is quick to crawl back in, eager to sink its claws into jimin's heart. he tugs harder to get the shirt off, struggling to manage the movement.

before he hurts himself further, jeongguk is back at his side and patiently assisting him to remove the t-shirt. jimin blink when his head finally pops out, sucking in a deep breath.

jeongguk has placed some clothes down next to jimin and more importantly has a wet cloth in his hand. he doesn't seem annoyed that jimin had refused his help and then needed it.

instead, he brings the wet cloth up to jimin's face and wipes away dried blood, always catching jimin's eyes as he moves lower to make sure he's okay.

the cloth, once a bright shade of yellow, slowly turns brown. jimin is a little horrified at how quickly it discolours. just how much blood was on him?

"hajoon can't come here, right?" jimin asks, staring at the cloth and remembering how the blood had rained down on him, how jimin had swallowed some of it.

"he'd be pretty fucking stupid to come here," jeongguk answers, having moved to jimin's hands. he wipes across the backs of jimin's hands first before cleaning his palms and then the pads of jimin's fingers.

a shower would have been better but jimin doesn't think he could stand in one on his own right now and he might die of mortification if jeongguk had to help him.

"i'd fucking kill him," jeongguk adds, purposefully meeting jimin's eyes. his eyes are red again, his incisors elongated and jimin swallows, blinks, before jeongguk is back to his human self.

"what if...what if i did?" jimin says it so quietly he can barely even hear the words leave his own mouth. he keeps wondering why hajoon didn't give chase. the hajoon jimin knows would never have just let him get away.

"namjoon-hyung is heading back right now. i'll tell him to go by the apartment first, okay?" jeongguk doesn't even react, just continues to clean jimin up. when he's satisfied with his handiwork, he stands up and turns his gaze down to the clothes next to jimin. "go ahead and get changed."

the answer surprises jimin. shouldn't jeongguk be mad? if jimin...if jimin killed an alpha...

"pretty impressive if you did kill him," jeongguk adds, his mouth quirking up into a little smirk. "i didn't think you had that in you."

"i don't -- i, he was trying to bite me so i -- "

again, jeongguk's scent plummets, the sweetness putrefying instantly. his anger is palpable and jimin jerks back, whining instinctively to appease him.

"sorry," jeongguk grits out, eyes closing. jimin's amazed by how quickly he puts himself back together. gone are the red eyes, the sharpened teeth.

why was he so angry?

"i didn't mean to scare you." he steps away from jimin, the wet, ruined cloth still in his hand. there's a bitterness to his scent that still clings to him and he looks unhappy. "i'm just going to be outside the door, okay? take your time and if you need help, ask."

jimin nods meekly, admonished.

he can't quite move past how kind jeongguk has been. this is a side of him jimin has only caught glimpses of, a side reserved for the few pack members he held in the highest regard.

eventually, jimin manages to get out of his jeans, a much easier task. the clothes jeongguk has left for him are his own. his scent lingers on the fabric and jimin feels the heat rise to his cheeks, oddly pleased that the alpha was generous enough to lend them to jimin.

jeongguk's sweatpants are a little too long on jimin and he doesn't bother trying to put the t-shirt jeongguk's given him on. instead, he turns to the door and clears his throat. "jeongguk?"

"i'm here," jeongguk replies instantly.

"um, can you -- i, i need your help." embarrassment flushes through him but it'll be worse if he gets stuck trying to get the shirt on.

"coming," jeongguk answers, opening the door. jimin spots him slipping his phone into his pocket and worries his bottom lip between his teeth. the split from earlier already hurts a little less.

jeongguk had texted namjoon then because he hadn't heard him talking to anyone. eventually, jimin would have to explain all of this to namjoon and the thought makes his belly twist unhappily.

"should have helped you with this earlier," jeongguk mutters, more to himself than jimin. it slips past jimin's head a lot easier, a size or two too big because it drapes across jimin's smaller frame, leaving plenty on room to move around in.

"i don't know if you want any ointment for your wounds," jeongguk says, slipping jimin's right arm into the sleeve. it falls past jimin's elbow. "but i never really find it that helpful. i can get you some painkillers though, if you want."

"okay," jimin agrees, sitting back down on the bed. he feels anxious every time jeongguk leaves and then he feels stupid for being so needy.

jeongguk brings back the painkillers and a glass of water that jimin chugs down entirely. he hadn't realised he was so thirsty.

"we'll...we'll talk about what happened tomorrow. namjoon-hyung says he'll be here by seven, latest."

"hyung didn't -- "

"he's your pack alpha, so yes, he does." jeongguk's tone is stern, his eyes pinning jimin to the spot.

jimin nods, scolded, and wonders how it is that jeongguk can be so sure of things so easily. it's a three hour drive from daegu and namjoon is probably exhausted from a day spent in meetings with other pack alphas. the alarm clock on jeongguk's bedside table tells jimin it's almost two am.

"i'll stay here," jeongguk says, nudging jimin to lie down onto the bed. "you need to sleep."

he goes so far as to tuck jimin in, sitting down on the edge of the bed, next to jimin.

he wants to ask jeongguk, aren't you tired, too? but jimin's eyes are so heavy and jeongguk's scent is sweet and calming, washing over jimin like the first drizzles of spring rain.

he falls asleep quickly, a hand finding it's way to the hem of jeongguk's tank top, fingers curling in.

[tickle-bugs]

Stupid in Love

Summary: Nick Miller is completely, 100% normal about all things Jessica Day. Including her smile, her laugh--ah, fuck. He's doomed. NickJess ft. pining!Nick

Anon: I just saw you write for New Girl! I am in my yearly rewatch of the show so I am so happy you write for it! Maybe the loft gang and CeCe can be playing a game of true American and somehow during the game it comes out that Jess is incredibly ticklish. Everyone is too focused on the game to use it to their advantage at the moment, but nick remembers and maybe later when him and Jess are together, he decided to test his new found knowledge and see just how ticklish Jess really is.

While this isn’t set during a particular episode, I was thinking HEAVILY about s2 ep15, Cooler. One of the greatest episodes of the whole show, hands down. I just wanted to write pining Nick tbh.

True American is the best goddamn game ever invented. It defines a man at his core level. Everything that’s ever mattered to Nick is on the line in this game. His dignity, his pride, his dignity…

He honestly can’t remember what they’re playing for. Something involving the sink. Or a drink? Unclear, but irrelevant. Nick is the king of an aluminum can palace and his citizens will thrive under his leadership. This is his birthright. 

They’re playing True American: Catan Edition tonight. Each player defends their own small nations and attempts to crush the others, throwing their leaders to the molten lava below. It’s the smartest thing Winston’s ever come up with. 

“Duel for my amusement,” Nick slurs, waving his paper towel roll scepter around. The cardboard crown on his head slips down over his eyes. Cece blows a raspberry at him. He lobs a balled-up piece of paper at her. 

Jess plays a fanfare into her backup kazoo—Schmidt threw away her main one—and draws angry eyebrows onto the smiley face of her country’s flag. A declaration of war. 

Sober Jess is all for political progress and human rights, but Drunk Jess? Maniacal, power-hungry, and so very hot.

Focus, Miller. 

“Two, four, six, eight! Who do we appreciate?” Jess climbs onto one of the kitchen chairs and puts a colander on her head. A warrior’s helm. Nick smiles at her. 

In their corner of the living room, Winston and Schmidt whisper furiously. At some point in the last hour, Winston had ascended to Grand Advisor of Schmidt’s Creek. Schmidt had lost the ability to speak after can number two, when Cece had flirted him out of all of his natural resources and a third of his land. Nick had been trying to think of how to poach Winston to Nicklandia, but he couldn’t think of a plan that didn’t involve saying ‘please’ until he passed out. 

“Schmidt’s Creek will not challenge today!” Winston crushes his beer can against Schmidt’s forehead. Schmidt doesn’t even blink.

“Ruth Gader Binsburg! I challenge your weird little colony, Jess,” Cece shouts, messily hopping onto the chair next to Jess. They start some combination of swatting at each other and clutching on for dear life. Schmidt looks up at Cece like a drunk, lovesick puppy. Nick rolls his eyes.

Thank god he doesn’t look like that.

Does he look like that?

Shit. He’s missing the game. 

“Yeah? Guess what—” Jess knocks her knuckles against the colander helmet, winces, and then points at Cece— “I’m the Queen of England, bitch.” 

Nick’s not sure what’s elapsed in the apparently three years since he was last paying attention, but he knows by the way that Cece gasps that someone’s dying on the living room and/or kitchen floor tonight. Jess cackles and puts her hands on her hips. They start yelling, but even if they’re saying real human words, which he’s pretty sure they’re not, he’s not processing it. Jess looks so stupid in that little holey hat—someone should invent a word for that thing—and she’s adorable. 

Nick leans his cheek on his palm and smiles wider. Does she know her nose scrunches when she’s annoyed? 

Nick leans a little too far and loses his balance. Half of his aluminum fortress tumbles down. When he looks back up, Jess and Cece haven’t budged. Or blinked. Cece squints at Jess and it’s clear the conversation has ascended to psychic levels that even Drunk Nick can’t access. He tries though. Mostly gives himself a headache. 

Something in their eye conversation must shift, because Cece gets this look on her face. Like pure, concentrated mischief. The aura off of her is so powerful that everyone scoots back a bit. Cece starts stretching and cracking her knuckles. 

“Waitwaitwait, Cece, you don’t have to do this.” Jess holds her hands up in immediate surrender, but she’s smiling hard enough to brighten the room. A little nervous giggle picks up in the back of her throat and she starts to turn pinker than the boxed rosé that forms her section of the living room. 

“Oh, but I do. Surrender. Now.” Cece points to the floor. Which is lava. Cruel way to go. 

Jess looks at her best friend with the kind of profound resignation only possible when piss drunk. She sighs deeply, staring at the floor…

And then launches herself at Cece with a war cry. 

Cece doesn’t even flinch. She catches Jess, smirks, and starts tickling her sides with vicious precision. Jess lets out a giggly shriek and crumples, sinking right down into the lava. The colander tumbles off of her head and rolls into Nick’s fortress. 

The sound worms itself into Nick’s brain, taking up residence alongside all the other little Jess things that drive him nuts. It distracts him hard enough that by the time Winston arises as Supreme Leader of the Loft, Nick can’t even trace the path of his defeat. 

………

Even when sobriety beats them over the head the next morning, Nick can remember nothing but the sweet music of Jess’s laugh. And the shape of her smile. 

God he’s hopeless. 

The slow march of the week brings some relief in the sense that a) Nick remembers that he really doesn’t do the whole ‘feelings’ thing and b) alcohol makes anyone look like an angel walking the earth. He is a grown ass man and Jess is an annoying little craft goblin. He can be normal. She’s normal. No need to get worked up over her.

“You look like Mr. Rogers’s grumpy cousin.” Jess snickers, fiddling with the sleeve of Nick’s hideous cardigan. 

“You done? You finished?” He pulls his sleeve away from her. It’s really Schmidt’s, which she very well knows. Nick’s only wearing it because Schmidt’s being weird about Cece again, and the only way to survive that is to bend to his will. Schmidt’s already dehydrated himself twice this week trying to show off his muscles more, Nick doesn’t want to add to that by making the guy cry. He’d never stop.

Jess, however, doesn’t seem to understand the magnitude of this manly sacrifice. She’s too busy laughing at him. 

“Mmmm, no, I don’t think I am. You look like a Muppet.” She pinches his cheek. He rolls his eyes. 

“Well, that’s just a compliment.” 

“No, no. You look like the bird. The bird with the eyebrows—“ Jess pauses as her giggles overtake her— “You look like Sam the Eagle.” 

Jess folds over into his shoulder with laughter and smacks his chest. The warmth of it almost distracts him from the comment. 

Almost. 

“Yeah, laugh it up, Jess. C’mere—“ He drags her across the couch by the ankle and latches onto her sides. She makes that adorable sound again, that giggly shriek, and flails like a worm on a hook. She tries to push his face away. He swats her hands aside like it’s nothing. When reaches for him again—futile, really—he snatches her wrists in one hand, pins them down, and tickles with the other. 

Her whole face burns. He chooses to ignore it for both of their sakes. 

“Let me know when you’re ready to apologize. Take your time.” He does a little pinchy thing with his fingers and Jess lets out a high-pitched mess of syllables. She throws her head back and cackles, arching up into him. 

“Hmm, yeah, see none of that sounded like ‘You’re the best, Nick Miller’. Try again.” He pokes all over her torso, fast and wild. He lets go of her and adds his other hand into the mix. Every time she tries to talk, he speeds up, making her laugh at his silliness along with his hands. She kicks her legs and lets out a little giggly growl. Nick smiles so wide his cheeks hurt. 

“Nick!” She grabs his wrists but doesn’t stop him. His stomach flips. She’s so overwhelming. 

“That’s my name.” He skitters his fingers up her ribs to distract himself from the lump in his throat. 

Jess flails and nearly takes them both off the couch and into the next life. Nick catches himself before he collapses on top of her, but it puts their faces mere inches apart. The space of a breath. He can see the faint freckles across her nose, all brought forth by the pink flush down her cheeks and neck. As she catches her breath, lips parted, her laughter simmers low in her chest. He brushes her hair out of her face. His hand lingers on her cheek. 

Her eyes crinkle when she smiles. Does she know that? 

Nick gets the deep, burning urge to kiss her senseless. To download all these embarrassing, vulnerable thoughts from his brain to hers. To show her how deep this goes. To drink of her like the wine at restaurants he can never afford. 

No. Not like this. She deserves better than this.

Than him.

He starts to pull away, awkwardly clearing his throat. Jess surges forward and Nick’s stupid little monkey brain gleefully claps its hands together, shouting this is it! It’s happening! Nick’s brain activity screeches to a halt. He stares at her mouth and freezes. 

Jess flips them over and starts tickling his ears like some kind of insane supervillain. 

“No! Jessica!” He turtles and attempts to fling himself to safety. All he accomplishes is hanging off the back of the couch, leaving his knees in reach of Jess’s evil nails—

One day he will be smart about Jessica Day, but he concedes that it won’t be today. But as she destroys him and Schmidt’s stupid, hopefully inexpensive cardigan, he secretly hopes the day never arrives.