#i foolishly never expected to have to make a post like this

[emometalhead]

.

[gale-force-storm]

Devoured

Rating: E

Pairing: Gale x female!Reader

Additional Tags: Overstimulation, cunnilingus, praise kink, cock warming, aftercare, second person POV

Word Count: 1.8k

Read it on AO3

You thought it would be a great anniversary gift, letting Gale tie you up and do whatever he pleased with you. What you didn't expect (foolishly, in hindsight) was for "whatever he pleased" to mean spending literal hours using that practiced tongue of his to take you apart.

Inspired by this post from the always delightful @naughtybg3confessions

“You're sure you're alright with this?”

“Yes, Gale,” you insist with a small laugh. “I am the one who suggested this, remember?”

“I know, I know. I just want to make sure.” He finishes tying the soft length of fabric around your wrists, securing them to the headboard above you. “How is that? Comfortable? Not too tight?”

You pull at the restraints, testing them. “Feels good,” you confirm. “Secure, but not too tight.”

“Good.” He smiles and leans down, kissing you gently.

“Well, your anniversary present is all tied up in a bow for you,” you say with a devious grin when he pulls away. “I’m all yours, sweetheart. Do your worst.”

“Be careful what you wish for, my love. I just might grant it,” he teases. He kisses you again, but his mouth quickly strays away from yours, moving over your jaw, down your neck, to your chest. He teases at your nipples, mouth on one, fingers on the other, lingering briefly before continuing his path down.

“Gale,” you sigh, half pleased and half exasperated, “this is supposed to be about your pleasure.”

“Trust me my love,” he replies, smirking against your skin, “it will be.”

You huff out another breath, letting your head drop back. You’ll indulge him for now. Besides, you think at the first warm press of his mouth to your center, you would never truly complain about getting to have his mouth on you.

He pauses briefly to grab a spare pillow and position it under your hips, raising them higher for easier access. He pulls your legs up, resting your thighs over his shoulders, and kisses one of them before turning his attention back to your cunt, where your arousal is already obvious.

“Always so wet for me,” he sighs appreciatively. “So eager.”

“Always for you, my love.”

He beams up at you, all love and wonder and pride. “Truly, I could ask for no greater gift than you.”

He leans in, licking from your entrance up to your clit, humming his pleasure. He licks a few more times like this, broad strokes of his tongue, savoring you, and you settle back into the warm, familiar pleasure. You moan in encouragement as he slips his tongue into you, his nose pressing against your clit. Yes, you can certainly let him do this for a while. Since he’s insisting.

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

You fear you’ve miscalculated. You really should have known better than to underestimate Gale. There are tears running down your face. Your throat is raw from screaming and moaning. You would try to squirm away from the inescapable, overwhelming pleasure of his tongue, his lips, his fingers, but you’re too tired at this point from doing so for the last... how long has it been? Two hours? Three? More? You’ve lost track, just like you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve come against his relentless mouth. He gives another calculated thrust of his fingers, another hard suck to your clit, and you cry out, overstimulation bringing the pleasure near the edge of pain.

“Please, Gale, please, I can’t,” you pant. He looks up, but doesn’t pull his mouth more than an inch away from you.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Gods, but his warm breath against your soaked flesh makes you shiver. You can only bring yourself to whine.

“I need your words, love. Do you want me to stop?” he asks firmly.

You work to catch your breath and try to remember how to form words.

“No,” you finally manage to whimper. “Don’t stop.” You see the corners of Gale’s eyes crinkle with his smile.

“Good girl,” he murmurs before diving back in. You sob, overwhelmed, as he continues his sweet torture, lapping at your cunt like a man starved as though he hasn’t been devouring you for hours. Your hips twitch weakly as you feel the pressure impossibly begin to mount once more, building under his skilled attention. You flutter around him and he moans, the vibrations pulling another sob from your throat.

“That’s it, lovely,” he murmurs as he works you. “One more. You can give me one more can’t you?”

You shake your head, but the rest of your body tells a different story, your legs twitching beyond your control where they rest over his shoulders, hips bucking without rhythm.

“I think you can,” he continues. “I think you can have another for me. Let me taste the sweetness of your pleasure once more.”

You moan, high and strained, as your body moves ever closer to that precipice. You feel delirious, on the edge of madness as much as the edge of pleasure. Gale is ruthlessly efficient as he pushes you on, sucking and licking your clit eagerly as his fingers rub precisely at the spot inside you that makes your head spin. The choked sound you make as you finish once again is somewhere between a whimper and a sob. Gale groans deeply as you clench weakly around his fingers, muscles too tired for more than a weak, fluttering orgasm. He laps at you softly, working you through it with loving tenderness. Finally, he pulls away. You whine helplessly at the feeling of his fingers sliding out of you. He sucks them clean, then presses a few kisses to your shaking thighs before moving up your body to hover over you. His face is soaked from nose to chin, lips and beard glistening with your slick. He kisses you hotly, and the usual taste of him is completely drowned out by the taste of your own arousal. He runs a warm hand up your arm and rubs gently at your wrists.

“How are your hands?” he asks gently. “Still alright? Can you move them for me?”

It takes a long moment for your addled brain to process his question, but with some effort you manage to wiggle your fingers.

“F-fine,” you stutter weakly. “They’re fine.”

He pulls the fabric up slightly, inspecting the skin. You don’t know what he sees, but he seems to be satisfied with it because he nods once, then turns his attention back to your face. He kisses your cheeks with a gentleness that nearly makes you cry again, and wipes the remaining wetness from them with his thumbs.

“You’re so lovely,” he murmurs. “So beautiful. You’re doing so well. So good for me. My good girl. My sweet, wonderful girl. Taking everything I give you so perfectly. Letting me drink my fill of you. Making such pretty sounds for me while I taste you to my heart’s content. Falling apart so beautifully for me, over and over. Do you think you can take a bit more for me, my good girl? You can say no,” he says, seeing the hesitation in your eyes. “I would love to be inside you, but we can stop if it’s too much.”

You swallow hard, considering for a few seconds. Slowly, you nod.

“I can take it,” you rasp. “I can take you.”

The heat in his eyes causes your already shaky breath to catch.

“So good for me,” he whispers. “I don’t know what I could ever do to deserve you. I love you so much.”

He shifts, his hardened cock — gods you imagine it must be aching at this point — sliding through your soaking folds and catching at your entrance. You try to breathe steadily as he pushes forward, sliding into you without resistance. He moans as he buries himself in you to the hilt, nosing into the crook of your neck and breathing you in.

“You feel divine,” he praises against your skin. “Better than divine. You are perfection itself. I could stay like this for hours.”

He sighs contentedly, and doesn’t move. Your mind, sluggish as it is now, kicks up a gear. It has to be a turn of phrase. He can’t actually mean...

You feel him shift slightly. He props himself up with one arm, while the other slides between you. He presses his thumb against your lips and you let it in on instinct, sucking lightly on the tip of it. He grins.

“Such a good girl.”

He pulls his thumb out and brings the hand down, down, down your body. It slides briefly against your entrance where he’s stretching you open, and he groans. Then it slides up and starts rubbing softly, maddeningly over your clit.

“Gale?” You can’t manage more than a whisper.

“Shhh... Just a few more, my love,” he soothes. “I want to feel you come around me at least thrice before I’m done with you.”

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

You open your eyes, blinking a few times as you try to get your bearings. Gods, you must have actually blacked out for a moment. Gale is still above you, panting heavily, his face pressed against your shoulder. You whimper as you feel him twitch inside you, the feeling well and truly overwhelming at this point. He groans and pulls out of you as gently as he can. He presses a kiss to the mark he’d apparently sucked into your shoulder and turns to look at you, one hand coming up to brush a sweaty lock of hair from your forehead.

“Alright my love?”

You nod weakly.

“Are you sure?”

You nod again. “Y-yes. Good.”

“Good,” he breathes. “You are spectacular. Wonderful beyond words.”

He moves to untie your wrists. Once he does he rubs them gently, then down your arms, massaging the sore muscles.

“Do you need some water?”

You nod, more emphatically this time. He helps you sit up and takes a glass from the nightstand. He holds it to your lips, helping you to drink. Once you’ve had your fill, he reaches over for a soft cloth that was next to the glass. He moves to clean you, but you flinch when the cloth touches your thigh.

“Too much,” you manage.

“Ah. Of course. Apologies, my love” He puts the cloth away, instead muttering a quick prestidigitation, cleaning both you and the sheets with a wave of his hand. He looks as though he means to say something else, but you yawn, and he simply smiles fondly.

“Need some rest?”

“Gods, yes.”

He chuckles and helps you lay down, pulling you into a warm embrace. He rubs your back soothingly and nuzzles into your hair.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs. “My good, sweet girl. I love you so dearly.”

“Love you too,” you mumble, already halfway back to unconsciousness. You feel him smile against you and place a kiss to the top of your head.

“And I’m so grateful that you do. Now, get some sleep, my love.”

You sigh in agreement, and it takes no time at all for his steady breathing and comforting warmth to lull you into what just might be the deepest sleep you’ve ever had.

[elcpsstuff]

hey love! I saw your posts and i really like your works.

a request with delicate by taylor for conrad?

Delicate (Isn’t it? Isn’t it?) // Conrad Fisher

synopsis: conrad likes things simple and easy. the no strings attached agreement you have together may be enough for him, but is it enough for you?

warnings: slight smut, angst, conrad being an asshole

a/n: this is probably gonna be a mini series 🧎🏻‍♀️ also it’s inspired delicate if you couldn’t tell 🤰🏻 requests are open I need to work on my writing :) enjoy!

—

sometimes I wonder when you sleep

are you ever dreaming of me?

sometimes when I look into your eyes

I pretend you’re mine all the damn time.

—

2:25 AM

Come over.

I shouldn’t have gone, but I did. In fact, I was waiting for his text message foolishly.

No strings attached is supposed to be simple and easy. You don’t wait for them and get ready; makeup and all, but this was different.

Living next door to the Fishers proved to be a blessing and curse. Summers spent laughing with the Conklin’s and Fisher’s were what I loved most, but there were some drawbacks.

Conrad had always amazed me. The way his lip curves up and his blue eyes. Not as bright as Jeremiah’s, but darker in a sense.

We had all been friends for years, and that was it. Despite Belly’s crush on Jeremiah and mine on Conrad, there were lines that were never crossed. Until now.

I hadn’t planned for this to happen, but one drunk party led to sex that nor me or Conrad expected. It was good sex, but I wanted more. Did I tell him that? No. It’s a good thing I didn’t because the next day he told me it was a mistake but he liked me. It. The sex, I mean.

So, I took what I knew I could get from him. I may never be able to hold him in public and have him, but I could in the dark of the night. And if I closed my eyes, I could imagine having him all the time. This was enough for me.

Maybe not, but I wouldn’t tell him that.

After putting on some light makeup and fixing my hair, I headed over to Conrad’s. I tried not to look desperate in attempts of making my makeup looking effortless, but who knew if Conrad would even notice?

The door was already opened but iConrad never waited by the door for me. I was the one who came up to his room in the dark of night while everybody slept. During the day I was only the next door neighbor and Belly’s friend.

He was lying on his bed when I walked in, fully clothed. That would probably change within minutes though because Conrad never liked to wait.

But I would, stupidly. I would wait for him through everything, even though I was utterly nothing to him.

—

“So good for me.”

Conrad’s lips trailed down my neck and collarbone. His lips were hot to the touch and I winced at each nip and kiss. He would sooth the pain after, reminding me how sweet he could be.

I wondered if Conrad acted like this with other girls at home? Did they touch him like I did? Of course, I had no right to ask because we weren’t together. We weren’t anything at all and he reminded me of that every time I almost crossed that line.

I tugged at Conrad’s shirt, to which he took it off immediately. His body was beautiful, but his face was a masterpiece. How could someone so beautiful be so broken?

I traced my hands down his back, and a shiver released from his mouth. “Need to feel you now.”

He was quicker tonight. He was always quick, an hour tops but something was different; needier.

“O- okay..” Conrad was reaching over to grab a condom from his drawer before I could fully comprehend anything. I heard noises of foil and he was already putting it on.

He didn’t even notice the matching set I put on for him, but then again, he never, ever did.

Conrad’s lips were swollen and his eyes were needy and desperate, “Ready?” I nodded. Because even if I wasn’t, I always would be. To him.

He slipped into me, and a sinful cry escaped my lips. He was slow for the first couple of minutes before he began to pick up his pace. I took it well but his size wasn’t very easy to accommodate to.

He kissed me feverishly all over my neck, “Such a good girl. Taking me so well.”

I always got butterflies at his praise names, but a part of me knew they were only to make me do what he wanted.

Another part of me prayed it was real.

—

I was painting and out of breath.

We had gone at it for thirty minutes until Conrad had decided enough was enough, because he always decided.

He rolled over on his back and checked the time on his phone. 3:05 AM.

“Front doors open.” He said, cold and offset, like he was somewhere else.

Of course he did, I don’t know why I expected it to be any different. But this was the moment, if anytime, to say something. He was never vulnerable except those rare minutes where I found the cracks in between.

I sat on the edge of the bed, pulling my shirt over my body and slipping into my jean shorts. Even in the night, in cousins it was still warm.

I took a risk and whispered, “Conrad?”

It was silent for a little before he said, “Hmm?” Uninterested, obviously.

I took a deep breath, knowing this could ruin everything. Should I say it? Was the risk of maybe, possibly having him enough? Or should I walk away and keep what little we have?

“Um—”

“I don’t have all day.”

Fuck. “Nothing. I forgot.”

“You forgot?” My back was facing him but I knew he was wearing that judgmental face he always wore when he knew I was lying. Or anybody.

“Yep.”

“mhm.”

He didn’t say anything else and the bed shifted a little until his breaths slowed. He was sleeping now, and I was left alone.

My silent sobs racked my body, but they weren’t heavy yet. No, I always waited until I was home for that.

I closed the door quietly, phone and shoes in hand.

Once I escaped through the front door and reached my bedroom, the sobs racked my body fully. They took over and silent tears streamed down my face.

Tonight, I almost crossed that line.

It was all so delicate, and what if I had? Things probably would have ended between us, and everything would be worse.

I hated it, I hated that I went back to him when he didn’t deserve it, and I hated the way he treated me.

Most of all, I hated the way I loved him through it all.

—

part 2?? 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

[section-chief-prentiss]

Maternity Leave (part 4/?)

Summary: You and Emily bring your daughter home from the hospital.

Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Reader 

Word Count: 638

TWs: pregnancy, labor, fluff, comfort, newborn

A/N: I thought this would only be a 3-parter, but I've had a few ideas in the last few days to expand this fic a bit further, so we'll see where it goes!

Ao3

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FIVE

As you waddled through the front door of your home, you pouted, having foolishly thought that when you waddled out of the house to have the baby you would be in more control when you returned.

What a foolish idea that had been.

Walking had already been a part of your post-surgery recovery, but long distances still made you winded. By the time you reached the couch, you sat, in desperate need of a break.

Emily followed closely behind, wielding your daughter’s carrier. She set the carrier on the ground, unbuckling your curled-up daughter and handing her directly to you before you could even ask for her.

When you weren’t holding her, even when she was in Emily’s arms, you felt empty—like there was a crucial part of you missing. Once you’d been strong enough to hold her on your own, you hadn’t wanted to ever set her down.

“You are so beautiful,” Emily breathed, kissing your cheek.

You flushed. “My hair hasn’t been washed in days, and I’m in a diaper. But I appreciate the flattery.”

Amelia’s head nuzzled against your chest, and you unbuttoned your pajama shirt to give her easy access to what she was looking for. 

“I can’t believe she’s ours,” you mused, staring at her in wonder. “They really let us leave with her.”

Emily chuckled. “Of course, they did. What did you expect?” 

“I don’t know; it seems like it should be harder to bring a baby home.”

Emily scooted over so she was directly beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Making her was the tough part; now we get to enjoy her.”

You hummed in agreement. Getting pregnant hadn’t been easy, and Amelia’s labor had somehow been even more difficult. Ever since you’d fallen in love with Emily, the two of you had talked extensively about wanting a large family. But now you weren’t sure if you had it in you to go through it again.

Even if the result was so perfect.

“Would you be disappointed?” you asked, unable to look at your wife. “If she was our only baby?”

“Y/N,” Emily said so fiercely that you had to meet her gaze. “You two are my greatest joys. I could never be disappointed in that.”

Her honesty brought you some level of comfort, and you took it. 

“I was thinking, though…” Emily continued. “If we decide we want another, I think I’d like to carry.”

You looked at your wife in surprise. “Are you sure? When we tried for Amelia, you said you weren’t sure you wanted to be pregnant.”

“I wasn’t sure then,” she admitted. “But I am now.” 

You raised an eyebrow at her. “What about this process made you want to go through it?”

Emily laughed, throwing her hair over one shoulder. “I want to experience everything you do. I want to know what it feels like to carry our child.”

You could’ve melted on the spot. You leaned over to kiss your wife before turning your attention back to your daughter.

“Let’s get through one day alone with Amelia before rushing to knock you up,” you joked.

“Fair enough,” Emily amended.

As Amelia finished feeding, Emily threw on one of your favorite TV shows to watch together as you shifted your daughter up to burp her. Emily tossed a burp rag over her shoulder, and you passed your child over to let your wife take over. 

Though your favorite show was on, you couldn’t take your eyes off of the way your wife held your daughter. How perfect of a mother she already was. How lucky you were to have this amazing, little family. 

“Fine,” you sighed. “Let’s have another one. But I want to enjoy some time with her first.”

Emily pressed a kiss to your daughter’s head. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Tag List:

@yena-reyna, @propertyofemilyprentiss, @chaekhan, @obsessedwjill, @mrs-prentiss, @i-lovefandom, @tireddeadgirl, @lez-talk1, @emilyprentiss-ily

Join my tag list!

[critter-ghosting-some-tricks]

Maybe ghost trick spoils ahead but heres a post for @alto-tenure's prompt "Lynne and Memry swap with Jowd and Cabanela AU" given for @fyeahghosttrick's Ghost Swap 2024

I’ll be completely honest here- I did NOT expect this prompt to make my brain pop off but when I read through the prompts the first time I hesitated on this one to think for a second about “how would that work?” And boom- my first ghost-swap entry, my first attempt even vaguely trying to emanate another artstyle in a long time and a multitude of files. Enjoy it though, obviously. 

Anywhere here’s my thoughts on this version:

I’m well aware of the fact that it’s possible that the prompt meant to simply swap Memry and Lynne with Cabanela and Jowd cleanly and not change the story much but my brain couldn’t figure it out or get that version to care. 

So first things first is who I swapped with who. As you can see I put Lynne in Jowd’s place and Memry in Cabanela’s place. At first I wasn’t sure about it because it’s hard to imagine Lynne as depressed as Jowd is but it just makes sense to me. I mean- Jowd is Lynne’s hero, Lynne and Jowd already share many similarities due to this and Lynne would still be a target for Yomiel. Mostly, though, the decision was made because of the similarities I realized Memry and Cabanela have- namely determination and how weirdly others view them. 

As for other characters and story beats I admit I had a very tricky time deciding who the new Lynne would be (while Memry could admittedly be replaced by any rooky detective. However I think I have something I’m somewhat happy with where it’s basically that the revenge and Temsik plot gets delayed for some reason (including the part about Alma) and a different Kamila attraction ends up killing Jowd and Lynne is the one to walk in and turn herself in. She (very foolishly) connects the mysterious fortune to the mysterious death that happened to the man that kidnapped her. Cabanela leaves the industry (or takes a break from it at least) after Jowd dies and ends up working with Pigeon man for some reason. Then he maybe takes over when Pigeon man moves away? I’m not sure where Cabanela would really be tbh but that makes some sense to me at least. That or he does just swap with Memry and is lower than he ever would have been in the social ladder because of taking a break and losing drive without Jowd.

 When the night of the game takes place I’m still not entirely sure who takes Lynne’s place but I think it would be neat if it was Alma, trying to make sure the actual killer of her husband gets caught when she doesn’t think Lynne did it (plus then the Lynne character and Kamila still live together). Also, before Jowd’s death Kamila and Kynne grow close faster than canonly so that her absence allows them to still care for each other so deeply. Lynne managed to become Kamila’s hero at that time and basically a daughter to Alma as well as Jowd. To be fair there’s also longer for them to have known eachother since, as previously stated, it all would have to occur later so that Memry and Lynne could have been close detective partners before Jowd dies. 

But why would Yomiel still go to frame Alma for murdering him when she wasn’t at the park and Jowd is dead? Well, I think he would think that having Alma and Lynne in jail would make Jowd roll in his grave. 

Or alternatively Kamila could be the new Lynne and Alma is on some sort of work trip and Amalie really is kidnapped but I don’t like that and Yomiel framing her would still just be to hurt Lynne and Jowd’s spirit. 

But anyways, other than that plot is very similar to the normal game. Memry (who would have also gotten close to Alma and/or Kamila through Lynne and working on her case+ working with Cabanela /pigeon man) rises the ranks and takes the path of the white coat because she knows that Lynne never would have killed the person she looked up to and loved so much. Lynne learns to paint and eventually learns to actually blame herself for things that aren’t her fault. They reunite outside of the prison and learn about what really happened from the Justice Minister. Lynne, Missile, Sissle and Yomiel go back in time and fix everything. You know the drill. 

A few small but specific things that I imagine changing are

Memry rollerskates everywhere instead of dancing and people remark about how nobody “gets from place to place” the way she does and she’s seen as an “odd girl”. 

Bugs are used more frequently in the plot and in how Memry rises through the ranks and figures stuff like point X out. 

Lynne doesn’t paint portraits but is more abstract. She also doesn’t remember what Yomiel looks like, just his colors and voice. 

Lynne is just as adored by everyone who talks about her as Jowd is so that doesn’t change but instead of people calling her their hero, words such as “she was always such a ray of sunshine in the force” are used. 

And maybe I’ll think of more but for now that’s all I feel like writing on it that I don’t think are covered by the art. Thanks for dealing with this rambling- I hope you enjoy my take on this prompt!

[theharrowing]

Devil with the Mint Hair 🍃 3: Pretty good

His pull out game is strong but your hatred for him is stronger.

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

🍃 Yoongi x Female Reader

🍃 word count: 7.7k

🍃 enemies to fuck buddies, brother’s best friend, explicit smut, nsfw, 18+

🍃 warnings: alcohol consumption (mc is tipsy); talk of hiring sex workers; mention of masturbation with sex toys; mention of Yoongi fucking Jimin; use of "baby girl" & "submissive little fuck doll"; mc is a brat; dirty talk and filthy smut (safe word establishment; mc does not get undressed; hair gripping - no description of hair style or length; being handled roughly - pushed around, gripped by head and throat; face slapping; rough, messy blow job & face fucking; a lot of drool; spitting; rough sex; pussy slapping; cunnilingus, fingering, & ass eating; multiple orgasms; overstimulation); they do not kiss once; post-nut regret; possibly catching a feeling??? (lol, as if.)

🍃 note: this scene takes place in America and there is a brief interaction with a bartender but i didn't specify what language anyone is speaking or where these characters live because it seems very unimportant for a fic like this lol. i know nobody is here for the scraps of plot.

🍃 beta read by @neoneunnajimin​

🍃 posted oct. 2023 | read on ao3

The summer sun is hot and oppressive, and you sit under the awning of a poolside bar, hair dripping from taking a swim, with a towel around your hips, waiting impatiently for the bartender to return with a blended margarita – desperate for the inevitable brain freeze, if it means you get to cool down. 

Why your brother chose to celebrate his September birthday in Las Vegas, of all places, is beyond you, and you try your hardest not to melt against the high bar chair and its tiny little wooden seat back. You only agreed to come because he is your brother, and you would never miss his birthday for the world. 

And you assumed that he and the guys would be so busy gambling and going to strip clubs – and whatever else men in their twenties do – that you would not get stuck running into a certain someone too much, despite foolishly agreeing to meet up, should the possibility arise. And you were right, for the most part. 

Night one consisted of dinner and drinks, and then the guys went off to various casinos on the strip to test their luck. You meandered through your hotel's casino, cradling a drink while taking in all the sights and sounds, ultimately becoming both underwhelmed and overwhelmed, and retiring to your room to sink into the jacuzzi tub. 

The following day, the guys slept in late while you went to breakfast, and then you joined them for some day drinking and a walk along the strip. And although your sworn enemy did make an appearance each time, with your brother around, he barely acknowledged your presence – something that you have found to be both a relief and somewhat infuriating. 

He has also been preoccupied with a pretty boy with bright orange hair named Jimin, and you find yourself wondering, whenever you see him, whether he is the hookup your enemy mentioned to you over text. 

Not that you want that devil to acknowledge you, nor do you want to care about who he fucks – after the stunt he pulled the last time you saw him, you find it impossible to look him in the eyes for more than a few seconds. But it still feels strange to be ignored by someone who made you cum so hard – a thought that makes you cringe.

You surmise that the guys had a long night at the strip club because it is almost noon, and you have not heard from your brother. Today has been set aside as a sleep-in-and-recharge day, anyway, so you have no plans until dinner, which is how you came to be at the large outdoor pool, perched at the bar without the expectation of running into anyone. Perhaps you should have rethought your plan and gone to someone else's expansive outdoor pool, but now is not the time for weighing the could-have-beens.

Once the bright blue drink in a tall, curvy glass is set before you, you sit high in your seat, smiling as you take hold of the chilled glass and wrap your lips around the neon pink straw, sucking in the ice-cold concoction that sends a shiver down your spine with a flavor that you can only describe as boozy blue.

"God, that's good," you mutter to yourself, rolling your eyes back with joy and lolling your head as a frigid rush works its way through your body, aided by your damp bathing suit. 

"Damn," a familiar voice rasps from behind, making you jump, "what do they put in those things?"

You don't need to turn to see that Yoongi has sat to your right, but you do, quickly taking in his naked torso and black swim shorts before turning your attention back to your drink, putting the straw between your lips and noting that he is dressed to swim but still dry. 

As much as you try to ignore his presence, you can feel Yoongi's eyes on you, and you do your best to ignore the way your skin has broken into goosebumps and your face warms. You do not like him, and you hate how your body responds to his presence.

Yoongi drawls a petulant, "Wow, not even gonna say hi to me, huh?" 

You roll your eyes, take a deep, chilling sip of blue, and turn your attention toward him, doing your best to appear wholly inconvenienced. Then, with wide, incredulous eyes and a fake smile, you say, "Hi, Yoongi," as sarcastically as possible. 

Yoongi snickers, then opens his mouth to retaliate, but the bartender returns and asks if he would like something, forcing his attention away as he points to your drink and says, "I'll have whatever that is."

The bartender cheerily says, "Blue raspberry margarita, coming right up!" and walks off. 

Yoongi turns his attention back to you to mutter, "Sounds mildly horrifying; I can't wait," with a grin.

Feeling annoyed and disinterested in whatever this man is playing at, you blurt, "Why are you here, Yoongi?"

"My best friend's birthday," Yoongi responds, running a hand through his short, mint-green hair, and sounding bored. "Why else?"

You sigh and roll your eyes, then focus on stabbing the pink straw into your blue drink. "I mean here, sitting next to me. There are other bars out here, and hundreds more along the strip. Shouldn’t you be preoccupied by that orange-haired guy who clings to you, instead?”

When Yoongi asks, "Why wouldn't I want to be here, sitting next to you?” his voice is much lower and much closer than you expect, and you flinch, turning your sights back to him. 

Yoongi leans on the bar top, elbow only inches away, and his gaze is piercing. Only a small floral bikini top covers your upper half, and your leg sticks out from the slit in your towel enough that when Yoongi's gaze roves slowly and hungrily over your body, you feel exposed. Anxiety crashes through you, but so does arousal, and you clear your throat and take another frozen sip. 

“And anyway,” Yoongi continues the moment you turn away, “Jimin is still asleep, and likely will be for several more hours.”

The bartender returns and sets Yoongi's drink before him, and you watch from the corner of your eye as his nimble, long fingers delicately cradle the glass and slide it toward himself. He sits forward, takes a sip, and then grumbles out something unintelligible under the sound of your pounding heart. 

"Hmm?" you ask, turning your attention to him. 

"Not as orgasmic as you made it seem, but not too bad."

With another roll of your eyes, you mutter, "You are so annoying."

Truth be told, sitting out here with Yoongi is not as bad as you would have thought. Perhaps it is because he is holding back from leaning too far into your personal space and wearing you down – likely because the two of you are surrounded by others, and there is a slight chance that your brother or one of the other guys could come find the two of you. Or, perhaps the dry Vegas heat is making you too worn out both physically and emotionally to care. 

Yoongi hums, and you turn your attention toward him without fully looking at him, continuing to suck at your melting drink. One thing you will give Vegas credit for is even these shitty slushies are potent enough that you are already feeling a little tipsy. 

"You seem calm today," Yoongi muses. "Did you also bring back an escort last night? Get the stress fucked out of you?"

Everything Yoongi says hits you like several small trucks, and you open and close your mouth, attempting to begin several sentences but feeling at a loss for which detail to hone in on. Finally, you settle on the most obvious bit and ask, "Escort? What?"

Yoongi laughs, and it sounds almost mocking and sardonic, so you look at him, finding him chewing on his bright yellow straw with a lopsided smile. "Why do you think the guys are so worn out? I've been keeping them busy."

"You've…what?" 

Another laugh, but this one comes from the guts, deep and amused. "What? We're in Vegas, baby girl! Gotta make sure to give the guys the full experience."

"You're lying," you mutter, straw wedged between your teeth, doing your best not to respond to the sound of him calling you baby girl out loud. 

Has Yoongi really been hiring sex workers to stay with the guys? All the while you've been using a vibrator and feeling too small in your gigantic suite. You have nothing against the notion of sex work, but knowing that your brother…a violent shudder runs through you as you attempt to shut out the thought.

"Ha, come on, do you really think I would lie about something like this? We found a fun little club not too far from here, and the guys took a liking to some of the dancers. Once we found out the girls can be rented for the night, that was that."

"Wow," is all you can mutter, because what else do you add? Must be nice? Thanks for the invite? Nothing feels appropriate. And anyway, what if Yoongi is lying?

"And what's the name of your favorite girl?" you ask, attempting to play it cool, taking another deep sip of blue before turning your eyes to Yoongi, whose gaze is firm.

The way he regards you is unyielding, and you squirm in your seat, finding it hard to hold eye contact. Somehow this is the most civil conversation you have ever had with Yoongi in person, and you find yourself nearly charmed by his presence. That is, until you recall how he showed up at your door knowing full well that your brother was not home so he could smoke you out and pressure you into rough sex on your bedroom floor, of all fucking places. 

And you almost break the spell and let your anger rise, feeling the sudden urge to chug back your drink and get the fuck away from this demon. But you cannot deny the way he made you feel, and you would be lying if you said you would not want to feel it again, especially after agreeing to hook up if the opportunity presented itself. It seems as if it has, in fact, done just that.

Although you are at war with your thoughts and not fully set on running off, you do slurp more than half of the remnants of your drink, which goes down easy now that it has more or less melted into a boozy syrup. 

"Well?" you challenge, curious what kinds of escorts Yoongi has been bringing back to his room. You wonder if they like it just as rough as you do. 

Yoongi tongues the inside of his mouth, then chuckles. "Nah, I haven't been partaking. Only supplying."

At this, you roll your eyes, once more. Why is Yoongi suddenly acting like a prude? "Sure, okay," you say incredulously. 

"I'm serious!" Yoongi insists, making you laugh more. 

"There's nothing wrong with hiring sex workers, Yoongi," you say with raised eyebrows, almost defensively.

"I fucking know that," he bites back, "I'm the one hiring them!"

"Okay, then—"

"Why would I need to hire someone? You're right down the hall."

Now you know he is fucking with you, and you hate to admit it, but it makes you annoyed – a little upset, even. If Yoongi has been preoccupying the guys, why hasn’t he shown up at your door? He must be messing with you. 

"Shut the fuck up," you grit with your straw between your teeth before sucking the rest of your drink back. The straw gurgles loudly against the bottom of the glass as you angrily seek every last drop of tequila and blue. 

"I'm serious," Yoongi responds, close. 

When you regard him, he looks serious, but you are certain that he must be toying with you, and you begin to slide from the tall chair to the ground, stretching your toes to meet the rough gunite while your shifting weight makes the chair scrape loudly backward. 

There is laughter in Yoongi's voice when he asks, "Wait, where are you going?"

You sigh and stare at Yoongi's half-empty drink rather than at himself, contemplating how much you even want to reveal. You do not have feelings for him, for one thing, but you are also not sure whether he has just been messing with you and lying about wanting to hook up again. It almost feels like you are the butt of some joke.

"I'm not going to sit here and be made fun of," you say, pointedly not meeting his gaze before you turn to walk back into the hotel. 

"Wait," Yoongi says, and before you have a chance to register the word, his hand is on your arm, tugging you back. "There has definitely been a misunderstanding."

You are surprised to find that Yoongi is standing, and now that you are on your feet, the alcohol hits you at once, spinning you somewhat off your axis as you twist out of Yoongi's hold and frown at his eager expression. You stumble slightly back on flip-flopped feet and straighten out, giving him your best glare.

"Look, I'm not interested in your games, okay? I know you enjoy being an asshole for fun, so cut the shit, Yoongi."

Yoongi actually looks a bit upset before he schools his features and scoffs, taking a step back and reaching for his drink. He shrugs, then mutters, "Fine, be a fucking brat."

The whiplash is astounding, and you stand your ground while trying to figure out just what the fuck is going on. Yoongi sucks his cheeks in to finish the last of his tequila syrup, then he walks past you with an air of nonchalance that makes you turn on your toes and follow him in a huff. You were going to have the last word; who does he think he is?

As the two of you approach the open door of the hotel, Yoongi turns to glance over his shoulder and scoffs. "What? Tagging along so you can bitch at me in the elevator?"

"Oh, fuck off," you respond louder than necessary now that the two of you are in the crowded carpeted hallway and the raucous sounds of the pool are quieted behind concrete and glass. "I'm going back to my room."

"Sure you don't want to come back to mine?" Yoongi asks over his shoulder as you round a corner into a nearly empty hallway, walking deeper into the hotel. 

"What?" you all but shout.

"Oh, come on," he laughs, turning to walk backward just long enough to say, "I saw how jealous you got over the prospect of me fucking someone else, despite knowing full well that I do fuck someone else, regularly. Regardless, the guys are all asleep, which means an opportunity has presented itself."

"I was not—" you begin as his gaze rakes down your body, and he turns back around.

"Admit it," Yoongi drawls, taking a corner to the left into a small elevator lobby with eight gold doors. He presses a call button, then turns to fully face you. "You can't get me out of your head, can you? I've been watching you sneak glances all weekend, baby girl; you're a terrible actor."

How can one man be so exasperating? As you wait for one of the elevators to get close, you stare up at the lights above the nearest one, hoping that by some chance two of them open so that you are not stuck in a compact square carriage with him. 

But as one of the elevators behind you dings, and not a single person joins you inside, you realize all too soon that you are trapped with him, and only him. Yoongi steps in first and holds his hand in front of the door to keep it from closing, and you slide into the small space and step into the furthest corner from him, staring at the gold doors as they close, then watching in the peripheral as Yoongi hits the number 32 – the floor you both stay on. 

"So?" Yoongi drawls, causing your entire body to break out in goosebumps – though you reason it is likely from your bathing suit still being damp and has nothing to do with that demon's deep, inviting voice. 

"So, what?" you bite back, staring up at the little screen above the button panel that flashes with which floor it passes. 

"You gonna come to my room and let us both have what we want, or what? Nice and rough, just like you asked for.”

With a scoff, you cross your arms over your chest, attempting to find warmth and to cover how hard your nipples are under your bathing suit top. Yoongi steps closer, and in this enclosed space, you can smell hints of musk and cologne, and maybe something sweet, like a lingering trace of shampoo or a body wash. 

"Or maybe we should go to yours," he suggests, deep and quiet. "Your room is further from the others…don't need any of them hearing you screaming my name while I tame the brat out of you."

"You are insufferable," you grit under your breath, though your words do not sound as firm as you would like. 

Yoongi hums and steps impossibly closer, then says, "I know you can't stop thinking about me, baby girl. Just give in."

As soon as the elevator dings and the gold doors slide open, he side steps far away from you, giving you space to exit and begin the hurried trek toward your room. From the elevator lobby, yours is to the left and down a little, whereas the group of rooms the guys are staying in are just off to the right. If you did let Yoongi fuck you – which you are not – doing so in your room would be the wiser of the two choices.

You round the corner to the left and walk quickly down to your door. To your chagrin, Yoongi's flip flops smack behind you, and you sigh and let your head droop back, feeling too tipsy and maybe a little too horny to be allowing him to come to your room. You reach your door and fish your key from where it's wedged between your towel and hip, then turn and scowl, looking over Yoongi's shoulder to make sure nobody else is in the hallway to see the two of you together. 

"Go back to your room, Yoongi," you say. Your heart pounds the closer he gets, and you do your best to keep your eyes on his face, but he is shirtless, and he looks really good with his lean but defined muscles on display. 

"Is that really what you want?" he asks, stopping a foot away and leaning into the wall. 

"Yes!" you whisper-yell, insistent. You glance over his shoulder once more, then say, "The last thing I want is to get caught with you."

Yoongi's face brightens, and you know in an instant that you have fucked up. "Oh, so you do want me to fuck your brains out, but you're worried about getting caught?"

"That's not—"

Yoongi raises an eyebrow and does not wait for you to finish your sentence, drawling, "I think it is. You already said as much over text."

Although your hand is lifted halfway to the key scanner, it is too far for it to detect the key and allow you entrance. You raise your eyebrows and use the hand holding the key to wave him off, muttering, "Shoo! Get the fuck out of here. I don't want to be seen with you."

Yoongi tongues the inside of his cheek, grabs your hand, and forces you to hold the key against the scanner, then reaches with his other hand to open the door and shove the two of you inside. Everything happens in a flash, and you barely have a chance to get your bearings, muttering, "Yoongi, what the f—" as you are ushered into the entrance of your hotel room, and Yoongi is closing the door behind the two of you. 

"Nobody can see us in here," Yoongi says as he steps out of his sandals and walks into your room, adding, "problem solved," over his shoulder. 

Your hotel room is fairly tidy, with only a few small sprawling piles of clothing and beauty products here and there. But you definitely left a dildo and vibrator lying tangled in the sheets of the bed from toying yourself last night, and you kick out of your sandals and scurry over to the bed, hoping to get to them before Yoongi sees them, finding him holding the small purple bullet vibrator between his fingers. 

"Naughty girl," Yoongi teases when you come into view, and you can hear him clicking on the power button multiple times to make the buzzing louder and stronger. 

"Put that down," you insist, closing the space between the two of you and reaching for it. 

"Let me use this on you," Yoongi mutters, dropping his arm down and brushing the vibrating toy over your thigh, right in between the slit of the towel. 

"Yoongi!" you yelp, hopping backward and reaching for his arm, but Yoongi just grins and holds the toy behind his back, flexing his arm as you attempt to yank on it. 

"Please," Yoongi asks softly, flashing a lopsided smile, and you shove at his chest and walk away, determined to put space between the two of you. 

Given how fast Yoongi can make you cum, the prospect of him fucking you while using your toy does excite you, but it also worries you. This man would turn you into a pile of mush in no time. Luckily, he turns the toy off and tosses it back onto your bed, toward the pillows. 

“We need to establish boundaries,” you say, walking over to a long mirror near the front entrance of the room to check your reflection. Although you appear tired from a combination of tipsiness, heat, and genuine exhaustion, you look good enough to let this demon perceive you. 

When you turn back to Yoongi, he is sitting on the corner of your bed, arms relaxed at his sides, waiting for you to continue. 

“Things like hitting, spitting, and hair-pulling are fine, but I get to tell you to stop if it becomes too much.”

“We’ll establish a safe word,” Yoongi says. 

A thrill rushes over you as you consider what your safe word could be, and you formulate an idea, unable to hold back from grinning. Yoongi must take notice, because he sits higher, raising his eyebrows curiously. 

“The guy with the orange hair,” you say, approaching Yoongi, whose eyes widen as you speak, “is he your regular hookup?”

Yoongi smiles sharply, then nods his head slightly as he says, “He is.”

“And he knows you plan to fuck me? Or are you doing it behind his back?”

Yoongi’s smile turns wide and playful. “He knows.”

“Hmm,” you respond, stepping close enough that he could reach out and touch you. “My safe word is Jimin.”

Yoongi tongues the inside of his cheek, then sits back, placing his palms against the white comforter on the bed. “Really?” 

You chuckle as you nod and say, “Yup.”

“You’re going to scream Jimin’s name if you want me to slow down or stop?”

“Correct.”

Yoongi laughs, clearly amused, then he nods and says, “Alright. Works for me. Any other boundaries? Things you’re not into?”

Truthfully, at this moment, there is nothing you can think of. So you shrug and say, “Nothing as of now…but I’ll tell you if that changes.”

“You’ll moan my hookup’s name if you change your mind,” Yoongi mutters with a smirk. 

“Yup.”

Yoongi rolls his shoulders and then sits up straight before slowly beginning to stand. You take a step back, feeling nervousness sink in over the fact that this is really happening, especially with the way Yoongi stands tall with his shoulders square and his expression flat. 

“Repeat your safe word for me,” Yoongi commands. 

“Jimin,” you respond, much softer than intended. 

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth rises for a split second, then he squints as if he is disgusted by what he sees. Instinctively, you take another step back. 

Yoongi is quick as a serpent, hand snapping up to grip onto your jaw and make you gasp – startling you. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks in a sharp snarl. 

Although you move your lips, all you are able to mutter is vowels, unsure what to say. 

“You’re mine, baby girl. You don’t so much as move unless I command it.”

Although you are aware that your safe word negates his statement, your heart thrums heavily behind your ribs at the idea of being at Yoongi’s mercy. You told him you wanted it rough – wanted it to hurt – and now that you stand before him, trepidation sinks deep. 

Yoongi continues to grip firmly to your chin while his free hand rips the towel from around your hips and chucks it to the side, making you gasp and flinch. The bikini you wear is small and still a bit damp, and you shiver as the air hits your bare thighs and tummy. Your breaths are heavy, causing a quick rise and fall of your chest, and you already feel a bit dazed from being handled his way. 

“Look at you,” Yoongi growls with a sharp, hungry gaze, lips upturned. “You can talk all the shit you want about how much you hate me, but I can see the way you want me, baby girl."

His grasp on your jaw is firm, and when he begins to pull his arm back, toward the bed, you step with him, moving slowly as his body rotates. Yoongi smirks razor-sharp, eyes burning with excitement, and you hate how absolutely right he is. You want him real bad. 

"Wanna choke on my cock while sitting on the bed, or down on your knees?" Yoongi asks, leaning nice and close, wafting warm, sugar-sweet breath into your face. 

"On the bed," you mutter, voice hoarse and weak. 

Yoongi grips your jaw ever so slightly, then pushes you down into the bed, causing you to gasp and scramble as you keep from sliding off the edge, hands gripping onto the white comforter. 

"Not eager to get back onto the floor with me?" he chides, but all you can do is stare upward as he looms over you, fingers working the velcro fly of his black swim shorts. 

Yoongi wastes no time pushing his shorts to the floor, revealing a half-hard and inviting cock. Last time, you hardly got a good look at him, but this time, it is all you see as Yoongi grips onto the back of your hair and yanks you forward, practically shoving himself against your lips. 

"Don't be shy, baby girl," Yoongi groans, using his other hand to gently squeeze your throat. You look up at Yoongi without tilting your head, greeted by a dark stare that gives you chills as he adds, "Let's see what that pretty, bratty fucking mouth of yours can do."

With a deep, fortifying breath, you sit high on the bed, hands still gripping the comforter, and you run your tongue over the shaft, just below his cockhead. His skin is smooth with a faint soapy smell, and you let your eyes flutter as your lips close over the head, wetting the skin. 

"We don't have all fucking day," Yoongi practically growls as he presses your head close to his pelvis. 

With a snarl, you glance up through your lashes, saying, "We quite literally do have all day," lips still pressed against him. In a show of brattiness, you add, "So do you want it, or are you going to keep being an asshole?"

Yoongi releases the hand on your hair and slaps you against the cheek. It is not hard enough to sting, but it is enough to make you gasp, eyes wide as you let the slight tingle settle over your skin. Although you would ordinarily be ready to fight a man for slapping you, in this setting, it excites you – makes you want to act like even more of a pain in his ass. 

"Too far?" Yoongi asks, expression still hard but with a hint of softness hiding around the edges.

If this were anyone else, you would bat your lashes and tell him you liked it – that it felt exciting enough to set a spark in you that is threatening to light a proper fire. But this is Yoongi, so you scoff and say, "I didn't call my safe word, did I?"

Yoongi chuckles in response with the edge of his mouth tugging into a sharp sneer. Then he slaps you again, this time hard enough to sting, and he grips your throat and tugs you against him, forcing your forehead to crash against his tummy while the head of his cock presses into your lips and teeth. 

"Suck my fucking dick or I'm leaving," he commands. 

With a roll of your eyes, you grumble, "So moody."

You can hear the beginning of a response, but you open wide and swallow Yoongi as far as you can take him, letting the tip lightly touch your throat. Yoongi groans, tightening his grip on your neck before relaxing it while the other firmly grabs the back of your head.  

Without warning, Yoongi bucks his hips, thrusting deep. You gag, but not badly enough to have to pull off, swallowing the feeling while he pulls back and thrusts forward again. And again, pulling out, slamming deep, and pulling out, clearly not setting a rhythm so much as testing your limits. 

You lift your hands and settle them on his hips, surprised by how soft his skin feels beneath your fingertips, and when he pulls back again, you take in a deep enough breath through your nose. Although Yoongi is forceful, his grip on you is loose – a small mercy considering you are already drooling and beginning to cry.

"Damn, baby girl, your throat feels amazing," Yoongi rasps, voice coming out surprisingly desperate. 

As he sets a pace, you settle into the pattern of breathing in time with his thrusts, and Yoongi continues to hold onto your head and neck while he fucks your face. Although you have given a sloppy blow job or two in the past, this is the first time you have allowed someone to be in control. 

Tears catch in your eyelashes and fall, and you glance up, watching as Yoongi grits his teeth and knits his brow, clearly holding himself back from losing some semblance of control – whether it is the urge to fuck harder or to cum already, you can only presume. 

When his eyes meet yours, he moans, allowing his eyelids to flutter, causing your strong foundation of hating his fucking guts to crumble just a little. Yoongi looks sexy while falling apart, sweat glistening on his shoulders and chest, which rise and fall with each breath he takes. 

"You have no idea how fucking good this feels," Yoongi mutters, hissing as his cock presses in nice and deep, causing thick drool to build. 

The sounds that come from you are wet and pornographic, forced from your throat. You attempt to hum in response to his praise, but the sound is garbled and lost. Not that he needs to hear your sweet utterances, anyway; what would that do for his ego?

When Yoongi pulls all the way out, it surprises you. You lurch slightly, your mouth following the movement while your lungs attempt to adjust to a full intake of air. Yoongi moves his hand from the back of your head and slaps you across the cheek, making you whimper. 

Drool coats your lips and chin, tears streak down your cheeks, and the way Yoongi looks down at you is practically reverent. You wonder what he could possibly be thinking – Min Yoongi does not look at you like that. 

Thankfully, in a blink, the expression is gone, replaced by something much sharper. Yoongi reaches down and yanks at your swim top, forcing your breasts to spill in a jerking motion. Too stunned to respond, you sit while Yoongi roughly palms at your chest, calloused hands against soft, sensitive skin. 

Yoongi squeezes and slaps your breasts, giving your nipples a pinch with one alternating hand while he continues holding you firmly by the throat. You do your best not to react too loudly, huffing and sighing without moaning; you want Yoongi to really work to get a reaction out of you. With how cocky he is, you expect he will have no trouble doing so.

Without warning, Yoongi shoves you onto your back, fully releasing you, and sending you crashing against the comforter. You scramble, legs spreading as you lift one in an attempt to get into any position that might be useful, but Yoongi bends and grabs your ass, yanking it off the edge of the bed and pressing in a way that lifts your hips slightly, causing your legs to flail and spread. He yanks your swimsuit bottom to the side, bends just enough to spit on you, and then he rubs the tip of his dick against the spit, over your clit and labia before he spears you nice and deep. 

The stretch makes you cry out and squeeze your eyes tight, gripping the comforter and attempting to find a position to hold your legs. Yoongi presses and slightly twists you so that one leg is bent and somewhat hanging downward and the other is lifted high in the air, and he sets a brutal pace, fucking you hard and deep before you can wrap your head around anything.

"Holy fuck!" you scream, pleasure-pain so intense, you struggle to breathe. 

"So tight," Yoongi moans, pressing his weight into you even more, making your leg muscles burn and ache. 

All you can do is lay and take what Yoongi gives you, doing your best to relax your muscles while he fucks you harder and better than anyone has before. You said you wanted it rough, and you are not disappointed. With each deep thrust, you chase your high quickly. 

Yoongi reaches with one hand and roughly rubs over your clit, giving your pussy gentle slaps that send you hurtling over the edge. Your moans turn into sobs, back bowing from the bed as you build and build and then crash. 

"That's it, baby girl," Yoongi grits, fingers working your clit in more practiced movements. "Show me how fast I can make you cum."

"Sh-sh-shut up," you grumble, head digging back into the comforter. Orgasm washes over you, threatening to drown you in its undertow, and you sob and moan, hands tensing and releasing as your legs tremble at their awkward angles. 

Yoongi pulls all the way out before you finish, shoving your legs down and forcing you to roll over. You move in a haphazard tangle of limbs, your body both shimmering from its high and feeling unfulfilled.

As you get onto your stomach, you drag-crawl up the bed just enough to prevent your knees from hanging uncomfortably, glad when the bed dips and Yoongi follows you. Both hands grip your ass cheeks, pulling the material of your bathing suit and causing the fabric to dig into your skin. 

Yoongi slides back in and presses his hands firmly on your ass and lower back, pinning you down while his thrusts make the mattress bounce. You feel dizzy as Yoongi fucks you deep, and when he moves his hands to anchor beside your hips, you bounce even harder. 

One hand presses down on the side of your head and pushes your face into the mattress, and although it does not hurt, the pressure is enough to make you feel almost floaty and perfectly used. You are so close to cuming again, and when Yoongi leans low, warm breath ghosting over your face, you close your eyes. 

"This rough enough for you?" he asks, voice raspy and enticing. 

You practically scream yes and divulge just how good he makes you feel – how you will likely never be fucked this good by anyone else. But you choose to hold onto the praise for another day. 

"It's pretty good," you manage to mutter between unrelenting slaps of skin against skin. 

Yoongi scoffs. "Pretty good," he grits, mostly to himself. 

Then he spits on the side of your mouth, causing you to scowl. Yoongi removes the hand from your head and rubs his fingers over the saliva, smearing it over your lips and cheek while his hips continue their attack. 

"You look so good, all messy," he says with a playful tone. "Nothing but a submissive little fuck doll for me to use as I please."

Yoongi sits up, grips you by the hips, and speeds his pace, causing every muscle in your body to fight between wanting to tense and relax. You chase your next high and breakneck speeds, babbling nonsense as Yoongi uses you just as promised. 

You nearly cum just as Yoongi pulls out and releases his hold. With an impatient, frustrated groan, you bury your face into the blanket while Yoongi's weight shifts and reaches under you to grab your hips. Hot breath follows a warm wet tongue against your pussy, and you moan loud and eager, doing your best to pop your ass out and give him as much access to you as possible as a new rush of pleasure takes hold. 

Yoongi buries his face into you and puts his whole jaw into devouring your cunt, lips and tongue working you over in broad, sloppy movements. Remnants of the high you were chasing before build quickly. And when his tongue moves to your asshole and he plunges two fingers into your pussy, thumb rubbing over your clit, the dam breaks. 

Gripping the comforter, you squeal and moan, feeling wave after intense wave flow through you. Yoongi hums and groans as he tongue fucks your ass, fingers and thumb rubbing over your sweet spots. As soon as your high dissipates, you feel another racing to take its place. 

This time, when he pulls away before you can cum, you feel relief. You do your best to relax and catch your breath, feeling your entire body tremble and sink into the mattress. 

"Already going limp on me," Yoongi teases, pressing into your hips to make you roll around to your back again. 

“Making me dizzy,” you complain as you flop over, legs spreading uselessly, plopping down to the mattress. 

Your bathing suit top is even more askew, breasts hanging past the thin cups that have shifted, but you do not care. This is exactly how you wanted to be fucked – rushed, rough, and without any preamble or romance. 

“You like it when I play with your ass,” Yoongi teases, lips pulled into an obnoxious smirk. 

“Shut up,” you complain, rolling your heavy, tired eyes. 

Yoongi spreads your thighs with both palms and spits with enough force onto your clit that it makes you flinch. One hand stays pressed into your thigh while the other pumps and lines up his cock. 

How it still feels so incredible when he spears you open is a mystery; your body should be used to it by now, but instead, the stretch feels overwhelming, making you moan and arc off the comforter. 

“Should let Jimin and I double penetrate you,” Yoongi grits between his teeth as he pulls back and slams forward. 

“Oh my god!” you scream as Yoongi grips your hips and drives his cock into you so hard, your body trembles and jiggles with each perfect punch of his hips. 

Although the prospect of actually meeting Jimin does interest you, and it does feel good when Yoongi plays with your ass, double penetration – specifically anal sex –  is not something you are ready for. But you are unable to voice your trepidation at the moment, mouth only capable of sputtering nonsense between sobs and moans, which you are no longer capable of holding back. 

Yoongi leans, deepening his thrusts, and he slots two fingers into your mouth, pressing on your tongue and forcing you to drool. His fingers taste like you, heady and ever so slightly tangy, and he grips onto your jaw nice and tight while each drag of his cock threatens to send you into a new dimension of existence. 

Your eyes flutter, and you wonder if it is possible for your soul to slip from your body. You feel tingly and elevated into clouds – like nothing in the world exists but the two of you tangled in this sardonic dance. 

"Fuck, I won't last much longer," Yoongi groans, and you practically thank the heavens. 

At this rate, if Yoongi does not cum soon, you might risk actually wanting to see him more often. You might find yourself thinking about him while he is away, and, god forbid, wanting to invite him over to do this again. 

"Can I cum inside you?" Yoongi asks, voice breaking around the edges. 

You attempt to mutter, "Absolutely not," around his fingers, but the sounds come out jumbled and drool runs down your cheek. 

Luckily, Yoongi seems to understand, and he slides his fingers from your mouth, then pulls all the way out and begins to stroke himself off with his drool-covered hand. Although you find it hard to keep your eyes open, you cannot help but stare. 

Yoongi kneels over you, head tipped back with his throat bobbing as he chases the last of his high. He moans loud and unabashed, sounding and looking far better than you care to admit, with his mint-colored hair hanging over his forehead in sweaty little stalactites. He trembles as his cum sprays from his glistening cock, covering your thigh and hip, and as he squeezes his tip to get the last remaining drops out, he falls slightly forward, bracing himself with his free hand. 

"God damn," Yoongi groans, head drooping low. "I knew you would feel good but that was insane."

The urge to tell Yoongi to shut up is strong, but you find you cannot get the words out. All you can do is stare as he catches his breath. You wonder how you have never noticed how broad his shoulders are before, eyes tracing the lines of muscle and bone. Briefly, you even wonder if you could have a crush on someone like him, before you heavy-blink and shake your head, forcing the thought away.

You hum in response to Yoongi's words, delayed because you are stuck in your head. Of course, you would be thinking thoughts about a man who makes you feel this good – but that is all they are, thoughts. Yoongi is an idiot, at the end of the day, who is best friends with your brother, and something like this cannot become a regular occurrence. Surely, once you have come down from your various highs, you will be right back to hating him. 

"Alright," Yoongi groans, finally meeting your eye while he slides off the edge of the bed, into a standing position. "This was fun. Thanks for the pussy."

"Whatever," you grumble, finally attempting to move your bathing suit back into place before realizing you still have Yoongi's cum drying on your fucking hip. 

"Next time, I want to bring Jimin. You'll love him, trust me."

With a sigh, you glance around the room, then remember there is a box of tissues sitting on the bathroom counter. "There is definitely not going to be a next time," you respond as you begin to attempt to roll into a position that does not make the cum trickle onto the bed. 

"You always say that," Yoongi teases, pulling his shorts up, "but I know you'll be thinking about me after this. I saw the way you drifted, baby girl. You were having an out of body experience while I fucked you nice and hard."

"Alright, fuck off," you complain, sitting up and untying the still-damp bathing suit from your chest. Post-nut regret settles deep the more he eggs you on, and it is beginning to annoy the shit out of you. Why must he speak? All of this would be much more pleasant if he would just fuck you and go.

Yoongi turns and walks away without another word. You close your eyes and take a deep breath in, making an attempt at centering yourself. This was just another slip-up, and hardly a big deal; it is not as if you will be asking for a round three. He is simply too annoying and low-key inconsiderate. 

You sit and wait for the door to open and close, planning a nice warm shower. The only plan the group has is to meet for dinner, and that isn't for another few hours. You are shocked when you feel something hit you on the arm, and your eyes fly open to find the cardboard cube of tissues resting by your hand, and Yoongi standing nearby with a smile. 

"See ya later," he calls, waving his fingertips playfully while a sweet, almost pretty smile graces his lips. 

"Yup," you respond, tearing your gaze away and looking down at the tissues. Only when you finally do hear Yoongi leave, do you begin to wipe yourself clean.

"Get your shit together," you mumble under your breath, disgusted by how much you actually did enjoy Yoongi's company, bothered by how your giant suite feels lonely the moment he is gone. 

You need to get a grip before dinnertime. And you need to resist the urge to get to know Jimin. This can not and will not become a regular thing. There is absolutely no way it can. Nothing good can come from catching feelings for the devil with the mint hair.

ahhh, here we are again with a written part after almost a full year! let me know what you think! i only have 1 other part planned, but that doesn't mean it will end there. (no promises, tho!)

comments and reblogs make the world go 'round! and likes are appreciated, too!!!

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Devil with the Mint Hair is copyright 2022 - 2023 theharrowing, all rights reserved. 

[kryptonbabe]

This version of Mr. Mxyzptlk finally made me realize how cool the concept of the character really is

I've been a fan of Superman for a while now, almost ten years, oh time really flies, but I was never able to truly connect to Mxyzptlk the same way I do to Brainiac, Lex Luthor or Parasite. The chaotic nature of the character was never appealing to me. I started reading Superman and following comic book adaptations as an adult, which made me wonder if that's not the reason why I can't bring myself to enjoy the playfulness of some characters. For instance I don't really like Bizarro stories either (although I think he's cute and sympathetic, I've never read / watched something with him that I didn't find more annoying than anything... for now at least, I did not give up).

However, as I was finally watching MAWS 1st season last night, something about the Mxyzptlk episode just clicked, I fell in love with the character and the show (I mean... the League of Lois Lanes?? Amazing), his looks, personality and chaotic cheerfulness, the neutral nature of his moral inclinations, his defiant attitude towards Superman, an all powerful being that can actually challenge Clark's abilities. Lovely, unique, fun.

And as I looked for images of MAWS Mxy to send to my friends and tell them "I wish I was exactly like him", I found several excerpts of old comics with Mr. Mxyzptlk, and suddenly, that big headed imp with a tiny hat became an endearing figure with funny dialogues, I felt the urge to know more, read his origins, his famous stories and all I can find about the purple and orange clad creature.

I'm a fan of silver age Superman family comics and all this time I was foolishly avoiding Mxy stories, now I know I have so much to learn and laugh about, I can't wait. And all of that unleashed by this modern adaptation, I was really not expecting it.

I love comics for this, there's no wrong way to approach them. When we are beginners there's all this insecurity of not reading the classics, or not reading in order, not understanding the complexity and ramifications of events, the plethora of references. It's fun to find out about all that, but it's ok to take your time and just enjoy the stories, good or bad, classics or forgotten stuff you found at a garage's sale. Keeping the mind open.

In my journey in comics I met with a lot of gatekeepers and this weird mentality that you must read / watch certain things in their proper order and love certain classic stories and dislike the bad ones. Now as I get older, wiser and more powerful everyday, I see there's no reason for any of that. I still respect comic books history, but I have my own personal tastes and processes too, and it's cool to be cool about that, making my own way through this rich history, right? But I digress, this is a post about Mr. Mxyzptlk! I am finally aware of his greatness, I was not ready for it before, I forgive myself, for something changed last night, I now feel the chaos running through my veins, the imp influence changing me. And I'm glad for it!

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Separation Part 2

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~3.8k

Summary: Picks up where the first part left off.

A/N: I was going to post something fluffy, but then I re-read the first part and decided I was a little mean with the cliffhanger. So here you go. Enjoy 😉

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, stalking, and divorce.

On your third morning staying with Nat and Yelena, you find yourself sitting alone at the coffee table staring off into space. You’ve been doing this a lot lately. No matter where you were, you were usually lost in thought about the events of the past week. You went to work yesterday because it was Friday and you had to, but today you plan to figure out your next move.

You probably should have considered this sooner, but you’d been distracted. Being with your friends was something that you hadn’t realized you’d missed as much as you did until you were here. They still worked during the day, but at night when they came home, you’d usually share a meal and maybe a movie while catching up on your days.

They both made sure to leave Wanda out of anything they talked about which you weren’t sure you were grateful for anymore. You had been wrestling with your guilt and hurt, but you were afraid that your guilt was winning out. You hated to think that Wanda was as miserable as you were right now, despite the fact that she made you feel horrible. You wanted to be angry with her, at least a part of you did, but the majority of you felt guilty for dragging out this miserable time in limbo for both of you. 

You sigh as you look to your bare hand with a frown. You haven’t worn your rings for the past few day. You had hoped that it would make you feel better, maybe less married, but it only made you feel worse. You had foolishly believed that taking them off would help distract you from your relationship. Instead, you just thought of the drawer that you’ve hidden them in every time you’ve looked at your hand.

You take a sip of the lukewarm coffee with a grimace before turning your attention to your dog. Boone’s adjusted so well to having his life turned upside down. You feel bad for taking him from his home with no explanation, or no plan in mind. You don’t think he minds too much because he can be with you most of the day, but you can’t help but think that he must be confused. 

He must miss Wanda. 

You know that you do. 

You briefly wonder what Wanda has been up to for the past few days, but you quickly shake your head in defeat. Thinking about her right now won’t help you make a decision that’s best for you. No matter how selfish it feels, you need to think about yourself for once. You can’t be influenced by Wanda right now. 

Wanda Maximoff had only been married for less than a year. She realizes that it isn’t that much time in the grand scheme of things, but this reassurance does nothing to keep her from feeling heartbroken about your absence. She’s decided to assume the worst at this point because she couldn’t convince herself that you would come back to her. The idea of you leaving her for good has left her feeling lost. She’s listless and only doing any work that’s put directly in front of her. Even then, she hands it to her brother to look over because she can’t trust her judgment right now. 

She had never expected anything like this to happen. After you’d gotten married, she hadn’t given much thought to you leaving her. You were both so happy, if a little stressed at times about her job, but you never fought like this. You had never left her for even a night, so your absence now, no matter how short, felt significant.

She realizes that she’s been shortsighted, and all of her anxieties about you leaving her had transferred from you walking out on her, to you being taken from her. That made her more vigilant and paranoid, if that’s even possible, and it’s certainly put a strain on you both. 

Wanda hadn’t imagined how she’d react to you walking out on her. She hadn’t imagined that she’d say something cruel to you and send you packing. Although she wasn’t handling it well at all, she was almost surprised that she’d only had a single drink with her brother that first night. Since then she hadn’t thought about drinking herself into a stupor despite how appealing the idea of numbing herself seemed.

She just wanted you to come back. 

Wanda lowers her head to the desk in front of her and buries her face in her arms with a sigh. She closes her eyes and tries to will away her stress headache. She had tried to convince herself that you’re gone for good because that’s what she feels like she deserves, but it’s not working. She can still feel herself holding out hope to hear from you again even though she knows that it may not be anytime soon. She certainly can’t expect any favors from you. 

She sits up slowly, as if rising from a deep sleep before she glances at her left hand. She can feel herself tearing up as she remembers the morning you gave her the ring on her finger. She’d been shocked but deeply touched by the thought you put into your proposal. She’d realized a long time ago that she loved you, but in that moment when you looked at her with so much adoration and hope, she’d realized that you really were it for her.

She wipes the tears from her ears just as she hears a knock followed by her brother’s voice. She resists the urge to curse before she tries to appear like she’s more put together than she truly is. Or at least not close to falling apart.

Yelena holds back a sigh as she unlocks her apartment later that night. You’d been staying with them for 3 days, and despite how much she likes having you around, this isn’t what she expected. She hates to see you so lost and uncertain, but she doesn’t know how to help you. She wishes she’d given Wanda a piece of her mind when she’d seen her yesterday, but she’d chosen to ignore her instead. She figured chewing out your wife wasn’t going to make anything about this easier. 

As she opens the door and is immediately greeted by two dogs, she forces a smile as she scratches them both. She’s not sure how you’re dealing with everything that’s happened to you. Although she’s sure you’re mostly focused on your marriage, it can’t be easy knowing that someone had tried to kill you because they blamed you for a family member’s death. No matter how far in the past it was, she’s sure you’re recalling every interaction you ever had with him. Yelena worried that you were carrying too much guilt, but when she’d tried to talk to you about it, you’d basically brushed her off. 

She figures that if she’s going to help you get through this, she needs to focus on what your next steps are. As much as she wouldn’t mind you moving in with her, she doesn’t want you to be miserable. 

She finds you napping on the couch and she figures you’d passed out there after making dinner. She still feels the heat of the oven as she walks back to the kitchen to fix you both a plate. She can’t be sure since she hasn’t been home most of the day, but she wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t eating much. This was never a good sign. She wishes Natasha wasn’t busy tonight. She was always better when it came to having serious conversations. 

As Yelena walks around the dogs who are waiting patiently for their own dinner, she reminds herself that she’s at least grateful to have food as a buffer. 

You wake up to the smell of something that makes your stomach rumble irritably. You hadn’t eaten lunch and other than your cup of coffee and toast, you don’t think you’ve eaten today. You quickly try to push down your nausea as you sit up and look around for the source of the food. You don’t remember cooking, but then you see Yelena sitting at the table across the room with two plates and a questioning look. 

“Hungry?” 

You stand up and make your way over to the table, stopping to pet your dog before dropping into your chair. You nod and offer a small smile before glancing at the clock. It’s nearly 7 so you figure it’s just you and Yelena tonight. 

“How was work?”

Yelena considers her answer for a beat longer than normal before she shrugs and decides to be honest. She hadn’t had too much to do today, but she sensed that you needed time alone, so she hung out with Kate for most of the afternoon. 

“It wasn’t too busy. There’s not much going on at the moment.” 

You try to read between the lines, but you’re too hungry for that level of critical thinking. You take a couple of bites before you consider what you want to ask next. You feel pressured to give everyone an answer about what you’re going to do. You feel that they deserve a decision since they’re either waiting around for you to tell them if you’re divorcing them, or they’re letting you stay with them indefinitely. You feel yourself sweat merely at the thought of having to make such an important decision, but you can’t help it. 

You’ve taken three days to think about what Wanda said to you. You thought about how shitty it made you feel and how you questioned if she even loved you. Now, over 72 hours later, you think you finally have an answer to at least one question. 

“Did you…did you see Wanda at all?” 

Yelena’s surprised that you asked this, but she doesn’t have to think about her answer very long. She hasn’t seen Wanda around in the past few days. Honestly no one but Pietro had dared to seek her out. Yelena figures she’s locked herself away for the unforeseeable future. She never realized how similar you two were until these past few days. 

“No. I think Pietro’s the only one who’s seen her.” 

This makes your chest tighten with guilt and you have to stop yourself from considering what this could mean. Is Wanda working herself to death? Or is she not working at all? It’s hard to know, and you won’t find out unless you ask. That said, you’re not sure you want to know the answer. 

Yelena watches as you sigh heavily and drop your fork with a frown. She tries to predict what you’re going to say next, but you’re uncharacteristically hard to read as you stare blankly at the candle in the middle of the table.

“I don’t know what to do, Yelena. No matter how I look at it, I just—I can’t figure it out.” 

Yelena decides to abandon her plan to discuss this over dinner, and she pushes her chair back so she can stand. She moves to the chair beside you so you don’t feel like you’re being interrogated as she tries to get more information. She’s pretty sure you’re talking about Wanda, but she doesn’t want to put her foot in her mouth until she’s sure. 

“Look at what, Y/n?” 

You don’t respond immediately as you think about your wife’s cruel words in contrast to her actions of the past few years. You know that Wanda’s anxiety can get the best of her, and sometimes your attempts to help aren’t well received. That said, you’ve always believed that even during an argument, you’d never say something you didn’t mean. At least on some level. Either Wanda had been trying to hurt you, or she’d been voicing her insecurities about how your slightly different relationship has put you at higher risk. It didn’t really matter honestly because the end result was the same. 

Wanda had made you feel unwanted, unloved, and foolish. You had never imagined that Wanda would change her mind about being married to you. You thought that she understood the risks long before she walked down the aisle, but maybe you were wrong. You remember telling Wanda once, after a close call one night, that you’d be willing to learn how to fire a gun. You’d been willing to do whatever Wanda wanted you to in order for her to feel more confident in your ability to protect yourself. She just wanted you to be safe, and you realized now that doing just the bare minimum may not be enough. 

Then again, if you knew your wife which you liked to think you did, at least until this happened, you aren’t sure that anything you do will ever be enough. Her job put her at risk of being targeted daily, and anyone who associated with her was also at risk. Regardless of this making sense, you’d found it hard to reconcile the fact that people truly cared about you enough to come after you. Even though it had happened a few times, it was only recently that you’d realized it wasn’t about you. It was about Wanda, and until she wasn’t at the center of her criminal empire, you both would be at risk. 

You shake your head before you can contemplate the myriad of ways you could be targeted. You lean against your friend who immediately puts an arm around you. 

“If I stay with Wanda, as long as she’s working, something like this could happen again. We could end up in the exact same place, if not worse. No matter what I do, I can’t offset the risks associated with her job.” 

Yelena doesn’t want to tell you that you’re absolutely right, but luckily, she doesn’t have to. You’re too smart for your own good sometimes. 

You sigh in frustration at yourself and your damn stubborn wife before you say what you’d decided only really a few hours after crashing at your friends’ place. 

“So now I Just have to decide if I risk a shitshow like this again, or if dare ask Wanda to give up her job.” 

You frown at the mere thought because although you’re not saying it, both you and Yelena understand. 

You’re going to stay married and face the highs and lows associated with that, or you’re going to break up because you already know that Wanda won’t just quit. 

Now all that’s left is for you to make a decision. 

It takes two days for Wanda to go home. She’d been camping out in her old rooms at the compound because she couldn’t face going home to an empty house. It wasn’t until Monday evening that her brother practically kicked her out and told her to take tomorrow off. She hated the idea of just sitting around and thinking, but she’d been too tired to argue. She still wasn’t sure if she was going to do as he asked when she arrived home, but that was tomorrow’s problem.

Wanda arrives to a dark house and she almost turns around until she realizes how long of a drive she’d be in for. Instead she pulls into the garage and trudges reluctantly into the house. It’s as quiet as she thought it would be, and she simply stands with her back against the door for a few minutes as she takes in the silence. She hates herself for causing this. For speaking to you the way she did, and for being the reason you were targeted in the first place.

Eventually she walks over to the kitchen and turns on the light. She loses track of time as she stands against the counter trying to figure out what to do next. She’s not hungry, but she knows she’ll regret going to bed without eating. She can’t force herself to think about food; however, so she just stands in the kitchen until the urge to do something strikes. 

This doesn’t come until nearly 20 minutes later when she’s surprised by the sound of the doorbell. It takes her a few seconds to process the sound and then she’s reaching for her phone to see if anyone’s mentioned coming over. She frowns when the most recent message is from her brother nearly 30 minutes ago. 

Someone’s going to come visit you soon.

Wanda frowns at the cryptic message, but given that this person is not likely to try and rob her she heads for the front door with a sigh. She wonders what Steve or Bucky might want, but she doesn’t get very far. She’s too tired to think and she just switches on the outside lights before opening the door.

Wanda notices Boone first because it’s hard not to when he’s sitting with his nose mere inches from the door. His furry face appears through the threshold almost before the door’s completely opened and Wanda jumps in surprise. He leans further inside and rubs his head on her leg with a loud whine. Wanda’s too shocked to pet him, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he runs past her into the house. 

It’s not until he’s left that Wanda realizes that you’re standing much farther back at the top of the stairs with an unreadable expression. She feels equal parts dread and excitement at seeing you, and she has to stop herself from asking a dozen questions. 

“Hi Wands.” 

You had second guessed your decision to come home like this several times before you and Boone left, and then a few times on the way here. You should have waited until tomorrow, but Pietro had told you that he had ordered Wanda to go home, and you figured this was your best shot of talking with her. You made sure that Pietro told her to expect you so she wasn’t surprised, but looking at her now, you wonder if he bothered. 

You offer a small smile and that seems to kick Wanda’s brain back into gear and she’s dropping her hand from the door and moving aside with a dazed look. 

“Y/n. Hi. Come in. Come in.” 

You mutter a thanks under your breath, despite how strange it feels to be invited into your own house. You shove your hands into your pockets as you take a few steps inside before turning back to Wanda after she’s shut the door. You don’t really want to do this here, but you’re afraid that if you go in any further, you might not leave. 

“Can we talk?” 

The words send a shiver up Wanda’s spine, but she doesn’t hesitate to nod. She’s only wanted you to talk to her for close to a week. 

You were going to just have this uncomfortable conversation in the middle of the foyer, but then you look at Wanda again and frown. You probably should have called ahead because she looks exhausted and you aren’t sure you’ll have her full attention unless you let her sit down. You nod toward the living room and lead the way with a sigh. 

“Let’s sit. I’m sure you’ve had a long day.” 

You wait until she’s sitting on the couch across from you before you try to figure out what to say first. You allow yourself the short distraction of petting Boone when he comes up to you, but you know that you’ve dragged this out long enough. Too long honestly. 

“I think we’re both exhausted, so I’ll make this quick, okay?” 

Wanda doesn’t like the sound of this at all, so she says nothing, but you take her silence as acceptance. She feels her stress start to climb with each word you say, but she waits patiently for you finish. 

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I know that you love me. I’d like to think that you wouldn’t have married me otherwise, but that doesn’t mean we both don’t have our doubts. Maybe not about being married specifically, but assuming the risk associated with it. Risk that granted, you understand a lot more than I do.”

Wanda tries not to look like she’s in anguish as you stop to figure out how to be as honest as possible, but not as cruel as you’d like to be. 

“I realize that fear is likely the reason why you said what you did, but even so it made me realize that we’re not on the same page.” 

You try to get a read on Wanda, but even as tired as she is, she hides her thoughts well. You figure it’s for the best because you didn’t want her to sway your decision. You take a deep breath before you stand up and move to sit beside Wanda. There are at least a few feet between you, but you felt the need to be closer for what you say next. 

“I need you to know that I will do everything I can to be with you for as long as possible. I know we can’t eliminate every risk, but if the alternative is not getting to be with you at all, I’ll deal. We both will.” 

Wanda’s too nervous to breathe or even move as she waits for you to continue. She’s afraid that any wrong move and she’ll realize that she’s hallucinated all of this and that she’s still in her house alone. She doesn’t realize that her fears are simply getting the best of her again until you move a little closer and reach out for her hand. 

“In return, I need you to do something for me. I need you to have faith, to trust that everything will work out. And if you can’t please talk to me about it. We can’t keep fighting about this Wanda.”

Wanda’s crying at this point, but she doesn’t even bother to wipe her tears away as she watches you dig into your pocket and take out your rings. She’s still wearing hers, and she can’t pretend that the absence of yours doesn’t make her feel disconsolate. 

You place them in her palm with a sigh and close her fingers around them with a small smile. 

“I want you to hold onto these for me. After only a few days of pretending to not be married to you, I already want to put them back on, but I need to wait until I no longer have doubts about what you said.”

Wanda feels her tears start to fall faster as the familiar feeling of shame washes over her at the reminder of what she said to you. You don’t look mad though and that’s the only thing that keeps her from stuttering out a rambling apology. You seem hopeful and your smile is enough for her to feel the same way. You will both come back from this. 

“I know it’s a lot to ask, Wands, but can you do that for me?” 

Despite knowing that she’d agree to nearly anything that you asked of her right now, she hesitates for a moment as she squeezes the rings in her palm. She takes a deep breath before nodding in agreement. When she watches your smile widen, she feels hope bloom in her chest.

“Yes. I-I can do that.” 

Masterlist

[gldrushsblog]

SUGAR AND SIN | JK

🧁✧ ˚. TITLE: Sugar and Sin.

🧁✧ ˚. PAIRING: Mafia boss! Jungkook x female oc

🧁✧ ˚. BLURB: Jeon Jungkook doesn't do favors, and neither does he make petty deals expect for maybe Aurora Beckett.

🧁✧ ˚. GENRE: Mafia au, grumpy x sunshine, forced proximity, slow burn, dark romance, crime/thriller.

🧁✧ ˚. WARNINGS: it's jk's pov 🤷‍♀️

🧁✧ ˚. A/N: sooo I couldn't help it and posted the next chapter on wattpad. Do check it out for a suprise 👀- chapter 9.

🧁✧ ˚. TAG LIST: @scuzmunkie

CHAPTER 4-JUNGKOOK

The world was divided into two: those who feared the shadows and those who became them. Jeon Jungkook had long since chosen his side.

In the dark and haze, his name slithered like a serpent, coiling itself around its prey, squeezing until the last breath was crushed out with the whispers of "Jeon Jungkook didn’t needed a excuse."

No one dared to squirm against his word and grip, only pestered and tested his non-existence patience with pleads for mercy—a concept he had long since buried in a forgotten  land with the naive child that he had broken out of.

But of course, every theory seemed to have its exception. And Jungkook lived for exceptions.

He especially enjoyed when the object of his thinning patience struggled, when they ran, thinking they could escape him.

It gave him a thrill of hunt. A thrill he has based his life on. A thrill that reminded him of why he lived the way he did. Power wasn’t something handed over—it was hunted, taken by force, hoarded in the shadows where he thrived, where he once learned to beg for it.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

And when the hunger for that power surfaced, he indulged in it timely. That Thursday night was the choice for one of those times when he'd step out of the professionally cold walls of his office totake the hunt outside, letting the blackness bleed into places that weren't considered the part of the shadows. That wasn't a constriction for him. Nothing was, and if anything, the dead night served the mood, not a curtain.

The times were of his choosing, and so was the prey- a middle-aged man with homely features. They seemed to do a good job at hiding the renegade of a bastard that oh so foolishly thought that greed was his to have and screwed up with the money- his money- from the arms trade by having the nerve to dip into trafficking—without permission. That bastard thought he could crawl into Jungkook’s territory, and Jungkook would let him walk free.

Unfortunately for him, the snake was a slithery, undulated thing, and Jeon Jungkook was no different than that. Just the bite was a lot more lethal when provoked.

And oh was he provoked, so very into the act as his prey tried to hide, run and break free from the shadow that loomed behind him, that he didn't notice when they broke into a uncharted territory. It was dimmed and shadowed- that was all the mattered until a certain pair of eyes that could almost be mistaken for a deer's with how wide and enlarged they were with fear met his from a corner, trying to hide yet stayed frozen.

He could see the spooked look in them-the one he was not entirely foreign with- even in the dim lightening. The acceptance a little deer has when a truck with blinding lights and ignorance comes crashing its way to serve its end.

It had the bored look in his eyes get replaced with an uncertainty. It surprised him. He was almost never uncertain with a gun in his hand and lust for blood rushing through his veins.But as the man he was hunting fell to his knees, choking out pitiful pleas, Jungkook didn’t move to shoot. His eyes kept shifting back to her.

He did not expect that. He had not expected a hindrance, a potential witness to him blowing this cowering man's brains on the floor.

Yet he didn't get rid of the hiding little deer the moment he was done setting himself free from the tiresome pleads the annoying bastard was supplying his way. He didn't get rid of her even when he knew that those eyes wide with fear saw everything, not even when she passed out before he could reach her, giving him a leverage to silence her without the inconvenience of her begging for her life and all that.He could have. He should have. It would’ve been easy.

But something stopped him.

And that irritated him more than anything.

Instead he snapped two fingers to have information on her before having his men dropped her off to her whatever cheap excuse of apartment she lived in, finding out that this deer eyed woman named Aurora Beckett runs this place which he had painted red, is supposedly a bakery.

Insignificant, really.

He convinced himself later that he didn't need to waste a precious bullet on a nobody who he could hush with some threats and a glare.

But something about her had kept him from pulling the trigger, and that gnawed at him more than it should have.

Genuinely, what the fuck was I thinking?

This was beneath him.

He had his infamous scowl on his face as he trudged on the creaky stairs, the fluorescent lights overhead casting an unforgiving glare on the threadbare carpet.

As he walked into the dingy office of Choi Sangwoo after telling Hyunsoo- his right hand man to stand on guard beside the door, the distaste in his chest gnawed at him. The air was stale, thick with the smell of cheap tobacco and desperation. This wasn't the kind of business he was accustomed to-dealing with insignificant men like choi over petty real estate. But here he was, all because of a request from a woman who shouldn't have been his fucking concern.

Sangwoo looked up, his eyes bulging with fear the moment he recognized him- it was almost impossible that unfair wanna-be businessmen like him didn't hear the hint of his name around the very air of greed they breathed. And It was the same every time: fear, groveling, then obedience. Normally, it was satisfying. Today, it felt like a waste of time.

"Mr. Jeon... I-I wasn't expecting you," he stuttered, his hands fumbling to hide the cash on his desk as if that would somehow change what was coming.

He didn't bother with pleasantries. Never did. "That's because you're a fool, choi. Only a fool tries to squeeze more than what he's worth."

He saw the beads of sweat forming on his balding head, his fingers trembling as he reached for a handkerchief to wipe them away. It was almost pitiful. Almost.

"I'm not sure I understand, sir," he blubbered, though the fear in his eyes told the mafia boss that he understood perfectly.

Jungkook stepped forward until he was almost looming over his desk, his gloved hand leisurely tucked in his pocket, his face giving away annoyance and boredom both.

"Aurora Beckett. The bakery."

His face paled at the mention of a certain brunette. "It's just business, Mr. Jeon. I didn't-"

"And you're doing it poorly." He cut him off, my voice heavy with disdain.

"I-I can explain--"

"Don't waste my time," Jungkook snapped, tossing the deed transfer onto his desk. "Sign it. Now."

His eyes widened as he read the document, the fear palpable, "This... this is a deed transfer. You're buying the land?" and so was the confusion at seeing the man who could basically buy him twice (or maybe thrice), do petty business with him rather.

He nodded curtly, the irritation simmering just beneath the surface. "For a fraction of what it's worth. And you're going to take it, because you're in no position to do otherwise."

Sangwoo's hand shook as he picked up the pen, eventually signing it. Well, atleast he could brag about this whole thing of Jeon Jungkook making a deal with him in his cheap circle of friends with cheap wine, while leaving the part where he almost shit his pants the whole conversation.

The landlord finished, handing the deed back to him with a shaky hand. He snatched it from him, folding it neatly and slipping it back into his suit jacket.

"Try getting too smart again, and I won't be handling this as business." He spat out before leaving the office, the weight of his presence still weighting the place.

Even after he left the place, he couldn't help but feel a disbelief over his own actions. He had allowed himself to be pulled into something small, something that shouldn't matter. He wasn't supposed to be doing favors for a woman in return for the silence he wants from her when he could silence her for life instead. But here he was, making deals on her behalf, and for what?

Too engrossed in his thoughts, he didn't notice when the man walking behind him stepped forward to open the car door for him.

Nodding in acknowledgment, he slid in the back seat. Hyunsoo followed right after to settle in the driver's seat like he usually did and ignited the engine to life.

Hyunsoo drove in silence, as he always did, his focus sharp and unwavering. He wasn't the type to pry, but he knew his boss well-too well. So, when he finally spoke, his voice was measured, careful.

"If you don't mind me asking, boss... why the interest in this particular property?" His tone was cautious, respectful, but the question still grated on the mafiaso's nerves.

"It's just business," He replied, the words flat and unconvincing even to his own ears, his eyes fixed on the window.

"This place, it's not exactly high-value," he said slowly, almost as if he was thinking out loud. "And the bakery... it doesn't seem like your usual type of investment."

This wasn't his usual type of investment because it wasn't an investment at all. It was a whim.

A whim he decided he was gonna make worth his while.

"I have grown a sweet tooth." He said, bitterly enough for Hyunsoo to understand he should better keep his mouth shut.

The rest of the ride was Jungkook gazing outside at the blur of neon signs and passing cars, trying to shove the millions things that never seemed to stop overwhelming his head.

Yet one thing was clearer than the rest: Aurora Beckett was far from finished with me. And whether she realized it or not, I was far from finished with her.

To be continued..

→ Previous chapter.

[jflemings]

— grave

pairing: chris sturniolo x reader

summary: chris can’t commit and you’ve finally had enough

warnings: drinking, angst, mentions of sex but no actual suggestive content

a/n: i know i said that a matt fic would be next but after watching chris’s interview i couldn’t shake this idea!! hurt my feelings will be the next one tho :) ALSOOO for the sake of the fic, y/n is friends with sophia birlem, halle vaneta ect <3

— I COULD NEVER MAKE YOU WANT ME LIKE I WANTED TO BE WANTED

I COULD NEVER REALLY CHANGE YOU LIKE I THOUGHT THAT I COULD

your heart dropped straight to your ass when you finished watching the clip of chris that had come across your for you page.

you had honestly been so excited for him to go on the zach sang show, having watched a few interviews yourself, and had done nothing but support and praise chris when he told you. now though, you felt stupid.

“i’m not looking for love, my goal is to meet someone and be starstruck by them” is what he has said when the topic of relationships had come up, further pushing the narrative that he wasn’t really interested in them. you were left speechless as he said that, not fully expecting him to say it the way he did and it had left your heart breaking in your chest.

you felt used and humiliated the more you watched the clip that had been posted by the fanpage. a lump had lodged itself in the base of your throat and a deep pit was achingly present in your stomach. chris had, essentially, been using you for the past six months to get what he wanted out of a relationship without actually being in one, and you had let him.

as the cogs turn in your head you begin to realise that everything the two of you did together meant nothing to him. the vulnerable conversations, the dates, the sex, all of it had been for nothing in the long run; he had just told the internet that he wasn’t in love with you. you knew chris, and his dating habits, but you had foolishly thought that maybe things were changing for him, that maybe he was beginning to feel the same way you had been feeling for far too long.

the truth was that you were in love with chris and that you had been for a little while now. he treated you with the upmost respect and kindness, always paying attention to your needs and the little things you did. he was constantly checking up on you and asking about how your day was, buying you lunch when you had to work and even getting you ‘just because’ flowers whenever he felt like it.

you just felt fucking sick.

throwing the covers off yourself, you begin to gather your things from around his room. you emptied the drawer full of your clothes he kept for you, took back your makeup wipes and spare toothbrush that was in his bathroom and stuffed it all in the overnight bag you brought with you everytime you stayed the night with him. frustrated tears pool on your waterline as you slide your shoes on and throw your bag over your shoulder, not even paying attention as your phone buzzes in your hand.

you don’t look at your illuminated screen as you walk out the door and straight to your car. you unlock it swiftly and waste no time in sliding into the driver’s seat and backing out of the driveway. you were just lucky that the triplets had all stepped out for a little while, meaning that you didn’t have to face chris and the truth just yet.

there’s no music playing through your car speakers and you still haven’t looked at your phone. the longer you sit in silence with the text message on your mind, the more tears seem to form in your eyes.

when the two of you started your ‘relationship’ chris had mentioned that he wasn’t necessarily looking for a long term thing, and that he was just enjoying his time getting to know you. at first, you were pretty accepting of this due to the fact that you felt the same way but over time, your feelings started to change.

chris was just such a gentle person in every way. he was constantly making sure you felt comfortable and okay around him, never once over stepping a boundary or putting you in an uncomfortable position. he didn’t pressure you to follow him to events or make you go out when you weren’t feeling up to it, always just brushing it off and giving you a kiss as he left, telling you to call if you needed anything.

similarly, you never made him feel like he had to hang around your friends or show you off to any degree, always trying to keep it casual and comfortable for him whenever you got the feeling you were getting too close. his commitment issues had been the topic of conversation before and you had reassured him endlessly that you didn’t expect him to step into the boyfriend role if that wasn’t what he wanted to do. he had appreciated your words but ended up ignoring them anyway as he began to give you the girlfriend treatment without you ever saying a word about it.

chris was the one who initiated a lot of the couple-y stuff. he was the one who wanted to introduce you to his friends and family, and now he was the one going on a podcast and saying how he wasn’t looking for love.

you pull up to your apartment and practically throw the car in park, your movements harsh and frustrated. with heavy eyes and a tear-stained face, you trudge to your apartment almost mindlessly, the sound of you shuffling shoes echoing on the cold ground. immediately upon unlocking and opening your apartment door, you are faced with a hoodie that chris had carelessly thrown onto the back of your couch.

after staring at the article of clothing for what felt like an eternity, your phone began to buzz repeatedly from your back pocket. the messages come one after the other, sending anxious vibrations up your spine.

you reluctantly pull the device out of your jeans and quickly sift through your notifications. one from sophia and four from chris.

soph is telling you, rather than asking, that you’re her plus one for a party tonight. she ends the message with ‘don’t ditch me for chris pls’ and you can’t help but smile bitterly. you quickly shoot her a text back confirming that you most definitely will be there tonight before going into your conversation with chris.

you can’t stop your eyes from rolling dramatically. there was no way he could know what the problem was, and you honestly didn’t expect him to, but you really didn’t have the energy for this right now. there was nothing else that could be said to try to change his mind and you were done trying.

— TABLES TURNED, NOW I’M OUT, AND YOU JUST CALLED LIKE THIRTY TIMES

ALWAYS A FUNNY THING WATCHING THE TOUGH GUY PLEAD, OH, BABY

heavy bass thumped through your chest as sophia’s hands snaked around your waist from behind you. she held you loosly whilst guiding your body with the beat, the two of you being lost in the sweaty bodies and the music.

chris had called you so many times that you’d had to turn your phone off completely. tonight was not about him, and you were not about to fall back into whatever you had with the youngest triplet after what he said.

on one hand you felt stupid for being so petty but on the other, you felt like it was deserved. you had tried your hardest to communicate though your actions that you wanted more with him, that what the two of you had was no longer enough.

you lean back onto soph and smile wide. locked out of heaven’s pre-chorus begins and soph’s grip on your waist tightens as the two of you begin to sing loudly along with the crowd

“cause your sex takes me to paradise, yeah your sex takes me to paradise!”

the two of you raise your solo cups to the ceiling in unison, halle making her way over to join you. she sways her hips along with the two of you and you turn on your heel so that the three of you are facing one another in a small circle. halle’s arms wrap around both you and sophia’s shoulders and she pulls you in along with the music.

your eyes screw shut with glee as you laugh with your friends. adrenaline and dopamine flood your brain and your body, the problems of today being momentarily forgotten the longer you scream bruno mars. you open your eyes to look at sophia, only to see chris making his way through the pool of bodies. his eyes are trained on you with relentless determination, causing you to pause. sophia and halle don’t notice until he’s right up in your space, breaking the safe circle the three of you have created.

his cologne floods your nose as he leans into your ear “we need to talk” he says sternly, his mouth pressed to the shell of your ear.

you shake your head and bring your cup up to your lips, taking a big gulp whilst looking him in the eye. he watches your throat bob as you swallow and looks into your eyes, the determination melting into pleading.

he doesn’t like your answer, and makes sure to let you know by grabbing your wrist and dragging you off the dance floor. whether it’s the alcohol or the fact that you’re just weak for chris, you don’t know, but you allow him to pull you into an empty room off to the side.

chris clicks the door shut and you slide down the wall next to the door, your eyes still trained on your drink

“y/n” he starts “what’s going on? you haven’t answered any of my texts or calls today and none of your stuff is at my place”

“i know” you slur “whoops” you respond nonchalantly, shrugging your shoulders

he sighs deeply “whoops? are you kidding me? what’s going on!” his hands run over his face in annoyance at your useless response, clearly not wanting to do this with you right now.

“just let me take you home to sober up and we’ll talk, please”

you can’t help but scoff “i’m not going home chris. i’m having a good time with my friends” you spit at him, raising your cup for emphasis “and i’d rather go home with anyone else at this fucking party, at least then i’d know that they’re just using me for sex”

his jaw goes slack and his eyebrows raise in both surprise and confusion “what the fuck are you talking about”

“i’m talking about you leading me on! the least you could do is be honest with me” your words begin to slur at the end of your sentence “stupid fucking boys” you mumble, your head leaning back against the wall with a thunk.

“you’re drunk” he whispers whilst looking down at his shoes

you look at him down your nose through half-hooded eyes, the liquid courage suddenly increasing “no, i’m over you”

chris’s head snaps up suddenly, his eyes blown wide with hurt evident on his face “you don’t mean that”

“i’m done asking you to want me” you laugh bitterly “especially after you get on a fucking podcast and tell the internet that you’re not looking for love”

everything seems to click for chris in that moment. he crouches down in front of you and sits back on his haunches, his pretty blue eyes finding yours “baby…” he speaks softly to you.

tears begin to form in your eyes and you place your drink down on the floor next to you “no, chris! do you know what that felt like!?” your voice raises “what, did you only treat me like your girlfriend so i’d keep having sex with you? was that the reason you kept me around?”

venom drips from your words as you begin to shout “or was it because you KNEW how i feel? huh, chris? did i boost your ego enough that you felt like you didn’t need me anymore?”

chris’s eyes soften as he looks at you. your makeup is well and truely ruined by now, your mascara now running down your face. he opens his mouth to say something but closes it when he realises he doesn’t know what to say. your own mouth drops open in shock, a sarcastic laugh leaving your lips when you realise that he really wasn’t going to answer you.

you abruptly stand, leaving chris to fall backwards onto his hands. you look down at him with a sneer, disgust and hurt cloaking your normally soft features “so you can go on a stranger’s podcast and run your fucking mouth but you can’t defend yourself to me?”

the semi-dried tear tracks on your face are replaced by fresh ones as he still says nothing, the look of hurt never leaving his baby blue eyes.

scoffing, you pick up your drink and turn on your heel to walk out the door “fuck you christopher. you’re nothing to me”

— I WAS TRYNA MAKE US SOMETHING OUTTA NOTHING

WE WERE NOTHING AT ALL

[new-employeeamillion]

I still foolishly dabble in Twitter to see what some of my fellow animation enthusiasts are saying, and one particular SpongeBob tweet annoyed me so much that I’m not even gonna talk about it on that app. It was quoting a segment of the Season 12 episode Shell Games, a fairly standard and innocuous episode, and saying that the plot is an insult to Stephen Hillenburg’s legacy. That was the final straw for me. I can no longer trust the people who aren’t diehard SpongeBob geniuses with Stephen Hillenburg’s name. Especially when they’re blue checkmarks who can benefit from the clout SpongeBob fans will give them.

What was so insulting about Shell Games? Them revealing Patrick’s rock was actually a turtle shell, for one episode, out of nearly 600. I swear, you have less of a reason to be upset over The Principal and the Pauper, and even that’s been an overreaction. I’m not gonna say Shell Games is one of my all time favourites, but I think it’s got enough character with the turtles to make it memorable.

But the gall of that user to transparently have no idea what the show is like now, and still feel the need to stuff the late creator’s name into their opinion to feel better about it. It isn’t 2019 anymore, when Kamp Koral had just been announced and no one had the concrete information on Stephen’s awareness of it. Even back then, my stance on post-Hillenburg SpongeBob stuff has always been “I may not like a lot of it, but I salute the people who he knew continuing to work on it.” How is that such a hard stance to take? Can’t these blue checkmark people have empathy for working class animation teams?

I miss 2015-2018 when the SpongeBob community was more stable. When a Post-Sequel episode aired that the fandom didn’t like, we didn’t jump to “Stephen didn’t want this! Legacy tarnished!”, we discussed what we didn’t like about it and hoped the next episode would be better. A lot of fans still do that, but certainly not the normal people who haven’t even watched the show since they were kids. Fair enough, but if that’s the case, don’t act like an expert out of nowhere. If you were a big fan of Sherlock Holmes, and every single thing made for the past 94 years has had people going “Arthur Conan Doyle didn’t want this! Legacy tarnished!”, you’d understand my antipathy.

Never mind the irony of all this - Stephen Hillenburg was alive when Shell Games was produced. It was the 4th-to-last episode to enter production before he stopped coming in to the studio. Community notes sorted that out quickly. And let me say, you don’t have to like every episode he personally contributed to or oversaw. But come on, why am I expecting nuanced thinking from someone giving Elon Musk their money?

Twitter’s never been a great website, but now, it feels like all the worst people have cracked the code. Only the loudest and angriest voices get the attention, which gets more dangerous the more sensitive the topic is. And then, even if you agree with the sentiment, you will despise the personalities of the very people you’re agreeing with. It’s a platform that encourages all the worst human behaviours. Whenever I so much as make a joke on there, I feel like I’m walking on eggshells. It’ll hurt to see less from accounts I really respect, but I’ll offload it for a little while, because it’s not been good for my mood.

And I’m really sorry that this is yet another long angsty blogpost so soon. It’s been those times for me, and I hope you got some sort of useful lesson from what I’ve typed out.

[creativitysparks4everxoxo]

I never make memes because I suck at making them, but I thought I'd try my hand at making one for TFE. This is so heavily inspired by that famous TFE meme that I first saw posted on reddit and then saw posted again on here. I felt that it needed a part 2 because the TFE haters have been extra exhausting lately. 😩

*This isn't just a meme post, this is also a scene playing in my head and basically a jumble of thoughts. Can you guess which character I represent? 🤣

EarthSpark haters: This show is woke garbage! The character designs are horrible and the voice acting is subpar! This show is grooming children and forcing gender politics onto our precious children blah blah blah! 😡😤

EarthSpark: A refreshing new take on the TF franchise that redefines what it means to be family, through the lens of a beautiful POC family that adopt a new species of Transformers called "Terrans". The Terrans are born on earth and are adopted into the loving Malto Family, where they form a strong bond with the Malto Kids, Robby and Mo. Although the show's main target audience is children, the enjoyment of this show is not limited to kids because many EarthSpark lovers are not kids, and this show is meant to be wholesome and action packed.

This adaptation shows the viewers that Decepticons are not inherently bad and being bad is a choice. We see that some Decepticons just want to live in peace and do not want to harm people, but because of the insignia that they wear, they are forever branded as the villain. However, despite this, some Decepticons are genuine friends with Autobots in this show, showing that at the end of the day, Decepticons and Autobots are still the same species and friendship goes beyond a label.

The first piece of TF media to introduce a non-binary character (the main cause of all the hate that TFE receives 😑), that is such an amazing character whose personality does not centre around their gender identity. As seen in the new batch of episodes released on March 3rd, that EarthSpark haters conveniently did not watch.

People who haven't seen it: I mean, it's pretty hard to form an opinion when we haven't actually watched the show yet. But we find the amount of hate that this show receives absolutely ridiculous. To hate on a show that you know nothing about, beyond the selective parts that you choose to hate is just sad. Maybe try watching the show first before you bash it? How do you know that Nightshade's personality will "centre around them being non-binary" if you haven't even watched the show yet? 🤨

How is this show "woke garbage"? Do you just have a problem with POC being the main humans? Or do you foolishly expect every piece of TF media to be identical to the G1 series or [insert preferred TF adaptation here]? Did you know that adaptations are meant to be a retelling of an existing story by incorporating new elements to further expand the story and offer a new take? Did you know that it's okay to add a variety of different characters from all walks of life, whether they are LGBTQ+, POC, disabled, non-binary, etc? These people exist in real life and it's good to teach kids this so that if they identify as any of these, they will know that it's normal and that they are not alone. They will feel seen!

We may watch TFE because it looks interesting and we like the Transformers franchise, and we want to see Transformers being Transformers! Or we may not watch TFE, but we won't bash it because we have not seen it!

EarthSpark lovers: We find the amount of hate that this show receives quite sad, because we absolutely love the direction that this show is going! We haven't had a TF show centred around family bonds since TFA! We really like the idea of a brand new species of Transformers being born on earth, and we like that they are adopted into the Malto Family vs just being seen as friends. This adds more depth and makes these characters even more interesting.

We find it cool that although the Terrans are these highly advanced, highly intelligent robotic beings, they still act like children and have their childish moments that consist of sibling rivalry, innocent naivety caused by them only being online for what, a few weeks in S1A? and other adorable childish moments.

This show may be marketed towards kids, but the amount of positive messages and themes shown is beautiful. Even more "sensitive" topics are present in this show, which is wonderful because kids should know about them.

Teamwork

Family bonds

Friendship

Giving second chances

Healthy discussions on gender identity

Racism

We like that TFE has given us G1 Daddy Optimus back, with his goofy dad moments. Too funny! And why is Bumblebee handsome AND adorable at the same time?!! 🥺🥺 He's just so precious in this adaptation!

We like the little details like Mo wearing a bonnet to bed to protect her gorgeous curls, or Robby being a hard-core gamer. Or Alex wanting to share his Filipino culture with his children and pass down traditions that he and his grandfather shared. We like that Dot is passionate about animals and enjoys bird watching. She's also a war veteran and has a disability, but she's still a badass! We like the Malto Family as a whole because they are such a nice family and they must be protected at all costs!!!

Ultimately, it is impossible to narrow down everything that we love about TFE in one post, because there is just SO MUCH GOOD with this show!

The character designs

The voice cast

The positive messages

The Terrans

Representation for POC

Representation for non-binary people

Daddy Optimus

Uncle Megatron

Uncle Bumblebee

Aunt Elita-1

Big sister Arcee

Not all Decepticons are bad

Dot and Megs' friendship

The sound design

And many, many, MANY more things!

Here is the TFE meme I drew inspiration from:

I can't seem to find the original reddit post anymore. Did it get deleted? But anyway, this meme is beautiful and if you're the OP of this meme and you see this post, thank you! I was thinking the same thing when I first saw this scene from "H.O.U.S.E. Rules".

*Edit: I've been adding to the list of things that EarthSpark lovers love lol so far I added Dot and Megs' friendship and The sound design, and I will probably continue to add more points in the future :)

If you made it to the end, thank you! 😊 That's all for now ~

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

Safe House

First posted: September 23, 2018

Focuses on: Jason Todd and Damian Wayne

My favorite bookmark: "This is so soft and feels oddly melancholic"

Tier: Top 20 in terms of hits, kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions

This is my "behind the scenes" series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

As I said in the original notes, this story came from yet another conversation with @starknjarvis27 about potential misconceptions about Jason from kids who weren't around to know him before Ethiopia. When their dad won't talk about who he used to be, and who he is now is so different, it's all guesswork. She spun that talk out into This Above All and I made Safe House.

And heyyyy hey hey, hello to my first double meaning title! 🥳

The safe house was supposed to be empty. The last time Damian had surveilled the tiny, one bedroom apartment, it had been neatly neglected—the cupboards fully stocked, the furniture sheeted, the air stale. It had been foolishly lax of him to assume that the apartment would remain untouched for so long, but his options had been limited.

I was very new at writing Damian here, but I enjoy writing in his voice. He's such a fun mix of fastidious old man, snobby teen, and insecure child.

Damian hesitated in the unlit entryway. He could see the light from the living room down the long, narrow hall, and the muffled chords of an acoustic guitar filtered out from a stereo. If he took a step backward, he could open the front door and slip out again before he was noticed.

If I remember correctly, I roughly planned Jason's safe house along the outline of a friend's apartment that I know well. I'm very bad at mentally picturing spaces, so it seemed the safest way to make sure I didn't mess up. Even still, over the years, I think it's shapeshifted a few times.

Todd. Wonderful. Of all the potential occupants.

Damian, it's his apartment. (This does imply, though, that Damian is more comfortable even with Tim than with Jason.)

“Leave your shoes on the mat,” Todd said after a pause. He turned back toward the living room and said over his shoulder, “I just cleaned the floors.”

Clean freak Jason Todd is a headcanon near and dear to my heart.

Damian knew the outline of his mother’s ties to Red Hood’s genesis and had never been able to parse whether the man felt grateful or resentful, nor how those feelings then translated to Damian.

In my universe, Talia/Jason never happened because I don't like it.

Damian realized as he padded down the hall in his socked feet that he had never been alone with Jason Todd before without someone else in the next room. The Manor had never felt so far away.

I bumped up against this line writing a later fic (I don't remember which one) because I wanted to keep this true and consistent, which meant I couldn't just send Damian over to Jason's for whatever I needed him to do.

Damian expected to find the apartment much like he had seen it last, just with a few lights turned on, a few dustcovers pulled back. Instead, as he stepped blinking into the lit heart of the apartment, he found himself in a warm, comfortably appointed living room. The original furniture had been artfully arranged and new furnishings added. The living room now boasted a faded but plush area rug, a few potted plants, and a full bookshelf, none of which had been there before. It wasn’t a full room—the walls were still mostly bare, the furnishings either from IKEA or pulled from a curb—but it was lived in.

All that careful dancing for nothing. If Jason's space is this nicely appointed, then he's pretty well settled, which places him pretty far along the family's timeline in terms of how he's doing with Tim and Dick and Bruce etc. That's the real backbone of how I piece things together, and I don't think Damian could have avoided Jason for that long over there, which means this is probably operating off on its own timeline. Of course this is just me being picky. No one else will notice or care and odds are I'll forget I ever said this by the time it becomes relevant for some other fic, because at almost 100 fics, the details are becoming a little hard to keep track of.

Everything in Todd’s drawers were too big, almost laughably so. Damian scrubbed his hair with a hand towel, then set about rolling up the legs of the sweatpants he had grabbed. He remembered Grayson mentioning once how underfed and—he thought the word was scrawny—Todd had been when he had first come to the Manor. Damian couldn’t believe it. The Todd he’d always known was larger-than-life. Case in point, the Han Solo t-shirt Damian chose to slip on that could double as a parasail.

Firstly important because Jason's physicality helps nod to how much has changed for him, beyond death and resurrection, and how Damian only has access to his recent past. But also I vaguely remember picking Han Solo for a reason, and I can't remember what that reason was now. Maybe just Jason and Han both vibing on "Never tell me the odds."

Todd sat in a wingback chair next to the space heater, his socked feet propped up on a faded purple ottoman. He held a book in his lap and didn’t look up from its pages when Damian entered. “This is my night off, so you better not have brought any crap with you. If I have to punch someone tonight, I’m gonna be ticked,” Todd muttered. He flicked a finger back toward the kitchen. “Tea. Counter.” He had already served himself with a porcelain cup and saucer that looked strangely similar to Alfred’s preferred set at the Manor.

Jason really is one for creature comforts once he allows himself a safe space. It was fun trying to decide what he would want and also what he could afford and where he might get it. But also, Alfred would likely have been his first introduction to tea, so of course he would assume that what Alfred does is the One Correct Way.

“I didn’t know you read,” he blurted out when the strain became too much. Damian fought another grimace. He could almost hear Drake laughing at him.

99% sure that piece of dialogue came directly from my chat with Stark. ("How do you write realistic dialogue?" I mean, it helps when you're physically saying it out loud in conversation.)

Todd did glance up at that, peering up beneath dark brows and through— “I know you’ve been in my room, you snot. What do you mean you didn’t know?” He had been, many times, though Damian wasn’t sure how Todd knew that. He had been careful to leave everything as he found it.

That em-dash was a cheap trick to hold the reveal a few more lines.

Of course Damian is a relentless snoop, especially about someone like Jason, an intriguing and potentially dangerous mystery.

Jason didn't know-know, he's just very good at guessing accurately because he also knows Damian would snoop as a matter of curiosity and survival. Also maybe Damian wasn't quite as careful as he thought.

With the warm, dim lights, settled in his wingback chair with a book, his spectacles, and the softest-looking sweater Damian had ever seen, Todd looked… well, he looked like Father.

My most beloved headcanon, that Jason and Bruce unconsciously mirror each other in so many ways that neither suspect.

Todd settled back in his chair and closed his book. “You sure are chatty tonight, brat.” His tone felt like showing teeth, but with the intention to playfully nip instead of to bite. That was something Damian understood, something that made sense to him even if he didn’t understand the exact why of the playfulness. Damian took another sip of tea.

I was pleased with that phrasing, because I did want to convey that Jason's casual insults usually mean less than how he says them, and framing it in terms of a big dog play-fighting with a puppy seemed both relatively straightforward and a comparison that Damian would instinctively understand and use as his own personal lens.

But also, Damian: "Why is Red Hood acting nice??" Jason: "Look at the baaaabyyyyy."

Todd lifted one shoulder, a half-shrug Damian had seen him do before. “It’s my night off. I could smell a storm coming. No one ever comes here.”

Oh. I forgot about this line. Apparently this is not the safe house that appears most regularly in Mutual Aid etc.

Todd was… He couldn’t say. Grayson insisted that they were brothers, and not merely by law. But Damian knew Grayson. He knew Drake and Cain as well, though they had their own veils of inscrutability. He didn’t know Todd. What scraps of information he had were contradictory and, he suspected, muddled by the emotions of those who conveyed them. Not to mention the contradictory attitudes of Todd himself, who at times seemed to have no regard for anyone at Wayne Manor, but at other times would, well, take Damian in out of a storm and make him tea.

The absolutely irresistible allure of the Much Older Cousin who comes and goes in mystery. Also, as much as Damian is set up to sneer at and look down on Red Hood, they have too much in common, so of course Jason is a tantalizing puzzle.

He hesitated, then added, “Besides, no one talks about you. Not truly.” He peeked up at Todd through his eyelashes and so caught the twisted grimace on the man’s face before he could hide it behind his own teacup. “You mean other than as an object lesson,” Todd said. “Or bogeyman,” Damian admitted, then hastened to add, “Not so much anymore, not now that you’ve stopped killing.” “Have I?” the other man shot back, but Damian only frowned.

That exchange definitely came from my initial conversation with Stark. Also, Jason is such a poser. Dude hasn't killed anyone in AGES.

Damian picked up the book he had been reading. He had expected perhaps one of the pulpy detective novels that Father enjoyed, but instead found himself thumbing through a battered bind-up of The Lord of the Rings. It was a classic, to be sure, but weighty and heavily marked with carefully drawn blocks of yellow, pink, green, and blue. The inside cover had the stamped name of a secondhand shop, but the highlighted lines felt newer.

I can't remember if I absorbed fanon to choose LOTR here or if it just felt right. I know a lot of fics prefer Pride and Prejudice as Jason's book of choice, but the boy needs a distraction from the storm and this felt like a choice Baby Jason and Bruce would have bonded over.

For while the stacks were straightened and neat, the number of books overwhelmed the crooked little construction and made the plywood shelves bow. Damian didn’t recognize all of the titles, but he could pick out 18th century romance novels, 19th century thrillers, translations of ancient poems and epics, modern adventures… the variety was endless. The owner seemed to have no niche focus but instead delighted in everything, though not a single tome looked new.

I looked at my own shelves for this paragraph and then added in bits from more erudite folks of my acquaintance. (I am not a huge fan of the capital Classics.)

“You’re in school?” “Don’t think I’m smart enough?” Todd snapped back. That…wasn’t out of the question, though now that Todd said it aloud, Damian could hear how ridiculous the sentiment was. Of course Todd was smart enough for anything, much less something as stupid as school. Red Hood’s base cunning was part of what made him such a formidable opponent and ally. Damian also couldn’t picture Father choosing to care about a stupid child. Intelligence was important to him. And even the thought of being quasi-related to an idiot pricked Damian’s pride. Todd was a Wayne. Sort of. Therefore, he must be intelligent.

Jason is touchy about his perceived intelligence. Damian isn't an idiot, even though he formerly assigned to Hood one type of intelligence but not another. Also his statement about not being related to stupid people is 10000% me. My relatives are allowed to be fallible. They're not allowed to be stupid.

“I hate school,” he hissed. “You spend your days how you please, you patrol when and where you want. Why would you trade away even a fraction of that freedom for school?” “I loved…” Todd paused, seeming to weigh the truth of his own words before tossing aside what he was going to say. “I didn’t love school either. I could hold my own, but P.S. 81 was an underfunded joke, and going to Gotham Prep was like getting tossed in a shark chum. I liked learning, though. Always have.”

Straight fanon gleaned from a million other fics for Damian, plus my own spin on fanon for Jason, because a blanket statement that he loved school felt off for the reasons mentioned above.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard Todd speak with unvarnished sincerity. 

I love Jason forcing himself to be even slightly vulnerable for a specific reason. He's hungry for it. All the posturing has to be exhausting. But he has to have a reason to lever himself into it. Right now, the lever is the traumatized kid sitting on his floor.

“You breathe a word of this to Bruce and I’ll feed you to Killer Croc.” Todd had leaned forward in his chair to glower at Damian. The soft-spoken confessor was gone, replaced by the gravelly Red Hood. Unfortunately, he had lost his edge with Damian somewhere around his second cup of tea.

I really enjoy Jason losing his edge and being unable to get it back no matter how hard he tries.

At Todd’s quizzical look, Damian rolled his eyes. “I will not subject myself to interrogation in order to fix your petty problems, Todd. I will defend Father’s honor with my life, but his oblique examinations are distasteful.” Todd narrowed his eyes, making Damian roll his own again. “Tt. He wishes to know if you are well. He wishes to know if you seem well-rested, if you seem well-fed, if you seem happy, but will not ask. For a man adept at directness, he can be truly maddening. So you have nothing to fear. I have no wish to subject myself to such foolishness.”

Damian: We are all subjected to interrogation on your state WILL YOU PLEASE JUST TALK TO THE MAN I am tired of writing up reports on your vital statistics.

Damian scowled, but then admitted, “You are not as odious as I first believed.” He didn’t want to speak what had been in the back of his mind for weeks now, but his honor and pride demanded it. “I… understand that you were instrumental in my return. Thank you.” Todd frowned and tugged on the cuffs of his sweater until the sleeves pulled up almost to his knuckles. “I wasn’t given a choice. Probably wouldn’t have helped if I had been.” Even as the words punched Damian in the chest, Todd looked up, blue eyes clear and uncharacteristically unguarded. “But you ended up with a better deal that I got, and I’m glad. So you’re welcome, or whatever.”

And there we go. Damian truly believed and hoped the safe house was empty. He just needed somewhere close by to hide. But before he probably wouldn't have risked it without the proof that Jason did actually care whether he lived or died. Which is why the seeming dismissal hurts so much here. He doesn't have context to know that Jason would have refused for Damian's sake. Better not to come back at all than to come back the way Jason had.

The older man drew in a breath, eyes flitting toward the curtained window, then back to Damian. “What got you tonight? The smell?”

I hate POV terms like "the older man" and would find a way to work around it if writing now. But also I'm decently sure connecting the Pit to the smell of ozone has been used many times in other fics, I didn't come up with that.

Todd either ignored Damian’s shudder or misinterpreted it. He tapped his cup. “Aromatic tea helps. Fills your nose with something else. I like using one of Alfred’s blends. Happier memories.” He tilted his head in the direction of the radio. “Music, for the noise. And distractions.” Classwork abandoned in favor of a retreat into a familiar fantasy.

I like that Jason's finally reached a place where he's healthy enough to comfort himself instead of using his own wounds as further punishment. Good for him.

“I should have warned you.” Todd’s mouth was turned down, but not in anger, or if it were, it was at himself. It was, Damian realized, what Todd looked like when he felt guilty, and he filed away the knowledge for later. “When you came back so different, I didn’t think you’d have the same issues.”

I don't know much at all about Damian's death and resurrection, canonically. I think I heard he came back with temporary powers or something, which is silly, so I ignored that completely. (Best practice for relating my fic to canon is that unless a specific detail is mentioned, it probably didn't happen in my universe.)

“It sucks,” Todd agreed, and for once his forthrightness soothed instead of rubbing Damian raw. “And it may never get completely better. But you’ll learn how to cope.”

Damian desperately needs the safe, soft comfort that someone like Dick can give him as his bedrock. But it also makes sense that Jason's more bare bones approach would be its own comfort, given Damian's upbringing and suspicion.

This was also my first fic that had the honor of being turned into a podfic!

[neurosiscocktail]

General complaining under the cut. Didn’t want to subject everyone scrolling to me complaining.

Tl/dr: be nice to each other? As it turns out you can have different opinions AND be nice to each other.

I really love seeing other people’s takes on media that I love so I have been really looking forward to reading analysis from people who loved this season and season finale and for some reason most have them have started like-

UNLIKE YOU DERANGED LOSERS I THOUGHT THE SEASON WAS PERFECT

I’ve seen people who liked the season call people criticizing it deranged, illiterate, stupid, losers, disgusting, children, abusers(?), and honestly some stuff I don’t feel comfortable repeating.

I’ve blocked over a dozen people today. And idk, a lot of them were around my age. Which is to say, old enough to remember how behaving like that made the Sherlock fandom an absolute cesspool to be in when Sherlock was airing.

And idk. I haven’t been heavily involved in fandom in ~7-10 years, and when I was I ran a minorly popular Hannibal liveblog. Nothing huge, but Bryan Fuller retweeted me a few times, and a few posts went viral, so I got my fair share of hate messages (turning off anon is self-care) and saw a fair bit of discourse but I guess I foolishly hoped people would behave better 10 years later, especially people who have seen very toxic fandom before.

It seems very easy to just… not act like that.

I’m not saying that no one who was unhappy with the season is being shitty, I’m sure they are. I don’t do Twitter anymore and I’m sure there’s a lot of shit over there. But it’s so, so easy to just… report, block, and ignore people who are being assholes and then not spit that toxic nonsense back into the fandom. A fandom will never be free of discourse but it is so easy to not feed into it becoming toxic. If you report shit that’s dangerous, and just refuse to engage with nonsense it’ll usually just sort of sort itself out.

And if you feel like you MUST post something mean… don’t tag the people you’re being mean to in it? I dunno. It doesn’t seem productive to post something about how much you deeply hate someone, tag them in it, and then be mad when they call you an asshole. You can’t instigate and then expect things to not get worse. On the same vein, when people post things that are inflammatory, ignore them, block them. Don’t give them what they want. It isn’t worth it.

This isn’t a call out post or anything either. This is not about anyone specific, just general feelings and musings about making fandom a place where people want to be based on my 20 year experience in fandom. I’m not saying it’s never hard to be a part of a fandom, but it doesn’t need to always be hard either.

[frodothefair]

Eomer's suspension bridge.

This started out as a reply to @errruvande, but then I thought it could be its own headcanon post!

Now, in The Golden Hall, Eomer's POV is still to come, but I was thinking that if Eomer and Lothiriel's marriage is to be a hasty one, born of a strong attraction on Eomer's part, here is how it might have happened.

It has to do with the "Suspension Bridge Effect," a phenomenon in psychology where people misinterpret fight or flight cues as sexual attraction. Basically, if you meet someone while crossing a suspension bridge, your heart might be pounding out of fear, but you're also more likely to be attracted to that person because your mind misreads the heart pounding, sweaty hands, etc. as excitement.

Eomer loses a great deal in the War of the Ring -- his uncle and cousin die, his sister almost dies, and Rohan is in shambles. But at the same time, he experiences a meteoric rise. He never expected to be King, but suddenly he is, and everyone is deeply grateful to him. Everybody wants a piece of him, and everyone is bestowing the highest honors upon him.

That sort of thing is bound to go to your head. Really, it is. At least initially, during the "honeymoon" period -- pun intended.

But even more than that, emotions of every kind are probably running high. Fear is still not completely resolved, nor would be anytime soon. There is the pain of loss and the head-spinning joy of redemption when Eowyn is healed. You meet a beautiful woman on top of all that, and it's the perfect storm. He's primed already to fall head over heels, he probably misses female company quite a bit considering the longstanding unrest in Rohan and all the work he had to do, and most importantly, he is King now, so who exactly's going to stop him? Surely not the politically motivated Dol Amrothean clan, at least in The Golden Hall, where they insist that Lothiriel likes him, she's just shy -- the opposite of the Jane Bennett effect in P&P, where Darcy steered Bingley away from her by saying she probably did not like him because she was not effusive in her affections.

(Well, ok, I can think of one person who might try to stop Eomer, and that's Eowyn. But would he listen to her? That's debatable).

Now, I've spoken before about how I relate to Eomer in my work, and the above is somewhat based on personal experience. Not in the realm of love, of course, because I met Mr. Nisilë long before this happened, but let me tell you, education and training was hell, but when it was over, and I got my first "real" job, it went to my head too. Was is absolutely terrifying that suddenly the buck stopped with me? Undoubtedly. Did I have big shoes to fill? You bet. But at the same time, suddenly I had headhunters seeking me out, suddenly there was more money in my bank account than I had ever seen in one place. I was excited. I was giddy. I thought I could make all my dreams come true.

Now, I didn't do anything too stupid at that time -- well, er, maybe I had a few too many indiscretions at Macy's because I "needed a more respectable wardrobe" -- but I had a number of classmates who spent their early paychecks quite foolishly. The point is, it takes time to get used to having money, and it takes time to get used to having power. And power in the hands of someone who is thinking too much with their heart (or their pants) can be a dangerous thing.

I mean, I can buy an outfit, a car, a house... But Eomer King can "buy" a person without even realizing that that's what he's doing -- because it's so normalized by society. Catastrophic, no? But that's how we like it at the angst factory that is Chez Nisilë.

[incognito-lionbeast]

Aftercare (And Maybe More?)

The truth beyond all other truths is that I write things so that I can be Really Very Silly. Anyway, follow-up to that smut I posted earlier. (This one is just suggestive & not explicit)

Series: Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System Pairing: Mobei-Jun/Shang Qinghua Ao3 Summary: After having given Shang Qinghua the dicking-down of his life, Mobei-Jun tries with some difficulty to be a loving and considerate partner. It works! Mostly. --------------------------------------------------------------------

Cleanup was such a confusing, awkward affair. In stages, Shang Qinghua first experienced the very special sort of grief that can only accompany the sight of a partner’s freshly re-dressed silhouette leaving them behind. Mobei-Jun had spoken a single word at the time: “Towel.” Cryptic as that was, Shang Qinghua wasn’t sure what to do with it, so he sat—any followup questions drowned out by the door sliding shut. Thus, the second stage came as a wave of surprise and embarrassment, huddled miserably and rather foolishly at the corner of his bed like an abandoned, sticky puppy.

As promised, Mobei-Jun had returned, toting both towels and a surprise newcomer: a clean sheet! Suddenly, the one-word reply made sense, but that only made Shang Qinghua feel all the more foolish, shrinking into his shoulders when Mobei-Jun approached. Positively cherry-red, Shang Qinghua stared anywhere and everywhere but his king’s face, yet found that his tepid attempt to grab a towel was thwarted by Mobei-Jun’s still very cold hands. The demon leveled his face closer, brows crimped together with one of Shang Qinghua’s wrists firmly held as if suddenly afraid he might bolt.

“...have I offended you?” Mobei-Jun asked, having entered the room earlier in a rather good mood. Yet, it seemed perhaps his imagination had been wrong after all? How vexing.

“Er–uh, no! No, my king,” Shang Qinghua stammered, gently pat-patting the vice-grip upon his wrist with a free hand. Never had he been so aware that he was still naked. “No, I mean it. I promise. I just—”

Wasn’t expecting you to come back? No, he definitely couldn’t say that.

—can do this myself? Well, true, but that still felt like the wrong answer here. Was Mobei-Jun really intent to help him clean up? Shang Qinghua felt a second wave of flustering bashfulness take hold, praying to any god that might listen to not allow him the vitality to get hard again. Please. Absently, he caressed the back of Mobei-Jun’s hand, still slightly at loss on a response, but a quick glance told him that his king was, once again, becoming impatient. Spoiled, always. So, Shang Qinghua–so used to groveling by now–erred on the side of pathetic, summoning up the strength to stare with upturned brows at Mobei-Jun’s collar (and not a centimeter higher! God help him!).

“I guess it’s a human thing,” he explained. “To be a little embarrassed after, uh…   It’s nothing. It’s fine. Thank you. Er, not for that—for the towel!—but I guess thanks for that, too.”

He needed to stop talking. Desperately.

Yet, Mobei-Jun’s grip loosened and his expression relaxed back to its normal icy demeanor. ‘Good,’ it seemed to say. Although he hardly understood, embarrassed was better than the alternative, ignoring Shang Qinghua’s second attempt to grab a towel from him. He could try all he liked–and make all sorts of interesting sounds–but his king was determined, pressing the chill, damp towel against his lover’s body with all the tenderness a ruthless demon lord could muster. Not an easy task, but one Mobei-Jun attempted diligently, pausing only when Shang Qinghua gasped especially sharply. In pain? He wondered, but Shang Qinghua neither flinched nor attempted to stop him. So, he simply cataloged the noise for future investigation.

With most of the sticky unpleasantness wiped from Shang Qinghua’s body, Mobei-Jun discarded the towel. Really quite satisfied with his handiwork—he was earning a good grade in human husbandry, for sure!—he had only just begun reaching to collect the scattered remnants of Shang Qinghua’s robes when the man in question finally objected.

“My king, I can dress myself. There’s no need for you to–” Did Cucumber-bro suffer like this, too?! His demon partner was really only half, but that bizarre Anti of his had made Luo Binghe so much worse. He couldn’t fathom handling that nannying crybaby if Shen Qingqiu was just as attracted to Luo Binghe as he was to…

Mobei-Jun frowned, but acquiesced with a counter-demand. “Then get up.”

Ah.

Right, was that better? A little more normal, anyway. Shang Qinghua scrambled off of the bed, snatching several pieces of clothing and hoarding them to his chest like his life depended on it. Far be it from him to complain about being treated well, but this was Mobei-Jun not Luo Binghe. It was a bit jarring even if it was nice, and though maybe the idea of going for a second round was appealing in its own right– One thing at a time. Later. Maybe. He’d really like to.

Once fully dressed, Shang Qinghua’s confidence returned to him. After those precious few minutes spent finagling with his robes, he couldn’t help notice that his bedsheet had been torn asunder and swapped for a new one. Ah. Well, he couldn’t give Mobei-Jun full marks for tidiness or presentation, but he was startlingly efficient. And he still hadn’t left, either, seated upon the bed regally. Waiting for something. Him, maybe? Mobei-Jun’s stare was piercing, nearly making the reclamation of his robes feel irrelevant. Still, a tad more daring now, Shang Qinghua settled at his side, considering heavily the risks of taking Mobei-Jun’s lap instead.

He thought better of it. For now.

“Do not thank me.” Mobei-Jun added decisively.

“Hm? Oh– okay?” Shang Qinghua tilted his head. Was this about the sex or the bedsheets? Probably not a ‘both’ this time, he surmised, inching just slightly closer. Maybe if he looked confused enough, then Mobei-Jun would clarify for himself.

“It wasn’t a favour. Do not thank me,” he repeated, now with slightly more context! Then, Mobei-Jun held a hand out expectantly, seeming to struggle with the action the longer it remained unanswered. In the moment’s hesitation it took for Shang Qinghua to understand, Mobei-Jun had already fought several battles with himself (and seemingly the rest of the world, too). His hand twitched, bound to the spot by sheer willpower. Frankly, it was a little funny, but eventually Shang Qinghua caught on—well, he hoped he had?—settling his own hand into Mobei-Jun’s open palm. Holding it.

Even if that was somehow the wrong answer, the hand stopped twitching, so Shang Qinghua decided he was probably right. It was then that Mobei-Jun hit him with a verbal truck.

“...Daddy.”

Shang Qinghua couldn’t decide whether he wanted to laugh, cry, or die in a hole somewhere. Simultaneously, that one word was everything he wanted and didn’t want at all! He was gobsmacked. Well, part of him was proud, too. Vindicated, even. Yet, that part was quickly overshadowed by horror, still somehow unable to meet Mobei-Jun’s searching gaze with anything other than a scandalised blank stare. Now was not the time to start listening to the stupid shit he’d said angrily, okay? Not right after they’d–  

Daddy kink was not an option here!! Too real! Way too real!

“My king…” How to word this? Shang Qinghua laughed awkwardly. “I was– no need to call me that, really! Really, really. I was spouting so much stupid shit back then, I– I was just angry! It felt like you didn’t respect me at all, so I wasn’t thinking straight. How could I ask you to call me something like that? ”

Yet, that was not the response Mobei-Jun wanted. Rather, to Shang Qinghua’s continued shock and awe, he looked a little… disappointed? It was hard to tell through the frost, but there was a glimmer of something sad etched just underneath that first layer, prompting Shang Qinghua to lean in just a little closer. Shit, don’t tell him it’s too late? Or, rather, don’t tell him that Mobei-Jun, one of the most fearsome demons in all three realms, suddenly wanted to call him Daddy? Unthinkable. Shouldn’t that be humiliating for a demon like him??

“Shizun?” Mobei-Jun tried a second time.

Now that one wasn’t right to either of them, but he was not a demon with much in the way of creative naming capabilities. Not much unlike the man sitting beside him, really. Yet, he was determined to get something special out of this. After all, he’d officially claimed Shang Qinghua as his; that was his right and privilege.

Shang Qinghua balked, “Absolutely not. Where did you– never mind, I know where. My king, please. If you want a pet name so badly, call me—!”

Call him what, exactly? He blinked, realising for the first time that he’d never actually given the character “Shang Qinghua” a birth name… or Mobei-Jun, for that matter. It’d never felt important, so he’d taken the easy way out and simply never bothered with it. After all, “Shang Qinghua” was just supposed to be some cannon-fodder nobody. Although admittedly, searching through his memories, it was uncanny how the world around him had gotten away without even acknowledging that fact! It was always “gege” or “gongzi” or things like “Shang-Shidi” or even occasionally “An Ding Peak Lord” — or, hell, Cucumber-bro just called him Airplane.

And that name was definitely out—not like Mobei-Jun knew what an “airplane” was, anyway—and he had to think of Mobei-Jun’s image! Someone had to. So, “Great Master” felt like a little too much, though incredibly tempting. So, under Mobei-Jun’s intense evaluation, Shang Qinghua settled on a rather personal title. One he hadn’t heard in a while.

“Yuan, call me Yuan. It’s, uh, my real name. My birth name, I mean. No one else uses it,” Shang Yuan quickly reassured. “I don’t think anyone else actually knows it, to be honest…”

After a moment’s consideration—Shang Yuan yelped, dragged mercilessly into Mobei-Jun’s lap. Then, with such imminent satisfaction that Shang Yuan suddenly felt a bit proud and a bit embarrassed (again), Mobei-Jun agreed:

“Yuan.”