#im a bit rusty pls forgive me

[austajunk]

I want to touch. I want to be touched. I want to hurt. I want to be hurt. And if you feel the same way, you're as bad as me.

Ahhh… anyways, go play We Know the Devil, ya’ll.

[dollydaisies]

Can I pls request a BTS reaction? They have a crush on their friend who is not a celebrity, so they can't confess to her because of their reputation/job, but they are really close. One day someone from their company revealed a sensitive information about them. So, the members and the company accused her of it because they thought that she was only with them to become famous. They didn't believe her and also told her many hurtful things. But later it was revealed that it was not her but someone else and she was telling the truth. Later they try to reconcile with her and asks her to forgive them but it was too late. Can you please write it as angst?

If it's too specific for you, you don't have to write it. Thank you anyways ☺️☺️

my first ask! thank you so much for sending this! my bts skills may be a tad bit rusty, so i'm sorry if this isn't up to par with your expectations. im doing allll the research i can! some things may be changed up a bit, but i'm trying to stick to your prompt the best that i can!

summary: forbidden love hurts, and it sometimes builds up frustration inside you, which then turns into flipping out on the person you love nonsensically solely because you're overwhelmed. they had to learn to think before they act, and, now, they're suffering from the consequences of their actions.

characters: just to test the waters and see if you like what i'm doing, i am only doing kim namjoon. if you like this, i will continue with the other members i’m comfortable writing! please tell me if i did well or was a lil' off. i'll always take constructive criticism:)

kim namjoon never meant to hurt anyone, but he especially made sure that he would not hurt you. he cares about you so much, to the point where seeing you even slightly sad could mess up his whole day.

you're bts's songwriter and producer, but also their friend. when they make plans, they want to include you, always. even if they go to the beach for a run bts episode, they want YOU to be there after the cameras are off. of course, every single member of the group wants you to be around, but namjoon insists on it. you're his safe place, the person he confides in when times get hard--why wouldn't he want you there?

"are you sure you don't want to come with us on this tour?" namjoon looks at you with full passion in his eyes. he wants you to come with them, even if he won't directly say it. "you know that we will always want you to come with, right?"

that little "we" always gets you every time. sure, you know that it's true, and so does he, but that's not what you want to hear and that's not what he wants to say. you want to hear him say "i want you to come with," but it feels like he refuses to say it. he's only not saying it because it'll make his feelings too real, and he can't deal with the reality that you can never be his.

"ah, i know, joonie... but i need to work on the ideas you all gave me for this next album. it's the final one before you all go on hiatus, so i can't take a break," you respond, playing with your bowl of ramen without eating it. you're the only two in the kitchen, and it's quiet. "i'd love to go, but i just can't afford to right now. you know i'm short on money."

namjoon sighs, but nods. "i understand. it's just gonna be hard to be on tour without you."

you send him a sweet smile, then giggle softly. "you're such a baby, did you know that?"

"it's our little secret, keep it hush."

that wasn't the secret that destroyed everything you've built with him over the past decade, but it was more of a foreshadow. you felt excited at the idea of having a secret with him, but also dread--this is silly, though. you guys have thousands of secrets. you're best friends, and you always have been, so why is your gut telling you to fight or fly?

around a week later, dispatch reports on news that namjoon has never told a soul about--except for you. the moment his brain processes the information told to him by the higher-ups, he immediately gets up from his seat and marches to your usual spot that you linger in.

"get out."

"huh?"

your face is full of pure confusion, a bit like a deer in headlights. sure, you've had your arguments and fights before, but he has never been this harsh off the bat--hell, he was rarely ever truly harsh.

the way his eyes look at you with pure disgust, and the sarcastic laugh he lets out... it feels like you don't know who's standing in front of you. yeah, it's namjoon, but... it's also not.

"i knew you were desperate for money, y/n, but i didn't think you'd be this desperate. if i knew you were like this, i would've fired you sooner."

"namjoon, what the hell are you talking about?" you stand up from your seat, yelling at him a bit. it's obvious you aren't even mad, you're just a mix of confused, scared, and worried.

"you know what i'm talking about, y/n. hell, the rest of the world does as well, since you decided to go to dispatch about it."

he holds up his phone so you can look at the site he pulled up. you scrolled and scrolled in pure shock, confusion, and disgust. "i... namjoon, i did not rat you out to anyone. why would i?"

"people like you only care about money. figure it out, and get out of this dorm."

absolutely stunned, you walk to the door in complete silence, then turn around. he looks a bit lost in thought, then he finally sees you. you, whose eyes are full of tears; you, whose cheeks are red due to how panicked you got from him yelling; and you, who refused to yell at him back even when he disrespected you.

while he was so sure he was right, a pit in his stomach grew larger. he feels like he’s doing something bad, something wrong, and he doesn’t know why.

"i just want to say," you pause for a second, then continued. "if this is the real you, kim namjoon, maybe i should've been the one to expose you after all."

you slam the door.

months have passed, and you work at a local music store. sure, you write songs still, but they're not for anyone else except you. you refused to talk to all of them, talk about all of them, or even think about any of them. in your mind, bts disbanded the second he broke your heart, and your trust. truthfully, it’s unfair, as all the other members have texted you so many times and begged for a response, but you can’t think of them without thinking of him.

the store is completely empty, so you're scrolling through every single social media app you have downloaded brainlessly. the words you're reading are not completely processing in your head at all, they kinda just look like funky shapes.

one title, though, caught your attention.

"kim namjoon talks about trust, compassion, and friendship in recent SEVENTEEN interview."

your jaw clenches, and you slam your phone down. your tears are threatening to come out, but you refuse to let yourself still be hurt by him. he doesn't deserve your time, your tears, your anything. that's, at least, what you keep trying to convince yourself of, anyways.

the bell at the door rings, and you try to regain your composure. you

"welcome to good vibes, home to all of the--"

you freeze. you don't know what to do, what to say, or how to even move. are you supposed to say anything? it's not like he’s saying anything—hell, he has a mask over his face and a hood on his head, but you KNOW it’s him. now, he’s just staring at you blankly. you’re wearing a mask, so maybe there’s a chance—

“y/n,” namjoon softly says your name, and your heart pangs against your chest. it’s a mix of heartbreak, anxiety, and all the leftover love you have for him. “i was looking for you.”

you’re so nervous, you could burst into tears. you want to hop over your desk and run into his arms and tell him how much you miss him, but also how much you hate him for hurting you so much. why do you still love a man that said such unforgivable words?

“why?” your words were a bit breathy, and you began to chuckle a bit while shaking your head. “there’s nothing left to say—unless, y’know, you’re gonna tell me all i care about is money again because i have a job.”

“i’m sorry,” namjoon sighs, then walks to you. the desk separates you, but you wish you could fall into his arms. you keep your composure all the same, though.

“that day, i was so stressed. it felt as if so many things were happening at once, and to know that a secret that i only told you got out… i felt so much betrayal all at once, i didn’t want to hear you out. if i’m being completely vulnerable, i wanted to go cry,” he let out a small chuckle.

looking at you, your face was completely unreadable. it’s like you were thinking of so many things, but also of nothing at the same time. was he doing well? he doesn’t know. he’s just going with what he feels in his heart.

“in my heart, i knew i should’ve ran back to you and apologized; in my heart, i knew i should’ve heard every single word you said, because you would never lie to me,” namjoon balls his hands into a fists, then looks at you in the eyes, “so i’m sorry it took so long for me to realize that i was wrong.”

the store was tense, and all you could hear is the music playing so softly in the background as you stare at him. he’s trying to read your expression, to see if there’s any bit of leftover love in your eyes, but it just feels cold.

after a minute, you begin to laugh. it’s a full laughing attack, actually, and namjoon just stares. his heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach, because he’s not stupid—he knows this means he’s fucked up.

“what, did you think was a kdrama, namjoon? did you think i was going to hear that apology, jump into your arms, and say, ‘oppa, never hurt me ever again!’ or something?” you say these words while still laughing, and namjoon is still stunned. “what happened for you to come up here and say this to me? based on your new change in personality with… hating poor people and all, i can’t imagine you just woke up one day and did it.”

“we found who actually did it. it was our stylist, sooyoung.”

“so that’s what it took for you to finally realize i was innocent? instead of thinking back ro everything you said to me and how hurt i was, it took them finding out the real person behind the crime for you to realize i was telling the truth?”

you slam your hand on the desk, and your body is trembling. you’re on an adrenaline rush, but you’re also sad, scared, and angry. namjoon notices this and places his hand on yours, like he always used to.

“y/n, you’re shaking, please ca��“

“i don’t give a fuck, namjoon,” you yell, and namjoon is completely frozen. “i’ve known you since you were a trainee, and, yet, you still thought that i was some… freaky gold digger that would sell her friends out for money. do you know how much that hurts? to know that you think i have the potential to be like that?”

namjoon’s eyes begin to tear up, while your eyes have already overflown. your cheeks are entirely red, and you let out a choked sob. your head drops, and you let out a dry chuckle.

“for over a decade, i have been nothing but loyal and true to you; yet, it takes a full-blown investigation for you to realize how you did me wrong,” you then look up at him with no sympathy in your body. “it’s my turn to tell you to get out, namjoon. and, for your sake, never come back. i never want to see you again.”

he hesitates to walk away, and you’re staring at him, emotionless.

“what, are you deaf? get out.”

namjoon finally leaves, walking quickly towards his car, and you fall to your knees. you’re on the cold floor, shaking and crying, as you realize your life will never be the same ever again.

[spicedeluxe]

TEASER | BULLET HEART

A RESIDENT EVIL 4 FANFICTION WHERE YOU, [NAME], HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED AN INCREDIBLY DANGEROUS MISSION. THIS ‘INCREDIBLY DANGEROUS’ MISSION IS ALSO YOUR FIRST BIG MISSION AS AN AGENT FOR USSTRATCOM. THIS WAS YOUR PROVING GROUNDS AND YOU DAMN SURE WEREN’T GOING TO MESS THIS OPPORTUNITY UP.

WELL, YOUR NEW PARTNER PROBABLY WOULDN’T LET YOU.

RINA’S NOTE: my first post!! hello all my cool cats and kittens. welcome to my brand spankin new resident evil 4 reader insert. i am going to heavily follow the story as much as i can, though outcomes will be different with you involved of course. this came to me after living under a rock + me not being into re as much anymore...then learning capcom was making a remake. i fell to my knees immediately. forgive me if i forget things from re i am a little rusty from y’know. leaving the fandom for so long—

originally this had a female reader in mind but i decided to make it gender neutral so everyone can be involved! to give a little insight, reader (you) is 25, has only 1 or 2 years of experience in usstratcom and tired of the bullshit being thrown at them. this is a various x reader and this is short yes but I HAD TO POST SOMETHINGFGG

RESIDENT EVIL © CAPCOM (pls don’t sue im broke i live off ramen noodles)

Case File #6710, otherwise known to you as the biggest mission you’ve ever been assigned by the government. You’ve taken on simpler missions before, usually getting intel or infiltrating certain places. It pales in comparison to what you’re taking on now.

The President’s daughter, Ashley Graham, had gotten kidnapped at least seven hours ago. Not only was the President himself a mess, but it sent USSTRATCOM into chaos, passing out the mission to as many agents in the agency who’d they think would be able to complete this as soon as possible.

Shockingly enough, it fell into your court. Once you were given this file (which was already incredibly detailed, how?!), you didn’t exactly know what to say. “Thank you”? “I appreciate it”?

To top things off, you weren’t the only agent assigned to this case. You were going to be accompanied by a man named Leon Kennedy, who was a veteran and is FAR more experienced than you are. They must have figured you not only could be his second set of eyes, but provide extra offense if necessary.

You’d like it better if it was someone you knew. You’ve never met this man in your entire life. You two weren’t even in the same branch. All you’ve ever heard was your coworkers gossiping about him. How “he’s so mysterious” and “easy on the eyes”. Some people even said he was a jerk.

When you met him, he was quite the charmer. He insisted you simply call him Leon instead of any formality. Every time you’d let an “Agent Kennedy” skip, he’d shake his head and chastise you.

He’s….nice. But he was also quite the looker! When you first met him, your gaze would always linger a bit too long on him. You could only pray to whatever god that was out there that he didn’t notice.

What made things worse is that in the days leading up to the mission, you just kept seeing him around.

Oh, you need to get a report? No problem, Leon’s bringing it to you.

How about grab some coffee? That’s funny. Leon’s getting his coffee too!

In a meeting and people are coming into the room? Hey! Leon’s here to participate.

It was driving you nuts. Some kind of Baader—Meinhof phenomenon, some curse, whatever you’d like to call it. Guess the Earth just wanted you to suffer.

That’s not really important though.

The two of you would take a flight to Europe and rescue Ashley. They informed the both of you that she had been in a rural community in Spain and that you’d reach it with the assistance from local police officers. They also requested for you two inform your support what occurs on the mission.

You were nervous, rightfully so, this big mission coupled with a new partner had just given you the chills all around. It simply gave you more of a reason to prove yourself…

Don’t fuck this up, [Name].

[mvrdck-a]

"I’m sorry, can I help you?” Matt addressed the other figure in the room, an ear tilted in the general direction of his uninvited guest, “ - usually people let me know when they plan to visit.”

[fabulaee]

COFFEE COFFEE COFFEE

// A 🐺 fic based on my Stay journey’s aesthetics which was a coffee shop au bc they remind me of those times when I used to go to the café to draw and would see fellow regulars but unlike y/n and Chan, I never interact with them. We all just share a table 😂😂😂

*

*

*

Monday. Wednesday. Friday

That was the set schedule for your coffee run. MWF from 9 am to 10, then coming back with your study supplies from 1 to 4 in the afternoon. It was routine; the small college café a safe haven from the slight messy floor of your dorm and the formal vibe of the library. Here you were focused and at peace of mind. The aroma of the coffee beans and soft sounds of the coffeeshop’s playlist serving as background noise.

There wasn’t much students at this time of the day compared to the much later prime of the evenings. The café then filled with college youths grabbing a drink after a long day’s worth of lectures and test reminders or staying to cram a night’s worth of information. There was something about cafés that seemed inviting and less suffocating yet at the same time a place where you can find the nursing students with their big thick books opened with streaks of neon yellow running across them.

“Vanilla Bean Cold Brew for y/n!”

Standing up, you went to grab your drink leaving behind the pastel rainbow set of highlighters and gel pens on top of your notes. You quickly thanked the barista as he handed you a straw before plopping back down on your seat continuing where you last went off. Something about the history of impressionistic art. You sighed as you lifted your eyes across the room, it was currently 2:30 pm on a Wednesday afternoon. A good time to take a break before your mind starts to commit brain fart.

*

Chris Bang. Affectionally called Bang Chan by his friends. Music major with golden hands, a good candidate for the honor roll, member of the varsity swim team, and resident social butterfly. An all rounder any college is proud to have.

You heard about him once or twice from your common friend, Yang Hongseok. They met at the gym apparently and became quick friends through the Japanese exchange student, Adachi Yuto, and their shared love for fitness.

You see him sit at the same spot everyday since the middle of sophomore year. His laptop with the cute decal of Deadpool open and his AirPods snugly tucked in his ears. He's always has his blonde head bopping to a song he's playing on either his phone or his laptop. Always seemed so engrossed in this little world he made for himself across the room, ignorant to the bustling crowd of students that come and go.

He looks up catching you off guard. His lips curled slightly upwards, chuckling to himself as he watches your cheeks turn pink in embarrassment. Great, he must think I'm a weirdo!

With a quick exchange of nods you both went back to doing your own thing. Just a regular day at the coffee shop.

*

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

It's the Friday following Monday's slightly embarrassing incident. You looked up to find the same Chris Bang, laptop in hand, smiling at you like a friendly yet lost puppy. Warm brown orbs looking back at yours.

“My laptop's about to die and this is the only table with an outlet.” He explains himself, a tiny awkward giggle making up as the period.

“O-oh, of course!” You stuttered, hastily making room for him despite the large space as you swiped for the stray pastel highlighters and napkins closer. “No one's sitting here so go ahead.”

He whispered a small thanks before setting down his laptop to grab his bag from his usual spot while you went back to your notes. It was silent for awhile, only the sounds of pen against paper and the soft tick tack of the keys. At some point you hit a mind block, eyes glazing in boredom as you stared at the blank space of your notebook. You felt your table mate leave his stationary position too. he stretched in his seat before turning his attention to you.

Sensing his sudden gaze on you, you flashed him a small smile. You were never one to start a conversation, often keeping to yourself and minding your own business. A bit of a complete opposite towards the friendly Australian who somehow knows at least three students from each program.

He smiles back at you showing off his cute dimples and an outstretched hand. “Hey, I'm Chan. I never caught your name.”

Again with the cute giggle. It seems to be like a signature to him but it's cute still the same. You grasped his hand giving it a soft shake. “Y/n,” you answered curtly.

*

The following days you find yourself hanging around Chan more. Afternoon study sessions were no longer a date between you and the textbook or the small watercolor set you laid out on the table. Chan was there to fill the space making the long table that was a party of one to a party of two and maybe some on certain busy hours but mostly it was the both of you in your own tiny world.

You got to know him, his likes and dislikes. His major and passion for music, sometimes slipping in a few complaints about certain homework here and there; What else he likes to do. Apparently mr. Chris Bang was gifted in so many areas you often wondered what good he must've done in his previous life to be this gifted. Not only was he a jack of all trades, he's also the master of all.

You even had a small debate between Deadpool and Spider-Man. God, he's such a nerd it's adorable!

In return he knew these things about you. How you're taking up art as your major hoping to make it out as an illustrator one day—

“it would be so cool if you drew a variant cover for Deadpool!”

“Ha! We'll see about that, Chris Reynolds.”

He knows how you like to collect stickers and are quite passionate about making sure your notes are beautiful. He knows how you loved your drinks iced despite it being the middle of winter.

“Isn’t the weather too cold for that?” He’d ask with a quirk of his brow, amused brown eyes glancing at the iced hazelnut latte you have in your hands.

“Nope!” you replied, taking a sip as you did so. “It’s always the perfect weather for an iced coffee, Bang.”

He only chuckled at that.

*

It hit you like a freight train. You didn’t mean to fall for him. It wasn’t supposed to happen. You and Chan? No way, it was just supposed to be just friends. The kind where you hang out and have fun, no feelings attached. He was just supposed to be that regular from the café, right?

That was the plan, right?

But you can’t deny the small flutters from your heart much like those newly emerged butterflies. How you can feel that giddy feeling of excitement when you spot his mop of chocolate curly locks outside the café’s window. How you mirror his smile when you get together to talk about anything and everything under the sun. Bang Chan in all his cute dimpled glory, soft curls and hearty giggles was just too much to adore.

Yet it wasn’t that what pulled you in to the Music major. You felt love blossom when you both stayed up late, when the café was quiet after a busy day. The only people around being a couple medical students, some late night goers, and the employees. You felt the tiny flower buds start to bloom when he stayed with you then; keeping you company under the dimly warm fluorescent lights, laptop tucked away and a hand playing with yours.

You felt it bloom when you cuddled on the booth’s sofa one rainy November day. He scoots over next to you when he saw you shiver from the corner of his eyes. He’s naturally warm —you’d often tease him how he made the room hot. Why? well it’s because he’s from Australia! which earned the loud chorus of laughter from his friends and Chan’s ears turning into the color of the fire hydrant.

“Babygirl, you’re shivering.” He mutters as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you gently towards him. You accepted the subtle invitation, sides sticking together as you both went through forgotten notes and half finished coffees.

You felt it when you caught yourself staring at him a little longer than intended. Eyes drifting from Jisung’s expressive face to glance at the older one. You watched him look at the former with such adoration in his eyes; how he looked like a proud dad. You watched him nod along and laugh to Jisung’s animated story about how he and Hyunjin would fight back in the day, a fact that still seemed to shock you seeing how they are the best of friends.

Your eyes would linger on him while he worked on his music; focused and determined, hiding the exhaustion and sleepless nights prominent on the dark circles under his eyes. He was handsome even if he looked like shit. Hell, he was handsome even when he sported the infamous broccoli colored hair. You’d find yourself in a trance, like it was a dream. The world didn’t matter as much anymore when it was only you and Chan in the small dimly table, surrounded by the aroma of coffee beans at the small quaint cafe at the corner of the street.

*

You loved him. You loved him in the most beautiful of ways; you loved him in the most perfect highs and in all those crevices full of flaws.

You loved him in those bright moments, when the lights were shining on him during a 3RACHA gig. How they made him more beautiful, how they made him stand out from the 2 younger members. You loved watching him do what he loves; how he immersed himself in a world that was different from yours. How his version of colors and dried paint were beats and melodies, rhythm and tempos.

You loved him in the lowest moments; when the tide was high enough to cover you. You loved how you fit perfectly in his arms, how he became a shoulder to lean on when you felt the world was against you and you to him. When he would open up to you about his worst fears and his grandiose ambitions; when he spilled his heart out at the underlaying insecurity that’s been biting him due to his perfectionist attitude. You became his confidante; the one he can trust his heart to.

You loved him in the times he was vulnerable. You loved him when he would bask in glory and shining lights. You loved him like those cheesy lines in love songs. You loved him like how the tides would look at the moon in awe and yearning; gravitating with every push and pull.

You loved him in ways words can never describe. How the seeds he planted in your heart bloomed to the most beautiful bouquet of flowers.

You love him simply because he’s Chan.

You promised yourself you’d be just friends. It was safer that way but then again, what is love when she’s not one without twists and turns?

What is love when she comes to you, sneaky and sly like a weed disguised as a flower, whispering into your ear that it’s him.

It’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

It was always him, it just took you some time to figure that out.

*

When you first met Chan, he was simply a friend of a friend. Someone you knew because your brothers are his friends. He was the guy you’d hear about in passing, the popular cool guy with a heart bigger than a massive sized teddy bear and a smile that could cure the most depressing of days. Someone who, in probability, would just be an acquaintance to you.

He was that guy you regularly saw at the coffee shop you visited every week. He was just some guy from the music department who would flash you a friendly smile because you were a familiar face.

Funny how fate made him more than what you originally expected him to be.

[keanubot]

Catastrophe Reigns (John Wick/Reader) Chapter 8

word count: 5.7k

warnings: NSFW!!!!!! FINALLY!!!! thank you for being so patient, i hope you guys enjoy this.

John sits on your bed while you freshen up, watching as you try to make yourself look as presentable and law-abiding as possible. But makeup isn’t going to cover up anything; they know, and you’re more than likely walking into a lion’s den. You pace back and forth in front of him as you blow-dry your hair, talking a mile a minute.

“Do I deny it? Do I play dumb? I have no fucking idea how they found out but I’m sure they have some valid form of evidence and if I lie, I’m dead. Not that I’m not already dead, because the fact that my presence is being requested in the first place pretty much confirms that I’m dead,” you don’t even know if he can hear you over the hairdryer, but then again, you’re not really sure if you’re talking to him or to yourself, “Four years of college, three years of nursing school, almost two years of working in the field, nine years wasted. Just like that, down the drain.”

You feel something grab your leg and you stop pacing, looking down to see John gripping your calf. Your eyes meet and he’s looking at you earnestly.

“That’s not gonna happen.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, then pull your leg away and start pacing again, turning your hairdryer off and standing in front of your mirror, “I’m fucked.”

“You’re not fucked. I’m gonna fix this.”

You roll your eyes, quickly brushing your hair and mentally chastising yourself for using so much fucking eyeshadow, “I appreciate that John, I do. But there’s nothing anyone can do,” you sigh, putting the brush back down and turning to look at him, “This is my hill to climb alone.”

He stands, shaking his head, “You’re not going alone, I’m coming with you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you put your hands on his shoulders, carefully pushing him back down on the bed, “You can’t come into the meeting with me, they’ll kick you out.”

“I can wait outside, moral support and all that.” he offers, and you shake your head.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you open your nightstand to grab some perfume and you yelp when you see two guns sitting inside, “Jesus Christ, warn me next time.”

“Fuck, sorry. They’re not loaded.” he can tell you’re on edge and slightly nervous to reach your hand into a drawer containing guns – loaded or not. He quickly leans over to help, “What do you need?”

“Perfume, it’s in the back somewhere.”

He reaches in and when he pulls his hand back out, what he’s holding makes you yelp even louder than you had when you’d seen the guns: your vibrator.

“Well…that’s not perfume.” He says, slowly rotating the small egg-shaped device in his hand.

“Put it back, please.” You reply, covering your face in embarrassment, and he just laughs and does as he’s told, reaching his hand back in and pulling out your perfume. He gives it to you, and you bring your hand down from your mouth to take it, cringing when you catch him smiling to himself, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Just…don’t.” you turn away from him, glad your makeup is hiding the fact that your skin is on fire.

“Y/N, everything will be fine. You don’t know what they want, it could be some sort of… random performance review or something.”

You shake your head, spraying the perfume on your wrists and rubbing them together, “Chances are, I’m gonna walk in that room and see two police officers waiting with handcuffs,” you lightly touch your wrists to your temples, transferring the scent, “It’s okay, John. I mean, obviously it’s not okay, but I’ll be fine. I dug my own grave with this one.”

He stands again, walking over to you and wrapping his arms around you from behind. You watch in the mirror as his left hand stills on your stomach and his right one lightly trails up and down your hip. His eyes meet yours in the reflection.

“It will be okay,” he says softly, and you love how much he towers over you, so tall he can kiss the top of your head with ease, which he does, “No matter what they want, nothing’s gonna happen to you. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that.” you whisper, leaning back into his touch and watching as his arms fully wrap around you to engulf you in a hug. Your head lolls back against his shoulder, temple grazing his scruff.

“I can, and I am.” He murmurs, nose brushing your hair as he breathes you in, “Mmm….you smell good.”

He seems so….blasé about the situation – casual, like there really is nothing to worry about. You have to admit, it makes you feel a little better, like maybe everything will actually turn out okay. But what are you saying? You’ve never been called in to see the director of nursing, and with it happening today of all days, the day after you’d robbed the hospital? Yeah, you’re definitely fucked.

“I’m not getting to know you through a piece of glass and a jail phone,” he suddenly says, and he turns you around in his arms, hands trailing up your back and pulling you closer, “I promise that nothing will happen to you.” he really means it, eyes piercing yours with intense sincerity, “You have my word.”

There’s something he’s trying to tell you, through his eyes. You haven’t really been able to focus on anything because you’ve been so stressed, rushing to get ready. But now that you’re finally paying attention, there’s something there that he wants you to see, to read. He’s going to protect you, no matter what. It makes you shiver.

And you believe him.

-----

You let John come with you but you tell him to wait outside the hospital, which he seems fine with doing. He tells you he’ll be sitting just outside the main doors, and if you need him, you can text him. He puts his number in your phone, and watches you go into the building, the situation beginning to feel much more real the further you walk away from him.

Being in the hospital feels strange, like a new experience. Even though you walk these halls constantly, something feels incredibly different after last night, and you suddenly realize it’s because this may be the last time you’ll actually walk them. You swallow, feeling tears prick in your eyes.

You take the elevator like everyone else, going a level above where you’d stopped last night. The walk down the corridor is slow, your hands shaking and your stomach turning as you reach the door to Janet Brookes’ office. You focus on how John’s lips had felt on yours when he’d kissed you before you’d entered the hospital, pulling back to whisper that everything would be okay. Taking a deep breath, you bring your hand up and knock on the door.

It opens immediately, as if she’d been standing on the other side waiting for you. You vaguely recognize her; that Can I speak to the manager? haircut still isn’t doing much for her, “Y/N?”

“Yes.”

She nods and ushers you inside, shutting the door behind you. She gestures for you sit down in the chair in front of her desk and you do so, watching as she settles into her own chair and seems to take a steadying breath. She looks at you, adjusting her glasses and squinting as if she’s trying to see you properly. You fidget with your hands in your lap, palms sweaty.

“I assume you know why you’re here.”

You look up, mind still filtering through your options. Play dumb or confess?

“Uh…” you still haven’t decided.

“Because I honestly have no idea,” she continues, and your brow furrows, “I was contacted by the Director of Hospital Security and told to schedule an urgent meeting with you.” she scoffs, shaking her head, “And of course, I’m wasting my time because he’s later than you are.”

Director of Hospital Security.

Of course. How had you been so stupid? There are security cameras outside the hospital and in the corridors; you’ve barely ever paid any mind to them, practically forgetting they even existed. Clearly someone had seen you stealing – whether during or afterwards, it didn’t matter. But Janet Brookes hasn’t been informed of it yet, which still leaves you with the higher ground, though not by much.

“Oh, am I late?” you take out your phone, pretending to check the time. You quickly text John, heart beating fast:

she doesn’t know. director of security does. waiting for him now.

“Yes, by five minutes.” she’s annoyed, clearly wanting to get back to work.

You put your phone back into the pocket of your jacket, sitting up a bit straighter, “Did he mention anything at all? About…why you had to schedule the meeting?”

She sighs, leaning back in her chair, “He said it involved something in regards to some ‘recent activity’ on your behalf, which is what I already told you on the phone earlier, if I recall.”

God, she’s rude. But you’re obviously not going to point that out. Instead, you remain pleasant, hoping she doesn’t notice how utterly terrified you are, “Right,” you say with a smile, “You did.”

Your phone vibrates and you take it out, looking down at it. A text from John:

Name of Director of Security?

Why is he asking that? You don’t have time to question it, clearing your throat and looking back up at Janet, who’s staring defiantly at the closed door, “What’s his name, the Director of Hospital Security?”

“Harry something or other,” she waves her hand, “I don’t know, Jones or something.”

“Harry Jones?”

She huffs, lips puckering into a sour expression, “Jones, Johnson, I don’t know. How am I supposed to remember? I’m a very busy woman, I don’t have time for this.”

You nod, internally screaming obscenities as you discreetly reply to John’s text:

harry jones or harry johnson. something with a j

You’re not sure why John wants to know but you have a feeling in the pit of your stomach that won’t go away, a feeling that’s growing stronger by the second. But you push it away, trying not to think about it as you stare at the dark screen of your phone.

“So, do you know?” Janet asks, and you look up.

“Know what?”

She groans, getting up and walking to the door to stand there and cross her arms; she must have done the same thing while waiting for you, “Why you’re here. Do you know why we’re having this meeting?”

Keeping your expression calm, you slowly shake your head, “No, sorry. No idea.”

-----

After sitting there for twenty minutes, watching as Janet paces around the room with that sour expression never leaving her face, twisting your hands in your lap and waiting for John to text you back – she finally sits down, letting out a frustrated laugh.

“Well, I’m not waiting any longer. If it was as urgent as he said, he would have been here on time, and that’s that.” she gestures toward the door, “You’re free to go, the meeting obviously won’t be going ahead.”

You nod, standing up a little too quickly and backing away from the desk, “Sorry to waste your time.”

“Not your fault, dear.” she replies with a wave of her hand, turning to her computer and shaking her mouse a little too aggressively, “Oh lord, what’s going on now?”

You can see the computer monitor from where you’re standing; it’s bright blue, an error screen of some sort.

“System must be down again,” she tuts, rolling her eyes, “I swear, technology will be our downfall.”

Still backing up, you grab the door knob and turn it, throwing Janet one more fake smile, “Bye.”

“Goodbye, dear.”

You almost sink to the floor when you’re back in the corridor, heart pumping furiously as relief washes over you. But it doesn’t last for long, your thoughts turning to John as you speed walk to the elevator and make it inside before the doors close.

“Hey,” you hear to your left, and you turn to see your friend Ruby standing there smiling at you, “I didn’t think you had a shift today.”

Trying to act normal, you smile back, but you’re not sure it’s convincing, “I don’t, just had a meeting thing I had to go to. I’m going home now.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Meeting thing? About what?”

You shrug, “Random performance review.” John’s words from earlier are the first thing to come into your mind, as ridiculous as they sound.

She can see right through you, and you know it. You don’t work with someone for two years straight and not learn each other’s mannerisms. Ruby may be more of a work friend than anything else – you tend to keep people at arm’s length, your introversion getting in the way – but she’s worked with you long enough to tell when something is wrong.

“You good?” she asks, eyeing you up and down, “Is something up?”

You shake your head, keeping the fake smile plastered on your face, “I’m fine,” the elevator doors open and you step out into the hallway, turning to her and flashing her a thumb’s up, “I’ll see you later.”

You practically run to the main doors, the anticipation of seeing John and getting the hell away from here almost too much to contain. But the bench he’d been sitting on is empty, and your eyes frantically search the front entrance for any sign of him; he’s nowhere to be found. You pull out your phone, that feeling you’d had in Janet Brookes’ office creeping up on you again:

i’m outside where are you?

Not wanting to just stand there, you sit down on the bench and cross your legs, ignoring how much you’re unconsciously moving them back and forth. As soon as your phone vibrates you almost drop it pressing the unlock button:

Go home. Taxi is waiting.

You stare at the text, bewildered. It’s so…formal, no explanation at all. You bring your gaze up to the hospital entrance and spot a yellow taxi a little ways away. You type out another text, shaking your head in confusion:

what are you doing? i wanna wait for you.

He responds almost immediately, like he’d been expecting you to protest; well, he certainly knows how stubborn you are by now:

I won’t be long, wait for me at your apartment. Don’t worry.

Him saying don’t worry just makes you worry even more, and you quietly curse as you lock your phone and stand up. You walk quickly to the cab and climb inside, unsurprised when the cab driver already knows the destination; John’s come up with a plan, apparently – in less than half an hour. As the hospital gets further and further away, your anxiety only increases, and your hands are still shaking even as it disappears from view.

-----

Fitz is waiting for you when you arrive back at your apartment, sitting at your feet and demanding attention. You pick him up and pet him absentmindedly, your mind reeling with thoughts of what John could possibly be doing and why he didn’t come home with you. He’d promised that no matter what, everything would be okay, but how can he actually keep that promise? He’d seemed so certain…

You scratch underneath Fitz’s chin as you pace the floors of your small apartment, biting your lip and losing yourself in your thoughts. Why had he wanted the name of the Director of Security? In what way was that relevant to him? You’d only told him what was going on to keep him updated, you hadn’t expected him to ask for details. Yet you’d gone out of your way to ask Janet Brookes what his name was, even prying about the specifics of his last name.

“I mean, what’s he gonna do, try and convince Harry what’s-his-name to delete the footage?” you ask Fitz, as if you’ve been talking this whole time, “Good luck with that.”

Fitz looks up at you curiously with his big green eyes, blinking slowly as if he’s listening to you. You’ve always found comfort in talking about your problems to him, but right now you wish more than ever that he could actually respond with some sort of advice. You’ve never had to deal with something this complicated before.

“What do you think, buddy? Am I losing my marbles?”

In response to your question, Fitz jumps out of your arms and retreats to the kitchen to use his litter box, leaving you standing there with a twisted smile on your face, “Very helpful, thanks.” You sigh and go into your bedroom, temporarily distracted by the way the smell of your perfume mixes with the smell of John; it’s intoxicating.

You sit on your bed and take off your jewelry, still thinking. As you unlatch your necklace, your eyes stray toward your night stand, and you freeze.

That feeling you’d had in Janet Brookes’ office? It’s suddenly consuming you.

Holding your breath, you slowly reach over and pull open the drawer, swallowing hard as you peer inside and your suspicions are confirmed:

The guns are gone.

-----

Your anxiety is through the roof as you wait for John to return, unable to stop pacing back and forth as you bite your nails and check your phone every two minutes. You’ve sent him five texts in the past hour and he hasn’t responded to any of them:

hey don’t do anything stupid please

i mean it seriously please don’t

it’d be awesome if you could text me back

john

i’m really worried about you

It’s almost 2pm and you haven’t heard a word from him. What you hate the most is you truly have no idea what he’s doing; yes, you’ve had your guesses and theories about his job, but none of your ideas have prepared you for a moment like this. In all of your scenarios, you’d imagined John as someone hired to carry out tasks, not someone who simply carries them out without cause.

He has cause though, your brain argues, that Harry guy has proof that you stole that shit.

“Yeah but he doesn’t have to kill anybody over it!” you say loudly, and Fitz jumps about a foot in the air, hopping off the couch and running into your bedroom for some peace and quiet.

He’s not killing anyone, chill out.

You flop onto the couch, your head practically hurting from how much you’re overthinking. The bottom line, the common theme in all your thoughts – is John’s wellbeing. All you want to know is if he’s okay, if he’s been injured or arrested or if he’s perfectly fine and not even engaging in half the things you’re imagining him doing. You just want him to be safe.

As if brought to fruition by your thoughts, you suddenly hear a knock at the door. You fling yourself off the couch, running to the front door and pulling it open. John stands on the other side, and you quickly assess him as you’d done yesterday; however, this time you don’t notice any new injuries, and he seems alright. You rush forward and collide into him, momentarily forgetting his injured ribs like you had earlier.

If you hurt him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he just hugs you back, smiling into your hair. When you pull back, you can’t help but lightly slap his good arm – the one without the healing stab wounds – and he responds with a playful, “Hey!”

“Where were you?!” you ask, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside. He shuts the door behind him and watches as you walk to the kitchen table and sit down, finally able to feel relief for the first time in the past hour, “Seriously, John, you could’ve texted me back.”

“I’m sorry, really.” he walks over to you and pulls a chair out, placing it directly in front of you. He sits down and reaches out to place his hands on your knees, leaning his face toward yours, “I had to turn my phone off after I told you to go home and wait for me, I couldn’t have any distractions.”

You nod, not making eye contact with him, “Listen…I know that we barely know each other, okay? And I know that you don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you everyth-“

“Shut up.” You close your eyes, laughing to yourself and shaking your head. You bring your eyes up to meet his, unable to stop your smile, “God, sorry, I really have to stop telling you to shut up.”

He smiles wide, eyes sparkling, “Don’t apologize, I like it.”

You look at him, slightly awestruck by his response, then blink slowly and lick your lips, trying to think of how to word what you want to say, “Anyway, I know all this, so I really don’t have any right to tell you to do certain things. But…okay, if this is gonna work – if we’re gonna work – I need you to at least let me know what you’re doing before you do it. I can’t be here wondering where you are and what’s going on,” you take both his hands in yours, peering into his eyes earnestly, “You don’t have to give me all the details yet, okay? I just want…something. Something that’s not just ‘don’t worry’, you get me? ‘Cause if I have no information whatsoever, I’m gonna worry.”

He nods slowly, clearly taking in your words. “I get that.”

“You do?”

He smiles softly, reaching up to touch your face, “I do. And I’m sorry, I really am. I’m not…” he trails off, searching for the words, “I’m not good at this whole communicating thing. I never have been, it’s a fault of mine that I’ve needed to adjust for a while.” He licks his lips, and it distracts you immensely. “I guess I’ve gotten used to doing things alone… I’d kind of accepted and made peace with it. Meeting you… it’s kind of thrown things off.” He puts his other hand up as if to halt you from interrupting, “In a good way, of course; an amazing way. I never expected… when I collapsed outside your apartment, I never even dreamed…” he doesn’t finish, just shakes his head in amazement.

You can feel warmth everywhere, spreading through your body the longer he speaks, and he takes your hands and squeezes them in his. You look down at them, the familiar safety of his touch overpowering everything.

“So…” you say softly, your eyes meeting his once more, “If you can sum up what you were doing in, say, one sentence. What would you say?”

He takes a few seconds, then says, quite firmly, “I took care of it.”

“You took care of it,” you repeat, nodding. “Anything – uh – else to add?”

He licks his lips again, and you feel a twinge between your legs that you know you’re going to have to take care of soon. God knows you’ve waited long enough.

“The footage of you in the hospital last night has been destroyed,” he says, and your eyes widen, “And the parties involved won’t be giving you any trouble,” he smiles then, cupping your face in his hands, “I promised nothing would happen to you.”

He leans in then and presses a firm kiss to your lips – solid and safe. Your hands come up to touch his back, fingers digging gently into his broad shoulders as you lose yourself in the way his mouth feels against yours. He slowly pulls away to look at you, his eyes suddenly dark – burning with the intensity they’d had this morning before you’d gotten that phone call.

You know where this is going, and you definitely want it to go there, but there’s something else you need to ask before you do.

“Just…one more question,” you breathe, your mouths inches apart, “And then I’m yours.”

You feel him shiver, and you can’t help but smile, proud that you’ve managed to have the same effect on him that he has on you, “Yes?”

“When you say you took care of it…” you pull yourself towards him, his nose flush against your cheek, “God, I don’t even – uh – know how to word this…”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” he whispers, his hands dropping from your face to grip your back, somehow bringing you even closer, “If that’s what you mean.”

“Good enough,” you say breathlessly, and your mouth is on his again.

You immediately want to climb into his lap like you had earlier, but you know with his leg in the condition that it’s in, that’s not a good idea. As if he can sense your uncertainty, he breaks the kiss to pull back slightly and gently pat his right leg, the one without the bullet hole, “Come here,” he says softly, using his other hand to gently tug at your waist.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” you breathe, kissing him again and tracing your tongue against his lips.

He pulls back, shaking his head slightly, “You won’t. Here, let me.” He puts his other hand on your hip and pulls you forward, opening his legs and lifting you so your right leg is between them. Seconds later he has you flush against him, practically glued to his good thigh as he runs his hands up your back and kisses you hard, “You won’t hurt me now,” he whispers against your lips.

He’s basically telling you that he wants you to grind against his thigh, and the very idea already has you soaking wet as you start to rub yourself against him, moaning into his mouth as you tangle your fingers in his hair. He feels so firm beneath you, your thigh brushing against his bulge every time you rock. You grip his jacket and tug it off his shoulders, throwing it to the floor and instantly beginning to unbutton his shirt.

He laughs breathlessly, “Clothes off? You’re sure?”

You look at him incredulously, hands still working on the buttons as you continue to hump his thigh, breathless whimpers leaving your mouth with every move of your hips, “Y-Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

He brings his hands down from your back to grip your waist, helping you move against him. You pause your unbuttoning to grip his shoulders and press your forehead into his neck, focusing on the way his clothed thigh feels through your pants. In truth, it’s nowhere near enough, and you shiver when you feel his fingers at your waistband as he starts to pull them down.

“I haven’t showered today.” he whispers in your ear, and that shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but you absolutely love how he smells right now; real and musky and manly.

“I don’t care,” you moan, lifting up so he can slip your pants off, leaving you sitting in his lap in your underwear while you thrust against his leg, “I need you.”

He groans against your hair, and suddenly he’s lifting you up, holding you in his arms. You re-position your legs so you have them wrapped around his waist, making sure to avoid his injured thigh as your soaked panties come in contact with his cock, your skin on fire. He’s got one hand on your lower back and one on your ass, squeezing it as he carries you into the living room. Your head is still buried in his neck as you moan quietly against his warm skin.

He lays you down on the couch, unbuttoning the last few buttons on his shirt and pulling it off. You can see the familiar dark red lines from where you’d stitched him up, along with the numerous other faded injuries and scars, including the long one running along his abdomen. You can’t deny the arousal you feel at the sight of them, and you moan quietly without being touched. John reaches for his belt and you sit up on the couch, moving his hands out of the way so you can do it yourself.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and you can feel him watching as you pull the belt out of the loops and reach for his zipper. Within seconds his pants are on the floor and you’re face to face with his clothed cock, straining against his boxers. Without hesitation your hand comes up to stroke him, eliciting a loud groan from John above you.

He reaches down and tugs at the collar of your sweater, urging you to remove it. You drop your hand from his cock and help him take it off you, leaving you in your bra.

“Lay back for me,” he says as you reach for him again, laughing when you pout. He touches your face, smiling softly at you, “I want to take care of you for once.”

His words make you shiver and you do as you’re told, falling back onto the couch and waiting for him with anticipation. He climbs on top of you, his mouth immediately finding yours as he pins his legs on either side of you and lets his hands travel down your body, his fingers gentle against your skin. You love how he touches you, tender and slow, like he’s trying to appreciate every inch of you. You kiss him feverishly, one hand in his hair, the other at the top of his spine – the knowledge that you’re touching one of his tattoos turning you on even more.

His hand slides down to your underwear and you whimper as he reaches inside and rubs his thumb against your clit. You grip his upper arms, big and firm beneath your fingers, “John.” you hiss.

“Is that okay?” he asks, peering down at you with hungry eyes as he stills his movements. You nod immediately, answering the question by leaning up to kiss him again. You can feel him smiling against your lips, probably smug from how wet you are right now, his thumb gliding against you with ease.

“Off,” you quietly demand, and he understands, sitting up to remove your panties and slide them down your legs. Somehow, you feel yourself becoming even wetter as you watch him looking at you, his eyes glued to your pussy as he opens your legs and presses his middle finger to your entrance. His cock is pressed tightly against his boxers, a prominent wet spot near the waistband.

His eyes move to look up at your face, making eye contact as he slowly slips his finger inside of you. You reach up to pull him back to you, aching for his mouth to be back on yours. He adds another finger as you kiss, pushing them in and out of you while his thumb continues to rotate on your clit. You practically vibrate beneath him, moaning against his lips.

Your hand reaches down to grab his cock through his underwear and he lets out a soft groan. For some reason he takes your hand and moves it away from him, making you break the kiss, “I wanna touch you,” you say, breathless, “I wanna make you come.”

“This is about you.” he replies, his fingers still pumping in and out of you as he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Exactly,” you reach down and pull his hand away from you, leaving you with an incredibly empty and dissatisfied feeling, “And I wanna make you feel good.” You sit up and so does he, looking at you with a confused expression. You crawl over and sit in his lap, being careful to avoid his bullet wound as you begin to grind your bare pussy against his cock through his boxers.

“Oh, fuck.” He moans, gripping your hips and looking up to watch as you rub yourself against him. You put your hands on his shoulders, concentrating on rotating your body and making him feel as good as possible. He’s rock hard against you, and you can already feel your orgasm building as he breathes heavily and helps you rock back and forth.

“I’m gonna come,” you whimper, pressing your forehead against his, “Fuck, make me come, John.”

He moves his hands from your hips to your back, pulling you impossibly close to him, your breasts flush against his chest through your bra. You gyrate your hips a few more times and then you’re coming, your body shaking against John’s length as you still, lost in the feeling of his arms around you. He takes over for you, letting you break from moving your hips as he grips your waist again and moves you back and forth on his cock, his boxers soaked with your wetness, “Come for me,” he says, voice shaky, “That’s it, baby, come for me.”

When he calls you baby, it’s all over for him too. He reaches his hand up to the back of your neck, pulling you down to meet your lips in a sloppy kiss as his cock twitches beneath you. He shudders, holding you still as he comes against you.

You haven’t felt this connected to someone in a long time, and it was never like this. You pull away to peer down at John, pushing his hair out of his eyes as you both breathe heavily, a shaky laugh escaping your lips. He smiles at you, crooked and sleepy, “That wasn’t fair.”

Raising an eyebrow, you carefully slide off him, both of you shivering with oversensitivity, “What wasn’t?”

“I had something else planned,” he looks down at himself, laughing quietly at his damp boxers, “Kinda went out the window when you – uh – took control, though.”

You smile triumphantly, getting off the couch and standing in front of him, completely uncaring that you aren’t wearing any underwear. You feel powerful, confident; it’s all back and it’s not going away any time soon, “Well, whatever you had planned…why don’t you try it after we shower?” you reach your hand down to him, winking.

He looks at it, a smirk appearing on his face, “We?”

You nod, smiling so big your mouth practically hurts, “Yes.”

The speed in which he reaches out to take your hand is unparalleled.

[vanillacheesecakke]

Can you make Futakachi smut? Just for my friend Neo, who simps on her

"No where to run" A Rin Fukatatchi x Fem! Reader smut fic

Notes: I have not written in FOREVER so pls forgive me if it's bad. im q bit ✨rusty✨

You breathed softly as you rang the bell. Just one more rat and you could escape. You quckly ran to the garden and waited for Rin to finish eating, when she finished you left to find the last rat. While you were walking threw the minka, you suddelny heard whispers. Oh no. Your breathing fastened as you looked behind you. There she was. Your eyes widened as you quickly turned around and started sprinting, you ran as fast as you could not looking back. You ran into a room but it had no Shimenawa on it. You turned around and backed up against the wall as she came towards you. You closed your eyes and prayed. This was the end. A few minutes went by and you were still alive. You slowly opened your eyes looking up at her. "Aw." she started. "Look how cute you are, looking up at me like that." she complimented caressing your cheek. You were speechless. Was this actually happening? She picked you up and began kissing you. She squeezed your ass, making you moan into the kiss. You broke away from the kiss, putting your head down in a shy manner. She began to kiss and bite your neck, leaving hickeys. She then layed you on the mat, kneading your clothed breasts. She squeezed your nipples in between her fingers. "Mmmm" you moaned. She pulled down your skirt. "This sight. It's beautiful. You're beautiful." she said sending butterflies to your stomach. She set her head at your entrance and moved your panties to the side. She started to lap at your folds. You grinded against her tounge moaning. "Ohh my godd, Rin!" you said, running your hands through her hair making sure not to touch Mio. She stuck her tounge into your pussy swirling it around. "Ah! Ah! Yes! Right there Rin!" you moaned moving your hips up and down. "Rin! I'm gonna cum! Ah!" you then came all over Rin's tounge. She licked up and swallowed all of your cum. You felt tired, bringing her up to you, face to face. She put her head in between your chest and muttered an "I love you." and turning her head. "I love you too, Rin." you said, falling asleep.

[archiefm]

         ... claws my way up from hell once more and vomits onto the dash.... hello. its nora. i used to write rory bergstrom, but if u were here before that u might remember me as greta or alma putnam or..... som1 else.... an endless carousel of trash children..... this is finn, who i actually wrote for an early version of this rp abt 5yrs back now...... grits teeth..... so forgive me if im rusty i havent written him in a long time but seein honey boy gave me a lotta finn muse n im keen to get Back On The Horse yeehaww...

DYLAN O’BRIEN / CIS-MALE — don’t look now, but is that finn o’callaghan i see? the 25 year old criminology and forensic studies student is in their graduate year of study year and he is a rochester alum. i hear they can be judicious, adroit, morose and cynical, so maybe keep that in mind. i bet he will make a name for themselves living off-campus. ( nora. 24. gmt. she/her )

shakes my tin can a humble pinterest, ma’am....

finn has a bio pasted at the bottom (n written in like.... 2015.... gross) but it’s long  so if u don’t wanna read it here’s the sparknotes summary..... anyway this was written years ago n a lot of it seems really cliche and lame now but..... we accept the trash we think we deserve

grumpy, ugly sweater wearing, tech-savvy grandpa

very dry sense of humour and embraces nihilism. 

if ron swanson and april ludgate had a baby it would be finn

he was raised in derry, just south of dublin.

from a big family. elder sister called sinead. he also has a younger sister (aoife), a younger brother (colm), and a collie named lassie because his father lovs cliches (finn hates cliches but loves his dog). 

his father was a pub landlord and his mother worked at the market sellin fruit n veg when they met but got a job as a medical receptionist when she had kids cos it meant she cld be there with them in the day and work nights.

his parents met when they were p young and fiesty and rushed into marriage cos they were catholic n just wanted to have sex. his family were literally dirt-poor, but they had a lot of love i guess

hmmmmm his relationship w his father wasn’t the best cos i can’t write character who have healthy relationships w their parents throws up a peace sign. yh, had a pretty emotionally distant, alcoholic violent father n so gets a lot of his bad habits i.e. drinking as a coping mechanism and poor anger management from him BUT anyway

as a kid he was never very motivated in class, he always had a nervous itch to be off somewhere doing something else. struggled under government austerity bcso there just wasn’t the resources to support low income families where the kids had learning difficulties n needed support. fuck the tories am i right 

his mum suggested he try sports to help w his restless energy but he was never any good at football so he took up boxing and tap dance instead. he took to tap dancing like a fish to fuckin water. as adhd n found this as a really good way to use his excess energy in a creative way

had a few run ins with the police in his early teens for spray painting and graffiti, but he straightened himself out n now actually considering becoming a detective inspector??? cops are pigs.

he had a youtube channel where he posted videos of him tapdancing and breakdancing as a kid, basically would be a tiktok boy nowadays, n had like... a small fanbase in his early teens. attended several open auditions unsuccessfully, until he was finally cast in billy eliot when he was fifteen.

during billy eliot he began dating an italian dancer called nina. they became dance partners soon after and toured across the republic with various different shows (inc riverdance lol the classic irish stereotype). their relationship was p toxic tbh, they were both very hot tempered people and just used to argue and fight all the time.

he went semi-pro at tap dancing, and nina couldn’t stand being second best so she moved back to italy with her family. ignored his texts, phone calls, etc, eventually he was driven to the point where he used his savings to buy a plane ticket, showed up at her house and she was like wtf?? freaked out and filed a restraining order accusing him of stalking.

he was fined for harassment and then returned home to derry, but after the incident with nina he quit dancing for good and finished his leaving cert before heading to university in the US to get as far away from nina and his past life as poss. and basically since he quit dancing to study forensics (death kink. finn cant get enough of that morgue. just walks around sayin beat u) he’s become a massive grump and jsut doesn’t see the good in people any more.

u’ll find finn in an old man bar drinking whiskey bc he is in fact an old man at heart or sat on his roof smoking a joint, drawing wolves and lions and skeletons and shit, playing call of duty or getting blazed or at the corner of the room in a house party ignoring everyone and scrolling through twitter. is a massive e-boy. always up-to-date on memes and internet slang. has reddit as an app on his phone

not very good at communication. rather than solve his issues by talking, he’d prefer to just solve them through fighting or running away from his problems hence why he has come halfway across the world to get away from an issue which probs cld have been solved w a few apology emails.

takes a lot to phase him, but when his beserk button gets pressed he can become a bit pugnacious like an angry lil rottweiler. in his undergrad he was in a few fist fights but doesn’t really do tht any more as he doesn’t condone violence.

 in the previous version of this rp he was hospitalised like 5 times. pls, give my son a break. stop tryin to kill him. he literaly got a bottle smashed over his head and bled out all over his favourite angora rug that was the only light of his life

works at the campus coffee shop n always whines about how he’s a slave to capitalism. always smells of coffee

lives off campus with an elderly woman named Marianne, and basically gets reduced rent bcos he makes her dinner / keeps her company. they have a great bond

fan of karl marx. v big on socialism

insomniac with chronic nosebleeds

cynical about everything. too much of a fight club character 4 his own good n has his head up tyler durden’s sphincter

always confused or annoyed

statistics

basic information

full name: finnegan seamus o'callaghan nickname(s): finn age: 25 astrological sign: aries hometown: derry, ireland occupation: phd student / former street entertainer fatal flaw: cynicism positives: self-reliant, street smart, relaxed, intelligent, spontaneous, brave, independent, reliable, trustworthy, loyal. negatives: hostile, impulsive, stubborn, brooding, pugnacious, untrusting, cynical, enigmatic, reserved.

physical

colouring: medium hair colour: dark brown, almost black eye colour: brown height: 5’9” weight: 69kg build: tall, athletic voice: subtle irish accent, low, smooth. dominant hand: left scar(s): one on the left side of his ribs from a knife wound that he doesn’t remember getting cos he was drunk distinguishing marks: freckles, tattoo of a wolf howling at a moon allergies: pollen and the full spectrum of human emotion alcohol tolerance: high drunken behaviour: he becomes friendlier, far more conversational than when sober, flirtier, and generally more self-confident.

psychological

dreams/goals: self-fulfilment, travel the globe, experience life in its most alive and technicoloured version, make documentary films, help the vulnerable in society, grow as a human being.

skills: jack-of-all-trades, very fast runner, good at thieving things, talented tap dancer, good in crisis situations, dab-hand at mechanics, musically-intelligent, can throw a mean right hook and very capable of defending himself, can roll a cigarette, memorises quotes and passages of literature with ease, can light a match with his teeth.

likes: the smell of the earth after rain, poetry, cigarettes, shakespeare, whiskey, tattoos, travelling, ac/dc, deep conversations, leather jackets, open spaces, the smell of petrol, early noughties ‘emo phase’ anthems.

dislikes:  the government, parties, rules, donald trump, children, apple products, weddings, people in general, small talk, dependency, loneliness, pop music, public transport, justin timberlake, uncertainty.fears: fear itself, drowning alignment: true neutral mbti: istp – “while their mechanical tendencies can make them appear simple at a glance, istps are actually quite enigmatic. friendly but very private, calm but suddenly spontaneous, extremely curious but unable to stay focused on formal studies, istp personalities can be a challenge to predict, even by their friends and loved ones. istps can seem very loyal and steady for a while, but they tend to build up a store of impulsive energy that explodes without warning, taking their interests in bold new directions.” (via 16personalities.com)

full bio (lame as fuck written years ago..... pleathe...)

tw homophobia

born in quigley’s pub on the backstreets of sunny dublin, young finnegan o'callaghan was thrown kicking and screaming into the rowdy suburbs of irish drinking culture. the son of a landlord and a fishwife, he never had much in the way of earnings, but there was never a dull moment in his lively estate, where asbo’s thrived, but community spirit conquered. at school, finn was pegged as lazy and unmotivated, though truly his dyslexia made it hard for the boy to learn in the same environment of his peers and only made him more closed-off in class. struggling with anger management, finn moved from school to school, unable to fit the cookie-cutter mould that school enforced on him, though whilst academic studies were of little interest to the boy, he soon found his true passions lay in recreational activities. immersed into the joys of sport from as young as four, finn was an ardent munster fan and anticipated nothing more than the day he could finally fit into his brother’s old pair of rugby boots.

his calling finally came unexpectedly, not in the form of rugger, but through dance. to learn to express himself in a non-academic way, he began tap dancing, finding therapy in the beat of his soles against the cracked kitchen tiles (much to his mother’s disgrace). it wasn’t a conscious choice, finn just realised one day that dance was something that made him feel. a king of the streets, finn made his fortune on those cobbled pavements – dancing and drawing to earn his keep. by default, finn became a street artist, each penny he earned from his chalk drawings saved in a jam jar towards buying his first pair of tap shoes. though many of his less-than-amiable neighbours called him a nancy and a gaybo, finn refused to quit at his somewhat ‘unconventional’ hobby, for the young scrapper found energy, life, and released anger through the rhythm of tap. soon he branched out into street dance, hip hop, break dancing, lyrical, his days spent smacking his scuffed feet against the broken patio into the night.

when he was thirteen he took up boxing, and as expected, his newfound ‘macho’ pastime conflicted with his dancing. the boxers called him ‘soft’; the dancers called him ‘inelegant’. he felt like two different people; having to choose between interests was like being handed a knife and asked to which half of himself he wished to cut away. he couldn’t afford professional training in dance, with most schools based in england and limited scholarships available. instead, he made the street his studio, racking up a small fanbase on youtube. when he was fifteen he made his debut in billy eliot at the olympia theatre in dublin. enter nina de souza, talented, beautiful and italian; ballet dancer, operatic singer, genius whiz kid, and spoiled brat. she was selfish, conceited, hell bent on getting her own way, and every director’s nightmare. finn fell for her like a house of cards. he’d always had a soft spot for girls who meant trouble. and so their hellish courtship began.

by the time they were seventeen, the two young swans had danced in every playhouse across the republic. they were known in theatres across the country for their tempestuous personalities, their raging arguments with one another, their tendency to drop out of shows altogether without any notice, yet the money kept rolling in and the audiences continued to grow. for three years, their families continued to put up with their hysterical fights followed by passionate reconciliations. he was too possessive, and she was too wild. their carcrash of a relationship finally came to a catastrophic halt when nina broke off the whole affair and returned to italy with her family. for months finn tried to contact her, yet his phone calls, texts, facebook messages were always ignored, until finally he was driven to drastic measures and used his savings to get a plane to her home town. when finn turned up uninvited at nina’s house she freaked out – and rightly so – she contacted her agent, accused him of stalking her, and had a restraining order placed against him. finn was arrested, held in a station overnight, and charged with harassment before he was allowed to return to dublin.

after the incident with nina, finn lost the fight in his eyes. he became far more hostile, far less likely to retaliate with his own fists, and picked fights not for the thrill of feeling his own fists pummel another into a wall, but for the sensation of his own brittle bones cracking. he dropped his tap shoes in a dumpster, stopped talking to his friends, followed his father’s advice and went back to school to complete his leaving certificate. a few short months later, and finn was packing his bags, saying his bittersweet goodbyes, and travelling half-way across the globe to be as far away as possible from his past self, his mess of a life, and most of all nina. it seemed somehow ironic that the boy who had been cautioned by the garda so much during his youth for spray painting, busking without a liscence, and raucous parties would become the grumpy, aloof overseas student studying a degree in criminology; that his once reckless spirit could be crushed so easily. 

of all things that finn could be called, straightforward would never be one of them. ever since his first days in atticus, the boy was pegged as hostile, hot-headed, cynical, rude. he seemed to spend more time in his thoughts than engaging in conversation. like a ticking time-bomb, finn’s anger was of the calm kind, liable to explode without a moment’s noticed. his unpredictable personality make him something of an enigma to those who aren’t amiable with the lad, though hostile as he may appear, he harvests a good heart. loyalty lies at the centre of his affections, and whilst his friends are few in number, he makes a lifelong partner. somewhere within finn, there’s still some fight left, but mostly he has recognised that his hedonistic lifestyle did little to leave him fulfilled – mostly, it just emptied him out – and over his three years at university has resigned himself to a nihilistic predicament.

        if u wanna plot with me pls pls pls im me or like this post!! i am always game for plots i love em so excited to write with you all here r some ideas

study buddies. finn is now a phd student so has to start takin shit seriously. he gon be in the library every day doing that independent study. if he had ppl who were also regular library goers n they get each other coffees to save time.... tht wld be sweet

ppl who love techno dj sets and going super hard on the weekends!!! fuck yea

friends with benefits. exes on bad terms. ppl he tried to date but couldnt because he’s always emotionally hung up on someone else. spicy hook up plots

ppl he met touring?? maybe ppl who were also in the entertainment industry..... anyone got a character who is ex circus hit me up

does anyone else study criminology / forensics / criminal psych / law? phd students sometimes lecture so he cld be an assistant lecturer / tutor if ur character is in a younger year

gamers !!! social recluses !!! hermits !!

finn goes to the skatepark and all the young boys there think he’s a gradnpa which he is! 

[audreyhvstings-blog]

wow this is long overdue.

hello loves! my name is jules from the EST timezone. i’m so excited to be here and i can’t wait to get to know all of you and your characters. pls forgive me though because it’s been awhile since i’ve rped and i might be a little rusty HAH.

this is audrey. her label pretty much describes everything you need to know about her: the micromanager. she’s very professional, ambitious, a bit nitpicky with a side of uptightness and lowkey awkwardness. but she’s great, i promise. pls feel free to hit me up if you’d like to plot. i’m open to anything! or if you’d like, like this post and i could conjure up a starter.

also happy new year to those on the opposite side of the world! so glad im starting off the new year with a lovely roleplay group and lovely people :D i’m very senti oh dear