#kicking and screaming and chewing glass

[blackbonnette]

Edward "Blackbeard" Teach

[essentialthyme]

[i-have-zero-chill]

I’m trying to be normal about this but it’s so difficult. Like, the bi Buck reveal was so much better than anything we could’ve imagined. It just felt so natural and it’s very clear that every person involved in creating this understood the gravity of what they were doing. I feel so loved and cared for as a queer person who watches this show. Just wow.

[spineless-lobster]

Oh, me? I’m just thinking about how the Captain went from calling Kitty “Katherine” to “Kitty” as their relationship grows and develops, nothing much really

[naturallylonesomefool]

ISTG I love Good Omens so much I feel like throwing up like my body can't possibly hold so much love for something inside it just HAS TO COME OUT. SOMEHOW.

[ki-yomii]

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.4k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; fwb, angst w/ a happy ending, teasing, finger fucking, squirting, praise kink, frottage, dirty talk, pet names, commitment issues, jealous!jk, possessive!jk, dom!jk, idiots in love, misunderstandings ➥ summary | after being stood up one too many times, you realize you're in love with jungkook. and that just won't do. ➥ notes | istg i've re-written this more times than i care to count 💀 enjoy!

🖤 masterlist | inbox | AO3 🖤

cnt make it 2nite

The text is blunt - biting. No explanation offered, and certainly no false platitudes found in the lifeless string of black letters. Rather simple and straight to the point.

As you should have expected from Jungkook. He wasn’t known for his verbosity, and even less so for his love of texting.

But as you chew the fat of your cheek, reading it over and over again in an attempt to glean some hidden meaning that isn’t there, you admit to yourself - at least privately - there’s no more avoiding the truth.

One that’s been hovering over your shoulder for weeks like a shroud; an unwelcome guest you can’t ignore anymore: Jungkook’s been avoiding you.

It shouldn’t be surprising.

Moreover, it shouldn’t hurt.

There shouldn’t be an ache in your chest every time you see his contact or the plummet of your stomach when that inevitable excuse comes through.

In the end, he owes you nothing. The arrangement between you is casual, just a little fun between good friends.

It still fucking sucks though, you think, sucking your teeth.

Night thoroughly ruined before it’s begun, it’s only a matter of deciding how to respond now. In the past you’ve used a plethora of options, but you’re stumped. Unsure how to correlate the level of hurt to the nature of your not-relationship.

Should you be petty, passive-aggressive, indifferent - or worst of all: honest?

Hah, no way. I’d rather die.

Beside you, the bartender politely averts his gaze and busies himself with polishing a stack of pint glasses. It’s a slow night, and that’s saying something as this bar’s a little hole in the wall.

It’s never overly busy, which is one of the reason’s it’s a favorite meeting spot of yours. The floors might be sticky, but the music’s decent, the strobe lights they kick on after 10 PM aren’t offensive enough to induce a migraine, and the drinks are cheap with a heavy pour.

Watching him work is impressive - and almost distracting enough for you to ignore the needle sharp ache taking root beneath your ribs, the churn of your stomach.

Humiliation burns hot, creeps up your neck to settle into the apples of your cheeks as you’re stood up.

Again.

It isn’t the first time - it won’t be the last.

But it cuts deeper than all the rest combined, harder to shake off. You can’t lie to yourself anymore. The growing distance between you throbs like an open wound, as if Jungkook himself plunged a hand into your chest.

Scooped out any tender, soft thing he could find and left you hollowed out. Drained.

Not taking his flakiness personally used to be so easy. And now… well.

Goddamnit. A palm scrubs over your decolletage roughly to soothe the throb of your heart. What the hell did you expect to happen, getting involved with Jeon Jungkook, huh?

Everything from his stupidly pretty eyes to the dangerous curl of his mouth, the thick soles of his boots to the lapels of his leather jacket scream walking red flag.

Never mind the fact his proclivities are an open secret among the group. He’s never tried to hide his distaste for commitment. Finds it too monotonous. Predictable.

An eternally free soul much preferring to flit from one experience to the next, never shackled down for long. The Icarus of myth made flesh.

He runs through women like he runs through shoes, and you witnessed enough of the ensuing heartbreak and tears to be wary.

But knowing and feeling something are two very different things.

The dichotomy throws you off-kilter and finds you abandoned in a bar, once again, to choke on a regret so bitter you swear it’ll burn a hole through your throat.

What’s going on with me, you think, this is nothing new. He does this all the time.

You used to get on so well.

Any initial misgivings faded away in the face of Jungkook’s blinding attention, his unfaltering kindness lurking just beneath that surface of grit and gravel.

Even after you fuck, he never acts any differently, as casual between the sheets as he is lounging on your couch.

It's been great, it's been enough - until now.

Just the thought of going back to your empty apartment, alone, only to wake up and fall back into Jungkook’s orbit tomorrow when he swings by with a half-assed apology on his lips, and your favorite drink in hand is enough to make your skin crawl.

Stomach twisting itself into knots, everything in you rebels against the sudden cold realization: nothing will change - least of all Jungkook.

He’ll continue to take-take-take.

You'll continue to give-give-give.

On and on you'll go; a distant star orbiting a black hole, losing little bits of itself until there's nothing left.

Then he’ll leave your life as quickly as he entered it, a blurry after-image there and gone in the blink of an eye.

Fuck, I - I can’t do this anymore, you think, a shiver rattling down your spine, Because I…

An errant thought gains teeth, sinks them deep. Refuses to budge as an awful truth - one buried so deep you forgot it was there, ever lurking in the shadows - rises to the forefront of your mind.

And then --

Oh.

It’s because I love him - because I’m in love with him.

Suddenly it hurts to breathe, your lungs burning as you drown on the air itself. The steel band cinching around your ribs threatens to crack you open.

Your heart lurches in your chest, despair following swiftly to settle over your shoulders. Moreover, there is no one to blame except yourself.

Even if you want it to, it will never work out because loving Jungkook is to love the ghost of a long-forgotten memory.

And there are too many hurts to soothe, too many disappointments to name.

I can’t believe I actually -- shit. You swipe a shaky hand over your forehead. When you swallow, a sour taste clings to the back of your tongue. Should’ve known better.

You glance at your phone, the cursor blinking back at you mockingly. Should’ve done a lot of things, I guess.

Now, you're in too deep.

Waiting without ever realizing you began to do so in the first place; a life on pause, surviving off scraps of half-measures and maybe's, what-ifs, and if only's.

Now, it's clear the only way out is through.

The time to let go is here.

You need to muster up some semblance of self, and work to untangle the threads of connection binding you together. You need space to rediscover the pieces of your heart you left with him.

How to live without the taste of his kiss, the clench of his muscles, the thrust of his cock.

A new life sans Jungkook which begins with a simple reply in place of everything you really want to say: ok.

Then you wave the bartender over.

He does you a kindness once more, pretending not to notice the tears brimming along your lower lash line. “You ready to order?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah - sorry, I was…”

His mouth twitches. You waver.

Then the screen of your phone lights up with a notification.

Refusing to look lest you cave, emotions too fresh -  scraped raw and tender, you switch on DND and turn it face down where it will remain until you go home.

You're far too fragile (and sober) to think about reading Jungkook’s reply, let alone engage with him in any meaningful way.

“I’ll take a double vodka cranberry.”

Maybe if you get drunk enough, you'll forget about the home he carved in your bones.

Bottoms up, bitch.

w8 nvm guys cnt make it

y/n?

i cn b ovr in 10

???

gn ttyt

hey, sorry. called it early.

wyd?

nothing much. you?

nm running some mtchs

cool, cool. you able to swing by today?

yeh b there in 30 :)

In hindsight, trying to have this conversation with Jungkook face to face isn’t the brightest idea. But if anything, last night showed you every choice you’ve made lately is a disaster waiting to happen.

Your life’s already a mess - and you’re hopelessly in love with a man that’ll never love you back - so what’s another mistake added to a long string of misfortune.

So what if your hands tremble and your stomach churns as you unlock the door to let him in.

So what if he leans in for a kiss and you duck to the side, his lips brushing the slope of your cheek.

So what if he pauses and gives you a long, searching look before toeing off his shoes and offering you the drink he picked up on the way.

It can’t get any worse, right?

Only the hungry, molten mixture of rage and rebellion fueling you thus far fizzles away the minute you see him head towards your bedroom with a wink.

Anguish and despair follows in its wake, nipping at your heels.

This is all you’ll ever be to him, you remind yourself as you step into the room. A fun time. Nothing serious. You have to break it off.

You shoot him a tight smile. “Did you have a good night?”

Jungkook shrugs, glancing around at the decorations littering your dresser. “Nah, not really.” His gaze slides to you, traveling from your head to your bare toes in a slow once over. “I definitely would’ve had a better time with you.”

Swallowing roughly, you rub your hands over your arms and suddenly feel far too naked - exposed in your light summer dress. “Hah,” you intone without humor, awkward and stilted. “Probably not. I was out by 11:30.”

“Mm, that’s not like you.” Jungkook hums, moving forward until he’s right in front of you. His hands reach for you, grabbing your wrists gently. His thumb strokes over your pulse point. “You’re acting weird. Is there something you want to talk about, baby?”

Of course he’d notice.

It would be annoying if it wasn’t so endearing. Jungkook always pays attention to the details, makes leaps of logic based on little more than quiet observations.

You stitch together a chuckle. “Nothing gets past you, huh?”

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins, his lip ring dimpling the swell of his bottom lip. Your chests brush with every inhale, sharing space and breath. 

“Nothing,” he agrees.

It’s torture. It’s too intimate.

The glow of your overhead lamp highlights the sweep of his cheekbones, the curl of his lashes as he blinks slow and happy. The barely there impression of his body is too much.

You shrink back, clearing your throat.

“No, don’t do that. Where are you going?”

His eyes, shimmering with warmth, plead with you to stay, his shoulders curving towards you. A large palm settles over your shoulder, sparks igniting wherever he touches.

“Stop hiding. You can talk to me about anything. Come on, I want to know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Steeling your resolve, you inhale and exhale with a shudder. His expression is open, soft. You know it won’t last, and take a few seconds to commit how he looks in this moment to memory.

For all you know, this will be one of the last times you’ll be this close to him again. At least until you can beat your feelings into submission.

And then you can’t put it off anymore, unable to take the ginger strokes of his fingers. The calming caresses as if he thinks you’re something precious. Quick like ripping off a band-aid, otherwise the words will never get past the bend of your throat.

“I want to stop.”

You catch the way his eyes darken, sharpen in the dim overhead light. He knows exactly what you’re talking about, but his half-smile never falters.

Of course, he refuses to make this easy on you. To acknowledge this is happening. He’s always been a greedy man; wants what he can’t have, and destroys what he does.

“Stop what?” Jungkook says. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, baby.”

“Kook,” you sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “You know what I mean. I just - I can’t do,” your voice cracks, a hand motioning to the space between you, “this anymore.”

A vein throbs on the side of his neck, his jaw working in response. Muscles tense and release with every grit of his teeth. He asks, “You gonna tell me why, huh? Or are you just going to ditch me and act like it didn’t mean something?”

“Kook…”

There’s a certain grief that can’t be spoken, gnarled roots burrowing deep in your chest. A sense of loss so keenly felt it almost steals your breath.

You wish this wasn’t happening, you wish you could take it all back but this pantomime of a relationship isn’t fair to you. Not anymore. And you knew this conversation wouldn’t be fun, but Jungkook’s staunch denial still manages to surprise you.

“It didn’t mean anything though,” you say.

At least, not to you, you think. To me, it meant the world.

-- And that’s the problem.

You need to stop whatever this is between you from building. He’s already shown he doesn’t share your desire for more in a multitude of ways. He’s been avoiding you for a reason, whether he was consciously aware of your feelings or not.

Undoubtedly, you trust him with your life but not your heart.

As sweet as he is, has been, he won’t treat it gently. Not through any intentional ill-will but because he can’t contain his own commitment issues let alone make room for yours.

It’s better this way.

Let what you have - had - stay a memory unmarred by the ugliness of your hurt feelings and bitter disappointments.

Jungkook’s shoulders draw up towards his ears, his gaze glacial as his hands slide away from you. “Is there a reason you’re done with me now?”

Shadows lurk in the depths of his eyes, his lips curled into a cruel smirk. Everything about him looks weighted down.

“Well, is there? I mean, shit, I think I’ve earned an answer after all the time we spent together.”

Your heart breaks for him, everything in you calling out to close the gap and offer him comfort. But you can’t. You don’t trust yourself to touch him without wanting more than your heart can bear.

“I’m not done with you,” you say. “I would never do that to you, Kook. I just - I can’t be with you like that anymore, that’s all. I need space but I’ll still be around, I promise.”

The glare he shoots your way freezes the blood in your veins. “Cut the bullshit,” he snarls. “Tell.me.why.”

You avert your gaze, arms wrapping around your chest. “Why does that - I -”

You only had one rule at the very beginning of this mess: if there’s someone you’re serious about, you stop fucking. It comes as a handy lie - a believable excuse that’ll stop any further questioning.

You don’t think you have the fortitude if Jungkook keeps pressing you, cracking under the weight of your grief and the anger in his eyes like fine china.

“I think I - I think I want to start looking for a boyfriend again.”

An expression flashes across his face, there and gone in the blink of an eye. But there’s no doubt he recognizes it for the goodbye it’s supposed to be.

This is it, you think.

You can put what you had to rest and move on, a memory on a shelf you’ll dust off years down the line when the hurt isn’t so prevalent. And hopefully, with time, you can relearn how to be friends.

Though the strange gleam to his eyes sends a prickle of apprehension down your spine, and then you find yourself being manhandled as he snaps forward like a snake coiled to strike.

Air flees your lungs as Jungkook shoves you with a firm palm, your feet stumbling over themselves as you trip backwards into your bed frame.

Wood knocks into the backs of your knees, and you fold like a stack of cards. The sheets puff out around you, the scent of your laundry detergent tickling your nose.

You blink at the textured ceiling, mouth agape as you try to process what happened.

The empty space above you doesn’t stay vacant, Jungkook quickly crowding you into the mattress with his weight as he settles over top of your body.

He molds himself to your front, his firm hips slotting themselves between your thighs. Broad palms, warm and calloused, skim your sides and ruck up the skirt of your dress as he reaches under you to grip the soft globes of your ass.

He yanks you into him, your pelvises slotting together. You whine before you can stop yourself, eyes fluttering shut at the heat of his body.

Teeth scrape along the delicate skin of your neck, the sharp pricks of pleasure-pain coaxing a shiver down your spine.

Lips brush the shell of your ear, his minty breath puffing against the side of your face as he speaks, low and husky, “So that’s it, huh?”

“What--!”

Teeth nip your earlobe, and you wince.

“My girl thinks she’s going to leave me for someone else?” Jungkook snorts. “Like I’d ever let that fucking happen.”

“I’m not your girl.”

You squirm, a bolt of awareness slicing through you as your body responds to his proximity, the weight of him over you electrifying. Liquid desire blooms behind your navel, uncomfortable and unwelcome.

“I never was.”

Blunt nails dig into the fat of your ass, and a cruel mouth latches onto the corner of your jaw. “Ah, is that right?” Jungkook asks, the rumble of his voice vibrating through your torso, your nipples tightening as they drag over the plains of his chest. “You’re not my girl?”

You swallow, and ignore the throb of your clit as the line of his cock ruts into you. “I’m not your girl, Jungkook.”

“If you’re not my girl,” he grinds into the cradle of your hips, teasing - taunting, “then why the fuck are you so wet?”

Keening, you twitch, involuntarily rocking up into the firm pressure of his shaft. The angle’s just right, spreading your folds beneath the thin cotton of your panties and giving your neglected clit the perfect stimulation.

Exposing your soaked core to the chill of your room as your body warms with mortification.

Jungkook hums in approval, giving the side of your neck a sloppy kiss followed by a stinging nip. “You think some nobody can fuck you better than me?”

“That’s not what I - ffuck!”

Heat pools low in your belly, blood pumping fast. You’re steadily losing control, the aborted rolls of your hips increasing in frequency.

“Answer me.”

A sharp burst of copper floods your mouth, your skin splitting open with how hard you’re chewing on it. Blood clings to the swell of your bottom lip, a ruby red bead you lick away with a nervous tongue.

Sweat dappled your brow, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the molten desire curdling your stomach.

The softness of your body knows the hardness of his, every curve has a matching divot. The heady, pleasant scent of his cologne floods your lungs with every stuttered inhale.

Your senses are overwhelmed as he surrounds you.

“Shit, Kook, please,” you plead, hands tangling in the sheets by your head.

You’re not sure what you’re asking for but at the same time, you’re not sure how you ended up here. Again.

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

This was supposed to be an amenable end to a dubious affair. It’s anything but.

“I want you to tell me who your cunt belongs to.”

Fingers inch down to tease along the soft flesh of your inner thighs, and play with the elastic of your panties.

You tremble, gooseflesh dimpling the exposed skin of your arms as knuckles brush over the length of your soaked pussy.

Your clit pulses, the pressure enough to tease.

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook coaxes, working his way beneath the fabric clinging to your core, “tell me you’re my girl.”

His cock nestles into the crook of your hip, hot and heavy through his jeans as a darkened patch blooms across the denim crotch. The sticky wetness of his pre-cum smearing into your skin as arousal swells, crashing over you.

Leaving you a whimpering, trembling mess in the cage of his arms.

“You just have to say it - say you’re my girl and I’ll be so, so good to you.” His breath warms the shell of your ear. “All you have to do is say it, and I’ll make you cum so hard you see stars.”

Jungkook doesn’t give you a chance to cobble together a response, sliding a thick finger through your sticky folds and into your needy pussy just as your lips part.

All words leave you, your mind wiped clean as a low, broken cry echoes out into the room. Swallowed up by the sounds of city life outside your apartment as he works to stretch you open.

You clamp down at the sudden fullness, walls tight and fluttering around his finger like they would be around his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “You always feel so soft and wet.”

Whining in agreement, you give up any pretense of resistance, letting primal desire chase away the despair, the guilt that threatens to choke you. Wiping your mind clean of any thoughts until the only thing that remains is the thrust of his fingers and the ache in your cunt.

Your hands slip, scrambling for purchase with sweaty palms. “J-Jungkook!”

Your knees tremble where they dig into his sides, air rushing from you in heavy pants as the space between your bodies heats up. You know you won’t last long, already hanging on the edge.

Never in a million years did you expect to be so turned on by Jungkook’s rough behavior. He usually treats you like something delicate.

Though he holds no such compunction now, raw in his desperate desire to make you cum.

Jungkook peppers kisses onto whatever skin he can reach, spreading your thighs wider with his torso. His knuckles strain against the fabric of your panties, stretching out the cotton and ruining them forevermore as he slips another finger into you.

Then his dark head bows, catching your gaze, and he says, “Hold on.”

Barely seconds after you anchor yourself to his shoulders, he starts finger fucking you to within an inch of your life. His forearm ripples with strength, the movements of his fingers pressing and rubbing against all the right spots. Curling up to massage at your g-spot until you’re shaking beneath him with hitched breaths.

“Shit, shit,” you gasp, eyes rolling back as your toes flex against his side, “Kook, baby, please don’t stop.”

He huffs a laugh, dark and amused. “Wouldn’t ever do that to you, baby.”

“S’good - I - I’m close.”

You sob, tears brimming along your lash line. The sloppy sounds of him fucking your pussy ring in your ears, as embarrassing as it is arousing. He’s making you gush, slick wetting your inner thighs, dribbling down your ass to stain the sheets.

“So close, gonna - hnnng - gonna cum.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Just like that, baby. Give me that squirt.”

You shake your head. “I can’t - I can’t!”

If you could, you’d suspend time so this moment never ends. The finality of your arrangement hovering just on the other side of pleasure.

In the back of your mind, you know Jungkook’s only behaving this way because he’s jealous. Angry. He doesn’t mean it, and this is a mistake.

It’ll only hurt you in the long run but you’ll take what you can get.

After all, this is the last time you’ll be together like this.

“No,” he shushes, dropping a kiss to your sweaty brow, “No, don’t lie. I know you can. I’ll make you.”

There’s no escape.

He refuses to let you escape, using his weight to keep you pinned as he spreads his fingers open inside you, twisting and fucking so deep you feel a twinge behind your navel.

And then you’re right there, crashing over the edge as the bubble of pleasure bursts, crackling through your limbs.

You cum harder than you ever have before. Nails sinking into his shoulders with a hiss as a wounded, broken wail scrapes its way out of your throat.

Your pussy throbs, gummy walls sucking him deeper as a rush of cum gushes from you in spurts. Your ears ring with white noise, and you’re vaguely aware of the fact your hands have gone numb.

For several long moments, you float with a head full of cotton, only rejoining the atmosphere when warmth dribbles down your ass in sticky rivulets of squirt.

Jungkook’s arm is curled around your waist, holding you close as his nose nuzzles into the side of your head. Tender lips dust kisses over your crown. His cock is still a heavy weight digging into your hip but he doesn’t seem to be in any rush to relieve himself.

“Jungkook,” you sigh, a wave of fatigue crashing over you. Your eyes sting when you close them, a lump building in your throat. You ache all over pleasantly, satisfaction settling deep into your bones. In spite of that, a rift opens in your heart. “Jungkook, I--”

He kisses your shoulder, shushing you. “Don’t ruin it. Just let me hold you for a little while longer… please.”

The tears are almost impossible to stop. “It’s already hard enough, don’t make me -- I can’t just…”

Jungkook squeezes you gently. “I love you,” he says, “but I swear to god you can be so stupid sometimes.”

You jolt, eyes swinging up to meet his, wide and disbelieving. “What did you just  - I - I  don’t. ..Jungkook?”

“How could I not feel the same?” he asks, tone resigned and wary. “Honestly scared the shit out of me when I realized because, well, y’know I don’t have the best track record.” He averts his gaze, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I almost fucked everything up too, but Namjoonie-hyung helped me get my head on straight.”

Something unfurls in your chest, and you feel as light as air. Ridiculously buoyant with happiness. Hope.

Oh, how stupid.

“We’re kind of idiots, aren’t we?” you ask, sniffling as you shoot him a watery smile. “Like… the biggest.”

Jungkook hums in agreement, a boyish gleam to his eyes. “I mean, you said it. Not me.”

[hyperactively-me]

break in, break down

"You're stayin' with me tonight," he declares, voice firm and unwavering. You open your mouth, nearly telling him no, I'll find a hotel, but the look he shoots you suggests that you go with him. With a nod of agreement, Simon leads you away from the scene, his hand on your back firm and reassuring.

this has been sitting in my drafts for like, ever. it's not the best cause its super old, like months old and i lowkey forgot i even had it, but it'll do for now while i'm in this writing rut.

happy reading <3

warnings: home invasion, panic attack reaction (i think that's it? lmk if i missed anything please!)

A loud bang reverberates through your apartment, your peaceful sleep interrupted.

You open your eyes with a start, the volume of the sound causing your heart race and your breath catch in your throat.

You're silent for another moment until the sound of glass shattering causes you to jump. You sit up now, dumbfounded for a brief moment before unshakable anxiety takes over.

There's no way this could be happening to you right now.

You immediately leap out of bed, grabbing a stray hoodie off the floor, slipping it over your thin pajamas. Next, you grab your phone with shaky hands, trembling from the adrenaline and anxiety coursing through your veins. The sounds from outside your bedroom are starting to get louder. You swipe your car keys from your drawer, shoving them into the pocket of your hoodie.

In a frenzy, you grope under your bed for a baseball bat, struggling to steady your shaking hands as you grip it tightly. The rattling of your doorknob nearly makes you pass out in fear. Simon had told you multiple times to keep your door locked when you sleep, stressing to you that it wasn't safe to leave it unlocked, especially at night.

There was no way you could escape through the hallway. Lucky for you, your apartment is on the first floor of the building, meaning that you would be able to safely jump out of your bedroom window without injuring yourself.

You place all your things down quickly, unlatching your window from its locks. You heave it open with all your might, grunting as you hold it up to lock it into an open position. Grabbing your baseball bat first, you throw it out the window and onto the grass below you. Could never be too safe.

Suddenly, the person or people on the other side of your door start kicking at it, the flimsy wood shaking from the impacts. You bite back a scream, prompting you to jump out of your window, dropping onto the grass below you clumsily.

You don't bother looking back as you sprint to your car in the adjacent parking lot, throwing yourself into the drivers seat unceremoniously.

Without another thought, you dial 911. Running on pure adrenaline, you tell the operator your address and the urgency of the situation. The kind voice on the other end tells you that the police are on their way before you hang up.

You bite back a sob as your shaking hands type in Simon's phone number. You hold your phone up to your, chewing your finger as it rings once, twice, and the line picks up.

"Hullo?" a scratchy, sleep-ridden voice on the other end of the line rings out. His accent sounds particularly thick.

"Simon," your voice breaks, the adrenaline now worn off, leaving you a wreck.

"What's wrong?" he asks immediately, now sounding more awake. You hear shuffling on the other end.

"I- I think my apartment got broken into," you sob, fat tears now freely falling down your cheeks. "I'm so scared," you cry, bawling like a baby.

Simon's voice takes on a sharp urgency. "'M coming over right now. Where are you? Are you hurt?"

"I'm in my car, in the parking lot," you say tearfully, trying to wipe the tears from your face unsuccessfully.

"I've already called 911; they're on the way—" you add, clutching onto your phone.

The sound of a door opening and slamming shut crackles through the phone. "Be there in ten. Stay on the line, love."

"I'm scared," you cry again, your free hand trembling as you reach to make sure your car door is locked.

"I know, love, I know. Just hang in there. 'M on my way," Simon reassures you, his voice gentle. The ten-minute wait feels like an eternity as you sit in your car, sniffling every so often as you look out your car windows to make sure no one is coming towards you.

Sirens wail in the distance, the police clearly arriving on scene. Despite the growing fear gnawing at you, Simon's voice provides a source of comfort.

"The police are almost here," you breath into the phone, pulling your knees up to your chest.

"Good, I'm here," he grunts. You look up and see his truck hurtling through the parking lot, stopping abruptly right behind your car. He slides out of his car, rushing to the drivers side of your car.

The moment he reaches your car, you throw open the door and practically fall into his arms. Simon holds you tight as you fall into him, sobs wracking your body.

"Don't cry," he soothes, pulling you tighter against him. "'S alright, 's handled."

He cradles you in his grasp, running his hand over your hair as you sob into his t-shirt, fists bunching up the fabric. You cling to him as if he's your lifeline, the scent of his t-shirt grounding you ever so slightly.

"I've got you," he murmurs, rubbing your back.

Your sobs gradually subside into quiet sniffles, and you take a deep breath.

The distant wailing of sirens grows closer, indicating the police are here. Simon releases you just enough to glance over his shoulder at the approaching vehicles. "The police are here," you whisper, your voice shaky but relieved.

The flashing lights of police cars illuminate the surroundings as officers approach. Simon steps back, maintaining a protective stance beside you.

Two police officers approach you and Simon, asking for details about the break-in. You pull at the hem of your hoodie, trying to cover up your practically bare thighs from your tiny pajamas. Simon settles his hand on your lower back, encouraging you to speak to the officers. You recount the events timidly, telling them as much as you know. After providing your statement, the police assure you they'll investigate your apartment, but advise you that it's not the best to stay there tonight. For obvious reasons.

Upon their insistence of you spending the night somewhere else, before you could even open your mouth, Simon is insisting, no, demanding that you stay with him for the night.

"You're stayin' with me tonight," he declares, voice firm and unwavering.

You open your mouth, nearly telling him no, I'll find a hotel, but the look he shoots you suggests that you go with him.

With a nod of agreement, Simon leads you away from the scene, his hand on your back firm and reassuring.

As you approach his truck, Simon opens the door for you. He helps you up into the passenger seat, making sure you're settled before closing the door with a determined thud. Simon then strides around to the driver's side, the scent of him lingering in the air as he gets in. The engine roars to life, and you find comfort in the steady hum of the engine.

The drive to Simon's place is mostly quiet. He occasionally glances at you, concern etched into his features. You stare out of the window, the events of the night replaying in your mind. You shiver in your seat, thinking about what could have happened if you hadn't escaped through your window. Simon's hand finds yours, a silent gesture that makes your heart ache with gratitude.

As you pull into Simon's driveway, you're met with the warm glow of his porch light. The familiar sight brings a new sense of relief. It's not the first time you've been to his quaint home. Simon turns off the engine, and without a word, he's at your side, opening the door for you again.

He leads you inside, the click of the door shutting behind you echoing in the quiet house. Simon heads to the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets. Moments later, he appears with a mug of tea, a small but comforting gesture. He hands it to you, the warmth seeping into your cold hands.

"Drink this. It'll help calm your nerves," he says, his voice gentle.

You take a sip, the familiar taste of chamomile offering a small respite. Simon sits across from you, watching as you try to steady your trembling hands. The silence between you isn't uncomfortable; it's a shared understanding that words might not be enough to mend the damage that's been dealt.

After a while, Simon breaks the silence. "I'll make up the spare room for you. Take your time. We'll deal with everythin' in the morning."

He disappears down the hall, leaving you alone in the living room. You look around his living room, eyeing his front door for a brief moment. You finish the tea and set the mug on the coffee table, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

When you enter the spare room, you find it tidy and pretty bare. The scent of clean sheets and the comforting atmosphere of his home a stark difference from your own. You watch as he double checks the windows to make sure they're locked tight. He also shows you the lock on your own bedroom door.

"Everythin' is secure, 've triple checked it all," Simon states, turning from the window to look at you. His concern is evident in his eyes, and you nod in response.

"Thank you, Simon. I appreciate all of this," you say, your voice quiet.

He moves over to the wall, crouching down to plug a night light into the wall. He taps it a few times to make sure it works. When it flickers on, he grunts, satisfied. Pushing himself up to standing, he walks over to you.

He gives you a reassuring smile. "No need to thank me. 'S the least I can do. You get some rest. 'M right across the hall if you need anything."

With that, he leaves the room, gently closing the door behind him. You make sure to lock the door behind him as he leaves. You crawl into bed, pulling the covers over your weary body, exhaustion settling in.

You close your eyes, hoping that sleep will offer some reprieve. As you lay there, the events of the night replay in your mind. The fear, the vulnerability, and the violation of your home weigh heavily on you. Slight sounds make you jump in fear, and all of a sudden you start to breath heavily. You can't be in here, not alone.

You stumble out of the room, practically falling into the hallway. The dim glow of the nightlight casts long shadows, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. Determined, you make your way to Simon's door and knock softly.

The door opens, and Simon appears, concern etched on his face. "Everythin' alright, love?"

You can barely form the words, your voice barely a whisper. "Can't stay in there alone."

Without hesitation, Simon opens the door wider, gesturing for you to enter. His room is dark, all lights off. You step inside his room, tugging your hoodie tighter around your body. You settle onto the edge of his bed, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to ward off the residual fear.

Simon shuts and locks the door behind him, plunging you both into darkness, save for the slight shine of the moon pouring through between a crack in his curtains.

Simon stands in front of you, looking down with a mix of empathy and concern in his eyes. "You're welcome to stay as long as you need. I don't mind."

"Thank you," you manage to say, the vulnerability in your voice more pronounced in the darkness of the room.

Simon hesitates for a moment before flicking on a small bedside lamp. The soft light casts a warm glow across the room, revealing a space that's both lived-in and comforting. You feel a bit more at ease.

He pulls a chair from his desk and sits across from you, leaving a respectful distance. The silence between you is filled with unspoken words, the weight of the night's events hanging in the air. Simon's gaze is unwavering, and you find solace in the fact that he understands what you need without the need for words.

As the minutes tick by, the atmosphere in the room becomes less tense. Simon breaks the silence, his voice a gentle murmur. "I don't want you to go through this alone. You deserve to feel safe, love."

You manage a weak smile, touched by his sincerity. "Thank you, Simon. You really don't have to be doing all of this for me--"

"Don't say that, I want to," he cuts you off gruffly, offended as if you would even suggest that you weren't worthy enough of his care.

His response hangs in the air, and you notice a flicker of something in Simon's eyes—a hint of frustration or something deeper. The unspoken tension lingers, causing you to shift slightly.

"I just... I don't want you to feel unsafe," Simon adds, his voice softer this time. He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees, his gaze fixed on yours. "Or alone. Fuckin' hell, if you hadn't been able to get out of there..."

He stops, jaw ticking as he thinks. He can't even say it.

The room feels charged with unspoken emotions, and you sense a vulnerability in Simon that mirrors your own.

"Simon," you say softly, your voice a gentle reassurance, "I feel safe with you."

"I've... 've cared about you for a long time, maybe more than I should," Simon admits, his words hanging in the air like a fragile confession.

The vulnerability in his admission tugs at your heart, and you find yourself pushing yourself up off the edge of the bed, cupping his face in your hands.

"I've cared about you too," you confess, the weight of the unspoken finally lifted.

He looks up, meeting your eyes with a mixture of relief and adoration. Simon's hand reaches up to grasp your wrist lightly, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of your hand, his eyes searching yours for confirmation.

"I never want you to feel unsafe or alone again. I can't stand the thought of somethin' happenin' t' you."

Your heart swells at the sincerity of his words, and you lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

The conversation lulls, and for a moment, it's just the two of you in the sanctuary of Simon's bedroom. The emotional exhaustion begins to take its toll, and your eyes grow heavy.

He stands from his chair, grasping your upper arms gently, leading you towards his bed once again. Before he sits you down, he looks at you expectantly.

"Is this what you want?"

"Yes," you nod, "I've never wanted anything more."

With your permission, he lays you down on his bed, following you into the bed with a contained eagerness. He drags you up until you're settled on a pillow. Simon slides into the mattress right next to you, pulling the covers up and over the both of you. You turn on your side to face him, eyes searching his face just before he turns off the lamp, plunging you both into darkness.

Simon's hand brushes against your forearm, seeking permission yet again. You scoot over until you're flush against him, cheeks heating up at the proximity. You feel Simon's warm presence beside you, his hand finding its place on your waist before he pulls you up against him, cuddling you. Simon's fingers trace patterns on your back, a soothing motion that pulls you deeper into relaxation.

"Get some rest. I'll be right here if you need anything, love," Simon whispers, playing with the ends of your hair.

"Thank you," you whisper into the darkness, your voice barely audible but carrying a depth of gratitude.

He tightens his grip on your waist, a silent affirmation that he's here for you, that you're not alone. The warmth of his touch and the gentle rise and fall of his breath provide a sense of security that eases the lingering tension in your body.

. . . 

The morning light begins to seep through the curtains, casting a soft glow in Simon's room. As you slowly awaken, the events of the previous night come back to you in fragments. You turn slightly to find Simon still asleep beside you, his features softened by the morning light. His arm is draped protectively over you, and a sense of peace settles in the room. For a moment, you simply revel in the quiet stillness, savoring the moment.

As Simon begins to stir, his eyes meet yours, and a sleepy smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "Mornin’," he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," you reply, a small smile playing on your lips. The air in the room feels different, more relaxed.

Simon props himself up on one elbow, his gaze searching yours. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than I thought I would," you admit, a genuine warmth in your voice. "Still kinda freaked out that people broke in to my apartment, but better."

He nods thoughtfully. "We should probably get up, check in with the police," Simon suggests, but there's a reluctance in his eyes to let go of the warmth of the bed.

You cuddle against him once more, hugging him tightly. His arm comes to wrap around your back, hand splayed across your skin.

"Yeah, we should," you say, pulling away gently as you push yourself out of bed.

"We're goin' together," he tells you. "And I will be installing a new security system in your apartment."

You manage a small smile. "I don't think you understand how much I appreciate you for this."

He sighs as he leads you to his small kitchen. "You never have to thank me for anything, love."

Before you can retort, he turns to you. "Let's get some breakfast in ya. How do you like your eggs?"

[nataliasquote]

Double the trouble | groceries | n romanoff

Double the trouble AU

summary: Nat volunteers to do the weekly shop with two babies

Age: 7 months

warnings: none

pairings: WandaNat

note: I got inspired by a really cute baby I saw in the grocery store today

-⧗-

The large glass doors slid open to reveal the harsh lighting of the local grocery store. Sunday mornings weren’t too busy and being the early riser that she was, Natasha took it upon herself to complete this week’s grocery shopping. With Wanda’s carefully crafted list in one hand, cart handlebar in the other, she was armed and ready to conquer.

But she wasn’t alone. Babies didn’t understand the concept of sleeping in on weekends, so she was accompanied by two tiny terrors who were far too busy looking around from the vantage point of their seats. Nat and Wanda had purchased an extension of a car seat that clipped onto most grocery store shopping carts which made their lives ten times easier.

“Ok team, let’s do this,” Natasha muttered under her breath, eyes set on the vibrant display of vegetables located at the front.

As much as she loved any moment spent with her twins, they weren’t much company during this mundane task. Natasha still spoke to them, asking their opinion on the colour grapes she should get or how many bananas a family of four would need. Only the occasional gurgle or coo would emerge as a response, but what did she expect of two 6-month old babies?

“Mommy’s cooking up something special this week, I can sense it,” she once again mumbled, pushing the heavy cart down the next aisle. The bright coloured boxes caught Y/n’s eye and she waved her chubby fist, trying to wriggle out of the way and see. Her determined noises caught Natasha’s attention as she turned around with a bag of granola. Isla was chewing on the ear of her stuffed elephant, completely ignored her sister’s antics.

“What is it malyshka?” Nat placed her items in the cart and leaned down to hold Y/n’s hand, tiny fingers clasping around two of her own. She shook it gently, insides melting at the adorable baby giggles her movement elicited.

Y/n’s reply was incoherent but she blew a raspberry with her mouth and wiggled whilst looking at a bright box of fruit loops. She’d never tried them before but the bright characters and letters had captured her attention like that of a cartoon show. Nat followed her gaze and sighed, smoothing the fine red hairs on the top of her daughter’s head.

“You can have those when you’re older malyshka. For now, we stick to bananas for breakfast.” Y/n blew another raspberry in response, clearly fed up of eating mashed bananas every day. She kicked her feet in her onesie and wriggled from side to side, accidentally tapping her sister’s leg by accident.

One tiny nudge by a small socked foot and Isla started to cry, her tiny face screwed up, turning almost as red as the hair on her face. Natasha grimaced and smiled apologetically at an old lady who walked past, rather disturbed by the noise. Pulling the cart off to the side, Nat quickly leaned down and unclipped Isla from her seat, scooping her up in her arms and rocking her back and forth to try and quickly soothe her cries. Y/n watched them, her eyes big.

“It’s ok, big girl, you’re ok.” Natasha’s voice was soft and calm, turning the screams into whimpers in a matter of minutes. Wanda often joked she had the magic touch when it came to the girls, and although Natasha brushed it off, deep down she knew there was some truth in her words. “There’s no need for this fuss, you’re ok.” She leaned slightly against the shelving unit behind her, rubbing Isla’s back every time she felt her hiccup. “No more tears baby, no more tears.”

Y/n clearly couldn’t care less that she’d made her sister cry. She was much more interested in her feet, a new fascination she’d discovered in the last couple of days. Wanda found it thoroughly entertaining to watch Y/n just sit and stare at her foot, bewildered. With Isla more calm now, Nat carefully strapped her into her seat, offering the now soggy elephant plushie for her to cuddle. A kiss was pressed to each of their heads before Natasha sped through the last aisles, throwing in a couple of surprise snacks for Wanda to find later.

The middle aged woman at the checkout was gushing over the twins, which was nothing new to Natasha. Her twins were beautiful, both mothers loved to brag about it, and daily tasks took twice as long due to constantly being stopped.

Y/n was particularly chatty to Ruthie at the checkout, babbling away as Nat expertly packed the groceries. Isla was still slightly grumpy from earlier so she didn’t contribute to this “conversation” as she usually would.

Babies secured. Groceries packed away. Kesha playing quietly through the speakers. The drive home was relatively short and Natasha pulled into the drive after only 20 minutes on the road.

Her keys jangled in the door, alerting Wanda of her arrival. The Sokovian dropped her tea towel and rushed to the door, desperate to see her girls for the first time this morning.

“How were they?” She asked, taking the car seats from Nat and setting them on the kitchen table. Both twins giggled and held out their arms, wanting to be set free from their strapped in prisons.

“A few tears but mostly good,” Natasha called over her shoulder as she brought the last of the bags into the kitchen. “Isla will probably be grouchy all day, just as a warning.”

“What happened?” Wanda unclipped Isla and hauled her out of her seat, cuddling her close despite the pout she wore. “Hello grumpy butt.”

“Little miss over here accidentally kicked her.” Natasha mirrored Wanda’s actions with Y/n, settling her in one arm whilst she placed a bunch of bananas in the fruit bowl. “She wasn’t hurt, just crocodile tears.”

Wanda pouted at Isla, rubbing her little legs. “Oh babygirl, you’re ok now.”

Y/n started squirming in Natasha’s arms, clearly put out by the affection Isla was receiving. She reached out to Wanda and started whining, hands balling up into fists.

“Baby swap,” the mothers chorused with a laugh, switching the child they were holding with expertise. Y/n gurgled happily and kicked her legs, a movement that was becoming a habit with her.

“This one’s got some power behind those kicks,” Wanda commented, holding Y/n with her outstretched arms and watching the baby kick her legs like a jellyfish. “I spy a future dancer.”

“Or ninja.”

Wanda shot her wife a glare. “I’m sticking with dancer. Does this mean you’ll finally start a baby ballet class?”

Natasha couldn’t help but laugh at her wife. Wanda had fantasised about baby ballet classes all throughout her pregnancy, to which Natasha had said no. But with two girls of their own, it had crossed the Russian’s mind more than she cared to admit.

“You already know my answer.”

Wanda peered down at Y/n, softly stroking her cheek. “But how can you say no to this?” She tilted her arms down so Natasha could see the smiling face of the baby in her arms. Y/n’s attention turned from Wanda to Nat and she cooed, letting out a squeal at the sight of Natasha.

“Don’t start using our kids as bribery now!” Natasha Romanoff had very few weaknesses, but her daughters’ faces made her cave every single time.

“I’m not! I’m just-“ Natasha’s raised eyebrow made Wanda halt mid sentence, gulping down her words before busying herself with another task. “Ok! Who wants breakfast?”

“Want me to get their bottles sorted?” Wanda nodded and gestured to the bottles drying on the rack. Both twins were slotted into their high chairs, Isla’s frown still plastered on her face. Y/n babbled at her, the usual baby talk they communicate with now heavily one-sided. As the milk heated up in the microwave, Natasha watched the girls interact and almost laughed at how comically Isla ignored her sister.

“I think we’re gonna see a lot more of this when they’re older,” she muttered to Wanda, who turned around to view the scene. “She’s really taking those 11 minutes between them seriously.”

“Trust me, when you’re a twin, those minutes mean everything.”

[rayshippouuchiha]

Tasea!

Okay so I just stumbled upon your Tasea au and it's living rent free in my mind.

Skull and Tsuna just living their best life while Hibari and Reborn are chewing glass is my favorite thing ever

Consider this:

Both Skull and Tsuna become ridiculous strong throughout this trip.

They don't even notice it.

It starts with casual convos about how they use flames, then experiments, light spars etc.

Turns out not being in mortal peril 24/7 does wonders for some people.

So from time to time, videos of them come to light, Tsunas twink ass obliterating someone in an arm wrestling match. Skull killing it in some weightlifting challenge or doing some insane acrobatics.

Videos of them sparring without flames in open parks or maybe being stumbled upon in abandoned warehouses.

Everyone who isn't Reborn or Hibari can actually see how good this is for them.

Gokudera keeps a collection of "Decimo being Amazing" pictures and videos he finds. That's his best friend after all!

Maybe Reborn would feel slightly jealous that even his teacher position was usurped, but he's kinda busy picking which leash he's going to put on Skull the moment he catches him.

Hibari is listening to Olivia Rodriguez during his speedrun of becoming the world most feared Hitman (only possible because Reborn is busy picking which tracker to put under Skulls skin once he finds him) in search of Tsuna

Sometimes, he picks a random grunt to ask for relationship advice.

I also like to think that as time goes on, a whole countersquad starts to form.

Like they notice that maybe they have some things to talk out, and that's why they keep searching, but they aren't per se helping Hibari or Reborn either.

But yeah anyway I love this au

I need a 100 chapter fic injected i to my veins pronto, but als I don't have that kind of talent... R.I.P

See, the thing is, it's not that Tsuna and Skull become ridiculously strong during their little vacation.

They're both already monstrously strong in their own right.

It's just that, for the first time since they were each dragged into this lifestyle kicking and screaming, they're spending time with someone who A.) learns in a similar fashion and B.) also understands what it's like to be given no choice about this entire thing.

So, for the first time, they're both ,,, comfortable.

Tsuna can ask questions without having to worry about dodging bullets or having to scream to be heard. Skull can impart his hard and bloodily won knowledge on someone without having to hear any "well actually" type bullshit because the way he uses his Flames is technically "wrong".

So of course that means they both start rapidly progressing.

Skull is able to describe things to Tsuna in terms that he understands and can actually visualize. Tsuna is so genuinely open to whatever it is that Skull's doing that Skull no longer feels the need to really hide.

Tsuna gets his hand-to-hand and acrobatic skills refined. Skull starts really opening up about what he's capable of.

They both refine how they look at and utilize their Flames.

They both stop caring about what everyone else is going to say/do.

On the opposite side of the situation, Reborn is ready to chew glass, Hibari is actively forcing other people to chew glass, and if Kusababe has to deal with Kyo-san turning to him one more time asking about why "the little animal fled" he's going to look into taking a vacation of his own.

The others, having now seen countless videos and photos of Skull and Tsuna taking the world by storm together, are starting to reevaluate what they think/know of the situation.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the cleansing

lilac, chapter nineteen

a/n: second to last chapter of this entire series!! aahhh! the final chapter will be posted in exactly one week, so get ready!

summary: “I’m gonna ask you one last time, are you sure you wanna do this?” 

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, hurt/comfort, angst, lumberjack AU, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, cuddling, blood and gore

word count: 751

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

masterlist | join my taglist

Shivering slightly as you layed on the couch, your pyjama pants kicked off and crumbled by your feet, you absentmindedly counted the small, spiral knots on the wooden ceiling where branches once grew, back when they weren’t panels of lumber but mighty trees reaching up towards the clouds. 

“I’m gonna ask you one last time, are you sure you wanna do this?” 

“Yes,” you breathed, glancing down at Frank who kneeled on the floor next to you, the warm light from the fireplace catching the blade in his palm and glinting back at you, “please just do it. If you don’t then I’ll probably just get up in the middle of the night and do it myself and I don’t know if I trust myself enough not to do it wrong and hurt myself more than necessary.” 

Even though the brand wasn’t much bigger than a small coin, it somehow still felt like it covered your entire body. 

“Alright,” he exhaled, placing a steady palm just above your knee, “but it’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker.” 

“I can take it, I don’t care if it hurts, I don’t care if I’ll have a scar there for the rest of my life, I just want it off me.”

“You want another swig?” he lifted up the glass bottle of whiskey he’d encouraged you to drink from since he didn’t have narcotics lying around the cabin to numb the pain.  

“No, just do it,” you rested your head back down and stared up at the ceiling, “I’m ready.”

“I’m gonna try and be quick, okay?”

“Okay,” you felt your body tremble in anticipation. 

Holding up a folded leather belt, he urged, “bite down on this so that you don’t chew off your tongue.” 

Accepting it between your teeth, you exchanged one last round of confirming nods before he offered you his free hand to squeeze. 

As he pierced the knife into the edge of the marked skin on your upper thigh, your nails dug into his palm as you let out muffled screams of agony. The pain was nearly too excruciating to endure, your other fist slammed down against the couch cushion as he sliced the scorched scar clean off. 

“Done,” Frank swiftly pressed a clean rag against the wound to soak up the blood, “that’s it, you did it, you did it.” 

Letting go of his hand, you ripped the belt away and dropped it to the floor, as you filled up the cabin with your shuttering shrieks, briefly redirecting your beating of the couch to a few that collided with his shoulder, an impact that didn’t even make Frank flinch. 

“Hey, hey,” his fingers found the side of your face and urged you to meet his brown eyes, “breathe, breathe,” and he offered you a few clear examples for you to copy, “good, good, there you go, that’s it,” his thumb gently swiped over your cheekbone as you found a slower and deeper pattern of breaths that helped you deal with the pain. 

You tried your best to keep it up as he then carefully began to patch you up. Before every stitch he gave you, even though it wasn’t that many, he nevertheless warned you every time by asking you to take a deep breath and exhale just as he pierced the tender flesh. 

When a broad band-aid soon covered up the wound, you felt his hand once again find your cheek and you peeled your stare away from the ceiling to gaze back into his eyes. 

“Let’s go to bed,” he uttered softly before you offered him a nod in return. 

Scooping you up into his arms, one behind your knees and the other along your shoulder blades as if you were some fair maiden, he carried you the short distance into the bedroom, gently helping you down onto the mattress and tugging the soft duvet half over you before he rounded to the other side of the bed and slipped in as well. 

Rolling over to face him, you couldn’t help but notice how you still trembled. You actually weren’t sure if you’d completely stopped yet, even though nearly a week had passed, but as you reached for him and he in return scooted a bit closer, letting you curl into his warmth, the sensation seemed to ever so slightly fade away as you found yourself in the tangle of his safe arms.

Nuzzling your face further into his burly chest, you murmured against his t-shirt, “thank you…”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[lottiecrabie]

I also cannot explain how much I need this including everything you said in the tags hahaha consider this my blurb request!!!!! (ps linecook 2 was insane and so unexpected like what a gift u are ily xx)

Would you rather me camp with a tutor au sign or a linecook v word roleplay sign 🪻

on a weird smut streak dhmu

it starts off as a joke, or at least that’s what you assume. you’re recounting your first time story like a stand-up, treating the awkward fumblings and condom slippings and bloody sheets and the pain as punchlines to your story. matty doesn’t laugh much, but you entertain yourself, tipsy on amaretto sours and the warmth of his hand on your thigh. you get to the dead-fish look just above your eyes before the tell-tale groan and rollover when matty can’t take it anymore.

and it goes like it usually does, dirty speeches about how it wouldn’t have gone like that if your first time had been with him. and, sure, it’s a truth and a fact and a promise, but it doesn’t stop you from mocking him a little for the grandiose sermons.

then he says it. ‘i can show you.’

‘what,’ you say, laughing. ‘you’re gonna stitch me back up and take my virginity again?’

matty doesn’t even crack a smile. he’s taking the subject much more seriously than you would think, especially considering how silly it all is. ‘we can pretend. make it what it should have been.’

you’re taken aback. your fingertip rolls around the rim of the glass, chewing on your lip. ‘you’re seriously suggesting a virginity roleplay?’ matty shrugs. your heart races in your chest, but you aim for another joke. ‘are you never scared of being such a cliche?’

matty grins. ‘no. never.’

so he takes you home, though pushes your hands away when you try to unbutton his pants, blinking up at him in your best virginal doe eyes. he kneels before you instead, claims it’s all about getting used to the feeling. it’s where he stays the whole night, drawing screams and tears out of you until you’re dripping and drooling on the mattress, then kisses your forehead and wishes you a goodnight.

he teases you more and more, never giving you what you want, what you need. you know the trick; get her desperate and cockdrunk before you slide in, and it seems matty reserves a particularly delicious torture for ‘first times’. he croons sweet promises in your ear, fingering you and praising the way your cunt stretches for him, gets used to him, how he can’t wait to be inside of you, how well you’ll take him soon. by the end of it, you’re so pent-up about the idea, you almost forget it’s not actually your first time.

you’re making out on his bed when you grasp his hand, tightening it and blinking up at him. ‘matty. i’m ready.’

he plays it casually, smiling at you, but you sense his heartbeat quicken under your palm. ‘yeah? want me inside of you?’

you pout, moaning, ‘fucking need it.’

he hums. ‘oh, baby. alright. take your shirt off for me.’

you’re undressed in a matter of seconds, kicking off your shorts before he even asks. you wear white lingerie; much better than the nude cotton underwear you had on your first time. it seems you, too, want to rewrite history.

matty grins at you, danger in the spike of his teeth. ‘like a little lamb.’ you shiver as his mouth dances down your body, kissing your skin, and buries between your thighs.

he gets you off like that for a while, of course, because it’s matty. stays until you’re pushing his head away, the bed spinning around you. matty wipes his mouth as he crawls back up, already tugging off his shirt.

it’s when you’re both naked and panting in each other’s mouths that it starts feeling too real. your heart races, apprehension and anxiety and nerves spinning in that hurricane head. you feel exactly like you did the first time, unsure and overwhelmed and excited.

you opt for another joke to crack the tension. fluttering your eyelashes at him, you say, ‘i don’t know if it’s gonna fit.’

‘we’ll go slow.’

you wrap your hand around his hard cock, stroking gently. ‘i’ve never done this before.’ your thumb swipes his tip. ‘it’s so big.’

matty halts your hand with his own, prying it away and crossing both your fingers together beside your head. ‘i won’t hurt you,’ he says, gentle. your throat closes up. he doesn’t want to joke.

you dig your nails into his shoulder as his tip teases your entrance. you hold your breath, nervous, as though readying for a pain that you know won’t come. you blink up at the ceiling.

‘look at me,’ matty whispers. you lock eyes with him, with the reassuring gaze. velvety, sugary. his hand grasps yours firmer. he slides in.

and, no, of course it doesn’t hurt. but you gasp anyway, like an inherent mental reaction. he goes slowly, inch by inch. you moan, throbbing around his length.

he lays there, kissing your face, immobile. you take several breaths, adjusting to him, to the emotion building in your throat. ‘you ready, sweet girl?’

‘yeah,’ you whisper. ‘you can move.’

he slides out and it’s meteoric, rippling pleasure through your sweaty body. you moan his name, digging your hands in every inch of his skin you can find.

‘you’re fucking perfect,’ he moans in your ear. ‘taking me so well. fuckin’ squeezing me.’ as if on cue, you clench around him, a wave of pleasure swallowing you as he hits deep and true.

‘do you feel good, princess?’ you nod, too hazy to form words. his hand sneaks between your bodies, rubbing at your clit. you gasp his name. ‘better?’

‘yes.’

‘i’m gonna make you feel good. you’ll see.’ he kisses your shoulder, licking up your collarbone. ‘this is sex.’

you throb around him, closing your eyes and seeing stars. ‘fuck,’ you cry. ‘matty, i need more.’

he coos at you, kissing your neck. ‘it’s okay, baby. trust me.’ he speeds his thumb, but doesn’t slam into you like you’re silently begging for. ‘don’t want to hurt you. we need to go slow.’

‘i won’t break.’

‘i know better.’ you huff, rolling your head back, letting yourself be washed by the ecstasy he does masterfully pull out of you.

it’s a slow, gentle fuck like you never do. you bury your hand into his hair and tug him to your face, kissing him until you’re out of air. until you’re drowning in him.

matty only breaks the kiss to whisper-pant, ‘they wish they could have you.’ he licks into your mouth, starved. ‘they all fucking think about you. but they won’t get it.’ he kisses your chin, your jaw, your cheek. ‘won’t have you. only me.’

you nod. ‘only ever you.’ his thumb speeds at your bundle of nerves. deep strokes hit you, burying and burying.

‘i’m the only one who’s ever gonna know you like this. i’m the only one who’s ever gonna fuck you.’

‘yes!’ you scream, delirious. pleasure pulls at you, pressing and insistent. you tremble under him, tighten your hand around his in warning.

‘don’t need others when i treat you this well.’

and you don’t like the weird emotion building in your chest, your throat, your head. instead, you plead, ‘make me come.’

‘oh, don’t you fucking worry.’

he rubs and fucks and kisses until you’re melting into his arm, the loose letters of his name falling down your chin. he gets you there, right there, and then makes you look him in the eyes as you fall apart for him.

the sight gets him crazed. he fucks you harder, ready and greedy. ‘fucking love this cunt.’ he kisses you. ‘love it. love you. fuck—‘ he comes with a shake and spills into you.

you lay there, heart racing, mouths panting. you gently stroke his hair. there’s a strange peace in the room. time suspends, still unreal, still pretending.

it’s the best first time you’ve ever had.

[emmyrosee]

Let me have this uncle brainrot-

uncle!osamu gets glasses, and it’s the worse thing to happen to Miya Hisako.

It’s nothing major, his eyes just slowly start to go awry from readings and focusings and just general age, and despite being young, he’d rather just jump on the horse with glasses now than let his sight get worse and worse with time.

He looks good with them! And they certainly do help with his vision, even if it’s a lighter prescription, it’s definitely nice to just see the world normally again.

But not everyone seems to take kindly to the new addition.

Namely that of your seven month old.

“Hey tiny,” he groans, crouching down to pick up the child, who is staring up at him. “Oh I missed you so much.” He plants a few kisses on her chubby cheeks, and is confused by her lack of affection back. Her eyes are focused on him, very intently, as if trying to look past him and into his soul, and he shivers slightly under her weirdly cold gaze.

“Sako? What’s wrong-“

Just before he can finish, Hisako absolutely screams. Her vocal chords shake, her face screws shut, and she starts flailing and kicking herself from Osamu’s grip. He’s horrified, he’s so upset, and he’s trying his hardest to not get smacked by her waving hands and kicking feet. He tries to soothe her, shush and hold her close- maybe he pinched her by accident?- but it isn’t until one tiny fist swats at Osamu’s face and knocks the glasses clean from his nose that you intervene- just as Atsumu storms in to maul whatever creature was distressing his baby.

Brown eyebrows furrow in fury as they land on the blanched Osamu, who’s heart is currently in the process of shattering.

“I’ll kill you-“

“‘Tsumu, relax,” you sigh, grabbing your child from Osamu’s arms and bending down to pick up the frames from the floor. “I was right here, he didn’t do anything.”

“With her screaming like that, he must’ve!” The blonde accused, but with the glare you send him, he shuts his mouth pretty quick.

“No, I didn’t,” Osamu hisses; he’s trying hard to not cry, but you don’t say anything about it. He’s already hurt enough at his niece’s reaction that you’d hate to draw attention to it. “Whatever. Let’s just have dinner.”

And dinner goes no better. Hisako won’t eat, she’s just staring at Osamu with all of her might, and osamu can’t bring himself to look at her. And despite Atsumu’s efforts to make small talk, you all finish your food in predominant silence.

He’s an absolute mess, he doesn’t know what he did but he wants to fix it, because a life where Miya Hisako hates him is not a life he's about to live.

With dinner done, you tell him to go sit and relax, calm himself down from his impending meltdown before dessert- it's met with one hell of a fight from the chef, but in the end he relents and settles on the couch. As he removes his glasses to apply pressure to his eyes with fingers, he hears a happy little coo just a few inches away.

Then, tiny hands paw at Osamu’s legs to be lifted up into his arms, but he hesitates. This, makes Hisako whine to be lifted, and he chews his lip before calling for Atsumu to remove the bundle of joy that’s hurting his heart. The blonde rolls his eyes, “you could pretend to want your niece-“

“Atsumu, enough,” you snarl, but it’s not enough to stop osamu from sighing as he puts on his glasses, hoping to ease the migraine in his head.

When Hisako tries to squirm away again, your brow quirks.

“Osamu,” you say softly. “Take those off.”

“Why-“

“Because I said so.”

“Yeah, you know better than to question my better half,” Atsumu scoffs, grabbing a pastry to stuff into his mouth shamelessly.

The chef grumbles before doing so, and after a few minutes of staring, she smiles and coos for her uncle’s attention.

“Osamu, your glasses!” You laugh. “It’s your glasses!”

Three heads tip cutely in confusion for your words. You roll your eyes, “she doesn’t recognize you with your glasses. You probably scared her earlier, she doesn’t recognize it’s you!”

To test your theory, Osamu puts his glasses on once more, and the infant whines and tries to burrow against atsumu, and when osamu removes the frames and taps her on the leg to look at him, Hisako eagerly reaches out for him.

“Oh thank god,” Osamu says in one quick breath, taking the child from Atsumu and into his own arms, nuzzling into her neck and smoothing down the little wisps of hair on her head and squeezing her tightly while she giggles and plays with his hair in chubby fingers.

“I think you actually just saved my brother,” Atsumu says in amazement, and you shrug with a smirk before taking a sip of your tea.

“I’m magic like that.”

[wheels-of-despair]

Evil Woman Sees (Big) Red Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Remember in I Touched Banana Bubblicious For You, when Evil Woman had to get gum out of Eddie's hair? Again? Well… what if she found the person responsible? Contains: A rage blackout, emotions, tears, violence, protecting Eddie Munson at all costs, consequences that are totally worth it. Words: 1k

No male teacher has ever denied a bathroom pass to a female student after she says two magic words: "Lady Problems."

You'd used this bit of witchcraft on Mr. Williams a few minutes ago, and decided to use your untimed break to check on a certain crazy-haired metalhead who meant the world to you.

You leaned against the lockers across the hall from Eddie's classroom and angled yourself so you could see him through the thin pane of glass in the door. He'd been stressing about this test all week, but by the look of him, he was doing just fine. He was so focused, he didn't even notice you were there. He was fully in the zone; eyes darting from test to scantron sheet with purpose, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth while he filled in the bubbles with the freshly sharpened #2 pencil you'd presented him with this morning. You know he's got this one.

A movement behind him catches your eye. It's Kimmy Little, reaching across the aisle to pass a note. One of those girls who had everything: popularity, good grades, new car, the body and style every magazine told teenage girls they should aspire to. She's practically perfect in every way. And she makes you sick.

No, not a note. A piece of gum. How thrilling. She unwraps it and pops it in her glossy little mouth and chews with her whole jaw. Like a cow chewing her cud. Wonder what Tiger Beat would say about this?

Your focus returns to Eddie. Looks like he's done and double-checking his work. He hadn't cared enough to do that last year. Or the year before. You smile, knowing he's really trying this time, because he wants to graduate with you. He gathers his papers to take them to the teacher's desk, and you see Kimmy lean forward and extract a wad of red gum from her mouth. When Eddie gets up, she makes her move.

That's how they're doing it. They wait until he moves so he doesn't notice the sudden weight of the gum they've planted in his hair.

She and the girl next to her shake with silent giggles as Eddie walks to the front of the classroom to turn his test in.

With gum in his fucking hair.

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** * ** *** **** ***** **** ** * ** *** **** ***** **** ** *

"HEY!"

A yell. Muffled. Ears ringing.

Something squeezing you. Arms?

The arms are dragging you backward.

Instinct tells you to fight it.

You twist. Kick. Boots leave black streaks on the white classroom floor. Your gaze follows the streaks until they turn into… is that blood?

You stop struggling.

Kimmy Little is curled into the fetal position on the floor. Her arms shield her face. Blood speckles the tile around her head and the white sleeves of her otherwise spotless sweater.

The arms aren't dragging you anymore. They push you forward. Help you stand. You're wobbly. Is there something wrong with your legs? You look down to check, and see red on your knuckles.

Oh, fuck.

All of the noise comes rushing at you at once. People are yelling. Kimmy is screaming. You look around the room. The desks near Kimmy are vacant; there's a huddle of students who'd vacated them in the back. People on the far side of the room are standing on chairs and desks for a better view. You try to turn, and the arms holding you give you enough slack to move, but not to be free.

You turn and stare into Eddie's wide eyes.

You feel the adrenaline drain from your body, and suddenly find it hard to breathe.

"OUT! NOW!" Eddie's teacher screams. She points to the door with her classroom phone. Probably calling for help. The cord bounces on the desk.

Eddie drags you from the room without a word. You stumble, but don't fight him. He pulls you into the bathroom around the corner and spins you around to face him.

His hands hold your shoulders. You stare at the Hellfire logo on his shirt and try to focus on breathing. Why is it so hard? Eddie's hands cup your face and lift your chin so you have to look at him.

"What the fuck just happened?" he asks. And then you remember.

A sob escapes from your throat, and he pulls you close. You wrap your arms around him and cry into his shirt. What have you done?

Eddie holds you and absentmindedly rubs your back for a while, until you're able to choke out: "It's not fair."

"What's not fair?"

"The way people fucking treat you."

"What do you mean?" he mumbles against your temple.

You look up through teary eyes and reach for his hair. You pull the matted pile containing gum outward and nod toward the mirror. He glances toward his reflection, and then back to you.

"You tried to kill a girl for putting gum in my hair?"

"I wasn't trying to kill her," you whisper. "Just wanted to smack her around a little… I think?"

Eddie snorts, and pulls you back into his chest.

"It's not fair," you repeat.

"I'm used to it," he says quietly, hands drifting up and down your back. You melt into him and sniffle.

"You shouldn't have to be."

He kisses the top of your head. He may have accepted his fate as the freak everyone loves to hate, but that doesn't mean you're done fighting for him.

"Bet those bitches'll think twice about sticking gum in your hair again," you mumble into his chest. Eddie chuckles, and you hold him tighter.

"I love you," he says.

"I love you, too."

You look up at him and wonder how anyone could be so cruel to someone like Eddie Munson. Why are you the only person who can see how amazing he is?

"YOU TWO."

You whirl around and see Principal Higgins standing in the doorway of the bathroom. You fight the urge to shrink into Eddie's side.

"My office. Now."

You scored a 5-day vacation and 2 weeks of detention.

But you never had to extract gum from Eddie Munson's hair ever again.

(Well, aside from the time he laughed so hard, he spat his own gum into his hair. He's so talented. Dreamy sigh.)

[ominoose]

𝐂𝐫𝐲𝐩𝐭𝐨𝐳𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲

Pairing: Jake Lockley x AFAB!Autistic!Reader Summary: Short fluff self-insert with Jake because fandoms gotta become cringe again. Also shout out to Bigfoot enjoyers! Warnings: None WC: 779

“And so like, they weren’t even just screaming, they were vocalising! Phonetically they were forming words, like there was cadence to it, y’know?!”

“Mh hm.” Jake nodded, nursing the coffee mug in his hand, watching the short woman pace back and forth across the kitchen, her own cup of tea completely forgotten and abandoned on the table like many others over the ages. Poor things.

“And- And the University of Wyoming studied the recordings for a year! And guess what!”

The man was an expert at this, and knew well the question was rhetorical, there wouldn’t be enough time to actually get a ‘What?’ in there. Instead, he widened his eyes a little as he took another sip of bitter coffee, waiting expectantly for the next revelation.

“They said the noises were from lungs that were larger in capacity than humans! And it was an actual deliberate language!” The huge grin, wide eyes and shaking of her hands marked the clear importance of the sentence, this was not a finding to be taken lightly.

“No way.”

Coming home from a late shift in the cab, Jake usually would’ve poured a glass of whiskey, kicked off his shoes, loosened his tie and claimed the couch to binge some shitty reality tv. Sue him, it was entertaining to be invested in drama that was less world ending over godly feuds and more Becky's boyfriend kissing her ex. If his girl came to sit beside him and let him use her thighs as a stress toy, it was the recipe for a perfect night.

When he came home tonight to see his beautiful girl practically bouncing on her toes, hands stimming, actively chewing back a smile and practically bursting at the seams with some hot info instead, how could he not walk over and get his fill? After all, she info-dumped with more passion than any gossip the Kardashians could give. As her man, it was his solemn duty to share her burdens, even if that burden was her excitement over some Bigfoot evidence from some random American woods.

“I also heard that the area the sounds were recorded historically had a lot of Chinese settlers- and the vocalisations have a large resemblance to Mandarin! I mean that, like, implies the Bigfoot community only either cropped up at that period or something but, like, it’s still insane I mean can you imagine we haven’t encountered Bigfoot yet because they all speak Chinese and can’t understand us?” How she spewed so much without taking a single breath was a mystery in and of itself, those crypto-whatsits oughta look into that.

“Who’s ‘we’, bebita? There’s only one American in this room and that’s me. Stop trying to steal my guy.”

“Your guy?” The smile on her face grew, adoring that he entertained her info-dumps and enamored with his cheek, “Since when did Bigfoot go to New York?”

The Latino shrugged, completely nonchalant as he drained the last of his coffee.

“When he calls my cab to take him there.” The curl of his lips betrayed his own amusement and the short woman giggled as she bounced into his lap, hands patting his shoulders.

Stimming was still a relatively new concept to Jake. To him, he understood it as needing to shake off big feelings, good or bad, before they drowned you. He could understand that, feelings were a fuckin’ lot even to him, and he didn’t have autism (no matter how much his amor tried to peer review him, he’d dodge those accusations like he dodged the Avengers).

Seeing her stim to him, with him, over him, that was intimate. That coiled into his very soul, snug and warm. Knowing her feelings for him were so strong, so intense she had to literally, physically, manage them before they made her heart explode? It was literally impossible for the thoughts in his head to try and do some self-sabotage. No one could tell him she didn’t love him, not even himself.

That wasn’t even accounting for the obvious fact that she felt safe enough to shake her heart around right in front of him, with that beautiful smile too. She’d kill him before any bullet or cultist ever could, and he’d accept it with open arms.

“You think that Mothman guy and Bigfoot are amigos? Think they’ve ever hooked up?”

The light in her eyes when he casually sprinkled her other hyper-fixation in there, always making a point of showing he remembered each and every detail of her spiels, could lead him out of the darkest black hole.

“You’re weird, Jake Lockley.” Her giggle was girlish, high pitched and sweet as honey, “They’re divorced, actually.”

[lilyrizzy]

i thought the dash could use some silly fic but i acc wrote this as a gift for my darling @catofthecanals289. Thank you for being my best friend and supporting me through my terrible masters degree. i love you <;3

“Daniel.”

There’s something about Max’s tone of voice, a cautious sing-song that has Daniel looking up from his book, turning towards him in the bed.

“Max,” he answers, mirroring his pitch.

Between his legs, his dick starts to twitch. Hoping-

Besides him, Max looks- Nervous, but not scared. Kind of the same way he looks right before he shocks Daniel into pleasure, asking for something so kinky that Daniel would never come up with on his own, but doesn’t know how not to want once Max puts it on the table.

There’s a slight pink glow to the top of his cheeks, and Max is chewing at his mouth. Daniel’s eyes get caught there, taking in the way the blood rushes back into his plump bottom lip as his teeth finally let go. Daniel takes off his glasses, letting them clatter onto the bedside table behind, not taking his eyes from Max.

“I think we need to get married.”

Well. Not for that.

“What?” Daniel asks, dragging his gaze up and away from Max’s mouth, to his eyes as he feels his own go wide. “We need to- Max, what?”

Max sighs, putting his own evening entertainment- some horrendous sim live stream playing on his phone- down onto the table too, the one on his side. When he’s done, he just looks at Daniel’s face. Assessing.

“I need to tell you something.” As he says it, he sinks lower into the bed.

So many possibilities run through Daniel’s brain all at once, ranging from the terrifying to the ridiculous, while a noise that sounds suspiciously like TV static starts to ring in his ears. Max being deported from Monaco, police breaking into their apartment to drag him kicking and screaming from their bed in the dead of night. Max signing over some next-of-kin documents in a startlingly white doctors office, Max-

“Baby, what, you’re scaring me,” he croaks, panicked, because Max still hasn’t said anything, hasn't done anything other than look at Daniel with his wide blue eyes.

He just groans, scrubbing a hand over his face roughly.

“Okay,” he relents, as though it’s Daniel who has brought up this topic of conversation- whatever it is about- to begin with, “but you cannot be angry, of course, I did not mean for this to happen.”

For what to happen, Daniel wants to demand, but instead he swallows against the pit of wriggling snakes in his stomach, trying to keep them from crawling up and out of his mouth. Nods.

“I won’t get mad,” he promises because he knows Max will need to hear it, and he hopes that whatever he is about to hear won’t make him a liar.

Max nods, solemn, believing Daniel as easy as always. It soothing, a little. Makes it easier to remember that they love each other. How bad could it be, how-

“Victoria thinks we are getting married.”

The words tumble from Max in one long rush, ends bleeding with the beginnings. For a moment Daniel just blinks at him.

“Is that it?” He asks, when Max doesn’t say anymore. Max scowls at him, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. Daniel can’t help the way it draws his eyes there, to where he is so lovely and plush like his mouth, and it only makes Max look madder when he looks back to his face.

“What do you mean, ‘is that it?’” He repeats, “of course it is important if she thinks we are, and then we are not.”

“Max,” Daniel tries, letting out a startled, barking laugh, “I thought you were being sent back to Holland. Or, like, needed a medical next of kin or something, what- Why does Victoria think we are getting married?”

That has the petulant look falling from Max’s face, replaced by something sheepish. Daniel can’t help but grin.

“She, um, she saw,” Max starts, the pink on his cheeks turning to crimson. “In the car, when we drove to the store, of course, for nappies last time she was here with the babies, she- In the glove box. She found the receipt for, your. Your present.”

Takes a moment to click.

“Oh,” Daniel says, thinking about what it must have been like for Victoria, Max’s sister, to find a receipt in the glove box that said “2.5 carat diamond,” with a hefty price tag next to it, for it actually to be- “Oh.”

It’s impossible to keep the giggles contained then, fizzing out from his lips like shaken champagne.

Max picks up the pillow from behind his head and thumps Daniel over the head with it.

“It is not funny,” he insists, voice cracked and high like it always gets when he’s feeling indignant. “Daniel, it- She thinks of course that I brought you an engagement ring.”

Daniel picks up the pillow from Max’s hands and gives Max a thump right back. He’s in a relationship with an idiot.

“And you didn’t just tell her the truth?” Daniel asks. Then, wiggling his eyebrows at Max, “that it was a different kind of jewelery.”

Max snatches the pillow back, shoving it behind his head with an eye roll.

“Oh yes,” he starts, mocking, “when my sister is getting teary eyed, and telling me ‘oh Max, I am so happy for you, you two are so happy together,’ and all of this, to say, ‘actually sorry Victoria, the diamond is for Daniel’s dick.’”

Which- The way Max says dick, it’s just rude.

“Hey!” Daniel protests, covering his dick as though to protect it from Max’s words, “you love my diamond dick. You wouldn’t have dropped 50 bags on it if you didn’t, baby.”

“Yes but I do not need my sister to know this, Daniel.” Max looks at Daniel like he’s grown a second head, or is having a stroke or something. Or like he’s just said he’s going to drive for Williams instead of Alpha Tauri next year. “That is too-“

“So the answer is to get married?” Daniel interrupts with a laugh that sounds a little more hysterical even to his own ears. “Do you even want to get married?”

Daniel doesn’t expect for the way Max’s eyes drop down into his lap then. The way his his fat bottom lip goes right back between his teeth. Fingertips twisting into the duvet covers, Daniel feels like an idiot, because-

“Max,” he says again, gentler, “do you want to get married?”

Max shrugs, still not looking up at him.

“I do not think it would be so bad,” he mumbles, and Daniel has to reach for him then, to tilt his chin up. “To be married, it- Victoria is right, we are happy together.”

Both Verstappen’s are right. They are. Happy in a way that would have felt impossible to Daniel five years ago, if you’d told him he’d be 34 and back driving for Torro-Rosso-come-Alpha-Tauri. A kind of happiness that bloomed from shared podiums and hotel rooms but weathered the storm when everything else fell away.

“We are happy,” he agrees nodding, and because he has to, he leans in and kisses Max. “Happy enough to lock it down, I’d say.”

Max pulls back and looks at him then, uncertain in a way Daniel never wants him to be again, not when it’s about the rest of their lives.

“Yeah?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Daniel promises, “though I want a do over, Verstappen, with an even bigger diamond. This was the shittiest proposal ever.”

Max’s laugh, the way he falls into Daniel’s touch, it's all the diamonds, silver and gold in the world.

—

Later, after Max has shown Daniel just how much he appreciates his dick piercing after all, an idea pops into Daniel’s brain.

“Max,” he whispers against the back of his sweaty neck, where Daniel’s nose was pressed because Max is indulging him in cuddling tonight. “Max, what if- I could always leak my nudes to your sister. To save us all the hassle of a wedding.”

It’s a joke, of course. Daniel has already come around the idea of his special day and then a few weeks of bliss on a remote island together somewhere after.

Max sighs.

“Daniel, do not make me divorce you already.”

[reallypleasanttree]

@strarri After reading chapter 10 of Kimetsu Academy I was inspired.

Obamitsu-Kimetsu Academy AU 🐍🩷🍡

It started with a snake scarf and an embroidered pair of socks. Mitsuri always gave Obanai gifts, but over time they started exchanging gifts on nearly every date. They ranged from sweets to bitter drinks to plushies and more. 

Mitsuri sipped on her bubble tea enjoying the brown sugar boba as she thought about what she could give Obanai next. She had been so busy with graduation coming up that she didn’t have time to see him. He was supposed to come to her graduation with her family. It’d only be the second time they met him, but they seemed to get along. 

Mitsuri frowned thinking about the last time she saw him. They went to the strip mall for drinks and a movie. It was a drama film about a boy raised in the woods by a boar. However the mama boar died at the end and the boy was left alone. Mitsuri ended up crying and Obanai passed her his handkerchief with her cat drawing. 

They left the theater holding hands and then venturing in and out of all the stores. Cooking, accessory, jewelry, pet, and plant shops. Kaburamaru enjoyed the pet shop the most and bobbed his head up and down excitedly when he saw another white rat snake. After Mitsuri saw that she forgot about the sad ending. Obanai smiled at the white snake and Mitsuri. He wasn’t a man of many words, but his eyes were expressive enough. 

Hmmm…Mitsuri chewed on her straw. On that date Obanai bought her succulent plant after she said she liked them. Though when she said she liked them she had been looking at a necklace with a succulent at the jewelry store. She flushed at the memory. The necklace was way too expensive and when she saw the price tag she pulled Obanai out of the shop. He’d never given her jewelry before.

Should she give him a plant in return? She wrinkled her nose and kicked her feet in the chair. No. He wasn’t the type to like plants. What else had he mentioned recently needing? Or did Kaburamaru need something? 

Obanai said his first lab coat was getting frayed on the cuffs. Maybe she could mend them. She could add black and stripes! Or maybe a snake pattern! She giggled at the idea. Obanai normally wore his cuffs over his hands. He’d be so cute with new ones. How would she be able to get his lab coat without raising suspicion? Maybe she could invite him over directly after work or ask his students to help… the ones who delivered her letter. 

Mitsuri tapped her temple. Tanjiro and Zenitsu loved Obanai. Of course they would be willing to help. 

———-

Zenitsu glanced at the chemistry lab door. Miss Kanroji asked him and Tanjiro to get Mr. Iguro’s lab coat. She said she wanted to mend it without him knowing it as a gift. The blonde knew Obanai and Mitsuri loved each other and at heart he was a hopeless romantic. 

Inosuke was supposed to make a distraction that would cause Mr. Iguro to leave the classroom. There was a screech and the clash of glass. Then Inosuke ran down the hallway with feral gremlin energy. The chemistry teacher opened the door as Zenitsu turned to hug the lockers. Tanjiro would run interference if Zenitsu couldn’t find the lab coat. 

“Get back here, Hashibira!” Mr. Iguro charged past Zenitsu without seeing him. Zenitsu crept to the door trying not to make any sound. He closed the door behind him and started looking through the desk drawers. The first drawer had office supplies, the second drawer had his lunch box and a post-it note with a heart on it(Mitsuri must have given it to him), and the third drawer had treats for the snake. 

Zenitsu glanced at the door and his heart raced. He heard Inosuke screaming still and the chemistry teacher chasing him. Sweat poured down his forehead. He was not made for covert missions like this. Except he was the one with the best hearing, which made it easier for him to detect someone coming back. He spun around to the file cabinet and pulled open every drawer. At least he could be grateful for how organized the teacher was. Everything had a place and-

His brown eyes widened as he noticed a small velvet box with a silver clasp on the front. Was that what he thought it was? Because if it was then Miss Kanroji’s gift would pale in comparison. He reached to the box despite his better instincts telling him to keep searching for the old lab coat. The anxious student opened the clasp and it was indeed what he assumed. He gasped and hurriedly put it back where he found it. 

“Lab coat,” Zenitsu muttered to himself and continued searching until he found the old lab coat in the bottom drawer of the second cabinet he searched. Tanjiro was approaching with the chemistry teacher. 

“I don’t want to buy any trinkets for a fundraiser, Mr. Kamado,” the black haired man bristled. 

“But I need to raise more money so Nezuko can go to Kyoto with her classmates,” Tanjiro continued. Zenitsu stuffed the lab coat under his uniform’s sweater and edged towards the door. He could slip by if Mr. Iguro had his back turned. The student chanced a glance out the small window on the door. The teacher had his back turned to the door and Tanjiro spoke louder as Zenitsu gave him a thumbs up. 

“Think of my little sister,” the boy repeated, but the teacher shook his head. Zenitsu glued himself to the wall and exited the classroom. 

“I don’t have any money left to give away. I just bought something for-” Mr. Iguro paused and began turning his head towards Zenitsu. Without fail, Tanjiro grabbed the teacher’s face to hold it in place. 

“Wait, you’ve got something in your eye,” the maroon haired boy said with all the sincerity he could muster. The white snake around the man’s shoulder hissed. “I think it could be doubt,” Tanjiro nodded as if agreeing with himself. Zenitsu inched further away. If he could get to the bathroom, he could pretend he had been there the entire time. 

“Get your hands off of me,” the teacher said firmly. Zenitsu could feel the air change. A certain aura darkened the hallway. He saw Mr. Iguro grab Tanjiro’s wrist and push him away. “If you ever touch me again, you will have three times more homework than everyone else until the end of your school days here,” he threatened. Tanjiro instantly dropped his other hand. 

Keep going, keep going, keep going, Zenitsu repeated to himself as he all but ran to the bathroom. This mission was worth it though. In honor of true love, it was worth it. Zenitsu grinned. If everything went well, Miss Kanroji would soon be Mrs. Iguro. 

———-

Graduation went smoothly. Mitsuri went through the line to shake hands with the university president and almost nearly tripped one time over the threshold between the stage and staircase. Her mom probably caught it on camera much to her embarrassment. Obanai told her her clumsiness was adorable and her face turned into a cherry. 

After dinner with her family, Obanai asked if she wanted to take an evening stroll through the park. They walked hand in hand as the sun started to set. He led her towards the fountain as she babbled about her new job. 

“I’m sort of nervous about working for her, you know? I worked at the pizza shop for so long, I’ll probably start listing off pizza toppings instead of plotlines,” she said. “I’m honored to collaborate with a best selling shojo artist, but it’s wild to think I was picked out of a thousand applicants.”

“Because she knows you’re the most talented upcoming manga artist,” Obanai reassured her. She was lucky to be with such a kind gentleman. The water fountain was coming into view. It was at the center of the park and one of Mitsuri’s favorite spots in the city. It was so pretty with the mermaid and koi fish statues decorating the centerpiece. The mermaids held vases to pour water out of while the koi circled the perimeter. 

“Do you want to sit down for a bit?” Obanai asked and she nodded. She bounced up to the stone bench next to the fountain. Mitsuri sat down and flashed her boyfriend a smile. This was the perfect end to her day. Graduation, dinner with her family, and an evening with her boyfriend. She would give him his mended lab coat when they got back to her car. He was going to freak out when he saw it. Just thinking about it made her giddy. 

“I could spend every day like this,” Mitsuri commented. “Seeing my family and then hanging out with you. You’re my favorite person. Oh, remind me I have a gift in my car for you.”

Obanai was still standing and she gently tugged on his hand to have him sit down. His sweet eyes focused on her. His brows were relaxed and he was smiling under the mask. With his free hand, he reached up to remove the white mask. Mitsuri tilted her head. His allergies were especially bad during the summer. 

“You shouldn’t take off your mask! The pollen count is really high today,” Mitsuri panicked, reaching up to put the mask over his face again. “I don’t want you to get sick or have a coughing fit.”

“It’ll be fine for a second,” Obanai cleared his throat. His palms were sweating now from the humidity. “You’re my favorite person too. When I’m with you I forget about all my problems and just have fun.” He pulled something out of his pocket. A small maroon velvet box. Mitsuri covered her mouth as Obanai got down on one knee. Was he going to- Water already started leaking from her eyes. 

“I want to spend every day with you. From this day to my last. I want to see your bubbly face each morning. Each afternoon I want to see you eating sakura mochi and each evening I want to kiss you good night. Will you marry me, Mitsuri?” Obanai asked. His voice began to shake towards the end. Hesitantly, he opened the jewelry box to reveal a golden ring with emeralds surrounding a pink diamond to match her hair. 

“Yes!” Mitsuri screamed and threw herself on him in her excitement. His back hit the pathed ground and she draped herself over him. “Yes, yes, yes,” Mitsuri said, green eyes flashing. She brought her lips to his, giving him a peck. He didn’t like public displays of affection, but she couldn’t control herself. Obanai returned her smile before coughing. 

“Oops, sorry,” Mitsuri climbed off of him and sat on the ground beside him. Obanai sat beside her and took the ring out of the box to place on her left. “I think you just gave me the best gift possible,” she said admiring the glimmering jewels. “This is so much better than what I got you.”

“Doubtful,” he said. “You just gave me the best gift of all. The promise to marry me and live together until we’re old and gray,” he ran a thumb over her cheek. Now she sucked in her breath as large tears rolled down her face. He stole her words.