#she definitely helped me sort out half of this prompt

[goldsbitch]

can I request a Lando x reader where the reader’s weakness is when people stroke her hair? Her mind goes completely blank and she falls silent immediately when people stroke her hair and Lando uses it at his advantage.

Fluffy pls and ty🫶🏻

omg, i love this prompt so much - thank you and hope you like it!!

This is one is dripping with sweetness a little too much, don't say I did not warn you. No other warning.

Lando was born a tease, oscillating between clueless and shy, to unapologetic and bordeline dickish. It all depended on the setting, his relationship to the person and how much sleep he got the night before. Sometimes your boyfriend was the sweetest little thing, giggling shyly about everything instead of coming up with an actual response, and the other times he was a walking menace actively seeking every opportunity how to get you into a flustered state.

You and Lando were full on deep in the beginning of your relationship, the sweetest part of the honeymoon phase. To put it bluntly - fucking almost non stop. And the desire was never-ending. Blinding sunshine kissed good morning to every day you two got to wake up next to each other. Problems seem to be non existent. Bliss.

It was the way his hair curled when he got a little bit sweaty, his toned body what you were desperate to explore from every angle and the need to know every little secret trick that worked on him. It became some sort of a game, who would get better at knowing the other. Which one of you found all the buttons to push.

Lando rose up that morning and chose violence. Metaphorical one, of course. Snuggling up to you in order to wake you up as well for some morning work out, as he like to call it. Whispering sweet nothings to your ear and touching you all over your body. But you were just incredibly sore from the past few days, physically unable to keep up.

"Why don't you love me anymore," he pleaded jokingly as you murmured another weak appeal for your sleep.

"Lando, you know I love you more than anything," you replied, still half asleep. But it was hard to distinguish as reality resembled a sweet dream everyday lately.

"I remember when you used to want me, physically," he kept going.

"We literally had sex few hours ago, stop whining," you kissed him between your words. He looked at you with his incredible eyes, little devil dancing in each one of them.

"Exactly, too long ago. Wish I could go back in time when you were not sore and get inside you all over again."

You simply laughed, absolutely smitten with this lovey dovey side of him. His words made you melt like butter sitting under direct sun. You brushed your noses together and then he kissed you.

The best part of romantic relationships is the one that you cannot absolutely share with other people, the almost embarrassing pleas, desire and gross goofiness, simping at each other all the time.

"Fine, if you play by these rules, I'll come back with my own revenge," he said finally as you inevitably had to start getting ready to go to the paddock with him.

Today was the big day. You'd been spotted in public countless of times, the "girlfriend" title officially sitting on your head for weeks now. But this was the first time you were to join him in the paddock as a wag. You were trying to hide your nervousness, but he saw right through you. Before you exited the apartment, he made you stop and took your face in his hands. "I'm happy I get to do this with you. I love parading you around, for everyone to see that we're a team." You smiled, his words hitting like first snowflakes of the year. "Poor Oscar, I can't wait to finally trauma dump the shared misery you bring to our lives," you jokes and locked lips with him once again. "God, it's terrifying how much I like you," you said automatically, without having to think about it.

//

It actually wasn't as bad as you'd expected. It was definitely weird and strange, but not necessarily bad. Having Lando by your side as you passed the gates definitely helped. The photographers were lined up as people at a shooting range would and it did feel like that at first. But as quickly as you were initially overwhelmed, fatigue took over you and you blocked their ever-presence out. Trying to chat up those Lando introduce you to and memorizing the names. You knew how much some of these people meant to Lando, so you were trying to be at your best behavior. The thought that his friends would hate you in the same way as some of his fans haunted you.

In the middle of all the rush, you parted for a moment. To be honest, little peace of quiet and chill was something you appreciated. But remember, Lando woke up and chose violence this morning. And his plan was quite simple, yet bulletproof.

"Y/N! There you are, my love," you heard from coming from behind you. "I have someone to introduce to you! I'm very much sure you'll appreciate meeting him." As you turned, you saw Daniel Ricciardo walking your way with your Lando. You were a little perplexed as to why Lando was so cheerful about that. You clearly remembered him getting very upset when you admitted to him that at some point in the past, when formula 1 was a world far away from you, that you had a minor crush on Daniel. Which obviously went out of the window once you met Lando. That did not mean that Lando was 100% ok with it.

"Y/N, as I'm sure you know, this is Daniel, hell of a driver and good friend of mine," Lando continued and you knew him well enough to know he had ulterior motives. Not sure what to do, you smiles shyly and shook Daniel's hand.

"Hi, Daniel," you said, eyes flinching between him and Lando. You were full on preparing for anything. Lando's smirk almost had a life of his own at that point.

"Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I've heard quite a lot things about you!" Daniel opened, life of the party as per usual.

You chuckled. "All good things, I hope!" And with that, Lando stepped behind you and put his arm around you.

"Only the best," he said, leaned closed and inconspicuously started to stroke you hair gently. Oh, he did not just go this low.

It was slow, yet like tidal wave. You stopped breathing for a moment. Your body relaxing, as if you'd just taken the world's best sedatives. The way his hands made you feel was etherial. It was the same sensation the luckier ones experienced when listening to ASMR and the less fortunate ones sometimes called an orgasm. Shivers slowly traveling around your whole body, every part becoming sensitive out of nowhere. You weren't able to look at Daniel, let alone continue speaking. Lando was more than aware of what touching your hair did to you. He'd discovered this trick quite early on. And it was his favorite one.

"So, where are you from?" Daniel attempted at small talk. But how could you possibly give a fuck at that moment. Not that your body would even allowed you to respond. The only thing you were able to take in from the outside world were the soft slow movements Lando's fingers were doing, blocking everything out instanteniously.

Daniel stared at you, waiting. From his perspective, this was a very awkward meeting.

Lando answered for you, with a smirk you did not see, but could feel from the tone of his voice. "You have to excuse her, she is bit shy in front of new people."

You could not give less of a fuck at that moment of what these two were saying. Your lips were starting to shiver from getting so sensitive. You took a short breath and someone who would be standing close and knew you well would know, that what escaped your mouth was not a nervous laugh, but something very close to a moan.

Lando and Daniel were saying words, but none of that was important, while Lando's fingers were working his magic. He would only leave your hair alone once he saw Daniel leaving.

You wanted to be mad at him. But you were still sort of high from all the sensation bomb Lando dropped on you. You slowly turned around to face him, coming down from your own personal nirvana.

You took a deep breath while he watched you without a blink and biting hims smile away.

"You promised," you let out air that got stuck in your lungs somewhere along the way. "You promised you would not do this in public." Your brain was slowly wiring up to normal again.

"I told you I'd punish you for the morning," he said as if it was the most amusing thing ever. "Also, if Daniel is my competition, I'm going to use all the advantage I have."

Lando had a way of looking at you that made you unravel instantaneously and there was no way of stopping it. There was just something about his smile that did it for you. As anyone who is properly in love, you could not imagine somebody being able tor resist that. In your love soaked mind, he was irresistible. To a normal mind, he was probably just a regular guy, but that idea was unfathomable to you.

"I'm pretty sure that after what I just pulled, you will not have to worry about Daniel liking me," you chuckled, having to accept that Lando won this one.

"I would never let my guard down...But yeah, I think this one is pretty safe," he chuckled once more. You kissed his overly proud face and promised to yourself to get back at him later, in the privacy of his bedroom.

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 6

[prompt: blowjob]

male reader x hyeju

12k words

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone who actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

-

The first time you hook up with your roommate, it’s because of genetics - though not in the weird, uncontrollable way your body gets rigid and sensitive to any pretty girl who wears nothing but a towel moving between her bedroom and the bathroom, or how her eyes might flick fast from your chest up to yours - or given that the absolute shape of her is a blessing from one god or another (benevolent, clearly). That's not why Hyeju and you find yourselves only a few months later grinding on each other after the clock ticked past midnight, making out on New Year's Eve.

No, it has to do with the fact that Hyeju's nearly failing the nine AM section of molecular genetics because she's spent every lecture doodling stars and planets and planets shaped like asscheeks and planet-ass constellations while everyone else writes notes or doom scrolls twitter or whatever and she is somehow simultaneously the only student who never slept with her face on the lab desk or missed an assigned reading and the only one who absolutely needs a tutor.

It's just cosmic odds that you'd be that one: her roommate, who shouldn't be talking so loudly in the library about sex (in a sort of non-sexy, Mendelian kind of way) or be thinking the kind of things you've started thinking when Hyeju wears one of her more sleepshirt-esque long sleeves, her voice getting lower as you rattle off, "fruit flies and thale cress, definitely, it's just an error of fate or chromosome splitting..." before trailing off into a question.

"This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me," she finally tells you. You listen to her sigh into the binding of her textbook, facedown. "I'm really going to bomb this exam."

You tap her hand twice with your highlighter across the desk. "Then you're pretty damn lucky, if you think about it."

She turns to you, smiles a bit. "Okay, point. The worst thing will be having to retake this stupid fucking class."

"Why didn't you ask for help or go to office hours if you knew you were... failing?"

"Maybe because doing anything more than the bare minimum to get through a class I don't care about is my definition of, failing," she mumbles. "Why didn't anyone tell me a single lab is worth half my grade? Or that the TA is this fucking unreliable? How is this the one thing, really, beyond the basics, that can't be taught by wikipedia, a wikihow article and a youtube video?"

You scoot your seat closer to her. "You really need to relax."

"Fucking tell me about it."

You turn it over in your mind a few times, capping the top of your highlighter.

"Want me to get you off?"

And it’s not like you really mean it, when you say it, which is the strangest thing: you wouldn't actually suggest it, normally, wouldn't mention it in passing and then leave yourself open to the follow up and cross examination; yet there it is, after three, four hours of cramming notes on heterochronicity and the sloshing of gametes - you actually did propose it.

Hyeju jerks up, surprised.

"Are you serious?" She looks around, nearly snorting. "In the library?"

The face you’re giving her makes her scoff.

“You’re absolutely nuts.”

You have character flaws; the inability to admit wrongdoing chief among them. Hell, maybe it's from your mother - or maybe all your brains are just scrambled by the fact that Hyeju's sitting there with her pen against her pretty lips, hair glossier than usual as she scans your face and makes your entire body feel like a reactor core in meltdown.

Maybe you can blame what comes next on that.

"I'm always serious. I'm asking a serious question," you whisper, closing the textbook and resting your elbows on top. You look around quickly, like you're sneaking something in instead of this perfectly reasonable exchange, the perfectly platonic - except maybe not so much - way for friends to help each other.

"And I'm wondering what you're asking." Her cheeks are definitely pinker, you think, or the way it fills out her face, from the bottom up, is just that easy to imagine.

“I’m saying you haven’t gotten laid in months.” Here, you realize, these blocks of mental logic that definitely weren’t there when you blurted it out start to coalesce into something solid as you go on.

And you hadn't been wrong when you thought no one had given Hyeju a helping hand in a long, long time: you've heard through the walls or the floorboards at odd hours of the morning that she spends far too long fingering herself to a mind-numbing, tear-worthy frustration that leaves her knuckle-deep but never, ever sated or satisfied.

"No one's around, you'll feel better. You said it yourself."

Not a work of your imagination here - her ears are fucking burning.

"Wait a minute." She pushes her chair back, away from you and your gleaming offer. It clatters on its back legs, and a librarian waves her finger in warning. You wave back, sheepishly, until she stops and Hyeju stands and moves away from the table to talk, hands crossed over her front.

She turns and asks in a hushed-down-voice, "how did you know - did you hear something last night?"

"You couldn't keep it down even if you wanted to, honestly."

Hyeju turns further and throws a glare at the library doors, because obviously her noisiness and their collective noisemanship, or whatever the hell the word is, is clearly the root of the whole goddamn problem.

"Look - if not, no big deal - but I'm just saying you'll probably get over it and at least think less about sex. Or at least the wrong kind of sex."

You expect her to turn, sigh, and ask if you've lost your mind. Expect her to gather her jacket from the back of her chair, take her books and stomp out the room. Or even burst out laughing at the insanity, before slapping your arm lightly, in playful retaliation - anything other than the serious look she gives you in return, tilting her head, pressing her lips.

She turns up at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating something. And it's cute. It's so very, very cute, how her mouth pouts as she considers the possibility, right up until she says, "okay, fine."

The moderate twist of surprise taking hold in your brow must be visible.

"Oh, don't tell me that was all talk. Get me thinking about the right kind of sex or whatever."

You laugh, which has the librarian staring at both of you - until the librarian stops staring and probably sees Hyeju sliding back into her chair, the full, pent-up weight of her concentration pointed your way, knees inching apart - you, and Hyeju waiting, your knee bumping into her inner thigh, leaning closer as the textbook hits the floor.

"Don't laugh."

"Not laughing, seriously. Not laughing," you stammer. “I just think you’re just full of surprises.”

She spreads her knees further and sits taller, looking right at you.

"So then, surprise me," and then presses her cheek to the crook of your elbow.

You slide your chair right into the space next to hers, nuzzling up into the space under her ear. “Keep studying, Hyeju, you’ve got shit to do.” And then you slide your hand beneath the waist of her sweats, knead the swell of her thigh until you find the seam where her leg meets her body, press your palm down on the place just next to her center, your thumb in the middle. All this perfect pressure.

"Fuck," Hyeju says under a shudder. She's breathing heavier when your hot, open-mouthed kisses start landing at her neck, and she probably tries to read her textbook for about forty-five seconds longer. But there's the clench of her jaw right as your middle finger begins tracing circles beneath the fabric of her panties, and her gaze is blurring until she can't tell the difference between an allele or your fucking name.

"Shh-shh," you quiet her, finger tapping harder, playing with the slick wetness beneath all those layers of thick cotton and pressing two fingers there until her knees part like they’re not interested in resisting at all. Your lips press a kiss to the shell of her ear and she tenses all at once, hand shooting up to cover her mouth.

She simply leans back, closes her eyes, and lets you take care of her.

“Okay, you’re right,” she says, shaky and uneven, “that really did take some of the edge off. Did we ever review - poly- uh, pol-polymers here?"

The sweatshirt sleeve falling off your shoulder is a hindrance to any actual reading; her shifting against the chair isn't helping either, but you manage to push down the thoughts of stripping her down completely and giving her your tongue as yet another distraction.

"What did the syllabus say? I don't know if we need to read too far on 'polymers'," you say, having going through an entire afternoon without considering this once, but as you curl your fingers and take an honest crack at cramming the remaining chapters into her head, the knowledge that no one else is getting her this wet - except for whoever she's got in her mind's eye at three AM - is enough to get you feeling a little dizzy.

-

It’s probably supposed to be weird, given that you’ve never gotten any of your other friends off spontaneously in the library, or there's the fact that you can't really avoid each other afterwards, how she shows up in a silk negligee when you're pouring coffee before sunrise to prep for another day and you have the opportunity to notice - yes, she has amazing taste in underwear, yes, you might not have really appreciated her chest and figure enough before - yes, fuck it. She catches you noticing that first time, after coming downstairs with nothing but one of her cropped t-shirts and her board shorts, and she smirks when she realizes you're still thinking about it that afternoon, when her foot grazes yours while you're both washing dishes, and she dries the plate in her hand with a slow swipe.

And it is weird, actually, to describe what’s going on between you in words. 

A few words, anyway, like a one-word label to describe what it was: friends or roommates-with-benefits, or - fuck buddies - god, it's even worse. Fuck buddies? Fuck friends? Something equally terrible and stupid that still makes sense, like something out of a shitty rom-com: it doesn't capture any of the rest of the myriad ways in which things can feel less or less friendly between two people.

So, friends was never, ever going to cut it. Roommates - although technically correct - is just this side of too clinical. And let's be clear: strangers don't wake up every morning together, walk to the same class, sit close together in the middle seats, secretly flick a strangers' skirt up in an empty lecture hall and get on their knees and work your mouth onto her pussy and watch the legs of the desks shake when her feet arch into the floor.

"The notes you've got are better than mine," is how Hyeju tries to put things, the next day and every time after that, standing in the doorframe, or at the foot of your bed and looking every bit the disheveled and hopeless mess you imagine she might spread out over the sheets of her own.

-

It gets complicated, which isn't really a surprise.

"You think your roommate is going to be home tonight?" is the question that comes up multiple times - from a revolving door of pretty names and faces. Hyeju has at least one opinion, if not more, on each of them.

"Tell Jinsoul I say hi," she says once, watching you get ready for a date, and you nearly bang your knee on the edge of the bathroom vanity. 

It's one of the more harmless comments she's offered.

Another, backhanded: "if you’re just looking for a blowjob everyday between lunch and our physics lab, let Hyunjin or Heejin or whatever-her-name-is know she's easily my favorite," Hyeju says on your way out one morning, still under her covers.

Or,

Hyeju's texted a simple "uh, Chuu? really??" when you mention, once, how much fun you've been having - and what kind, as you make a round of self-conscious and rambling phone calls the next day that land you with only one prospect for the night - but your roommate's also no longer being your roommate by the end of it, bouncing against your thighs in the bathtub and moaning something about please more and fuck or fucking make me cum; the details escape you a bit.

That's what friends are for, probably.

Still, in the same, bare-bones explanation, friends also aren't for falling asleep on you - or letting you hold her - or fucking you awake in the middle of the night. Friends aren't for pushing down your jeans when the early-morning dew settles on the back patio, or jerking you off in the seat beside yours with a sweatshirt over your lap when a group project is due later and you all should probably work on that and instead get yourselves off and leave the mess of what you're doing half-finished. Friends aren't, probably, for offering to watch you rub your palm up and down your cock the night before next semester's exams when you can barely sit in a single chair and you can't think about molecular biology or neurochemical transcriptions when your whole body aches to do the transcribing. (If you can catch that drift.)

The lists of who are and are not good enough for you goes on and on - the latter longer than the former.

So, there's Choerry, who according to Hyeju is 'straight up, a total slut'. Yeojin, who gets mistaken for your little sister enough times that Hyeju refuses to - in good faith - let you keep sleeping with her. Both Heejin and Gowon are apparently too pretty for you. "Kim-lip?" she asks, in the middle of peeling garlic, "is that one name or two?" And laughs into a bottle of beer, loud, while you're telling her to quit being nosey and watch her fingers with the damn knife.

"You have a problem."

"Why, because I asked a few simple questions? I think anyone would be a little curious with the -" she pauses to wave her fingers - "I'd be remiss to not be interested in the very drama that unfolds literally across the hall."

She waggles her eyebrows.

You look up at the ceiling. God save you, you think. "Hyeju."

("Seriously," Hyeju chimes in one evening, arms around you, and a mouthful of the dinner you'd cooked.

"You need better taste in girls. Don't waste time on anyone too dumb, or who drinks the milk straight from the carton, or doesn't wash her socks with the same load of laundry. Oh, and - no one who chews loudly. No one who can't tell you're going to cum. The worst is someone who doesn't know what you like, trust me on that. And remember the last rule: don't do anything with someone who eats at a really slow pace, it's incredibly depressing."

You rest your chin on her shoulder from the spot behind her. "Duly noted, oh Master of all Knowledge."

She sighs into your arm, but in the next moment, her voice gets a lot softer, her hips fidgeting slightly against you. "I just mean you're the kind of person people would want to sleep with again," she says, before turning to say your name and kiss you again and again as your bodies curl inward.

"I wonder what that means, Hyeju," you say.

"Fuck," Hyeju groans as you slide further into her, pushing her back into the sofa - hands on her shoulders, legs bent on her either side, "don't tease me like this.")

-

The first snowfall of the year is mild, a tiny dusting, nothing that sticks on the pavement in the alley or on the sidewalks - or the lintels - or in Hyeju's hair, but by evening, when the snow picks up and everything goes quiet, Hyeju has changed into flannels and wool socks in anticipation, curled up like a cat at one edge of the window ledge as the world begins to go white. It's enough that you even pull on a thicker sweatshirt, open up a book, and join her.

She turns toward you, quiet.

You've reached a point in the semester where this, the silence, doesn't unsettle you anymore. It's the space you fill up with time in-between, where you can see the contours of her body against the orange lamplight of the space heater, or watch her kick off the top half of the duvet at night as you fight over space in her bed and wonder about the bare skin peeking out from her shorts.

"Feeling bored?" She slides her foot a little closer to yours, almost imperceptibly. "Am I keeping you entertained enough?"

Her lips pull up at the corner. You chuckle.

"Oh, no."

She scoffs and puts her hands on her knees, pushes herself closer to the window sill and bumps her elbow into your shoulder. The bare skin of her neck and shoulders and face is getting a little redder as she cranes it forward. "Okay, if not, do you need someone to entertain you, maybe."

Your mouth twists, fighting a smile.

Hyeju is so close to you, you could kiss her really, really easily and not care how she'd feel about that. It's not a habit, not as often as it used to be, but every once and a while - she starts this game. Every once in a while, Hyeju just starts smiling like that, and leans into you like she's daring you to play along, hard round of chicken until it's clear what the two of you are doing with each other; the minutes pass by, one, then two, and then - maybe she pushes first, her leg on yours, or a kiss to your jaw or a palm on your back as she walks behind you - and then you'd turn and kiss her full on the mouth and pull at her clothes like nothing's holding you back.

She cocks a smile, and says, "why don't you go and call what's her name."

"Because."

You glance out at the cold, gray light outside. If you had a better understanding of any of the workings inside you, you could reach forward and tell her everything that's stopped you.

-

You're supposed to meet the girl-of-the-month at a New Year's party. Hyeju looks disgusted within the first ten seconds of the whole story.

"Heejin dumped you once, like, two months ago? For no reason."

"It wasn't a break-up. We talked about what we did wrong and we're doing better," you say, lifting one finger.

She glares, then, tilts her lips into this unamused purse that you can't take seriously at all when she starts walking back and forth across your living room, hands moving emphatically to the sides as she speaks, like she's in the process of unveiling a brilliant argument and is using both palms to guide your eyes toward the unquestionable logic. "God, you're the worst. You're just her easy fuck and you'll still answer her late night calls, really."

She leaves the rest unsaid - that she's just not that into you.

"I don't tell you which boys or girls you can call up," you try, putting on a boot. "If you'd like, I can. Name off the list, and make sure that the right name leaves my mouth this time."

Hyeju doesn't blush when you glance up, which is the surprising thing. No - her cheeks have grown a little more sullen, and she stares down at her socks in contemplation. You're in the middle of fastening up the lace and getting to your feet, waiting, wondering if Hyeju's going to continue this conversation, when Hyeju takes one small step forward.

And her hand goes out to touch your chin, thumb at your lip, fingers holding it in place - like you'll turn if she lets it go - the sharp shock of the sensation like a short circuit, before her knee comes between yours, and your body tingles, at the root and stem. "Hey," she says, eyes meeting yours. The edge of her nail flicking gently as she drags the curve of her thumb downward.

"Hyeju, please - I need to get going."

When you start walking toward your car, she calls out from the window. Something about how you better have the time of your life, fun for the two of you - it’s only fair.

(You feel, somewhere, a certain strange loss.)

"What, are you going to stay up and wait until I come back? Or am I interrupting your session for the night."

You can barely make it out, the smallest look passing over her face. "Maybe," she says, and then: "god, it's fucking cold."

-

New year's parties have this sort of quality of being simultaneously the most thrilling, exciting prospect on earth and the absolute worst fucking event in the history of the planet - depending on the venue, how egregious the racket is for a gin and tonic, the guests - oh, and the company.

Jinsoul and Choerry are both in attendance; in separate corners and in equal states of undress and intoxication, which seems fine by every present party, who are for the most part busy ogling one or the other in the full spirit of the New Year - as you would too, if the stars are aligned and Heejin hasn't already gone upstairs with half the guestlist, her arm wound with someone else's, as per her recent habit; if you haven't been tossed aside for any of the usual, less forgettable prospects and for something bigger, better and certainly much more enjoyable.

Which, if there were any way to track these things down with math, you'd already be reaching for your pen and notebook, as Hyeju would describe this sensation in a phrase she picked up from some podcast. Inevitable means necessary, or something.

"Good party," says Heejin, throwing back another drink.

"Yep. You said that," and you finish yours in one long draw, hissing through your teeth.

Heejin is a goddamn delight, of course, in all the simplest of ways. When she looks up at you - mouth pink, hair framing her face - she is so clearly and completely aware of what she is, and exactly what the world has in store for her, what it has set aside.

"Do you want to know what happened at the other New Year’s party we went to last year?"

"I - yeah. Hit me. Tell me all about (another date you were on) Heejin, that’s exactly what I’d love, let’s hear it."

She throws her head back and laughs, before starting into an overlong recount of her latest, greatest conquest, you on the outside. This is the thing - this is how a pretty face, with just a hint of a flirt, will make you feel for a beautiful, attractive, vivacious - absolutely shameless, raving sex-crazed lunatic of sorts who, apparently, loves to run around town and make a bunch of your closest friends fall in love and heartbroke-er, with every passing notion of her beauty, her charm - just the tilt of her chin, and some poor fucker is lost, absolutely lost.

 Even she knows it's a bad habit of hers. 

But who doesn't have a weakness? You've got plenty of your own - plenty, Heejin can admit - everyone does, in a way, and so Heejin, the other sloppy drunks milling about the party, and Choerry and Jinsoul all agree - someone like her just happens to have the best kind of weakness - so, so many of them, in fact:

"Can you believe how easily a few words get Jinsoul riled up? Or how it only takes a couple drinks for Choerry to pull up the hem of her skirt, not knowing the effect that'll have?"

And as for the last, and arguably worst kind -

"Hyeju, huh? What a great start to the New Year," is her final word. Heejin reaches across and downs your drink. Her expression turns just shy of grave, a pensive look. "Not your smartest idea, the living-together situation. Who in their right mind would put themselves in such a mess?"

"Thanks for the great advice." You wave her off, irritated.

There's another laugh before Heejin leans her face onto the table.

"Though maybe she's onto something, now that I think of it. Who needs anyone for the New Year?" and it's almost convincing the way her mouth, lined up with the rim of the glass, smirks when she drinks. "Mm. All a matter of taste."

-

The snow is halfway up your calves when you realize you need to find a cab at 11:30 PM on New Year's Eve. (Which, categorically, is the worst time to need to find a cab on New Year’s Eve.)

Or just:

11:36 PM and the nearest bus stop is too far away.

11:41 and the temperature feels like its dropped by fifteen degrees, like you should start wondering what hypothermia symptoms look like and what signs to look out for in yourself, your future wife and your children. You try not to think about why, but you get your phone out and immediately call Hyeju, so you're not sure what you think you're denying.

"No party?" she asks. Her voice is distant and sleep-ridden, but Hyeju's quick to pick up, like always.

"It sucked, I'm trying to find a way home early. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year." There's a long pause, filled in by the squeak of snow beneath your boots. "Get a kiss?"

"Uh, not yet. In the market, I guess."

Hyeju's low hum isn't reassuring, either. "Well, you're kind of missing your window. Bad time to start looking."

"Says you, and here you are - still up for someone to spend the night with. Look at you," you respond, all this snark in your voice that she clearly hears. There's a long sigh.

"Actually," and Hyeju, much to the confusion of you and possibly the whole world, doesn't respond, and for a few seconds, the line goes completely silent, leaving you hanging.

She breathes once and comes out of her sleep with a yawn.

"I actually," she begins. There's a lot less preamble this time - this tone - and when she speaks again it comes through not nearly as sleepy, "was sorta wondering. Are you on your way home?"

"If I don't freeze to death, yeah."

"Yeah - no, yeah," and that's it. That's the sum total of what makes any difference between where you were a moment ago, and where you are right now, head spinning, fingers buzzing. Hyeju waits and there's the wind on the line, snow settling on your hat and in the corners of your face.

"I - sorry. I probably woke you up. Are you expecting someone else," you say, very small. Your foot drags behind the other. The cars whizz by you faster, passing.

"Hm. You're the only one, I guess," and after that - just static and the muffled sounds of her footsteps on creaky floorboards - or the tick of her ceiling fan? You can't make heads or tails of the rest of the background noise. All those words she said.

You bite your tongue to stop whatever curse words start pouring out from the jumble and cross streets, or the pedestrian underpass; snow gets stuck in your lashes and burns, but your chest is like a molten furnace. You consider telling her right there on the line, everything you're feeling - so hot, it feels like fire, Hyeju, I'm not used to getting heated and desperate and impatient - that even if you're not here now - just imagining your face - the sound of your breathing, it feels like I'm on the cusp.

"Yeah. Sure - good - okay, Hyeju."

"I guess, see you soon?"

"In a bit."

(It takes 33 minutes, trudging through cold and wet. It's all very dramatic, you think, and there's no one there to even watch you suffer for it, or - though you try not to think about that particular line - really, no one at all.)

-

You hear the way your key grinds in the lock - it's been like this, jammed since summer, when you pushed the front door in late at night a little too hard and something came undone and made a sound like a small stone tumbling down the world's deepest well. The hinge squeaks, and there's ice on the stoop, on the doormat, on every nook and corner you can see, all the way up your neck.

And your face, too. You shake off your hat, undo the buttons on your jacket, and pull off your boots before hanging them and all the layers to dry.

You can make out the outline of her profile at the edge of the door frame, right in the kitchen - barefoot, hip pressed against the island, pajamas - the dim lights illuminating the shadow of her head, hair over her face -

- but you don't pause. The next layer. There's nothing left to say. You're too cold for excuses, too smart to use the same ones you'd been taught, like: this is a normal, acceptable circumstance; everything, anything, will be perfectly normal if the two of us act as though that's the case; pretend we're both acting within the norms of reason, within our senses and logical thinking and I won't make myself go out in the cold a second more - won't stand for more than five minutes with your eyes looking like they're waiting.

So you move instead toward the kitchen, where the heating is better and she's already pouring coffee. There's a heat radiating out of the oven, and it smells sweet in there, like cinnamon and warm butter, and you wish you weren't still shaking, blood barely thawed, but there it is - her face, watching you - eyes gleaming as you wrap your hands around a mug, steam rising up - a shiver running up your arms; her knees skirting yours when she takes one step back and there's the cabinet door shut, then open again, and then a palm on your back.

Hyeju presses a cup of the fresh coffee, now warm enough to drink, to your chest, and says, softly. "What the fuck happened out there?"

She starts reaching out to wipe the frost and slush from your face. You let her hand hold you still, eyes wide.

"Oh you know," and her palm stays, even though it's obviously - suddenly - gotten warmer, and wetter too, and the longer she stands there and lets her fingers warm the pale bones of your cheeks, her wrist, the base of your forehead and ears, the more expectant the look on her face grows. "The usual."

Her eyes go as narrow as they ever can. For just a moment. "You're gonna die a slow, pathetic death someday, just for the record."

"Don't forget how this starts," you try, and feel your neck go warm, throat and breath tight. And not even when her shoulders shift, her mouth going smug - just looking at you.

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone you actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

When Hyeju sighs and gives a long, nonchalant hum, leaning her body closer, pressing up until her waist hits the cabinet top and you're pressed together chest-to-chest, she looks at you and her hips settle, the heel of her foot reaching around your calf.

There's that tingle. Again and again. You're not even trying to not think about what it might mean.

But then, you start, silently and unconsciously, trying to answer the question: why don't you, maybe. Why don't you, actually - Hyeju kisses you, pulls on the loop of your jeans and lets your lips brush the corners of hers and pulls away, suddenly, mumbling and head-turning. And just as abruptly, your nose buries in the space between her neck and her shoulder, where it's all warm. And when she puts her palms on your hips and squeezes and twists her knuckles into the fabric there, it seems she wants your hands up her shirt and under the small of her back.

And her hands - they're fidgety tonight, fingers curled up to keep their nails and the chill away, moving lower - one on your ass, while the other comes forward and begins rubbing circles, a handful of times - enough so you're letting a deep, low breath escape into the space just above her collar, your knee working its way between hers.

"That," Hyeju breathes, lips at your ear, hand reaching down to trace the hard curve of your cock pressing in the spot right between you, and there's that small rush again, familiar now, like you've caught a rhythm and she wants to feel it in its fullness: "is how you can make it up to me. For making me stay up. Worrying about you, god knows why. Waiting."

You're still half-frozen in a way, slowly thawing. "Hyeju, I've been trudging through the consequences of my actions this entire night. What am I about to suffer through now?"

"It's no consequence, honestly."

You squint.

"Just an idea, but," she breathes again; your bodies getting closer, and looking up at you, she grins and reaches down to touch the very root of you, her fingers drumming. You make a sound, and at that she says, her voice coming out thick, low:

"Want me to get you off?"

She squeezes again for good measure, just to be clear. Just a slight curl of fingers that's enough to send a flash of heat and the transient thought: why, why, why is she always wearing those fucking shorts, even in the winter?

Your blood thrums through the pulse at the end of your cock. You shake.

"Alright," is the response you let out.

And at that, Hyeju takes your wrist and leads you upstairs.

"There's that look. Don't worry. We'll find a way," is all she says as your feet walk forward, up step-by-step and higher and further up to her room. "After all, isn't that what we've always done?"

"It's usually whatever will make me stop talking."

Hyeju puts her chin on your shoulder. Her eyes follow the lines and shapes in the patterns of wallpaper as you turn onto her side of the apartment, and even through the wall and behind the doorway, her arm still around you, she pulls at your chin until your faces turn and you both can share each other's heat.

"Who, you and your awful habit of talking out-loud in your head while you work through equations?" and she brings her lips to yours, close and warm.

"Hey. Fuck you," and your voice breaks into an odd, low laughter when she kisses you harder.

"Yeah, I know," she whispers as her hand dives past the band of your boxers, palm sliding easily until she's gripping you fully and letting her fingers rub. She holds you there, in her room, her arm looped through yours, another arm resting at your belly.

And she stops there. She stays like that: holding your gaze.

"Look, Hyeju," you say, unable to not, though this can hardly count for anything; this, what you're about to admit, is nothing new. You swallow. "The thing is - you shouldn't."

"Don't want me to touch you?" she says, finger to your lips.

"Well, that's different. Maybe. Is there - maybe it's not the best thing to ask you right now."

Hyeju considers for a brief moment and tuts under her breath. "Can you at least do me the decency of waiting until I'm done wringing you dry before you say shit like that."

And she moves then, toward the bed.

So:

No. Yes. Maybe. Who knows, you tell yourself. Maybe, but only because you'll do anything if it makes you feel less sick, like a creature standing over its own skeleton - an abandoned shell; a relic, something to be feared and disgusted, as you let her go between your thighs, kneel beside the bed.

"I mean - since when - have you felt," is just as far as you're allowed to go before Hyeju presses her nose into you and pulls you out of the thin, cold fabric - palm, thumb, all those slender fingers swiping over your head - and now there's just the smell of her room and the shock, the buzz that runs down your spine and settles somewhere, somewhere inside the small and desperate movement of your hips and the tension building just below.

And god, fuck, Hyeju’s lips.

These soft, wet, pouty fucking things that could suck you straight off if you were feeling any less stupid or inexperienced or sentimental - if she wasn't solely intent on teasing it out of you first; a slow drag of the tongue up the underside; the tip of it poking, tracing the rim, like she's figured you out, just where to lead you. She's ready to smoke you out - always - until you're not taking in a breath every ten seconds but starting to close your eyes to the overwhelming, needling pleasure, too sharp, the way she knows you like best.

"Now you're finally - mm - starting to sound hot," and that smirk comes back to the corner of her mouth, teasing the sensitive belly of your cock and tracing her tongue everywhere. "With the voice and -"

You're losing track, her thumb and fingers circling the whole length of you - just, one after the other - mouth a hair-breadth away, her breath hovering like a promise.

"- that face."

"Don't, fucking tease me-"

The sound of your cock going in is like nothing else.

Wet and filthy in all the right ways.

Just the suction in her throat has your eyes nearly roll back into your head - Hyeju's gaze calmly watching the terrible sort of helplessness that washes over you like this: her lips wrapped around, bobbing - her hair falling into the wet mess of her mouth and sticking there. Hyeju likes being a little sloppy, likes feeling that spark run up the length of her tongue when she slides. It's the wet and the heat that gives everything away.

"I don't have much of a choice -" her jaw and chin is smudged when she pulls back off of your cock, mouth glossy and glistening, "and honestly, wouldn't it be a better use of our time, or my talents if I actually do that thing?"

“Which is?”

She looks up for a bit and sighs, the flush blooming pink to the tip of her ears and into the rounds of her cheeks and all across her neck. "Since, as far as I can see, what you really like - is, oh I'm just spit-balling here," and she stops just to bite her tongue and look into your eyes, "it's letting the girls take care of you? Isn't that right?"

You want to tell her, no, not always, that it's not as though you enjoy giving control completely - that that would be completely and unarguably, the opposite of true -

That most of the time you love it when the person you're with is a little bossy, a little crazy for you. You know some guys really get off on a strong woman and maybe, maybe if a girl's pretty and dressed up, and - sure - a little wet, but that's hardly -

“You know I’m right,” she says, a flicker of mischief skittering across her features. “These walls are paper thin.”

You want to tell her, perhaps remind her, that she likes someone in charge just as much as you do - to be taken care of, told what to do - to have a hand curled up around her throat and the other at her tits while a guy fucks her the right way and takes the reigns when she needs. So who are you, when it comes to knowing her better? And who, really, are you fooling?

But before you can get any words in: Hyeju dips, lips parting where the head of your cock throbs, and then disappears; and the hot wet warmth, enveloping all around your shaft and back; the curve of her throat contracting.

You moan - a lot, and louder this time - into the whole feeling. The way her fingers work the distance from the base, twisting and twisting and twisting into the pout of her lips; or how the sound is like nothing - a whimpering, messy sound - almost a whine and definitely not a slurp as your cock sinks further and further, until it's all one big, heavy throb.

And it's like Hyeju can read your thoughts, the visual you have of her lips screwed tight around your shaft - cum leaking from the corners, and her eyes scrunched up tight, as she looks up to watch your face unravel - this perfect image of her taking you, all of you, swallowing each drop as your hips start rutting up into her and - and - and.

Or else she gets impatient, because then Hyeju gives one long pull off the tip of your cock - saliva mixed in the precum there, and that shiny string of fluid hanging, caught in the middle between your bodies - a disgusting and irresistible sight. Her jaw slack, lips swollen and full, and her mouth gone wide open, wanting.

"Fuck - that's good. Don't stop," you start to whimper, desperate, at the sight, the smell. Her hot breath coming quick over the red wanting wetness left behind - then touched by the cold air - fuck -

She slaps your cock to the corner of her lips as she speaks.

"Can you believe what's going on down here?"

"God, can you -"

"And to think most guys wanna jump straight in. That or fuck a load out between my tits."

"Hyeju, shit, come on -"

She kisses the soft tip, right where it’s most sensitive, rolls it along her lip. Then, back down the length of your shaft where she's generous with her mouth inch after inch - lapping, licking, laving - and Hyeju begins working her way down and downward, nestling in at the edge of the bed and between your thighs.

Your eyes blow up the first time she dips low enough to put your balls in her mouth. 

“Mmhm,” she hums.

It’s killing you and she knows it; it’s killing you and she can feel the pre-cum leaking from your slit - the thumb she has moored there, keeping everything right where she wants it, running circles up the length with such little intention - she could bring you to the end just like this. 

"Am I supposed to believe it?” she asks out from beneath the shadow of your cock, looking up at you with her eyes all wide and brilliant - pupils dark as sin. “That not a single one of those girls ever did you proper?"

You curse under your breath. Hyeju seems amused, at least, like she can't help but love doing that to you, which is almost worse and honestly the sexiest thing a girl can be. You groan - wanton, raw and desperate and feeling exactly what she wants you to feel when her nails drag along the dip of your hip bones.

"Did they not leave you fucked-up the right way?"

Her wrist flicks out these twists and turns, making your spine bend to her control. Like even when you're sure to be bundling her hair in your fingers and fucking the whole length of your cock down her throat, all of this is the worst kind of power-trip for her - not the other way around.

Her tongue runs through the tangle of your balls, slowly, lasciviously, as though the plan is to memorize and map every detail. 

And the worst part is, how much it's making you desperate for the warmth of her mouth - where she'll run her tongue up and down and over and around and inside - before sucking you off nice and slow.

"Or maybe," she laughs; another flick to the top and then suddenly her hand goes faster and the fist pumping the rest of you tightens. "They left you so needy you're resorting to having the bestie suck you off so that you won't be desperate the next time you date. Oh my god-" 

Hyeju breaks into this fit of laughter, and you're nearly cross-eyed at the feeling of your entire existence - not just your cock - so wholly held within her mercy, and her pity, and you're breathing so shallow now you'd think this is the real reason people have died and will die - this exact moment where you're choking and stuttering at the edges, so very close to cumming and going absolutely bonkers with how good Hyeju is with her hands, her tongue, her mouth - everything - how much she's wrecking you, and your jaw drops, wide open, her name dripping like molasses off your lower lip.

"Are you going to cum?" she asks, curiously. All as if she can't see you nodding, collapsing under pressure, and then and there: "should we make it official?"

Her nose tickles the seam of your balls. And your toes begin to curl and uncurl - all this anticipatory, coiling pleasure burning from her throat, shooting from the pit of your stomach; the tightening spiral, twinging and stretching every nerve - as her lips enclose around the end of your cock, softly.

And oh, just excruciatingly slowly.

You watch the irresistible shape of her mouth travel down until her throat feels so incredibly, beautifully, and unbelievably tight, and then, just like that - Hyeju starts fucking herself onto you; pushing forward and down the full, rigid length of you, hard and fast - each time hitting deeper inside her - all that sticky, messy, wet squelching.

"Unh-unh, yeah. Unh. Mm-!" you say, or moan, or some animal version of that, maybe, it’s incoherent.

But regardless:

It's messy and your hands scramble for purchase in the sheets of her bed when you feel that snap, the tightening of a trigger; when your balls roll up and it builds, and builds, and it comes faster - harder and -

"Hyeju," you pant, and it sounds so, so filthy. "I'm gonna cum, if you - gonna cum-"

Hyeju pulls you free from her lips, quite possibly at the most final of final moments, to rub the base up and down, just right, between her fingers. Your cock is resting right on her cheek when it all happens. When she squeezes her fingers around your balls just enough to hear you wheeze and make a sound no sane man should have the right to. And fuck, you're cumming all over her face - or just one side of it - which is already just -

Okay, fuck.

She makes a startled sound and her fist closes tightly around your shaft when you pump another fresh load of white up onto her eyebrow.

"I'm, ah-shit," your mouth moves faster than the blood in your veins - and now the shame - oh god, the humiliation, it's pulsing right behind you. "Hyeju," you apologize.

Only, Hyeju has no interest in any of it. She doesn't seem offended or disappointed in proportion to how you're ruining her pretty face: "no, just do it, cum wherever you fucking like."

Which isn't what you're expecting at all, because Hyeju makes no effort to close her lips, let alone avoid any of it; nor is she making a fuss about the sticky mess in her hair, her mouth, nor as another stream of cum throbs from your cock, all tangled up in the long dark eyelashes that sweep down across her cheek.

It’s fucking filthy: you're cumming all over her and she's just kneeling there, telling you, "good boy."

See, she pushes through it, languidly - all those filthy sounds, and those watery little tears gathering at the edge of her eye and all of that, mixing up together until you're rolling your head back with your orgasm, shuddering, feeling weak - drained dry -

Except,

Hyeju's pushing a finger to your chest, kneeling up tall from the side of the bed. She turns her body toward the center of the bed and wipes a bit of the cum on her knuckles into the sheets. Here you feel like you've done something terrible or at least regrettable, like that last round at the bar when you have a test the next morning; a dick move, all of the sort that requires apology.

"You gotta give me a minute, if you're thinking about hopping on."

"Hmm. Sounds like a lot to ask."

"Wait," you grab her arm. Hyeju grins and there's nothing stopping the shake of your knees now, that weakness between your thighs: "let me get you a drink."

"Or."

"Or?"

Her tongue peeks out, running along her upper lip. Her eyes drop again, hands dipping below, beneath the hem of her shorts and oh. She slips a hand past her bra. The whole outline of it. And you -

"Mm, I could show you what that actually means." She lowers her chest, her breasts, and a lot of skin to the mattress while keeping your cock firmly in her hands. "That look tells me you wanna stick around a bit. Stay up past New Year’s, you know?"

You're almost unable to parse her words, there is so much to look at: the jutting curve of her chest, cleavage pressing into the mattress as her body settles between your knees. A soft chuckle; a sigh: "you are seriously the best lay, no-one else can get hard the minute after they just fucking exploded all over me-"

"Fuck, watch it," you hiss, because there's oversensitivity - and then there's Hyeju's mouth on the line of your cock, polishing you clean.

And it’s not that she isn’t trying to prove a point. Or that she's not trying to tease - that's an inherent quality of her character: a naturally dominant position with a high appetite for your lust. That much, Hyeju gets from you, whether you've got your head down between her thighs or the other way, too, so that her neck is arched around and her ass pushed up high in the air, legs open, and if she had any idea you would spend the next twenty minutes or more just going down on her, licking into her creaming cunt while two fingers work over her aching clit, then really, Hyeju would only encourage it - maybe get on top, force you to gag - and so you don't know where it comes from - how and why you want nothing more than to drive your fingers inside her and work her until she's a wet, squelching mess, not when this was always Hyeju's role of being the aggressor; and yes, sure, even the aggressed.

Surely not because you came so hard, still somewhat shivering with the remnants of a rather abrupt, painful, sudden and all-consuming orgasm.

"We're not doing anything else," she says, lips pulled up into a smirk right at the crown of your cockhead. But before you can respond she pushes a hot open kiss, and goes lower. She presses the flat of her tongue to the seam, just below the head. Licks a line right up to the tip and finishes with a tender flick that sends you fisting the bedspread in your fingers and leaning back as your mind begins to disintegrate -

"I'm not going to ride you yet, or going to get my hips in your hands so you can fuck my pussy real hard until I cry and pass out. Nothing of that sort is gonna happen." She licks one long drag of her tongue. Then, the other way. "I want to make this very clear: this isn't some huge favor - and if you want it - want it so bad, you can stay there and I'm going to do everything for you. We will get there - together," and with her voice shaking as she brings the wet, glistening skin of your cock just inside her mouth, she looks up. "We'll get each other off, just like this," and it's the deep, dark, throated moan that makes your thighs and all the nerves in between stiffen and buck when she swallows you again.

Hyeju's hands tug, pull her whole body closer still as it slowly bends, curves - her ass raised, her stomach lying on the bed. Her mouth takes you another few inches, until the tip of her nose is barely visible, but when she pauses to lick the cum still left over - the cum that's starting to leak out again - to breathe through it, then squeeze her palm and bob her mouth down, take another inch, until the sides are stuffed and emptying out again, that's when she finally has something to say: "got anything left? I'm a little starved."

"I. Christ, yes-" you whine, which doesn't help your case at all: the image, the image of you lying flat - back with Hyeju's head tucked between your knees, her hand pulling out your cock.

Sloppy, slimy-wet.

She presses an innocent, not-at-all-innocent kiss right to your tip, puckering - 

"You know what I did learn in that genetics class?" she muses, tongue flicking over her lips. Hyeju's about ready for a second helping - you're losing it. "When I first saw that DNA diagram - the double helix and all those little base pairs, and everything - it made me think of your cock. Your cock and me. Specifically our DNA. Did you know-"

She presses her palm over the head and rolls it - teases and strokes her palm - her knuckles - her fist - the whole nine. "When I hold your big fucking cock, mm, and just get it right - up in here, rubbing all along my walls - so deep, it gets me in my fucking ribs, makes me choke like I never been choked before, ah-mm," and it's this thought sliding toward the front of your mind, this perfect picture: Hyeju, getting fucked hard and open and stuffed full and stuffed good and stupid; you’ve got more than a few inches on her, can make her feel small and delicate; you know how to do her right.

But here you have Hyeju stroking the shaft - holding her hand tightly up near the head, rolling and twisting and sliding down and pushing her whole body right into the side of your legs: the soft, solid length, warm flesh and curves everywhere pressing into you.

You sit back, and just watch Hyeju with her eyes cool and composed, like half of her fucking face isn't streaked with your cum, mouth wrapped and looking fucking satisfied to be a total, gorgeous mess. She makes a dramatic display of kissing the tip again, just before telling you words you probably dreamt up at some point - either sleep deprived, or, during three AM jackoff, fantasizing. "Sometimes, just from riding your cock, I can't sit up straight."

"Fuck," and you feel your whole body run rigid, because apparently that's something you’ve been aching to hear.

You're covering her mouth again. White streaking onto her lips - where she's catching it in the well beneath her tongue and letting it spill out of the corner of her mouth. Into the crook of your thumb, which catches a drip here and there and rubs it down the length - down the curve - and pushes it back between Hyeju's pert little pout.

"Doesn't count, mister, just more pre-cum," she says, all with the audacity of a wink and smile; her words are a little garbled around the head of your cock between her teeth. And when you nod and realize just how painfully your jaw hurts, your throat becomes tight and raw, a knot pulling the underside from the center. Hyeju slides her lips lower, lower down, to the hilt and stays there, just like that - one hand holding down the flat of your belly to keep your hips still, her chin hanging - bobbing-as she feels every pulse, every twitching shift. You curl one hand around the side of her face, over the sharp edge of her jaw; rub a thumb into the delicate skin of her throat.

She shifts. You start to tell her what you like: how hot the rush comes when a girl puts her tongue against the slit at the very tip, and licks at the precum in nice, quick circles, soft and fluttering. And how her fingers shouldn't hesitate either, Hyeju's not even struggling to give it to you - god - just giving and -

She jerks her head up, swallowing down her next breath like it's one of her last. "I'm serious, if you're going to fuck a hole, start with my mouth - we can move onto everything else after."

"You're ridiculous -"

She meets her lips to your head, kissing once. Again. Kissing every inch, letting her mouth wrap around and then just - staying, just - staying like that and humming, with you, enjoying the fullness, the smell of you, the taste, the shape, just the weight and size and you.

There is spit fucking everywhere.

And if it's not clear what you're supposed to be doing - her fingers weave through yours, squeezing hard at the wrist and you can imagine: pulling her forward by her hair and holding her down while she chokes on your cock. "Fuck, Hyeju," you say, and your voice comes out way shakier than you'd like, "when, how did it get like this, huh? You always - always did, shit, always want your mouth filled."

"Never figured you to be someone who'd get turned on watching their friend sucking their cock like this."

"Doesn't everybody love the sight of their cock in a pretty girl's mouth?

"You were really convinced they weren't lining up behind you? Or anyone in the queue who can't keep their eyes off of this thing. Tell me, and try not to lie, try not to bullshit this one out: how many girls have you come home and fucked and creamed their brains out - then asked for the sloppiest, most -"

"Honestly."

"- Filthiest, nasty, ball-busting, gut-wrenching blowjob ever to make them think - to make them really start wondering what the hell it was you did - like it's gotta be something that leaves them so ruined, they can't ever not compare - can't ever not compare this moment, right here. Ever. When you give them the hardest fucking of their life, compared to any other guy - can't not, because no-one, literally no-one's cock can fuck like you do-"

"Fuck-"

"Any harder. Come on, seriously, tell me it isn't true. Come on."

Her voice - her fucking words, the tone she uses and how her words roll: honey-warm and soaking with sweet, thick degradation - she talks like sex, and that's exactly what gets you harder, like it’s something else; like it’s nothing, like it’s less, so much worse - you feel this guilty-dirty heat pool at your tailbone and push down the hard press of you throbbing all the way to her nose. And Hyeju smiles as much as she's capable around the fat, round stretch, humming around the warm taste of you, before opening wide and sinking her throat on it.

There's nothing like it.

You've got two fists in her hair; she's so tight and wet around every god-damn inch. Her cheeks flush - hot to the touch; her tongue laving in slow, long drags, slicking your shaft nice and warm until you're balls-deep and pushing her further: a small shift to the hips, a push here, a harder, faster pull, and Hyeju's feet behind her go curling like an angry cat, wanting the tug.

A long, satisfied breath slips from the hollows of her throat.

There are tears threatening, thickening her lashes, and though she doesn't choke - you're just afraid. Every sound that she pulls out, her eyes blinking up to you as if it's only natural to love getting used by her friend's cock, like the very premise of it - swallowing down the very shape of you, dragged over her tongue and brushing cum into the back of her throat - is something she can’t go without.

But this is nothing compared to the noises from where her lips are pressed tight around you, where you're hearing and even feeling:

That gluck, gluck - where her chest spasms just the slightest when her nose gets nuzzled right into your belly and you remember how much she likes to hear you talk dirty, how fucking wet it gets her. The heavy, deep breaths, gasps; the strangled moans when your hips just buck - the heat and the thrill, and this is better than every other time because there's just something in this moment -

"I'm not gonna come again, not like this. Not in your mouth. You can’t-"

But Hyeju refuses to hear a word; just pumps your shaft faster, feeling it's familiar hardness grow and throb and ache and retch, all her effort paying off: you're slick with precum and spit, hard and straining, the whole shaft begging for release - all because of her. And Hyeju won't stop, she pushes her cheek onto your thigh and then taps a hand there to pull your hips. The motion drives your cock further still inside her. Until it’s bathed in her spit, your cum, all this mess.

Until it's reaching, choking her, and the muffled sounds she's making are filthy and wet and so incredulously hot.

But god. Hyeju has something of a temper and a habit, too: with those big beautiful eyes and the perfect plump of her pouting lips, her tits swelling up around, when your grip slips on her shoulder, and her mouth goes tighter - how the pleasure begins to make you unbearably cruel and you push her away from you, only for a second -

She doesn't wait or seem to care; Hyeju follows the cock with her whole head and whimpers so hotly in her throat when it plops right back on her tongue. "That's more - more like - fuck, oh, there we go," her nose and fingers prodding.

You groan through a high, strangled whimper, a helpless shiver that turns into an uncontrollable roll of the hips - you can't believe it: she's already so thoroughly debauched and defaced; just fucking painted with it. Your cum dripping off her chin and rolling down her neck.

"Fuck - gonna make me - ah, Jesus -"

When Hyeju seems to have reached her fill, the feeling, you're cumming - pumping the length of your shaft. And the moment she feels you twitch and throb and that first hot spill lands in the bend of her mouth, it's as if she understands and holds herself tight - her legs going stock-still while your eyes blow up behind her, your cock spewing another and then another thick, milky load into her mouth, over her tongue: all along the topography of her throat - sticky cum landing in every ridge and valley -

Hyeju catches as much as she can. What little she can. You cum and pump and gush so much that when you're finally finished - done - every last drop spent and given - your cock throbs soft between her fingers; her chin is a complete and utter mess and her chest heaves with the sound of her catching her own breath. Hyeju groans softly and just swishes the load around in her mouth for a bit as if wanting to remember its feel and weight before lifting her eyes to look into yours. You can just barely see the color.

"Jesus, Hyeju-"

The entire bit of it, slick and shining-wet. With a small moan, a sound from the back of her throat: one swallow and the cum is gone, disappeared, vanished. She smiles like she didn't just ruin your entire goddamn life and, with her body limp and exhausted beside you - her gentle hand rubbing a flat stroke over your thigh before yours slips up to meet her chin.

"You," you curse and roll your eyes, catching the mess at the edge of her jaw, the very little left in the corners of her lips. You feed the cum over her bottom lip - her chin, her throat - watching your friend: Hyeju's throat, bobbing. "Really didn't have to," you start, but you realize just how useless a point it is to make.

She's smiling and biting and showing you what's left between the tips of her canines. "Do you always do this to the people who suck you off?"

"That's an awful habit. A pretty girl's lips aren't meant to get that messy," you reply.

"Oh." She frowns. "Well, I do a lot of things I shouldn't."

"God, seriously," and you think there's no greater hell, no sweeter pain than whatever's lingering in these little aftershocks - this fizzling and dying sort of pain, where the body is buzzed with all you're aching for. It's impossible to stop this train of thoughts, is the fucking feeling of her-

But just then, Hyeju rises to her knees, a new spark in her eyes, as she grabs ahold of your wrist and tugs you off the sheets, a few inches closer.

"And you," she purrs as she drags the palm of your hand across her neck and collarbone, collecting what remains and making the perfect image, "well - you are going to help clean me up, like you said before." She sits tall; the arch of her spine is pronounced - her back, so, very, slightly tapering, to where your hand slips right off the last of it: the wide flare of her hips. "Now isn't that the gentleman's thing to do?" she asks.

"Of course." You sigh, resigned and in desperate need of water. "Of course," you add and smirk a little and slip your hand lower, toward where her skin is getting hot, and her body, "let's get you clean."

"Mm." She's already grinning. "You know what wasn't in those textbooks?"

"Oh, I can only guess." You bite your cheek and start to lower yourself back. "Give it a try."

Hyeju drags you by the wrist toward the hall, the bathroom, ostensibly the shower -

"There's no way in hell you don't want to put a baby in me, like, right fucking now."

"Is that what we're doing?"

Hyeju makes a face like you're stupid - she might've grabbed a towel on the way out. She wipes her chin a little while walking - the corner of her mouth where, well - where it looks like a little dribble has somehow remained. "No. But you’re going to fuck me like it is."

-

(There's got so much on her mind. 

The door of the shower rattling in its frame as she struggles standing up against it. Getting fucked so fast and full, the feeling of both your hands cupped beneath the weight of her breasts. It's not the fact of where you are and your situation, per say - more about the immediate, the imperative nature. About fucking you. She was already feeling herself like, leaking the moment the door shut, so all that waiting, all that patience, really - and it's what drove her insane when you were, well: like that, after she put her mouth around your cock, made a right and proper mess of herself, and sucked you off.

Though there's less on her mind, clearly, when she cums all over your cock.

She's crying with her tits up onto the glass, your palm holding her ribs. Your cum-slick cock working itself hard again as it slips, back and forth, as you're fucking her open, spread apart. It's your finger in her asshole. That's what's on her mind then. How the press of your knuckle lights her entire fucking spine on fire - how the other hand finds her clit in all this, too, when you're no longer supporting the both of you but rather Hyeju is folding on her bent knee and trusting, on shaking and shivering, raw nerves, that you're not going to collapse.

"Fucking. God, please-"

There's the harsh slap of flesh - skin on wet skin, your palms against the sides of her ass and the curve of the breast. But otherwise - it's you, sighing - soft and gentle, like you can't get over the feel of her. "Hyeju, oh-fucking, god, fucking," is what you're saying, and it doesn't end up really mattering which one of you came last because she can feel you twitching, squelching in and out with how badly you're wanting to explode inside, but also you can feel her cunt absolutely begging, this fucking fluttering and clamping down on every thrust and the moment you manage to grind this angle she loses her ability to speak properly because you're not just, like - fucking her-

Just, absolutely, completely pounding her pussy, stretching her insides, dragging and sliding along the walls; each rough rub and thrust makes her knees quiver until her body is trembling and falling. But mostly her voice, the sharp gasp that shakes into her, how her nails are scraping the walls of the shower stall and she's saying - telling, crying and asking and wondering and pleading - just utterly astounded:

"Amazing," she huffs, breathes coming out cloudy and true onto the pane of glass, "you - it’s, fucking amazing.")

-

“And I am… Ironman.”

Your eyes flicker awake, hazy, as Tony Stark snaps his fingers, killing himself alongside Thanos’ army in the process.

The TV's long been running on background noise, though not as ambient. Its characters now bickering between the rubble and ruins and being picked up for the end credits. In the dark of the screen, you see Hyeju had nodded off and slumped over the side of your body. A new year means new beginning means resolutions and diets and gym routines -

Maybe no sooner than the sun can come up, apparently.

You lean over to grab your phone from the table: 4:14 A.M.

There's a lot of things you want to say, even more you want to hear, but your mind has begun to settle a bit - a lazy and dreamy thing that fills you with this sort of, tired kind of - not sad, or empty - no, of course not. That's hardly fitting; not after tonight. You want to wrap this in an idealistic sort of sentiment - maybe hold Hyeju close and let the hour carry you and the comfort be enough to forgive whatever there is to miss: like the fact, it's still really dark, so dark even outside. The moon reflecting off the sheet of snow on the street. And not even a distant dog barking, or car driving by or someone playing loud music in the early hours of the new year.

As the film drifts off into another set of commercials, you slip into an easy sleep that feels effortless. Your head drops, landing on the cushion by the arm of the couch, where Hyeju's hand begins to slip mindlessly across your belly, tickling your waist and causing you to slightly squirm - things are cooling down, but still a little agitated.

"Don't tell me you're waking me up, cause I just -"

She kisses the pulse at your throat and answers, mumbling half-words into the spot below your ear. "A kiss for a new year."

And maybe the world doesn't owe you anything at all.

Maybe it just gave you more than enough.

[mockerycrow]

could we get “here, you can sleep in my shirt” with neighbor!ghost after the reader gets locked out of her apartment in a thunderstorm maybe? i’m horrible w coming up w ideas but have been EATING UP your works lately!

Downpour (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist - crow’s mega masterlist

“Here, you can sleep in my shirt.”

A/N: LOOOOKKKKKK i usually keep prompts for events and this one got sent in after i ended the celebration, but i had to do it!!! i also apologize this took so long. i also made this gn, i know you used she/her pronouns but i finished this when i realized 🫠 i’m sorry!

[WARNINGS: none, tension perhaps!]

THE ENTIRE DAY, it had been raining nonstop. The humidity was raising by the hour, making everything sticky and somehow even more wet than it was before. You’d try to wipe your hands dry from the rain, but it’s like you were just spreading the water droplets around, the air so humid as it never gave the water a chance to dry up on its own. It didn’t help that your entire day went to shit, too. Your car ended up breaking down and you missed the bus by just a few minutes, making you late for work. You ended up missing the bud on the way back as well, forcing you to walk to work in the rain, and walk back home in the rain.

Lucky you, your boss wasn’t as mad as you expected them to be.

You shudder as your soaking wet clothes stick to your skin, making your way up a few flights of stairs to your apartment floor. You had goosebumps lining your arms under your soaked shirt, your shoulders uncontrollably shaking as you walked down the hall, tracking wet droplets onto the carpet that probably hasn’t been cleaned in a few years, but has one of those designs that hide the dirt and grime. You hiss quietly in an attempt to distract yourself, your hands patting your pockets for your keys. You grab them and pull them out and you insert the key into the key hole and you turn—but the damn metal breaks, your key successfully snapping in half. Your jaw genuinely drops as you stand there for a moment, a tense, “Are you fucking kidding me?” spilling from your lips.

It’s too late to call the building manager to come along and help you, and it’s definitely too late to call a locksmith of some sort. You know none of your friends or family are awake by this point, either. You curse quietly as you bend at your knees and pitifully attempt to wiggle the broken part of the key out of the deadbolt, you even try to turn the key by lining up the base of the key to the shaft—but of course, it doesn’t work. You’re so focused on your door that you don’t notice your neighbor across the hall has opened his door, watching you in silence for a moment. “Today of all days.” You angrily mutter, pathetically kicking the bottom of your apartment door, as if it’ll magically swing open for your convenience. You hear someone clear their throat and you jolt because it’s late, and you didn’t expect anyone to be around.

You turn around and blink when you meet eyes with your neighbor—Simon. He’s standing in the doorway, one hand grasping his door, the other leaning on the doorframe on the side. He’s a big man—tall and muscular, shoulders broad and wide, torso following and tapering off near his waist. His arms were big too, and no doubt his legs are the same. He has a strong jaw with little stubble, his hair a shabby blonde, paired with some dark brown eyes that certainly tell a story. He had a bunch of noticeable scars, but you weren’t one to ask about that sort of thing. You know he has a tattoo sleeve, but you’ve never been close enough to know the details of said tattoo sleeve. The thing that surprised you the most, though, is that he’s home in the first place. You knew that he worked in the military, although he was pretty private about everything concerning himself so you didn’t know details. During your small interactions, you’ve managed to become friends.

“Hi.” You say sheepishly, coddling your keys in your hand. Simon’s eyes roam your body from head to toe before his lips curl into the most subtle smile. “Got caught in the rain, hm?” He rasps out, tilting his head ever so slightly to the right. You nod and almost with comedic timing, you begin to shiver again. “Seems you’ve broken your key, too.” Simon adds unhelpfully, moving his hand from the doorframe. You huff and rub your upper arms in an attempt to somehow keep warm whilst dripping water all over the hallway carpet. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.” You reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm. Simon huffs, the sound nearing a chuckle as he speaks up. “It’s lieutenant, actually.”

Your eyebrows raise for a moment because Simon actually shared something slightly personal with you—his rank in whatever branch of the military he’s in. “Well.. Lieutenant Obvious,” You begin, your voice coming out as a gentle tremble as the cold hallway isn’t doing you any favors. “It’s nice to see you home safe.” Simon clicks his tongue against the inner of his cheek, his eyes boring into your figure without responding. He seems hesitant, his posture stiff as he scans your face and your body language. Simon makes eye contact with you once again, the air thick with tension until he makes his decision; he slowly opens the door wider and steps out of the way, wordlessly gesturing you to come inside.

You try to hide your total and utter surprise, but it doesn’t last long as you quickly tread into his apartment, seeking warmth. You couldn’t say that you didn’t try to imagine what the inside of his apartment looked like—he always came over to yours. His apartment is fairly blank, but in its own way; it’s homey. Comfortable. It’s one hundred percent Simon. There isn’t really any photos of himself nor his family. There’s a couple of paintings that he’s bought over the years, definitely symbolizing different things you don’t know about him. There’s a couple pairs of shoes on a rack near the front door—some running shoes, a pair of working boots, and a pair of shoes that obviously haven’t been worn in years, judging by the layer of dust covering the toes of the shoes. Otherwise, from what you can judge from standing near his living room, you can tell he keeps everything neat and clean.

You hear the front door shut and lock behind you, and you hear his heavy footsteps begin to approach. “You should get warm. I’ll grab ya a towel. Take a shower, yeah?” His voice is low and nearly rumbling in your own chest as Simon approaches you, and you turn to look at him. He presses his lips into a thin line as he makes eye contact with you again, his eyelids naturally lidded. “I’ll throw your wet clothes in the wash for you in the mornin’.”

You nod and don’t bother to question anything at that time, your skin covered in harsh goosebumps, your clothes no where near the point of drying. “Where’s your bathroom?” Your voice is a bit meek as you speak, the coldness of the water is beginning to get to you. Simon walks over to a clothes basket near the couch, speaking as he does so. “Down the hall, middle door on the left. Door should be open.” You don’t waste any time and you quickly get yourself to his bathroom. You close the door behind you and your hand finds the light switch, flipping it on. His bathroom is a decent size—which is surprising for the size of the apartment. You don’t feel incredibly cramped, which makes sense for Simon.

You peel the soaked clothing off of you and they land on the floor with a gross slopping sound, causing you to wince. You decide to wring the remaining water out of your clothes into the bathtub before putting them in a pile on the bathroom floor, as Simon doesn’t have a clothes hamper in there. You put your phone on the sink counter, and luckily you managed to keep it dry. Being stripped from your sopping clothes, your skin is cold to the touch, but you begin to feel yourself naturally warm up. You draw back his shower curtains and manage to figure out how to operate his shower—you always found other peoples bathtubs and showers to be puzzles to use. You turn the knob a couple of times and feel the water that’s splattering down from the shower head into the tub, and you step into the tub after you deem the temperature the right one.

You close the shower curtain and you huddle yourself under the water that’s beating down onto you—it nearly burns as it’s running against your cold skin, but you grind your teeth and bare it because in reality, it isn’t that hot. You’re just incredibly chilly. You make sure to put your head under the stream of water too, and you’re enjoying the warmth so much you jolt when you hear Simon’s knocking at the bathroom door. Before you can answer, you hear the door open—but just a smidge. “I ‘ave a towel for you here,” Simon announces, raising his volume a bit so you can hear him over the water. “I’ll hang it on the towel rack.”

You shout a quick thank you over the water, hear him shuffle for a moment and then the bathroom door closing with a swift click. You appreciate his offer of comfort, while also respecting your privacy in such a vulnerable space. You make sure to take your time in the shower; allowing yourself to bask in the warmth coming from his pipes, the water running over your shoulders and down your torso, replacing any sense of coldness you’d earned by getting stuck in that rain. Eventually though, you decide it’s time to get out. You sigh and turn off the water, and you open the shower curtain and lean over to grab the towel. You shake the water off of your feet before stepping onto the bath mat in front of the tub and you get to work drying yourself.

Simon eventually knocks on the door again and opens it, but just enough for him to shove his hand through the crevice. In his grip is a shirt and some sweatpants with drawstrings. “Here you can sleep in my shirt. Your stuff is in the dryer.” His voice is low and muffled, and you smile a bit to yourself as you quickly snatch up the clothes. “Thank you, Simon.” You say with a soft tone, examining the clothes in curiosity. “Of’course,” Simon begins. “I got you set up on the couch, too. You’re welcome to my refrigerator as well.” Your eyebrows raise in surprise because this is such a drastic difference than a few months ago—probably a year ago by now. “Thank you..” You can’t help but repeat yourself, gratitude lacing your voice. He responds with a simple grunt before closing the bathroom door again.

You dry yourself off completely and you slip the shirt on, as well as the sweatpants. You tighten and tie the drawstrings if you need to, and despite these clothes being clean, they smell like Simon one hundred percent. You don’t complain, though; he smells kind of like freshly raked soil mixed with bourbon, as well as something you don’t quite recognize, but you guess is gunpowder. It’s comforting. It’s a main reason why you know Simon is home half the time; if the hallway smells like him, just a bit.

You find your heart skipping a beat and you can’t get the dopey smile off of your face as you hang the damp towel up on the towel rack, unable to stop thinking about Simon’s sudden kindness. You feel kind of special, from him letting you into his apartment all of a sudden. You take a deep breath in the bathroom mirror before opening the bathroom door, preparing yourself mentally on your neighbors couch; the neighbor you admittedly don’t know too well and probably shouldn’t trust so easily, but you do anyway. And it seems like he’s beginning to trust you, too.

[suguru-getos]

Fluffcember with Satoru Gojo

Prompt: Reassurances

Summary: You are in the early phases of your relationship with Satoru where you haven't even kissed each other yet. Taking things comfortingly and achingly slow. Unfortunately for you, you’re reminded of his ‘Uncommitted Fuckboy’ & he reassures you through it. Warnings: None really, just extreme fluff and comfort and Satoru being a care-giver and a Daddy pro max!

Your brother came back from a gathering of sorts, it was all related to Jujutsu High and being a third-year there, he was privy to a lot of information you weren’t. Though now that you’re dating his Sensei without actually telling him, your questions & curiosities have increased a tenfold. “So, how was your day?”

Your brother came in, opened the fridge like a racoon in a dumpster & took out a Coke zero, clearly tired & a tad annoyed. “S’ good.” He chuckles, rolling his eyes. “Something very funny happened today.”

You irked a brow, mostly all the funny things are related to your now boyfriend. "What happened?" You asked, curiosity bubbling behind your eyes.

"There's this sorcerer- her name's Mei Mei, she flirts with Sensei so hard it's hilarious!" He cackled, manspreading on the dining table seat after microwaving the sandwich and sighed. "She was all like- 'of course Satoru kun, you can help me can't you?' because she was assigned a mission which was seemingly hard." You felt a pang of anxiety touch your chest at that, nodding with a faked smile. Can't show your brother you're affected by this after all.

"H-heh, funny… what did he say?" You inquired, and your brother shrugged. "Said he would help." You bite your lip, of course- Satoru is not someone to refuse his aid to anyone. Even you knew that about him… but clearly, did he not pick up the signals? "Shyeah- of course." You waved your hand dismissively. "I think they have done it definitely." Your brother snickers. "I mean- Sensei is so popular I'm sure all the female sorcerers would've wanted a piece of him." He groans, "So annoying to me though."

You smiled, not able to maintain this conversation without it affecting your core. Satoru was gorgeous, he could pick a finger at anything and would get that for himself. There was absolutely no doubt about it. Which is why… it's concerning as to why he is dating someone like you. Someone so normal, someone miles away from the Jujutsu world. Someone who had no place in his world. He was utterly sweet to you as well. So far you haven't had any arguments with him either. A defeated sigh escaped your parted lips as the thoughts multiplied and cluttered your mind. You went to your room to sulk. As if being a Corporate baddie wasn't enough. Now you also need to take account of what's happening in Jujutsu world with your boyfriend. Sickening…

As if to balm your insecurity with reassurance, Satoru's name flashed on your phone screen in a phone call. "Hello.." You answered the phone hesitantly.

"Oh hello Little One! How are ya? Just checkin' up on you. Hope you don't mind that mm?" "No, not at all, I've just come home from work. How are you?" You tried to sound as normal as you can, the lower octave of your voice not gone unnoticed despite you stiffening yourself up to sound as normal as you can. "Something the matter Princess?" The nickname slipped out of his lips so easily, right now you wonder if it's so easy because its meaningless. "Nah, nothing's the matter. My brother just came home you know? So I was just talking to him about er- school and stuff." You answered half-truth. Satoru's head tilted to the side, tongue clicking. "Something that pissed you off?" He asked softly, and you nodded your head yes, but your voice lied. "Nah, s' al good. Don't worry. Maybe I'm just really tired you know?" "Mhm, gotcha~ maybe, you are tired… you know what can help? A sugar rush." Satoru snickered over the phone and you sighed. There is no way you can escape this man's gaze if you were to meet him right now. "Nah, really tired. Headachey too…" You excuse yourself, biting your lip and squeezing your eyes shut at the silence on the other side. "Alright, take rest." Satoru sounded genial and soft, and with that you heard the beep of the call disconnecting.

You were starting to get angry at yourself, why does it even matter. You two haven't even been together for a month yet. This is truly pathetic…

You shoved all the thoughts off your head, journalling them off. Whatever… who cares. Yeah, whatever…

The next few days you tried your best to ignore Satoru, picking up his calls and answering in one-word sentences, declining his proposal to meet for dates or to just catch-up. Until you finally saw him one day at your home. You gasped, blinking when you opened the door and found him manspreading on the couch as if he owned the place.

"Sah- Satoru what`" "He's just here to be a nuisance." Your brother's voice chimed in from his room. "He needs something from me." You glanced at Satoru, who quickly removed his blindfold and made sure his eyes stared right into you. "Well, not my fault you can't search for the scroll I handed to you brats." He shrugged, of course an excuse… he wanted to come and see you. "Hello, Y/N san!" He chirped excitedly, and you waved him a Hello right back; gulping. "How have you been?" Satoru asked again, you nodded with a half-smile. "I'm good, Gojo San, are you good, too?" "No, I'm not… and you know why." His tone was soft, tender, as if he didn't want the pressure of his words to get to you.

"I- I see…" You looked down at your feet, looking back up at him. "You said you'll work late today." He almost whispered, shit- you completely forgot about that excuse you made for him,

"Oh yeah- ahem, well yeah… I will freshen up and login again." You grinned, trying to save your sorry ass.

"No" Satoru simply denied your statement.

"You are going to freshen up, and then utter why you're behaving this way." He didn't sound easy this time, you were hearing him speak to you sternly and seriously for the first time ever. You can't blame him though, he's worried… and it only warms your heart more that he is worried.

Before you could open your mouth, your brother came back to the drawing room. Stomping and giving him the damned scroll. Ugh- timing!

"Jaa- see you two!" He grinned, head-patting your brother and looking into your eyes.

Before you could say anything further, you found yourself back in your room. Answering his call…

"Are you getting out of the house or should I carry you out myself in front of your brother?" Satoru almost sung, and you knew there was a tad bit of a truth laced to that threat.

"I'm getting out." You rolled your eyes.

"Aw, that's a good girl."

The moment you were outside, Satoru teleported beside you, hand intertwining with yours and helping you walk in fucking air. You blinked, not registering how this is happening. It was like invisible stairs that take you to the breath-taking sky. Stars have just started to pop up as the night blanket wraps the city of Tokyo.

"What's bothering my baddie?" Satoru hums, and before you could answer, he interrupted again. "Don't say nothing else I'll start being really paranoid and restless, that's no good is it?" He coos, leaning in to make you feel more comfortable.

You finally decided to speak up, pouting and telling him everything about Mei Mei and what your brother told you. Then telling him how that made you feel truly.

He chuckles, rolling his eyes and cupping your face preciously. You blinked, taken aback by the sudden stance of affection but not leaning away. You wanted this… you wanted him to touch you, to soothe your worries away. "I can't believe my silly little girl would be so stressed about something like this It's nothing. Even if Mei Mei flirted, I would never return her affections or anyone else's." He smiled, "You know why? Cause I really want no one else but you Little One. I would never lose this." His eyes observed you once more, hands squeezing your face tenderly. "For something meaningless… I would never do anything to risk this, never. I promise you."

His words echoed in your ears and you couldn't help but nod a little with a smile. "Sorry- I just, you know it's not been a lot of time to us and-"

"So what!" Satoru giggles, "Time is a construct, and definitely not a measuring parameter when you're dating someone like me. Or if I am dating someone as amazing and kind and yet, fierce and firm as you." He winked.

"I promise you sweet Princess, I would never, ever… let anyone near me." His sincerity touches your heart, and you leaned in, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.

"Aw! I get a hug! Good sign!" Satoru beams, kissing the crown of your head and rubbing your arms comfortingly.

"Let me show you now the skyline looks, neh?"

[radley-writes]

A confession:

Most 'character development' help posts do nothing for me. Nada. Zilch.

This is not a denunciation of such posts - they evidently work for a lot of folks! But if I see questions like 'what is your character's favourite colour?' or 'what is your character's biggest fear?' I am clicking away.

Obviously, working this sort of thing out is important! These details add fun little quirks to your character, or shine a light on their backstory. But when I'm developing a complementary cast of characters, with a smorgasbord of unique and interesting personalities...

I just put them in situations.

I call this the fanfic approach, as it basically amounts to writing mini fics about how your characters would react to a variety of stressors. For instance: let's start with a simple scenario with a potential for conflict!

A barista gets the character's coffee order wrong. Like, horrifically wrong. They create an unholy abomination of syrup shots and espresso that probably tastes of cough syrup, and hand it to your character, straight-faced. How does the character react?

Working with the cast of No Man's Sky...

Mavrik would shrug and chug the coffee anyway. She's drunk worse; she ain't bothered. No point causing a fuss.

Vox would threaten to kill the barista and their entire family, in graphic detail, until they were escorted out of the coffee shop and banned for life.

Oleander would smile politely, engage the barista in small talk, show genuine interest in their hopes and dreams, then proceed to make such a pleasant yet insistent song-and-dance about how this was not their order that the barista would apologise profusely, remake his drink, and offer him complimentary free croissants for the rest of the year.

Jagura would drink the coffee-trocity without noticing the error.

Renzou would apologise to the barista.

As you can see, we have five distinct, diverging reactions - and thus, five unique characters! I like to repeat this exercise with three-ish prompts of varying intensity. Here's some ideas, if anyone wants to play along:

Your character is waiting for a train. It's running late, but only by five minutes. However, they are hoping to catch a connection at the next station, and this will reduce their transfer time by half.

Your character finds a box full of sickly kittens, abandoned in a rainy street. There are far too many for your character to adopt and look after alone.

Your character walks into a room where there is most definitely not supposed to be a dead body. There... is a dead body.

You get the idea! Your characters don't always have to react in a unique way to every scenario, but there should be some individual flavour to their actions, whatever they may be.

Go forth and put those little guys in situations and scenarios! And pretty please feel free to reblog and let me know how your cast would react!

[kxttqi]

HHihihi love your writing !!

Can I req the pjsk boys with a gf thays an absolute simp?

Like shes got plushies, posters, keychains and all sorts of stuff of char

Shes also super short and cute and can sometimes be super lazy or super bubbly

Basically unpredictable

ty <3

✧ pjsk boys with a fangirl s/o.

summary: they visit your room filled with plushies, posters and other trinkets of them for the first time

pairings: akito, rui, tsukasa, toya x fem!reader (separately) 

genre: fluff

warnings: kinda suggestive in rui’s part depending on how you interpret it

a/n: waaa this was such a cute prompt, thank u for requesting!! i sorta rushed toya's part pls forgive me toya fans

— requests are closed

shinonome akito

when he walks into your room for the first time he literally just stands there in the doorway like 😦

he’s so flustered seeing all the posters and plushies of himself situated around the room 

he can’t stop smiling when you enthusiastically take him by the arm to give an impromptu room tour

like he tries to act all calm and indifferent but inside he’s just whwhsnjhdwkh

​​he reluctantly admits the plushies are cute, but when you offer him one, he awkwardly refuses

and then you go to put it back and he’s like “hey, wait, I was joking!” and wrestles it from your grip

♪ "You really went all out, huh?" he frowns, but there's a playful glint in his eyes. Deep down, he's touched that you've dedicated your room to him. 

He tries to keep up the act, shooting you a sidelong glance with a half-smile, but it's evident that he's struggling to keep his composure. His cheeks tint with a subtle shade of pink, and he's fighting to suppress the grin threatening to break free. It's a strange mix of embarrassment and flattery, seeing how much you appreciate him. 

“Come on, Aki, you know you love this!” you say.

Finally, he sighs, the corners of his lips betraying a genuine smile. 

"Alright, alright, you win. But only because it's you," he admits, his eyes softening. "I never thought my face would end up plastered all over someone's room. You really know how to catch a guy off guard."

You grin.

"But," he continues, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "I know a thing or two about catching someone off guard too." 

Before you can respond, he closes the gap between you, his lips meeting yours in a playful yet sweet kiss. As he pulls away, there's a teasing smile on his face.

 "Consider us even now.”

kamishiro rui

OML THIS MAN WILL NOT STOP TEASING YOU ABOUT IT

the moment he sees all of your merch of him he becomes cocky af

he would definitely make you more stuff to add to your room

he’ll try to redecorate your room a bit for you, putting up posters and hanging lights (under your guidance ofc)

secretly steals some of the plushies when he leaves because they’re cute 

 forces brings tsukasa over to your room just so he can see the huge collection of items

♪ “Oh? Looks like someone can’t get enough of me…” Rui giggles, placing a kiss on your forehead as his arm snakes around your waist. 

“Do you like it?” you ask excitedly.

“Why wouldn’t I? They’re all me, after all.”

You cross your arms at his arrogance, but can't help the smile that tugs at your lips. Rui had always been confident, but since stepping foot into your room, it seems to have grown tenfold.

He pulls you closer, his hand resting on the small of your back. "But you know what would make your collection even better?" he asks, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Ooh, what?" you ask, intrigued.

"More of me," he says with a smirk, his gaze traveling to your bed filled with plushies. "Maybe a body pillow?"

“Rui!”

“Hm? I’m sure you would enjoy it.”

tenma tsukasa

tsukasa.exe has stopped working

after what seems like eternity of silence he just goes AHSAHSJAKAK (the typical tsukasa scream yk)

IMMEDIATELY gives you a big hug; he matches your energy so well

 if there's a poster with him in it, then he'll love standing in front of it and striking poses for your amusement

sits on your bed and pretends to be one of the plushies just to hear your cute laugh 

♪

“My eyes have been blessed by the sight of this glorious shrine! I am unworthy of such devotion, and yet, here it is!" Tsukasa dramatically threw himself onto the plushie-covered bed, hand over his heart.

"Tsukasa, you're being a bit—"

"Shh! This is my moment of gratitude!" He interrupted, eyes sparkling with mock sincerity.

"Okay, I'm listening," you said with an amused smile.

He clasped his hands together, looking up at the ceiling as if addressing the merchandise gods. "Thank you, [name], for bestowing upon me this sanctuary of Tsukasa. I shall carry the weight of this honor with the grace of a thousand swans and the dignity of a soaring eagle. May the Tsukasa vibes forever resonate in this hallowed space!"

You burst into a fit of giggles, unable to contain it any longer. Tsukasa, satisfied with his grand thank-you speech, looked at you while beaming.

As the laughter subsided, Tsukasa gently cupped your face, his fingers tender against your skin. He leaned in, closing the gap between you with a soft, lingering kiss. 

“Thank you so much, [name]!”

aoyagi toya

he takes in the room for a few moments before breathing out a soft “wow”

it srsly means SO much to him when his s/o is his biggest fan

he reaches out to touch some of the items, almost as if to confirm that it's real.

♪

Eventually finding his words, Toya turns to you with a soft expression and says, "Thank you. This... means a lot to me."

You smile cheerfully.

“You deserve it, Toya! You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

"You didn't have to go through all this trouble for me," he says softly.

You shake your head and pull him into a hug. Toya hesitates for a moment before returning the hug, a genuine warmth in his embrace. 

"You're worth every bit of trouble," you assure him, the sincerity in your voice echoing your unwavering support. "Seeing you happy and appreciating this makes it all worthwhile.

As you hold each other, he speaks, his voice muffled against your shoulder, "I just... never expected someone to believe in me this much. It's a bit overwhelming, you know? But in a good way. …I love you."

[birgittesilverbae]

Prompt: just a highly tattooed Beatrice. Anything. Maybe she’s in a band, maybe it goes to her teenage rebellion, maybe it’s your dads au and Bea always wears sleeves and one day Ava finally sees her ink… idk. Anything with tattooed Bea.

thanks for the prompt!

//

Beatrice hasn't worn short sleeves in the time Ava has been back. 

True, it's closing in on winter, but Malaga in November is barely any cooler than Brienz had been in June, and back then Beatrice had taken every possible opportunity to go sun's out, guns out.

Ava watches, curious, for some sort of sign, some clue to what Beatrice is keeping under wraps. She's been back for a week, almost, and they've kissed in quiet corners and in the back of the chapel, and once, in a fit of daring, in the confessional, Ava in Beatrice's lap admitting to myriad sins ("the Bloody Marys sold well, I just hated making them" and "I bought us new towels because I used ours to try and smother a stovetop fire" and "I spent half our time in Switzerland trying not to touch myself to the thought of you"). 

But they haven't gone any further than furtive makeouts and some over-the-clothes heavy petting – which, she has to remind herself, would be a mind-blowing development for June Ava. And Beatrice hasn't even rolled up her sleeves, which… The thought of Beatrice's forearms had constituted, like, a solid 64% of Ava's will to live while on the other side, but it's fine. She's fine. She can be very cool, very normal and definitely would absolutely not suffer if she never got to see Beatrice's forearms again.

She'd be totally fine. 

It's on day seven post-return that Beatrice slips up. She's been waist-deep in a van's engine compartment in between shouting matches with Mary across the garage, and stray curls of hair are slicked to her forehead with sweat. She rubs at her face and then frowns, unbuttons the placket at her wrist and starts to roll up her right sleeve. Ava feels like a Victorian gentleman about to pass out over the mere sight of a sliver of skin. She doesn't mean to, but she takes a step forward over the threshold of the garage, drawn towards the revelation of Beatrice's bare skin like a moth towards a flame.

There's a faint blue glow that grows brighter as Ava approaches, and Beatrice's head snaps up. She fumbles with her sleeve for a moment, an adorable crease between her eyebrows, but the cuff is caught on the knob of her elbow. She settles for linking her hands behind her back instead.

"Ava!" She chirps far too brightly for someone Ava had heard calling Mary a 'piece of fucking work' not two minutes past.

Ava takes another step closer. "Beatrice," she replies, soft. She'd raise a hand, but this already feels far too much like approaching a wild animal. 

Apt enough, though, as Beatrice's eyes very noticeably flick towards the exit. "Show me," she says, just as gently.

Beatrice's shoulders droop. "You would have found out sooner or later," she concedes. "It was only a delay of the inevitable in the hopes I would be better prepared to discuss it by the time the conversation arose."

She swings her arms forward, left hand finding the pocket of her coveralls, right coming out in front of her until her forearm is on display for Ava. 

It's a starburst shining divinium blue, a double handful of lines broken by tick marks emanating from a central black point. Ava can't help herself, doesn't want to stop herself from reaching out and dragging a fingertip down one of the lines. Beatrice's skin is warm beneath Ava's touch and the divinium sparks bright in response to the Halo's nearness.

"What is it?"

Beatrice clears her throat. "Pulsars are spinning neutron stars that blink on and off like lighthouses. When the Pioneer 10 and 11 spacecraft were launched, they were sent bearing a plaque with this map on it – a map of the position of known pulsars relative to our sun. A map of lighthouses, guiding the observer here." She taps the central dot. "That's here, that's home, that's us," she says, in that slightly removed tone Ava associates with the oh-so-common occurrence of a 'Quotes with Beatrice' event. "On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives." Beatrice inhales shakily. "It was stupid, really, but I thought maybe it would help guide you back to us. Back to me. Back home."   

[coalswriting]

murder and rescue - ghostface!natalie scatorccio

summary – upon the closure of your school following a double homicide on its premises, you decide to go to a house party with your girlfriend, meeting the one behind the murders (approx. 1.6k words) >> part ii <<

a/n – I’ve only seen scream like. once. when i was really drunk but !! i wanted to go a more wholesome(?) way with this prompt anyways. also! a quick trigger warning for attempted SA but it never develops past the verbal! enjoy <3  

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

school had been closed for the past few days due to a double homicide in the mens’ locker room. apparently, somebody by the name of ‘ghostface’ had been going around and killing students that were notoriously horrible to others. the two that had been murdered were known bullies on the mens’ soccer team that also had a few rumours of assault circulating around them.

or so, that’s what you were told. the police were extremely tight lipped about the information of the murders, urging anyone with any ideas towards ghostface’s identity to step up. with the closure of the school, students grew antsy and bored, and thus, you were invited to a huge house party hosted by jeff sadecki tonight. you were going with your girlfriend, natalie, and though you weren’t necessarily excited to go, you decided you would join her much to her delight.

“who do you think it is?”, natalie asked as she leaned on top of you, fixing your eyeliner.

“hm?”

“ghostface.”

“oh,” you said, going quiet for a moment to think, “honestly, it’s hard to tell. whoever it is, they’re only attacking people that deserve it. i mean, nobody deserves to die, but they only attack people that have done bad, y’know?”

natalie nodded silently before licking her thumb and wiping under your eye. “there”, she smiled, getting off you, “you look perfect now.”

you turned to face the mirror in the corner of your room, sticking your tongue out, “i look like a raccoon!”  

this elicited a husky laugh from your girlfriend as she elbowed you in the arm, “a sexy raccoon. now, what do you think would look better on me? this skirt or this one?”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

you had been at the party for about an hour and a half now. the moment you and nat had walked in the front door, people were handing you booze. one drink turned into five and before you knew it, you were drunk and wobbly, barely able to walk straight. nat was in a similar state, sitting with you and smoking on the patio.

“hey, nat,” jackie said, looping an arm around her shoulders. jeff sadecki stood behind his girlfriend, arms crossed with an irritated expression adorned upon his face. “can you help us sort an argument?”

natalie sighed, clicking her tongue. “can’t someone else sort it?”

“no,” jackie shook her head, “it’s not like you’re doing anything better. now, come with me.”

natalie gave you an apologetic look, mouthing “one second” as she was pulled to her feet and taken away from you. you grimaced at jackie’s pushiness, but you knew she was as intoxicated, if not more intoxicated than you, and for that, you would forgive her. smiling to yourself a little, you thought about your girlfriend and how awkward she must’ve been feeling listening to her friend argue with her jackass of a boyfriend. you wondered when they would break up; for shauna’s sake, you hoped soon. there was no way jackie and shauna weren’t in love with each other. your gaydar wasn’t amazing, but it also didn’t take someone with 20/20 vision to see that the two had obvious feelings.

you were pulled out of your thoughts by a gruff hand on your shoulder. looking up, confused in your drunken haze, your eyes met those of a random guy in a varsity jacket. he had curly copper hair and a smirk that definitely didn’t belong on his face. he looked you up and down with a faux confidence before opening his mouth, “what’s a beautiful lady such as yourself doing alone?”

you sighed, instantly pissed off by the presence of this randomer.

“i’m not interested, buddy. move on.”

he faltered for a second before visibly stiffening up again, “aren’t you on the ladies’ soccer team? i see you running around in that short, tight uniform all the time.” his voice sounded corrosive, as if hearing it for too long would give you hearing damage, “it would look nicer on my floor, i bet.”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

after trying to brush off the guy for around ten minutes, you had decided you’d had enough. you left the patio, instead opting to go into a busier room, the pervert in pursuit.

“what part of me walking away insinuated that i still wanted to be near you?”, you seethed, stopping him in his tracks with a hand placed firmly against his chest.

he raised an eyebrow, smirking his sickening smirk again, “you’re good at not giving in, darling.”  

you looked around the room for your girlfriend. this was the busiest room in the entire party, and yet, you couldn’t find her anywhere. you felt a nervousness grow in your stomach as the guy edged a bit closer.

you continued to stand in the room, arms crossed defensively as people slowly began to leave. it was nearing 2am now and as more and more people left the room, your worry became more prominent.  natalie was nowhere to be seen and this guy was still making you uncomfortable. you didn’t even remember his name – mark or matt? something like that. either way, he wasn’t letting up on his horrible flirting.

“i have to go look for somebody”, you said with tight irritation once the last person left the room. before you could get towards the door, mark/matt walked over to it. you felt panic well up in your stomach as you tried to run to the door before him. he put his hand on the bolt of the lock but before he could turn it to lock it, the phone in the corner of the room rang.

his smile fell as he looked at you, then at the phone. clearing his throat, he began to walk to the ringing device. “guess i’ll answer.”

you watched as he picked up the phone and listened to the voice on the other side. “who is this?”, he snapped, his face visibly becoming slightly pale, “what do you mean you’re coming for me?”

as you began to march towards the door, he slammed the phone down, yelling a, “hey! get back here!”

but, before he could reach you, the door swung open revealing none other than ghostface who was brandishing a knife. the copper haired pervert gasped, jumping from shock. he ran out another exit in the room, yelling about how he would call the police. wow, you thought almost ironically, no way did he just leave me here with this murderer. then, your own terror followed. you took a step back as ghostface took a step forward, their knife shining in the light.

“get away from me!”, you gasped, “please!”, edging slowly towards the exit. for some reason, you thought that if you’d walk slowly and cautiously, ghostface wouldn’t stab you. your heart was beating as fast as a rabbits, and for a moment, you genuinely thought that you’d drop dead from a heart attack before you could even get stabbed. you thought back to your girlfriend, head swirling with dizziness. she would probably never see you again, and oh, how you wished you could kiss her one last time. tears welled up in your eyes, a mix of shock and emotion.

then, ghostface ripped their mask off. blonde locks of hair cascaded down their shoulders, and you looked up, processing for a moment that the one dressed in all black was none other than your girlfriend. you felt your legs grow weak as natalie ran over to catch you before you could fall. it was her; she was behind the murders; she was the one who threatened people over the phone – she was the one that the police were after.

“(y/n)”, she breathed, cupping your face in hers, knife discarded to the side, “are you okay?”

tears streamed down your face, the alcohol feeling like a brick in your stomach, “you’re the murderer?”

natalie nodded, “surprise?”

“why?”

“to protect you, (y/n)”, she whispered roughly, “and all the other women of wiskayok high. abusive pieces of shit are all around us, baby”.

her warm breath was against your lips, “my own father did so much to hurt me; to ruin my life. he ruined me, and i’ll never be who i could’ve been because of him. i want to make sure that nobody else gets their life ruined by a jackass ever again.”

you nodded in a confused understanding. her reasoning didn’t sit fully right with you, but at this moment you couldn’t care. all that mattered is that you were safe; that she was here with you.  

before you could say anything else, you heard sirens as hues of red and blue shone through the windows. “run, nat,” you commanded, simply, and you watched the shock on your girlfriends face turn into a small smile.

“i’ll meet you later, babe, and we can talk about it more, yeah?”, she asked, hope in her voice. you nodded as natalie pulled you in, planting a chaste kiss on your lips. you smiled into it and then watched as your girlfriend stood up, reached a hand out to help you up, and then slid the mask back onto her head before running out towards the back garden.

you stood for a moment, the lights flashing around you. it felt like you were in a movie, ironically so, but you knew that you and your girlfriend would get through this together. and honestly, she kind of looked hot in that outfit. shaking your head, you brushed off the gay thoughts before making your own way into the garden, escaping before the police could find and question you.

a few minutes after you returned home, you heard the familiar clink of pebbles being thrown against your window. sliding your curtains open, you noticed the panting form of your girlfriend, and you mouthed a “one second,” before throwing a hoodie on to go and meet her.

she would have a lot of explaining to do, and you knew that you would keep an open mind for all of it.  

[alexanderlightweight]

How about like a post winter soldier-ification. So someone got a hold of Alec to make him into the perfect weapon. So the finding and healing after the fact?

Uh… this is definitely sort of like that. It’s based on the prompt I just… it went places

:) I hope you enjoy!

—

“I know you have a weapon, stolen from the clave.” Clarissa says, eager as she finally explains why the young, apparently runed shadowhunter gets to her point. She’d cornered Magnus in a club, her blonde scowling bodyguard scowling at her side.

Magnus accepted only to get information and now he finds that he has gained quite a bit.

After all, he didn’t know the clave was still spouting those lies.

“I stole nothing from the clave.” Magnus hisses and any goodwill he had for the little girl he remembers allowing to hide with her mother in his territory is gone. “I took back something they stole from me and what I took was not a weapon, Clarissa Fray.”

“But it was something that can help! Whatever it is! It’s powerful enough that even the Inquisitor wants it!”

Magnus doesn’t hesitate to lift her by the neck, magic circling around her neck.

“Who told you to come here?” Magnus demands, his magic flaring as he demands the truth.

“Isabelle Lightwood!” Clarissa gasps out, “she's the weapons specialist of the Iron Sisters, she said to come and ask you for help. When we asked Jace’s grandmother about you, she told us you’d stolen a weapon.”

“So it only took Isabelle forty-three years to betray us.” Magnus sneers and he laughs, bitter and bold as his magic flexes, threatening to crush Carissa’s larynx.

Blondie is still unconscious in the foyer and Magnus laughs, because Clarissa is struggling and she looks betrayed.

She can never feel as betrayed as Magnus has and does.

“When you see Isabelle Lightwood next, remind her of what happened the last time she spoke without thinking. She seems to have forgotten

“My darling Alexander.” Magnus murmurs longingly as he traces the smooth plane of Alexander’s face. He presses his lips to Alexander’s brow and then slowly lets his magic wake his love up.

“Magnus?” His perfect, amazing boy asks, voice hoarse with days upon days of forced sleep. “It’s morning?”

Magnus always wakes his darling at night, easing him back to their world in the time they know the best.

“Alexander.” Magnus breathes out, letting the cold facade he’s worn for nearly half a century melt away. “Beloved, say my name again?”

“Magnus—“ Alexander whispers immediately and he reaches out, fingers trembling as they clutch Magnus' skin.

“Isabelle betrayed us.” Magnus whispers and Alexander stiffens in his arms, “the clave sent hunters sniffing around for a weapon. We need to speed it up darling.”

“You said no, last time. That you wouldn’t do it.”

“I did.” Magnus whispers because he'd rather only have Alexander for a single day a year than risk losing him or even put him through more pain. However, he also will not allow the clave to think they can claim Alexander as a weapon.

Magnus has hoarded and protected his rightfully claimed treasure for decades now. He will not let the clave think they can still what they consider a relic for him, not when their supposed weapon is the love of his life.

“I’ve reconsidered.” Is all Magnus will say, because he will cause Alexander pain if it means keeping him. “I’ll contact Ragnor and Catarina, let them know I’ll need them. The Labyrinth is ready, I’ve paid to keep a warded wing ready at all times for our use.”

Alexander gives him a weak smile as he leans away, yawning as he blinks away sleep.

“I won’t have long, this time.” He warns and Magnus can feel the ache in his voice.

“I know—“ Magnus whispers because he can feel the angelic horror twining around his love’s soul. The pain Magnus already feels.

The same pain that led to Magnus slaughtering an entire coven of vampires.

And perchance, as Magnus tries new arrays and rituals, a few warlocks who annoy him disappear.

Perhaps a dozen or so werewolves disappear during the super moons and eclipses disappear.

The seelie queen has lost a few hundred of her subjects, payment for her many missteps.

One of which cost Magnus dearly. He plucks them over the years, the power of their immortal lives helping him subjugate the angelic curse into submission.

And of course, any nephilim who stray into any traps Magnus lays are harvested.

For nothing can compare to the being Magnus currently holds between his palms.

He kisses Alexander, unable to resist him a moment longer and they share breath and caresses for rare, soft luxurious moments.

Until Alexander starts to stiffen against him and Magnus pulls away, spell already on his lips as Alexander’s eyes turn a cold unfeeling, unthinking blue.

As Alexander fades to a body containing too much angelic core for a personality to survive.

“Rest, my heart.” Magnus soothes quietly as his magic catches and puts Alexander to sleep. “I’ll protect you till you wake, my Alexander.”

[moodymelanist]

Trace The Lines

Happy first day of @sjmromanceweek, everyone! Thank you to @jump-on-winds-back for submitting the prompt<3

Summary: Gwyn falls hard for the shy, hot librarian who finally comes into her tattoo parlor.  

Read on AO3 here!

♡♡♡♡♡ Gwyn

Gwyn was the only one in the tattoo’s front room, idly sketching something on Procreate for one of her regulars, when she heard the familiar bell that signaled someone walking inside. 

“Hi!” she called out, waving a freckled hand toward the newest customer. “Welcome to Valkyrie Tattoos. What can I help you with?”

She looked up and almost swallowed her tongue once she recognized Azriel, the very cute guy who worked at the library next door. She’d seen him from time to time when it was her turn to pick up whatever Nesta or Emerie had put on hold for book club, and seeing him here inside their tattoo parlor instead of surrounded by books was almost jarring. 

“Hi,” Azriel responded quietly. God, he was so adorable, with his soft voice and his pretty eyes and the way he held himself in that cardigan. “I wanted to get a tattoo?”

“Okay,” she answered cheerily. She put down her iPad and switched over to the nearby computer, checking her calendar to make sure she had enough time for this. “My next appointment isn’t until 4, so if what you want isn’t too time-consuming I can squeeze you in now.”

“Thanks,” he told her. He reached for his phone and she pretended like she didn’t notice the way his shirt stretched across his chest with the motion. “I wanted to get something like this.”

“Game of Thrones fan, huh?” Gwyn asked once she studied it. It was a simple enough design — the top half read valar morghulis, and reflected over a thin line, the bottom half read valar dohaeris. “How did you feel about season 8?”

“I think it’s best we don’t talk about that,” Azriel replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Do you think you’d have time to do this today?”

“Oh, definitely,” she responded. “Where did you want it?”

They discussed placement and pricing for a few minutes before they were both satisfied, and then Gwyn was leading Azriel upstairs to her corner of the tattooing space. She’d worked hard to make it as inviting as possible, and left him to get comfortable while she bustled about the rest of the space. When she turned back to him, her mouth went a little dry as she realized just how muscular he was without the soft, dark material of his cardigan, and she forced herself to focus as best as he could.

He’s just a hot guy, Berdara, she told herself as she worked on the stencil. You’ve tattooed plenty of those before. Stay focused.

“It’s okay if you need me to move it around,” Gwyn told him once she’d composed herself enough to place the stencil. He’d wanted it on his right forearm, so it was easy enough to make sure it laid flat once she’d shaved the minimal peach fuzz away. “How does that look?”

She moved it twice before he was completely satisfied. “Do you mind if I take a before picture?”

“Not at all,” she answered, appreciating that he’d asked permission. “I’m just going to get set up, and I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

Gwyn pretended she didn’t feel Azriel’s eyes lingering on her as she set everything up for his tattoo, hoping to any deity listening that she wasn’t blushing right now – or that Nesta or Emerie didn’t decide to come back from lunch early. She’d never live this down if they caught her being this flustered.

“Ready?” she asked once she was all set up. She made sure the area was clean one final time before situating him how she wanted him, using her left hand to hold his arm how she needed it. His skin was cool to the touch, even through her gloves, and she wondered if that was always why he had on those cardigans he favored so much.

“Yeah,” he replied, looking like he was holding back a smile. “I can take it.”

Gwyn’s mind jumped to all sorts of other things she wanted him to take, but she forced herself to take a deep breath and pay attention to what she was doing. “Let me know how this feels. If you need a break, just let me know.”

“I’ve gotten tattoos before, Gwyn,” Azriel responded dryly. “Just go for it.”

“I didn’t know you knew my name, Azriel,” she replied, deflecting slightly. She’d of course noticed the whorls of black ink peeking out over top of his shirts before, but she’d never trusted herself to look too hard.

“You come into the library at least three times a week,” he said with a snort. “Of course I know who you are.”

“Plenty of people come into the library more than once a week,” she retorted. She shifted her grip on his arm and continued tattooing him, pleased at the way the lines were turning out so far. “Doesn’t mean you know their names.”

“Never said I did,” he said simply.

Gwyn didn’t know exactly what to say back to that without making herself look like an idiot, so she decided to change the topic to be safe. “So you like Game of Thrones, except for season 8. Who’s your favorite? Are you a Jon Snow guy? Or – wait, let me guess. Tyrion?”

“Actually, I really like Sansa,” Azriel replied after a few moments. “I know a lot of guys hate on her, but… I really appreciate how good she is at other things besides violence.”

“Oh,” Gwyn said, only slightly surprised. Sansa was one of her favorites, too, but she wouldn’t let him keep the upper hand if she could avoid it. “Is this the part where you tell me you’re not like the other guys?”

He just chuckled under his breath, the sound making the butterflies in her stomach even worse. “I mean, I’m not like the other guys. I’m better, but only because I’m a librarian.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Librarian,” she fired back, laughing softly. She shifted her arm one last time to go over any places that needed an extra touch, and then sat back with a flourish. “You’re all done.”

“That was pretty quick,” Azriel responded. Gwyn wasn’t completely sure, but she thought he almost sounded a little sad about it. “It looks good.”

“It’ll look even better if you take care of it,” Gwyn fired back, grinning. She let him take a couple of pictures before running through her aftercare instructions and placing a bandage over it. “Take it easy for the rest of the day.”

“I work at a library,” he deadpanned. 

“No lifting heavy books, then,” she retorted with a roll of her eyes. “Come on, let’s finish this up downstairs.”

She helped him slide his cardigan back on even though he probably didn’t need it, her touch lingering a few seconds longer than was probably appropriate. She just couldn’t help being drawn to him, couldn’t help wanting to know more about what his skin felt like against hers without any barriers in the way.

Gwyn shook her head as they walked downstairs to clear that thought. She didn’t know where it had come from, and she was a professional. She wouldn’t let herself get distracted so close to the finish point.

“I can do cash, credit, or your money sending service of choice,” Gwyn said once they’d finished going over the price. “Whatever’s easier for you.”

“Credit is fine,” Azriel answered. He handed over a card and she forced herself not to be mesmerized by the way his fingers gripped the pen as he signed. “Thanks again, Berdara.”

“Oh, first and last name,” she teased. She took the receipt back and took at a peek at his last name. “You’ve really done your research, Velasquez.”

“Have to, when it comes to you.” He flipped over the back of his customer copy of the receipt to scribble something down. “Let me know if you ever want to check something else out besides books.” 

Gwyn was so stunned at how smooth he was with his comment that she couldn’t think of anything to say back, but when she finally reached for it and opened it to reveal his phone number, she figured she could think of something clever to send back over text.

By the time Nesta and Emerie got back from lunch, Gwyn hadn’t quite thought of something snazzy enough, but judging by how quickly Azriel was texting her back, he didn’t seem to mind.

tag list: @perseusannabeth | @bookstantrash | @charming-butt-insane | @oversizedbats | @melphss | @sv0430 | @podemechamardek | @autumnbabylon | @live-the-fangirl-life | @julemmaes | @that-little-red-head | @jmoonjones | @sayosdreams | @thewayshedreamed | @hiimheresworld | @brieq | @houseofcalores | @swankii-art-teacher | @nerdperson524 | @snickerdoodlechittybangbang | @imsointobooks | @nesquik-arccheron | @sweet-pea1 | @champanheandluxxury | @dustjacketmusings | @mrs-shadowsinger04 | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @goddess-aelin | @arinbelle | @talkfantasytome | @simpingfornestaarcheron | @duskandstarlight | @letstakethedawn | @vidalinav | @c-e-d-dreamer | @dealfea | @katekatpattywack | @burningsnowleopard

[anguishedlurker]

A Twisted Situation

Phic Phight for @bellsandmischief / bellsandmischeif on ao3! Prompt "Board game night! The crazier the combination of characters, the better!"

I physically need you all to know that this just sort of happened in about two and a half hours. I didn't write, I was fucking posessed at 3.4k words. Here it is in Ao3 glory

Sam was gong to kill someone, actually.

Star’s lips peeled back in something that couldn’t be called a smile as she waited for Sam to make the first move, waving the hat menacingly.

“I will start a fight you can’t end. Don’t.”

Star’s eyes narrowed before sense washed over her expression, shaking rage off with a short jerk of the head, proper fake smile bouncing straight into place.

Dammit, Sam needed the excuse to leave. Even if it was in cuffs.

“Nothing?”

“Buy your school charity game night pass or leave. You’re gonna build a line, and I don’t care what your issue is, even if it’s really obvious.”

Sam was probably going to kill Tucker worse than she was going to kill Danny, this time.

Danny was… Danny. If box ghost showed up, then getting ditched wasn’t about her.

But Tucker?

“Not that you asked, but apparently the losers forgot to do their homework and now need to do it last minute.”

Sam was going to kill Tucker for not having a better excuse to ditch.

“They do homework?” Star asked, chipper as she watched carefully.

Case in point….

“That’s what I said.” Sam sighed, finally moving to pull out her wallet.

Stupid damn ghosts wrecking the stupid damn scoreboard and pieces of the football field, making Ishiyama panic to get a budget for fixing it now and not next year.

Begging on her knees to Vlad or Sam’s parents was not ideal, and Sam had to admit that this was a better option.

“You donating extra to add to the community ticket pool?” Star asked, leaning back in the shit chair in disinterest, shaking the hat in a taunt.

“Considering I only have a hundred on me, yes.”

Star’s eyebrows raised at that, but she ultimately didn’t remark on it as she put the hat down to unlock the register and shove the hundred in.

It was definitely a first class problem, but one of these days Sam was going to end up tearing out hair over trying to explain that hundred dollar bills are not appropriate amounts of cash to take to so much as an average middle class outing, let alone a charity event in the school gym.

It didn’t have to be her hair either. Violence on her mother sounded nice far too often.

Star absently tossed down four poker chips right behind a sign reading ‘DONATED EXTRA TICKETS’, and picked the hat back up. The crinkle of the numbered paper bits were a guise for the gods laughing at her, Sam was sure.

“Your move, Sam.”

And yeah, it sure was her move.

~

Group four. Japanese number of death, not that it mattered.

Group four, over on the left side of the gym. Wes and Ishiyama eyed her as she approached.

Nobody spoke as she held her paper piece for viewing.

“You know what, I think dad was right. This isn’t worth it.” Wes informed gravely, moving to stand.

“Sit. It’ll be fine, and you got half in advance.” Ishiyama informed, twice as grave.

“The hell does half in advance mean?” Sam accused, already looking to leave again.

Bite her, this was gonna go badly and she needed out.

“Wes has been hired to take some photo’s to help with paper coverage.” Ishiyama stated mildly, her expression warning that if Sam was anyone else the verbal abuse would be much more severe already.

“Okay. Can I ask why Stevie and-” Sam started, motioning to Wes as she spoke even as she made eye contact with Ishiyama.

“You know the butcher place?” Wes asked, cutting off her solicitation of a scathing remark. Ishiyama’s smile tightened, because Stevie and Logan probably were the original plan. Yet, she remained silent.

Dammit. Just this once, provoke her. Give her the excuse.

Bu yeah, fine. Sure. Whatever.

“The one down on-”

She could play ball. She could totally ace the polite conversation contest she and Wes were definitely having.

“They weren’t inside, technically, but like… it’ll be another week.”

Sam cringed in understanding. Lunch Lady and Skulker had both done their number on the joint.

“Well, everyone knows I don’t miss the place, but… Anyone made a card yet?”

They were an alarmingly destructive pair, and debris is rather dangerous to the average person.

“It’ll probably be the homeroom activity on Monday. Now smile, Manson.” Wes sighed, holding up the camera.

Sam immediately made the ugliest grimace she could, even as Wes scowled at her.

“Don’t give me that. I’m with Ishiyama for tonight, and Ishiyama is is in charge of group four. And like, I want to play! Part of my thing was free admission to play. What’s the point of a fight?”

“It just means I go down with you, idiot. And if I go down, I’d do it swinging anyways.”

“Take a seat and wait for the rest of the group.” Ishiyama finally growled, pointedly not looking at either of them.

~

“Ishiyama. I am begging you with no shame; You know, already, how this won’t work!”

Ishiyama was just as transfixed as Sam was on Paulina’s approach, Wes too distracted with taking photos to know the danger everyone was now in.

Ishiyama finally broke the trance to give Sam the most miserable look she could, right as Paulina looked up or long enough to see who she was heading for.

Wes continued to very narrowly evade losing the social politics required to keep from being punched by Dash over in group six, oblivious.

Paulina carefully looked at Sam, glancing at Ishiyama.

Paulina carefully looked at Ishiyama, glancing at Sam.

Sam grimaced and pointed at Wes, who was rapidly realizing that Dash might actually hit him this time.

Paulina immediately fixated on Wes, wide-eyed.

Wes, making his exit, turned to find out that paulina was staring at him, and Sam had swapped to pointing at Paulina.

Wes was now staring at Sam, and also pointing at Paulina.

Sam very slowly nodded.

Wes turned to Ishiyama, who was refusing to look anyone in the eye.

Paulina turned to look at the gym doors, clearly mentally calculating the danger and not coming to any favorable conclusions.

Before she could simply turn around and walk out however, Jack Fenton came bellowing in.

“Hey-o kiddo! You in group four too?” He asked, not waiting to loop an arm around Paulina and start dragging.

Wes looked like he was dreaming of the nearest breakable window, but there was money on the line. He began the miserable shuffle towards his doom..

Sam moved to stand, stopped by Ishiyama.

“God help us both child, if this has to be my night then it’s going to be yours too.” Ishiyama demanded, breathing just a little too hard.

“You and what blackmail?” Sam challenged.

“The glitter and glue spray bomb on the cheer team a month ago, straight to your parents.” Ishiyama hissed, just low enough Paulina wouldn’t catch it in her rapid forced approach.

Sam contemplated, and sat back down.

If she got Sam that meant she go Danny, and Danny was on some very thin tightropes right now. Tightropes apparently held by her parents monetary support, because even if Sam got punished they’d pull their next donation for being bothered with such lowly activities.

This was fine. This was going to be so fine. Why wouldn’t it be so fine?

~

“The first game, at least before we are free to chose…” Ishiyama started, taking a shuddering breath.

“Is however far we get in monopoly.”

There were multiple monopoly sets donated for this event, and no time limit on playing.

The limiting factor being potential assault charges was not mentioned as Wes clicked his tongue and Ishiyama and Paulina both plastered on smiles for the camera.

Sam was going to hate that tongue click by the end of the night.

“I love monopoly!” Jack sounded off, missing the sheer rage of the other four people tapped here with him.

~

“I…”

The silence of the third doubles in a row was deafening.

“I sit my little piece in the jail, and leave to go take a photo of group two in twister. Yell at me when someone rolls me out.” Wes huffed, borderline slamming the flatscreen TV token onto the board.

It was the second turn.

Ishiyama had made them take the Electronic Banking monopoly set, to hopefully discourage cheating as she now held the little device that could read their fake little cards. Ishiyama herself gave a faintly wistful look as Wes stomped off, likely dreaming of doing the same.

“Six, not a double.” Sam sighed, hauling her little coin case to the Mall Of America. Obviously she bought it.

Paulina glared at her, the purse token sitting innocently on the Saint Louis Arch. Her master plan of getting all of those spots was ruined, truly.

Might even have to buy it from Sam.

“Alright! My Turn! Two, woohoo baby! The airports are like train stations in this one, right? I’m taking it!” Jack hollered, deafening. Paulina cringed as she reassessed her plans yet again, watching Jack take his second roll straight into Sam’s MOA. Small blessings.

“So, Jack. What brings you, but not your wife.” Ishiyama asked mildly after fiddling with the stupid little device to transfer everyone’s money, picking up the dice and rolling.

She got herself another ten, and was sent straight to the parking lot. Where there was no pot to take.

“Oh, Mads is out chasing that box spook and the town menace!”

“Alone?” Paulina asked flatly, picking up the dice. Nine. Straight into a treasure chest, which she seemed pleased by.

She seemed modestly displeased by the card she pulled, but ultimately didn’t do anything as Ishiyama verified if she was supposed to do anything based on it. Clearly not.

“Mads is smart! And we promised we’d do something to help get the school in order, so I’m here!”

Ah, yes. Because they’re about ninety five percent of the reason the turf was ruined.

“Right then.” Ishiyama soothed, giving Paulina a flat look.

Paulina seemed unbothered at least. Ishiyama tossed the dice for Wes and came up with no doubles.

~

“Utilities are always good.” Jack hummed, getting his cards in order.

“What about your son?” Ishiyama asked, passive as ever.

“Hmmm…. Dunno. I don’t think this is his kinda thing, though.”

Sam was suddenly glad Wes wasn’t here, the doubles ever elusive.

By the way Paulina carefully eyed his position at team two, she was in agreement. Just because she thought he was nuts didn’t mean she was unaware the moment his little “theory” breached containment to Danny’s parents was the same moment secen kinds of hell broke loose.

“I see.” Ishiyama offered flatly, taking her question mark card.

~

“There’s no way none of you have rolled me doubles yet.”

“Tell you what, Wes… do you want us to just do a gentlemans agreement that you can come back in? I’m sure our lovely team here wouldn’t be opposed.”

“I… wouldn’t want to impose. And those photos-”

“No, truly. Sam? Jack? Paulie?”

“Really, no trouble at all Wes. It’d be mean to leave you there.”

“Whatever.”

“Oh, sure thing kids! Come on, all in honor of having fun!”

“I… thank. You. Your generosity towards rule breaking is truly touching.”

“No problem.” Ishiyama hummed, faintly pleased with herself about dragging everyone down with her.

~

Jack Fenton was the luckiest man this side of Amity.

Sure, Sam had gotten both green spaces already, but this was…

“That’s the last airport, right?”

“I think we’re done.” Ishiyama decided. Wes didn’t take his face out of his hands, his TV token sitting in jail again.

Jacks face fell.

“Yeahhhh, it’s not fun when one person dominates. I know it’s like, luck, but we’ve also got other games to do.” Paulina absently remarked, examining her nails.

“It’s like you’ve forgotten you hate us. Where’s your fast exit?” Sam taunted.

“Samantha.”

“Haven’t. You’re just more invested than I am. And my brother drove me because my engine blew, so I’m stuck anyways because I’m not taking a ride from any of you.”

Jack seemed to contemplate before making his statement.

“I guess that’s fair. But do you two not really…”

“Worlds most open secret my man, not unlike-”

“Wes. I cannot stress enough that I will simply take the murder charge. Ishiyama is not capable of pulling me off in time.” Sam threatened.

“Principal, are you going to take that!?”

“Yes. Of all the people to antagonize, not him!”

“What?” Jack asked, befuddled.

“Not a problem. Cluedo, anyone? It’s open, now.” Paulina offered, the picture of innocence.

~

Jack really was the saving grace to the whole situation, honestly. Insane luck aside, nobody wanted to pull any social triggers with him around.

Sam because she really didn’t need Danny’s parents to hate her, Ishiyama because Jack was the frontline of a contactable defense in emergencies, Paulina had just mentally checked out, and Wes didn’t want to die by Sam’s hand and Ishiyama’s approval.

“I know I asked about Daniel earlier, but did Jasmine not want to come? Rope, Green, Spa.” Ishiyama prattled off.

Paulina was elbowed not so subtly as the player to the left, pretty much her whole pad at Ishiyama so she didn’t have to ask her to speak again.

“Oh, Jazzy’s out tutoring!”

What? Sam tended to have a pretty good idea of where Jazz was at, given she was backup, and… well...

“I didn’t know Spike was on the tutor list.” Sam prodded.

“Manson, who?” Wes asked, glaring.

“Uhhh. I think it’s Edward? Edward… something. I don’t know what his last name is, actually.”

“Edmund Cox. His parents are like, freaks about Narnia.” Paulina offered, realigning with reality as Ishiyama blatantly cheated off Paulinas notepad in the background.

Nobody said anything for a half beat.

“Why do you know that?” Wes finally bit out.

“Money hides in odd places, and I know many with money.” Paulia said, almost totally tranquil as she gave Sam the stink eye.

She could keep at it, nobody would ever believe her that Sam was rich.

“I dunno that Jazzy tutors any Edmunds… You sure she knows an Edmund?”

Ishiyama cleared her throat, and Wes tossed the dice down to move a few more spaces.

A grand total of two.

“Okay, well, I’m sure Jasmine is helping your son. You know, with his homework.” Wes hissed, trying to kill Sam with his eyes.

“Hell if I know, I’m stuck here with you all.”

Wes deflated as Jack finally made it to the kitchen.

“Green, knife, kitchen!” Jack cheered, pointing at Wes to fork over information.

~

Sam was starting to get the picture of the murder, but something was wrong.

Very wrong.

“You. Scarlett, living room, bat!”

“Nothing! You! Loser! Stop trying to catch me lying!” Paulina screamed, barely restraining herself from throwing the entire notepad at Sam’s skull.

“If he doesn’t have it, and you don’t have it, and SHE doesn’t have it, then who has the god damn-!”

“Peace, children.” Ishiyama warned, clearly not believing that peace would be achieved.

~

“I just find it all odd.” Ishiyama hummed, pressing Jack for answers about Danny.

“Yeah, well… It’s not like he really opens up to us anymore. Me and Mads chalk it up to teenager stuff, but…”

Wes wasn’t even focused on chewing mental glass over the secrets he wasn’t allowed to spill, that’s how fucked up this game of Clue was.

“So we’re just ignoring that nobody can narrow it down to one murderer?” He hissed, inching closer to Ishiyama. “We’re just having a super casual little conversation about the idiots school life?”

Ishiyama finally connected that she was only skating by a shitfit from her captive audience because everyone was in an old western style stalemate, and turned to the board again.

“It is very strange….”

“I give. I fucking give. I give up and I’m looking in the fucking packet and I’m taking the loss.” Paulina ranted, snatching up the little yellow envelope before Ishiyama could protest.

Everyone pretended they weren’t super pissed about it when four cards fell out instead of three.

“We have two murders. Green and Scarlett in the kitchen, with the bat.”

Nobody spoke.

“Well… what’s our next game, then?” Ishiyama asked, slightly strained. Even Jack looked mad at this twist.

~

“Left hand blue.” Wes called, exactly as miserable as the rest of them.

Why twister? Who decided that letting Jack Fenton pick was a good idea?

~

Sam crab shuffled between the apropiate colors for limbs so that her head was closer to Ishiyama’s. Wes gave her an unpleasant look for technically cheating, but remained silent. Taking limb detangling off the option list was lethal.

“Call it.”

“UGH! Right foot green.” Paulina wailed, twisting even worse to make it work.

“You know I can’t. I don’t want to plead with Vlad, and this already isn’t enough. Everyone needs to walk away with perfect opinions so they come to the next one, and how can they do that if the organizer won’t play?”

“What about Vladdie!?” Jack called, getting dangerously close to having to stick his head under Ishiyama’s ass.

“Bullshit.” Sam barked, calling bluff. “Not a damn person would seriously rail at you about it.”

“Yes. They would.”

“Left hand blue.” Paulina called miserably. Jack went stock still as he now had very critical choice about where his center of balance, and thusly his head, was going to start drastically leaning to.

~

“Move, loser!”

“I physically cannot! Get your ass off my back first!”

“Get your thigh off my fucking-”

Jack, having detangled from Ishiyama a bit ago, muttered something about him and his bad decisions.

“Right foot yellow.” Wes informed innocently from the safety of the losers seats, watching as Sam and Paulina tried to break each others spines without falling over.

~

They had a crowd for this lunacy. Wes, so safe and cozy from the chair, was busy imortalizing the event with pictures. Even Ishiyama was openly unamused about her humiliation, trapped under Jack’s massive rear, desperately trying not to get squished by his leg curing back underneath..

Sam didn’t have very appropriate thoughts about the way Paulina was twisted around her, and she really wasn’t trying to be crass about it but god if she could do this in twister then professional level gymnast routines would be a joke for her.

“I think you should like, get tested for joint issues. Before you maybe fuck them up permanently.”

“Suck it, Manson!”

Dash gave an extremely pleased look as the spinner stopped spinning, having taken the damn thing from Wes.

… No.

“Left”

No.

“Hand”

No!!!

“Blue.”

Wes coughed from laughter as all four of them started screaming.

First Ishiyama fell. There was nothing near her that didn’t tangle her worse in Jack’s leg than she already was.

But then Jack, who had to contort into the bridge position just to make it to a blue circle, got a short stocky principal to the leg.

The carnage was immense. You couldn’t see Ishiyama’s head underneath Jack’s ass.

But then, Sam.

Second place wasn’t too bad, she decided as her wrist gave. It just couldn’t do it anymore.

And Paulina, tangled around Sam like she was, came down with her.

Yeowch…

The whole gym cheered, reveling in the chaos.

Paulina stared at the ceiling from beside Sam, expression unintelligable.

“I’m done.” Was all she said, unmoving.

Which, fucking same.

Wes laughed even harder, taking photos of Jack rolling off Ishiyama.

“You can’t stop us from leaving, anymore, Ishiyama. This was it. Nothing can keep me here anymore.” Sam declared, doing her best to detangle from Paulina’s limbs.

“I, too, yield. It was fun while it lasted.” Ishiyama wheezed.

“No. It wasn’t.”

“I think I should go check on Mads and the kids.” Jack decided, not moving from his side despite the declaration.

Wes was still too buy laughing as Sam did a four legged crawl off the twister board.

“You need a ride, kiddo?” Jack offered, still unmoving.

“Absolutely not.”

“I do.” Paulina decided.

But Sam was already heading for the door, trying to erase the whole night from her memories.

Tucker would never let this die once the news broke. Which meant she’d have to kill him even harder than before.

Still, that was a job for tomorrow. Right now? She sword to herself the entire school would burn before she could be coaxed into another charity game night.

[cellsshapedlikestars]

Seeing all your cool home updates && half-watching some HGTV w/my mom while drawing had a simple prompt idea if you might be interested! Basically HGTV reno show Jonsa - Sansa is a designer and finally gets a chance for her own show but loses Rob (her #1 contractor) to an injury before filming starts && Jon jumps in (either to help Rob /or/ the studio execs (maybe Targs?) throw him in) and the two have to work together somehow. Idk idk, just wanted to share! <3

ANON.

No, you have no idea, I already HAVE a house reno wip. It's not super long, but... yeah. I've got that.

Here, I'll post what I have written of it, since we CAN'T GET ONTO AO3.

this isn't exactly your prompt, though I do honestly love yours a lot and sort of want to change mine. If I changed mine, the show Sansa works on would definitely be like Rehab Addict, where she restores old homes to their prior state instead of making them "modern"

But mine is sort of similar? This snippet is just the set up and doesn't include the part where Sansa decides to start a youtube channel for her renovations, (a la WabiSabE, which I used to watch and was probably the inspiration for this fic when I first started writing it like a year ago lol), and everyone starts shipping her with her contractor Jon, who she keeps forcing to be in the videos because she can't really make them without him being in it...

.

Sansa winces as her car hits another bump and jolts her in her seat.

“You owe me,” she huffs out, hands tight around the wheel.

“I know, I know,” Robb's voice comes through her sound system and fills the car. He's distracted, she can tell, and she bites back a snippy comment. Robb's just so busy, he couldn't possibly get away.

That's not fair, the small part of her brain that's still being rational thinks. Of course Robb couldn't drop everything and come out to the middle of nowhere to deal with their Great Uncle Brynden's estate. Robb's got a new baby and his job.

Robb's got a baby, Arya's got her tournaments, Bran has school, and Rickon's still underage. All of her siblings have lives they can't get away from. All except her.

No significant other, no kids. A tenuous career that she can technically do from anywhere.

“Oh no,” she breathes, when the house finally comes into sight through the trees.

“What's wrong?” Robb asks, his full attention back on her.

“Robb,” she whines, the car coming to a pathetic, rolling stop on the overgrown gravel drive. “It's a mess.”

“A mess?”

She doesn't answer, too busy staring at the mansion in front of her. Or, what used to be a mansion, she thinks.

It's still vaguely house-shaped, but... The roof is missing shingles in multiple places, the windows all seem busted out. The steps up to the covered front porch are fine, but the porch itself has a massive sinkhole, and half the wood looks rotted and ready to crumble.

Gods, if this is what the outside looks like...

“What kind of a mess?” Robb asks. She's just about to start listing the many problems when she hears another car approaching.

“I've gotta go,” she tells Robb. “I think the lawyer's here.” She hangs up before Robb can answer, and watches the other car slowly emerge through the trees up the bumpy road, past the broken gates, and onto the circular gravel drive. It stops behind her and a man gets out. She gets out, too, phone clutched in her hand, just in case.

“Miss Stark?” the man asks, and his face splits into a kind smile when she nods. “Perfect, perfect. I'm Samwell Tarly. It's nice to finally meet you.”

Sansa moves forward to shake the lawyer's hand. He isn't what she was expecting. He's young, for one – maybe only a few years older than her. And he seems just as nice in person as he'd been over the phone. She didn't think lawyers came in nice.

“We should have met at your office,” she says, eyeing up the weeds sprouting from between the gravel and brushing against her ankles. “I didn't realize the road here would be so...”

Mr. Tarly laughs. “This place has been abandoned for quite some time,” he agrees. “I never met Brynden myself, but I’d heard about him. Apparently he decided to up and travel the world and left this…”

Sansa looks back at the crumbling mansion and feels her face scrunch up. She tries to smooth it out. “So, how fast do you think I can sell this?” she asks.

That’s when Mr. Tarly’s smile falters. “Well,” he starts, hesitant, “you see, it’s in such a poor state, I can’t imagine anyone would be willing to buy it.”

“But the land must be worth something? They can just knock it down and-”

“Ah,” Mr. Tarly winces, and Sansa’s sentence breaks off, unfinished. “I suppose you didn’t read all the fine print?” At the slow shake of her head, he grimaces. “Riverrun Manor is a historic property. You, legally, are not allowed to tear the structure down. Anything you do needs to go through lots of committee approvals…”

“So what you’re saying,” Sansa says, closing her eyes as reality crashes down around her, “is that literally no one is going to want to buy this.”

“Maybe if you find someone who’s both very rich, and very interested in Riverlands history?”

She opens her eyes and there must be a glare on her face, because Mr. Tarly winces again.

Then she turns back to the manor, and really looks at it this time. Beneath the grime and the moss and the crumbling wood, she can see what it used to be.

“What if I fixed it up a bit?” she asks, turning back to the lawyer. “What if I just did the major repairs, do you think someone would buy it then?”

She doesn’t want to do that, but it beats letting the property sit around even longer and paying the taxes on it. Or, worse, not paying the taxes and having that on her and her sibling’s financial records.

“I’m not a real estate agent,” Mr. Tarly responds, looking at the building thoughtfully. “But this is a good location, lots of historic stuff around. I wouldn’t doubt you could sell it if the building weren’t… well, that.” He waves his hand towards the manor.

“Alright,” she nods. “Maybe we should head to your office to do the paperwork, though? Then I’ll… I guess I’ll look for a contractor?”

Sam nods, and a bright smile lights his face again. “Oh, I know someone you can call!”

[julietpricee]

Day 6 - Sharpuary (Kneazle)

My last few prompts were a little angsty so have some more fluff for this prompt, enjoy! ❤️

“You’re clock-watching again.” Nurse Blainey teased you, making your face turn bright red.

Every Thursday, around five o’clock, you’d find yourself getting embarrassingly excited about Aesop's routine visit. He had made a habit out of visiting you in the Hospital Ward to top up your supply of potions.

“I can’t understand why you don’t just tell him how you feel” she continued with a soft chuckle.

“Noreen!” you exclaimed, hitting her arm playfully. “I told you, it’s not like that.”

Who were you kidding? It was exactly like that.

Noreen let out a hearty laugh. “Yeah, ok, if you say so.”

You tried to busy yourself but quickly fell idle, twiddling your thumbs as you leaned against the desk, watching the minutes tick by. 

It was ten past five. 

“Do you think he’s ok?” You asked Noreen. “He’s never been late before.” 

Noreen was busy at the far side of the room but you still managed to see her eyes roll at you. “He’s got a life you know, he’s probably busy with work.” She called out. 

You turned back to face the clock, letting your mind wander and overthink. You were so deep in thought you didn’t hear Noreen creep up behind you. 

“Maybe he’s on a date” she whispered in your ear before erupting into laughter. 

You tutted at her, shooing her off as you desperately tried to busy your mind. 

The next time you glanced at the clock it was twenty-past-five which caused you to panic. Aesop had many qualities but tardiness was definitely not one of them. 

“Noreen, I’m just going to check on him. My shift’s over at half past and I’d like to sort out the potions before I leave.”

She chuckled at you once more, as you proved to be a great source of entertainment. “You need to work on your excuses, but go ahead.”

You quickly pulled your coat over your shoulders and scurried out of the hospital wing. As you descended the stairs you eyed the door to Aesops' chambers. You’d never actually stepped foot in there, but you had shared many late-night conversations with him as he towered in the door frame. You started to walk past it, heading for the potions classroom but stopped abruptly in your tracks as you heard a kerfuffle and a high-pitched squeal from inside his room. 

“Aesop?” you called out as you approached his door. 

Once again you heard a loud bang and started to panic, instantly going to the worst-case scenario, worrying he’d fallen over and was lying on the ground unconscious. You tried his door handle and slowly opened it when you found it to be unlocked.

Nerves flooded your body as the door crept open, knowing you were about to cross a boundary by entering his private chambers. His musky scent of sandalwood and fire whiskey hit you immediately, bringing a strange sense of calmness to your nerves. 

As the door fully opened you stood in awe at the sight in front of you. 

His room had been completely trashed, but more concerning than that, a large Kneazle was wandering freely around the living space and Aesop, the stern, well-put-together professor who towered over any student, intimidating them with a simple glare, was standing on top of a table cowering from the beast in pure terror. Needless to say, you burst out laughing. 

“Don’t just stand there!” He shouted at you. “Help me.”

“Help you?” You questioned him, wiping a tear from your eye as you managed to stop laughing. 

“Yes! My wands on the side, I’m trapped.”

You watched Aesop flinch as the Kneazle completed another lap around the table he remained standing on. Out of kindness, you shut the door to his chambers, shielding him from any prying eyes, but you couldn’t help but laugh and admire the sight that presented itself in front of you. 

“So, you’re afraid of Kneazles?” You asked him, leaning against the door with your arms crossed.

“I’m not afraid,” He corrected you, trying to appear brave. The Kneazle sat down looking up at Aesop and let out an enormous yawn, making him nearly fall off the table in a panic. “They’re just unpredictable beasts… I’m not a fan.”

You chuckled at the sight, making no attempt to help him. Aesop grew frustrated.

“Ok, fine! I’m afraid of them!” He shouted. “Just please, help me.”

You meandered over to the Kneazle, scratching its head as it rubbed against your leg.

“Well, I don’t think you’re scary,” you said in a baby voice to the oblivious Kneazle. You looked up at Aesop once more, letting a snigger escape your mouth before you conjured the nab-sack to remove the beast. “Better?” you ask him, offering your hand for him to get down.

Aesop rudely, but understandably, disregards your hand and climbs off the table, trying desperately to hold on to his last little shred of dignity. You both stand in silence for a minute, staring into each other's eyes, waiting for the other person to speak.

Suddenly your eyes widen and once again you burst out laughing. “You screamed!” You manage to state breathlessly. “I heard a high-pitched squeal! It was you!”

Aesop’s face turns bright red and he begins to protest. “No. It wasn’t me. It must have come from somewhere else.”

You somehow manage to compose yourself after choking on your full-bellied laughs. “Your secret is safe with me,” you assure him with a gentle pat on his arm. “How did it get in here anyway?”

“Weasley.” He grumbled. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an eternity of detentions to hand out.”

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53448181/chapters/135602269

[taintedevesayori]

Prompt 22: Breathless

~ Diabolik OTP Challenge by @yuriko-mukami ~

“So annoying…” Sayo muttered, trying to gather all of her hair in her hands. 

There was so much of it that it wasn’t working out. Every time she thought she had it all, multiple pieces would fall again. 

“I swear I’m gonna chop it off…”

“Hmm~? But I think your hair is pretty.”

She glanced back to see Kou standing in her doorway. Apparently she had been so focused that she didn’t notice the door open. Who knew how long he had been watching. 

“I can’t say I hate it but having it so long can get in the way,” she sighed, letting her hair down. “Plus it’s hard to get all of it together so I can tie it up…”

“Want some help?”

“That would actually be great.”

“Sit down on the chair then!” He chirped, walking over to her. 

She moved away from the mirror, sitting down on the chair to her desk. Kou carefully gathered up her hair in one hand. He made it seem so easy…

“Brush,” he held out his other hand, so she handed him the brush. 

While she was at it, she pulled the hair tie off of her wrist, handing it to him as well. It felt strange to have someone else doing her hair. Honestly, she thought it was kind of nice. 

“There!” Kou grinned once he was finished. “All done!”

He placed the brush down on her desk as she stood. 

“Thanks,” she smiled. “I wasn’t getting anywhere with practice since it was bothering me so much.”

“What were you practicing?”

“A dance. Kisa thought it might be fun to add a little dance sequence to a new song. She wanted us to come up with ideas before our next practice.”

“No way! I love dancing,” he was pretty excited. “I want to see you dance. Let me help.”

He was actually pretty good at dancing, so it would be a good idea. Sure, she danced with the others when they occasionally attended the dance club instead of performing, but she never put any thought into it. 

“That’s not a bad idea…It’s easy to dance when it’s just for fun but I’ve been struggling now that I need to put real thought into it.”

“That’s why you just go with the flow. I hate people ordering me around, so that’s what I do.”

“So none of your dancing is choreographed?” She was pretty surprised by that. 

“Nope! Show me the basics of what you’re thinking and I’ll help from there.”

“If you say so…”

Kou had been helping her practice for over half an hour before the two decided to take a break. 

“I’m disappointed…” he muttered. 

Was he not having fun? It seemed like he was, but maybe she was reading into it wrong. 

“Why’s that?”

“I thought I might get to teach you about sex appeal, but you’ve got plenty of it already.”

She almost choked on her water. “Sex appeal?!”

“Isn’t that pretty important when dancing? I thought you were doing it intentionally….to get me to notice,” he smirked, placing his hands on her waist. 

“I was definitely not doing it on purpose,” she wanted to pull away but his grip was firm. 

“That’s too bad…then why don’t I give you a little sex appeal of my own?”

“…huh?”

He enjoyed seeing her reactions to this sort of thing. She became fairly flustered when he pushed her up against the wall. What was he trying to prove?

“Come on…be serious…”

“Your face is bright red,” he chuckled. “What do you want me to do?”

One of his hands moved to her back, sliding under her shirt. His fingers trailed up along her spine, causing her to shiver. Meanwhile, he leaned his face down to her neck, tracing her collarbone with his tongue. 

“Kou!” She exclaimed, completely flustered at this point. 

She attempted to move away, but he moved forward, his hips pinning her lower body down. 

“Go on~ Why don’t you start squirming? Doesn’t it sound fun to rub up against me?”

“It doesn’t…Come on, let me go…”

“I don’t want to…You taste too sweet…”

His lips moved down to the top of her breast, just above the top hem of her shirt. She winced as he bit down. Even if she had a high pain tolerance, such an area was uncomfortable. But…their position bothered her more than the bite. She wasn’t sure what to do. 

“Mm…” he licked his marks as he pulled away. 

When he glanced up at her face, a dark chuckle escaped his lips. 

“You look like you’re enjoying this, Sayo~”

“No way…!” She exclaimed. 

He leaned up, nipping at her ear before continuing. 

“Are you sure you aren’t getting a little heated?”

“Kou, be serious…”

“I am,” he moved his face closer so that their noses brushed against one another. 

Her heart felt like it was beating out of her chest. She knew she should push him away…but she couldn’t bring herself to. Kou felt like he had waited for her to reject him long enough. He closed the gap, locking his lips with hers. 

This was insane. She could barely believe what was happening. One kiss was enough to encourage him. He went right back for more. 

“Kou…” she managed to gasp out in between kisses. “What-?”

“Twist your tongue around mine…like this…” 

He cut her off with another kiss, more heated than the last. His tongue really did enter her mouth, twirling against hers. She had no idea what to do, so she simply let him continue to take the lead. 

Eventually she did push him away as she tried to catch her breath. 

“You’re…insufferable…” she gasped. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it,” he smirked. 

She grumbled some choice words under her breath, but let it go as he pulled her in for more.

[liaromancewriter]

Dolphins and Sharks

Premise: Max and Sienna paint the baby’s nursery, and an old rivalry resurfaces.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Sienna Trinh x Max Valentine (M!OC) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 930

A/N: This fic was requested by @kyra75 for Maxenna: paint. Submission for @choicesprompts Flufftober, @choicesoctober prompt: 'Partner' and @choicesflashfics week 54, prompt 3

Sienna Valentine stood in the doorway of the smallest of the spare bedrooms and took in the bare white walls, dark hardwood floor and single window overlooking the alley below. It didn’t have the best views in the apartment, tucked away as it was in the corner down the hall, but it would do.

She suspected the original builders had probably envisioned the room as a den or home office. Before she moved in last year, Max had used the space as a library. Later, they converted the room into storage when her things from Boston arrived, as well as the boxes of keepsakes and paraphernalia she’d left with her parents in New Orleans.

The room’s location, close to the master bedroom suite, and size made it perfect for their Little Bean’s nursery. She couldn’t wait to bring her vision to life.

“Ready for our painting date?”

Sienna leaned back as Max slipped his arms around her from behind, resting her head against his shoulder. His hands covered hers, and they cradled their unborn child together.

“Definitely ready to put you to work,” Sienna teased, giggling when he pouted.

“Are you sure this is safe for you and the baby?” He nuzzled the side of her neck, and she shivered, her eyes closing as his hands drifted up to cup her breasts. “It’s not too late to hire someone.”

Sienna’s eyes snapped open, and she pushed herself out of his embrace, turning to face him with a fierce expression.

“Nice try, Rich Boy, but I want us to decorate our baby’s nursery, not some stranger,” she reasoned. “Besides, given the amount of time you spent researching non-toxic paints, I think we’re safe.”

He smiled wryly and shrugged his shoulders in resignation. “Okay, but don’t complain if the end result sucks.”

Sienna patted his cheek and grinned. “It’s cute how you believe that I will let you leave here unless the room is picture perfect. Just follow my lead.”

Max swooped in to capture her mouth in a searing kiss that had her insides melting.

“I love it when you take charge,” he murmured against her lips. “Can I persuade you to seduce me tonight?”

“Only if you’re good,” she quipped. “Now, let’s get to work.” She pointed at the plastic roll. “Step one. Cover the floor with a drop cloth.”

A couple of hours later, Sienna hummed along to a catchy tune drifting from the Bluetooth speaker. The playlist they’d chosen cycled through Top 40 pop, indie and rock songs and suited the mood.

She stepped back from the wall she’d half painted and glanced sideways to check on the progress with the accent wall. Her eyes narrowed in contemplation at the expert way Max handled the paintbrush roller.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” she accused when he turned around and caught her staring. “You’ve done this before.”

“Oops, you caught me,” he said glibly. “I’m a hotelier by day and house painter by night.”

“Max…” she sighed, not in the mood for jokes.

Her back was killing her, and her stomach had been growling for the last twenty minutes. She did not want to admit that Max was right about having her take it easy and letting him do all the work.

“Sorry!” he said sincerely.

He must have sensed she was out of sorts for a different reason, for he walked over and eased her into a chair. She was grateful when he didn’t say, I told you so and just tucked a shawl around her shoulders.

“Remember my friend, Doyle?” he asked, crouching so that they were at eye level.

“Of course. We went to his wedding in the summer.”

“Well, he used to flip houses once upon a time,” Max explained. “All of us got roped into helping whenever he needed free labor. Painting, hammering nails into two-by-fours, installing grout in bathroom. You name it, we did it.”

She regarded the walls he’d already painted, and her lips curved into a teasing smile. “Well, if the bottom ever falls out of the hotel industry, you’ve got a second career as a house painter.”

He burst into laughter. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He rose from the floor and held out his hand. “Come on. Time for a break. You might be Superwoman, but all that hard labor’s made me hungry.”

The next day, Sienna and Max stood side by side, staring at the underwater-themed decals they’d just finished installing on the accent wall. Once the furniture arrived next week, the crib would go against this wall.

She sighed dreamily at the thought of their Little Bean guarded by a dolphin and a shark while he slept. She’d had her heart set on wallpaper originally, but her husband had been right. This was so much better. And they could easily change the decals as their son grew older.

“Go on, say it,” Max smirked, nudging her shoulder.

“… You were right,” Sienna grumbled, not wanting to admit defeat, but her smile gave her away.

She stretched on her toes and kissed the underside of his jaw. “Thank you for doing this for me.”

Max wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed the side of her head. “You’re welcome, but we’re hiring out for the next one.”

Sienna laughed, nestling into his side, and stared wistfully around the nursery. Their son would have the best of both of them, and that was everything she wanted.

As for the next one, she eyed Max shiftily. Well, she had plenty of time to change his mind.

Bonus

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Max & Sienna only: @aallotarenunelma @storyofmychoices @kyra75

[rylanenthusiast]

Could you write a hackateers spin the bottle? With a rylan kiss?? :)

i’m not kidding i have so many prompts that came before this that i need to write but the second i saw this i RAN to write it. party games are one of my fav tropes to read so i was super excited to try writing it myself- hope i did it justice! (pun not intended)

side note: i couldn’t decide what song starts playing on dylan’s phone at that part so some options if you were curious are: ‘dark red’ by steve lacy, ‘black out days’ by phantogram, and ‘lost the game’ by two feet.

TW: a tiny bit of spice at the end i couldn’t help myself

It was one of those nights that Mr. H would leave the camp for the night, supposedly to go on some sort of “supply run”.

The kids were asleep in the main lobby of the lodge, sleeping bags strewn across the floor and fairy lights draped across the walls in a half assed attempt to make it seem more cozy.

The counsellors, however- they were upstairs in one of the spare bedrooms, sat in a circle on the floor. An empty beer bottle sat in the centre.

And Dylan was practically vibrating out his skin.

Was it from excitement or fear? He had no idea. Maybe both. Definitely both.

The reason for his nerves being that a certain hotter than hell camp counsellor sat across from him had miraculously agreed to join in their game of spin the bottle.

Dylan wasn’t a religious guy- but fuck did he thank whatever deity had his back when Ryan hadn’t immediately dismissed the idea of spin the bottle.

Chewing his lip anxiously, Dylan snuck a glance at the pretty boy sat in front of him, only to be hit with the realisation that he had already been looking at him with a…curious gaze.

Dylan immediately flicks his head to the girl that had suggested the game who was sat next to him, Emma. Having second thoughts, he leans over to her and whispers-

“Hey- Em?”

“Mhm?”

“Are you…100% sure this is a good idea?”

“Course’ I am.”

“Okay because I personally feel like I’m gonna throw up and-“

“Shh,” she hushes, placing a slender finger over his lips, “I told you I’d help you out. This is me helping you out.”

Dylan looks back at her with pained eyes, whining before running his hands down his face in defeat.

Emma suddenly claps her hands, the chatter in the room going silent, before she proudly announces,

“Okay losers! It’s game time.”

-

It had been…three or so rounds? Jacob had kissed Nick on the cheek (who had gone far too red at the “No homo” that Jacob had blurted immediately after), a very shy Abi had given Emma a chaste kiss on the lips before scurrying back to her seat, and Kaitlyn had outright refused to kiss Jacob because she had “childhood best friend rights”- whatever that meant.

Ryan was bored as hell.

It’s not like he’d expected anything all too interesting to happen anyway. He wasn’t even sure why he’d agreed in the first place, but something deep down in his gut had convinced him to do so.

And it definitely was not because of the way Dylan had been looking at him all night.

He wasn’t sure if the other boy was aware, but every so often he’d catch his eyes staring at him, filled to the brim with what Ryan could only describe as…want.

Suddenly, Ryan feels an elbow in his side, Kaitlyn nodding her head towards the bottle in the centre.

Guess it was his turn.

Wordlessly, he leans forwards and spins the bottle, his eyes glued to it the entire time.

Then it stops.

On the other end of the green bottle in from of him, was the boy that had been on his mind the entire night.

Dragging his gaze upwards, Ryan found himself looking at a very shocked Dylan. His cheeks had flushed pink all the way to the tips of his ears, doe brown eyes wide, and jaw slack in awe.

It was cute.

“Well?”

Dylan is snapped out of his thoughts, looking up at the boy ahead of him.

“Are you sure…?”

“Pretty sure it’s the rules of the game, man,” Ryan replies with an almost-smile and furrowed brows.

The entire room is silent, save for the music softly playing from Dylan’s phone on the wooden floor. Everyone else in the room is just as eager as the boys themselves for this month long tension to finally break.

It was about damn time.

Dylan nods his head and crawls towards Ryan before sitting with his legs tucked under himself in front of him.

He was overwhelmed to say the least, eyes darting frantically to examine the arcs and arches of the beautiful boys face sat in front of him.

“So do you want me to-“

Dylan’s abruptly cut off by the sensation of Ryan’s hands on his hips, pulling him forwards until he’s sat on his lap.

Holy fucking shit.

A yelp slips out of Dylan at the sudden movement, and then he’s looking down at Ryan’s face. His hands don’t move, their position on his hips seemingly permanent.

“Is that okay?” Ryan whispers, cocking his head slightly to the side.

“Yeah- Yeah definitely-“

“Cool.”

“…Cool.”

For a moment they’re just staring at eachother, Ryan focusing on the way he can feel Dylan’s body move with his cautious breaths- Dylan focusing on the way Ryan’s hands tighten slightly on his hips.

“Can I kiss you?” Ryan whispers.

“Please.”

Dylan leans down slowly to capture Ryan’s lips, one hand raising to cup his jaw and the other resting on the curve of his neck.

They both exhale into the kiss, minds fogging as they begin to allow their lips to move whilst a simulation is hum of satisfaction escapes the both of them.

Ryan’s thumb slips under the hem of Dylan’s shirt, lightly grazing the soft skin above his waistband. Dylan gasps, allowing Ryan to slip his tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss.

His hand tightens on the back of Ryan’s neck, a feeble attempt to ground himself. He unintentionally presses down onto Ryan’s lap, to which Ryan responds to with a deep groan and-

Oh.

They abruptly pull apart, eyes wide and faces flushed.

“You guys done?” Kaitlyn quips, a smirk etched onto her face.

“Y-Yeah we’re- we’re good. Fantastic, actually,” Dylan manages to stutter out.

Ryan chuckles at the flustered state of the boy, and Dylan is enamored. He grins back at him, before suddenly becoming very aware of their suggestive position and almost leaping off his lap in sudden embarassment.

As he retreats back to his position, the game resumes- although the two boys couldn’t be less involved in their surroundings, sneaking shy glances at each other for the rest of the game.

Dylan really hoped they’d be doing more of that for the rest of the summer.