#so maybe i'll drunk write more often

[junkissed]

goodnight n go

★ | member — fwb!vernon x f reader ★ | genre — smut, angst, non-idol au, happy ending, fwb to lovers ★ | word count — 10.2k

★ | synopsis — you keep coming back for more, but every night ends the same. maybe this time things will be different.

★ | warnings — guitarist!vernon, rock band!hhu, mentions of alcohol, vernon has commitment issues (but he gets over it) ★ | smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, consensual drunk sex, car sex, oral (reader receiving), fingering, piv, making out, multiple orgasms, pussy drunk vernon (he's down baddd), some aftercare ★ | notes — thanks to @onlymingyus for always being the best and to @wonustars for proofreading !! i did not intend for this fic to be this long but i'm actually really proud of how it turned out so i hope you like it!! also i often make playlists for my fics but i never share them, but i've been listening to this one for months while i've been writing this fic so i'll link it so you can listen too. if you enjoy this fic, please reblog and let me know in the tags!! reblogs are super important to tumblr and they help motivate me to keep writing more like this :)

check out the playlist! featuring — goodnight n go - ariana grande ; black eye - vernon ; uh oh - tate mcrae ; sunset - caroline polachek ; romanticise this - james marriott ; entertainer - zayn ; & more

“hey, you wanna get drinks tonight?”

as usual, that’s how it starts.

you probably should have said no. you’d played this game before. you knew exactly what hansol meant when he offered to hang out after band practice, because it was never just “hanging out”.

you don’t even know why you still go to practices anymore. for a long time you’d avoided them; it wasn’t really your style, and you were never interested in being a groupie for their local gigs. your roommate seungcheol always invited you to every practice and every time you declined with the excuse of homework or other plans, but cheol finally convinced you to come just one time.

at first, it had been because he wanted you to hear a new song they were working on and he’d wanted to know how you liked it before they played it at an upcoming show. but then he’d introduced you to the rest of his bandmates, and after that there was no going back.

you couldn’t help the way your eyes always gravitated towards hansol, who insisted that you call him his real name instead of his stage name that everyone else called him. from the very first practice, you were captivated by him: the way his long fingers seem to dance along the neck of his guitar so effortlessly, the way his voice rasps when he sings, the way your breath catches in your throat when he grips the microphone stand and rolls his head back, lips parted in ecstasy.

he’s addictive, and it’s exactly the reason why you find yourself in the backseat of his car over and over again.

every time, it was easy to pretend that things would be different. you’d walk into the bar together and sit at the table in the back, order a few drinks, chat for a while about nothing. did you like the new stuff we played tonight? yeah, i know cheol is really excited to perform it saturday. you been doing any writing lately? mmm, a little. i’ve been feeling inspired. we could go back to my place and i could show you. except he never does.

hansol wasn’t a bad guy. he always paid for your drinks no matter how many times you offered to pick up the tab, he was polite, he listened to what you had to say. he just didn’t want more than that, and that’s where it all fell apart. you’d screw around for a while, then you’d part ways and wouldn’t speak to each other until next week. you never went to see them play shows, he never texted, you never called, never went on a real date besides meeting in the same bar down the street every thursday night after practice.

he seemed fine with that. you weren’t. and yet every time, you ended up back in his arms.

he groans into your mouth, pushing his hips into you and pinning you harder against the faded leather seats of his old honda. his lips are sloppy but eager, messily pressing his mouth into yours as his fingers tangle in the hair at the base of your neck. you can taste the beer and smoke on his breath, but for some reason it doesn’t bother you. maybe you’re used to it, or maybe it’s just because it’s him. you don’t want to know which reason is the truth.

he kisses you until you’re dizzy, and you can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or from the thrill of kissing him once again. it’s a high you’re convinced you’ll never get tired of, although you’re not quite sure yet if it’s one that he will.

hansol always lets you set the pace, but tonight he can’t seem to keep his hands to himself. both of your shirts met the floor of his car what seems like hours ago, leaving you in just your bra and pants as he makes out with you as if it’s the first and last time he’ll get that chance. his fingers breeze over your waist the same way they breeze over his guitar strings when he plays: careful yet greedy, each touch intentional yet impulsive as he grips your waist.

he drags his fingers higher and it sends a shiver down your spine, arching your hips up against him and rolling your head back against the seat’s headrest. if there’s only one upside to this relationship, it’s that he’s good at this. really good. if he weren’t, then you wouldn’t have spent so many nights letting him fuck you in the parking lot of your shitty local bar. it does something for your confidence knowing that he must feel the same about you, or else he wouldn’t keep inviting you out. at the very least, this arrangement is mutual, even if you wish it wasn’t.

his hips rock against your crotch again, and even through both of your clothes you can feel how hard he is. your mind is clouded, everything’s a haze, and all you can think about is how badly you want him. the warmth of his skin, the gentle scratch of his nails on the back of your neck, his long eyelashes that flutter against your cheek as he kisses you.

you feel your hands slide haphazardly down his bare chest, fumbling over his hips as you tug on the waistband of his jeans. none of it feels graceful, not like the way he handles his music. it’s sloppy, desperate, clumsy, and it’s everything you need right now.

he manages to lean back from you enough to undo his pants and push them down to his knees, but his mouth is back on yours in an instant. somehow you end up on your back across the seats, gazing up at him with slack lips as his thin silver chain dangles over your face. you might not remember a lot of what happens on these nights when you’re with him, but you’ll always remember this moment. him hovering above you with heavily lidded eyes, biting his lip and cursing as he pushes into you, is etched into your mind in a way you simultaneously love and hate. love because it feels so good, hate because it never lasts.

the last half of those nights never stands out in your memory. you remember feeling good, you remember trembling in his arms and gasping and moaning and crying in pleasure, but the images are too fuzzy to make out. you don’t really need to reflect on them anyway; you know he’ll just bring you out next week and do it all over again.

hansol kisses you once more after you’re both finally spent, but the kisses afterwards are always different. more… hesitant, more uncertain. none of the passion and desperation that you’ve come to crave from him. not what you really want.

“i can drive you home,” he offers once he’s finished cleaning you up. for once you think he might genuinely mean it, but you can never be sure enough to take that chance. you want him to drive you home. god, you want him to so bad. to have him come over with you and stay the night, stay another night and another until your apartment isn’t just yours anymore, that’s what you’ve wanted all this time. and it’s what you’ll never have.

“i’ll call an uber,” you answer.

“i’ll wait with you, then.”

the silence that settles over his car is heavy as you climb back into the front passenger seat. you want to tell him to get in the uber with you, stay more than just a couple hours with you in the furthest back corner of the bar parking lot that’s too far to be illuminated by streetlights. you want to argue that he’s too drunk even to drive himself, that he needs to come home with you and sleep it off together in the comfort of your bed, but you know it’s not true and it won’t work. this is a conversation you’ve had many times before. every night you’ve spent with him blurs into the next, always the same. 

sometimes you want to laugh at how naive you are, for thinking he’d eventually come to his senses and realize there’s more to you than a good lay before a gig. sometimes you want to grab him and shake him by the shoulders and tell him to grow the fuck up, give him an ultimatum and make him tell you what he wants from you or else put an end to it all. sometimes you just want to cry, to mourn your wasted time when you’re fully aware it’s never going to lead to something more, no matter how badly you want it and how hard you try.

no matter how many times you get your hopes up, no matter how many times you pray and beg and plead with god and the universe and every other higher power to get him to realize this can’t keep going on the way it is forever, nothing ever changes. you’re never going to stop running to him when he calls, and he’s never going to stop calling.

finally another car pulls into the lot, and you manage to pull yourself out of his car. you hear your name behind you and you stumble, swaying on your feet as he rolls down his window.

maybe this time will be different.

he says his usual goodbyes and goodnights, flashing you a loose grin and a wave as his engine sputters to life, and he asks if you’re planning on coming to practice next week. 

and you find yourself nodding.

you’re left standing there, your head and your heart pounding, watching his headlights fade as he drives away, until you’ve stood there for so long that your ride starts honking and calling for you to get in the car so you can leave.

maybe next time will be different.

this is going to be the last time, you swear.

you exhale as you stand inside the lobby of the venue, repeating the words to yourself. there’s a chill in the air tonight. the wind blows smoke in your direction from the couple standing by the door, abandoned cigarettes clutched between their fingers as they make out sloppily.

you grimace and turn away, studying the faded graffiti and half-ripped posters and advertisements that litter the walls around you. you mean it this time, seriously. the only reason you came tonight was because it’s the last time. a goodbye, of sorts.

you have to admit, you were a little shocked when hansol texted you after your weekly meet-up after practice. not only did he want to make sure you got home safe after you left, but he’d asked if you’d come to their next performance.

you stare down at your phone in your hand, rereading the texts for what feels like the thousandth time in the past few days just to make sure you haven’t imagined them. but no, there they are, bright pixels staring right back up at you from the screen.

hansol: hey just wanted to make sure you made it back home

hansol: btw we’re playing at the phoenix on saturday and i was wondering if you had plans? i wanna see you

hansol: maybe we could get dinner after or somethin if youre down idk

hansol: hoping youll be there

you’d been tempted to refuse him, out of bitterness or resentment or something else, but you can’t say you weren’t shocked by his offer. he’d suggested every once in a while that you should come see them play sometime, but it was always clear to both of you that it was out of small talk rather than genuine interest in you being there. but this time he’d said he wanted you there.

it was nice to feel wanted, for once. maybe you hadn’t been going crazy. maybe things really were different this time.

you glance at your phone once more to check the time before you slip it into your pocket, taking a deep breath as you walk through the second set of doors into the main room. you can hear the deep sound of wonwoo’s drums warming up, but the stage is obscured behind a ratty set of faded red curtains.

there’s still a few minutes before their set, but the room is already crowded with people so you push your way to the side wall near the back. you don’t really want anyone to see you here, anyway. you don’t want anyone to see that your resolve is paper-thin when it comes to hansol.

you hadn’t told him that you were coming tonight, just sending him a vague response and telling him you’d have to see if your schedule is free. even that felt too generous, after the anguish he’s put you through the past few weeks. he doesn’t need to know that you’re here, just like he doesn’t need to know the real reason you’ve been avoiding ever coming to see him play. and it’s not because you always have other plans.

you’re hoping to just watch the performance quietly from the back, then sneak out without ever having to talk to him, and text him later that you’d enjoyed it. you already knew you were going to enjoy it. you’d heard every original song, cover, and riff they’d ever played together, and at this point you could probably recite their setlist by heart. anyone could see that they were talented together, so it isn’t surprising that the venue is packed tonight. honestly, it’d be for the better if you got lost in the crowd and never saw him face to face.

the house lights suddenly fade into darkness and the crowd starts to quiet, the curtains finally pulling back to reveal the band. seungcheol stands in front of a microphone in the center of the stage, with wonwoo in the back at his drum set and mingyu to his left holding a bass guitar. and then, of course, there’s hansol.

you hate the way your gaze immediately lands on him, standing in the same position he always does, with his guitar slung around his neck by a thick red strap. the crowd starts cheering, and distantly you recognize seungcheol’s voice introducing the group, but you can’t make out any of his words.

your mind flashes back to all the nights you’ve spent sitting on a folding chair in mingyu’s garage, watching them laugh and bicker and fool around. it’s different seeing them actually on a stage for once, the metal of their instruments glinting under the harsh, colorful stage lights.

it’s not a large stage by any means, just a few feet higher than the ground and barely wide enough for all four of them to fit. but their presence is captivating, and it makes the dingy local theater seem more special than it really is. but then again, hansol makes everything seem more special than it really is.

seungcheol finishes speaking and the crowd around you lets out whoops and cheers, but you stay silent. your eyes are still stuck on hansol, watching him scan the crowd as he twists the tuning pegs on his guitar.

even from the back of the room, you can tell he’s nervous. his fingers shake just a little, in a way you know they never do because you’ve watched him tune his guitar a thousand times under the dim interior lights in his car. you watch his eyes dart around the room, squinting to see into the crowd before turning his attention back to the fretboard in his hands.

he’s not the most outgoing guy in the world, but at the same time you know he’s not the kind of person to get stage fright. something is different this time. or, maybe it’s not. you’ve never actually seen him play in front of an audience. you don’t know him as well as you think you do, you have to constantly remind yourself every time your mind starts to wander and you let yourself daydream. after all, he doesn’t know anything about you, and he doesn’t seem to care enough to learn. neither should you.

the band opens with a song you’ve heard a thousand times, then another and another, pausing after every few songs to talk to the crowd. time seems to fly by around you, but everything moves in slow motion when you're looking at hansol. you study the way his hair falls in soft brown waves around his face, his head bobbing to the rhythm as he strums his guitar. it's one thing you've always enjoyed about watching him play; he always gets so lost in the music, and it's fascinating to watch. it's clearly on the list of things he's passionate about, and even if you aren't one of those things, at least you get to see him doing something he loves. 

you shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. you can't let yourself think like that. you're here to end things, not to reminisce. you shouldn't care if he likes music or not, that's not your problem anymore. he's not your problem anymore.

you zone out for a while, trying hard not to think about him but he's the only thing you can focus on. your eyes wander every once in a while, when you hear cheol's raspy voice in the mic or a particularly cool guitar riff from mingyu, but they always end up back at hansol.

they finish playing what you know is their last song, but the crowd is still bursting with electricity. it’s not long before everyone starts to chant, begging for one more song.

“encore?” seungcheol laughs into the mic, and flashes one of his signature dazzling smiles that sends the group of girls standing in front of you into hysterics. he glances over at hansol and nods. “mmm, yeah. i think we can do one more.”

you fold your arms over your chest. now is probably your best chance to leave. it’s not a very big venue, but from the amount of people here it’s obvious that there’ll be chaos once things are over as people start to file out. though most of them will probably be trying to fight their way to the front instead, giving wonwoo their phone numbers written on stained cocktail napkins and asking mingyu to sign their tits. but just as you’re about to start pushing your way back towards the exit, cheol’s deep voice makes you pause.

“we’re gonna play something real special tonight,” he says, making eye contact with hansol again. “something brand new, that we’ve never performed before. you guys wanna be the first to hear it?”

the room erupts into cheers again, and cheol grins. “yeah, i figured. so, i’m gonna let vernon explain this one. take it away, man.”

you stand still, arms crossed and curiosity piqued. maybe you can wait until after the last song. if this is going to be your last hurrah, then you might as well see it through til the end. just this once, and never again.

hansol clears his throat and looks out into the darkened theater. “this song is about a girl i’m in love with,” he starts. that gets a light laugh out of the crowd, a couple whistles and cheers, and he chuckles into the microphone before continuing. the words that have been brewing in your head for weeks seem to instantly melt on your tongue as his voice rings in your ears, echoing through your mind. that’s not you. that’s definitely not you.

“i hope she’s here tonight, but i wouldn’t blame her if she wasn’t. because i think i kind of fucked everything up.” he swallows, his eyes darting back and forth as he scans across the crowd, searching for something. searching for you? “so if she’s out there, i’m sorry. and i know this won’t make up for it, but i hope you like it anyway.”

the crowd cheers again, louder than they have all night, but the noise quickly dies down once hansol begins to play. the lights go dim, and the room fills with a soft melody from his guitar. the sound is unfamiliar, a song you haven’t heard before, and you realize he must’ve been working on it outside of the band’s usual practices. 

even if he isn’t talking about you, the song is beautiful. his guitar seems to sing every note that plays, and you can practically see the air around him shimmering with energy. the rest of the room seems to fade away, the audience that separates you suddenly disappearing. it’s like you’re the only two people around, sitting beside him as he plays just for you. 

he’s done that a few times, played you little snippets on his guitar. you can almost picture it now: it’s always right after he parks outside the bar, before you head inside together. he’ll unzip the case and pull his guitar from the backseat, positioning it on his lap. he comes up with a different reason every time; sometimes he’ll ask if the chords he’s been working on sound good together, sometimes he’ll tell you to listen to see if it needs tuning, sometimes he’ll say he just needs to practice this section a couple more times before giving up for the night and getting shitfaced with you off too many shots.

but you always see right through his flimsy excuses; obviously he’s doing it to show off, to impress you or something. but for the life of you, you’ve never been able to figure out why. why should he care about impressing you, if he doesn’t want to go any further with you?

and suddenly, as you stand in the back of the theater, watching his eyes sparkle under the lights and his fingers breeze over his guitar, looking more focused and frustrated and angry and sad and sorry than you’ve ever seen him look, now you finally have your answer.

you don’t want him to be talking about you. he shouldn’t be talking about you. you almost wish he would just be an asshole to you, give you a good reason to yell at him and cuss him out and tell him to fuck off, but he never does. sure, he’s a little dense to the not-so-subtle hints you’ve been trying to drop, but he’s always been good to you, even if it’s breaking your heart in the process. maybe you’ve been the dense one all along.

the show ends in a blur, and the lights come back on as people start to file out. there's cheers and more shouts for another encore, but it's clear the night is over. this is the part you've been dreading; even after days of convincing yourself, you're still not sure what you're going to do.

when the crowd finally clears out enough for you to move towards the stage, you can already see the group that’s formed around the members. cheol is off to one side, giving out autographs to whoever waves their napkins closest to him. mingyu’s helping wonwoo pack up his drum kit, smiling shyly at the girls calling his name and promising he’ll come back out to the lobby to meet them once he’s finished.

and then there’s hansol, looking flustered as people crowd around him, a deep blush in his cheeks as he waves his hands to try and get them to leave. you’re just far enough from his line of sight that you almost hesitate. it’s not too late to turn around. it’s not too late to leave before he can see you, to disappear from his life forever, but your heart won’t let you. 

you walk a little closer to the stage, hanging back behind the crowd of people, but he sees. his face lights up with relief, and even from a few feet away you can still see his eyes soften. he tells the people to move, more firmly with his words this time, and he hops down off the stage as they part to make room for him. when it’s clear his attention is no longer on them, they grumble and walk away, talking to their friends about the show and how hot all the members are and how they’re definitely planning on coming back the next time they perform.

hansol reaches you in a couple of strides, stopping just in front of you. he stays silent for a second, his eyes roaming over you almost gratefully.

“hi,” he says finally, offering you a lopsided smile. he wipes his palms on his jeans nervously. “you came.”

you bite your lip for a second before you nod. “i did.”

“so you’re— did you— were you here for the end of the show?” he asks, trying to hide the stutter in his words. it’s cute how shy he is all of a sudden. it’s not like him to be shy like this. but then again, the only times you’ve seen him are when he’s playing with the guys or fucking your brains out while he's drunk, so it’s not like you’ve really gotten to know him. maybe he’s always been this shy and you were just too caught up in him to notice.

you know what he’s trying to say without outright saying it. obviously you were there the whole time, a fact you aren’t the proudest of, but you aren’t about to let him know that. “i heard your song,” you finally settle on, cutting straight to the point.

his face goes through about a hundred emotions in the span of a second, from surprised to happy then right back to shy again. “yeah?”

even though most of the room has cleared out by now, he starts walking as he talks, pulling you through the side door into the quieter backstage area. you follow him around the corner until you reach a private room, a wrinkled sheet of paper taped to the door with his name written in sharpie. his guitar case that you've seen so many times lies open on the floor, his backpack slumped against one wall.

“i liked it.”

he exhales in relief as he turns back around to face you, and you can almost see his whole body relax. “i'm so fucking sorry,” he says, nearly stumbling over his words with how fast he tries to get them out. “i've been really, really stupid. the way i left you the other night… i shouldn't have let you go like that. i regretted it the second you left.”

you purse your lips as you listen. you can tell he really means it, and it's getting harder and harder to stay mad at him. but you can't let him off that easy, not after how long you've been going through this.

“i just don't understand what it is you want, hansol. you treat me like— i don't know, like nothing.” you pause and chew on the inside of your cheek for a second, letting your words sink in. “and then out of the blue you beg me to come to your show, and you play this really sweet, heartfelt song, so how the hell am i supposed to take that?”

he winces, but the wounded look on his face doesn't feel as satisfying as you'd hoped it would. “i know. i'm just… i'm bad with words. i'm better at music.” he sighs. “but that's not an excuse. i didn't ever wanna make you feel like that, not on purpose. i just got scared. but i shouldn't have.”

you stand silently, waiting. clearly, there's more on his mind. he stuffs his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, shifting from one foot to the other. 

“i love the way you laugh. i love the way you watch me when i'm playing and it makes me feel like the only person in the whole world. i love the way you smile when you're drunk and the way you kiss me. and it was stupid of me to ever think i didn't want that all the time.” he lifts his gaze to meet your eyes, the fear in his expression more obvious than anything you've ever seen before.

you let out a breath, your voice dropping almost to a whisper. “you should've just said that.”

“i should've,” he agrees.

you offer him a tight-lipped smile, trying to keep yourself together. this is not how you thought tonight would go. you didn't even think you'd talk to him, and if you did, you thought it would be a shouting match, screaming and cursing before angrily storming out of the venue, finally feeling vindicated after all this time. yet here you are, standing quietly in front of him and trying not to cry.

he waits for a second, trying to gauge your reaction before he continues. “you're, like, my best friend,” he says, adding a nervous little chuckle to lighten the mood. “i think about you every time i play or whenever i try to write something. it's always about you. you don't know how much i look forward to thursday practices and getting to see you.”

now it's your turn to laugh. “you literally could've just texted me and i probably would've dropped everything to be there, anytime.”

he grins, his smile a little wider this time. “yeah, i know. i tried, the other day when i invited you. that was scary as shit.”

he looks up at you again, his soft brown eyes and long eyelashes shining even under the dim flickering bulb overhead. “i'm really glad you came tonight, though. i wasn't expecting you to, but i really hoped you would.” he offers you another nervous smile. “will you let me try again?”

you don't answer right away, and the look of nervousness starts to seep back into his features. “i promise i—”

but you cut him off, pulling him in by his shoulders and pressing your lips against his. he falters for just a second but his arms immediately wrap around your waist, tilting his head to lean into the kiss, and somehow that one little action feels more natural than anything you've ever done together.

you slide your tongue against his lips, and he lets out a groan into your mouth before he pulls back to breathe. “is that a yes?”

you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes and laugh, but instead you just nod. “yes.”

you definitely didn't come here tonight expecting to get laid. in fact, the last thing you ever thought you'd do is sleep with hansol again. but all of that feels like a distant memory as you head out of the community theater together, his guitar case over his shoulder, walking hand in hand towards his car.

the routine is familiar, but nothing is the same. you're not drunk, you're not in the parking lot of a cheap bar, and you don't feel lonely anymore. 

he unlocks the doors and you start to climb into the backseat, but he lets out a little noise and shakes his head, and you look up at him in confusion. 

“we're going back to my place. or yours, if you want.” he reaches down to offer his hand and help you out of the car. “i said i was gonna do it right this time, didn't i?”

by the time you get back to your apartment, your stomach is in knots in the very best way. your hands shake as you fumble with your keys, and if you weren’t so on edge it would have almost made you laugh, the way hansol looks away and pretends not to notice. you're more alike than you thought, and suddenly you're overcome with a feeling of excitement. now you get to discover all these little things about him: things you didn't allow yourself to see before, things he wants to show you and tell you and share with you. 

you try not to let the awkwardness seep back in, but you pause outside your bedroom door, almost as if you're waiting for hansol to tell you what to do. in just one night he's turned your life on its head, and now you're at a loss.

so he takes it as a sign and kisses you, his hands finding your waist and slowly trailing up your body until he's cupping your chin. it's different from all the other times he's kissed you. it's not just the fiery passion you're used to when you can tell he's worked up, but there's a hint of uncertainty in it, more similar to the kisses he gives you afterwards when you're trying to figure out whether to ask for a ride home or not. and then, the pieces finally settle into place and you realize he wasn't kissing you like that because he didn't want you; he was kissing you like that because he did.

you pull away and he freezes a little, and you can tell from the worried look in his eyes that he thinks he's gone too far. “relax,” you laugh softly, your forearms still resting on his shoulders. 

he complies, but his eyes still dart across your face in nervousness. despite how badly he wants you, how badly he needs to prove himself to you, there's clearly still so much that needs to be discussed before you can move forward, things that've been left unsaid for far too long.

you inhale and look up into his eyes, trying to find what emotion is hidden there. “what do you want, hansol?”  

“want you to be my girlfriend,” he breathes out without hesitating. if it were any other time and place you might've thought he was joking, but you can tell he's dead serious.

“i—” whatever words you had ready instantly die in your throat, not expecting such a genuine answer. “yes. but i meant, like, right now. what do you want, right now.”

his expression shifts in understanding and he grins, though it's still shy. “oh. well…” he pauses again to think. “what do you want me to do?”

you watch his eyes carefully for a moment before you reply. you've wanted him to do a lot of things. you wanted him to be better, you wanted him to be worse. you wanted him to do anything besides being stuck in this weird limbo of friend-zoned friends with benefits. but now that the choice is up to you… you don't want any of that.

“i want you to be honest,” you start softly, almost shy to say it, but you know it needs to be said. “i want you to tell me how you feel. because i can't lie, you really fucked up. i shouldn't have given you so many chances.” he winces at that, but you brush your thumb along his cheek and pull his attention back to you. “but i did. so you need to earn my trust again. and i just want you to not be so afraid anymore.”

he stays silent for a long moment before he nods, as if he's seriously considering your words. “i know,” he says finally. his voice is quieter now, barely above a whisper. “i'm sorry. you're gonna get so fucking sick of hearing me say how sorry i am, but i'm not gonna stop saying it.”

you want to laugh, but his tone is so serious that you know you shouldn't, so you keep a straight face and ask him again. “so… what do you want?”

he lets out a sigh, still holding you face in his hands. “shit, everything. but, first— i really wanna taste you. can… can i?”

you take a step backwards into the bedroom and he follows, tearing off clothes one by one in a hurry until you're both left with just underwear. with the limited space in his car you've never actually been fully naked together before, and the thought of him seeing you is both terrifying and exhilarating. 

he leans you down onto the bed and you pull him down with you. he falls beside you, pausing to kiss you once more before rolling off the bed and onto his knees, holding your legs in front of him as he stares up at you.

it's the kind of image that could drive a woman mad. you didn't think he was capable of being this patient, but it seems he's full of surprises tonight. “yes,” you breathe out and finally give him an answer. your eyes are locked onto his, a silent conversation happening between you in the span of a second.

he clears his throat and slowly pries your legs apart, pulling his gaze away from your face to stare between your thighs instead.

“god, this pussy…” he groans in delight as he settles your legs over his shoulders, his gaze transfixed on the wet spot at the seat of your panties.

he slides his palms up your thighs, and for his sake you pretend not to notice the way his fingers are shaking just a little. you lift your hips to encourage him, and he slips his long fingers beneath the hem of your panties before pulling them down, taking his time to slide them off and toss them on the floor behind him.

his hands immediately come back up to your thighs, using his thumbs to press your legs apart to give him a better view.

“so fucking gorgeous,” he mumbles to no one but himself. it's like he's in a trance, admiring the dripping mess between your legs like it's about to be his last meal. if he hadn't been so enthusiastic, you might've been embarrassed at the electric shiver that runs through you from his praise. but when there's a man this hot in front of you, kneeling and staring up at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen in his life, it's hard to feel embarrassed for long.

he leans in and presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your clit, and you nearly jump out of your skin at the feeling. he's never been incredibly rough with you before, but he’s never been this gentle, either. he's touching you so delicately, like a statue at a museum that he's not sure yet if he's allowed to touch or not.

your reaction spurs him on, and he leans in further to flatten his tongue against your entrance and gives a long, slow lick. your hips lift automatically, trying to push him closer and add more pressure.

he curls his tongue through your folds before pulling away, his hands coming up to rest on your hip bones and hold you down. “even better than i imagined,” he groans, looking up at you from his spot on the floor, and the image of him down there makes you so dizzy that you have to lay back down against the bed again.

“more,” you whimper desperately. in the back of your mind there's a distant feeling of shyness at how demanding you're being, but you don't think twice about it. after everything he put you through, he still needs to prove himself to you, that he's not going to break your heart again. but he's doing a damn good job so far. “vernon— ah, fuck!”

“mm, anything.” he presses a kiss against the soft skin on inside of your thigh. “anything you want, baby.”

you don't even have time to process the nickname before he's diving back in, his lips wrapped around your clit as he sucks at you. you let out a strangled noise of surprise, your hand instantly flying down to hold his head.

your fingers tangle in his hair, his tongue so deep in your pussy that you're already gasping and writhing under his touch. you can't tell which one of you has been more stupid for not letting this happen sooner, because it almost seems like he's enjoying this more than you are.

the coil in your stomach already feels like it's about to burst, pent up with white-hot energy that feels hotter than the sun. it hardly takes a few more pointed laps of his tongue before you fall apart into his mouth, whimpering and groaning and begging shamelessly for him. 

“you called me vernon,” he says when you finally manage to push his head away, shivering with overwhelming sensitivity. he lifts one hand to wipe at his chin, way too nonchalant after everything he just did.

you're still fighting through the haze of your orgasm but his words bring you back down to earth, and your face fills with heat. “huh? sorry, i—”

“everybody calls me vernon,” he says as he shakes his head, quickly cutting you off. he stands up and moves onto the bed, flopping down beside you. “i liked that you always called me hansol. made it feel special.”

your eyes follow his movements, still laying on your back as you catch your breath. “but…?”

he grins, and you swear there's a hint of blush in his cheeks. “but that was really sexy when you called me vernon. it sounds way cooler when it's coming from you.”

all you can do is laugh, letting your eyes close as you rest your hands on your stomach. “noted,” you giggle. “so should i do it more, then?”

he hums in thought, rolling over onto his side so that he's closer to you. “you can do whatever you want, baby.”

that nickname again. he's already started leaning in to kiss you again, but you grab his shoulders and pull him down to meet him halfway. there's a bitterness on his tongue that you'd almost forgotten about, but you're quickly reminded once you feel his hand sliding across your stomach and down back between your legs. you let out a surprised but happy moan into his mouth, one of your hands moving to the back of his head to kiss him harder.

your legs part, accepting the warmth of his palm as he gently presses it against your sensitive clit. he holds his hand there for just a moment, pausing his movements as he kisses you, eagerly swallowing the whimpers and sounds you give him in return.

after a minute he shifts his hand, carefully pressing his index and middle finger into you. you're right up at the edge again already, clenching down hard around his fingers as he sets a slow pace, pulling them out halfway before thrusting them in deeper than before. you're seeing stars, releasing a constant stream of muffled moans into his lips as he curls his fingers inside you. he follows the rhythm of your hips as you rut against his palm, letting the movement force his fingers even deeper.

his fingers are dripping with your juices, down his knuckles and pooling in his palm, but it only makes him want to fuck you even more. it's not like this is the first time he's fingered you. the guys at the auto shop down the street know him all too well, from the amount of times he's had to take his car in to get the seats cleaned. he always claims that it's because he's a messy eater, and while that's true in some ways, he knows those guys don't buy it for a fucking second.

his fingers are completely buried inside you but he never stops kissing you, breathing almost as heavily as you are. he stops thrusting his fingers and adjusts his hand once more, pressing his thumb against your clit to rub lazy circles over it. 

“ver—vern— fuck, hansol!” you finally manage to pull away from his lips, nearly gasping for air as another orgasm rips through you. his other hand slides down your body and it feels like the first time you've ever been touched, his palm so warm and tender against your skin that it somehow makes your high even better. you're shaking in his arms, lips parted in a soundless moan as you clench wildly around his fingers, but he just holds you tighter against his body and keeps pressing kisses along your jaw.

his lips are wet with both spit and slick as he watches you, his eyes filled with stars. usually when you're together, in the dark backseat of his car illuminated only by the moonlight and nearby streetlamps, it's hard to make out the details. it's dark, and everything is fuzzy from both the alcohol and the late hour. but now, he's realizing how stupid he was for never letting this happen sooner. he could've ended up going his whole life without ever seeing you like this, laying completely fucked out under the soft light in your bedroom, your pupils wide and eyes watery and so, so beautiful.

he waits until you've calmed down again, leaning away to give you a little space, but your hand shoots out to grab his wrist and keep him close to you and he can't help but smile. when you open your eyes you're expecting to find a cocky smirk, to see how proud of himself he is for having you in the palm of his hand so easily, but it's not there. just that soft smile.

“now. what do you want?” he says. “i should be asking you that way more often.”

“want you inside,” you pant out. “now. please? i— i missed you.” you shouldn't have said the last part out loud, but at this point you don't care anymore. all your cards are out on the table.

his eyes widen a little at your boldness, but he bites his lip and nods. he can't lie and say he wasn't secretly hoping you'd say that, but he'd be just as happy to sit here on the floor and eat you out over and over and over again. he'd do anything you want at this point, and not just because he feels like he owes you. he does, but it's deeper than that. it's a different kind of feeling, one that makes him want to do cheesy shit like lay his jacket over puddles for you and buy an airplane to write your name in the sky.

as he starts to position himself between your legs on the bed, you watch his face. his expression is outwardly neutral, but little by little you've started to recognize the signs of his happiness. it looks good on him.

but your brain isn't content with that, not just yet. you swallow as a thought crosses your mind, and you can't push it down any longer.

“wait,” you say quietly, forcing the word out before you can reconsider. he stops immediately, his eyes searching your face for anything he can find, any sign that you've changed your mind about this.

“yeah?” he replies, his voice just as quiet, as if he's afraid to speak too loudly and break the tension of this moment.

you clear your throat as best you can manage, though it's kind of starting to get sore from how much and how loudly you've been moaning all night. “just curious,” you start, nervousness suddenly starting to creep in. but tonight is for being honest, and you can handle the truth. probably.

“before, while we were together— well, it doesn't really count as being ‘together’ but you know what i mean.” you pause again, chewing your lip. “did you ever… y'know. was there ever anybody else?”

hansol exhales, still hovering over you. “no. unless you count lotion and my hand, ‘cause there was a lot of that.” your eyes soften and you visibly relax at his words, and he mentally kicks himself for ever making you even think that was the case. that there would ever be anyone else for him but you. “i know i was stupid, but i'm not that stupid.”

“okay.” you pause again, trying to figure out how to get back on track. “sorry, i just wanted to know. i don't care.”

he scoffs, but his tone is more melancholy than angry. he shifts on top of you so he can rest on his elbows, getting closer and brushing his hand over your hair. “you should care. if i had, i would've given you full permission to lay into me, cuss me out, whatever. i would've deserved it. you don't deserve that.”

“i wanted to, trust me.” you sigh. “but you're too nice to me. i thought…” you chew on your lip, eyes searching his as you try to figure out what to say. “…i don't know what i was thinking.”

“i don't think i'm anywhere near ‘too nice’,” hansol laughs. the sincerity in his expression almost makes you feel better. “i'm the luckiest dude on the planet that you didn't decide to, like, slash the tires on my car and egg my house or something instead. i really wouldn't have blamed you if you did.”

“maybe i should then, next time,” you say, a smile creeping onto your face.

he shakes his head. “there won't be a next time.”

the room goes quiet and you stare at each other for a second, letting his words sink in. you can tell he's being lighthearted, but he's not even trying to hide the sincerity behind his words.

“you can… continue now,” you say after a tense moment, breaking the silence. the tension in the room is thick but it's not uncomfortable, slowly but surely melting into a lust that's deeper than any of the times you've been drunk and horny in his car.

he nods, and he reaches down to brush your hair back behind your ear before his hands slide down your body. he seems so hesitant to let go of you, but finally he lifts one hand to grip his cock and position himself at your entrance. he braces his other hand against your hip, shivering as he brushes the tip of his cock up through your folds. fuck, he's not gonna last. 

after steeling his nerves as best he can and trying to convince himself not to bust the second he's inside you, he angles himself between your legs and starts to push in.

by some miracle he manages not to cum immediately, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to think about literally anything else but how fucking beautiful you are lying beneath him, but what actually happens instead might be worse.

hansol groans once he's fully inside, slowly splitting you open bit by bit until he bottoms out with his hips flush against yours. there are so many words on his tongue begging to spill out, but he can't think straight. holy shit, he can't even think about anything right now. why did he never say anything sooner? why did he waste so much time content with putting in the least amount of effort when he could've been having you like this all along?

“i love you,” he blurts out, and for a split second you think maybe this is all a dream and somehow you passed out at the show and hit your head so hard you started hallucinating this. but then his eyes widen and he winces in that way you've started to recognize, and you almost laugh because now you know it's real.

“shit, i don't know why i said that. i'm sorry. fuck, i'm sorry,” he groans and hangs his head, but despite his embarrassment you can still feel every inch of his dick twitching inside you and it feels way too good to ignore. “you don't have to say it back. i know it's way too soon—”

“did you mean it?”

“what?”

“did you mean it?” you repeat. his attention pulls back to you, a confused yet hopeful look in his eyes that makes your heart warm.

he clears his throat, obviously trying to hide the pink spreading across his cheeks. “yeah. i think i did. and not just because you have the best pussy ever.”

“are you sure? because that's what it sounds like to me,” you tease and try to roll your eyes, but his words make you clench involuntarily around him and he curses under his breath.

“fuck— yes, i’m very sure, i meant it and i'll keep saying it forever if you'll let me.” he lets out a groan, both hands now firmly planted on your waist. “but, god, please let me fuck you now. i'm trying so goddamn hard to hold back and i'll gladly go for another round later but i'm trying to make it up to you right now and it's gonna completely ruin it if i cum in, like, five seconds.”

you can't help your laughter in that moment so all you can do is nod, lifting your hips a little to try and get him going. and he takes the hint, pulling halfway out of you before slamming back in, a loud, deep string of groans leaving his lips.

his pace starts out frantic but he quickly calms himself down, stabilizing himself through his grip on your waist and pulling you to meet his thrusts. he snaps his hips into you at a smooth pace, his cock dragging against your walls with each stroke in a way that has you clawing at his wrists for support as he holds onto you.

hansol may be bad at relationships, but he's never been bad at sex. even on a good day it really doesn't take much to have you seeing stars, but this is different. this is desperate, determined, thankful, and hopeful all wrapped into one movement, sliding in and out of you with a passion you've only ever seen when he's playing guitar. 

“ha— ngh— hansol!” despite your efforts to keep it steady, your voice still comes out broken, his name escaping your lips as easily as breathing. you roll your head back against the pillow, and you're suddenly even more grateful that you're at home in your bed instead of alone in a parking lot. this is so much better, better than you could've dreamed.

“fuck, you always take my cock so good,” hansol groans as he leans forward and buries his face in your chest. “i should’ve been telling you that every single time, how good you are. so fucking good.”

the way he fucks you is strangely tender, in a way you're not sure you've ever felt before. it's rough, but somehow in a gentle way. he's taking you apart piece by piece and putting you back together with his hands, his kisses, his touch. none of the times before have ever come close to this. 

maybe it's the feeling of a mattress beneath your back instead of a hard plastic seat, or maybe it's the promises hanging in the air between you that makes this time feel brand new. maybe you're just too caught up in the moment to think straight, but for the first time it finally feels like a fresh start. this time is different.

“baby, please, one more for me,” he moans into your skin as his hips begin to grow weary, his breath hot against your chest. “‘m not gonna last much longer— fuck, cum for me one more time, baby. god, you're so perfect. please, let me make you cum.”

at this point he's rambling, almost as far gone as you are, but it's like he doesn't even need to ask. as soon as the words leave his mouth you feel the familiar sensation starting to build again, burning hotter and quicker than before. you almost start to panic because you can't even tell if you have another one left in you, but you look up and meet his eyes one last time and suddenly a wave of calm washes over you at the sight of his soft brown eyes filled with way more love than you're expecting to find there.

you don't even have time to tell him when it hits you one more time, you just grab him and hang on tight as your high tears through you. you struggle to lift your legs and wrap them around his back, pulling him in even closer to you as your walls flutter uncontrollably around him. he invades your senses and you can feel him everywhere, and you can only hope he feels the way you do.

but it's obvious that he does, because “ah, shit—” is the last thing you hear before he pulls out, barely managing to get back in time before he spills all over your stomach, your thighs, your pussy, the sheets. it's everywhere, and neither of you care. his hands are still on you gripping your waist tightly like he can't bear to let go, his cock pulsing limply as it rests against your stomach. rope after rope of thick white floods over your skin, and yet it's like he barely even notices because he's so busy repeating your name, praising you again and again in between swears and shaky moans.

you're panting, your hands shaking as you reach for him, but he's already right there. he's breathing heavily himself as he drops down on the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you and burying his head in the crook of your neck. 

his weight half leaning against you is grounding, and eventually you feel your heart starting to return to normal as you become aware of the sticky puddle of sweat and cum that you're both laying in. but you just close your eyes and rest, focusing on his body warmth and his palm holding your side and the tickle of air coming from his nose as he breathes against you, and you realize nothing, no feeling in the world, has ever felt better than this.

when he reluctantly pulls himself away from your body to go look for a towel, you already know there's no question about whether or not he's staying over tonight.

once he's done cleaning you off he lifts you up into his arms, laughing and nuzzling his nose into your neck as he sets you down at your desk chair to start stripping the mess of sheets off your bed, and in that moment you can't help but think how lucky you are. he keeps saying that he's the lucky one for letting him have a second chance, but you're lucky in a lot of ways, too. lucky that it turned out he wasn't as much of an idiot as you’d thought. lucky that your heart wouldn't let you give up on him, no matter how hard you tried. lucky that after everything, hope still works sometimes.

after stumbling around your room, tossing blankets and sheets around and looking the happiest you've ever seen him, you're finally settled down together and you're back where you've always belonged, laying in his arms. it's so late that the sun is probably coming up soon and you're exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of a night, but you couldn't care less about what happens next because everything finally feels right.

hansol sighs, his arm curled a little awkwardly around your shoulders as he twirls a lock of your hair between his fingers. “can… we not do this anymore?” he asks finally. 

his voice is quiet; not shy or uncertain, just quiet. it's different than what you're used to with him. usually when you're around him everything is loud, it's fast and messy and jumbled, a whirlwind of a night followed by heartache and a pounding headache in the morning. but now he's just… quiet. all the thoughts that normally rush through your head are gone, leaving nothing but silence.

you swallow, confused. although you've already talked out all your worries, you can't help the uncertain feeling that starts to return. “what do you mean? like, right now?”

he exhales like he's thinking, and his fingers pause in your hair. “like… i don't know. i want things to be good between us. whatever we were doing before— anything but that. no more not talking about stuff. no more tension. y'know? i promise.”

“mmm.” you hum, letting his words sink in for a while. you drum your fingers absently against his chest, almost trying to make sure he's still there. “yeah. i think… i think things are good between us now.” you giggle, leaning your head against his chest. “as long as you don't pull that shit again.”

he laughs, reaching up to grab your hand off his chest and hold it there. “oh, yeah, i know. you're way too good to me for even giving me another chance. i'm so sorry i almost fucked it all up.”

“you don't have to say that anymore.”

“well like i said, babe, i'm going to—”

“you can just keep saying ‘i love you’ instead.” you interrupt, squeezing his hand in yours.

he stops short in the middle of his sentence, caught in surprise, but as soon as your words register a grin slowly begins to make its way across his face. “cool. then… i love you.”

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[swanlikely]

Current Brainrot: Teaching Boyfriend Choso! How To Kiss!

Author's Note: I am back from the dead guyssss :3 Did you miss me? Anyways, I finally found motivation to write again. It's all thanks to this artist. Check out her Twitter and her commissions page! (Artist & Her Commissions)

Also, this is my first attempt at writing a Dom!Reader piece, so I appreciate your patience if it feels a little rough around the edges.

not proof-read! (sorry if there are any errors - let me know and i'll fix it!)

CW: AFAB! reader, usage of she/her, sloppy kissing, dry humping, premature ejaculation

✧₊🦢🫖₊✧✧₊🦢🫖₊✧✧₊🦢🫖₊✧✧₊🦢🫖₊✧✧₊🦢🫖₊✧✧₊🦢🫖₊✧✧₊🦢🫖₊✧✧₊

Choso was the sweetest boyfriend anyone could ask for, maybe a little too sweet. The two of you had been dating for a couple of months now, and hadn't progressed past hand-holding. You wanted more, but the anxiety of pushing him past his comfort zone scared you. He was new to all of this—all human emotions, situations, and sensations.

You often found yourself imagining what it would be like if his strong hands lingered on your skin just a bit longer than those fleeting moments. What if his soft gazes turned half-lidded and drunk on you? What if his lips finally collided with yours in the heat of the moment? What would it feel like? Would he want that?

As the movie dragged on, you found yourself growing increasingly restless. The movie was losing your interest, but the view beside you was far more captivating. Choso lounged on the couch, his arm casually slung over your shoulder, his legs sprawled comfortably. You couldn't help but let your naughty eyes wander, tracing the lines of his muscles and the way his shirt fit him perfectly. The warmth of his body near you and the steady rise and fall of his chest were far more engaging than the plot on the screen.

He was a sight, a mouth-watering sight.

Your mischievous fingers danced along the side of his abdomen, causing his stomach to flex instinctively. His breath hitched for just a moment, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, the slight reaction only spurred you on, with a grin spreading across your face.

"Choso," you purred his name, drawing out the vowels in a whisper. He shifted slightly, tilting his head to face you. His expression contorted into one of concern, but, oh god, did he look good. His hair was pinned up in its usual style, and his face was illuminated by the flickering light of the TV in the dark room. The soft glow highlighted the sharp angles of his jaw and the depth of his eyes, making him even more delectable.

"Hm?" He mumbled, a soft vibration that sent tingles straight to the already dripping place between your clenched thighs. His brows furrowed with anticipation, each word you spoke a delicate thread he clung to. There was something different about you, a change that Choso couldn't quite grasp. He could feel the energy in your blood thrumming, an almost palpable hum that confused him.

He had no idea what you were about to do; what you were about to do to him.

Your movements were slow; your scheming hand glided from the side of his torso to the fleshy muscle of his thigh. Choso's furrowed brows softened for a split second before arching again, not in arrogance or intrigue, but in genuine confusion. Was he really that innocent? Or was he just toying with you?

He had seen plenty of couples kiss or even get a little more intimate in the streets, or hell, even during the movie you were watching. Wasn't he at least a bit curious?

"Have you ever thought about doing something like that?" Your eyes flick to the screen, then swiftly back to him. The television was showing two lovers, well, getting pretty cozy for lack of a better term. Lips grinding together; tongues intertwining, teeth grazing, saliva mixing, all fueled by one thing: lust. The scene lingered just a bit too long, causing Choso to visibly gulp before he could muster a response.

"I haven't, uh, not that I haven't, I just..." he stammered, his pale cheeks and ears bursting into a deep, beautiful red. You inched closer, your fingers lightly digging into his thigh, sending the message you intended for him to receive. His breath hitched, eyes wide as he struggled to find the right words. "Have you?" he asked, a bit too quickly, as if he was trying to put the spotlight on you to avoid the embarrassing question.

His muscled shoulders were now taut, fingers gripping the cushion of the sofa beneath him. You felt like a predator ready to pounce, your gaze smoldering through half-lidded eyes. Choso sweatpants strained at the middle, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment. Oh, he was definitely imagining something.

"I have," you say with a hint of mischief, making sure he realizes how filthy your thoughts have gotten. It took a moment for the reality to take in, but when it did, his eyes widened and met yours. "Does that bother you?"

Choso blinked, his mouth parting just slightly. The pink flush on his cheeks deepened, and he shook his head, almost too quickly. “No. No, it doesn’t bother me,” he said, voice low, rough around the edges. “I just, uh, I didn’t know you thought about me like that.”

You leaned in slowly, the air between you now thick with something unnamed but deeply understood. “Then let me make it clear.”

Your lips brushed his jaw, featherlight, just enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath and the promise behind it. He didn’t move away—in fact, his hand twitched against the couch, like he was stopping himself from reaching for you. You took that as invitation enough.

You pressed your lips to the corner of his mouth, a soft tease, and finally he turned toward you—meeting you halfway.

The kiss was tentative at first, a soft, trembling thing, but when your fingers slid up to curl into his hair, Choso’s restraint cracked. His mouth opened beneath yours, hot and eager, and his hand finally found your waist, gripping it like he was anchoring himself. He kissed you like he’d been waiting his whole life to, hesitant but hungry, all trembling breath and tightly coiled want.

You pounced, climbing onto his lap without breaking the kiss, your thighs straddling his as his hands found purchase on your hips. A soft groan rumbled from deep in his chest when your lips left his only to graze down the side of his neck, your tongue flicking against the sensitive skin just beneath his jaw. His hips jerked beneath you, and your smile curved against his throat.

“Still okay?” you murmured, your lips brushing his ear now. Choso’s answer came as a growl, low and hoarse. “If you stop now, I might actually die.”

You chuckled, but the sound was breathy, laced with your own unraveling. “Good,” you whispered. “Because I don’t plan on stopping.”

Your hips shifted against his, rolling in a deliberate rhythm that sent a delicious friction sparking between you. You could feel the hard press of him through the layers of clothing, thick and twitching beneath his sweatpants, straining against the fabric. Every time you dragged yourself against him, your clit throbbed, caught in the pressure, your panties dampening with each pass.

Choso gripped your hips like he didn’t trust himself to move — like if he did, he might lose the last thread of control. His thighs tensed beneath you, solid and trembling, and his breath stuttered out in shallow bursts that tickled the hollow of your throat.

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “You feel that, Choso?” you murmured, each word dripping honeyed sin. “That’s what you do to me.”

Your grinding picked up in intensity, not rough, but sure, a boiling heat that made your stomach clench. The fabric between you was too thin, not enough, and yet somehow too much — your soaked panties clung to you, dragging over your aching center with every movement. His cock throbbed beneath you, hard and leaking, the head of it caught at the waistband of his sweatpants, no longer fully confined.

His whole body shuddered. “I—I can’t... it’s too much,” he panted, voice cracking like he was breaking open.

“Then let it be too much,” you whispered, breath hot on his neck.

You rocked your hips just right, slow and deep, and that’s what did it.

Choso gasped, then let out a strangled moan, low and utterly wrecked. His body locked beneath yours, rigid with release. A wet heat spread between you as he came hard, the fabric of his sweatpants quickly growing damp and sticky against your clothed cunt. His cock pulsed against you in frantic twitches, and his breath hitched with every wave that rolled through him.

His forehead dropped to your shoulder, hiding his face, but you could feel how flushed he was — his skin hot and slick with sweat. He clung to you, hands trembling, his chest rising and falling in ragged motions against your breasts, which were heaving in time with your own racing heartbeat.

“I—fuck, I’m sorry,” he breathed against your skin, shame coloring his voice even as his cock still twitched faintly beneath you.

You pulled back just enough to catch his dazed, overwhelmed gaze. Your fingers threaded into his hair, holding him gently but firmly. “Don’t be sorry,” you said, voice sultry and slow. “You were perfect.”

He stared at you, wide-eyed and wrecked, and you leaned in, brushing your lips over his cheek with a wicked smile.

“We’re just getting started.”

[sylebs]

a/n: allow me to just self-indulge, thinking about making out with sylus after a couple of drinks. as we all know, consent is so damn hot and maybe i'll indulge some more and write the spicy part another time.

word count: 1,033 (AO3 Link)

cw: mentions of alcohol, thigh-riding, drunk kisses - oh, yeah, not beta read... we die like men.

Yours and Sylus's steps were messy as hell; as messy as the kisses you two were giving to each other, hands roaming along your bodies.

Intoxicated. Not just by the drinks you two shared at that boring business gathering that Sylus couldn't blow off like he wanted to, but by each other's presence.

He could not keep his hands off you, wanting to feel every inch of your body, an annoyed groan escaping in between the heated kisses. You've lost count how many times the two of you stumbled throughout the base and how he had to trap you between his body and the wall every so often just so the two of you can catch some air before you're both kissing each other desperately once more.

His head was spinning, and so was yours, the liquor coursing through your systems only heightened the want and need the both of you had for one another. 

"Stay with me, kitten, you know I won't go any further if you're out of it before we even start." He reminded you, a gentle hand resting against your cheek that you easily nuzzled against.

You almost forget to reply, your eyes half-lidded as you gaze up at him. You nod, digits curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, "Don't... underestimate my alcohol tolerance," you mumbled, easing up on your tiptoes to capture his lips once more. 

An amused chuckle emitted from him, his arms wrapped snug around your waist as he held you close to his body, licking into your mouth with ease, eliciting a delicious moan from you. He lifted his knee up slowly, teasing you before his knee brushed against your clothed core as your dress rode up.

"So pretty, sweetie," he groaned as he eased back, watching as your hips began to roll in a smooth motion, creating that friction your body had been craving.

His hands flitted to your hips, holding onto you and guiding you as your hands rested on his shoulders. You pant as your eyes drifted down to watch your hip movements and how your body desperately needed more than what the friction gave you.

"Sylus—" You gasped and your eyes locked with his; you focused on his right eye, where he could peer into your desires. He knew what you needed and he would give it to you.

If you asked nicely of course. 

"I know your desires, kitten, but..." He paused, trailing tantalizing kisses along your neck, his heavy breath fanning against your sensitive skin, his lips brushing up to  your ear as he whispered into it. "I need to hear you say it." 

It was to gain consent from you and for him to know you truly wanted this. His eyes would gaze into yours, his fingers gently cupping your chin to tilt your gaze up to meet with his. Albeit your eyes were half-lidded, he can tell you were still there with him.

He chuckled, leaning in to kiss down to your clavicle, biting down onto it and causing your breath to catch in your throat. He guided your hips again and you grew even more desperate by the motion. The friction was good, but you always needed more. 

Greedy. You were so fucking greedy. But hey, he told you to be.

"Kitten," his tone gravely, "stay focused."

You blink a few times, as to get rid of some of the haze. Your arms reach up to wrap around his neck, pulling him down so that your lips would brush along the outer shell of his ear. You give it a nip then whisper into it.

"I need you, Sylus." 

Sylus closed his eyes, gripping onto your hips; whether you knew it or not, you had so much power over this powerful N109 Zone ruler and Onychinus's leader. He squeezed your hips and guided them to grind along his thigh more firmly now. 

"Again," he commanded, lifting you up as he wrapped your legs around his waist, pinning you against the wall, his hands curling around your neck, not squeezing but holding you in place. "Say it again, kitten. Just for me." 

You knew very well that Sylus loved the way you sound when you're hot and heavy for him, desperation gleaming in your eyes, your body yearning for more of his touches. And you loved to indulge him. 

"I need you," you repeated without skipping a beat, your fingers finding themselves buried in his soft silver locks, "please, Sylus..." You plead, giving his hair a brief tug.

He sucked in a breath, letting out a breathy chuckle as he pulled you away from the wall, still holding you up in his arms whilst walking into the room. 

He slid the knob of the lights up just enough to keep the room somewhat lit but dimmed, making long strides to his bed as he brought you down onto it, nearly landing on you when you pulled him down upon him easing back, making you think he would pull away. His eyes widened before they softened, the back of his fingers gently caressing your cheek. 

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetie. I promise," he dipped down to kiss you softly, his hand gliding down your thigh to the back of your knee as he cupped it, lifting it slightly as his lips brushed against the skin.

The kisses he gave you were like a stamp of his reassurance. Your hands didn't grip his shoulders or arms in fear he would leave anytime soon. Instead, they held onto him tightly, pulling him closer as if it were anymore possible than he already was. And he seemed to sense it, kissing up your thigh, moving into the inner parts as he bit into the supple flesh. 

He gazed at you for a moment, "look at me, kitten."

And you do, your chest heaving as your fingers card through his hair, your eyes locked on him. 

"Do you want it?" He asked one last time.

You shook your head and you can see the shock on his face, even more so when you pull him back up to you, whispering against his lips. 

"No, Sylus, I need it."

[talesofesther]

until one of us caves

Rolan x Reader

Summary: After fighting Lorroakan, you decide to stay with Rolan.

A/N: I know that like maybe three people are gonna read this but I couldn't care less. The more I learned about Rolan's story, the bigger of a soft spot I got, and this little thought wouldn't leave my head so I had to write this down. Nothing serious, just something I wish I could do in the game. Also, this story kinda drifted a little from the original plan about halfway through and started writing itself, so don't blame me if the quality is dubious lmao. Requests for him are open I guess, if anyone's interested.

Word count: 3k

Masterlist

The scent of smoke and ash hung in the air. Stones and mud, remains of the elementals, littered the floor of Ramazith's Tower; as well as a few burned books here and there, smashed furniture, and splatters of blood in the marble. It would take a while to get the place back to the glory it could hold, but you figured it was doable.

The body of its previous master lay lifeless on the floor, spine broken, skin torn. You held no pity for him, only resentment.

From the corner of your eyes, you could spot a twitching tail and clenched fists, staring blankly at the body of his tormentor. He said nothing, merely huffed and walked away before you could think of saying anything, your gaze followed his steps.

The time between when you'd first set foot in Sorcerous Sundries and now had gone by in a haze. You had stopped dead in your tracks then, breath hitching as you caught sight of the countless bruises on Rolan's skin, and an overwhelming sense of protectiveness took over you. You'd walked up to him, the words "Who did this to you?" were stumbling past your lips before he even had the chance to utter the practiced greeting. Rolan had evaded the matter, as you'd expected, building ever higher walls around himself. And you'd surprised yourself with how restless the sight of him had made you feel.

"Soldier?" Karlach's hand on your shoulder pulled you back to the present, making you quickly turn your head back to her.

You blinked several times until your eyes regained their focus; "yeah?"

She gave you a halfhearted smile and you wondered just how much your turmoil showed on your face. "I was just asking if you're alright, and… where do we go from here." Her voice held kindness to it, as it usually did. More often than not Karlach was, surprisingly, a calming balm in your hectic days.

"Uh-" you hesitated. Perhaps you should already be used to being the one people turned to in search of guidance, leadership. But it was a title you'd never really asked for, was it?

"You guys should go ahead, dispose of him somewhere," you gestured to Lorroakan's lifeless form, "before anyone walks in on… all of this."

Karlach nodded along and then raised a brow at you. "And what of you?" She asked, yet there was a smirk on her lips that alluded to the fact that she already knew the answer.

"I'll hang back." Your cheeks warmed up, "I'll meet you guys at Elfsong later."

"Take your time, soldier," Karlach winked at you, then turned to hurl the dead Wizard's body over her shoulder. "Right let's go people, nothing left to see here."

"And how exactly do you intend to walk around the city with that?" Shadowheart asked exasperatedly, yet followed Karlach to the swirling portal nonetheless.

The tiefling shrugged, holding Lorroakan's body with one arm, "I don't know. If anyone asks we'll just say he's drunk or something."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Oh, I want to see that."

Shadowheart and Astarion added simultaneously, one rolling her eyes and the other smiling brightly.

"Alright then, you think of some excuse for-"

You chuckled at the banter of your companions, their voices growing distant as they disappeared through the portal that would take them back to the bustle of Sorcerous Sundries.

With a deep breath in and a long exhale out, you turned around, gaze slowly roaming over the empty expanse of the luxurious tower; now so quiet, bordering on serene, save for the damage the battle left behind. Until you finally spotted the one you were looking for.

Rolan was tucked away in a shadowy corner, head bowed as he stacked a few fallen books on his hands and then beside each other on the shelves. His movements all stiff and slow, as if the books were much too heavy and it hurt to carry them.

The worry twirling in your stomach threatened to escape as you took careful steps towards him. Yet you still weren't sure how to approach him. The tower suddenly held a nearly intimate air. It was delicate, fragile. The lines between you and him had started to blur, you couldn't pinpoint when, but they did; and now, in the privacy of the high tower, you started to feel the weight of it.

You cleared your throat, but the tiefling didn't turn to look at you, though his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. You wondered if he knew you'd stayed, or perhaps hoped you would.

"Rolan… would you like some help with organizing things a little? At least for the night?" You tried, unsure what else you could possibly say and biting back the urge to tell him that he looked like he needed a good night's rest. He wouldn't admit it, you knew; but the fight had taken a huge toll on his already bruised body. He looked utterly exhausted; shoulders slumped, tail laying limply on the floor, barely holding himself together.

He turned his head to glance at you, an unreadable expression on his face, and lips hovering with uncertainty for a moment. "No, I can manage…" Rolan's voice was quiet, his features softly highlighted by the last fading rays of sunshine coming through the tall windows. You could see the bruises on his cheek, jaw, and nose—some new, some old; darker shades blooming on his reddish skin.

"You can go," he turned away again.

"Are you… sure?" You took half a step forward, fidgeting with your own hands. You didn't feel like leaving him just yet.

"Yes. I'm sure." He finally faced you fully in a quick motion, eyebrows slightly furrowed, "I'm not a helpless child, I can at least take care of organizing this mess by myself, if nothing else."

You closed your eyes momentarily at his words, "That's- that's not what I meant, I know you can-"

"What is it you want then? That I thank you for saving my sorry ass? Again?" His tone held bite to it, anger even, yet you had a feeling that it wasn't directed at you, but at himself. With a huff, he threw aside the one book he still held in his hands, "Okay then, thank you, your heroic attitude of the day has been achieved." He gestured toward you, speaking as if he had been just another thing to check off your list.

The movement of his mouth had pried open a fresh cut he had on his lip. Rolan didn't seem to notice, but the small sliver of blood glinted in the low light. Your heart ached, but not for his words, they were mostly empty. It ached because you saw how much he was hurting. That defeated look lingered in his golden eyes, the same you'd seen at Last Light Inn when he had been incapable of rescuing his siblings. You wished you could tell him he was enough. You wished he would believe you.

You took in a steadying breath, holding onto your composure for both of your sakes. "It's not about being a hero, Rolan, it's about helping the people I care about."

Another scoff fell past his lips, he avoided your eyes, looking distantly out the window beside him; "What are you doing here then?"

You merely raised an eyebrow at him, features soft, allowing him to believe in whatever he wanted to believe.

His throat worked through a heavy gulp when he glanced at you again, tail swishing behind him as he took half a step back. "Sod off," the words came out heavy and unstable, "You came here because Lorroakan was after your Aasimar friend… Your job is done now, you can leave." He stormed past you then, quick steps taking him to the other side of the tower.

With a roll of your eyes, you followed after him, "I came here because I care about you, too." You tried to convey as much sincerity in your words as you could, staring intently at his back as he raised a fallen chair. You caught a glimpse of his tail, coiled tightly around his own leg. You wondered if he even realizes he's doing it, if it's some kind of self-soothing habit he's learned over the years.

His hair had been undone, too, falling freely over his shoulders and looking a tad longer than what you were used to. The look suited him—a touch of softness in his usually sharp appearance—in the back of your mind you promised yourself to tell him that someday.

Several beats of silence went by. With Rolan holding tightly onto the back of the wooden chair. You tended to be annoyingly insistent, the tiefling thought to himself. Ever since the first time he met you, you had a habit of refusing to give up on people. On him. Rolan tried to tell himself it didn't get to him, that the butterflies in his stomach, and the overwhelming relief your mere presence brought him meant absolutely nothing. Because of course, you wouldn't look twice at someone like him, would you?

It was ironically sad that his heart would choose you—the hero, his hero—of all people, to have a soft spot for. He could never measure up, not really, and he knew that; told himself that very fact over and over whenever his mind dared to hope with what-ifs.

"You don't mean that," his voice was small and he berated himself for allowing it to be. He closed his eyes tightly, knuckles growing white with his grip on the chair. "And I was fine," Rolan emphasized the words yet he didn't know anymore if he was trying to convince you or himself.

Silence engulfed the tower again. Deafening silence. One sharp claw tapped the back of the wooden chair, a fast rhythm, following the heartbeat thundering through his veins. With a defeated sigh, Rolan turned to face you. Still, he refused to meet your eyes, focusing instead on the fabric of your glove wrapped around your hand; he could see faint scars on your fingers, wondered how you got them.

"Were you, really?" You asked then, softly, near desperately; waiting with bated breath for him to just look at you.

Rolan was a little difficult to get to, had been since you first met him. Part of you rather enjoyed your harmless bickering every now and then. Behind the witty words, there had always been hidden smiles and bashful eyes, the hopeful glint of being in each other's presence, if briefly.

Alas, you weren't exactly entitled to pry or demand, much as you cared for him it wasn't your place, so you relented; "Tell me you're alright, truly alright, and I'll leave if that's what you want so bad."

Rolan hesitated for a heartbeat, and then two, and three. Any words he might want to say were stuck in his throat, tangled in between feelings that confused the hells out of him. How could he ever tell you that he's not alright? That he hasn't been for a long time?

How could he tell you that he doesn't want you to leave, ever?

There was a distant stinging behind his eyes and he hated himself for it, for being so needy and vulnerable. He hated how his palms were sweaty and his heart threatened to break free of his ribcage with the speed it was beating. He hated how his knees seemed on the brink of collapsing with his weight. He hated how he suddenly felt all the bruises in his body hurting so badly, as if only now he allowed himself to feel the pain they inflicted. He hated-

A soft touch on his lower lip halted Rolan's spiraling thoughts abruptly, and his breath. With the sleeve of your robe, movement as light as a feather, you cleaned a sliver of blood that had escaped the fresh cut there. Rolan shuddered under your touch, for like a breath of fresh air after nearly drowning to death, that was all he could feel.

Pointy teeth dug into the inside of his cheek, holding back what would only be a flood of embarrassment for him if he allowed his pestering emotions to spill. His throat closed up tight, vision growing hazy until you were nothing but a blur in front of him.

There was something about the way you touched him oh so tenderly that got his walls tumbling down as if they were paper under the rain. Your hand lingered, refusing to part from him. Your fingers trailed a hesitant path to his cheek, mapping the bruises underneath- no, mapping his skin, him.

And he could crumble. Rolan felt himself falling, falling, falling.

When was the last time he felt a kind touch? one that didn't hurt or sting or threatened? He couldn't recall.

"I do mean it, I care about you, Rolan." You promised him, and only him. Whispered words dripping with affection.

The front of your boots hit his shoes as you took a final step closer. Rolan brought one hand up, his fingers closing around your wrist with urgency. Yet his hold was gentle, pressing into the veins there and feeling your pulse running beneath his fingertips. He held you there, all but begging you to stay. Words were difficult, complicated, and messy; hopefully his soul could tell you what he couldn't.

With your heart in your mouth, you mumbled; "it's okay. It's over." You're not sure if he heard or felt the words, but Rolan dipped his head forward until his forehead bumped yours.

Suddenly close wasn't close enough. You wanted to kiss away his tears, his bruises, his pain; promise him that everything would be alright now even if your own life was a sea of uncertainty.

"Why?" It fell past his lips. Such a genuine question uttered with such a small voice that it hurt you like a dagger to the heart.

"Why do these things happen to me?" Rolan's voice cracked and stumbled, his eyebrows briefly furrowed in a mix of anger and sorrow. "I-" he breathed in deep and unsteady, bright eyes welling with unshed tears that shone brightly under the soft candlelights on the walls.

You gulped back your own heartache, struggling to keep to yourself how soft he made you feel. You slowly raised your other hand to push fallen strands of hair behind his ear.

"I hoped it had a purpose," he admitted then, quiet as breath. His lower lip quivered before he spoke again, closing his eyes and leaning timidly towards your touch. "That it was a test, and he would- he would eventually stop. That I just needed to endure a while longer."

A choked sob stumbled past his lips and you felt the first of his tears landing on your thumb. Rolan shook his head, a self-deprecating scoff falling past his lips; "that I deserved it."

"Stop," you said before you could think, finally taking your hand away from his cheek, only to bury it into his hair instead. With the encouragement you knew he needed, you pulled him to you.

Rolan fell forward with no restraints, no hesitations, only a weary soul looking for solace. He buried his head between your neck and shoulder, both arms coming around your waist and squeezing tightly, to the point of his claws nearly ripping your robe.

You held him back with the same desperation, one hand tangling in between his hair and cradling his head to you. Your lips brushed the nape of his neck in a silent confession of adoration.

The fabric of your robe grew damp as silent tears fell past Rolan's defenses, his body shaking in your hold, releasing months if not years of bottled-up emotions.

With a kiss to his warm skin, embers of the fire he ignited in your heart broke free; "You could never deserve what he did to you. You're so very special, Rolan. To Cal, To Lia…" You told him, slow and tender, twirling strands of his hair between your fingers, and a small smile stretched your lips when you felt him relaxing against you. "… To me." It was nothing but a whisper, blown into the wind only for him to hear.

Rolan's breath stumbled, you felt it in the way he gripped you tighter—if that was even possible—and heard it in the soft gasp beside your ear.

"Please don't-" His voice broke in the middle, all husky and wobbly from his tears. "Don't say… that. If you don't mean-" he hesitated, fresh tears cascading freely down his cheeks, beyond any foolish attempt to be held back; they dripped down the bridge of his nose and soaked the fabric of your robe, making him curl into you all the more to hide his embarrassment from the outside world.

"Please," it was so quiet as he pleaded. For what, he wasn't entirely sure anymore. Maybe he just knew he couldn't take losing anything else.

You pulled back and Rolan felt his heart stumbling and cracking in his chest. But you were quick to mend it back together, with both hands coming up to hold his cheeks again, your thumbs brushing away the wetness there, near reverently.

"I promise," you whispered, gaze drifting ever so slightly downward before focusing back on his bright eyes. You were bold enough to lean in until the tip of your nose touched his, and as you did so you felt something coiling around your leg. You smiled; "I promise."

Rolan gulped, his mouth parting as he barely held himself back from closing the gap between you. Goosebumps littered his whole body when his upper lip accidentally brushed yours.

He pulled away but refused to loosen his grip on your waist. "I don't want you to leave," he said it so quietly, offering you his bleeding heart with a shaking hand.

Gentle fingers brushed away the messy strands of hair clinging to his forehead. When Rolan looked up, there was a loving smile on your lips, it was the first time he saw it and he already knew he'd kill to see it again.

You leaned closer, and with a kiss between his brows, you said; "then I'll stay."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Rolan’s taglist: @milkiane@v1ci0us

[loveharlow]

can u pretty plzzz write more toxic!jj, i loved ur thots and dreams thing for him but there's no toxic!jj content anywhereee -🍒

⋯ ♡ᵎ 💬 : I'VE HAD AN IDEA FOR THIS SO LONG IDK WHY I KEEP DAYDREAMING ABOUT IT

swearing, toxic!jj, mean!jj, drinking

"Alright, whose turn is it to… uh… pick a card from the thing?" you giggled, your hand trembling as you reached for the deck. You missed the card by a good inch, your fingers fumbling against the tabletop.

"Easy there, Y/N," Kie chuckled, gently trying to grab your wrist. "Maybe you should sit this round out."

"I'm okay, Kie," you declared, attempting to bat her hand away. Your elbow, however, connected with the stack of cards in the middle of the table, sending them fanning out in a chaotic mess. "Oh shit," you mumbled, a dopey grin plastered on your face.

Before anyone could fully react, your other hand, still clutching your half-full beer, swung wildly as you tried to steady yourself. The cup tipped, and a golden cascade of lukewarm beer sloshed over the table. It splattered onto the scattered cards, soaked into the flimsy napkins, and, with a sickening squelch, landed squarely on JJ's phone, which had been resting innocently beside his own drink.

A beat of stunned silence hung in the air, broken only by the drip, drip, drip of beer from the table's edge.

JJ, who had been mid-laugh, froze. His eyes, usually crinkling with amusement, narrowed as he slowly picked up his now-sodden phone. Water droplets beaded on the screen, seeping into the charging port. His jaw tightened.

"Y/N," he said, his voice low and dangerous. He never called you by your name. "You just soaked my phone."

You blinked, the alcohol blurring the severity of the situation. "It was an accident." You shrugged, a little too casually. "It'll dry. Or I'll buy you a new one..."

He tossed the phone onto a relatively dry patch of the table with a frustrated sigh, then turned his gaze to your still-clutched cup. Without another word, he reached out and snatched it from your hand.

"Hey—" you protested, a sudden burst of energy coursing through you.

"You're done."

"JJ, stop—" you slurred, snatching the cup back from his hold. "I'm fine," you asserted with drunken, slitted eyes.

"Give me the cup," he ordered, more serious than you were used to seeing him, even on a good day. As he reached for the plastic cup once more, you held it out of his reach. "Y/N, I'm serious. Chill out."

"You don't tell me what to do, J, I don't need you monitoring me—"

"Bro—" He tried reaching for it again, only for you to pull it further back. This time, you took steps away from him. "You're about to piss me off."

"Yeah, well, I don't care—"

"Guys, c'mon..." Pope tried, him and the rest of your friends standing up to verbally intervene. They knew better than to actually get between the two of you when this happened, which was more often than it should've been.

"Please, not tonight," Kie pleaded.

"She's bein' difficult," JJ snapped at his friends, swiftly walking across the room to where you had hidden behind the kitchen counter. You tried to dodge him but didn't manage. JJ took advantage of the space to box you into the corner. "Gimme the shit," he gritted, grabbing hold of your wrist and snatching the cup from your fingers. "I'm not fuckin' playing with you right now," he mumbled, walking away from you to pour the cup down the sink.

"JJ, calm down," Kiara defended, her face twisting in annoyance as she walked over to stand in front of you. "She's drunk, it's not her fault—"

"I don't wanna hear that shit, Kie." He dismissed, brushing past the both of you. "I don't give a shit about her being drunk. She was being a brat, and now my phone's fucked." He gestured with his hand in the direction of his sodden phone.

"Why are you talking about me like I'm not right here?" You cried, eyes welling with tears as Kie rubbed a comforting hand up and down your back while you still stood in the corner of the kitchen.

"'Cause I don't feel like dealin' with you right now," JJ snapped from across the room, fuming between John B and Pope.

You couldn't stop the tears that formed at his words. The two of you just glared at one another from across the room, piercing gazes locked. Two separate fires were burning in The Chateau, somehow with the same origin point.

When your rage consumed you, you let it. "Fuck you," you spat in your drunken rage, swiftly walking to the back of the house as you let Kie's hands fall from your shoulders.

At your words, JJ's eyes narrowed at your retreating form, jaw clenching before he stormed after you. It was then that the Pogues all knew this was far from over.

"JJ, don't-" John B tried, taking one step after the blonde before he just sighed, resigning himself when he heard the bedroom door slam shut.

JJ Maybank Taglist in replies!

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading. follow & turn on post notifs for @theharlowpost for writing exclusive updates!

©loveharlow

[walsuf]

hey I wanna make a character with narcolepsy and I've been doing my own research but I also felt like maybe asking someone who has it and stuff and since you made that comic headcannoning SM with it (really neat btw <3) I thought that you may be comfortable sharing some experience with it (as much as you feel comfortable ofc!) so I could better understand it so I may fit it into a character myself. OBVIOUSLY YOU DONT NEED TO ACCEPT IF YOU DONT WANT TO! this is coming out of nowhere and stuff so apologies if you feel uncomfortable!

[LONG POST] Yeah! Let's talk narcolepsy! Some things that might help (ft. Shadow Milk)

First and foremost, I want to say that my experience with narcolepsy is going to be very different from other people's, and I'm mostly just going to yap about my own details. Everyone experiences their symptoms in a unique way, kinda like how every bag of fruit snacks is different. You anticipate the same stuff inside (symptoms), but one bag will have all of the colors and another might have all orange ones.

I think my biggest advice here is to not dogpile all the symptoms, just focus on what heavily affects a character the most. Sometimes that's going to be nightmarish hallucinations, sometimes their sleep attacks; for Shadow Milk, I fixate a lot on cataplexy! (Weakness is a huge thing that I struggle with personally.) Regardless of additional symptoms, excessive daytime sleepiness will always be present :p

This one might be hard, but do something that you resonate with the most. Most people have experienced sleep paralysis at least once; a lot of people with narcolepsy get sleep paralysis very often, usually accompanied by visual/audio/tactile hallucinations. Then, it becomes a matter of changing the frequency and intensity rather than making something up.

When it comes to hallucinations, they can sometimes be horrifying (and are exacerbated by sickness, lack of sleep, and general unwellness). I find that a lot of people with nightmares and frightening hallucinations tend to have those in excess; I personally almost never get those. My hallucinations are usually very minor, like seeing the lights flicker when I close my eyes, or feeling like my body is surrounded by water or gently rocking back and forth. My most frequent one (and by far the most annoying) is that coming out of sleep I hear my alarm going off or my name being called. Neither of which are actually happening.

Excessive daytime sleepiness (EDS), like everything else, presents differently in everyone. Sleep attacks are only one aspect of it---which gives a person the nearly irresistible need to sleep for seconds to sometimes hours. Some people thug them out (often they can be resisted) because they find themselves losing way more time succumbing to it. Some people fall asleep very quickly, and can be in the middle of an important thing while doing so. I've personally fallen asleep mid-lecture while writing notes, and looking back at them is... interesting (there's a thing called "automatic behaviors" you might want to look into). Personally, I don't get sleep attacks often, but they are exhausting to deal with, and make me pretty much appear and act drunk without the fun part.

My normal experience with EDS is just a general level of sleepiness following me throughout the day, like that same feeling you get while working on an essay late in the night. It's manageable, but sucks. This isn't to say I never feel alert, there are good days and bad days, but most are in this sleepy middle ground that forces me to nap twice a day (noon and afternoon) lest I get all grouchy and my speech starts to slur.

From the outside perspective, sometimes people can guess that I'm having a sleep attack or just generally sleepy before I even know. I'll be told, "you sound tired," which is almost followed up with an, "...I do???" I crash within the next ten minutes almost every time.

Cataplexy is a symptom specific to N1 (which is actually an autoimmune disease, fun fact), and also happens to be what I struggle with frequently. It has strong emotional triggers (think anxiety, anger, surprise, laughter [doesn't have to be all of those, just pick a few]) and causes a degree of weakness. This can be anything from eye twitches and difficulty holding up the neck to full body collapses. For the most part, I feel it in my hands. When I laugh, I can't write or clench my hands any more. They become useless floppy limbs until a few minutes pass and they're back to normal. I am (unfortunately) a very giggly person. Personally, my slightest attacks make my head fall forward. My most severe one had me collapsing 6 times in the course of 15 minutes, hitting my head each time. Cataplexy attacks can cause subsequent attacks to come easier, and it's difficult to break the cycle. I avoid stairs for this reason.

If you've ever experienced morning weakness, or a few minutes in the morning where its slightly more difficult to hold things and get around, that's a lot like what minor cataplexy feels like, except condensed into a short, spontaneous episode. Oh! And it's often accompanied with blurred vision (look up ptosis) and speech difficulties as well!

I don't fear any of my symptoms because that's just how I experience the world. I've always felt weakness with laughter, so I thought that was always normal. I've been frequently sleepy and assumed that I was somehow lazier than everyone else. Now, I try to listen to my body. It takes a lot of effort to stop a conversation and go to sleep because my body needs it, and it sometimes sucks to forewarn my lab partners not to tell jokes around me. Sometimes I lay down in the middle of nowhere and have random people asking if I'm okay (hate this, I'm usually too weak to respond).

All in all, just try to make it a set of circumstances that someone else lives with rather than a set of symptoms that constantly put a character into crisis mode. People with narcolepsy don't need to be babied (I sincerely hope my comics don't come off that way because they're rooted in personal experience), they can manage their symptoms just fine on their own. Self-accommodations can come off as strange or funny (bringing a blanket everywhere, wearing sunglasses to manage minor cataplexy, wrist strap on the phone so as not to drop it), but they're there for a reason.

Sorry for the tangent, I've actually been on a heavy uptick educating myself. A good place to go for life experiences would be, of course, the narcolepsy subreddit. It's a good resource for people talk rather than medical jargon. If you need any examples for how to write or depict certain symptoms, though, I would be more than happy to do that on request! (I loove writing drabbles, and I know there's almost 0 narcolepsy fics, much less any written by people who care about accuracy. I'm begging to be asked here [will probably cookie run-ify everything though])

Thank you for reading if you got this far, and I hope this helped!

[ryansosilly]

I just had to check to see if you were chill like that!!1! Some people only do scrawny petite bottom reader 😒

anyways may I request some headcanons with a big buff male reader, like taller than ghost so everyone thinks he’s a dom but he’s actually a subtop, please and thank you 🙏 feel free to do any characters you’d like but I’d really appreciate if you included Makarov or Keegan :3

sincerely, 🩻 anon

i am such a sucker for big buff subtops you guys don't even know how deep that shi goes in my brain. Even have a whole ass big buff cod oc that I'm itching to draw more about 😞 thank you so much 🩻 anon for this blessing of a request!

I've decided to do headcanons for those characters, in order:

All of Task force (Price, Gaz, Ghost, Roach and Soap)

The 'Famous Kortac' chars (Krueger, König, Nikto and Horangi)

The ' questionable but if drunk enough I'd let em hit it' (Makarov, Graves, Alejandro and bonus of Keegan)

If you want more characters than that, you outta specify but trust me I am VERY much into writing much longer headcanons and with a lot more characters. So the more the merrier! I'm going to part them by sections in the following order above!

I tried to make it make sense for both if you're a part of the team AND if you're just a civilian so you don't feel forced into anything. No specifics used for the reader other than the fact they're big buff and a submissive top just as the anon requested! You can look like anything, here, I'll NEVER use such descriptors!! This is for EVERYONE regardless of race, weight, eye colour, age (as long as 18+) and allat bullshit.

Task Force

Captain John Price

Hasn't had any experience before with another man. I'm DEFINITELY certain he has fucking grinder on that ancient Nokia of his. He definitely called himself a bear a couple times as a joke but never went on a date or tried anything. So for his first experience with a guy to be a big buff man? Yeah good luck buddy. Poor Man was struggling for a while, it took a lot of trial and error if you know what I mean for him to find out what actually worked and what he liked.

Low-key bruh? He was kinda intimidated at first. A bit ashamed and even his pretty damn secure masculinity took a hit he barely recovered from. Luckily, just being picked up and craddled like a god damn no weight damsel in distress had him already ready to go back with no thoughts of shame and regret.

What DEFINITELY helped was how he basically saw you like a big puppy wolf without the 'bad' part. Yes, you were an outstanding soldier (if you are in the military) that was for sure but when he told you to sit, you sat your ass DOWN!!! the obedience you gave him with just enough 'dom' in you to fuck him good enough to leave him dizzy after that was exactly what he needed in his life

Easy to say that ever since you two started dating, he has had a de-stress 'funtime' very often that everyone noticed.

He isn't too kinky of a guy tbh. But......sommeetimmeesss maaybee he'd be willing to pull a collar with his name on you. Not full on petplay or anything. He just liked seeing it above him, maybe with a complimentary leash to pull on if you went too hard for his liking.

He has an above average libido, which only applies to his relationship with you. It slowed down and calmed with time but for the first time and the next much after, he was a BEAST (and had the hair to back it up)

He joked that you brought the size of the big bad wolf and he brought the 'bad and hair' to the table so you were basically complete.

Ghost was the grandma and Soap and Gaz were both the red riding hood. (They argued about it)

His FAVOURITE part isn't just you being on the more submissive part tho. It's actually the comfortable hugs you provide. And the fact you let him give you just as much comfort. It felt very peaceful, he respected the equality you had between each other that despite the differences, you were definitely equals. (Not so much when he is in commando mode on the battlefield but that is NO foreplay little games)

If I were to be completely honest, he ain't that much into doing it in public like I've seen him being written. He wouldn't do it on his desk that's for sure. And if you suggested that? He'll slap the living shit out of you and bring your tallass to your KNEES to apologise. Then maybe he'll feel bad and PERCHANCE let you hit it as long as there's no paperwork there.

What he will do? Maybe would give you some support from under the desk but of course. It's only okay if your desk. If not? Then you gotta be down on your knees. He isn't much of a giver but definitely a taker.

He has a shirt called "old men yaoi" that he was given by Soap. Did you ever explain to him what that means and why he shouldn't wear it when In meetings?..

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Oh Gaz was a mess. He hasn't even THOUGHT about dating a man before..i mean yeah sure maybe he did THINK of looking up some gay porn from time to time but it couldn't possibly mean anything, right? Yeah he was a boykisser full and through. Then he was wondering why his relationship with women rarely worked out. He was more a girl's girl than most girls were.

And that confusion lead him into your arms. And goodness me. That was a ride for sure! Haha get it? Ride. He rode you like a fucking bull when he got used to the feelings. He was an UNSTOPPABLE force once he got comfortable.

I don't really think he was as insecure outwardly, he didn't feel ashamed to be out with you because he loved you very very much so and he didnt see shame in that. Only a little inside doubts he dared not share. Maybe a tiny bit of internalised homophobia.

For a while, he was growing a lot more doubtful that he tried to fit the stereoptupical 'feminine' role before you two had even started having sex. You were masc so he was supposed to be fem even if he didn't feel like it, yeah? That did not work out. A lot of victims (people eating burnt food) and sacrifices ( burnt kitchen and kitchen appliances) fell tragically due to those attempts..

You had to sit him down and explain to him everything. Once that little misunderstanding was out of the way and mostly his mind, the real fun for him began. Due to how big you were, he decided it was no longer necessary for him to do most of the stupid chores around, so, he just told you around with such nice sweet words like 'Honey, can you please carry the trash out for me?'

The trash was not even half his size and even in your hands but he just didn't feel like it and really liked seeing your muscles flex when you picked something up.

Sometimes he even purposely made things a bit HARDER for you to pick up. Like putting extra weights on your pole when you were lifting at the gym when you weren't looking, like sometimes even attempting to do that couple thing of 'sitting on your back' while you were doing pushups.

Lord have mercy on his soul when you actually managed to do a decent set of pushups with him on your back??? Yeah you were set for LIFE.

He was more of a switch when it came to bring dominant or submissive. He didn't mind anything as long as it was with you. He did get a kick out of being the Dom so he did lean on it most of the time. He felt a little confused how a person who fucks him senselessly can be so submissive but let me tell you. He QUICKLY got the hand of it and used it well

He wasn't too freaky at the start either. In fact, he barely had any libido for a while, taking a bit of time to accept everything. Once he accepted he, he fell off the deep end. He decided to do the fatal mistake of looking up stuff about gay sex to make himself understand everything better and to possibly even impress you during your first time together. And uh..oh.. um. He fell right down the trap of bsdm. There was no going back. Some still did disgust him. Like for example, there was no fucking petplay, not even a tiny element of it. You were on an equal footing. What there was a lot of? Handcuffs, bondage, scratching and biting. Yeah all of that was in. He still mostly leaned on wanting to try different positions like being fucked while being held up. He had done it before with a girl but for him to experience the 'girl' role? Was an eye opening experience..might as well call it a spiritual detour for him.

Your height and size did attract a lot more people than he would like it to. He finally understood why those girls acted like that in his past. Yeah you were definitely holding his hand whenever you went out. Bitches need to back the fuck OFF. He wasn't possessive to an unhealthy amount tho. Maybe only a little anxious and jealous but definitely keeping it real, he was an overall healthy individual to be in a relationship with once all of that doubt when away. He was in for the long run and you better be.

But if you fucking say something like "chocolate vanilla swirl" he will punch your teeth out.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

(I'm going specifically w Og Ghost for this one but due to how little we know about current reboot Ghost we might as well group them. There WILL be heavier topics discussed here in only this section due to how complex Ghost is. I am not going to water him down or romanticise his situation.)

⚠️Some trigger warnings: mentions of rape, sexual assault and his fear of intimacy. Basically keep in mind his fucking backstory when you read this section. If you do not think this will be suitable, I'll put a divider from when the possibly triggering part starts so you can skip it.

Ghost was bewildered. No fucking way. Absolutely not. There is NOTHING going up his.. ahem. Maybe. On Sundays cuz it's not gay obviously. He was DOWN BAD. he has gone through so many fucking issues, that he was afraid of loving anything and anyone and he falsely fell down into the rabbit hole of 'nobody is coming to save you, get up.' it got him through everything.

But finally somebody came and actually helped him. And instead of it being the stereotypical princess that he had saved during previous missions.. it was an absolute unite of a man picking him up, swinging him over his fucking shoulder and RUNNING faster than how Ghost ran when not injured or carrying a grown ass man. Maybe that was when he fell in love. But he didn't have a clue what was coming for him.

Oh just you wait until he finally let you in. It was no easy job. He even put you through ACTUAL IN REAL LIFE TESTS. INCLUDING papers and physical. Yeah you can't jump as high as a horse to make it through the field? Wrap it up. (He'll let you try again. It didn't even NEED to be if you were in the military like him. Even as a civilian, he'll treat you like a soldier. Sorry not sorry.)

he pushed you to your absolute limits. Guaranteeing that you'll stay just as big.and ho ho. He LOVED it. Seeing THE Ghost Riley entering a room already made everyone tense. Now? There was an entire Godzilla behind him entering with, acting like his fucking bodyguard without even lifting a finger.

in a way also..he was just.. a bit envious. You were strong, big and intimidating. Everything he wanted to be and everything he WORKED to be. His peace of mind came from the fact you were very submissive. The one thing he wasn't. He worked on himself throughout the relationship to change his beliefs. Instead of being envious, he accepted you as an equal, someone he admired but wasn't envious of.

Back to big scary bouyfriend though

i doubt anyone would be dumb enough to even speak back to seeing an intimidating man, an even bigger and scarrier man behind him with a big German Sheppard that looks very ready to attack any second. (I love Riley)

Riley approves of you as his boyfriend.

If you're in the army: He'll definitely take you around on the meetings with him. The possibility of someone not being intimidated by him alone are low and the chances after torture are even lower to zero. But with you behind him? Just lurking? Not even having to do the heavy lifting unless asked to by him? Yeah. Unstoppable.

For a while it almost made him sick with power. Or that's what he thought the feeling was. The feeling actually was just him falling in love deeper. It stopped behind casual when he started calling you up shamelessly at night to come over.

If you're not in the army? He wasn't even a little worried later on in your relationship. At the start? Yes, he still DEMANDED to accompany you but it took you beating up one person for him to be convinced that you can go alone so he can be tightly snoozing at 6pm on a free day after his tea. (He still tracked your location occasionally. He made sure to ask for permission, of course. If you said no, he'll not do it and instead accompany you more. No matter how strong you were, he will never truly not be afraid of losing you. He is NOT like those weirdos make him up to be.)

He really liked buying you specifically clothes. Maybe a little bit of a gooner one might say but he would love it if you were to casually pull up with a compression shirt on. Only you. Nobody else. If anything, everyone else wearing it outside of duty got a disgusted look from him. You were the only eyecandy he would feast his eyes on.

As a first time, he probably had you sit down with a folder of gay porn, showing you every video of what he wanted done. A bit weird of a bloke he was but alright. He did his research. He did not feel even a Little shame for showing you everything. He WILL get a laser pointer or a damn teacher ruler to point at the screen to make sure you're paying attention. That was no joke, stop laughing!!! Immediately!!! ( He is not very socially aware)

⚠️TRIGGER WARNINGS APPLY FROM ⚠️

vvv⚠️HERE⚠️vvv

It took a little bit for him to change it in his mind that it was not casual to have sex. And it was even less casual for you to STAY after you were done 'using him up' (as he'd

put it). To stay and dry his tears, the comfortable and warm aftercare. For the first time's, he ended up crying in the middle of the act. He didn't feel as safe for a very long time and the crying never did stop. It simply changed meanings. From the fear to relief and safety, thankfullness. You were softer, you listened to him even if you were bigger than his previous male assaulters.

You heard him, you allowed him the control he desperately needed. You made him feel safe and even if he struggled for a really really long time saying no if you were to ask him to have sex out of pure fear, he managed to get himself to speak up when he truly wasn't feeling up to it.

It meant the entire world to him that you actually read his body language, how uncomfortable he was at times, asked him if he was okay and etc. He felt truly seen, not exposed.

I think he switches from being very hypersexual, wanting you whenever you were both free to not wanting anything to do with sex for weeks to no end. You being understanding to his situation made him feel better and his moods will stabilise with time to a more consistent pattern.

TRIGGER WARNINGS NO LONGER NEEDED FROM HERE DOWN!!

He is DEFINITELY not as he is commonly written. He will NOOOOT have sex on the battlefield no matter what you asked and how much you begged. The battlefield is serious and he won't even entertain flirting if the situation is especially serious. Doesn't mean that HE won't flirt with YOU but you're not allowed to! Only he gets a pass. Same with joking. It's only okay if he does it and you better respect it or he'll give you a nasty look!!

His head is too busy to even think about kinks at times but what he is never too busy to not hate is quickies. Not sure why. He just doesn't seem like the guy.

He is a confusing guy. Sometimes he is into something then the next day he isn't. The best way to find out is usually to ask but that doesn't even go well all the time.

Yeah your absolutely massive size plays a part in what he is into all the time tho. Uncertain why but I think he is into the pretty normal positions like him being on his back and you above him humping like a feral dog just as he told you to. Bonus if you hold his hands, intertwined fingers and all. Sometimes when at home, not deployed, he likes it on the weirdest places. The complete opposite of his work self. On the table? Hell yeah! You might as well just lift him up, put him on the table and fuck him right there and then. The bathroom sink? A little nasty but won't say no if there's a mirror. He DEFINITELY likes reminding you how you look, embarrassing you, even SOMETIMES mocking you if you told him that was okay earlier.

"look at yourself, I must feel so good, huh? Keep going then."

sometimes he is more entertained by watching you than the sex itself

Oh but the sex itself is NOT to ignore tho, sometimes he is left so shaky legs from pushing both yours and HIS limits that he can barely walk. Yet.. still tries to trot out, marching like a soldier with awkwardly high raise of his sore knees and heavy steps. He looks like a duck or a toddler learning to walk. You should help him!

Not vanilla, he does dip his toes into some freaky things from time to time. He uses your height and muscles against you a LOOOT. Even if you aren't a soldier, he expects you to act like one. You WILL respect him as an lieutenant in bed.

Specifics of what he is into? He just kind of likes mimicking you. Whatever he notices you're into, suddenly he'll act like he has been into it for years. Does draw the lines at toilet play and the really down bad degenerate things. Surprisingly? He also does not like choking that much. He does it, but really rarely and it's not even breath play, it's just him holding your neck to pull you down. And don't even THINK about reach for his neck or your fingers will be broken there and then.

Scratching and biting are ON the table.

Very hesitant about bringing weapons in bed tho. He knows you're a big strong guy just like him but it feels like mixing his work with his love life. You've to be very insistent and with very specific things to convince him to use something dangerous. Guns are allowed as long as they aren't loaded. Knives only need to be dull and handcuffs are mostly fine as long as they're padded up, not to hurt your wrists. They are NOT getting near his wrists though...

Maybe they are...

Gary "Roach" Sanderson

(I'll try to make this as long as possible despite us knowing like..none about him. Btw yeah fuck y'all he is definitely going to have selective mutism fuck y'all saying it's unrealistic. It's unrealistic for NICKY MINAJ AND SNOOP DOGG TO BE IN THE ARMY TOO BUT THERE THEY ARE NEXT TO THE PINK FLUFFY KÖNIG AND GODZILLA!!!)

Roachy is a tough one. I don't think he has dipped his toes in gay sex yet. You outta teach him about it. Maybe maybe. He like accidentally got recommended gay porn once or twice but that's about it. He didn't click it. He was not that interested.

Oh goodness but once he got a taste of that, there was no going back. It was the first and last he had. He is an adult male so obviously he did probably have sex like..once or maybe twice if very lucky and you squint your eyes and close one of them. Just he never really got to be with a guy ..and especially not a guy like you.

I think he'd be like the "hey mamas whatcha doi- wait......." By reflex then be silenced by himself until he figures out what's the male equivalent of that. Like hey papas? Hell no that sounds weird? Daddy? Yeah the daddy issues aren't that bad yet.

He is more a of a thinker than a doer and he appreciates you doing him nevertheless. He himself is quite tall, basically same height as Ghost. Roughly the same age (26) as well. So, just like for everyone else, it was new territory for him to be spoiled and treated like he treated others

What he most loved is that he didn't have to forcefully unmuted himself when with you. It either happened naturally or you were so intimidating that nobody dares to come talk to him no matter what it was about so you two can stay in silence together.

Just like I hc Roach was the soft spot for Ghost, you were his soft spot. Or more like he was your soft spot so you just did everything. There is a lot of apologising that happens

Not to mention how SHOCKED he was when he first saw you being all submissive and sweet, the complete opposite of what you looked like. He was in for a tough ride, fully prepared himself mentally that he'll need to put those sleeves back and get READY to break those walls of yours to finally get to the sweet cute you that he believes is in everyone.

Well it took like.. one cup of tea and a couple nice words and that's it, walls were down and you ended up making out? Somehow? Don't even ask me. Things just happen and he lets them happen.

He isn't that much more talkative when with you. In fact, he doesn't even need a reason to speak. You were just two dudes hanging out in silence, doing whatever came to mind while letting you do the talking. It was..for the best.

Even if you didn't have the best way with words, trust me it will be better than if Roach was in control of the situations

If you guys see him as autistic I get that so I'm gonna contribute to that.

His special interest is everything related to the military. And especially weapons and ranking. He overjoyed when he became a sergeant. And you should be too. The only times he opens his fucking mouth to is to yap about weaponry. And oh no they should not have given him permission for that.

Big scary boyfriend is basically a pass to everything in his mind. Not even in a childish way. It's a threat. You are scary because you got those two guns on you at all times. Gary is scary because he got GUNS and he knows how to use them. And use them very WELL.

oh yeah? You wanna force me to do something I don't wanna do? Go tell that to my boyfriend.

he climbs you like a fucking tree probably

As for sex life? That don't matter to him. He isn't that much of dom or even a sub. BUT if you asked him to do something? He takes it like a fucking challenge. He WILL do it and surprise you with how well he does it.

He REALLY likes to praise you. Praises you for just existing as well. Compliments everywhere and anytime. He is basically always thinking about you.

Just because he was thinking about you, doesn't mean that he'll only keep it in his mind. You were on his SHIRT. He had one of those "I love my boyfriend" shirts with your picture in a heart. He wore it unironically too. He does love his boyfriend so every motherfucker in the perimeter should know it.

Unfortunately price did not give him permission to wear it under his gear. Very unfortunate, really. Instead, he has a bunch of custom made stickers of you on his weapons. And a picture of you in his wallet. And your initials on his collar. And-

John "Soap" McTavish

oh me oh you. Sorry not sorry but he knows what's up.

Gary may <3333 Love <3333 his boyfriend but Soap? He LOVES his boyfriend m from first glance, his first thought was how cool and awesome you are. He wanted you to be his friend so badly that he started tweaking publicly in front of everyone, following you around like he is lost and even asking to carry your weapons/bag of groceries or anything you were carrying ever really for you to show he is just as strong.

There was NO insecurity here. Just like every single ex catholic school goer, he was the freakiest, nastiest lil mf around. My man's knew and been there done that better than the Pitbull. And I MEAN it.

Man's would probably even ask for a Footjob for all he cares. As long as it's safe, sometimes even that, he is down. Anything.

There no beating around the bush. You were his from first glance and he was yours before you even met.

Yeah maybe the Catholic guilt was so crushing that every once in a while he had a dream of just embracing you while the world around him was burning. But he won't let go. Hell wasn't a punishment bad enough for him to ever let go who he loved. And that dick was banging.

There was ever rarely any complaining about who tops and who bottoms. He is DOWN for it all. Maybe sometimes he'll ask if he can top. Maybe even beg but he was no twink or pushover. If you gave him the chance every once in a while, he'll TAKE IT.

Of course, that libido often runs short and his energy drops. Sometimes he feels bad and there is no better feeling than to just walk up to you and fall without a warning, knowing you'll catch him. He is NEVER giving a fucking warning. He will drop face first, fully trusting you catch him. You better catch or I'm catching you big boy.

He has long since lost his connection to his parents and many siblings so the conversation about meeting them a bit bad but don't worry about it. It wouldn't have gone good anyway. He was the only McTavish you wanted to know. And the only one you should know anyway.

He was very much attached to the hip with you. Far more possessive than Simon but somehow even more secure than Gaz. Don't even ask how. He just is.

Anytime you were to go out when he was not deployed, you are DEFINITELY standing behind him. Anyone thinking that big delicious man Soap was single was sure to regret it. Women and men, everyone goes down upon his request.

"No lass, I'm not single but you can ask my boyfriend if you want. [REDACTED]!"

just the moment they see you walking in, having to lean down to not bust your head into the frame of the door and any guy or girl that was into John, is GONE

Positions? Yeah all of them. For his birthday you can buy him a book of every sex position and he'll even put it in the calendar so you don't forget

Why is he so kinky? Not because he particularly enjoys it. He just wants to fill the void. And god doesn't cut it anymore. He felt aware that his time in the military was running short and wanted to do the opposite of Ghost.

You were there to balance him. The big scary man in his life that reminded him of things he forgot. He loved it.

Back on the 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂mode

Telling you around what to do was NOT happening. Yes, he MAY nudge you at best but he LOVES leaving you clueless, lost. Not knowing what to do with yourself when you're senselessly fucking him makes him even more turned on. What makes him the most turned on? When you just do whatever comes to mind. Like a lost animal. And oh the coldness in your eyes disappearing and being replaced by that hot botherness. He was so down bad for you.

In everyday life? You better not be bringing up your height against him or he is going to glare at you and tell you to drop it. Either that or laugh with. 60/40 with odds in an unknown direction. Good luck figuring it out.

Already planning marriage

Unlike Ghost, he is all for quickies. Here and there, now and then.

He really likes being picked up and kissed. He feels it's funny rather than just genuinely enjoying it in a way.

ALSO Has an I love my boyfriend shirt but a little more shame than Roach and only wears it ironically sometimes, like when going to bed or casual days.

Never before has he gotten to experience what it's like to steal someone's else's clothes. Other people, men and women HAVE taken his clothes in previous relationships but never did he know what it feels like to be the one to do it. Mostly because he hadn't dated anyone even close to his size before.

His type in women was all women and in men was all men but simply, there's not that many tall men. Of course twinks and femboys are ALWAYS ready for Soap and he was..only occasionally ready for them. If things got too dry.

Now? No dryness no more. LEAKING

___________________________________________

Kortac

(the rest will be shorter due to the lack of knowledge on the characters)

Krüger

Trigger warnings AGAIN for really fucked up things for Krüger. He is a lil freak in the worst ways possible. Gore, porngore, self harm and everything bad is going on here but I'll still give a section of smut hcs for no triggering topics. They'll again be marked accordingly.

Oh LAWD. Unlike ALL of the other ones, Krüger didn't even think TWICE. He was overjoyed if anything.

In his eyes, you were exactly like him but improved, bigger better stronger one might say.

He was THE most into it. Out of everyone? You two were the most perfect match.

You were used often and turned into a tool flawlessly, with no issue whatsoever. You obeyed like a fucking dog and were horrifying enough to keep everyone in check even when not there.

Your height and strength was what he was attracted to first, not really anything else unfortunately. At least at the beginning, of course.

Sometimes he actually speaks to you the way you'd speak to a police dog.

"Search there"

"Kill!"

He was even more delighted when you first had sex. Finding out you were so.. submissive and obedient was perfect. Maybe you being a top bothered him for a while, he was in denial but once he got over that the first time, he never changed his mind again. He was GLADLY taking your dick anytime as long as he was the only one in control. Every single sense or mean of control was stripped out, held above your head (haha he can't do that often)

He was especially into forcing you to just lay down at take him on for as long as you physically could. You ARE going to take it. He was merciful enough to give you a safe word, of course. Despite sometimes losing himself to absolute manic, he understands consent. OBVIOUSLY.

He is very manipulative, really creative in ways to bring the 'best' out of you. Pushing you far beyond your limits then barely apologising, just to do it again and again.

⚠️⚠️ TRIGGER WARNINGS APPLY FROM⚠️⚠️

⚠️⚠️HERE⚠️⚠️

He was really into asking you to break him. He WANTED, NEEDED for you to cut him up to pieces. Use your big fucking muscles and shatter his body.

Or he will.

Once he found out you were so submissive but still a top, he decided to let it slide, leaving the almost forced gorey sex behind for a while until he can figure out a way to go back to it.

No matter how long time has passed, he still held knives and sharp objects with him in bed, or anywhere on his person he can possibly hide. Once he felt you weren't listening enough, he pulls them out and threatens you to keep going.

Bonus point if that turns you on. Cuz it sure as hell turns him on.

If it doesn't turn you on, you need to actually speak back. Using your intimidating self on him WORKS. Not because he is afraid but because he is into it. He thinks it's really hot.

Likes to beg you into punching him or getting violent when in bed. Man is just a sadomaso

Sometimes he is a lil bit of a..sexist in a way? Treating you like a girl, calling you princess to mock you despite being CLEARLY the perfect picture 'Manly man'. Even putting you in a dress once in a while.

⚠️⚠️TRIGGER WARNINGS END HERE!⚠️⚠️

more healthy relationship starts

If you actually want a healthy relationship with him, you need to put a lot more work. And unlike any other person, you actually have the means to succeed.

Your big figure and intimidation tactics work very well. As long as you can use them, he listens.

He even OBEYS sometimes. The closer you get to understanding him, the more he leaned in on hurting himself instead of you. And once you get to that? He will actually put effort into stopping it all together.

Would probably take years for him to soften but you do get like a little free trial of soft Krüger when he is very tired and sleepy in your arms.

Oh how much he loves cuddling but never admits it..

Just hug him, make him understand and love him and he'll gladly do the rest of the work.

Once he actually softened up, he became a more.. upstanding citizen in a way. More domestic. In fact, you just domesticate him it seems.

just because he got domesticated tho it does NOT mean he'll be less of a 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴.. Sex is anything but boring with that man. It simply becomes more loving and occasionally more gentle.

Fun little extra headcanon? He finds hand holding lewd but not making out or kissing in public.

König

well that's a lil difficult to tell. I think he would genuinely be confused for a while. I do NOT hc him as 6'10 or whatever the fanon König is but he is still decently tall in my mind. Like a 6'7 at best. so, finding someone taller than him AND somehow bagging them?? Like how'd he do that???

He was a bit more chill once he got used to it that anyone else felt small. Since when deployed, he was surrounded by mostly tall people and when he was not deployed and home with you, he was just surrounded by you and you only.

The world felt weird when he went out with you. Two tall men out together. He HATED the outward attention so as much as he could, he'd avoid getting out. Not because of shame, of course.

Sometimes he even used it as a flex. The scary man and the scarier man. Just like Krüger, you were like an improved version of him. Bigger and scarrier. He liked that a lot.

What came as a real surprise was that you were so submissive. He himself was pretty dominant and called himself a top. (Has never been with a guy before though. Maybe the one time he confused a femboy for a girl technically counts but he does not count it if you were to ask.)

Took a lot of him to actually accept a proposal to date..he tried to keep it 'casual' for a long while even if it was anything but Casual.

Can't say that seeing you shirtless didn't turn him on though. Pent up emotions and sexual tension from having joined the army at 17 has the man tweaking the first time he felt turned on by someone like you

You BETTER be treating him nice when you do get to have sex.

Positions don't matter but he personally dislikes eye contact. Of course, what he REALLY likes though..

Surprisingly.. roleplay. He likes playing stupid roles with you in bed. It's a bit childish and he'd never admit it but he always asks for it when you are both free for a longer time. Usually it's just short and straightforward to the point, not much talking other than him telling you what to do, what not to touch and etc.

When it came to roleplaying? He is into some weird stuff. Like putting you into a cow pattern lingerie to embarrass you while he can be 'the cowboy'. (He went on rants about why Is it called a cowboy if he is riding a horse and not a cow? He REFUSES to have it with a horse.)

He is also really into recording it. Especially mixed in with the roleplay.

One time he even asked you to pretend to be a porn star, record it and everything. He wrote a SCRIPT too. Who knows WHEN he wrote that. He just pulled up after deployment to you with it so it must be sometime during his deployment.

one time you were a ghost buster and he was a sexy Ghost. He made a lot of bad jokes that he thought were the funniest thing ever in English. He did not quite understand it but you did find out that he likes the ghost busters movies!

He finds kissing you very nice. Grabbing you by the shoulders and just MWAAAAAHH type shit yk? Especially if it's a more passionate kiss, against a wall or something.

It is a MUST for now both of you to share the same diet and same work out routine. It..took a bit for him to admit he cannot keep up with yours and finally have to unmatch it. Very unfortunate.

He doesn't have any favourite positions, if you asked him he just wouldn't answer or say he doesnt know.

But he does know. It's against a mirror. Or god forbid a fucking window that's just another clean and reflective enough. It makes him go insane whenever you catch him there.

Shares clothing 100%. If you're not in the military, he'd even leave his mask over at your place for you to fuck and pretend it's him, ESPECIALLY if you send him videos WITH sound on. If you dare send a silent one he'll send you a lot of angry dad emojis. Do not test him!!!

he also has a favourite angle that he likes the videos.to be taken from because he sees your muscles flex just right.

Overall really enjoys it. You are forced to work out together, share tall man struggles. Does not care if he is gay or anything, no angst on this one boys.

Nikto

I fuckin love Nikto I'm foaming at the mouth as I write this

He hated it. Like a lot. He would gladly break your fucking legs JUST so you can be not as tall.

It pissed him off, turned him on. Same thing

He is even less likely to let ANYTHING go up his ass than Ghost. It took a lot of time after you started dating for him to even let you undress him.

It started with him founding how submissive you were and exploiting it to HELL!

That was your only saving point. The first thing of him you got to see first was his fucking dick.

Open wide 🤤

NOT allowed to see his face under the mask but you can DEFINITELY see that his eyes were constantly locked on your muscles. He MAY or may not purposely change his workout routine just to match yours.

No reason at all just..felt out dated so he has to change it! Definitely not the tank top you're wearing.

When on autopilot, Nikto was following around you without meaning at all. He himself was usually the most intimidating man around Kortac just due to his pure insanity. Now he had competition. Yeah he saw it as fucking competition.

Nearly a forced one sided rivals AND lovers.

Your intimidation does not work :[

your height only kind of just pisses him off SK you need to go the extra mile with fucking him once he permits it.

Favourite position??? Nikto is somewhat of a porn addict so...he likes weird stuff.

He fucking tried pretending to be stuck in the washing machine. I hope you guys understand just how crazy that is. Would be even crazier if you agreed and DID fuck him while in that.

He DOES like shower sex, especially if the water is cold. He forces you to be the one under the cold water them degrading you if you can't keep it up while fucking him.

You that's not easy so good luck bro. No amounts of muscle can save you from that

Horangi

-----------------------------------------------------

The Extras section

Vladimir Makarov

Makarov is a confusing lad to write about icl cuz I think he would either not care or take another one day to put you in your fucking place as a bootkisser then continue on about his day

You being taller than him ain't no surprise, a lot of men are taller than him. What IS a surprise though? That people around seemed to fear you more than they feared him. He wasn't jealous, he was impressed.

He decided to 'invest' some money into you, keep you under watch. In his head, you're now a high value employee- partner.

Wait what. Where did..we lose the plot???

Why are in his bed?

Oh well might as well. He likes it. He is NOT above no little hook ups or getting really inappropriate during work as long as it was not a very serious situation. It didn't matter as long as his big scary boyfriend is behind him

He almost went on a power trip, jumping and screaming from joy inside his mind when you agreed to dare him

He gave you fucking heels. Weird that he knew your size but he did. You have to wear the heels. Gender means nothing to him.put the fucking heels on and be even taller so he can drool.

He likes big boobs on his men since he himself looks like..that. (no hate, only a lil)

His favourite hobby is teaching you how be a really horrible person, even more self defense and dragging you around. Unfortunately, civilian or not, you ARE dragged into his schemes.

You are also dragged in alleys, covered in blood of your enemies for a quickie. Ooopsie!

He thinks the dynamic is cute

He considers himself to be the scarier one though, would be insult if you even tried to imply that he wasn't the most badass man ever

Weird enough I think he really likes taking pictures of you.but not in the cute way that Gary/Roach does. But in a creepy stalker way

If you asked him to do something that you can 100% do alone, he would mock you, call you weak and etc.

If it's something that you actually say you're struggling with like a jar of pickles or sum that you've loosened just enough for him to open easily THEN ask him for help, he'll acknowledge it was an attempt but till take it and pretend like he didn't know what you did.

He appreciates everything you do for him but NEVER says anything

Outside of work he is not very sneaky about admiring your amazing built. He likes it and makes it clear with his eyes but not his mouth. You are NOT hearing even a single compliment from him. MAYBE a 'good job' like once a week but that's about it.

Sex? Yes.

Occasionally is a bit too paranoid about being seen by his comrades because of a bit of not even internalised but straight up verbalised homophobia but as long as he has enough fucking guns it does not matter

Despite your height and being built like a tank, you do not get privileges to go anywhere alone without a bullet proof vest. He would usually send a bodyguard if you were anyone else but no bodyguard does the job you're on your own for that. It's either him or a gun.

Really likes risky places and pretty crazy or even straight up dangerous kinks. It is like an overload of euphoria and pleasure. The thrill? You fucking him in this place? The FACES you're making? How pathetic you are? Absolutely perfect. Give him that as much as your body can handle.

A big guys gets big fucking expectations and you NEED to keep up.

Phillip Graves

Shameless. ABSOLUTELY shameless. If he likes you, you WILL know off the bat.

"I don't care how many people die, GO GET HIM!!!"

You will start dating him the quickest out of every other mf on this list

Give him a week MAX!

Your big ass is HIS and his only, he is already ordering a bigger bed in his room for just you to fit in while drooling like a disgusting pervert.

He is very much a disgusting pervert.

Whenever he catches you out and about, he pulls out a gun then runs at you. He WILL jump in your arms, if you don't catch him, he'll shoot you in the head. If you do catch him, he won't.

So far, you have caught him every time and you're still not sure if he is joking or not about the whole shooting in the head thing..

Big muscles means he gets use you as a threat. Saying that if someone doesn't do as he says, he'll use them to feed you

And damn looking at you? I'd believe it too.

Not the HEALTHIEST mf to be in a relationship with. It's hardly a relationship, he even pays you occasionally for just attending places with him. Buys your clothes extra fitted and perfect for you. (Sometimes he buys a shirt or pants a bit too small on purpose and asks you to try them. He just likes seeing it so tightly fitted against you that it looks like it'll rip off like Hugh Jackman as Wolverines shirt. Again, he IS SHAMELESS.)

There is rarely a time when you aren't tied up in bed. Only if you complain about the rope or handcuffs hurting too much, only then will he be willing enough to let them go. If he fucking has to, he WILL get some shadows in the room to hold your arms behind your back so you better not test him

Nobody felt safe around him before and now they feel even less safe when there's a fucking bull of a man right behind him at all times. You were REALLY quickly promoted to his "left hand"

"No, honey, you don't get it. It's left hand, not right hand, because you're useless most of the time unless I'm jerking off."

You were 80% sure he was joking. His joke line delivery sucks though so you can't be sure.

VERY kinky, most into bondage but into less severe things than Krügers freaky ass. He would still kill you though.

A couple of times he showed his actual care though. After all, he still has a heart! Somewhere..in there? I assume?

not much to say. Other than he might occasionally Ask you to flex your muscles for him so he can take a picture of his face in between them and send it in the Shadow company WORK groupchat

NOBODY LIKES IT WHEN HE DOES THAT, PHILLIP PLEASE FUCKING STOP

DEFINITELY into recording porn. In fact, he decided it would be such a good idea to re-record a training video for shadows but make it into almost a fucking porno due to how erotic it was with the two of you as the 'Main Actors'

Shadows don't watch such a video. He just straight up lied to you about it because he wanted to do it.

Buys a LOT of expensive things for you, especially ones to embarrass you with like underwear with his face on it with hearts all around. God forbid anyone in the changing room asks about it.

How he reacts to you being submissive? He loves it! Loves to abuse it as well! The big scary scary you is horny, overstimulated and whining under his foot, just waiting for him? He likes having a picture of both of those "faces". The scary one in your id that everyone views you as and the one (for private use only) of your desperate tear stained face after he was done abusing your dick for HOURS.

Unfortunately though, the times he got to go really DOWN for the sex were often quite rare. He was a busy man. At most you can get a Handjob under a work desk from him then once done, he'll take you to the bathroom and force you to lick it off his hand. He is just weird like that.

Alejandro Vargas

Alejandro was in denial for the longest. Even to now, he still doesn't even know if you're dating or if it's just casual.

It's been years..

Made a lot of "is it gay if-" jokes that literally nobody laughed at. They're just simply not funny.

He was very sceptical of the way he and YOU felt for a LOOONNGG time. Even once he accepted you love him and that he loves you, he was always in denial, just patting your back as if you were buddies.

But it was NOT casual how much he got bothered by women and even other men staring at you at the gym or wherever you're training at. Be it his gym or a public one, he WILL have you wearing a long sleeved shirt. Only if he is alone with you then you can take it off. He can swallow his distain for the inability to see the way you're so scrumptiously build if it means NOBODY ELSE CAN TOO!!!

Once alone? He is like the token henchman boy in every teen movie that is constantly hyping up the main bully guy in a weirdly gay way. Like those two 'straight guys' in everyone's classes. There is NO separation

He is SO Into the big buff ones, extra points if you even have a lot of hair on your body and he is ready to go on sight. He isn't at all afraid NORMALLY when alone with you because frankly? Sometimes he acts pretty gay with his other homies..hell occasionally even Soap is a victim to having his biceps grabbed then being given unsolicited advice on his to gain more.

Let me tell you, you are an eye candy to him. A confusing eye candy but an eye candy nevertheless.

As for in bed? Like a dream come true! He truly (makes himself) believe that as long as he is the dominant one, then it's not gay! Of course not..

"Hermano, what do you mean the 'socks' rule is a joke? Are you calling me fuckin gay?"

He is smart, smarter than that..he is even mostly joking but makes it REALLY convincing that sometimes people genuinely think he is unaware of the fact that having sex with another male that is so absolutely huge, enough to have him get the next two days off, is obviously gay.

He was unfortunately very.. forgetful the first time having sex. Thinking he can definitely handle it 'raw' because that's what it's like usually for women and he never had a reason to learn about male weak spots unless it's to kill said male.

So, let me tell you.. with your absolutely massive size in all means, being a top and him relentlessly ordering you to "Show him what you've got!" And to "not go easy on him!" Mixed together lead to a 'perfect' mixture of " a trip to ER"

He was too ashamed to go to ER immediately but did get a private doctor he can maybe kill if necessary to check him out. There was no irreversible damage but he definitely learnt that lube is important and the male body does NOT act the same as a female one! What a shocker..

He is REAALLLYY into praising. He WILL praise you at any chance given, mixed in with a lot of physical touch. Again.. especially on the muscles and abs. Man probably had erotic dreams about that too

Don't ask him though he'd just lie or not tell you to not creep you out.

Funny enough, I think he likes helping you shave or just doing "stereotypically" masculine things with you. Working out, fishing, sometimes cooking (but in a masculine way, he'll swear it's a really masculine thing.), you name it!

Later on in the relationship, he really doesn't mind you being submissive at all, unlike the others, he is very neutral to it. Sees it as more of a quirk of yours than anything.

Does not like labeling himself as gay but would lie about being your husband sometimes just to see the shocked look on peoples faces.

Favourite positions? His most favourite one is against a dirty wall in a blind spot at an especially public place like an alley or around the corner of something late at night

OR in a big bath with flowers and candles, extra romantic. Those are the two options, take it or leave it. Romantic or like two filthy teens.

Tends to forget sometimes that you can't give him your all because you will literally shatter him, you NEED to remind him that he shouldn't push you until you've no choice but to fuck his brains out but Alejandro is just Alejandro. Can't help but love him.

He 100% has a picture of you in his wallet AND a tattoo of your name.

Was probably the first to say 'I love you' but in a 'bro way'

Keegan P. Russ

Another tough nut to write about. He is in NO way the Dom daddy that he is written as though that's for sure.

His first reaction to you walking through the god damn door was just side eyeing you for an uncomfortably long time. Probably you would have to be the one to talk to him first if you want to get ANYWHERE

Ignoring that whole..thing..with how you'd even meet, he will be quite happy. Not overjoyed like Krüger or confused like Gaz. He's more okay with it.

Keegan is more about who you are and what you can actually contribute than just physical strength. Being intimidating was right up his alley too so he bonded with you quite quickly.

No internal or external homophobia, bro was just chill like that tbh

As long as you prove yourself helpful and spend a LOT of time with him, he'll treat you like an equal in absolutely no time.

Sometimes he DOES overestimate you though and when he does, even if disappointed, apologises and treats you to a dinner out once he has made sure it's safe. And by out I mean out. On the fucking grass. He is NOT paying for no restaurant. AND you need to be wearing Ghillie suit just in case. Only to be safe. Maybe have a bomb or two to distract in case something happens. Wow those old sniper habits die hard, huh?

Is actually quite confused though by the switch when it comes to sex life. He expected you to be just as bold and cold as you are out and about in your everyday life/battlefield but instead he was met with basically puppy dog eyes at his feet

Can't complain, it was kinda hot, that's his initial thought process. Just as he should, he quickly adapted to the situation. Did a couple quick searches of 'how to be dominant in bed for losers with no life outside of brotherhood' and he was ready to go!

JUST to be greeted with another shocking surprise when YOU were the one to actually fuck him. Just like Horangi, he was a bit taken back by it. None of those wiki how's had said anything about how to take a cock like a champ :[

He did not take that cock like a champ.

He took it like a loser in fact.

He was very fond of more intimate or 'traditional' positions. Due to your height and strength difference.. it seemed to click in his mind exactly like this.

'oh since I'm the smaller one, I'm the one who gets fucked? Makes sense.'

He is very smart, yes, just not sexually. BUT he is no pushover. He WILL overstimulate you until you're begging him to stop fucking himself on you. You just habe to wait until he gets the hang of it and it's over.

Not too kinky, more moderate. Like the average John Doe, missionary or reverse cowgirl, anything as long as he has direct access to your whole body.

Can't even lie to himself but he is a big thighs appreciator. He likes thighs very much so. Sometimes he ALMOST turns into a whiny bitch dog when he wants to try fucking your thighs. As long as you let him, he'll have a field day with those huge thangs 🤤 shi bru me too. Someone of that size will naturally have thicker thighs. And Keegan wants them to crush his skull.

He often jokes that even the rest of the ghosts would appreciate and see that as an honourable death, to go on and finish the Ghosts 'death ritual'.

He says that he'd do an extra good job protecting his homeland in afterlife if his reason for death was your thighs or your dick.

He is a pretty big loser the rest of the time when not in bed unfortunately :[

He is NOT talking about none the entire day then gets really talkative when it's time to fuck.

Still charming, you can't POSSIBLY say no to those eyes, can you, big boy?

(for the confused ones, THIS is a Ghillie suit)

Guys did I do good I hope I didn't bore you to death but I swear I:m just a big yapper who loves to yap :[

[arthurmorganswh0re]

Ghosts Part 3

Arthur calls you by Mary's name

high honor Arthur x fem reader angst

This is a complete series :)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Wattpad

an: thank you for all the wonderful feedback! i'm really happy y'all are enjoying my writing. I have several parts written up already so I'll post them once a day probably. I'll also keep my wattpad updated if you prefer to read there! Anyways, enjoy more arthur groveling :D

The day stretched on like any other. Camp moved with its usual rhythm–chores being done, conversations murmuring between tents, the occasional laugh or curse breaking through the air. But something between Arthur and you had changed, even if no one else noticed.

He kept close but not too close. Watched you without lingering too long. Like he was trying to give you space but still make sure you knew he was there. 

You weren’t sure what to do with that. 

By mid afternoon, you were out by the horses, brushing down your mare when Arthur walked up beside you, hands stuffed in his belt. “Feelin’ any better?” he asked. 

You scoff, not looking at him. “I ain’t the one who drank a bottle of whiskey last night.” 

He huffed a small laugh. “Fair.” He paused, then leaned against the hitching post. “I mean about… everythin’ else.” 

You stopped brushing, resting your hand against the horse’s side. “I don’t know,” you admitted. 

Arthur was quiet for a moment. “I don’t expect you to forgive me just ‘cause I said sorry.” 

You turn to face him, his expression unreadable. His voice carried something rare--uncertainty. Maybe even fear. Not the kind a man has in a gunfight, but the kind that settles deep in your bones when you think you might’ve lost something important. 

You sigh, crossing your arms. “I ain’t mad, Arthur, not anymore. Just…” you trail off, searching for the words. “I ain’t the type to wait around for a man to figure out what he wants.” 

Arthur’s lips pressed into a thin line. He nodded, glancing off toward the tree line like he was thinking hard on something. 

Then, after a long silence, he said, ‘I know what I want.” 

The words were quiet, but they hit like a bullet to the chest. 

You swallowed, your heart kicking up against your ribs. “Yeah?” 

He finally looked at you, really looked at you. “Yeah.” 

You hold his gaze, searching for any doubt, any hesitation. You don’t find any. 

Arthur wasn’t a man of pretty words. He wasn’t the kind to make promises he couldn’t keep. But when he did say something–when he looked at you like that–- you know he meant it. 

Maybe it wasn’t as simple as letting go of the past. Maybe you two would never be simple. But standing there, with Arthur Morgan looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him steady, you thought perhaps you had a chance. 

Arthur stood there, his weight shifting from foot to foot, looking like a man facing down a firing squad. His hands twitched at his sides, and for once, he didn’t have that easy charm to fall back on. Good, let him squirm. 

“I ain’t askin’ you to forget what I did,” he said, voice rough.

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Damn right you ain’t.” 

Arthur exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face, pulling at his flesh just slightly. “I was drunk. Stupid. But that don’t mean I don’t understand what I did.” His eyes met yours, steady now, filled with something real. “I hurt you.” 

The words landed heavier than you expected. Maybe because it wasn’t often Arthur Morgan admitted to much of anything, let alone guilt. 

You let the silence stretch between you, waiting to see if he’d try to talk his way out of it. He didn’t, just stood there, taking his lumps like he knew he deserved them. 

Good. 

You tilt your head, “and?” 

He blinks, “...and?” 

You raised a brow, “You think that’s enough? You think you just get to say ‘I hurt you’ and that’s the end of it?” 

He swallowed hard, shifting his stance.  “No. No, I don’t.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I just… I don’t know what else to say.” 

You studied him for a long moment, letting him stew in it, “Well, you best figure it out, Morgan. ‘Cause I ain’t gonna sit around waitin’ for you to get your head outta your ass.” 

He sighed, his shoulders sinking. “I don’t want you to wait,” he said, quiet but firm. “I want to be better. For you.” 

That gave you pause. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “You say that now, but what happens next time you get too deep in a bottle? What happens when some ghost of the past sneaks up on you again?” 

Arthur didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. “Then I hope you knock some sense into me before I make a damn fool of myself again.” 

You snorted, “Oh, you can count on that.” 

He huffed a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again. He’s nervous. Actually nervous. “I ain’t good at this.” 

“Yeah, I noticed.” 

He sighed, then took a step closer, hesitant. “But I ain’t lyin’ when I say I care about you. More than I probably got any right to. And I don’t wanna lose you over my own damn stupidity.” 

You felt resolve crack just a little. Not enough to let him off the hook but enough to make you listen. 

He rubbed his jaw, looking away for a second before nodding to himself, like he’s made some kind of decision. Then, to your surprise, he took off his hat, holding it against his chest like a man making a confession at church. 

“I ain’t got much to offer,” he admitted. “Ain’t never been a good man. But I swear, if you give me another chance, I’ll do right by you.” He exhaled, meeting your gaze again. “I ain’t askin’ you to believe me just yet. Just… let me prove it.” 

You hated that your heart clenched at that. Hated that he sounded so damn earnest. 

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, let him stand there, waiting. Let him sweat a little longer. 

Finally, you sighed. “You’re damn lucky I’m too stubborn to walk away easy.” 

Arthur let out a breath, something between relief and exhaustion. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.” 

You shook your head, then smirked. “But you’re still on thin ice, Morgan.” 

Arthur chuckled, low and rough. “Figured as much.” 

“Great. Now, if you really wanna start provin’ yourself, go help Pearson with the supplies.” You jerk your chin toward the chuckwagon. “See if you can survive an hour of his bellyachin’.” 

He groans, rolling his eyes. “Aw, hell.” 

You crossed your arms. “Somethin’ wrong?” 

He sighed, shaking his head. “No, ma’am.” 

“That’s what I thought.” 

Arthur grumbled under his breath but turned toward the chuckwagon, trudging off to do his penance. 

You watched him go, arms still crossed, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. 

He still had a long way to go before you’d let him off the hook but you had to admit–it was kinda nice seeing thee Arthur Morgan grovel. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

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[bun-z-bakery]

Drunken Daze

Pairing. Nanami Kento x GN!Reader Warnings/Tags. Co-Workers to lovers, fluff, drinking/alcohol, suggestive, Drunken confessions

Words. 1,377

A/N. Helloooo!! i've been wanting to write something for kento for a while so I hope you enjoy! Also! This was posted earlier on my Ko-fi so check that out if you want! :3

Various Menu | Works Menu | Ao3 | Kofi

You and Kento have been friends for a while now. It was strange getting to know the man. At first, you thought he hated you. He was silent, always with his nose deep into his work, never one for work parties or get-togethers. Your mutual friend Gojo would often need to drag him out of his shell, but his demeanor would change as soon as you entered the room. 

Which is why setting foot into his home and sitting next to him, drinking the wine you had brought, felt so strange. This was a scenario you could only daydream of. 

Your conversation and drinking went on well into the night. He wasn't one for drinking such cheap alcohol. It was all you had on hand, yet, for some reason, he had agreed to it. 

"Man, this sucks. I'm sorry, Nanami." He lets out a low chuckle, swirling the wine before taking another sip. 

"No worries. I'm just glad you brought yourself along. Also, just call me Kento." He takes another sip. You stare at him with a raised brow, drinking in his features. You notice a blush adorned on his cheeks. He was drunk. 

"Kento, should we call it a night?" You were about to put your glass down, but he poured some more wine into your cup and his. Sloppily, he placed the bottle down before he spoke. 

"I don't want this night to end." Was this even the same man you spoke to an hour ago? 

"Kento—" he cuts you off. 

"You're so perfect in my eyes. How can anyone be so perfect? Maybe you're just a dream. Maybe this is all a dream. I'll drink myself to death if it is." 

"Kento, I think we've had enough for the night." Carefully, you take the glass from his hand and place it on the coffee table. Before you can sit properly, he catches your hand and holds it up to his lips, kissing your knuckles. 

You weren't sure what was going through his head, but you had been longing for the blond for oh so long. You weren't even sure if it was a dream yourself. Kento was a heavy drinker—one of the two needed to cut back on the drinks. Even with less alcohol than him in your system, you couldn't help but wonder if the reason why he was so distant in the first place was due to his feelings for you. 

"No. I've adored you from afar for too long." Even through his glasses, you could tell his hazel eyes were glossy. You knew alcohol had such effects on people, yet you never thought you'd see the day you'd have a drunken man confess to you in his own home. 

He raises a hand and ghosts your cheek. You can feel the warmth radiating from his hand; you want to melt into his palm. "May I?" you nod in response. 

"Words, darling." A blush creeps onto your face as you glance down at your hands, unable to make eye contact. 

"Yes, you may." 

With your confirmation, he touches your cheek, stroking it with his thumb, then down to your lips. 

"Kiss me." You were sure of your decision. However, he still asked,

"Are you sure? We can stop this now if you wish." 

"I'm positive, Kento." 

Without another word, his lips crash into yours. You can taste the sweet wine on his tongue as you melt into the kiss. His hands never touch your body. Instead, you move his hands to your shoulders, giving him silent approval for his hands to roam your body. With your approval, he slowly began to explore your body, mindful never to go to areas that might make you uncomfortable. 

Kento breaks the kiss and holds you close. 

"Stay," he whispers. 

"You're too drunk to drive. I'll sleep on the couch." 

You didn't want to argue with the drunk man, so you agreed. He was right. You were too drunk to even see straight. 

Before you knew it, you were hovering over the couch in Kento's arms. Carefully and wobbly, he carried you to his bed and gently placed you down, but he collapsed next to you. 

"Ken?" soft snoring was your response. You could feel his warm breath on your neck as he held onto you. You chuckled and stroked his hair. It didn't take long to drift off to his soft snores. 

In the morning, you find yourself wrapped in not one but two blankets, surrounded by pillows. You figured Kento must have been worried about your comfort and went overboard with the pillows. 

Your nose is hit with the smell of something delicious. Rising out of Kento's bed and making your way to the kitchen with a yawn, you see him in shorts and a wrinkled white T-shirt. 

"Good morning, darling. I made us breakfast." Your head begins to sting, and you are very hungover. Kento seemed to catch on.

"Drink that, and you'll feel as good as new," Kento says, gesturing to a cup filled with what you assume is a hangover remedy. Taking a deep breath, you approach the counter, bracing yourself for the taste. As you gulp it down, you cringe at the flavor and cough. 

"Oh, that's disgusting." 

"That's how you know it works," he points to you with the spatula before plating food for you and him. 

At the table, breakfast was silent. It wasn't until he spoke up that the air became tense. 

Your heart wanted to leap out of its chest. 

"I know we've already slept in the same bed." he cleared his throat, thinning his lips at his actions before he continued. 

"But I would like to take you on a date. If that's alright?" It sounded more like a demand than a question. Kento had his sights set on you. It was more evident now than ever. 

"I would love that, Ken." A slight red tint adorned his face at the mention of the nickname. He smiled and said, "Tomorrow, be ready by 8, and don't forget to wear your gift." 

He whips out his phone. You assume he's bought you something to wear. 

You weren't even official, and the man was already spoiling you. As breakfast came to an end, a comfortable silence filled the room. Kento's gaze lingered on you, and you couldn't help but smile at what tomorrow would bring.

Just as the clock turned 8, a knock was on your door. "Coming!" you shouted, ensuring you looked decent in the outfit Kento had gifted you. 

You open the door, revealing a well-put-together Kento standing with flowers and a slim black box with a beautiful gold ribbon in his hands. "Look at you! I knew you'd look absolutely stunning in that." Your cheeks heat up as you step aside, letting him into your home. You take the flowers and set them in a cup of water on the counter. They were a stunning red with smaller white ones and smelled wonderful. 

"Ready for your other surprise?" 

He holds out the slim black box. 

"Ken, you don't need to do all this for me." 

You kiss his cheek, 

"You're right. I didn't have to do this, but I want to. Every day, you will feel loved and cherished, know that." Little did you know he was serious about this, serious about you. He would do anything and everything to prove it. He didn't plan on losing you, not after secretly pining after you for so long. 

He opens the box, revealing a gold necklace that is too fancy to wear on a regular day yet matches the outfit perfectly. He must've been planning this from the start. You laugh quietly to yourself as you turn around, letting him out the necklace on you. His hands are warm and gentle. 

Once he's finished, carefully hold the gem between your fingers. "It's beautiful, Ken," you say, taking his hand and giving it a slight squeeze, earning a smile from him.

"I'm thrilled that you like it. We should get going now. You'll love what I have planned." 

His gaze lingers on you as you speak. 

"I'm excited to see what you have planned." 

Right then and there, he knew you were already his.

A/N. Thanks for reading! I love Kento so much he's just iwbiwbrbvi okay bye bye!

[glossdebut]

take a bite | MYG ★ 3

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you're finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off... Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You've accepted the fact that romance isn't for you, under any circumstances. You won't risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.

✧ TAGS: slow burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, producer yoongi, music journalist reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you'll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up

✧ WARNINGS: yoongi being RICH. also... remember that eventual smut? well it's kind of here! if you wanna skip, stop reading at [Maybe you should fix that.] and then continue at [After another moment, you roll over onto your stomach...]

✧ WORDCOUNT: 3.5k

✧ STATUS: complete

✧ AUTHOR'S NOTE: hi i normally post on wednesdays but we're about to get a HURRICANE where i'm at so i'm posting early lmfao. rating goes up in this chapter whoops! not sure when chapter 4 will be posted but i'll keep you guys updated. thank you all so much for the engagement i've been receiving on this fic!!! it's my first one ever and i never expected to get so many readers so quickly <3 you guys are keeping me writing so please feel free to send me feedback if you like this chapter. i'd love to read it if i have power over the next few days LOL

CH. 3: I Wanna Fold Clothes For You

So, you and Yoongi are friends.

Of course, seeing him three times within twenty four hours was a fluke, and over the next six days you don’t see him once, not even in passing in your shared hallway. You’re not privy to his work hours, but you know based on what little he’s told you that working as a producer demands more than the normal nine to five, as does your job.

Still, there’s something about coming home every night and knowing that you have a friend right down the hall, if you need one. You haven’t had that in a long time, and you feel so much lighter now that you do have it. 

There is, of course, an upside to not being able to see Yoongi often. Given that you’ve only just met him, you don’t have his appearance committed to memory quite yet, and mercifully, you’re beginning to forget why you were so viscerally attracted to him in the first place. 

You reason that it must’ve been the alcohol. You were getting drunk when you met him, stupidly drunk when you discovered that you’re neighbors, hungover when you shared a tangerine, and drinking from a bottomless glass of wine (courtesy of Seokjin) when you drooled over his hands for a solid ten minutes. You have yet to interact with Yoongi clear-headed and lucid. Not to mention you’re just a little bit… pent up, recently. Drunk and horny Y/N had the wheel. That has to be it. Nobody is that hot. You’re sure of that. Men ain’t special!

So you go through your week business as usual, but with a slight spring in your step, and it’s lovely. You even venture way further away from the office for your lunch hour on Friday than you normally would to go to a restaurant you’ve been dying to try. You’re usually so tied to the office that the furthest you tend to go is the convenience store down the street for the instant stuff.

And then, since the universe demands correction (or overcorrection where you’re concerned), all of the floaty goodness comes to a screeching halt when you get in your car to head back to the office. Your car which, in the past hour you’ve been blissfully stuffing your face with tteokbokki, has decided it has done its job and is ready to retire.

It just straight up won’t start.

Sitting in the parking lot of the restaurant, you go into crisis management mode.

You’re thankfully not completely clueless where cars are concerned. It comes with the territory of owning a beater. You keep up with your oil changes, you don’t leave the lights on when you get home late. You replaced your battery semi-recently, so that shouldn’t be it. Unfortunately, you don’t have much time to troubleshoot. You need to get back to work. Okay… Damage control, then.

The most obvious solution is to call one of your coworkers to come and rescue you, but your coworkers are just as notorious for being tethered within a one mile radius of the office as you are, so that would more than likely end up being a waste of time. You could find the nearest bus stop, but who knows how long public transportation could take right now? Too unpredictable. You could call your boss and tell him that you’re not going to be back to the office anytime soon (or at all today) and get your car towed and repaired. But then you would suddenly have a reputation of being unreliable, because god forbid you have a human moment. That’s straight up not an option. You’ve been doing so good this week.

You’re sure there are other options. But isn’t this what friends are for?

He answers on the fifth ring, but he answers.

“Y/N?” 

“Yoongi.” You feel your shoulders slump in relief. You try your best not to sound as panicked as you feel. “Are you busy?”

“Um. I’m at the studio,” he says, confusion in his voice. “But I have a minute. Is everything okay?” Confusion and concern? That’s nice.

“Everything’s fine!” you blurt out. “Okay, maybe not. My car won’t start! I don’t know why, but it won’t, and I need to get back to work, but you’re at work, too! I don’t even know where you work, but I doubt it’s anywhere near where I am, and even if it is, I don’t want to tear you away from anything important—”

“Y/N.”

“—I know you said you had a minute, but I really don’t want to fuck up your flow. That’s a term, right? You’re a producer, you… flow. Anyway, I just don’t really know anyone here and I didn’t know who to call, and if I don’t get back to work soon my boss is going to kill me—”

“Y/N,” he says, more firmly. Your mouth snaps shut. “Where are you?”

“In my car,” you say dumbly, frazzled.

Yoongi sighs. “Send me your location.”

“For what?”

“I’m gonna send a car to come get you and drive you to your office,” he says, and he sounds just the slightest bit exasperated about needing to explain that to you.

Send a car? What the fuck? You have so many questions, such as: how fucking loaded is the guy who lives two doors down from you in your very shitty apartment building? What label does he even work for? How famous of a producer is he to be able to send a car to you? But your immediate instinct to turn down his help wins out over asking any of them.

“What? Yoongi, no, that’s too much,” you complain. “Don’t do that. I just freaked out a little bit, I can–”

“Y/N,” he interrupts. If you’re not mistaken, it sounds a bit like he’s trying not to laugh at you. Fucker. “Location.”

So you send him your location. What other option do you have?

“You’re not far,” Yoongi says once he receives your text. A few moments pass, and then: “Car will be there in ten.”

“Thank you,” you say. You feel nauseous, like maybe you’re going to cry, but there’s also a good amount of relief there, too. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“No need,” he says. “I’d come get you myself, but I really can’t get away right now.”

“Still, there’s a comically large bottle of an alcohol of your choosing in your future. Seriously, thank you.”

His responding laugh is enough to settle your stomach just a little. “Seriously, you don’t need to pay me back…” A pause. “But for the record, I like whiskey.”

You wrinkle your nose even though he can’t see it. “Gross.”

“Don’t be a hater.”

“As long as you don’t make me drink it with you, I’ll keep my comments to myself,” you say, finding yourself smiling.

“Oh, you think I share?” Yoongi teases back. He sighs again. “I really have to go.”

“Go, go,” you say. “Thanks for saving me. Even if it’s by proxy.”

“You can always call me if you need shit like this,” he says. You can tell that he means it. “I’m glad you called me. Means I’m doing something right.”

“You are,” you say, your voice soft. Your cheeks feel warm. Probably because you’re sitting in a dead car. “Thanks.”

Yoongi hums in response. “Text me when you get back to the office safe, okay?”

“I will. Bye, Yoongi.”

And that’s that.

★ ★ ★

True to your word, you text Yoongi when the stupidly luxurious car he ordered for you drops you off at your office, only ten minutes later than you’re due back from your lunch break. You’re able to slip in without anyone noticing that you’re late at all, which is great. Crisis partially averted.

He sends back a thumbs up emoji, and then decides to drop the bomb that he intends to pay for your car to be towed.

[1:21] You: YOONGI NO

[1:21] You: you can’t do that!!!!

[1:24] Yoongi: 100% I can and will as soon as I get ten minutes to make a phone call to sort it out.

The audacity of this man.

[1:25] You: seriously i cannot ask you to do that

[1:25] You: i was just going to take the bus back to the restaurant after work and deal with it from there. i’m actively researching towing companies and repair places on company time as we speak

[1:30] Yoongi: You’re not asking me. You’ve got enough to worry about. Let me take care of it. I know the places.

[1:31] You: still, i can’t let you spend money like that on me. i don’t even wanna think about what that car cost you

[1:31] Yoongi: If it helps you sleep at night you can pay me back on your own time. You definitely don’t have to though.

[1:32] Yoongi: That reminds me. You can use that car until yours is taken care of if you need to. I’ll send you the driver’s contact. Don’t take the bus.

You feel like you’re going insane.

[1:33] You: do you have a grammy or something? what do you DO to be able to afford shit like this? why do you live in our building? are you a drug dealer?

[1:37] Yoongi: :]

Of course, he gives you no clues about what exactly he does, but after a bit more back-and-forth, you finally give in and let Yoongi handle everything under the condition that you’re going to pay him back. He doesn’t seem all that worried about it, which infuriates you just a little.

You go through the rest of your day like normal, if not a tad twitchy. Come quitting time, you take advantage of having a driver at your disposal and have him stop a liquor store on your way home.

As you take the elevator up to your floor, comically large whiskey bottle (as promised) in tow, you text Yoongi and ask if he’s home yet. At his responding ‘No, why?’ you cackle to yourself and pocket your phone. The elevator doors slide open. You were hoping that would be the case. 

You clocked out at a semi-normal time tonight, a gift to yourself to cope with the stress of the day, and so you take great pleasure in setting the bottle down on Yoongi’s very tasteful cat doormat, flipping it off right back on your way into your own apartment.

You silently pray to whatever god may be listening that the whiskey isn’t swiped by someone before Yoongi gets home. Your cat, Pepper, is blinking at you lazily on the kitchen counter, and you give her a triumphant little scratch on the head before padding to your bedroom to deal with your laundry.

Your move, Min Yoongi.

★ ★ ★

“Do I need to be jealous?”

You take advantage of getting off work early to call your best friend Rina for the first time in what feels like forever. She’s in Paris this month, debuting a play that she’s been working on tirelessly about aliens and drug addiction. You’ve read the script six times over. It’s both campy and gut wrenching all at once, and you’ve cried every time. You picture her with her very chic haircut, sipping from a flute of champagne. The thought of her being jealous of any part of your life is laughable. 

“What do you have to be jealous of, exactly?” you snort, holding your phone between your ear and shoulder as you toss your laundry basket upside down on your bed unceremoniously. Your clothes are covered in a perma-layer of Pepper hair, and you think it’s lucky that Pepper is a black cat and most of your clothes are black. Very enviable.

“Of Yoongi, dipshit,” she coos through the phone. “You’re replacing me.”

“Sure,” you say, like she’s making total sense. You’re lying on top of your laundry now instead of folding it. You put her on speakerphone and rest your phone on your chest. “I’m throwing away ten years of being your best friend for a guy that I met a week ago. I’m glad you figured it out, honestly, because I was dreading telling you. I was going to wait until your matinée, but you don’t seem too broken up about it.”

“Of course. You have to do what’s right for you, I’ve always told you that,” she deadpans back, and you groan. You don’t want to hear it. “No, I just mean… It’s good. That you’re meeting people.”

“We’re neighbors,” you say, flopping over onto your front to rub at your temples. Rina is resting on a pile of your underwear now. “We talk about work. My work, not his, because he thinks it’s funny to act like he’s too cool to tell me about his job. He’s helping me with my car. We’re… neighborly.”

“And you want to fuck him,” she says. Maybe calling Rina was a bad idea. Debriefing over text would have sufficed.

“I don’t want to fuck him,” you say, indignant. “We’re friends. He’s nice. I can have a guy friend.”

“Of course you can,” Rina says, like you’re dumb for even thinking she would imply otherwise. “And you can be friends with him all you want. But you also want to fuck him.”

You groan in protest but she speaks over it.

“Baby, you can pretend, but I know how you talk about people you want to have sex with, even if you don’t say it outright,” she continues. “He may just be feeding you and helping you and talking to you about the weather, but I know you, and I know the whole time he’s talking you’re just agonizing over how he might fuck you if you let him.”

“That’s not fair,” you mumble, letting your face drop into your laundry. It smells good. Small comforts.

“Are you going to let him?”

“No,” you whine, muffled by the cotton. “I don’t need that. There are always strings. I hate strings.”

���You said he’s a super straightforward, honest guy, right?” Rina asks.

“Brutally so,” you grumble.

“So. Maybe he’d be cool with a lack of strings. You won’t know unless you ask, baby.”

You want to tell her that’s easy for her to say, but you don’t want to fight with her when you know you won’t hear from her like this again for a while. 

Rina has never compromised for anything. She decided in both of your sophomore year of college, after flirting with both performance and directing, that she wanted to be a playwright, and that was that. 

She wrote and wrote and wrote, and after you graduated together, her career blossomed almost instantly because she worked goddamn hard for it. She got opportunities to travel and work with theatre companies around the world, and she took them without giving it a second thought because she knew it was what she wanted. And she’s had a consistent, loyal boyfriend nearly the whole time. He doesn’t always travel with her, but he supports her in everything she does. They’re excruciatingly healthy about it. 

When your long-term college boyfriend dumped you unceremoniously two months into your first reporter gig because he felt he came second to your career, Rina was there for you. But you resented her a little bit. There was no way she could understand any of it. 

Still, as much as you hate to admit it, she has a point. You could just ask Yoongi if he wants to fool around without it being a thing, and you know he’d give you a straight answer. You’re even pretty confident he wouldn’t make it weird if his answer was no. That’s not the problem. It never is.

“The problem isn’t whether or not I think he’d be cool with it,” you mumble. “The problem is if he is cool with it, and then the strings come anyway. The friendship is nice. I’m attracted to him, yeah, fine. But I can ignore it if it means I get to be his friend.”

Theres a long pause on the line, and then Rina sighs.

“Your life would be a lot easier if you could do one night stands,” she says.

Don’t you know it. 

“Yeah.”

“I’ve gotta go, okay? Text me. Keep me updated on life.” You read between the lines. On Yoongi, she means. “I love you.”

“Mmmhh,” you mumble back, still burying your face into your laundry. 

When the line disconnects, you feel considerably more twitchy and irritable than you did before talking to Rina.

So, you’re attracted to Yoongi. Or you were, when you were drunk and he was all… hot and considerate. That doesn’t mean you have to act on it! You’re not going to act on it. You’re just pent up, that’s all. It’s been a long time since you’ve had an orgasm, self-inflicted or otherwise, and you can’t think straight.

Maybe you should fix that.

It’s clear you’re giving up on laundry for the night, so you shove the mountain of clothes back into the basket on the floor, sighing as you lay back on your bed.

You feel only slightly ridiculous as you shimmy your sleep shorts down your thighs, your hands sliding up your shirt to cup your breasts, squeezing slightly. Warming yourself up.

You quickly decide to get to the point, though. You’re struggling to immerse yourself in the fantasy that usually does the trick, too wound up and embarrassed (as if it’s not you in here by yourself, as usual) at groping yourself.

Despite the embarrassment, it becomes abundantly clear that you didn’t really need to warm yourself up anyway. Your fingers slide through your folds with ease, drenched like you’ve been that way all fucking day, unbeknownst to you, and a surprised moan falls from your lips. Fuck.

Closing your eyes, you circle two fingers around your clit experimentally, making your hips jerk up under you, sensitive. You do it again, a little firmer, starting a slow rhythm that makes you squirm against your mattress, your bottom lip rolling between your teeth.

It feels good. It usually does—you’ve always been able to make quick work of an orgasm to rid yourself of any lingering jitters before bed. But it feels really good right now, your pussy extra sensitive tonight, and you can’t figure out why. There’s nothing new about what you’re doing.

Rina’s words worm their way into your brain uninvited—the whole time he’s talking you’re just agonizing over how he might fuck you if you let him—and you’re too turned on to stop that train of thought, flashes of capable hands and pink tongue (tonguetechnologytonguetechnologytonguetechnology) filling your mind, and you’re moaning softly despite yourself as you rub your clit a little faster.

You continue to make soft sounds, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, dry from panting as the barrage of Yoongi-related thoughts keep coming, bringing you closer and closer to your release. 

Dark, dark eyes looking down at you. A delicate chain dangling above your face. You whimper, your fingers sliding down from your clit to sink into your pussy, curling up to rub at your inner walls. A thick cock sliding into you, filling you so deliciously.

You pump your fingers fast and desperate as you get closer and closer to that sweet edge. You wonder what Yoongi would sound like if he was the one fucking into you right now. Would he moan in your ear in that gravelly voice of his? He’s a man of few words. Would he be like that in bed, too? Would he call you sweet names? Not so sweet? Which ones?

Your walls flutter around your fingers, your hips stuttering up off the mattress as your orgasm crashes over you and you gasp out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

You stare up at the ceiling for a minute panting. The high of your release buzzes pleasantly through your body before it starts ebbing away, but the thoughts of Yoongi pervade. Well, fuck.

After another moment, you roll over onto your stomach to grab a towel from your laundry basket and wipe off your fingers, tossing it on the floor. You grab your phone, only to be greeted by a notification from the subject of your masturbation fantasy himself. He sent it about ten minutes ago.

When you tap it open, you’re greeted with a photo (!!!) of Yoongi holding your gift next to his head, the hand wrapped around the neck of the whiskey bottle almost dwarfed by its sheer size. A testament to the ridiculousness of it, because you’re well aware of how long Yoongi’s fingers are. There’s a lazy smirk on his face, and a mole that you’re just now noticing on his right cheek.

[8:23] Yoongi: Cute. 

Yep. Yep. Cool.

You swipe out, tapping on Rina’s contact.

[8:35] You: okay. i want to fuck him. 

[8:35] Rina: 🥂🥳🎉

Shit.

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[hey-august]

i was supposed to go to sleep, but here we are...

WC: ~700

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, buggy x f!reader, fingering, multiple orgasms, "good girl," bit of misuse of devil fruit powers bc it just makes things easier to imagine

"Shhh..." Buggy hushed you before flipping a page.

Your teeth clamped harder on your lip, biting back the sounds that he deemed "too distracting." When you offered to help the captain with his paperwork, this wasn't what you meant.

---

Buggy quickly lost steam when it came to bureaucratic drudgery. Anything he could delegate was passed off. Work that had to be done by him was also passed off. This worked until it didn't. Until the crew learned about his deadlines and his ploys.

Suddenly, everyone was busy. There were emergencies that needed immediate help. Excuses were said in between breaths.

"Excuse me, Captain, someone's stuck in the rigging." "Richie broke a claw and I need to check on him." "I broke my hand and have to go to the infirmary." "I have to get past you and do something else, sorry!"

Maybe no one said the last one, but that's what they all boiled down to.

And that's how Buggy ended up laying in bed, boots on, suffering through a packet that was actually important and couldn't get lost at sea.

You could nearly see the pirate's life fading away when you stepped into the room. His spirit was being replaced by unnecessary acronyms, legalese, and superfluous writing. With each word his eyes skimmed over, a sparkle died.

It was pitiful. And adorable, but you wouldn't tell him that.

You offered to help, figuring Buggy would be more than happy to hand you the papers, accidentally give you a paper cut, and wander off to get drunk.

Instead, he patted the spot next to him. You sat down, sinking into the divot he created, and leaned against his body. Buggy put an arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer.

You peered at the paper, ready to assist, when you realized Buggy had a different plan. A hand slithered it's way under your clothes and was finding a nesting place under your panties.

Buggy's fingers explored the area cautiously, chasing away the sensitivity and luring out arousal. He circled your bundle of nerves, avoiding contact and admiring from a distance. Buggy's warmth dipped lower, teasing you with how he almost touched the areas he usually attacks with passion and hunger.

"I thought you wanted h-help?"

"You are helping, now keep quiet so I can focus."

He kissed your forehead just as his fingertips collided with your clit. You gasped as the sweet electricity shot through your body and curled your toes.

Buggy stopped moving.

"I really do need to focus."

"I'll- I'll be quiet."

The movement started again and you sunk into your own body with a sigh.

Buggy knew how to play your body like an instrument. When to press harder and when to pull back. When you wanted small movements and when you needed something grander. When to keep tempo and follow the pattern, and when to create his own music.

The trembles in your body increased until the silent crescendos that left you twitching and panting. But with still more work to do, Buggy kept you underhand.

At first, you could pick out the shapes he traced. Numbers and figures to tally. Long digits that carried on longer than you did. Short numbers that brought about aftershocks of pleasure. Then the letters and words. At least, they were probably words. You couldn't hold onto them long enough to decipher the messages.

Buggy drew climax after climax from you body. You could feel how slick you were, a puddle collecting under your body. Every so often he'd pull out the hand and one of you would lick his wet fingers so he could turn a page.

"How much more?"

Buggy rifled through the packet.

"Three more, then it's done." He glanced at you. What a beautiful mess, covered in sweat and chest heaving. "You're doing such a good job for your captain. You deserve a reward for being such a good girl, huh?"

You nodded eagerly. A reward sounded nice.

"Keep being good for three more pages and I'll give you a nice big reward."

You nodded again and let your eyes close as Buggy picked up where he left off. A big, hard reward. That's what you wanted.

[naanima]

I needddd Max reaction! I NEED HIM TO GO FERAL ABOUT IT

This is part 2. Part 1 is here.

YES. HE WOULD. Max receiving the message of Daniel and his new back tattoo.

Not beta'd. Gods, this is so NOT edited in any way shape or form. But I wrote this in a half dazed frenzy. I'll post a proper copy of this and the first part as one whole fic sometime in the next few days on ao3. Thanks for being equally feral as me guys!

EXPLICIT: There's wanking and sex. Sort of.

1.48k words. I wrote over 2k words today. I am done. Probably tapped out writing wise for the next two to three days. Lols.

"MAAAX!" An arm went around his neck and a wet kiss missed his cheek, and was instead plastered across his head. More people joined and Max was pulled out into the heaving mass of people dancing to the club music.

Max was so happy, he was also so drunk, but he was so fucking happy. Every win was of course important. But this one, this one was so important, this year has been shit. The fucking worst. The car is shit, the people who had won with him, the ones he thought would be always with him had left, gone to the competition. He had thought he had finally gotten Daniel back, after years of not having him. That they were finally at a point in their lives that they could get their shit together and make it work. But that had been snatched away.

And he understood why Daniel couldn't stay, why he had to leave. Max wasn't a teenager anymore, he understood that F1 wasn't always fair. It was shit.At least Daniel had visited him in Monaco. At least he the past two years had allowed them to be together more often then they had.

Winning the WDC made it, not exactly worth it, but it made things easier to accept. Made it bearable.

He threw back his gin and tonic, and a full glass of gin and tonic was placed into his hand. He laughed, drank it all, passed the empty glass to whomever was closest, and jumped into the mass of people all celebrating his win. Their combined efforts gave Max the opportunity to win.

He didn't know how long he danced for, pulled in by people who wanted to hug him, kiss him on the cheek, tell him they loved him, then he was passed along to the next person, rinse and repeat. Max was so happy, Max wished Daniel was here with him, wished it was Daniel pulling him in to kiss him on the cheeks, maybe to miss and then they would end up kissing on the mouth. Daniel was so strong now, he would be able to lift him off the floor for a hug, and maybe Max could wrap his legs around his waist, and then - fuck, he needed to stop. He was so hot, and the air felt like thick molasses, and Max was a bit dizzy, and fuck he needed to take a piss.

He stumbled his way to the bathroom, avoided outstretched hands with a laugh, and told people, "I need to piss."

His phone buzzed as he was washing his hands at the sink. He looked down and saw Daniel’s name flash across the top of the screen. It didn't show the content, something he had set up so that he could have some privacy from fans, the media and the paparazzi.

He had received so many messages, from almost everyone in his life, but he hadn't received anything from Daniel yet. He knew he was in America, most likely in LA. But he had not received anything from Daniel.

But now Daniel was texting him, and Max could feel his heart beating faster. He was worried, not seriously, but he was a little concerned. But it was okay now because Daniel was messaging him, probably so that could congratulate him like had for every win he has had.

Max unlocked his phone and opened his messages, pulling up his message thread with Daniel. He didn't know what he was seeing at first. Didn't know why Daniel had sent him a picture of a naked man, but then everything clicked, the curls, the tattoos on the thigh, the muscled back and the ass that Max had dreamed about as a teenager, fuck, had dreamed about as an adult.

Shit, did Daniel send this by mistake, was it meant for someone else? Fuck that fucking person. God, Daniel looked so good, Max wanted to touch every bit of the exposed skin. And then Max took in Daniel's lower back, something gold and black on red skin just above his ass. And Max had to zoom in, squinted his eyes to look, and when it finally became apparent, Max’s hand tightened around his phone and a deep guttural groan escaped his lips.

And oh my fucking god. He was suddenly so hard, a whiskey dick apparently not making an impact at all in the face of a naked Daniel Riccardo. A Daniel Ricciardo who had branded himself with Max's name right above his ass, and what the fuck was Max meant to do with that. His brain felt like it was on fire, his whole body felt like it was too small for his needs, he was sweating, and he suddenly felt like he was starving. A deep ache that needed to be filled, felt as if it could consume him if he let it. Fuck. Max needed to come right now.

He made his way into one of the cubicles, locked the door and sat on top of the closed toilet. He had to hold his phone under his chin as he used both of his hands to unzip himself, to pull his pants off so that he could reach his dick. And gods it felt so fucking good, his pre-come overflowing across his hands, running down his dick.

He used his right hand to hold the phone up so that he could see Daniel's naked back, so that he could see his initials, his wins, his fucking brand on Daniel. His left hand formed a tight wet channel around his cock as he fucked into it. He kept on looking at the tattoo, thought about tracing his name in gold with his fingers, thought about kissing it, licking it with his tongue, biting into it until he left his teeth marks on top of it. His hands pressing into it as he went down the curve of Daniel's ass. His mouth and tongue licking downwards till he reached Daniel's tight hole. He could bring so much pleasure to Daniel, could make him squirm and moan, shake and cry like a mindless drooling toy, could make him come on his tongue as he held him down by his hips.

He could fuck slowly into Daniel using just his spit and his pre-come, his dick buried deep, and then slowly pull out as Daniel’s body tried to hold him in, all the while watching Daniel's lower back, his name tattooed onto smooth skin. Daniel had branded himself for Max. Had made himself his, and Max wanted Daniel here, he wanted to suck Daniel's dick, push his face into his pubes, wanted to come over Daniel's back, his come all over his name in gold and black ink. He could lick his own come off Daniel's back afterwards, could push his own come into Daniel’s red used hole, and - fuck, his body tensed all over, his brain whited out, and he came with a long deep moan, and he might have blakced out for a split second. When he came back into himself, his come was cooling all over his hand and he could feel some on his chin.

His pants were half off his ass, and his spent dick was out in the open air. But he didn't really care, he felt relaxed and saited. His phone was still held tightly in his hand, the screen black now. And he realised that he hadn't responded to Daniel. He unlocked his phone, looked at the picture of Daniel, felt his dick twitch, didn't think, just snapped a photo of his spent and sent it to Daniel.

Halfway to pulling his pants up a thought struck him, and he unlocked his phone again to google for an answer. He almost threw his phone against the cubicle’s wall. Barely contained himself from screaming in frustration as he sent a message to Daniel.

TO DANIEL: Daniel, a tattoo can take up to 8 weeks to heal!?

Fuck this shit. He had waited for nearly a decade for a sign from Daniel that he would be interested. And now that he has got his answer it was going to take eight fucking weeks before he could lick, bite and fucking push his hands into the gold of his name on Daniel's back. Fuck this shit.

Max Verstappen was a four times world champion. He played to win, took the gap no matter how small if it meant he could win it all. Daniel had given him a free and open invite for the rest of his life, and Max was not going to let Daniel have a chance to ever doubt his decision to make him Max’s.

TO DANIEL: Daniel. This means you are mine now, and it is of course only fair if you know I am yours. I always wanted a tattoo, and “3” is my favourite number.

[m30wk1ttycat]

Could you write Afab reader x anya? Maybe them going on a walk

girlypop, yes, i gotchu :3

no warnings, just rlly short !! <3 note: this is my first time writing for anya, might be a bit ooc.

in her free time (or when she got overwhelmed with her studies), anya would go out on walks. clear her head a little, y'know?

this time, she decided to bring you along with her.

your phone buzzed, that all too familiar sound barely audible over the movie you were watching. you were about to ignore it, thinking it was just a notification from social media, perhaps one of your favourite influencers posting something. but, when it buzzed again, curiosity got the best of you and you found yourself taking the device into your hand.

2 new messages from anya.

yeah, that definitely wasn't one of your favourite influencers posting something.. oops.

anya : y/n, hey, are you free right now?

anya : i'm going out for a walk. just wondering if you'd like to join me

no way you were refusing that.

y/n : i'd love that, actually

anya is typing. . .

anya : great! i'll be at yours in 10.

10 minutes. not a lot of time to get ready, but who cared? definitely not anya. she wasn't the type to judge people (unless they were j*mmy, which was understandable), especially not you. besides, she's seen you without make-up, with a bad haircut, ugly crying over a bad breakup, drunk.. not once has she made a negative comment about any of that.

so here you were, standing outside your apartment, leather jacket worn over the olive green sweater you chose to pair with brown jeans. "hi, anya!"

she smiled. "hello. shall we, m'lady?"

her hand extended, waiting for you to take it. and you did, gladly intertwining your fingers together. you noticed that, in comparison to yours, her hand was cold.

"we shall indeed."

✮

you listened to anya talk about her day as you strolled through the park, hand-in-hand the entire time. she didn't seem to mind, and neither did you.

"oh my god, have i told you about the new tv girl album? it's releasing today, we have to listen to it when it comes out." (she is a canon tv girl fan. trust me bro)

"we will," you promised.

a squeeze, gentle yet hard enough to catch your attention. "hm?"

"thank you, y/n," she all but whispered, leaning her head on your shoulder. "oh, how i love you."

"yeah? love you, too."

there was a moment of silence, the only noise being the crunching of the fallen, rotting leaves under your feet.

then: "do you want to go to that coffee place where we usually go? my treat."

"what are you now, my sugar mommy?" a glare from the dark haired girl, lighthearted yet somehow still as scary as the real thing. "sure. let's go," you agreed.

this was definitely something you wouldn't mind doing more often.

[thorst]

Uncle Arthur: a soft little wip

Gen fic Arthur Morgan & Abigail Roberts (canon Abigail / John as a background) • pre canon • baby Jack • no warnings

So I started writing this 6 years ago when my middlest kid was about Jack's age. Authentic tired momma realness. I think I'll finish it but here's a snippet to kick me into gear

It was early, the sun not yet fully over the horizon, when Arthur heard stirring coming from Abigail’s tent. He’d awoken early, as he always did, rising to that restless sense that there was work to be done just before the first morning birds began their calls. The campfire had fallen to embers, and it was as Arthur stoked it back into life, holding his black and bitter coffee to warm cold hands, that he’d heard those soft, small, sounds.  

A small, lonesome cry as Jack awoke - not for the first time since the adults of the gang had laid down to rest. Abigail’s soft “Hush, baby,” came seconds after, her voice hoarse and weary. A frown tugs at Arthur’s lips as he is reminded, yet again, of John’s absence. Marston had run off some seven months ago now, and there’d not been hide nor hair of him seen since. “Go to sleep Jackie, just a little longer, come on, now.” 

Arthur didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Truly, he didn’t. And it felt, sometimes, like he was getting too involved in the affairs of Abigail and the boy; Arthur knew if they all lived in polite society, perhaps it would be best if he were to marry Abigail, in John’s absence. Seeing as the bastard might as well be dead - or very well could be - and Arthur was the closest thing he had to a brother, and unwed himself. He downs his coffee in a quick, angry swallow, shaking his head as he tucks his mug away with the others near Pearson’s makeshift scullery. 

He couldn’t marry her - though maybe he oughtta - but that didn’t mean he couldn’t help now. 

For a big man, he moved all but silently, a relic from his days as a homeless waif, picking pockets and stealing morsels from slow and dim-witted adults. It served him well then, and had ever since. But he scuffs his boots against the dirt and pebbles of the ground now in his approach, clearing his throat as he comes to his purposefully noisy halt outside Abigail’s tent. 

“Miss Roberts, if you’ll forgive me,” Arthur rumbles, voice low, and crouches by the tent’s flaps to wait. The sounds of movement come from inside and before too long, Abigail pokes her head through the canvas flaps, eyes scrunched half-shut against the cold grey light of dawn. She looked run ragged - as she often did, since John had left. 

“Arthur? Sorry - did I - did we wake you?” Jack’s small sounds can be heard from inside, the lad babbling happily to himself, very much awake. “Call me Abigail, for goodness’ sake,” this she adds with a yawn, barely stifled behind a slender hand. 

“Naw, you know me. I don’t sleep.” He chuckles slightly, knowing it was a joke the women oft repeated amongst themselves, and one he didn’t mind particularly. “Listen, Abigail, I ain’t got nothin’ to do this mornin’, an’ if you’d trust him with me, I could take little Jack. Get yourself some more shut-eye.” 

Abigail stared at him for so long that Arthur begins to speak again. “Course, I don’t know nothin’ about little boys, so it ain’t - don’t you worry. I’ll fix you a coffee.” Just as he starts to rise, her hand darts out, gripping him by the forearm, imploring him to stop. 

“Of course I trust you with him.” There’s an edge of desperation in Abigail’s voice that is rarely present, despite everything the woman has been through in these past months. Surprised, Arthur meets her gaze; her blue eyes are all but swimming with gratitude. “You sure you don’t mind, Arthur? You ain’t got other business to take care of? He can be a handful.” 

Bringing his hand to pat the one still gripping his arm, Arthur offers up a small, lopsided smile. “What, more’n that drunk fool Williamson I been corralling about the place lately? Naw, he ain’t gonna pose me no trouble.” He shifts, kneeling so that he can peer into the darkness of the tent, looking for the boy. “I’d like to, Abigail. I know -” He sighs heavily as he shakes his head, a sharp huff of breath leaving him in a cloud of mist. “I know it ain’t been easy on you, these months, since Marston went and left. Let me take ‘im.” 

The silence between them grows brittle as Abigail removes her hand, running fingers through her unruly dark hair as she shakes her head. “Damn fool man he is,” she mutters, eyes downcast. 

-------

Oh yes I really do gotta write some more of this don't i

[serpentface]

Which drugs/Substances are there in-setting, and what relation do the main cast have to any of them, if at all? (Added bonus for how real world substances would show up in-setting/with these people)

I don't have many fantasy entheogens established, and I've neglected to develop many Substances in general since most of my writing is focused on a dry subtropical region where there isn't a whole ton of them readily available (so this section's going to be pretty sparse. I'll maybe get back with a better answer someday).

I've gone over the Ur-tree in detail, which is among the most fantastical (doesn't really have a definite place in the plant kingdom). It Kind Of resembles a cypress (but with thicker more leafy 'needles') and has significant quantities of dimethyltryptamine in the bark and some in the leaves. It's the strongest hallucinogen found in the general Eastern Seaway area, but preparations needed to make the compound bioavailable by ingestion are relatively complex, and a lot of cultures in its range use it as basic herbal medicine that doesn't cause any obvious effects.

The one complete nonsense entheogen is the ur-root fungus. This is a type of mushroom that grows on rotting wood whose small fruiting bodies can be ingested as a hallucinogen. This is not similar to psychoactive fungi that I'm aware of, and was inspired by an experience with shitty delta 8 THC gummies that produced suspicious un-THC like effects where I was hallucinating and felt like time had become meaningless and the illusion of the self dissolved, but not enough for it to be calming rather than nightmarish. Whatever was in those delta 8 gummies is in the ur-root fungus.

Hidije is a shrubby plant that contains alkaloids that stimulate opioid receptors, though isn't nearly as strong as actual opium. I don't have any culture established that uses it recreationally or ceremonially, and its mostly just used as a painkilling/sedating medicine.

That's the totality of the fantasy plants/etc I have solidly established, the rest are 1:1 or very close to real world counterparts.

Cannabis exists but is native to the (unnamed, I have not named a single landmass to this day) continent that Cynozepal exists on and hasn't spread much overseas (and is mostly used for textiles). The Chit-Sut-Susit and Czekl qilik peoples smoke cannabis to assist in meditative practices and as a facet of ancestral veneration (though they smoke a mixture of the psychoactive buds and the leaves so it's not particularly strong).

The broülje plant started out as a coca analogue but I changed it to a non-tobacco but nicotine producing Solanaceae plant instead (didn't really fit the subtropical-temperate range it had anyway). I have Loosely established unnamed coca analogues as extant and being used similarly (chewed/brewed in unrefined form for a mild stimulant effect) but nothing that solid in terms of its various cultural factors. Nekhuatset (major elowey civilization in the western tropics) is one producer and major player in extending its range via trade, but its range is still pretty limited.

Alcohol is obviously near-ubiquitous.

---

Brakul is an alcoholic, but doesn't culturally register to others as a full on ''drunk'' given that the typical daily consumption of watered-down wine does enough to keep him out of withdrawal, and he's rarely seen drunk in public. Dude binge drinks fairly often, sometimes for fun but routinely + in a very sad manner when going through depressive episodes. Depending on the context, he's alternating extremes of very happy and giggly and absolutely miserable while drunk. Can get in spirals where he's depressed so he binge drinks at night, then gets sad because he's drunk, then gets sadder because he's sloppy drunk and pathetic and throwing up, then gets hungover and more depressed, etc. Has a tendency of whining and moping at Hibrides when he's sloshed. Also really likes tobacco but mostly just smokes socially. It's canon that IRL he would have a nicotine dependency and would specifically vape and be so annoying about it. Also the bottle graveyard in the ponyplay drawing was supposed to have Modelo Chelada labels photoshopped in because I decided that would be his favorite gas station-accessible beer but I forgot.

Hibrides also has dabbled in alcohol abuse but doesn't have a full blown addiction, it's more a facet of a tapestry of self-destructive behaviors. Brakul contributed to this and getting plastered together is an activity that persists long after the cataclysmic failing of their initial relationship, and was the context for the conception of their 3rd child. The fact that she does it at all distresses her since she highly prides herself on + prioritizes self-regulation, and often feels HUMILIATED after the fact. Wondering about if she said or did anything embarrassing, ashamed about her lack of self control, etc. She does have a full blown nicotine dependency, smokes a Lot in a capacity that far exceeds standard tobacco use (especially by doing it alone), but this isn't as psychologically complicated for her since excessive tobacco use doesn't have the same cultural weight as 'being a drunk' (it's just 'weird' on the basis that it's supposed to be a social and medicinal activity). IRL she would be a heavy cigar/cigarette smoker, and would find vaping annoying but might take a hit if desperate enough. I can also absolutely 1000% see her routinely trying out fruity THC drinks and getting high + scared alone in an apartment.

Janeys is the only one of those three who is not an addict. He's an absolute lightweight with alcohol though and can get drunk very easily. Was shitfaced for the latter half of his wedding and it was terrible. Tends to get happy + flirty + MAD stupid while sloshed. He drinks for fun with Brakul sometimes but the latter has a much higher tolerance and is thus usually still functional by the time Janeys is fucking plastered (at which point he will (sometimes) put it in a high place or (more often) valiantly chug the rest of it so Janeys can't have any more). He has a fairly untroubled relationship with this as a whole, though has been devastatingly embarrassed by managing to get drunk on mixed wine in public and making a fool of himself on a few occasions. Also has a standard relationship with tobacco and only tends to do recreational smoking in a social capacity. IRL I think his relationship to Substances would be overall similar, but he probably wouldn't smoke at all. Would also be under the impression that you can OD to death on weed.

Faiza has a pretty typical relation to substance use, drinks mixed wine daily and smokes socially or for medicinal purposes, but nothing much beyond that. She DOES share a sub-average alcohol tolerance with Janeys and has to be careful with even the mixed wines; there's been multiple instances in her life when she's at a social dinner and is like 'oh god damn it I'm drunkkkk. Ok act natural act natural act natural'. But she does a pretty good job at convincing people that she's just in an unusually good mood rather than a bit sloshed. There's no basis for this in canon due to lack of similar stimulants, but IRL I feel like she would have a full blown caffeine addiction and periodically use coke (picturing her in some highly paid white collar job with rampant stimulant abuse) while also having the absolute most sneering disdainful view towards addicts.

Couya has never been outright drunk and doesn't like tobacco, though does occasionally smoke in the 'everyone's passing around the pipe at dinner' capacity. She thinks wine and ale taste disgusting no matter what they're combined with, but she likes good quality mead diluted with whey and honey (common preparation). She has a lot of disdain for drunkenness and doesn't like seeing other people make fools of themselves, even on holidays/special occasions where being publicly intoxicated passes into social acceptability, and feels pretty self-superior about never getting drunk herself. On another note, as a very young child she had 'fits' (mixture of autism meltdowns/various outbursts) and was semi-frequently given enough hidije to be sedated (not wholly malicious in that it was thought this could physically help whatever was wrong with her, though it was ultimately a way to shut her up and something she had to be basically forcefed). She now refuses to take it even for headaches. Probably wouldn't do much substance use IRL but I can totally see her smoking weed.

Palo absolutely hates the feeling of being inebriated and doesn't drink unmixed wines/meads outside of special occasions that basically demand it, but likes the taste. He does like tobacco/broülje beyond just its cultural/social functions, smokes it completely alone sometimes and feels weird about it, and experiences nicotine cravings when deprived (this is a minor issue throughout all of Whitecalf). He has experience with hidije to treat headaches (can work) and epilepsy (doesn't work at all), though this is just as a single component of larger herbal preparations. He did have similar experiences to Couya of being sedated with it as a child, though he doesn't have the same baggage around it because it was framed in a way he could understand as benevolent + helping him with a physical malady ('I just had a seizure and this medicine will help me sleep and recover'). IRL I think he would be a pretentious wine person if he could afford it and a pretentious beer person if not, and would baffle some people around him by only liking it for the taste. Would definitely be a smoker. Probably could be persuaded into trying weed with friends once in a while but wouldn't be that fond of it.

Tigran doesn't have a particularly interesting relationship to any substances, he's pretty much the epitome of cultural normalcy on that front. He does particularly enjoy smoking, but it's more about the social aspects. He's very extroverted and it's a major cultural ice-breaker in groups of people, something you do while chatting and allowing for some casual familiarity while you share a pipe. He used to have a habit of carrying around tobacco basically everywhere (many people tend to like and open up to you if you offer to share a smoke) though has been relatively deprived in the drought (in which tobacco crops have been poor and become expensive). (Has a major bonding moment with Palo and Etsushir when he wheedles the latter to sharing some of his mysteriously abundant stash). I don't think he'd be an actual smoker irl but could see him carrying around cigarettes anyway in a similar capacity. To have an excuse to stand around outside and chat with strangers and to become beloved in some circles as That Guy you can always bum a cig off of. I DO think he would be a heavy weed smoker though.

Couya, Faiza, Tigran and Palo have consumed amenwematse (see alcohol section of prev post), which is a high ABV concoction considered to be consecrated by the process of its creation and to open pathways between the human body and surrounding metaphysical world, and is reserved for the priestly class. You're technically just getting an alcohol buzz when you drink it (though not enough is consumed to be full-on inebriated), but the psychological experience is very different due to the ritual components surrounding it. Odonii mostly use it to assist in trance states (in addition to music/song/movement) necessary to take on the aspects of lions. Galenii use it to similarly induce partial trance states before auto-bloodletting + sacrifices + lightings of sacred fires, though in smaller quantities (they need to be 1000% sharp for these processes). It is also used during their initial castration, but this is ceremonial on every possible level and does absolutely nothing about how conscious you are for this.

[noellefan101]

If I Had Never Forgotten You...

Characters: Kazuha x gn reader, Beidou and Crux crew appearance

Warnings: blood, angst, a little crying, a little dying, some more sadness springled in, beidou kinda implied to have accent cuz i feel like she should have idk, no comfort be prepaired

Note: this might make you cry, so be warned. and you cant blame me for not giving you a warning cuz i just did, love you ;p

It was one of the more sunny days out on the sea, the breeze flowing trough Kazuha's hair, carrying a comforting coldness alongside it.

He heard a loud bang from underneath where he sat, a member of the crew giving him an apologetic look when they saw his surprised face looking down at their form.

"It's quite alright," he spoke "the sound only startled me a little, it is of no aggravation to me."

The man beneath let out a sigh and smiled once more, walking away to continue his tasks. Kazuha looked up at the nearly cloudless sky, looking for something to inspire him towards writing another one of his poems or haikus.

Yet nothing truly worth writing about came to mind, only thoughts regarding how he would spent his time on their next journey across the seas.

As the hours passed by, more and more crew members started to vanish from the deck, retreating to their rooms intending to rest after another long day.

But the young Inazuman still sat outside, looking up at the skies.

"HEY! Kazuha! watt'a ya doing being up here this hour" he could hear a female voice yell at him from below, and only smiled when he saw Beidou looking at him with a bottle in her hand.

"You should get 'ome rest soon, don' need ya passin out." she seemed to have calmed down, yet her words we're half minded and it was clear she was still quite drunk.

"I'm merely enjoying the views, need not worry over me Captain. I'll make sure to retire into the land of dreams soon enough," he spoke with uncertainty in his voice, something he only noticed as he finished his statement. But hoped Beidou didnt catch it, for even he did not know where it came from.

Although he wouldn't get an answer as she only smiled and went off with a wave, seemingly wanting to rest just like the others.

He waved her back, but only felt anxious after her departure.

And so the poetic young boy took off to slumber in his room, his mind filled with thoughts of longing. But what he longed for he did not know

-;-

Another day lacking inspiration, as he had felt was now often the norm for him. His thoughts were filled with his lover in mind, yet still nothing good had come to mind.

He realized he had been gone for longer than he planned once again, after a good number of people seemed to need various things from his homeland. And naturally the first thing that came to his mind was you.

You had always been easy to please, willing to hear any haiku he had written, never being annoyed by his constant traveling.

And despite you rarely seeing him, you welcomed him with open arms every time he returned home for another month or so. Even though you never seemed to have an interest in traveling, he always made sure to ask if you'd like to join.

You had always said no, wanting to reside in your homeland for as long as he'd return to you.

He smiled at the memory, your words clinging to him and clouding his thoughts with you over and over.

Yet it seemed like the first time in months he'd even remembered those words, maybe he really was caught up in the moment too often.

But the thought of coming home late wasn't a worry for him, for he was sure you'd accept his arrival just the same. You had always laughed when he ended up staying a little too long out at sea, finding joy in his forgetful mind.

Oh how would you hug him when he arrived, as tight as last time or maybe even tighter? He's certain you missed him after his 4 month, well, now 6 month journey. For he is surely missing you right now.

-;-

When the Crux arrived at Ritou, lots of people came to greet them. Some of the guards could be seen worrying for a few citizens that were about to fall into the water, making sure everyone spread to make room for the arriving crew.

Kazuha looked around in the crowds, watching as people started loading off some goods. He scanned every place around the docks, looking for you, or just a tiny sign of you. yet he found none. He waited a few more minutes to make sure, earning a few sorrow glances from Beidou in the meantime, but still no sign of you.

Not that he was fully expecting your arrival, since you didnt know he would come home today. But he was still slightly disappointed, and had maybe gotten his hopes up.

No matter, you didnt know he was arriving today anyway, ignoring how this was his 5th time thinking that, he started getting off the crux. He had wanted to greet you at the docks but with that plan ruined, he'd just have to surprise you when he reached your residence.

Said surprise was made with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and the best poem he could find in his notebook, not that it truly was anything special. But he was sure you'd enjoy it.

Yeah, it would be nice to hold you again as you beamed at his poetic expertise. As you put the bouquet in a vase on the dining table, lovingly talking till the moon graced the heavens and you drag him to bed.

And it took but a few minutes to arrive at your house, hands sweaty and nervous as he carefully knocked at your door.

...

No response.

But that was no problem, maybe you had been sleeping in again or were out on a walk, the weather did seem to be quite nice today.

He opened the door and went in, calling your name in the process.

...

Still no response.

Oh well maybe you were sleeping, the door hadnt been locked either so it was the best reason he could come up with.

As he neared the bedroom, he sensed an unpleasant stench coming from it, and his nose told him just the right thing.

Weird, had you burned something maybe? No couldnt be, maybe you had forgotten to get rid of some old fruit?

He got his answers once he opened the door, flowers falling out his hands as he stopped moving. No, no no no, this wasnt real, this couldnt be real.

Yet nothing could stop him from looking at your lifeless body on the ground, laying so gracefully he would have thought you just took a nap on the floor. Were it not for your lack of breathing that is.

He understood where the smell came from now, but now that was the least of his problems.

His knees felt weak, like he had never been able to stand in the first place, and he soon fell to the ground as his knees gave in.

And he wanted to puke at the sight in front of him, yet he couldnt take his eyes off of you. He couldn't stop his eyes from looking at your lifeless form before him, at all the blood that surrounded you.

Dried Blood.

He felt water run down his cheeks, he was crying. The salty taste falling on his tongue not long after, confirming his one unimportant thought. He truly cried for the first time since his friend had died, but it was once again because the one he felt closest to was gone.

Had been dead right before him once again, yet this time he had to see the blood that still seemed to be a little sticky when he reached out.

Something sharp cut him as he tried to reach for your hand, and he looked to your side slightly to see shattered glass surrounding your hand.

It looked like you had been carrying a cup when crashed down with you, but it had clearly cut you.

He took your hand in his, wincing a little at the sheer coldness of it. And it truly felt like holding raw ice in his palm, hard to think he was looking forward to holding the same hand just minutes earlier.

Tears blurred his vision, and for once he was glad he didnt have to look at you, that he didnt have to look at the pool of blood that seemed to be enveloping your figure.

And he only felt regret that it wasn't him around your form for the last moments of your time.

So lifting your body slightly, he hugged it the best he could, trying his very best to comfort something because it clearly was not comforting himself when your icey skin made contact with his.

He barely moved after that, sitting silently on the floor. And he was sure some of the blood had gotten onto his clothes, staining them all a dark red. But he couldn't have cared less.

It was cold, he was freezing and his body screamed for him to warm up one way or another. But he did nothing to soothe his body from the cold, for how could he when your numb body was right there.

If he had arrived home sooner, could he have prevented this?

Could he be hugged by your warmth, instead of clinging to your piercingly cold body?

He wants to say that it wasn't his fault, but he cant bring himself to even try and word it out.

And it hurts so badly that he can't do anything to help you, only wish this is but a dream. Yet he won't get ahead of himself, all he wanted to do was blame himself.

It is his fault that you're gone, no matter who tells him otherwise.

For if I had just remembered you...

...Would you still be here to comfort my dying heart?

Masterlist-Luv ya