#you’ve been bamboozled by me

[t0bey]

Tumblr being a time capsule is both a blessing and a curse bc a drawing lifespan can be timeless but then I also feel like I’m unintentionally tricking people into thinking I still draw danganronpa 😭

[fingertipsmp3]

That last post just reminded me of something honestly mind-boggling that that friend did

[eoieopda]

insomniac | ljh (m)

there are certainly worse ways to tire yourself out.

summary: it’s 2:00 am, and you can’t turn your brain off. thankfully, your boyfriend knows just how to scramble it. pairing: lee jihoon x reader au: established relationship type: one-shot (smut) word count: 5.2k rating: 18+ cw: reader is afab but no pronouns are used; reader has insomnia (unspecified re: prof. diagnosed or self-diagnosed); there’s a sentence about reader taking “an inadvisable amount of melatonin gummies” — don’t do this! — but they’re not impaired in any way; reader’s internal monologue is kind of angsty/self-deprecating at times; blonde!woozi has his hair in a bun, which is a warning in and of itself; completely unedited because my perfectionism has killed every wip i’ve attempted for months. ✰ minors do not have my consent to interact with me and/or my work. smut warnings: big dick lee jihoon™️, nipple stim, v fingering, unprotected p in v penetration, wee bit of aftercare. there are a total of six (6) orgasms in here because i believe in going big from home, incl. nipple stim & a-spot orgasms. a/n: i haven’t written anything in forever, due in large part to the fact that i’m exhausted but can never fucking sleep. i truly hope this isn’t incoherent garbage. 😵‍💫 dedicated to my fellow woozi-simping insomniac, @sailorrhansol. may we eventually rest in peace. multi permanent taglist. seventeen permanent taglist.

You should be asleep.

With the day you’ve had, you should’ve drifted off the second your body hit the sheets; and you should’ve stayed that way — unmoving, unconscious — for several hours, at minimum.

If the week’s worth of sleep debt wasn’t exhausting enough in and of itself, every single circumstance surrounding you begs you to give into the weight of your eyelids. To let yourself be lulled, just this once. Soothed.

From the vent in the corner, the gentle hum of the aircon goads you. It does its very best to convince you to curl up under the softness of your comforter, and to some extent, you’ve listened. You’re burrowed beneath your blankets with only the upper half of your face exposed, which should be more than enough to sway you. 

It’s not, though.

With no ability to keep your eyes closed, you stare dejectedly at the wall in front of you. Laying on your side, gazing straight ahead, you watch the faint echoes of the city lights as they wash over white paint. Not much bleeds through the blinds, leaving only hints of cobalt and red to blend into some sleepy shade of lilac. Whether or not you want to be awake to perceive it in the first place, you have to admit it: it’s beautiful.

But it’s not enough.

You squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing down the groan building in your chest. With how closely he’s got you nestled against his body, Jihoon would feel it if you let that frustration manifest. You already ache from the sheer amount of time you’ve been policing your own posture; making any amount of noise now would interrupt the slow, delicate breaths he’s aiming into the back of your neck. Frankly, you’d rather die.

Taking his silence as a sign that you’ve remained off his radar, you let out a measured sigh, too worried that the full rise and fall of your chest will disturb him. 

Nothing.

But then, the arm draped over your waist shifts. 

“Fuck,” you mouth to no one.

It wouldn’t be out-of-character for Jihoon to feel the restless energy pouring out of you in waves, even in the depths of a sleep cycle. He senses every tiny change in your ecosystem long before you do. As unlikely as he is to ever admit it, it has to be exhausting to be attuned to someone so neurotic. He deserves every second of sleep he can manage to get.

You grit your teeth and demand yourself to calm down, all while refusing to acknowledge how completely your actions and commands conflict.  

Maybe, you attempt to bamboozle yourself, you can sleep vicariously through him. 

He’ll wake up rested, and when you look in the mirror later, the first thing you see won’t be the cartoonish bags under your eyes.

It’ll be fine. 

It’ll be fine.

If you go to sleep right now, you’ll get five hours and thirty —

“You haven’t unclenched a single muscle since you climbed into bed,” notes the world’s groggiest voice from over your shoulder.

Jihoon’s lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck when he speaks. Without that tickling sensation, you might’ve deluded yourself into thinking that you were simply hearing things just now. That it was merely a hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation and the inadvisable number of melatonin gummies you ate before brushing your teeth.

He shifts again. This time, there’s no mistaking his movements. The arm slung over your side pulls you closer. So close, in fact, that you can feel the contented sigh leave his body, like his isn’t separate from yours at all.

With the distance erased, his face — the cold tip of his nose and the sheet-creased warmth of his cheeks — can nuzzle properly into the crook of your neck. You swear you feel the hint of a smile there somewhere, too. If you had to guess, it matches the upward curve on your lips.

“What are we spinning our wheels over tonight?” He asks without a hint of judgment, as if your burdens are automatically his, too.

The fact that he can’t see your face doesn’t stop you from frowning. Yet again, you’ve managed to drag him into your insomnia. Jihoon may never fault you for it, but you don’t need him to. You’ll hold it against yourself — grudge by proxy. 

“I don’t even know,” you admit with a frustrated huff. “There’s nothing coherent going on up there.” You lift your hand and gesture vaguely in the dark. “Nothing articulable, just… blender brain.”

“Mmm.”

Jihoon sounds so fucking sleepy, so at peace next to you, that it makes your stomach hurt. You wish you could be like him. For as calm as his presence makes you, you’ve learned that you’re incapable of feeling fully relaxed. At least, not in the way he is when he’s got his arms around you. He deserves to have that effect on you.

A beat passes in silence, save for his soft breathing. For a minute, you’re convinced that he’s fallen back asleep; and you pray to whoever that he has. He deserves that, too.

“How do we unplug the blender?”

You have to bite back a smile for two reasons: the way his words sound slurred when delivered directly to your skin, and the distinctly Jihoon drive he has to fix a problem that isn’t his.

When the love sickness leaves you down bad, and you forget to respond with words, Jihoon prompts you softly. “Hmm?” 

He punctuates this reminder with a kiss to your shoulder, then lets his lips linger against your skin, musing, “I can think of two things that usually do the trick: getting you hotteok from that cart down the block, which is currently closed, and —”

The rest of that thought fades out. Leaving you on the edge of your seat, Jihoon continues to kiss a languid line along the perimeter of your shoulder, as if he’s conducting some meticulous, geographical survey. Like missing a single spot will have grave consequences. A perfectionist through and through, even half-asleep.

You feel yourself melting, bit by bit, into his torso; the warmth of his bare chest against your back only expedites the process. Nevertheless, you peep, “What’s the second thing?”

His answer comes with a slip of his hand, down down down along the slope of your waist to your hip, long before he verbalizes it. It’s simple, delivered in that rough, early-morning voice you love so much. It’s more than enough to make you shiver:

“Making you cum.”

But as crazy as that statement makes you, you can’t make yourself act on it.

At any other time, you’d jump on that opportunity — jump on him — in a heartbeat. All you’re able to do now is jump to the worst conclusion in a single bound. 

Somewhere, deep down, you know he wouldn’t have brought it up if he didn’t truly want it, want you; but that goddamned, sleep-deprived goblin taking up space in the far reaches of your mind is far louder than the voice of reason.

He’s only offering so you’ll stop keeping him awake.

He’s as exhausted as you are, if not more so for having to deal with your disorder again.

Burden.

Placing your hand on top of his, you slip your fingers into the spaces you find and squeeze once for emphasis. “I love you,” you start. He stills. “But, Jihoon, you’re so tired. I can hear it in your voice. Please, go back to sleep. It’s okay — I’m okay.”

Jihoon doesn’t push back. He stays within bounds, honors your shitty decision because, after all, it’s yours to make. With another kiss to your shoulder and a squeeze to your hand, he murmurs, “Love you,” before relaxing back against the pillows.

Minutes pass.

Maybe hours, for all you know. 

As the window of opportunity creaks shut, regret seeps through the gap. You know you’re wrong; you know he meant it; and you know that someone would have to be out of their fucking gourd to politely decline what he’s offering.

The unbearable heat licking up your neck is either embarrassment or the ghost of orgasms lost coming to haunt you.

Maybe you’d be better equipped to tell the difference if you could just — fucking — sleep.

Driven half mad, you try to keep from squirming.

You fail.

Maybe, since you can’t sleep, you and your wilted little brain should’ve let your perfect, empathetic boyfriend fu —

“That’s enough,” Jihoon grunts.

The hand underneath yours is suddenly above it, overtaking it and tugging carefully until your whole body moves. In the time it takes for you to roll from your side, Jihoon sits up and clears space for your frame to settle. You barely have time to blink dumbly up at him from your back before he cages you in with one hand on either side of your head, knees now on either side of your thighs.

Your breath seems to have gotten lost in the fray, but it’s not the sudden moves that shook it loose; it’s the sight of him looming over you, damn near scowling despite his lead-lidded eyes. It’s the disheveled bun of platinum hair at the crown of his head, which must’ve shifted in his sleep and spilled out the tendrils that now frame his set jaw.

The very best you can come up with is, “You’re awake.”

“So are you,” he retorts without missing a beat.

That face — god, that face — doesn’t budge. On the contrary, your stomach flips. This the most stern you’ve ever seen him. Confusingly, his tone isn’t even remotely harsh when he continues, “If those gears in your head grind any louder, the whole neighborhood will be, too.”

Grimacing, you open your mouth to apologize, but Jihoon’s eyes are searching your face with a distinct flicker of concern. You know that look. You also know that nothing you can think to say will make it disappear.

He speaks when you don’t, hard edges softening slightly. “I can fix it,” he insists, though you know him well enough to hear the plea hidden in there. 

Let me take care of you.

That little spark of desperation burns you up in a flash. You wonder if he can feel the fire spread when he lifts his right hand off the mattress just to swipe his thumb slowly over the edge of your cheekbone. Without thinking, you let go of the tension in your neck. Your head tilts automatically, seeking comfort you’ve only ever found in him, and rests against his palm.

“I have to admit it, though,” Jihoon confesses. “Yours isn’t the only mind that’s restless.”

He moves his hand away from your face but keeps his eyes trained on you. The incessant need you feel to apologize bubbles up yet again, uninvited. You swallow it. As you do, his fingertips trail down the length of your neck at a snail’s pace, effectively turning your thoughts to static.

“I’ve been holding you for hours now, and all that time —” 

He pauses just long enough to glance down at his hand, which hasn’t.

“— I’ve been wondering if I should have you channel that energy and tire yourself out on top of me —”

His touch whispers over your collarbone. It’s the only proof that you have any bones at all. Until now, you were sure that the rest of you had melted entirely, puddling uselessly on the sheets below. This time, when you bite your lips and swallow weakly, it’s not an apology that you’re keeping to yourself but a whimper.

“— or lay you back against the pillows —”

You don’t mean to directly contradict his statement the moment he makes it, but you can’t help it. The thin, cotton fabric of your top does nothing to dull the sensation of his hand on your left breast; leaves you with the unmitigated brush of his thumb tracing delicate swirls over your nipple. The breath you’ve been holding comes out shuddered, back arching off the mattress to chase his touch.

Emboldened by your reaction, Jihoon pulls his gaze off his own ministrations and directs it through his lashes back up at you. One eyebrow momentarily flexes in challenge. “— Take my time, and —”

Whatever desperate look you give him earns you some amount of mercy. He picks up where he left off in that dizzyingly deep voice of his, words molten, and drags the hem of your shirt up your torso. “Fuck you deep, until the only thing you can do is relax.”

Gobsmacked is too weak a word for the impact that suggestion has on you. The idea alone sparks a kind of relief so foreign and so sorely needed that it almost makes you cry. 

You don’t, thankfully. 

Instead, you stagger along the borderline of babbling. 

“I want that,” you announce on a shaky exhale. Then, with a shake of your head, you correct yourself, “No, it’s not even want. It’s —” Frustration over your inability to form a coherent thought drives you to scrub your hands over your face. “— need. I need you.”

You accompany that declaration by slapping your hands down at your sides, finishing off with a muted thump when your palms hit the mattress with enough force to bounce them upwards again. 

Even with your eyes screwed shut, you know Jihoon is sitting back on his knees, watching you with equal parts surprise and amusement. There’s no need to open them to confirm it, but you do anyway. His pupils have dilated widely enough to rival the moon floating over the skyline.

Though he’d be well within bounds to tell you to chill the fuck out, he doesn’t. He never has, as far as you can recall. In fact, Jihoon doesn’t say a thing. His hands speak for him, reaching for the shirt he so nearly got off your body before you lost whatever was left of your mind.

Keeping his word, as always, Jihoon takes his time. He takes care in sliding that tank top up and over your head without snagging your earrings, then he wordlessly drops it off the side of the bed to be forgotten about.

With your chest bare, it’s obvious how rapid your breathing is. Noting the quick rise and fall, he traces the curve of your waist with the side of his right index finger and softly says the quiet part out loud: “Let me take care of you.”

And you do.

You let him maneuver your body so he can settle with one knee between your thighs, rather than straddle them. You let go of your death grip on the sheets and thread your fingers through his hair when he leans back down to kiss you; and when he licks into your mouth, you let him swallow the moan that builds under the delicious weight of his body on yours.

Already, you feel every shitty, stupid thought begin to dissolve. You should’ve known this would be the case. 

He said he’d fix it, didn't he? 

And here he is, proving to you that his touch is magic. All it takes to coax the tension out of your muscles is the tender pass of his hand.

Whatever effect Jihoon has on you seems to be mutual. When he pulls back, he’s equally as breathless, likely just as starry-eyed. Awash in that lilac glow peeking in from the outside, he’s downright celestial — almost too divine to look at directly without watering eyes.

Undeterred, you stare right back at him and sigh, “You’re beautiful.”

His nose scrunches for a split second, just like it always does when you make him suffer through a compliment. Your exposure therapy is working, though. For once, Jihoon doesn’t groan or tell you to keep your praise to yourself. The corner of his mouth curves upward — just barely — and he shakes his head.

“I mean it,” you quietly insist.

Smirking slightly, he extends the index finger on his right hand and holds it to his lips. “You’re relaxing, remember?”

Though you could double-down, any fight you might’ve had in you fizzles out the second he bows his head and connects his lips to the underside of your jaw. Your head tilts further back with every centimeter he trails down the length of your neck, granting him increased access to wreck you even further. You have to keep your hands on whatever you can grip of his biceps — which ultimately isn’t much at all — to keep from floating away.

“Bold of you to call me beautiful,” he murmurs against your body, “When you just exist like this.”

You don’t argue. You can’t argue with a man who sounds so fucking reverent. Not in good faith, anyway. He says it with the kind of sincerity that underlines an undisputed fact; and you know better than to debate an expert.

With nothing to say, all you have left is to keen and melt even further into the mattress.

Like everything else he does, the way Jihoon kisses you is rhythmic. Steady and thoughtful, each feather-light graze of his lips on your skin causes your eyelids to flutter until you eventually decide to keep them shut. To cut out the visual and hone in on the physical sensation; to be truly present in the body he can’t get enough of.

As it turns out, being present earns the gift of his tongue circling one of your nipples. Soon after, you get the plush heat of his mouth enveloping the sensitive bud; the slow, deep pull of the suction he creates.

Eloquent as always, you moan, “Fuuuuck.”

The hand not holding up his weight massages your other breast, too considerate to leave half of you lonely. Whatever gentle pressure he maintains there builds inside you, further down.

It’s incredible.

No, it’s fucking perfect.

Jihoon switches sides, grazes your other nipple carefully with his teeth, and it’s over for you. You shudder beneath his body, back arching and a breathy sigh floating out of your chest.

Apparently, he’s just as surprised by this turn of events as you are. Your eyes blink open and find him hovering over you with his jaw partially dropped, still smiling somehow.

Your questions overlap.

“Did you just —”

“— make me cum from this?”

His bemusement switches in an instant to something you can only describe as bewitched. Voice gravel-lined, Jihoon groans, “Oh, shit.” Adding immediately and twice as earnestly, “Goddamn.”

A flash of conflict makes him freeze. You know he’s facing the same internal debate that you are: he needs to be inside of you in the worst way, right now, but that’s not a conclusion the pair of you can just — leap to. 

There’s simply too much of him to take if he doesn’t fuck you open with his fingers first.

Jihoon shakes his head, as if he’s telling himself no. Like he’s reminding himself of what he promised — or threatened, more like — earlier, that he’s taking his time.

As much as you want to beg otherwise, you know you shouldn’t. So, you don’t. You reach out, encircle his wrist in your hand, and bring him back within reach. 

With undivided attention and darkening eyes, Jihoon watches you take his index and middle finger into your mouth, cheeks hollowing and tongue circling. He fights to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head, all the while professing, “You’re perfect.”

Not generally, no.

However, Jihoon has a habit of ending up correct, even if you disagree. This isn’t a battle worth picking. In this moment, you’re willing to entertain the possibility that you’re perfect for him.

A soft pop underscores your choice to release him. His mouth must’ve gotten jealous; it swiftly replaces his fingers, tongue reclaiming any territory he wrongfully assumes he’s lost.

You’d be content to stay this way forever — and likely could, if it came down to it — but Jihoon has an agenda. He sticks to it, to the letter, and in dropping his hand down your body, he lets his knuckles drag softly over the trail he blazes. The little sleep shorts you wear are moved aside, and your thighs part for him, too, offering unrestricted access.

Two fingers slip inside of you easily, no doubt aided by the orgasm that snuck up on you — the one you’re still thinking about; the one he’ll secretly hang his hat on forever, having brought it on without touching you here at all.

“Listen to you,” he smirks against your lips with a curl of his fingers. 

As if you weren’t already acutely aware of the way you’ve drenched him to the base knuckles, he rolls his wrist, stroking your g-spot while the heel of his hand nudges your clit. Even the dulcet hum of the aircon isn’t enough to mute the obscenity; you hear the slick rush with every slow thrust of his fingers.

You respond with some sort of whimper. The sound barely registers without any breath behind it. If Jihoon hears it, he doesn’t let it affect his pace — just the stretch. He scissors his middle and index on the way out, then returns with his ring finger, unearthing a proper moan from the very bottom of your lungs.

His head tilts to the side. Warm breath hits the shell of your ear, prompting a contradictory shiver. “I think you’ve got another one for me, don’t you?”

Buried in you, he taps his fingers against that same, spongy spot. Every neuron you have begins to buzz.

“In fact, I think you want to cum all over my fingers,” he whispers, goading you with his rough voice dropped low. “Think you wanna soak my fucking hand, so I can fill you properly.”

You think you’ll have to apologize later for the crescent-shaped indents your nails leave on his shoulders.

When your second orgasm overtakes you, you feel it tingling all the way up at the crown of your head. Just like the first, it’s not a clap of thunder but a roll — patient. The intensity only builds, the longer it lasts. Jihoon makes sure it does — makes no adjustment to the slow, steady tempo, as it pulls you fully apart.

Every muscle you tensed as you came goes limp. It’s anyone’s guess whether you have any bones left. You’re sure that the only thing keeping you from seeping like honey through the mattress, or pooling on the floor below, is Jihoon’s body caging you in.

“Don’t ask me what my name is.” Your head droops to the side, and you mumble, “I do not remember, and I do not care.”

He kisses the temple that isn’t smushed against his left forearm, which, coupled with his elbow, now holds both of your weight. “If you’re spent, I can sto—”

“Don’t you dare.”

The emphatic look you muster lacks energy, you’re sure, but the point still stands, even if your stamina doesn’t. Half-lidded, you stare at him with all the force you can find.

“I’ll stay awake for the rest of my life if you stop now. I swear to you, Lee Jihoon, I will die on this hill.”

“Easy, tiger,” he purrs. Out of the corner of your narrowed eyes, you clock the fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The whole point of this was for you to relax.”

To prove that you haven’t lost the plot entirely, you close your eyes, rather than roll them. Then, you cave completely. 

You whisper, leaving no question as to how badly you need him, “Jihoon… Please.”

“I’ve got you.” He nudges your temple with the tip of his nose. “But I can’t fuck you unless you give my arm back.”

Begrudgingly, you scoot your head several centimeters across the pillow, heaving a put-upon sigh as if he’s asked you to move a mountain instead. You give yourself a moment to mourn the loss of your headrest, then you open your eyes. As you do, any thought of pouting flies out the window.

Having crawled back to the end of your bed, Jihoon gets to his feet. Once there, he drops his hands and eyes to the loose knot cinching the waistband of his sweatpants. It’s a sight you’ve seen a thousand times — his naked chest so pale in contrast with his usual, all-black attire — yet it’s one you’ll never truly get over. Even harder to cope with is the fact that he’s never been in a hurry; not once in his goddamn life.

If you’re being honest, that’s one of the things you’ve always loved most about him. Envied, even. You fret endlessly about the process, whatever that may be; he trusts it. You scale the walls in anticipation; he’s never been caught sweating.

The best example of this comes the second he finishes addressing that knot. His sweatpants pool at his ankles; he kicks them aside; and you immediately set to wondering how in the motherfuck he managed to be so patient with you when he’s this incomprehensibly hard.

Really, you don’t deserve him.

Nevertheless, you get him anyway. 

Him pushing his flyways out of his face; him reaching out slowly to hook his fingers under the elastic band of your shorts; him cursing under his breath when he tosses those shorts over his shoulder and finds you wet and wanting.

In return, Jihoon gets you right where he wants you — trembling underneath him, with pliant legs opening wider at the request of his hands on your thighs. When his body fills the space between them, those same legs wrap around his back to keep him close, just like the arms you slink around his neck.

“Deep breath,” he reminds you as he lines himself up, only half-jokingly.

It’s good advice — something Jihoon probably should’ve heeded. 

He doesn’t. 

You keep your eyes on his when he slides inside of you, and you swear you see his mind blow in real time. Not that you have room to judge, however. In fact, that’s precisely what’s causing you to short-circuit: the perfect pressure of his length within your heat, sinking in slowly so as to not shock the system.

When he eventually bottoms out, low moan splintering from the depths of his chest, you have to blink quickly to keep tears within your waterline.

To check in, Jihoon runs his hand along the side of your thigh then back again. “Alright?”

Whatever you say in response comes out through a dreamy sigh, framed in quotation marks by fluttering lashes. Nonsense, most likely, or never better. In either case, he’ll understand; he always does.

Placing your hand on his, you slip your fingers over the top and pull him forward. He lets you, comes down carefully until the comfort of his weight against your frame makes you feel anchored. With every inch that’s erased between you, he fills you further, pushing out whatever air remains in your lungs through some needy little whine.

Among the million sensations you have to grapple with, the most hard-hitting, ironically, is comfort. Pure and unadulterated. You enveloping him, enveloping you.

To prove it to yourself that you’re not dreaming, you slip your fingers into his hair, nails scratching delicately over his scalp. In return, he rolls his hips forward, just like he promised — slow, steady, deep. You clench around him involuntarily, a reflex your body must’ve learned to keep him close.

“Love the way you grip me, but...” Jihoon exhales a sigh against your neck, head tilted to keep your face in his periphery. Pulling out further just to thrust in deeper, he warns, “You keep that up, and I’ll cum too soon.”

He’s one to talk.

Every time he grinds his hips languidly towards yours, you have to talk yourself off the ledge. 

If you let him wear you down again, you fear that there won’t be enough left of you to savor this; and you never want this moment to end. You want to live in it — to feel the delicious drag of his cock along your walls — to hear that obscene tide ebb and flow whenever he fucks himself further in you — to feel so fucking full —  for as long as he gives you. 

It was a valiant effort on your part, if you do say so yourself. Futile, though, because Jihoon pulls out all the stops. The next time he pulls himself from you just to roll back in, he swivels his hips as he thrusts, ensuring that you feel him everywhere.

“Oh.”

One syllable on a gasping breath, then you forget every single word in your vocabulary. Like warm molasses, bliss washes over you at half-speed, seeping in and sticking until the blender motor in your brain is fucked beyond repair.

At least you’re not the only one.

“Fuck, fuck —” 

Holding him as closely as you are, you feel each muscle in Jihoon’s body tense one-by-one, rippling as your third orgasm steals his first, going lax when his release floods. “— Fuck,” he groans, all the while twitching inside you.

Though he slows, he doesn’t stop. It’s not until he pants, “Kiss me,” that you realize it: Jihoon doesn’t intend to stop.

Neither, it seems, do you.

Maybe you’re greedy. Maybe you’re too obsessed with the brush of his tip against your cervix with every gentle, shallow thrust. Maybe, above all, it’s the way his cock doesn’t soften inside of you but his face does when he catches you looking at him from under a heavy curtain of lashes.

You catch him by the mouth, just like he asked. It’s indulgent — messy, echoing the other point where the two of you connect. Licking into him while he fucks himself into you, ragged breaths barely loud enough to overpower the explicit, sodden sound below.

“Can you still speak in sentences?” He pants in a rare moment when his lips break from yours.

Can feel you in my stomach, you want to say. 

“I’m — you’re gonna make me —”

You can’t choke out the words, though you suspect Jihoon gets the point. This far in, his touch reaches a detonator you didn’t even know existed; there’s no way he misses the explosion of pleasure throughout your entire goddamn body.

He’s caught in your blast radius, your walls pulsing and spasming to such an insane degree that he can barely move. Mind blown to fucking smithereens, your ears ring too loudly to hear whatever he says to you when he cums again — hard — and the arms bearing his weight buckle.

Jihoon’s flushed cheek winds up pressed to your shoulder. He stays there while your joint trembling subsides, then any muscle that could make him move is too spent to do so.

“What just happened?” He sounds as delirious as you feel. “That was… shit. What did your body just do?”

You have no idea. 

You have no capacity to form any.

All you have is the weight of his frame on yours and that of your eyelids, which flutter as you try and fail to keep them open. The best you can give is a non-responsive, utterly fucked-out sound — not enough shape to be a word, not enough breath to be a sigh.

Eventually, although you can’t imagine how, Jihoon finds enough strength to shift himself off of you. You don’t see anything that happens next, but you feel it all — the kiss to your temple; the hollowness when he pulls out and the sticky rush that chases him when he leaves.

“I’m coming back to clean you up,” he promises in a hushed tone from a million miles away. Chuckling despite his own sleepiness, he adds, “Don’t move.”

I won’t, you think but don’t say.

And you don’t move.

At least, not until the smell of hotteok reaches you eight hours later.

svt taglist: @ashonheavenscloud @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @rasparagus @bouclesdefeu @ourkivee @sourkimchi @gyuguys

multi taglist: @bahng-chrizz @jihopesjoint @notevenheretbh1 @borabitsch @bubbly-moon

also paging the cap gang: @daechwitatamic @yoongukie-ff

[libraryofloveletters]

New Year, New Challenges.

Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader

Warnings: heavy content warning ahead! - all the children are over 18!, cheating/publicized cheating, swearing, fights, separation of parents/divorce, alcohol and the consumption of, pregnancy mentions, abortions and medication relating to said topic, lots of tears, a few punches are thrown, throwing up, blood mentions, family therapy sessions, the dads are in over their heads, Charles is bamboozled as is Carlos and Pierre (all separate reasons), drunk teenagers, google translated French and Spanish. 

Word Count: 4.9k

Author’s Note: so many of you guys have been asking for an update to daddy and me + three, so here it is! it's a jam packed on so hopefully this holds y’all over lmao - there is heavy content in this, please check warnings before reading. 

Daddy & Me + Three Masterlist

---

Oliver’s 19th birthday was set to be an affair as dramatic as he was; booze, flair and fun was what the invite read when he showed you a few weeks back. 

As most events started, all of the children rounded up at the Leclerc house and headed out from there, the 6 of them heading to dinner with Georgina and Adrian meeting them there before they head to the club for the night. 

It was approaching 3:30 in the morning when the front door swung open - you, Charles and Carlos were all sitting in the kitchen. Sofia’s voice was coming from the foyer, the intensity matches the clicks of her heels on the tile floors.

Her father was waiting for her, the two of them would be on a flight heading to Spain in a few hours for her grandfather’s birthday. Hence why he was at yours, knowing that the kids would be getting in late and he figured it was best for her to freshen up by yours and head to the airport from there. 

What he wasn’t expecting were the words coming out of her mouth; “fuck you Christopher! You’re just like my fucking father. I refuse to end up like my mother.” 

The look of sheer mortification that covered her face when she saw her father in the kitchen was enough to make her sick to her stomach; the sudden taste of tequila creeps up the back of her throat before she runs out the backdoor. 

You could see the horror on Carlos’s face, the heartbreak setting in but her words replaying in his head as he realized what she said to Christopher, the man in the doorway. 

“You cheated on my daughter?!” Carlos shouts at him, already out of his seat. Charles was up right after him, putting himself between his son and his friend. 

Charles looks at you, his hands against his friend’s shoulders to push him back. Christopher was already rattling on an explanation to Carlos as soberly as he could and you took that as your chance to go out and check on Sofia. 

“Sof?” You called, stepping into the yard. 

The soft sniffles came from the swing set in the corner of the yard; you could see a figure in the dark, the light on the back patio brightened the yard just enough to make her out. As you made your way over to her, you thought back to the time she was 6 years old and Christopher had broken her favourite doll. She was in fits until Charles glued it back together for her but the entire time, she hid outside on the swings.

“Darling,” you rested a gentle hand on your shoulder, careful not to startle her. She turned to you in tears, her makeup smudged as she wiped her face with the back of her hand.

You can’t help but feel sorry for the girl, your heart breaking into pieces when you pull her into a hug. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled into your chest as you rubbed her back. 

You sat next to her on the empty swing. “What for?” 

“For causing a scene, I didn’t mean to lose it like that.” 

“It’s okay,” you reached over to pat her hand. “You’ve got your father’s flare for dramatics.” You joked, hoping to lighten the mood. The mention of her father caused the tears to start again and you’ve gotten up, hugging the girl once again. 

“I didn’t know he was there.” 

“I know, and it's okay. He knows you didn’t mean it to hurt him.” You looked down at the girl, your hands cupping her face; she looked so innocent and little. You can feel the pieces of your heart breaking as you look at her. “It's okay to be mad at your dad, given everything that’s happened.. and Christopher too.” 

You weren’t even sure if he did cheat on her, you prayed to god that he didn’t but the last thing she needed at the moment was you taking his side over hers. 

Sofia has had a hard few months; her father’s cheating was publicized all over the news in Spain and all over social media through the racing community, her parents’ picture-perfect marriage fell apart in front of her and she watched as her mother packed her bags, along with her sisters and moved back home to Spain. Sofia stayed in Monaco for school and her father stayed with her; despite the cheating, which she knew he did, she didn’t side with her mother. 

She had always been Carlos’s favourite and she knew as much - it wasn’t fair to her for her to feel like she couldn't be mad at him because of that. 

“I know I should hate him,” she sniffled, pulling away from you. “I can’t.. he’s my dad.” 

“I know baby, I know.” You wiped her face with the inner side of your shirt. “Do you want to talk to him? I can ask him to come out here.” 

“Could you?” 

“Of course,” you smiled at the girl, kissing her forehead before walking back to the house. 

The three men were all on guard, waiting for one of the three to swing first. It felt a bit odd to be walking into something like that but you cleared your throat when you walked through the back door. 

“She wants to talk to you.” You say and Christopher takes a step towards you but you hold your hand out to stop him. “Not you,” you turn to Carlos, “you.” 

In the moments it takes you to tell Carlos what Sofia said, Charles is pulling Christopher away to the living room. You follow them once the backdoor slides shut. 

“You cheated on her?” You started on your son, “I cannot fucking believe you’d do that to her!” 

“Mom, I didn’t-” 

“Christopher, do not lie to me. Sofia is the best thing to happen to you, that girl has been in love with you since you were ten years old and you cheated on her? What quick fuck could possibly be worth breaking her heart?!” 

“Maman!!” Christopher shouts, his French coming out when he was flustered. “I did not cheat on her!”

You looked at Charles, your husband silent as he listened to his son explain for the second time since he got home what had gone down that night. “Sofia was getting a drink and Georgina comes up to me-” 

The mention of your son’s best friend puts you on edge; she’s a wonderful girl but you knew Sofia was wary of her and Christopher does stupid things when he’s drunk. 

“She was pissed, drunk like there’s no tomorrow and she was asking about Adrain who was nowhere to be found. I couldn’t leave her like that, ma. I had to help her, so she's clinging to me and I'm practically holding her at this point and I drag her through the club to find Adrian. Sofia saw us and assumed something had happened between us; that we kissed. “ 

“And.. did you.. kiss?” You looked at him, hoping for a no.

Christopher shook his head, “ew no! I love Georgina like a sister, mom. I would never cross that line, even if I was drunk. That’s disgusting.” 

You let out a breath of relief you weren’t even aware you were holding. Charles reaches out for you, his hand on your back when you pinched the bridge of your nose. 

These kids will be the death of you. 

“Chris, I love you but sometimes I wonder how you get yourself into these stupid situations.” 

“What was I supposed to do, mom? Leave my best friend drunk and alone?” 

“No, you did the right thing but you knew this is something that’s sensitive to Sof; give her time to cool off before you talk to her, let her fix things with her dad, yeah?”  

“Yeah.” He nods, sighing. You give his arm a squeeze, turning back to look at your husband and before you could speak, the front door is being swung open again. 

Eloise is singing Elton John’s I'm still standing on the top of her lungs and terribly off key - something she picked up from her father- but it was beyond obvious that the girl was drunk. 

Charles is rushing over to Anthony, the boy struggling to keep his girlfriend up as she was over his shoulder. 

You knew your husband was as pissed off as Ellie was drunk but he needed to hold it together. 

She’s his baby, she always will be even though she’s 18 now and old enough to drink; he knew she did it but he never expected her to come up drunk off her ass. 

“What happened?” He asked, helping Anthony put her down. The boy looked like he was about to collapse as well - surely he was drunk too, just not as bad as Eloise was. 

“Uncle Cha, I don’t even know man.” He ran a hand down his face, “she was beside me and next thing you knew, she was drunk and dancing with some girl she just met. I don’t know when she had time to take all of those shots.” 

Charles looked back at you, giving you a glare as you pursed your lips and looked away; there were many evenings before all of you had children that Pierre and Charles would have to carry you out the club after you had drunk your body weight in liquor.

The girl dropped herself against her father when she realized he’s there. “Hi papa!” She grinned at him, goofily you might add.

His face twists when he smells the liquor on him but he still brushes the hair away from her face as he used to do when she was little. “Ma belle, what happened?”

She shrugs, “dunno daddiooooo.” 

You bit back a chuckle, noticing a shadow coming from the front door - you really needed to lock your door. 

“Oh tu es là, bien.” (oh there you are, good.) Pierre pats his son on the shoulder. You looked at your husband’s best friend, confused as to why he's at your house at 4 in the morning. 

“Anto said they were coming here, I figured I'd come and see if you needed help with the kids,” he fills you in and Ellie turns in her father’s arms when she hears the familiar voice. 

“Uncle Pierre!” She squeals, stumbling towards her boyfriend’s father. 

The Frenchman catches the girl, glancing at you the same way your husband did minutes ago when she clings to him. “Quelqu'un s'est amusé ce soir, pas vous ? Je peux sentir l'alcool, ma chérie.” (Somebody had fun tonight, didn't you? I can smell the liquor, sweetheart.) 

She giggled at her uncle, holding onto him. “Oui, enfin du bon fun.” (Yes, finally some good fun.) 

Charles had looked more worried now than he did when he found the pregnancy test in her room. Pierre gives his friend a look, “I got her,” he tells him, picking up the girl. 

He held her, carrying her like a princess as she used to say as a kid when Pierre took her to bed; some things never changed. Anthony followed his father upstairs while you comforted your husband over the changing of times. He went to check on Carlos and Sofia while you got some water and something for Ellie to eat to sober up. 

Pierre puts the girl down on her bed, pulling her shoes off so she can get comfortable. Anthony replaces his father by her bedside while he goes to get the trash can. 

Eloise reaches for her boyfriend’s hand, looking at him with eyes full of tears. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, knuckles brushing over her soft cheek. She sniffles, holding back the tears. 

“I wish I had kept it,” Eloise whispers to him and Anthony looks at the girl, confused. “Wish you kept what, amour?” 

“The baby.” 

Pierre was right outside her door but he froze, off to the side as he heard the words; he knew he should leave, he shouldn't be listening to their conversation but he couldn't pull himself away. 

“What baby, Eloise?” Anthony’s eyes scan her face for some sort of an answer. 

“Our baby.” 

“We never had a baby.” 

“We almost did.” She whispers to him, the tears rolling down her face.

“Wha- the test was negative, Ellie. You weren’t pregnant. You’re drunk, mon ange. Get some rest, you don’t know what you’re talk-” 

“I was pregnant, Anthony.” Eloise stops him, forcing herself to sit up. “The test my dad found.. that was after.” 

Anthony’s brain is running in overdrive, his heart pumping out of his chest as he takes in all the information she dropped on him. “After what?” He asks and she doesn’t answer. 

He grabbed her hand, pulling slightly to get her focus back. “After what, Eloise?” 

Her eyes met his ocean blue ones, the same eyes she could see her whole future in and now, it felt as if it was disappearing from her. 

“Eloise, answer me.” 

“After the abortion.” 

Anthony sat there in silence; his head spinning as he tried to make sense of it. She was pregnant with his baby, their baby and she.. got rid of it?

It didn’t make sense. 

Eloise loved him and Anthony loved her, she’d never do that. 

The tears rolled down her fair cheeks, her hands gripping his wrists. “Anto.. please, say something.” 

“You were pregnant, with our baby.” He finally brings himself to speak. She nods, unable to talk without breaking down further into tears. “Why.. Why didn’t you tell me? Did you tell anyone?” 

“Gabe knew,” she whispers, “he took me.” 

Anthony was seeing red at this point; partly toward Eloise for getting the abortion and not telling him but mostly towards his brother in law for taking her. Anthony loved Eloise with every fibre of his being, he'd give his life for hers if that meant she'd be happy; he would have dropped everything to raise a family with her. 

HIs heart shattered into a million pieces over what could have been. 

He didn’t stop to think how she must have felt to go through that alone when he stormed out the room. “Anthony, please!” She shouted after him, far too weak to get up. 

Anthony sees his father by Eloise’s room when he rounds the corner to the stairs. Pierre gave his son an apologetic look, his own sense of distraught coming into play for both his son and his son’s girlfriend.

The man finds her in tears, her hand pressed to her chest as she tries to breathe. Pierre rushes to her side, holding her as he rubbed her back; “slow breaths, princess. In and out. I'm right here.” 

Anthony’s heavy footsteps caused Charles to look into the hallway, about to shout for the boy but he was already out the door, the wooden door slamming shut. 

“Jesus,” you huffed, looking from the kitchen. “What was that about?” You asked your husband, the man glanced at you, the door and then up the stairs. 

You can see his train of thought in front of you and you’re behind him the moment he heads up the stairs. Charles is rushing into the room, sitting on the other side of Eloise, both her father and his best friend doting over the girl. You wanted to join them but you stayed by the end of the bed, figuring that she’d been a bit of space. 

Judging by the look on her face and who just ran out the front door, you were almost certain you knew what had happened upstairs. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Charles rubbed her arm. She can't bring herself to speak, looking at you to fill in her father. Charles follows her glance and looks at you, “babe.. what’s-” 

“Was it the..” you trailed off, and she nodded. 

Pierre takes that as his sign to step out, giving you two some privacy with your daughter. “She had an abortion, Charles.” 

The shock was written across your husband’s face but he said nothing, instead he held your daughter as she cried. 

He was in shock; he didn’t even know she was pregnant and you knew? You never said anything to him but that was a conversation between you two best left for another time.

Charles goes to say something to you but there’s a loud shout coming from outside and you rush over to the window, checking to see what it was. The boys were shouting at each other, Gabriel on the floor with Anthony screaming at him. 

You look back at your husband, yet another wordless exchange and you rush downstairs. 

Outside, the scene unfolds; Anthony punches Gabriel square across the jaw when he sees him. “What the fuck?!” Oliver shouts, helping his boyfriend up. 

“Why the fuck did you punch me?” Gabriel groaned, rubbing his jaw. 

Anthony’s cheeks were covered in tears, the blind rage he was in fuelling his hatred for Gabriel at the moment. “How could you do that? To me? To your sister?” He shouted, going to hit Gabriel again. 

Oliver looks between the men, realizing he's clearly missing a piece of the puzzle. “Babe, what did you do?” He asked, a bit afraid of the answer he was about to get. 

Anthony answers for him; “he took her for an abortion.” 

“Ellie was pregnant ?” Oliver turned to Gabriel, the surprise in his tone and on his face showed Anthony that it was in fact a secret. 

Gabriel doesn’t even have the chance to answer when Anthony swings on him again. Gabriel reacts quickly, punching Anthony before he can get to him. Pierre was coming out when he heard the noise, as was Carlos from the back yard. 

“Hey!” Pierre shouts, you watched from the front step unsure what to do. “Charles!” You shouted from your husband, “hurry!” You shouted again.

Christopher takes this as his chance to see what was happening, slipping past you when he sees the fight. You couldn’t even grab him, the younger twin rushing to defend his brother. Carlos and Pierre are trying to pull them apart, Sofia was shouting at them to stop and poor Oliver was sick, the boy hunched over in your bushes, throwing up what was consumed at the club. Charles comes down and rushes out when he sees them, you walk over to check on Oliver.

At some point after Oliver stops puking, the dads manage to separate the boys; Chris with his father, Gabriel with Carlos and Anthony with Pierre. 

There’s two people walking up your driveway; Georgina and Adrian. 

It was nearly 6am now, the sun starting to cast an orangish hue over Monaco and you needed everyone inside before the streets got busy again. You hold Oliver’s arm to keep him up, “alright that’s enough! Everyone in the fucking house!” You finally raised your voice despite all the chaos, sending everyone into the house. 

The front door was locked after you walked in; a part of you wanted to put a no strays sign considering the amount of drama you’ve had over the last two hours. 

With all the noise, Ellie had come down and ended up joining all of you in the living room. All 8 kids squished onto the couch and on the floor in front of it as you and the dads watched from the fireplace. 

Per usual, they've left you to clean the mess - starting off the makeshift family therapy session. 

“We're gonna solve this in order, okay? I don’t want to hear a word until you're spoken too.” The kids nod, all of them feeling some sense of shame, but they sat there quietly. 

You turned to Anthony, “why’d you punch Gabriel?” 

“Because of..” he trailed off, not wanting to air his dirty laundry to those who didn’t already know. 

Those who knew, understood why he acted the way he did. 

Eloise looked sick, like she was gonna throw up all over the rug and her brother noticed as much, Christopher wrapped an arm around her and rubbed her shoulder, handing her his water bottle. Gabriel butts in, defending himself and his sister. “You can’t be mad, Anto. I only did what was asked of me, I never forced anything on her. She knew if she wanted to keep it, we would have helped her.” 

Anthony looked over at his girlfriend, the sadness and regret mixed across her face. 

She had her father’s fair complexion but never had you seen her look so pale. 

“It’s true,” she says quietly, “Gabe didn’t force me to do anything; he sat with me, made sure I was what I really wanted to do and at the time, it was. I was 17 Anthony, you had just turned 18 - we weren’t ready for that.” 

The room fell silent, the fathers behind you exchanged looks to try and fill each other quietly so they could understand what was happening. 

“I assume Gabriel hit you back in self defence,” you glanced between Anthony and Gabriel before turning to Christopher, “but you, god Chris,” you groaned. “You make some stupid decisions sometimes; why'd you have to get involved?” 

“He was punching my brother, mom. You can’t expect me not to defend him.” 

Charles looks at you, giving your hand a squeeze. “Dites-leur de laisser tomber. Nous n'avons pas besoin de plus de combats.” (Tell them to let it go. We don't need more fighting.) He says to you quietly, you nod in agreement. Pierre got the just of it, nodding to the plan of action. 

“Okay if no one had anything else to add, we're gonna drop this stupid ass fight. What’s happened is all said and done, you're all gonna drop it, yes?” 

You look at your sons and your daughter’s boyfriend, the 3 of them answering with some version of yes. Oliver raises his hand, you nod in his direction waiting for him to speak. 

“I just wanted to say,” he leans over Gabriel to look at Anthony, “that was a weak ass punch.” 

Anthony wasn’t having it with his friend, reaching over Gabriel to smack him but Christopher pulls him back before he can get to him. 

You huff, roll your eyes at the dramatics. “Thank you for that very helpful piece of information, Oli.” 

Oliver grinned, giving you a thumbs up. “Always my pleasure, auntie.” 

In this moment, you can’t help but see Max in Oliver; the wicked grin on his face was identical to his father’s. He was the spitting image of Max, ways and all.

Pierre snickers from behind you and you turn, glaring at the man. He raises his hands in defence, “I can’t help it, that was funny.” Anthony rolls his eyes at his father’s comment but sinks back into the couch. 

The living room was quiet once again and before you get the chance to speak, Georgina starts. “I don’t know what I did to you, but why are you giving me the nastiest look on the planet ?” She purses her lips, looking over at Sofia. 

“Don’t act like you don’t know what you did.” 

Christopher rests his hand on Sofia’s thigh, which she pushes away. “Sof, please. Don’t start.” 

“No, please do.” Georgina tells her, sitting up a bit more. “What did I do to you?” 

Sofia scoffs, rolling her eyes at Georgina’s lack of self awareness. “You being drunk doesn't excuse the fact that you kissed my boyfriend.” 

Adrian turns to his girlfriend so fast that he’s given himself whiplash, rubbing his neck when he goes, “huh?” 

“I did not kiss Chris! That’s so gross, I mean no offense Chris but like.. ew.” The disgust was evident on her face, looking at her best friend and his girlfriend. “Chris was helping me over to Adrian, I lost him in the club.” 

“So you two didn’t kiss?” Sofia looks between the two friends. 

Chris and Georgina both answer at the same time; “No!” 

She felt a bit bad for the events that had occurred that evening; her screaming match with Christopher, the words she said to her father and about Georgina but nonetheless, she brushed away the feeling. 

“Okay,” she nods, “sorry for assuming.” She says, getting up. “Papá, deberíamos irnos. No queremos perder nuestro vuelo.” (Dad, we should go. We don't want to miss our flight.)  

Carlos nods, getting up from his spot by the fireplace. You turn to your friend, “¿Ustedes dos están bien?” (Are you two okay?) 

He nods, speaking quietly. “Tenemos trabajo que hacer, pero estaremos bien.” (We've got work to do, but we'll be fine.) You smile, giving him a hug before you let him and Sofia walk out. 

Christopher follows them to the door, giving Sofia a hug. “I’m sorry,” she whispers to him, kissing his cheek. He nods, “it’s okay, babe. Have a safe flight, yeah? Text me when you land.” 

“I will,” she smiles, giving him one more squeeze before stepping out. Carlos pats Chris on the shoulder on his way out. 

Georgina was yawning, leaning on Adrian. “Can we just stay here?” He asked you, and you nod. “Of course sweetheart, you know you guys can stay here anytime.” 

“I’ll make the guest room up for you two,” Charles says, getting up and walking down the hallway. 

“I’ll help,” Georgina announces, getting up to follow uncle Charles as the kids deemed him many years ago, down the hallway. 

Oliver gets up as well, helping Gabriel up. “We’re off to bed!” He calls, linking arms with his boyfriend as he holds a tissue to Gabriel's nose. Your oldest looks at you, giving you an apologetic look for the mess he’s made. 

You walk over, kissing his cheek. “It's okay baby,” you held his jaw softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. 

“I’ll help him get cleaned up,” Oliver tells you, nodding to the now dried blood on Gabriel’s face. You smile, giving Oliver’s arm a squeeze before they head upstairs. 

You started clearing up the living room, tidying up the ruckus the boys made on their way in. Anthony gets up, walking over to Eloise. He kneels in front of his girlfriend who looks at him, the tears staining her pale cheeks. 

“Amour,” he starts, holding her jaw. You and Adrian take that as a hint to leave, he helps you pick up a few things and take it to the kitchen. “I love you, no matter what, okay?” He tells her. 

Eloise leans into her boyfriend, her forehead pressed to his. “Will you stay tonight?” 

“Not tonight,” he whispers. “I just.. I need some space tonight.” Eloise nods, understanding that this was a lot of spring on him, she could beg him to stay but it’d do neither of them any good. 

“I love you, always. I’ll be by tomorrow, okay?” He tells her when he stands. 

She nods, “I love you, Anthony.” She looks up at her and he gives her a small smile, the sadness not able to fully hide behind it. Anthony leans down, giving her a kiss before walking away. She blinks away the tears, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands. Pierre walks over to her, kissing the top of her head. 

“It’ll be okay,” he tells her quietly, “you’ll be okay, I promise.” He smiles at the girl, giving her a hug. “I hope so.” She whispers and he nods, “you will be.” 

She can hear Christopher and Anthony speaking in the hallway, eventually her brother comes into the living room and helps her up. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?”  He holds her to his side as they walk to the stairs. 

“Can I stay with you?” She asks, not wanting to be alone tonight. 

It reminded him of when they were younger and she’d swear she won’t get scared, begging to watch a horror movie with him and Gabriel. In the end, the three of them were squished into one bed because they were too scared to be alone. 

Christopher nods, “of course.” 

Adrian yawns, leaning on the counter as you filled the glasses with water. You slide two over to him, one for him and one for Georgina. “Did you tell your parents you were staying here? So they’re not looking for you?” 

“Yeah, my dad knows we're here but I couldn’t get ahold of Georgina’s parents.” 

“I’ll text George, don’t worry.” You tell him. 

Adrian takes a sip of his water before getting off the stool. “Is it always this crazy here?” 

You can’t help but laugh, “this is a regular Saturday for us, kid.” You walk him to the guest room, Charles was in the hallway getting extra pillows. “You get some sleep, it’s late.. or early? You know what I mean,” you give him a kiss on the temple before Charles hands him the pillows, the two of you leaving them to get some rest. 

Charles grabs your hand, sighing as you two walk to the couch. The curtains were wide open, the sun had risen and the clock on the wall ticked with each passing second - 7:23am. 

You looked over at him when you sat down, your husband’s head tipped back and his eyes closed. You can’t help but reach out and stroke his cheek - “remember when you wanted more kids?” You asked quietly, earning a laugh and a groan from him. 

He opens his eyes, looking over at you with a sleepy smile. “Thank you for telling me no.” 

Now you're laughing, leaning over to give him a kiss. “I love you, Charles.” 

“I love you, y/n. I don’t know what I'd do without you.” 

“Probably lose your mind?” 

He drops his face into your shoulder, nodding. “Most definitely.” 

--- 

taglist: @dragon-of-winterfell​ @benedictscanvas​ @elisaa-shelby​ @hnmaga-blog @czechoslovakiandisco​ @dr3lover​ @troybolton14-blog-blog​ @Lovingroscoee @compulsiveshit​ @somanyfandomsbruh​  @damnyoulifee​ @barzysreputation​ @vickyofalltrades @yeolsbubbles​ @barzysreputation​ @thybulleric​ @valkyrie418​ @ricsaigaslec​ @idkiwantchocolatee  @sessgjarg @molliemoo3​ @bisexual-desi​ @sunf1owerrq @alwaysclassyeagle​ @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ @sillybananamaker

daddy & me + three taglist: @timetorace @diorleclerc @lickmeleclerc @elisaa-shelby @ohthemisssery @anthonykatebridgerton @memeorydotcom @cehilim @xeniarocks @idkiwantchocolatee @amsofftrack @satvrnite @livo676 @kyomihann  @cedricdiggorysimpp @viyasstuff @enjoymyloves @dan3avacado @bigdiccricc  @altheahuf @diorsheaven777 @judgemental-raven @sunf1owerrq @serendipity-2510 @itsrogersstuff @p4st3lst4rs @summerbolcerek @chxndlerr  @shawnftjacob @f-hollands @avngrsfangirl @f1medlife @redbaby24 @akdcuniverse​ @tommosalmighty  @littlefreaksatellite @jaemism  @valkyrie418 @yourchicken10 @its-lilla-my-dudes @alwayschoppedtaco  @felixthexlll @fafantesworld @dudelovesstuff @alwaysclassyeagle​ @starkeyellow​ @juliantheupsidedown​ @aurora-maria​ @writergiih​ @paty2110juarez​ @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ @mirandarroyo @cowboylikemoi @harrysdimples05​ @yourefavdummy @hungryhungariann​ @cagoterie​ @sigynxlokiwifelover​ @majx00​ @ghostleclerc​ @Steephanie07 @electricthunder3​ @devilswaldorf​ @k1ng0fmyheart @omigodyall​ @sabrinaselina55 @leclerc13 @Hearts4maddison @yourtypicalslvt​ @karmabyfernando​ @nichmeddar​

please update your user in the taglist to be tagged! 

[sunnystrollblog]

Creek: Okay, but what if we went to dinner not as friends this time?

Branch: AS ENEMIES?!

Creek:…

Poppy: I see the red flags, I acknowledge that they're there, and then I completely ignore them.

Poppy : I have been tricked, I have been backstabbed, and I have quite possibly been bamboozled.

Poppy : Three of the four elements are represented as types of hockey. Air hockey, ice hockey, and field hockey. Fire hockey needs to be a thing.

Branch: Fire hockey absolutely does NOT need to be a thing.

Creek: Do you care NOTHING for the balance of the four elements?!

Creek, holding an unconscious Poppy : Oh no. Please don’t be dead.

Branch: *nudges Creek at 3am* Pretty fucked up that we depict the moon as a girl and the sun as a boy. They're just floating rocks in space. Creek? Wake up, Creek! Listen! They're sexless!

Creek: The sun isn't a rock, go back to sleep.

Branch: Are pigeons drones?

Poppy : What? No, I'm trying to sleep.

Branch: Think about it. How come you've never seen a baby pigeon? And why do you never actually see a pigeon nest? Because they're DRONES!

Poppy : *Crying* Please let me sleep...

Creek: Branch doesn’t look very happy.

Poppy : That's their happy. They're just a bitch.

Creek: Hey I got you food, pick a number between 1 and 10.

Branch: Uh 4?

Creek: Wrong, no food for you.

Branch: Wait what?! WHY?! CREEK PLEASE—!

Branch: Poppy , we tried things your way.

Poppy : No, we didn't.

Branch: I did it in my head and it didn't work.

Poppy: Let’s watch Sharkboy and Lavagirl.

Creek: Okay.

Poppy: And make out during the scary parts.

Creek : Th-

Creek : The scary parts.

Creek : Of Sharkboy and Lavagirl.

Branch: You know, sometimes dandelions remind me of Creek.

Poppy : Aww, is it because they’re like a little sunshine, spreading light and hope everywhere?

Branch: What? Gross, no, it’s because they’re like a weed that you can’t get rid of!

Creek: I’m scared that when you become rich and famous you’ll be embarrassed by me.

Branch: Oh Creek, I’m already embarrassed by you.

Branch: What’s up with you?

Creek: What do you mean?

Branch: You’ve been nice and helpful and considerate all day. What’s your game?

[baileypie-writes]

Can you do Lupin III x people pleaser reader? -gender netural

A/N ~ Sure! By the way, I’m not a people pleaser myself, so please let me know if anything’s inaccurate. Hope you enjoy!

~Lupin III with a People Pleaser S/O~

Fandom: Lupin III: The First

Fanfic Type: Headcanons

Reader: Gender Neutral

Relationship: Romantic

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG

Warnings: Mentions of Reader’s kindness being taken advantage of.

Disclaimer: I have only seen the 2019 film, and Castle of Cagliostro. I have not yet seen the series. So if anything is inaccurate, I apologize.

~~~🎩~~~🎩~~~🎩~~~

~ Lupin thinks it’s so endearing how you put others needs before your own. Him and the gang can be the complete opposite at times, caring more about themselves. So he finds it so cute how you go out of your way to help others.

“Hey (name)! ‘What am I doing’? The dishes. Lemme guess, you wanna help? Sure! Thanks cutie.~”

~ He tends to let you do your thing most of the time. It makes you happy to help, so why stop you? He doesn’t complain when you want to help him either. In fact, he’s all for it! Less work for him!

“Pops just wouldn’t let up today! He caused us so much trouble. We got pretty roughed up. Even ripped my coat pretty bad.”

“I can sew it up for you!”

“Really? Aww, thanks (name)! You’re a gem!”

~ However, if you start to not may enough attention to yourself, that’s where he draws the line. Putting your own health behind others isn’t okay. He’ll switch roles on you; making himself do everything for you. You’re not allowed to complain either!

“This is the fifth time in a row you’ve done the laundry. We’re supposed to take turns! I’m doing it this time.”

“Oh no, that’s okay-“

“Nope! You’re obviously tired today. You go relax, I’ll take care of this.”

~ Lupin is a sneaky guy. So he can trick you into relaxing without you realizing it! He’ll ask you to help him with something, and tell you to wait on the couch for him. You’ll lay down, and he won’t come back. It’ll take at least thirty minutes to realize you’ve been bamboozled. He always promises he won’t do it again, but we both know he’s a big fat liar…

~ Some people may try to take advantage of the fact that you’re a people pleaser. It’s hard to come to the fact that they’re using you, because you just want to help. But Lupin is smart. He knows people’s true intentions. So he’ll lead you away from them, not telling you exactly why as to not hurt your feelings. He won’t let your kindness be taken advantage of!

“They need help again? Oh, I’m sure they’ll be fine on their own! C’mon babe, I actually have something we can do together!”

~ Lupin is constantly reminding you that you don’t need to help all the time to be liked. He loves you no matter what! He lets you know that it’s okay to relax, and to ask for help for yourself.

~~~🎩~~~🎩~~~🎩~~~

~~baileypie-writes

[imauthicktic]

Hello I wanted to ask if you can possibly write something with Deathslinger, Wraith, Doctor, and Pyramid Head where they are jealous because somebody keeps flirting/bugging the s/o or because the s/o talked and laughed with someone else of cours if it’s not a bother to write it😌 hope you have a great day or night🥰

my dear, my friend.... it is never a bother!! Sorry that it took me a couple days!! I'm doing this pretty late at night, so if there are any mistakes I apologize!

Dbd x gn!reader

Description: the killers get a little jealous of someone taking your attention away from them

Authors note: not proofread but man I got a lil carried away haha it's definitely a longer post so it's gonna be under the cut

Deathslinger

Caleb isn’t one to get jealous. It’s more so his annoyance at someone flirting with you and you just laugh it off. Knowing you, you probably don’t even see it as flirting. You probably see it as just friendly behavior. Sometimes you can be oblivious to others intentions when it's flirting. Hell, it took Caleb kissing you for you to notice he’s been genuinely flirting with you this whole time. Man, were you bamboozled. Sure you’re attractive and you’ve flirted with people before, but you never knew when people were doing it back intentionally and not just for shits and giggles. 

You were sitting at the survivors camp after a rough trial with the clown. You shivered just thinking about it. He was definitely the creepiest thing you’ve ever encountered. He always got a little touchy with you and you don’t know why. Anyways, you were sitting with Nea, who was also in the last trial with you, and you were both talking about how if the roles were reversed, you’d mori the clown every time. There was a quiet moment when Nea scooted closer as she was poking the fire with a stick and casually put her head on your shoulder. You thought she was just tired and let her rest for a bit. 

You didn’t notice the eyes that were watching you from the tree line. Caleb sneered at how close Nea was to you. It could be innocent, but he wasn’t so sure so he continued to watch. Nea snapped her head up at the sound of something shuffling in the tree line. She brushed it off and decided to put her arms around the one she was resting against earlier and started whispering in your ear. She was just saying thank you for saving her in the last trial and that she’ll always have your back whenever you’re in trials together. Even though her words were innocent, it felt way too intimate and you were looking up at the others hoping someone would notice your slight discomfort. 

Thank god, there was someone that is good at reading people. Leon was standing and talking with Claudette. He called you over as he was trying to remember details from your time before the Entity. You and Leon had been friends back then, since childhood, and he could see the discomfort in your face and thought it was a great opportunity to call you over. You guys were laughing about what he was telling Claudette and Leon had put his arm over your shoulders. Caleb had just about had enough at this point. 

You and Caleb had a special whistle so that you knew it was him calling you. At least no one has caught onto it yet. At least, that’s what you both thought. As soon as you heard it, so did Leon. I guess you shouldn’t be too surprised when Leon said goodbye to Claudette for the both of you and guided you to where he heard the call. You were both on the edge of the forest when you looked at Leon, “Well, I guess you know this is my stop. I knew you of all people would figure it out,” you chuckled. Leon turned to the forest and whispered, “ I at least know you’re safe when you’re out there (N/N). Love you, take care of yourself until I see you next.” “You know I will, love you too, butthead,” you chuckled after he punched your arm lightly as you walked into the forest. 

You were walking through, but didn’t see Caleb anywhere. “Caleb!” you whisper shouted, looking around for him. “Darlin’, you need to stop being so nice to everyone. They’re gonna think you don’ belong to someone.” You quickly turned to face your lover and reached out to put your arms around his waist. He put one of his hands on your lower back and looked into your eyes with a seriousness you haven’t seen in a while. You let out a sigh, “Caleb, my love… I didn’t mean for anyone to get the wrong idea. You know Leon is harmless.” “I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout him. You’ve already given me y’all’s history, baby doll,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’m talkin’ bout that handsy girl. Stop bein’ so kind that they think they can touch ya like that.” “I’m sorry. I didn’t think she would try anything. I still don’t think she will, ok? You don’t have to worry about it my sweet man.” Caleb scoffed at the nickname. He always thought it sounded silly, but he dismissed it and gave another kiss to your forehead and led you to his realm trying to be as calm as he can be. “Next time you’re at the camp, just stay in the saloon. If I’m not there I’ll be comin’ for ya darlin’.” “Hmmmm. I’ll think about it. I still have my friends ya know.” “Yeah, well, it wouldn’t hurt to spend some time with me.” You walk just a few steps ahead and smile now knowing he was a little jealous. “Well. If you miss me that bad, I guess I can come around more often.” You turn around quickly, stopping him in his tracks with a small and gruff, “Good. Now get to steppin’,” he said as he turned you around with a small pat to your butt making you let out a yelp.

Wraith

Since he was brought here by the Entity he felt fine with his looks. Until one time he was stalking the survivor’s camp listening to them talk about life. He went back to listen to their stories the next day, but the small group he was near were talking about which of the killers could get a “pass”. He didn’t really get what they meant until they were mentioning attractiveness. Now Philip wasn’t rated last, but he was definitely low on the scale. Only then did he question his appearance.

One day he was having a slow day. Not many trials were happening with him in it and he decided to explore his realm a little. He hated the cars that were around him. None of them were really cool, nor were they noteworthy. However, today has been a slow day for you too. He recognized you from the survivor’s camp and remembered listening to some of your stories. They were really interesting and he remembered how good of a story-teller you were. He could tell from some of your stories, just what kind of person you were. You had such passion and he knows from listening to some of the gossip when there were other groups, that you helped a lot in trials. He never noticed because you were still kinda new and he hasn’t had a trial with you yet.

He was slowly approaching you as you looked inside one of the cars. He rung his bell to see what you’d do, but all you did was look around before continuing to explore his realm. He rung his bell a couple more times as he stalked you throughout the place. You didn’t have much of a reaction to it, so when he finally revealed himself, your heart nearly jumped out of your chest. 

“Ahaha. Uh.. so, um. I hope I’m not bothering you. I, uh, just wanted to explore?” you end with a higher pitch hoping it made you seem more innocent and not like you were invading his space. You know he’s a killer and that he could very well hurt you here, but from the small tilt of his head you could tell it’s not going to happen. At least, not yet. You looked up to meet his eyes and slowly reached a hand out. “I’m (Y/N). I’m kinda new here.” He looked down at your hand and grabbed it lightly. You let out a light gasp as you looked down at his hand in yours and turned it over. His hand was warm and you couldn’t help but step closer to the body heat he was providing. You weren’t exactly brought here in warm clothes and there was definitely a breeze in this realm. “(Y/N)!!!! Where are you?!” you heard from the tree line. You looked over to find Mikaela about to enter the realm. Philip quickly let go of your hand and was pulling away from you, “W-Wait!” but he was already gone when you looked at Mikaela again to see if she was coming closer. You sigh in disappointment looking around you before you let out a low, “Bye, I guess.” You tried to warm your arms up before you ran over to the red head and headed back to camp with one last look over your shoulder. 

Philip knew he liked you, You were too soft, too warm to be in a place like this. He definitely had tried to see you back at the survivor’s camp, but he was better at observing than trying to approach you. Today you were talking with a group near where he was hiding. The topic definitely made his ears perk up as he heard someone ask you “Hey, (Y/N), what’s your type?” You laughed a little as you said the classic “tall, dark, and handsome. Haha. Well, that’s true, but also the quiet ones. Ya know, a little shy. I talk a lot so I can definitely hold the conversation for the both of us,” you laugh. While everyone in your group was laughing and talking to each other about their types. Jonah stood up from his spot and sat next to you, “So. Tall, dark, and handsome, huh? You wouldn’t happen to be talking about me now would you?” he said as he draped his arm over your shoulders. Philip could feel himself getting upset with the fact that Jonah was touching you. You chuckled and pushed his arm off, “I don’t know if you were listening, but the keywords were shy and quiet. That is like the opposite of you.” He tried to lean in to whisper to you, but you heard a familiar bell and immediately stood up with a quick “I gotta pee. Bye.” He looked at you confused as you quickly walked into the forest. “Hello?!” You walked further hearing the bell just ahead. Suddenly, there was just silence. You looked around disappointed you didn’t hear or see anything. You were just about to give up and head back towards the camp when you turned and saw him. “H-Hi. I’ve been looking for you ya know?” He stepped towards you and kneeled down a bit. “You really saved me back there. He was definitely getting too close for comfort.” You looked into his eyes and stepped towards him a bit. Leaning down he got to your level so that you were face-to-face.

You could feel the heat radiating off of him and shivered a bit, you lifted your hand as you were about to touch his face, but you hesitated. He grabbed your hand and placed it on his face himself. He leaned into your hand and closed his eyes for a moment. You could feel him relax, but all of a sudden you heard Jonah’s voice yelling out your name. Philip snapped his eyes open and with a small growl he grabbed you around your waist and stood to his full height and you automatically wrapped your legs around his waist and threw your arms around his neck. He jingled his bell and you were no longer in the forest and back in his realm. “Mine,” he said softly enough for you to hear. You smiled at him, still wrapped in his arms and rested your head on his shoulder, “Sure thing, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.”

Doctor

Herman is quite the sadist when it comes to the survivors. You included. However, he has calmed down quite a bit with you as your relationship grew. Since he loved making observations, he would often watch you guys at the survivors camp and how you interacted with everyone. He was trying to see what your relationships were like with the other survivors.

He is 100% a possessive man. You are his and he very much would like to keep it that way. He didn’t even stop his observations when you were in trials with him. He was excited to have you in his trial today. There were some new survivors and he wanted to see how they interacted with others. Herman was chasing one of the new survivors. 

Vittorio was running as fast as he could when he was running up behind two other survivors. He only recognized one which was you, you’ve saved him a couple times when he didn’t know what was going on, and the other was some woman he didn’t know yet. Herman let out a loud laugh as he was creeping up to the three of you when the woman he knows to be Haddie decided to drop a palette. However, this palette happened to almost fall on you, but Vittorio managed to grab you by your waist and save you from being squished under the massive palette. You, Vittorio, and Herman looked at the fallen palette then at Haddie who was running away. Herman was not happy about Haddie, but was cautious about Vittorio’s arm around your waist and the fact that he was pulling you away from Herman. Herman was trying to be logical about the events as he broke the palette and you and your new companion ran off into the opposite direction of Haddie. As soon as he got his hands on her he shocked her until the screaming stopped. He didn’t mori her. No, that was too easy. He hooked her as soon as he found one. 

He was now on the hunt for the other survivors and you. He had finally found the one that wasn’t a part of the earlier ordeal and hooked them. You heard the scream when you were working on a generator with Vittorio. “I should go grab them. Have you seen a med pack anywhere?” you ask as you stand up from the now functioning generator. He stood up and shook his head no. “I didn’t know to grab them.” “That’s ok! I’ll just have to look for it on my way to the other survivor. You go work on the last generator,” you smile at him and he nods as he heads off.

You obviously run into Herman and he wouldn’t let you pass without giving him a small kiss on the cheek and him giving you a small shock on the ass as you ran away. You grab Jill off the hook and hear the final generator roar to life which obviously meant you could escape to the camp. You and Jill run as fast as you can towards the exit, but Herman is hot on your tail. He must’ve been waiting around the wall the hook was on. You didn’t want to leave Jill behind so you grabbed her hand and ran faster. You both see the exit in front of you, but as you got closer Jill tripped over herself and brought you down with her. You groaned as you hit the ground. Herman was about to go over her and to grab you when you suddenly got yanked up by Vittorio who brought you through the gate to safety. Herman was not happy about this turn of events. Why is this man so keen on protecting you? Why are his hands on you whenever you guys are around each other?

You sighed as you guys reached camp without Jill. Haddie was already sitting by the camp and Vittorio was mad at how she put you in danger when you helped everyone in the trial, even her. He guided you to another part of the camp with his hand on your lower back. “Is everything ok?” you ask him. “Yes. I just don’t appreciate how she endangered you and ran off,” he jerked his head in Haddie’s direction. “It’s ok. Not everyone reciprocates your help. That’s just how it is here,” you say softly. “That makes no sense. Does she have no shame?” You smile and decide you better tell him about this place some more. You sat Vittorio down and talked to him about how things work around here. He was actively listening to you when you realized how tired you were from the last trial. 

With a small goodbye, you got up to go to Herman’s realm as he should be back by now. You were walking through the forest towards the loud zaps of electricity. “That new survivor is quite touchy isn’t he, darling?” you hear him say as you walk into his lab. “No, he was just trying to make sure I was ok since I was helping him. He’s new and I can’t help but at least give him some tips.” “Good thing you’re so nice? Hmm?” “ What are you trying to insinuate, Doctor Carter?” you cross your arms across your chest as you lean against the table he was writing notes down about today’s trial. He looked up quickly, “Nothing. Nothing. I’m not insinuating anything. I’m simply stating the man is touchy, that's all my love.” “Yeah, well I remember what it was like being new. You aren’t exactly the easiest first killer to deal with.” “No, you’re right. I guess I’m not,” he chuckled. “Guess not,” you lean in and kiss him on the corner of his lips.

Pyramid Head

It’s been a couple days since you’ve seen your big and buff monster of a boyfriend. He hasn’t had a trial with you and you’ve managed to be chased by monstrous killers that weren’t him. Such disappointment. You were sitting at the camp since sitting by the fire was much more comforting than the elementary school. You don’t exactly have a bed or anything there. It can also get lonely when you have been waiting for him for a couple days. 

There was one person who had been sitting near you that you never really got to know yet. He seemed kind of like an outsider which is weird considering the circumstances. You had nothing better to do anyways. “Psst. Hey! Jeff. Come over here real quick!” you called out to him. He looked to his side and then at you. He funnily enough pointed himself and looked at you confused. You rolled your eyes and scooted over to him. “Got any good bedtime stories?” you ask sweetly. “Listen, kid. My bedtime stories are probably not as interesting as yours. I know you’ve been here longer than me. Word around town is you’re even sleeping with the enemy.” “Man, you are just a bundle of joy ain’t ya,” you chuckled. “I could care less about your personal life. Being here is one hell of a ride. I wouldn’t be surprised if I went after that plague woman,” you instantly ease up and chuckle a bit. “Ahh, so you’re type is powerful, deadly, and gorgeous huh?” Jeff laughed and said “Yeah, I guess you can say that,” he poked the fire with a stick. “At least we got something in common,” you both chuckle at that.

You spent the rest of the night just talking about your life before this place. He seems like a pretty cool guy. He reminds you of one of your uncles with some of the things he says. He even told you that you reminded him of his younger sibling. By the end of the night you guys practically made a fake family pact then decided to take a nap before you get pulled into a trial.

You wake up with a gasp because you felt yourself being launched onto the shoulder of your hunk of a man. “P-Pyra?” you wheezed out as he put you down gently. You looked up at him when he brushed his hand against your face. You melt into him and wrap your arms around his chest. You heard a groan come from his helmet as he wrapped his arm without his weapon around you tightly. When you pulled away he grabbed your arm and wrote on your forearm and small ‘IMY’ with his finger. You leaned up a little and placed a small kiss on his peck. “I missed you too, big guy.” 

As the trial went on and you somehow got the generators working with the help of Jeff. You didn’t see Pyramid Head anywhere as you were running to the gate with Jeff, but in normal klutzy fashion, you tripped over the corner of a palette. Pyra finally showed up and was about to grab you for some alone time when Jeff just yanked you up and over his shoulder as he ran out the exit. All you heard was a roar from your lover as you made it to the survivors camp. After settling everything with Jeff at the camp. You headed out to Pyra’s realm hoping to finally have some alone time. 

Stepping into his realm you see him entering the school in the distance and you quickly run to catch up to him. “Pyra!” He keeps walking as if you didn’t say anything. You think he didn’t hear you so when you get to the entrance and follow him down the hallway, you wrap your arms around his waist from behind. “Bubby? Why’d you walk off?” He groaned a little in annoyance. You know it’s not at you though. You put your hands under his shirt and run your hands up and down his stomach and pecs. “I love you, you know that right?” He nodded a little and you pull his top up just above your head and placed kisses on the exposed skin. “I just made a friend in that guy that got me at the end. We talked earlier when I couldn’t find you, and we just reminded each other of family from before this place. That’s all bub.” He turned and his tongue snuck out the corner of his mask and gave you a lil lick on the cheek making you laugh and let go of him. You both knew everything was alright.

As always lmk what yall think!

Requests are still open!

[13phantom13angel13]

Not Fair!

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

A/N: I am so terribly sorry about this being late! To whoever requested “This isn’t fair” with Bruce vs the batkids, here you are! I hope it’s to your liking! It’s a bit long but I’m hoping it’s a strong comeback from my unplanned hiatus. Also, the ending kinda sucks. Sorry! 😭 Much love! ❤️

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

Bruce was screwed and he knew it. He was tricked. Bamboozled. Taunted into his current situation. Tim, Jason, and Dick challenged him to a group sparring match. Little did he know, it would be the three of them against him alone. So when he found himself pinned on the mat with all three of them holding down one limb or another, he knew for a fact he was in for an unpleasant time.

“This is so not fair.” Bruce grumbled at them.

“Life isn’t fair, highness.” Jason stated as he tightened his grip on Bruce’s wrists. Bruce looked up at him with a flat expression.

“Don’t you pull a Princess Bride on me.”

Jason’s only response was a cheeky grin. Bruce looked up at Cass, Stephanie, Duke, and Damian with pleading eyes as they all watched on with amused smiles.

“A little help here?”

“Nah. You got yourself into this one, fam. Find your way out of it.” Stephanie replied. The others nodded in agreement. Bruce grumbled at them.

Tim, Jason, and Dick all exchanged glances with each other with mischievous grins and nodded, all three coming to a silent agreement.

What Bruce didn’t know is that the three of them had been planning this for a while. The man had been tormenting them for weeks. He would randomly sneak up on them when they weren’t paying attention and tickle them to tears. They got tired of Bruce’s reign of terror and decided to gang up on him as revenge.

Dick, who was perched on Bruce’s ankles, cracked his knuckles, gaining the man’s attention. Bruce looked down at the younger man with a confused expression; until he saw the wiggling fingers. His eyes went wide.

“No. Nonononononono! Don’t even think about it!”

“Oh. We thought about it. And it’s gonna happen.” Tim responded from his place on Bruce’s knees. Damn these kids for outsmarting him! One on one, he would’ve been able to hold his own. But with the three of them together? He was about to be on for a rough ride. And he was.

Dick very gently traced his fingers down Bruce’s feet, causing the man to jump with a startled yelp. The mischievous grins widened. Bruce was getting increasingly more nervous.

Jason struck next, fluttering his fingers into Bruce’s armpits. He somehow managed to choke back a laugh with that one; a strained noise escaping him mouth.

When Tim spidered his fingers over Bruce’s stomach, the man was a goner. Bright giggles flooded out of him with no hopes of stopping.

“Nohohohoho! Hahahave mercy!” Bruce giggled.

“Nice job, Replacement. You found his weak spot.” Jason smirked at Tim. Tim rolled his eyes at the nickname.

“Power of deduction, I guess.” Tim shrugged nonchalantly as he continued. Jason moved down to Bruce’s ribs as Dick remained where he was, fluttering under Bruce’s toes. Bruce jerked as he giggled harder.

“Bohohoys! Plehehehehease! Dohohohon’t tihihihihihickle!” Bruce pleaded, his pleas falling upon deaf ears.

“Uh, esqueeze me, sir? You don’t want us to tickle you?” Dick inquired sassily.

“That’s rich coming from you! You’ve been a menace towards us for weeks!” Tim exclaimed.

“Aw! What? The big bad bat can’t handle what he dishes out?” Jason cooed in a taunting manner. Bruce knew this was only going to get worse as Jason and Dick’s tickling fingers also converged on his stomach. When did Dick get up? He didn’t even notice! Bruce’s giggles turned into full blown laughter by that point.

He attempted to curl into a ball to protect himself against his sons, but that proved unsuccessful. Someone’s hands moved towards his sides and his back arched off the mat with a loud squeal. Jason laughed.

“Oh my god! You sounded like a girl!”

“Shuhuhuhuhuhut uhuhup giggles!” Bruce snarked at him. Jason let out an offended gasp as Dick and Tim tried to restrain their giggle fit.

“How dare you! You take that back!”

“Nehehehehever!” Bruce cried out defiantly. “You sohohohound cuhuhuhuhute whehehen yohou gihihihiggle!” Jason’s face turned bright red as his jaw dropped in shock. Tim and Dick’s laughter started to mix in with Bruce’s by that point.

“The absolute audacity!” He cried as he tickled Bruce’s sides more. “Take it back! Take it back or I won’t stop until you cry!” Jason’s hands came back to his stomach. At that point, all three of them were tickling Bruce’s stomach like there was no tomorrow. Bruce’s laughter turned into wild cackling before falling silent a moment later.

Damian was the one to break the silence of Bruce’s agony.

“I do believe father has withstood enough torture for today.” He motioned towards him.

“Yeah. His face is getting awfully red, guys. I think it’s time to call it quits.”

The boys all looked at Bruce, looked at each other, and nodded as their hands came to a stop. They got off of Bruce to give him some room to breathe. The man sucked in large amounts of air as residual giggles slipped out of him. He looked up at his torturers. Jason squatted down next to his head with a dangerous look in his eyes.

“Next time you decide to come after us, even Superman himself won’t be able to stop us. Got it?” Bruce nodded weakly. “Good. Good talk.” Jason patted his cheek before standing up. All the kids walked out of the cave leaving Bruce to recover in peace.

Next time, he’ll have to remember to never agree to a ‘team sparring match’ again. Those heathens.

[hannahssimblr]

July seeps into August in a yellow haze. The heat has stupefied the village, slowing all movement, the tourists wading through the humid streets with ice creams melting down their hands, the only kind of food it feels acceptable to eat. It hasn’t rained in weeks, since that first storm of summer, and the landscape struggles. The grass in the local pitch has shrivelled, and the earth has become a powdery dust that fills the air every time our football skims it. It keeps sticking to the sun cream on our skin. Every evening I need to wash an extraordinary amount of grit, dirt and sand out of strange places, like the creases in my elbows, and the webbing between my fingers and toes.

I launch the ball down the pitch to where Jen is bouncing foot to foot near the goalpost, and wander towards the sideline to mop sweat from my brow with the t-shirt I stripped off an hour ago. 

“You want water?” Claire O’Gorman holds her pink metal bottle to me. It jangles with the fluffy charms and beads clipped to it. I shake my head. Jen saw her kissing Shane last night at the front door before she left, so at least twenty percent of the backwash already in that water is bound to be his. I don’t tell her this, because if she doesn’t know what backwash is, I’ll have to go through the whole rigamarole of explaining it, and inevitably end up looking stupid, so I just shake my head.

“You’re running like mad out there,” she comments. “I don’t know how you’ve the strength in this weather.”

“You just endure it, I guess.”

“Hm, I couldn’t. I’m like a princess. I just really don’t like sweating and getting all out of breath. Evie is like you, though,” she adds.

I’m careful to arrange my features into a neutral expression. Claire has been hanging around with us every day for the last week, for reasons that nobody has explained to me, not that I have asked, but when I chat with her, I make sure that I never, ever bring up Evie. Teenage girls are detectives. They pick up on the tiniest facial expressions or shift in tone and use it against you.

I’ve been bamboozled before, and the last thing I need is for Claire to go home to Evie in the evenings and tell her, God forbid, that I asked a question about her. The multitudes of ways they could read into my body language makes me feel queasy. 

“Right,” I say in a bored voice, and scratch my armpit. 

“She’s always like, go go go! All the time, you know? Like playing tennis one minute, swimming the next, going on a mad run the next it’s like,” she rolls her eyes for emphasis, “take a break, girl, please, you know?”

“Mm.”

“I’ve been trying my best to convince her to come to that festival too, just to get away from the routine, but I can’t get her to give me any sort of answer about it.”

I frown. “Did you invite her to the festival?”

“Oh, was I not meant to? I kind of thought it’d be fun if she came, you know, so it’s not just me.”

“I didn’t know you were coming either.”

Her face drains. “Oh, well, Shane asked me, and I-”

“No, no, you can. Oh my God, obviously, I didn’t mean-”

“Right! Okay, of course, but like, I don’t want to impose on-”

“Just I didn’t know Evie might come, that’s all.”

“Well, yeah, I thought it’d be nice for me to have a close friend with me, but if you don’t want her to... like, she might not be able to anyway, so.”

“I don’t not want her to come.” God, why does this feel like a conversation two thirteen-year-olds would have? I swear I haven’t felt this juvenile in years, and I cringe, as though some other version of myself, the cooler Jude, is watching me engage in this conversation and groaning into his hands. Sometimes, these days, I feel like the cooler Jude is slipping through my fingers like handfuls of sand.

“She’s actually really nice,��� Claire says with an edge of defensiveness. “I know she’s a bit quiet. I thought that when I met her first too, she was kind of known as the weird girl at school, but when you get to know her, she’s a really sweet person.”

“I know,” I say, my face burning. “I mean... she seems nice. I didn’t mean to imply that she isn’t. Please don’t tell her I think she’s quiet, or weird, or that I don’t want her at the festival or anything like that.”

“No, of course.”

“Because I do… like... think she’s nice, and it’d be okay if she came with us. I would even want her to, actually.” Shut up. God, please, shut the fuck up, you dickhead. 

Claire smiles and nods. 

“But don’t tell her I specifically want her to either, just… Don’t tell her anything.” Oh, line me up against a wall and shoot me, execution style. 

“I won’t.”

I bet she will. And I bet she'll tell her about about the smell of desperation off me, too.

“Turner!” Shane bellows. “What are you at? Your team mates are flailing over here.”

“Right, bye,” I tell Claire, and turn around quickly, unable to bear the embarrassment for another second. 

“Bye!”

As I walk back onto the pitch, I screw my eyes shut and thump my fist against my forehead. 

I’m toast. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[cloudcountry]

wait, are you a piano? piano, azul lover?? :0 if so, helloou I follow your other blog, I love your opinions <3 but if it's not you, the same, helloooo I'm glad to find more blogs xd well I would like to request headcanons for riddle, azul, vil and rook reacting to their female reader (they are already in an established relationship~) doing this: " happy-pharrel williams by: cara delevigne :) " just like the video mc is a model who is always herself, dances and likes to make faces in her photo shoots ;)) tkm!!

SUMMARY: Riddle, Azul, Vil, and Rook dating goofy model!!

WARNINGS: None!!

COMMENTS: i don't have another blog so i think you have me confused with someone else ^^" but hello anon!! you are actually my first requester and i thought that video was really sweet (in a weird way AHSGFDAH) sigh i havent heard that song in YEARS.

~~~~~

Riddle Rosehearts

At first, Riddle doesn’t know what to make of your photoshoots. The pictures his mother had hanging in their house did not look like the pictures you take at all.

You’re going to have to tell him that those pictures his mother has are of really really old people that posed for hours and not modern modeling.

“Wait, so you mean you don’t wear—?” “Nope! I wear modern clothing and my shoots are super chill! You should come watch sometime!”

It’s nice to see you so happy though. You're so confident when you're in your element. It’s a side of you that Riddle truly admires since not many have your charisma. It’s a quality he values in the Queen of Hearts (even though his dormmates will tell you he doesn’t have much of it himself, oops!)

He will actually make time to come to your shoots since you asked him to. He’s a bit awkward, eyes darting around the room at all the equipment he doesn’t recognize.

Then he sees you, and you wave so happily to him that he can’t help but smile too. He’s surprised at how calm you are in front of the camera, and even more surprised when you start making silly faces and dancing around.

Once your shoot is over, you bounce over to him with a smile and ask what he thought. Well, he thought you were stunning. But is he going to tell you that straight up? Unfortunately, no he won’t.

But it’s obvious enough in his pink cheeks and proud expression.

Azul Ashengrotto

“Well, my dear angelfish, if you ever want to have a photoshoot in the Mostro Lounge, I would not be opposed to allowing you that opportunity!” Free promotion for the lounge hell yeah!

Azul is shocked when you not only take him up on his offer, but use his tables and chairs as props. He walks in on you brandishing a chair like it's a weapon, screaming bloody murder as you stab at the air.

He’s flabbergasted. He is bamboozled. He is shocked. Angelfish...what are you doing?! Despite all his questions, he hangs back and watches you work, eyes wide and brow furrowed in confusion.

He watches you set down the chair and run over to the bar, where you place a glass on your head and balance it for the camera. Azul tenses up because omg that glass is EXPENSIVE—

He has to hide his face in his hands and scream quietly when you set the glass down and run to one of the tables, climbing on top of it and beaming at the camera. He doesn’t understand what kind of photoshoot this is at all.

Like, how is he supposed to use these as promotional photos? People should not be acting like this in the Mostro Lounge...he’s only making an exception because it’s you.

There’s a small part of him that expects you to start taking things seriously at some point, or that you’re just joking around with your crew right now. That time doesn’t come.

Your photoshoot wraps up, and you run over to Azul and hug him tightly. He laughs nervously, patting your back.

“So angelfish...what was all that?” “It’s how I model!!” Gah, he can’t say anything to that smile.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil is impressed to hear that you’re a model and offers you a collaboration. Of course, that offer will only stand if you’ve been following his skincare routine.

Now, Vil is a more serious model. It proves difficult to model with him, but surprisingly, you two manage! The crew thinks you may have a telepathic connection or something.

Because while Vil is posing, with no expression on his face and he holds the camera's gaze, you’re behind him with his hair dryer, pretending to dry your hair.

There's another shoot they do where Vil poses for you, and you’re pretending to do his makeup. You stick your tongue out and shut one of your eyes for emphasis, a dramatic facial expression that makes Vil want to roll his eyes.

He adores you, he really does, but he didn’t expect you to be so goofy in your photoshoots. Especially when you start dancing around with cans of spray paint.

You threaten to spray him and he gives you an ice-cold glare that only makes you laugh even harder. “Improvised hair dye,” you call it. Vil can’t say he agrees, but since you didn’t actually do anything to his hair he can’t complain.

Once the photoshoot is over, Vil takes mental notes on your style of modeling and suggests the next photoshoot should be about contrast.

You shrug and say it sounds fun, and Vil is baffled that you agreed so quickly, but then again should he really be surprised? You’re all about having fun.

Rook Hunt

Oh, Rook adores this! He thinks you look radiant and would buy tickets every day to see you frolic on whatever set you’ve chosen.

He would love to prep you for the shoot too, whether that be makeup or hair or helping you with your outfit! Please let him help...please.

Your crew might have to kick him out if he makes too much of a racket yelling about how amazing you look.

It really is quite flattering, but sometimes they need things a little quieter so you're not too carefree.

He'll bring you a bouquet after every modeling session just to display his unbridled support (but not without a cheesy line about the flower's beauty being nothing compared to you.)

If you ever bring up him being in your photoshoot, Rook will be shocked but absolutely elated. You want him in the presence of your beauty?

He fits your carefree attitude so well and is a natural in front of the camera!! Of course, if any of the people working your shoot mention this, he'll start rambling about Vil's beauty and how it prepared him for this day.

I hope you're ready to have a guest at your photoshoots a lot now!! Rook isn't letting this one go.

[negronispagliato]

of fine tastes || modern!soma jarlskona

summary: soma rescues you from an awful date.

words: idk but they’re all gay.

note: merry first day of queermas y’all. IYKYK. Please ignore the fact that I was supposed to post this during pride month LMAO

As always MINORS DNI.

9 pm.

It had already been an entire hour that you’ve reluctantly decided to stay for a date you reluctantly agreed to even more. When you weren’t too busy essentially eye fucking the brunette woman that kept sending smiles your way, you were checking your phone to see if the son of your mother’s work friend had even bothered to send a smoke signal of any kind.

Both of your mothers were really adamant (well, his more than yours, because even your own mother had her limits) about you going on this already disastrous date. It was something you had successfully avoided for months, until your mother had bamboozled you into the other night over Sunday dinner.

It was to be beneficial for everyone’s sake, especially for both families considering how well off everyone involved was. But you didn’t give a shit about doing things for other people’s benefit. You weren’t interested in standing there and looking pretty for someone who wouldn’t appreciate it, and you definitely already had a very successful business of your own to tend to.

Please do me this favor, little bird. You could practically hear your mother’s voice right in your ear as you sipped on another glass of finely aged Bordeaux, glancing at the mysterious woman yet again. As you swallow the carefully savored wine, you tilt your glass over to her in thanks before checking your phone for the umpteenth time in that moment.

You sigh, clearly annoyed that the guy hadn’t considered that your own time was equally as valuable.

“Sorry I’m late.”

The sudden intrusion shakes your attention, making you grimace. The guy removes his jacket and shakes it slightly, making a few raindrops fall into the half eaten bread basket, making you grimace. Though the contents were no longer as warm as your initial outlook on this date, you had been planning on at least having one thing to eat for coming all the way out here.

He’s already a little too posh for your liking. From his borderline condescending tone down to the way he extends a hand for you to shake (or kiss like he was some sort of mafia don, if you had to take a guess)--he’s rubbing you in all sorts of wrong ways. He looks like he stepped right out of a Men’s Health magazine--the epitome of picture perfect to most conventional people.

But you weren’t conventional, and you weren’t interested in picture perfect.

It takes a Herculean effort not to roll your eyes as you shake his hand in an impersonal way, also introducing yourself, before settling back in the respective seats again. You make a mental note about thoroughly washing your hands if you ever managed to make a clean break for the bathroom.

This guy hadn’t really done much of anything with a lot of effort. But you figured that was his thing--doing not a whole lot while blowing the effort out of proportion when it seemed most convenient to him. He hadn’t even bothered to ask if you had arrived to the date well, or if you had even looked forward to this inconvenience at all.

He was on just this side of icy with the waiter, all but shooing him off with his drink order. But most of all, he had interrupted the intense eye fucking that had been going on between you and the ridiculously attractive lady at the bar, currently surrounded by the menagerie of her friends.

You’re hoping he doesn’t mistake the shiver and flush you’re suddenly overcome with as something of his doing.

“I see you already helped yourself.” He says, eyeing the open bottle of Saint-Emilion that was already half empty along with the bread basket, “I hope you’re not too expensive down the line.”

Leaning back in your seat as you take another sip of wine, you glance over at your not so secretive admirer. Unlike you, it looks like she’s clearly enjoying herself with the company she has, an arm draped around a rather tall blonde woman in what was hopefully a friendly way. Part of you wishes that it had been her instead of the lukewarm wet mop sitting in front of you. Lord only knows how much you would’ve enjoyed yourself more with her.

“Are you normally this quiet, or do you just save it for the bedroom?”

Turning back to your intended company of the evening, you couldn’t stifle the budding frustration in your stomach at offensive question. It was like no part of him was redeemable the longer you sat in his presence: misogynistic, condescending, and much too aloof for someone who’s probably had the silver spoon up his ass since the umbilical cord formed.

It’s also as if he’s been scrutinizing you the entire night. He’s got too much of an eagle eye on the way you hold your fork. The way you chew and wipe your lips with the cloth napkin. You can’t really get a word in while he’s talking about mostly himself and what he does at his family’s company. But it’s not like you’re really all that interested in having any sort of conversation with him anyway.

That’s why you feel no remorse when your gaze flitters back to your pseudo date again.

The weight of her stare doesn’t pass you by entirely. Another glance proves your guess correct, making you smirk a little. You tear your eyes away knowing you were looking a little too long, struggling to stifle a laugh when you look at the quizzical expression on your actual date’s face.

The date clearly wasn’t between you and him anymore. It hadn’t been for the perpetual drone of his stuffy drawl, and the fact that he hadn’t realized it clearly amused you most of all.

It was clear that the not so foreign stranger was still interested in you by the way your skin prickled in goosebumps. It was also clear that in all his talking, your date hadn’t even bothered to compliment your dress. For all you knew, it could’ve been too inappropriate for his tastes.

Fuck this guy, you thought. He clearly didn’t have any good tastes in clothes to even compliment you. He could fucking choke on his own self importance for all you cared.

Seeing as one out of the two of them seemed to genuinely enjoy your outfit, you figured it would be a shame to let your dress go to waste. You had put in great effort, as you do with most things in your life, and you were determined to get your much deserved validation from someone who’d truly appreciate it, and you.

You lean forward to rest your elbows on the table, resting your chin on top of your laced fingers to try and fight the urge to keep the slit of your dress revealing any more of your leg. You subtly cross one over the other, clenching your legs slightly, pushing your cleavage out a little to give a lovely view. Clearly none of it was for Wet Mop’s enjoyment in any kind of way.

By some miracle, the message you were trying to send reached its intended recipient.

“Someone you know?” He asks, finally looking at you fully for the first time that night. He glances at your cleavage, grimacing.

“Hm?” You cooly glance at your intended participant in this date, awful at hiding the sparkling interest in your eyes. “Oh, not at all.”

Not yet, at least.

You always were an awful liar.

For the first time that night, Wet Mop gives you a semblance of an unrehearsed smile. He waits for you to elaborate, giving you time to sip and appreciate the wine you were gifted.

“I suppose it’s not too ridiculous to owe our admirer a thank you,” he adds after a poignant, uncomfortable silence. He was clearly feeling ignored, having trouble getting you to look at him longer than he liked you too.

“You mean my admirer.” You correct a little too quickly for his liking.

“I’m sorry?” He raises a brow, his expression matching the incredulous tone.

“You were late to this dinner by more than an hour, nowhere to be found. Didn’t even send so much as a courtesy text, so you could’ve stood me up for all I’ve cared.” The words came out a little more vehemently that you meant them too, but if he noticed it would be news to you. “So she is my admirer”

It doesn’t take anyone with half a brain cell to figure out what someone like Wet Mop would react like when hearing that his “competition” was another woman. Someone as smug as he is, you can only brace yourself for the incredibly disgusting response you’ve received a million times before.

“Oh, then I have nothing to worry about.” He waves his hand as if to shoo away some superfluous thing flying around, laughing easily.

The very phrase itself makes you chortle loud enough to make him look at you weirdly again. Knowing that he was waiting for you to clarify yourself once more, you sigh and roll your eyes.

“I’m bisexual”

“Oh!” he pipes up, eyes shining bright like he found some new toy to play with. Once again you feel your stomach roiling at the idea that was cooking up in his gelled up head. “So that means you--”

“Yes.”

“Would you be--”

“Absolutely fucking not.” You snap immediately, cutting off whatever fuckery he was already forming up in his brain.

Whether it was a request for a threesome or a request for you to not be…”obvious” (whatever the fuck that meant), you weren’t going to put up with it. You never had to, and you weren’t about to start tonight. Especially not from another guy who couldn’t even keep dinner appointments the least bit interested in what he had to say.

Wet Mop doesn’t get much of a chance to say anything, jumping a little when you toss the cloth napkin a little too hard on the table. You didn’t give a fuck if it knocked anything over, you were sure he could afford it. He could complain about it to both of your mothers too, for all you fucking cared.

Snatching your clutch bag, you give him a murderous glare before shoving the chair back and making your way to the ladie’s room to cool off. Under any other circumstance, maybe one where you didn’t have any semblance of sanity or taste in actual human beings, you might’ve entertained your mother’s idea of becoming someone’s trophy wife.

You knew you’d get yelled at for ditching him with a mouth gaping like a fish struggling for air, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to give a fuck about it or him.

It’s not like you’re against the idea of threesomes, or inexperienced with them by any stretch of the imagination. But you just didn’t like it when men did this shit to you, or when women declared you gay by virtue of being with them. You knew exactly who you were, and you weren’t ever going to entertain anyone’s bullshit.

You’re determined not to have your resolve whittle away when you see that you have to pass by the enticing and tall brunette stranger to get to the women’s bathroom. She’s probably not paying attention to you anymore, but it doesn’t make the feeling in your stomach any less floppy.

You try to keep the knowing smirk at a minimum as you pass her by, squaring your shoulders and swaying your hips confidently as you pass her by, muttering a small “excuse me” to avoid bumping into another patron. You don’t see her stormy eyes following you, but you can sure feel them on your back.

Even if you never spoke tonight, she’d supplied you with plenty to fantasize about later over more wine and a nice, hot bath. Cliché, yeah, but you couldn’t help it.

Barreling into the surprisingly empty bathroom, you let the door slam in on itself as you let out a deep breath. You set your clutch down on the marbled countertop, turning the knob for the cold water to dip your hands into, and cool yourself--and the rage you were feeling, off.

You wondered about the mysterious woman back at the bar, and how she seemed to be having a genuinely fun time with what seemed like the rest of her friends. You figured you could probably scrawl your number on one of the thick, fancy gold embossed napkins--maybe pass it off to a waiter to give to her if you wanted to be mysterious about it all.

You’d make your way back home while it was all happening. Maybe start a nice warm bath that you were pondering earlier, with even more wine while spending some quality time with the plug and the vibrator; thinking about the woman that had already enraptured you so easily while you dragged out your own climax and pretending your fingers were here own, fantasizing about her voice.

Blinking at your reflection in the massive and well lit mirror, you pondered at the kind of compliments the woman would tell you. But you let out a hum of disappointment, knowing that the interaction the two of you had back outside was just a one off thing, a fantasy never to actually be acted upon.

You shrug, figuring you could at least take a decent selfie of yourself before making your way out the back. You adjust the imaginary wrinkles in your dress, letting your hands linger on your waist for a moment before they travel up to your chest.Taking advantage of an empty bathroom, you shamelessly adjust your plush breasts. You let your palms linger, gently squeezing and caressing, once again wondering what it’d feel like to have her hands on your body instead of your own.

The door suddenly swings open, startling you out of your intimate hype session. But you’re too surprised to even let go of your own breasts, your brain trying to decide on what to do or what excuse to come up with.

Soma’s eyes hold your eye contact in the mirror, letting the door shut behind her. They’re sparkling with lascivious enthusiasm, waiting for you to react.

“Hi there.” She all but coos, voice as smoky and husky as the mezcal she had been drinking earlier. She hums in approval as she looks, her lips curling into a smirk when her gaze travels from your face down to your breasts. You can’t help the way they harden beneath her stare, nor the heat and the slick blooming between your legs.

She’s only said two words to you, and she already has you feeling a lustful weakness in her presence.

You let out something of an embarrassed whine, your agape mouth snapping shut in shame. Soma saunters over to you while keeping eye contact, reaching over to turn off the faucet that was still trickling.

“I’m Soma.” She says in lieu of a hello, resting her hip against the marble counter, angling her body towards your own.

Your breath hitches, hands slowly coming back down to your sides as you imagine running your fingers across the smooth skin of her neck, appreciating the feel of the fine suit she’s wearing.

You swallow hard, almost struggling to say your own name. “Hi, Soma.”

God, you wanted to absolutely melt beneath her with the way she was looking at you like you were her dinner. You’re certain that the lascivious enthusiasm in her eyes is something that must’ve come naturally to her.

“Did you like the wine?” Soma asks, as if she was asking a lover if they liked what she was doing to them in bed. She’s so close to you, standing just there, but she doesn’t do anything. She only looks, waiting for your next move.

“You have fine taste.” You said, nervously wiping your palms on your dress. It takes you a second to catch onto the innuendo of your words, and you’re flushing all over when you realize what you said as Soma bursts out a beautiful, melodic laugh.

“I-I meant the wine…” You huff out, feeling quite embarrassed of your inability to keep a coherent sentence formed around someone attractive.

You were never usually like this around people, especially men. But then again, you had been ensconced in work for so long to even bother going on a date for who knows how long. Soma was the first woman you had been this close to in such a long time, you’d be surprised if you hadn’t turned into a puddle of mush already.

Soma licks her lips, and your eyes can’t help but focus on the way her lips have a natural shine to them. They look just as inviting and tantalizing and sweet as the bottle of Bordeaux she had sent over to your table, that had now long been abandoned along with your tragically awful date.

She catches on to you glancing at the clock above the door, because the next thing she asks you is how much time you’ve got left until you have to go back. She could tell you were trying to plan your escape, even if it meant walking out of the front door and pretending like you couldn’t see him at all.

You swallow again as you feel your pulse quicken, angling your neck to rid yourself of the discomfort. You wondered if you could get Soma to come home with you, or if you could get her to take you home with her. The low huskiness of Soma’s voice and the sparkle of mischief in her eyes reel you in even more, and you knew then that you were a goner.

“Honestly? I don’t give a fuck.”

Soma’s eyes widened slightly at your frankness for the first time that night. For a moment you wonder if you fucked up, if you came onto her too strong or too desperately.

But you’re not left wondering about her intentions with you for much longer at all.

It all happens too fast and too slow at the same time. In a single moment, your feet, ensconced in matching heels, are still on the floor as Soma backs you up further and further until your lower back is pressing into the edge of the counter.

Her soft, perfectly manicured hands roam your torso until she keeps one on your waist while the other one reaches up to softly cradle your jaw, thumb softly tracing your full lips--as if asking for your consent before she proceeds to do anything to you, with you.

You release another whine, unable to hide the way you squeeze your thighs together to keep your slick from escaping the confines of your body and your underwear any more than you could help. Soma keeps your eye contact, humming softly when she feels your lips kiss the pad of her thumb just so before wrapping your lips around it and taking it into your mouth a little, experimenting with how far you could go.

As much as Soma liked the feeling of your tongue around her fingers and how much it made her think what other parts of her could get your lips on and around, she was desperate to kiss you. She slots her lips across your own, hands cradling your head to kiss you more, deeper.

The kiss is all kinds of messy and desperate, hot breaths and moans escaping both of you as hips grind into each other. Your hands finally touch her, roaming everywhere to be able to feel everything, until they reach her chest, slightly smaller but no less plentiful. You knead them softly, experimenting with just how much she liked, earning a shaky moan out of her that you swallow in the kiss.

“Can I--” Her words are slightly shaky as you knead her breasts again, a little more firmly this time, as she rucks up the skirt of your dress.

“I will literally cry if you don’t.”

Soma beams, “Oh. You’ll see.” As much as she loved the way you played with her breasts, she was eager to make you see stars now that she had your attention.

“Up.” She commands, nearly making you come right there and then with the authoritative tone of her voice, “I want to see just how fine my taste is.”

You’re able to steal one more kiss from Soma before she growls, making you quickly place your hands on the counter for support as you hop up with some help from her. You let out a small squeal at the feel of the cool marble on your bare ass, giggling when you see her shake her head.

Soma gently quiets you with a small squeeze to your lush hips, nudging her nose with yours.

“You trust me?” She asks, hands fiddling with the straps of your lacy thong, “Because I’ve got you.”

You dig your teeth into your lips, nodding desperately. A shaky moan escapes you as she unzips your dress slightly so she can pull it down, revealing your bare chest to her.

“Naughty girl.” She coos, eyeing the nipple piercings adorning your chest. A delicate, red gem adorning each end of the metal studs. Soma bends down as she pulls the top of your dress down, practically unwrapping you like a gift, and takes a nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it as if savoring an ice cream.

You hiss at the arousal that sizzles through your body, nearly already lost in the heat of it all until you remember an important detail.

“W-wait, Soma--”

Soma instantly stops, thinking she did something wrong.

“The door..” You gasp out, “Someone will--”

That half smile that had you melting returns to her face. “Maybe they will. I can lock it, if you want.” Soma’s fingers dance across your waist, toying with the fabric of your dress as she pushes it further up slowly. “But isn’t it more exciting, knowing that anyone, even that asshole date of yours, could walk in here while I’m eating you out, my tongue deep in your cunt?”

Soma’s words nearly have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, pulse fluttering as much as your lashes.

Eyes, and lips, meet again. Crashing messily and consuming each other with determination. Soma searches every inch of your soft, lightly cocoa lotion scented skin. Her lips and teeth latch onto whatever part of you will make you shudder and melt underneath her touch. Your fingers hook themselves together behind her neck while she practically unwraps your dress from your body like a gift, letting it pool and gather around your waist.

At this point, your outfit stops resembling a dress entirely--tucked up above the swell of your ass and completely exposing almost your whole body to her. The cool air of the bathroom pebbles your nipples, both of which Soma plays with teasingly, mouth and hand switching breasts.

“You’re not playing fair…” You whine, throwing your head back as your knuckles strain with your tightening hold of the counter’s edge.

Soma draws her lips away with a soft pop, kissing the swell of your breast, then your sternum until the ephemeral kisses reach right below your ear. “I’m not really one to follow the rules. But I like making an art out of breaking them.”

“You’re also wearing too much.” You groan, pouting when Soma tuts at your grabby hands.

“I’ll make it up to you later” She murmurs, loving how you wiggle underneath her touch as she slides the thong over your soft thighs and further down your legs until she can actually take them off and pocket them in her pants. Her hands are on your knees again, massaging them softly. “Spread your legs for me nice and wide, baby.”

The praises were already doing you in, doing wonderful things to the arousal crackling like electricity throughout your body. Your stomach swoops and flutters when Soma glides down to her knees without any hesitation, determined to make you see stars.

You moan softly, head lolling to the side against the mirror, nibbling on your bottom lip as you eagerly spread yourself open for her.

“That’s it, honey.” She coos, rubbing your legs encouragingly before sliding your legs over her shoulders. Her warm breath on your center practically has you shuddering. She makes a whole show of it: sucking and licking her fingers to lubricate them with enough spit. Both of you were sure you were pretty wet as it is, but Soma enjoys making a whole thing of the pleasure she wants to give you. And you enjoyed the pretty show she was giving you.

“Relax for me, ” She says in between soft kisses on your inner thighs, “We’re both going to enjoy the hell out of this.”

You whine even more when Soma softly blows some air over your center, teasing you just over your slit by kissing you everywhere but directly where you want. She looks up at you, enjoying the way she watches you squirm, desperate for her to fuck you.

“Please,” You whine, “Want it, want you.”

Soma finally decides to indulge you, and herself. Holding on to your legs that were over her shoulders, she opens you a little wider and makes sure you’re not going anywhere before she digs in. Her tongue softly laps at your folds to spread the arousal. She hums at the taste of you, the sounds vibrating against you.

Soma is absolutely driving you up the wall with need, each soft kiss and lick stoking the fire hotter. She explores your cunt like she did the rest of you, tongue lapping at you from your hole to your clit until she pushes her face in, determined to make good on her promise to make you cry.

When you feel her slide a finger, then another in, you slap a hand against the marble counter, squealing when she begins to curl her fingers in the way she could tell you liked. Just like with your nipples, she takes your clit into her lips, softly rolling it with her tongue while her fingers play you like a game she’s played thousands of times before.

Your hips start to squeeze her head, making Soma hum loudly against your clit. The sensation gets you to start rolling your hips, wanting her fingers to go in as deep as they could. Soma learns fast, loving the way you preen at the way she touches that spot that has you melting and your mouth dropping open. She slides in a third finger, and you moan at how full you feel. You let out the most embarrassing noises, sobbing at how very little effort it takes Soma to get you to the precipice of your orgasm. Sagging breaths leave your lungs when you feel her fingers come to a still.

“Shhh, baby, keep quiet for me.” She digs her free fingers into your thigh when you try to move and seek more pleasure. “You don’t want anyone checking in on us because of the noise and walking in, do you?” She moans when she feels your velvety walls clench around her fingers, letting her feel just how wet she was making you. “Oh, you like it when people watch,” —tsk-tsk— “naughty bunny.”

“Maybe next time we can get someone to join, huh? Would you like that, kitten? Have someone watch us while I ruin your pussy with a toy?”

“I-I...” Your body starts to shake, hips meeting the thrusts of her fingers. You prop your leg up on her shoulder, keening at the groan she releases when she feels your heel dig into her shoulder. “Please, I want it. I’m gonna--’mgonna cum soon. Fuck. I wanna cum so bad, please.” —”You wanna cum, baby? Wanna make a mess all over me?” — “Pleasepleaseplease.” — “That’s my girl, there you go. You’re doing so good for me, honey.”

You thread your fingers through Soma’s hair, tugging at her roots the more your orgasm builds and builds inside of you. You think you’re being too rough on her, but you’re proven wrong by the way Soma groans at the pull of her hair in pleasure the more she eats you out like a woman starved. It makes her actions on you grow more enthusiastic than before.

That familiar flutter in the pit of your belly comes alive again when Soma keeps her fingers in you, rolling her tongue harder against your clit, curling her knuckles deeper in your weeping slit as the tips of her fingers toy with the spongy spot inside of you.

“Fuck, that’s it…’m so close.” You moan, “s’little more…”

A loud, sharp knock rattles the door and you gasp, sweaty body trembling as your blooming climax leaves you boneless and breathless. You groan loudly, feeling yourself make a mess all over the counter and on Soma’s face. You bite your lip harshly to try and muffle the moans the best you can, even if it meant tasting copper on your tongue.

Soma is careful to slow down her movements, cooing to you about how good of a job you did making a mess all over her as you tremble and come down from your high.

The voices from behind the door grow more desperate and instant. You start to scramble to get your dress back on you, but Soma is already on it, helping you zip up. She pulls away after kissing your forehead to bark orders at the people behind the door, “Give us a damn minute! Dealing with some issues if you couldn’t tell!”

Leaning into Soma’s arms as she rubs your back while zipping up your dress, you chortle into her shoulder.

Soma listens for a few more moments, making sure the footsteps fade away for sure before getting her attention back onto you. She hums softly, a small smile on her lips when she sees the dopey, soft look on your face as you practically curl yourself into her embrace.

“How do you feel?” She asks, cradling your face after tossing the napkin used to clean your smudged makeup into the bin. “You okay?”

“Mm,” you purr, closing your eyes for a moment as you appreciate the feel of her caressing your face, “I just need a moment.”

“Been a long time?” Soma jokes, chuckling when she sees you nod bashfully.

Despite regaining the feeling back in your legs, you’re feeling much too self indulgent to even think of forcing yourself out of Soma’s arms. It wasn’t like she was forcing you to get off her either, so the both of you indulge yourselves in a close embrace, soft coos and whispers in between short kisses and giggles. You can’t help yourself but shiver at the way Soma licks the remainder of your climax from the corner of her lips, so you try to regain some composure by holding her hand after hopping down from the counter.

“When can I return the favor?” You ask her, glancing at yourself in the mirror to make sure you looked the most presentable as you could.

“Is this your way of trying to get my number?” She teases, squeezing your hand before cleaning up herself.

Your cheeks heat up again, using your tongue to soothe your swollen lips. “I was actually hoping you’d wanna come home to mine, or uh..me to yours. Whatever works.”

One step, then another, and Soma is in front of you again. There’s something about the way she towers over you despite being almost the same height as her that has you feeling small, protected by her enough to be able to let your guard down.

“I like it when you’re bold.” She says in a hushed tone, holding your chin with her thumb and forefinger. Soma’s always been used to the women that are much too shy for her own liking.

“Not as bold as fucking someone else’s date on the bathroom counter.” Already, you were thinking about taking her thumb into your mouth again.

“Touché. But you’re going to break that guy’s heart, you leaving with me.”

You roll your eyes, “It was an arranged date. We only met an hour ago.”

“So did we.”

“So what if we did?” You ask, holding her wrist as she cradles your jaw, kissing the pad of her thumb softly. “You ditched your friends too.”

“That I did.” She conceded.

“Then, I’d like to find out what you’d be like on a proper date, Soma.” You say, before sticking close to her as you two weasel your way out of the restaurant, ignoring the looks the both of you get.

“I think I’d like to find out too, ” She agrees, arm around you as she unashamedly rests her hand on your butt.

[toxictoxicities]

You’ve been bamboozled, I’m stealing your 5 pebby

It'll be a fight man XD not with me, with him

[eoieopda]

[ateez as tinder dudes]

this is a joke, but i’m also convinced that i’m correct, so… there’s that. also, don’t look at me, incorporating a fourth (FOURTH!!!) group on my blog. i don’t want to talk about it 🫣

hongjoong

he’s treating this like a portfolio. he’s got the max number of pics uploaded, and they’re all editorial, like he’s expecting to be scouted. is he repping a brand? is he just flexing that he’s got better style than you ever will? he knows this is tinder, right? no.

absolutely no bio, whatsoever. his age isn’t even listed, somehow. you know nothing about him except that he owns more than one cowboy hat, and honestly? that’s all you need to know.

you’re actually 98.4% sure that he’s a catfish — who just looks like that? — but that’s not going to stop you from swiping right to see if he did, too.

he did not.

seonghwa

he’s intentionally using pics of him with his mother, with kids, with small animals, etc. because he’s calculating. couldn’t be more of a targeted attack if the profile was computer-generated. frankly, you can’t say if it was or wasn’t. suspiciously perfect.

that’s where the tinder prowess stops. he doesn’t know how the swiping feature works so he’s swiped right on everyone. oops.

his bio has subsections — plural — with endearingly dorky interests laid out in full. he’s well-rounded and objectively attractive to literally all people. man is everybody’s type, esp. yours.

tragically, he has never once responded to a message, and he never will.

yunho

he must’ve made this as a joke, right? every picture of him is hilariously unflattering or a recreation of a meme or some childhood photo, except the last one — which is a meme. it’s something obscure that appeals to the sense of humor of exactly .01% of the population. you can tell by looking at him that he is chronically online and had unrestricted internet access as a kid.

his bio is also absurd. this dude has something like “my first words were, ‘this human form is limiting’”, and it’s extremely polarizing. on purpose. puts his whole personality right there, right from the get-go because it will ward the wrong people off and flag down the exact niche he’s targeting.

i feel like he’s either a lukewarm conversationalist that makes you wonder how the rest of his profile was so funny, or the first conversation is an incredible, god-tier bit — and then, when the bit runs its course, you realize that he deleted his profile, never to be seen again.

rip

yeosang

all of his pictures paint an image of someone hard and edgy, and you’ve got it all wrong. you’ve been fully bamboozled, bestie. that is a whole ass fairy princess.

always messages first and/or responds immediately, revealing that he’s the most “uwu” person of all time. seriously, what the fuck? people unironically use “hehehe”? in this day and age? ^_^

unexpected gem. the person he actually is isn’t someone you would normally shoot your shot with, but you’re not mad about it.

one of the rare few on the app who would rather die than find a hookup (the idea makes him itchy, okay?) but he will actually seek and find a future spouse, just watch.

san

most of his photos are of him and his friend (it’s wooyoung. of course it’s wooyoung), and the subtext is so confusing that you can’t tell if they’re looking for a third or are just guys being buds ??? what is happening, and why are you so into it?

the photos that don’t include his friend (boyfriend? seriously, what is going on there?) are all action shots because he needs you to know that he is athletic and built. you do not need to wonder what he looks like naked because he’s not wearing a shirt in any of them.

he’s got the stock photo equivalent of a bio. most uninteresting thing you’ve ever seen, so you do not hit him up.

you should have :( you would’ve loved him.

mingi

i regret to inform you that this man has the most cringeworthy online presence of all time. god, he’s so fuckboi-coded!! and you hate him for it, but you hate yourself even more for being into because you sure are, diva!!!

i feel like the song on his profile is extremely questionable, either because it’s some bizarre, ambient instrumental; by someone that’s been justifiably cancelled and you don’t know whether or not he knows that; or worse, it’s his own.

all of his pictures are group pictures. you cannot tell for the life of you which one of them he is, requiring you to go to the instagram he’s referenced in his bio — which is exactly the point. the instagram links to his soundcloud because it can get worse.

if you actually bite the bullet and respond to his shitty pick-up line, he’s the bbygirl to end all bbygirls. absolute heart of gold. you almost want to smack him for being so bad at marketing himself.

get him a PR person to straighten his shit out; mingi is fired.

wooyoung

this motherfucker has deleted and remade his profile 8,000 times because he needs to “reset his matches” aka has spent every waking moment swiping.

he probably pays for tinder so he can swipe in other locations — not because he’s looking for anyone, but because he wants people to look at him.

you have to wonder who took the photos because they’re sure as shit not selfies but they’re all vaguely chic thirst traps (it was san. of course it was san.)

when it comes to messages, he either communicates exclusively with emojis or gifs, or he only responds to compliments. small talk? NOPE. tell him he’s pretty or get out :’)

if you do wind up linking (because the whole conversation thing is a lost cause), he’s insane. you’ll spend one night with him, never see him again, and you will remember him on your deathbed.

was he a ghost or a fever dream? you’ll never know.

jongho

he’s only here because his friends made him, and he will make that crystal clear. nothing else will be, though. he’s either got an extremely dry sense of humor + is deeply ironic, or he’s genuinely that odd.

all of his photos are identical selfies (expression, location, angle, etc.) and the only difference is the shirt he’s wearing. is…. is that on purpose? is he being funny, or is he seriously that much of a cartoon character? WHO KNOWS.

tbh, he’s the dude that makes a profile, finds an IRL partner immediately, and totally forgets he has a profile because he deleted the app ages ago. this is tragic; he would’ve been just your type.

message him all you want, bestie. it won’t work.

[alienaiver]

Can you share the Shinsou scenario that made you cry? 👀📠

I DONT NORMALLY WRITE ANGST SO... UH 🫡......i also cried again as i wrote it IDJIWAODJSEFSE 🤡 imagine my BETRAYAL as all i did was try and find some comfort before sleep????? 😨 i was so bamboozled

wordcount: 1.6k warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH but happy ending (trust me i guess), sfw, hurt/comfort, angst, MAJOR HURT, more of my Shinsou can't name cats for shit-shenanigans, gender neutral reader, no use of y/n, midoriya's there too and aizawa's mentioned, implied erasermic family, (i actually dont know much abt sleep cycles. ignore that), unbeta'd, not proofwritten, hope i didnt break ur hearts 😭

The curtains flutter in the wind as the only indication that anything’s changed in the apartment. You don’t notice it, comfortably resting in the REM-part of your sleep cycle. You’re currently walking through a field with flowers, incredibly picturesque and almost so dreamy that your mind seems half aware that it’s not awake – but not entirely. In your nostrils the scent of burned leather and ashes flare up, making you scrunch up your nose in confusion. You blearily clench your eyes tightly, both in reality and in the dream. That’s when you feel the arm lazily wrapped over your shoulder and onto your chest. You hear Shinsou sigh out tiredly before he noses into the nape of your neck. A half-hearted, sleepy groan leaves you at his audacity to come into bed directly from his nightshift. He knows better.

You grumble out some unintelligible words that sound close enough to a reprimand that he tightens his hold on you, “jus’ shut up. Just needed to smell and feel you real quick.”

There’s no bite in his voice and you lean back against him with a scowl, “you’re changing the sheets after your shower.”

He laughs lightly. It’s warm and gruff and so, so him. You love his sleepy, exhausted laugh the most and it brings a smile to your own face as you try to ignore the stench of the battlefield on him. You want to ask if he’s hurt but your eyes are drifting again, wrapped in his warmth like this.

You suppose he’d tell you to help wrap up wounds if he needed to. You nod off again.

What feels both like several hours and only milliseconds after you drifted off, your phone starts ringing angrily and noisily on the bedside table. You’re not one to have the sound on but whenever Shinsou has night shifts, you seem to switch it on as part of your own night routine. It makes you fall asleep easier, knowing they’ll be able to get through to you.

You nose your pillow for a few moments in hopes it’s just a dream before you clumsily reach out for it in blindness, knocking over the little cat figurine Shinsou bought for you the last time he was in Kyoto. Just as you have the phone in your grasp, you hear the doorbell ring as well. What time is it?

The screen is bright, painfully so and even as you squint your eyes, the name seems distorted, like you’ve forgotten how letters look. The contact picture tells you everything you need to, though, as a picture of Midoriya in a field of sunflowers you took last year paints the screen.

You pick up and before you’re able to even greet him, you hear the knock on your door. Huh. Midoriya does have a spare key – the doorbell might’ve just been to warn you he’s on his way. He says your name in a strained tilt you hear from him often at the office when he’s confronted with problems. It makes you raise your brows in confusion. You sit up and repeat his own name to him as your hands feel the sheets for Shinsou. He’s not there and based on the temperature he hasn’t been there for a while. Maybe he’s taking a bath. Normally he only takes showers after nightshifts, but based on the burned smell, you think he might need a minute.

Did he forget to report back that he went home? There are protocols for this, you think as you get up and find a shirt on the ground, letting Midoriya know you’re on your way to the door to let him in.

You settle easily onto the couch with Midoriya standing stiff by the coffee table. You laugh, “I’m sorry, I just woke up so… would you like a coffee? My manners are a little off,” you laugh, scratching the back of your neck. Midoriya doesn’t answer but smiles at you. He’s about to say something when you accidentally interrupt, “I’m sure Shinsou’s done in a minute in the bath. He doesn’t like long baths.” You don’t notice the way Midoriya grimaces before he can control his conflicting and confusing emotions at your words.

Midoriya bends down into a squat in front of you and takes your hands. His gloves are burned. He smells the same as Shinsou did.

Your name sounds foreign coming out of his mouth as you recognize the tone of his voice. You’ve stood next to him before, delivering news like this. Your mind instantly puts up walls and your eyes lose their light. He sees the change instantly and squeezes your hands, “at 2.32AM we received a request for support. There’d been a fire in a department store that’d spread to living quarters. They needed help evacuating.”

He tells you more – a lot more, given the fact that you’re colleagues. But you’re not sure how much you actually take in before you interrupt him with a borderline hysterical laughter, “’Zuku, he’s in the bath – he came home. He stank up our entire bed with the smell of burned skin and ashes. He smelled like you! I wouldn’t be able to think that unless…. Unless…” you sniffle and look up at Midoriya again, your eyes glassy and looking for any sort of hope yet finding none.

You try to get up. You need to check the bathroom, you bet his suit’s littered all over the bedroom floor on the way but Midoriya keeps you in place with his hands, begging you to calm down.

Calm down? You’re not even in a panicked state. You’ve seen loved ones break at this kind of news, you’re fine.

You’re fine because it’s not true.

It can’t be.

You’re supposed to have sukiyaki tomorrow. It’s his favorite. The groceries are in the fridge.

His birthday present is nestled in with your winter clothes where he doesn’t look, waiting to be opened on Saturday.

Your cat only wants to nap on his lap. Where’s she gonna go now?

Where are you gonna go now?

It’s like your spine breaks. You fall over, unable to hold yourself upright and Midoriya’s there to catch you, hushing and tutting. Clenching and caressing. Repeating strews and mixes of apologies and mutterings of encouragement. He’ll be there. They’ll all be there. Aizawa’s already on his way over here.

You can say goodbye at the hospital when you’re ready. Mise, the cat named after a store because she always showed up at the same time the convenience store opened and closed, can go with them and be with you at Aizawa and Yamada’s place. They’re even bringing a leash and a carrier so you won’t have to look for them.

You keep telling Midoriya to stop. Stop talking, stop planning, stop muttering.

He doesn’t listen. He keeps listing solutions like a bad coping mechanism, unable to really handle the loss himself.

He gets up slowly, not letting go of your hands. You hear his own bones crack and whine, being bent like this for so long.

How long?

At the loss of contact you didn’t want and was convinced you didn’t need; you panic. You start trashing, crying, screaming. You’ll fall apart if nobody holds you together right now. You need Shinsou to do so. You yell his name, his nickname, his full name. You yell everything you can’t keep in, in the hopes that he’ll come back. Come back and hold you.

You stand in the living room and your back suddenly feels wet; warm. There’re arms around you, clenching you and legs wrapped around your own legs. You’re lying down, not standing and you feel dizzy with that information. Mise already left the bed, perched on the dresser as to not get hurt in your pain. She doesn’t like seeing you like this, but she also doesn’t understand it. She trusts no one but Shinsou.

The sixth time he says your name your eyes shoot up and the brightness of your bedroom burns you, making you cave in on yourself with a shrill shriek. “There you are.” Shinsou’s voice says calmly, a hint of praise laced into his words. The koala grip he has on your body loosens as you find yourself, your breathing subconsciously following Shinsou’s caricatured deep breaths, the ones he knows your body will follow even if your mind can’t wrap their heads around it.

“’ts okay,” he hushes and kisses the back of your head, your cheek, “’m here. I’m here, my love.”

With snot and tears terrorizing your face you struggle to turn around. As soon as you see Shinsou’s face, it’s like a new wave of tears hits you, and a loud sob leaves you again, your hands traveling to his face to squeeze every square inch of it. He lets you. No raised eyebrows or jabs, just waits patiently for you to realize he’s there. He kisses your hand as it passes his lips and your breath hitches before another sob leaves you.

Then,

“The bed is soaked,” you cry out, hiccupping and sobbing. Shinsou laughs. He’d heard you trash around from his bath and ran to you the minute you yelled his name the first time. He’d promised to change the sheets before they got wet anyways. You’ll just sleep cuddled close on the couch instead he decides and leans in to kiss you properly. Your muscles all relax at the contact, flatlining into a relaxed state, only residual sobs leaving your body. He strokes your head and then lets his palm rest by your jaw, “I’m here.”

[chambersandfogg]

October 18th, 1921

My dear Mr. Fogg,

What wonderful news! Mister Ziegfeld is certainly unprepared for the competition you’re going to levy against him. Is the theater already fit for mounting productions? If I remember that building correctly, it has always housed a theater, yes? Though I’ve no doubt that you’ll wish to make your own modifications. Whenever it is ready and you premiere your first show, I’ll be in the audience opening night. Just send me the details the moment you have them.

I know you said you don’t have intentions toward making it a magic act, but before you give yourself over entirely to producing musical comedies, I’d urge you to consider a short run of your own. I know that Fogg the Fearless hasn’t performed in many years, nor would you—or should you—want to connect your face with his name at this juncture, but there’s nothing to say you couldn’t create a new stage persona. You were always a terribly talented magician, John, loathe though I am to admit it, and you would be astounded at what modern technology enables in illusion. I would very much like to see what you’d do with it.

That said, the old tricks are as prevalent as ever, and I do mean tricks. The world of entertainment—even the world of thought and discourse in some cases!—is full of mal-intented characters determined to convince his fellow man that spirits are real. While you’ve been busy re-entering the theatrical sphere as a producer with gold-lined pockets, I’ve also been dipping my toe back into our old profession, but this time on the side of the skeptic.

Perhaps you won’t be surprised to hear it. After all, we would get into long arguments all those years ago about the merits of belief versus cold hard facts, with myself always coming down on the side of ‘dullards and fun-killers’ as I believe you put it. Even after our little mishap, it took me many years to believe in anything even close to magic, as you well know. And this is not to say that I do believe in magic—I am as convinced as ever that what has happened to us is a matter of science we do not yet understand—but I do consider myself a more open-minded person. I would go on about how I owe that flexibility in gray matter to you, but I wouldn’t want to inflate your ego even further. I’m sure it is at risk of carrying your head up into the sky now that you own a building that occupies an entire city block of Manhattan.

All this to say, our peculiar circumstances and my willingness to be proven wrong aside, I no more believe in magic now than I did ten years ago. And, you would think, with science and progress moving forward as it does, that that would be true for the general populace world over. And yet the myths persist! Mediums, psychics, and fortune tellers abound. And they are as greedy and tricksome as ever. So, I have taken it upon myself to unmask them.

That’s right, I have made my fun-ruining an art and a job. I’m just getting started, but I’ve so far thoroughly enjoyed following in the footsteps of our colleague, Houdini. This is one area in which I do not mind that we’re both going after the same goal, as I think the endeavor is a pure and civic-minded one. I’ve attended countless séances and the like, and I do supremely hope that one day I shall bear witness to something I cannot explain away, but for now, I am getting great pleasure out of revealing the schemes and strategies these charlatans use to bamboozle those who are willing to pay to have some measure of comfort brought to their lives.

I do not know that I would be bothered so greatly by the falsehoods were they simply in the service of entertainment. But these people are preying on the tenderest emotions that human beings have—grief, hope, and love. A psychic cannot tell you with certainty that your future holds great things, even if it is heartening to hear so in low times. A medium cannot connect you with those whom you have lost, no matter how desperately you wish to speak to them again. If such a talent were real, I know I would pay no small sum to converse with my parents once more. It is only my experience in the art of illusion that prevents me from being taken in by this promise.

If you do include some magic in your new theater, I would implore you to leave out these more manipulative arts. I know that these kinds of gatherings are popular—I certainly get enough invitations to them—but I believe they are, at their core, cruel. And I have never known you to be cruel.

In any case, please write back what you do plan to mount on your new stage. I am eager to see it. Until that time, I am,

Sincerely Yours, CXC

[a letter received by J.S. Fogg]

[to read the pre-1917 entries, join Atypical Artists and get access to the archive of 24 entries (5,000+ words), as well as ad-free episodes of Atypical's whole catalogue. to receive future monthly missives straight to your inbox, sign up for free here]

[chickenparm]

Tradition - Part Six

Check out @drawlypsy’s full version of the header that can be found here! This is a short chapter but bear with me, we're getting there.

---

“Sn-Snezhnayan tradition dictates in a traditional battle, the winner is allowed to request one thing from the-” another cough, born from phlegm in his throat that rattles wetly, “from the loser.” (or, You accept a bet and despite not winning, you’re not sure if you’ve actually lost.)

Previous Part | Next Part AO3 Link

Childe/f!Reader 1,276 Words - SFW Bamboozled into marriage, awkwardness, fluff, future smut

---

The moment you slipped the Akasha Terminal over your ear, you ceased to dream. 

In Sumeru City, in Gandharva Ville, in Port Ormos, each night is restful, but ultimately void of vivid images in your subconscious. It takes you almost two weeks before you realize the loss of your dreams, and only because you overhear someone make mention of how adults in Sumeru are unable to do so. 

Odd, but not unwelcome. Because during your trip to Sumeru, the only things occupying your dreams were soft orange hair, depthless blue eyes, the exact constellation of freckles across two cheeks that smushed his arm as he leaned on the windowsill and smiled at you sadly. 

Once, he offered to help you. The Fatui have near-endless resources when it comes to information, thanks to a few of the Harbingers being very invested in the exchange of little secrets. But unfortunately, it comes with the caveat of throwing your lot in with them. The Fatui don’t make uneven exchanges, especially when you’ve been somewhat of a thorn in their side for a little too long, now.

In the dark of the inn’s sitting room, the gentle lights from outside the window playing across the two of you, there was an equivalent exchange made. Childe would be heading to Inazuma in your absence to investigate Scaramouche’s actions and disappearance with the gnosis there. It’s no secret you had a hand in it, and he makes you an offer. 

I’ll tell you one piece of information for every piece you afford me, he told you without a shred of dishonesty. We can make each other's life easier. 

In exchange for a promise to be nothing but diplomatic, you tell him a single name; Yae Miko. And he gives you a crooked smirk while making it clear he expects no such promise in return. The name he gives you is twofold - The Doctor, or Il Dottore. Another Harbinger. 

And when you remind him that she’s aware of the arrangement between the two of you, his smile only grows wider. Teasing words leave him about how perhaps you’ll meet him in Inazuma when you’re finished in Sumeru, and the two of you can go ahead and get things set in stone. The elbow to his ribs only makes him laugh a little too loud before you slap a hand over his mouth to keep him from waking Paimon. 

Dreamlessness is a nice reprieve from too many thoughts of a man you won’t be able to see for an indeterminate amount of time. It lets you focus on the task at hand; finding Lesser Lord Kusanali is a task in and of itself. Each day mixes into the next, exhaustion growing until it feels almost too much to bear. 

And then, vaguely, they start again. 

At first, it’s only the wisps of suggestions. A cool scent lingering in your nose as you sit up in bed. The color of the sky at sunset, locked in strands that tickle through your fingers as you reach out for them. Blue, blue, blue eyes that look at you with amusement, annoyance, affection, longing. 

Then, it grows stronger. A shoulder pressed against yours as the surroundings shift nebulously, his presence the only real constant in your subconscious thoughts. How the skin of his cheek felt beneath your lips as you brushed them there, just shy of where you really wanted to touch him. Long fingers gliding across your jaw as he leans in, eyes half-lidded and so very close. 

And then you awaken, your heart filled with longing. Each one is familiar, not because of the subject, but a sick sense of déjà vu. Paimon’s chattering goes in one ear and out the other as you scramble with shaking fingers at the transient edges of dreams you’re desperate for. Each day following those dreams feels as long as a century.

You wake up from those dreams one hundred sixty-eight times.

Every half-baked dream is deposited back in your head with Lesser Lord Kusanali’s knowledge capsule, and your heart feels exhausted and broken each time you receive the gift of your memories. By the time you break the samsara of the Sabzeruz Festival, it feels as if you’ve lived a lifetime without him. 

It shouldn’t be as painful as it is. Countless years were spent before meeting him, traveling from world to world with only the presence of your twin for company. Even now, you’re not truly alone with Paimon at your side - except it’s not nearly the same. If Paimon knows what it is that has you out of sorts, then no mention is made of it. 

Nahida offers you no such reprieve. Another one hundred sixty-eight cycles go by, though of a much smaller time frame, and it all feels like an eternity since you’ve last seen Childe’s face. The Akasha terminal allows you to dream fully once more, and you awaken with tears in your eyes, an ache in your chest, and a little god sitting at the end of your bed with a look of interest and a hand clutched over her heart. 

“You must love him very much, for him to be your first dream.”

And how do you respond to that? Because you’re not quite sure if that’s the right word to use - not because it’s incorrect, but because it isn’t enough. Your fingers swipe at your eyes to wipe away the tears, and Nahida waits patiently for you to give a response. In the end, all you can do is nod your head. 

“It will take me some time to work through Irminsul to find information on your sibling. Why don’t you use that time to take a rest?” Nahida reaches out, her hand curling around your ankle on the bed and squeezing a little too tightly, as if she’s just now attempting the action of physical comfort for the first time in her life. “Maybe a change of scenery will help with the heartache?”

The sun crests over the treetops of Dharma Forest as your palm rests flat on the base of the teleporter. A tug yanks behind your navel, your stomach twisting in anticipation for the sensation of being broken down into something formless and ephemeral as the Ley Lines anticipate your direction based solely on a single thought. 

The lush grass at the top of Mt. Yougou cushions your fall as you drop to your knees, breathing heavily to offset the sensation of complete unmaking and reconstruction. The torii gate you’ve landed next to is enough to hold your weight as you lean on it and take deep, gasping breaths. The shrine maiden looks on, perplexed but keeping a respectful distance - it’s not the first time that Nana has seen you drop in through these teleporters, and she’s well aware there’s nothing that can be done to provide assistance. 

“Should I let Guuji Yae know you’re here, Traveler?”

“I’m well aware. How could I not hear such a clumsy arrival? How you managed to survive against Ei’s Musou no Hitotachi will always be a wonder.” Miko stands before you, a hand waving airily to dismiss Nana as she observes your slumped form. Tactfully, she remarks, “You look awful. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, but the body continues to yearn.”

How do you explain everything that’s happened? Miko would appreciate being candid, but all you can manage now is a frustrated sound as you get to your feet without a single offer of help on her end. She’s already halfway across the courtyard by the time you’ve balanced yourself properly. 

Maybe you will give her the long version, instead.