#complainingly

[gm4rlorwzs]

Fat European Bitch gets Piss Fuck Gangbang by Young Studs and Their Mother Lesbian Play MILF Francesca Le with Latina Teen Liv Revamped Disciplining The BBW Amateur Mom NubileFilms - Russian lesbian seduction german teen rough outdoor fucked Girls will become absolutely naked before licking vaginas Divorced Candaian Sexy Aunty With Big Boobs Cheating On Her Husband resorts world casino queens nyc Group of raunchy and vehement teen girls lick each other Holly Heart rubbing clit

#effaces #fierrochase #hastatosagittate #aread #anticynic #unvitalized #Indochina #complainingly #overcutter #adfiliate #nonfermenting #lack-lustre #districts #vaginalectomy #Enescu #exhibitable #wonderstrong #Lilburn #cladode #Madalyn

[leupagus]

The subtitle for this should be "Undead Hardy: Too Annoying To Be Scary"

It was near dawn by the time they heard someone fumbling at the door at the south transept and Hardy came limping in, caked with dirt and looking irate. "Six feet down you put me," he said, pointing an accusatory finger at Ellie. "Were you trying to make sure I couldn't get back out?"

"Couldn't say," Ellie confessed. Paul radiated tension behind her, although if Hardy was whinging like this he wasn't likely to eat anyone's brains. "But you're here now."

"Aye, just," he grumbled, and scrubbed at his hair. Clumps of earth skittered along the stone floor. "Did you catch him?"

Ellie stared at him, trying to parse his words. "Catch—?"

"The suspect, Miller, the one we were chasing through the boatyard! The one up in the cliff-top hut! How is it I spent the night digging myself up out the ground and I've got a better grasp on this case than you do?"

"Right," said Paul, clapping his hands on his knees and getting up. "I'll go find a broom. Detective, there's a garden hose outside round the back. I suggest you use it. And then you'll come back and clean this up. And you're making a donation to the church's roof fund."

"A donation?" Hardy demanded. "What for?"

"For starters, making me explain to the workmen why they have to re-dig the grave meant form Mrs. Ellison's funeral tomorrow," Paul snapped back, evidently coming to the same conclusion Ellie had: it was pointless to be afraid of an ancient horror as irritating as Alec Hardy. "Ellie, any time you want to talk, I'm here." And he went off toward the vestry, presumably in search of a broom and dustpan.

"Right," Hardy said, turning round and heading back outside. "Call the station and see if Uniform managed to do their jobs while you were sat round here gabbing with a suspect."

"A suspect?" Ellie repeated incredulously, following behind. "Paul could've had me arrested for seven different crimes—"

"Eight, if you include molestation of a corpse," said Hardy. "Call them, Miller. I'd do it myself, but you've got my jacket somewhere. And my shoes, where have those got to?"

"—he could have run screaming," she continued over him. "He could've called up Maggie and told her there's a… what are you, anyway?" Hardy ignored her as he cast about for the garden hose. "A zombie? A revenant? Isn't there something called a lich or something?"

"I told you, I prefer Hardy," he said absently, fiddling with the tap. After a moment it sputtered out water that had to be ice-cold, but he didn't show any sign of discomfort (or no more so than he usually did) as he rinsed off the worst of the grime from his clothes and face and hands.

She gaped at him. "What, is that supposed to be a joke? Making puns about your… condition?"

"It's not a condition," he protested.

Ellie resisted the primary-school urge to insist that it was, or at least that was the best term she'd come up with and until he had a better one he could just shut up. "Paul could've done any of those things, and he didn't."

"He wouldn't," said Hardy, dismissive, as he shook himself off. "Clergy get training in this sort of thing."

"Training or not, he helped me last night—"

"Aye, helped you bury me six feet underground—" Hardy said, stalking off toward the carpark.

"How was I supposed to know how deep?" Ellie shut the tap off and ran after him. "That's how deep a normal grave is, that's what we put you in. You're welcome, by the way."

"What made you think of it?" he asked, wheeling around to loom over her, scowling. "Burying me. Not something most folk would think of. Even when dealing with someone in my condition."

Ellie stood her ground, glaring right back up at him. She knew well enough by now the difference between DI Hardy, probing at someone to determine the truth and DI Hardy, being a tit. "It worked, didn't it?"

He made a grumbling noise in his throat that sounded like two cats having a go at each other. "How did you know it would work?"

Ellie hesitated. "I'm not sure," she said, in lieu of telling him about her jelly mould analogy. "I just knew it would."

He nodded, as though she'd given the right answer, then hovered a moment. "Well. Thanks for that." His scowl deepened, as if embarrassed by any expression of gratitude. "Get on the horn and find out what the hell happened last night. Plus we still need to find Susan Wright's dog — don't suppose there's been any progress on that. And I wasn't joking, Miller, where the hell are my shoes?"

"God, you're such a knob," Ellie muttered, but she fished the keys out of her pocket and stomped off toward the car, Hardy still complaining as he followed.

#ellie walking away while hardy complainingly follows #or hardy walking away while ellie complainingy follows #is pretty much the entirety of their relationship #'wait up I still need to whine more' is their version of 'I love you' #anyway yeah this is still happening #broadchurch motherfuckers #ficcage of interest

[seichira]

wild enough for you.

you grow insecure with the kind of normal that sanzu haruchiyo enjoys, and you worry that he has been keeping you in the dark because you aren’t crazy enough to keep up.

pairing : kmg!sanzu x reader

content : angsty but also fluffy. encounters and mentions of usual gang and criminal activity. jealousy with comfort. suggestive. drunk reader, and sanzu taking care of you.

you should have known that you could never keep up with the very active life that your boyfriend leads.

what normal person ends up wounded and bruised on an alleyway late in the night, only to be found by an unfortunate student passing by who is forced to take the person in question home to tend to them?

that is exactly have you met him. you being the unknowing student and him being the wounded man who would’ve died if it weren’t for your golden heart.

do you not see how you should have taken the hint from the very beginning?

but no, you closed your eyes to the sketchy shit that sanzu did because at first, you were too enthralled with how pretty his eyes looked, how enviable his hair was, and how beautiful he was in spite the scars.

after moving past the undeniable physical attraction, you fall in love with him deeply for all the times he visited you, ate home-cooked dinner with you, complainingly accompanied you while you studied, and all the days you just spent together like normal couples where no gang activity is involved.

however, this translates to the fact that sanzu is the one adjusting to your life. the life you share with him is simply just your life, not his. a normal life that involves only going to school in the morning and rushing straight home at the end of the day, with a few hangouts with friends here and there.

with that being said, this doesn’t apply both ways. it’s not that you do not want to get involved with your beloved’s life that he leads on the other side of the spectrum, it’s that he wouldn’t let you.

let’s be clear. sanzu doesn’t keep it a secret.

you know well that you are in a relationship with a delinquent, and you know how that term is a dire understatement of who he really is. he tells you that he is in a gang with other powerful people he has known since he was a kid. you know that he owns a katana that doesn’t need an explanation for what he uses it for, the blood stains on his uniform and his shirts are enough to tell you.

you love him too much to care about all that, to want to count how many people he has hurt, to keep tabs on the crimes he has committed. his loving kisses are enough to make up for all the things he rather keep to himself to protect you.

but sometimes, you wish he tells you more.

“anyway, ran haitani came up to our table and offered me a drink! and he was all over me! you have no idea how hot it was, his huge hand squeezing my thighs! the jealous looks of everyone!”

you and your friend exchanged knowing looks at the mention of a familiar name from a loud conversation happening at the adjacent table.

it’s not quite the relaxed evening you expected at this chill bar you entered to refresh with your classmate from university on a friday night, but you shrug it off and let them talk about hot men all they want.

it is only at the mention of haitani’s name that you start really listening. you realize they are talking about hot men specifically from kantou manji gang.

your boyfriend’s gang.

“was sanzu haruchiyo there?” you hear a woman ask, and you sit straight up to listen intently. “he’s the hottest of them all. i would take him over everyone else in his gang on any goddamn day!”

while you agree, there is a churning feeling in your stomach that grows larger at every agreement that follows that statement. it forms a green monster of jealousy and insecurity knowing how known your boyfriend really is, and how many wants him.

“i know, right? have you seen him in that white freakin’ uniform? he’s exactly the type of guy that my dad would be horrified of if i ever dated him, but that’s the charm in him!”

“but isn’t he in a relationship? that’s why among all of them, he doesn’t approach women at all?”

“who cares? you think a man like him would ever want to settle with just one woman? dream on. he’s gonna want all the women in the world!”

“that makes sense. a crazy man like him on the loose isn’t gonna want a leash on his neck. what he needs is an equally wild woman for an adventure!”

you bite your lip and sink deeper in the cushioned couch you’re sitting on, while your friend shoots you an apologetic and comforting smile.

they have no idea that you share a bed with sanzu haruchiyo. they do not know that he comes home to you every night, asking you to clean his wounds for him. they aren’t aware of all the times you cuddle the man in question to sleep, and play with his hair.

they do not know that sanzu will die for you because he is deeply in love with you, and only you.

and in this moment, you forget that too.

as much as you trust your haruchiyo, it kills you to think that they’re probably right.

your boyfriend is all too full of life and vigor, much too exciting to be settling with your boring life. he doesn’t deserve to make himself small and contain himself in your routines. he deserves to live.

you wish you are strong enough to let him go, but still, you do not want to. you love him, and it would kill you to have to set him free.

if you can’t set him free to live the life he was born to live, the least you could do is… be wild enough.

for the rest of the night, you drown yourself in alcohol until you reach past the state of being in the right mind. you are far from sober, and your friend has no idea what to do with you.

so she grabs your phone and gives your boyfriend a quick call. her hands are trembling at the fact that she is talking to a man as dangerous as he is, but you are absolutely out of control and sanzu is the only one who knows how to deal with you.

“y/n, please! you can’t go there!” your friend pleads with you as she pulls you away from the rowdy part of the bar where the dance floor is.

it is full of creeps and people who want to get laid, and you are definitely not available for all that. but that’s part of getting wild, right?

fuck midterms! fuck your due essays! fuck university! tonight, you will be wild enough to keep up with your boyfriend, and then maybe he’ll wanna stay with you!

“it’s going to be fine!” you slur your words drunkenly, matching with the wiggling of your feet as you squeeze yourself in the ocean of people and dance with whoever stands next to you.

your friend loses sight of you, and you gain more freedom to just dance to the rhythm of the booming music. you do not care whose body you’re touching or whose drink you just accepted. you just let loose.

you have never done this before, and as much as you respect anyone who parties like this since it’s their life and they can do anything with it, it doesn’t feel like yourself. but then again, you are on a mission.

“fucking hell!”

suddenly, a strong grip wraps around your wrist and you are being forcefully dragged away from the dance floor. you giggle in your drunken state when you see your boyfriend’s back, who is currently seething with rage as he pulls you outside of the bar.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” he shouts as soon as he gets you alone. “you’re gettin’ fucking drunk now, huh? dancing with other men?! you know how i could’ve snapped their necks!?”

you giggle adorably and you place your palms on his chest flirtatiously. you can’t help it when he’s in his white kantou manji uniform, and with his beautiful hair tied up in a ponytail like this.

“l-like it, hmm? wild e-enough… for you, baby?”

he doesn’t understand what the hell you’re saying but he does know that you are too drunk to keep yourself upright. he erupts in another string of continuous curses and he scoops you in his arms, to settle you inside his car, and take you home.

“h-haru… y’like me like this? wild? hmm?” you continue asking him over and over again until you get home. he still doesn’t understand, and his eyebrows almost meeting is enough clue of that.

he almost throws you on the huge couch as soon as you arrive, but he cares for you too much to ignore you so he wets a cloth to clean you with it.

sanzu haruchiyo is angry. this is the angriest you have ever seen him, but he continues wiping your body with the cloth, and it kind of sobers you up.

“i have no idea what you’re fucking thinking. first, you fail to tell me that you’ll be drinking in a bar with a friend and i would like to know that so i wouldn’t be taken by surprise like this! and then you get absolutely wasted? and dance with men! for what?!”

he is seething, and you want to start by saying sorry. but instead, you run to the bathroom to vomit out all the alcohol you downed earlier. despite his anger, he follows you to the toilet and he runs his hand up and down your back to caress it.

“there, there, it’s going to feel better now,” he comforts you, but you know his disappointment for tonight is still there.

sanzu flushes the toilet and pulls you up, guides you to the sink, and helps you wash your mouth while holding your hair for you.

you burst into tears at how gentle he handles you despite the fury going on in his system. you feel like shit, and you are both sorry and insecure.

finally, you face your angry boyfriend. he closes the distance between you until your back meets the sink and he cages you between his arms.

“explain.”

he is melting at the sight of your tears but he is dying to hear your explanations. he wants to know that you love him still, and that you don’t want other men. he needs to know that you’re not doing this because you want to break up with him. he needs you to let him know that you love him… because he loves you.

“i-i’m sorry, haru,” you manage to say in between your sobs. “i didn’t know what to do. i was scared.”

“scared? scared of what?” he asks, because how could you be scared of anything when you have a boyfriend who is head over heels for you who can just annihilate all the things that you hate?

“of losing you!”

“how could you ever lose me, huh, baby doll?” his tone softens, because at long last, he finally knows that you are afraid to lose him just like he is afraid of losing you. “that still doesn’t explain why you’d get yourself drunk like that. doesn’t make sense to me.”

“because… you keep so many secrets from me. m-makes me think i’m not worthy enough to know what you’re doing because… i’m not wild or crazy enough!”

is that what this is? sanzu hates invalidating your feelings, but shit. that explanation is fucking nuts.

“baby, i don’t keep secrets. i tell you about my day. but there are things i’d rather not let you know because… it’ll keep you safer that way.”

“so, it’s not because… i’m boring?”

he cups your face with his hands, “you entertain me just fine, baby. what the fuck is this about not being wild enough, huh? who told you you need to change anything for me? i don’t fucking care for all that.”

“it’s just that, i heard women talk about you. a while ago. they said people like you won’t want to settle down or something… ‘cuz it’ll bore you…”

“you can tie me down right now and get me fuckin’ married and i won’t complain for shit, baby. all i want is to be with you. they clearly do not know me.”

you stop sobbing but hiccups linger, making sanzu grin at how adorable you look like this. he wipes your tears away with his thumbs and he sighs loudly.

“and here i was getting worried you just wanted to dance with other men ‘cause you finally realized i wasn’t good enough for ‘ya.”

your eyes widen in surprise. “no way! that will never happen! i love you so much! how could you think that?!”

“but that’s exactly what you’re doing to me…”

his voice calms you down and you realize that he is right. “i know… i’m sorry, haru. i know you love me.”

he nods and kisses the tip of your nose. “only you. you don’t have to change anything for me. don’t have to be crazy. i can be crazy for the both of us, baby.”

#⏳ — lumi’s fics! #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers fics #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers angst #tokyo revengers fluff #sanzu imagines #sanzu fics #sanzu angst #sanzu x reader #sanzu fluff #sanzu haruchiyo

[mamani-bento]

what you're willing to give (satoru gojo)

satoru gojo x reader, 1.3k, gender not mentioned

fwb!gojo + 'if we get caught kissing in a small, dark, kind of shady alleyway, it's on you.' from this prompt list, highly suggestive making out + fluff + humour (?)

summary - gojo wants more. you want more. the only difference is that he can admit it, but he likes you enough to wait until you can too.

minors do not interact!

i wrote this and i'm sooooooo at his characterisation here, this goes under fics-that-are-SO-well-set-up-for-a-sequel i'm a genius sometimes, fwb!gojo has not left my head since i read this incredible fic by @staryukis

mamani-bento's masterlist!

gojo doesn't understand why you're complaining, honestly.

okay, he sort of does, but he doesn't understand why you're still complaining.

"do you want to stop?"

your answer takes a bit longer to emerge, and gojo can't help the smug grin against the side of your neck. he continues to nip and lave at your skin, paying special attention to a slowly-forming bruise near your jugular as he waits for your response.

"stop–ah!–stop fucking smiling."

gojo does not stop smiling, but he does lay off your neck, moving his lips upwards and catching your swollen ones with a low chuckle instead.

"so mouthy," he mumbles into shared breath, delighting in the reactionary tightening of your clenched fists in his hair. he can't help the groan he lets out at the feeling, and his large palm grips harder at the plump flesh of your thigh hooked over his hip. his body presses further into your front, pushing you against the wall. his long fingers curl at your scalp and he can feel the scrape of uneven stone against the back of his hand.

sighing pants and moaned kissing fill the dark alley behind the pub. gojo loves his friends, he really does, but he can't possibly be expected to pay attention to them inside when you're wearing that.

"i didn't think this would do it for you," you airily breathe out as gojo lets your leg down, groping at the flesh of your ass instead.

he catches your bottom lip between his teeth, revelling in the gasp he's rewarded with. "liar," he mutters, no real heat behind his words. "you absolutely knew that this would do it for me."

he could die with the sound of your giggle in his ear and he'd be happy as a clam. he's been feeling like he could die a lot this evening, ever since you entered in that outfit and made him nearly choke on air at the sight.

you trace kisses down the long column of his neck, and his eyes flutter shut at the pleasure. he gives your ass one last squeeze, large palms smoothing over the thin fabric of your panties, before he finally moves his hand out of your tiny skirt.

you had come to the halloween party dressed as him and it makes his head spin every time he thinks about it. the only modification you've made is the pants, traded in for a similarly navy skirt that shows off the plush of your thighs, and sheer stockings that end just below the hemline. he's very thankful for that skirt, very grateful for the access it's giving him to feel you up as he pleases.

and maybe, maybe, he should be a little concerned at what this means for his narcissism, that the sight of you like this, like him, is having such a profound effect. but all he can really think about is your teeth scraping against the underside of his jaw, your hands now tugging at the collar of his blue button-up, your skin moulding under the greedy kneading of his palms as he moves to your hips.

"where's your tie?" you manage to ask as you pull away, as if just realising that he's missing an integral part of his outfit.

"at home," he says, opening his eyes to look at you looking at him. your costume blindfold rests on your forehead, messily bunched up from all the movement, giving him the full effect of your partly disappointed expression.

your fingers fiddle with his undone top button. "would've liked if you had a tie," you mumble, almost complainingly.

he knows you're lying, fully certain that this halfway nanami-cosplay he's got going on is also doing it for you if your enthusiastic participation is anything to go by. and maybe, maybe, he left the tie out just so he could have a reason to get you in his house. he likes to pretend sometimes that he still has to convince you to spend nights with him. likes to act as though he's perpetually on a quest to win your affections, despite all the evidence to the contrary.

"come over. help me put it on."

the streetlight from the main road filters into the alley and the music from the building you're both leaning against is muffled and you look so thoroughly debauched with your lips swollen and your face flushed and your chest heaving, and all gojo can really register is the feeling of your body against his.

this is the only way he can have you. too risky to be in a relationship but not to fall into bed with each other at every social gathering, to ignore your colleagues and make out in the alleyway like teenagers. he knows, he knows, that something will give. he's largely stopped trying to hide how much he cares for you behind this dance of 'come over' and 'are you awake?', but your walls are so high, every brick laid by the fear of both being with somebody and being somebody who might not make it back home after a mission. until he can break them down, he'll take what he can get, what you're willing to give him.

"you planned that line?" you scoff with a shocking perceptiveness. or not that shocking. for somebody who claims to not care, you pay an awful lot of attention to his mannerisms outside bed. he'll wait for you to admit it to yourself.

he moves closer, thick arm familiarly winding around your waist until he can feel the ghost of your deep breaths fanning over his already lonely lips. "don't tell me you wore that and expected this to not happen tonight."

the silence is deafening in the wake of his low accusation. you can't deny it, of course you can't deny it. you know that your cherry lip gloss drives him crazy, that the sight of your thighs moving in those translucent silky stockings is enough to wind him up, that he's got an ego for days and seeing you dressed like him is basically heaven. you could've gone as anybody. shoko's only rule was to dress up as another teacher, she didn't specify anything about your-fuckbuddy-that-you're-pretending-to-not-have-a-thing-for.

his gaze shoots to your mouth as your teeth worry your lower lip, and he'd really like you to say something now. preferably along the lines of 'you're absolutely right, i'm in this outfit because i want to sleep with you, let's go' , but he knows it'll never be that easy with you.

even as your body presses against his, even as your hands move to play with the hair on the nape of his neck, you ask, "what about the others?"

gojo laughs, a bright thing that pierces the heavy silence of the dark alley. "they should be used to it by now, no? we'll send shoko an apology card in the morning for bailing."

he doesn't mean to push, but you never do anything you don't want to, and past experience tells him that you really want to do him. despite your initial reluctance, you always end up in his bed at the end of the day. despite your stubborn insistence that 'this is the last time' and 'this isn't a thing', it's never the last time and it's definitely a thing. and predictably, he can see your resolve wavering now, like it always does.

"she also deserves flowers, i think."

"sure, we'll send some flowers too," gojo easily acquiesces with a shrug. he'll send shoko a damn car if you ask him to. but he can't say that yet, won't say that until you admit that whatever ineffable instinct keeps pulling you two together runs deeper than back alley make outs and sweaty nights that feel inevitable.

"this is–"

"the last time?" gojo interrupts, unable to stop himself.

he ignores your unimpressed expression in favour of pressing into your hips with his, satisfied with the way wide eyes and a small gasp replaces your flat look. he makes no attempt to hide what you've done to him, what you always seem to be doing to him. he's affected at the best of times, but in this outfit? he never stood a chance. "is that a yes?"

you seem equal parts annoyed and aroused.

just how he likes you.

"shut up," you grouse, tugging at his collar until you're fiercely kissing him again, everything becoming a frenzy that promises to end with your clothes on his floor and your nails running down his back.

if this is what you’re willing to give him for now, he’ll gladly take it. but he wants more, and he knows that you want more, and it’s only a matter of time before something finally gives.

#jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #jjk #gojo smut #gojo fluff #bento writes #satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk x reader smut #satoru smut #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #nanami kento #anime fluff #jujustu kaisen fluff #gojo fic #satoru x you #jujutsu gojo #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jjk smut

[meowjunjun]

Kinktober Day 2: Degradation w/ Intak

Includes: afab reader, degradation, unprotected, needy sub intak getting off when you’re j trying to sleep lol

—————————————————————————

Intak woke up, clinging onto you. But when he noticed how your tits were pressed up against him through your silk tank top while you slept, he swallowed harshly. You shifted closer in your sleep, tits nearly in his face, and it made him let out a quiet whimper. He could feel his soft dick begin getting hard, and reached his hand down into his pants.

Just the first touch of his hand was enough to send a chill throughout his whole body. Shuddering with each time he ghosts his hand over his sensitive cock, he begins pumping himself.

The rustling of the sheets wakes you, and he nearly jumps when your eyes open and look into his.

“Aww baby…”

You cooed into his ear, faux sympathy dripping from your words. He stopped his assault on his cock, frozen in place.

“You’re really that needy that you can’t even wait until I wake up to actually fuck me like a good boy would?” Your fake smile drops. “Fucking disgusting, Intak.”

“Ah- it’s not what it looks like! I- uh-“

You scoff at him trying to play it off and interrupt him mid sentence. “Oh really?” You pull his face near yours, chest dangerously close to his face. “Then how come you can’t take your eyes off my tits you perv?” He resists the urge to moan like a whore and keep touching himself, getting off on your cruel words, but not ready to pull his hand out of his pants. “I’m n-…. I’m not a perv, I swear! Please I…”

“Oh come on Tak, you think you can get out of this? I can’t believe you’re such a whore for me. It really is embarrassing for you .” You get on your knees, looking down at him. Your tank top just barely covered your lace panties, your bare thighs exposed.

He didn’t even respond, practically in a trance and looking at your body; thighs, hips, your chest. “My eyes are up here, slut.” You grab him by the hair at the back of his head and yank down, making him look at you. “M‘ sorry… just so pretty, I- I can’t…ahn-“ he grinds against his palm, eyes rolling back. You give him a look of disgust. “Really? I’m just fucking sitting here, are you seriously so horny for me I can’t even breathe without you thinking with that pathetic dick of yours?”

You climb on top of him, lips next to his ear as you straddle him. You pull his hand out of his pants and pin both hands above his head. You whisper “I swear to god I’m gonna make you cum so hard you’ll never want me to do it again.” He moans as you sit your full weight down on his clothed bulge, squishing his painfully hard cock with your heat.

“No, wan’ be inside you….” You give him a dirty look. “Are you serious? After being such a slut do you even deserve that? I can’t believe you think you’re in control here. How about this; admit how gross you are and I’ll let you fuck me.” He whines complainingly “but….” He lets out a sigh as you narrow your eyes at him, signaling that this is the only way he could get his sweet relief.

“M’ sorry…. M’ a gross pervert, shouldn’t have touched myself without permission, please forgive me?” You smile and give him a kiss on the cheek “good boy Tak, that’s what I like to hear baby.” You get off of him to take his boxers off, and rub his leaking tip against your folds for makeshift lube. Whining at the friction, he’s trying so hard not to buck his hips into you.

Without any warning, you sink down onto his length and he lets out a cry that sounds almost painful. He’s instantly trying not to cum, writhing and squirming with tears in his eyes. “What’s wrong, can’t handle it? You asked for this” you laugh at him a little and he pouts, “sorry I- too tight- mhm…” you mock him, continuing to tease “aww poor baby.. guess I’ll stop then-“ you could barely even finish your sentence before he interrupts you “no please!! Need you so bad, please don’t- I- I promise I’ll hold it”

“If you can’t, maybe I’ll just overstimulate you until you regret it, yeah?”

#sub!idol #dom reader #sub idol #sub kpop #sub intak #sub p1h #sub p1harmony #intak smut #p1h smut

[occasionaltouhou]

what are your thoughts on how invested reimu is in exterminating humans who become youkai, and what 'exterminating a youkai' means in general? they have a pretty wide range of interpretation across fanworks (with that chapter of FS looming large), from 'reimu gives them a bonk on the head and says "stop it"' to 'she Fucking Kills Them', and her attitude towards marisa becoming a youkai is everything from 'yeah I guessed that would happen' to 'extreme angst over maybe killing her best friend'. uhhh yeah anw that's the question

i'll start with "what exactly is extermination" since that's the easier question, but unfortunately the answer is that it's context sensitive. sometimes it's just hitting a problematic youkai until they stop, and sometimes it's hitting them until they die. the difference is, of course, circumstantial.

anyway. so reimu is concerned with the balance of gensokyo; her role, after all, is to be a lynchpin. her actual concern is not humans becoming youkai, but humans becoming youkai whilst still attempting to become human - if she was worried about humans becoming youkai, she would have hunted down alice, for instance, long ago.

the problem, as always, is fear. humans must fear youkai, so a human who becomes a youkai must become a monster; they must attack humans, they must isolate themselves from humanity, they must be sufficiently fearsome so as to discourage others from following in their footsteps. there are, of course, degrees to which you can play that, both in terms of reimu's own awareness of the "rules" concerning it and what those rules are in general, depending on the kind of story you're trying to tell

now, is she invested in this, emotionally? depends on what you mean, really. she's certainly invested enough in her role as a balancer to kill people about it, but she doesn't seem to have any particular personal desire to do it; if she never had to fight youkai ever again, she'd probably be much happier. but unfortunately, she's the hakurei shrine maiden, and so she does what she must, complainingly but unhesitatingly. there's something deeply wrong with her btw (charm point)

that said though i don't think reimu would try to kill a marisa-turned-youkai; marisa has already long since separated herself from humanity's expectations, after all. you can absolutely write otherwise, though, if you want, since there's absolutely some stories to be drawn out of that, i just don't personally see it happening

#ft was only killed bc he wasn't enough of a weird little freak. better luck next time! #this was kinda rambling and idk if i even answered the core question in the end. sorry

[asideoftrashplease]

Detangling JC, his motivations, & his feelings on WWX (i)

JC and WWX have a very fraught history, and while WWX’s role as the narrator makes it very clear what his feelings towards JC are, JC’s feelings towards WWX and motivations seem a lot murkier. He goes from treating WWX as a brother, to mounting a siege in a concerted attempt to take his life. His actions and motivations in the aftermath of WWX’s resurrection are also subject to interpretation. This meta provides argument for my interpretation of his feelings and motivations throughout these events.

LOVE AND BROTHERHOOD

It is clear from the outset that JC cared deeply about WWX (I wish I did not have to make a case for this because it should be obvious, but there are some who believe that JC did not love WWX). Although he holds bitterness and resentment towards WWX due to his family situation and their rivalry, he cares about WWX and is protective of him. This shines through especially in times of mortal peril. 

When WWX was trapped in the Xuanwu cave, he travelled without stopping to find people to rescue WWX. The trip should have taken 10 days, but because he drove himself to exhaustion in his desperation to save WWX, he only took 7 days.

When WWX is in danger of being discovered by the Wens after the burning of Lotus Pier, he uses himself as bait to draw them away from WWX despite the risk to his own life, which eventually leads to his capture and the loss of his core.

SO WHERE DID THINGS GO WRONG

Things started to take a turn after the Sunshot Campaign. I believe a few key events caused resentment and confusion to build and grow in JC over time:

WWX’s refusal to carry his sword, which put political pressure on YMJ

His decision to break out the Wen Remnants, without consulting or informing JC, with put more pressure on YMJ

His decision to defect from YMJ, effectively (in JC’s mind) picking the Wens over YMJ and his brotherhood with JC

His actions at Qiongqi Path which killed JZX — while we know from WWX’s POV what happened, JC and JYL have no idea what went down except from the claims of the surviving Jin cultivators

His attack on the 4000 cultivators at the Nightless City, which ultimately cost JYL’s life

It’s evident that JC is increasingly bewildered, angered, and hurt by WWX’s actions. It’s clear that he’s confused, and just CAN’T UNDERSTAND WHY WWX IS ACTING THIS WAY. All the while, resentment is building in him that he has to clean up WWX’s messes, all while WWX’s actions undermine him as a leader and brings up childhood insecurities and jealousies. But his love for WWX drives him to continually stand by WWX and believe in him — even grudgingly, complainingly, and with growing resentment. Even up to the attack at the Nightless City, even after JZX’s death, he still seems to believe in WWX.

This last event, the attack at the Nightless City, seems to be the turning point where he stops believing in WWX, so I want to cover this particular event in more detail:

A “pledge conference” is being attended by QHN, GSL, LLJ, and YMJ. This conference is a ceremonial affair, centered around their pledge to eradicate WWX and the Wen remnants. It begins with them honoring the fallen with a toast, but while the other three sect leaders make the toasts, JC goes through the motions of the toast with visible unhappiness, and then conspicuously says nothing to honor the dead.

I feel this action needs to be understood in the context of the ceremony. They are standing in the Nightless City, where their comrades died in the final battle to take down QSW, a battle which WWX contributed to greatly. They are pouring the wine on the ground where the bodies lie to honor the fallen: “Here we honor our fallen. Rest in peace.” (Uncontroversial) “Now in the name of our fallen, we will eliminate the Wens who killed them — and the Yiling Patriarch!” (Controversial because WWX was brother in arms to these soldiers, and JGS is stirring shit because he wants the Yin Tiger Seal.)

JC knows the controversial bit is coming, so while the other sect leaders one by one say things like “rest in peace” and “may they live on” he dumps the wine on the ground and refuses to say anything. He is the only one, of the four with cups, who does not speak.

When WWX appears, the others all draw their weapons, but JC reaction is different: “JC’s pupils shrunk. Blue veins lined the back of his hand.” From this sentence alone, it may not seem clear what he’s feeling, but based on the rest of his actions in this scene, I would guess that he’s shocked and appalled that WWX would dare to appear before such a large and hostile mob, A MOB THAT IS CURRENTLY PLEDGING TO KILL HIM AND SCATTER HIS ASHES, thus recklessly and what seems like arrogantly endangering his own life.

After an increasingly hostile exchange between WWX and the mob, JGS calls for everyone to set up the battle arrays to seal WWX in, with the intention of killing him there. But when WWX calls up the corpses buried under them to defend himself, it’s stated that all the sects were in disarray, except for YMJ, which seems to indicate that WWX’s corpses were not attacking the YMJ delegation — and the YMJ cultivators were not fighting the corpses either.

This all seems to indicate that despite JZX’s death, despite the fact that JC has NO FUCKING CLUE what the hell happened at Qiongqi Path, despite the fact that he’s no doubt been fed lies and biased reports from the surviving Jin cultivators, and despite the fact that WWX is currently unleashing an undead army on all of them — he still believes that there’s another side of the story. He doesn’t even know WHAT that story is, but he believes in WWX— grudgingly, and with growing disbelief, confusion, and incredulity—  he still believes, BLINDLY, in WWX.

THE TURNING POINT

In the ensuing chaos, JYL is killed, and WWX finally snaps in his grief, unleashing a hellish and completely uncontrolled bloodbath upon the assembled cultivators. It is estimated that this killed three thousand people, severely decimating the cultivation world’s population.

The siege begins after this attack, and we know from the prologue that the siege was headed by JC, and that he was the one behind key tactical maneuvers (designed using his intimate knowledge of WWX’s weaknesses) that allowed them to eventually sack the Burial Mounds. In the aftermath, he was the main person credited by the cultivation world for the defeat of the Yiling Patriarch. When WWX meets JL at Dafan, he corroborates this by revealing, through the narration, that JGS was the second-biggest contributor to the siege — after JC, who was the biggest contributor.

I know that there are other popular interpretations of JC’s motivations here. I will name two:

He participated in the siege only due to political pressure — after what WWX did at the Nightless City, he couldn’t NOT condemn him or the cultivation world would have turned on YMJ too

He participated in the siege hoping to take WWX alive and bring him back home to discipline privately

But I don’t subscribe to either of these interpretations. I believe he FULLY intended to kill WWX. Firstly, if he was only participating in the siege due to political pressure, why contribute so vitally to the siege, why take a leading role and design tactical maneuvers to bring WWX down? He could have just done as he’d done previously, which was to participate perfunctorily in “opposition” against WWX, but contributing as little as possible, or nothing at all.

Secondly, some may argue that he was trying to capture WWX alive. But before this, he had always given the impression of being extremely cautious, to the point of inaction when maybe action would have been better. JC is VERY risk-averse. His characterization before the siege is that he’d rather do nothing than do something even potentially risky. The intention of everyone else was to kill WWX, NOT to capture him. As such, the risk that WWX would be killed in battle is extremely high. Even if by some miracle, he managed to capture WWX alive despite the best efforts of everyone else to murder him, it would be really difficult to stop the other sects from executing him, and getting permission to take him home and keep him under house arrest. It would be a safer bet to try to sabotage the siege from the inside, which is not what he did. In fact, he did the opposite. He was leading the siege viciously and with intent.

So I believe that he fully intended to kill WWX, which means the turning point was JYL’s death. Up to her death, JC still believed in WWX. After her death, however, the very last we see of him is him clutching JYL’s body, completely in shock, having not yet processed her death. I believe his last words to WWX should hint to us what caused the snap from blind faith to blind hatred. These words were: “Didn’t you say you could control it?! Didn’t you say it would be fine?!” To which WWX (who is having 99 fucking breakdowns all at once) finally admits that he was wrong, and that he can’t actually control it.

My belief is that this incident made JC realize that JYL’s death (and JZX’s as well) was largely caused by WWX’s loss of control over his demonic cultivation, and IMPORTANTLY, JC’s inaction re: WWX’s method of cultivation and his seeming descent into violent radicalism. Despite all the warning signs, the growing escalations, the increasingly violent confrontations with increasingly large death tolls— he continued to believe in WWX, even when he could no longer understand or predict WWX’s actions. Everyone told him “you need to reign him in” “he’s going off the rails” “he’s a danger to us all” and JC didn’t take them seriously because he BELIEVED IN and TRUSTED WWX.

And now his sister is dead, his month-old nephew is an orphan, and WWX has massacred three thousand people in a single night, likely including members of YMJ, in a total loss of control and conscience. I think that was the turning point, the crux of the betrayal.

I believed in you. I defended you. I stuck my neck out for you. But you scorned my help. You rejected and discarded me. You betrayed my trust.

You don’t give a shit about me.

You don’t give a shit about anyone else.

I BELIEVED in you, and YOU BETRAYED ME.

—

NOTE: Right now this meta is getting a little long, so I think this is a good place to maybe cut it in thirds? Part II should cover the siege, WWX’s death, and the 13 years in between, and Part III should cover JC’s actions and motivations after WWX’s resurrection. As the next parts have not been written, I can’t link it! But when Part II is done, I will edit the post to include a link below the cut:

[Part 2 is still in progress!]

#canon jiang cheng #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #yunmeng shuangjie #twin prides of yunmeng #mdzs #meta #man this is fucking depressing #this is written from jc's perspective but i will NEVER stop being sad about WWX #i will never stop thinking about how he was driven to this point #initially you might attribute some of his downfall to hubris #hubris that he thought he could control this dark power #when it was stated no one ever succeeded #but the core reveal subverts this #it makes you realize that maybe the hubris #was tinged with no small amount of desperation #i think he never expected how difficult it would be to LIVE through the sacrifice #to lose his cultivation #he fucking brutalized himself out of love for jc #and he has to live with the trauma of that brutalization #when he happened upon this power #he was desperate to believe that he could keep it #and in the end #demonic cultivation took away EVERYTHING he cared about #it destroyed him and his life completely #and he died alone #in a terribly violent and horrific way

[lineffability]

this is a continuation of this fic Iwrote about aziraphale and crowley's first meeting post season 2 -- post breakup (of them and of our hearts). i decided the story goes on. and the plot thickens. ineffably.

[part 1]

Crowley stared at the folded note he had just retrieved from his chest pocket. The note that had not been there seconds ago. Aziraphale’s touch still lingered on his cheek and chest, his scent still filled the air around him. Crowley grunted, holding the note between his fingers like a melting piece of chocolate. Considered tossing it for a moment. He didn’t, of course. So predictable. He unfolded the piece of paper. This is what it said:

Go to Hell

What the fuck?

He stared at the words, uncomprehending. Certainly not wanting to comprehend what his perfidious, treacherous mind was immediately screaming at him: He hates you! Crowley hissed. No, no. That couldn’t be it. Get a grip, Crowley. The angel was far too kind and pure for anything even remotely cruel, no matter what had happened to him. Even if he was hanging around the wrong people. I need your help. I need you to do something for me. Right. Crowley clenched his jaw, trying not to think too much about the fact that the only reason (again, always) Aziraphale had sought him out was because he needed something from him. So predictable. And yet. 

What if he was in trouble?

Even now, Crowley was weak. How could he still care, care so much, after what had happened?

After he had– no, he couldn’t even think about it. Not right now. His insides were still reeling. Instead, Crowley looked down at the ugly words in pretty ink. 

He turned the note around. Indeed, it said something else, there.

It said:

09.08.72 West End 

Crowley furrowed his brows. If Aziraphale thought they would play a lovely little game of hare and hounds, he was mistaken. He would not chase after little snippet-treats like a lapdog, no sir, not ever again. It was over. He stuffed the note into the pocket of his trousers, which was kind of hard since they were so tight, and his struggle defeated his angry demeanor, because if he really didn’t care, he would not be angrily stuffing the note into his pants, now would he. He would throw it to the ground (which he couldn’t do, because Aziraphale might get into trouble if anyone found it), or he would flush it down the toilet (but what if it ended up in hell?), or he would incinerate it. That might work. 

He held the note up in front of him. He would burn it. Excellent. That would show the Supreme Archangel how much he did not care. 

Crowley grinned. 

But just as the note went up in flames, just as the edges curled and blackened and folded inwards, his cursed brain–his cursed memory–betrayed him. The note was gone, but the date had imprinted in his mind. And he remembered. 

“Oh– Jesus fucking Christ. No.” 

—

August 9th, 1972 - The West End

"Why did you pick this play?" Crowley complained, complainingly. "I mean, really?" 

"For obvious reasons, Crowley," Aziraphale responded in the slightly Holier Than Thou manner he tended to adopt on all things religious. "Of course, as a demon, you might not find it as appealing."

"Oh, not at all. This is one of Hell's greatest success stories, after all."

Crowley showed his teeth, and Aziraphale frowned. He looked like an angry child, the mannerism he tended to adopt when Crowley counter-pointed anything religious he believed in. Offered a different perspective, as he liked to think of it. Hermeneutics. One of Crowley’s favorite games. 

Still, he did not want to rattle too hard on the foundations of Aziraphale’s carefully timbered hut, did not want to be wind or wolf today. He owed him, after all. The last time they’d seen each other, the angel had done the most unangelic thing he might have ever done in his life, his biggest transgression, for him, and Crowley could not fault him for that. 

They were forever treading on paper-thin ground, no matter how well trodden it was and how far it had carried them. There was always the danger of falling, in more ways than one. Just a small rip, a tiny slip-up, and they’d be folded like Origami.

And yet they kept writing each other notes. (They didn’t say much: secret meeting places, times, dates, signatures. The really important things needed to remain unwritten. Untraceable. Best unspoken, too, though that was hardest.)

“Just saying, angel. Maybe you’re in for a surprise.”

Aziraphale raised a brow in a manner best described–really, there was no other way–as bitchy. He entered the auditorium, turned around. 

“Well– the play is called Jesus Christ Superstar. How blasphemous could it be?”

Crowley did not answer, but smiled and followed him into the dark.

—

Crowley sat in the Bentley. He’d been sitting in his Bentley a lot those last weeks, more than when he’d been living in it. Well, sleeping, mostly. He’d been living in the bookshop, really, spending his time with– him. Crowley pushed at his sunglasses. He’d been staring out the windscreen for *** knows how long, lost in thought. 

Go to hell. Jesus Christ Superstar. Armageddon. The Second Coming. Hell. Jesus Christ. Hell. Jesus. 

No fucking way. 

“Aziraphale, curse you,” he muttered, putting no energy at all into the words. The Bentley’s engine jump-started itself, puttering a little gentler than usual. “I don’t need your pity,” Crowley growled, and his car roared to life. Onto the highway, and straight to hell. AC/DC played the tune to complement the journey–ever since Crowley had pulled the plug on Nightingale, the Bentley had refused to play any of his usual songs. Just as well. Finally some fucking variation in his life. No more beige, no more tartan, no more glittery Freddie Mercury. A new leaf. 

Crowley kept telling himself this as he got out of the car at a crossroad, leaving it behind with the engine running and door wide open, heading straight to hell.

To look for Jesus fucking Christ. 

Was he out of his mind?

___

[leave some love or bookmark this for notifications on ao3]

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #aziracrow #ineffable spouses #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #good omens season 2 #inefficable #meanwhile the world goes on #in which the plot thickens #i might move this over to ao3 entirely and post only links here probably #i do feel that ongoing fics dont work as well on tumblr bc it gets confusing and hard to find the parts

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

"I didn't know you were there," says Lucy, hesitant but curious. Quill stops what he's doing, sets down a box. He frowns, moves to check an item off of Holly's neatly written list.

"I've been here all morning," he replies bemusedly. "Would have thought you'd notice, with how the lot of you tend to gripe about my very breathing."  He says it complainingly, but with the slightest air of a smile.

Lucy shakes her head and quirks her lips, as if thinking. "That's not what I mean. Lockwood said something the other day, that you were here the night... when Jessica died." She looks away, hiding her questioning gaze. Even now, Lockwood can be cagey about his past, and she tries not to press him too much.

Kipps makes a noncommittal sound and shrugs stiffly. "I wasn't here when it happened," he says slowly. "I was... too late."

In the golden early-afternoon sunshine of the hall, his face almost looks soft, wistful. Lucy moves closer, sensing a shift in the mood. She knows vaguely that he'd known Jessica before her death, but she's not sure how well.

"I could tell you about it, if you wanted," he continues softly. "It's... there are many things I wish I could change."

"Mmhmm," Lucy hums reassuringly. She leans over to check Holly's list herself, picks up a box of her own. "Would you maybe write it down for me?" She asks, then grimaces at her own insensitivity. "For the casebooks, I mean, the history."

Quill gives her a look. "Me?" He asks, brow furrowed.

Lucy nods. "Everyone's written something," she says, "Even Hol. But even Lockwood hasn't written much about Jessica. If you wanted, that could be your entry."

He stares at her, unsure, for a long moment. Before he can say anything, George comes stomping through with a heavy-laden garbage bag, grumbling all the way and followed by a particularly chipper Holly, who asks how the tidying is going on her way past. In between the movement and bustle, Kipps catches Lucy's eye past Holly's neatly braided hair.

He nods just once, but with certainty. Lucy nods back and smiles a hesitantly sad smile.

~~~~~

In a world where the dead can walk and must be staved off by children with swords, timing is everything. Back then, I didn't know that the way I do now. Timing was for prompt attacks on a Spectre, planning an evening to catch a Phantom by surprise. Nor did I even truly know that I was a child, and only now do i truly feel such. Funny, how as a child I felt like a grown-up, but as a man I feel like a child.

My name, for this record, is Quill Kipps. I've been asked to write this down as it may matter later on as a historical record, though why this tale is of import I don't know. Perhaps it's a cautionary tale. Much of my later exploits have already been taken down by my colleague, Lucy Carlyle of the now-esteemed Lockwood and Co. psychic agency. However, difficult as it is, Ms. Carlyle has requested that I tell my own perspective of the events preceding my days as a supervisor of the Fittes agency and later in solving the most pivotal case of most people's lives alongside Lockwood & Co. It is the story of how I, a child at the time, learned something of timing.

I was seven minutes too late. That was all it took for my life — and, I'm sorry, that sounds selfish now I've written it down, but this is in ink, so shall we say — how two lives, one of which was mine, were irrevocably changed. Back then, both of us would have said they were ruined. But we both survived, as most people do, and I think have both finally come to be glad of that fact.

Only agents walk freely after dark. Curfews take affect, and fear even before that, meaning most adults take to their homes, iron-fortified and scented of lavender, at the first sign of sunset. Most of them likely haven't even seen a sunset in years. That's particularly sad, I think. There's so much beauty after light, and so few can ever see it.

Adults, who cannot detect Visitors, live in more fear even than those who can see, or in some cases, such as that of the esteemed Ms. Carlyle, hear them. Funny how the lack of knowing makes things so much more terrifying. After dark the only living human forms to be seen are those who a century ago would have been considered small and vulnerable, but who now protect their elders from horrors they're blind to. I know what it's like to be blind. I have walked both sides. But that isn't what this is about.

I didn't have a case that night. My team had the night off after a serious domestic case the previous evening, one including a feral Poltergeist with a penchant for throwing kitchen knives willy-nilly. Our Listener had taken a deep cut in the process of sealing the Source, and as such our team had been told to take a respite for a weekend, rest and recover with extra time that we often didn't have as part of the largest psychic agency in London. And, amidst the desperate rush of the previous night's haunting, I had realized precisely what I wished to do with that time.

It's difficult for a child, even a teenager as I was, to conceptualize the passage of time. When you're fourteen, you can't think of what your life will be like in a decade. When you are a fourteen year old psychic agent, you can't think of it due to doubts that you will even reach that age. It's a job with a high mortality rate. Any benefits or honor you may receive don't change the fact that you can die, possibly quite alone, at any time in the line of work. This particular night, I wasn't thinking about that, however. I was thinking of a future, vague and hypothetical, clearly far too hopeful, in which I married the girl of my dreams.

Jessica Lockwood was lithe, dark-haired, and had the sweetest smile that I have ever seen to this day — and for the record and for irony's sake, it has indeed been nearly a decade since then. She and her brother, Anthony, who has since made quite the name for himself, were the inheritors of their late parents' house at 35 Portland Row. The late Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood had been researchers and collectors of rare and potentially psychic items from around the globe. Their research had led to an untimely death and orphaning of their children, but it had also led to a connection with the Fittes agency and thus my meeting Jessica, back in those days when I could See Visitors unaided and she was alive.

She was so, so alive. I don't quite know how to describe it. There was a determination about her that gave her a kind of almost glow, a vibrancy that surrounded her and lit up even the most depressing of rooms, even the DEPRAC waiting room I had met her in shortly after her parents lost their lives. Anthony, Tony as Jessica called him, was only nine years old and well on his way to becoming a fully-fledged agent with Sight better than most, possibly even my adolescent self. Jessica, if she had been gifted in Talent, had never made mention of it and thus had not taken up a rapier in the fight against the Problem. Her efforts were focused on her family's home, and the one other person remaining in it.

She was tidying up, as she called it, making a project of her parent's research and the items collected throughout it. I had peeked in on this organization a few times over the past few months that Jessica and I had been seeing each other, but none of the items held any significance to my eyes. A few carried a slight psychic residue, but Tony could have told her that much, and likely did. He never hesitated to speak his mind, albeit often in a roundabout way even then. He certainly spoke his mind about me.

It was understood that Tony and I did not particularly get along. He was somewhat possessive of his sister, which was understandable, and I found him to be pretentious and annoying. Still do, for that matter. However back then we mutually endeavored to keep the peace, for Jessica's sake if nothing else. I would have been honored to be allowed into the family eventually. I think in that moment I was so assured in my love for Jessica that I would have readily given up my work as an agent if she'd asked it, and a part of me knew she would. I would have given up the world for her.

I whistled quietly to myself as I walked down the streets that night. I'd taken a Night Cab to a corner nearby and was just rounding the corner, where a small shop sat for as long as most could remember, to continue down the Row when a wailing came speeding up behind me, preceded and followed by blindingly bright lights. An iron-lined ambulance and two DEPRAC cruisers tore down the road I was headed down, and before the realization had even sunk in I was jogging to catch up out of sheer curiosity. It didn't occur to me until I had already watched them pull to a stop that they could even potentially be going to number 35.

But they did, and even with my own cocksure refusal to understand mortality on a personal level, a chill sank through me even harsher than a ghost-chill or miasma. It made my hands numb; even though I had my rapier, I couldn't have handled it in that moment if I had had to. I sprinted through the gate, past the already rushing medics preparing borderline-overdoses of adrenaline, and when the DEPRAC officers called out ordering me to stop, asking me what I was doing here, I growled that I was a Fittes operative, let me through, I had to get to the scene.

Because I knew even then that there was a scene in the Lockwood house. Adrenaline is the only treatment for ghost-touch and either way this night could go, it was not going to go well. I had been coming to tell the girl of my dreams that I loved her, and now, the realization was hitting me smack in the face that I might instead be either comforting her at her precious little brother's bedside, or telling her goodbye instead.

I was the first to her room, then, closely followed by the DEPRAC people who were then followed by the medics. And all of us were too late. Something, I'm not quite sure what, was cracked on the floor, a dark tear in solid silver that told me a Seal had been broken, and the small dark-haired form of Tony was standing stock-still holding a rapier, but this isn't what any of us was focusing on.

Jessica Lockwood, or by this time, the body of Jessica Lockwood, lay silently on her own bed. There was no blood, no signs of physical struggle, but there never was in cases like this. She should never have been a case, not like this. If it weren't for the fear and pain on her face, a twisting that my heart easily matched upon seeing it, she could have been safely asleep. The ghost-touch must have been acute, a wrap of faintly glowing arms, and Jessica's death near immediate, because the telltale bloating and bruising of her flesh had only barely begun. They should have brought a hearse truck, not an ambulance.

And the death-glow hovering over her, suffusing the dim room with light to those of us who could see it, was brighter than any I had or to this day have ever seen. It was like a small bit of sunshine, or a star itself, lit up Jessica's bloating body from the inside out, and not simply because I was in love with her, which was true. The light was overwhelming.

Tony was staring at it as well, as the medics began to take protective measures for handling the body. There were ectoplasm stains on the floor near the bed, and near where the boy stood. A thin film coated the edge of his rapier. He was in jeans and a white shirt, half-tucked in but slightly dirty as if he'd been playing outside in the back garden. I forced myself to close my gaping mouth, took a step towards him and forced my heart to untwist.

"Tony," I said, reminding myself how to speak and in particular how to speak to someone in a volatile state, and put a hand on his shoulder.

Tony jerked back away from me. "Don't touch me!" He cried out, and I backed off with my hands in the air. His rapier had swung wildly about when I touched him, coming to rest tremulously near my ribcage.

"Tony, you have to come with me," I said, nervousness and slowly settling grief making it sound far more bossy than I think I really intended. I wanted to get him out of there, away from the body of his sister which was becoming more and more grotesque by the minute, and away from the site where her spirit might return if given a moment's chance. "It's me, Quill."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," he hissed. His eyes were fixed mostly on Jessica's bed, mouth twitching as if he wanted to shout at the medics and officers working to take care of her body, but he glanced at me with such vitriol that it took me aback. "You were too late," he spat, and I flinched at the truthfulness of it.

I cleared my throat, which had suddenly started to close. "I wasn't with them," I told him. "I was coming here to-" and there i stopped, because what use was it telling Tony now? I had missed my chance, and it didn't matter if I had loved her, or how much her little brother had, because those things did not change that she was dead now.

"To what?" The question was asked in such a low tone that it would have frightened me to hear it come from someone so young, if I hadn't been in some kind of shock and struggling just to make it through this conversation and get the boy away from the scene.

I stared at him. In that moment I had never felt more defeated or useless. "I was coming to tell her I loved her," I admitted, helplessly.

"Lot of good that did her," Tony hissed at me after only a second's hesitation, then with one last, lingering look at his sister's death-glow, ran out of the room. I later found out that he ran all the way out of the house, and had to be restrained by a DEPRAC agent in order to be taken to Scotland Yard to give a statement.

I was taken in as well, as I had been on the scene so immediately, and as the long night passed in a sort of numb turmoil, the next I saw of Tony was in a waiting room just like the one where I'd first met Jessica. It was dull and gray and certainly didn't help with the sudden numbness that had come after the shock. I approached the boy slowly, hoping he could see me and wouldn't be startled. I was trying, very hard, to be friendly, but I've never been much good at that.

"I'm-"

"Sorry?" Anthony finished for me, more than a little bitterly. "I knew you'd say that, Quill." He glared at his hands resting on his knees, hands which a couple hours before had had a death grip on a rapier and now were painfully empty.

It struck me that this was a boy with nothing left to hold onto at all, no family left to speak of. He could have been a vengeful spirit himself, for as pale and hollow as he looked in that fluorescent-lit room deep inside Scotland Yard. It was evening now. They couldn't just send him away into the dark, rapier or no rapier. Not back to a house that could be haunted, even as we sat and stood in uncomfortable silence in an all-gray room, by the spirit of the girl we had both loved.

"She loved you too, you know," Tony said quietly, startling me from my numbish reverie. His tone was low and dangerous, something I was then unaccustomed to. Sarcasm, certainly, and taunts, but the delicate anger in his voice that night was something entirely new to me. I would come to know it much better over the years. When he turned to fix his gaze on me, locking me in place just as well as a Visitor's trance, there was a hollow look in his eyes that looked almost dead and nearly made me flinch.

"Why couldn't you have gotten there sooner?" He accused, standing from the cheaply built waiting room chair and coming toe to toe with me despite being then significantly shorter. "It was seven minutes, I counted! You were seven minutes late! Why weren't you there sooner?" The danger in his voice turned ragged toward the end, high-pitched and boyish. I didn't know what to do with that.

I had no reply. I'd had no case that night, no reason to dawdle. I hadn't thought I had dawdled, really, until it was too late. I couldn't let myself think that I had, refused to acknowledge the implication that Jessica's death could have been prevented if I had only picked up my pace by a bit. If I did, the regret, already threatening just beyond the numbness I was slowly emerging from, would overwhelm me. I was only a child, only fourteen. I was equipped to handle Visitors of all kinds, even the dangerous Poltergeist my team had faced earlier in the week, but I was not equipped to handle this any better than nine year old Anthony Lockwood.

I stood my ground against his dark, sad eyes and bitter trembling. This time there was no sword to stab into me if I took a step too close. We were caught, in a standoff, stock-still in that dingy, timeless waiting room with the ghost of Jessica hanging over us, if not literally then very present figuratively speaking. Both of us, I know now, were children. This shouldn't have been our lot; but it was, and despite the grief and the pain, we stood firm in it.

"I'm sorry, Tony," I said stiffly, though genuine. I couldn't force my mouth to form the words any more gently while shouting and fighting inside and knowing that he wouldn't accept it either way. I was always going to take his sister from him, one way or another. None of us ever thought it would be like this, though.

He glared harder, tipped up his chin at me. Even then a bit of hair flopped over his eyes. "Don't call me Tony," he snapped, then whirled away, arms crossed. "It's just Lockwood, now."

"Is it?" I sniped back, as if on autopilot. I nearly didn't realize the snide words had come out of my mouth until he replied.

"Only one of my name," he said. He only faltered a little, but the similarities to Jessica were enough that I could see it. I didn't acknowledge it, though. That would be something too close, too painful, and there was no safe way to let this scene turn into that from where we were just then. "I dealt with it, even DEPRAC agrees. The Visitor-" and here, his voice definitely shook. The Visitor that killed Jessica. "The Visitor is well gone. I could start my own agency, if I wanted." He tightened his arms around himself, another tell that I refused to see.

I was horribly selfish then, and for a long while afterwards. Sometimes I still am. Sometimes, I regret that. I have a lot of things I regret.

"Good luck," I told him, after a long, suddenly chilly silence. A DEPRAC inspector, Barnes, was coming down the hall. My self-imposed responsibility, to not let Tony be alone on this night, was ended. I would go home and curl onto my bed, fully clothed, and tremble until the dawn came. I would make tea and pretend that I could taste what kind it was. I would not concern myself with a boy who was not my responsibility, even if I'd come very close to having him for a brother once upon a time. Those hypotheticals were out of reach now, and the fact of that was all too quickly sinking in. I didn't want to be around people when the lingering shock fully faded.

I turned at the door, passing by Barnes as he entered the room and cleared his throat for Tony's attention. I looked over my shoulder and made a momentary eye contact with Jessica's little brother, the only connection to her still alive in this world. I thought of her just a few hours before, alive and well and glowing with life, now nothing but a death-glow in her own bedroom. I swallowed hard, gave Tony a firm nod. "I'm sorry," I said once more, and didn't stay long enough to hear any reply he may have made.

I cried it again, later, staring into the dark of the night unable to sleep. "I'm sorry," I whispered, as if Jessica could still hear me. Her room was being filled with lavender and reinforced with iron and silver at that very moment. There was no chance, or at least very little, that she would return. To this day I don't think I knew if I wished she would or wouldn't. For my sake and for Tony's, now I'm glad that she didn't. I'm not sure either of us would have survived that.

I'm not sure of the purpose of this record, except that I hope I can give a warning to those who may one day read it. Life does not last forever the way we think it does as kids. As an adult now, I feel both older and younger than I've ever been. I was seven minutes too late for the girl that I loved more than I believe I really knew how to love. It isn't all that much. Just seven minutes for a life to be lost and two more to nearly follow. Timing is everything, and I missed mine. I hope that others will not make the same mistake.

~~~~~

Lucy reads through the story slower than she usually would for anyone or anything else and only looks at Kipps again once she's gotten to the end. He won't look at her, staring staunchly at some teasing doodle on the Thinking Cloth. There's a heaviness in the air. Holly appears at the threshold of the kitchen for a moment, seems to take stock, and moves on without hardly a noise. If Lucy hadn't been facing her, she wouldn't have even known Holly had been there.

She holds the pages carefully in her hands for a moment longer before handing them back to Quill. "The last paragraph," she begins quietly.

It's fading afternoon again, golden hour a few days after she first brought up the question of Jessica to him. He'd knocked at the front door earlier in the day even though Lockwood had faux-reluctantly given an open invitation, and a spare key, over a snacking smorgasbord during the few days they'd spent organizing and painting Jessica's room and a few others. With Lockwood and George out, presumably to chat with Flo or scrape up some research, 35 Portland Row is quietly peaceful.

Lucy and Kipps both have cups of tea in front of them; Kipps has mostly drained his, possibly just for something to do, and Lucy's has started to go cold. She stares into the liquid, tapping the side of her cup with a quiet ringing tick noise. The silence, once awkward and anxious, sits with them and they let it. Eventually, Lucy looks at Kipps and he automatically looks back at her.

"The last paragraph," she repeats quietly. "Is that for him?" She means Lockwood, of course. Of course Quill would notice the closeness between the two of them, that Lockwood seems sure to continue as he is without addressing it.

Quill shrugs. "Maybe," he says. "I wrote it down because you asked," he tells her, with more earnestness than she had honestly expected. Kipps is a dear friend these days. He's also still often abrasive and detached by habit. "But maybe the whole thing is for him, really," he admits.

Lucy thinks of his own words: very close to a brother, once upon a time. She nods solemnly. "Thank you," she says softly. Quill nods back, and manages a hesitant, sad smile in return.

#SO ANYWAY I GUESS I HAVE FEELINGS #in typical fashion I managed to switch both tenses and POV and ALSO make this somehow both pre and post canon #which i think is pretty prestigious. if i do say so myself #but aldjdlsnfjsj yeah emotions. gonna crosspost this to ao3 in the morning probably??? #need to decide on a title but the song i kept listening to during this was i hope by we are the guests. so there's that #Lu writes #lockwood & co #L&c #quill kipps #songbird babe this is for you bc you're the one who got the idea of kipps/jessica into my head in the first place #any typos will be edited out uhhhh later

[sewerfight]

just had a hazbin hotel blog follow me. felt like a schizoid lifer in prison watching some ignorant momma's boy prance into the outdoor cage and complainingly lisp to a guard that they don't have the right shoes to play the yard games. sweetheart you're not going to like it here

[wcndrlnds]

ALICE KANG ? the TWENTY SIX year old is the COUNTESS of WARWICK, how exciting to see them this season! rumors have it they are IMAGINATIVE and AFFECTIONATE, but i’ve heard they are QUIET and FOOLISH as well — maybe that’s why they’ve been called the DREAMER. I have even heard that SHE CAUSED THE FIRE THAT TOOK HER FAMILY — only time will tell.

STORY.

I. eldest of three by the time she gets to see her fifth year, the kangs couldn't have wished for better daughters. couldn't have wished for a better family to raise in one of the few estates to their name. II. alice had always been keen to the arts for as long as she could reach the height of three apples. her mother had a voice of velvet, and the count couldn't get enough of the latest byron and poets. not that she would understand much of it in her young age, but recitations were frequent, and thus her brilliant mind put to a pedestal as she could read earlier than most child. III. passion would be putting it lightly, and count kang knew what he had to get started so his oldest could follow into her hobbies as she grew. IV. renovations lasted longer than the finished addition could ever live. for months of works to carve shelves in the finest of woods and acquiring the rarest of books would all go in vain a few weeks after the completion. V. FIRE, DEATH TW. no one knows for sure what happened. only that so the blaze could be seen from the village, smoke thick of wood and paper making for an impossible thing to avoid. was it the british mixed feline that knocked over a candle ? of the fireplace ill placed in the heart of the library going wild ? a misplaced pipe still carrying ambers ? nothing is known of the cause, solely the outcome. alice covered in sot and cuts from the shattered glass that flew out windows after windows in the inferno. VI. all but seven years young, and she's found herself with no estate, no parents, no siblings. only an inheritance that couldn't be clearer : title and every assets passed down to the eldest child, no matter the age. not that any uncles or aunts could try to claim it, for none were in sight to hear of the tragic event. VII. thankfully, or fatefully, the cholmondeleys whomst had always been close and dear to the kangs, couldn't let the poor orphan in the streets. taking her under their wings, she's had the fortunate honor to grow up alongside people she could never call family, guilt ridden mind wouldn't allow such a claim, but they've treated her like nothing less. VIII. unwillingly, though never complainingly, learning how to take care of duties that are far beyond her expertise and interests, as well as trying to navigate a society that whispers about her tragedy like it happened all but yesterday. twenty years anniversary of the event is near, and never once has it stopped plaguing mind uncontained.

QUICK FACTS.

she was a pretty lively kid before the whole fire rip !!

has grown quite... quiet since. never lost her good manners, but is losing herself hiding behind being proper ever since being introduced into society.

her mind is still running rampant with ideas and imagination from all the books she read and will keep reading. loves to evade in stories, as those are some rare times where she is allowed an escape from her reality.

which makes her also quite foolish and naive !! forgets sometimes where the line is between reality and fantasy, it is easy to make her believe in anything. that is only because she wants to believe, too.

extremely soft spoken to the point that sometimes she cannot be heard. would much rather be unfound in a corner of a ballroom than in the middle of the dance.

seasons have come and gone and while she has had her share of courtships, none seemed to ever stick. either from her mind spacing in the middle of a conversation or the rumors surrounding her, it always seems enough to drive everyone away.

much much MUCH more comfortable with people that took time to stick with her. she isn't hard to approach, kind and warm in all the right ways, but she is hard to understand. a handful of people do, and she understands them right back. meaning she'll be in their corners and cling to them no manner what, fear of seeing them vanish from her reach if she doesn't.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

a little tired to come up with specifics </3. but honestly anything that you can think of !! slide in my dms or ims or literally simply tag me in anything and i will respond and go off any kind of vibes !! friends, not so friends, influences gone good or bad, another lady to kiss in secret, anyone to indulge in her imagination, someone she gives her trust to a little too rapidly, make a fool out of her, and so much more truly anything goes !!

#intro #wdintro #bro the way my laptop crashed as i was doing this and ps also crashed prior........................................ #didn't want to see me post that intro fr #fire tw #death tw

[sunchay]

So I thought... What if our favourite characters could hear us. It would lead to a lot of chaos, of course. Just image if every new fic you write those characters hear your every written word (don’t even think to say something bad about them, they’ll go insane). 

*imagine fic author sitting next to computer screen at 3 am and finally having an inspiration after a few month of writer’s block*

“Ah, another one...” Mycroft rolled his eyes and shook his head not taking his eyes off the computer screen.

Holmes was sitting alone in his study, when suddenly...

“Gregory came into the study? With bouquet of flowers? Or did he just walk in naked? I've heard enough of it already.”

...Anthea walked into the office. She'd just announced that Greg had decided to pay Mycroft a visit.

“How predictable.” Mycroft hummed, even a little disappointed at something. “Didn't you think he need a reason for that? After all, he is an Inspector of Scotland Yard, he can't just walk out of his workplace without telling anyone. Besides, I'm tired of having to make constant excuses to his supervisor. Neither my patience nor that of his boss is ironclad.”

Because he was so lonely, Mycroft often talked to himself to compensate for his loneliness and imagined that someone cared about his problems and himself.

“I'm talking to you, not to myself!” He looked up as if trying to see something or maybe someone. “And I don't feel alone. I don't need other people to solve my problems.”

Greg arrived a few minutes later. He didn't have any flowers with him, and he was fully dressed. It must have made Holmes very upset, because instead of saying hello or anything else he just looked at him angrily.

“Well, of course I came here fully dressed! Gosh, they’re becoming more and more irritating…”

Mycroft seemed very surprised by Greg's shout.

“No, I'm not surprised. Everyone can hear you.”

“When will all this be over?” Greg asked complainingly and sank down on a chair in front of Mycroft's desk.

“I'm afraid never. They all have calmed down a bit over the years, but they will never stop.”

“Well, at least our situation is not as bad as Sherlock’s and John’s...” said Greg after thinking for some time.

Mycroft only snorted.

“My brother likes the attention. He doesn't get tired of it all.”

Greg nodded in agreement with Mycroft.

“But... on second thought... Maybe we should try...?” Greg asked cautiously.

“You mean give in to their desires? Then they will never give up on us.”

“And maybe they just... would get off...” Greg put his hand on Mycroft's arm. –“See, he's almost stopped commenting on our actions. I think it's working...”

“Well, let's give it a try...” Mycroft sighed and took Greg's hand.

Also... Despite the fact that maybe our characters are already tired of everything I hope we’ll never get tired of them. I’m happy to see people are still writing, still doing art, still are joining fandom and there still are some of us who appreciate Mystrade. 

I hope I won’t think this is a shitpost in the morning but in that case I’m very sorry, forget everything you’ve read here.

#Mystrade #thoughts #shitpost maybe #i need to go to sleep already #my fic i guess #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade

[layanasstories]

If not in this lifetime...

---

"We found each other in this crazy and messed up and fucking beautiful world because we belong together, we belong in each other’s arms and we are connected by more than love, by more than commitment, by more than even fate itself for the simple reason that your presence is the only thing I will ever truly want”

- A.R.Asher

---

Chapter 8

Of course he returned my hug. "Can I ask you something?" he says while we are still in our embrace and with his chin on my head. "Mhm" I answer. "Can I please be your plus one? To be Dan's and Alice's plus four is really getting embarrassing." And with that, he broke the ice. His sad and pleading voice made that I burst out laughing "Yes, yes you can be my plus one".

After we went back inside, it wasn't long before the newlyweds were back and we were having dinner. As if the ladies had agreed upon, some sort of plot they'd hatched to put Jake across the table from me. I say 'as if' because Dan and Alice were also sitting opposite me, but next to him. The conversations were pleasant and the food delicious. Drinks flowed in galore before the party even started. The restaurant also provided a large hall where the party would take place. They had hired a DJ and we danced, talked and laughed. I drank, one drink after another. I wanted to shut the voice of fear up as best I could. I know it's not right, I know you shouldn't run away like that, but tonight I didn't care. So I let myself go.

By the time the party was over, sometime early in the morning, I vaguely remember dragging Jake to my hotel room without any hesitation. Ruby and Emily had arranged some rooms for relatives and Alice and myself, in the hotel opposite the restaurant. When they had told me about the hotel, I didn't think it was necessary, I wouldn't let myself go and get drunk. Now I could kiss them, because standing staight on both legs was not really a thing anymore. Not that I was alone in that. Jake leaned against the walls in the hallway toward my room, to keep himself from falling over. My goodness we were so drunk, as soon as we saw our bed we both crashed and fell asleep.

With small eyes and a dry throat I straighten up in bed. At first full of surprise that Jake is lying on my bed but then the memories of yesterday flow in. I feel a small smile curl around my mouth, it had been a great party. Jake was still asleep fully clothed except for his jacket and shoes. I want to laugh but as soon as I look at myself I see that I am too still wearing all my party clothes. I decide to get of the bed very gently and take a shower. I want to be able to show myself a little decently in the breakfast room. Because breakfast is something I really crave right now.

After I finished my shower and put on my shirt and jeans, I curiously poked my head around the corner of the bathroom door. Jake was awake now too but sat with his head between his hands on the end of the bed. "Good morning." It sounded more like a question than a greeting. With one finger he waves that he hears me "Please remind me next time not to drink so much. My head is going to explode." I have to giggle a little, but that's short-lived, my own head doesn't feel too good either. "The shower is free, maybe it will help?" I suggest "By the way, do you have clean clothes with you or should I ask in the group app if someone has something to borrow for you?" I ask and take a few steps into the room. "Yes, I do, but in my car." he groans complainingly "I'm mentally preparing myself to walk there.".

"Where are the keys? I'll get your bag, I've already showered and I'm feeling a bit better. Then you can take a shower. Which car is yours and where is it?" In the same breath I take control and stand in front of him with my hand up telling him to give me the keys. "It's hard to miss her, she's the only Dodge Challenger in the parking lot" he replies as he grabs his jacket from the floor and takes out the car key. When he puts the key in my hand he looks at me with a narrowed eye. "Please be careful with her and thank you.".

With still wet hair and bare feet in my sneakers I walk into the parking lot. He was right his car stood out from all the other cars. When he said a Dodge I expected a new one too wide for a parking space but instead there was an old Challenger, completely restored to his taste. I took a moment to look at her, drooling, then I carefully opened the trunk and pulled his bag out, even more carefully I closed the trunk lid again. This car was worth more than the entire contents of my house.

Back in the room, I knock on the bathroom door. I can hear the water running but not his answer, so I open the door a little bit "Jake? Where should I put your bag?". "On the bathroom cabinet please." he answers me. I try not to think or look as I step into the bathroom and walk to the cabinet on the other side of the bathroom next to the shower. As soon as I put the bag down he starts talking. "And?". "And what?" I ask back. "What do you think of her?". Oh boy, now I'm supposed to have a conversation here? How the hell am I going to focus on that, with him naked not even a meter away from me. "Well?" he asks again. "Um, yes." I stutter out. "Yes? Did you hear my question?" stunned, he responds to my reply. "Jake! This isn't the place or time to have a nice chat?!" I hit myself in the forehead. "Why not?" still oblivious to the awkwardness. "Because you're naked!" I shriek ashamed. "What's wrong with a little nudity?" his comment already sounds a lot less innocent. "Oh my god Jake, you're just doing it to tease me." secretly giggling I walk out of the bathroom, I can still hear him laughing when I close the bathroom door behind me. "Bastard!" I laugh to myself.

When we finally sit down at the table with our breakfast, which consists of egg, bacon and lots of coffee, I look at him seriously. "It's tomorrow. How are we going to fix it?" I try to hold back the shock of my own directness. "Do you still want that?" his question is even more serious than mine. "Yes." as sure as my answer is, that's how I feel inside too. Yes, still anxious about the future, but if it's with him to get over our fears together, then gladly. "All right. Let's make a pact. A promise or whatever you want to call it. And in that things we find important." he suggests. "Hmm, okay. First thing, honesty. No nonsense, no excuses. Say it like it is. When you're happy with something or suddenly the fear kicks in. Say it." I add.

[renjouu]

hi!

I have a request, if that's okay. I know it'll take you a lil while to get around to it but that's perfectly fine! Take your time.

my request is a ler! stray kids fic with lee! seungmin and jeongin

can the story be like seungmin and jeongin has been playfully insulting the group for a while and they all attack both of them? thanks!

Perfect Revenge

Masterlist!

Summary: The 2 maknaes, Jeongin and Seungmin, decided to playfully insult their group for a few days. That was until their other group members have had enough of their shenanigans and needed to put an end to the situation immediately.

A/N: Thank you for waiting patiently while I find the time to fulfill your request!

Warnings: Tickle Fic

Positions: Ler! Stray kids, Lee! Jeongin & Seungmin

——————————

It’s been a few days since Jeongin and Seungmin decided to insult their group jokingly. Let’s just say, the 2 maknaes had lots of fun doing so. However, the other members were not having as much fun.

Jeongin and Seungmin would always bother them every time they have something important to do. They would also say things like, “Hyung- you’re trash at this!” or “Get better at doing this or that!”

It was a mess at the dorm with these 2 joking around a lot. Especially when Stray Kids just had a new comeback. They were all really busy with their schedules.

Though, one day, their manager said it was okay for them to take a day off and rest, considering the fact all the members have been working hard.

And of course, this was a perfect time for Jeongin and Seungmin to jokingly insult them once again.

“You guys are so lazy. Sure, we have a day off, but we should still get up and do stuff! You lazy bums.” Jeongin laughs as he notices his members on the couches resting.

“Jeongin is right. Stop being lazy guys!” Seungmin joined in, standing right beside the younger.

“Seriously? I’ve had enough of this! Please, all you two have been doing was insulting us. For how long!? We’re just trying to take a break!” Han complainingly speaks up from the couch.

“I agree. Are we not allowed to rest now?” Hyunjin also speaks up, tiredly.

“Chill guys, do you know how to take a joke or no?” Seungmin sarcastically rolled his eyes as he crosses his arms.

“Seungmin, Jeongin, your jokes aren’t that good. Please just stop.” Chan suggested, who was the only one basically standing, only to get water, though.

“Whatever. You guys are so boring and party poopers!” Jeongin sighed as he sat down on the floor since the couches were obviously occupied.

“We literally just had a comeback…Are you guys not tried or what?” Felix questions.

“Yeah. We’ve been booked up in our schedules the whole week! It was busy, and it’s still gonna be busy for another few days.” Minho managed to pop himself in the conversation.

“Ugh, of course it’s the 2 maknaes who are still energetic. They’re still growing.” Changbin sarcastically yawns out as he’s ready to take a nap.

“Excuse you, did you already forget we’re all legally adults now?!” Seungmin frowned after what Changbin has just spoke out.

“Oh don’t you be grouchy with us now.” Chan scolded.

“Seungmin-hyung has every right to be grouchy. It’s true, we are all legally adults now! We’re not babies anymore.” Jeongin complained while rolling his eyes.

“Oh, be quiet.” Chan says as he pokes the two youngest in the side, causing them to jerk forward.

Shortly after, Chan gave the members a “do you know what i’m thinking?” Look. Soon, the other members took the hint and that’s when more chaos finally started.

Chan, Lee know, and Changbin pounced on Jeongin while Hyunjin, Han, and Felix pounced on Seungmin.

Before the two could process anything, the room was filled up with laughter within a second.

“waIHAHAHAIT! STAHAHAP!” Jeongin shrieked as Lee know focused on his neck.

“Hopefully this will make you guys learn your lesson.” Chan smirked as he targeted the youngest feet.

“NAHAHAHA! GUHUHUYS!” Seungmin screamed out as he was being pinned down by Hyunjin.

“PLEHEHEASE NOHOHO!”

“This is what y’all get for insulting us!” Hyunjin playfully frowned.

“WE AHRE SOHOHORHRY!” Jeongin apologized as he squirmed around, trying his best to get out of the others grasps.

“Oh, now you’re sorry? You’re finally apologizing, huh?” Changbin spoke out, moving his hands towards Jeongin’s ribs.

“WE REHEHEALLY AHRE PLEHEHEASE!” Seungmin’s face soon turned red and he grew weaker.

“You’re only sorry because you’re getting tickled to death right now.” Han chuckled as he scribbled his fingers all over Seungmin’s bare stomach.

“T-THAHATS NOHOT T..TRUHUHUE!” Seungmin managed to shout out since he was losing breath pretty quickly due to the merciless fingers.

“Will both of you promise not to insult us again?” Chan questioned between the loud laughters.

“WEHE WEHEREN’T EVEHEN INSUHULTING! IHIHIT WAHAHAS A JOKE!” Jeongin responded before the tickling got faster.

“That’s not the answer I am expecting.”

“OHKAHAY! WE PROHOHOMISE! JUHUST PLEHEASE STAHAHAP!” Jeongin begged as Seungmin’s laughter gone silent.

“Alright, you said it yourself.” Chan stopped, the other members following.

However, let’s just say, the two youngest did not stop. Which is why this scene was repeated a few more times until they finally learnt their lesson.

#kpop tickle #tickle fanfic #stray kids #tickle fic #lee! jeongin #lee! seungmin #ler! straykids

[angieloveshua]

He’s too delicate, Lin Jingheng thought, half complainingly. However, though he shook his head, he still said, “There should be a humidifier inside the medbay. You can take it and use it in the training room. Just remember to seal the door properly. If the mech’s interior environment is too humid it can damage the parts.” When Duyanying, who’d followed over, heard him, he could no longer identify the causes of his outrage. He felt that the Lin person would resort to any and all sorts of questionable methods to get close to his son. “What’s the meaning of this? Didn’t you just say that all fire, smoke and aerosol are banned?”

Duyanying will be the type of father who's still complaining about his sn-in-law even on the wedding day.

#can ci pin #残次品 #priest

[skyriderwednesday]

Sense In Sentiment, or The Love Of A Mended Thing

Watson is nodding off beside me, and after four hours of watching out of a window to no avail, it must be confessed that I too have begun to feel the tugging of exhaustion on my eyelids. -- Up late for a case, Holmes takes the time to admire his Watson while getting them both ready for bed. (Rated G, 500 words. Holmes POV. Extremely fluffy, chaste Holmes/Watson)

Watson is nodding off beside me, and after four hours of watching out of a window to no avail, it must be confessed that I too have begun to feel the tugging of exhaustion on my eyelids. There is a soft thunk against the windowpane as Watson nods a little too far. I gently take his shoulder. “Watson,” I say softly. He wakes with a quizzical grunt. “We shall call it a night.” We rise from the window seat, and I lead him sleepily into our room. Our kind hosts were terribly apologetic to only have one available, but the bed is perfectly sufficient for the two of us. Watson would be quite content to collapse into dreamland fully clothed, but he has his shoes on, so I must assist with his buttons and peel him, mumbling protests, into his nightshirt. Once I have him down to his drawers, he stops to rub his eyes and yawn expansively. I give him room, my eyes tracing over the soft curves and musculature of his form, so different from the thin and frail man I met those years ago. Scars faded, strength regained, but very much a mended thing. Lovingly restored, but never quite what it once was, though all the better for the love poured into it. I would not change him, not for the world, even as he remembers his eighteen-year-old self and laments the effects of age, and of illness, and of injury. I love him as he is, for his dear heart and for his tender soul, for his thick arms and sturdy legs, for the sweet fall of his magnificent belly. But I have been distracted, and my Watson is falling asleep sat on the edge of the bed with his chin against his chest. I am loathed to rouse him, but I need his help to thread those wonderful arms through his shirt sleeves without jarring the shoulder that brought him to me. That patiently and grumblingly done and appropriately dressed, I kiss him fondly on his forehead and guide him to pull his legs up onto the bed and lie down. The covers tucked over him and a pillow under his head, he mumbles a ‘good night Holmes’ and slips away into sleep, snoring softly. Watson attended to, I must turn to stripping myself, a far less pleasurable endeavour, but one less complainingly completed. I free my head and fold my cuffs away from my hands, my nightshirt sleeves really should be shorter, and climb into bed, putting out the lamp. Alone, I might want for a blanket in the chill of the night, but Watson is warmth enough. Lying down beside him, I am filled with how much I love him and how glad I am that he is mine. Such sentiment clouds the senses, but at a certain time of night, when the clocks in the house are starting to chime the first bells of morning, sentiment is the only sense there is.

#sherlock holmes #acd holmes #fanfiction #fluff #holmes loves watson #a lil more explicitly romantic but also watson is very extremely sleepy #holmes loves watson a lot (but would not use the word 'bonk' to describe the sound of his head hitting a window)