#words can not describe the hysterics this sent me into

[stellarynn]

You're in a meaningless hypothetical competition and your opponent comes out with this, wyd?

#words can not describe the hysterics this sent me into #who fucking cares #who is gonna do the work of explaining what the fuck a camera is #let alone an online meeting

[cal-flakes]

omg can you do dealer rafe where reader and wheez are making daisy chains and he realises he loves her

HOLY MOTHER MARY OF GOD I LOVE THIS!!!!

╰┈➤ dealer!rafe finally realised how much you mean to him.

warnings: just pure fluff.

summary: rafe watches y/n making daisy chains with wheezie.

the sun beamed down on tannyhill as she lounged in the garden, sipping on an iced latte.

soft footed patters rolled into the garden as wheezie looked around for her. spotting y/n, surrounded by the bright flower beds which complimented her tanned skin beautifully, she headed over.

“hey y/n, do you want to make daisy chains with me?” she asked sheepishly, used to being turned down.

y/n smiled up at the youngest cameron, setting her drink down. “ooh! i love making daisy chains!” she proclaimed, pushing herself up from the lounger.

“i think we should make flower jewellery for the party this weekend..” wheezie suggested, following behind y/n while she inspected the flowers in the corner.

“i think that’s a great idea wheez! now, which colours do you wanna use?” she twisted her face to think.

after picking an abundance of flowers from the back of the garden, the two girls settled in the middle, cross legged.

their fingers worked fast to loop each flower with another, the amount of necklaces piling up quickly. they’d each made a flower crown for each other, now wearing them like royalty.

“i think you should make one for rafe, he’d look great in pink!” wheezie laughed, throwing her head back hysterically.

“good choice! maybe a bit of purple in there too?” y/n joked, eyebrows raised in amusement.

their fit of giggles caught rafe’s attention, leaning over the balcony to get a look at what was so funny.

the stoic expression forever plastered on his face softened slightly as he took in the scene before him. his girlfriend’s bright smile caught his eye as he watched the girls roll around on the floor, menacing laughter surrounding them.

rafe was completely enamoured by her, she fit in so well with him and everything around him. including his little sister, who he also had a little soft spot for. so, to watch them get along made his heart swell.

“i think someone’s spying on you..” wheezie smirked, motioning a discreet hand to rafe’s balcony.

y/n glanced up quickly, sighing lovingly as she caught him staring.

“i think you should give him his new bracelet, he’ll love it! wheezie squealed, nudging y/n.

“oh absolutely! do we have enough necklaces for the party now?” she asked, not wanting to abandon their fun. a thumbs up from wheezie sent y/n on her way.

her sandals smacked against the wooden floor as she made her way to rafe’s room, alerting him she was near.

she found him on the balcony, now sat on his phone. “hey, i have a surprise for you!” y/n giggled, clutching the magenta bracelet behind her back. “oh yeah? what’s that?”

setting her drink down on the glass table, she stepped closer. “are you ready?”

rafe chuckled, nodding as he stared up at her in awe. he sat still in anticipation while she brought her hands back around slowly, intent on making him wait. “i made you…” she held her cupped hands out proudly “a bracelet!”

“this is for me?” he gasped, feigning shock as he held his arm out for her to put it on.

after the small struggle of fitting the bracelet over his hand, he held it up to his face, smiling. “you think this is my colour?” he joked, mocking her choice of a bright pink. “hey! it bring out your eyes..” she pouted, settling on his knee.

her face twisted into a small frown as he failed to say anything else, his eyes falling on hers.

he almost couldn’t think of the words to describe how he felt in that moment, he just knew he’d never felt like this before, with anyone.

“i love you so much y/f/n, like, a lot” he grinned, stroking her arm gently. her mouth opened slightly as her breath hitched.

she’s waited so long to hear him say it that she’d almost completely forgotten that she never had either.

“i love you too rafe, this much!” she giggled again, holding her arms out as wide as they could go.

he chuckled at hee childlike behaviour, pulling her in a for a soft kiss, his hands trailing her waist.

“finally!” a small voice squeaked from below them. the pair broke into fits of laughter as they realised wheezie had heard the whole thing, still counting the flower necklaces.

turning back to eachother, she eyed the bracelet on his wrist.

“you really gonna wear that?” amused at the thought. rafe nodded immediately. “absolutely princess…”

and that he did. big scary rafe cameron wore it like a medal on his wrist, begging her to make him a new one every he accidentally snapped it, which was a lot.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #outer banks #rafe cameron #outerbanks rafe #obx #dom!rafe #rafecameron #rafe obx #soft!dom rafe #dealer!rafe

[christinebloodwrittings]

Till' death do us apart: Chapter 3

Pairing: Angel Y/n x Alastor Fandom: Hazbin Hotel. Warnings: Murder, the axe man of Louisiana. Mostly backstory. Smut. Valentino being the sick fuck he is.

Masterlist –– Last chapter–– Next chapter

Taglist: Open...

(Images source: Pinterest. Artists: Unknown)

“Scandal! Brutal murder, four more men found, missing a variety of body parts and inner organs!” were the headlines, seven different papers covering the same Serial killer, with now a body count of thirteen victims.

You had collected the alleged Axe-man of Louisiana three years before he started. But the recent events, were a different pattern. The people thought it was the same murderer, the weapon, the fact he did not steal a single object of value and the objectives, they were almost the same modus operandi.

However, their victims had a reputation as local alcoholics, abusers, rapists and generally bad people. The fact that the bodies were missing organs and mainly limbs was what had people terrified, they were dealing with a cannibalistic imitator.

Detective had a severe hard time investigating the bodies, giving that their psychopath was no idiot, he hid the bodies in hunting grounds of the bayou, which everyone knows either wild life, or the hunting hounds may smell the blood and dig in, damaging any evidence he may have left.

You on the other hand, knew his face very well.

The 1920s were already experiencing a lot of hustle and bustle, more for a social issue than anything else, New Orleans had lost one murderer and gained another, this one adopting the fame of the one who preceded him.

And they were not so different, the Axe-man's victims described him as a man with a strong build and who wore a dark suit.

The last formal assassination of the Axeman was in 1919, the man was foolish enough, to your taste, to leave a letter behind.

“I am what you Orleanians and your foolish police call the Axe-man. When I see fit, I shall come and claim other victims. I alone know whom they shall be. I shall leave no clue except my bloody axe, besmeared with blood and brains of he whom I have sent below to keep me company.” You saw him write, his ink being the blood of a man from whom you already sent his soul up to heaven. His scalp split apart.

Such arrogance and ego, well, it wasn’t a surprise, he was mortal after all.

“I’m gonna live forever!” he laughed hysterically to himself, unaware of your presence behind, his name written in ink on your list. “Is that so?” your voice echoed in his mind, making him freeze in place, “I admire you, human, but I’m afraid I have to cut your fun short”.

He somehow gathered the strength to turn around, his bloody axe falling into the ground with a heavy thud. He took a shaky breath as you walked closer, your many eyes reflecting on his, “It’s time” he shook his head at your words, “NO! this cannot be the end, I…I have so many…so many things I need to do” his sudden arrogance made a disappearing act.

“There’s nothing I can do” you pointed down at his body, lifeless on the floor, a smile on his face despite having falling on top of his axe, “Well, fuck” you giggled at his expression, “Is a good thing that you put me in a good mood, I will do you a favor, but you must do something for me in exchange” his body language perked up in your direction, expectant.

“I will hide your body and make it as if the Axe-man killed you, so no one will connect you to her, and you’ll remain the ghost you deemed yourself to be” you saw his eyes lit up with the proposition, “But, I will do you no such pleasure to send you to Hell, instead you will pledge your services to me, and serve in my land, throughout eternity” your powers manifested a pair of chains, clasping around his hands, pulling him closer to you.

He scoffed, smiled and then he dared to utter, “What makes you think I would accept such bullshit?”, to which you laughed.

“Otherwise, I’ll keep you here long enough for you to watch your victim’s wife call the police, then they will unmask the oh so fearsome killer, who would, to probably anyone that hears, be a disappointment to know that he was just a fed up wood artisan, a xenophobic and a failure, whose cause of death was that, on his run, he tripped on a branch and fell, head first on his own axe” you were deadass mocking him, but even a cold blooded murderer like him had an ego, so he did nothing but let out an annoyed groan.

“Fine, you made your point” he took your hand, “What now?” his body started morphing into a grey skinned small creature, with short wings on his back, and a pair of small horns on his forehead, “I’ll file your soul to Limbo, in the meantime, can you be a dear and feed my menagerie of pets, please?” you handed him a bucket of meat and pushed him into a black portal.

“Oh, and please be careful” he looked back at you as you smiled, “The wendigo bites if she feels threatened, thank you!” you closed the portal, last thing coming out of it as it disappeared was the Axe-man scream for mercy.

The cannibal, on the other hand, was very much more intriguing.

You watched as he dig into the soil, your body lying on the handle of your spear, barely hovering the ground. Something, maybe the way he moved, the almost permanent smile on his face, his darling brown skin, the sweat making his caramel brown locks stick on his face, or the way he was so satisfied with the violence he released on the man, but there was a spark in him, that was so…

Interesting.

And of course, people could say, "Oh no, that's horrible, Death has a taste for maniacs, horrible, she's crazy!" To make matters worse, a cannibal sociopath, who feels, not pleasure, but satisfaction from the slaughter. Or so you thought, because despite the everlasting smile on his face, he showed no other emotion. How you dreaded not being a mind reader, otherwise you would’ve ransacked his brains…probably.

The funniest thing about him is that he killed the men out of idleness, while the women, being the vast majority of his victims, were chopped up to eat.

And yes, it would have been a deal breaker if he didn't make it so...poetic. You might ask, how the fuck could cannibalism be poetic? Well, the same as if you practiced eroticism on the hamburger you normally eat, but instead of a cow thigh, it was a human leg. Although you were very attracted to watching him cook, the fact that it used to be someone, didn’t failed to make your appetite go to hell.

You didn't know much more about that enigma of a man, and searching for him throughout Louisiana would interrupt your work, so for the moment, you had to turn around, and simply wait, for the blood of his next victim to call you back to his side.

And you just knew when the call was about him.

⚰️ 📻

Taking a deep breath was a big mistake, although it was hot, the air that went through your throat was bitter, acidic, it felt as if it was burning its way down, slowly. Your body regained consciousness with a lot of resistance, your eyelids desisted any attempt of lifting, the material covering them was soft as well as the one under your knees, that much you could feel.

Your arms were forced up, securing your sitting position, your body painfully relying on top of your calves. A chill breeze going up your spine made you acknowledge that they had dispose of your clothes, vulnerable at the sight of everyone. Again.

“Mariposa, you’re awake” butterfly he called you, Valentino’s velvety voice sounded, seemingly, not very far way, yet not at arm’s reach either. “You know, word ‘round the street stated that a fallen angel was fighting, my, and I thought it might’ve been an exorcist that was left behind, forced to fight for her life, but instead…” he carried that last word, taking just one step closer as he spoke.

“I find six scars on your back” his breath collided against your ear, “I found myself rather, confused, so enlighten me, preciosa, what other secrets you keep hidden from me?” his finger ran under your chin, while another hand unclasped the band that kept the gag on, letting it fall on your lap.

“Why does it matter?” you heard him smile at how dry your voice sounded. “I do have a question for you, may I?” he allowed you to, his silence was answer enough.

“You seriously waited in the room for me to wake up? Ha! Such a dramatic one you are” your mockery earned you a punch to your gut, but you expected it.

“That little attitude of yours, though it is enticing, will get you killed” he growled, clearly losing his patience, “Spare me the speech, will you? I’ll be eternally grateful” he noticed how though he manhandled you, there’s not an ounce of fear in your voice, but perhaps you didn’t know.

“I know angels can be killed with holy steel; you must be no different, and you bleed” his confidence made you huff in mockery, “Look, we can do this forever, I have an eternity ahead of me, whilst you, eventually will cease to exist, I just have to wait, I trust you made enemies along the way?”.

“You are way too confident, I’m gonna have to fix that” he purred.

Trying to negotiate with a man so used to having what he wants, was futile. “You don’t quite heal, do you?” his hand graced down your scarred chest, long and sharp marks covered your torso, mostly  grew from the center of your chest going outwards, the middle part was golden, then there was a black-purple hue, “A high archangel made them, if you see one covering a whip with their blood, run, I barely survived” the bare memory made the sting on your chest wake, feeling each reminder with every breath. He chuckled, He cut the rope above your head, your arms however did not fall, he held them still with his hands, letting them fall gently against the small of your back.

It wasn't really a surprise, but you weren't used to having so many hands on your skin. “I’ve never had an angel, I wonder what things will I do to you, to what extent I can go” he wondered, his cheek delighting in the warmth and scent of your clavicle, “Why so quiet? Talk to me, what have you tried?” he nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck, his voice sending vibrations down your spine, “Sex related? Not much since the fall of Babylon”.

“What a unique specimen, your hands are rough but soft, the muscles on your back where, I dare suggest, your wings were are built to lift a hell of weight, you’re a soldier, strong but velvety to the touch, I dare say, you’re magnificent, Angelito” he sat behind you only to pull your hips backwards until you were in between his legs.

To think that not even your previous husband, a man who, although he treated you with devotion until the crude end, never touched your body with such eroticism and desire, more like never at all. Valentino kept you at bay by holding your hips in place of his, while with his other pair of hands, he decided to take his time to savor all the violent spasms his small actions caused. His bulge grew with each whimper he managed to rip from your throat.

“So wet, and I barely touched you” he taunted, cupping your dripping heat, making your head fall backwards on his shoulder, “Okay, stop, it’s enough” the hands on your hips moved up to your breasts, he was specially careful with the split nipple, it obviously took a hit of the whip as well.

“Be honest with me, if you really didn’t wanted me to touch you, wouldn’t you transform and kill me?” he made a point, and it stabbed your pride really hard, so you stayed silent, “Deep inside, you know you need this, let me take care of you”.

His upper hands handling your outer skin were soft and gentle, while he slid two fingers inside your core, earning a surprised yelp from you. His digits worked looking in between the soft walls for your G spot, he smiled at your back arching against him, with both moans of pain and pleasure.

His tongue left pink trails down your neck, it was a slimy sensation, but not as distasteful as to actually taking smile in your hands.

He noticed your breathing getting harder and your walls sucking on his pumping fingers, so he flipped positions, breaking the rope that held your hands together, allowing you to fall against the soft fabrics hands still pinned over your head.

“What a good girl you are” he praised, ridding you of the blindfold. His eyes glowed red, even more when he got a good look of your golden irises, and the way your long locks fell against your face, drenched in sweat, “Wouldn’t you like to stay with me?” he caressed your face, moving away everything that prevent him from seeing you, “You promised…” you barely stated, as he kept his idle touches, always ghosting your poor and needy clitoris.

“I know” he groaned displeased. His tongue licked over your lips, forcing his way in. Sucking, biting and moaning against your lips. Your knees were suddenly pulled apart, an unexpected heat fell against your folds, taking in as much juices as he could, before pushing himself in.

You moaned as he kissed you, feeling him smile before he took his mouth from yours and pressed it against your shoulder, sucking on small marks as he reveled in your body contorting at the intrusion.

He wasted no time, he initiated a bruising rhythm, slapping his slender hips against you while his dick hit all the places you neglected for millennia. Sure, he never courted you or asked you for any permission whatsoever, you were conscious of that, but he was right, if you had truly hated his advances, you would’ve easily erased him from existence.

Everything about you was heat, electric sensations numbing your brain, between the rubbing of his skin against yours, his constant adoration, your insides being abused, all sensations that you longed, you just didn’t know how much.

“I…Feels tight!” he laughed at your desperation, “Cum preciosa, you can do it” he thrusted in a few times until he felt himself letting go, just after one last strong bite to your neck, you released.

“Hey Val, get this, the princess of hell made another commercial, fucking idiot” Velvette came walking through the door, her phone being the only thing here eyes wouldn’t glue off from, so she really didn’t paid attention to the scene going on.

Though, the words princess of hell ignited a flame, one that made your irises go black again, making Valentino stare at you horrified, “She is not talking about Lilith, is she?” Valentino just shook his head, “Lucifer had a daughter, you didn’t know?” he slipped off of you, then walked away to put on a puffy robe he had around.

“Holy shit, you didn’t” he surprised at you angered reaction, “Velvette dear, our friends needs an outfit, she’s about to see her family” he half mocked you, but he had to tore your clothes earlier, because he lacked the patience to removed them carefully.

“Sure” with a snap of her fingers you were dressed in a puffy dress with a lot of hearts and ribbons, “Could you make me look a bit more presentable? Like a 1940’s attire” she sighed, snapping her fingers again. A long sleeved dress hugged your figure, the dark blue fabric going down on you stopping at your ankles, the neck was high and covered everything that Valentino had done previously.

“Thank you miss Velvette, much appreciated” she smiled at her work as you walked in the blue high heels she had materialized, rather proud of how pretty you looked. “I’ll have my car take you to that shithole, but before that, Voxy?” Valentino stopped to give the word to the TV man.

“I need an assistant, I’ll pay you a considerate amount for it, you just have to file a few things and arrange my schedule” Of course there was the soul exchange on the golden paper he handed you, “I’ve heard that men like you trade work for ownership, I have to warn you though, I own no soul, since I’m not exactly alive” he widened his eyes at that, he took the paper and scratched that part, “There, fixed” you laughed as you signed, “Fine, whatever. I start tomorrow, I have a family matter to attend to”.

Oh what a hell you were going to drop on your brother.

#alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #hazbin art #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel au #hazbin hotel 2024 #fallen angel #alastor #radio demon #alastor the radio demon #alastor altruist #hazbin hotel alastor

[i-write-sin-not-tragedy]

Top 5 hazbin line deliveries and why, please?

Aaaaaa this was hard bc i genuinely adore so many of them but i picked 5 that really stick in my head!

5. Voxs whiney "fuuuuuck" at the end of "Stayed Gone"

Like i just really liked the delivery on it LOL its so silly and funny and just pathetic and it gave me a good laugh. I love Vox

4. "Haha! fuck you."

Like. Do i even need to explain. Its fantastic. Amir said "fuck" with his enitre chest and it sent me into hysterical laughter the first time i heard it. What a fantastic way to drop Alastors first f-bomb

3. "I am the princess of Hell, Angel, and I go where I Please!"

I just really love the silly over the top voice Charlie does here kwkfkekdk its so drama and theater kid of her, and I like the idea that shes being silly to try and ease Angels Nerves :')

2. "Yes, Valentino."

Am I allowed to say the enitre dressing room scene?? Blakes performance here was outstanding. The way he conveys the shift in Angels attitude, how his voice slips to something deeper, his stronger accent, the way you can fully and truely hear Angel drop his act completely. The way you hear him just be Anthony. But specifically the "Yes, Valentino." Line where his voice gets deep absolutely kills me.

1. "Charlie. It's fine. I get it."

I just. I???? Wkdmwkckwkk!?!?

The way his voice gets *so soft*

I am not ashamed to say I've listened to this scene like 60 times LOL its so goddamn sweet and soft and i do not have the correct words to describe the way Angels voice sounds when he says Charlies name besides "soft."

I melt into a fucking puddle every single time i hear it.

Favorite line hands down

#hazbin hotel #angel dust hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #alastor hazbin hotel #vox hazbin hotel #☁️💬

[venusrising91]

A Chance Encounter

Summary: While waiting in line at your local cafe, a chance encounter with a handsome hunk alters the course of your day.

Pairing: Wonho x Female reader

3k words

*********

You had been staring at the back of his head for the better part of fifteen minutes. He ran his hands through the fluffy, raven tresses each time a group of giddy girls approached him. It seemed like a nervous habit.

The line in the cafe inched at an insufferably slow pace and you were beginning to grow impatient. Suddenly, the caramel, iced coffee that you always picked up during your lunch hour didn’t seem worth all this effort. Any other day you would have been in and out. No more than five minutes, tops. It was never this packed inside. What the fuck was going on today?

You let out a heavy sigh and crossed your arms before craning your neck to peer towards the front of the line. You had to stand on the tips of your toes to see past the tall, burly stranger’s wide shoulders. You spotted another gaggle of girls making their way towards the man in front of you. They’d been the fourth group so far. Just what the hell is—

The thought was cut short as you lost balance and let out a screech, arms flailing as you tried to regain your footing. Your panic drew the stranger’s attention and he whipped around in time to grab hold of your arm.

“Got you,” he said, gazing down into your eyes as he steadied you.

All of the attention he’d been receiving suddenly made sense. His ivory skin was smooth and unblemished— a face with features that could rival any model. Even the ones that make the front cover of magazines. The stranger smiled at you, still peering down through half crescent moons as your heart began to race.

“Th-thank you,” you stuttered, hoping he couldn’t hear how hard your heart thumped against your chest. His plush, pink lips parted to reveal a smile— an enchanting display of the most perfect pearly whites you’d ever seen. You tore your eyes away from them to look down at your arm, which he still held fast to, his grasp firm. He might have been a stranger to you but he was obviously no stranger to the gym. The vascularity of his hands alone sent a wave of throbs surging through your core. It had been so long since anyone touched you.

“Oh my god it’s really you! We love you so much. We’re like your biggest fans,” squealed one of the girls that had flocked around him. He withdrew his hand and ran it through his hair sheepishly, leaving you breathless.

“I appreciate that,” he said as he turned his attention to the near hysterical group of girls as they encased him. He flashed a smile at them and a collective swoon erupted.

“Can we take a photo together?” asked one of the young women. He acquiesced and posed for photo after photo until each of them had acquired their own pictorial souvenir.

“Thank you ladies, see you at the concert tonight,” he said, prompting them to disperse.

“We’ll be in the front row Wonho oppa! Can’t wait. Fighting!” exclaimed one of the fans, grinning broadly as she backed away. The famous stranger focused his attention back on you.

“Sorry about that. Occupational hazard. I’m Wonho by the way,” he said as he extended his hand.

A large, warm palm enveloped yours. The contact, coupled with his gentle shake, sent shivers across the surface of your skin. You steeled yourself before replying in an attempt to conceal how nervous you were.

“I’m Y/N, nice to meet you,” you said meekly.

“That’s a beautiful name. Almost as beautiful as you are.”

Your heart fluttered and a small giggle escaped you. Beautiful? Me?

“Something funny?” said Wonho, his lips curving up into a lazy half smile.

“No, it’s just, well. It’s not everyday that I get complimented by a celebrity is all.”

“Who said I was a celebrity?”

“Well, you— all those girls, I- I just assumed,” you stammered.

“I’m just a singer. I’ve always hated that word, celebrity. It sounds— I dunno. It’s just not a word I’d use to describe myself. I prefer— "

“Oh my god, there he is!” interjected a high pitched voice. Just then another group of girls had swarmed around him, the largest one yet. Wonho entertained them dutifully, the charming smile never leaving his lips. Group after group of eager fans approached him in quick succession. The commotion distracted you and before you’d realized it, the slow moving line had finally advanced. Wonho ordered at the counter in the midst of the frenzy, toggling between posing for pics with each of his enthusiasts. They lingered around him as he completed his transaction and then trailed after him when he left the establishment. Outside a bodyguard ushered him into a vehicle.

When it was finally your turn, you recited your usual request and fished for your credit card, extending it to the barista in a haze. Instead of swiping it she waved her hand dismissively, shaking her head.

“No need. The gentlemen in front of you already paid for your order. He left this for you too,” she said as she handed you a napkin.Your eyes widened as you stared down at it and found a phone number, accompanied by a note.

“I want to see you again. Please text me if you feel the same. I hope you do.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you read it.

********

You spent the remainder of your Friday afternoon texting Wonho between work calls at the office. He told you he’d be performing tonight at a nearby venue and offered you free tickets with backstage VIP access. You accepted and he said he’d arrange for his bodyguard to pick you up from your apartment.

After work you rushed home, where you showered and changed into something sexy— your favorite form fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The bodyguard arrived in a sleek, black SUV. The ride felt like a blur as your mind clouded over with sinful fantasies of the beautiful stranger. You were jolted back to reality once the vehicle stopped and your door was opened. The stoic bodyguard escorted you inside the concert hall through a concealed side entrance, then led you to your seat— front row, near the side of the stage.

“I’ll be back once the show’s over to take you backstage,” said the bodyguard.

You nodded and he sauntered away, leaving you alone in the hall. You hadn’t expected to be the first one inside. You thought for sure the place would be packed with screaming fans already. You pulled out your phone to double check if you had the right time.

“Hey, Y/N,” came a familiar voice. You whipped your head up to find Wonho making his way towards you. He was half naked, wearing only a pair of shorts. It was all you could do to keep your jaw from dropping. He was built like an olympian god.

“Hey again,” you replied, fighting to keep your eyes from ogling every inch of his perfectly sculpted body.

“I’m so glad you came. The doors open for the show in about ten minutes. I’m supposed to be getting changed right now but I wanted to see you first. You look stunning, even more beautiful than I remember.”

“Thank you. I could say the same thing about you,” you replied, blushing.

“So say it,” said Wonho, flashing you his charming smile. You let out a giggle.

“Oh come on, you don’t need little old me to tell you that you’re gorgeous. I bet you’ve had dozens of fangirls telling you that all day.”

“But I want to hear it coming from you, baby. I hope you don’t mind me calling you that. I’m usually not this forward but you make me feel so at home. We only just met but there’s something about you. Feels like I’ve known you for a while,” he said as he inched closer to you and grabbed hold of your hand. He caressed it tenderly while gazing into your eyes. He stood so close that you could smell his cologne— Tom Ford, fucking fabulous.

“That’s so funny, I feel exactly the same way,” you whispered in reply, breathing in his intoxicating aroma as he drew nearer. It was true. You’d never connected with anyone the way you did with him. The conversation exchanged via texts earlier in the day had flowed like water. You'd learned alot about one another in the short span of time.

"I've never wanted anyone as badly as I want you," cooed Wonho. "Can I kiss you?"

Normally, you’d never allow things to move so fast. But then again there was nothing normal about the adonis who stood before you. In fact there was nothing normal about this day at all. This was a once in a lifetime chance encounter. You weren’t about to let it pass you by. Your last relationship ended nearly three years ago. You’d been alone ever since. You longed for someone, even went on a few dates. But no one seemed to measure up, until now. And you wanted him, even if it was only for one night.

“I thought you’d never ask,” you replied, bringing your lips to his. First kisses are usually coy, demure, delicate. Not this one. Your wet muscles met in a delicious dance of licentiousness, swirling around one another in sweet sin. Wonho was devouring you, and you were more than willing to let him consume every bit of you. He held your face with one hand while the other trailed up the length of your torso, stopping at your breast. He massaged circles against it before cupping it aggressively, eliciting a needy moan from you.

“Seven minutes before curtains, wardrobe is losing their shit. Let’s go!” boomed a voice from an overhead speaker.

You drew back from him, disentangling yourself from his greedy embrace. His dark, lust filled eyes surveyed you longingly.

“You taste so good. Really wish I didn’t have to go right now but I gotta get ready to perform. Can we finish this later? In private?”

“Private?” you asked.

“I’m staying at the Four Seasons nearby. I can have my driver take you there after the show. That way we can be alone, just the two of us, all night,” he said with a devious smirk.

You pretended to mull it over in your head but your mind had been made up from the very moment the words left his mouth. You wanted nothing more than to be under him, over him, destroyed by him.

“Okay, sure. Sounds good,” you said, trying to play it cool, as if your insides weren’t teeming with butterflies at the mere thought of sharing a hotel room with the biggest hunk you've ever met.

“Perfect. I’ll make sure my driver comes and gets you once the concert is over,” said Wonho as he slowly backed away, biting his bottom lip as he took you in. “Enjoy the show.”

He gave you a wink and you smiled while you watched him jog away and vanish behind the stage. Shortly after, the venue began filling up. Soon it was jam packed with hundreds of his adoring fans. They shouted and screamed at the top of their lungs, belting out the lyrics to every song he performed.

You’d never heard any of them before tonight but so far you were vibing with each one. He was a great dancer too. You had an amazing view and you looked on in awe as he worked the stage like a seasoned virtuoso. Every so often you would catch his gaze. He held it in the midst of carrying out beautiful notes and choreography. At times you felt as though he was singing to you and you alone.

During his final set, the stoic bodyguard reappeared. He motioned for you to follow him. You did so and he made a way for the two of you to slink through the thick crowd. He guided you outdoors and led you into the sleek SUV once again.

“Wonho has to finish up with the backstage meet and greet. He’d like you to wait for him at the hotel, he won’t be long,” said the bodyguard from the front seat. He reached back and handed you a small plastic key card. You stared down at it as the car pulled off, smiling as you began daydreaming of what was to come. The drive took around twenty minutes and your heart skipped a beat when the vehicle stopped to let you out. You made to open the door but paused midway. You cleared your throat and sucked in a deep breath.

“Does he do this often? With other girls?” you asked in a small voice. The bodyguard turned in his seat to face you.

“No, never. First time he’s ever done anything like this actually. Hell if I was his age and had his looks...nevermind. To be honest I didn’t think he had it in him. Most of the famous people I’ve worked for in the past do this kind of thing with someone new nearly every night. Not him though. Been with him for two years, never any funny business. He's a nice young man. Always been polite to me anyway. Seems to like you alot too.”

The answer sent a wave of contentment over you and a smile slowly spread across your lips.

“Thank you for your honesty, and for everything else. You’ve been a great help,” you said.

He nodded and bid you farewell as you exited the automobile. Trembling legs carried you into the hotel lobby and by the time you arrived at the room your nerves were a complete wreck. You talked yourself down in the bathroom mirror and then freshened up. When you were finally calm, a knock at the door caused your heart rate to shoot back up. You pressed your face against the door and looked through the peephole.

Wonho stood on the other side and you took a deep breath before swinging the door open. He greeted you with a kiss on the cheek, sensuously pulling you into a hug, enveloping you in his muscular arms.

“I’ve been thinking about this moment all night, baby,” he whispered. Wonho brought his lips to yours and hesitated. “May I?”

You nodded, allowing your lips to brush against his. In an instant Wonho’s warm mouth was attacking yours, tongue swirling in spirals of passion. When he had his fill, he pulled away from you, breathless, eyeing you up and down like a man starved. The kiss left you a wet, dripping mess. So much so that by the time he’d shed his clothes, you nearly came from the mere sight of his erection. What a perfect fucking cock. Thick, long, hard. You wanted him on you, in you. Sensing this, he had you out of your dress in seconds.

“I can’t wait to feel you cum all over me,” he purred as he whisked you off your feet and laid you on the bed. He slid a condom over his girth and spread your legs. Wonho positioned the head of his rock hard penis at your entrance, gazing down to check your expression.

“Please fuck me,” you begged. He wasted no time sliding into your wet, needy orifice. He fit inside you like a glove. His features contorted in pleasure as he gave you deep, long strokes. Each thrust drew out a moan that was louder than the last.

“This pussy feels so good, Y/N. You're wrapping around me so tight, like you were made for me. Just for me, baby,” he growled, punctuating every word with a glorious thrust, reaching the unexplored depths of your cunt. “You like that? Hmmm, baby?”

“Yes, oh fuck yes. Just like that,” you cried.

“Look how well you take it. Tell me how good I’m making you feel, princess.”

“You f-feel, s-so good. So good, Wonho.

He swallowed your moans, lips entangled in yours as he kissed you in between each deep stroke.

“You look so fucking pretty with my dick inside you. You know that?”

He quickened his pace, pounding you harder and harder, hips rolling into you with impeccable rhythm. Your body was his instrument and he played it like an expert. His hard length touched spots that you never knew existed until he was hitting them. He repositioned himself while still inside of you, placing his thumb over your clit. Wonho began rubbing circles against your sensitive bud.

“Oh my god. Right there. Right there, baby. Don’t stop,” you gasped, nearly in tears from the pleasure. Wonho worked you even harder, bringing you to the edge of ecstasy as his body grinded into yours. His digit caressed your bundle of nerves with delicious intensity while his thick cock penetrated you over and over.

With a scream you met your release, squirting your juices all over his rigid member. Wonho’s brows knit together as he watched you spray, bottom lip caught between his teeth. He fucked you through your high and you came again, heaving and writhing under him. The sight of you wrecked sent him soaring over the cliff of euphoria, where he found his orgasm. He twitched inside of you as you massaged circles onto his back, calming him as he emptied his ejaculate into the condom, cock buried deep inside you.

Afterwards, he lay atop you, face nuzzled in the crook of your neck as he rode out his high. He whimpered soft moans into your ear while remnants of his peak still rippled through him. You ran your hands through his hair for a while as you held onto one another, bonded. Wonho peppered you with tender kisses, lulling you into tranquility by kneading your cheek with the back of his hand.

“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, how about we go on a proper date sometime?” he said with a smile.

#wonho imagines #lee wonho #wonho smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #lee hoseok

[faustiandevil]

Sophie Török: Conrad Veidt’s Evening Recital

Before we get into it, hey, it’s me ya boi, and I’m no translator by any means, but I did try my best to give back the source material as best as I could (even if I now made an enemy in the form of Sophie Török, see my notes as to why). Also if anyone would like me to do some more translating of Hungarian texts relating to old Hollywood, I will not guarantee I will do it right away, but I can always try. That’s all~! Source will be linked in the replies.

Karinthy speaks of “intellectual cock-eyedness”, which Hungarian writers seem to fall into: those who already view themselves in the eyes of literature history – in the eyes of a late age. But there’s not only temporal “intellectual cock-eyedness”, there’s spatial too; and this describes most well our Hungarian intellectual lives: we view ourselves with the eyes of a foreign nation, and every phenomena that’s even a bit not to our liking, we see it as our country’s backward Balkan influence.

Still, we can hardly rid ourselves of this viewpoint, when we think of that comedy, which came before and after Conrad Veidt’s recital in Budapest: the sea of satirical “colorful reports”, the police cordons, which protected the film star from the siege of hysterical fans, the autograph wars, the uneducated movie public’s threatening enthusiasm (who may have not even understood anything from the grand recital), and the journalists’ arrogant shrugging, who refused to acknowledge that the “film star” made a worthy interpretation this time. (Translators note: Girl, what’s your damage.)

Those dumb woman of Pest, who fluttered with such pleasure: oh, how cute! (Translator’s note: Yes, the word cuki/cute was indeed used here lol) – used the same word for Gunnar Tolnaes as well, and the joy would’ve been even greater, if he came out dressed in a turban of a maharajah; which then comes as no surprise, that the reporter that was sent out there would write such a schlock at the sight of the unqualified and uneducated public (Translator’s note: I took a bit of a liberty with schlock here, but this woman is truly not holding back.) – obviously thinking, that if the crowd of women from the Gerbeaud, offices and hat stores like it so much, it can be nothing more than flighty nonsense.

However – the way our public acts is our fault; it’s the result of our books, our theaters, our critics, or maybe even our racial abilities (Translator’s note: Don’t bring race into this you bitch.) – the guest star is not at fault here! And the truth is that Conrad Veidt’s performance demands some earnest praise.

A recital from a movie star can create the same feeling as when the mute speaks: and the speech came with a sudden shock. This mute was made to speak, or at the very least he is such an artist of the word, as he is of movement. We Hungarians are always so sanguinely enthusiastic about every foreigner: yet we don’t feel enough humility at the display of spoken culture at such a high degree. Conrad Veidt feels the poem, - this can be said of very few artists. Most of our reciter’s do everything in their power, to devour the rhymes, the rhythm be turned to prose, for no one to figure out, that what they are saying, is a poem. Even Veidt acts out the poem, every muscle of his face acts with such an astonishing variety, – but through every loud acting performance pulses the poem that cannot be silenced, with a flood of complicated music, with a beat that can be stomped out with your feet even, the same way as the poor music students do on the opera balcony.

Hearing a recital is usually a boring and tiring thing, I think, that’s the opinion of many, - maybe as the poem is more, or at the very least different, than its brutally exfoliated theme be put into play. As prose turned into theme, even the best poem can fade into boredom. And Veidt’s recital that lasted for two hours didn’t become boring for even a minute, for one by one he faithfully gave back the poems musical individuality. I’m not talking about primitive chanting; Petőfi’s Őrült (Translator’s note: Sándor Petőfi is a famous Hungarian poet and the poem is called Őrült/Madman) – which even in translation sounded very much so as a freeform poem – was like music on Veidt’s lips, as did the lively rhythms of the Goethe songs.

It’s amazing just the same, how Veidt’s interpretation of the poems fits their mood. The demonic pathos came as no surprise from the fantastic movie dramas’ hero, where success is already guaranteed on it’s own from reciting the Őrült. But in Veidt’s performance the Heine-songs delicate flowers didn’t break either, and another example could be where the particular quiet and rich music comes out completely during Babits’ Éjszaka (Translator’s note: Mihály Babits another famous poet from Hungary and the poem is called Éjszaka/Evening), which demands the throat’s most tender chords, with which an artist trying to achieve a cheap impact would surely not even try.

The German language culture is surely greater than the Hungarian. But the culture does not explain everything. As it is, in spite of our meager and few in tradition acting culture there still could’ve been reciters, such as – let me only mention those of most recent fame – Blanka Pécsi, or Oszkár Ascher: than we can conclude that not all German actors are Conrad Veidt either. Still the personality is that Philosopher’s Stone, that magical force, which ennobles the cheap metal into gold. The flavor to Veidt’s reciting also comes from his personality – that completely unique way of reciting poems, which would be reminiscent of Babits’ curious singing, chanting reciting: by all means more the mannerism of a poet than an actor.

Next to Goethe, Heine and Rilke Veidt also recited Ady, Babits and Kosztolányi, with such empathy and love that maybe even our Hungarian chauvinism can be proud of, if the Hungarian chauvinism would be quite unbiased. It’s a special pleasure to our Hungarianness the beautiful translations done by Henrik Horváth, where all its beauty can only truly be appreciated when it’s heard.

Source: Nyugat 1926. 6th edition

#Conrad Veidt #Long Post #Faustian Fables #Faustian Translations #This was a lot...

[dreadlord-mr-son]

My dear friend's letters always seem to leave me feeling ill at ease, these days. I have begun reading the latest, and already at the opener I find myself growing concerned. What could have happened that he feels need to assure me his story is true?

I know there are many wonderful and strange things about the world, and that some people can scarcely believe what they have not seen with their own eyes. But Jonathan has never seemed so fanciful as to just make up tales for the fun of fooling people. So what could he wish so hard to reassure me of?

It's surely not this beautiful landscape he is describing. Oh, that I could see it as he did. Though perhaps a bit slower, to really take in the beauty. A coachman in a rush rarely makes for the best travels, unless one is also in a terrible rush. And one endeavors not to be, where possible.

Oh dear. I must confess I have been writing this as I read, and not after considering all my friend's words. I see the coachman had passed beyond haste, into frenzy. What could have worked him up so? Jonathan must have been frightened more than he would admit, to be carried though on such a ride, rocking and speeding through the rough hills.

It feels so very strange. To be rushed to a stop seemingly near random along to road, only to be switched to another carriage for a further ride into the night.

Especially with so strange a driver. Jonathan says he felt frightened, and I wonder how much he's downplaying his feelings. In the same situation I would probably be near hysterics and silent as a rabbit before a hound.

My only solace reading these worlds, is that my friend was able to write them, and to post them. So surely whatever happened from here, frightening was all it was. Many things are frightening but in the end, cause no lasting harm. And I'll take comfort in that thought as I continue reading.

I see now why my friend doubted he would be believed. This strange blue flame that the driver attended... it seems a wonder. I don't disbelieve that Jonathan saw it, but I do wonder if merely he has fallen asleep, and dreamed such a thing. He did say that it was past midnight by that point. He must have been very tired, enough to sleep even after the great howling of dogs and wolves, and the fright of the horses. He simply might have drifted off and in his sleep conjured a vision to leave him further shaken.

That is what I want to believe, anyhow. I know there are queer things in the world, especially in places further from civilization. But a blue flame that can be seen through a man? That is queerer than most...

And then the strange encounter with the wolves. Surely all this is, indeed, simply a dream? I can scarcely imagine what it would be like were it real, to be in such a situation. Horses taken with a fright and wolves encircling and seemingly abandoned by the driver... only to have it all resolved so swiftly and then to continue on as if everything was normal?

Ah yes, here. He made it to the castle and surely he had simply fallen asleep on the coach and dreamed such a perilous journey.

It's a shame he had to reach the castle so late. It must be an incredible sight to ride up on in the day, with full light shining on it as if it was on display for the approaching traveler.

I am happy to hear that after all the concerning events in his travels, the Count has been very welcoming to my friend. Staying up so late to welcome him, and making sure he had a proper supper before bed, and didn't have to settle for merely some cold cheese with bread, as I have had to eat many nights when I was too worn to prepare anything heartier.

My friend truly does have an eye for the details of people and landscapes. It is a great loss that he hasn't sent sketches along with these letters.

Though his writings on the appearance of the Count are so detailed, that even without such artwork, I find myself largely able to see him in my mind. What an impressive countenance, if strange.

It sounds like my friend's comfort was not long lasting... and that he went to bed still quite alarmed by all the events of the day -- however questionably real some of them seemed. I worry, for him. I await his next letter with some concerned impatience. To know, simply, that he has still been writing would be a weight off my shoulders.

This was simply meant to be a business trip. I'm sure once they get down to business, things will become more routine and it will bleed away the fears.

=== === ===

Jon's first paragraph here coming in straight away with "okay let me prove to you I'm not crazy, because this is about to sound crazy".

You know, I wonder if the strong food-description opener in these last few sections... Well, food is Life, of course. It's what sustains us and keeps us going. At the same time, it is humble and mundane. Everyone must eat. And these foods are hearty and described almost meaningfully. As if to emphasize the humanness of our characters at the start.

I'm struggling with words for exactly what I mean, but...

Dracula feeds on life itself. He devours lives to sustain his own, unnaturally. But there's everything natural about "bits of bacon, onion, and beef, seasoned with red pepper, and strung on sticks and roasted over the fire, in the simple style of the London cat's meat". ...some kebabs. Described in detail. The author could have used another demonstration of Jon's not-madness. But food was chosen.

I think the food matters. Like, symbolically. Metaphorically? On some level of meaning to reflect the way it's pushed forward into the spotlight multiple times early in this story.

---

"both of which mean the same thing, one being Slovak and the other Servian for something that is either were-wolf or vampire."

Oh. Quite fascinating that the story outright invokes the term vampire so early and right here. Vampires are clearly a known thing, even if -- obviously -- mythological and not to be taken seriously. But Jon at least knows enough about the term to lump it in with "witch" and "Hell" and "Satan" as a bad thing that'll getcha.

---

"I shall never forget the last glimpse which I had of the inn-yard and its crowd of picturesque figures, all crossing themselves, as they stood round the wide archway"

I find myself wondering... about these people. What their perspective on all this is. Because I don't think, when Jon fled the castle, that he came through this way again. So to them, he was just one more lost soul disappearing into the monster's maw...

Except then, much later, Dracula dies. They can tell, I'm sure. If not as a sudden loosening in the air as the evil fades, then in the way all the little dangers and threats of the woods become.. less. More mundane. A bear or a wolf might still attack, but somehow the wickedness which looked to steal people away... is gone. It stops coming after them.

Perhaps eventually some brave and foolish soul -- maybe a youth who grew up after Dracula had died and never knew the terror of him -- decides to go see the castle. ...and finds it abandoned.

---

"CHAPTER II JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL— continued"

This entry is SO LONG. I'm getting fatigue responding to it up there in the Watsonian section of my post. I'm not writing as much down here in the Doylist section as I might like. It doesn't help that I had to do two entries today because I let yesterday's sit too long.

---

I'm reminded of all the discussion from the previous year. That Dracula has no servants. So that delay as Jon waited by the door.. Dracula was hurrying to go get changed and clean himself up so he could open the door and welcome Jon properly.

It's pretty funny thinking of him dropping off the horses -- he surely doesn't bother to clean and properly stable them when he has a guess to go attend to -- and rushing to change clothes.

---

"Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!" He made no motion of stepping to meet me, but stood like a statue, as though his gesture of welcome had fixed him into stone. The instant, however, that I had stepped over the threshold, he moved impulsively forward, and holding out his hand grasped mine with a strength which made me wince

You know... much has been made over the years of vampire mythology in pop culture... of the threshold effect and how a vampire (and fae) must be invited in. That there's a sharp delineation between spaces they're allowed to pass through freely, and spaces belonging to others who must welcome them in.

Here we can see, a hint that maybe the reverse is true, too. That Dracula invited Jon in and then had to WAIT. Jon had to pass through the threshold into Dracula's territory. Into space Dracula fully controlled and was fully his. Before Jon took those steps, he wasn't yet completely in Dracula's power. He was still outside in a mystical sense as well as a literal one.

There's a song I listened to recently, about the fae. It starts "come ye in of your own free will". And the twist of the song is that the person being addressed -- a human -- is in a town made of fae glamor. The whole place is a fae trap the singer is inviting a traveler -- and in a way you the listener -- into.

Dracula invites Jon in. Of 'his own free will' -- and that's important -- to enter into the heart of Dracula's domain and the seat of his power.

---

The long entry would be pleasant and much less exhausting if I wasn't writing a response to it -- in two different perspectives.

---

"a well-lit room in which a table was spread for supper"

Yeah there's absolutely no fucking way those horses even got a glimpse of a brush down until Jon was well in bed -- if ever.

Dracula was too busy trying to remember how to roast a chicken.

Actually, if Dracula was also the driver, how did he get the chicken roasted? Did he get it started JUST as he left so it was roasting the whole time he picked up Jon? But he had to go both ways. If he could transform and fly to the place to pick Jon up -- thus saving lots of time on winding mountain roads at a horse's speed -- then he would have had to have the coach and horses ready in advance. Did he leave them somewhere just off road out of sight so he could dramatically pull them up to gather up Jon?

...or did he do the simpler method of getting his brides to cook while he was away?

---

#dracula daily #dd may 5th #long post #my friend jonathan harker #a very long entry today and thus a long response to it from me #i don't think i mentioned the first time #i've read dracula before #but many years ago and i didn't retain very much of it #and last year i wasn't subbed to dracula daily #i just got the bits that came over my dash from people discussing it and drawing fanart and such #so this is a story i'm broadly familiar with #but lacking in the details

[ahdriking]

A03 wrapped 3 and 29

Love you Ames! Prepare yourself for some unnecessarily LONG and introspective answers 😂

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

Blue Blood. Probably goes without saying 😂 however! I'll pick from my one shots too! Of all of them Make Me Come Undone stands out the most. AND I'LL TELL YOU WHY.

It's not just that it's SUPER long, it's not just that it has more orgasms/orgasm descriptions than any other fic I've written, it's not just that it's super fucking kinky and I still kinda blush when thinking about it- it's that it was fucking hard. Sometimes when writing fic it's a straight shot from start to finish, you feel inspired from the get go and that carries you to the end. But other times? You run out of steam. And you feel like giving up. And it gets really difficult.

Make Me Come Undone started off as a side project to refresh me from Blue Blood, as a gift fic for @kissporsche (who was very stubborn about giving me kinks, she was all "but I'll love anything you write!!"). The motivating, main kink I eventually got her excited about was "overstimulation and punishment" and everything else was kinda up in the air. I was keen to start it, inspired to explore it. But I ran out of steam after 500 words. Maybe it was the intimidating factor of knowing how many orgasms I'd have to creatively and non-repetitively describe, or maybe it was the fact that it was meant to be reasonably short but the finish line just kept getting further and further and further away, making progress feel stagnant. I don't know! All I know is that eventually I was at the point of having to either decide to abandon it temporarily, or force myself to knuckle the fuck down and do it. You can probably guess which one I went with 😂

The writing process was a constant game of oh we're at 3k? Probably well over halfway. Oh we're at 6k? Uhh I'm sure it'll wrap up soon. Shit 9k? What the hell is happening?? 12k??? This is getting out of hand???? 15k??????? WHAT HAVE I DONE. Honestly, after we hit 7k mark and I realised there was still so much I wanted to explore, the rest of the process was just laughing hysterically while tears streamed down my face.

As soon as it was finished, I wanted to just post it and move on (it was SUPER DIFFICULT not immediately shoving it under Kissporsche's nose, because she's my beta/muse and I crave her approval ahah) because I'm not a huge fan of editing- I'll give every fic a once over, and when it's really important (like blue blood) I'll invest serious time into it, but I prefer to be diligent during the writing process and re-read/edit sections as I go so that I don't really have to. I also tend to rely quite heavily on my betas 😂 But Make Me Come Undone had gotten to be so big, so fucking monumental, that I couldn't stand the thought of having done SO MUCH work on it, only for it to end up sub-par because I couldn't be bothered to edit. So I sent out a call on the discord to see if anyone would be up for reading it, because @kissporsche wasn't allowed to see it till it was done.

@mortimerlatrice volunteered, and I was like awesome! It's always a little scary getting someone to beta for you the first time--because you never know if your styles will clash, or if they'll be able to work in line with your vision, or if they'll invest as much love/care/energy into it as you want from them-- but I had a good feeling about Mort, who's art I adored. And then do you know what happened? This stunning individual, this saint, this god, went through all 15k with a fine toothed comb like they were being paid to do it. They murdered my commas, tidied my grammar, challenged my repetitions, suggested improvements, provided entertaining commentary, HIGHLIGHTED IT LIKE AN ENGLISH REPORT, poured over each section individually and collectively, re-read it at least 4-5 times, answered all my questions, investigated all my concerns, and spent fucking hours doing it. I was not only blown away by their dedication and competence, but I was personally humbled by their attention to detail and desire to make the fic the best version of itself that it could be. It had been my intention to have Mort edit it, integrate their changes/suggestions, and post it. But after I got that first draft back, I literally couldn't. There was just too much more that could be done to improve the fic, and after all the work Mort had done, I couldn't not do it. So, instead I religiously went through the whole damn thing again, picked Mort's brain relentlessly for various ideas/improvements, genuinely restructured entire sections, spent time meticulously investigating the dynamics/continuity for quality and consent-levels control, and just generally fucking worked some damn magic on that fic over the course of 2 more days, passing it back and forth with Mort, until it was done.

Editing Make Me Come Undone was the longest, most meticulous and most arduous refinement process than I have ever committed to for a single fic. So not only had it been quite challenging and taxing to write, but it had been a monumental effort to edit as well! But I tell you what. When Mort and I finally finished that last edit, and I could sit back and look at the whole thing completely, I have never felt more fucking proud of a fic. I was genuinely, deeply impressed with it. Normally, when publishing fics, there's always a part of me that thinks it could probably be better, or that maybe it isn't really that great, that's just a natural part of my nerves. But with this fic? I have never felt so absolutely, unabashedly confident that it was amazing. I was 100% happy with it. That was the reason I called it my magnum opus- not just cos it was impressively long, but because it truly is the most professionally, dazzlingly perfected fic I've ever written.

Basically tl;dr Make Me Come Undone was a hell of a project, but thanks to the magical talents of @mortimerlatrice, and with a little bit of extra effort on my behalf, it truly feels like the most high quality fic I feel like I've ever written.

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

I'm really terrible at these kinds of questions, cos I don't fuckin remember what I've written most of the time 😂 I remember having moments where I'm writing something and I feel moved by it, or amused by it, or excited about the layers to it, but I cannot for the life of me recall any off the top of my head. The one exception to this is "Better to dance with the devil than wait with god on your dance card" cos @kissporsche specifically pointed that out during their edit 😂

I'd be curious to know though if anyone does have any favourite lines of mine that come to mind? It's always really inspiring to see what impacts people!

Anyway, if you've made it this far I'm giving you a pat on the head and a kiss on the cheek for being such a cool fan!! I really appreciate you 🥰🥰🥰

#ask game #ahdris asks

[xphanuel]

really long sappy post about my step dad

I texted my step dad (sorta not my step dad since my mom left him, but I've always considered him my father) just to vent about everything going on. Last night was really rough for me, I let my brain spiral into negative thoughts and it was like an avalanche until I couldnt take it. I kept thinking about my step dad though, and how proud he is of me, so I ended up not doing anything to hurt myself. He called me in the morning worried as fuck. We spoke and I was fine, and then he said he loves me and that I can do this and I just broke down crying on the phone. I cried to him how unfair it was how my mother left him after 22 years over his family, bc it wasn't genuinely over that, it was over her not getting money from him anymore after the stroke he had. I told him I'm glad she left, because he deserves to be treated better, even if it makes him sad. I cried about how angry I was at her, not for my own reasons, but because of how she treated him. He started crying too. We said we loved each other like 9000 times.

I went to work, and he called me mid shift. I immediately dropped everything and answered. He told me he sent me money. I immediately started crying hysterically. I didn't even ask for money. I told him he didnt have to do that and Ill send it back, but he wouldnt take no for an answer. I guess as soon as he heard our Honda was having transmission issues, he was dead set on finding a way to send money. I'm so fucking grateful. I love this man, so fucking much. I can't describe in words how much I love and appreciate him.

It really hit different. I never felt like I ever had a parent that loved me besides him, it was just weird for me to be close to men after being sexually abused, but as I got older I started venting to him about my mom, he never invalidated me and we got a lot closer. When I left my hometown we became even closer and he was so proud of me for getting out. He supported me financially when I couldn't do it myself, and I'll never forget that. I would die for him if the situation arises. I told him I was sorry for not being closer with him when I was younger, and he dead ass told me "that's completely okay, you're here now. I've always loved you as if you were one of my own children. You were just going through some really hard shit as a kid. It's okay." I swear. I broke. To have someone actually be a loving parent, be proud of me, and cheer me on, that didn't beat and emotionally abuse me? I lost my shit and started crying. I love him beyond comprehension.

My mother always said I was his child despite not being related to him, and she's not wrong about that. Were extremely similar, we have the same sense of humor, we share similar ideologies, and he's been in my life since I was 3. I just can't fathom my life without him. When he does pass, I'm going to be a fucking wreck. When me and my boyfriend get married, we agreed we want him as one of the only witnesses. He really did give me a healthy father daughter relationship that I can't ever replace or replicate. I can't express my gratitude enough.

#I have to stop now or I'll keep going #I just love him with my entire heart and soul #When I was crying it was a good cry #I just can't get over him sending me money #I can't believe even through the stroke recovery he's still trying to help me #I guess cause I tried to help him when the stroke happened and I visited him in the hospital and treated him like he wasn't retarded. #He had a stroke #Like #Stop treating this 70 year old man like he's a fucking child #He knows what he's talking about #He just can't communicate correctly #It made me so mad. #Even in the hospital with his stroke we were making fun of my mom and laughing #I was the first one to have a normal conversation with him after the stroke #And everyone was like wtf??? #Like yeah wow if you don't stress him out he recovers how about that #Diary #Personal #Eddie

[ohmystarsy]

I'm probably writing this post a week too late, but all those Western people/media comparing Putin to Hitler instead of Stalin, who was also a fascist AND ordered a genocide of Ukrainian people in 1930s, made me realise that maybe, perhaps, the West conveniently forgot about all war crimes and other monstrosities that Stalin commited. And maybe, perhaps, that's one of the reasons that the West doesn't really 'get' Eastern Europe and that too many "takes" on current war in Ukraine is just - ok I will use that word - disgusting.

Of course, conveniently for Putin, we don't have time now to learn all history of Eastern Europe. But if you want to educate yourself and try to understand why Eastern Europe is so 'hysteric' about Russia now AND to understand today Russia more, I recommend you read One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. It's a short novel - I believe between 100 and 200 pages - that describes one day in gulag camp and is based on experiences of the author himself. Gulag camps - if you don't know - were forced labour camps in Siberia during USSR (and it's really telling that English Wikipedia calls them "forced labour camps" while Polish one just outright calls them "concentration camps"), but the history of sending criminals and political opponents to Siberia dates waaaaaay back to tsarist Russia (and is still continued today). I believe most Eastern Europeans have that one person in family that was sent to Siberia, bc anyone could be sent if they were unlucky enough (in my case it was both my grand-grand-grandma and grand-grand-grandpa). That's one of the reasons - I believe - we are so scared of Russia, because of generational trauma that is an effect of years and sometimes centuries of oppression. As I remember it, the book is pretty disturbing, so please be warned, but if I could read it at age of 15, so can you.

#russia #ukraine #gulag #eastern europe #history #signal boost #pls #if just one person stops talking shit about ukraine bc of this post i will call it a victory #pls educate yourself before voicing your opinion thank #(yes i cant stop thinking about the fact that the west apparently knows shit about russia)

[ynscrazylife]

Can I please please request one where Natasha and Yelena have another younger sister (Y/N) and she gets badly injured and her older sisters are hysterical since they’re afraid to lose one they love the most

A Race Against Time | romanoff fam fic

Summary: Natasha and Yelena do their best to help their hurt younger sister.

Authors Note: Thanks for requesting!

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

MCU Masterlist #1 | MCU Masterlist #2 |  Main Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

header c @/twitalents

“Everybody alright?” Natasha asked as Alexei and Melina approached her and Yelena. The redhead herself definitely hadn’t gotten out of the whole ordeal without injuries. In fact, from Dreykov punching her to the fight against the Widows, and the fight against Antonia (not to mention the injuries from the past few days that she hadn’t taken care of), she was in some pain. However she didn’t worry about herself, she knew she’d be fine. She always was.

Natasha glanced over and spotted Y/N making her way over to them, too. From the distance, Natasha couldn’t tell that she was limping and was very hurt.

“I am clearly injured,” Melina deadpanned, causing Natasha to look back over and send her adoptive mother a smile as an apology. With a quick glance, Natasha could tell that she’d be okay, she’d just need a cast on that ankle and-

Thump.

The sound, accompanied by Yelena’s loud gasp and yelp, broke through Natasha’s thoughts and caused her to whip around suddenly. The sight her eyes landed on instantly sent what felt like an ice shard plunging into her chest. No. No.

By the time she snapped out of it, Yelena was already by Y/N’s unconscious figure, which the thump must have been - her plummeting to the ground - and Alexei was helping Melina over as fast as he could. Natasha sped past them and dropped to her knees, her brain wired to already be processing the situation and formulating a plan, while she lightly stopped Yelena’s wrist to prevent her from going to shake Y/N.

“You don’t move someone who is unconscious unless necessary - it could injure them,” she breathed out. Yelena, who could see that her older sister was in autopilot mode, sat back and let her do her thing, opting to look up at her parents, instead.

Both their eyes were glued to Y/N. Alexei’s eyebrows crinkled and, after taking a big breath, muttered (just loud enough for them to hear), “There’s blood on you.”

Natasha’s eyes snapped down and sure enough, her knees were bloodied. She quickly looked up only to see blood beginning to come from Y/N’s stomach where she had fallen on her side. Closing her eyes for a moment to allow herself to think, Natasha carefully and gently pulled up Y/N’s shirt, only to see an open gash in the shape of the Widow hourglass.

“Wha-?” She said, barely forming a word, and Yelena leaned over to see.

She immediately began shaking her head and pushed Y/N onto her back. “I-I know what this is, I think. I remember hearing about a weapon that’d leave that mark,” she rambled out.

Melina peered over Natasha’s shoulder and when she saw it, her face went pale. “That-that weapon, it ejects a blast that makes that mark when it meets the skin. It was made as a precaution in case any of the Widows went rogue - it was made years ago. But only a few were made because they were so confident in themselves. It-it goes along with a process they constructed to re-brainwash the Widows. The blast gets under her skin, in her body, with a chemical that’s in it, and that chemical starts the brainwashing process,” she explained.

A park of hope entered Yelena’s eyes. “So she won’t be fully brainwashed?” She asked.

“Not without the rest of the procedure,” Melina began, but then her eyes widened when she remembered something and horror quickly flashed across her face. “But if the process isn’t completed within a certain time period, the chemical will wear off its brainwashing effects and instead will start hurting her . . . A lot . . . But I have an antidote-” her tone sped up now, “-It’s back at the house. We need to get her there.”

Natasha and Yelena nodded, both having gone through a great wave of emotions throughout Melina’s words. Yelena, while racked with worry, still remained hopeful, and Natasha did her best to be, too, but her tears were drying and she was sniffling.

“The jet is-” Alexei began to say, when the sound of the engines of cars rapidly approaching cut him off.

Natasha looked over. “Shit, Ross,” she said, regretting even tipping him off to their location in the first place.

Melina bit her lip. “You girls go. Take Y/N home. The antidote is labelled ‘Ant-Widow,’,” she told them firmly.

Yelena’s lips parted to protest, not wanting to split up, but catching Natasha picking up Y/N out of the corner of her eye stopped her. She nodded, rising to her feet.

“We’ll distract them. They won’t want anything to do with us when they realize you’re not here,” Melina insisted.

Natasha sent her a look that she could only hope was conveying everything she wanted it to. A million thoughts whizzed about in her mind, none making room for each other. She wondered, would they leave them alone? Or would they be taken into questioning? Shouldn’t she be the one facing Ross - since she called him there? Is Y/N going to be okay? Will they get there in time?

By the way Melina looked back at her, Natasha thought that her message had been received. There was no time to go over the plan any longer, if they stayed even a couple more seconds they’d get caught by Ross, whose army of cars headed to a halt.

Natasha bolted off in the jet’s direction, Yelena quick on her heels. They rushed inside and Natasha took her time to gently put Y/N down before going to the pilot seat. Yelena sat down in the back, wanting to watch over their little sister.

Neither of them said anything until Natasha had gotten them off the ground and away from the field. Yelena could hear the engine whirring and she knew that Natasha was going as fast as this aircraft could probably go.

“Natasha,” she said, her voice small and hesitant, reminding Natasha of her own self when she was younger. The redhead braced herself for her sister’s words. “Do you think we’ll get there in time?”

Natasha let out a slow yet steady breath, fighting back the urge to tell her not to say that. She wondered the same thing, and she hated it. She didn’t answer, though, because she didn’t want to lie. She didn’t know herself, and she also hated that.

Yelena looked down in defeat when she didn’t get an answer and continued watching Y/N. She couldn’t stop herself from worrying and when she spotted the other injuries — bruises, cuts, scrapes — littering her body, she got up and went to the back.

The blonde grabbed the med kit they had stored and went back, quickly opening it up and getting everything she needed. First, bandages. Yelena put pressure on the wound even though she knew it wouldn’t bleed out, and a twinge of guilt hit her when Y/N moved and groaned unconsciously.

She then wrapped up Y/N’s stomach and tended to her other injures, every so often glancing at Natasha, who she could see by the way she was sitting up straight that she was tense. Upset. Worried. Yelena had to admit she was feeling those same things but busied herself by taking care of Y/N.

This carried on and they were about ¾ there when everything shifted. Y/N, who had been mostly quiet throughout the journey, suddenly rolled onto her side, eyes opening with a startled gasp.

Natasha frantically looked up at Yelena and the latter jumped to resolve the situation. Gently, she put her hands on her younger sister’s shoulders and tried to turn her onto her back, but Y/N fought her off and scurried back, against the wall.

“Y/N,” Yelena said, slowly putting her hands up in a “surrender” gesture.

The younger one shook her head as tears began to flow down her cheeks. “It-it hurts,” she got out, wrapping her arms around herself.

Yelena sent Natasha a frightened, desperate look and the glint in Natasha’s eyes held tears in them. “I can’t go any faster!” She cried out in frustration, her anger at her helplessness beginning to grow.

Yelena turned back to Y/N. “Take deep breaths with me, okay?” She said, and took a couple deep breaths to show her. It took Y/N a second, but she followed along. However, the pain didn’t take a break for long, and quickly came crashing back to her, like a magnet.

She let out another cry, but this one filled with that much more anguish, desperation, a pure rage from wanting it to be over, a rage that nearly caused her to vomit. Y/N leaned forward, hoping that there was something - anything - that could relieve this pain for even just a second. The warmth she was soon filled with from her older sister’s arms wrapping around her and pulling her close did nothing to soothe pain, but she found someone to have a steady grip on, someone to hold.

This continued on. In every cry let out, Yelena could’ve sworn each one was louder than the last. She didn’t know what to do so she did the only thing she could and stayed there. After  a particularly loud cry from Y/N, Yelena couldn’t stop a “Natasha!” from escaping.

“I’m trying!” She shouted over the engine and over Y/N, doing her best to blink away the tears and focus, but everytime she was on the brink of it, something tore her away.

After what felt like what could only be described as eons, Natasha managed to touch down in the same spot she had just a day ago. The moment they made contact, she leapt out of her seat, nearly tumbling to the floor, and practically fell against the door.

“Stay with her,” was all she said to Yelena before pushing all her weight against the door and breaking off into a run towards the house.

Natasha had run fast before. To escape Antonia, on countless SHIELD missions, and even to beat Sam in a race, but none amounted to this. The mountains and trees whipped by so fast that she felt like she was in a race car and it made her head spin. Nonetheless (and she thanked her extensive training for that), Natasha’s stamina held out and she ran through the house, tripping over things and knocking others over, until she reached Melina’s office.

At first, everything looked like a normal office space for a normal business woman, but the underlying science and spy secrecy that she knew had to be inside was revealed. Cabinets upon cabinets filled with vials upon vilas and files upon files. She scoured the entire room and nearly dropped the green-filled file when she saw its label. This was it.

A moment of victory passed until Natasha remembered the weight of the situation and she got back on her feet, running like the wind, and leaving behind the office looking like some raccoons had gotten inside.

By the time she reached the top of the hill, Natasha could make out the outline of Yelena carrying Y/N (who was draped over her like a curtain, by the way) toward her.

They met in the middle and Yelena put Y/N down, the older sisters kneeling beside her. Y/N was half-conscious at this point and Natasha moved at the speed of light to get the vial lid off. “She was getting worse, I couldn’t wait!” Yelena yelled.

When she got it open, Natasha pushed it towards Y/N’s lips. “Y/N, honey, c’mon, you gotta drink,” she encouraged, hand trembling as Y/N attempted to fight her off. It was only Yelena running her hands through her hair that calmed her down, and she took a small sip of the vial’s contents at first before gulping it down.

When she stopped squirming and seemed to no longer be in pain, instead falling into a peaceful sleep, that’s when both Natasha and Yelena had calmed down. It had been a rollercoaster, but they did it, and she was okay. The two held each other, relieved.  

Permanent Taglist: @natasharomanoffismywife @hehehehannahthings @paulawand @blackbat2020 @cerberus-spectre @marrymemcgrath @celestialbarnes @kathryndimitrescu @snipyloulou @big-galaxy-chaos @cc13723things @ycfwmalise14 @unexpected-character  (could not tag)  @passionswift

MCU Taglist: @stephanieromanoff @summerlovingbaby @ineffablebean @okkulta @procrastinatingsapphictrash @prettysbliss @caseyfish @sarahp-stan @thewidowsghost @basiclesbianbitch @mycosmicparadise @kidswhofightmonsters @xtraordinaryfangrl @peggycarter-steverogers @username23345 @ima-gi--na-tion @yori-nakajima @hi-i-1 @mmmmokdok @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @mads-weasley @tenaciousperfectionunknown @afraid-to-be-me @lilclownx @acertainredhead @natromanoffxox @lilymurphy03 @thanossexual @avengersz-biotch @kozumekoi  @mjaudrey @un-name-d @leyannrae @buckyandstevesbitch @kuzome

#natasha romanoff x reader #Natasha romanoff x you #Natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff fic #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff request #natasha x reader #Natasha x you #natasha x y/n #natasha and yelena #natasha fic #natasha angst #natasha imagine #natasha fanfiction #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x y/n #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova angst #yelena belova fic #yelena belova fanfiction #yelena Belova #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x you #black widow imagine

[honoredbastard]

time & time again.

characters ᅳ the obeyme! brothers. gn y/n.

content ᅳ angst(?), waking up in this mfs arms, crying, swearing, a breakup!

note ᅳ this whole thing was inspired by this playlist. instead i made it belphie. i wouldn’t suggest reading this if you’re down. instead maybe listen to this if songs can help you relax! it’s super cute and i def relaxed listening to them. can’t tell if i love this or hate it.

it was raining in devildom, nothing surprising though. you and belphie were sharing an umbrella back to the home, hands intertwined until his grip loosened and stopped. it felt like a rock was stuck in his throat, trying its best to smother out his words. but, it all came to a crashing end when belphie looked into your eyes.”belphie?” you asked, head tilted and eyebrow cocked in confusion.

“y/n..” he started, slow, inching away from you each time his mouth moved until you were left in the rain. heart shattered and all over the place, you could only look down in pain. ‘at least the rain fit the fucking mood.’ you thought, a chuckle escaped before it hicced into sniffles.

before you knew it you were on the cobble stone crying, luckily every devil in devildom was sleeping so no one could hear you even if they tried. so you just cried out to your hearts content, the words “i’m breaking up with you” stabbed you in the heart and just sliced it open.

leaving you with something you could never fix again. he didn’t even say sorry, did he ever love me? you’d think at times, happy memories was all you could remember him by. it was like a constant remember he was no longer yours. 

was he even yours to begin with?

no. he belonged in the vast world that exceeds your limits, he is a star while you’re the grass hopping to one day touch the sky. feel the star, watch as it dies. yet you are only grass that can grow only so tall till it’s cut down again. 

you cursed at yourself, beating at your thighs as if he were the one you were punching. although you were just punishing yourself from the reality you’d once strayed from. hell you found yourself so stupid for believing for just a second that he could be yours. 

but stars stay with other stars. you’re just a piece of grass visiting their constellation. it’ll end soon, it was the right thing to do. to break your heart quickly. you chuckled, wondering if any other of the stars were searching for you. if belphie even told the truth. 

it didn’t really matter. you must’ve sat crying in one spot for hours, you were exhausted as your salty tears mixed with the numbing rain. you could feel yourself shiver but it felt like hell to try to get up. your knees were scrapped, eyes swollen and red, you must’ve been growing feverish.

“thanks for taking me home, asshole.” 

“but i didn’t take you home?” a voice questioned, ah you must’ve been hallucinating now. the rain stopped, as if an umbrella hovered over your head. but it was a pitch black wing supporting you from the rain. red eyes filled with worry but with the secure feeling of ‘i won’t pry.’.

“ah. now i see, i’m hallucinating aren’t i? this big star protecting me from the rain after his youngest brother just dumped me. hysterical.” 

lucifer twitched at your words, were you sick? how long have you been out here? questions that needed to be answered raced through his head. but first of all, belphegor DUMPED you? every other brother would KILL for you. BUT HE DUMPED YOU? ha- a funny joke until he saw what would be described as a pitiful apperance.

“y/n?” “yes hallucination lucifer?” “how long have you been out here?” another black wing wrapped around your body, scooching you closer to the man who was watching you with quiet bright crimson eyes. “for awhile.” you muttered, placing a hand on the feathers that felt oh so real.

as your fingers slid in between them lucifer tensed up before a shiver was sent down his spine. “can you please stop touching my wings?” he asked with a huff, almost grabbing you by the collar- but you were in a sensitive state. comfort seeking was normal. right? this was comforting to pet his wings? he didn’t know.. he wasn’t good at this.

“but they’re so nice and soft, warm too. hallucination lucifer you seem very real.” you chuckled to yourself before a small ouch followed - your body was beginning to ache and shut down from the drenched clothes you were wearing.

lucifer noticed this and decided to pick you up more gently - “i am real.” lucifer said in a matter-of-fact tone. well you were fucked, but for the time being, you liked being in this demon’s arms. they were much more warm and affectionate than the other. the star you’d sought after was slowly dying before another was glowing brightly beside it.

can you search after this one to? will you be able to reach this star? the thought was too overwhelming, so you just gripped at his suit. believing that you could hold this star, call it yours, and give it the most affection in the world? or will you learn the same mistake again?

you didn’t want to know, but at the same time you wanted to run after this never ending vast space called the universe. hold stars near and dear, close to your heart that you can call your bestfriends. but you already did, you’d just forgotten them in the heat of the moment. 

the soft clack of lucifer’s heels muffled by the slight puddles of rain lulled you into space. 

“Y/N!! LUCIFER’S PLAYING THE FACE GAME AGAIN! AND HE TOOK MY PHONE!” “hey, y/n, can we go get some poison cupcakes over at devilbakes?” “oh goldie! i’m so glad you’re back! Y/N COME SHOPPING WITH ME, WE MUST SPEND!” “oh y/n! great to see you, can you be the model for my next video. PLEAAAAASE?” “y/n, did you read the book i gave you?”

ah this was the chaos you loved until you saw a familiar pillow with a cow pattern. your throat closed and blood ran cold, belphegor- you awoke from whatever that was in an unfamiliar yet familiar room. 

the decorations you’ve once seen before when something broke your room wall. it was all a hazy memory but you remember that was the first time you were aware of belphegor��s name. that you’d soon come to regret, but your attention was drawn back to strong arms that you recognized the scent of.

you tried to wiggle out of the lock he had on you (which was his arms. i’m sure he’s NOT letting you go anywhere. i promise you that), but that and your body were unforgiving and it already drained you with three simple movements.

“y/n?” 

welp, you’re fucked?

#obey me! #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me x y/n #obey me #otome game #otome romance #lucifer #belphie #beel #beelzeebub #om! brothers #breakup #angst #lucifer x reader #lucifer x mc #belphie x mc #belphie x reader #𝄖entiwrites

[robert-de-niro-only-fans]

Uncle Jimmy

Jimmy Conway x Reader

TW: smut!, light alcohol drinking, Daddy kink, age gap

Word count: 3.2k

"Fuck!" you shout as Tommy sends drink glasses flying, all for the punchline of another one is his jokes. You're at the bar in the restaurant you hung out in every week with all your favorite wise guys; you and your crime family practically own the joint at this point.

As you're using a napkin to dry up some of the champagne that had gotten on your cute black bodycon dress, when you suddenly feel a tall presence behind you, "Watch your mouth, young lady. Good girls don't curse."

Jimmy.

You look at him nonchalantly over your shoulder, "You know I'm 21 now, just like Tommy and Henry, you don't have to take care of me any more..." In fact, Jimmy is well aware that you're 21 now, and it isn't lost on you how all over you he's been.

His hands slide over your sides, pulling you close to him, as he whispers in your ear, "I know you're a grown woman now, but Uncle Jimmy still wants to care of his girl..." He'd never done anything like this before, and it sent shivers down your spine right to your center. Your eyes widen in shock, both at his comment and how your body responded to it.

You quickly push his hands off of you, turning around to face him, "Order me a drink then, if you wanna take care of me so bad." It came out of your mouth before you could even think, and you weren't completely sure what you meant by it, but Jimmy hails the bartender and places an order for something he knows you'd like: the first drink you ever had, a Cherrys Sour.

Back when you were still in high school, Jimmy made it for you one night when you were staying with him, saying how he wanted to "be there for your first drink, your first REAL drink, because I'm the uncle that'll let you get away with it."

When the bartender drops your drink off, Jimmy picks it up and holds it a few inches from your face. He plucks the cherry off the rim, and although he's tempted to steal it, he places it gently against your lips, appreciating the way the bright red fruit looks against your pouty bottom lip and the way your tongue flicks out to pull it into your mouth and popping it off its stem.

After that, he couldn't help himself. He places a hand on your cheek and the glass to your lips, making you take a sip of your drink. You close your eyes, nose wrinkling a bit as the liquid coats your taste buds.

"Just like the first time..." Jimmy reminisces, "How's that for being taken care of, darlin'?" You slip the drink out of Jimmy's hand and simply give him a look, trying to be pouty, but the man could tell you liked it.

Jimmy ordered himself the same drink; he just loves cherries, and he leaves you for a little while to go greet a few people, including your dad...

But he isn't gone for long, before he saunters up behind you again, setting his empty glass and placing his hands on the bar on either side of you, trapping you in.

"Jimmy..." you whine, looking down at the bar, but he can't see the smile on your face.

"(Y/N)..." he mimics you. He gently and slowly touches his chest to your back, and combs your hair away from your neck, placing a few soft kisses there.

"Jimmy," you breath heavily, "my dad is here..."

"Well then we better get out of here before he sees us," he leaves a little kiss on the shell of your ear, as he presses the beginnings of his arousal against your backside.

"Ooo-ooooh!!! Looks like Uncle Jimmy noticed our little (Y/N) is all grown up!" Henry hollers down the bar.

"Maybe he wants to be her Daddy Jimmy now! God knows he's old enough to be!" Tommy cuts in.

The place is filled with laughter, and simultaneously, you and Jimmy cut looks that could kill at Tommy and Henry. Jimmy makes a move to storm over to them but you grab his hand, holding him back. "You're just jealous Uncle Jimmy never loved you as much as he loves me," you throw over your shoulder as you drag Jimmy out of the restaurant, laughing as soon as the cool night air hits your faces.

Through his laughter, Jimmy unlocks the passenger door of his car, pushing you in and sliding in after you. With you at the wheel, he cranks up the car and says, "Why don't you take us somewhere, baby girl?"

Things go quiet for a moment, then a big smile spreads across your face. You don't get to drive much, and he knows how much you love to.

"You aren't drunk or anything, are you?" he whispers, always checking on you.

"No, I just had the one drink you got me," you answer.

"Good good, you know I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you," he kisses your cheek and pats your thigh, indicating that you should drive now.

You weren't sure where to go, so you just drove to this little park that took up just a block. There are some swings and a jungle gym, but also some trees and grass and benches. You didn't know what Jimmy would think but you thought it might be romantic.

He chuckles as you stop the car, "You want Uncle Jimmy to take you to the park?"

"Hmmm, I think you meant 'Daddy'" you say, mocking Tommy.

He lets out a little grunt and places a hand on your cheek, wiping his thumb across your bottom lip, "Watch your mouth, I'm warning you..."

"But... That's not even a curse word," you say, but then it clicks in your head. You decide to store that information away for later, and you both get out the car.

You quickly discover the fence to the park is locked, but that kind of thing never stopped you and Jimmy before. You slip off your heels, handing them to the man next to you, and start climbing the fence.

"Hey! Be careful!!" He shouts, but you were already over the other side before he could stop you... and he wasn't really sure how you climbed the fence in a dress that tight.

He takes your shoes over to the car, tossing them in the back seat and pulling out a blanket, probably there so he could wrap a body if he needed to, but he figured you could use it to sit on the grass.

He throws it over the fence to you before fumbling over the thing himself; he was much more graceful about it when he had a cop after him.

Inside the park, you stroll around for a while, getting used to Jimmy being all sweet on you like this. You liked it, but he had always been your Uncle Jimmy, so it's a little weird at first.

You walk over to the swings, plopping down in one. Jimmy stands behind you, gently pushing and pulling the chains back and forth. You look back at him and you both share a giggle as he starts pushing you harder, really getting the swing to go. Your giggles grow into hysterical laughter as you fly through the air.

Jimmy leaves you to your own devices to swing as long as you'd like, while he sits on the swing next to yours and pulls out a cigarette, smiling from ear to ear as he watches you.

As your swing slows down, you pluck the cigarette from his fingers, taking a drag on it. He quickly gets it back, saying, "Hey! That's not good for you, baby," in a serious tone.

"It's not good for you either..." you say as your swing comes to a halt.

"Yeah, well. Do as I say, not as I do." Jimmy says, pulling your swing over to his. There's a pause for a moment before he changes the subject, "I'm gonna kiss you now. Are you gonna let me?"

"Why don't you try it and see?" you tease him.

With that, he pulls you off of your swing and onto his lap, holding your waist as his lips meet yours in an open mouthed kiss that can only be described as electric. Jimmy didn't do anything half-assed, especially kissing you. One of his hands tangles in your hair, and you hold his cheeks in your hands as you make out.

He sucks his bottom lip into your mouth, giving it a delightful little nibble that makes you squirm. Your hands move to squeeze at his sides while you desperately kiss one another, both realizing you'd wanted each other much longer than you thought. His hands grab your hips and lift you up so he can stand and wrap your legs around his waist; his lips never leaving yours. He walks a few steps over to the grass and sinks to his knees, laying you down in the damp but soft grass. He grips at your thigh, hard; it'll probably leave little bruises where his fingertips are.

You let out a little whine and he realizes he's hurting you, "I'm sorry, honey."

"It's okay..." you breathe out, "Daddy..."

You watch as he gets a lust blown look in his eyes from your use of that word, and his lips slam back into yours. He starts grinding his hardness against you, "Say it again," he mumbles through attacking your lips.

"Mmm!" you push him of you a little, making him stop and look in your eyes, "Daddy."

His eyes are practically begging you, for what you aren't sure, but he lowers his head and softly kisses at your decolletage. Your fingers grace over his head, threatening to mess up his gelled hair. As his lips give attention to the top of your breasts, Jimmy's voice pipes up, "(Y/N)," his eyes look up at you, "Let me make love to you."

"Jimmy..."

His hand creeps up, intertwining your fingers with his and pinning your hand to the ground. His face meets yours with another fiery kiss.

"Jimmy," you moan against his lips, "What if we get caught?"

"Well, it could be kind of exciting if we get caught," he presses a kiss to your earlobe.

"I mean, by the cops... What if we get in trouble?"

"Listen to yourself, princess, when did you ever care about getting in trouble? Besides, fuck the cops," Jimmy argues still kissing at your neck, and he does have a point.

You push Jimmy up and he sits back on his knees. You get up and sit in front of Jimmy, except you turn your back to him, then you brush your hair to one side to the front side of your shoulder.

"Okay," you say.

"Hm?" Jimmy asks.

"James Conway, unzip my dress right now, or I swear to God, you won't get another chance to for the rest of your life!"

Zip! You feel your dress loosen immediately. His hands roam your back as he scoots closer to you. His fingertips glide over your silky smooth skin while sliding the little dress straps off your shoulders.

"When a pretty lady like you talks, I listen," his voice is lower than it was before.

You chuckle and lean back into him as the top part of your dress falls around your waist and Jimmy's hands explore your bra. You hear his breathing get a little heavier just from looking at you without a top on.

You turn around and start to lay back down on the grass. "Wait-" Jimmy starts, "Let me go grab that blanket."

"You afraid of getting a little dirty, Daddy?" you say in your sexiest voice. It's funny how you can visually see Jimmy short circuit a for minute every time you call him that. He snaps back to reality and jumps up, "I'll be right back!"

He quickly returns to lay the blanket on the ground for you, before grabbing you and gently laying you down with it. You slide your dress off your legs, and Jimmy can hardly think straight seeing you in your lacy black underwear.

"Are you just gonna stand there, big man? A little girl like me got your wires all crossed?" you joke at him.

Jimmy simply responds by taking off his jacket and tie, and getting on his knees between your legs again. You sit up and unbutton his shirt, quickly discarding it and finally feeling the warm skin of his torso. You look up and give him a teasing look before unlatching his belt, sloooowly. He's completely breathless at the way you've taken charge of the situation; you'd always been a little girl in his eyes.

Almost as if you'd been reading his mind, you say, "If I'm gonna call you Daddy, you better start acting like one, hm?" You raise your eyebrows at the last part as if you were expecting something of him.

He exhales and crawls on top of you, "You're so right... God damn it, you just look so good!" He roughly kisses you and pins your wrists down to the ground above your head, "But now I'm gonna make you mine."

You're left gasping as Jimmy moved to your neck, leaving his mark on you. Everyone would know he had had you when they see those hickies on your neck, and that thought- that thought drove Jimmy wild.

He releases your hands as he works his way down your body with his kisses and sucks on every inch of your skin. He pops back up on his knees and works his pants off, and he looks around to make sure no one is walking by around the park. "Want me to lose these, baby doll?" he asks, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his boxer briefs.

"You know I do," you giggle at him.

He groans happily, "You sure you're ready to see your Uncle Jimmy naked?"

You sit up and stroke his hard length as it strains against the fabric, "I thought you were my Daddy now... You must not want me to call you that if you keep forgetting..." You pretend to pout at him.

He takes you by surprise, grabbing your throat and shaking you a bit, "Daddy didn't forget."

You give him an excited smile, and he removes his underwear, stroking himself for you. He grabs your legs and shoves them straight up in the air, giving your ass a solid smack before pulling your panties down.

"Oh, baby," he lays himself on top of you, rubbing his hardness against your clit, "You look beautiful, and you're already so wet without me even touching you... You think you're ready to take me?"

You nod your head, "Mhmm."

"Say it," he demands.

"Say what?"

"You know what I want, princess. Now, say it."

You look up at him with doe eyes, appreciating his muscles as he towers over you, "I want you, Daddy... Take me please, Daddy, I'm ready!"

"Mmmm, God, baby girl, you beg so good," he praises as he presses the head of his cock into you.

You let out a soft, breathy groan as you feel him fill you up. The noises Jimmy makes as he starts to move in you--it's as if he feels relief mixed with absolute pleasure. He moves slowly at first, rocking his whole body gently back and forth, as he kisses the side of your face.

Your little breaths mixed with moans and gasps only turns Jimmy on further; he wants to make you make more of those noises. He shifts his weight onto one elbow, and with his free hand, grabs your hand to bring it to his face. He stares deeply into your eyes as he kisses your knuckles.

Jimmy enjoys your fingers playing with his hair, and he really enjoys it when you give it a harsh tug as he hits a sweet spot inside you. You inhale sharply, "Daddy!!!"

"Yeah, baby? Is that the spot?"

"Uh-huhhh," you whine loudly. You reach down to play with yourself, but your hand is met with a sudden slap.

"No. That's Daddy's job." Jimmy quickly replaces your hand with his, rubbing circles on your clit. His hip movements speed up, and he only takes his hand off of you to pull your bra down off your shoulders before forcefully ripping it and throwing it aside. As his hand returns to your clit, his mouth explores your breasts, sucking on your nipples and leaving more love bites.

How he could do three things at once is beyond you, but it is leading you to your orgasm. When you reach your end, Jimmy shoves two fingers deep in your mouth, muffling the loud noises you would've made. He wouldn't want anyone to hear after all...

Wasting no time, he sits up and pulls your legs up again, hooking them on his shoulders as he fucks into your as fast as he can. You still hadn't fully come down from your orgasm, so your legs shake violently as he slams your g-spot.

"(Y/N)..." Jimmy says weakly, eyes closed tightly in pleasure. He's close.

"Cum for me, Daddy."

"Fuck!" he groans as his hips grow erratic.

"Daddyyy... Cum for me," you beg.

You can hardly finish your sentence before he pulls out, stroking himself as his seed spurts in ribbons across your belly, yet again marking you as belonging to him. His breathing comes out in the form of needy moans as he finishes.

He takes a moment to collect himself as he shakes his member, making sure he got every drop onto you. "You look good with Daddy's cum on you," he pants, grabbing the blanket to wipe it off before it gets sticky in the cool night breeze, "You're 𝘮𝘺 girl now. All mine." He lays next to you, pulling you into him for cuddles.

"Yes sir, Daddy," you look up, rubbing your hands on his chest.

"Good girl; you're such a good girl," he whispers the next part, "and you mean so much to me." He gives a series of soft, sweet kisses.

"Hey! What do you two think you're doing?!" You hear someone shout from outside the park fence. A cop.

Jimmy pops his head up and scopes the guy out, "Fred?" One of the cops Jimmy pays off.

"Jimmy? Is that you?"

"Yeah, what are you doing working nights?"

"Oh, uh, my wife and I have a baby on the way and the force doesn't pay that well. I picked up more hours. But you two go on with whatever you're doing, I didn't see a thing, Mr. Conway," the cop saunters off, leaving your alone.

"That's the other reason I wasn't worried about the cops," Jimmy chuckles to you.

After that, you found yourself in Jimmy's bed as often as possible, and that cop found himself at home with his wife more often, having a much needed pay raise.

#i didn't proofread this #sorry! #robert de niro #robert de niro x reader #robert de niro imagine #jimmy conway has my heart ❤️ #jimmy conway imagine #jimmy conway #goodfellas #fanfic #robert de niro fanfic

[heejinnien]

i.jaebum & p.jinyoung | crimson roses part one

word count: 3k

pairing: jaebum x reader x jinyoung

synopsis: when y/n’s sister is murdered, she’s forced to evaluate everything that she thought she knew.

genre: mystery, witsec au

warnings: the reader is in a club (they’re old enough to legally be there), murder, gore, imagery used to describe the reader tripping over and finding a dead body, probably incorrect portrayal of the witsec program, there’s a mildly disturbing nightmare

rating: pg-17

author’s note: this is part one of the walking on sunshine event! it focuses on summer beginnings. i was partnered with @dreamystuffers​, and credits to them for the amazing moodboard! thank you @birbdae​ and ryan for being my beta readers. seriously, thank you for filling in all the spaces where i wrote blah blah 

“I freaking hate Tzuyu.”

You groan, dropping your head in your hands. Sympathetically, the bartender slides a glass of water towards you, accepting the grunt that you emit afterwards as a sort of thank you. You pause in your wallowing to take a long sip of the icy liquid, feeling the pressure in your head lift slightly.

“Rough night?”

The bartender’s smooth, baritone voice carries over the loud sounds of the club’s music, and you wince at his words.

“Something like that.”

The bartender looks as though he’ll say more, but he’s cut off by the sound of a high, feminine voice ordering another drink. You’re grateful for the distraction, sliding a wad of bills over the counter and slipping off of the metal stool. You appreciate the kindness he has shown you, but you really need to start looking for your sister.

Slowly, you begin to weave through the throng of clubgoers, searching for anyone who moderately resembles your sister. You wince as an elbow connects with your stomach and bite back a curse when a heel stabs your toe. Still, there is no sign of your sister.

Pushing your way to the far side of the club, you lean against a wall, panting slightly, and pull out your phone. The LED at the top signals that nobody tried to call or text you while you were struggling to navigate a mob of drunk clubgoers, and a knot of worry tightens itself in your stomach. It’s been over an hour since you last saw your sister. She left you at a booth with a few of your mutual acquaintances to go dance, and you haven’t seen her since. Giving them an awkward smile, you had slid out of the booth to go sit at the bar. You were more polite to them because they were your sister’s friends than anything, and you know you hadn’t been imagining the awkwardness that had settled into the air once your sister had left.

You quickly swipe through your phone, silently praying that Tzuyu will answer and tell you she took a cab back to your shared apartment and she forgot to tell you, or that she’s actually been in the bathroom constipated this entire time.

“Hi, this is Tzuyu, I’m busy right now, which is why I didn’t pick up…”

With a groan, you turn your phone off. Pushing yourself off the wall, you weave your way to the bathrooms, opting to begin your second search there. Unsurprisingly, the small metal stalls are empty. You cringe as your shoe sticks to an unknown substance, exiting the bathroom and mind racing about where Tzuyu’s whereabouts could be.

A cool breeze winds itself around you, tousling your hair gently and you freeze.

A breeze?

You turn away from the rest of the clubbers, following the hallway deeper into the building. The further you go, the darker it gets, and a second chill sets upon you, one unrelated to the cool breeze.

Heart pounding, you turn the corner and see a cracked doorway. The soft light of the night greets you, and you feel a spark of relief. Maybe her phone died and your sister went out this door to leave. You quickly hurry out the door, pushing it open and turning down the alleyway.

You’ve only gone a few paces, pulling out your phone to dial your sister again when your foot collides with something hard. Your arms flail as you attempt to right yourself, but you go down, your elbow colliding with something soft and your chin colliding with the hardness of the asphalt.

Letting out a groan, you try to push yourself up by pressing your hands against the ground on either side of you, but they slip. Something wet and sticky coats your hands, and confusion fills you as you blindly reach around you for your phone. Your fingers connect with the cold metal, and you’ve scarcely turned on the device and activated the flashlight before you’re greeted with the mutilated body of your sister.

It takes you a second to register that the loud noise you hear is your own screaming.

You stare blankly ahead of you in shock.

Vaguely, you hear someone talking to you, but it’s like you’re underwater, all the sounds around you muffled. The image of your sister is frozen in your mind, your fingers trembling as you grip the blanket that someone wrapped around you tightly.

You think back to the last time you saw her, only a few hours ago, smiling and joyous and alive.

If she were here with you right now, she would have something comforting to say. She’d always been the more level of you too, somehow able to keep calm even in situations when you’ve felt panicked. But she’s not.

It should have been me, you think bitterly, rocking back and forth.

“Miss L/N.”

A hand settling on your arm causes you to jump and pull yourself out of your trance. Dumbly, you look at the hand, using it to trace your way up the unknown person’s wrist and arm until you can see their face. Concerned eyes stare back at you, and you force yourself to listen to what the unknown man is saying.

“I’m sorry to say this, but your clothes need to be bagged for evidence.”

You blink, unable to process the man’s words. 

“Miss L/N, please. I know you want us to catch whoever did this to your sister, and we’re trying our best, but we need to bag your clothing as evidence.”

The mention of your sister clears the fog that has settled over you, and you nod. Weakly, you stand, following the man as he guides you to a restroom. He hands you a bag and a stack of clothes, instructing for you to change into the new set and bag the old clothes.

Robotically, you do as he tells you to until you’re changed into a sweater several sizes too big and a pair of jeans that cling to your legs tightly. You splash water on your face, staring at yourself hollowly in the mirror. You hardly recognize yourself, a foreign, hollow look in your eyes. Get it together, Y/N, you chide yourself. You can cry about this later. For Tzuyu.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you turn, exiting the bathroom with the bag of your old clothes in your hands. As soon as you exit, several furtive glances are sent your way. You furrow your brows in confusion, and a new, unknown man hurries over to you. 

“Please follow me quickly, Miss L/N.”

“I don’t understand.”

The man doesn’t respond, hurrying you through the station and down a hallway until you’re stopped in front of a closed door. A plaque centered on the door  reads “Sergeant Park.” Not wasting the time to knock, the man pushes open the door, taking the bag from your hands and ushering you in.

“Miss L/N, I’m so sorry about your loss.”

Hearing those words makes your throat tighten again, and you force your feelings down. You look around you, noting the awards adorning the walls around you. Two men stand inside the office, both wearing grim expressions. The one who spoke is seated behind the desk, and he stands, gesturing for you to take the free seat opposite him.

“There’s something we need to talk to you about.”

“My sister was a good person, she wasn’t mixed up in anything — ” You protest.

“That’s not what this is about.” The man opposite you, Sergeant Park, you assume, holds up his hand. “Time is crucial here, so please just listen to what I have to tell you.”

You nod, throat clogging from fearful anticipation.

“The Black Rose is the name of a powerful crime syndicate who’ve been running for the past few decades. We’ve tried our best to stop them, but they have connections everywhere.”

“My sister — ” You spring to your feet.

“Miss L/N. Please.”

You sink back into the chair, cheeks burning and thoroughly chastised. Once you’re seated, Sergeant Park continues.

“We’re not sure who all is involved with them, but what we do know is that they mark every kill, and they never kill without reason.”

Your thoughts race as you hear the unspoken words. “And my sister was marked,” you deadpan.

Sergeant Park nods grimly, and a hysterical laugh bubbles up within you. It dies instantly at the serious expression on Sergeant Park’s face.

“That’s ridiculous.”

Sergeant Park purses his lips, speaking slowly. “Until we know for sure, we need you to go into witness protection. We promise that we wouldn’t make you do this if we weren’t sure that your life is at serious risk. Mr. Im?”

Sergeant Park gestures to the other person in the room, who you assume is Mr. Im. Until now, he’s been silent, and you almost forgot that he’s here. He gives you a gentle smile.

“Please, call me Jaebum.” His tone is soothing, and you want to trust him. Still, you bite your lip, hesitant.

Sergeant Park speaks again. “Mr. Im will protect you the entire duration of the program. I promise that you’re in good hands. You guys will leave tonight.”

Alarm bells ring in your head. “Wait, tonight? I don’t understand. I still have finals, and what about my life here — ”

“Miss L/N.” Sergeant Park fixes you with a stern look. “I understand that things may seem intimidating right now, but I need you to do your best to do what we say. You could be a key role in this investigation, and Mr. Im is here to ensure that no harm comes to you. I know that this isn’t ideal, but please just let us protect you.”

You look from Sergeant Park to Jaebum. The latter gives you a reassuring smile, and your head still reels from all of the events of the night, but you find yourself nodding.

“Okay,” you breathe. “Okay, what do I have to do?”

“You keep twisting your bracelet.”

Jaebum’s voice pierces through your mindless thoughts and the dull monotony of the journey. You have been driving for the better part of the night, your thoughts still racing as you try to process everything. You look down at the bracelet Jaebum is talking about, and even though it’s dark you know what he’s talking about.

“My sister gave it to me,” you say simply.

“It must be pretty important to you, then,” he observes, eyes never straying once from the road.

“Something like that,” you say, assuming that’s the end of the conversation. Seconds later, Jaebum speaks again.

“Look, Y/N, I know that a lot has happened in one night — ”

“Please don’t,” you whisper, voice cracking. You clear your throat, staring out the window at the dark shadows of the landscape. “Don’t try to act like you understand how I feel. Twenty-four hours ago I was just a college student, and now…”

You swallow thickly, a lump forming itself in your throat.

“You are still just a college student, Y/N.”

“You know, aren’t you supposed to be using my new name?” You force yourself to change the topic, looking at Jaebum out of the side of your eyes.

Jaebum coughs awkwardly. “We aren’t there yet, and I thought that using your real name would make you more…comfortable with me.”

You scoff, but don’t speak. Awkward silence fills the car, interrupted only by the occasional sound of the night from outside your car window.

You remain like that for the rest of the ride. Everytime you think about saying something, you bury it, not wanting to show interest.

After a while, the road turns to dirt. The car bounces along the new road, and you can’t help but feel even further isolated from your old life. Jaebum pulls down a narrow driveway, and then the car stops, bathing a small cottage in the car’s light. Jaebum turns off the car’s ignition, and as you open the car’s door, you can hear the soft sound of waves crashing. Sand crunches beneath your shoes as you take in the sights around you.

You hear the sound of the trunk close, and seconds later Jaebum rounds the car, duffel bags gripped in his hands.

“This is it,” Jaebum says.

“I guess so,” you agree, exhaling nervously. You follow Jaebum up the cottage’s steps, hovering uncertaintly as he unlocks the front door. Following him inside, you squint against the bright  yellow lights of the cottage.

You’re standing in a small living room. To your left is the kitchen and what you assume is the dining room, and to the right is a hallway. Jaebum leads you down the hallway, setting one of the duffle bags in front of a plain, unassuming white door.

“This is your room. Mine is right next to you.” Jaebum knocks goofily on the door in front of him, and you let out a short laugh.

“Okay.”

You grab your bag, pushing open the door to the room. You pause in the doorway, unsure. “Good night, Jaebum.”

A moment passes, and then you can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Good night, Y/N.”

“Tzuyu! Where are you?”

You’re in a meadow, tall stalks of wheat reaching your shoulders. You frown, trying to remember how you got here, but you can’t. Alarm bells ring in your head, and you push through the stalks, searching for your sister.

“Tzuyu! Tzuyu! Where — are — you?”

Your voice is reflected back at you, distorted and garbled. Panic rises in you, bubbling hot like lava, and you begin to push through the stalks around you faster.

Finally, you stumble upon a clearing. A flock of birds takes flight, and your eyes scan the clearing, frantic. A body lies on the ground unmoving, and you run towards it.  Deep in your gut you know who it is, but that doesn’t stop the gasp that leaves you as you clearly identify the girl lying there.

It’s Tzuyu.

The sight of her body makes you freeze, and before you can stop it you trip. When you regain your bearings, you’re back in the alley again. You blink, trying to orient yourself, and as you do Tzuyu’s hand shoots out, wrapping itself around your wrist. A scream gets choked in your throat as your sister sits up,  smile stretching too wide for her face.

“Why didn’t you save me?”

“Tzuyu, you’re hurting me,” you cry, trying to pry your sister’s grasp from your wrist. She only holds on tighter, other hand shooting out and wrapping itself around your throat.

“Why didn’t you save me? Why didn’t you SAVE ME?”

A scream tears its way out of your throat, and you shoot into a sitting position, clutching the comforter you had admired just hours earlier against you. Your breathing is ragged, and dimly you hear heavy footsteps. Seconds later, harsh light floods your room and you throw your hand against your forehead, shielding your eyes from the intrusion.

Jaebum’s eyes are wild as he takes in your room, the way you’re sitting up, clutching the comforter against you. His muscles relax as he ascertains that you are physically safe, eyes softening at the sight of you.

“Are you okay?”

You nod, embarrassment beginning to seep through your previous horror.

“I’m sorry, had a nightmare.” You force yourself to laugh, the sound an octave too high to be believable. “You can just go back to your room, everything is fine.”

You swallow forcefully, staring down at the comforter and picking at a thread that has unwound itself from the careful stitching. Silently, you yell at Jaebum to leave. You’re not sure how much longer you can stand being mortified, discomfort seeping into the air around you.

After a long pause, you hear the gentle click of your door close. You don’t bother to look up, instead electing to close your eyes, sure that by the count of ten, he’ll be gone.

You’ve just reached eight when you feel your bed dip, and strong arms wrapping themselves around you. You stiffen, eyes snapping open to glare at the offender.

“You don’t have to treat me like a baby, I told you that I’m fine.”

“It’s okay to be weak you know.”

To your immense horror, you feel your eyes begin to well. You blink rapidly, trying to untangle yourself from Jaebum’s presence, but he holds on tightly. Before you can stop it, all of the emotions of the past twenty-four hours hit you, crashing against the gate that you had shoved them behind. The emotions you felt at your sister’s death, the emotional burden of having to suddenly end your old life and going into hiding suddenly become too much, and before you can help it tears stream down your cheeks. You gasp as you struggle to breathe, everything suddenly just becoming too much.

Time goes by without either of you realizing it, and neither of you know how long you remain in that position, Jaebum patting your back lightly as your grief pours out of you. After a few sniffles and swipes across your eyes you let out a groan, pulling away and digging the heels of your palms into your eyes.

“God, I can’t believe I just did that.”

“It’s okay, everyone has to let go of emotions at some point.” Jaebum gives you a gentle smile. “You should try to get some rest.”

“Will you stay with me?” Jaebum’s eyes widen, and you quickly scramble to backtrack. “I mean, you don’t have to — I don’t know what I was thinking — ”

“Of course I will.” Jaebum cuts off your ramble, smiling brightly. “I’ll just bring in a blanket from my room and sleep on the floor — ”

“You can share with me if you want. I don't mind; we both need a good night sleep, right?” You blurt quickly, panting slightly as you finish your question. Jaebum simply laughs, running a hand through his hair. He climbs onto the bed and lays on his side, patting the bed next to him. Shyly, you crawl next to him, laying down and trying not to think about the position you’re in too deeply.

Wrapped in the comfort of Jaebum’s warmth, you close your eyes, focusing on the gentle sounds of your breathing. A sense of tranquility washes over you, and you finally fall asleep.

send an ask or dm to be added to the taglist!

#on the shore #kpopscape #summerscape #got7writerscollective #jaebum x reader #im jaebum #im jaebeom #park jinyoung #jinyoung x reader #got7 #got7 jinyoung #got7 fics #got7 au #witsec au

[loveissupernatural]

                                         To Love in a Foreign Land

                                            Draco Malfoy x reader                                 

Chapter One: The Letter

[ Read Part 2 here ] 

The day had finally come.

It came in the flurry of an owl’s wings, in the nervous vibration of your sweaty palms.

A delicious breakfast had just been served by your mother that sunny summer morning in suburban America, your fourth term at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry only recently finished. Loud, impatient tapping on the kitchen window glass made you choke on your coffee.

“Mom! Ch-check if it’s from H-Hogwarts!” you managed to cough, pointing frantically at the window. Your mother bolted out of her chair at the kitchen table so you can recover.

She squealed for you, letting the gorgeous but exhausted-looking owl into your kitchen as quickly as she could. It landed in front of you on the table, holding out its leg with what could only be described as relief. Your shaking hands untied the cream-colored envelope from the owl’s ankle, and as soon as you did, it fluttered to the large cage in the corner of the room. Your silver-grey owl, Cinna, hooted indignantly at the unexpected visitor that was gulping from her water bowl.

“Now, Cinna, be nice. He’s had a long journey,” your mother said, wagging her finger. Cinna would have rolled her eyes if she could.

“Mom,” you squeaked, “this is it, this has to be it. I’m finally gonna know.”

You’d decided halfway through your fourth year at Ilvermorny that you wanted to take part in the International Wizarding Student Exchange Program, or I.W.S.E.P. It was a decision that you didn’t make lightly – you’d discussed it at length with your teachers and with your mom. You loved Ilvermorny with all of your heart and soul, after all, it was your home. But you also knew that the world was much bigger, that there was so much in the wizarding world that you hadn’t seen and hadn’t experienced. As a newly 15 year-old, you felt somehow ready for things to change.

Of course, you didn’t want too much change, which is why Hogwarts was at the top of your list. Ilvermorny was modeled after it, and you didn’t have to worry about a language barrier. Hogwarts contained four houses, just like your school, and was a large castle in the middle of the mountains, just like yours. You were ready to experience new things and new people, in a new (but somewhat similar) place. You had roots there.

The Headmistress of Ilvermorny, Celestia Pukwould, had one final meeting with all prospective exchange students before the end of term. The day exams ended, you and a small group of upcoming fifth years were invited to her large study. She pressed the importance of upholding your school’s good reputation as you traveled, to be a shining example of what it was to learn magic from America’s impressive magical education system. Only one of your peers was requesting Hogwarts as their first choice too, a quiet girl that you hadn’t spoken to much over the years named Eleanor.

After the other potential exchange students left her office, Headmistress Pukwould requested for you and Eleanor to stay behind for a bit.

“Ladies, I have sent an owl to Professor Dumbledore himself expressing my full confidence in you two,” she had said, standing from her ornate high-back chair that sat in front of her fireplace. She twirled her wand between her long fingers absentmindedly, fixing you and Eleanor with a kind yet serious stare. “You two are some of the brightest witches in your class. I told him so. I have known Albus Dumbledore for many years, and he is by far one of the most talented wizards alive today. You would be very lucky to learn magic at his school.”

You and Eleanor nodded profusely, eyes wide. While Headmistress Pukwould was a kind woman, she was also not to be trifled with, and her word backing your acceptance at Hogwarts held much weight.

“Don’t disappoint me, ladies,” she said, the smile fading from her face. She tapped her wand on her nails once, sighed, then turned back to the fireplace. “Have a wonderful summer. Owls containing your acceptance or rejection should arrive to your homes within the next few weeks.”  Her tone was final. You were dismissed.

You flashed back to your bright kitchen, took a deep breath and let it back out in a shaking sigh. Your fingers gently traced the refined emerald green writing. You flipped the envelope over and touched the blood-red wax seal, the crest of Hogwarts. Your hands paused.

“Mom, what if I don’t get in?” You’d spoken your greatest fear aloud.

She smiled at you, almost a little sadly, and came to rest a hand on your shoulder and a kiss on your head. “They’d be idiots not to accept you, Y/N.”

“What do you think Dad would say? If they said no?” you all but whispered, a familiar ache rising in the back of your throat. Your father had attended Hogwarts over two decades ago before he moved to America and met your No-Maj mother.

Your mother wrapped her arms around you from behind, pressing her cheek to yours and rocking you gently.

“He would think they’re idiots, too, honey,” she said, a grin in her voice. Your father loved his alma mater, so to imagine him saying anything negative about the school was enough to make you laugh. But you knew she was right, your father had been your biggest fan.

“I miss him,” you said quietly. Your thumb ran over the wax seal again.

“I know, baby. I do too,” she whispered, kissing your cheek. “But he’d be so proud of you, no matter what that letter says. Okay?”

You nodded. You’d lost your father two years ago, but the wound still felt fresh most days. You’d be lying if you said that going to Hogwarts wasn’t an attempt to feel him again, in some form or fashion.

“Here goes nothing,” you breathed, slipping your finger underneath the sturdy paper and ripping it away from the seal. Your heart pounded in your ears like a bass drum as you pulled out the parchment, catching a glimpse of the neat scroll in the same dark green ink. Your mother’s hands tightened on your shoulders.

Dear Miss Y/N Y/L/N,

           We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

           All students accepted to our institution through the I.W.S.E.P. (International Wizarding Student Exchange Program) will be required to travel via portkey on the evening of 29 July. Upon arrival to London, arrangements will be made for you to stay in the Leaky Cauldron before gathering your supplies on 30 July. A representative from the school will assist you in procuring the necessary books and equipment for term, beginning 1 September. You will be expected to arrive at King’s Cross Station, Platform 9 ¾, no later than 09:00 AM on 31 July. Bring all necessary luggage and equipment.

           You will find an enclosed list of all required literature and materials for Year Five.

           We will expect an owl containing your confirmation no later than 20 July. We are honored to invite you into our sacred halls of magical learning.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

 You lowered the letter, disbelief coursing through your veins. It was real, truly real. You were now officially a Hogwarts student.

After at least a solid 20 minutes of dancing around the kitchen with your mother, you scribbled a quick confirmation and laid it by the feet of the tired Hogwarts owl.

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to leave for another few days,” you said, answering the owl’s accusatory glare. He hooted ruefully and tucked his head underneath his large wing, ignoring Cinna’s still wary stare.

Your mother excused herself from the kitchen shortly after, attempting and failing to hide the proud tears in her eyes. You hugged the Hogwarts letter to your chest, breathing in the scent of the still stiff parchment. Slowly, you walked out to the empty living room and paced to the fireplace mantle that contained family portraits of all shapes and sizes, some moving in their frames and others standing still.

With tears tickling the corner of your eyes, you picked up your favorite picture of you and your dad. You were six years old, missing a tooth and laughing hysterically, while your father conjured glowing butterflies that danced around your head. The glow of his happy smile outshined those butterflies any day, you thought. You gently stroked his smiling face.

“Well, it’s official, Dad,” you whispered, a single tear sliding down your cheek. “I’m going to Hogwarts.”

                     ______________________________________

That summer passed more quickly than you would have ever expected. Your friends from Ilvermorny came to visit as often as possible, taking advantage of every moment they could grab with you before you left for an entire year. Many days were spent wandering nearby cities and towns, No-Maj and magical alike, with your school friends. You ate as many cliché American meals as you could and soaked up every drop of sunshine possible by the pool. You always looked better with a bit of a tan, and you doubted that you’d be getting much strong sun at Hogwarts.

“So, what House do you think you’ll be sorted into?” Eleanor asked you one afternoon. You’d invited her to stay a week with you and your mother in early July. You two would be the only Americans at Hogwarts in the upcoming year, and you both thought that building a friendship with one another would be nothing but beneficial. Being so far from home, you needed to have each other’s backs.

You were both sitting on the edge of the pool, drinking fresh lemonade and dangling your feet in the water. You took a long sip through your brightly colored straw.

“Good question,” you said, staring at the rippling blue water in thought. “I’ve heard rumors of what each house represents, but how true is it really? I mean, we know at Ilvermorny that more than one House can pick you, and that you can make the decision for yourself. Do you ever wonder if people pick the right one? Think it’s like that at Hogwarts?”

“I don’t know,” Eleanor said quietly. She seemed a little nervous at the thought. “What if we don’t get sorted at all? What if we’re too old?”

“I mean, surely that wouldn’t happen,” you tried to say confidently. “They wouldn’t subject us to public sorting if there was a chance of us getting rejected, right? Talk about embarrassing.”

“I’m sure you’ll get sorted,” she said with an admiring tone. “Everyone remembers what happened when you stepped up to the Knot on our first day.”

You remembered that day with a strange and heady combination of pride and trepidation. When you stepped up to the large Gordian Knot engraved into the shining marble floor of the circular sorting chamber, everything changed for you. For the first time in over a decade, all four large wooden carvings came to life, and the room went dead silent. You’d never felt so many eyes on you, boring into the back of your skull, wondering what made you so special and what House you would choose.

The gem set into the head of the Horned Serpent glowed, the Thunderbird beat its large wings, the Wampus roared and the Pukwudgie raised its arrow into the air. The carvings themselves seemed to stare a hole through you.

The four Ilvermorny Houses have been described as each representing a different part of the human being; Horned Serpent represents the mind and favors scholars; Wampus represents the body and favors warriors; Thunderbird represents the soul and favors adventurers; Pukwudgie represents the heart and favors healers.

You were overwhelmed in every sense of the word. At the small and awkward age of 11, you truly didn’t feel that well-rounded. You were certain that, somehow, these magical carvings had made a mistake.

“What made you choose Thunderbird, by the way?” Eleanor asked curiously, breaking you from your reverie.

“Honestly… I’m not totally sure,” you shrugged bashfully. Talking about this always made you uncomfortable. “Thunderbird is supposed to represent the soul, right? I guess I think that everything is rooted in the soul. We wouldn’t be human without them.”

Eleanor had been chosen by Horned Serpent, but nodded in agreement. “I guess that makes sense. I don’t know what I would have done if I were you.” She laughed a bit uneasily. “At least my choice was easy – I didn’t have one.”

In many ways, you found yourself wishing that only one carving had chosen you. Sure, it’s a bit less flattering, but much less stressful. The pressure of being that student, the once-in-a-decade student that was supposed to accomplish amazing things, was almost suffocating. As a child, you had a mountain of expectations piled on top of you from the moment those four carvings came to life. You couldn’t make a mistake.

In your second year, when your father died, so many of those expectations crushed you in a way that they never had before. His death weighed on you more than anything ever had, and the strength of his support was gone and left you breaking underneath the heavy cinderblocks of watchful eyes. Your grades suffered, and so did your relationships. You shut down.

Only when a year passed after your father’s death did you begin to find yourself again. With the help of your understanding teachers and a loving group of friends, you were able to establish a better academic standing within Ilvermorny. Not that anyone held your lapse against you – after all, you were a 12 year-old that had lost a parent. But you were still that kid, the one that all four Houses wanted, and you’d proven that you were far from perfect.

“What House do you want to be in at Hogwarts?” you asked Eleanor. She smiled, quiet in thought as she threw her brown hair into a messy ponytail.

“Really, I’d be happy with anything. But I’ve heard Ravenclaw is similar to Horned Serpent, academically focused and stuff.” She took a gulp of cold lemonade and wiped the sweat from her forehead. “What about you?”

“My dad was a Hufflepuff, so that would be nice I guess. I don’t know. Let’s just hope the Sorting Hat doesn’t explode,” you joked, setting aside your now empty glass. With that, you jumped into the chilly crystal water, letting it soothe your hot skin. Eleanor quickly followed.

You enjoyed the last inklings of summer vacation together before your new adventure began. You talked about missing friends and family, what Hogwarts would be like, whether or not you liked hot tea and what classes you would be taking. True to teen girl form, you were both excited to meet cute guys with foreign accents. And with a mix of thrill and nerves, you both realized that you two would be the foreign ones to them, and hoped that it would play in your favor.

“I wonder if British guys will think American girls are hot?” you asked her after the sun went down. You’d both climbed out of the pool at this point, your sun-kissed skin beginning to prune.

Eleanor laughed. “Geez, I hope so. Could you imagine getting a handsome British boyfriend? Talk about the adventure of a lifetime.”

You couldn’t deny that the thought of kissing a handsome boy with an attractive accent at the top of a castle turret excited you, but your mind always went back to connecting with the spirit of your father. Maybe you could feel closer to him there at Hogwarts, and would a boy distract you from getting that closure? You knew a boy would distract you from schoolwork, and you were determined to make such outstanding grades that Professor Dumbledore would have no choice but to write back to your Headmistress. After the academic crash and burn that was your second year, any and all glowing recommendations were not only welcome, but needed.

“It would be fun,” you giggled, wrapping yourself in your pool towel and squeezing the water out of your hair. “But wouldn’t it kinda suck when it’s all said and done? I mean, what if you got close to someone and then you have to leave to come back here?”

“I didn’t say we had to fall in love,” Eleanor shrugged. “I just want a hot piece of British ass.”

You busted out laughing. Eleanor always seemed so quiet at school, but once she got comfortable with you, she really came out of her shell.

“Come on, girls!” your mother called, sticking her head out of the back patio door. “Dinner is ready. I’ve got your salads on the table.”

You both trotted inside, whispering and giggling about the possibility of a grand foreign romance. After a pleasant dinner with your mother, you both went to bed, smelling of chlorine and sunlight.

Eleanor fell asleep before you did. You laid awake for a while, watching the shadows of swaying tree limbs dance across your ceiling. Your mind wandered back to the possibility of finding romance at Hogwarts. You doubted it would happen for you, especially since your priorities were elsewhere, but it wouldn’t be so bad to just dream about it, right?

You drifted into a deep sleep, flashes of colorful magic and the shadow of a boy dancing through your head.

[ Read Part 2 here ]

#harry potter #draco x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy x reader #malfoy #harry potter fanfiction #draco fanfiction #ilvermony school of witchcraft and wizardry #ilvermorny #hogwarts #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #ilvermony houses #hogwarts houses #hufflepuff #forbidden love #foreign exchange #romance #hp fanfic #hp #harry potter fandom #hp fandom #tom felton #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco x oc #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #reader insert #harry potter reader insert #draco malfoy reader insert

[the-golden-ghost]

Goemon for the ask game!

Why I like them: Because he's everything

Why I don’t: Because sometimes the writers don't seem to realize that he's everything. Actually on a more serious note he's sometimes just... treated as if he's Uber Serious and not really part of the group and that's not true, he's a dork AND an idiot, he just plays off his idiot dork vibes differently than everyone else.

Favorite episode (scene if movie): Big fan of that scene where he's on a train with some lady and she's like "hi wanna have sex" and he Can't because he's In Training and needs to remain Celibate so when he invites him to bed he just starts screaming. But my favorite episode that's not in a movie is the one in Part 2 where Lupin decides to go steal a sword for him cause he's a Special Birthday Boy (it's not his birthday. he's just spoiled and Lupin loves him)

Favorite season/movie: I haven't seen enough seasons/movies to say for sure but for now it's the Fuma Conspiracy

Favorite line: I'm not sure if "you fool! I am a Rio master! Allow me to Rio-nite you with your ancestors!" counts cause it's from a YTP but this show could pass for one half the time. So I'll go with "Someday we'll be dead and then everyone will wonder why the world sucks so much" which sent me into hysterics when I first heard it

Favorite outfit: I actually kinda like his Part 4 pink kimono outfit. I dunno why. I don't really like his design for Part 4 overall but the outfit is good. I also like his purple one in Part 1.

OTP: He x The Gang

Brotp: Same as above. Maybe he should have more relationships that don't involve him getting betrayed or used or dead. (Same with them all, though)

Head Canon: He can drive perfectly well he just doesn't LIKE to cause he's scared of going too fast which is usually required in this business. Also he prefers to ride in the back and sleep and be able to jump out of the roof at a moment's notice.

Unpopular opinion: I just think he's neat. He doesn't seem to get written very well overall, but then I haven't seen a lot of his content.

A wish: He should marry all his partners. At the same time.

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: I do not think he should leave the gang for petty bullshit or "I Am Better Than This" reasons. They're his family and he's with them for life. (Although Part 6 Episode 0 made it sounds like He Knows)

5 words to best describe them: Observant, levelheaded, courageous, dignified, insecure

My nickname for them: I do not have one he is simply Goemon in my mind and that's all he needs to be

#Lupin III