#a non-exhaustive list but its too long as it is

[prettypearlypisces]

𝔪𝔦𝔡𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 (𝔪) | 𝔪𝔶𝔤

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤: yoongi x f.reader

𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: m (18+); MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔰 | 𝔱𝔶𝔭𝔢 | 𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: complete | one-shot | fluff and smut

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: "I think I can help you sleep better."

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰 & 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: smut, explicit language, sleepy yoongi struggling with burnout :((( , taking a shower together <3, long hair Valentino yoongi 🧎🏻‍♀️, dick bulge through the silk pants 🫡 , oral sex (m. receiving), flexible dom/sub dynamics (they each take charge at certain points, but it's nothing intense), praise (yoongi calls her "pretty/good girl" 🫠), slight hair pulling/grabbing, face-fucking, finger sucking + a paragraph talking about Yoongi's hands, a lil bit of gagging, cum swallowing, might as well add body worship from how much reader talks about how gorgeous he is, yoongi's thighs ♡, spit/drooling, slight ball play, reader sniffs the balls because she's like that lmao, reader doesn't touch herself or cum, this list is nasty but I promise you they're very sweet with each other 😭, cuddling <3, this is about sucking dick it should not be this long

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: ~4.8k

𝔞/𝔫: hello! this is my first fic ever on this blog. I rewatched all the Valentino Yoongi content recently, saw him looking scumptious in these pajamas, and next thing you know we're here 💀 I haven't written anything this long (that is non-academic) in a very, very long time, so I would ask that you please be nice and bear with me. But I do plan to get better the more I write. That said, I hope you enjoy! 🤍

𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 | 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 | 𝔞𝔰𝔨 | 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔡𝔟𝔞𝔠𝔨 | 𝔞𝔯𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔬𝔴𝔫

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞

“You need to relax.” 

Your voice was insistent but gentle, much like your fingers buried in Yoongi’s thick hair, and he closed his eyes and leaned into your palms as you worked shampoo into his scalp. A quiet whimper escaped his lips as you circled your fingertips against a tense muscle at the base of his skull. 

He was overworking himself again, frustration making his shoulders taut and wearing his patience thin. His eye bags were puffy, exhaustion evident in his eyes. It pained you to know that he hadn’t given himself a break over the past few weeks. Yoongi was so passionate, something you adored about him – but you knew that when inspiration struck, sometimes he had the tendency to push himself too hard, for too long. Now it left him on the brink of burnout. 

That’s where you came in. Yoongi had been glued to his desk before you came in and practically forced him from his chair. He made weak protests as you dragged him out of his home studio and forced him into the bathroom, but he’d shrugged off his clothes anyway as you turned on the warm water. 

Now you both stood under the warm sprinkle while you washed his hair. Yoongi let out pleased purr-like sounds from deep in his throat that made you grin. He reminded you of a wet, docile cat resigned to its bath time. 

When it was time to rinse, you cupped your hand over his brows to block any soap from getting in his eyes as water poured over his head. Then you took your fingers and gently rubbed along his neck to clean him and hopefully melt any tension there. Yoongi held your wrist and gently rubbed his thumb along your skin, his way of giving you a silent thank you. Warmth bloomed in your chest, so you planted a kiss on his fingers – your own silent “you're welcome” that wouldn’t disrupt the nighttime quiet. 

You held him close, rubbing down his chest and stomach with a soapy rag. Thick bubbles lathered from his shoulders all the way down to his fingers before swirling down the drain. 

Around his hips and butt, you were sure to be gentle, even gripping one of his cheeks playfully. Yoongi pouted, whiny, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the red that dusted his cheeks before his face broke out into a small, tired smile. Meanwhile, Yoongi set about reaching down to clean himself. He wasn’t overtly prude but he did always prefer to do this part himself, so you crouched down carefully and made your way down his legs. 

You focused on softly rubbing down Yoongi’s legs and even leaned forward to lay a soft kiss on the skin. You couldn’t explain it, but you adored Yoongi’s thighs. You loved touching them, holding them, kissing them. Biting them. A small pool of heat bloomed in you as you realized that you were now eye-level with his cock too, driving you to give him a more forceful, hungry kiss. The thought of taking him into your mouth, right here and now, crossed your mind, fueled by the simmering image of Yoongi’s head thrown back in bliss, body glistening from the shower water. Unfortunately, you knew from experience that water wasn’t conducive to sex, and the thought of soap getting in your eyes and nose was not in the least bit appealing. 

With great restraint, you pulled away and scrubbed his calves and feet. As soon as you were done, Yoongi hauled you up and scrubbed you down with the same gentle ease as you had given him. He made sure to shield your hair from the pouring water, since you’d clipped it up to keep it from getting wet. Your tummy quivered when Yoongi passed his hand between your legs, a small look of mischief glinting in his knowing eyes when you bit your lip. But he continued his downward path, leaving you feeling warmer than steam. 

A part of you ached, feeling how tender he was being with you, even when he was tired, even when you were the one trying to take care of him. He always was. Yoongi’s eyes flickered down to your face and must have seen something in it, because his eyes were soft when he met your gaze again. 

“I want to take care of you, too,” he said. You didn’t say anything, but the shy turn of your lips was enough to tell him how you felt. 

When you were done, Yoongi shut off the shower and reached out to wrap you in a spare towel, rubbing your shoulders and back all the way down your torso and legs. Then Yoongi deftly unwound the towel and used it to dry himself. You wrinkled your nose.

“You should use your own towel,” you complained, but there was no malice in your words. Yoongi only chuckled and pulled you close. 

“I’m tired,” he countered with a playful whine. “And impatient.” 

A laugh bubbled from your mouth and he rubbed his nose against your temple. Your cheeks warmed when he shifted and you felt a subtle tell-tale poke against your hip, but before you could say anything, he pulled away with a soft rub on your tummy to slip into his pajamas and finish his night routine. 

You were left to do the same, but now you felt anything but sleepy. 

The festering heat that had been lingering inside you now sparked into a deep desire. As you pulled on your pajamas – a simple tank top and sleep shorts – you thought of Yoongi’s hands on you, thought of his skin underneath your own wandering palms. 

Then you chided yourself. Don’t be selfish, you thought. He’s tired. Let him rest. You knew it was true. Yoongi was probably exhausted and would have no energy to do what you wanted, and it wasn’t fair to expect that of him right now. Besides, you reasoned, it wouldn’t be a good idea to keep him up longer than you already had. 

You made your way to the bedroom, which beckoned you with its deep blues and cozy greys. 

Yoongi’s room was a nighttime haven. He liked to keep it as comfortable as possible, with soft carpets and downy pillows. Next to his large bed sat a settee, your robe robe sprawled across it from when you’d tossed it before the shower.

Once you sat on the plush duvet, you almost immediately felt your eyelids become droopy. You were almost glad for the gentle tug of drowsiness, which quelled your desire enough to make sleep bearable. 

Until Yoongi came into the bedroom – and any thoughts you had about sleep immediately evaporated. 

His pajamas were black silk, the fabric sleek like ink against his skin in the low light of your bedroom. He didn’t seem to notice the way you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him while he riffled through his bedside drawer for something. Socks, maybe. You couldn’t be sure, not when your mind suddenly felt hazy as you traced the line of Yoongi’s body down, down until – Oh God, was that the outline of his cock?

Swallowing almost became impossible from how heavy your tongue suddenly felt in your mouth, your eyes hungrily taking in every delicious detail of the man in front of you. His dark hair, the curve of his lips, the small shadow that pooled in the divot of his collarbone, making you want to bite bite bite.

You didn’t know why these pajamas were driving you up the wall, especially when Yoongi had been naked in front of you not long ago, but they were. They pulled your eyes to him and sparked your dampened libido back to life. 

“What’s the matter, pretty girl?” Yoongi’s voice startled you out of your thoughts. Dark eyes and a small smirk met your eyes when you finally looked up. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Fuck. He knows.

Embarrassment flooded your cheeks, warm and red. Of course he would. He knew you. He knew you’d been aching for him ever since the shower, knew that you wouldn’t ask for what you wanted because you were supposed to be making sure he rested. But as your eyes fell again shamelessly to his veiled cock, you realized that he was just as needy as you. 

Yoongi’s gaze was the same – knowing, wanting – when you met it again, but the red of your cheeks disappeared as your lips parted in an impish smile. 

“Nothing,” you shrugged as you stood up from the bed, “just thinking.”

You closed the distance between you two, until the familiar smell of him, warm and woodsy, filled your head. 

“I think I can help you sleep better,” you said, your finger sliding up his chest and playing with the lapel of his sleep shirt. The look Yoongi gave you made you want to get on your knees right there and then. 

Yoongi’s breath was warm and sent goosebumps up your arms when he said, low and oh-so-quiet, “Show me.”

I will your eager smirk said as you took his hand. 

He followed you to the settee nestled in the corner of the room and landed with a quiet poof against the cushions when you pushed him backwards and immediately kneeled between his legs. 

A sly glint shone in your eye as you smoothed your hands down Yoongi’s chest, his heartbeat strong and steady, then brought them up and down his thighs over the luxurious slip of his silk pajamas, the fabric the only barrier keeping you from touching his skin.

Yoongi let you take your fill of him, leaning back against the cushions and watching you with amused eyes that made you only more eager to please him. As you worshiped him with your palms, the need to feel him everywhere overcame you. To smell him, touch him, taste him. 

Your hand ghosted over where his cock was hidden, and you nearly moaned feeling the slowly-stiffening bulge. A devious bite of your lip as you looked up at him, your hands reaching for the hem of his pants. “Can I take these off?” 

Yoongi huffed out a laugh, beautiful and bright. The sound made your heart swell. He ran a hand through his dark hair and sunk lower in his seat, spreading his legs wider. “Go for it.”

The pants were off in seconds and pooled around his ankles. Miles of milky white skin seemed to stretch on forever as Yoongi let you run your hands over him; his legs, his hips, his stomach and chest as your hands roamed under his shirt. You quickly unbuttoned it too, leaving his chest bare for you. 

Yoongi’s dark eyes brimmed with budding arousal but still shone playfully as he watched you. A tremor ran through him as you gently scraped your nails down the skin of his navel, right above his cock. Goosebumps traveled up Yoongi’s stomach and a quick glance upwards let you know that his nipples had stiffened, but you kept your eyes on the real prize.

Semi-erect and already stiff at the base, Yoongi’s cock was flushed dusky pink at the tip. Desire coursed hot and molten through you, your hands hot as you shifted eagerly on your knees. You couldn’t wait to have him in your mouth.

Leaning in, you pressed small, fleeting kisses around his thighs, avoiding his cock entirely, getting him worked up from the teasing sensation of your lips on his skin. In truth, it helped hold you back as well. Yoongi’s pretty honey skin always filled you with the desire to mark him up. The temptation to suck on it, bite it, worry it between your teeth until bruises and bite marks bloomed all over him was strong, but instead you settled for gentle brushes of your lips.

Your hands still made their way up and around his legs, soothing and comforting. Closer and closer you made your way up, licking at warm skin. A breathy sigh made you look up: Yoongi’s head tilted back slightly as he looked down at you through half-lidded eyes. 

You lifted your head and rubbed around his hip bones. “Good?”

Yoongi hummed in response, the tension in him melting away as he gave you a slow smile. “So good I’m falling asleep.” 

“Don’t sleep on me.”

“Keep me up,” Yoongi challenged.

You rolled your eyes and pinched his thigh playfully. “Fine, I’ll get to it.” 

Settling in again, you licked your palm and fingers. You heard Yoongi gasp quietly as you wrapped your fingers around him, gently pumping your fist. His skin was hot, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Laying your head against his hip, you watched him close his eyes as he licked his lips. 

“Better?” you asked with amused eyes.

Yoongi nodded. “Much better.”

You hummed, pleased. “Good.”

Once Yoongi’s cock had completely filled out, you took a moment to admire it. 

You remembered, before ever seeing Yoongi naked, wondering if his cock was just as pink as his lips, his elbows, the knuckles of his long, knobby fingers. You had been pleased to find out that it was pinker, especially when erect. 

The head glistened red and sticky with precum. You felt your own mouth start to drool at the thought of it between your lips: the velvety skin, the heavy weight of it against your tongue, the taste of him. 

You rubbed his hips before taking his cock in your hand again. 

“So fucking perfect,” you breathed, the words pouring out of your mouth before you could even think, your breath ghosting tantalizingly close to his tip. Yoongi let his head fall back in bliss as you worked your fist around him, goosebumps racing along his hips. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him splayed out above you, knowing you were making him feel so good.

Feeling bold, you continued to stroke him and leaned down to where his balls hung low. Yoongi lifted his head, eyes sharp as your tongue laved over the velvety skin before gently sucking one of the plump balls into your mouth. You held his gaze, unwavering, matching the intensity of Yoongi’s dark eyes. You hummed, pleased, then smirked slightly before placing a wet kiss where your lips had just been. Then you did the same with the other, rolling it in your mouth gently. Yoongi’s soft tongue poked out to lick at his lips before he sucked in a shaky breath, reveling in the pleasure of you playing with him

Precum slipped between your fingers and filled the room with the slick sound of the glide up and down his shaft. The wet, filthy sound drove your lust to even greater heights, and the whine Yoongi let out when you suddenly stopped stroking made your cunt ache.

His eyes met yours and the smile you gave him was absolutely sinful when you gripped your fingers around his tip to press your nose against the base of his cock. Yoongi covered his face and huffed out a laugh that broke into a strangled moan as you inhaled the clean, heady scent of him.

You hummed lowly. “Fuck, you smell so good, Yoon.” 

A bead of precum dripped from the slit of his cock, and you circled it around the head with your thumb, unrelenting, until it was sensitive and glistening. You relished the way his thighs tensed at the motion, the way his hands tensed, the way he squeezed his eyes shut. A teasing lick to his head. A strangled “shit” under his breath. Fuck, you couldn’t wait to have him moaning, loudly. 

You wanted him, craved the taste of him, the feel of him in your mouth—

“Can’t wait to taste you,” you said innocently, then taunting. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Like me to suck on your cock?”

You licked your lips, watched Yoongi’s eyes follow the movement of your purposeful tongue, then licked up the underside of his swollen, needy shaft. A low moan tumbled from Yoongi’s mouth as he shifted his hips. “Fuck—yes, please.”

Satisfied with his desperation, you brought your mouth down around the aching tip of his cock. Yoongi sucked in a breath and gripped the cushions as you teased your tongue over his slit. The salty taste of precum burst in your mouth. Slick and warm, it coated your tongue. You moaned. This is what you wanted.

After a few moments toying with his slit, you circled the sensitive rim around the crown of his cock, drawing breathy moans from Yoongi’s lips. Then you trailed your tongue down to the spot underneath where you knew he was sensitive and slowly licked it with the flat of your tongue. 

Yoongi had shown you how he liked to tease it with the pad of his finger sometimes while he masturbated – quick or languid, always unrelenting until he’d managed to spurt all over himself. He loved when you played with it afterwards, making his hips spasm from the oversensitivity. More precum dribbled from his tip which you suckled up with deliberate licks.

Yoongi threw his head back and stilled as your tongue flicked over the spot quickly, assaulting it with your tongue. “Fuck,” he hissed, his whole body tense above you. 

Suddenly, a dull pain lanced across your scalp. Yoongi’s hand laced into your hair and pulled your head closer, making you whimper at the rough treatment.

“Down,” he said, tugging again, and holy shit, just one word uttered gently from him had you clenching your cunt desperately like a bitch in heat. Happy to comply, you sunk your mouth down around him, keeping your eyes on him the way he liked it. You held your head low for a moment before pulling off. “Good girl,” he praised with a subtle groan. Yoongi gave you a couple seconds to regain yourself, rubbing soothing circles on your abused scalp, before saying, “Again.”

Eager, you repeated the motion and held your mouth there for a moment, eyes closed as you swallowed around him. When it was time to pull off, you sucked in a breath with your eyes locked on his slick cock. To see it flushed and gleaming with your spit made your stomach twist with lewd excitement. A whispered “fuck” left Yoongi’s lips as a string of spit stretched from his tip to your lips, and you preened when Yoongi reached out rub his thumb soothingly across yourcheek. 

“You look so pretty with your mouth full of my cock,” he said, and you felt dizzy with arousal when he gave you his beautiful smile. He was gorgeous — dark hair and deep eyes and flushed cheeks. Tender touches and gentle praise. The sudden fondness in Yoongi’s eyes clashing with his filthy words and the fact that his cock had been down your throat not five seconds ago gave you momentary whiplash.

Yoongi’s smile melted into something cruel as he dragged his thumb down your mouth, breaking the sticky string of spit, before pushing it past your lips. Feeling cocky, your tongue came out to lick obscenely around his thumb and you moaned around it as if it were his cock. 

It might as well have been; you loved Yoongi’s hands, his long fingers and rough palms. His beautiful instruments, when he was strumming the guitar or playing the piano. You loved how gentle they were with you, brushing back your hair, holding your hands, cupping your cheeks. But you also loved how filthy they could be: rubbing your clit and fucking your wet cunt until it made obscene squelching sounds and dripped down his palm. You felt your cunt drool filthily onto your panties, surely soaked by now.

Two more fingers pressed past the gates of your lips as Yoongi fingered your throat gently. Fuck, such a filthy sight had Yoongi gripping his still-aching cock, groaning at the way your throat tightened around his digits, the way spit spilled from your mouth. 

“So fuckin’ eager, like you were made for me.” Yoongi’s voice rumbled low from his throat, his chest heaving slightly, making you grip your knees. He pulled his fingers from your mouth and tilted your chin up, your hazy eyes now open. A surprised squeak left your mouth as Yoongi leaned down and kissed you sweetly on the lips. His soft hair ticked your cheeks. 

“Just a little more, yeah?” he said, holding your face close to his, and you nodded, dazed. Your eyes locked onto his pink lips that shone with your own spit and his precum. The sight shouldn’t have excited you as much as it did, but it sent a thrill up your spine.

Then Yoongi was leaning back and licking his lips. “Then c’mere, pretty girl, come finish sucking my cock.” 

And how could you say no to that?

It wasn’t long before Yoongi’s wet cock was back in your willing mouth. You circled your tongue around his tip reverently, Yoongi’s hips canting into your mouth when you looked up at him with those slutty, wanton eyes. 

“Good girl—just like that,” he groaned. “Keep going and don’t fucking stop.”

Your pussy tingled and you thought you might be able to cum just from the way the center seam of your shorts was rubbing against you. Even if you didn’t, you would be more than satisfied. You loved making Yoongi feel good, and you loved his cock. You could spend eternity on your knees worshiping Yoongi and his beautiful tool. The glide of him in and out of your mouth was perfect, so solid and warm that you couldn’t help but think about the way it felt when he slid into your cunt, filling you up just right, slippery with your wetness—

God, if you weren’t so hell-bent on making sure Yoongi slept well tonight, you’d push him down and ride him until morning. 

You gagged a bit in surprise when Yoongi gave a particularly quick thrust into your mouth, but fuck it if the sound he made wasn’t worth it. The deep, breathy groan went straight to your cunt, and you moaned around a mouthful of cock. Pleasant vibrations traveled down Yoongi’s shaft and made Yoongi’s grip on your hair tighten. 

“This okay?” he asked, breath strained. Yoongi’s fingers tensed and, as if he could sense the sharp pain in your scalp, immediately went lax.

So considerate, you thought fondly to yourself. You’d be smiling if your mouth wasn’t so busy. 

You brought Yoongi’s free hand to where his other fingers were already threaded in your hair. A garbled hum and a nod was all it took for him to hold your head in place as he rut his hips into your mouth, letting out a string of moans while your fingers played with his balls. 

Spit slid past your lips and dripped down your chin with each of Yoongi’s thrusts into your mouth. You felt so thoroughly used, sitting for him so prettily on your knees, not even touching yourself while he chased his release.

“You’re doing so good, so fucking good,” he said, sucking in a breath, head thrown back against the couch. 

Yoongi’s hand pushed you down until your throat contracted around him, tears welling along your waterline. You didn’t mind though — Yoongi was desperate to cum, chasing blissful orgasm, and you were happy to give it to him. 

As he thrust into your mouth, you licked along his shaft before flexing your tongue to rub against the rim of his cockhead. Yoongi’s hips stuttered and he let out a shaky breath. You peeked up at his blissful face, seeing his half-lidded, hazy eyes. Yoongi was close, teetering on the precipice of his release. His stomach was tense as you slobbered over him, the sound of your slick lips and his voice mingling in a lustful torrent. 

You groaned eagerly, letting your tongue do the work until, finally, Yoongi came. The deep, breathy groan he let out was going to stay with you forever. So was the sight of Yoongi in the throes of his orgasm: head thrown back, thighs spread, skin flushed pink all the way down his neck. The veins snaking up his arms were taut, stark under his skin. 

Yoongi’s brows were furrowed and his plush lips parted. His hips stilled as he pushed you down securely on his cock. It pulsed hotly in your mouth, spurting a thick pool of cum on your tongue, making you moan obscenely. Yoongi’s breath hitched as you closed your eyes and swallowed his seed, palm still cupping his balls. 

Like his length, they throbbed as his cum was spent. You fondled them gently to milk more out of him, not wanting to miss a single drop. You loved Yoongi’s cum — the taste of it, the feeling of it sliding hotly down your throat and settling deep in your belly. Your eyes became glassy at the thought, a dopey smile spreading across your lips. 

Yoongi gently slid himself from your mouth to paint your lips with the last drops of his cum, watching you reverently drink everything he had to offer until there was nothing left. Feeling naughty, you licked across his overstimulated tip one last time, and Yoongi shuddered, his thighs closing around her head. 

“Brat,” he huffed, but he was smiling. Your smile was just as bright as you swallowed the sticky mess on your lips and lapped at his cock with little kitten licks to clean him up. A kiss was planted on his knee before you pulled up his pants and tucked him away. “Only for you,” you said with a pat to his thighs. 

Yoongi re-buttoned his sleep shirt and pulled you up into his lap to smooth down your unruly hair. He gently ran his fingers across your chin, wiping away the mess of his escaped cum and your spit. Then he kissed you. You hummed happily against his lips before Yoongi pulled away.

“Thank you,” he whispered, looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. “You always make me feel so good.”

It was amazing, really, how you could suck his cock so unabashedly on your knees, but the gentlest words from his mouth had you blushing shyly. 

He took your hand in his and led you towards the bed where he pulled you down with him, his frame enveloping yours as the comforter fell over you two. Yoongi intertwined your fingers and rubbed his thumb across the back of your knuckles. 

He was always like this in the afterglow of whatever you two did – affectionate, attentive, a bit sleepy. Yoongi was, at heart, a passionate, considerate lover who thrived on soft and tender moments such as these. You could never get enough of it; the way he touched you, how tender and safe he made you feel. 

He rubbed his nose against your hair and slipped his hand across your stomach, solid and warm. 

“You didn’t cum?” he asked, and you shook your head no. Yoongi drummed his fingers soothingly against your skin. “You want to?”

The offer was tempting, but you felt yourself close to crashing now that you had burned through your lust, and although you couldn’t see him, you knew Yoongi must have been even sleepier than you. 

You brought his hand close to your chest and kissed his fingers sweetly.

“Later. I’m sleepy,” you said, then sighed. “Besides, I feel like I need another shower.” 

Indeed, a cool layer of sweat now covered your skin, along with some spit and cum that had dripped onto your chest. Not to mention how sticky your panties felt in your shorts. 

Yoongi chuckled sleepily and tightened his arm around you. “Okay,” he agreed, holding you close before his fingers ventured down and pressed over the seam of your shorts. He rubbed a slow, deliberate circle over your clothed mound, a teasing phantom touch that reminded you of the pleasure he could give you with those fingers. His lips were hot against your throat, and you shivered as he gripped your hip in his free hand and said, so close to your ear that you shivered, “Later.”

The thought of his head between your thighs, suckling on your poor pussy while his deft fingers prepared you for his cock, flooded your mind. You could only imagine soaking him down to the base as he slipped inside you, making you roll your hips against his fingers. 

You nodded quickly, breathily. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds good.” 

Yoongi’s breath was like a balmy breeze on your neck as he chuckled. “Thought so.” He placed a kiss under your ear before snuggling close, finally letting himself sleep. Your own eyelids fell shut, and Yoongi’s heartbeat lulled you like a gentle rhythm in your ear until sleep overcame you too. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆞

Copyright © prettypearlypisces. Do not copy, rewrite, repost, translate, or otherwise alter or claim on any platforms.

#bts fic #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts imagine #bts x reader #yoongi #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #yoongi imagine #yoongi x reader #my tags: #purple prose #o muse!: yoongi #fic: midnight

[cupidzgf]

CHRISTMAS MORNING | SATORU GOJO

☁︎‎‎‧₊˚ summary: satoru wakes you up on christmas morning to open presents. its 7 am and you want to sleep.

cw: mentions of sexual activity, non sorcerer au, rich!gojo, no pronouns, no smut, fluff, all of it is fluff. w/c: 1.8k a/n: my first post in a long time. ahh kinda nervous I hope you like it! merry christmas eve!

christmas was an occasion that satoru always went above and beyond to make special.

whether it was for his sake or yours, he made sure there was no way to get out of decorating his place, baking cookies, or matching christmas pajamas. not that you mind. you savored the time away from work to bask in each other's presence uninterrupted and entirely devoted to the holiday, but what perhaps made it even more so was the slow wake of your lover beside you.

his hands, warm from where they were pressed against your midsection during slumber, trace the curve of your spine. his fingers dip between the knobs of your vertebrae gently as if trying to rouse you as well. it works because your mind slips from your unconscious state into consciousness with the kisses he presses at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. sensing the shift in your stirring frame, his kisses grow in numbers as they rise up the column of your throat, lips brushing and pressing with varying pressure on previous faded marks.

you lay on your side, facing away from him, and satoru practically climbs on top of you just as your eyes flutter open to get your attention to fall solely on him.

in the blink of an eye, you're met with an infinite void of vivid, azure irises peering at you with an expression you can only describe as childlike.

"it's christmas." a dimpled grin beams from his too-wide smile, devouring your lips in one fell swoop before you can protest. satoru vibrates with excitement, and he pours every ounce into the kiss, holding your face with a giddy glee. "merry christmas."

a sleepy grin of your own curls at your lips as you try to regain your breath from the overwhelmingly passionate kiss you just received before speaking softly in an admiration-filled voice. "merry christmas, toru."

you lay there, admiring your boyfriend, as he practically jumps off the bed and pulls your arm. "c'mon, we have to open presents! pleaseeee," he whines impatiently, tugging at your hand like a small child. you groan, still exhausted from the long night at suguru's house, and attempt to roll over.

suguru's christmas eve party the night before had left both of you exhausted, though the way satoru acts, you would never have guessed. your friend was never one to skimp out on these rare get-togethers with your friend group, formed from years enrolled at the same college. the holiday atmosphere and the rich decor lulled you into christmas cheer, which always made for great nights of booze, food, and rekindling. dripping in wealth satoru insists on buying for you, the two of you made it back in the early hours of the morning, drunk and worn out from socializing.

this, however, did not stop satoru from fucking you into the bed like he had been deprived of your touch (he had clung to you the entire night), where you both passed out after a single round.

now you're paying the price for the long night as his eyes widen comically when you avoid him. he rushes to stop you by throwing himself over you and, despite your protesting, makes you face him.

"nah, uh, where do you think you're going? it's christmas! we have presents from santa–"

"--he's not real, baby. let me sleep a couple more minutes." you chime back, and his expression drops with a huff.

"you don't know that! and we only will when we look under the tree," he states jokingly, refocusing his abundance of energy on getting you up.

you scoff, raising an incredulous eyebrow. "yeah, like you would be on the nice list."

satoru gasps, loud and dramatic, falling to his knees in front of your bed with a cry.

"how could you say such a thing? i'm the kindest, nicest person you know!" he exclaims, a hand hovering over his heart to further the theatrics, and you can't help but roll your eyes at his exaggeration.

"you weren't very nice last night."

his eyes shift, darkening by a shadow passing over his irises as they gain a mischievous gleam. satoru leans over you despite kneeling on the floor. "oh yeah? well, you didn't seem to mind when i fucked your pretty pussy so hard she was crying and screaming my name–"

"ok, time to get up!" you interrupt, mortified by the vivid personification he used to describe last night, your cheeks set aflame by his teasing. you hide from his cocky chuckle and self-satisfied smirk, embarrassment churning in your gut as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

"that's what i thought, sweetheart." cocky bastard.

you rummage the floor for a shirt, the blanket covering your lower half as you throw his santa hat off the first one you can find, which coincidentally is his.

satoru whines sadly when his shirt covers your bare breasts, a frown pulling his lips down as your once naked body, decorated in hickeys, is covered. "what's the point of my hard work if you're just going to cover it?" he gestures to the bruises, pouting with the familiar solum look he uses when he wants something.

"i'm not going out there naked, toru." slipping on slippers, you stand, craning your neck to look him in the eye. your exasperation does not go unnoticed by the white-haired male.

"there's no reason you can't," he suggests, tugging you in front of him and letting his hands settle on your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. "it could be like a christmas present…to me!"

you raise an eyebrow. "i thought you wanted to open gifts?"

his face brightens as he remembers his original goal, his one-track mind making his hand tug you to the door without a second thought and newfound eagerness.

your living room is the same as you left it last night, with your cocktail dress strewn across the back of the sofa and satoru's shoes scattered across the hardwood, but what's different is the snow swirling in slow flakes outside the massive windows. it lands on the window sill, and the rest slowly descends to the world outside satoru gojo's penthouse. the bleak grey does nothing to discourage the sight of the luminescent christmas tree taking up your living room and glittering with a rainbow of lights against the grey sky in the ray of morning light.

a christmas morning crafted from a hallmark movie.

an array of presents ranging in various sizes and shapes overflows from under the tree you decorated weeks ago, and before you know it, you throw yourself into your lover's arms. a teasing remark sits at the tip of his tongue, maybe to poke fun at your elation, but he hesitates, fingers twitching at his side. in a moment so delicate it could be shattered like glass, he frames every second of the scene into memory, holding the warm and achy feeling in his chest close.

arms circle your body pressed tightly into satoru's, butterflies erupting from your stomach when you glance upwards and find him already staring.

"thank you," you muster every ounce of sincerity into your voice, swallowing the lump forming in your throat when he returns your gentle smile with his own.

"don't thank me yet. you haven't even seen what i got you!" effortlessly, he turns your attention away from the raw and achy emotions being pulled to the surface and onto you, where your eyes sparkle with eagerness.

the both of you find a seat on the floor and begin the seemingly endless presents and discarded wrapping paper; the laughter and joy that can only come from christmas morning echo off the walls you call home. and when the gifts are opened, and the faint tune of falling snow is all that's left, you are sure it can't get any better.

even as satoru nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, his lips parting to whisper the words on your skin that have never been uttered in a moment of complete clarity. "i love you."

it somehow becomes perfect.

bonus:

staring at your mountain of gifts, ranging from designer to everything under the sun you mentioned wanting during the year, piles around you, and the thrill of being spoiled by your filthy rich boyfriend quickly wears off into guilt.

was his presents thoughtful? yes. overwhelming? also yes. especially since neither the price nor the quantity of gifts you'd given him come close to what you have. so the shame of being spoiled and unable to provide the same, in turn, quiets you into an insecure ball of nerves.

"do you like it?" your heavy gaze lifts to find him, and he squirms where he sits, uncharacteristically nervous. he waits for your reaction with uncertain eyes, wringing his hands together to calm his apprehension. "i tried to get everything you wanted, but i know how you feel when i overdo things…"

"satoru," you breathe, looking over the gifts once more. the following words come in a gentle coo he's come to recognize are used to let him down easily. "i do love everything, but it is a lot. you didn't have to spend so much."

frowning, your gaze flickers to him, and his eyes dip, avoiding yours. "ah, okay. i didn't mean to upset you," he murmurs in a quiet, saddened voice, and you quickly shake your head, realizing he took it the wrong way. shuffling on your knees to where he sits, you fall into his chest. solid and well-defined arms circle your body without a word, and you hear the distinct sound of his breath hitching at the contact.

"never. you're too good to me and treat me so well, baby, but you don't have to spend all your money on me."

"trust me, i didn't," he teases, attempting to regain the lighthearted atmosphere, before adding in a more hopeful tone, "but i'm glad you like your gifts."

"oh yes, the lingerie set was especially thoughtful," you joke, and he cracks a smile at that. only your expression falls a moment later when you clear your throat. "i just hope what i got is okay. i know you've been asking for a new watch and those glasses, but it's hard to find gifts for someone who has everything. i'm sorry i didn't get you more."

the sad murmur and downcast expression made satoru's heart crack, remorse twisting his stomach into knots. "no, no, no baby, i love what you got me. i couldn't be happier with all of your thoughtful gifts." he kisses the top of your head, resting his head on yours for a quiet moment of admittance that makes you fall in love with him all over again. "but everything i want is right here with you, sweet thing."

#merry christmas #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #satoru gojo #satoru #jujutsu gojo #gojou satoru x reader #satorugojo

[pangolin-404]

non-exhaustive list of masked headcanons:

A group of Masked is called a "masquerade".

The process of possession kills the host, and the mask immediately begins to take root in the host's skull and eat away at the body. It can take weeks for the mask's root system to fully take hold, and a healthy root system allows for finer control of the host body, slowed rates of decomposition, and better long-term nutrient intake.

A Masked is not its host, despite Masked appearing to retain some of the host's instinct and reflex. Very fresh Masked may respond to their host's name, become extremely distressed when fled or fought, or attempt to vocalize spoken language, but they are still an active threat. They are not your friend.

In the immediate aftermath of converting an employee to a fellow Masked while more are in the immediate vicinity, both individuals will be distracted (when unprovoked) for up to one minute before resuming a hunt. Use this time wisely.

To a Masked, its blood is its sole defense, chemically altered to boil under excitement or duress.

Bracken mistakenly hunt Masked, but abandon them once realizing what they are, as Brackens only feed on fresh meat. The Masked will expend energy mending the damaged nerves, un-snap its neck, and get up just fine eventually.

When outdoors, Forest Keepers are the top predator of Masked, because Masked are bad at registering things as threats.

Snare fleas are an exception, as potential damage to the mask will make the Masked break into a panicked state of running aimlessly, vocalizing, and regurgitation until the flea inevitably dies.

Jesters will follow Masked around, and rarely wind. If a Jester starts winding, it will eventually stop without popping.

Thumpers will attack Masked, and will eat the mask.

Masked occasionally pick up and hold scrap. Some still carry a long-dead flashlight or walkie-talkie.

They have excellent night vision.

Masked appear to have an appreciation for music. Attempts at dancing around winding Jesters have been observed.

Masked are known to sleep standing up. They alternate between sleeping and standing stationary to reserve energy and make potentially nearby employees approach. Company employees are advised to assume any standing Masked is an awake and hunting Masked.

Masked that are more decomposed will sit to rest and sleep more, but struggle getting up again.

Masked are more docile in groups, and will go out searching for employees far less when they already have company. Most masquerades are three to five Masked strong, but the largest infestation recorded had over two dozen members.

Masked are very affectionate with one another and will often vocalize together, hug, hold hands, and "kiss" (clacking their masks together) for enjoyment. A fight between Masked has never been recorded.

If a Masked is injured, its masquerade will take care of it and defend it. If the host is unsalvageable, the mask is either abandoned or carried for a small period of time before being apparently forgotten. In larger masquerades, a mask with a dead host is more quickly abandoned than in smaller masquerades.

It is unclear if a Masked recognizes a host-less mask as one of its own.

It is unclear if masquerading behavior affects a Masked's sense of individuality.

Masked in masquerades will mimic each other's behavior until they act in unison. The Company is unsure if they form true hiveminds.

Tragedy Masked exist, though are rare. It is unclear why Masked have this apparently random variation. They behave the same as the more common comedy Masked, but cry instead of laugh. Some comedy Masked appear distressed when recent tragedy additions to the masquerade cry and smother it in affection until an understanding is reached.

Tragedy Masked will pretend to be an employee in distress, crying to lure employees in. If part of a masquerade, the other Masked will hide and strike when any prey comes too close.

Sometimes this backfires when pretending to be injured or frightened distresses the Masked around it, which come out of hiding to comfort the tragedy, much to its confusion.

Tragedies cannot laugh, and comedies cannot cry. However, all Masked can perform other vocalizations, such as hissing and growling when attacked.

The common observance of the mask rattling on the host's head is believed to be out of excitement, and is only seen when actively hunting or when around other Masked.

Masked require very little to sustain themselves, but it is believed they are opportunistic hyper-carnivores who occasionally hunt hoarding bugs, snare fleas, or hatchling thumpers to supplement the nutrients leeched from the host body. Masked readily share kills with any Masked nearby, but do not tend to hunt in parties larger than two or three.

Due to the state of the host's face and jaw post-possession, Masked cannot chew. To eat, they regurgitate activated (boiling) blood onto a desired food and drink the resulting slurry.

It is unknown where Masked originated. It is under heavy debate whether they have crustacean ancestry or are highly specialized fungi. Rumors that they are artificial life created for war are, in fact, just rumors.

When a Masked's host rots away until it cannot move, the mask will enter a dormant state. Eventually, the host body is picked apart by scavengers such as baboon hawks, hoarding bugs, and snare fleas. The mask, inedible to most, is typically discarded or added to a hoarding bug nest.

While environmental conditions adjust its durability, a Masked host is usable for four to five months on average. Heat, injury, repeated hunts (exerted energy) regardless of success or failure, and anemia drastically shorten a host's usability. The mask itself, if not shattered or eaten, is functionally immortal.

#thoughts #lethal company #masked #lethal company posting #you could probably pick some buddy lore out of this so #oc: buddy

[penny-anna]

AS ALLUDED TO IN THIS POST: dr who canon LGBT companions tier list lol

Disclaimer: i cannot vouch for the accuracy of any of the below information as i've not read/watched/listened all the expanded universe works in question!!

Tier 1: self-explanatory these are characters in the show who are canonically LGBT (not an exhaustive list

Tier 2: characters who are LGBT according to dubiously canon bits of the TV show; Harry is mentioned to have a boyfriend in a deleted scene (unclear if being deleted makes this non-canonical) and Nyssa and Tegan are endgame according to Farewell, Sarah Jane (unclear relationship to TV canon)

Tier 3: these characters have both been made canonically bisexual by Big Finish stories which are official DW productions which may or may not be canon to the TV show

Tier 4: Mike Yates has been implied a couple of times in Doctor Who Expanded Universe books to be bisexual w a long-term male partner but this has never technically been confirmed

Tier 5: Steven Taylor had a brief flirtation with Christopher Marlowe in an expanded universe novel; i gather whether or not he reciprocates is ambiguous

Tier 6: whatever the fuck was going on with Ian in Campaign, a novel that was written for the Doctor Who EU and then rejected on the grounds of being too weird; unclear if Ian is bisexual in it OR if its being rejected makes it no longer canon

Tier 7: Liz has an ex-girlfriend in PROBE which is not technically a piece of Doctor Who media but also is not NOT a piece of Doctor Who media if that makes sense

Tier 8: to the best of my knowledge no piece of DW media has depicted Susan as LGBT but like she is tho

#classic who

[euphoricfilter]

Star girl || JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x F. Reader ~ ‘Stardust’ couple

Genre: Fluff || Smut || Angst || Established Relationship || Non-idol au

Summary: Sometimes life just feels like too much, where the solace of the night no longer feels as healing as it once was. Luckily Jungkook is there when everything feels like too much.

Word Count: 4.9k

Tags/ warnings: fluff, mild angst, boyfriend kook is there to make everything feel better, smut in the forms of: fingering, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid, this is fiction), holding hands during sex :(, it’s all just very soft and healing, creampie, cum play, multiple orgasms, oral (f. receiving), he eats his own cum, overstimulation

Notes: this is part of the ‘Stardust’ universe, however it can be read as a stand alone. idk how i feel about this one :’) if there are mistakes, look away <3

(request is posted at the bottom under the taglist~ the request wasn’t specifically for this universe, however it fit the au)

my masterlist

✯ ✯ ✯

You’d always believed the night to be cathartic, something almost healing about simply living while people slept. Expectations washed away of an evening with a shower, dampened mood sated with soft sheets and far fetched dreams in far away lands much more perfect than your own.

Where the moon was your only friend, no words needed between the two of you, as you simply lived among the stars. The galaxy’s gentle caress lulling you into a blissful state of peace. 

The street lamps bleed muted orange light into your room, curtains pushed open so you could watch the world, and wonder what it be like to explore the milky way.

It’s daunting how catharsis can mutate into something a little more wretched. How loneliness can creep up on you, how it lurks in the shadows during the day— following you with silent footsteps. How it slowly consumes a little more of you with each passing night.

How you don’t seem to notice the clouds that take over the sky, how the stars in your universe don’t seem to shine as bright as they once were.

It’s strange how when the lights turn off, and you’re curled up in bed, a sticky sadness consumes your entire being until you’re falling. Drowning in an endless darkness, scaly hands of solitude tugging you further into the abyss until bile rises up your throat and your eyes sting with unwanted tears; where you start to feel sorry for yourself and that icky feeling only seems to amplify.

It’s an awful feeling, that no matter how much you toss and turn, an overwhelming sadness plagues your mind until sleep seems to scuttle out your grasp, leaving you to rot in your own self-deprecating thoughts. A phantom hand locked around your throat, weeding its way into your heart, squeezing in a way that has you breathless.

A prisoner to your own mind. Until days bleed into one another— how that rotten sadness gnawing away at your mind— the sadness that had only ever caressed your cheek in the dark, had slipped between the cracks of your resolve. Bleeding into the crevices of every thought that consumed you.

If you weren’t absorbed with the mountain of assignments, your thoughts always seemed to wander in the direction of the unexplainable loneliness that hugged you, leeching of your emotions until you were left drained, utterly exhausted.

You think you’d lost count of how many days you’d kept yourself tucked in bed, a false sense of security easing a small portion of your mind as you simply exist under layers upon layers of blankets. Pretending anything that lives and works beyond your four walls doesn’t exist. Because if you didn’t acknowledge the wider world and your problems then they simply weren’t there.

Your laptop lays propped up at the end of your bed, and you think the battery died three days ago. You hadn’t bothered to plug it back in. Knowing that if you did, a long list of untouched assignments would greet you, and if you didn’t have to look at them then the deadline meant nothing. Prickly guilt eating away at your mind each time you remember an assignment that had passed, and a lecture you had missed.

You didn’t particularly enjoy skipping classes, knowing the workload would crush you when you finally got back into the groove of student life, but the very thought of getting up is enough for tears to slip down your cheeks.

With eyes shielded by the velvet blanket Jungkook had bought for your one year anniversary months ago, your gaze is veiled from your room that looked like it had seen better days.

You’d gotten to the point where cleaning seemed near impossible, with clothes strewn across the floor, with any other pieces of your room that had fallen victim to your slight rampage a couple of nights ago, finding a permanent home on your bedroom floor.

You had the decency to at least eat in the living room, and from what you can remember there’s probably a few too many boxes of food laying around, dishes probably piled high in the sink.

You don’t miss the jingle of keys outside your door, nor do you make any move to sit up when you hear your boyfriend milling through your apartment in search for you. You’d have felt an ounce of shame if Jungkook hadn’t seen what can happen when you get into a bit of a tizz, locking yourself away so you didn’t have to be a functioning member of society.

“Oh, pretty thing” Jungkook coos, bed dipping under his weight as he sits by your feet. Gentle not to startle you.

You pull the duvet down under your chin, “Kook?” you murmur, watching his lips tug up into a soft smile; a look of understanding washing over his features.

“Hey, baby. You doing okay?” a silly question on his part, but at least he knew you were alive.

You nod, albeit hesitant.

“Why are you here?” you murmur, eyebrows creasing.

“You haven’t answered any of my calls, I was worried” his hands finds their way to your thigh, touch ever so soft you feel the telltale signs of tears coating your eyes.

Your gaze flickers over to your phone, pulling your arm from under the cocoon of your blanket you tap on the screen, “It must have died, I didn’t notice. Sorry” you turn your attention back to your boyfriend.

“How about we get you washed, and then I’ll cook us something yummy?” he offers and you sink further into the pillows surrounding your head.

“I don’t really—” you sigh, “I’m okay”

“None of that, my darling” he soothes, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead before he’s pushing himself to stand.

You watch as he wanders into your bathroom, your eyes squinting at the blaring light that spills over your bedroom floor. The first sign of light in your room in almost a week.

You throw the blanket back over your head at the sound of running water. Jungkook’s voice echoing throughout your bathroom as he hums a song he’d probably been listening to on his way over to your place.

He’d always been a good singer, though he refused to ever show anyone other than you— a little secret the two of you had. And maybe it was selfish, how you’d get giddy each time he would sing for you, because you’d always been the only one to see him like this, hear him like this. A special something only the two of you had cupped in your hands, delicate like a butterfly’s wings but ever so beautiful.

“Come on” Jungkook tugs the blanket from your body, and goosebumps raise up the skin of your arms.

“Why are you shirtless?” you frown, fingers skimming the edge of your blanket, grasping at the material, ready to pull it back over your body. If it had been any other day then maybe you’d ogle at his toned chest a little longer.

“We’re taking a bath together. I put extra bubbles, just for you” he juts his head in the direction of your en suite.

You watch as he bends down, arms hooking around your body.

He throws you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, and you watch the muscles of his back flex in that delicious way that has your thighs clenching; heat simmering in your stomach that only he’d ever be able to sate.

The mirror had steamed up, a little relief washing over your body; aware you probably looked like absolute dog shit. You can’t remember the last time you even bothered to shower, let alone wash your face. Your nose scrunches up in distaste before Jungkook’s easing you back onto your feet.

He grabs the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head with practiced ease.

“Hands on my shoulders” he tells you as he bends down, fingers hooking around the waistband of the pyjama pants you were wearing.

You press your weight against your boyfriend as he helps you out of your panties, flinging them back through the door into your room before he’s discarding his own clothes.

He holds your hand as you step into the tub, toes tinging from the scalding water— heat smoldering up your body.

“You sure this isn’t too hot for you?” you smile over your shoulder, “You complain about how hot I have my showers”

Jungkook scoffs, a failed attempt at coving the smile that threatened to pull at his cheeks.

You sink into the water, feeling the bubbles tickle your bare skin. Muscles melting as you bask in the warmth, uncaring as Jungkook slips into the tub behind you.

Your boyfriend’s knees knock against your hips, a little bit of a tight squeeze but neither of you seem to care as you lean back into his chest.

“Feeling better?” he whispers, lips pressed against your shoulder, warm breath tickling bare skin.

You nod, eyes slowly falling shut. Sleepless nights finally catching up to you as you finally find the comfort you’d been craving for so long. The unsettling feeling of pure loneliness fading into a warm love that spreads over your chest.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy with classes” Jungkook’s hands run down your arms, tips of his fingers exploring places he knew better than he knew his own body. Knowing where to touch you, where to avoid.

“It’s okay” you whisper.

He sighs, “It’s not. I shouldn’t put shitty assignments over you. I should have known something was wrong when you stopped reading my texts”

“I’m sorry about that” you peek over your shoulder, though Jungkook simply smiles. Nothing indicating any agitation towards your bad habit.

“You don’t have to apologize. It’s my job to always be by your side. I’m sorry i’m like, four days late. I’ve been swamped with classes I didn’t even realize you’ve been having a hard time”

“You don’t have to apologize.” you mirror his response, “Even before we were dating, you always did so much. I’m grateful, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to do all this”

“I do it because I love you, baby” he tilts your head up from your chin, gentle kiss pressed to your lips. And you sink further into his chest. Somehow wishing the two of you would simply melt into one being, forever intertwined.

“I love you more”

“Impossible” he snickers, “I love you more”

“For every star there is, in every galaxy, even the ones we don’t know about, each one is a piece of my love for you” you declare, unaware of Jungkook’s morphing expression.

An unfathomable, bubbly feeling of pure love consuming his entire being, bursting at his seams. A feeling so unfamiliar yet welcoming, that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“That’s a lot of love, my little star girl” he muses, hands running over your hips as his lips skim over your jaw. “I love you as much as you love the stars”

“That’s a lot of love, too” you hum, pushing yourself to turn around and face your boyfriend.

You smile at the flush of his cheeks, dusted rosy from the hot water. Ends of his air damp from the steam. Bubbles touching him in places you’ve kissed, worshipping his skin like you have as they trail over his stomach— inching down to more intimate places. Another part of him only you’ll ever see.

“You’re pretty” you tell him, watching his ears flush, red hue bleeding down to his chest.

“You’re prettier” he counters and you laugh.

“You’re impossible”

He tugs you closer between his legs, water sloshing around the two of you, “But you love me for it”

“I do” you admit, “And I wouldn’t change you for the world”

“Is that so?” he hums, your favourite smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “Now why don’t you tell me what you’ve been feeling while I wash your hair?”

“That sounds nice” you agree, hands cupping his cheeks, “Thank you, Jungkook. I really mean it”

“I know you do” he leans into your touch, hair falling over his eyes a little from where he’d been growing it out, “Thank you for being here” he takes ahold of your hand, gentle as he presses a kiss to the tips of your fingers.

✯ ✯ ✯

You sit on the edge of your bed, old sheets torn off, slung on the floor for the wash that Jungkook promised he’d do after helping de-tangle your hair.

He’s ever so gentle, and never once complains when your head tips forward too far, or you fidget, feet numb from the way you’d sat on them.

He’d helped you wash your face, having you sat on the counter as he brushed your teeth before chucking you in one of his old sweaters he’d left at your place. Folded neatly where he’d left it the last time he’d spent the night, other items of his clothing slung over your desk and the frame of your bed.

“I’ll wash up while you sort this room out, okay?” he smiles, tugging your curtains open.

You watch orange light flood into your room, eyes transfixed on the full moon as Jungkook plugs your lamp in beside your bed before he makes his way into the kitchen. You wonder how long it had been since you’d star gazed.

You wonder why the stars seem to shine that little bit brighter than they had the last time you’d looked at them. Something acutely similar to Jungkook’s eyes when they light up, passion evident in his gaze, maybe even love. You’d hope it was love, the stars in his eyes always that little bit brighter when he look at you.

Jungkook had always been your little laundry fairy, easily navigating your washing machine with ease, even before the two of you were dating. His new domestic passion being washing up. Something about his hands soaking in bubbly water and clean dishes bringing an extra sparkle to his eyes. Almost as sparkly as when the two of you locked gazes.

You didn’t particularly like washing the dishes, always finding your hands felt grossly dry afterwards where no amount of sweet smelling hand cream could redeem the damage done.

Your boyfriend has had a few too many conversations with you about what chores he’d take on if the two of you were to ever move in together. And you had been more than happy when he’d stepped forward for washing up and laundry duty.

Your gaze snaps towards the door when you hear the grating sound of a pot colliding with your tile flooring.

“You okay?” you call out, bending down to pick up the clothes blanketing your floor.

“I’m fine!” Jungkook shouts, “The handle was slippy”

✯ ✯ ✯

“Thank you” you whisper, tucking Jungkook’s hair behind his ear.

He smiles, “Stop thanking me.”

“I just feel really shitty that you have to do all of this stuff for me”

Jungkook’s arms snake around your waist, pulling you closer to his body until your nose nudges his chest. Your eyes slip closed, body hyper aware of your boyfriend’s fingers as they brush up across your back.

“I don’t have to do anything. I do it because I want t— hey, what’s wrong” he frowns, peeking down at you when he hears a sniffle.

Your hands come to cover your face, body shaking, chest jittery as a sob wracks throughout you.

“Nothing” you hiccup, “You’re just too good to me”

Jungkook laughs, nudging you onto your back before he’s pushing himself up— body caging your own. “You forget all the things you do for me too” his arms flex as he eases a kiss over your eyelids.

Your arms wrap around his neck, tugging him down for a kiss. It’s salty, tightness in your chest chocking you as you tilt your head.

Jungkook’s tongue licks at the seam of your lips, a silent request for access. Your lips part, another tear slipping down your cheek.

“No more crying, my star” Jungkook whispers, lips moving against your own. He pulls back briefly, watching your eyes search his own. Watching as they glisten with unshed tears, his thumb gentle as he brushes it over your wet cheeks.

“I’m sorry” you swallow, hand coming to wipe your eyes, only Jungkook stops you, back of his fingers brushing the delicate skin under your eyes, always worried you pull at them too much when you get upset.

“No more apologies either, okay?”

You nod, lips parting in awe. Smile pulling onto Jungkook’s face, and you’re kissing him again.

Your fingers thread into his the back of his hair, tugging gently, an attempt to mould yourselves further into one another.

One of your hands trail down the front of his body, hand firmly pressing against his cock.

Jungkook pulls his face away from you, “We don’t have to do that, pretty. I didn’t come here to have sex” he pants, tongue laving over his bottom lip.

“I know” your voice breathy, “Still want you”

Your hand squeezes his cock over his sweatpants, twitch of interest dampening your panties as you feel him slowly harden.

“You sure?” he presses a kiss to your jaw.

“Mhmm” you hum, impatient fingers pulling the sweater over your head, panties easily shucked off and thrown onto the floor, your boyfriend following you as he sits up, pulling his clothes off.

Jungkook’s thumb parts your slit, coated in a thick sheen of your arousal— and you moan as he brushes over your clit. Thumbing meanly over your little bud as he leans down for another kiss.

He drinks in your moans, lips swollen, glistening in a mixture of both your saliva as his tongue prods into your mouth— always having liked it a little wet and messy.

Your hips buck up, fingers clasping the sheets as a fingers teases over your entrance.

Your mouth falls open as Jungkook presses a finger into you, lips sucking the skin of your neck.

“Feels good” you whine, walls clamping around his finger as his thumb continues to brush over your clit.

“Yeah?” he croons, pulling his finger out before adding another. Curling them deliciously.

Your hands blindly trail down his body, nails accidentally dragging across Jungkook’s cock-head. He lurches forward, thumb pressed firmer against your clit and you cry out from the shock of pleasure that fizzles up your spine.

“Sorry” you pant.

“Fucking hell, tell me next time” he laughs, head falling between your tits as your hand wraps around his shaft.

“M’ close” you warn, thighs clamping around Jungkook’s hand, though that barely deters him, relentless as he scissors you open; wet squelch meeting your ears with every thrust into you.

You tip over the edge as he eases a third finger into you, “I’m cumming” your thighs shaking around his hand as he brings your slick up over your clit— messily elongating your orgasm with quick flicks of his wrist.

Your hand falls away from his cock, Jungkook’s nose scrunching up as it slaps wetly against your thigh. Bead of pearly pre-cum staining your skin.

Your arms wrap around his neck, bringing him into another kiss as his fingers ease on your clit, dipping between your slit before he’s slicking his cock up with your cum.

“Think you’ll be okay?” he murmurs against your lips, running the tip of his cock over your cunt, your eyes squeezing shut as the tip nudges your clit.

Your hips jolt upwards, and Jungkook laughs. A hearty one that has you smiling up at him.

“I love you”

Jungkook presses another peck to your lips, “I love you”

Your fingers part your pussy lips, and Jungkook’s holds the base of his cock, lining himself up with your entrance.

“So pretty” he murmurs, entranced.

You squirm under his gaze, cheeks flushing red as Jungkook’s eyes meet your own.

His smile had always started with his eyes, worming its way towards his lips as he gently pushes into you— head of his cock splitting you open.

Jungkook’s fingers thread with your own, hips languid as he thrusts into you. Your eyes flit between his, watching as his eyebrows furrow in the building pleasure he’s feeling.

There’s nothing rushed in Jungkook’s movements, the mere act of the two of you connecting in such an intimate way fulfilling enough. The raw emotions swimming behind his eyes with each wet squelch of your sodden cunt that overshadows both of your shaky breathing, is enough to slowly bring you hurdling towards another high.

You squeeze his fingers, thighs wrapping around Jungkook’s waits as he leans down, wet, open mouth kisses pressed to your tits— gentle thrum of pleasure sparking down your body as his tongue laves over your nipple.

“I’m close, pretty. Cum with me” Jungkook grunts, eyes closing in utter bliss.

One of your hands slip out of his grasp, worming between your bodies until you brush over your clit.

“Good girl, play with yourself for me”

Jungkook rocks into you, hips stuttering as he nears his release, thighs clapping obscenely against your ass. Your fingers pick up their pace on your clit, staccato of moans tumbling past your lips— Jungkook’s deep groan harmonizing with you.

“Gonna cum” you hiccup, thighs tightening their hold they have on your boyfriend.

You feel his cock twitch, cry of pure pleasure muffled by his lips as Jungkook’s release paints your walls white. And that’s what pushes you over the edge, the world around you seems to muffle, crackling in your ears as you feel unadulterated pleasure course throughout your body in thick waves.

“Well done” Jungkook’s hips pull back a fraction before he’s pushing back into you, “Did so well for me” he croons.

Your chest stutters out a breath, hands mindlessly grasping onto any part of Jungkook you can hold on to. Warmth of his sweat slicked skin helping the buzz of your high melt. Bodies still one, the closest the two of you will ever physically be.

“You okay?” he whispers, lips pressed against your forehead and you nod; legs falling from around his waist.

“Thank you, Kook”

He snickers, “You don’t have to thank me for this, darling” he pushes the sweaty strands of hair from your forehead.

“Not for this” your nose scrunches up at him, “Just—“ you start, lip tucked under your teeth, “Just for everything”

“I love you”

Your muscles relax, giggle bubbling up your throat, “I love you more”

“We should have put a towel down, we just cleaned the sheets” he groans, falling on top of you.

You wheeze out a breath as his full weight settles over you; groaning as your walls clench around his cock that’s still nestled inside of you.

“I have a surprise for you” Jungkook’s lifts his head, and you crane your neck.

“Surprise?”

“Yeah, go pee and then I’ll show you” he tucks your hair behind your ear.

You thighs twitch at the slow drag of his softened cock as he slips out of you.

Jungkook’s fingers drag through your slit as his cum leaks out your hole, a whine pulled from the back of your throat as he fingers his cum back into you.

“How messy” he teases, and your cunt clenches around nothing as he smears his cum over your pussy, “Let me help clean you up”

Your boyfriend scoots down the bed, trail of kisses setting your skin alight as he makes himself comfortable between your legs.

He kisses over your clit, tongue flicking out, toying with the swollen little bud before he’s wrapping his lips around it. He continues to push his cum back into your sodden cunt, walls pulling him in until he’s knuckle deep inside of you.

You whine as he crooks his fingers upwards, stomach tensing as he slowly drags them out of you, mouth leaving sloppy kisses over your entrance, tongue teasing as he circles your hole.

You moan at the lewd noises your cunt makes, burning hot pleasure shooting straight to your throbbing clit as Jungkook’s fingers draw tight circles over the bundle of nerves.

“Cum on my tongue” Jungkook pulls away briefly, only to shove his face further into your cunt, scooping out his own cum and letting it coat his tongue.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, shuddering as his nose nudges against your clit, “I’m cumming” you whine, hips bucking into Jungkook’s face. Using him to get yourself off.

Jungkook hums, vibrations thrusting you head first into another orgasm, body still thrumming with the aftershocks of your previous high.

Jungkook doesn’t stop, tongue licking a bold stripe up your pussy, lips wrapping themselves your clit again— teeth gently scraping over the sensitive skin.

You sob, thighs clamping around his head. Another gush of slick leaks out your cunt and that’s all it takes for Jungkook to finally pull away.

You moan into the kiss as he holds himself up over you, mixture of your releases coating your lips. Jungkook’s chin shiny with your thick arousal. “Always so good for me”

✯ ✯ ✯

“Careful there’s another step” Jungkook warns, arms wrapping around you waist, helping you up the final step.

Your hands remain over your eyes, blindly trusting that Jungkook wouldn’t let you hurt yourself. A sentiment that doesn’t fly over his head, something he definitely thinks about way more than most boyfriends would— but he simply can’t help himself when it comes to you. Everything you’ve ever done is effortlessly perfect to him, and the fact you trusted him like this is enough to have him pressing kisses in all your favorite places.

“What are we doing?” you dare ask, knowing he wouldn’t give you a hint. He’d be adamant on keeping it a secret as the two of you showered and he helped you change.

Goosebumps prickle the skin of your arms when a door swings open. Breeze pushing your hair out of your face as Jungkook pulls you outside. First gust of fresh air causing the hair on the back of your neck to raise.

You’d always believed the night to be cathartic, something almost healing about simply living while people slept. The air always a little fresher, freedom easier to grasp. The world at ease when night fell, where the sky felt closer to the ground; endless possibilities sat at your feet like you finally had control over your life.

“Open your eyes” Jungkook gently pulls your hands away from your eyes.

You look around, “We’re on the roof?” you turn back to Jungkook, eyes furrowing in confusion.

“Look up” he points to the sky.

Your head tips back, mouth opening in awe at how clear the skies were— a million little stars winking at the two of you. Flickering like little fireflies, and you can’t help but smile as you spot a shooting star. Silent wish on the tip of your tongue, and Jungkook seems to have the same idea as his eyes flutter closed.

Jungkook pulls the blanket off his shoulder after making his wish, spreading it out on the floor. One the two of you had used countless times for picnic dates in the park.

“I thought we could stargaze. There aren’t any clouds tonight” he pats the blanket. Silent invitation for you to join him.

You wonder if it were possible to fall in love with someone all over again. Whatever love you felt for them amplifying until all you can feel in an inexplainable love for someone else.

Love is never linear. Never constant. It influxes, where maybe the lines of yours and Jungkook’s love cross paths every now and again when the two of you spend time alone like this. Everything seeming ever so easy when all that existed in your worlds were one another— orbiting until every other planet in the solar system is out of reach, where you’ll always stay together even as the universe crumbles around you.

Loving Jungkook has always been so easy. And truly you believe that for as long as there are stars in the sky, your love will forever be with him. Trusting that he’ll delicately hold your heart as you hold his, because there’s no one else in the entire universe you’d rather have by your side than your best friend.

“I really love you” you blurt, as the both of you lay side by side, “I love you doesn’t feel like enough to explain it”

“I feel like that a lot. It’s a weird feeling” he hums thoughtfully, and you nod your agreement.

“I like it” you murmur, fingers finding Jungkook’s, pinkies intertwined, “It’s a good feeling”

“I like it too” Jungkook turns his head to look at you, endeared smile on his face when you meet his eyes, “My star girl”

You smile at that, tilting your head, featherlight kiss pressed against Jungkook’s lips. Where he chases after you for another, and then another.

“There’s a meteor shower in a few weeks, we should go camping and watch it” Jungkook tells you mindlessly, a thought he’d been meaning to bring up days ago but had been lost somewhere in the dark corners of his mind.

“I’d like that” you nod, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“I’d like that too” his nose scrunches up, and you kiss it; laughter bubbling up Jungkook’s chest, contagious as you start to giggle too.

Meeting Jeon Jungkook had been the luckiest part of your life, and maybe he was your special star. The one you always find whenever you turn towards the sky, no matter where you are, always watching over you.

To Jungkook, he’s more than certain you’re his. You’d always be the prettiest star in his universe, and he’ll continue to follow you until you fizzle out into stardust.

🪐 thank you so much for reading, feedback is always appreciated

permanent taglist: @m1sss1mp @supernoonanyc

request:

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #bts jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #jeon jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook jeon #bts x reader #bts #jungkook

[python333]

HAI! i rlly like your platonic 141 fics and I'm wondering if we could get some more dad price and/or brother gaz sleepy cuddles? :3

stretched too thin — python333

— — — —

synopsis gaz notices you overworking yourself one night and decides to step in before you end up pulling an all-nighter.

relationships platonic!gaz & gn!reader.

characters gaz.

word count 2.05k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of pet names [love, darling], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note oh my god im so sorry i disappeared for like. a month. ill try my best to not be gone for more than a week at a time, but with all of my schoolwork and just over all stress ive been experiencing lately, i dont know if ill be able to get fics out every week :< ill try my best though! please accept this fic as an apology—its another big bro gaz one!! special shoutout to everyone else who has an older sibling thats very distant with them, you and me are in the same boat fr!! also, last thing—im thinking about making a discord server where i announce when fics are being written and published and stuff, but i dunno if yall would join or anything, so if u would pls lmk!!

You haven’t left your office in five hours. 

Recently—just about two days ago—you finished up an assignment fairly quickly and, as a result, had to write a detailed report of said assignment. It went over the mission you’d gone on, and listed off every major detail you could think of, though because you just can’t give yourself a break you were constantly thinking of other details you might’ve missed even though there was little chance you’d missed anything.

The mission wasn’t anything too important, honestly. It was originally going to be a week-long camp-out reconnaissance by an enemy task force’s base, obtaining information on their schedule and what they did throughout the day and whatnot. However, only a day into the mission, the small squad of soldiers that had accompanied you saw another small military group observing the same group you’d been observing.

So, naturally, you observed them as well. Aren’t you just the best multi-tasker?

The task force eventually found out about the other group, just a day later, while your squad was still in the clear to continue your observations. So, your mission had quickly come to a close—but, because of the circumstances under which the mission had come to a close, you were required to write an extremely detailed report on the other group and the group you’d been observing.

It would be an understatement to say you were tired. You’re exhausted.

Between the non-stop writing, the coffee sitting on your desk that’s been microwaved five times and has been refilled thrice, and the uncomfortable chair you’ve sat in that you have yet to replace, you’re extremely exhausted. Your movements are sluggish, your fingers aren’t as swift on the keyboard of your computer as they usually are, and worst of all—you still have more to write. 

Your eyes stung and felt dry, your hands felt like they were going to stop working completely at any moment, and you were overall just exhausted. 

You look over at the clock on your desk, and it reads 02:28 AM, indicating that you would only have about four hours to sleep if you went to bed now. I’m too far into this report to stop now, You tell yourself, sighing as you blink slowly at your computer screen, If only my vision didn’t keep getting blurry… 

Suddenly, you hear a knock at the door. Your eyebrows furrow together in confusion, and for a second you think you’re hallucinating until the knock sounds once more. 

Reluctantly, with a voice raspy from not using it almost all day, you call out, “Come in!” 

Your voice is softer and quieter than you’d like it to be, but it doesn’t matter too much to you at this moment—at least, not in your foggy mind that still begs you for sleep, even when you have far more of your report to finish. 

The door opens with a creak, and in walks Gaz. 

“Sarg,” He greets you, not bothering to close the door behind him as he walks up to your desk, “Pleasure to see you for the first time in, what… three days?” 

“Two days and eighteen hours,” You correct him, taking a moment to crack your stiff knuckles, not taking your eyes off of your monitor, “And you know you don’t have to call me ‘sarg’ or ‘sergeant’ or anything. We’re the same rank.” 

Gaz promptly ignores you, “Right, well, anything over a day is way too long for me to go without seeing you. Why’re you all cooped up in here on your computer?”

“‘Cause I need to write a report on my assignment,” You briefly explain, before lightly goading Gaz, “Not all of us need a shit ton of attention every day like you do.” 

“Ehh,” Gaz theatrically makes a thinking face, before shrugging, “Not sure what you mean by ‘us’, but alright.” 

“By ‘us’, I mean everyone but you.” 

“Surely that doesn’t include you, right?” 

“It does.” 

Gaz gasps quietly at your reply, before dramatically responding, “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“I absolutely can,” You hum, finally taking your eyes off of your computer screen to look up at Gaz, “Is it so hard for you to believe that I don’t need to talk to you every waking hour?” 

“It is, actually,” Gaz scoffs, “Because I know that you do need to talk to me every waking hour.” 

“Uh, no I don’t,” You childishly argue, raising an eyebrow at Gaz.

“Uh, yes you do,” Gaz immaturely argues back, crossing his arms, “Look me in the eyes and tell me that the past two days and eighteen hours haven’t been shit because I haven’t given you any attention.”

You open your mouth to form a response but quickly close it, realizing that yeah, actually, I kind of do crave his attention. 

Fuck.

“You’re not the only person that gives me attention,” You point out, hoping to find some way to change the subject.

“Sure, but you like the attention I give you the most,” Gaz hums, leaning forward to rest his crossed arms on your desk opposite of where you sit.

“You don’t know that.”

“Then tell me that I’m wrong,” Gaz challenges you.

You narrow your eyes at him, glaring at him for a moment before sighing, “You suck.”

“Maybe I suck, but you look like you haven’t slept for the past week,” Gaz points out, “You look exhausted, by the way. And dehydrated. Actually, you just look like the human embodiment of a headache.” 

“What the fuck?” 

“I mean that in the most loving, non-offensive way possible.”

“You come into my office, accuse me of needing attention from you, then you insult me by calling me the human version of a headache?”

“It wasn’t an insult!” Gaz raises his hands in surrender, before sighing, “I’m being serious. You look dead, [c/n]. You need sleep.” 

“What I need is to finish this report,” You huff out, beginning to turn your attention back to your computer, before Gaz’s hand is quickly placed on your chin and forces you to look back at him. 

“No, what you need is some rest,” Gaz argues, more serious this time, taking his hand off of your chin—something you shouldn’t miss nearly as much as you do, the warmth of his hand fading far too quickly from your face—and bringing it back to rest on the desk. 

“Maybe you need rest, Gaz.”

“Sure I do,” He shrugs, “But I’m only going to sleep if you do.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Really? You’re pulling that card?”

“I am.” 

You stare at him for a moment, mentally weighing your options, before sighing and bringing your elbows up to the table so that you can place your forehead in your hands.

On one hand, if you stay in your office you can finish up your report before four and then go to sleep, and hope that you magically feel active even with just an hour or two of sleep in the morning. On the other hand, if you go to sleep now, so does Gaz, and then you both get more than just two hours of sleep. 

After another moment of consideration, you huff out a frustrated breath and mutter, “Fine.” 

Gaz smiles down at you and walks around your desk to your side of it, holding out a hand for you to grab to help yourself up from your chair and using his free hand to save your report and power off your monitor. 

You take his hand and stand up, your legs a little weak and balance iffy from sitting down for so long, but within the next few minutes you’re sure you’ll be able to properly walk. You let go of his hand once you’re positive you won’t fall over, and once he sees that you’re able to walk, Gaz silently walks towards the door of your office. Just as quietly, you follow him. 

He turns off the lights for you and lets you walk out of the office first, locking the door from the inside and closing it once you’re out. Once he’s done, he takes the lead again and you follow him down to his sleeping quarters. It’s not too long of a walk there, only two minutes at most.

Once you’re there, Gaz opens the door and lets you walk in first. Once you’re inside and Gaz has closed the door, you shrug off your camouflage patterned jacket and toe off your already loosened tan boots, leaving you in just your camouflage cargo pants and army green undershirt.

You look down at your pants with a frown, knowing from experience that sleeping in them was incredibly uncomfortable and left you regretting your whole existence the morning after, but before you could even look over at Gaz to tell him of your situation, you felt something being thrown at you. 

You immediately turn your attention to the item that had been hurled at you—the item in question being a pair of gray sweatpants, some that would probably be a little bit looser than you’d prefer on your figure—and then look over at Gaz with a questioning look. 

“Figured you wouldn’t wanna sleep in that,” Gaz shrugs, nodding to your cargo pants in response to your nonverbal confusion. 

You hum in appreciation, not wanting to talk too much at the moment, instead waiting for Gaz to look away before slipping off your pants and replacing them with the sweatpants Gaz had thrown at you. The fit isn’t as uncomfortable as you thought they’d be—they’re loose and hang low on your hips, just like you thought they would, of course, but they don’t feel nearly as weird as you thought they would.

Once you’ve tightened the strings on the waist of the pants, you get into Gaz’s bed, pulling the covers up and over yourself. Gaz quickly settles into the bed next to you, quickly getting himself comfortable under the sheets, and pulling the covers up and over his shoulders in one swift movement.

He gets closer to you, so close that his chest presses against your back and you can feel the tip of his nose ghosting over the top of your head. He wraps one arm over your body to pull you impossibly closer to him, and his other arm snakes underneath the side of your body so that both of his arms are wrapped around you.

He hums contently and his thumb rubs small circles into your clothed stomach, the action—despite being small—causing your stomach to warm up almost immediately. 

“Comfortable, darling?” Gaz asks quietly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

“Very,” You mumble back, trying to subtly lean your head back against Gaz in hopes of getting at least one more kiss. Noticing your efforts, he huffs out a small laugh and presses another gentle kiss right at the edge of your hairline before pressing one last one to your forehead. 

Even with the comforting atmosphere, you can’t find it within yourself to fully relax, your body still tense and stiff underneath the blanket. Gaz, just like he did with your “subtle” movements, notices and frowns. 

“Just sleep,” Gaz tiredly mumbles into the top of your head, “You have to get up in three hours. The sooner you sleep, the more sleep you get.” 

You don’t respond, instead simply sighing and forcing your eyes closed. You do have to admit, it’s nice being able to actually close your eyes for something other than blinking, and closing your eyes for longer than half a second has made you realize that they were even drier than you thought they were. 

Exhausted and ready to finally sleep, you eventually get to a point where you no longer need to force your eyes shut, and as a result, your whole body relaxes for the first time in almost six hours. 

“G’night, love,” Gaz murmurs, feeling your body relax next to his. You hum in acknowledgment of his words, not finding the energy within yourself to properly respond, instead finding yourself drifting off into a deep sleep. 

And if four hours later, Gaz wakes up and simply lies there, not waking you and instead letting you get some more sleep despite you having to be up soon, nobody has to know.

#cod #cod hcs #hcs #task force 141 #tf141 #platonic task force 141 #platonic taskforce141 #platonic kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz #kyle gaz garrick x reader #cod mw2 #call of duty mw2 #call of duty #this is why i like the ao3 tagging system more #bro tumblr tags make no sense to me #trying my best tho!! #check me out on ao3 btw #pythonxyz :3 #python333

[vaspider]

Intro Post, updated March 1, 2023

I post all asks under the name they were submitted under, and I post them when I feel like answering them. I will never honor a request to answer an ask privately or anonymously. Anon is never turned on. These are hard self-care boundaries. Please block the tag "harassment tag" if you don't want to be subjected to some of the horrible shit I get sent sometimes.

If you like what I do, please consider hiring me, consider buying something from NerdyKeppie (the shop I own with my spouse - we do custom work!), consider buying me a coffee or becoming a Patron or tossing some money in my PayPal tip jar. I am a disabled, queer, fat, Jewish non-binary butch whose entire income is derived from selling Quality Queerwear via our company NerdyKeppie (we also offer patches of all sorts, nerd gear, etc -- if you don’t see it, ask!), Patreon (queer fiction for a dollar) and freelance work.

If asking me to boost a post for you, ask at most once per week, and please don't make that the only way you interact with me, or follow me just to send an ask that I boost your posts. I notice, and I'll end up just blocking you if you make me feel "used." It's gross, y'all. I'm glad to help, but don't use me. It's getting to a point where I'm starting to feel pretty gross about it, and I'm one of the more relaxed ppl about boosting posts, so please don't put me in a position where I feel like I have to stop doing it.

I will not debate my identity or its history with anyone. I am a transmasculine non-binary butch lesbian, a cripple, a dyke, and lots of other things, too. You don't get a vote in that, and if any of those words are words you can't stand to have someone use around you in reference to himself, go ahead and block me. I won't censor my identity for your comfort; I took a long time becoming proud of who I am.

No, I am not an anti or an anti-anti. Literally no one cares about these distinctions outside of Tumblr. Please leave me alone. I am not going to have that conversation. No is a complete sentence.

I’m not interested in interacting with TWERFs, SWERFs, or any sort of exclusionary LGBTQ/queer people. Y'all are exhausting.

Do the work to root out TERF/2nd-wave "man bad woman good" philosophies from your head. Do the work to root out the gendered behavior you were taught. I am not here to raise other people's children.

I am not here to raise other people's children. My daughter is an adult and I am done being responsible for the experiences of a minor. If you read or interact with me, you acknowledge that you chose to do that and I can't control what happens to what I post once I post it on my Tumblr. People will reblog it and I can't control where it ends up. I can only control what I say in my space, which I do.

Curate your own online experiences. If you don't like seeing what I write, then add 'vaspider' to your "filtered content" list and don't bother me about it. Tumblr is a 17+ environment and I am not responsible for you seeing things you don't like. Adults having adult conversations do not need to be filtered for children. This is your notification.

I’ve been Out for over 30 years. I don't tolerate lectures from strangers, especially people half my age, about history I lived through.

I'm transmasc and if you believe transmisandry/transandrophobia aren't "real things," or that transmascs aren't "really oppressed," please just leave me alone. Oppression Olympics are bad, actually.

My immediate family consists of my partners, my adult daughter, and our dogs.

No one in my immediate family is cis or het. I have been called Spider for 20+ years, & now a lot of people call me Mama Spider. Mom is a role, it need not be gendered.

This is a lot shorter than it used to be. I don't really feel like posting paragraphs explaining stuff anymore.

My icon has lore, apparently.

I post all asks and anon is never turned on.

[bug-bites]

west side apartment, paper plane

tw: brief non-graphic mentions of ghost going thru war stuff and ghost's backstory in the comics (changed a few details because this is fanfic. duh), slight angst (bc yk,, yearning) but sort of fluff if ghost had a dollar for every moment he spent yearning he would have enough money to retire and live a happy life away from the military, also we're pretending british chinese takeout is good, not proofread :P

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader (like always can be read as platonic or romantic)

characters: simon "ghost" riley

a/n: i hate how fucking massive the song link is but yk what its fine. but i am back and in a laufey moment!

simon has lived an interesting life, maybe he wouldn’t use interesting. if he could describe it he would probably use words like terrifying, cruel, or for a lack of better terms, shitty. from the moment he was born it seemed like misery and tragedy followed him around like a stray dog, finding its way into every aspect of his existence. his childhood home was always something he wanted to escape, or rather his father was what he wanted to run away from. there were good moments after he kicked the old bastard out, but the ever present threat of tragedy proved that it wouldn’t last. life had been cruel, dealing him possibly the worst hand possible, the only constant being misfortune, that is until you came along.

a temporary living arrangement. thats all it was. rent was a little too much for one person to afford, so you both signed the lease on a crummy, small, mixed-use apartment right in the middle of manchester. it wasn’t much, takeout dinners from the restaurant below and late rent payments were the norm but even with the busted heating, life in that apartment had never felt so warm.

after long shifts at your respective jobs he would come home, plastic bags of takeout in his hands, a sign for you to set a few blankets on the ground before both of you eat ungodly amounts of shrimp fried rice and orange sesame chicken. he could spend hours listening to you speak, nothing made him feel so at home. maybe it was the fact that the food was good and also inexpensive, or maybe it was because he was too exhausted to do anything else, but he loved those long sleepless nights spent sitting on the floor, talking about everything and nothing. simon cant imagine another time in his life when he was genuinely so happy or another time he laughed so hard water came out his nose.

he especially loved opening fortune cookies with you at the end of every meal. sure, he never believed in those fortunes but the idea was always fun to entertain. the sound of the cookie cracking open to expose the slip of paper, revealing what the future had in store for him usually filled him with a childlike curiosity. or at least got a laugh out of him.

“hah, mine says ‘there will be a happy romance for you shortly’. these things really could not be farther from the truth. bet yours is more accurate” you say, popping half of the broken cookie into your mouth “your father loves you and is always with you. remember that.” he reads out loud with a chuckle “oh. that- hm. yeah i take that back”

but the one thing he loved more than opening those silly fortunes with you or the late night dinners was after you both cleaned up the empty takeout boxes, taking the menus and folding them into paper planes. it became a sort of tradition after you got bored and began to mess around with the glossy paper that listed mouthwatering dishes and house specials. he could never get it right, one wing was always too big or his folds were clumsily made and uneven, making them practically incapable of flight but yours were the complete opposite. each crease made was perfect, every intricate pleat skillfully crafted to allow the small paper aircraft to glide through the air with ease. as you tossed your planes off the balcony of your shared flat, the sight of the plane sailing through the air as the sun set always filled the both of you with a sense of nostalgia. and of course you both picked them up and tossed them out because we dont mess w/ littering over here

simon cant help but look back at those simpler times and miss them. he knows from the start it was intended to be temporary, but he’s been through so much chaos and trauma all he just wants a quiet life where he doesnt have to be ghost. he just wants a nice warm home to come back to. it doesnt have to be big, it doesnt have to be expensive, it just has to feel like home. it just has to feel like you. its been so long since the two of you parted ways but as he stares at the last paper airplane that he kept, he cant help but wonder if you feel that way too. as he lies awake in his bed at the military base he’s stationed in, he spends those nights craving that domesticity he had with you. he recalls every memory, every minute detail that made him love that cramped apartment and maybe how he loved you even more.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod x reader #x reader #ghost call of duty #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 #simon “ghost” riley #songfic #can you tell i like writing abt domestic ghost? #anyways laufey songs as cod characters will probably be a series bc i have so much planned tee hee #maybe ill make a poll for whos next :3 #probably just tha 141 but who knows! #bug blurb #Spotify

[makeyoumine69]

My Lovely Detective II

— PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Detective!OC

— CO-WRITER: @iron-flavored-lipgloss

— CONTAINS: Non-con drug use & touching, kidnapping, gags.

— WORDS: 3k

— A/N: Thank you for your support! 💗💗💗

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [AO3].

Dinner

After nearly two weeks of exhaustive research, seeking additional evidence, and hints to challenge Bateman in their impending meeting, Andrea had finally reached the day of their scheduled dinner—an opportunity to probe deeper with her questions. 

Indeed, it had been a testing period for Andrea, as her sleep was sporadic, and her mind was in overdrive, driven by the conviction that Bateman was hiding his true self. Even after numerous discussions with Kimball, her suspicions had only intensified. Amid this, Andrea began to exhibit subtle behavioral changes, ones that even her boyfriend Derek picked up on. However, she reassured him, attributing it to her work pressure.

'Was it?'

When Andrea arrived at the restaurant, Bateman was waiting for her outside. New York looked amazing in the dark time and it suited Patrick so much that the detective just stood aside and admired him for a moment. 

"Mr. Bateman! I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long!" The brunette chirped as she came closer. Her cheap coat was not warm and the dress was even cheaper, but this was the best dress she had, since she hated this kind of clothes.

"It's no problem." For once, the man was being honest, because he had made some preparations. 

First of all, he had chosen a cheap restaurant, the kind of place where he or any of his colleagues wouldn't be seen under normal circumstances.  Cheap by his elitist standards, of course. 'My lovely detective would be embarrassed by the price list anyway.' 

Second, Patrick had called the restaurant himself instead of Jean, giving him the opportunity to place the reservation under an alias. This was also the reason why he had arrived early, when he usually preferred to have his dates wait for him. Now 'Mr. Thompson' had already checked in and the detective would never hear about the false name. This time, Patrick really wanted to make sure that his presence in this place would be impossible for Kimball or anyone else to verify. He wanted to erase this date from Jean's notes as well. 

In his pockets was Rohypnol, ground to powder. A drug so strong she wouldn't even notice her way back to his apartment. But he wouldn't do anything to her until she wasn't fully conscious again, no. He wanted her to be so terribly aware of her situation.

Observing the woman who sat unsuspecting before him, Patrick took in the details of her attire. Her dress, which stirred a wave of disdain in him, and her shoes, of mock leather that rankled his senses, were noted with a critic's eye. Despite his distaste for her choices, a sense of unsettling calm washed over Patrick with the forethought of what was to come. Each element of her visage kindled within him an uncomfortable response, a feeling he grappled to understand, even as he plotted its demise.

"I've already checked our table, it has a very atmospheric placement. Let's go inside, shall we?"

The atmosphere inside the restaurant was amazing, Andrea had never been in places like this before, so when they took their table and the waiter brought them the menu, the detective visibly tensed in her seat.

"I'm not really hungry," the woman explained after looking through the countless dishes. "I think I'll just have some coffee, since I didn't come here to eat, but to ask you more questions."

With that, Andrea took out her beloved black notebook and put it on the table, almost dropping the glass of mineral water that was close by, but she pretended nothing had happened.

"So, I've been talking to Mr. Kimball about his conversation with Bethany's boyfriend and I've learned a lot of interesting information," the detective gave Bateman a small smile, noticing his slightly nervous movements as he adjusted his tie. "Bethany's boyfriend said that you and Bethany broke up because you didn't want children, while Bethany wanted a family. Is that true?"

Andrea brushed her curly hair and placed them on her shoulder, exposing her collarbone without even realizing it, the curve of her heavy breasts even more noticeable as she leaned down on the table as she waited for Patrick's answer.

'Was that the reason?' It seemed likely, and Patrick tried to remember, but admittedly it could have been him sleeping with other girls - did Bethany ever consider him to be faithful?

"Yes. I was never interested in building that kind of family, so of course that was an obstacle to a future together."  Patrick swallowed hard, but for once it was not the fear of being caught - the thought always lingered in the back of his mind. 

It was an innocent movement of hers that caught his attention - her wild hair swayed back, drawing his gaze to the now fully exposed cleavage. It was not a modest sight compared to the suit, and Patrick told himself that the heat that washed over his body was just irritation at her slutty attitude. 

‘What a cheap way to distract me’,  but he had to admit that for all the things she lacked in his eyes, her breasts looked perfect. 

Up until now he had wanted to drug her to torture and kill her, she wasn't his type (and why would he settle for that when he could have anyone else?), but now other fantasies found their way into his mind… Patrick was suddenly very grateful for the waiter who came their way.

The detective was busy writing down Bateman's comments when the waiter came to their table. "Are you ready to order, sir?" The waiter asked, looking attentively at Patrick and then at Andrea.

"I'll have a double cappuccino," Andrea replied, handing him the menu. "And maybe another glass of water."

The waiter - a young man with a perfect smile - nodded a little confused. "Ma'am, how about some dessert to go with the coffee?"

Frowning, she put her notebook aside and looked at the waiter, her slight irritation palpable in the air. "No, just coffee and water, please."

"Are you sure? The charcoal cake with durian cream is outrageous here! No, please — be my guest," Patrick said with a condescending smile.

Without even giving the detective a chance to answer, he had already instructed the waiter, along with the usual J&B for himself. Actually, he did not care much for culinary pleasures, let alone sweets, but he had chosen the most expensive option among the desserts. 

Perhaps he could disguise the drug as powdered sugar instead? But either way, Miss Moore had been far too observant so far. "Anything else you want to know about my love life?"

Bateman's question only made the detective smile and chuckle, his arrogant manner and self-centeredness amusing to her.

"Mr. Bateman, I already got the point that you're very successful with women, I really did," she paused and took a sip of water. "But did you say you were engaged? I think you did during our first meeting in your office."

'Not that I really care, but maybe it can trigger him to give me more information.'

"Does your fiancée know you keep in touch with your ex-girlfriend?" Andrea asked. Right after that, the waiter brought them their drinks. "Thank you." The waiter grinned at them and went to get their dishes.

The detective felt a strange thrill of the rush, as if she was getting closer to solving the mystery of Patrick Bateman, and all the knowledge she got from Mr. Kimball only fuelled her passion for it.

"Yes, I am indeed engaged." His attempt to confuse her had backfired terribly and it was impossible for Patrick to keep his voice neutral. He only managed not to reveal the growing level of aggression he was feeling towards her by taking a deep sip from the finely polished whiskey glass.

'Oh, that little bitch, I'm going to make her cry tears of pain and remorse.'

"I don't think my fiancée would care. After all, nothing had happened between me and Bethany, and my intentions were of a friendly nature."

Evelyn not caring about any of this was probably true, but not for the reason Patrick gave the detective. She was probably dating Timothy Price today. 

"Some people are still faithful these days, you know. Is that what you believe in? Then you wouldn't have to explain this dinner to your partner."

The moment Bateman mentioned her partner, something heavy dropped in her gut. What the hell?

"I'm committed to relationships based on love and trust," Andrea replied, the broad smile never leaving her face. "But I don't think it can really work with guys like you, since yuppies change their dates like gloves."

The tone of her voice was more aggressive than annoyed, but she didn't like how it sounded anyway. Besides, the heat that suddenly coursed through her body from his unexpected question made her blush, and the only good option now was to excuse herself and go to the bathroom.

"If you excuse me, I have to use the bathroom." And with that Andrea retreated, but she didn't forget to take all her stuff with her.

'So, she has someone waiting for her…'

Patrick stared at her back (or rather her ass), somewhat stunned by this little outburst. Of course, he only cared because it would mean another person worried about Detective Moore's whereabouts. Hopefully she wasn't as much of a blabbermouth as Bethany had turned out to be. 

'Once I'm done with her, not even her boyfriend will want to take her back,' he thought darkly, her disparaging view of yuppies bothering him much more than it should. 'Screw love and trust.'

The woman's fate would soon be sealed. Rohypnol was a hell of a drug, robbing its victims of the ability to move and talk for hours, to the point of losing their minds - long enough to take her body back to his apartment. 

Making sure no one was paying attention to him, Patrick finally took the opportunity to stir the drug into both the rest of her coffee and the water. He could only hope that she would choose one or the other, but he was confident enough. After all, why would she waste something that cost the price of her awful dress?

Meanwhile in the bathroom…

'Fucking bastard,' Andrea kept repeating to herself as she washed her hands. Before the woman left the bathroom, she looked at her reflection, motivating herself to be strong and not to let this narcissistic king trap her in his net.

After a few minutes, the woman came back to their table and found Bateman talking sweetly to some random woman, but the moment the detective took her seat, he stopped his conversation and his full attention was on her again.

"I think I forgot to ask you the most important question," Andrea stated abruptly, picking up her cup of coffee. "Where were you the day Bethany disappeared?" A small sip of cappuccino made her think that it was a little sweeter than before, but the woman condemned herself for being paranoid. "I'm interested in the part of the day that followed your dinner with her."

Smirking, Andrea drank her coffee with double effort because it was so damn tasty — it was abnormally tasty.

"I believe I was returning some videotapes. Or maybe I just went straight home." Patrick didn't take his eyes off her, watching the woman's every move. 

There was a crucial point, a very sudden one, where the drug would take effect. And since he didn't want to attract attention, he would have to leave the scene quickly, as if leading a drunk on his arm. Just outside the restaurant, he had parked a rental car. Never before had Patrick given so much deliberation to a crime, his style was usually impulsive, and in that sense she got special treatment. It bothered him, the sheer effort that had already gone into planning this. 

But he would make it worth it.

"It's already late at night. I don't know what really happened to Bethany... Are you going to find a safe way home?" he said casually, noticing the unnatural fluttering of her eyelids, and for the first time that day Patrick felt a cold certainty calming his nerves.  "I could always give you a ride, not a big deal."

It was strange when Andrea suddenly felt so tired and exhausted as if she had just run a sprint. "What... what did you say?" She mumbled incoherently and rubbed her eyes. "Can you...repeat...please?"

The surrounding sounds faded into the void, her eyes were so heavy that she could barely keep them open, and the way Bateman was smiling right now made her think that she was so fucked up. Time stopped for her when the woman almost fell on the table, but she managed to lean on her elbows. 

Before she blacked out, Andrea took one last look at her empty coffee cup. "Bastard...you..."

And then she fell into the abyss.

In a rare moment of sincerity, Patrick finally let his facade slip - his face showing an expression of undisguised triumph. It was the last thing Detective Andrea Moore must have noticed before she collapsed, cursing him in vain with the last of her strength. 

Where he would normally have used his Amex card, Patrick now threw a more than generous amount of cash on the table. 

'Consider it a gift, buddy,' Bateman thought to himself, looking around for the waiter who had served them, before lifting Andrea, who was completely unconscious.

Seconds later, a dimly lit silhouette made its way through the cold night air of New York, Manhattan. He held a smaller figure close to his body, a gesture the unassuming eye would consider romantic. In reality, she was a dead weight in his arms, and Patrick could easily lift her onto one of the back seats like a crash dummy. 

Once in a good mood, he turned on the radio —  One Way or Another by Blondie — was playing, and made his way through the dense traffic of the never-sleeping city. 

It took them an hour to reach the American Gardens Building, and she hadn't moved a muscle the entire time.

Getting past the security guard was also ridiculously easy - the man, already half asleep, didn't bother to keep an eye on Patrick's female acquaintances. 

Now Detective Moore was lying on the white couch, her hair spread out and her dress pulled up, exposing part of her plump thighs. Coat and shoes were completely missing. 

Patrick hadn't bothered to tie her up.

There was something primal about chasing down his victims, trying to run and escape when it was far too late for them. It excited him. However, he had gagged her with one of his least favorite ties (a gift from Sean), not wanting to deal with the verbal expressions of her initial shock. 

'I bet she's a screamer.'  

Sitting across from her in his treasured Barcelona chair, leaning back with his legs elegantly crossed and Detective Moore's notebook in his hand like the most interesting novel, Patrick waited for her to regain consciousness. It seemed to mimic an interview all over again, only this time the roles would be reversed. There was no paperwork on the glass table in front of him, just a cutting knife that had never been used for cooking.

The moment Andrea opened her eyes, she saw nothing but a perfectly white ceiling above her. Then she tried to turn her head, but the sharp pain pierced her temples just as she was about to do so.

"Mmmhm!" The detective whimpered breathlessly, unaware that she was gagged.

Her mind was still foggy and everything was doubled in her eyes, making it hard to understand what the hell was going on, but when a familiar scent of expensive cologne hit her nose, the woman pushed herself up on her elbows and the image she saw almost coaxed her back into unconsciousness.

Bateman, sitting arrogantly in the leather chair with her notebook in his manicured hands, his hazel eyes now as dark as the night sky and his nostrils flaring with the thrill of the rush. 

'What a reckless woman I am!' Andrea cursed herself, but she still didn't try to run away, even when she found out that she wasn't tied up. 'No, that would be too easy and it doesn't work that way.'

And then a wicked idea came into her cloudy mind. Slowly, she opened her legs a little wider, pretending not to notice that her skirt had been hiked up and fighting the growing embarrassment in her chest.

‘I have to do it if I want to stay alive. I have to distract him any way I can!’

Not being a man of self-control, Patrick couldn't help but let his eyes immediately wander between her spread legs. She wasn't wearing any tights under her dress, which was unprofessional, and it gave him a direct view of her panties. 

Patrick gritted his teeth, both disgusted and aroused by the act, and remembered once again his intense desire to teach her a lesson. 

'Of course she is acting slutty now. But if she thinks she can be that good to save her life - maybe I'll let her try.'

In a few smooth moves, he crossed the distance between them, grabbed the back of the couch and leaned closer to her face. She looked even smaller now, trapped in this position, and yet she didn't seem fragile. Her eyes met his own with a certain defiance that was exciting, Patrick had to admit. 

But it also made him even more angry. 

"You think I'm interested in that?" And in a crude gesture, he pressed his hand against the thin fabric of her underwear, his big hand cupping her pussy completely and pushing the dress up past her broad hips.

"I've killed women far more beautiful than you… what should make you any different?” He murmured in her ear, in a tone that couldn't decide whether it was a threat or an invitation…

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and my amazing co-writer @iron-flavored-lipgloss and turn on notifications to know when we update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines #patrick bateman x oc #patrick bateman x fem!oc #slasher x oc

[completely-real-and-normal-human]

Why I, Tumblr User Completely-Real-And-Normal-Human, Am a Monsterfucker: A Non-Exhaustive Manifesto

I’m not even sorry.

First of all: Micheal Distortion, from TMA. Fuck-Hands Mc Mike. Mikey-What-Those-Fingers-Do. He of the gaping corridors, and hopefully gaping holes. What on earth is he doing behind all those closed doors? Or, as the case may be, who is he doing?

the answer is me it’s me he’s fucking me

(Art by CountSlimula on Twitter)

I don’t really think I need to explain myself here. But in case I do, there are two main things I find remarkably attractive about Micheal (that I can adequately articulate): its voice and its hands.

Let’s start with his voice. Micheal’s voice is static-y and warping and always slightly amused. Now THAT is the kind of voice I’d want whispering sweet nothings in my ear. And that’s without even mentioning his laugh — god, can you even IMAGINE what his moans would sound like? Perfection.

Then there’s his hands. You can’t really see it in the first picture, so here’s another one.

(Art by Creativelea2 on Twitter)

He has fingers. I have holes. Enough said, I think.

Next, also a character from TMA, we have one Jared Hopworth. The Bone-Turner. Maker of Menacingly Meaty Murmurs. A man who owns, in all likelihood, a briefcase of carefully selected cocks.

(Art by @neonjawbone)

I’m sure it comes as a surprise to no one that I thoroughly enjoy a good pair of pecs. Jared probably has more than one pair, actually, so that’s several plus points right there. Here, finally, is a man who does body-building right.

As with Micheal, there is also the question of his voice. It’s deep, rumbling, gravelly… the kind of thing I want to hear when he’s busy splitting me in half, you know?

Finally, there’s the multiple limbs. He’d know what to do with all those hands, I’m sure. They’d hardly be lying idle.

Onwards! This time it’s Yaretzi, from Hello From The Hallowoods. Starwolf. Covenant of Tolshetol Who Guards A Thousand Suns. Loving coparent of a large metal son.

(Art by @cotton-glass)

She’s a werewolf, which maybe puts her more into ‘furry’ territory rather than ‘monsterfucker’, but we ball.

Firstly, while Yaretzi is an undeniably sweet person, she’s also fairly terrifying. And ‘women who could kill me’ are fairly high on my list of attractions. Secondly, her voice (again, I know, but most of the media I consume are podcasts so deal, I guess). It’s just the right shade of deep and soft. Amazing.

Also I want her to bite me.

There are more examples, but we’ll be here forever if I try listing them, so I’ll leave it there. I could go into detail about the deeper meaning behind my attraction to these beautiful beasties, but I’m going to see how the masses respond to this first. Besides, this has been in my drafts for entirely too long and I just want to post it at this stage.

(Shoutout to @zombieesc. Thanks for the monsterfucker hype, my friend.)

Edit: I’m a minor, so feel free to rb this post talking about how much you like any of the characters I’ve mentioned, but keep it reasonably PG.

#micheal distortion #micheal shelley #tma #jared hopworth #hfth yaretzi #hfth #monster fucker #here it is my lovelies #enjoy #aubrey says stuff

[euphorajeon]

love (and all of its complications) | kth

— pairing: photography student!tae x reader

— genre: fluff, angst (a bit) | college au

— word count: 3.1k

— warnings: insecurities, self-deprecating thoughts, (most likely) inaccurate use of photography terms, the nickname love, brief mention of min yoonji (haha)

— summary: when you think you're not worth loving, he lists all the reason why you are.

— author's note: this is a request from a friend based on the song best part of me by ed sheeran (ft. yebba)! so its a bit oc-centric. if you're having similar thoughts to oc, i hope tae's words can become a source of comfort for you :) enjoy!

masterlist

The first thing you notice upon waking up from slumber is the weight of your boyfriend’s head on your chest, his fluffy hair tickling your chin. As much as you like having him close like this, the position makes it hard for you to breathe, so you shift your body a little to give your lungs the oxygen they deserve. Your movement triggers that of his as well, his arm tightening around your waist and his leg around your legs, making you sigh in defeat.

A glance at the wall clock tells you that it’s still way too early for him to wake up, so you decide to give him those extra hours of sleep you know he will appreciate later. Your hand settles on his hair, fingers running through the strands once before you angle your head to give him a kiss on the top of his head. He stirs a bit but doesn’t wake up, instead he snuggles closer to your body like you’re his personal body pillow.

When your hand catches on his t-shirt while rubbing his back, the black color of the fabric reminds you that your boyfriend had gone straight to bed last night in the same clothes he had been wearing all night. Any protests you put up fell on deaf ears as he whined for you to get into bed with him, claiming he was too exhausted to wash up. Between his big puppy eyes and pouting lips, you couldn’t find it in you to deny him of your hold, allowing him to pull you onto the mattress and into dreamland.

Last night was the opening night of Taehyung’s photography exhibition, so you understand the state of exhaustion he’s in. You’ve witnessed first-hand how stressed he was preparing for this event, from the initial proposal to choosing the photos to display and arranging them in the exhibition venue according to his vision. It was filled with countless sleepless nights and too many cups of coffee you started to worry about his wellbeing, something you told him often. Despite his reassurance that he would be fine, you still found yourself biting your lip in worry every time he looked even the slightest bit tired.

Last night, he proved to you that all of those sleepless nights and bitter coffees are worth it as he proudly hosted the opening night of his own exhibition that has been his dream for so long. You had watched as the sparks never left his eyes for the entirety of the night, even though he had to be on his feet for hours and talk non-stop to the guests. You watched with admiration in your eyes every time he explained the meaning behind the photos on display, feeling pride swell in your heart when you see that people were as mesmerized as you were listening to him talk about his art.

You had let yourself wander around the exhibition without him, letting him be the star of the show on his own. It was fascinating to see the exhibition in its finished form when you’ve only seen parts of the building process, seeing the bits you recognize and how it came to life with the things added around them. It was also different seeing the photos finally lined up according to the story that Taehyung wants to tell, the message he wants to convey. Through the various colors and techniques, he bares his mind to everyone and hopes that it was enough to be understood.

You’ve always admired Taehyung’s photography skills. The way he captures mundane things and makes them appear extraordinary in his shots never fails to evoke emotions out of you, sometimes even making you believe that the world is as beautiful as it is behind his camera lens. Often you wonder if that’s how he sees the world — through a rose-colored glass, void of the black-colored stains that’s always lurking in the corner.

You found the answer last night, when he was talking to his photography club friends about the general theme of his exhibition. It’s not exactly looking at the world through a rose-colored glass — or lens, in his case — but just to show people than you can find beauty even in the tiniest nook and cranny of places you never thought to be beautiful. You thought it’s an endearing concept, but one of his friends argued that the narrative seems too idealistic in the way it sugarcoats the harsh realities of the world. They had launched into a discussion of this topic with different opinions from each one of Taehyung’s friends, giving their own input as to why this is damaging or healing.

The discussion was intense and at some point even they made you voice your thoughts on the matter as someone who doesn’t see the world through a lens like the rest of them. Your answer, of course, made them groan because it aligns with your boyfriend’s opinion, giving the impression that you were just saying things to support him even though it was your honest thoughts on the topic. Taehyung had given you a huge grin before squeezing you in a side-hug, relaying his gratitude silently. The conversation continued in a good-manered banter, soon after shifting to the techniques used in Taehyung’s photographs.

The words being thrown around sounded so foreign to you, who was only able to recognize the terms composition and exposure. Something about positioning, lighting, coloring, editing.. you tuned them out after a while. Despite so, you didn’t miss the way Taehyung talked animatedly about his craft, responding to each and every query from his friends with enthusiasm. It was clear from the discussion that everyone in the club is really passionate about this, about the things they want to tell through photographs, about the message each of them carries in every frame they capture.

Sometimes you wonder how it feels to be that passionate about something.

You have your own interests and hobbies, of course, ones you even think are your passion in life that you’d continue doing for the rest of your life. You spend weeks, months, years to perfect your own art until you’re confident that you have put out the best results and can proudly present them to the world. Surely, this is your passion, your life calling, you’re meant to do this for as long as you live. For a moment, you truly believed that.

Soon after, reality turns bleak as you come to a realization that your best does not even come close to someone else’s worst. Every corner you turn, there’s always someone with more things to offer; more appeal, more elegance, more eloquence. Your best result, the one you created with all the effort you could muster, paled in comparison to them. Hell, it was annihilated, utterly destroyed without a trace left. You’d watched your dreams crash and burn, taking your confidence with them.

Striped off your art, your passion, you’re left with a gaping hole of what else? What else do you have to offer to the world? What else do you have in you that’s worth showing off? What else can you do to prove your worth? What else can you do if not this?

Those questions play themselves in an endless loop inside your head, plaguing your mind day in, day out. There are times when they’re not as loud, only serving as background noise while you go through your day, but you find there are more times that they are roaring in your ears like thunder prior to a storm. They get worse whenever you see people talking about what they do with so much fervor, the fire in their eyes reflecting in your empty ones. Your fire was long gone even before it was able to be ablaze.

Often times, it makes you wonder whether you’ll ever be good enough without a passion.

“Honey? Sweetheart?”

Your boyfriend’s voice brings you out of your thoughts. It sounds even deeper than normal, indicating that he just woke up. When you look down, though, his eyes are wide open and there’s concern in them, like he can hear the thunder that rumbled in your head moments prior. You hope not. It’s too early for him to be worried.

“Are you okay?” Uh, oh. “I called you like, five times before this. Thought you were still asleep, but you’re awake..” Taehyung turns in your hold, holding himself up using his right arm. The worry in his eyes doesn’t cease, and you hate to be the cause of it.

“I’m fine, Tae, why wouldn’t I be?” You press your lips into a faint smile, hoping he would just chalk it up to you being tired from the event last night. His left hand comes up to your cheek and you lean into the touch, unconsciously releasing a small sigh.

“You had that faraway look that you do whenever you’re thinking about something,” Taehyung says, his gaze analyzing your expression. “And this time, it’s paired with a frown,” he continues, the pad of his thumb lightly brushing over the corner of your lips which you try really hard to keep upturned. “You’re not fine, love.”

Another sigh escapes your lips as you close your eyes, hating the fact that your boyfriend knows you like the back of his hand.

“Yeah, it’s just..” How do you downplay this so he doesn’t get more worried? “..morning woes,” you settle. That should be enough. “Don’t worry about it, Tae.”

Your hand reaches for his head so you can go back to running your fingers through his hair like you were doing before he woke up, but he’s having none of it as he pushes himself to a sitting position, ridding you of his body warmth. “You saying that is the reason why I have to worry,” he counters. “Is it one of my friends? Or the guest? Did anyone make you uncomfortable last night?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” you rush to correct his assumptions. Although it is true that your spiraling thoughts started because of his friends, it’s not for the reason he’s thinking of. “It’s just me thinking too much, Tae, it’s okay,” you try to reassure him once again.

“About what?” Taehyung asks, eyes never leaving yours. You wish he’d turn his gaze somewhere else, because you’re not sure the clouds behind your irises can be hidden for much longer. You’d hate to taint this important moment for him with your clouds, dark and rumbling in your mind.

Apparently you’re silent for too long that he deems you’re back in your head again. “Hey, it’s okay.. you can tell me,” he whispers, thumb stroking your cheek gently. His eyes have gone softer now, no longer staring at you with concern swimming in his orbs. You should be relieved, happy that he’s not worried anymore, but somehow the emotion replacing that worry makes your heart tighten in your chest.

Love.

He’s staring at you with love. Gentle and quiet, like he’s saying it doesn’t matter what you have in your mind, doesn’t matter how dark the clouds are, doesn’t matter how much the storm is raging, he will always find your hand to hold and pull you out into the light. He will always love you, whether your head is filled with a ray of sunshine or a raging storm.

“Do you love me?” You say quietly. It’s almost rethorical, with the way his gaze has your answer even before you voice out the question.

“Yes, of course I love you.” It doesn’t even take a second for him to answer. “Is this what you were thinking about? Whether I love you or not?” Taehyung sounds genuinely surprised, maybe because it never occurred to him to doubt his love for you.

Instead of responding to his question, you put your arms around his shoulders and pull him down for a hug. It’s an uncomfortable position and his arms are bent at an awkward angle, but you don’t care. You need to let this man know that you’ve never doubted his love for you either, only the reason behind it and whether you deserve it or not.

“Love, will you tell me what’s going on?” Taehyung’s voice is muffled against your shoulder. You blink back tears that are threatening to spill out as you hide your face in the crook of his neck.

“Why do you love me, Tae?”

The whispered question makes him pull away from the hug to get a look at your expression. You lost your hiding place and have no choice but to let him see you in this state; glassy, red-rimmed eyes, vulnerable. Taehyung’s eyebrows slope downwards and he looks like he’s something between angry and upset. It occurs to you that the single sentence you let out could have been interpreted in so many different ways, so you rush to explain yourself.

“It’s not that — that I don’t believe that you love me. It’s just..” you take a deep breath and release it in a shaky sigh. “Why are you in love with me? I’m not as pretty as your other friends, I’m not talented, not even that smart. Heck, I quit doing my art because I wasn’t good enough at the thing I claimed to be my passion. I don’t have anything about me to be proud of, to be worthy of being loved. Why are you still with me? You could have anyone else that has so much more to offer than me..”

By the end of your explanation, tears have flown freely down your cheeks. It seems silly to be crying even before noon, but the demons inside your head don’t look at the time when they summon storms. You just wish Taehyung didn’t have to see this. He doesn’t deserve this version of you when he has given you nothing but his best.

“I’m still with you because you make me happy,” Taehyung says. He pulls you up into a sitting position before cupping your cheeks in his huge hands, thumbs brushing away your tears. He doesn’t stop even when they continue flowing out of your eyes.

“I’m still with you because you make me laugh with your one-liners, because you laugh at my jokes. I’m with you because you call my photos beautiful even when I think they’re not. I’m with you because you don’t get mad at me whenever I burn food and instead offer to clean up with me. I’m with you because you push me to be the best version of myself even without realizing it.

“You’re beautiful, talented, and smart, love. Even when you choose not to believe it yourself. You’re courageous, too, for deciding to quit when you felt it was too much for you. Many people might not agree with me, but it takes great courage and strength to be able to quit from something you’ve been doing for so long with so much effort. It’s okay if you don’t have something to be passionate about right now, I will be here for you until you find a new one, or maybe get back to the one you left.”

Taehyung smiles, and your sobs get uglier.

“I love you for all the reasons you think you don’t deserve to be loved for, so you can quit worrying about it, okay?”

You sob loudly and he chuckles, endeared, as he pulls you back into his arms. His hands rub soothingly down your back, letting you cry on his shoulder without any complaints. Pressing his cheek against the top of your head, he releases a relieved sigh with a small smile.

“You know, it’s a wonder as well that you love me,” Taehyung laughs quietly. “I can’t cook, I’m terribly messy, and when I work on my project I ignore you for days. Do you remember the twenty missed calls you left because I fell asleep in the studio when preparing for the exhibition?”

You sniff and chuckle, your voice sounding funny when you talk because of your blocked nose. “That’s because you’re passionate. You just worried me when you didn’t pick up your phone, thought you were dead from exhaustion.” You clear your throat to get rid of the scratchiness of your voice. “Also I don’t mind that you can’t cook, as long as you stay updated on delivery places so we have something different to eat every day.”

“You don’t mind that I can’t cook because you can’t cook either, love.”

“Yeah, that too.”

Taehyung lets out another chuckle as he squeezes your form, peppering your head with kisses. You both stay like that for a while, enjoying each other’s body warmth. It allows you to settle the storm inside your head, now only a pitter-patter against the window in your mind. Soon, it’ll be filled with sunshine again. You believe it will.

“Can I ask you about something?” Taehyung says after minute of being silent. You hum your affirmation, allowing him to continue. “What triggered you? To think about all of that this early in the morning?”

“It’s almost eleven, Tae, not early at all,” you muse, ignoring the first part of his question. You let out a sigh when he gives no response to your joke. “Just.. meeting your friends last night. They’re fine, I swear! But the way you guys were talking about the exhibition, about photography in general.. it made me realize how passionate you all are and made me wonder why I can’t be that passionate towards something as well. Yeah, there you go.”

“Oh, love..” Taehyung sighs.

“Also, your friends are really pretty and talented, I couldn’t help but feel insecure, you know?” You add, tone light and playful to let your boyfriend know that you’re okay now. Even if there’s some truth to your words. “Who’s the one who has dark blue hair? I saw the shot she showed you on her phone, it was really beautiful and stuck with me the most.”

“Oh, that’s Min Yoonji. If you remember Yoongi from the club last year, she’s his twin. Yoongi couldn’t come last night so he sent her in his stead,” Taehyung explains. “You don’t have to be insecure, though. Yoonji might be pretty and talented, but she’s not you.”

You snort out a shy laugh. “Alright, I get it. Ease up on the flirting, will you?”

“Hey, I’m serious!” He laughs and it’s so contagious you find yourself laughing out loud as well. “Really, though, love. Okay?”

“Hmm,” you respond. Then, “I love you, Tae.”

“I love you too,” he replies. “Now can we get breakfast? Brunch? I’m starving.”

And as you laugh again, you think you’ll be fine. You think the storms will calm down into a drizzle, and the drizzle will soon let up to allow a ray of sunshine to pass through the clouds. There might even be a rainbow adorning the sky of your mind, and it will look picture-perfect just like how Taehyung captures the world in his lens.

You’ll be fine.

— a/n: thanks for reading! tell me your thoughts here :)

#bts #taehyung #kim taehyung #bts taehyung #bts v #fanfic #fic #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts au #bts college au #taehyung college au #taehyung drabble #taehyung oneshot #taehyung au #taehyung scenarios #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you

[ladylooch]

Loving & Leaving- Part 4

Visit the series page here.

A/N: Now, we are seeing a shift for our little “non- lovers”. And that’s all I’m gonna say about that 😘 Thank you so much for your love and support on this one. It’s been dreamy and exciting!

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Swearing, lots of vomit talk, pregnancy, angst.

The month of December is hell on earth for event planners. Between your own personal celebrations leading up to the holidays and your client's, you never have a moment to yourself. I’ve seen the inside of my house for a maximum of two hours since I returned back from America. The other times I’ve been there its falling into a pile of exhaustion on my bed before my alarm goes off to do it all over again. My work weeks have transitioned into 70+ hours. At least I know there is light at the end of this tunnel when I return to New Jersey with my parents on Tuesday.

Then, I’ll be able to spend time with them and… hopefully Timo, depending on if I can slip away or not. Communication between the two of us has been limited the last two weeks. I’ve responded to his texts and we have shared a few brief phone calls. At least he’s understanding and supportive. It helps that his season is ramping up and requires a majority of his focus.

We send pictures and TikTok’s, but I haven’t responded to those in five days. I’ve missed every one of his FaceTime calls this week too. Despite my admitted history, I am honestly not avoiding him. The grind of the holiday season is simply catching up with me. I find myself falling asleep the moment I sit down on my couch with a glass of wine. When I’m awake, I feel so overwhelmed that even keeping up with my friends and family here is disappearing from my never ending list. I’m overwhelmed, nearing burn out and honestly, sick. So sick. The last three days, my body has seemingly rejecting all this stress with a nausea I can’t seem to shake.

Which brings me to where I am now, puking, knees quivering on the tiled bathroom floor of an event center for the third time in three days. It’s my last event before Christmas and I’ve spent more time in the bathroom tonight than anywhere else. This is a different kind of sick. It feels like my body is purging everything I put into it before I can get any sort of benefit from it. All I ate was a piece of bread, fast, while rushing back from a dessert emergency in the kitchen. I barely got the last bite down before I was sprinting back to the bathroom.

“What is wrong with me?” I moan, laying the side of my head against the stall. I move to wipe the back of my hand across my mouth. I rest my forearm into my breast and groan at the tenderness. Awareness begins to seep into my thoughts. “No. This is not happening.” I whisper to the empty bathroom.

The door swings open and I grimace, not wanting to have any of the guests of my high-end client hear me. I thought I would have some time alone with the speaking part of the program under way.

“Em, are you okay?” Rhea, my assistant and long-time friend, asks.

“Um.” I pause, pressing the back of my hand furthering into my wet lips. My stomach lurches and I vomit again. I can hear Rhea sigh outside of the stall.

“This isn’t like you.” She says what we are both thinking. I’m rarely sick. This is new. “I’ll be back.” She calls before leaving the bathroom. I sit on my knees, eyes screwed shut, spitting into the toilet. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, seeing Timo’s FaceTime call. I can’t answer that right now. Not when I think… I won’t let myself even finish the thought.

Rhea returns, kicking a pink, pregnancy test box under the stall. The woman on the front grins joyfully. I can’t say I feel the same. I consider denying that I need one of these, but Rhea and I spoke this morning about how weird my cycle has been. I had my period a few weeks ago, but it was almost non-existent. I chalked it up to stress, except… now I’m sick.

“How do you just have one of these?” I mumble, hating that we are both on the same page. 

“At some point, these things are like strips of gum in your purse.” 

We fall quiet.

“This is a low moment for me.” I mutter, ripping the box open. “Taking a… test at a client event is so embarrassing.” I work my way to sitting on the toilet. 

“You need to be able to eliminate this.” She responds, leaning against the bathroom door. I scowl, hearing my phone vibrate against the toilet paper dispenser. I know that’s him again. So does Rhea. He has the same routine. Calls three times and leaves a message on the third. “Interesting timing. At least you'll know who’s baby it is.” I glare at the stall door as I snap the cap of the test back on.

“Can I have a minute here?” Guilt squeezes my throat at how unfriendly my tone sounds. My whole world seems up in the air right now and I just need her to stop talking. 

But the absence of Rhea’s voice makes my phone vibrating louder until it feels like it’s rattling between my ears. A ping echos in the bathroom signaling a voicemail. I grab my phone, listening to his message.

“Hey Em… uh, it’s me again. Look, I know you’re busy but I’m going to be honest this feels like you’re kinda ignoring me. Did I do something? Or… *heavy sigh* I don’t know. Can you just call me? I miss you. We play tonight, but call me.. I’ll pick up. Just… I want to know you’re okay. Bye.”

My bottom lip trembles at the sound of his voice. No. I am not okay, sitting on the floor of this bathroom, trying not to puke again at the reality of the test in my hand. Worried tears build as I sense the two minutes pass. I know the test is ready, can feel it in my shaking hands and the passing of another song from the band beyond this room.

I move my fingers and die at the distinct plus sign that greets me.

“Fuck.” I cry, throwing the test down on the floor. It bounces underneath to the next stall. My abdomen shakes with sobs and terror as I clasp my hand over my mouth. “Fuck.” I say into my palm again, quieter, listening to the classical strings float into the bathroom from the event space. The soft music is an ironic soundtrack to my whole world crashing down on top of me. I look up at the ceiling, tears crawling from the corners of my eyes. They drip into my ears as I shake against the cold floor.

What am I going to do?

How am I going to tell Timo?

A few days later, after arriving in New Jersey for Christmas, I’ve come to the, admittedly, irrational decision that maybe I just won’t. It’s been an exhausting few days that’s accompanied more nausea and tons of smell aversions. One of them is eggs which Nico is innocently frying up for breakfast.

“You want some?” He asks me as he cracks three eggs for himself.

“No.” I can barely respond without gagging.

Our parents went off on their own for a walk around the city and to grab a cup of their favorite coffee. Usually, I would join them, but my stomach has been so touch and go this morning that I didn’t think I could. Nico continues to move the eggs around and they get more fragrant. I try to switch breathing through my mouth, but the smell seems to coat my tongue. My stomach squeezes and I rush from the kitchen with my hand clasped over my mouth. Nico watches my back with confusion. I return to the kitchen wordlessly when I am done, grabbing a glass of water. Nico stares, eyebrows cocked in question.

“Not sure that motion sickness lasts for days, Em. Maybe you need to see a doctor. I can ask one of the team doctors if they can come over?” I’ve already seen a doctor to confirm my pregnancy. And the thought of getting a team official involved has my throat tightening. I come back to the counter, slowly sitting down and rubbing at the tense muscles in my neck. My gaze drifts to the dining room table, grimacing at the reminder it’s one of the places we could have conceived this baby.

I was so stupid to start us down this road. Yes, I’m on the pill. Yes, I take it regularly. No, I have no idea how this happened. When I brought it up to my doctor, she shrugged, saying no birth control options are completely guaranteed. Then she handed me the sonogram I didn’t ask for, that’s now tucked in my suitcase, buried beneath all my clothes.

I watch Nico scrape his eggs onto a plate, then sprinkle more salt and pepper onto the fluffy peaks. He’s right here in front of me, but it feels like we are a thousands of miles apart. Loneliness grips my heart, making my eyes wet as Nico comes to sit by me. The heaviness of being the only person who knows weighs on me. But, here, in his kitchen, I can feel my little brother’s safety being stable enough to take some of that weight from me. I’m going to tell him, I decide as he shuffles his eggs around, spearing a few onto his fork.

“It’s not motion sickness. I’m pregnant.” I tell Nico, who pauses with his eggs at his open mouth. The egg flies off when he exhales sharply. I bite my tongue against the vomit pressing into my esophagus.

“What?” 

“And it’s Timo’s.” I didn’t intend to tell him, but it flew out before I could stop it.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.” Surprise absorbs my face now. “I know you two fuck around.” He motions at me with his fork. “Have for years. You two are awful at hiding your obsession with each other.” My mouth is slightly slack as he stabs the egg back on his fork. He stuffs it into his mouth and continues while he chews. “Never understood why you wouldn’t go all in.”

“Because I have a life in Switzerland.”

“Yeah, that’s gone now.” He swipes the air in front of me with his fork again, gesturing to the pregnancy. I narrow my eyes at his bluntness and obvious lack of empathy. “What did Timo say when you told him?” I am silent. He brings his brown eyes back to mine, squinting. “You did tell him, right?” More silence “Emma.” He snaps. 

“I just found out.” I defend myself. “Not that I really owe you an explanation.”

“Get dressed.” Nico says, pointing down the hall to my room. “You’re going to tell him now.”

“No, I am not.”

“Yes, you are. It should have been your first stop when you got here.”

“I can’t just show up at his-”

“Are you keeping his baby?” He cuts me off. A heavy inhale pulls my lips apart.

“Yes.” I say without question. It never crossed my mind to not go through with this.

“Then get downstairs.” His voice is final, like there is no reason to continue to argue further with him.

“When did you stop being my protector?” I grumble while rising to leave the counter. 

“Who says I stopped?” His stare is pointed. “Go.” His tone has softened at the obvious tears in my eyes. “I wouldn’t send you if I didn’t think it would be okay.”

I try to remember those words as I stare at Timo’s apartment door seven minutes later. I thought about texting him, but then there would be so much small talk and I can’t do that right now. I contemplate bailing, but my brother comes to mind, knowing he’s going to expect a report from the conversation when I return.

“Damn you, Nico.” I mutter as I raise my hand to knock.

I wait for a minute, maybe two, gripping the sleeves of my sweatshirt in my hands. No sound comes from the other side of the door. I think I might get off easy. I even turn to head back towards the elevator. Then the sound of the lock flipping halts me. My stomach drops out of my body, hitting the floor and flopping around in unease.

“Hey.” Timo is breathless as he opens the door. He is wearing a pair of jeans, waistband of his Calvin Klein underwear taut against his abdomen. He stands shirtless in the entry way, rubbing a towel over his hair. The brown strands flop against his forehead as he looks expectantly at me. He looks so sexy, warm and welcoming, with a gentle familiarity. “Didn’t realize you were in Jersey.” He becomes obviously tiffed, understandable since I dropped off the face of the planet… again.

“Yeah.” My voice is breaking, so I clear my throat. “I’ve been here for a couple of days.” I say, fingers twisting the cotton tighter in my palms.

“Ah.” His voice goes flat and he looks away in annoyance. “So we are back to you ignoring me?” I shake my head, dropping my eyes to the floor. I feel queasy and start shaking. I hope he can’t tell.

“Can I come in?” He pauses, dropping the towel down to his side, like he might not let me. But him and I both know that’s now how it goes with us. The smell of his cologne is strong with my heightened senses and I cough in discomfort as I walk past him.

“I’m going to get a shirt.” He disappears down the hall, coming back in a black t-shirt that hugs his body. He runs his fingers through his wet hair while looking at me. “I don’t have long. I’m… meeting a friend.” I stare at him, wondering if it’s a friend of the female variety. I really don’t have a right to ask, so I don’t. My gaze drops to the couch. “It’s just Kevin, Em. The Kings are playing the Islanders.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the island of his kitchen well across the room from me. His biceps bulge against the fabric as he studies me. “You don’t look like you came here for small talk. What’s up?”

“I’m pregnant.” It’s abrupt. I know. Almost too fast for him to catch in real time, but I can’t hold it in anymore. The words are too full and tumble from my mouth in a rush. My heart shutters with each anxious beat. I bravely lift my eyes back to him.

Timo seemingly glitches. He is confused, not quite understanding, like he wants to ask me to repeat what I said. Then, I watch as the registration gradually fills his body. He begins to stand taller, eyebrows dashing up his forehead. When it clicks, his blue eyes widen in alarm.

“Mine?” He asks quietly. I try not to flinch at the question, realizing he will, logically, want a paternity test. He has assets and money and a career to protect. Funny, I thought being pregnant without a boyfriend was the most shameful thing I’ve done in my life. I think that experience is going to top it. Eventually, I nod in response as tears fill my eyes. He pushes out a loaded breath that fills my chest with discomfort. I look briefly back to his face, seeing a million emotions dash across his features, none of them actually registering.

I can’t watch him process anymore. I begin to soothe myself with internal thoughts. It doesn’t really matter what he wants from this. I’ve already made my decision. I’m only here because Nico forced me. I cross my arms over my tender chest, walking towards the windows to see the city skyline. Tears distort the buildings together. I’m collapsing under so many different emotions. It’s like I’m seeing that plus sign all over again.

A drop slides from my left eye, gradually dragging down my cheek. I reach my hand up, flicking it away. My teeth dig into my trembling lip as I sniffle. Timo’s hand comes along my upper back, wrapping around my neck and gliding me into his body.  His other hand wraps around my waist as he buries his face into my cheek. I enclose my arms around him, shoving my face into his chest and releasing my suffocating sobs into his shirt.

“I’m freaking out.” I squeak.

“I know. It’s going to be okay.” Even as his voice shakes, he is so, so gentle with me. His hands press me into his body like he wants to absorb and shield me. “What do you want to do?” He whispers into my hair. “It’s your choice.”

“I’m gonna do this… I’m keeping the baby. ” I tell him. I can feel his body deflate beneath me. For a moment, I don’t know why, but then he presses his face deeper into my hair, kissing my scalp with feathery kisses meant to soothe.

“Okay. I’m happy to hear that.”

I nod, glad that he isn’t pressuring me any which way. I don’t think I could handle his anger with me for wanting to see this through.

“Em, I’m here. You don’t have to do this alone.” I begin to tremble in his arms. He’s not even questioning further about this being ours. “Does Nico know?”

“Yeah. About everything. He is why I am here.” 

“You weren’t going to tell me?” He stiffens, pain deepens his voice which makes me feel like shit.

“I.. well yeah, but maybe when we ran into each other in July and I was 9 months pregnant.” I pull back, tilting my chin to see his face. It’s calm and measured, which helps soothe some of the turmoil in me. He reaches up for my cheeks, stroking his thumbs to collect my tears.

“July?”

“Yeah, I confirmed everything at the doctor on Monday. I’m due July 26th.”

“Off-season.” He murmurs with appreciation. “Most NHL couples plan for years to get a July birthday.” I look away with a scrunched nose at the word couple, causing a heavy sigh to drop his shoulders. “Can we agree right now that you’re going to stop fighting the way you feel about us? Please. For our kid?” He says it so casually, like he’s used to and accepted the idea of our kid. My heart grows in my chest for him.

“Becoming a mom isn’t the only thing I’m terrified of.” I confess.

“Baby, I’ve promised you since day one that I would take care of you. I’m not going to let anything hurt you, including me.” He is so sure as he speaks to me. I drop my forehead back to his chest.

“Do you really want this?” I whisper to him, even as he wraps me tighter into his arms, tears dashing down my cheeks again. “You don’t have to do this.” I pull back, reaching up to hold his face in my hands. My thumbs rippling his skin with their pressure.

“You’re all I’ve wanted for years.” He presses our lips together. I cry into his mouth, feeling overwhelmed with everything that has and will happen between us. I feel like I don’t deserve this. Not his sweetness or his understanding at our situation.

“I’m sorry.” I bubble out between sobs. He runs his hand up my back to my head, encouraging my forehead to rest against his shoulder as he rocks us gently. There’s a whole laundry list I could apologize for, but I start with the big one. “I shouldn’t have taken the condom away from you. This is all my fault.”

“Weird, I thought I was the one who came inside of you… three times.” He chuckles at the memory.

“I encouraged it.”

“We both did.” He takes his share of the blame easily from me. 

“I didn’t mean for this to happen.” I need him to know that.

“I know, Emma. You’ve been trying to get out of loving me for years. You would never do this on purpose.” I stare at him with blurred vision, blinking so the tears fall down my cheeks. Now I can see him clearly, looking at me like he might finally get the chance to love me for the rest of our lives. I swallow hard, then let myself surrender to him for good.

“I’ve loved you for a really long time, T.” I hum, eyes brightening in earnest with my confession.

He smiles because unlike me, he already knew that.

#TM: Loving & Leaving #Timo Meier #Timo Meier smut #Timo Meier series #New Jersey devils #my writing #hockey fan fiction #hockey writing #NHL writing

[littleaipoms-rebagel-carpentry]

screw it!

Wish Dragon is one of my favorite movies. this very saccharine/sentimental goofy animated movie. Non-exhaustive list incoming.

I love:

it's sense of humor. (the villain that refuses to take his hands out of his pockets KILLS ME its such a good visual gag)

the animation. this one is deceptive because the art style is fairly simple and flat, BUT the way it is animated and moves is delightful. Long is an excellent example of this

the protagonist's severe head-in-the-clouds mentality. he is detached from reality and prioritizes what's in his heart over everything else. it's both really relatable and charming.

the way it avoids leaning into romance and focuses on friendship instead. it gives weight to how powerful and important meaningful friendships and connections are at their core, despite society usually reserving that importance only to romantic connections.

the way that it's portrayed that societal pressures & expectations are what interferes with people connecting with each other naturally. the pressure to perform well, study hard, make money, be seen as respectable. even the expectation that the protagonist is only after romantic love/wants to date the girl ends up butting heads with what he actually wants

how Long's friendship with Din is as impactful as Lina's by the movie's end. it's a well-developed layer to the movie.

how the story centers around growing up after high school. stories with hs-ers are overdone to death and as a young adult this detail made it all the more relatable.

how my first watching of the movie made me cry multiple times. both from the super cute+sweet opening, and the more dramatic emotional beats

how the movie somehow made a surprisingly painless and actually good liar-reveal.

the "endless sky" song is so sweet. credits song too.

how unapologetically whimsical and silly and warmhearted the whole thing is. it feels genuine at its core.

#wish dragon #i wanted this out of my system so i'm gonna shout into the void Real Quick #i watched it for i think the.. 4th time(?) yesterday. comfort movie..... #when i 1st saw it i thought 'wow okay that immediately just became one of my favorite movies' and it seems that thought aged well #postmadders

[slexenskee]

Re: wtf is going on with Gojo’s Six Eyes/A list of Gojo’s ridiculous powers

Tbh I had to write this up because I too have trouble keeping up with this man’s massively over-powered abilities lol. Y’all also I’m lowkey shook how many of you haven’t watched jjk and only know the shitposting dumpster fire that is Ru-kun 🤣 amazing

Six Eyes: Okay so in JJK the Six Eyes can see cursed energy in, like, super granular detail, up to great distances, and Gojo can tell a lot about a person from that alone. It’s also the reason he has like, infinite cursed energy, because it can use all the info to regulate his cursed energy to maximum efficiency so his output is almost zero. He’s also impossible to sneak up on (by everyone but Toji lol) because of it, and has some kind of eidetic visual memory? I imagine he just has an eidetic memory to begin with though haha. I honestly just kinda assume it’s like the Byakugan without the weird seeing right through people. In the BNHA verse this basically just means he can ‘see’ people’s quirks all around him, in a radius thats probably like 25m at rest (like has his blindfold on and isn’t actively using it) and up to 1km (.5 miles) in like ‘battle mode’, he’s paying attention doesn’t have a blindfold on etc, and like 5k+ in the ‘oh shit I’ve lost my kid’ panic mode. So from like an AoE standpoint it’s okay, BNHA has heroes with quirks that have a better radius than that, but the level of detail it has is pretty god-tier, like if he’s in a crowd of hundreds of people he can still pinpoint every single quirk and what it is. 

In this universe the Six Eyes can see Plus Alpha Energy, aka Quirk Energy. Gojo can see what a person’s quirk is and more or less how it works. As of the most recent JJK chapters, it was also revealed that the Six Eyes can see souls or something like it? It’s also unclear how much they see beyond just ‘energy’ as Gojo regularly walks around with a blindfold on and doesn’t bump into shit, and inanimate objects don’t have Cursed Energy in JJK canon, so idk how he does that if the Six Eyes only see Cursed Energy. 

They also tire him out to some extent, and can’t be ‘turned off’ like the Sharingan/Byakugan, which is why he normally covers them with a blindfold, sunglasses, or bandages as he did for whatever reason in JJK 0. I headcanon that it’s not debilitating for him to go a long time with them uncovered by any stretch, but it does exhaust him. And since he doesn’t like using his Reverse-Cursed Technique without reason, he’d rather just keep them covered. 

It’s also never stated why tf they’re called the Six Eyes. Why Six??? Whatever there’s a lot that is unexplained in JJK we just gotta roll with it. 

THEY ARE ALSO BEAUTIFUL??? What a vibe Akutami-sensei so glad we’re done with the whole creepy byakugan shit ✨

Limitless Techniques (blue, red, hollow purple): They work the exact same as they do in JJK, manipulating space using the concept of infinity, etc etc. The only real difference is that people can see them in BNHA even if they don’t have cursed energy (I think in JJK technically non-shamans can’t see cursed energy at all?) For readers who haven’t watched JJK, Limitless acts on the atomic level and more or less works like gravity. There’s Blue, which attracts, and Red, which repels. Hollow Purple is when Gojo combines positive infinity and negative infinity and makes a spatial anomaly in a very epic and unsubtle way. We’ve only ever seen Gojo use it as a beam of pure destruction, so we don’t really know much about its actual limitations. Since it’s more or less voiding reality though, I imagine it’s unstoppable and there’s just no way to block it, you either get out of the way or don’t exist anymore lol. In my fic, it’s main limitation is that it’s on the slower time (long activation) isn’t very precise and can’t be stopped once he starts it. 

Infinity: Again, exact same as in JJK. Gojo’s mastery of it + his Six Eyes + his reverse-cursed energy technique means he never has to turn it off ever. He has an impenetrable forcefield around him that theoretically can be activated 24/7. Is it good for him to have it on that long? Probably not because he has to use his reverse-cursed technique to constantly ‘refresh’ his brain and I am of the opinion there is nothing more curative in life than good sleep lol. What does Infinity keep out? Literally everything. Every. Fucking. Thing. Rewatching JJK ep8 is insane this thing even stops sound waves. At any rate in this fic it again stops everything, even quirk energy (or rather, the plus alpha energy waves emitted by quirk energy)  

^ Gojo being op asf in EP 8 stopping Jogo’s attack and his soundwave-attack bug things

Infinity is also automatic. JJK S2 ends with Gojo perfecting Infinity to the point it works without conscious thought on his part, and literally filters ‘dangerous’ things out by calculating their speed/matter/velocity. He can reconfigure what can/can’t pass through his barrier basically instantaneously, and as of JJK S2 was figuring out how to go even further and filter out things at the atomic level,  like parsing out certain molecular structures that are poisonous. Infinity in a nutshell runs like a computer program, or more specifically an if/then statement, and Gojo can program it however he likes. 

An explanation of how Infinity interacts with Quirks/what quirks work on Gojo vs. what quirks don’t can be found here 

Domain Expansion (Infinite Void): Forgot to include this one on the first go around but adding it since he does use this technique in this fic at least once. Domain Expansion in JJK is the ‘pinnacle of Jujutsu Sorcerery’ and in essence it envelops the user and nearby people in a certain radius (not sure what it is exactly but I’m assuming you have to at least see the person to be able to drag them into your domain) into a ‘domain’ controlled by the user. It’s the most OP of all cursed techniques and Gojo isn’t the only sorcerer who can use it, although his is like the most lethal of everyone’s. His is called Infinite Void and its this existential crazy ass world where all the information of the entire universe floods his opponent and basically renders them inert because its too much information for any mortal brain to process. 

Aaaaand the only way to combat it is to lay out an opposing domain, and since no one can do that in bnha it’s unbeatable lol. Gojo doesn’t use it often because it tires him out and it’s also just not useful unless he’s trying to render someone brain dead or other very specific occasions. 

Reverse-Cursed Technique: Using reverse-cursed energy to heal. Idk how this works it confuses me to this day, all I know is that it can heal crazy shit and Gojo used it on himself to bring himself back from the brink of death: spoiler alert, like knifed in the brain kind of ‘brink of death’. So even if someone ever manages to get past Infinity, they’d have to blow him up/cut off his head to have him stay dead lol. As of canon, he hasn’t ever used it on anyone else other than himself - apparently that’s harder to do than self-healing? 

Quirk - Blue Flames: His actual ‘quirk’ that he was born with as Todoroki Touya are his flames, and he basically never uses them on their own in this story. This is the exact same quirk as the OG Dabi, it just doesn’t hurt him because he can use Infinity to create a barrier between himself and his own flames, since I don’t believe they’re ‘emitted’ from inside his body. While he may no longer injure himself using his flames, they still tire him out way more than his cursed techniques (where he has his Six Eyes to precisely ration how much he uses to a negligible amount) just like over-using a quirk would any other quirk-user. 

Quirk + Cursed Energy - Cremation: This is a combo of using his quirk and his cursed techniques. He was already god level from his cursed energy, but cremation makes him like a double god or something 🤣 stupidly overpowered. Insta-death shit. He emits flames using his quirk, draws an imaginary barrier of ‘Infinity’ around a defined perimeter, and uses the pressure of his Limitless Blue (attraction) to condense the flames in that space into, like, supernova levels almost instantaneously. Like this is not fire anymore, this is legit plasma. Basically he’s using heat and pressure to cause nuclear fusion on the atomic level. It seemed very fitting, since his cursed techniques are all atomic based. It achieves the same end state as Hollow Purple using different methods. 

Pros - it doesn’t leave a trail of destruction like Hollow Purple; Gojo can be very granular on what area is effected by the technique; its much faster than Hollow Purple, being almost instantaneous. 

Cons - not as flashy (which would totally be a con for Gojo lol); leaves no trace behind; tires him out since it requires him to use his quirk, which is not refreshed by his reverse-cursed technique or regulated by his Six Eyes. 

Teleportation: had to come back to add this one too lol. This is still pretty unexplained in JJK, so I’m making it up. Mine is based on 2 things - time and proximity. Time as in - the last time Gojo was at the point he wants to teleport to (an hour ago, yesterday, two weeks ago, etc.). Proximity as in - how close the two points he’s traveling to are. To me, Teleportation and Hollow Purple are his two cursed techniques that require the most energy, but teleportation’s energy expenditure depends on the two factors I mentioned above. Like Gojo warping him AND Hawks back to his hotel in Tokyo from Palawan? That would put a noticeable dip in his reserves, even with his Six Eyes. Because it’s a long-ish distance, because it had been at least a few days since he’d last been to his hotel, and the real kicker - because he was teleporting another person, which I imagine to be 100x more taxing than teleporting himself. But him teleporting around the forest in the training camp? That’s nothing to him because the distance was so close. (Although him teleporting Izuku and Kota back to the camp cost him more in energy than erasing Muscular from existence LOL) In my fic he doesn’t need to know the exact destination of where he’s teleporting if he has a ‘lock’ on someone’s quirk and knows their exact GPS coordinates - i.e., how he found Yui. 

Also unrelated to gojo’s powers I bought the Mappa animation keyframe book for JJK and omggg look at it its stunning!! also Gojo 10/10 confirmed wears lipgloss 🤣 Mappa has it outlined and everything!! 

#fic may death never stop you #mdnsy FAQ

[tiredrobin]

referring to my last post im too lazy to like. explain the premise in detail so the basic idea is danny and damian twins thing, danielle/dani clone is the same age as danny, she has his memories but not all of them and jumbled and fragmented and messy and it fucks with her a lot. and danny also. now theyre triplets in the way where damian has obviously no memories of dani but she remembers him and its SO MESSY and emotionally difficult for all of them because dani is 100% danny's sister but not damian's. heres a non-specific ficlet thing i tamped out because this au is stuck in my fucking head but i dont know enough to write it because i dont care abt dc stuff. thanks for understanding

also. theyre literally all transgender. because i said so. this is a legal requirement for this au. vlad switched the chromosomes to make a more stable clone but dani was like "...no, im a girl actually". danny and dani joke about switching bodies all the time. damian and danny didn't know they were trans until after they separated, damian still doesnt know danny is because he thinks danny is dead, danny does know Now because damians a wayne and is in the news and danny recognized him evn tho no one but damian's family knows hes transmasc. also danny is transmasc in the agender kind of way. nothing can fucking stop me

vague context: sometimes dani quizzes danny on his/sorta-their past, bcuz her memories are so weird and jumbled and it helps to hear the truth evn when she cant actually remember it.

cw: brief mention of an adult being creepy towards children

-

"Okay," Dani says, and Danny pretends he isn't fervently praying she'll shut up.

"Okay," he echoes after a long moment, prompting. Somehow, the wariness doesn't leak into his voice.

"Third coach tried to kill us—you," she says.

'Third coach' means Danny and Damian's third trainer. Dani uses words pretty strangely, sometimes. Her language has a habit of slipping into something more rudimentary, simplified, like she's a toddler.

She's a year and seven months old. Her grasp on language is, in Danny's personal opinion, remarkable.

"That happened, yes," Danny says when he realizes he'd been quiet too long. He's starting to drag. These conversations are exhausting in a way he can never articulate, not even to Dani, but there'd be no reason to because he knows she gets it. From the way she's listing to her side in the air, the imbalance fucking with her physics enough that she's starting to drift very subtly to the left, she's worn thin.

"… Why?" she asks after a long pause. "He seemed nice."

Danny focuses in on the thrum of her core. It's in near-perfect resonance with his own, which used to be so deeply disturbing it made his skin crawl but now feels soothing. It's a balm on his frayed nerves during the bad days; a reminder that, though he's lost one sibling, he has another.

"He wasn't," Danny murmurs. Third trainer smiled a lot—that might be what Dani is remembering—but he had wandering hands and a creepy way of looking at him and Damian. He taught them about pinching nerves. His fingers always lingered.

"Oh," says Dani. She rights her tilt, though she's still drifting. Danny's brain does a weird thing, a math sort of thing, that calculates the angle of her drift, the current speed, the projected acceleration. If she keeps going, she'll bump into the wall in three minutes, twenty-seven seconds.

(His brain does weird things like that, sometimes. Frostbite says it's a result of ectoplasm mixing with living neural pathways. The ectoplasm appears to be acting as a stimulant of sorts, or maybe a steroid. A stimulant-steroid. (…Stimuloid?) He hadn't been able to follow the explanation very well at the time, due to the fact that his brain was doing the opposite of what it's doing now. Sometimes he thinks so fast it feels like his thoughts are teleporting; sometimes his head is so foggy he can barely process what's right in front of him. It's super great. Super.)

"… Oh," Dani says again, softer. Then, in an abrupt subject change, "Did you really almost push Tucker off some stairs?"

"You" this time. The way she selects it—"us", "me", "you"—it says a lot about how the memory feels to her. She'd been raised an assassin; she barely knows Tucker, Danny's oldest friend. She hardly recognizes dad; she wants to cling to Sam. Sometimes it's him, sometimes it's her, sometimes it's a weird third thing. Or something. She'd phrased it in a way that made him laugh and forget most of it, when he'd asked, and now he regrets that.

"I did, yeah," he huffs a laugh. "He stole—"

"Our truck!" Our. "Yeah, okay, I remember that."

"It wasn't a truck."

"No? It—ohhh, it was the, um. The model train. The one you built! That Tucker's dad gave you."

He nods. "Yeah. I was worried he'd break it."

"And pushing him down the stairs wouldn't?"

"Assassin training."

"Sure."

One of her eyes is a little crinkled. She might be getting a headache, because that's the face Danny makes when he's getting a headache. (It's the face Damian made when he got one, too.) (Stop comparing them.) "You should get some rest," Danny tries.

"I'll get nightmares."

Her nightmares are weird. She's talked about them enough for Danny to feel familiar with them, even though his are nothing like her's. She'd tried sharing one with him, once, and it'd hurt his head for days after.

"I'm gonna get nightmares too, now," he points out. She winces. Danny realizes too late that might have sounded more accusatory than intended. He wanted her to stop asking questions, yeah, but not at the cost of herself. He's the reason she exists now; he's the reason why her head is so stuffed full of things that don't make sense, memories and daydreams and terrors both real and imagined haunting every step she takes. Even if he isn't the one that made her, hadn't ever wanted her—even if that, she's his responsibility.

"It goes both ways, idiot," she says.

She's not reading his mind, but. It's like she is. She can feel his core like it's his thoughts, and that's near enough. "I'm the older brother," he says, intentionally putting something a little haughty in his voice, a tone he hasn't carried since he was, like, eight or something. The effect is ruined a bit as he lays down, angled so he can still watch her drift towards the wall. "You're my responsibility. That's how it goes."

She rolls her eyes. "What if I wanna be the older brother?"

"Can't. You're the youngest, out of the three of us."

Dani sort of… pauses.

Danny does, too. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. Damian is… "gone" isn't the right word, because he's not dead. Not like Danny thought he was for a… for a while. But he's off limits in a way Danny can't access. He hasn't referred to Damian as his brother since the first time Dani started asking questions, and she'd been careful to avoid doing so herself. Which would seem considerate, if Danny didn't know she avoided it because the whole thing just feels too big and too messy to look at in the eyes.

And here Danny's gone, shoving his foot in his mouth. The three of us. There isn't three; Damian has to think Danny's dead. Has to have mourned him. If Damian knew…

It's so scary to think about.

And—there's Dani, now. Not a replacement—nothing could replace Damian—but Damian would feel that she is. Probably.

"What a mess," Dani says.

Had she thought the same things? Maybe. No way to tell without asking, and Danny's too tired to ask. "Yeah."

She touches down onto the ground. On silent feet, she checks the locks on Danny's door, and then she pads over to the bed and nudges him until he gives her enough space to lay down next to him. She's not going to sleep here, and Danny won't be able to sleep with her there (it reminds them both of sharing a bed with Damian), but she likes to do this sometimes and Danny likes it when she does.

Neither of them say anything else. Danny won't be able to fall asleep, but he manages to start a very light doze. Dani's core thrums contentment and his echoes it. She's saying I love you I love you I love you and he's singing it back, and when her pinkie hooks into his—like Damian, like Damian, stop comparing them but it's so much like Damian—Danny curls his to lock it in place.

"I might to spy on him," she murmurs after an unknown amount of time.

Danny cracks open an eye. "You won't."

"I want to," she amends, "But… I won't." I'm scared, she doesn't say, but Danny can hear it anyway.

"The tabloids do it enough for us," Danny points out.

She snorts. "Yeah, sure. 'Damian Wayne: Vegetarian or secret animal killer?' Definitely a good accurate way to get information."

Danny smiles and lets his eyes slip shut again. "He was like that even when we were little." Didn't like eating meat, eating animals.

"I remember."

He sighs. His core sings I love you. Dani's pinkie slips from his. There's a sweep of cold, like a blanket being pulled over him, and then she's gone. He might see her in a week; he might not see her for months.

Danny drifts to sleep.

#danny phantom #dcu #dp dc crossover #damian wayne #dani phantom #robin rambles #robin writes #this au is SO. #SILLY. #wish itd leave my head

[fruitcoops]

hi eve!!! have loved all of your oknutzy stuff recently !! Was hoping you’d write a coops fic while Remus was PT maybe just appreciating how much he does / Sirius treating him to something special (nice meal, back rub, etc) after a long day of work?

Yes! Love me some PT Loops learning that--*gasp*--people are allowed to love him. Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove, Hattie is mine!

TW referenced minor injuries

7:45—Admin

Remus’ vision blurred with exhaustion. “No sleeping,” he mumbled around a yawn. His eyes still felt too heavy, too sticky with sleep to function like they should. “Morning, morning, morning, stay awake, stay awake, you can fit a nap in later.”

No, you won’t. Someone was going to fuck up a joint during practice today. He could feel it tingling at the back of his neck like the breath of a lunch-stealing poltergeist. Remus gazed mournfully at his calendar and the list stuck to the left side of his computer screen, scrawled in a sloppy hand before practically falling into Sirius’ car the night before—his handwriting was already questionable past 6 pm, even without a day like that. Like this one was shaping up to be, too.

His computer gave a cheerful chirp: You have a meeting in [15] minutes with [Thompson, Admin]!

Somewhere back home, Sirius was still in bed. Cozy. Warm. Sleep-soft. Probably curled on his side, long legs clad in flannel, his body in a gentle arc that formed a perfectly Remus-sized hollow against his middle for prime snuggling…

“What would happen?” he wondered aloud, drumming his fingertips on the fake wood. “If I skip, what are they gonna do? Fire me? They can’t fire me.”

His eyes slid from a near-solid block of color-coded events to the crisp Post-It with its endless list of non-work tasks.

“God, they would totally fire me,” Remus muttered. As if they haven’t been looking for a reason to do it since January. He took a moment to stretch both arms over his head and crack his back; from the looks of it, the remaining 6 minutes would be the last bit of leisure time until he went home or died, whichever came first.

10:00-2:45—Clinical + Walk-in

“What are you doing?”

“Being productive.”

Moody snorted from the general vicinity of the doorway.

“Seriously,” Remus continued over the rhythmic thud of his forehead against the wooden cabinet of the break room. “This is a better use of my time than talking to Tremzy.”

“More broken fingers?”

Remus huffed. His forehead was finally starting to transition from aching to blessed numbness.  “Told me it was a jammed knee. How’d it get jammed, Tremz? I dunno. Did you turn too hard? Uh, I twisted it. What a little son of a bitch.”

“Since when is Tremblay from Texas?”

“Remind me that I love my job, please.”

“You love your job and you love those boys.” His forehead hit something softer the next time around. Remus let out a slow breath through his nose as Moody adjusted to grab him by the face and gently pushed him back into a proper standing position. “That brain pays your salary, Lupin. Play nice.”

“This brain is currently on strike due to workplace abuse,” he said into the rough skin of Moody’s palm.

Light flooded back in and Remus squinted, blinking in the sudden change. Moody scanned him with a critical eye. “You eaten yet today?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d you have?”

“Wagyu steak and pan-friend potatoes.” His stomach clenched at the very thought. Moody’s expression was distinctly unimpressed. Remus sighed. “A bagel and a granola bar, two hours ago. I have a meeting with Dumo in 3 and a half minutes about his lower back pain ‘cause he refuses to admit he’s over the age of 28, so if you’ll excuse me…”

“Choke down another granola bar and I’ll let you leave.”

“Moody—”

“You’ve got 2 minutes and 55 seconds.”

Remus scrubbed both hands down his face. Not for the first time, he wished he was a little meaner, or at least mean enough to push past into the hallway. Sirius would have. But he wasn’t Sirius, and he was hungry, and there was almost certainly a peanut butter and chocolate bar somewhere in the back of the cabinet…

Bingo. Putting his job on pause had never tasted so good.

4:30-6:00—Ref. 20-47

The afternoon passed in a series of signatures and papercuts, broken up only by a 40-minute period of double-checking everyone’s skates and pads before evening practice. Remus heard the team arrive in a distant stampede and braced himself for the inevitable grilling—where are my shoulder pads? I left them drying last night, though. What do you mean they’re in my stall?—only to be left, beautifully, wonderfully alone. It appeared his extra work the night before had paid off.

Sign, stamp, stack. Remus glanced at his watch; 28 referrals completed in just under 90 minutes. That left only two items on his work calendar (he decided to ignore the ‘home’ chores Post-It for now), a number that had seemed unfathomable seven hours ago. The admin meeting felt like another universe.

He stood on shaky legs and groaned softly at the ache from sitting too long without breaks, bracing on the edge of his desk for a stretch to stave off a calf cramp. A smart person would take 10 minutes and do some light yoga, run a couple drills once the guys went home. Remus’ neck twinged when he checked the clock again—just as he thought. No time to be a smart person.

Remus wrinkled his nose at his desk chair before easing himself back into it. The future was difficult to imagine when his brain was that fuzzy.

“Two more,” Remus told the tiny granite wolf taped to the top of his computer monitor. “That’s it, and then I can go home and have a good dinner and kiss my boyfriend and sleep for ten hours.”

He flexed his throbbing hands and pushed the keyboard aside to make room for two sheets of paper to lay side-by-side. Sorting health forms was easy, repetitive, and…

6:00-6:30—Nap

Remus woke up.

His computer was off. Good sign, he thought, letting his eyes slip closed again. Done for the day. His hands took a moment to come back online. Then the familiar ache in his legs. Then a sudden pinch in his lower back when he tried to turn into the touch caressing one side of his face, and a new voice shushing him as a hand eased his back into a more comfortable spot. Remus grumbled wordlessly.

“Re.”

He made a noise of acknowledgement. One side of his face felt stickier than usual.

“Hey. Loup.”

“Lis’nin’.”

“Time to wake up.”

“Am.”

“Sure you are,” Sirius laughed quietly. Sneakers squeaked on linoleum as he shifted and Remus burrowed into the worn-soft fabric of his shirt. He smelled good, a little sweaty, like he did after warmups or a couple loops around the basement rink. Warm in the crook between neck and shoulder, just like Remus had left him that morning. Sirius’ chest hitched with suppressed laughter for a moment—there was an odd sound like rustling paper, and then an unpleasant tug on one side of his face.

Remus jerked awake by another degree and felt his neck heat with embarrassment as Sirius finished gently peeling a health form off his cheek. “Sorted ‘em,” he explained around a yawn. “Fell asleep.”

“Quoi?”

“The paper. Sorted it.” His head felt all muggy, mouth tacky like he had been sleeping with it open. “How long was I out?”

“I’m not sure.”

Remus frowned. “Time’s it?”

“6:35. I just came to say hello.”

He hummed. Sirius’ hand slid down from the back of his head to give his neck a gentle squeeze at the nape—it popped a few neurons back into place, and Remus blinked blearily at him before leaning forward to rest their foreheads together.

“Hello,” he said into the sliver of space between them. “Missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” Sirius’ thumb stroked circles over the top of his spine, turning Remus’ bones to mush. “Busy day, huh?”

“Mmm.”

“Do you know what you want for dinner?”

Remus couldn’t help his sigh. Dinner. Number one on the (literal) laundry list that needed to get done before he could drag himself into bed. Sirius would be starving when practice was done, and it was only fair that he figure something out—maybe he could ask Sirius to throw a load of dishes into the washer before rinsing off. Yeah, he could do that. “Chicken and rice?” he suggested. Quick, easy, season and bake. 40 minutes start to finish.

“Sounds great.” Lips pressed to his forehead, a little dry from warmups but as pillow-soft as always. “I’ll be back at 7:45?”

Remus smiled into their next kiss. “See you then.”

8:15-8:45 pm—Shower + Dinner

Ahead of schedule, Remus thought as they pulled into the driveway and Sirius turned the ignition off. Bonus points. If they kept this up, he might be able to let the broccoli bake for an extra five to ten minutes for some extra crunch. “D’accord,” Sirius said under his breath as he ducked out of the car and jogged around.

Remus paused, bewildered, when the passenger door opened and Sirius held his hand out. “…what?”

“Come on.” Sirius held his hand a little closer; Remus felt a blush creep to his ears when he took it and let Sirius help him from the car like—like some sort of celebrity. Sirius dipped down to kiss his cheek, taking the backpack from his shoulder in the same motion.

“What is this?” Remus laughed.

“What, I’m not allowed to carry your bag for you?” Silver eyes glittered with amusement. “I can be romantic.”

You are a grown man, don’t get fluttery over that. Remus bit his lower lip around a smile. “You can.”

“I showered at the rink, so you can head up,” Sirius continued, opening the door with ease despite the two bags hanging off him. He intercepted Hattie’s welcome tackle and tossed the nearest tennis ball down the hallway for her to chase, gesturing for Remus to go ahead of him. A lopsided smile made Remus’ heart squeeze. “The beast has been tamed. After you, mon amour.”

He cast a quick look around the living room and kitchen when he entered—no surprises yet. Nobody hiding behind the couch with cake and balloons for…something important, presumably. Fuck, had he forgotten an anniversary? Anniversary of what? This time last year, he and Sirius had both been unhappily aboard the train of useless pining.

Then again, being sweet and silly and chivalrous for no reason at all was exactly the type of thing Sirius would do, when he thought about it. “Thanks, baby,” Remus said as he toed his shoes off and leaned up for a kiss.

Sirius nudged their noses together, one hand going down to soothe Hattie’s excited tippy-taps. “Pas de problem. Now go, shower, I know that look on your face.”

Remus caught him by the front of his shirt before he could turn away and pulled him down for one more chaste peck. “I love you.”

“Love you more.”

8:25 pm—Shower and…dinner?

Sirius hadn’t let him start the chicken, rice, or broccoli before ushering him upstairs with a playful smack to his ass. Remus wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but he had been standing under the hot water for about five minutes now and honestly didn’t have the capacity to read too far into it anymore. The water took the last of his higher brain functions with it as it swirled over his aching feet to the drain. More than once, Remus’ thoughts tried to wander toward the Post-It still stuck to his computer monitor, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what it said.

Maybe that was okay. Maybe he could take another couple of minutes to steam himself like the dumplings from their favorite shop down the road, taking in the warm air and blowing out the day’s stress. He hadn’t done that many consecutive clinicals since college. A break was well-deserved.

8:45 pm—Put on pants

**Correction: 8:45 pm—Put on Sirius’ pants and sweatshirt

The bed was far too tempting for its own good. If Remus’ stomach wasn’t growling like a hellbeast, he would have given in to his weak mortal urges and buried himself beneath the sheets the second he stepped out of the shower.

He rolled the waistband of Sirius’ sweats twice to keep them up, then slipped on his oldest, most threadbare Lions hoodie. A welcome gift from James, if Remus remembered right. One of many attempts to offer friendship to their newest, coldest rookie.

Remus stuck his nose in the neckline and inhaled deeply. How far they had come since those first silent days.

Fuzzy socks made the outfit complete and offered the gentle padded compression he had been craving since noon. He cracked his knuckles as he headed back down to the kitchen, stifling a yawn in one frayed sweater cuff, and paused at the bottom of the stairs to give Hattie’s ears a scritch. “Hello, princess,” he laughed while she gave his hands a thorough inspection. “You’ve got bedhead, c’mere. Did you have a good nap after your dad left? I know, I was gone forever.”

“The couch was still warm,” Sirius called from the other room with an audible smile. “I checked.”

“I bet you two went to the park, huh?” She stared back at him, tongue lolling, tail thudding against the floor before she pushed her entire head into his chest. The fur of her neck was silky smooth between his fingers; Remus pressed his nose to the top of her forehead and let himself relax into the velvet softness.

The air smelled different when he raised his head, blinking in the dim light. Hattie put her paws on the lower stair and began her nightly routine of making sure he wasn’t secretly hiding treats behind his ears. “Baby?”

“Ouais?”

“I can—” Remus broke off when another burst of steam sent the smell wafting into the living room. Sirius had used the good paprika. Christ, his heart was going to burst. “I said I could make dinner.”

“Chicken and rice, yes?” Sirius appeared in the doorway with a sweet smile and popped a green bean in his mouth, shrugging. “I got it.”

“You got it.” He got it. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

Remus’ hands stilled over Hattie’s ribs. He could feel her breathing, steady one moment, erratic with intensive sniffing the next. It seemed she had accepted the fact that he was not going to sneak her cookies and trotted off to go whine at Sirius, leaving Remus alone on the stairs. “You got it,” he repeated quietly to himself.

9:00 pm—No…plan? No plan.

Dinner was amazing. They were both too tired to talk much, but the minute they sat down Sirius had twined their ankles under the table, and there they stayed for the next half hour while they ate in companionable quiet. The rice was only a little undercooked.

Sirius liked to read or watch a show after evening practice most days, and Remus usually found himself a spot between thick thighs or tucked up against Sirius’ side to join him for an hour or two. But Sirius had taken their dishes with a kiss to his forehead and put them right in the dishwasher—and started it—before taking Remus by the hand and pulling him upstairs.

Remus watched him change into his pajamas and put his day clothes in the hamper at the same time, relying on muscle memory to brush his teeth while his mind whirred. It wasn’t that Sirius never helped around the house; the man was more of a neat freak than he was, some days. But something felt…different. It felt more intentional.

“So,” Remus started once he had rinsed his mouth out and shuffled aside to share the sink. The words stuck in his throat for reasons he couldn’t name. “Tonight was—tonight was really nice. Thank you.”

Sirius’ brow furrowed in confusion. “For dinner?”

“And the other stuff.” Why was it suddenly so hard to say what he wanted? “You know, the dishes and feeding the dog and holding the door and…all that.”

Sirius hummed and bent to spit out his toothpaste before he half-shrugged. “It was normal stuff. You were tired. I could do it, so I did.”

Remus just stared at him as he went back to brushing his teeth, already rummaging through the cupboard for the mouthwash. “Thank you.”

Sirius hummed his thanks when Remus passed him the mouthwash bottle; when he was done with his teeth, he turned, taking Remus’ face between gentle hands to kiss him, minty fresh. “I missed you today. And yesterday.”

Don’t swoon, don’t swoon, don’t swoon—“I missed you, too.”

Perhaps spending two days cooped up in his office had had more side effects than just draining his energy. He let Sirius take more of his weight with a slow exhale, and a moment later felt big hands rubbing along his aching muscles. “It’s silly,” Sirius said, his voice low. “I almost wished I had a real excuse to come see you.”

“For your own sake, I don’t,” he mumbled into Sirius sleep shirt.

There was a gentle pressure at the top of his head; Remus hid his smile in the nearest bicep. “You do so much for so many people,” Sirius sighed at last. The hands on his back maintained their steady motions. “You spend all day fixing their problems. My problems, too. I just—” He paused. Remus loved how carefully each word was chosen. Another little press made his stomach swoop. “I want you to know that you don’t have to do everything by yourself, Re. I can handle Hattie, I can do chores, I can cook. Maybe not well, but—”

“It was fantastic, Sirius.”

“Merci.” Sirius’ arms tightened around him for a brief pulse. “I can help. Let me help. I want to. This is, like, the bare minimum.”

Sometimes Remus couldn’t believe just how lucky he was. A day that used to end with boxed mac and cheese and falling asleep in the creaky twin bed of his apartment, occasionally still in his work clothes, now ended like this. And if he had his way, it would go like this forever.

“Okay,” he said, tilting his head up. The corners of Sirius’ eyes crinkled with a smile. “Alright, I’ll try. But don’t try to do everything for me, either, yeah?”

“As if I could get away with that,” Sirius laughed, bending down until their lips brushed and happiness fizzed through Remus’ whole body.

A double yawn interrupted their third-fourth-fifth kiss and they broke down into laughter; Remus went willingly when Sirius tangled their fingers together and made a show of dragging him to bed, bundling him up in the covers before settling down with a nuzzle to the back of his ear. His knees tucked up behind Remus’—his arm wound protectively over his torso, forming a perfect Remus-sized hollow.

10:00 pm—Rest

Remus was asleep before Sirius had taken two breaths.

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #hattie #moody #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #fluff #pt loops #cuddling #long day