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mrzombielover · 2 months

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- slow ride ch1

feat. sinner!adam x fem!hotel worker!reader

series masterlist | next chapter

warnings: NSFW, enemies to fuckbuddies, adam and reader both suck, unhealthy relationships, size kink oooops, light degradation

a/n: oh my god this is so self indulgent. something is fr wrong with me bc all my favorite men are irrevocably fucked up and toxic and emotionally damaged and would treat me like shit teehee

wc: 2.2k

“You took my shame and you took my pride / And now you gonna take me for a slowride”

When even Charlie is trepidatious about checking someone in to the hotel, you know they’ve fucked up bad.

Adam had shown up, tail between his legs, admitting something about how he’s “desperate enough to try anything,” even this “stupid delusional humiliating hotel.”

Charlie, who’s more like an angel than Adam ever was, had ultimately decided that he could stay. After a lengthy and heated discussion, she’d reminded the group that the hotel’s policy states that everyone deserves a chance at redemption, regardless of the sins they’ve committed. Considering he killed your friend, you thought that was bullshit, but it’s Charlie’s hotel at the end of the day, and you’re just along for the ride.

You like Charlie, which is why you put up with having Adam around. She’s a good person- genuinely, deep down. There’s no hidden motives in her actions. You’ve not met many good people in your life, so she’s won your respect, even if you have your doubts about the hotel’s premise.

But for as much as you love her, you briefly questioned her sanity when she asked you to keep a special eye on Adam.

“…and how exactly is that the job of treasury secretary?” You deadpan.

“Wellll…” Charlie trails off, looking away for a moment. “It isn’t really. Buuut what if I was asking as a favor, for your friend?” She clasps her hands together, giving you a smile. You have to avert your eyes from the hopeful look on her face before your resolve cracks.

“No way in hell,” You say quickly.

“Please!”

“No,”

“Pleaseee!”

You bite your lip as you think. He’s obnoxious, yes, but what’s really the worst that could happen? You close your eyes and sigh.

“…you owe me one,”

You regret accepting every day. Nobody got along with Adam. Well, nobody except for Nifty, who seemed thrilled to have a real bad boy staying in the hotel. You, however, got along with him the least of all.

For someone who’d come to the hotel in his time of need- who was in no position to ask for anything other than forgiveness- Adam sure has a smartass mouth. It seems Charlie just wants to give you a brain aneurysm, that’s why she gave you this job. Even if that wasn’t her goal, that’s certainly the stage you’re approaching, because fighting with Adam everyday is 100% going to make you pop a blood vessel.

You can’t help it. Something about him- the way he acts, the forced proximity, just gets under your skin, makes your eye twitch. He should be groveling, begging for forgiveness, putting his heart and soul into bettering himself, yet all he does is bitch and moan. Constantly complaining would be one thing, hell’s full of whiners, but he also feels the need to voice every thought he’s ever had, which often includes insults and snide remarks about those around him. You’ve never been one to take that shit- though, nobody at the hotel really does. It seems to be much worse with you two, specifically, though.

The problem comes in because, as much as you hate to admit it, you might sometimes occasionally have some things in common with him. No, you’re not quite as loud or crude or obnoxious, you don’t generally insult people for fun, but if someone deserves it?

You’ve tore into people for way less than murdering your friend, showing up on your doorstep and being a pain in your ass 24/7, especially if you’re in a particularly shitty mood. Reduced people to tears for mildly inconveniencing you, having an annoying voice, wasting food, etc etc… all of which Adam does.

Generally, you’re apathetic to what goes on around you, especially at the hotel. You’re fed, don’t have to pay rent, and can pretty much do whatever you want, so dealing with the annoying, traumatized, dramatic residents and staff is a fair trade off in your eyes. Adam should, in theory, be no different than the rest of them to you. So you cannot, for the life of you, figure out what about him makes him so much worse than the rest.

You just try not to think about him as much as possible. But when you ignore him, he just seems to get worse.

“Jesus, you don’t think it’s a bit early to start drinking?”

You mentally groan as you hear his voice, avoiding eye contact as you crack open the bottle.

“I mean, Isn’t this shithole supposed to be for rehabilitation?” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he opens the fridge.

“Why don’t you focus on your own rehab first, dick? Been weeks now and you’re still an asshole,” You snap, before taking a swig of your beer. He shrugs, grabbing the orange juice from the fridge and placing it on the counter. He walks past where you’re leaning on the counter to get a glass.

“I mean, damn, you didn’t even try today, huh?”He laughs.

“Why are you pickin’ a fight with me right now?” You raise your voice a little, exasperated and too hungover to deal with this.

“oh, uh, i dunno… i’m bored?” He shrugs again, looking over to you with a self satisfied smile. You groan in frustration, then sigh, forcing yourself to keep it together.

“…and you wonder why your wives left you,” you mumble with a roll your eyes, turning to quickly leave the kitchen. you don’t see his face, but judging from the sound of a crash and footsteps quickly following you into the hallway, you hit a nerve. oh, god, here we go…

“you fucking junkie bitch!” he yells after you as you stomp up the stairs.

“you’re proving my point right now!” you say over your shoulder.

“Like you have room to talk? Let’s bring up your love life, huh?!”

“oh my god shut up!” Angel yells through the door as you pass his room. “Every fuckin’ morning with you two!”

Adam ignores him, continuing to rant as he follows closely behind you, every degrading name he can think of spilling from his lips.

“…fucking whore cunt- whose not even fucking listening to me!” he says as you turn into your room. you turn, attempting to slam the door, but he sticks his foot in the gap and grabs the door, shoving it back open.

“what in the fuck is your problem today?!” you yell.

“it’s you, bitch!”

“oh my god- how do you care about anything this much? Seriously, it’s not that deep!”

you jump a little as he suddenly slaps the beer bottle out of your hands, the glass shattering loudly and the leftover beer soaking your socks. your jaw drops, outraged, and you can’t help the reflex to reach up and smack the side of his head.

“ow!” he yelps, and you raise your fists to hit him again, when-

“you- fucking bitch-!” he shouts. you cry out in surprise as he grabs your wrists and yanks you with surprising ease, shoving you roughly into the wall behind you.

theres a struggle, both grunting with the strain of pushing against each other as Adam wrestles to keep the upper hand. You go to knee him, but he moves quicker, slotting one of his legs between your own and pressing his body against yours to pin you completely against the wall.

then, something changes. he pauses, the close proximity seems to have finally registered in his brain. his eyes widen and you pause too, both panting, faces inches apart. his grip loosens, and a flicker of confusion crosses his features.

“wait, what’s-“

“shut up,” you snap suddenly. before you even realize what you’re doing, your hands are on his chest, and you’re shoving him towards your bed.

“take off your shirt,” you command as the back of his knees hit the mattress and he’s falling backwards. he quickly does as you say, looking up at you with wide eyes as you straddle him and rip your own shirt off as well. he mumbles a nice when he sees you’re not wearing a bra. you reach to tug off the sweatpants you had on, and as soon as you can kick them away Adam’s hands are on your waist and flipping you over. He hurriedly rips off the rest of his clothes before he’s back on you, leaning down to eagerly press kisses down your neck. you have to tilt your head to make room for the horns now permanently attached to his head, and you think of the irony of this situation.

the sound of fabric ripping followed immediately by two of his fingers finding your clit makes you gasp. you bite back a whimper as he begins to rub rough and sloppy circles on your clit. the pleasure doesn’t last long before he’s pulling his hand back, only to shove a finger inside your cunt quickly, and you gasp again. being so unprepared, the stretch burns a bit. fuck, has he always had such big hands? he’s gentle at first, as he works the single finger in and out of you, and once the pain subsides, he quickly adds a second one.

“Oh, fuck,” you can’t help the curse that slips past your lips, and before long you’re rocking your hips against his hand. his movements are rushed and sloppy, impatient as he stretches you out. he chuckles dryly, and you shoot him a glare.

once again, before long, he’s pulling away, and grabbing you by the shoulders to make you sit up with him. you whine involuntarily at the loss of contact, and the cocky bastard laughs again.

“So impatient, babe,” He grins.

“Shut up,” You say again, pushing him so that he’s sitting up against the bed frame. You crawl over to him, and straddle his lap. His hands find your ass, groping it roughly while you grab the base of his cock and align the tip with your entrance.

You both gasp in unison when you swiftly lower yourself to take his full length. A strangled moan escapes from your lips and you let your head fall forward to rest on his shoulder. Eyes squeezed shut, you wait so you can adjust to his size. Seriously, how had you never noticed how big he was before now? Prematurely, Adam angles his hips and suddenly thrusts up into you, making you cry out in pain and pleasure.

“Oh you like that, bitch? Huh?” He says teasingly, running his hands up and down your back before moving his hips again.

“You have seriously got to learn to be quiet,” You retort through gritted teeth, reaching up to pull his hair from the roots. He lets out a groan, followed by a more pathetic whine as you begin to move on his length.

It must be all the pent up emotion, because you’re very quickly unable to speak beyond a few curses and wanton moans. Adam however, can’t seem to stop talking. Mumbling about how good you feel- for a whore, how he didn’t think you’d be so tight, how you’re so fucking sexy he wishes he’d done this sooner.

“Ugh, Adam- shut up!” You groan as you move desperately. He whines as you pull his hair again for emphasis, biting his lip as you feel his hips snap up into yours.

“Oh, god-“ You’re squealing, back arching as you can feel your whole body tense. You’re on top, but as you grow more limp, he’s holding you upright as he roughly fucks into you. “I’m close!” You warn, and it comes out a strangled sob.

You’re so, so close. Euphoria clouds your brain, and collapse onto him as he continues to hold you up to thrust into you.

You fall backwards, and Adam follows, caging you underneath him as he chases his own release now.

“oh- fuck- don’t stop!” You’re practically screaming as your orgasm crashes over you, and you wrap your arms around and claw at Adam desperately, fingernails leaving marks on his fleshy back. You only faintly register the breathless laugh he lets out at your state as he now pounds into you.

He slams into you with an intensity that forces the air out of your lungs, and even Adam can’t form thoughts or speak anymore.

“Oh, fu-uuck, fuck, fuck, oh my god,” He can’t believe the noises that are coming from him, but he also can’t find it in himself to care when you feel this good. You’re so sensitive, and still tight from your previous climax, and he can feel your pulse in the walls of your cunt as you clench around him.

Pleasure quickly turns to overstimulation, and you moan his name again, reaching up to pull at his hair, horns, wings, anything, as tears begin to prick at your eyes. Hearing you moan his name, seeing the look on your face, knowing he’s the one doing this to you is what he needed to send him over the edge.

“o-oh my god-“ he groans, hips stuttering as he presses his body as close to yours as possible, spilling his cum deeply inside of you with an actual moan.

He stays still for a moment, both of your breathing labored, sweat making your hair stick to your foreheads and necks, but you stay holding eachother. While both your brains are still fuzzy, thoughts muddled from the aftershocks, he takes a hand up and wipes your hair away from your face, and the tears from your eyes.

Eventually, he sits up and pulls out of you, rolling over to lay next to you on the bed. Neither of you say anything, too fucked out to think of the repercussions from your actions.

#!my stuff #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #adam x reader #ok how do i tag this…#first man adam #first man adam x reader #idfk idc #!not sfw #female reader #this is like so cringe LMFAO #it’s ok tho idc😜

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smytherines · 1 month

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The headcanon that keeps me up at night is the idea that Owen Carvour was this very closed-off, isolated guy who just singlemindedly devoted himself to spycraft (almost as if it were his special interest) and was generally disinterested in any sort of relationship- romantic or otherwise- and suddenly agent Curt Mega strolls into his life and stubbornly insists on being part of it.

And Owen is just completely, utterly fascinated with this guy. Infatuated with him. How could he not be? Curt is perhaps the only person on Earth that can keep pace with Owen, that can best him (not that Owen would ever admit to it). He's so different from Owen, but they're also very much the same.

And over a number of years Curt wins his trust. First by being an excellent (if unconventional) partner, and then they start a physical relationship. And then Owen actually finds himself in love with this person, an attachment he never wanted but now can't live without (in a way he sort of resents Curt for sometimes).

He feels these things in an overwhelming but impossible to articulate way, to the degree that he willingly puts himself in a position to be outnumbered 21 to 1 to rescue Curt from a Russian weapons facility- because that's what you do when you love someone, right? You flip off god and walk backwards into hell for them.

So when Curt leaves Owen to die, part of him just fractures. This delicate, imperfect, but still very real trust he had in Curt is absolutely shattered. He's afraid and helpless and critically injured, and the last thing he can remember before waking up in unimaginable pain, his body and brain damaged in a way he will never fully recover from, is the look of horror on Curt's face as he ran away.

And the worst part is that there is no way for Owen to disengage from those feelings. He will never have any sort of distance from Curt and his betrayal ever again. His body hurts constantly, his mobility is impacted, he gets headaches and vertigo and panic attacks, and every single time he is forced to relive the moment that Curt left him. Forced to relive that terror.

Every time his leg gives out while he's forcing himself to walk without crutches, or the burn scars start to ache, or his vision goes blurry and his heart feels like its going to burst out of his chest, he feels that hurt. The only person he would've ever confided those feelings in is the reason those feelings exist to begin with. That person thinks Owen is dead. And Owen sometimes wishes he had died too.

And Owen hates Curt, but more than anything he hates himself for trusting Curt. For putting himself in a vulnerable position to save Curt, only to be destroyed by Curt's hubris- part of the very same thing that made Curt irresistible to him. That cocky confidence, the effortless charm, the completely intuitive, instinctive way his mind worked- a style that had never let him down before. Owen loved him, and he knows that if the situation were reversed he would've gone back for him. He would've laid down and died next to him. And it's blisteringly painful to him to realize that the same wasn't true for Curt.

And for Curt's part I don't think he was like "oh well, fuck it, time to book." I don't think he thought at all in that moment. He didn't decide to leave Owen so much as his body, his adrenaline, his instinct made the decision for him. It was fight or flight, and his body chose flight. Speaking from personal experience, when you have ADHD and you realize that you've screwed up and you're suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, your body can just kinda carry you away without thinking.

But the leaving being involuntary doesn't help Curt deal with his grief and shame and self-hatred, because he still has to live with the decisions he did consciously make that night- leaving the banana peel on the steps, deciding to blow up the facility instead of just sending the blueprints with the watch, setting the timer for three minutes instead of four.

For years, when he's not too drunk to think at all, he endlessly relives each point where things could have gone differently. He obsessively thinks about how his pride was a bit bruised by needing to be rescued, by being chewed out by a boss who seemed to prefer his partner to him, and wondering if maybe he was more over the top than usual out of spite or insecurity, to save face with Cynthia and Barb, to impress Owen (because he loved Owen and respected him and cared about what Owen thought of him).

He wonders if Owen was right about his drinking, and then he drinks to shut out the pain of that thought.

He has to live with the decision his adrenaline made, tortured by the idea that he should've somehow fought back against that flight impulse in the moment and gone back for Owen. Tortured by the idea that maybe, if his rational brain had been fully present, he might have still made the same decision- leaving Owen to save himself.

He saw Owen twitching on the ground, grasping onto the banana peel, bleeding out on the concrete. He was almost certainly about to die, but when Curt left Owen hadn't died yet. So maybe, maybe, maybe there was a chance and Curt missed it. And every time he thinks about the possibility he feels sick. And he drinks. And he has imaginary conversations with his dead partner before passing out curled up in the corner of his bed, clutching a pillow, his eyes red and burning from the tears.

This was supposed to just be a couple of short paragraphs, but that's what I get for thinking about curtwen I guess

#cannot believe the inciting incident of this show is “man trips on banana peel- dies”#spies are forever #tin can bros #curtwen #owen carvour #agent curt mega #saf #tcb #saf headcanons

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jtl-fics · 10 months

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Brain science anon here

As an apology consider twinyards fluff...

Aaron learning about this is in class (Like I just did) and finally understanding Andrew a little better. Do you think he’d share this tidbit with Andrew? Would it be a conversation where Andrew decides to give a truth about his past to Aaron, telling him what happened? Would Aaron share it with the rest of the foxes (with Andrew’s blessing aka “do whatever you want” type answer when asked if it was okay) when someone starts to rag on Andrew about it, in defense of his brother? Just think of all the internal growth Aaron goes through when he realizes it’s not his fault. What else does he start to rethink and relearn about Andrew? How much closer do you think they get when Aaron realizes it's not out of animosity that Andrew acts the way he does.

I now only accept apologies by way of sweet Twinyard HCs.

Maybe Aaron finds this out and maybe he finds himself watching his brother more. Maybe he starts noticing how sometimes when Andrew is sat with Josten Andrew's eyes are warm and bright and content.

Maybe he listens to what Andrew says and sees what Andrew does more than the way Andrew says it.

I think Aaron would hold onto the information for a while. Maybe just a little bit because he doesn't know how Andrew will react to him going 'you're actually brain damaged not an asshole', maybe it's shame that he had thought his brother a monster, and maybe...maybe it's Aaron wanting to hold onto something only he knows about his brother (eat it Josten).

Then he hears Matt shit talking how Andrew will never make Neil feel loved with the way he talks.

Aaron's been watching, he is DEEPLY aware of his brother's feelings towards Josten, and has unfortunately seen his brother make those feelings quite clear even if his voice never gave anything more than 'phone book read' energy. Josten never needed to know about Andrew's brain damage to understand what Andrew means and realizing that makes him hoarding the information feel stupid (fuck off Josten).

He wants to say something but he did just take that whole 'patient-client confidentiality' ethics bit so he thinks twice. He stands up and goes to see Andrew.

Andrew and Josten are on the couch. Josten's asleep on Andrew's lap, it's domestic in a way that he's learning Andrew can be, and Andrew gives him a look.

Aaron knows if he wakes Josten up this conversation will go worse, "I took a course on brain injuries. I think you damaged your Broca’s area and Wernicke’s area and that's why your voice is like that." he says and Andrew blinks, "Did you ever...did any of them ever...hit your head really hard. Especially on the right side?" and Andrew's silent stare gives no clues but the way his hand curls in Josten's hair like he's the asshole is a preferred teddy bear. "When people bitch about how you can't emote in your speech can I tell them to shut the fuck up?" he asks.

"Do what you want." Andrew says with a shrug.

Aaron pauses before he leaves, "I...I don't think there's anything to fix-"

"I don't need to be fixed." Andrew returns and Aaron sees as Andrew traces his fingers along Josten's burn scar.

Aaron gets the impression that the only person Andrew needs to understand his emotions already does.

It doesn't bother him as much as it would have before he had started watching.

He shuts the door quietly and returns to his own dorm room to slam the door open. He points at Matt who is trying to to choke on the fig newton he'd been in the middle of chewing, "FIRST OF ALL-"

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iennoganan-aha · 4 months

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I thought I was done being disappointed in stranger things. Falling out of love with a hyperfixation that brought me so much joy already sucked, but the whole Noah Shnapp shit really ruined it for me. I wasn't planning on watching or supporting season 5 anyways, but finding out Argyle won't be in s5 has really stripped away any want still buried deep in my brain man, like I'm not even slightly interested in watching illegally now. (I wasn't planning on it but curiosity is strong sometimes)

Jonathan was my favorite character, and Argyle is SO important for his character. Like putting aside how important Argyle was to the plot of s4, his importance to Jonathan was reason enough for him being there since Jonathan NEEDED him.

Argyle was the ONLY relationship he had that didn't have expectations. He could be free and loose and himself around Argyle. This isn't hate towards Will or Joyce or Nancy because he loves them and the story likes to ignore it but those relationships all come with expectations that the story has hinted at being hard for Jonathan to manage.

He loves his brother and his mom but the role he was forced into so young has really damaged him and how he views himself. The expectation to be a fatherly figure, an authority figure, a protector. I know Jonathan doesn't mind doing it because he loves his family but it's a lot of pressure and if s4 told us anything (again, even if the story likes to gloss over it for some reason) that pressure was too much for him.

And I LOVE Jancy, I love Nancy, but again s4 told us directly that in some way he feels a lot of pressure with her. He feels the need to give up on his dreams in one way or another, because it's either he goes to college with Nancy doing something he doesn't exactly wanna do, or he doesn't and he loses his girlfriend. He fears communication with her because she might get upset, at the end of s4 you can see that while he trusts Nancy and doesn't think anything is going on with Steve because he also trusts Steve, we can't deny the writers might do some lame ass love triangle bullshit this next season which will put even more pressure on Jonathan because now he might lose his girlfriend to his previous bully 🧍‍♀️

Argyle was SO healthy for Jonathan's character! He helped get Jonathan out of his comfort zone in some ways, in all 4 seasons with Argyle Jonathan was the most free and silly and acted like a teenager! He could just be a teenager with Argyle. He wasn't a supportive big brother or boyfriend or oldest son or any of the stigmatizations from his home town with Argyle, he was just Jonathan. Instead of worrying about taking care of Will, or getting a job to help pay bills or (at the time) fighting monsters, he was playing golf in the middle of a car dump with his best friend, getting high in their pizza van and having fun. I dunno, I just think it's a shame we're taking away his only friend that he isn't dating or related to.

I also fear that the did it for a reason of pushing the love triangle because let's be real if Argyle was there Jancy would just communicate. Argyle wouldn't stand for them dancing around each other and Steve being an issue he'd be like 'talk it out 👏🏼👏🏼'

Again this isn't even MENTIONING how important he is to the plot of s4 in general? Some people say he was just the comic relief and while he definitely played that role, he also is the reason half the main cast are alive?? Without Argyle; will, Mike and Jonathan would be dead! They would have no escape from the government SHOOTING THEIR HOUSE AND TRYING TO KILL THEM. they would have no transportation to find El, they'd have never even found El! They'd never have found a place to make a bathtub so El could save max, they'd never have made it back to Hawkins! He is an important character not just to Jonathan (because while I adore their friendship and this post may make it seem that way) HE IS NOT AN ACCESSORY TO JONATHAN! He was a fun character, a relavent character!

They could have done so much with him, imagine how he could have interacted with other characters? Character pair ups that could have been awesome? Steve and Argyle would be SO FUNNY! Argyle and Dustin, Argyle and Lucas bonding over neither being fucking white, Argyle and Robin being a comedy duo, Argyle and fucking Nancy having a conversation as Jonathan best friend and girlfriend respectively, or Argyle finally just meeting the girl he's heard about for a year- i dunno the possibilities are endless and the duffers are lame for not doing ANYTHING with the potential of these characters.

Oh well, I lost respect for Stranger Things a while ago, but a part of me is still passionate about the story being told and it really is a shame for Jonathan's character. But I shouldn't be surprised the writers have always kind of hated Jonathan. Those stonathan moments better be great I guess, I dunno I won't be watching it 🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️

#argyle stranger things #stranger things thoughts #anti stranger things #support palestine #boycott stranger things #jonathan byers #stranger things season 5

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whumpshaped · 10 months

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hey i’m really sorry if this is dumb but do you ever feel bad about enjoying whump? if so, how do you deal with it? i’m having a hard time with liking it. i love reading it but it occasionally makes me feel like a terrible person

its not dumb! i have some disorders that make it hard for me to feel bad abt stuff just for moral reasons alone, but i do get the terrible feeling sometimes when im afraid others will think im a terrible person lol if that makes any sense- so yeah i get the shame around it. i was lucky enough to be the quirky fun guy anyway so having slightly stranger interests wasnt a big deal for me.

this got very long bc i always have many thoughts on this

let me just start this by saying u totally dont have to feel bad for liking it. at all. everybody tends to like some form of whump, even if they dont call it that. the middle aged christian woman reading her 100th romance novel packed with fucking angst is an avid enjoyer of emotional whump in my book. and the guy who jokes about whump enjoyers being crazy and then turns around and watches marvel movies with blood and beat up heroes in it, well-

humans are just fascinated with pain. physical, emotional, all of it. it's just how we are, i think. we love to explore pain in fantasy, through characters separate from us, while we sit in our room comfortably (controlled danger! like rollercoasters). it can be cathartic. it can be how we find and understand ourselves. it can be comforting to know hey, this character went through something like that, that means the author must have some experience with it. there's at least one other human who gets me.

enjoying/reading/writing whump can be a perfect outlet, like hitting a punching bag repeatedly. it can be how someone digests their own trauma. it can just be a kink thing. it doesn't have to have deep moral things attached to it, sometimes seeing fictional characters hurt just tickles the brain and that's that. it doesn't matter, because it's all fictional, it doesn't hurt anyone. unless your preferred media is like, literal hate speech and propaganda against real life people, (in which case it DOES hurt ppl), there's literally nothing wrong with looking at a character being beaten and going "hey, thats cool".

also i will never not say this but even the fucken bible is straight whump and no one will ever change my mind. i tried to be a good christian and what did i find? whump.

also, there's like... a huge portion of people who read whump for the comfort of it. yes the character goes through shit, yes it's horrible, but guess what, they come out on the other side unquestionably changed but still worthy of recovery. they find peace, they heal, they find friends and family, they're comforted and listened to. that's something a lot of people read whump for. there's a reason it's called hurt/comfort. and there's also a very good post about how so many of us read it because the whumpees' trauma is always acknowledged. maybe not in the story, but we as readers understand that they went through some shit, and thus their trauma is always validated in some way. that can be a comfort as well, in a world where so many people's issues get brushed under the rug and ignored and overlooked and straight up invalidated.

but even if you're not into the comfort aspect (which i wasnt for a long time!!!!! i was strictly here for the hurt!!!!!!) you're not some sort of monster for it. i'd say quite the contrary. i'd say if you regularly engage with media like this, where the character's emotions are laid out so bare, and explored so deeply, you're more in tune with your own emotions too. i couldve punched holes in walls like some people i know (i have anger issues), but instead i grabbed my laptop and wrote about a character being beaten to a pulp. no damage to person or property. done. others read it and enjoyed it, and i even got serotonin from likes and reblogs, which lifted my mood, so that was a whole net positive.

seriously look at the most popular media too. it's whump. always has been. a good friend of mine whos a little weirded out by some of the gore i write is OBSESSED with game of thrones for example. and he recommended it to me because hey i love bloody stuff dont i? and i loved the torture scenes and he loved to hate and be enraged and a little grossed out by them. we enjoyed the series together. neither of us was terrible for it.

all this to say, you're not the odd one out. even if your interests count as more "taboo", like some of mine, unless you go out there and punch someone in the face, youre good in my books. and again, even punching someone in the face can be morally neutral or positive between consenting adults so. HUMANS JUST ENJOY EXPLORING PAIN. THATS MY HOT TAKE FOR TODAY.

thank u for coming to my ted talk

#asks #i hope u find peace in regards to ur interest in whump #because the thing is. if u had a good friend who has been nothing but kind and helpful to everyone around #but then it came out that they enjoy reading gorey horror stories #would u actually say they were then a bad person?#give urself some grace. im sure ur a good person. like. consciously. putting in effort to be good #and thats what matters

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spiders-hth-is-an-outlier · 2 years

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Look, not to be excessively cranky, but after reading more commentary on Normal Marital Hatred, I am if anything more annoyed by it and by the patronizing attitude of the people defending this particular frame on relationship conflict.

No, I do not believe that I am somehow above or immune to negative feelings. No, I do not have trauma, religious or otherwise, that makes me pathologically resistant to the word hatred.

My issue is that words mean things, and in order to survive and function as social creatures, it is IMPERATIVE that we know how to distinguish an emotional response to a situation of conflict or stress from an attitude toward someone else's being and personhood. We're really bad at this right now -- frighteningly bad. I just don't have the time to tote up all the ways that an inability or unwillingness to understand anger, and even harm, as distinct from hatred is fucking over our very real need to find community and solidarity in the face of serious challenges to our future.

The cycle of pushing against other people and then realignment with them is, YES, OBVIOUSLY, normal and healthy. Learning how to manage those different points on the cycle is exactly what being emotionally skillful is all about. The guy's probably a really good couple's therapist. Whatever.

But like, fucking step one in managing your emotions around conflict with your partner is: DO NOT normalize the thought "I hate this person." No, you fucking don't. You don't. You don't "hate them temporarily," you're angry at something they are doing or saying to you. The difference between these things isn't trivial. The difference is everything.

There's no upside to letting the framing of "I do not like this person I'm stuck with" to take root in your brain. That's never a part of healthy and productive conflict with your partner -- and I say this without shaming anyone! We all have thoughts that are not healthy and not productive. I guess in the largest possible sense that's "normal," in that all kinds of shitty patterns are statistically common.

But no, people with good or even adequate emotional regulation do not leap automatically from "I'm angry and frustrated" to "I hate this person for making me feel angry and frustrated." That's not only two different thoughts, that has to remain two different thoughts if you want to have relationships -- with lovers or friends or family or neighbors or anyone at all -- that aren't hopelessly locked into enmity and blame.

Everyone will make you feel angry and frustrated. If you let yourself hate all of them and tell yourself it's normal, you will be a person who's endlessly mired in grudges and bitterness about the awfulness of the people around you. It's a terrible way to be, and embracing it (it comes and goes! It's really just extreme dislike!) as an inevitable part of having conflict is genuinely terrible advice.

I don't understand how any relationship of any kind can possibly survive without the ability to look at someone and think "this person that I love is pissing me off so much right now." That is THE relationship skill. That ability to know who they really are to you even when your current emotional state is pushing you further away from them -- if you don't have that, you don't have anything. And I think trying to skip that step and going forward from "this feeling must be because I hate them" is just very doomed and bad. You have to get back on the same side to cope with the conflict. You have to manage The Cycle as people who have a shared vested interest in protecting the love you have for each other.

Giving yourself permission to freely self-talk about how you hate them is just so, so unhelpful and toxic to the well-being of a partnership. No, it doesn't make you a Terrible Person, but it does make you a person who is fucking up and damaging the relationship. Sometimes thoughts are things that you have to reframe, and that means changing your languaging around the emotional reactions you're having. This psychologist's choice to affirm the languaging of hatred instead of helping people reframe is symptomatic, in my humble opinion, of a culture that's completely lost the plot on how to take responsibility for one's own negative emotions.

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unsleepingtales · 11 months

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Ey life got chaotic but we press on. First up is Ravening War episode three reactions, hopefully soon to be followed by Ravening War episode four reactions, and, if we’re lucky, Ravening War episode five reactions. Let’s go! (also this is a long one just a heads up)

First combat episode this season I am HYPE

My partner prefers the role play episodes and I get that I really do but something about all the numbers and mechanics and trinkets in the combat episodes really tickles my brain

Colin :D

Aabria’s makeup on point as always

Fruity you say 😏

(Distant screams of ambushees)

Different degrees of strong and loose?? Malleable battlefield?? Ey??

Raphaniel so fucking ruthless Jesus

With a lot of swagger!!

Karna sweetheart

Karna why you gotta kill someone

Come on Provolone!

Aw lil Karna and Colin moment :)

You didn’t bring a carriage. You brought starfruit.

Awww everyone’s mini reveals

So excited to see Amangeaux fight

Gang it is once again Rick Perry Appreciation Hours

Sorry Aabria a WHAT kinda gal

Bloodthirsty radish yeesh

Karna is so real because if I had magic I also would just use it all the time regardless of how much danger I would be putting myself in if someone saw me

That looks like a real orange. Are you telling me that’s not? A real orange?

DOME ANTICS

I really hope that they do like. A series of destination/travel posters for Ravening War with the art they’ve been putting on the dome. I think those would be sick.

The camera movement this episode!!

God I want to work for them

Augh poor little cherries

The character choice “Actually no, she’s gonna be dumb” is so important sometimes.

A little fuck with your mind cantrip?

Mind sliver oooooo

It’s really hard to see a woman spiral like this 😔

This is happening TO me sir no it is not shush

COLIN DEALS NECROTIC DAMAGE????

Nothing can heal this person from this blade????

Oh my god.

Oh my god that’s fucking horrifying. As someone with GI issues? The visuals of that Eldritch blast are horrifying.

A little guy??? You can’t add a wrinkle to the encounter!

Y’know, if you wanted the rowboat guy to not notice anything. Maybe you shouldn’t have thrown a guy into the river?

Banana has the highest initiative???

You *feel* pretty hidden??

“Please full die”

Brennan was really trying for a Beardsley calling to Helio moment there and Did Not get it.

Like a delusional mary poppins <3

A Cody level turn!!

Pulling arrows out of her own body, still goes oof.

Chess jokes!

Ohohohoho intimidation

Oh god

Gonna kill Brennan with his own box!

Grape IS the worst candy flavor thank you Aabria for speaking the truth.

Pamela!

Brennan looks like he’s losing his mind lmaooo

Is Deli just gonna flat out kill her in one turn

Ooh that’s a cool ability ngl

Pompous Mockery? Neat

All the multiclasses this season are so cool! Giving me so many ideas!

Don’t kill Colin :(

Horrifying. Horrifying!

Everyone gleefully watching Brennan squirm is so fun

Oh time for some Raphaniel lore!

Oh my god??

Oh does that end his turn?? Does it?

Oh dear lord

That’s our third “how do you want to do this” in like 15 minutes jesus

Karna! So creepy! Love u bb

YOU. DIED. FOR. NOTHING.

Babe WHAT

Ohohoho the political intrigue

“No secret was worth this” Colin honey

Raphaniel is just so unhinged huh

Spiesssss

What. What’s up guys. What? Hello what?

TWO NAT 20S on this poor fucked up apologetic skeleton thing?

SPORES?????

If karna’s bardic just saved him that’s beautiful ngl

Zombies?? Calorum’s got zombies???

On a 22 arcana he’s got no clue? Damn

Oh god what if that’s what Karna would turn into if she didn’t cut the rot out of herself?

Hive mind? Mold hive mind?

How many people have visibly used magic now?

Ooh camera antics

And we go back below the food pyramid!

Sanctus Putris means holy rot jsyk

Oh god oh fuck oh no

Oh this is so reliant on shame. That has so many thoughts attached to it.

Guilt is being utilized so effectively here

I also feel crazy!

#verbal component #ravening war #colin #deli #karna #reactions

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unknownjpegs · 4 months

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roots

His eyes are unfocused on the wound. Wet, red slash. Clean. Somebody’s kept their blade sharp. It gone nice and smooth through creamy, pale flesh. Very fucking textbook, so pretty in its cleaved-clean viscera that an untrained eye might think it fake. Knife wounds are like that, sometimes. The brain looks at one, processes in a sort of empathetic, distant shut-down that offers nope! not real!

Not Benji. Benji knows it’s real. He also knows it’s bad. Lots of blood. Too much, tiptiptiptip drip onto the floor. It’d almost opened to the muscle. Extensor carpi radials longus, he notes, licking his lips. Maybe a centimeter more and this arm would never hold a gun again. Would never wield a blade of its own.

Which would be a shame, because Wolffe’s one brutal prick when he’s holding either. And he’s got the potential, right there under the surface and begging to be peeled back, for worse. Benji respects that. Worse in their line of work usually means fucking horrific.

But now? Wolffe: sweat-soaked and pathetically grey. He doesn’t look like much of anything, let alone a horror.

His head has sagged to the side, eyes listless in his skull. White and rolling about, little gemlike marbles in milk.

“You gonna keep being weird, or you gonna stitch him closed?”

Benji slides hazy eyes up, where Private Tanaka is bent observantly, protectively over his corporal.

“He’ll need a transfusion when we get back. Might have some nerve damage, too. It’ll scar.”

The younger man crouches down, eyebrows bunched as he regards the corporal. “Plenty of those already.”

Where? Where’s the biggest one? Where’s the deepest one. I bet they’re good stories. I bet some of them hurt even now. That tug that makes you worry if moving wrong might unzip the skin again.

“Aye, well, he’s not fuckin’ special in that regard,” Benji intones. Lots of soldiers running about with scars. Some Benji stitched. Some he put there himself.

“Tanaka. Give him a little tap. Need to keep him awake, a’right? Might not get up otherwise.” Benji chuckles, threads the suture needle without looking. “Think we all got better things to do tonight than be caught up in paperwork.”

He doesn’t need to see Lark’s face to know a glare curdles it. Regardless, he seems to recognize the necessity; Wolffe is fading a bit. So he tries, first, the nice way:

“Hey, Baby, c’mon.” Palm on his freckled cheek, a shake.

Benji rolls his eyes. Sentimentality amongst fuckin’ mercenaries. You get two animals hungry enough, no matter how bonded the pair, and they’d still tear each other apart at the promise of food.

“Not a time for gentle,” Benji says, and pinches the skin closed. Blood wells up, but the body beneath makes no noise other than a vaguely pained hiss. Not a good sign, Benji thinks with a pout. It should be hurting. “Give ‘em a solid, you prick. Sure you’ve wanted to.”

I know I have.

“Man,” Lark says, cold and annoyed. “Sorry, Xavier.” He pats a pale cheek twice. A near-gentle slap follows. “Keep your eyes open, dude.”

Benji sucks his teeth, disappointed. Excited. He puts the sutured needle down on Wolffe’s chest. Goes: “No, Tanaka, like this.”

He doesn’t hold back whatsoever. Not in his nature. Especially not with such a pretty, sad face turned up at him from below.

The crack of flesh on flesh is audible. Resounds and reverts all along the concrete walls of the warehouse. Bounces about, has his ears ringing. One of those high tinny ones. A good ring, like the crackcrackcrack of a rifle.

Makes a cold liquid-thrill race down his spine and settle with a rueful shiver. Makes him hard. Because if anything, as the red imprint jumps immediately to the surface, blood just under that thin membrane, it makes him want to do it again. And again.

His hand twitches. But —

Lark is staring at him. He must see the wicked hint of a pleased smile (snarl) on Benji’s mouth — fit there, hummingbird-quick, before he could stop it. He should have stopped it. Lark’s a smart bloke. Much worse, he’s loyal.

Except, Benji thinks, he’s a daft fucking idiot for expending that loyalty any direction than inward. Wasted on a wild creature like the corporal.

“Ever hear the one about the bear guy,” Benji starts, picking up the suture. “Well, actually. Bear guys, ‘cuz it’s a trend, y’know. Multiple guys — trainers, whatever, thought they could handle one? Be nice and friendly, ‘ave themselves a domesticated teddy bear? Stories always end the same.”

Wolffe looks a bit more present. The talking, or the slap, seems to help keep him conscious. His eyes dart between Lark and the medic. Wide, wet, green — deep and saturated, like first spring buds or the forest floor or a healthy gallbladder or gangrene.

Benji climbs up Wolffe’s legs as he speaks, settling on top of his thighs to pin him down. One hand on his bicep, pushing it flat to the concrete. He’ll probably have a mottled, speckled rash on his elbow from this, Benji thinks, and presses down a bit harder.

Lark grimaces. His face is paled with sympathy sickness. To his credit, he holds Wolffe’s head between his knees; keeps him still there, too.

Benji starts to stitch, and as expected, Wolffe thrashes. No meds, even though he could use ‘em. Even though they’re tucked into Benji’s kit. No meds.

“Anyway,” Benji says, once the whimpers have quieted a bit. Each glide of the thread brings the edges of the wound together, pulled peaks of skin taut, until they kiss wet and red in the middle. He’s slightly miffed to see it go. Pretty, textbook. Would have liked to sketch it.

“What I’m sayin’ is,” he presses a gloved thumb close to the edge. “Those dickheads end up getting their faces mauled off.”

He glances up at Lark, stitching the wound now without observation. Muscle memory.

“You ever seen a mauled face, Tanaka?”

Lark shakes his head. His eyes are brutal and angry but locked down on Wolffe. Scared. Trying not to show it. Benji grins.

“Well, I have. And I’m good —” he pulls the final stitch tight, eyes hungry on the wince it earns. “But m’not mauled-face good.”

Shit. Gotta throw a little concern in. No Shadow thinks this medic is normal. None of the Shadows are, anyway. But it does him no good if he cracks open and exposes how deep down the sick little rot goes. If he’s sweet, it might be a quirk. Everybody’s a bit mean. If he’s sweet, it’ll keep Lark from examining if the roots are moldy, too.

They are. It goes far. Bad roots means toss it; a few survivors can be salvaged.

Oh, you can salvage me. Surely you can clip the dead bits. Scrape gray roots clean. Repot. All it needs is some attention. A new, roomy place to grow. Nourish and water and talk and see how high the stem reaches. Look at that bloom. Promise it’s not poisonous. Promise I’m not poisonous. Promise I won’t rot right back down.

He pats Wolffe on the chest. Thump-thump, good work soldier. Except it’s mean. Too hard, for as winded as he is.

Benji goes about packing the remaining supplies up, not bothering to wipe his hands on his pants or anything. Likes that they rub slick together, and finds it strangely fun to pry them apart once they’re dried and cracked. As if he’s a little schoolkid left with glue.

“Tanaka. You got a real pretty face, mate.” It’s a compliment, even though he’s got enough of a read on the man that he knows it won’t get him anywhere fun. He stands fluidly. Pats his pocket for a cigarette, tucks it between his lips with wet fingers.

“Be careful of this one, ‘ey? Wouldn’t want to have to try’n piece you back together.”

#writing #ua #bp #bp x xw #xw #evil bastards au

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magicxc · 2 years

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Twice My Age

Pairings: Andy Barber x Black!Fem!Reader

Summary: After a spring break trip doesn’t go as planned, reader quickly finds another way to make up for the inconvenience.

Word Count: 6461

Warnings: Explicit 18+, Unprotected Sex, Exhibitionism, Spit 4 Lube, Size Kink Kinda, Clit Slapping, Aggressiveness??, Degradation

A/N: Not the deadline being in February and me just getting this done. *hides in shame* Sheesh @tom-whore-dleston, when I tell you I was fighting for time omg.

I’m just really glad I managed to push this out. It’s a wee bit of a slow burn because I had so much I wanted to get off my chest with daddy Andy for obvious reasons lol. I wanted to flesh out each character and even extend this piece to a cute lil mini series, but my brain was like nahh, give her the smoot ASAP!!

So I gave you the smoot 😉 with my prompt being Dads Best Friend and my character being Andy Barber, I present to you:

A snippet of my brain.

P.S. also wanna congratulate Jordan on her increasingly growing followers. She’s such a gem and deserves every good thing life has to offer <3

P.P.S. lol besties, I’m writing this with tears in my eyes because I don’t remember this piece from memory and my stupid, fucking computer deleted the edited version when I had like TWO fucking lines left. Bout to cry again, omg. But anyway, I just wanted to mention that I had LOADS of fun jumping from character to character and even shared a concern or two that things may seem confusing. But I’m super positive that I was able to tie up all loose ends and write this in a way that was easy to digest.

You know that saying that goes something along the lines of you’re only friends with some people because you see them five days a week? Well what if I told you that, that same saying rings true for college buddies too? That even though you may only see your classmates twice a week for bio, or your roommates at night time, or your teammates during practice - a big part of your friendships are formed strictly out of convenience. Steph from Chem? Yeah you think you’re best friends now, but what about two years down the line when she’s no longer lending you her periodic table sheet. Or how about Lenny from the cultural arts club? How cool do you think you’ll be when there are no more study abroad trips to be experienced? And this is not to say that there are any hard feelings that linger, but more so to say that people grow apart. And sometimes the bonds that you form with them aren’t as deeply rooted as you’d like to believe. All it takes is a little time, some distance, a new family - or in this case, all three.

That was what happened between Andrew and Andy. They’d actually started out as, what’s the word - ahh yes, frenemies. In all honesty, there was really no good reason for them to be "beefing" as the kids call it. It was more so the fact that Andys boys didn’t get along with Andrews; and they just so happened to get caught up in the collateral damage of it all. But all that changed come junior year when it dawned on them that they were going to be roommates.

Ha, talk about awkward. Oh trust that they both went bitching to every ear that was willing to listen, writing every letter to anyone that would read it. But unfortunately their RC wasn’t having any of it. That bitch blocked them every step of the way, cementing their living circumstances. Something about one of them being an Aquarius in mercury gatorade. Man, those astrology psychos are annoying. Just the other day one of the coffee shop baristas mentioned that oat milk being her preference is the Scorpio in her - whatever that means.

But as the weeks rolled on by, Andy found that Drew wasn’t so bad to be around after all. The tension became thinner, he found himself laughing at a joke or two, and their conversations grew beyond the occasional "are we out of paper towel?" Truth be told, the drama surrounding their friend group never had anything to do with them in the first place and they soon came to the conclusion that they should’ve formed their own opinions on one another unbiasedly.

Junior year turned into senior year and senior year formed a brotherhood. Andy and Andrew found themselves joined at the hips, as some would say. Where one was, the other wasn’t too far behind, more would joke. They had classes together, shared a living space together, got shit faced drunk together, and in the months to come, managed to walk across the stage together.

But something shifted after graduation. Now that they were done with undergrad, with Andy in law school and Andrew in medical, time together seemed a distant memory. Hitting up the local frat parties? Done. Starting food fights in the cafeteria? Finished. Petty arguments over bone-in or boneless wings? Miss it. Them living in the same quarters? No more.

And even though they would meet up once or twice a week for a couple of beers to catch up on daily life, after a while, even that seemed strained. And that was the time. Time spent away from one another to create a life worth living, to build a legacy they busted their asses for.

The distance came several years down the line when Drew got a job opportunity down in Atlanta. And while Andy was excited for him, he was also super bummed to see his buddy leave Bawston. Of course they would still communicate, but it was nothing like being able to catch up in person. Though, he’ll admit that ATL definitely seemed like a good fit for him for the simple fact that Drew constantly bitched about the cold weather, so Andy figured some southern sunshine would thaw him out good. Not to mention the food and the women, shit he was considering moving down there with him. And that was the distance.

The family eventually came later. Shortly after Drew left for the south, Andy met Laurie. A couple years later, he popped the question, Jacob came into the picture and then they walked down the aisle - where Andrew stood as his best man. It was there that Andy met Drew’s soon to be wife Sienna, whose water just so happened to break during the reception. Sheesh, talk about bad timing. They’d never seen Laurie so hysterical and not for the bouncing bundle of joy no; it was something about ruining her moment. In all fairness, the baby could’ve waited a little bit longer.

But that was a baby Andy, unfortunately, didn’t get the chance to see past her second birthday. The older he and Drew got, it seems the more life pulled them apart. And while they’d still manage to hit each other up for the latest play offs or upcoming birthdays, nothing beats their times together, creating chaos through the university halls. Nonetheless, Andrew and Andy remained the best of buds no matter their time spent away from one another. Drew knew that at the end of the day Andy would do just about anything for him. And it seemed anything was on the other end of the line as Andy watched the name flash across his phone screen.

|~~

The shrill alarm that rings in my ear is enough to piss me off already. And it’s such a shame because the day just started. But I was never an early riser to begin with. My only saving grace is that I was one day closer to five days worth of a spring break. The downside you may ask? I have nowhere to spend it.

It seems my parents are dishing out a little “tough love” as they call it. I mean yeah, I maxed out my credit card, but when would I ever get the chance to snatch some meet and greet tickets for the bad gyal again? Fucking never is the answer. We all know that woman is iffy when it comes to music, let alone tours, so I jumped at the chance to see her. But the queen doesn’t come cheap. And apparently neither did those bank notes. Man, I don’t think I’d ever seen my parents so upset. They legit had me scared to even look at my phone, jumping at the slightest beep in case it was them calling to give me an earful again.

Snoozing the offending noise, I tuck myself beneath the covers only for my mind to wait in anxious anticipation of when the piercing sound will shriek again. Realising that there’s not much sleep in my future, I chuck the covers to the side, roll out of bed, and head for the shower, ready to get a start on my tumultuous day.

|~~

“Stopping every time you get unmotivated means that you lack discipline,” my professor preached from the front of the class. “Discipline will make you do things naturally and effortlessly, whereas motivation just depends on your mood.”

“Yeah well I’m disciplined, if not determined, enough to make my trip to Mexico this weekend,” Kyle shouts from the corner of the room.

“I wish you’d show that same energy in your class work,” the professor retorted.

“Sorry Mr. Banks, but how am I really gonna use this philosophy class in my daily life?” he quips. “I mean, sure the conversations are thought provoking, but how will any of this help me in the real world?”

With a deep, heavy sigh my professor drops his head and utters the fact that he wished he lacked the same critical thinking skills as Kyle, and how happy he seems in his daily life without it.

My mouth curves into a jaw dropping smile and the entire class erupts into a series of gasps and laughter, way too stunned that the mild mannered and soft spoken professor had such a savage moment.

“Kyle,” Mr. Banks huffed “and this goes for anyone else that feels the same way. If you have managed to make it to week 14 out of a 16 week semester with me, with the idea that this class only serves as an elective, don’t even show up for finals.”

“Oh I wasn’t going to do that anyway,” Sarah chirps from behind me. “Catch me in Cali by 10pm tonight.”

“Well let me give you a head start. Get out,” Mr. Banks demands.

A hushed silence falls upon the classroom as Sarah awkwardly unzips her bag to pack her belongings; everyone else having realised that maybe we have gone too far with the professor.

“As I was saying, motivation is based purely on internal inspiration and discipline can be thought of as the strategy or the force behind which you get there. Both motivation and discipline are important yet codependent in achieving the goals you set for yourself. And for your final, I’d like you to write a ten page paper on how you use them in your daily lives. How you were able to overcome one of life’s many hurdles. Maybe even how you’ve used both to succeed in my classroom. Take tomorrow’s class time as an extra day to mull over your thoughts. The paper is due two weeks from now. Stay safe, enjoy your breaks, and come back prepared to discuss the effects of nature vs nurture. And while there may be no stupid questions, I do believe in stupid answers; you’re dismissed!

“Well damn, what crawled up his ass,” Michelle snickered from beside me.

“He’s just tired of yall shit,” Walter grumbled as he headed for the door.

“Anyways,” Michelle sassed, turning toward me. “I cant believe your parents cut you off.”

“Right! It’s not like they don’t have money to spare, why they insist on being so stingy with me is unbelievable.”

“Mhmm, wish you could come,” she pouted.

“WiSh YoU cOuLd ComE,” I mocked. “Michelle, money is the very least of your problems, if you really wanted me to come, you’d spot me.”

“Last time I checked, I wasn’t an ATM beloved so I suggest you sort that out,” she chided. “Preferably before they start renovations on the west wing.”

“ON THE WHAT?? That’s where we stay,” I bawled.

“Duh, that’s why I’m telling you.”

Grabbing our things, we carry on in light conversation, mostly of Michelle telling me about all the fun activities she has planned for the trip. And as we head back to the dorms where I’ll, no doubt, have to watch her pack her suitcases and rub it into my face, I briefly wonder why I continue to hang out with such shallow individuals.

|~~

“But daddddd,” I whined into the phone. “In all fairness, you never told me I had a limit on the card.”

“Listen to me and listen to me good. I will continue to cover your books, tuition and whatever class related miscellaneous fees that may come up, but anything else is on you. So you better find out who’s hiring.”

“Ok, but they’re literally going to be renovating the west wing on campus, something about a pipe failure - which means NO water,” I protested.

“Y/N, water will be the very least of your worries if you have to come down here for spring break.”

Gulping, I decide that now is the time to shut the hell up. My dad is the more easy going parent and to have him this fuming at me honestly has me a little bummed. I mean, I used to have him wrapped around my finger and ever since my little sister was born, its like fuck how I feel. He then goes on to tell me how DiSaPpOiNtEd he is in me and if that’s the same recurring speech I have to listen to when I go back home, I think I’ll take my chances dying of thirst up here. So much for choosing a college out of state, I still have to hear my parents bitch and moan. Who woulda thought.

I manage to make up some lie about campus admin allowing students to stay in the east wing dorms for the time being, and as usual my parents eat that shit up. Before saying our goodbyes, daddy mentions his lawyer buddy Andy and how he lives not too far away just in case anything may come up. I honestly forgot Andy even existed and just as I’m about to reject it, mum mentions the neighbourhood that he resides in. And that brings a sly grin to my face.

While I may not be able to slut it up in Miami with the rest of the girlies, I can at least use up some of their free resources. And in that moment, I decide to set up a tinder account, hoping to find men in Andy's neighborhood. Maybe then I’ll get some sucker to spend some racks and really make my spring break worth it. Saving his number in my phone, I hang up from my parents and give him a quick call - watching as his number flashes across my screen.

|~~

Driving into the diners lot, I park and touch up my lipstick, capturing a quick selfie to upload to my dating profile. I’d be lying if I said that was the only reason I came here with a face beat for the gawds. I don’t remember much about Andy, except for the fact that he’s daddy’s bestie. But while we were on the phone, I noticed something very…sexy in the way he spoke. The way it steadily drifted through the line, all warm and buttery. I know Andy is supposed to be a family friend or whatever, but if he’s forty then so am I cause ya girl is ready to see if the face matches the voice.

I picked the diner, feeling most comfortable in this setting. This place has seen me through some of my drunkest moments, stuffing my face with their fluffy pancake goodness. And it seemed neutral enough cause who doesn’t like to eat, plus the people here are so nice.

Stepping inside, I scan the crowd, examining every patron in hopes of spotting the man of the hour. It takes a moment until I meet the gaze of the blue eyed hawty, mouth curved into a small smile as I make my way over to the table.

|~~

Staring down at the menu, I notice that they have something by the name of a footlong hot dog. And my mind is beyond boggled cause where do they even find that much meat? No way all of that is real. No wonder the prices in here are so affordable, they’re feeding the customers mystery meat. Gently closing my menu, I slide it forward already knowing that I won’t be consuming much of anything. Hands clasped together on the table and eyes glued to the door I straighten up, and patiently wait for my new house guest.

Imagine my surprise when I got the call from Andrew that his baby girl needed a place to stay for the spring break. I was fixing to ask if money was becoming an issue for him until he told me that this was all a part of the tough love that he was giving her. I mean I get it, I’ve come close to strangling Jacob a time or two; and Andrews my boy, so I don’t mind doing him this favor. Plus I can imagine how lonely it must be around this time on college campus. I’m seriously hoping she’s something similar to her old man though. It’ll be great to have someone to play NBA live against; and if she’s anything like him, I’ll be kicking her ass in that too. Or maybe she likes to crack open a cold one, though Drew was a bit of a lightweight. And even though she might like -

My inner thoughts die on my tongue as I see this…this woman make her way towards me. Y/N? Drew’s Y/N? Body stiffening in my seat, I inhale a sharp breath of air, unable to help but notice what long legs she has. And those hips, how full they are. Even her breasts, the way it -

“Andy?” she asked curiously.

Beaming up at her, I let out a hearty laugh as I stand up to greet her with a hug; gesturing for us to sit down at the table. Introductions get exchanged as we take a seat to discuss what the next couple of days will be like.

“I only have one question,” I stated. “You maxed out Drews credit card to see RiRi?”

“Andy please, you would’ve too had the Backstreet Boys been coming to town,” she defended.

“Yeah, well unlike you, I can actually afford to see them."

If slack jaw buggy eyed was somewhere in the dictionary, it’d have a picture of her face next to it. Oh yeah I took it there, she better recognized.

“ANDY NO WAY YOU JUST CAME FOR MY LIFE LIKE THAT,” she shrieked.

“Loud again, what else is new?” the waitress asked as she pulled out a notepad. Her name tag reads Sugar and I find that too ironic.

“Sugar mama, don’t be acting brand new."

“So the usual then,” Sugar laughed.

“The usual,” Y/N confirmed.

“And for you sir?” She pointed at me.

“They have really good hotdogs here,” Y/N suggested.

“A cup of coffee will do.”

“Coming right up,” the waitress said. And with that, she left.

I wonder if Drew would hate me if he knew the impure thoughts I have running through my mind right now. Like on a scale of 1-10 how pissed can he reasonably be if I put his daughter through a mattress. This could all be a part of the tough love lesson right? Yeah that’s not gonna slide, even for me. Maybe I can make up some last minute excuse for her not to stay over cause, I’m not sure I can contain myself. A gentle hand sliding across mine brings me back to the present - apparently she’d been speaking to me.

“I was asking how’s your family, daddy mentioned that your son is almost in high school.”

“Yeah, I kinda want him to slow down. It seems just yesterday I was swaddling him in his blanket.”

“Yeah, well he can’t stay a kid forever, they gotta grow up.”

“That they do,” I said, swiping my tongue across my bottom lip.

A mug of coffee being slid in my direction breaks whatever the hell kind of trance I was in. But it isn’t until I go to grab it do I realise that Y/N’s hand still lingers on mine. An awkward clearing of the throat sounds from above as I watch the waitress slide a banana shake over to Y/N while simultaneously giving me the stink eye. She snatches her hand away and thanks the lady before grabbing a straw and sinking it in. An audible moan leaves her mouth and I’m itching to see how good the milkshake really is; but not from the cup.

“So spring break for you is going to be what, four to five days?”

“Five to be exact,” she says swallowing. “But I can leave sooner if need be.”

“No, not at all. I’m a man of accuracy is all,”

“Alright cool, I just need to make a quick stop to the mall first.”

“With what money?”

“Rule number one, smart ass, is always have multiple sources of income.”

|~~

I literally have $200 left to my name and that was from a wild ass girls night out. How I managed to come home $200 richer is beyond me, but I try not to question the Lord’s blessings. All I know is that broke or not, I’ll find a sale. And that’s how I found myself picking up everything in sight in this Bath and Body Works store. Anybody that knows me knows that I go crazy for these candles and I’ll be damned if I let daddies pettiness get in the way of my $12 sale.

Meanwhile Andy is over here swiping his card like his life depends on it; something about being a good friend to daddy. Dammit, I wonder if he needs another best friend. And he lives around the corner? I’ll tutor his son Jason in math or something if it means I’ll get spoiled like this.

Ok, so I managed to get away with BBW, Perfumania, and even Pink. Now I’m ready to see how deep those pockets really go as I step into Lane Bryant. I’ve been needing a new set of bras for a minute now and anyone with a big chest knows that they’re where it’s at for any decent bra. But imagine my surprise as I walk in the store and find that they’re promoting a sale of their newest lingerie line to drop. Well if it isn’t my lucky day. I’m running into sale after sale, shit I may just need to meet more of daddy’s friends.

“Andy, I think a surprise gift from here would send your wife over the moon,” I gushed while holding up a purple, mesh two piece set.

I’m thinking if he can get something out of this store run then maybe I wouldn’t have worn out my welcome so to speak. Cause I just spotted a leopard print bra that I CANNOT leave this store without and if I have to kiss some ass and pick out a thing or two for his wife, then so be it.

“I don’t know, purple isn’t really her color,” he hesitated.

“Well, what’s her color?” I urge.

“Hmm, for starters, she’s more into softer palettes. She likes to play it safe,” he says, tracing the outline of a bustier on the rack. “But uhh, I don’t think this is totally appropriate.”

“Andy, I’m a grown ass woman,” I protested. “I’ve found myself in more compromising situations; besides, a lady loves it when her man surprises her from time to time.”

Dammit, this isn’t enough. Andy’s looking less and less convinced by the minute. I mean earlier today, I practically finger fucked his hand back at the diner, he’s been spending money on me without a single ounce of complaint, but he draws the line at lingerie for his wife? No wonder daddy moved away, this town and its people are weird.

“I mean what better way to spice up a relationship right? And even if Laurie doesn’t like it, it’ll open up more doors to figure out what works best for y’all, hmm.”

Ok, so there’s some scratching of the head, I’m getting somewhere, he’s at least considering it. I just need something to tip him over to the edge.

“Sometimes these clothes can seem a little too intense but I promise it’s not so bad once you actually get it on some skin” I surmised. “Tell you what, I’ll even try on a few if you’re up to it?”

Hook, line, and sinker: got his ass. His open posture told me all I needed to know.

“There’s a few things that caught my eyes, surprise surprise,” I laughed. “Just pick out three items and meet me back at the dressing rooms,” I scream out as I make my way to the other end of the store, hoping to hurry the hell up before he comes to his senses.

|~~

Alright so I have three sets of bras, one corset, a teddy, and two pairs of lace panties; ya know, something light to hold me over into the next semester. I just have to make one more pit stop before the register I thought, sashaying into the dressing room. What’s the point in buying them if they don’t fit right?

As I’m preparing to change back into my clothes, a light tap on the door breaks my concentration and for a minute I forgot all about Andy boy out there. I decide to stay topless and open the door wide enough to give him a taste, just in case he’s coming here to give me some holier than thou sob story.

“Andy, did you find anything?”

“Uhh, ye-yeah,” he says attempting to avert his gaze. “I managed to get a few things I think Laurie would really appreciate.”

Thankfully he misses the sly smirk that dangles at the corner of my lips and all but shoves the items into my hand before marching in the other direction. I close the door and slap my hands over my mouth to suppress my laughter; cackling hysterically. Finally managing to have calmed down, I step back and actually take in what it is that he picked out.

First up is a mint green camisole silk set with the boy shorts to match - BORING. Where is this Laurie chick going, to a sleepover? After that, is a royal blue babydoll chemise and honestly, I cant even be mad at it, I’m a little impressed. For once it seems like they actually fuck. And last, but certainly not least, oh I think Andy is fucking with me on this one - its a midnight black two piece lace lingerinie with the garter belt to match; and I may just take this one home with me. No way his wife would actually wear this.

Game recognizes game, he just wants me to try it on cause it’s the only time he’ll ever see a woman dressed in one of these outside of a porn website. And after all the money he spent today, it’s only right that I put on a little show for him.

“Oh Andyyyy, there’s a snake in my boot,” I jested; trying my best to lighten the mood. “Coming to you straight outta Bawston, your newest Fenty line addition, let’s give it up for this silk two pieceeee. Can ya say green is my color?”

The chuckle that escapes him is rich. Honestly I should really get paid for this. I mean the joy that I bring to peoples lives, it’s a skill to be honest.

“Oh wow, you wear that better than the hanger,” he jokes.

“Don’t I? But how do you think Laurie will like it?”

“Oh I think it’s in the bag,” he whispers lowly.

“Alrighty, well let me go ahead and change into item number two,” I winked, walking back into the dressing room.

Now the next one is honestly sexy and a sure fire way to spice up whatever boring sex I’m sure he suffers from at home. For goodness sake, Laurie should thank him everyday he walks through that door without cheating. Considering this next piece falls like a dress, I’m wondering if I should be a little naughty and go commando. It’s not like we’re putting it back on the shelf, I mean if anything I’ll take it home if the wife doesn’t want it.

“Are you ready?” I asked, peeking from behind the door.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“I mean this dress IS a little revealing Mr. Barber, I think it’s only right you step inside for this one.”

He releases a loud puff of air and I can see the war going on behind his eyes; actively fighting mind over body on if he’ll actually go through with this. But I’m so over his morals, I mean come on, we’ve already made it this far. And it’s not like I’ll go blabbering to my father about how I modeled lingerie to his best friend, so he might as well enjoy the show.

“This sale is really driving in the customers and I-I would hate to see you exposed while doing me a favor,” Andy rambles on.

Making his way toward the door in unsure steps, he gets within arm’s length and I drag him in the rest of the way, all too giddy for my own good. Closing the door behind me, I turn to Andy to find him frigid and noticeably uncomfortable; but that’s more so from those naughty thoughts he has swirling around in his head. And I think, why not make this interesting. Twirling around, I give him a complete 360 of the dress, pulling at all the places that would accentuate my curves. I even manage a soft moan or two in between and give a couple poses to really sell the point.

“So? Whaddya think?”

“I think that Laurie is in for a treat.”

Do I see beads of sweat? Ohhh my gosh, I cannot wait until I get ahold of Michelle.

“So item number two is a go?”

“It’s a go,” he mutters.

“The last ones up next, I won’t be long,” I promised.

He nods his head and shuffles his way to the door, only his eagerness has him bumping into the line of clothes I have hung up, each of them tumbling to the floor. He’s quick to mumble out apology after apology and I seize this opportunity to really send this man over the edge.

“Andy, it’s okay, I’ll pick it up. Just go around me, I won’t be long.”

Bending down, I grab each item and there’s a cool chill that reaches my heat, letting me know that I was fully exposed. It isn’t lost on me that the incessant chattering from behind had also stopped. BINGO! Raising up to my full height, I go to shoo Andy out the door, only to get slammed into the wall behind me. Pupils wildly dilated, Andy is hunched over me, heavily panting, as his warm breath fans over my face. There’s something about him that looks so feral and I almost cream at the sight.

“All day, I was confused,” Andy admitted. “Your hand on mine at the diner, the way you’d twinkle your eyes at me in each store, and even going so far as to help me pick out a few clothes for Laurie?”

“Andy, thats -“

“I thought, maybe this chick just comes off flirtatious, but now? Oh there’s no mistaking your intentions now.”

“And what are you going to do about it now that you know I find you sexy?” I challenged.

“I’m gonna give you what you want."

“Right now?” I panicked. “There are other shoppers in here too.”

“Guess you better be quiet then,” he said sliding his hands between my thighs.

Knocking from the other end of the door has my eyeballs bulging out of the sockets. Heart galloping in my chest, the only thing I can hear is its rapid beating. I’m stuck somewhere between answering it and pretending not to be here, but the way the lady is speaking from the other end, it’s safe to say the jig is up.

“Miss, are you okay, I heard a big bang on the other side of the wall,” the store associate chirped.

“YeAHHHH, so-sorry about that, I’m a bit clumsy today.” I responded.

Oh this one likes to play dirty huh. It was at that moment that he decided to push his fingers inside me and it took everything in me not to screech, cause for one I’m still sorta dry. And it’s not like Andy has small digits.

“That’s no problem love, just remember our store is having a BOGO free sale on bralettes for today only.”

Damn does she ever shut up. Ripping pierces my ears as Andy attempts to pull the chemise down to free my nipples. He effectively ruins the material and pops my boob into his mouth without a care.

“Also, you broke it you bought it. Happy shopping!” the sales lady sings as she skips away.

“Ugh bit- yeowww Andy stop,” I whisper yelled to him.

“I’m so sorry baby, I just got a little carried away.”

Popping my nipple back into his mouth, I feel my body start to slacken up if you catch my drift, which allows him to drive his fingers into me with a little more ease.

Andy builds up a nice little momentum. One hand is steadily tweaking my nipples while his mouth slobs on the other. His expert fingers continue to thrust into me, while he drags his thumb across my clit and each time I shiver ever so slightly. My hips begin to roll in rotation at this divine sensation and just as he feels my walls start to squeeze him a little too tightly, he yanks his hands out of me.

“If you think that Im gonna let you cum anywhere but my dick the first time we fuck, then you must be as slow as your pops thinks you are.”

“Okay rude,” I grumbled.

Andy pulls away from me and takes a seat on the mini bench, unbuckling his pants and placing his semi erect dick on full display. And oh my, what a display it is. I swear I almost drool at the sheer beauty of it. The way his precum slowly oozes out of the mushroom tip. The way that his angry, swollen veins strains against his delicate skin. And oh my, how can I resist the way that his dick twitches in anticipation, just begging for some sort of relief. Coming in at least eight inches, I’m ready to risk it all; daddys life long friendship be damned. He motions me forward with his fingers, yanking me toward him, the closer I get, until I’m kneeling before him - doe eyes gleaming with want.

“The only reason I dont have my dick touching the back of your throat right now is because I’m feeling a little eager today,” he boasted. “So get your ass up here and ride me facing the mirror so you can see what a whore looks like when they cum.”

Well shit, that’s if I haven’t come already. Oh boy, do I love my man with a twinge of aggression. Climbing into Andy’s lap, I hover above him and slowly sink myself onto his member until I reach the hilt; feeling the wind knocked out of me as I do so. My back to his chest, I inhale sharply, trying to remember to breathe as this man stretches me out.

“Don’t be shy, you can move,” Andy taunts.

“I just need a minute okay,” I sassed back.

Spitting on his fingers, Andy slaps it onto my clit and I jump up in a bit of painful shock. He does it again and a small shriek makes it way from the back of my throat. Only this time when his fingers land on my clit, he begins to rub them in figure eight motions. It gives me slight relief and I lean my head against his shoulders as I try building the strength to fuck this man; only a harsh grip on my jaw jolts me out of my solace.

“Oh no, none of that,” Andy states while facing my head forward. “You wanna spend my money like a grown woman, then you can get fucked like one too, so ride me NOW,” he enunciated with a firm squeeze to my cheeks.

My trembling hands linger over his thighs as I hold on for balance and start to steadily slide up and down his shaft.

“Oh come on, all that big shit you talked earlier, this is the best you can do?”

“Andy, I’m trying."

His hands speed up on my clit and finally the moisture that I need accumulates enough for me to slide down him with a little more ease. I manage to pick up my pace ever so slightly, blowing out small huffs of air in order not to scream out my delight.

“There you go princess, now you know what it feels like fuck on a real man huh?”

Nodding my head vigorously, he tuts in disapproval.

“No, Y/N I need words”

“Yes, Andy, Yes!” I moan out.

“Go ahead and tell me how I’ve ruined you for any other little college boys.”

“You’ve ru-ruined, ahh God.”

“God’s not here right now Y/N, get it together.”

The juices that I feel slithering down my thighs ought to have me ashamed. I have literally never had this reaction with another man before, and I’ve been with quite a few.

Bouncing on Andy’s dick in earnest, his steady assault on my bud has me seeing stars. And the way he’s insistent on me watching myself in the mirror, clenching my jaw steady while his other hand holds my waist in support? I think I might fall in love. Shit, I couldn’t care less about being loud at this point or the wet noises I’m sure the other patrons can hear. The way my eyes are rolling back, I’m somewhat embarrassed at the faces this man is pulling from me.

“Shhh,” he whispers while kissing along my neck. “Do you really want everyone to know how dumb you get when you’re stuffed full of dick?”

A loud cry makes its way past my lips and the hand that was once holding my face is now clasped tightly over my mouth; which I am SO grateful for as I whimper endlessly into his palms.

Speeding up just a little, I feel myself on the brink of combustion once again and coupled with Andy’s fingers it isn’t long until my body explodes with clear liquid flying in every which way as I ride through the intensity of it all. Coming to a steady stop, I throw my head back on his shoulder, spent as hell and all but positive this baby doll is mine to keep. Realising that Andy didn’t come, I offered to finish him off but he just told me that he’s a patient man and that we should head to the house, where he can properly lay out what’s to he expected over the course of the next couple of days.

“Besides, I usually don’t come until at least twenty two minutes in,” Andy bragged.

“Huh?”

Ok so maybe I didn’t think this spring break through. I’d at the very least like to make it back to the dorms in one piece.

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throwmethatcello · 4 years

Text

My favorite moments from each member of Vox Machina.

Grog

- The whole trash talk pre-battle against Kevdak. Travis WOW.

- "Grand Poobah de Doink of all Thisanthat" and everything that came with that title.

- When he asked Pike to teach him how to read and I ugly cried + "I spend the following years learning how to read" in the epilogue and I also ugly cried.

- “The Grog and Craven Edge show”

- When he was sad because he didn't have a role in Vex and Percy's wedding and then they asked him to be the flower girl and he was.just.so.happy.and.proud.of.himself. “Can I have this job??” Groooog why are you so wholesome :'(

Vex

- "I thought he'd never leave" - No explanation needed

- "I open the door COMPLETELY NAKED" - Behold the supreme queen of powerplays, we are not worthy and we'll never be.

- When she went find Kaylie after Scanlan died and convinced her to go see him + Later when Allura told her the resurrection ritual succeeded and she was so happy but she was all alone in that tavern so she just started buying everyone drinks (and spending money????? !!!!!!) and flirting with people out of habit but then she kinda remembered she was with Percy and backed off and went to sleep, lmao what a journey.

- Her wedding vows. Laura Bailey will you please let me live.

Vax

- The time the Briarwoods caught him spying on them and he serious and genuinely attempted to fuck his way out of there and in all fairness who can blame him. Truly the bisexual representation I deserve, god bless this dumb horny boy.

- GUYS. WHERE. IS. LARKIN!!!

- “let's go, you bastard!” and kissed Percy. Thank you Liam O’Brien for my life.

- He really went straight to Percy’s bathroom and got into the tub with him just to share an awkward silence and tell him that he’s like a brother to him and then showed him his ass as he left. Vax’ildan what the actual fuck, brothers don’t do that kind of shit and you know it, why are you like this!!!

Percy

- *Masterfully parlays with an ancient green dragon and keeps his cool until the very moment she leaves the room. Proceeds to have a panic attack* Also pretty sure he kinda wanted to fuck the dragon. Anyways this scene is sexy af and I stan a badass bitch with severe trauma and valid kinks.

- When he literally inflicted damage to himself with a kettle full of fantasy menthos to win a cannonball contest.

- Wasted! Percy (ft. Keyleth and the weird marquesian drink)

- "SYLAS!!!!"

- This motherfucker, this absolute agent of madness went and signed yet another soul-binding contract with a demon under the galaxy brain reasoning that "I already sold my soul once, so if I sell it again worst case scenario I get to watch 2 demons fighting over my soul and that would be very entertaining" I'm-

Tary

- “It’s going to be FUN, FUN, FUN!”

- Flashcards class with Pike. Just. Amazing. Outstanding. Sam Riegel what you have is called TALENT.

- “...and it was the METRIC SYSTEM!”

- The time Taryon Darrington spent his first night in company of a lady and immediately decided it was going to be the last one.

- His “fuck you dad” speech was absolutely beautiful and his explanation on how Vox Machina showed him what it meant to be a family. Sam you can’t just fucking do this kind of shit to unsuspecting watchers, I’m soft.

Keyleth

- "We are basically gods!" *proceeds to jump off a cliff and die" WE LOVE A DUMBASS QUEEN.

- When she went off on Raishan, just omg Keyleth, the raw power of it all!!!

- "Hey percy you know what would be fun, if I turned into a fucking elephant and you got on top of me so we can go deliver this mask/helmet to Grog in a cool classy fashion. *turns into an elephant* Oh shoot I forgot doors exist, it sure would have been a good idea to polimorph after leaving the room, well whatever, here goes nothing *starts to fucking smash the door with her elephant body* Oh, here comes Grog and Scanlan, hey guys! Wait, why are you attacking me it's me, your good friend Keyleth! Ouch! Ok you know what now I'm pissed, let's fucking go!! If I shall go down in this form so be it. *Rages against Grog and Scanlan and gets fucking decked*

- Keyleth’s epilogue was just beautiful and the perfect way to close the campaign. Much feels. Much cry.

Pike

- *Takes a sip of the weird Markesian drink* "Haha I don't feel anything" *Takes another sip of the weird Markesian drink. Passes out automatically*

- Pike: Maybe we should sleep together and see how it goes

Scanlan: O- OKAY????

Pike: No just kidding lol sorry

- “Guiding bolt up his butt”

- "Sometimes I talk to Scanlan through the earring even though I know he can't hear me" like, Ashley stop. And then she gets drunk and starts actually talking to him like, ASHLEY STOP.

Scanlan

- "You'll leave when Burt Reynolds tells you to leave!"

- "Do you spice?" or "Scanlan spends a whole episode in a quest for drugs. Ends up getting a bag of baking soda for like 400G. Lives with the shame for the rest of his life" Perfect. Spectacular. You just can't write shit this good.

- When he apologizes to Pike for being a fuckboy.

- Every single counterspell this motherfucker has ever casted.

- Basically the whole battle against Vecna was endless epic content from Scanlan.

- You know what, every single Scanlan moment is iconic and we all know it. Let's not pretend we can just pick a few.

#critical role #campaign 1 #vox machina #spoilers #grog strongjaw #vex'ahlia #vax'ildan #percival de rolo #taryon darrington #keyleth of the air ashari #pike trickfoot #scanlan shorthalt

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whyiask · 3 years

Note

You are swine you vulgar little maggot. Don't you know that you are pathetic? You worthless bag of filth. As we say in California, I'll bet you couldn't pour piss out of a boot with instructions on the heel. You are a canker. A sore that won't go away. A zit on the butt of society. I would rather kiss a lawyer than be seen with you.

You are a fiend and a coward, and you have bad breath. You are degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just for knowing you exist. I despise everything about you. You are a bloody nardless newbie twit protohominid chromosomally aberrant caricature of a coprophagic cloacal parasitic pond scum and I wish you would go away.

You're a putrescence mass, a walking vomit. You are a spineless little worm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt. You are a jerk, a cad, a weasel. Your life is a monument to stupidity. You are a stench, a revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon.

You are a bleating fool, a curdled staggering mutant dwarf smeared richly with the effluvia and offal accompanying your alleged birth into this world. An insensate, blinking calf, meaningful to nobody, abandoned by the puke-drooling, giggling beasts who sired you and then killed themselves in recognition of what they had done.

I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same species as you. You are a monster, an ogre, a malformity. I barf at the very thought of you. You have all the appeal of a paper cut. Lepers avoid you. Because off your face the rabbit population actually decreased. You are vile, worthless, less than nothing. You are a weed, a fungus, the dregs of this earth. And did I mention you smell?

If you aren't an idiot, you made a world-class effort at simulating one.

You snail-skulled little rabbit. Would that a hawk pick you up, drive its beak into your brain, and upon finding it rancid set you loose to fly briefly before spattering the ocean rocks with the frothy pink shame of your ignoble blood. May you choke on the queasy, convulsing nausea of your own trite, foolish beliefs.

You are weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. You are grimy, squalid, nasty and profane. You are foul and disgusting. You're a fool, an ignoramus. Monkeys look down on you. Even sheep won't have sex with you. You are unreservedly pathetic, starved for attention, and lost in a land that reality forgot.

You are a waste of flesh. You have no rhythm. You are ridiculous and obnoxious. You are the moral equivalent of a leech. You are a living emptiness, a meaningless void. You are sour and senile. You are a disease, you puerile one-handed slack-jawed drooling meatslapper.

On a good day you're a half-wit. You remind me of drool. You are deficient in all that lends character. You have the personality of wallpaper. You are dank and filthy. You are asinine and benighted. You are the source of all unpleasantness. You spread misery and sorrow wherever you go.

I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you are. I mean rock-hard stupid. Dehydrated-rock-hard stupid. Stupid so stupid that it goes way beyond the stupid we know into a whole different dimension of stupid. You are trans-stupid stupid. Meta-stupid. Stupid collapsed on itself so far that even the neutrons have collapsed. Stupid gotten so dense that no intellect can escape. Singularity stupid. Blazing hot mid-day sun on Mercury stupid. You emit more stupid in one second than our entire galaxy emits in a year. Quasar stupid. Your writing has to be a troll. Nothing in our universe can really be this stupid. Perhaps this is some primordial fragment from the original big bang of stupid. Some pure essence of a stupid so uncontaminated by anything else as to be beyond the laws of physics that we know. I'm sorry. I can't go on. This is an epiphany of stupid for me. After this, you may not hear from me again for a while. I don't have enough strength left to deride your ignorant questions and half baked comments about unimportant trivia, or any of the rest of this drivel. Duh.

Maybe later in life, after you have learned to read, write, spell, and count, you will have more success. True, these are rudimentary skills that many of us "normal" people take for granted that everyone has an easy time of mastering. But we sometimes forget that there are "challenged" persons in this world who find these things more difficult. I wish you the best of luck in the emotional, and social struggles that seem to be placing such a demand on you.

P.S.: You are hypocritical, greedy, violent, malevolent, vengeful, cowardly, deadly, mendacious, meretricious, loathsome, despicable, belligerent, opportunistic, barratrous, contemptible, criminal, fascistic, bigoted, racist, sexist, avaricious, tasteless, idiotic, brain-damaged, imbecilic, insane, arrogant, deceitful, demented, lame, self-righteous, byzantine, conspiratorial, satanic, fraudulent, libelous, bilious, splenetic, spastic, ignorant, clueless, illegitimate, harmful, destructive, dumb, evasive, double-talking, devious, revisionist, narrow, manipulative, paternalistic, fundamentalist, dogmatic, idolatrous, unethical, cultic, diseased, suppressive, controlling, restrictive, malignant, deceptive, dim, crazy, weird, dystopic, stifling, uncaring, plantigrade, grim, unsympathetic, jargon-spouting, censorious, secretive, aggressive, mind-numbing, arassive, poisonous, flagrant, self-destructive, abusive, socially-retarded, puerile, clueless, and generally Not Good

SJDKSJDKSKDD OMG THIS IS THE MOST HILARIOUS ASK I'VE EVER GOTTEN, TYSM FOR BLESSING MY INBOX WITH THIS, ANON SJDKSJDKSJDJDKDJDK

#anon #SJDKSJDKDK #im fucking WHEEZING #PFFT- LMAOOO

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( SOMETHING COMFORTING. )

Jeon Jungkook loves Overwatch, drinking games, and Halloween. What he loves more than that? You.

pairing. gamer!jjk x named f!reader.

genre + rating. idol!au set in room filled with bunnies and a cotton candy machine that’s exploded. it’s just that fluffy. (but also explicit cause why not.)

tags / warnings. established relationship, gaming (overwatch), dorky weeb references, mentions of drinking, yugyeom makes an appearance (!!), fingering, soft soft soft love making in the shower.

wc. 9.7k

beta reader(s). the lovely @kerikaaria read through this to make sure i didn’t get too nerdy. tysm! 💛 i may like further changes once my beloved @hobi-gif gets her hands on it but i’m a potato who wanted to post this quickly. oops...

author note. this fulfills the “jeon jungkook” square of @btsholidaybingo‘s bts holiday bingo 2020 and this is the couple from angels & airwaves. while this story isn’t super plot-driven, it’s meant to be a little peek into the lives of a couple that live in my mind rent-free and continue to make me soft and gooey inside. i hope you enjoy it!

You don’t know how he talked you into it or how it really happened. You remember, faintly, the mention of a party. Something about it being a small thing - just a few close friends, the members, etc. He’d said it so offhand, like commenting on the sky or asking for another package of Choco Boys, so you hadn't given it a second thought. If it was important, he’d bring it up again and if not, well, you hardly remembered it anyway. Win-win or whatever.

So you’d given up some intelligence points, traded them for space to fit more gaming knowledge. Somewhere along the line went your memory too - the conversation wiped from your brain like Will Smith had lasered it clean.

“Zarya’s one! Zarya’s one—“ You’re not sure how many times you can repeat yourself, shrieking through comms to a team that doesn’t seem to want to listen. You’re blasted into oblivion, Mercy’s prone body launched across the map as you watch your Rein fall too. There’s an irritation bubbling in your stomach, fizzing uncomfortably like the Japanese honeydew soda you’d had at lunch. “Zarya’s actually one!”

No one cares. She’s healed by the time you respawn and make it back across the map.

“Jesus—“ Your push-to-talk remains off for that flippant comment, distaste colouring your words a bitter shade of blue. You almost want to let your Ashe get headshot by the enemy Widow, only switching the stream from damage boosting to healing when your teammate starts spamming their hotkey.

I need healing! I need healing!

What you need is a team that listens to your calls or at the very least communicates in some way. Doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen though. There’s near radio silence in the voice chat, the only other person remotely helpful being your bouncing booping Lucio that’s trying to keep a flanking Tracer off point. Stupid. You almost feel bad for him, Guardian Angeling to him when no one else seems to want to offer any support.

Ah, the life of a support player in masters ranked. So infuriating and yet— nope. Just infuriating.

You lose the first round with 1:56 to spare, to no one’s surprise. Okay, maybe to your Reinhardt’s surprise. He’s being surprisingly chipper in text chat, sending WP and a dorky smiley face. You think he must volunteer at the local animal shelter and buy coffee for the people behind him in the drive-thru. He’s far too well-adjusted, not shooting off a single accusation to anyone on the team. A silver lining, you suppose.

Your second round starts well enough. Your comp is solid - as much as it can be in the current off-tank dominated meta. Hog, Zarya, a private profiled GM Widowmaker, Tracer, Lucio, and you as Ana. You’d prefer to play Mercy - find the most comfort in her skill set - but on an attack map, you’re not risking a headshot right out of spawn. Broken maximum damage good stuff means healers are squishy and you don’t have your usual DPS to boost. (He’s off doing god knows what - maybe filming an ad for Samsung or breaking the internet with his permed man bun.)

You make it through the choke without much ado. The enemy Rein is wildly out of position, eager to make some big brained play that goes terribly wrong. Your Lucio chuckles through voice and you join him, tossing a nade when your Zarya looks like she’s about to die to a poorly executed 360 shatter.

“You winning?”

It’s your boyfriend peeking over your shoulder, so close you nearly scream, mouse launched across your desk with the intensity of your reaction. You hadn’t heard him come in, the stupid sneaky bastard as quiet as a mouse.

(It’s not your own fault. He knows you can’t hear anything when you’ve got your headphones on, the noise cancelling in your state of the art Sennheisers not something to scoff at.)

“Jeez, Kook!” You want to be more mad. Really, you do. You’re scrambling across your desk to retrieve your mouse, squeaking a quick apology into team voice when your hero stays in one place for too long. Luckily, Hog - previously sweet kind Rein - throws his big fat piggy self directly in front of you, effectively saving you from an otherwise miserable death at the hands of Torbjorn.

“What?” Jeon Jungkook has the audacity to look scandalised, shiny eyes so wide and innocent they feel more as if they belong in an early 2000s anime.

You’re not even looking at him when you huff - too invested in your Overwatch game to give him the hell he deserves. All you manage is a swift don’t scare me like that! as you pump your tanks back to full health.

You notice Jungkook hasn’t moved away, still peering curiously over your shoulder. You know he hasn’t had much time to play lately, too involved with appearances for their comeback, his schedule too packed even for you some days. You don’t blame him when he pulls his chair up behind you, rolling into place so he’s just within your periphery.

It’s a little distracting; he smells good, like his - and by extension your - favourite laundry detergent and a fruity, nectarine-heavy shampoo you’d picked up for him when he’d run out of his usual. You notice then that his hair is wet, just the wrong-side of too damp with droplets beading over his neck. Moisture soaks into the top of his shirt and you think it might be more soaked than you can see; it’s hard to tell when it’s a jet black shirt, one of the many he keeps in your closet for the nights he stays over. You realise then that he must’ve been home far longer than you’d thought, if his freshly washed pink cheeks are any indication. (Because he takes seriously long showers, nearly doubling your water bill in the year you’ve been together.)

You want to ask what he’s doing here - you’d sworn he was busy for the next few days - but can’t find the adequate brain power to do so. You’re playing an incredibly high skill character (your words) and if you don’t get this goddamn shot on your Lucio to keep him up, your team is going to die (your ego’s words).

‘Ask Kook about his day’ gets scribbled on a paper on the desk in your head and filed away under To Do Later in your overflowing brainiac filing cabinet.

“Can we pleaaaaase focus their Zarya? She has grav.” Though you offer the tidbit of information, you don’t assume it’s going to be relied upon. Your team is well on their way to taking first point - surprisingly - and there’s still nearly three minutes left on the clock. If the six of you idiots can keep it together and kill that goddamn Zarya, there’s no doubt in your mind you’ll win the game.

Alas, fate is but a cruel mistress and said Zarya gets said grav off, sucking your own Russian tank and Tracer-turned-Soldier into her hell void. Not even your well-timed nade can save them from the Genji that dragon blades directly into their faces. Your poor Lucio dies to the same ult and you imagine you or your Widow are next. Your Hog’s just respawning, his lumbering silhouette not even on screen.

“Rip,” says your boyfriend - like the sound, not the letters - from beside you, a droplet of water splashing across your wrist when he shakes his head. He looks disappointed - as if he’s the one that’s lost the match. It makes you laugh, the sound tripping off your tongue despite the overwhelming rage you’re currently battling.

“Rip is right,” you mumble back, tossing yourself off the map. If you’re gonna die, it'll be on your own terms. Jungkook chuckles at that.

By the time you respawn, both you and Widow are joining a fight that looks like it’s going surprisingly well. There’s no one on point and you’re capping uncontested. Widow even headshots a wayward Moira.

“You should go top left.”

You don’t turn your head. Jungkook’s always been a bit of a backseat gamer, whether he’s watching your stream while he’s out of town or sitting right beside you. Sometimes, you love it; other times, you hate it. Most times, though, he’s right. He has surprisingly good game sense, despite being lower ranked than you (something you remind him of constantly, without shame).

“Can we go top left?” You parrot into your speaker.

For once, your team listens, most of them running up the sidewall with Widow right down main. Not for the first time you wish you were playing Mercy, if only to be able to damage boost your sniper while she distracts the enemy team. Still, you make due, taking your boyfriend’s next piece of advice when it comes, unsolicited. “You should be back right by the stairs. You can see up the hall and still heal Widow on top.”

You’d kiss him if you weren’t so intently focused, unable to tear your gaze from the screen when the enemy team seems to pluck their strategy directly from Jungkook’s skull and hold conservatively on point. Amazing.

“Your Zarya has grav. She’ll probably throw it on point so you should nade as soon as you get in and Widow can pick them off without full charge.”

If he were anyone else, you’d probably be giving him hell for mansplaining your favourite game to you. As it stands, you follow his instructions to the letter and the Team Kill marker flashes across your screen.

“Told you,” he quips, ever the snooty dork you adore.

“I was going to say thank you.” Just not right now. You can’t multitask quite like he can.

If you could look over, you think you’d see him grinning from ear to ear, buck teeth and dimples on full display. “I know.”

As it stands, the other team has trouble getting on point fast enough and you’re left with a whopping 3:56 left on the clock. Thank freaking god. You can win this, you think. Easy. No problem.

“Go Ana on defense.” At some point, Jungkook had gotten up to find a snack and he returns now, bag of shrimp chips in his hand and packet of matcha Pocky held between his teeth. You open your mouth for a stinky tasty treat and he shoves four crisps in, unceremoniously and with his signature dummy grin.

You manage to crunch crunch crunch through it all but shoot him a glare the entire time. He only smiles wider, all perfectly white enamel and enough cuteness to make your heart skip a beat.

“Do you just want to play?” You don’t mean it seriously. You don’t mind him watching and you know he enjoys pretending like he’s better than you. It’s a strange give and take but one that’s uniquely yours, built over nearly a year of online friendship and another year of a real-life relationship.

“Nah, I’m snacking.” He punctuates his response as a child would, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. You wonder, briefly, why you love him so much when he’s a certifiable goon.

The third match begins and you’re not too proud to say you spend most of it following Jungkook’s directions. He tells you to sleep the enemy Genji trying to scale the right wall - you do. He tells you to nade once their Rein gets in because your own Rein is going to shatter - you do. He tells you to do the macarena and— okay, that, you don’t.

You sweep the match, leaving the other team without a single tick.

When it comes to the final round, he seems to have lost interest in the game, instead rolling himself back to his computer with a parting, wayward ruffle of your hair. You don’t blame him but you thank him nonetheless, blowing a kiss before he settles his headphones over his ears.

You, of course and unsurprisingly, win the game. There’s nothing like using a Sym portal onto point when they’ve got a Bastion set up off point and no shield to protect him from the back.

Satisfied, you don’t bother requeueing and instead force yourself into your boyfriend’s personal space, draping your arms across the idol’s neck as he scrolls through YouTube like a zombie. “We won,” you sing-song into his ear, proud and a little smug.

“Of course you did.” He sounds equally smug and you suppose the win does belong to the both of you. He’d been a great coach.

“What’re you doing here?” It’s pure curiosity offered in the form of a kiss to his cheek, fingers locked across the broad expanse of his chest. He’s delightfully warm beneath you, familiar and unyielding as you sink over the back of his computer chair. (You can feel the chair creaking as it reclines. You don’t care.)

“Whaddya mean?”

The look he levels you with makes you think you’ve grown a second head.

“Your schedule said you had a thing tonight.” You remember, because you’d been disappointed. Halloween was one of your favourite holidays and all you’d wanted was to watch some campy horror movies and use him as a personal eye shield and security blanket combo.

“We have a thing,” he states, like he’s talking to a moron. You know it isn’t meant meanly, too emphatic and amused to hurt your feelings.

When you echo his words (“We?”) you swear you see him roll his eyes in the reflection of his computer screen. Luckily, he laughs, sweet and cracky, somewhere high in his throat - a barking hyena. It’s so cute - your favourite thing in the world - that you don’t have it in you to shame him for it.

“Yeah, we,” Jungkook repeats around something close to a snicker. “Halloween party, baby. Seriously— you forgot?”

It’s then and there you have two crises: (a) you don’t have a costume and (b) Halloween party? You didn’t think idols had those. Weren’t they all too hip and cool to get together to dress up and act stupid?

(You know the answer is no. Exhibit A being the costume-wearing dance practices BTS put out.)

“I don’t have anything to wear.” It’s truly the one thing holding you back, creasing the soft skin between your brows to resemble a peach. It’s also nearing seven in the evening and you’re absolutely certain you’re not going to find something so late in the day.

To your surprise. Jungkook looks flabbergasted, that same you-have-two-heads stare wrought across his face. It’d be endearing if it were directed at anyone else but with it trained on you, it’s rubbing you and your confusion the wrong way. Why’s he looking at you like that? Why’s your memory so bad? Why hasn’t he said anything to answer all of life’s questions?

“You said you’d go as witch Mercy.”

All at once, you’re pulled back to the offhand conversation, the pleading in his eyes, your half-asleep acceptance. It’s the memory you’d lost somewhere along the way in upgrading your in-brain video game storage. A conversation had in bed, his cheeks so big and full of joy they’d waned his eyes into crescents, and your uncoordinated answer because you’d just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything after indulging in a few too many mochi cream buns.

“I— don’t remember that.” You’re lying through your damn teeth. Your parents would be devastated, all their hard earned money wasted on the braces-straightened enamel that was now letting lies pass.

“But you did!” He’s like a kid being denied candy, rounded bottom lip dropping into a pout that should, frankly, be illegal. It’s far too powerful on him, paired with those Bambi eyes that scream don’t eat (hate/deny/etc.) me! You can only scowl at him, because you know your own puppy dog eyes only work 100% of the time half of the time whereas his track record was immaculate.

“Okay, but I forgot to get the—“

“I have it!”

Jeon Jungkook has an answer for everything, it seems.

“I picked it up on the way here. It’s in your room along with my costume.”

The knowledge of his own intrigues you, squarely centring your curiosity on that and not the fact that you apparently need to get tested for early onset dementia. “Who’re you going as?”

“You’ll see.”

Your costume is spectacular. You can’t even find it in yourself to put up much of a fight when your boyfriend reveals it like you’ve won the lottery, throwing his arms wide in a flourish.

It’s incredibly well made, intricately tailored in a way that makes you worry how much it costs. (When you bring it up to him, Jungkook simply shrugs. You think it’s as much a gift for you as it is for him.) It’s witchy and eye-catching, the belt hung across your hips clipped with an actual book - hollowed out, thank god but also poor thing. The hat that sits on your head is neatly crumpled, sitting at such an angle you worry whether you’ll need to avoid too-low door frames. Your wings - well, you’re almost too afraid to touch them; Jungkook has to help you pull them over your arms, falling into near hysterics when you twitch your elbow the wrong way and smack him right between the eyes.

“I don’t think I can pull this off,” you state, somberly, despite the fact that you’re not terribly self-conscious. (You were, once. Being in a relationship with someone that worships your body has helped with that.)

The top of your outfit is fitted, boned and ribbed and snapped together in all the right places. Leather stands in stark contrast to your skin - summer-soft and gently golden - and hugs curves that don’t quite exist, falling short in a way that has you glaring down at your own chest. You’ve never wanted a Playboy body but in this sort of costume, it practically demands it. (You try not to dwell on the fact that you’ve been conditioned to want to look like an impractically designed video game hero.)

From the foot of your bed comes a snort, a derisive sound that draws your attention. Jungkook’s unabashed in how he admires you, stare roving over every inch like he’s about to devour you. You’re not sure how you can feel so soft for him when he looks completely the opposite, jaw set and expression sharp. A Greek god carved from hardened honey, dressed in Balenciaga blue. “You look great, angel.”

Your heart skips a beat - plays a funny little game of tag with itself - and you can’t help the smile that comes, brought to life by his reassurance. It isn’t necessary to rebuff him then - eyes rolling, laugh spilling - but you do it anyway. “You have to say that. You’re my boyfriend.”

“I don’t have to say anything,” he retorts, levelling you with a look that has your insides molten. It’s the look that reads don’t test me but also I love you and you’re my idiot. It’s your favourite look in the world, lending wings to your flimsy heart. “You look great because you always look great, no matter what.”

“What about when you found me in the shower ?”

Jungkook hesitates then. He’s no liar and he had almost had a heart attack the first time it’d happened. He’d been minding his business, half-asleep and battling the need to piss, when he’d noticed you curled up in the bathroom. How he hadn’t realised you were missing from bed, he’s not sure. All he knew was that you’d terrified him, mentioning something about invading refrigerators when he was pulling his dick out of his boxers.

His scream was what had woken you up; yours was what had him bashing his head into the wall, foot slipping on the soft pink bathroom rug. You could laugh about it now but at the time, you’d thought he’d cracked his skull right open, shouting his name so loudly the neighbours had complained.

(Lucky for you two, they were a nice elderly couple who sometimes had you babysit their grandson. They’d laughed it off when you’d apologised with a loaf of fresh bread and a bandage wrapped around your boyfriend’s head.)

“Okay— that was scary. I thought you’d crawled out of the drain or something.” A shudder rolls through Jungkook’s body, shaking him from his shoulders all the way down to his knees. It’s a strangely adorable reaction from someone who looks like he could bench press you.

“You’re calling me the Grudge?” You’re deeply offended, gloved hands clasping over your chest as if to pull out the treacherous dagger he’s just lodged there. He only rolls his eyes, leaning forward to catch you in his arms; he’s relentless as he drags you to him, side of his face pressed to the bare skin of your thigh. His cheek’s searing but you’re not surprised; Jungkook ran hot, keeping you warm in winter and sweltering in summer. (Ah, the price you paid for love.)

“Yeah, you haunt me in my dreams.”

“That’s not the Grudge, Kook.” Your scoff earns you a pinch, right where the top of your stockings end. It blooms red beneath his fingers, a little reminder of his competitive I’m-never-wrong nature. You swat his hand away, not too bothered when it only finds a home elsewhere, hooked behind your knee. Jungkook had a habit of needing to be in constant contact. A little quirk of his you adored.

“I’m serious. You look—” You should clock the look on his face, the wiggle of mischief up his nose. A dead giveaway shining bright - a beacon. “—bewitching.”

If the book weren’t attached to your hip, you’d be clobbering him with it. Instead, you’re left to whack him with the equally intricate Caduceus staff, booping it over his shoulders. You feel like a certain shamanic mandrill, Jungkook the idiotic lion that’s asking for an earful.

“Shut up!” You’re laughing despite yourself and he is too, holding you so recklessly close it’s hard to hit him without hurting yourself. All part of his plan, you suppose. “You’re so freaking corny.”

“It’s because I’m a-maize-ing, ang—”

Another wap! to the head, shielded only by a tattooed hand that curls over his ear.

“Okay! Sorry!” Except he doesn’t look very sorry. More pleased that you’ve stopped the assault, dark hair pushed back from his forehead as he stares up at you. You hate how he’s so handsome - how you forget yourself when he smiles that smile, nearly yeeting your whole heart directly into the sun.

“Are you going to put on yours yet?”

It’s quarter past nine already and all you’ve done is rope him into eating some chapaguri - you’ve been obsessed with it since a few weeks ago - and play real life Witch Barbie. You have a feeling if you don’t get him into his own costume soon, you’re never going to leave the apartment. (Not that you really mind.)

Your boyfriend - bless his heart - pretends not to hear you, suddenly intently focused on an indiscernible spot past your hip. It’d be more believable if he was glued to his phone or doing anything remotely interesting. Instead, you stare down at him and count the seconds until he realises just how silly he looks. It usually comes around six, paired with a forced chuckle and that lisp you love.

Today, it comes after the fourth count.

“You’re gonna think it’s lame.” Well, of course you will. As his girlfriend - and one of his best friends, you’d like to think - it’s your relationship-given right to shame him for his more often than not absurd ideas. It’s what you deserve for suffering through all his bad jokes and 3 AM Instagram spams.

With a hand on his cheek, you squeeze the apple like you’ve seen a certain member do a million times. “So?”

He’s not really sure how to respond to that, mouth drawn into a pout that reminds you of children’s television show about penguins. It’s unfairly adorable. Still, you push. Jungkook’s bad at saying no to you - always has been, even before he really knew you. From “one more game!” to “bring me bingsu”, you always got what you wanted.

(Which wasn’t to say you asked for a lot. You were happy - more than that, ecstatic and over the moon - with the bare minimum. A selfie while on the plane, some shoddy cinematography during dance practice, a voicemail to wake up to. You didn’t love Jungkook for all the things he gave you; rather, you loved him for who he was, who he’d always been even before you knew who he really was.)

“Don’t laugh.” By the look on his face, you’re worried it’s something awful. The cheesiest thing in the world come to life to haunt you on your beloved spooky holiday.

It turns out to be the opposite: one of your favourite characters realised in the form of your achingly handsome boyfriend. He looks so good you’re not certain whether it’s your attraction to him or him in that particular guise that’s stronger. You figure it doesn’t matter one way or another. For tonight, they’re one and the same.

“Joker? Seriously?” You can’t hide the delight. It colours every syllable, sets them glowing like a neon sign.

Your boyfriend only rolls his eyes, as if he’d predicted this reaction. Dressed as he is, the movement is impossible to miss, brought into focus by the white domino mask. “Don’t sound so excited.” It’s an actual concern of his. He’s seen you sink upwards of ninety hours on the video game, playing it in the early hours when he’s fast asleep and you’re battling another night of insomnia.

Once, he’d asked whether you loved him or Joker more. He hadn’t liked the answer (joking as it was) and had spent the better part of the evening pouting.

This time, you’re sweet as pie, eyes so dark and twinkly he wonders whether he’s staring at the night sky. You wonder the same yourself almost every night, lost in the constellations of his irises. It’s the most intimate form of stargazing you can afford, a luxury you indulge in frequently. You’ve mapped the different formations, named them in honour of all the special moments you’ve shared; you think to label one for this night too.

“You look so good.” You don’t hesitate to brush his hair from his eyes. It’s still relaxing from the perm he’d gotten days ago, curling like classic calligraphy over his eyes. It’s surprisingly soft between your fingers, silk despite the constant heat styling. Bastard. “I can’t believe you’re going as Joker. You don’t even like Persona 5!”

By how Jungkook looks at you then - the same way he did the first time you met standing on the street corner in Dotonbori and a hundred more times since then - you realise it doesn’t matter. He’s dressed this way because you like the character.

“Oh,” you say, because there’s not much more to say. Nothing that needs to be said as he grins down at you, so heartbreakingly handsome you’ll never get used to it.

“Yeah,” he parrots back, a little smug.

Bangtan’s golden maknae is having the time of his life. He’s four cups deep into a game of beer pong that’s played like the Wimbledon classic, back hunched, jaw set. You’d think he was battling it out for the title of God of Beer Pong if you didn’t know better. (You suppose he is.)

“Angel, come here!” He’s giddy - slightly glazed in the eyes - as he waves you over, a red-gloved hand beckoning you to his side. Despite how good he looks in the costume - every weakness of yours encapsulated by the intricate dress shirt that hugs him like a second skin - the gesture is decidedly adorable, an eager puppy seeking unconditional love. There’s simply too much affection in his voice, so much sugar-spun love that you can’t deny him (even as you consider jumping his bones at a party full of people).

He’s shining as bright as the sun and you want nothing more than to live within his warmth.

With your fingers twined, he pulls you to him, drawing you tight against his side like he doesn’t need that same hand to throw another ball. You don’t mind. You know he’ll sink it even with his left hand.

“I’m winning,” he states, as if it weren’t wildly obvious by the fact all cups remain untouched on his side.

Across the table, Yugyeom’s eyes roll so far back you want to laugh. Jungkook’s competitive side is endearing at best and infuriating at worst. Luckily, his competition is enjoying himself too much to give him shit.

(He’s also probably too drunk to, given how badly he’s doing.)

“I see that.” You’re not a big drinker yourself but you like seeing Jungkook in his element. He thrives in this sort of setting, showing off all the talents he has and then some. It’s just another stage to him, somewhere he can prove himself (even if it’s over something as small as how good his bounce-shot is). “How many games have you won?” Because he’s been at this table for the last hour, dropping his competition like flies.

“All of them.” God, his ego. You know you shouldn’t stroke it but you can’t help it, brushing a hand through his tousled hair in the way he likes best. Fingers over his scalp, thumb rubbing soothing circles across the nape of his neck. He nearly melts then, tilting his head into the gentle caress.

“Good job, Kook.”

You’re so lost in your own little world that poor Yugyeom has to pull you both from it, launching a poorly-aimed white ping pong ball at the two of you. To no one’s surprise, it careens past your heads, hitting the wall behind you and disappearing off to god knows where.

“Can we play?” Again, that eye roll, visible just past the bandages that loosely wrap his cheeks. You know he’s only teasing, that he’s actually quite a fan of your and Jungkook’s dumb coupling (he’s told you), but you return his mockery with a raised hand, thumb and forefinger waving in salute.

“Losers don’t get to complain.”

The idol throws a hand to his chest, the gesture bordering on sloppy from the liquor that threads his limbs. Still, it’s cute, earning a sweet laugh from you and a witch’s cackle from your boyfriend. (How fitting.) “I’m hurt, Yoojin-ssi.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to tease, brattiness flipped on like a haywire lightswitch. “No, you’re just bad at games!” He’s a sniggering schoolgirl, lines wrapping the delicate skin of his nose, streaking joy into the wrinkles beneath his eyes. Slightly-too-big front teeth are on full display, his expression the embodiment of an “uwu” emote.

That riles Yugyeom up, powder puff of hair bounding over to you before you have time to blink. In the next moment, your boyfriend’s half-wrestling with him, their arms locked around each other like some sort of weird four-limbed octopus. (Video game protagonist vs. hot mummy— who will win?) You jump back just in time, avoiding a wayward fist and laughing merrily. Idiots, the both of them.

“You guys have fun.” And then you’re gone, off to busy yourself with people who won’t accidentally give you a black eye or knock over the nearest thing not bolted to the ground.

You can still hear them tussling when you latch yourself to the back of a certain blond. He’s dressed like one of your greatest nightmares - an actual clown, drawing inspiration from a certain 2017 blockbuster - and yet somehow still manages to look good. You don’t understand it and frankly, you’re a little envious, but such was life.

“Jimin-ssiiiii.”

“Ahhhhhh, stop!” It’s the same reaction he always has, paired with wiggling shoulders and sweet laughter that bounces around the room and stirs to life your own. Indisputable and lovely, the sound is brighter than the sun or the lights that currently swing through the chandelier lights above your heads. “You two are ridiculous.”

“He’s ridiculous, not me!” You know it isn’t true. Separately, you and Jungkook were idiotic enough, finding humour in the silliest things (funny threads on r/Relationship_Advice and four year old Vines). But together? It was a two-person circus, graduate professors at clown college.

You absolutely loved it.

“Sure, sure,” the dancer hums, delightfully disbelieving as he takes another shot. One of three lined up across the counter, clear in little orange cups made to look like pumpkins. A whiff tells you they’re strawberry soju - your least favourite flavour. You decline with a wrinkled nose and waving hand when he offers you one. Jimin shrugs and downs the next, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth when he misjudges the pour. “Aren’t you drinking?”

You wiggle the half-empty Cass bottle in your hand in response and receive a scoff, different bottle - green, unopened - thrust into your other.

“Drink this!”

“You want me to drink an entire bottle?” You’re incredulous. Jimin’s seen you on the edge of intoxication and more than a little sloppy, giggling like a schoolgirl. It’s not unbecoming - you know better than to get blackout - but laughable nonetheless. Something to record and post on Snapchat with a voice-altering filter.

“It’s Halloween!” The pumpkin shot glass makes you go cross-eyed before he’s knocking it back too. “Live a little!”

Who are you to say no to the recent birthday boy? It would simply be bad manners and you were nothing if polite (though, you’re sure some might beg to differ - Yoongi, maybe?).

The remnants of your beer are swallowed down in the next moment, so quickly you almost choke on it. Your life flashes before your eyes, Jimin’s hand on your shoulder as he beats breath into your body. “Don’t die!” He cries, despite the fact that it’s his fist that’s making it worse, doubling you over with hacking coughs.

“K-Kook’s g-going to kill you—”

“No, you’re fine.” He’s reassuring you just as much as himself, laughing too loudly as you straighten up. You wonder how red your face is when he takes your place, slapping his own knee as he shakes with amusement. “Your face, oh— Your face.”

It’s not meant to be offensive but your buzzed brain demands payment for each giggle.

The base of the green bottle collides with the back of his knee - gentle, gentle - just hard enough to have him properly toppling over, collapsing onto the carpet like a frail old grandpa without his cane. You can’t help the snicker that careens off your liquor-laden tongue.

That is, until he’s pulling you down with him and the two of you are a giggling, giddy mess, tucked beneath the edge of the bar as you laugh together. It’s a chorus of sound, unrelenting and building the longer you both sit on the floor. Jimin’s practically hunched over, head caught between his propped up arms. You imagine it’s a funny sight - two people in their twenties acting like college freshmen.

“Baby?” It’s your boyfriend, amused and confused as he stares down at your and Jimin’s prone bodies. He’s got that dent between his brows, the colour of his eyes all but swallowed up by the way his cheeks press wide with his smile. “What’re you doing down there?”

“Just hanging out,” you answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. At your side, Jimin’s still trying to collect himself, parroting your words around his lungfuls of quieting laughter.

“Are you drunk?”

You’re not, but that doesn’t stop you from gasping, overdramatic and with your unopened bottle of soju held aloft. A modern day olive branch. “No?”

Jungkook snorts and then all at once, he’s close. Too close - smelling of beer and your favourite cologne of his, citrusy and woodsy and every other nice thing you like. It fills your senses just as his smile does, blindingly bright and bunny-like. Even behind the mask, his good looks take your breath away. You must be staring up at him idiotically, all one hundred and sixteen pounds of ooey gooey tenderness. “You sound drunk, angel,” he teases, warm red-covered palm coming to cradle your cheek. It sears heat everywhere it touches, guiding the same hue over your skin. It creeps up your chest and over your ears, standing in contrast to the material of his gloves. “Pretty.”

(He really is, you think.)

“Get a room,” comes Jimin from beside you. There’s no malice in his voice - just soft affection for a couple of lovesick idiots.

“That’s the plan,” Jungkook replies, as if he’d been waiting for the moment. It skips off his tongue and settles into your ears, tipping your head curiously as you stare at him. He’s never been very shy about wanting you - at least, not since you’d made things official, so many months ago - but you’re surprised by the insinuation. When he speaks again, you realise your brain has been rolling around in the gutter, fallen out of your ears like candy from a worn pillow case. “Want to head home?”

You do. You really, really do.

When you stumble into your apartment - the same one with the polka-dot welcome rug and crisp white paint - you realise you were perhaps wrong about how drunk you are. Everything’s coming at you quite quickly, the ground beneath your feet somehow suddenly rushing at you like Mach Five.

“Whoa—” There’s an impossibly solid warmth against your back, fingers locked around your wrists that feel more like flimsy chicken feet. “Careful.”

Your boyfriend’s keeping you upright while stepping out of his boots - impossibly expensive supple dark leather - and you’re giggling all the while, practically sinking against him as he does his best to shuffle his shoes away and get you further into the hallway. “Sorry,” you offer in a terrible stage whisper, smiling wide when you catch sight of his, small and endlessly amused. It slips across his face even as he tries to bite it back, warring with the patience he holds in spades.

“Let’s just get these off.” He means the boots - the intricate, vaguely absurd things that creep up almost the entirety of your leg, neatly wrapped and knotted midway up your thigh. Dexterous as he is, it’s a task to unravel the strings and thread buttons when you’re weighing on him like a bag of bricks.

You’re fumbling for the tops, haphazardly smacking his hands away. “Here, let me.”

Somehow, you manage to get them off in what feels like record time. (In reality, it takes a good five minutes of futility before they’re left on the ground and Jungkook’s swept you into his arms, seemingly over waiting for you to do much else.)

“Oh, my prince charming,” you tease, clinging to him like a koala. You’re locked around him, practically suffocating him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s used to it when you’re this way, just a little too much liquid courage turning your level of affection to eleven. “Or are you the court jester? That’s what Joker is, right?” It’s a joke and a bad one at that. Still, your boyfriend indulges you, depositing a forced laugh against your shoulder as he navigates to your bedroom.

“You’re drunk.” He says it more kindly than you expect. Perhaps even more kindly than you deserve. You know he’s not exactly sober himself, his gaze verging on heavy-lidded. There’s sleepiness blending seamlessly with intoxication, softening the edge of his jaw, the narrow of his stare. It’s terribly tender, skipping your heart when you look at him dead on.

It comes without thought. You have to tell him. Your drunk brain and your puppy dog heart demand it. “I love you.”

Jungkook returns the confession with humour, eyes sparkling despite the haze of alcohol that dims them down. As always, he indulges you, giving you support in the form of his heart and his hands. (Literally, he’s still holding you even though you’ve reached your destination.) “Love you too.”

“Is it time for bed?” You’re surprisingly tired, despite the fact that you’d slept until late in the afternoon. You certainly wouldn’t mind falling face first into your mattress.

“You need a shower first.” It’s a simple statement of fact, you know that. You’ve got at least ten pounds of makeup on and your hair’s the furthest thing from soft and silky, carefully coiffed to mimic Mercy’s signature style. You still pretend like you’re just a bit offended, scowling into the face of your boyfriend even as he rolls his eyes, already somehow able to read the words written into your expression. “I meant we and no, I’m not calling you stinky.”

He’s stolen your thunder, as he so often does. You pout, as you so often do.

“Okay,” you relent, finally, moving to rest your head against his shoulder. You could get down - walk on your own two tired feet - but you’re enjoying the closeness, how warm and real he feels in comparison to the swimming surroundings. “Will you wash my hair?” You don’t really need to ask but do anyway, because you like the sound of his voice when it’s so close.

“You know I will.” Because he always does when you shower together (and it falls on a designated hair washing day - that was important).

You offer your thanks with a kiss, laid right over the jumping pulse in his neck. When Jungkook hums in acknowledgment, you feel the way the muscles constrict, his Adam’s apple jumping beneath your lips. You zero in on it with laser precision, mouthing over his throat. Somewhere above you - against the shell of your ear - he exhales a laugh, breath hot.

“We’re showering, baby.” As if that’s meant to stop you. He, more than anyone, should know how adamant you get, singularly focused on whatever’s got your attention. He’s been on the receiving end of it more than enough times, strung into playing another one, two, ten matches of Overwatch or hunting down the limited edition Funko Pops that now sit proudly on your white shelf (and behind your plants and on the ledge by the front door).

“We can shower and have fun,” you mumble into the expanse of his chest. He’s so pleasantly warm, unyielding and firm and so, so comfortable. You think you could live in the feeling of his arms. (You’re lucky you get to.) You don’t even mind the sudden cold of the counter or the space that forms between you when he sets you down, because he’s still caging you in where it matters most. “Right, JK?”

It’s a nickname you rarely use now - one that only comes out in times of desperation. You’ve never quite understood why it affects your boyfriend the way it does, stuttering the rhythmic beating of his heart, but you love it nonetheless. It makes you grin, high on power and giddy with nothing but sweetness.

He’d explained it to you once. Jay was how you’d met him, the version of himself you’d loved first. Jungkook was the side of himself he’d wanted to give you but couldn’t. JK was the in-between - the chaos and the calm. Hearing you say it brought back all the memories of year one and he liked that. You could only laugh at his sentimentality and tuck the piece of knowledge somewhere deep, to be pulled out in instances like this.

“Right, angel.” You don’t miss the colour on his cheeks - so pretty you reach your hands out to cup them, squishing them between your palms like an old grandmother testing a watermelon. You continue to hold him until he pulls your hands from his face, guiding them to the edge of the counter with gentle pressure. “Gotta get undressed to shower,” he chides, that twinkle in his eye that makes it hard to look away.

Really, how can he expect you to do anything when he’s got an entire unexplored galaxy hidden in his irises? It’s an absurd ask.

“Or I’ll help you.”

Your clothes fall away while you’re still staring up at him.

First, the gloves, peeled from your fingers with utmost care. Kisses fill the spaces between each finger, passed from knuckles to wrist, all the way up to your elbow. You squirm when his teeth graze the sensitive underside of your bicep. He stifles a snicker into the skin.

Next goes your cape and wings, hung on the door handle. His mouth warms the suddenly bare skin, pressing affection into the line of your shoulder, up over your neck. You don’t squirm this time, instead humming a noise of delight. You hardly notice when the corset goes next, undone by surprisingly nimble inked digits. There’s hardly a moment to savour the freedom - you can finally breathe - when his hands replace the cups, palms eager over your chest. He doesn’t hesitate to hold you, pinching your perked nipples with a sly grin.

“I thought we were going to shower.” The words are barely out before turning breathless, stolen by the way he easily palms your breast, dropping his face into the crook of your neck.

“We are, angel,” Jungkook teases, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, other hand moved to splay across the now-bare small of your back. It’s almost embarrassing how easily you fall into him, drawn against him like a moth to a flame. “Just need to get you warmed up first.”

“The shower’ll be warm,” you say - or think you say, anyway. It isn’t quite articulated, half your brain left somewhere at the party (or maybe caught dead centre in the coil that’s tightening in your stomach).

“Do you want me to stop?” It’s so quiet you almost miss it, too distracted by how he slips the rest of your costume off. Shorts, thong, stockings, silly witch’s hat. “Tell me if you want me to stop, baby.” Ever the gentleman, he’s patient, meeting your glazed stare with something close to concern. You almost laugh in his face then - stopping short only when you note just how serious he is, the tell-tale set of his jaw shining like a familiar beacon.

You return your hands to his face, palms cradling his chin like he might break otherwise. “I never want you to stop.”

That’s all Jungkook needs before he’s slotting himself between your legs, mirroring your motion with hands creeping up the side of your neck, fingers ascending into the roots of your hair. He holds you close and kisses you like it’s all he’s ever wanted. “I love you,” he breathes, speaks against the corner of your mouth.

You parrot the words back at him and he grins, stepping away in the next moment. He laughs when you pout, offering a kiss in apology as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping the soft cotton off. You stop then, entranced by the revealed skin, how it shifts with each adjustment of muscle, sinew tight over his arms and shoulders. You wonder, not for the first time, how you’d managed to luck out so spectacularly.

“Start the shower.”

You hop down with the direction, slipping past him to do exactly that. You don’t miss the way he rotates, brings himself closer as you move away. The magnetism is undeniable - always has been.

“I love you,” he states, again, bare against your back as you hover by the edge of the glass door, one hand stuck past to test the slow-warming stream. He’s solid, familiar and comfortable, as he slinks his arms back around you, heat burning the shape of his hands over your ribs, the shape of your hip. You think he might mark himself there, just as neatly as the floral ink does. You wouldn’t mind.

The water is welcome, bathing the both of you in steam when you step inside. It’s an incredibly relaxing feeling, being caught between the spray and the hard body behind you. You hum a noise of pure delight, turning your face toward the one that nuzzles itself into your neck, and bring your hands to rest over his, fingers slotting between ink.

“Hair?” You’re not in a terrible rush but you like redirecting his attention (pretending to, at least) - the teasing that formed the base of your relationship presenting itself in the quiet reminder. It earns the laugh you expect, muffled into your hair, featherlight over the delicate shell of your jewelled ear.

“Patience, baby.” It’s something Jungkook tends to say a lot, whether waiting in queue in Overwatch or in bed, with you a complete mess. He repeats it easily, like he’s the poster boy for the virtue. (He isn’t.)

“What am I waiting—” The question dies, swallowed whole by the gasp he draws from you with a wandering hand. Fingers slip across your stomach, digits deftly seeking out warmth as if you weren’t already enveloped in it. It’s a touch that’s tantalisingly slow, unfairly light, but it still makes you keen when it drags over your lips. A single digit pushes past muscle - so shallow you’re not sure you’re not just imagining it - before retreating, dragging your slick back up to your clit. The moment the pad of his finger makes contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves, you almost jump. Would, if he weren’t caging you with his other arm.

You feel the cold of his teeth bared against your neck then, the throaty laugh that pulls out of his chest and deposits itself into your hair. “Patience,” he repeats, swirling his fingers over your clit, his mouth moving in tandem with the twist of his wrist. He peppers love and affection in the form of kisses, presses devotion with the edge of his teeth, soothes all your nerves with a sweep of his tongue.

“Kook,” you sigh, already well on your way to being a boneless mess. There’s tingling in your toes, fizzing in your stomach, butterflies in your chest. A whirlwind of emotion and sensation that he stirs to life effortlessly.

“Relax for me.” You do so because it’s easy, because he’s so devastatingly good to you.

The figure eights skating over your clit cease, fingers dropping further down to nestle against your cunt. He pauses there, almost experimentally flexing against the muscle that aches and clenches around nothing, eager for more. You think he’s smirking by the way his lips form with his kisses, a little lopsided and devilish. (You wish you could see him.)

A single digit enters you then, to the third knuckle as if your body was made for this, for him. (It was.) He coos against your neck when a garbled mess skips off your tongue and nearly laughs when another slips in alongside it, turning the mess into nonsense. Despite how badly you want it - need it, really - it’s a sensation that’s too much and not enough all at once, toeing the line between pleasure and pain.

It was how Jungkook loved you - recklessly, shamelessly, in no half measures. With more love than you could ever hope for, giving you things you didn’t even know how to ask for.

“Relax, angel,” comes as he begins scissoring both fingers inside you, stretching you out with an otherworldly amount of care. Even your neglected clit is given some sort of relief - anything to ease the sting of two long fingers - his thumb gliding over it with each stretch of your walls. He knows exactly where to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and you’re melting, lost in the feeling.

When he’s had enough and he curls his fingers within you, seeking out that particular spot, you’re trembling, caught off guard. Heat builds quickly with the precision of which he taps against that spot; it starts low in your back, climbing each vertebrae of your spine until you’re quivering in his arms.

“K-Kook.” It’s both a plea and a demand, nonsensical as he guides you through your orgasm, keeping you upright against him when your knees feel like they might give out.

“I’ve got you.” And he does - hook, line, and sinker. He holds you steady as the pleasure crashes over your head, keeps you anchored to the here and now and the pleasure that rolls through you like a relentless wave. It sinks beneath your skin, settles heavy into every atom, and he never lets you go. He’s got you.

When sensation returns - slowly, so slowly it feels like you’re stuck in the Twilight Zone - you only want to turn. See him, hold him, whisper sweet nothings as you kiss him silly and thank him for his service. Instead, you’re held in place, two hands firm upon your hips even as you crane your neck to look over your shoulder at him. You should recognise the look on his face. “Kook?”

“My turn.” It’s a statement more than anything, a kind heads-up as he nudges you forward. There’s that same twinkle in his eye, the only source of light around the pupil that’s blown out, otherwise engulfing the constellations he so normally offers you. It’s a black hole and one you’d gladly get lost in. “Hands on the wall, baby.”

You’d never been one for shower sex - it’s too small a space, too much happening at once, a guaranteed freak accident waiting to happen - but you can’t deny him when he asks so nicely. (It really hadn’t been that nice but you were a certified sucker for one Jeon Jungkook.)

Hands find themselves on the wall, palms flat, fingers splayed. In the same instance you wiggle your hips, there’s a ghosting touch over your spine. It trails up and down, soothes the residual heat that lingers, and then slips higher, palm gentle over your throat. His thumb rubs reassuring circles over the nape of your neck, pressing gently into the sensitive spot behind your ear. It’s distracting and you realise much needed when he sinks into you with one fluid press of his hips, filling you so full you can’t help the gasp that bounds past your lips and bounces around the glass enclosure. “Oh fuck,” he sighs, his grip on your hip tightening incrementally.

He sounds like sin and feels like heaven.

“Always so good for me.” Another thing he says, often and without prompting. It still feels just as good the umpteenth time, sparking pride deep in your chest as he pulls out and drives himself back in, staring in rapt fascination at where your bodies meet. “Always so perfect for me.”

“Because I love you,” you quip, more than a little out of breath and jostled by the way he thrusts into you, measured and with enough force to shake your legs.

“Love you too, angel.” He doesn’t need to say it back - you know, can feel it by how he holds you, drives you to brink of insanity with his cock - but he does it anyway. He always says it back, no matter what, even if he’s half-asleep or distracted. He’ll never stop saying it.

The hand on your hip falls, slinks across your hip and between your legs, and you’re pushed further forward, his feet gently kicking yours further apart. Jungkook assaults your clit then, timing each pass with each thrust. An attempted glance back has fireworks going off before your eyes, specks of pleasure lighting up your vision; it’s a technicolour lightshow, framing the way his face scrunches, brow set and jaw hard. He’s determined, focused on bringing you to another orgasm before he hits his own high. You assist him as best you can, swiveling your hips and grinding back against him even as the coil pulls impossibly tight in your stomach, barely held together by threadbare strings.

“Kook,” you whine when the tension becomes too much, hands scrabbling across the wall of the shower. The same overwhelming tingle sparks beneath your skin, entire body trembling like a leaf when the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you at just the right angle.

He doesn’t relent, rhythm turning almost punishing as he drives you over the edge, launching you headlong into your second orgasm. You’re not sure how you stay upright, near sobbing when you crash into euphoric bliss, neither his fingers nor his thrusts ceasing. It’s almost too much and yet you know how close he is, so you push back, whimper words you know he wants to hear.

“P-please, Kook. Please.” You’re reaching a hand back, desperate to interlace your fingers with his. He gives in easily, catches your hand in his own and plants it on the swell of your hip as he chases his own release with desperation. “Come for me, Kook. Fill me up.”

Jungkook does just that, balls tight as he spills himself inside you, hand at your throat so tight you’re seeing stars. Somehow - with the feeling of him grinding into you, overcome with so much sensitivity - you come for the third time, crying very real tears as the sensation washes over you. It’s weaker than your first two but unravels you all the same, seeping the energy from your limbs. You’re grateful for how well he knows you and the fact he catches you before your arms collapse, pulling you to him with gentle movements.

“I love you,” he whispers against your temple, out of breath and sweat-slick despite the water that rains down upon you.

“I love you,” you answer, pressing a kiss to the hand that still twines with yours. “But I still need you to wash my hair.” It’s cheeky and you know it so you don’t even mind when he bites into the meat of your shoulder, leaving a pretty red mark that’ll bloom for the next few days. “Ow!”

“You’re a brat.” Said even as he’s reaching for your shampoo bar, teasing it through your roots with practiced movements. He’s careful despite his scathing tone, gentle despite how he glares at you from the corner of your periphery. Each tangle is neatly undone and not a single bubble gets in your eye, much to your joy.

“I thought I was an angel.” You’re taking a page out of his book, speaking in fluent pout.

He catches your lips with his own, pushing your lathered up head beneath the steady stream when he withdraws and speaks. Suds run across your cheeks, eyes shielded only by the hand he keeps steady along your hairline. Even so mean, your boyfriend is still terribly nice. “You’re my angel - but you’re still a brat.”

You can’t argue with that.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi

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sansmania · 3 years

Text

its o VER WHY WAS THIS SO LONG?

part 1 | part 2 | art that goes with the fic

Title: Your Man

Ship: Boss [ @bonelyheartsclub ]/ GN Reader

Descrip: take it im drifting out to sea because HES GONNA BE A COWBOY thE END

Willie had taken his time to take in the damage done to the beloved boots, tutting and frowning at the holes and shredded leather.

"Oh yeah, I can fix 'em for ya, but it'll take a few days, Mr. Boss. That lil' dog did a number to these." Boss exhaled through his nasal bone with a silent nod. It seems 'Toby' had also managed to dislodge some of the pins that held the heels in, which would mean the boots needed to be completely stripped and rebuilt from the sole up.

"That is fine, I suppose. They mean a great deal to me, so take the time you need to get them back to perfect condition." He seemed a bit emotional about leaving the boots behind, and you gently assured the skeleton that they were in skilled hands. Leaving his contact information, the two of you turned to leave.

Until a bony hand grabbed your neckline again.

"You said this store specializes in leather and boots, correct?"

"Yes?" You held the word out longer than necessary, red pinpricks looking down at you, then to the fluorescent shoes between you.

"I would like to peruse them, then. It would not hurt for me to have a few more sets, anyway. And I am beyond done with these sneakers. I feel like one of those fictional circus clowns."

You bit your tongue at his presumption, knowing Boss wouldn't listen to a word you had to say on the subject, and accepted your fate in the tobacco and wood lacker scented hell.

After a bit of searching, pausing only to laugh at some of the ridiculous 'southern fact' signs they had decorating a shelf, the pair of you found the boot section of the large store.

"Human, I highly doubt if Texas were real, that it would home ninety percent of the planet's spider population." You couldn't help the snort that came out at Boss' comment as he walked over to the wall of shoes.

His eyelights were transfixed on the detailed stiches in some of the leather boots. His phalanges traced over a pair that had some gaudy gems placed into them- a pair that had studs- red stained leather- black snake skin. He was strangely silent as he looked over each set with wonder.

You didn't think any of them were Boss' style, to be honest. They were about classic as classic cowboy boots get- you could have sworn you even spotted a pair made of alligator skin.

"These." He finally spoke, pulling down one of the only sets that seemed to be ankle high. They were a deep maroon, black stitching along the sides and folds, and a very obvious steel toe embedded inside. There were a few gold embellishments and you felt they were gaudy as all hell.

But, that expression of wonder in Boss' eyes made him look like a child on gyftmas morning.

It was cute.

He was cute.

"I mean, sure, if you're into red, black and gold-" The skeleton flicked his eyes towards you, making your mouth snap shut. He took a seat on a nearby bench, listlessly kicking off the offending accessories to try the new boots on.

Boss became silent once again, taking in the shine of leather as he tilted his feet and legs to get a good look at them.

"There is a mirror over there." You mention, pointing a few feet away, and he stood up to admire the shape of the shoes. And while he did so, you also found yourself admiring him.

Boss was very tall- even without the help of his stiletto heels- and his broad shoulders squared in perfect posture made almost anything he wore look breathtaking. His choice of attire today fit snuggly against his ribcage, tapering down his spine- making Boss look, pun intended, skeleton thin. Tight, but soft, leather pants hugged his narrow hips and bony legs, perfectly shaping his body.

"Hmm. A bit lower than what I am used to, but they are quite fetching on me. What do you think, human?"

He caught you staring, once again, in the mirror- just as your eyes had been slowly trailing down his legs, brain becoming grey mush. You curse quietly, turning your head away with a mutter of agreement.

"Sadly, they do not match the rest of my attire. I should see if they have apparel here to compliment my figure and accessories." He made an amused sound when you cocked your head at the suggestion, cheeks burning with new fervor.

Oh. He knew exactly what he was doing now. Boss wouldn't even play with the idea if any of his family was around, but since it was just the two of you, he was going to continue his sadistic game.

When you had first met Boss, you would have sworn he didn't have a playful bone in his body- the serious tone and way he carried himself made it seem he was all work and no play. But, as you got to know him, his true colors seemed to blossom forth. Yes, he hated puns, that didn't mean he had no sense of humor. His humor was dry and a little cynical- and you had nearly soiled yourself in laughter when he cracked his first joke around you.

He also found Blue and Nox's rivalry amusing, egging them on at times just to get under their skin.

And when then two of you were alone, he was much more relaxed, allowing more of his jovial side to come out. Sometimes it was a welcome blessing and sometimes it was not.

As it was at your expense today, it was one of those times that his sense of humor didn't delight.

"Uh, s-sure. Why not? Let's find you a nice pair of chaps-" Boss' amused smile caught you off guard as he held a hand up to stop you from moving. You had hoped he would allow you to help, maybe in a way save yourself from this horrible fate.

"No, I believe I can handle dressing myself just fine. Though, I will listen to your opinion after I have chosen an outfit." The smirk didn't go away as you made a noise of disdain. The skeleton sauntered off on his own, leaving you to scream internally at being caught red handed and was going to make you suffer for it.

When he turned a corner, you were on your feet- tossing the old converse in your inventory- and did your best to sneak around the store behind the him. Occasionally, Boss would turn his head out of suspicion, causing you to duck behind a shelf, while he thumbed through the racks of clothes.

He was enjoying teasing you like this, smirk still apparent on his face. You were by no means subtle, so Boss knew you were tailing him around, and that only added to his amusement.

You peeked over a row of jackets that were fastened with tassels while Boss sifted through some button up shirts. His foot tapped along to the music with perfect rhythm, though, you were more shocked when his low voice was barely audible.

He was quietly singing along to the tune.

Boss Gothic Serif.

Was singing country.

And he knew you were watching and listening.

The next time he glanced over his shoulder, Boss caught your reddened face as a devious smile curled on his skull. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Human, I have picked out a suitable ensemble. Feel free to wait there for me to change." You didn't hide this time when he spoke up, accepting defeat, stepping out to follow the monster towards the changing rooms.

You knew from the first day of meeting these skeletons that they would be the death of you. You just didn't expect it to be in a dime store cowboy shop in the city.

Flopping down on another bench, you waited for death to finish his wardrobe swap and drag you to the dark depths- knowing now that he was going to be dressed like a cowboy with Shania Twain playing gently to send you off.

The shuffle of cloth behind the barn themed doors caught your attention, the soft click of bones on wood as a lock was lifted and the doors swung open.

Words choked in your mouth as it hung ajar, Boss stepping out of the small room with the most smug look on his face you had ever seen him muster.

His head was tilted down ever so slightly, burning red eyes shaded by the black hat atop his skull. Your eyes dragged down to the crisp maroon and black button up, gold skull bola tie strung in the collar and rested on his nearly bare breastbone.

The shirt was rolled at the sleeves, showing off his battle scarred hands and arms, and the tail tucked neatly into a pair of tight black dyed jeans; adorned and held up by a red leather belt that had a large gold skull buckle to keep it all together. The jeans hugged the skeleton's frame all the way down to the coordinated boots.

Boss leaned against the doorframe, taking in your reaction with sadistic glee; How you couldn't form a single word in appreciation to his wardrobe selection. How your face was red enough to put his shirt to shame. How your eyes lingered over the single undone button at his clavicle.

How your reaction made his soul thrum with pride.

"Comments?" He finally spoke, beyond amused at the way you startled to his rough voice- dropping it an octave or two, successfully getting further reactions out of you. Finally, you managed to swallow the hard, dry lump that formed in your throat, tearing your gaze away to look back to Boss' expecting eyes.

You coughed and looked away

"Yee. Haw?" Was all you could manage as he stepped forward, boots loudly clacking against the hardwood floor. The terrifying skeleton you called a friend, and obviously waxed red towards, stopped mere feet before you, dragging your attention back to him.

"Is that all you have to say? I would appreciate some feedback, maybe I should make another selection if this doesn't suit me-"

"No, don't!" You found your voice as Boss turned heel to find something else to fluster you with. He quirked a brow ridge at your outburst, returning to his previous position, arms crossed as he awaited to hear your real feelings.

"You. You look good, Boss." You did your best to hold your voice steady as his gaze made you shrink into the bench, like you were going to become a permanent fixture in the store.

"Just ‘good’?" Oh, he was going to make you suffer. Breathing hard through your nose, you looked back up at him. Boss already knew how you felt, so this was just torture to feed his ego.

And you may as well feed it.

"Fine." There was a pause as you found the words. “You look amazing. Handsome. Stunning.” You could feel your face and neck darkening with each admission- at this point, had you even been referring to just how he looked now? He seemed to preen at each compliment, all too pleased to drink in your words of praise.

"Then I do believe I will purchase these items. They may be in start contrast to the rest of my wardrobe, but some variety in life never hurts."

It was interesting to watch Boss fannagle with the cashier about buying all the clothes items while he was still in them- but he managed to do it, and in style, if you were honest.

With his boots squared away, clothes tucked into his inventory, and you at his side, Boss literally strutted out of the store- leading you both back to his car.

"Human, you make it so easy to fluster you, you do realize that." Boss' smile from before had not left his features, even as you pulled into the culdesac in which you lived.

"Yeah, I'm aware, Boss." You heaved a final embarrassed sigh as the car came to a stop at your curb. Gathering your belongings, and what little bit of pride you had left, the car door swung open and you turned back to him. "Tease the human that has feelings for you. Ha, ha."

"But, uh." You pause, leaning on the door to look Boss in the eyes.

"Have fun getting into your room before Red or Stretch see you, Cowboy."

#bhc #kisa writes #bonelyheartsclub #theres a reason i dont write fanfic anymore

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20rubixcubes · 3 years

Photo

enhypen as baristas

maknae line x gn!reader (comedy, fluff, mild angst)

~1.2k words ea (headcanons)

warnings: cursing

a/n: i just wrote this for funsies, please be mindful that there is heavy swearing in these headcanons (particularly in ni-ki’s part), so if that isn’t your taste, perhaps skip this one! other than that, the rest of this is pretty chill, so i hope you enjoy my shitposting. oh, and lmk if you like this enough to want part two with the hyung line 👀 just maybe i’ll do it

sunoo

was only recently employed as an afternoon shift employee and was both shocked and distressed after discovering the cafe didnt have an instagram

“what do you MEAN you dont have instagram??? how do we post selfies???” “sunoo we sell coffee” “NO ONE WANTS COFFEE JUNGWON THEY WANT CUTE BARISTAS”

starts an instagram for the cafe and takes aesthetic pictures of his latte art

his selfies get way more likes though

speaking of his latte art, he masters the skill like a week in and everyone else is incredibly jealous

their jealousy wears off when jungwon tells him that he has to start training the new apprentices

pretends he forgot how to do it for like a week but it hurts his pride so he begrudgingly agrees to train the apprentices instead

in his free time he can be found snapping pictures around the shop, eventually expanding to taking pictures of the others too

“sunghoon stop moving you look cute and i need to take a photo” “sunoo im holding hot milk” “does it look like i care beauty is pain sweetie”

other than that, he sometimes sits in the booths to snack on muffins and do his homework since he only comes in to the shop for about an hour during his school lunch break and on the weekends

you meet sunoo after applying for an apprenticeship, wanting to get a job before you finish high school and start college

seen as though jungwon looks like the boss, you approach him, nervous for your first shift

“i’m here for the apprenticeship program?” “oh yeah! one second!”

he trots off to the back room, leaving you standing awkwardly in the middle of the cafe

“SUNOO GET OFF JAY YOU HAVE AN APPRENTICE TO TRAIN” “*gasp* YOU MADE ME SMUDGE HIS LIPSTICK I'M QUITTING” “NO YOURE NOT GET OUT THERE RIGHT NOW”

the yelling pauses before who you presume is sunoo stomps through the back room door, a scowl on his face

he spots you, groaning loudly “are you the apprentice?”

“yes” you say meekly, guilty for seeming to ruin his shift

he gestures you to follow him behind the counter, pulling an apron out from under the sink and shoving it to your chest

its clear that hes pissed, yanking his tools out from the cupboards as you tie your apron behind your back quietly

“have you made coffee before?” “only instant coffee” “oh fantastic”

he seems to be getting more irritated by the minute before he takes a deep breath and starts directing you around the machines

“to do the art, you angle the mug like this and draw with the milk, but it wont show until it reaches the top so dont go crazy”

as if its nothing, he demonstrates by drawing a perfect swan in the milk, setting the latte down and dusting his hands off

“wow… thats amazing” “i know right? no one here appreciates me enough” “they should! this is the best i’ve ever seen”

he grins at your compliment, nodding with satisfaction and sending a wave of relief over you as you notice he looks less angry with you now

“um… im sorry if i interrupted whatever you were doing before” “oh, that? i was just doing jay’s makeup” “you like makeup? me too! i’ve never seen a boy interested in it though, thats really cool” you smile genuinely at him as he blinks in surprise

“really? you think its cool?” “definitely!”

you watch the gears turn in his head before he smiles widely, seeming to have come to some kind of revelation as he nods

“i like you.”

your cheeks heat up immediately, but before you can say anything in return, he starts calling out for jungwon, leaning over the counter

“JUNGWOOON, CAN WE HAVE THIS ONE?”

“well thats up to them” he looks up from the table hes wiping down, adjusting his apron as he walks over to the counter

“so youre all finished with the course? i hope sunoo wasnt too much for you”

“i wasnt! anyways, youre employed, okay?” “sunoo stop theyre just an apprentice”

he groans loudly, irritated once more as he whips his head to you

“you have to work here, ok? i said so, so come back and apply or i’ll be mad!”

you laugh at his antics and smile “i’ll see what i can do”

after jungwon pries sunoo off of your arm, you return your apron and leave the shop with a wave

“YOU BETTER COME BACK!” is the last thing you hear as you step out onto the street, the bell ringing to signal your exit

a week later, you return to the shop, slightly anxious that your new friend(?) might have forgotten about you

but this is quickly washed away when you hear a high pitched squeal from the counter

“JUNGWON! HURRY THE FUCK UP AND GET THE FORMS THEYRE HERE”

you laugh as you approach the counter, a teasing tone on your voice

“are you supposed to be talking to your boss like that?” “whats he gonna do? fire me? im the only one who can make coffee in this place” “true”

soon enough, jungwon comes out of his hiding place, his hands clasped together

“im really sorry to ask this but please, you have to work here, sunoo hasnt shut up about you all week and i dont know if i can stand him anymore, i’ll even pay you extra please dear god”

you give sunoo a look, only receiving an innocent smile and puppy eyes back

“sure, i’ll take the job!”

jungwon sighs in relief as sunoo begins jumping up and down, yelling something about having his own little baby to take care around the shop as you groan, covering your blushing face

once you have your hours established (sunoo made you take the same as all of his, but you did the nights instead of the afternoons on the weekends, to his displeasure), you get straight to working

… well, sort of

it was hard to get work done with sunoo pestering you around the clock

“you think im cute right?” “yes sunoo” “even though i have bags under my eyes? “yes sunoo” “you promise?” “yes sunoo” “good”

admittedly he is slightly of help when it comes to the more fiddly parts of making coffee, but every other second of the day he seems to be flirting nonstop

“can i kiss you?” “no” “why not” “sunoo we’ve been over this” “BEING AT WORK ISNT A VALID EXCUSE”

worn down after his incessant yelling all day, you find yourself snapping faster than usual

“we’re not even dating, sunoo! why would i kiss you!? just stop playing with my feelings already!”

for the first time since you’ve known him, sunoo goes quiet

“why not?”

“what are you talking about now sunoo?” “why arent we dating”

now its your turn to go quiet

“do you not like me?” “what? no, sunoo-” before you can reason with him, you watch him quickly rush away from you around the counter, slamming the break room door behind him with tears in his eyes

cursing to yourself, you ensure there are no customers to serve before quickly darting after him

after looking around a bit, you hear sniffling from the supply closet and knock on the door quietly

“sunoo?” “leave me alone!”

you sigh, taking a step back and turning on your heel to face the opposite direction, running a hand through your hair as you think

you spot a dog bed at your feet, suddenly remembering that jake usually keeps his dog supplies covered in dog hair in the closet

“sunoo arent you allergic to dogs?”

“... *sniffle* y-yeah”

after you persuade him to come out by mentioning that his face is going to get all puffy, he steps out, eyes glued to the floor as he looks away from you in shame

placing a hand on his shoulder, you speak to him softly

“sunoo, look at me”

he does, hesitantly, his eyes red and watery and, as you said, puffy and inflamed

despite this, you smile

“i do like you back”

his eyes start watering again, your heart skipping a beat in fear that you had said something wrong

“e-even if my face is all puffy and gross?” his voice wobbles, the tears filling his eyes giving him a sense of vulnerability as you sigh

“yes, even if your face is all puffy and gross”

he smiles at that, shutting his eyes cutely as you press a kiss to his cheek

“and theres your kiss”

he whines “i was supposed to do that!”

“you can do it after we finish work, okay?” “WORK STILL ISNT A VALID EXCUSE…. but maybe today just because i need to ice my face” “yeah you really should, can you even see?” “no not at all” “great”

jungwon

the previous manager left suddenly and jungwon was given a semi-forced promotion as he was the only employee with at least half of a brain cell

poor boy is stressed 24/7

doesnt get paid enough for this

“hey jungwon we ran out out of coffee bea-” “I ORDERED NEW ONES FOUR HOURS AGO NOW SHUT UP IM TRYING TO MAKE SURE THE BOSS DOESNT FIND JAKE’S DOG SHELTER IN THE SUPPLY CLOSET”

goes through hell every day just to make sure the others dont burn the cafe down

is supposed to be on the morning shift but he stays until the afternoon

in his rare moments of downtime, he likes to go around and water the hanging plants around the shop

is that one vine where the mom listens to nicki minaj for the first time and screams “no” over and over whenever ni-ki gets control of the cafe music

“RIKI NISHIMURA WHAT IS THAT ON THE SPEAKERS” “ITS OUR LORD AND SAVIOUR ARIANA GRANDE” “TURN IT OFF THIS IS NOT PG13” “SHUT THE FUCK UP GRANDPA”

is only 16 but acts like a 32-year-old father going through a midlife crisis

lifts boxes of supplies all day yet his joints are famously brittle

“hey jungwon did you hear glass shattering too?” “sorry jay that was my back” “you need to invest in physical therapy” “maybe if i wasnt paying for property damage every other week 😊”

you meet jungwon when you drop into the cafe for a croissant and a coffee before your class starts

usually you come at night maybe an hour before closing so you had never seen him before, but here you were watching this cute but clearly stressed boy scramble around the shop carrying boxes of supplies to the back

trying not to be creepy, you sigh, turning back to your phone after watching him for a solid five minutes straight

as you do, you hear a crash coming from what you assume is the supply closet followed by a disgruntled groan

pausing, looking around at the other customers typing away at their laptops and waiting for another staff member to go check on the boy, you stand up as you discern that he must be the only one working and hesitantly go to see if he’s okay

“hello? are you okay?” you peer through the door, your eyes widening at the sight of him rubbing his head with a wince on his features, supplies strewn around him at his feet and a box knocked over beside him

“ah… um, yes, i’m okay, sorry if i disturbed you with that noise…” he smiles bashfully, pulling himself back onto his feet

“do you need help with all of that stuff?”

he opens his mouth to protest, not wanting to have to ask for help from a customer, but after seeing the amount of crap off of the shelves, he realises that there is no way in hell he’s going to be able to clean all of it up alone before his shift ends

“um… is that okay?” his cheeks flush with embarrassment as you smile

“sure!”

over the next couple of hours you two establish a little system of bagging the spilt supplies and passes them to eachother to put in boxes, chatting never ceasing as you discover that you actually have a lot of things in common

“since you work here, what’s your favourite kind of coffee?” “i like lattes… i cant stand bitter things” “me too! my friend drinks espressos though” “ditch them”

you also find out that he started being homeschooled after becoming the manager as he doesnt have time to attend normal school

the both of you find yourselves laughing nonstop, having fun in eachother’s company

so much so that you end up late for school

“oh shit! i completely missed my first class”

guilty for making you late, he offers to take you

“i can take you?” “you drive?” “well….. not exactly”

once sunoo and ni-ki arrive to care for the shop, he takes you out to the car park, pulling a spare helmet out of his backpack and securing it on your head before giving your head a pat as he gets onto his scooter

“you look cute” “i look like a bug” “a cute bug”

once you get to school, face red after having to hold onto him the entire time, you hop off and pass him the helmet with a shy smile

“thanks for driving me” you mutter, brushing off imaginary dirt from your shirt as you do your best to avoid eye contact, your face still flushed and heart racing

is it possible to develop a crush on someone this quickly???

jungwon is so cute that he makes it possible, you surmise

“of course” he mirrors your nervous smile, a blush finding its way to his own cheeks

as you bow and spin on your heel to start walking inside, he stops you

“wait!”

“what is it?” you turn to him, your heart still thundering against your ribcage at the fond expression he has plastered on his features

“actually… can i pick you up? after school?”

when you pause, your face growing hotter and hotter, he begins to sputter

“i-i’m really sorry, its fine if not! that was way too forward, i just really like you and- oh god that was even more forward- um-” “okay” “yeah i’m sorry that was a stupid questio- wait, what?”

before he can say anything else, your smile widens

“i’ll see you later, okay? don’t be late!” you wave, skipping into the building with a fluffy feeling in your chest

with an awkward wave, jungwon watches you leave, his mouth wide open in shock before a grin replaces his expression

getting back into his seat, the lovestruck smile never leaving his face as he drives off, he begins to count down the minutes until he gets to see you again

ni-ki

works the afternoon shift

technically an apprentice but he gets paid and has been there forever so basically an employee at this point

or he would be if he ever actually made coffee

he sits with the work phone all morning and chooses the music

perpetually dancing to 7 rings by ariana grande (look up his cover. youre welcome in advance)

jungwon and jay scream at him to at least do the mopping to which he complies, but not without performing a whole ass concert with it

once they saw him twirl and dip the mop

eventually they just told him to go back to curating the music because he was scaring customers away and they were losing business

he was horrible at cleaning anyway

“hey jungwon i think i got window cleaner in your plant” “im firing you” “i dont even go here” “STOP QUOTING MEAN GIRLS AND FIX THE DAMAGE YOUVE CAUSED”

you meet ni-ki while youre drinking your coffee at a booth and he plays your favourite obscure indie song so you have to compliment his taste and get to talking

he plays your favourite songs whenever youre in the shop and audibly hisses at anyone who tries to change it

makes choreography to said songs at home and tries to impress you by casually belting it out by your booth

when you compliment his dancing and ask how long hes been practicing that choreography hes all like “oh hahaha it was just casual freestyle super easy peasy”

(hes been practicing for two weeks)

thought he was being super obvious by doing these things but apparently nOT because you have not caught the hint at all and hes getting impatient

asks for advice from the others begrudgingly

“give them flowers” “jay thats so boring” “do you want to use one of my dogs? everyone loves dogs” “wtf jake since when have you had more than one dog” “make them latte art with a heart on it” “sunoo ive literally never made a coffee in my life” “why dont you just ask them out like a normal perso-” “shut the fuck up grandpa thats so weird no one does that”

eventually he settles on sunoo’s idea of making you latte art and he embarks on his journey to make his first coffee

rather than focusing on the actual taste, sunoo tells him to just do whatever so that he can show him how to do the art

“why is it green ni-ki” “you said to do whatever” “and your first idea was to make poison? idk if this is the best idea if youre trying to ask this person out” “shut up and pass me the milk”

burns his hands on the steaming milk jug at least fifteen times and ends up with so many bandaids on his fingers

despite how stiff the bandages are on his hands, he eventually manages to make a sort-of legible heart

“it looks like africa” “have you ever had steamed milk poured on your eyes sunoo?”

poor ni-ki waits for you all day, his heart leaping every time the bell on the door rings only to roll his eyes when it isnt you

he even stays past his shift so youd better let him take you on a date or hes quitting

when you finally arrive he trips over the bucket at his feet he was using to clean and spills dirty water all over his pants

“omg ni-ki are you okay what happened” *five octaves higher* “NOTHING I'M COMPLETELY FINE WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT”

by the time he’s finished cleaning himself up (and by that i mean fixing his hair in the mirror for twenty minutes) he takes a deep breath and walks over to you, somewhat cold latte in hand

“um,” he clears his throat, his face growing red as he slides the mug towards you “i made this for you”

“aw thanks ni-ki! why is it green” “........its matcha?”

youre slightly suspicious but you look back to the mug and slowly realise that the “drawing” slightly resembles a heart, smiling a little bit to yourself

when you look back to him, youre a little confused as to why hes just standing there

“is something wrong?” you press the mug to your lips, taking a sip

“o-uh uh actually, i wanted to ask if… if you would uh maybe sort of go on a date with me”

you can only smile

“yes, but…”

his heart starts beating faster, watching you anxiously

you stand up, taking the notepad and pen from his apron pocket and scribbling your phone number

“only if you promise to learn how to make actual coffee” you wink, handing him the notepad and sauntering out of the shop

hes stood there dumbstruck, stars in his eyes at the slip of paper in his hand

but then he realises: he has a new mission

rushing to the back room, he slams the door open

“grandpa, i need you to teach me how to make coffee right now” “literally why do i pay you”

with your promise in mind, the others see him work more diligently at the counter than they ever have before

“wow youre actually working today?” “shut up i need to figure out how to do this butterfly before i pry my eyes out with a fork” “haha funny joke ni-” “did i stutter”

at the end of the week, he forces heeseung (the cafe’s best coffee maker) and sunoo (the cafe’s best latte artist) to judge his latte

“this is… surprisingly good” heeseung peers into the mug, smiling at the swan ni-ki created with the latte foam as sunoo grumbles “dont tell me im gonna have to start competing with this kid, it probably tastes gross” “it tastes amazing too” “im quitting”

with his coworkers’ notes in mind, he finally works up the nerve to send you a quick message telling you to come into the shop

when you arrive the next day, ni-ki greets you and immediately gets to work, making sure to stand as close as humanly possible to your booth so he can show off his newly acquired coffee making skills

with you only inches away, he does make a mistake and spill milk on his shirt after looking at you and not his hands for a second too long, but you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt when he sets the mug in front of you

“wow! this heart is perfect!”

you smile, looking up to him “did you seriously learn how to do latte art just so you could take me on a date?” “… y-yeah, and?”

you can only chuckle as you press the mug to your lips, readying yourself to drink liquid dirt…

“this is… really good!” you grin, taking another sip and putting the mug down on its saucer

“i think you’ve definitely earned yourself a date… or two”

at this news, ni-ki’s face lights up, shoving the urge to scream down his throat before nodding stiffly to try and contain his excitement with a strained “cool” escaping his lips

“are you okay ni-ki?” “yes just give me one second”

he quickly scrambles to the break room, a moment of silence wafting through the store before a shrill scream fills the air

eyes wide, you turn to jay, who had been manning the till, after hearing him burst into laughter

“what is he doing?”

“we told him the freezer was sound proof”

#grumbles i guess i will tag #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen headcanons #kim sunoo #yang jungwon #nishimura riki #kim sunoo x reader #yang jungwon x reader #nishimura riki x reader

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