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loveindefinitely · 5 months

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01 — 𝘎𝘖 𝘈𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘋 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘊𝘙𝘠, 𝘓𝘐𝘛𝘛𝘓𝘌 𝘎𝘐𝘙𝘓

༊*·˚ LUST FOR LIFE — task force 141 x reader

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, legal age-gaps, inexperienced reader, virgin reader, corruption kink, slight power imbalance, praise, degradation, light dom/sub, slight daddy kink, oral, vaginal sex, your father's a dick, very minor soapghost, aftercare

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

Stay in your room, your father had said. Don't bother us tonight, your father had said. They are dangerous men that do dangerous things, your father had said.

Yet, here you were, standing at the bottom step of the stairwell, hiding behind the wall adjoined to the living room, listening in to the men on the other side.

You were bored out of your brains. It was a Friday night, and like hell was your over-protective father going to let you go out or party. And the fact that he wouldn't even introduce you to his only friends? Or let you leave your fucking room?

It had left you pissed off to no end, so.

Here you were.

"Bloody close," you hear a voice grunt, deep and gravelly. It sends heat to your stomach immediately, and it's almost embarrassing.

You hear the sound of a hand slapping a shoulder, and the bark of a laugh. "Aye, still got the cash you're gonna owe me?" This voice has a -- Irish? Scottish, maybe? -- lilt to it, humour and kindness embedded into its layers.

"He'll find a way outta paying," a third voice chimes, laughter in its tone.

Someone else clears their throat. "You're all gonna get yourselves indebted to each other at this rate," a fourth voice says, sounding almost resigned.

"You all need to shut the fuck up before she sticks her nose down 'ere."

Your spine straightens, and fury simmers in your blood. Did he have to be such an asshole? Why was your father so... so anti your existence? Why was he so ashamed of you, yet so overbeating?

"She's not a kid anymore, you really oughtta to lay off," the man with the scottish accent says, slightly stern in his delivery.

"If you met her, you'd understand how fuckin' annoying she is. Always wants me to deal with her emotions, as if they're my fuckin' problem," your father replies venomously. Your stomach has dropped to your feet, you're sure of it.

There's a low whistle in response, and a silence settles behind the wall. An unsettling one, full of animosity. The fact that you can tell that from behind the wall says a lot.

"I'm gonna go out and get some drinks. Maybe some dinner. Needa get out of this fuckin' house for a bit," your father says with a grunt, sounding like he's gotten up from the couch. "Call if you lot need anythin' while I'm out."

A few grunts of agreement, and after a few seconds, the front door opens and slams shut.

You let out a small breath of tense relief, eyes fluttering shut as you deeply exhale. The immediate relief of having your father out of the house is immense.

"I feel bad for her," you hear the third man speak, voice quiet and low. "You hear how he speaks about her -- what's he like with her?"

"Gaz, whatever you're thinkin', drop it," the first speaker grits out, impatient and tight.

"He's right," the scottish one says with a huff, "Poor kid. She's legal and he isn't letting her out on a Friday night? 'Nd he fuckin' wonders why she's upset."

"He must have his... reasons," the fatherly voice of the fourth speaker says, although his tone says otherwise.

You swallow, slowly creeping off of the bottom step and onto the wooden floors. Front pressed to the wall, you move just the slightest bit, to allow yourself a small peak into the loungeroom.

There are four men, like you'd expected, and they're...

They're big. There's no other word that comes to mind, except for big. Tall, broad, packed with muscle. Military-grade men.

Your mouth is suddenly parched of any moisture, and your brain turns to putty.

Selfishly, stupidly, you spend another dangerous moment to admire the four. The couch curves, the four of them seated on it, facing the TV hung on the wall. They're backs are to you.

Or.

One second, they're all blissfully turned the other way, and in the next, one's head turns, and deep brown eyes meet yours.

Your eyes go wide, and you immediately dart for the stairs, heart in your throat.

Rushing up, trying to stay quiet but still hurrying, you make it to your room in record time. You shut the door behind you, chest tight and breaths harried as your back presses to the wood.

Stupid, stupid girl, you think.

They are dangerous men who do dangerous things.

That's what your father had said, wasn't it? So what were you thinking, risking a look? For what purpose?

Then, there's a knock on your door.

Your eyes go impossibly wide, and your lips purse together as you slowly move away from the door. With one breath, you train your face into a pleasant, kind smile as you slowly open the door, only allowing a bit of your room to be shown.

"You're his daughter, ain't ya?"

You have to crane your neck, eyes going up, and up, and up, until you meet the man's eyes.

The skull balaclava shouldn't cause your face to heat, or your breaths to quicken, but they do.

"I -- um, yes, I'm really sorry for eavesdropping," you mumble, eyes flitting to the floor and hand squeezing the door in an anxious gesture.

A hand grabs your chin, forcing your gaze to meet the man's chocolate eyes once more. They're imploring, impossibly so, and your thighs squeeze together against your better judgement.

"Come watch the game with us," he says, and although the sentence isn't a demand, it feels like one.

So, like the good girl you are, you nod, his grip loosening as you do.

You forget that you're in your tiniest sleep shorts and your thinnest tank top as you follow him down the stairs, his large hand resting on your lower back.

This was the most touch you'd ever felt from a man that wasn't in a familial way, and your nerve-endings feel like they've been electrocuted.

Whatever conversation that was happening silences as soon as the two of you walk into the lounge room, your hands squeezing each other painfully tight.

Your anxiety was warranted in this situation, wasn't it? Surely, it was okay to be scared of four men whom you'd never met.

Four sets of eyes are trained to your body, and there's a slight tremble in your hands as you sit in the spot balaclava had gestured towards.

It seats you in the middle of the four of them, and your heart beats impossibly faster as you settle into the leather, feeling so small in comparison to the men surrounding you.

It's a new, albeit not entirely terrible, feeling.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" The man furthest to your left asks, and when you meet his eyes, they're warm and kind. His lower face is mostly covered in a beard, and he's wearing a light brown hat.

You bite at your inner cheek, gaze flicking back to your thighs as you weakly say your name.

Their gazes burn your skin, like a living force, and your hands form nervous fists in your lap. The warm yellow light of the living room lamp creates a warm, safe ambience that doesn't exactly fit the emotions swirling inside of you.

You flinch only slightly when a warm hand moves to rest on your knee, the thumb rubbing comforting circles on it that ease your tight muscles slightly.

When you look to the owner of the hand, it's to see a warm grin and a faux mohawk.

"You're so tense, lass," he says, his mouth quirking into a knowing smirk. "We don't bite."

"Don't speak for all of us, Soap," the man sitting on your close left says with a charming grin, his eyes meeting yours when you turn to him. "I'll ask nicely, love, don't worry."

You nod, slowly, in some sort of trance. This entire situation doesn't feel entirely real, more like a figment of your deepest desires.

Ones you've never let yourself think about, except for the darkest of nights and the dirtiest of feelings.

"Don't scare the girl," the man with the balaclava says, eyes narrowing on the two men beside you.

"Says the one with the fuckin' mask, ya weirdo," the scottish one says with a scoff of a chuckle. Your mouth pulls into a soft grin without you realising, and the hand on your knee tightens ever so slightly.

"I'm Price," the man who you've deemed the most sensible of the group says with a warm smile. His head gestures to each of the other three men respectively. "That's Gaz, Soap, and Ghost."

You can't say that you're all too familiar with the names, nor how...different they are, but you nod nonetheless, reserving the names in your memory.

"Father dearest never talked about us?" Gaz asks, eyebrows softly furrowing in question.

You shake your head, almost apologetic in the movement. "He doesn't like to tell me much, he's, ah... private."

There's a few returning grunts of understanding, and they settle your nerves just a little bit more. For men of their size, they were surprisingly good at keeping you feeling safe and comfortable.

"What're you doin' all alone on a Friday night? Pretty young thing like you, 'nd you're not at a club? A date?" Soap asks, and if you notice that he's moved just the slightest bit closer to you, you don't say a word.

You feel your face heat, and you murmur out your reply. "Never been to either," you admit, pulling at a thread in your sleep shorts with nervous jerks.

Ghost settles further into his chair, legs spread in an almost dominant way. "Surely you've at least had your first kiss?"

If you could get anymore embarrassed, you're sure you'll combust on the spot.

You softly shake your head.

"Aw, love, you're adorable," Gaz says, a hint of a smirk on his features. His dark eyes glimmer in the light, and you lick your bottom lip to wet it.

Price's arms rest on his knees, and his eyes seem trained on you, debating some sort of inner conflict, before they firm with some kind of resolution. "Y'know, we've been training rookies lately," he states, but with a knowing undertone that everyone in the room seems to pick up on except for you.

"That we have," Ghost says, his voice sending shivers down your spine as he nods in agreement with Price.

"How about we train you, bonnie?" Soap asks, his hand moving just the slightest bit higher on your thigh.

You swallow, mouth dry.

"Um. Like, train me... how?" You ask, although there's some part of your brain that knows all too well what area they're thinking of.

Gaz's hand moves to sit at the nape of your neck, stroking in soothing movements that leave your eyes half-closed and glassy. "How about I show you how to kiss, love?"

Your stomach hollows, and your chest rises and falls in heavy beats. Nervously looking around the room, you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod shortly.

Soap's hand tightens around your thigh, a barely hidden warning. "Words, baby, or you're goin' back to your room."

The threat instantly has words flying out of your mouth. "Yes. Please. Just... be gentle?"

All four men seem to huff a laugh at that, but Gaz nods, dimples showing as his smirk deepens. "I can do that."

He pulls you in, and your eyes flutter shut as his lips meet yours.

The feeling leaves you entirely dazed, your nervous system alighting with signals as your thoughts seem to pause, if only for a second. It's nothing like you'd expected, and butterflies erupt in your lower stomach.

He pulls away, not having breached your mouth, and you must look as out of it as you feel because he laughs.

"That good, love?" He asks, teasing and entirely prideful.

You nod, a bit too fast and enthusiastic, before his hand pulls away from your nape. The loss is mourned, briefly, before your attention pulls away from Gaz and instead to Soap.

"Gotta learn from all of us," is all he says, before his lips crush against your own. Where Gaz was tentative and soft, Soap is all energy and desperation.

His hand squeezes your thigh, and when it had moved from your knee to pushing against your tiny shorts, you haven't an idea.

You can't find it in yourself to care, with his relentless attack on your mouth, your lips, your mind.

When he pulls away, you realise it's because Ghost's moved to stand, and his hand is in a tight fist in Soap's hair, pulling his face away from yours.

"Actin' like a fuckin' mutt," Ghost mutters, tone laced with vitriol. It's degrading, and yet Soap doesn't seem phased in the slightest.

You're about to inquire about that when your attention's caught by Price, his knees spread and patting his thigh. "C'mere, sweetheart," he says, and like a dog on a leash, you do.

His unbelievably large hands grab your hips as he seats you in his lap, and with how he's got his legs spread, it forces you to sit over his groin.

It's a compromising position, and the heat that rushes to your core is an entirely unknown feeling.

He doesn't move his hands from your body as his eyes devour it, before they meet your gaze with a warmth to them that has you shivering.

"Show me what the boys have taught you, hm?" He says, and with shut eyes and a stiff movement, you press your lips to his.

He groans, pleased, his thumbs rubbing circles where your skin's been revealed by your tank top. No one's ever touched you there, not in this way, and it has your pussy wet.

When he pulls away, he licks at his lips, as if he's devouring your taste.

"You're so pretty, sweetheart, mm? No wonder your father's got you all locked up," he says, and the reminder of the source of your anger has you wanting to do entirely too reckless things.

Like kissing the four men he warned you about.

Like doing more, maybe.

...Maybe.

His hands force your hips down, and you let out a small whimper when your clit presses against his belt buckle, the action sending pleasure shooting up your spine.

He raises a brow, catching the change in expression and your small sound. "What's wrong, pretty?"

And then, he pulls you down again, deeper this time, and the movement has your breath hitching, core burning with need.

"Oh, you naughty little girl," he says, and the words have your mind turning into some sort of mouldable clay, entirely able to be controlled by whatever these men wanted to make of it. "So needy, ain't ya?"

Someone presses against you from behind, and a belt buckle presses against your lower back.

"My turn to feel those lips, innit?" Ghost says from behind, leaning down to whisper his next words next to your ear. "See what all the fuss 's about."

The idea that you're being passed around, like you're some kind of... of whore has you entirely speechless in the most positive of ways.

You feel filthy, and you love it.

Leaning your head back, you manage to make eye contact with the large man, before his lips press to yours, upside down.

He devours, all encompassing, his tongue slipping into yours without any hesitance. You're clumsy, unsure, but he makes up for it with experience and dominance. The entire act has you woozy, needy for more of them, more of their touch.

You don't expect for Price to start forcibly rotating your hips, forcing you to grind against his lap, but it forces a moan from your mouth, the sound getting devoured by Ghost's overpowering tongue.

"Who knew she'd be such a desperate slut?" Gaz asks, as if you're not there, as if you're just something to be observed. It causes another moan to leave your mouth, and Ghost detaches himself from you with a grunt of his own.

"Think she liked that," Soap says, amused and proud, in a strange sort of way. "Wanna be used, baby? Taken by men nearly twice your age?"

"Yes," you say, on a groan as Price's motions speed up, the pleasure so new and different and good.

Then, he stops, and a whine comes out of you before you can stop it.

Price makes a condescending noise in response. "Poor babygirl needs all the attention, hey? Needs her little pussy played with?"

"She looks like a goddamn mess, cap," Gaz says, his hand coming up to rest on your head. He gives comforting pats, not unlike one would with an obedient puppy.

Ghost's hands come around your waist, and before you even process what he's doing, he rips your sleep shorts in half, leaving you completely bare.

"Didn't think to wear panties, dumb girl?" Ghost asks with an appreciative groan, his large hand cupping your now exposed pussy.

With a whimper, you shake your head, your eyes squeezed shut at the embarrassment and nudity. No one had ever seen it before, and now, four of your father's friends were getting an eyeful.

"Lemme see if she's nice 'n wet for us," Soap murmurs, picking you up from Price's lap in a princess carry.

It doesn't even last two seconds before he's splaying you over the now empty couch, your hands pathetically covering your most private of areas.

"None of that, sweetheart," Price says with a 'tsk', grabbing both of your wrists in one hand and pinning them to the couch above your head, leaving you effectively defenceless to the men.

Soap's hand moves down your stomach, before he pauses for just a moment. "This okay, baby?"

You nod, because yes, this is most definitely okay.

Gaz gives you a stern look, so you quickly fix your mistake. "I -- yes, sir, it's okay."

There's a surrounding sound of approval, and Soap smirks from where he stands beside your hips. "Sir, aye? Like the sound of that."

With that, his finger slides down your pussy, and your eyes shut with a soft moan. His hands are rough, scarred, calloused from years of work on the field, and they're so much larger than your own.

"Think she likes it, sir," Ghost says, taunting Soap, whose eyes are completely transfixed on your glistening pussy.

"Not the only one," Price says with an approving murmur, his hand tightening around your wrists. The sense of powerlessness has you aching with desire.

Soap's finger continues to rub against your slit, not breaching your entrance, instead continuing to tease and amplify his touch. Your eyes are shut, too embarrassed to look at the mess you're likely causing on the fabric, and too nervous to see the expression on the men's faces.

"Do you play with your lil cunt often, princess?" Ghost says, voice darkened with lust.

Your face feels like it's burning, but you nod. "Sometimes. I -- ah," you break off with a moan as Soap's thumb presses against your swollen clit.

"Be a good girl and answer when spoken to, love," Gaz says with a sound of disappointment that has you aching to amend your mistake.

"I'm sorry, sir, I, yes. Sometimes 'm just needing to, um, y'know..." You trail off, trying to preserve any amounts of dignity you had left. You were aware that masturbation was normal, but you'd never discussed it with a single soul, and talking about it felt like laying your soul bare.

Price's other hand moves to gently brush your hair from your face, the gesture so at odds with Soap's sensual movements.

You're about to say something, what, you aren't exactly sure, when Soap's finger roughly enters your soaked pussy. A loud whimper escapes your lips at the sudden intrusion, and the sheer size difference of his finger compared to your own.

"Aww, baby, it's alright," Soap coos, and it's so fucking condescending. It's cruel, almost, as if you're so dumb that you can't even form your own thoughts.

Which is, honestly, more true than you're willing to admit.

"'Atta girl," Ghost groans when your whimpers only increase with every thrust of Soap's finger.

Gaz's hand moves down to replace Soap's thumb on your clit, using the pads of his fingers to roughly circle around it. That sensation, mixed with Soap's intrusion, has your back arching slightly from the couch.

"Think she's close, Cap," Gaz says, conversationally, again treating you like you're not entirely capable of voicing your own feelings or thoughts.

"Mm, that right, sweetheart? Close already?" Price echoes, the hand not around your wrists going to squish your cheeks together, causing your lips to pucker. "What a pathetic girl, hm?"

Those words, those demeaning, humiliating words, only stoke the fire in your stomach, and your eyes burn with unshed tears as you shakily nod.

As soon as you do, however, Gaz pulls away, and Soap's finger leaves your pussy entirely. You groan, eyes opening slightly to see what could've possibly caused them to stop.

"You look so upset, baby," Soap laughs, and his smile is no longer the jovial one it had been mere minutes before -- no, it's been replaced with something much more predatory, something much more dangerous.

Dangerous men.

Ghost moves, then, moving your legs with much more care than you'd expected from the large man, before moving to kneel at the end of the couch where your legs had been. Hooking your knees over his shoulder, he effectively folds you in half.

"W-what are you doing?" You ask, almost frantic, utterly confused at your current state.

He leans down, hooking his balaclava over the tip of his nose, before there's searing wet heat at your core, causing you to throw your head back with a loud moan.

Gaz chuckles, "So dirty, love. Like having the big bad Ghost with his head between your legs, huh? Like having the attention of men with blood on their hands?"

Oh, and the confirmation -- the proper, hard proof, that they killed, that they truly were as dangerous as your father had said --

"Yes, fuck, please, oh my god," you ramble, almost incoherent with your words as you body trembles with the feeling of a mouth at your pussy. "Jesus, don't stop."

You can hear laughter around you, some words being passed between the men, but your focus is entirely on the tongue dipping into your folds, licking at your essence like a man starved. Like you're his only salvation.

Soap's hand is in Ghost's hair, a complete parallel to the kiss the two of you had shared, and he's pushing Ghost further against you, manhandling him like a toy for you to grind against, for you to take advantage of.

"I'm gonna, oh, please, I'm close," you cry out, eyes squeezed shut yet again as Ghost's ministrations only double in enthusiasm.

"Yeah, sweetheart? Gonna cum all over his face? Go on, ride it, there we go," Price eggs you on, his hand patting down your hair, massaging at your scalp as you lose yourself to the pleasure of it all.

You cum with a desperate keen, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as you ride out the high, embracing this moment for the beauty it is.

It doesn't hit you, not at first, the full extent of your actions.

Ghost pulls away after your whimpers turn into ones of overstimulation, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh, your twitching pussy, and then your inner knee as he carefully sets your legs back down on the couch.

"Such a good girl, aye?" Soap asks, rubbing at your tense calves with expert strokes and pressure. "Did so well for us, darlin'."

Your head feels like it's been filled with cotton, and your mouth is in a similar state as you nod dazedly.

You're not sure when, but at some point, Price gently moves you to lay your back against the cushion of the couch. "Need you to drink something for us, sweetheart, okay?"

Gods, this part? Them treating you like a princess, like you're something worthy of taking care of, it's almost as good as the orgasm they'd given you.

Gaz comes into view with a glass of water, and when he gently moves your chin to open your mouth, you let him pour it down your throat.

It feels almost like you're entirely too weak to do anything by yourself, like your ability to function has been completely removed by these men. It's intoxicating, the kind of feeling that could be as addictive as the most threatening of drugs.

The water slides down your throat, and it's as if it cools you from the inside out, your heartbeat slowly coming down from the quickened pace it was previously at.

Price picks you up, cradling your head to his chest as he sits down, the other three settling down on the couch as well. Gaz, sitting beside Price, moves your legs to sit over his lap, your feet in Soap's. Ghost sits to Soap's left, his eyes focused on you as you get comfortable, burrowing your head closer to Price.

If you could stay in this moment forever, you think that you'll be a very happy woman.

Closing your eyes, you drift into a space between sleep and awareness, and when they flutter open again, you realise that your previously exposed pussy and legs are now hidden by your sweatpants that had been laid on your bed, ready to be put away.

Price's hand is in your hair, softly playing with the strands. His hand encompasses your entire scalp, almost, and if you weren't completely exhausted, that fact alone would have you ready to get on your knees.

"What're we gonna do?" Gaz whispers, and you realise with a start that they must all think you're still dozing. "I mean, we seriously fucked this up."

"Not yet we haven't," Ghost interrupts, voice still gravelly and low, but with a hint of warmth. "This doesn't change anything."

"This changes everything!" Soap hisses back, incredulous, his hands stilling from where they were rubbing into your feet with practiced movements. Were they all trained masseuses, or something?

No. Trained killers, your mind unhelpfully supplies, and a chill runs down your spine.

Oh god. Oh god. What had you done? Seriously, what the actual fuck had you done? You just.

You just lost your virginity to four of your father's very lethal, very dangerous friends. Friends who are nearly twice your age, at that.

Oh. God.

"Laswell will be expecting correspondence by three," Price mutters in a voice akin to a whisper. "You boys know what we have to do."

What? What were they talking about? Who was Laswell? What did they have to do by three?

Your mind whirrs, like a hamster in a wheel, before the sound of keys jingling on the other side of your front door has your entire body freezing.

Oh god.

Oh. God.

"Shit," Gaz grumbles, and between one thought and the next, you've been bundled up into a warm chest, the movement fluid and shockingly quick. A hand at the base of skull softly pushes your head against a warm neck, and your legs hang over a muscled arm. "I'll take her upstairs. Be quiet and quick."

There's murmurs too quiet between the other three as you're taken up the stairs, two steps at a time, by the man whose fingers had been on your pussy, at most, only an hour ago.

You're aware that you've been taken to your room when the door clicks behind you, the familiar path to it engrained in your memory, even with your eyes closed and in someone else's arms.

The smell of vanilla and caramel is a comforting and familiar one, and you realise that you'd left your candle burning all night.

It's really the least of your worries, but that thought manages to snag at your conscious like an annoying fly.

"I'm so sorry, kid," Gaz whispers, gently laying you down underneath your bedsheets, before pulling them up and over your lazed form. "I'll try my best to talk some sense into 'em."

You're not sure what he could possible mean -- what the fuck was even happening, what your life was even becoming, but his words are nothing if not sincere.

His tone is almost... apologetic, in a way, and you reserve that thought for later. When you're not pretending to be awake, when you're still not slightly out of it from your first orgasm caused by someone else, when you're not in the middle of the worst moral conflict of your life.

Your window's slightly open, allowing a soft breeze to brush over your still slightly heated skin as Gaz presses a soft kiss to your forehead, brushing your hair back.

"Get off me!"

Your father. That's your father's voice, and it sounds panicked, angry -- not unusual, but still, the cause of it was nearly always you.

And those specific words, what --

"Y'know, Laswell found out somethin' pretty interestin' the other day," a voice that you recognise as Ghost's says, tone mocking interest.

Gaz moves away from you, before going to the window and looking out at whatever scene is happening down there. Somehow, he hasn't realised you're not asleep -- you'd kept your breathing pattern the same as it usually was when you're asleep, some youtube video you'd watched months ago finally coming in handy.

You can hear them all clear as day through the small opening of the window, and Gaz can too.

"Aye. Somethin' 'bout some info bein' leaked," Soap continues Ghost's train of thought, and you're so lost it's almost pathetic.

But, you continue to listen, desperate for any source of understanding for whatever the fuck was happening down there.

"You can't possibly think it was me!" Your father yells, his voice full of venom and rage. To have it not be directed at you is a rare moment, and you allow yourself a small breath of reprieve.

"We know it was you," Price says, before sighing loud enough for it to be heard from your room. "The way you spoke about that kid of yours was enough to cement the idea."

"She's a fuckin' waste of space, and where do you get off on caring how I treat my kid? Has nothin' to do with the job!"

Those words hurt. Like an actual, physical wound, almost.

Gaz swears under his breath, and you can feel the tension ooze out of him like a wave. It's... oddly comforting.

There's the sound of a fist hitting a jaw, and it takes everything in you not to race to the window and look at what's going on yourself.

"Jesus fucking christ!" Your father hisses, and you put two and two together. One of the three men down there had punched him -- if you had to take a guess, it was Ghost.

"You've never been one of us, and you'll never be one of us. You sellin' us out was the last straw, mate," Soap snarls. You can hear him spit on the ground, before another sound of fists flying makes your heart race.

There's a moment of silence, until two things happen in the span of five seconds.

First, your father screams, "Please! Don't --"

And then...

A bullet.

The sound of a trigger being pulled.

The sound of a bullet ringing through the air.

The sound of a final breath.

Your eyes fly wide, and you immediately stumble out of bed.

Gaz's gaze meets yours, and there's nothing but apology in them. No guilt, just apology.

He doesn't stop you from looking out the window, where your father's body lays in the grass, blood leaking from the wound now sitting between his eyes.

And when you turn to him, he doesn't stop you as you land a punch to his jaw.

a/n. CROSS-POSTED TO AO3 ummm so did i PLAN for this to become an actual fic? no. not in the slightest. but i was writing the fingering bit and was like. what if her dad died? and there's an actual plot? so uhhh here we are! anyways hope yall enjoyedddd if u guys know me u know polyamory is my SHIT so there will very likely be more poly!tf141 x reader to come. ty for reading mwah mwah mwah

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thatlittledandere · 2 years

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I’m ace and contain multitudes

#venlapost #the things one tumblr post i saw and drafted ages ago makes me do #recreating the anti-sex playlist because i don't have spotify

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hengqarae · 1 year

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reckless driver

PAIRING ❄ kim mingyu x afab!reader WORD COUNT ❄ 10k words GENRE ❄ street racer au, angst, romance, smut (minors dni), the teeniest tiniest smidge of humor WARNINGS ❄ swearing, illegal activity (drag/street racing), making out, extreme pining, whirlwind romance, smut (fingering, protected sex), not proofread, brief hospital scene

you hate racing and you don't date racers. kim mingyu loves racing, and he finds out that he loves you, too, from the moment that he first lays eyes on you.

PLAYLIST ❄ reckless driving by lizzy mcalpine (ft. ben kessler) / yards / gardens by kate bollinger / btbt by b.i. & souljia boy tell 'em (ft. devita) / notice me by sza / nothing but the love by wrabel / with my eyes closed by cults / anyone by seventeen / angel eyes by abba FROM THE AUTHOR ❄ mingyu, crawling up my bias list because of my own fic that i wrote about him... i am a lizzy stan before i am a human, and the first time that i heard reckless driving, i knew that she was singing about mingyu (or, at least, the mingyu that i would one day write about). i hope that you enjoy reading this, and i hope that you are having a wonderful new year <3

You didn’t know what you were getting into when you visited the track that very first time.

To your credit, you did not visit with the intention of falling in love. Your roommate, Lee Chan, had begged and pleaded for you to accompany him, to indulge, even just once, in this newfound passion of his. He had started racing to pay his bills, but quickly figured out that he enjoyed it. The rush of adrenaline made him feel alive, he’d tell you. You would always follow that up by telling him that he was chasing a high that could kill him one day.

You didn’t support his racing. You hated saying goodbye to him when he left for races. You always found yourself anxiously awaiting news, tossing and turning whenever you tried to sleep, forced to occupy yourself with something to distract you while you waited for a call, a text, anything to assure you that he had finished the race safely and that he would be coming home at the end of the night. The possibility of getting arrested didn’t really scare either of you; you were mostly afraid that you would lose your best friend, and because of your own stubbornness, you weren’t going to be present if, and when, that happened. That’s the only reason that you started attending races with him. You’ve made sure that you’re abundantly clear about that, too.

“It’s s'posed to be a really good race tonight!” Chan was practically bouncing in his seat. You hummed quietly in response, eyes trained on his speedometer. He was prone to driving fast when he was excited, and you were nervous enough at the prospect of him racing at all – your nerves didn’t need to be exacerbated by speeding down the interstate en route to the track. “All of the circuits are having their championships tonight, so if I place, I’ll get to move up to C! All the S racers will be there, too. Choi Seungcheol, Joshua Hong, Kim Mingyu – they're, like, gods in the downtown racing circuit.”

“And which one do I have to thank for bringing you into racing?”

Chan groans quietly, hands shifting their positions on the steering wheel. “Don’t talk to anyone. Even though I love and adore you, and your opinions are very important to me... I don’t know if your anti-racing agenda will be met very favorably tonight.”

“What? I said I was going to thank them.”

“Right.” Chan forces a smile. “Please do not talk to anyone tonight.”

You huff quietly in response, shifting in your seat and crossing your arms over your chest. You hope that your phone has enough battery to get you through the night. You were definitely not going to watch Chan race, and you doubted that you were going to meet anyone at the track that could offer titillating conversation; that is, you weren’t interested in talking about racing or cars, and it was unlikely that you’d find anyone that could offer much beyond that. You’d likely spend your time in Chan’s car, scrolling through Tik Tok while you waited for him or until your battery died and you were forced to be alone with your own thoughts.

At least, that had been your intention. When you and Chan arrive at the track, you’re quickly reminded of that saying about best laid plans.

“Mingyu! What’s up, man?” Chan barely bothers to turn off his ignition before he’s bounding out of his car, greeting another man. One look tells you that this guy – Kim Mingyu, you’re assuming, as Chan had already mentioned him – is a racer, too, and you’re spurred out of the car to give him a piece of your mind. Chan only realizes that you’ve come up behind him once Mingyu’s gaze travels to you, and he’s quick to try and jump on offense. “M-Mingyu, this is my roommate. They... don’t race.”

“They don’t like racing, either.” You offer, crossing your arms again, leaning against the hood of Chan’s car. You’re uncomfortable with the way that Mingyu is sizing you up, and you don’t miss the smug countenance plastered on his, admittedly handsome, face. Still, you find it difficult to peel your eyes away from his. He’s... hot. You had made it easier to villainize the sport by picturing all other racers to be stout, middle-aged men with receding hairlines. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Mingyu doesn’t fit that picture.

“Roommates. Is that code for something, or is this actually platonic?” Mingyu keeps his eyes locked with you as he asks, even though you get the sense that his question is directed at Chan. You feel warm under his gaze, unsure if it’s because you’re uncomfortable, or if it’s because you’re finding yourself more and more attracted to Mingyu as you stare at him. Every few seconds, you have to remind yourself that he’s another stupid racer, and for that reason alone, it’s out of the question.

“N-No, we’re just friends. Nothing like that. Why do you— oh, shit, hold on. Hoshi!” Chan pulls away before he can finish his own question, chasing after another man, leaving you and Mingyu still locked in on each other. His smirk seems to grow even wider, and you shift your weight. You wish Chan had stayed and finished his question. You, too, would like to know why Mingyu had asked.

As nice as he is to look at, though, if you don’t speak to anyone else tonight, you’ll at least have told Kim Mingyu how you feel about his and Chan’s stupid racing. You won’t back down, even under the warmth that’s blooming across your skin. “Are you the one that brought Chan into this shit?”

“Dirty words comin’ from such a pretty mouth.”

“A-Answer the question.”

Sliding his hands into the pockets of his jackets, Mingyu offers a shrug. “He was already into it when I met him. It was probably...” He looks around after he trails off before focusing back on you. You raise your eyebrows at him, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t. He only mimics your expression, raising his own eyebrows back at you.

“Well? Who was it? Is he here?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

You scoff. “I-I’m not going to hurt them. I just want to yell at them.”

“Yeah, that’s why.” You knit your eyebrows together and Mingyu’s smirk grows even wider, turning into a full grin now. “I’d rather you yell at me instead. You seem like you’d be hot when you’re mad.”

You’re at a loss. It’s been a while, if ever, since you’ve been flirted with so shamelessly, and as badly as you want to stay mad about your current situation – your best friend refusing to quit racing despite your constant protests and you, inevitably, getting dragged to the track with him – you're finding it hard to keep it together when Mingyu is looking at you like he wants to devour you. “I don’t fuck with racers.”

“I think I could persuade you.”

“I don’t want to be persuaded.”

“I like a challenge.” Mingyu bends at the waist, meeting you at eye level from where you’re leaning on Chan’s car. You scrunch your nose when you catch a whiff of his cologne, telling yourself that no, you do not like how he smells. “God, you’re so pretty.”

“Stop flirting with me.” You snap.

There’s that smirk again. “Okay, angel.”

You groan, rolling your eyes and throwing your head back. When you lift your head back, Mingyu seems to have gotten closer. If you reach out, you could grab the collar of his jacket and pull him even closer. Your fingertips tingle at the prospect, but you refrain. Instead, you take the opportunity to study his face up close, his smooth, tanned skin and his deep brown eyes and his plump lips. You must have been looking for a while, because Mingyu feels compelled to finally break you out of your trace.

“You can look and touch, y’know.”

“Pass.” You scowl, snapping out of it and leaning back, attempting to create some distance between the two of you. “Don’t you need to warm up or something?”

“I don’t race for another few hours.”

You set your jaw. What is this guy doing? Why is he wasting his time on you? You’re sure that, somewhere else within the track, he could find plenty of other people willing to swoon over him, ready to fall to their knees and offer him some pre-race stress relief. You weren’t one of those people. You hate racing. You hate that Chan fell into it, and you hate how you become too worried to function sometimes. You had met him in college, and for him to forsake the degree that he earned for the quick, easy money that he was getting now made your emotions flare. His business degree wasn’t going to kill him. Racing, eventually, will.

The scent of Mingyu’s cologne is making you feel dizzy, enveloped in the scent of him, and under other circumstances, you’d already have him pressed against you. This was one of Chan’s races, though. You get enough of this shit at home from him; you aren’t going to bring any pieces back with you, too, even though you can imagine it would feel really good to touch Mingyu, and to have him touch you.

Mingyu is perfectly content in standing and looking at you. He thinks you’re the second most beautiful person he’s ever laid eyes on, only behind his mother, and if today is the only day he’ll ever be able to see you, he wants to burn the image of you onto the back of his eyelids.

You finally reach out a hand, pressing your palm against his chest and pushing him back. Nevermind how firm his chest is and how strongly you’re urged to grip his black t-shirt and pull him forward instead of pushing him back. He smiles even as you widen the gap between the two of you. “Is this what you want? You want me to go?”

You open your mouth to respond to him, to tell him that yes, he needs to leave, but the words won’t come out. Maybe you don’t want him to go. Not yet, anyway. Maybe you like the way that you feel when he’s looking at you, feverish, skin prickling with a sense of urgency that doesn’t make sense to you. Your insides twist uncomfortably when you look into his eyes, and yet, you don’t want to look away.

Fuck, you wish that he didn’t race.

“Just tell me to go away and I will, angel.”

You can’t. You don’t want to. There’s some kind of magnetic pole within Mingyu’s body, compelling you toward him even though you wish that you could get away. You’re stuck in his orbit, and it’s a little scary.

“You should stop racing.” You respond, finally remembering yourself. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“Duly noted. How ‘bout a kiss, just in case I do get myself killed tonight?”

“In your dreams.”

“Yeah.” Mingyu laughs, running a hand through his hair and pushing it back at the forehead. “I’ll definitely be dreamin’ about you.”

Your body moves faster than your brain, finally giving into the desire to have him closer. Instead of pulling him toward you, you’re stepping forward. You like the feeling of having your body pressed against his, but more than that, you like the feeling of your lips pressed against Mingyu’s. He smiles that same insufferable, self-satisfied grin against your lips, but even that doesn’t make you pull away. Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer, fingers twirling in his hair.

He puts his hands, big and warm, on your hips, holding you against him as you sink your teeth into his bottom lip. Mingyu groans in response and you take the opportunity to swipe your tongue against his top row of teeth. His grip becomes impossibly tighter, and he slides his tongue fully into your mouth, alternating between licking the inside of your mouth and massaging your tongue with his. Only when your lungs feel tight and burn from the lack of oxygen do you finally detach yourself from him, chest heaving up and down as you try to catch your breath. Mingyu flutters his eyes open, and the look in his eyes makes butterflies erupt in your chest.

You untangle yourself from him immediately, running your hands through your own hair this time. “I--we—that--”

“Was that you givin’ me material for my dreams?”

“W-We shouldn’t have done that.”

“We didn’t do anything. You kissed me.”

“I-I know.” You’re still breathing heavily, your mind jumbled with thoughts of how you kissed Mingyu, how you should not have kissed Mingyu, and how much you liked kissing Mingyu. “That w-was a mistake. I didn’t mean to do that.”

Mingyu juts out his bottom lip, red and puffy and tantalizing enough that you almost disregard your hesitation and dive in again. “You’re breakin’ up with me already? After all that we’ve been through?”

“Stop making jokes!” You snap at him. “I-It isn’t funny! That—we--”

“All we did was kiss. There will be plenty of opportunities to do it again.” You’re grasping at straws, trying to navigate through the fog that’s collected in your brain for a retort, when Mingyu’s phone goes off. He pulls it out of his pocket and, for the first time, you see him without a smile. “Call me, okay? Promise?”

He backs away without waiting for a response, holding out his pinky finger toward you. You watch him retreat with a scowl on your face that only deepens once he blows a kiss at you, turning his back to you and taking off in a jog toward the racetrack. Once he’s been out of sight for long enough to ensure that he’s actually gone, you groan loudly, covering your hands with your face. Your face is hot, and your hands are clammy, and you keep thinking about how good it felt to kiss Mingyu, soft lips slotting between and sliding against yours, his fingers leaving your skin feeling scorched wherever they touched.

You don’t know why you kissed him. You had been doing so well, holding yourself back and exhibiting some enviable self-restraint. Still, something in you had snapped, and you don’t know how you’ll be able to recover. On the bright side, you might never see Mingyu again. On the other hand, though, he’d shown a determination that makes you doubt he would let you go so easily. You can only hope that he’s just some playboy; that you’re the latest target of his conquest, that he’ll find somebody else and forget all about you.

He told you that he liked a challenge, and unfortunately, you like being chased.

+ + +

Mingyu can’t stop thinking about you. He knew that this was going to be a problem when he first laid eyes on you and, lo and behold, he was lying in bed for the fourth night in a row, staring up into the dark, consumed with thoughts of you.

He doesn’t know when he’ll see you again. He doesn’t know if he’ll see you again. What he does know is that he’s seriously lovesick, and you’re the only thing that’ll be able to cure him. This is not the type of person that Kim Mingyu is, though. Usually, he’s suave and charming, and he gets exactly what he wants... and then some. He’s so good at flirting because he does it so often, and yet, he wasn’t able to charm you completely. You’d kissed him – yes, you kissed him – and then, after his race, disappeared without another word.

He is not a bad kisser. That’s a fact. And, yet, when you had kissed him, you had reacted like you’d committed some kind of grave sin. Mingyu has been with people that think he’s bad news, but that’s never served as an actual obstacle before. This is uncharted territory. He wants you. He wanted you before he even spoke to you; he wanted you as soon as he got his first glimpse of you.

Your actions say that you want him, too, but your words have contradicted that, and Mingyu doesn’t know what he’s supposed to trust. He’s on the hook either way.

He doesn’t know what time it is when he reaches for his phone on his nightstand. He doesn’t even know if this will work, but he’s got to try something. His sanity, and sleep cycle, depends on this.

“Hey Siri, call Lee Chan.”

The call gets picked up on the second ring, and Mingyu’s heart rate picks up, too. He releases a breath that he doesn’t even realize he’s been holding when he identifies the voice on the other end of the line. “Chan isn’t here right now. What do you want?”

“I was calling to ask for you, actually, angel.” Mingyu sits up in bed, grinning into the phone.

The silence on the other end of the line drives up his heart rate ever more, but when he hears shuffling, he’s able to relax a little. You haven’t hung up. “I’ll ask again. What do you want, Mingyu?”

“Say my name again.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“N-No!” His face burns at how eager he must sound, but he doesn’t care to play it cool. Maybe with somebody else, but not with you. He has too much to lose to try and impress you. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I wanted to ask you to remove the spell you put on me.”

His words cause your stomach to somersault. Truthfully, you’ve had a hard time since meeting, and kissing, Mingyu, too. You know that chalking it up to love at first sight would only exacerbate things. You don’t think it’s merely lust, though, either – you've always been able to restrain yourself. You’re careful with your feelings and your emotions, and there’s something there between you and Mingyu. You don’t know what, exactly, but you know that it can’t be there. You have enough on your plate, constantly worrying about Chan. You can’t add someone else, someone that does the exact same stupid stuff, into the mix. You need this to stop, for his sake and for yours.

“I-It’s late and you’re probably just horny. Call someone else.”

“What?” Mingyu’s incredulousness comes through clearly over the phone, and you nearly cringe at how harsh your words were. Still, you can’t indulge this. You shouldn’t.

You want to.

“N-No, I... I’m sorry.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair, frustrated. “Mingyu, I don’t fuck with racers. I told you that.”

“Your roommate races.”

“Yeah, and I hate that he does that, okay? I worry myself sick over him when he’s off racing. The only thing that I can be thankful about is that he does drag and not streets. But you do streets, too, don’t you?” Mingyu doesn’t respond, and you scoff quietly. “Yeah, I already know that you do. I-I can’t get involved with someone that risks their life all the time for money.”

‘It’d be different if I were a cop, though, right? Or a firefighter? That’d make me a hero, right? This--” You hear him pause to take a breath. “I'm in love with you, okay? Completely and utterly smitten with you, to the point that it’s takin’ over my life.” Your breath hitches quietly at his confession, but Mingyu makes no indication that he heard you. “This isn’t my career. We can’t all tolerate cushy bureaucracy jobs. This is what I do now, for money, so that I can stop racin’ one day and retire, then and there. I want to enjoy my life. It’ll be more enjoyable if you’re in it. There is nothing else that I can say except for I’m sorry, and I love you.”

“W-We just met, Mingyu. It hasn’t even been a week.”

“I like to go fast.”

You don’t know what else you can say. You can’t proclaim that you love him, not right now, but you’re sure that in a few weeks’ time, that’s where you’d be, too. Still, you know better. Mingyu is here today, but he could be gone the very next time that he has a race. That terrifies you.

“I-I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Mingyu’s at the end of his short rope. He had called in the first place so that he could hear your voice, thinking that maybe it could help him get to sleep. Now, though, he wishes he hadn’t called. He should’ve just suffered through his insomnia and continued suffering through it. It was better than the rejection he was facing. “Nevermind. Just forget it.”

“Mingyu--”

“No, angel, I—you kiss me, and then you push me away. You tell me to fuck off, then you tell me that under different circumstances, you’d be interested. I’ve shown you all of my cards, and you’re not interested in anteing up, so just forget it, okay?”

You end the call before Mingyu can hear you cry. It’s all too fast, and you’re overwhelmed. You want him, but there’s one part of him that you just can’t accept. You aren’t reckless. You like to think things through, and you don’t do things on a whim. Kissing Mingyu had catalyzed a panic within you that you had lost control, and if you lose control once, you’re bound to do it again. It feels like you’re being backed into a corner with two options to get out: take Mingyu completely as he is or swallow your obvious feelings and leave him as he is. You clutch Chan’s phone tightly against your chest as you sob quietly, hot tears rolling down your cheeks even despite your attempts to stifle them.

Mingyu, similarly, can’t believe what just happened. He’s too reckless. He bared himself to you too early, and the consequences that he’ll reap will not be good ones. He can’t help how he feels about you, and nobody feels more intensely than Kim Mingyu. He knows that he fucked up. He knows that he can’t come back from this, and he needs to cut his losses and find a way to get rid of his feelings for you. He doesn’t know how he’ll accomplish it, but if he never sees you again, that’ll probably be the fastest way he’ll be able to heal. He’s never cared for someone so deeply before he met you. He’s never known so immediately that he’s been in love. You’re it for him, and he doesn’t know what to do now that he’s already lost you.

+ + +

You shouldn’t have come. You knew that before you got into Chan's car, but now, with Mingyu’s gaze practically burning a hole into the side of your head, it’s been made abundantly clear.

“Why is he looking at you like that?” Chan whispers while you shift your weight. “You never told me what happened between the two of you.”

“I don’t want to get into it.” You mutter, willing yourself to look forward and not over at Mingyu, watching you from a distance like a predator observing its prey. It’s been weeks since your phone conversation. You were no less convinced that you were going to be able to forget about him, and a small part of you had hoped that you would come tonight and see somebody else draped around his arm, shocking you back into a state of rationality.

That isn’t the case though, obviously, and you had to beg Chan to keep to you so that you aren’t vulnerable. You don’t know what you should expect from Mingyu. He’s reckless and volatile, and the way that you feel when you’re around him is... scary. As brief as your first interaction had been, you left with the sense that, if enough time had passed with you in his proximity, he would have replaced the necessity of air with himself; he would’ve become your air, and you would’ve suffocated without him.

There’s something fantastic about the way that Mingyu has made you feel like you’re breathing and drowning at the same time, with just one little kiss and a simple love confession.

“He's looking at you like you murdered his dog. Now he’s-- okay, now he’s looking at his phone... he’s looking at you again.”

“I don’t need the play by play, Chan, thanks.”

“Tell me what happened!”

You shake your head. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine, then I’m leaving.”

Your eyes widen and you turn to grab Chan, to pull him back and to keep him as your wall against Mingyu, but he’s out of reach before you’re able to react. In a matter of seconds, Mingyu has crossed the way and is standing in front of you, arms crossed tightly over his chest. You stare at him, horrified.

He just scoffs. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

“I-I’m not here--”

“Yeah, whatever, you’re not here for me.” His hostility takes you aback, even though you know it’s deserved. You can tell from body language alone that Mingyu is still hurting. His words and tone of voice merely confirm that for you. “I-I don’t know how I’m supposed to get over you when you continue to show up to my races.”

“It’s been weeks already, Mingyu.”

“Yeah? And has the passage of time made you feel any better?” You don’t respond, turning away so that he can’t notice the tears brimming at your waterline. You’re biting your cheek to keep them from spilling. Mingyu knows better, though, and softens. Just a little. “I told you that I loved you, and I still do. I’m willin’ to do anything for you – anything except quit.”

That’s the only thing that you need from him, though. “We barely know each other. You don’t love me.”

“You don't know how I feel. You haven’t bothered to ask.”

“B-Because you tell me even if I don’t ask! You don’t know me well enough to say that you love me.”

“I can say whatever I damn well please.” He scoffs, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “There is somethin’ between us, you can’t deny that, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to foster this spark that we have. That’s love, isn’t it?”

“That’s--” You cut yourself off, groaning in frustration. His words make your knees feel weak, but you’re not ready to let up the fight. “You’re too nonchalant about this for it to be love. It’s supposed to be something bigger. You can’t just look at someone for the first time and decide that they’re it for you!”

“I can, and I did.”

You shake your head, wiping away a stray tear with the heel of your hand. “I-I don’t love you.”

“You don’t, or you won’t?”

“You’re a danger to yourself! If you loved me, truly, then you wouldn’t put me through the risk of losing you every time you get behind the wheel.”

It’s Mingyu’s turn to shake his head. “That’s all I am, then, yeah? I’m just a stupid guy that drives fast for money, and that’s all I’ll ever be?” Even when you open your money to respond, he ignores you and continues talking. “You’re doin’ this on purpose. You don’t want to admit to yourself that I’m more than what you’ve chosen to see. You won’t even give me a chance to be anything else.”

The conversation is starting to make you dizzy. You press your middle finger to one of your temples, rubbing small circles against your skin. “It was just one kiss, Mingyu.”

“Then kiss me again and show me that I got worked up over somethin’ that I shouldn’t have.”

You can’t. You shouldn’t. You know exactly what needs to happen in order to prove to him that you aren’t the one, that he should back off and keep searching for the true love of his life, and you also know that you aren’t going to be able to fake it. You don’t feel your emotions as intensely as Mingyu does, but you’re never going to be able to escape this whirlwind if you kiss him now.

You kiss him anyway.

Your hands are trembling as you hold his face, pulling him in and pressing your lips against his. He lets you take the lead, slowly slotting his lips between yours only after you’ve initiated movement. Your actions are impossibly calculated as you try to exercise restraint, but, once again, you forget yourself. Your hands work their way into Mingyu’s hair – it's gotten longer since the last time that you did this – and you grip the strands tightly as you pull him closer. He, on the other hand, remembers his manners. He smiles against your lips before he pulls away, and the soft whimper that he hears from you nearly makes him dive right back in.

“You’re so full of shit.” He whispers, eyes still closed, his lips ghosting against yours. “You love me.”

“I-I don’t.” You respond, breathless.

“Yeah?” He presses his lips against yours again, pulling away when you try to pull him closer and deepen the kiss. He’s taunting you, and you hate that you like it. You hate that he knows exactly what he needs to do to keep you wanting more. “Then we’re done here, I guess.”

“No, we’re not.” Whispering against his lips draws a shiver up your spine. “Don’t go.”

“You don’t love me, remember?”

“Come home with me.” Mingyu stills against you, swallowing thickly. He hopes that you can’t hear his heart thumping loudly against his ribcage. “Skip your race and fuck me instead.”

His chest tightens, as does his grip on your hip. “You’re---that’s not fair.”

“I’m in love with a guy that does everything that I stand against. Life isn’t fair.”

“R-Right.” Mingyu presses his forehead against yours, his eyes shut as he resumes his ministrations against your skin. He can’t believe how the tides have turned, but he’s not going to ruin it. Not again. Both of you are quiet as you even out your breathing, but finally, Mingyu cuts through the silence. “Counteroffer. I fuck you after my race when I’m ten grand richer.”

“Get a real job, and then I’ll be impressed by you making money.”

“Like a cop, right?” He punctuates his sentence with a kiss. “Or a firefighter?” Another kiss. “Aren’t men more attractive when they have money?”

You exhale deeply as you pull yourself away from Mingyu. “Look, I—we—there need to be rules if we’re going to... be something. T-Together.” Mingyu raises his eyebrows in anticipation, and you sigh again. “Sex is a reward that you get when you skip races.”

“That’s a punishment for both of us.”

You ignore him and move on. “I don’t want to know details after the fact. Let me know as soon as possible if you’re alive or not.”

That gets a laugh out of him. “Okay, I promise I will let you know as soon as I can if I die.”

“That’s... all. For now.” You clasp your hands together, tilting your head as you look at him. “So? Are you skipping tonight.”

“Baby, it’s ten grand.” Mingyu whines, reaching out and taking both of your hands in his. Your heart skips a few beats while he laces your fingers with his. “I’ll skip the one I have tomorrow. Promise.”

“Maybe I won’t want to have sex with you tomorrow.” You lilt your words, looking to the side.

Mingyu sighs loudly, swinging your hands gently. “I’d be content to sit and stare at you, too.”

+ + +

As expected, Mingyu wins his race and the ten grand. As promised, he skipped his race on the following day and came to see you instead. That’s why you’re in his lap, and why his shirt is already off, and why you’re sure that he can feel how wet you are through your shorts. You opted to forego underwear in favor of easier access, and you made sure to encourage Chan to go out for dinner after his own race, too.

“You’re such a fuckin’ tease.” Mingyu rasps, sliding a hand under your shirt. His hand travels against the expanse of your abdomen before cupping your breast, settling there to squeeze and knead your flesh as he continues sucking bruises against your collarbone. “Playin’ hard to get but wantin’ me just as bad.”

“D-Dirty words coming from a p-pretty mouth.” You gasp, paying homage to something he’d said to you the first time that you met.

Mingyu smiles against you, the feeling of his teeth grazing against the tender spots of your skin making you shiver. “It gets dirtier, angel, don’t worry.”

You roll your hips against his, eliciting a groan. That spurs you on to do it again, pausing to gyrate against his erection, whimpering quietly at its contact with your core. There are layers of clothes in the way, but you know they’ll be gone soon enough. For now, the sweat collecting on Mingyu’s forehead, the parting of his lips, and the grunts and groans spilling from them are enough to keep you occupied. He squeezes your breast in response to the friction, using his other hand to cup your neck and pull your face down for a kiss.

You sigh against his lips, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, languid movements that correspond well with the rhythm that you’re using to grind on his lap. He pulls away after only a few minutes, eyes following the trail of saliva connecting the two of you until it breaks, and then he looks at you. His pupils are blown out – probably just like yours – and your stomach flips at the wicked grin that blooms on his face.

“Can I fuck you with my fingers first?”

The words ignite a fire that quickly spreads across the expanse of your skin. You grip Mingyu’s shoulders and lift yourself off of him, hovering above his lap so that he can pull your shorts off. He groans when he sees that you aren’t wearing underwear, and his mouth waters at the prospect of tasting you. Today, he’ll go easy and prep you with his fingers. Next time, though, he wants his tongue buried in your folds until you’re begging him to stop.

“Such a tease.” He says again, laughing to himself. “Turn around.”

You do as he says, and he eases you against him with gentle hands on your shoulders. Your back is pressed against his chest, your heartbeat can be felt so strongly that someone could take your pulse by pressing just about another, and when Mingyu hooks his legs under yours to keep them wedged open, you know that you’re done for.

He drops his chin and lets it rest on your shoulder, watching as best as he can as he slides his index finger up and down against your entrance, collecting your arousal. “I can’t believe you tried to keep this pretty little pussy from me. It’s mine now, though, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yes,” You stutter out, gasping once Mingyu inserts his finger. He’s only partially inside, only to the second knuckle, but his fingers are so much longer than yours, and every other time you’ve fingered yourself doesn’t compare to how good it feels to have him inside instead. “It’s yours.”

“Yeah, it is.” He coos, sliding his finger out and then back in. His rhythm is slow, and his movements are shallow, but as soon as he feels you relax, he’ll give you more. Normally impatient, Mingyu has all the time in the world to fuck you properly. He presses kisses against the side of your neck while he builds up a faster tempo, strands of hair falling over his eyes and tickling the underside of your jaw. You exhale quietly, and once he feels your shoulders drop, he inserts his finger completely on the next thrust.

You whimper against him, back arching, and he uses the opportunity to wrap an arm across you diagonally, cupping your other breast through your shirt. “Don’t run away from me. I want you to be all stretched out and ready for my cock. You want my cock today, don’t you?”

“Fuck.” You groan, tilting your head back to rest against Mingyu. He’s gradually picking up speed, and the way that you clench at his words only encourages him to do more; to say more, and to add another finger. So that’s what he does, slow as he brings in his middle finger, starting at just the second knuckle so that you can adjust to the feeling. “I want your c-cock.”

“I know you do.” He presses his cheek against the side of your head, his lips positioned right against your ear. “You’re gonna get my cock. You’re gonna take it, all of it, everything that I give you tonight.” He punctuates his words by sliding both of his fingers into you fully, and the curl of his fingers makes you cry out involuntarily. He grins to himself and goes again, reaching for that same spot inside of you, grinning even wider when you cry again. “There we go. That’s where my baby likes to get fucked, yeah? Wish my tongue could go that far.”

“Y-Your cock can reach.”

Mingyu laughs out loud, stilling his fingers inside of you to stroke your g-spot again and again. “That’s true. I’ll make you cum with my cock next. Sound good?” You’re trembling in his arms, your legs having tried to clamp shut several times. He falls into a rhythm of cramming his fingers inside, hooking them and nudging your g-spot with them, and sliding them back out, and he gets so focused on making you cum that he furrows his brow, lips parted in the concentration.

You’re panting loudly now, thrashing as best as you can in his hold, unable to run from the pleasure that’s edging closer and closer. “M-Mingyu--”

“Fuck, say my name again, baby.”

“K-Keep—fuck—M-Min--”

“You’re doin’ so good. My pretty baby, such an angel.”

It’s the praise that finally sends you toppling over the cliff; that, and his thumb kneading your clit, which you hadn’t even noticed until he stills his movements. You clench around Mingyu as you orgasm, and his ego grows three sizes at the ironclad grip that your pussy has on his fingers. He brings his free hand up to stroke the side of your face as you come, still pinning you against him with his forearm to keep you from slumping forward. “You don’t wanna let me go, huh? Want to stay like this forever?”

“N-No.” You sigh, the stars in your vision finally subsiding. Your chest heaves up and down as you work to catch your breath, leaning back against Mingyu and turning your head to place a kiss against his cheek. “You promised to fuck me properly. Unless you’re too tired...”

“Angel, if you’re implyin’ that I’m all speed and no stamina--”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m wondering why your dick is still in your pants and not inside of me.”

Mingyu stares at you, then blinks, and then smiles. It’s a real, genuine smile, not his signature smirk or crooked, self-satisfied grin. He tilts your chin up to place a proper kiss on your lips and then reaches behind him, blindly feeling the top of your nightstand until he finds the condom he’d brought. He eases you off his lap and fully rolls off the bed, offering you reprieve while he brings his cock out of his shorts. You watch with half-lidded eyes as he pumps himself, rolling on the condom with haste you haven’t seen from any of your previous sexual partners before.

“We’re gonna go slow, okay?” He asks, slotting himself between your legs. He’s careful as he maneuvers himself around your limbs, groaning to himself once you wrap your legs around him and cross your ankles. You’re so eager now, but just yesterday, you almost rejected him for the second time. “Th-- y-you’re not going slow, angel.”

“I thought you liked to go fast.” You draw out your words, lilting your voice. Mingyu ignores your comment, just this once, and grips you by one of your hips. He’s concentrated as he lines himself up at your entrance before letting go of his cock and swiping a finger against your folds again. You furrow your brows, sitting up as best as you can to look at him.

He has the finger in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around it. He only notices you staring at him once he pulls it out of his mouth. He grins, a little bashful, as he looks back down and grabs his dick again. “I forgot to taste you.”

You clench around nothing at his words, groaning softly, but when he finally presses the tip of his cock against your slit, it feels like a jolt of electricity. You do your best to lay still as he inches inside of you, stopping every time that he feels resistance against him, but the tip of his cock nudges against your g-spot when he finally bottoms out and your back arches. Your hands flail around, looking for something to hold, something to keep you anchored, but you just have to settle for gripping the sheets on either side of you. You crumble the fabric in your hands, eyes squeezed shut, letting yourself adjust the feeling of Mingyu inside of you.

Maybe today will be fine, but you can easily foresee having an insanely hot boyfriend with a big dick as being a problem in the future.

“Let me know when I can move, baby.”

“Can’t we just stay like this forever?” You sigh, lolling your head to the side and looking up at Mingyu. The sight makes your heart flutter; his hair is sweaty, pushed back at the forehead but with strands still obscuring parts of his vision; the different scratches, bruises, and bites that you’d given him while making out were finally starting to bloom red on his skin. He’s looking back at you, and the look in his eyes makes you think that he’d be content with that, too. “You can quit... y’know, your job... and just become my trophy husband. Keep the house clean and fuck me through my Zoom meetings.”

“Sounds like a dream. Did we really go this far just so you could cockwarm me, though?”

“No.” You laugh, reaching out for Mingyu. He meets you halfway, taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “You can move now.”

You don’t hear it clearly, but you swear that Mingyu whispers Thank God to himself before he slides his hands just above your ass, hoisting up your hips for the best angle. His initial pace is slow, painstakingly slow, but the string of moans that falls from your lips spurs him to speed up. At first, he sheaths himself completely inside of you before pulling almost completely out, leaving just the head of dick inside before thrusting back up into you. As he continues, though, he’s more urgent. He wants to minimize the amount of time he spends not inside of you, so his thrusts become shallower. He’s soon thrusting into you at breakneck speed, slowing every so often to make sure his angle is right and that you’re enjoying this just as much as he is.

“How we doin’, angel?”

“I want to ride you next time.”

“Fuck.” Mingyu groans, sliding a hand up to caress your calf. The room is quiet, save for the squeaking of your bedframe and the sound of Mingyu’s balls slapping against you with every thrust. Every so often, he thrusts perfectly, and you’re brought up from the bed again. Mingyu curses himself that he didn’t ask you to take your shirt off – this would all be even better if your tits were bouncing in his face. “A-Are you close? What do you need from me?”

You hold out your hand, and he grabs it. You’ll be able to show him better than tell him. You lead his hand down, pressing his thumb against your clit again. He immediately gets to work, rolling the nub between his thumb and index finger, and you hold onto his wrist as you gasp for air. His touch is cool against your feverish skin, and you tell yourself that you’re royally fucked just as Mingyu’s thrusts become staccato.

“I--I’m--”

“Inside, Mingyu, p-please.” You sigh, using your free hand to caress his bicep. “Cum inside of m-me.”

“A-Are you s-s--”

You draw him in closer to you, and the squeeze his body against yours, and the squeeze of your pussy around him, does exactly what it should. He’s loud as he cums, his body spasming as he shoots inside of you. You’re disappointed at the lack of warmth, warmth you would’ve felt if he hadn’t worn a condom, but there will be time for unprotected. For now, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to bring yourself to orgasm while Mingyu rides out his own.

You’re afraid that you’ve lost it, but Mingyu recovers quickly enough to resume his ministrations against your clit. For good measure, he leans down and kisses you, and all of the sensations – his cock still inside of you, his fingers on your clit, his tongue shoved down your throat – are enough to bring you back up and back over the cliff. Your whimpers are drowned out by Mingyu’s grunts as you squeeze around him. He lowers himself onto you completely as you ride out your orgasm, trembling and spasming underneath him until you’re finally able to go still. He finds enough energy to lift his head and look at your face, laughing when he notices the tear that’d rolled down your cheek.

“Cute.” He reaches up and brushes it away with his finger, letting his arm drape across you. You don’t know how long the two of you lay like that; Mingyu, pressed on top of you, his cock still nestled inside of you, one arm draped across your body with his face nuzzled into your neck and you, pinned against the mattress, one hand caressing his back while the other cards through his hair. It feels like it’s been mere seconds, but an eternity could pass, and you’d still feel like it wasn’t enough time.

+ + +

It’s the call that you always expected, but simultaneously, always hoped you’d never get.

You’re numb as you rise from your bed, rifling through your drawers in the dark for clothes to change into. It doesn’t feel like you’re responsible for moving through your bedroom, getting dressed as best one can when they can’t feel anything. Chan is already waiting for you at the front door, unwilling to look at your face as he leads you out, locking the door behind the two of you and following you into the elevator just as the doors start to close. He must’ve gotten a call, too.

It feels right to drive in complete silence. You’re unable to convince yourself to bring your eyes into focus. Maybe, if you don’t look, then this won’t be real: you aren’t actually en route to the hospital’s emergency room, and you didn’t actually get a call from an unknown number, telling you that Mingyu had crashed during his race and that he was in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. Chan isn’t actually driving you, speechless and quiet for the first time since you’d met him. You aren’t actually being led through the tiled corridor of the hospital, harsh fluorescent lights guiding your venture down the endless hallway toward your boyfriend’s room.

Mingyu is drinking from a juice box when you finally set eyes on him. That little fucker.

All things considered, he looks fine. His left arm is in a sling, and there’s a deep horizontal gash underneath one of his eyes, and there are bruises starting to bloom along the crook of his neck. Otherwise, though, he’s fine. He isn’t intubated, and actually, the only other things attached to him are an IV and the heart rate monitor clipped onto his finger.

Chan enters the room a few seconds after you, letting out a huge sigh of relief at the sigh. He holds a hand to his forehead before swinging back around and stepping outside. He knows that he doesn’t want to hear the words you’ll choose to say to Mingyu.

“I love you. I love you so, so, so much.”

“Fuck you.” You spit, drawing in your arms and crossing them over your chest. He knows that he deserves this, but he still winces at the venom dripping from your words and the daggers that you’re shooting at him with your eyes. “I thought that you died, you fucking asshole! You—I am so fucking mad right now, I don’t even know what to say.”

“I’m sorry. I-I was careful, I promise.”

“You’re a fucking liar! You’re in the hospital, Mingyu. Careful people don’t go to the hospital!”

You sit on the chair in the corner, purposefully away from your boyfriend, even though you didn’t miss the way that he scooted to the side in his bed to make room for you. You’re able to see his face better from this angle. He looks... tired. The bags under his eyes are more pronounced, and for the first time since you’ve met him, he doesn’t look happy following one of his races. Figures, since he’d crashed his car. Still, there’s something different about him today.

“You must’ve been worried. I’m sorry, my angel.”

You sigh loudly, shaking your head. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to be my boyfriend that works a shitty job. Hell, you don’t even need to work. We can survive on my income, and I can come home to you every day and that’ll be enough, because I’ll be happy, and you’ll be alive.” You take a breath after your monologue, exhaling slowly. “Because that’s the bar that you’ve set. I’m just happy that you’re still breathing.”

“I have somethin’ to say, too.” You look up at him, raising your eyebrows and clasping your hands together. Mingyu chews on his bottom lip for a few moments before he sighs, too. “I’m a racer. I’ve been racin’ for... God, I don’t know. I’ve been racin’ for a long time.” You let your head fall, anticipating what he’s going to say. “All that I’ve ever cared about is going fast and makin’ money. And then I met you, and my priorities... shifted. A little.” You squeeze your hands together, willing yourself to calm down. Mingyu was proving your assumptions wrong with his words, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself.

“You... I think I’d rather die than lose you. I-I guess, if I died, that I would lose you, but th—that's not the point. I started fallin’ in love with you the very moment that I first saw you, and since then, I haven’t wanted to take my eyes off you. You’re everythin’ to me now. Racin’ is... I’ll quit. I’m sorry, and I love you, and I’ll quit if it means that we’ll stay together.”

Hot tears are already rolling down your cheeks, and as hard as you try to keep that from Mingyu, your sniffling gives you away. He coos from his place in bed and starts to throw his blankets off to approach you, but you hold your hand up and he stills. Offering another sniffle, you rise from your chair, sitting on the edge of his hospital bed. He looks at you, expectantly, and you, begrudgingly, reach out a hand. You weren’t expecting to forgive him so quickly.

“Can you look at me? Please?”

“Not right now.”

“Angel, please.” Mingyu takes your hand, trying to tug you closer to him. “Look at me. I just... you’re doin’ that thing again, where you let me bare my soul and then don’t really respond.”

You shake your head, tears flying from your eyes and landing on the hospital blanket covering Mingyu’s legs. He scoffs, using his other hand to reach forward and tilt your chin up. Seeing you cry makes his heart split and shatter, and tears start to form in his own eyes.

“I’m so fucking mad at you, Mingyu.”

He bites his tongue to refrain from cracking a joke, as he normally would. Instead, he strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. “And I want to stick around, so that I can keep makin’ you mad.”

“You promise?” You ask, searching his eyes for any hint of dishonesty. “You’re really done racing?”

“I don’t break my promises. Not the ones that I make to you. I promise, I swear, that I’m done.”

+ + +

“Baby, it’s late. Can we just go to sleep? Please?”

“I’m making room in your closet for my clothes, Gyu.” You scoff, pulling out another jacket. You glance over it before flipping it around, showing it to your boyfriend. “Do you wear this?”

He furrows his brows, thinking it over before dismissing you with a wave. “Not really.”

“Okay.” You toss the jacket into the box you’d designated for donating, dropping the hanger on the closet floor. Mingyu yawns loudly, stretching out in the middle of his bed. You know what he’s doing; he’s trying to entice you into joining him. He wants to persuade you to stop doing the task that he’d already put off for weeks in favor of crawling into his lap, maybe going to sleep or maybe not. Still, you’re not ready to quit yet. You pull out another jacket and repeat your actions, holding it in front of you for Mingyu to inspect it.

“Donate.”

You nod, silently agreeing with his decision. You reach back into the closet, reaching for the next jacket to pull out, but your fingers freeze when you realize what you’re touching. You pull out the leather jacket slowly – Mingyu's racing jacket. It’s the one that he was wearing the first time that you kissed him, and the second time. He wore it for your first date, claiming that it was ‘good luck,’ and he even wore it that one time that you let him fuck you against the hood of his racecar. You hold your breath as you turn around, and Mingyu’s expression darkens when he realizes what you’re holding.

He doesn’t know how to play this. It’s been months since his accident, which means it’s been months since he quit racing. He misses it sometimes, but you’re more important to him. He lets each day drag on so long as they promise, that at sundown, he’ll be able to come back to his apartment and you’ll be waiting, smiling, happy, healthy. That jacket means a lot to him.

“Donate.”

You mean more to him.

“Aw, really?” You whine, looking back down at the jacket. Mingyu scoffs and pushes himself further up on the bed, watching closely as you run your fingertips along the leather. “You looked so good when you used to wear this. I think my mouth was watering the first time we met.”

“Fuck off.” Mingyu laughs, waving you away again. “You keep it then, angel. I looked good in the jacket because I’m good looking. Please don’t attribute my good looks to my jackets.”

You put the jacket back into the closet regardless, finally shuffling across the room to the bed. You sigh as you let yourself fall onto the mattress, groaning as Mingyu rolls you onto your stomach and then tugs you closer to him. You let him do all the work, only shifting once he’s positioned underneath you. You let one of your hands snake underneath his shirt, resting on his abdomen and applying pressure, just for good measure.

“Do you miss it?” You whisper, cheek smushed against his cheek.

“Sometimes.” Mingyu whispers back, tracing shapes against your back. “I think it suited me. I was good at makin’ split-second decisions, and it worked because the only person affected by those decisions was me. And then...” He trails off, considering his next words carefully. “Then I met the love of my life, and they tried so hard to hate me and push me a—hey!”

He whines as you pinch him, prying your hand off him. He tsks at you, shaking his head before continuing his story. “As I was saying, the love of my life wanted to push me away ‘cause they didn’t want to be attached to someone with so little regard for their own life. And I couldn’t blame them, y’know? I wasn’t happy about it, though, so I kept tryin’ and, somehow, it worked.”

“I already know the story, Gyu.” You grumble. Still, you’ll never get tired of hearing him refer to you as the love of his life. You still have no idea how he knew, from that very first moment, that it had to be you, though. “I love you too. I don’t think I say it enough.”

“I didn’t want this to become sappy.” He sneers, pinching your cheek. “I was actually hopin’ that you’d ride my face.”

“I’m tired.” You yawn, replacing your hand on his chest, over his shirt, and rubbing up and down along his abdomen. “I could give you a hand job, though.”

“Don’t want that.” Mingyu groans.

You lift your eyebrows in surprise. Your boyfriend, turning down a hand job? You lift your hand up and press the back of it against his forehead. “You don’t have a fever, though.”

“You’re annoying.” He scowls. “You just told me that you don’t want me to eat you out, and I’m not makin’ a big deal of it.”

You let your hand drop from Mingyu’s forehead, tracing your fingertips along his jaw. “If we’re both tired, we can just fuck in the morning.”

“We don’t fuck in the morning.” You offer him a quizzical look. He wraps both of his arms around you, squeezing you and rolling both of you until you’re on your back and his cheek is pressed against your stomach. “In the morning, we make love.”

“Didn’t you call me a slut the last time that we made love?”

He lifts his head up, narrowing his eyes at you. “You liked it.”

“Yeah, I did.” You sigh, easing your fingers through Mingyu’s hair and forcing his head back down, onto your stomach. “Where do you think you’d be if we hadn’t met?”

“Wildly unhappy.” He scoffs. “Dead. What about you?”

You hum quietly, scratching against his scalp. “Probably... also unhappy. Well, I don’t think that I wasn’t happy before I met you, but I think, right now, I’m the happiest that I’ve ever been.”

The two of you lapse into silence. The sounds of the neighborhood – dogs barking, cars honking – seep through every so often, but you hardly noticed, aware, instead, of your boyfriend’s presence. When you first met Mingyu, you knew that he would find a way to infiltrate your life, to become the oxygen that you needed to breathe. When you first met Mingyu, you felt like you were breathing and drowning at the same time. Nowadays, you don’t feel like you’re drowning, but you aren’t breathing normally, either. It’s the same for him, you’re sure; it’s all about him, even when it isn’t. You could be focused on something else, but you’ll never be able to fully attend to anything else.

It’s for this reason that you’ve had to scold him, on so many occasions, to keep his eyes on the road when driving. He just can’t seem to focus on anything but you, and somehow, his recklessness has worn off and you find yourself in the same predicament.

Just as you finally shut your eyes, you feel Mingyu twitching against you.

He’s laughing. “It’s a good thing that you decided to fuck with a racer, huh?”

#mingyu x reader #kim mingyu x reader #svt x reader #mingyu scenarios #kim mingyu scenarios #svt scenarios #svt smut #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #hengqarae #1k #1.5k

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dear-ao3 · 1 month

Note

Hey Katya have you considered adding one of the many versions of John Brown’s Body to your anti sex playlist?

im going to add as many versions as i can find

#from katya #not a tag

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kiestrokes · 8 months

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MASTERLIST

「 ATEEZ 」

Sexual Styles Headcanons NSFW MTL Breed Kinks NSFW Caring for You: Chronic Illness Edition SFW As Cringy Pick-Up Lines NSFW Stoned Sex NSFW MTL Virgin Kink NSFW Fave Lingerie Colors NSFW

「 BTS 」

Drunk & Horny Headcanons NSFW BTS and their Secret Socials Headcanons SFW MTL Praise Kink NSFW

12 Lays of Kinkmas Masterlist SFW & NSFW

Will Scream for Soju SFW Featuring: Friend!Reader x OT7

Ditto ✧ Ditto Pt.2 SFW Featuring: Chef!Reader x Idol!Kim Seokjin

Keeping the Cadence NSFW Featuring: Fellow Military!Reader x Jung Hoseok

the layover NSFW Featuring: Escort!Reader x Idol!Kim Namjoon

Anti-Hero NSFW Featuring: Reader x Boyfriend!Kim Namjoon

Geonbae Pt.1 ✧ Geonbae Pt.2 NSFW Featuring: Reader x Fuckboy!Park Jimin ft. Kwon Soonyoung and OC!besties 🎧 the playlist 🖼️ the moodboard

Full Service NSFW Featuring: Noona!Reader x Idol!Jeon Jungguk

「 Seventeen 」

Autumnal This or That SFW Troop Seventeen: Badge Ceremony SFW

As Sex Workers NSFW

「 SHINee 」

Soft Kinks That Lead to Hard Hours NSFW

「 Stray Kids 」

MTL Aftercare Sandwich NSFW MTL House Husbands SFW SKZ in The Hunger Games NSFW SKZ Noona Kink NSFW Fave Lingerie Color NSFW

Eyes on Fire SFW Featuring: Werewolf!Han Jisung x Vampire!Lee Minho

astringe NSFW Featuring: Best Friend!Reader x Hwang Hyunjin

「 Multi 」

K-Pop Stan Q's (first edition) Idols as The Goonies SFW BTS, ATEEZ & SKZ in a John Hughes Film SFW Bias List as Millennial Cult Book Series SFW EXO-L x atiny SFW

「 Soft Hours 」 SFW

Recovering from a minor surgery… Featuring: Kim Seokjin of BTS. Song Mingi of ATEEZ. Lee Taeyong of NCT. Lim Jaebeom of GOT7.

the autumnal special Featuring: Christian Yu aka DPR Ian. Jeong Yunho of ATEEZ. Byun Baekhyun of EXO.

「 Hard Hours 」 NSFW

Touch Starved Featuring: Jung Wooyoung of ATEEZ. Kim Mingyu of SVT. Lee Minhyuck of BTOB.

Partner Won't Let You Sleep SFW & NSFW Featuring: Vampire!Park Sunghoon of ENHYPEN. Kim Seungmin of SKZ. Liu Yangyang of NCT. Lee Taemin of SHINee.

These are works of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted above.

#masterlist #ateez masterlist #bts masterlist #exo masterlist #got7 masterlist #monsta x masterlist #nct masterlist #seventeen masterlist #kpop masterlist #shinee masterlist #stray kids masterlist #multi stan #kpop multistan #fanfic masterlist #shes a wip so dont judge too hard #oeuvre

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neverwanttofallasleep · 8 months

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I Never Want To Fall Asleep - Masterpost

It's December 2022. You're the tour wardrobe coordinator for rock'n'roll band Greta Van Fleet. You find yourself inexplicably pulled toward a certain guitarist, and he you, as much as you try not to be.

Pairings: Jake x Female OC, f!reader x Female OC (mentioned), Jake x f!reader, Sam x Female OC, Josh x Male OC, Danny x Female OC

Warnings: +18 content, angst x1000 (crying, arguing, swearing, depictions of depression/panic attacks, mentions of cheating and open relationships, miscommunication), marijuana and alcohol use, cigarettes, mentions of alcoholism, mentions of religion/anti-religion, mention of divorce, eventual smut (kissing, masturbation, sex, very vanilla and fluffy), Christmas

Real people used as fictional characters: Jake Kiszka, Josh Kiszka, Sam Kiszka, Danny Wagner, Karen Kiszka, Kelly Kiszka, Ronnie Kiszka, (Josie, Daniel Sr and Lori Wagner are all mentioned)

Disclaimer: it took me a while to come to terms with writing real people as characters in this story. As an avid fic enjoyer, sometimes I struggle not to get the ick when real people are written about because I don’t want to be invasive into their personal lives, especially when it comes to the family and friends of celebrities because they didn’t choose this. Please take everything written on this wild and wonderful internet with a grain of salt and know that the characters in this story ARE NOT REAL. They are fictionalized versions of rlly hot celebs and are completely original characters other than their names and looks. I have chosen to use the real names of their siblings and parents to keep the world feeling authentic, but I have literally nothing to base these characters on so I am fully making them up. I do not know any of these people personally (and I’m gonna assume you don’t either) so let's just stay weird over here babes and respect their privacy and leave them alone xx

I Never Want To Fall Asleep - Character Gallery

Playlist

Word count: 52k completed

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8 - Part 1 | Chapter 8 - Part 2

#jake kiszka #greta van fleet #jake gvf #jake kiszka x reader #sam kiszka #josh kiszka #danny wagner #this is fiction #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut #gvf fic

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thesecretsofthedivine · 6 months

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Zodiac Playlist 🌠

Aries

mars - sleeping at last

ride - lana del rey

bathroom - montell fish

fun - troye sivan

fireball - pitbull

stayin' alive - bee gees

god save our young blood - børns

anti-hero - taylor swift

talk that talk - rihanna

clumsy - fergie

Taurus

venus - sleeping at last

breakfast at tiffany's - henry mancini

chanel - frank ocean

kiss it off me - cigarettes after sex

snooze - SZA

want u around - omar apollo

habit - still woozy

peach - kevin abstract

nonsense - sabrina carpenter

talk - hozier

Gemini

mercury - sleeping at last

pov - ariana grande

mood ring baby - field medic

glittr - aldn

running wild - g eazy

island in the sun - weezer

japanese posters - rebounder

master of none - beach house

faerie soirée - melanie martinez

ways to go - grouplove

Cancer

moon - sleeping at last

where did the time go - lord huron

ho hey - the lumineers

my love mine all mine - mitski

idle town - conan gray

k. - cigarettes after sex

italo disco - last dinosaurs

glue song - beabadoobee

sea of love - cat power

fourth of july - sufjan stevens

Leo

sun - sleeping at last

dancing queen - abba

let me blow ya mind - eve, gwen stefani

money - cardi b

literal legend - ayesha erotica

kitty kat - megan thee stallion

carmen - lana del rey

my kind of woman - mac demarco

amber - 311

chemtrails over the country club - lana del rey

Virgo

mercury - sleeping at last

tell me something i don't know - selena gomez

the boat i row - tame impala

girl next door - copperpot

crying in the chapel - elvis presley

iwillbreatheintoyou - bones

down to earth - umi

bambi - clairo

virgo's groove - beyoncé

are you satisfied - marina

Libra

venus - sleeping at last

sweet talk - saint motel

lover - taylor swift

in my head - ariana grande

pink funeral - beach house

fashion - britney manson

normal girl - sza

sit still, look pretty - daya

comfort crowd - conan gray

we fell in love in october - girl in red

Scorpio

mars/pluto - sleeping at last

private - russ

dirty paws - of monsters and men

borderline - tame impala

dead to me - kali uchis

not dead yet - lord huron

i can't handle change - roar

animal - sir chloe

vigilante shit - taylor swift

death - melanie martinez

Sagittarius

jupiter - sleeping at last

here, there and everywhere - the beatles

canyon moon - harry styles

can't sleep - k. flay

sunset chaser - ragamuffs

only if - steve lacy

the balancer's eye - lord huron

youth - troye sivan

cherry bomb - the runaways

bloom later - jesse

Capricorn

saturn - sleeping at last

living on my own - freddie mercury

princess diana - ice spice

high stakes - bryson tiller

therefore i am - billie eilish

successful - ariana grande

i wouldn't ask you - clairo

radio - lana del rey

vienna - billy joel

mastermind - taylor swift

Aquarius

uranus/saturn - sleeping at last

you don't own me - saygrace

better friends - between friends

night fever - bee gees

mortal projections - djo

transparent soul - willow

she moves in her own way - the kooks

dare - gorillaz

hits different - taylor swift

arabella - arctic monkeys

Pisces

jupiter/neptune - sleeping at last

love my way - the psychedelic furs

technicolor beat - oh wonder

made for love - concorde

ivy - frank ocean

my song - labi siffre

ultimately - khai dreams

bella luna - babe rainbow

ride - wave to earth

fishtail - lana del rey

124 notes · View notes

rweoutofthewoods · 8 months

Text

𝑴𝒆𝒓𝒆'𝒔 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Mere, writes too much, exes to lovers fanatic.

✩ She/her ✩ 22 ✩ Jewish ✩ aftg ✩ marauders

-Asks and Answers: #mere answering things ;) -Rules, permissions, and FAQs regarding my fics -Rules for podfics and translations -Sideblog for casual posting: @mereinthewoods

WIPS

★ Every Omen in the Valley

╰┈➤ WIP | Jegulus. Soulmate AU, Sports/college AU. Enemies to friends with benefits to lovers. (On hiatus until April!)

★ Tennesee Baby

╰┈➤ WIP | student x teacher. Regulus is an amateur writer hungry for more and James is his teacher.

★ god bless america

╰┈➤ WIP | Jegulus, wolfstar. Southern AU. childhood friends to lovers to exes to lovers AU. Set in the south in 2005 because I’m nostalgic.

★ all of my cages were mental

╰┈➤ WIP | Jegulus. Massive TW for eds, and suicidal ideation. Recovery.

COMPLETED

★ anti-hero

╰┈➤ 237k words | jegulus (side wolfstar). Canon divergence. Regulus lives.

★ pathological people pleaser:

╰┈➤ 114k words | BPD James, James/Jegulus centric but multi-character and ship focused.

★ antithesis

╰┈➤ 68k words | jegulus (band au!!)

★ Worst Case Kid

╰┈➤ 42k words | Jegulus, age gap. The tolerate it AU.

★Antipathy

╰┈➤ 36k words | cheating fic. Relationship study of toxic relationships and infidelity.

★ don’t call me kid (don’t call me baby)

╰┈➤ 18k words | Jegulus... infidelity, the folklore love triangle AU.

★ 27 club

╰┈➤ 27k words | Jegulus, MCD: loosely inspired by Nirvana, 1990s band AU

★ Noble

╰┈➤ 9k words | Lilycissa, Jegulus. Canon compliant but if lilycissa and jegulus were canon.

ONESHOTS

★slow endings

╰┈➤ 6k words | Jegulus. Canon compliant, Harry's POV. Harry finds out about jegulus through letters after the second war.

★castles crumbling

╰┈➤ 11k words | Jegulus. Exploring their relationship in Hogwarts, James saves Regulus from the cave.

★bad idea right?

╰┈➤ 6.5k words | Jegulus. James and Regulus are broken up but they're dumb and have sex.

★I’ll stare directly at the sun

╰┈➤ 3k words | Jegulus. A small return to the anti-hero universe.

★you don't love me in a way I understand

╰┈➤ 3k words | Jegulus, inspired by Wishbone by Richard Siken

SOCIALS

find me elsewhere on…

★ AO3

★ TikTok

★ Pinterest

★ Spotify

FAQ

What's your update schedule?

╰┈➤ I update my main project every Friday, everything else happens as god intends it. Do NOT ask me for any updates I will update whenever I want.

Can I dm you/come chat?

╰┈➤ OF COURSE. My dms are always open, pls feel free to come talk.

How do you write so much?

╰┈➤ Short answer, mental illness. Long answer, a lot of commitment, practice and obsession. If you're interested in my writing process here's the writing-related asks #mere's writing asks and answers and you can feel free to shoot me specific questions.

Can I send you fic requests?

╰┈➤ Yes you may, but I cannot promise I'll manage to write them! HOWEVER, I'd love to try or work specific things into fics if you want them.

PLAYLISTS

★ anti-hero

★ ppp

★ god bless america

★ Worst Case Kid

129 notes · View notes

djuvlipen · 1 year

Text

♀️latscho diwes djuviale♀️

💞 I made this blog to highlight the specific struggles Romani women face based on our sex, our race and our class

💞 I'm anti-gender, anti-sex trade, anti-religion, anti-capitalist

💞 I support women's and LGB rights. My feminism is female only!

💞 I'm a half-sinti, half-white working class homosexual woman living in Western Europe

BEFORE YOU BLOCK ME, READ THIS: x

FAQ, BOOKS AND RESOURCES BELOW

General / Frequently asked questions

-> Difference between Roma and Romanian (x)

-> Difference between Roma and Sinti (x)

-> My profile picture is from De la source à la mer (1984), by Sinti-Manouche filmmaker and writer Pisla Helmstetter

-> My banner is from The Gypsies are Found Near Heaven (1975), by Emil Loteanu

Posts on the racialized misogyny targeting Romani women

-> general masterpost (x)

-> posts on Romani women being sex trafficked into prostitution in Europe (x) (x)

-> posts on the forced sterilization of Romani women in Europe (x) (x) (x) (x)

-> post on healthcare discrimination (x)

-> incest, sexual and domestic violence targeting Eastern European Romani women (x) (x)

-> Roma, religion and misogyny (x)

-> On "Gypsy witches" (x)

Inspiring Romani women you should know about

-> autobiographies by Romani women (x)

-> Sandra Jayat, French-Romani painter and poet (x)

-> Katarina Taikon, Swedish-Romani writer and antiracist activist (x) (x)

-> Elena Gorolova, Czech-Romani women's rights advocate (x)

-> Jelena Savić, Serbian-Romani feminist, poet and essayist (x)

-> Tela-Tchaï, French-Romani actress (x)

-> Amoun Sleem, Palestinian-Domari antiracist activist and feminist (x)

-> Philomena Franz, German-Romani Holocaust survivor and writer (x)

-> Vera Kurtić, Serbian-Romani lesbian feminist (x)

-> Kiba Lumberg, Finnish-Romani and butch lesbian artist (x)

-> Zilli Schmidt, German-Romani Holocaust survivor (x)

-> "15 Bad ass Romani ladies you should know about" (x)

-> Romani herstory, an "ever-growing digital library that celebrates women of Romani descent from the past and present, unsung heroines & trailblazers who refuse(d) to conform to stereotypes"

Romani feminist writings

-> Intersections of Gender, Ethnicity, and Class: History and Future of the Romani Women’s Movement, by Jelena Jovanović, Angéla Kóczé, and Lídia Balogh (x)

-> Gender, Ethnicity and Class: Romani Women's Political Activism and Social Struggles, Angéla Kóczé (x)

-> Lessons from Roma Feminism in Europe: Digital Storytelling Projects with Roma Women Activists from Romania, Spain and Sweden, Jasmine Ljungberg (x)

-> Romani women’s identities real and imagined: Media discourse analysis of “I’m a European Roma Woman” campaign, Jelena Jovanović (x)

-> Džuvljarke: Roma Lesbian Existence, Vera Kurtić (x)

-> Re-envisioning Social Justice from the Ground Up: Including the Experiences of Romani Women, Alexandra Oprea (x)

-> Angéla Kóczé on the hijacking of the Romani feminist and antiracist movement by neoliberal groups (x) (x)

-> Mihaela Drăgan on the racialization of Romani women (x)

-> quotes from Romani feminist books (x)

Learn about the Romani genocide

-> general post (x)

The Genocide and Persecution of Roma and Sinti. Bibliography and Historiographical Review (x)

Roma Resistance During the Holocaust and in its Aftermath, Angéla Kóczé, Anna Lujza Szász (eds.) (x)

O Porrajmos: the Romani Holocaust, Ian Hancock (x)

Porrajmos: The Romani and the Holocaust, Ian Hancock (x)

Responses to the Porrajmos (the Romani Holocaust), Ian Hancock (x)

Barvalipe Roma Online University (playlist of lectures about many different aspects of Romani history, politics and culture) (x)

Romani slavery in Romania

Brief overview (x)

Alternatives to the labrys flag

(first design by @/sapphos-darling)

362 notes · View notes

dougielombax · 7 months

Text

No I’m not gonna make a list of all the worst music I’ve heard.

That would be exhausting.

Closest we have to that is the anti-sex playlist and even then I put a few bangers in there.

#dougie rambles #personal stuff #music #lists #anti-sex playlist

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hoes4hoseok · 5 months

Text

how you get the girl part iii: jake’s not-so-secret admirer

previous ☆ next ☆ series masterlist

your neighbor, heeseung, gets on your nerves. he’s full of himself, makes more noise than all of your neighbors combined in the middle of the night, spreads anti-superhero propaganda in your political science class, and, unfortunately, is the most attractive man you have ever laid eyes on.

pairing :: lee heeseung x fem!reader featuring :: jake sim, jeon somi, kim sunoo, yang jungwon, & more! genres/au’s :: superhero au, neighbors to lovers, sorta-enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, angst, nightwing!heeseung chapter warnings :: mentions of and references to sex, minor violence, suggestive, intoxication chapter word count :: 4.8k (including the texted parts!) tag list (open) :: @thejjrl @grace1852 @tsunchani @hanniiesuckle17 @mjr4fnaf1997 @goldenhypen @3nh4luvr @hobistigma @ditzie-s @nomy0520 @koroktsuya @beansworldsstuff @ronnierites @simplhee author’s note :: posting this early because i can't help it YAY i had missed writing this <3. please let me know if you liked this or have constructive criticisms (or if you have predictions 👀) because they really help me. i hope you enjoyyyy beta reader :: @fandomgirl489 thank you for your help! playlist :: here's to you

3. Gestures of Appreciation No one likes to have their effort and affection gone unnoticed — show her you care and appreciate her being in your life.

“Wow, this childhood friend is super rich, isn’t he?” Y/n peered inside the sizable truck in awe as Heeseung opened the door, its lights turning on the moment he did. The truck itself wasn’t too flashy, but Y/n could immediately tell that its contents cost more than her tuition.

“Yeah,” Heeseung replied sheepishly, offering his hand for Y/n to brace herself as she stepped in. She took it, giving him a small smile of gratitude.

“Alright, first thing’s first — let’s see if we can get a visual on Somi,” Heeseung began, closing the door behind him, “I, uh…I think Jungwon can access security cameras from his set-up,”

Perhaps Y/n could have detected how odd that was if she wasn’t blinded by gratitude for Heeseung’s friend, but she didn’t.

“Okay,” she nodded as Heeseung sat down, gesturing for her to do the same before unbuttoning the top two buttons on his shirt. In front of them were five to six monitors, all mounted to the side of the truck.

“Lee Heeseung,” he stated, bending over slightly into the microphone. Y/n’s eyes widened in astonishment as the screens turned on simultaneously.

Heeseung typed persistently, ignoring her gaze, but it felt like she was burning holes in his neck. He didn’t want to know whether or not gears were turning in her head — that was tomorrow’s problem.

Y/n had several questions, but she knew that would slow everything down, and ensuring Somi was okay was the priority.

“Okay…” Heeseung mumbled, “here…is the live fee—”

“KNOCK, KNOCK,”

Y/n’s hand flew to Heeseung’s arm, instinctually moving further from the door and closer to him.

In the future, Heeseung would insist that she felt safer with him, to which Y/n would roll her eyes. And maybe secretly agree.

“It’s alright,” Heeseung stood up, Y/n’s hand grazing down his arm as he did so, “it’s probably just Jungwon,”

Y/n nodded, looking back at the door in anticipation while it swung open.

“Heeseung!” Jungwon grinned, engulfing the man in a hug, “Ah, I’ve missed you!”

“I’ve missed you too,” Heeseung replied before hushing his voice to a lower volume, “remember what we talked about,”

Jungwon nodded as he let go of Heeseung, redirecting his attention to a now-standing Y/n.

Jungwon was shorter than Heeseung, definitely younger, but carried himself in a similarly confident way. He didn’t seem to cross over into cocky like Heeseung did, though.

“Y/n, Jungwon. Jungwon, Y/n,” Heeseung gestured between his “friends”. He wouldn’t label either of them with that term.

“Hi,” Jungwon walked over to Y/n excitedly, extending his arm, “I’m Yang Jungwon, an old friend of Heeseung’s from Gotham,”

“Y/n,” she replied, shaking his hand, “Heeseung’s neighbor,”

“Ah, that neighbor,” Jungwon nodded, his smile turning to something of a smirk.

Heeseung cleared his throat, “So, Jungwon, where’s Jake?”

“He’s coming,” Jungwon was almost wincing, “but there’s been…an unexpected complication,”

“Jake’s here?” Y/n tilted her head in confusion, “Why?”

“I just can’t believe that I never noticed how kind and handsome you are, Jake,”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed. Sure enough, Jake and Somi stood a few feet from the truck, her arm wrapped around his.

Jake stared down Heeseung as he stepped into the truck with his new admirer, eyes wide as if to say, “What the hell is happening?”

“So…how did this happen?” Heeseung asked, closing the door before pointing at the two of them with an amused expression.

Somi grinned, “Well, Jake was so brave and rescued me from those horrible people. And then I realized how much I’ve overlooked him while pursuing a lover. But here he is. My perfect man,” Somi touched his face with her left hand, brushing her finger over his cheek.

Y/n’s mouth fell agape in disbelief, “Somi, what the—”

“Somi, let’s have Jungwon give you something to change into,” he cut Y/n off, gently pushing her towards the boy.

“Oh — okay,” Somi frowned but followed Jungwon to the back of the truck.

“Wow, you’re quite the ladies' man,” Heeseung joked as soon as Somi was out of earshot, earning a punch to the arm from Jake.

“Not funny,” Jake heaved a sigh, crossing his arms, “something’s wrong with her. I don’t know why she’s acting like this. I didn’t even save her, I just told her to follow Jungwon and me when she was already out of the building,”

“Yeah, she didn’t even act like this with old boyfriends,” Y/n added, glancing at her friend with a look of concern.

“Well, I’ve seen this happen with—” Heeseung stopped himself, “I mean, I’ve seen this happen in movies. It’s usually an aphrodisiac of some sort,”

“Oh my god,” Y/n rubbed her forehead, “Phenylethylamine. It’s phenylethylamine,”

“What’s that?” Heeseung asked, crossing his arms.

“You know, the love molecule? Just look it up,”

Jake pulled out his phone as she continued, “It’s what Somi and I think was stolen from my biochemistry professor’s lab,”

“Web MD says…” Jake began, “phenylethylamine is a chemical with stimulant effects — it’s found naturally but can also be made in a lab. Phenethylamine stimulates the body to make certain chemicals that play a role in brain chemistry,”

“Okay, but on its own, there’s no way one of those goons could just spray some diluted phenylethylamine on her and make her act all heart-eyes over Jake,” Heeseung countered, “They must have done something to it to make it an actual love potion,”

“True,” Y/n nodded, “plus, we know they don’t have the exact sample from the lab because Nightwing stopped the robber. Who knows whether the original sample was even an attempt to make a love potion?”

Jake and Heeseung took a wary glance at each other. The conversation had turned to Nightwing. Of course.

“What did I miss?” Somi sang, making a beeline toward Jake, now wearing a large graphic tee and sweatpants.

“Not much,” Jake started, feeling especially grateful for her now, “we were just talking about going back home for the night, it’s late,”

“It’s only 10 PM, Jake,” Somi reasoned. “If we’re not gonna storm back in there to demand to know what the hell Mr. Kim is up to, then let’s go have fun! We could do karaoke or something!”

“Somi,” Y/n took her friend’s hand, “Jake will still be around tomorrow. He’s not going to disappear. Right, Jake?”

“No, I won’t disappear,” Jake smiled, “in fact, I’m spending the night at Heeseung’s with Jungwon,”

“Oh, perfect! I can see you first thing in the morning then,” Somi replied, “I’m staying with Y/n tonight,”

Y/n shook her head with a grin, “the minute we figure out how to snap you out of this, I’m teasing the living daylight out of you,”

“Says the one who gave Lee Heeseung a lap dance,”

Jake gasped, an unmistakable grin on his face as he looked at Heeseung, “She did?!”

“Did what?” Jungwon asked, approaching the rest with a neatly folded pile of Somi’s angel get-up in hand.

“Please, in his dreams!” Y/n scoffed.

Well, it would be after today.

“I just…sat on his lap so no one got suspicious,” Y/n explained, hoping Heeseung wouldn’t notice her cheeks growing hot, “it wasn’t a real lap dance at all,”

“Exactly,” Heeseung nodded insistently, “it wasn’t,”

Jungwon raised his eyebrows as he looked over at Jake, but decided to let them have the win.

“Oh and Y/n,” Jake began, “Do you want a change of clothes too?”

“I think I’m okay for now, thank you” she replied, stuffing her hands in the pockets of Heeseung’s suit jacket, “We’re going home now anyways, right?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung smiled, pushing the sleeves of his button-down shirt up to his elbows, “Let’s get home,”

“Poison Ivy’s victims were infected with a kiss,” Jake began, staring up at the ceiling. “Unless I planted one on Somi without being aware of it, they can’t be related,”

The boys had fought briefly over who got the bed, but Jungwon ultimately won, being ‘the guest’. Jake may have acted annoyed, but he had missed Jungwon just as much as Heeseung did.

“That may be true, but figuring out what’s in the antidote could help us, right?” Jungwon asked.

“Yeah, maybe Jungwon could look into that tomorrow while I work on the antidote using the lab sample,” Heeseung proposed. “I have a bad feeling that Somi will only fall further in love with you until we find a solution for this,”

“What should I do?” Jake asked, “Stay away from Somi, I presume,”

“Well…maybe,” Heeseung clenched his jaw slightly, “but I think you should still see her once or twice so she doesn’t get mad. If she does get worse, I don’t want to endanger Y/n,”

“Heeseung, Y/n will be fine,” Jake reassured his friend, “she can handle it,”

“I don’t wanna find out that she can’t,” Heeseung swallowed, taking a deep breath, “and Somi is in danger now, too. They know what she looks like. They know what all of you look like,”

Jungwon peered down at Heeseung from the edge of the bed, a small smile of sympathy on his face. “They’ll be fine, Heeseung. I’ll make sure of it,”

Heeseung nodded, muttering a small thank you before the room grew quiet. The curtains on Heeseung’s window were far from opaque, so Jake found himself watching the array of lights dance across the room intently as his friends drifted off to sleep.

“Jake,” Jungwon whispered after a few minutes, “does Heeseung know about…”

“No. He doesn’t,” Jake sighed, voice soft, “I don’t think I’ll tell him, either,”

“What? Why?” Jungwon sat up to look down at his friend.

“Even if I’m lucky and Heeseung and Y/n get over themselves and start dating, it just feels so odd to say, ‘Hey, I’m in love with your ex-girlfriend! Who probably doesn’t even think of me in that way, so I’m jeopardizing both of our friendships for fun!’”

Jungwon lay back down, letting the quiet sounds of Bludhaven traffic fill the room momentarily. “I’m sorry, Jake,”

“Don’t be. I get some damn great friends instead,”

Y/n woke up to the smell of something burning. “Somi?” she asked, still groggy.

When she got no response, Y/n pushed the comforter off her feet and stood up, making her way to the kitchen. “Somi, whatever you’re cooking is definitely bur…ning,”

Okay, now she was awake. Somi stood in the kitchen with a bowl in hand, peering over a pan filled with butter that had likely already turned black.

“Oh, good morning, Y/n,” Somi smiled, “I’m just making some pancakes to bring to Jake and his friends,”

“Okay…” Y/n came closer, tying her hair haphazardly, “Do you need some help maybe?”

“Nope, I’m alright,” Somi insisted, continuing to pour way too much batter into the pan as she dismissed her friend.

“Somi, don’t you have work to do?” Y/n inquired, tilting her head in disbelief.

“Eh, I’m thinking about quitting,” Somi shrugged, “if I’m going to be devoted to Jake, I need to give him more of my time. And my job takes up way too much of that time,”

“What?! You’re going to quit your job over a guy? Before a single date, too?!”

“You know what, you’re not being very supportive right now!” Somi yelled, waving her arms around, “I am head-over-heels in love with Jake Sim and if you cared about me you’d see that!”

Y/n sighed in defeat. “I do see that. Just please take a day off of work before you decide to quit altogether,”

“Fine,” Somi nodded, her voice lowered, “and I really do need help with these pancakes,”

Y/n smiled mischievously, scooting in next to her friend to remove the possibly ruined frying pan, “so Jake, huh?”

“Yeah. He’s sweet, isn’t he? For saving me?”

Y/n knitted her brows. She had been so caught up in all that happened last night that she never stopped to wonder — why did Jake save Somi? Why was Jungwon there? Sure, they were probably there to help Heeseung find out who attempted to steal from his professor, but why would a guy like Heeseung care enough to do that? And now that she thought about it, as much as she thought she was commanding the situation, it was Heeseung who had the cards in his hand all night.

So…either Lee Heeseung is hiding something, or he’s secretly…a good guy?

Y/n had meant to thank Heeseung for whatever the hell happened yesterday, but he had already left for class by the time she and Somi delivered the pancakes next door.

Throughout the day, she found herself checking her phone more often than usual, especially since she and Somi were both working from her apartment. She didn’t know what she was waiting for — after all, Heeseung never texted her. Why would that change today of all days?

She’d just have to trust him and his friends to knock on her door with a cure for her best friend in the next few days. Y/n knew she could be useful in that pursuit, but they insisted she stay with Somi for the day and make sure she didn’t get into any trouble. Trust him. Why was she trusting him with something so important? Someone so important?

She didn’t take the time to rehash her questionable thought process, choosing instead to immerse herself in her classwork and article for the Scoop once she managed to convince Somi that Jake would come over after his classes.

He and Jungwon both came to see them around dinner time, which came as a surprise to Y/n. They even managed to get Somi’s favorite type of pizza and played board games with her until she fell asleep. Damn. Was that making Y/n the slightest bit…bitter?

Y/n stared down at her laptop screen intently — it was now nearly 10 PM. Though she managed to finish her work for her midnight deadlines, she had made an embarrassingly small amount of progress on the article she offered to take on for Somi. Out of the Five Ways to Win a Girl’s Heart Y/n had to come up with and write about, she had only completed two. Sincerity and Reliability.

Y/n scoffed at herself. ‘Hm. That’s funny. The two things you can’t decide whether Heeseung has,’

She didn’t even bother lying to herself this time. Y/n was interested in Heeseung. Sure, she’d always had the tiniest urge to make out with him, but the more she started to question everything she knew about him, the more she enjoyed his company.

Y/n shut her laptop with a soft groan before glancing at her watch. Somi was fast asleep. Heeseung should still be awake — at this time a week or two prior, he was probably making his and his girlfriend’s sex lives the whole floor’s business.

This was a bad idea, right?

Ah, who cares? No one was awake to tell her it was.

Okay, so there was no response to Y/n’s knocking. Maybe Heeseung was asleep. Maybe he was working late. Maybe he was just listening to music. Maybe he was…with someone else?

No matter what the case was, Y/n wasn’t going to let this rattle her, even if she did leave feeling a bit dejected.

With hand warmers in her pockets and her trusty pepper spray and taser on her lanyard, she looked back at her door in consideration before turning around and heading up the stairs. She wasn’t in the mood for walking tonight.

Luckily for her, there weren’t any of the usual smokers on the roof — it was too late for them and too early for the drinkers.

Somehow, she felt colder in her parka now than she had in her stripper corset and shorts from the night before. It was probably a result of not having the time to notice the temperature while running from fugitives, but now all she could think of was how bitter it was. This night, she decided, did not feel like a synth-pop album. She missed home and Sunoo and her warm bed. The quiet one. The one that wasn’t attached to the thought of Lee Heeseung and all the subsequent thoughts. And it was nights like these that made her so eager to graduate early and get the hell out of Bludhaven.

The ground was still damp from the previous day’s downpour, but Y/n sat against what she assumed to be a broken air conditioning fixture (summers were hell in this apartment for a reason) anyway. There was too much light pollution to see any stars, but she liked getting to look at the sky regardless. She sat there for several minutes, taking note of the planes passing overhead and which lights turned off through the course of the night.

“Uh, Miss?”

Y/n jerked her head toward the source of the gravelly voice, grabbing her pepper spray instinctually. Her eyes widened. “It’s…it’s you,”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Nightwing put his hands up defensively. “No need for pepper spray then, right?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Y/n dropped the bottle from her hand, letting it dangle from her lanyard once again. Her heartbeat could’ve powered a freight train. “W-what brings you here?”

“I was wondering what you were doing all alone out here this late,” Nightwing explained, “It’s not safe for — for anyone,”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. “I’m just fine, thank you very much,” she sat back down, returning her hands to her pockets. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to anyone, especially not the man who was (sort of) the reason Somi may never have free will again. Okay, Y/n, that’s a bit of a stretch.

“Do you…have something on your mind?” Nightwing offered, looking down at her while she avoided eye contact, “I’m a pretty good listener,”

“No…” Y/n lied, gnawing on her lower lip. “You can stay if you want, though,” she added, half-expecting him to turn around and leave.

“Sure,” Nightwing smiled and sat down next to her. “I can stay,”

On their last encounter, Y/n hadn’t gotten closer than 20 feet to Nightwing. Now, he was right beside her. Wait. Now, he was right beside her.

“I don’t want to talk, but I’d like to listen to you,” Y/n quickly pulled her phone out from her pocket, “Would be willing to interview for the Scoop? I’d have to record it, but only for formality's sake. I only use quotes, so no one would be able to hear your voice,”

Nightwing smiled at the ground for a moment before nodding. “I’ll agree to three questions, but no recording. Only transcriptions,”

“Okay, I’ll take it,” Y/n beamed, “let me just pull up Somi’s — er, my colleague’s questions,”

“You never told me your name,” Nightwing reminded her as she searched her pockets for a piece of paper.

“Y/n L/n,” she replied, scrambling to retrieve a creased paper from her pocket sitting against her knee and a pen in hand.

“Good to know,” Nightwing nodded. “You have a lovely name, by the way,”

“Thank you,” Y/n contained a smile, “First question: What do you have to say about the accusations that you’ve caused an increase in crime in Bludhaven?”

“Are you asking if I believe them?” Nightwing began, “Because if so, the answer is no. The crimes that usually go under the radar are being accounted for now rather than just muggings and violence. That’s why crime rates have gone up,”

Y/n nodded, not taking the time to look up until she had finished writing his response word-for-word. Somi would kill her if she got an interview with Nightwing and somehow fucked it up.

Heeseung Nightwing, on the contrary, was smiling to himself as he noticed how Y/n knitted her eyebrows in focus as she wrote.

“And…” Y/n finally looked up, “why did you choose the name ‘Nightwing’?”

“I was inspired by a hero Superman told me about. From his home planet,” he explained, eyes darting away to avoid suspicion, “Nightwing was the great rebuilder; the catalyst of change. So that’s where I took the name from,”

“Oh,” Y/n tilted her head in surprise, “that’s interesting. I’d love to hear more abou—”

“HELP!”

Y/n’s eyes widened at the distant cry for help.

“Duty calls, Ms. L/n,” Nightwing stood up, backing away from her as he spoke, “I promise to answer that last question that I owe you if you go back to your apartment now,”

“Uh, sure, yeah,”

“Perfect,” Nightwing gave her a wink before disappearing off the edge of the building with a jump.

Oh. Wow. These were foreign feelings.

“Hi,” Y/n blinked in surprise — how many times was she going to be surprised today? Heeseung at her doorstep.

“Hey,” Heeseung gulped, trying to suppress his nervous energy as he lifted the plastic bag he had in his hand. His hair was disheveled and seemed slightly damp, which, as Y/n noted, was not a bad look for him. “I, um…I got some Thai takeout to eat after work if you maybe…wanted to join me,”

Y/n knew better than to take anything other than the words “I want you” as a sign, but the thought of the overconfident and flirtatious Lee Heeseung being nervous because of her made her giddy.

“Yeah, sure,” Y/n nodded before looking down at herself, suddenly self-conscious of her Bat-symbol pajamas, “Let me just change real quick and I’ll be over in a minute,”

“Don’t worry about it,” Heeseung stifled a laugh, “I think they’re cute,”

“Thanks,” Y/n smiled, hesitantly pulling the key out of her pocket and locking the door, “My friend Sunoo got them made for my 16th birthday because the guy doesn’t sell them himself,”

“Oh yeah?” Heeseung asked, pushing open the door to his apartment.

“Yeah!” Y/n continued, following him inside, “It seems like an untapped market, but I know selling stuff with the Bat-insignia would make it less meaningful. That didn’t matter to me when I was 15, though,”

“Well, legally sourced or not, I like them,” Heeseung declared as he started to empty the plastic bag on the table.

Y/n raised her eyebrows — Heeseung took what seemed like ten boxes of food out of the bag.

Heeseung only noticed her expression once the bag was empty. “What? I didn’t know what you liked,” He shrugged. “I’ll just donate the rest tomorrow before class,”

Y/n pretended not to be as (oddly?) touched as she was by that, nodding in agreement before picking up a box of flat noodles and a plastic fork. “Do you donate food often?”

Heeseung seemed to hesitate at that question; as if he was going to admit that he just said that to impress her. But to Y/n’s surprise, he said, “Yeah. I do,”

“Oh. That’s kind of you,” she continued, “Where should we sit?”

“Well…we could sit right here,” Heeseung gestured toward the table, “Or we can sit on the couch and put on a movie. Whatever you’re comfortable with,”

“Okay, pause,” Y/n put down her fork to place her hand on Heeseung’s shoulder, “I know that willingly spending time together isn’t something we’re used to, but you don’t have to walk on eggshells around me now that you’ve seen my legs. I know you liked what you saw,”

Wow. Y/n didn’t know what came over her to be confident enough to say that, but it worked — because the Heeseung she knew was back. “Oh, I liked what I saw?” Heeseung scoffed, his cockiness returning with a vengeance, “You nearly choked on your saliva when I unbuttoned my shirt like a Victorian woman,”

Y/n glanced at Heeseung’s chest momentarily, only making his smirk widen. “So, the couch then?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung grabbed a box and a fork, “the couch is great,”

The neighbors, despite their arrogant smack talk about being unaffected by each other, sat on opposite edges of the couch in silence as they started eating. The two of them were far too busy overthinking the implications of the conversation that just finished to find it awkward.

“So…you like Batman but not Nightwing? What about Superman?”

Heeseung shook his head, eyes fixed on his food. “I’m not a huge fan of any of them, to be honest,”

“Oh,” Y/n said softly, an air of disappointment filling the room. Right. The other reason they weren’t friends. She could ask why, but she already knew why. He had listed all the reasons just a couple of days ago in class. Y/n noticed him clench his jaw in the slightest — he was biting his tongue.

After a moment of silence, Y/n continued. “Nightwing got me coffee too, once,”

Heeseung broke a smile. “Are you trying to make me dislike him more?”

“Nope,” Y/n shrugged, “Just gauging your reaction,”

“Oh my god,” Heeseung’s mouth dropped open in faux disbelief, “You don’t care if I like Nightwing, you want me to be jealous of him,”

“No, no, I do,” Y/n replied. He was half-right, so she wasn’t really lying. “Besides, you’re the one who assumed I was trying to make you hate him,”

At this point, the two of them had put their food on the coffee table and gotten considerably closer to each other. It was very intentional.

“You’re blushing,” Heeseung added, still grinning. “You totally have a crush on me,”

“What are you, 14?” Y/n scoffed, touching her right cheek instinctively, “I don’t get crushes. I either date someone or I don’t. And clearly, this is an ‘absolutely not’ situation,”

“Huge crush,” Heeseung repeated, leaning in closer to Y/n as his gaze trailed down to her lips.

Y/n, despite acknowledging that it was a huge exaggeration, knew that already. She knew she liked Heeseung. But she found it odd that he only started being nice to her the night of the stripper fiasco…all she knew was that he was attracted to her. And maybe nothing else.

She winced. “No,” Heeseung’s eyes darted back to hers in surprise, his flirty energy dying on impact. “I won’t be your week-long rebound,”

“Y/n you’re not a—”

“I know what a rebound is, Heeseung,” she continued. “Don’t feel guilty. I just uh, can’t be that for you,”

Heeseung furrowed his eyebrows, “I…I like you, though, I mean that,”

Y/n scoffed. “That doesn’t carry a lot of weight considering when you started acting like…” she moved her hand up and down to gesture, “…like this. The night after you got dumped, you saw your kind of hot neighbor in a strip show — I get it!”

“So you don’t believe that I like you?”

“I think you’re into me, but no. I do not think you like me,” Y/n crossed her arms protectively, “I think you’d date me for a month or two, realize you’re still in love with your ex-girlfriend, and then dump me because you ‘don’t wanna string me along’ as if that wasn’t what you were doing the whole time,”

Y/n watched as Heeseung swallowed, struggling to come up with something to say in return. He opened his mouth for a moment, but closed it again. Giving Heeseung a pity-laced smile, Y/n stood up, touching his shoulder as she did. “Thank you for the food. That was sweet of you,”

She walked out. He didn’t follow her.

She wished he did.

3. Gestures of Appreciation No one likes to have their effort and affection gone unnoticed — show her you care and appreciate her being in your life.

Hold on…what?

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 7 months

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tuesday again 10/10/2023

by dry volume, this post is 80% talking about gallery walls. tl;dr : do not buy or hang up things you do not like in a vague attempt to make your house look more grownup ONLY put up things you love, mat your art to give it visual room to breathe.

listening

had a playlist of the james bond theme songs on while i was deep cleaning my kitchen and the line "YOU GOT TO GIVE THE OTHER FELLA HELL!!! " from SPECIFICALLY the guns 'n roses cover of live and let die (even though the playlist had the correct mccartney version) has been THOROUGHLY stuck in my brain for forty eight hours.

youtube

reading

academic transphobia to follow:

an anti-reading section, for once. Retraction Watch (site that tracks academic paper retractions and major academic beef like when someone is stripped of tenure for fraud, formerly my beloved) published an op-ed by an anthropologist TERF who is Big Mad she got called out by her professional association for trying to submit a conference talk that amounted to hate speech against her trans colleagues in the name of the stupid fucking largely disproven sexing skeletons thing. the comments have devolved into the professor sock puppeting anyone who goes "hey RW why did you platform this?"

would be very interested to hear from RW about how a retracted conference talk has the same impact on the scientific community as a retracted paper, but we'll fucking see. i think RW provides an important service to the scientific community (they are the most indepth and thorough tracker of retractions, more so than the actual publishers) but this is a fucking weird move

watching

rewatched Who Framed Roger Rabbit? (1988, dir. Zemeckis) for fic research. GOD this movie is fucking good. it performs a minor animation miracle every thirty seconds.

playing

nothing to report

making

by popular demand (four people), some thoughts about gallery walls. some discourse on the method, if you will. i went with a gallery wall bc i like the look and i had an extremely large blank wall to fill bc this apartment is slightly too big for me. the string lights remind me very much of my dorm rooms but cool lamps have been few and far between down here.

how to get art (and why/caveats)

i honestly don't have a ton of direct collecting advice here other than "have you tried going to a lot of thrift stores". i cheat bc both my parents were architects who collected art, everyone in my family dabbles in fine art, and my sister has her bachelors in art history. so i am awash in paper, constantly. i grew up with a set of flatfiles and a closet full of spare frames. i recognize most people do not grow up like this.

with that caveat out of the way, how do i actually get my art? usually one piece at a time over a very long period of time. there's a postcard on my gallery wall i got in 2009. this is a game you will be playing for the rest of your life as you discover things you like and your tastes evolve.

it is VITAL that you love every piece on your walls. no filler ikea canvases unless you actually like them. the instant you start thinking "oh i need a landscape to look Grownup" you have to strangle that thought in the cradle. there are no rules, especially in art. put whatever the fuck you want up on your walls with no regard for the public's taste.

i feel like "i should buy and put up more art" is something that often falls into a vague Grownup Improvement Goal (like budgeting) bc it is an Grownup Improvement Goal and not bc they actually want to buy and put up more art. fortunately for everyone, you do not have to buy or put up Morally or Socially Improving art that will impress some vague category of grownups, bc we don't fucking live in victorian times.

most importantly you do not need to spend much (or in some cases any) money to put things on your walls. getting the effect you want (fancy washi tape, matching frames) may take some money, but using the printer at work and stealing some scotch tape is free.

how to get art (actual advice this time)

i feel a little silly typing this all out but i really like reading other chewsdayposters' processes, and it is really helpful for me a lot of the time to have someone say: actually there is this complete other way of doing something you have never considered bc u did not grow up with it

i ask you: do you have a stack of sentimental papers somewhere in your home? congrats you have some frameable items. a thing does not need to be Fine Art to be in a frame to go on the wall and make you happy. tape up a birthday card. put a quilt up on your wall. pushpin a label from a jar of pickled herring bc it reminds you of your grandma. frame a beloved tshirt. this is a martha stewart ass statement but things that are not traditional paper art on your walls will add variety and whimsy to your home.

other places for art that are not thrift/estate/yard sales:

i do believe that making your own art, including a $3 paint-by-numbers kit, will fix something in your brain. it's very similar to how i personally have to go stand with my feet in a body of water twice a year or THE SLUDGE smothers my brain

your favorite weird indie bands are almost certainly selling posters on bandcamp even if they're not currently on tour

i like the artists' co-op justseeds for art that deals with "social, environmental, and political engagement" like my beloved "fuck space tourism" poster

start a "good lines" or equivalent "art i like" tag on here and buy prints when u have the money. even if artists here don't have a shop open or don't have the specific piece u want as a print, ask if u can throw them an appropriate amount of money on venmo or something and get it printed locally or online. ive had good luck with vistaprint and they have rolling sales

do you like a piece of art in the public domain, like something from a museum? print it out. put it in a frame. no it's not as nice as a professional print but it's free if you do it at work and now it's on your wall

fuck around on wikimedia commons and the internet archive. i particularly love pulp magazine covers and little illustrative insets for out of date astronomy books

non- and semi-consumable supplies

if u put $25 into supplies u can use for many many other projects (i assume you probably have some of the following list), you can make any frame nice and save approximately a gajillion dollars.

good utility knife and extra blades

hammer

tape measure

level (comes with most command hook packs, you can also use your phone)

stepstool, sturdy chair, or patient tall person

assorted nails (you can buy a little tackle box with assorted nails from most big box stores)

little squeezy tube of DryDex spackle ($5) and putty knife or honestly old credit card to fill in nail holes when you move out

OR command strips and hooks

matboard that is white on one side and black on the other (~$8 at big box craft stores). you can use this to cut your own mats and/or replace a kind of weird back on an otherwise good frame

most printer paper these days is acid free. steal some from your workplace.

assorted small brushes

little thing of acrylic paint in whatever color you want your frames to be (~$1.50 ea). you can also spray paint your frames for a different finish but i don't have the space or patience in this apartment

sandpaper or sacrificial emery board

i would further recommend a little set of letter size desktop drawers/mini flatfiles like this to keep all the small stuff you want to frame in one place. i have sentimental art i don't want to frame in one drawer and things i do want to frame in the other. this has been very good for my brain bc it's all safely and flatly contained out of sight, and it's easy to flick through a stack of things i already love when i need one more small thing or one warmer thing to fill a gap

frames

the good news for us is that frames and art are a fucking bitch to move and people frequently give them away. your local discount and thrift stores are going to be fucking awash in small frames 8.5"x11" and under for under $3 each. when you are thrifting or estate saling or yard saling or generally gallivanting about on a weekend, pay little attention to any art actually in a frame. is the frame in okay shape? can you repaint it without too much trouble? will it clean up all right? does it have the glass? can you insert the glass from a different frame into the one you actually want without any thrift store employees noticing?

for weird sizes above 8.5x11 and outside poster size that cannot be easily found at thrift stores, the big box craft stores here in america have roughly quarterly frame sales and frequent coupons. do NOT get your shit professionally framed at michaels bc they upcharge by about 3x compared to other local framers (both on the east coast and here in tx).

i went through two periods of seriously buying frames (last year of high school and the year i moved into the original lair, when/where i thought i was going to stay for a few years) and ive swapped in out and between those dozen or so total. once you have built up a little stock of frames that fit the general sizes of art you tend to collect, ur pretty good for a while. the only new "frame" i bought for my gallery wall was a little floating shelf.

mats

the absolute biggest fucking thing u can do to make your art look nicer is mat that bitch, which gives it room to breathe. if your art does not have a built in border or a lot of white space (see 9, 12, and 13 in the gallery wall below, as well as 8 which has a ton of negative space with the car door), you need a frame bigger than your art. you can google the suggested proportions yourself or decide with your heart.

i am a big fan of a very slapdash floating mat, which means cutting a piece of printer paper to size or flipping around the paper that tells you what size the frame is and slapping your art right on top of that, sometimes with a lick of gluestick to keep it in place. generally a floating mat means a sort of 3D matting technique but we don't have time for that. do not do this printer paper technique long-term with a particularly beloved or expensive piece of art.

u can also buy pre-cut mats at Michaels or Joann’s for not too too many dollars, or cut your own with the acid-free matboard ($10 for a poster board sized piece) and a new utility knife blade and a steady hand. or, if you're lucky, it comes with the frame.

gallery wall specific advice

there aren't any rules. actual galleries and museums tend to put the center of a piece or group of pieces at 57" from the floor. you may want to fuck around with that depending on your own height, the space you have, and the pieces you own.

a gallery wall does not need to be 24 pieces like this one. it can be any number.

this is the first one i have done mostly by myself and it is the most color-restricted one i have ever put up. it is also the one with the most successful repeating motif (circles). usually i grab the art i want most to go together and send pics to my art historian sister who will then arrange it for me and say shit like “do you have another small blue thing for the top left” or “do you have two pieces that are warmer and larger” or "different frame for the middle left"

look at a lot of other gallery walls. personally i like the ones that have non-framed and non-square things in them. ideally mine would have photographs and taxidermy in it for maximum weirdness. but u cannot go wrong with a grid, or all horizontal pieces, or all vertical pieces. for a full wall puzzle piece like this, u do not generally want an american southwest four corners meeting situation. stagger it. lay everything out on the floor and move it around eighteen times (this is the worst part). the gallery wall as a whole does not have to be perfectly aligned to the ceiling or the back of your couch or what have you. it can be sort of an organic blob shape along the top and bottom edges.

my wall

this soothing blue and green wall with wood tone pops has pieces from almost half my life. it skews later in college/recent acquisitions, as i sharpened my taste for limited-number prints and had a car to go to thrift stores with, but that’s just how this specific wall came together

the list below should tell you what each piece is, how much i paid for it (and the cost of the frame if applicable), and when i got it. this wall has most of the Nice Art in my collection that is signed/numbered/in some way slightly fancier bc it is the wall i stare at when on my couch.

embroidered Scorpio constellation hoop, birthday gift from my sister (free, came with hoop, i used some makerspace felt and batting to properly back and finish it much later so free with my tuition), nov 2016

numbered and signed print of an italianate cityscape, $5 and came with the frame and mat from an estate sale, i put a new back on it with scrap matboard so the back of the print wasn't just naked, fall 2021

signed print of a new england landscape, came with the frame and the mat but is stained right over the signature :( $2.50 from salvation army, one of the last things i bought in spring 2023 before i moved

signed original multimedia on board collage by my sister from her like second ever gallery show, $69 in winter 2022 for the art, the frame was from a free pile i gave a new acid free back with scrap matboard. that was such a good free pile i got a huge pile of frames from that

magazine page (idk which one either) i saved in high school (i graduated in 2013) or very early college, frame was from a free pile by the side of the road in summer 2021 and repainted with some white acrylic paint. it is float matted with printer paper. maybe a dollar for the paint? i definitely did not buy the magazine

this is an out of print poster by one of my favorite living artists (Josh McPhee) so i emailed him and asked if i could get it printed myself if i threw him $25 and he said yes. i think it cost $22 to get it printed professionally, the frame is basics by studio decor ($20 for a 2-pack) (i spent so much money and time on this one bc i wanted a very specific look for a very specific space in my kitchen in the old apartment), feb 22

signed numbered woodcut by Roger Peet ($20 in august 2020), another studiobasics frame that was i think $8 in summer 2022. float matted with acid free matboard and not printer paper.

gigantic fuckoff unsigned unlabeled poster i bought bc she reminds me of the Barnes & Noble murals, $10 at goodwill (came with the frame, half off) sep 2023

star chart from the US Naval Observatory that was on a free shelf at Amherst College when i was taking a class there in fall 2018, another studiobasics frame (idk when i bought this one) so under $10. float mount on acid free printer paper.

plaster frog mirror from an estate sale in spring 2021, i do not remember how much i paid for it but it was not more than $5

oh goddamnit this is a new block so of course it restarted the numbering. fatal off by a power of ten error, very typical for astronomy. poster from a show i went to in college spring 2015, do not remember when i bought this sub-$10 studiobasics frame either, float mount on acid free printer paper.

signed poster from my roommate-at-the-time’s cousin’s band in fall 2014 (i can’t actually find the receipt but i did find an email from her cousin letting me know he shipped me and my roommate’s orders together lol) let’s say $20, another sub-$10 studiobasics frame of mysterious provenance.

moon map out of an old science book in high school, let’s be generous and say $10 for both the book and the frame (another studiobasics)

numbered but unsigned new year’s print from a local-ish print shop in massachusetts, $12 at savers with the frame, fall 2022

cover of a very fragile vintage paperback copy of raymond c/handler’s The Long G/oodbye i acquired in high school (could not have been more than a dollar or two), with a frame and mat that came in an ikea multipack my dad bought me in high school bc i had a set of l/ackadaisy miniposters i wanted to hang, looks like the closest modern equivalent is the EDSBRUCK, a single will run you about $12 today

postcard inherited from my grandpa’s collection of loose paraphernalia in 2010 (free but at what cost etc), frame is a studiobasics that come in a pack of 6 for $20 (less if you have a coupon) so let’s round down a smidge and say $3. don’t remember when i bought this frame either, it is matted with real matboard bc the postcard and the back of the frame are so thin

“my heart is a fish” cross stitch (a reference to the imperial radch trilogy of books) i made this and did not date it but i know i blogged about it on here at some point between 2014-2018, i remember having to buy five colors of thread but owned the hoop already, again back and finished it properly much later with maskerspace batting and felt, let’s say $5 not counting my time

postcard from @believerindaydreams last winter in another studiobasics frame and float mounted with acid free matboard.

tiny moon mirror from salvation army in early spring 2015, under $5

CD mirror from Vapor95 ($125? preorder in fall 2021), came with velcro command strips which was very nice of them

a $300 original multimedia collage (the first one my sister ever made, when she was in middle school) i bought in spring 2021 from her first show, sitting on a $5 acrylic shelf from five below i bought last month

22-24 are national geographic maps, 50c each at an estate sale last month, had to buy $7 worth of binder clips and pushpins to put them up bc i don’t fucking know what box they’re in and didn’t have time to rip the whole closet of boxes im ignoring apart

a slightly longer tl;dr: do not buy or hang up things you do not like in a vague attempt to make your house look more grownup ONLY put up things you love, thrift and repaint your frames if possible but you can get very cheap studiobasics ones if you want them all to match, acid-free mat your art for preservation and to give it room to breathe, keep a little drawer or box of stuff you love and might want to frame

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem #a month and a day out from my birthday which feels momentous

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 1 year

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Here, Kitty Kitty (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Aizawa x Black!Catgirl!Reader

Synopsis: In which you find yourself in the weirdest predicament after you’re scooped up and taken to a cat cafe after you decide to take the streets to fight some crime, and you’re adopted by your very anti-social and hot coworker Aizawa aka Eraserhead.

Story Warnings: Smutty smut, 18+ (MINORS GET AWAY), Swearing, Adult!Reader, Ear and Tail Stroking, Light Degradation, Spanking, Exhibitionism, Multiple Positions, Creampie, Unprotected PIV Sex, Facial, Scent Play, Collaring, Deepthroat, Cunnlingus, Begging, Edgeplay, Power Play, Rope Play/Shibari, Master Kink, Some Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Some Action

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Just came down off a stomach virus. Lemme tell you...whoever had this virus first in Philly, FUCK YOU!! Enjoy the chapter! -Jazz

Read on AO3 here!

Other Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Twenty-Five.

*************

TWO.

Aizawa has always had trouble sleeping.

Whether it be because of stress over his students, haunted memories of villain attacks, or the memory of his beloved childhood friend Oboro.

But tonight, and for the past few nights since September when the school year began, his sleep troubles can be contributed to you and your damn cute ass self.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, practically slamming his hand down on his phone to stop the sound of ocean waves.

This usually does wonders to help him sleep, but all he’s been envisioning since he laid his head down to sleep hours ago is fucking you on an island, your luscious thighs spread and cute little tummy exposed as his dick strokes the inside of your wet, tight, utterly amazing pussy, your cute little ears and tail twitching as he strokes those with his hands, making you dumb with the pleasure.

“Fuck!” He growls, frustrated. He sits up in his bed, soaked in sweat despite the cool spring air coming through the window to his apartment. He looks at the clock: 12:23 AM. At this rate, he’ll be up until 6. Thank God it’s the weekend though.

But sleep is very important to Aizawa. He needs it to function, which is especially needed to deal with the public, his coworkers, and his snot-nosed students. He can’t do that if he’s here lying awake in bed, wondering why he’s still alone and not in your bed instead.

So what does he do when you’re running through his mind like this? He takes a walk.

He rises from his messy bed with the covers askew, clad in his briefs. He walks over to his clothes closet where he changes into a simple, black tracksuit. He doesn’t wear his usual jumpsuit for fear of dirtying it up, but he does pack his scarves and goggles since, as Mic put it, “a hero’s job is never done”.

After gathering his phone and keys, he meanders in his living room for a while, eyeing the closed bedroom door covered in painted pink flowers and cats that Mirio insisted on doing for his “little buddy” when they set up her bedroom. That was a year ago. How time flies when you’re a single dad, a professor, and a pro hero at the same time.

Aizawa smiles at the door before locking up his apartment and heading down the quiet hall to the elevator to take him downstairs. Once there, he swipes himself out with a key card given to all UA staff to get in and out of campus buildings and heads out into the quiet, spring night.

Before he heads off on his walk, he plugs his AirPods into his ears and chooses his R&B playlist. He begins nodding along to Troop’s “All I Do Is Think of You” as he begins to walk… probably not the right song choice because he instantly begins to think of you.

The campus is quiet. All are either asleep or out in the city, enjoying this nice Friday night. Spring is in full bloom, though the early chill is still in the air and the cherry blossoms that surround the area are still budding.

He walks along the walkway leading towards one of the many entrances to the UA campus, walking away from the apartment complex that houses many of UA’s teachers and staff.

Including you. He hasn’t seen you much around the building since you live on different floors and have such different schedules, but while in school, he runs into you in the elevator, stairwell, or hallway from time to time.

And each and every time, he’s dumbfounded by your attractiveness. His mouth waters every time he gets a look at your plump lips as they form the words “good morning” and your pretty, brown eyes he wants to stare into forever. Not to mention your gorgeous skin his fingers itch to feel, but not as much as they do your ears and tail that, unfortunately for him, go along with your quirk.

Goddamn, your ears and tail! He has to duck into empty classrooms every time he sees you down the hall because his hands start aching to stroke the adorable little things coated in fine, black fur.

His cock takes the worst of it though. It seems to have a mind of its own that you control. Every time he gets a glance at you in some cute little skirt with your ears relaxed as you sit in your office, he’s so tempted to find a nice, quiet place somewhere and bust several nuts at the thought of you…and he has.

At first, he wasn’t sure how he felt about you working here because of your cat quirk. Not because he disliked any person with an animal quirk (he isn't a prejudiced dick), but because you were so goddamn cute and knew he would never be able to focus. Throw in your compassion for the UA kids, your sweet and genuine personality, great taste in fashion, and your general niceness, and he’s ready to jump you.

He’s a fucking mess for you. Why the fuck did God or your parents’ genes have to make you so goddamn cute, pretty, and nice?

He’d never tell you any of this though. He knows logically, someone as pretty and as sweet as you would never return the same feelings to someone as awkward and as rough around the edges as him. You deserve someone who doesn’t scurry off when they see you and isn’t a complete introvert. Someone who doesn’t have secrets or a chip on their shoulder. You deserve so much better.

But fuck, does Aizawa want to be that “better”. He wants to be your man so bad, he can barely think straight. But that’s all it can be: want. Nothing more.

“Nothing more,” he whispers to himself, his breath fogging slightly in the chilled air.

As if validating the state of his complicated life, his phone begins to go off. He checks the caller ID, finding the number of the MPD aka the Musutafu Police Department hitting him up. Principal Nezu cut a deal with the chief a year ago for pro teachers to volunteer to do nightly patrols to clean up on street crime around campus and in the city. Aizawa volunteered since he’s got nothing else better to do.

Plus, kicking some ass certainly beats grading papers and stroking his dick nonstop to the thought of you. “You rang, chief?” he answers.

“Good, you picked up,” the chief sighs in relief. “Sorry to bother you so late. Were you sleep?” Aizawa nearly laughs. “Nope, you caught me at a good time. What’s up?”

The chief gives him the rundown: “We just got a report in from an overnight staff member about a robbery at the International Pro Hero Museum. According to him, there are four individuals in black jumpsuits and ski masks who broke into the place and took the overnight staff hostage. The one who put in the report managed to escape and called 911, but these individuals have their own quirks they’re using to their advantage to rob the place.”

“Did the staff member mention anything about what kind of quirks they have?” Aizawa asks, switching into gear. The wheels in his mind begin turning, already analyzing the situation.

The chief lets out another exasperated sigh, which is a no. “None at all, so just be careful, Eraserhead. We know you’re highly skilled in this department, but it doesn’t hurt to say it.”

Aizawa smirks to himself, already moving behind a building to change. “Thanks, but I think I’ve got this,” he chuckles. “I’ll be right there.” After hanging up, he immediately straps on his goggles and winds his scarves around his neck. Without another thought, he shoots one arm out and loops his scarf around a street lamp before latching on and leaping onto it.

He does this with every street lamp, traffic light, and building he sees, the world darkened by his goggles. He likes doing nighttime missions because he’s not noticed nearly as much as in daylight, but he gets the occasional “Hey, it’s Eraserhead!” yelled at him from a window or a car. He usually spares a wave or a nod, but this time, he’s too focused on his mission to pretend to like the attention.

He manages to make it to the museum quicker than he thought, but he doesn’t immediately act. He first crouches on the neighboring building, looking out at the museum. He doesn’t see a vehicle of any sort, which means the robbers came on foot. What he does see, however, is a broken window. At least they were smart to not try to break through the front door, meaning there is also an alarm that they probably disabled.

After analyzing the distance from the building he’s perched on to the museum, Aizawa wraps his scarf around a nearby tree and swings from the branch, like Tarzan. Then he latches himself onto the branch and, after securing his goggles, leaps from the tree and through the open window.

He lands perfectly on his knees, using a hand to steady himself on the ground into what Mic calls “a superhero landing”. He then asses his new environment: a dark storage room filled with dusty supplies, hero posters, and a group of museum staff gagged and bound against the wall. The hostages.

He quickly springs into action to help them, taking the makeshift rope and gags off of them. As he does, he looks down and finds tiny thorns in his gloves that protrude from the textured, green rope that tightly bound the hostages together. ‘Vines,’ he realizes.

“It’s Eraserhead!” one of the hostages shouts in glee. Another, wearing a janitor's uniform, hushes him.

“Hush, stupid!” he whispers harshly. “They might come back for us!” Aizawa helps each of them stand on their feet. “It’s alright, I’m here to help,” he calmly says. “How did you all get here?”

“Those four fuckers put us in here!” the janitor angrily replies. “I was just cleaning the floor in time for tomorrow’s shift and next thing I knew, I was being shoved to the ground and tied up in these damn vines.”

He kicks at the vines that lie on the ground. Aizawa stares at them questionably. “So one of them has a plant quirk,” he realizes. “Anybody know about the other three?”

Another hostage–a young security guard–steps forward. “One of them has webbed feet and can walk on walls,” he answers. “He jumped on my back and attacked me. Scared the shit outta me.” A sudden crash pierces the air, making the hostages freeze in fear. Aizawa quickly gears into action.

“Nobody move from this spot,” he orders firmly. “I’ll come back for all of you. The police are on their way.” Before anyone can say anything more, he is quickly leaving the storage room and slinking through the dark museum as quietly as possible.

Each room he stalks through is dedicated to its own hero according to each part of the world as well as dark and empty. Nothing seems out of place until he makes it to the front of the museum where he finds broken glass littering the tiled floors. Warning signals blare in his head, his body warm with adrenaline as he carefully walks on the glass, using the fox walk technique.

His eyes trail over the glass to the broken case of All Might’s first hero outfit. Obviously, the robbers were trying to snatch it. What he doesn’t expect is to see three of them tied together near the door, back to back and unconscious. “What the fuck?” he whispers in bewilderment.

He gets a little closer and inspects the work: they are wrapped in one of the robber’s own vines with bruises and black eyes ruining their faces and slight tears in their black clothes. Someone seriously fucked these guys up. ‘But who?’ he thinks, confused. ‘Who the hell was here before me?’

He suddenly freezes, sensing something. Something that feels like danger according to his twirling gut.

With a deep inhale, he shoots his hand out to the right, earning a strangled gasp in response. He turns, finding a kid with unruly, burgundy hair and black clothes in his grasp, his bare, webbed feet dangling like a rag doll.

He gives Aizawa a toothy grin. “Eraserhead,” he croons. “I should’ve known you bein’ an old fart wouldn’t have fucked with your sense of hearing.”

Aizawa glares at the kid. “First of all, I’m thirty-one,” he deadpans. “Second, what are you doin’ with these fools? Shouldn’t you be at home sleep, kid?”

The kid’s wolfish grin drops, replaced with a look of rage. “Don’t call me that!” he snarls, wriggling around in Aizawa’s tight hold. “I’m not a fuckin’ kid! And I do what I want!”

Aizawa tightens his grip on the kid. “Jeez, anger issues much?” he huffs. “Something tells me your dad never spanked you when you were younger.” He tries to get a look at the kid’s face, preparing to wipe his quirk for a few hours so he’s easier to handle.

The kid surprises him by looking right at him suddenly. “What, you gonna do it for me?” he taunts before giving him a smile. “You could try!”

Suddenly, he pulls out a canister ball and slams it against the ground, causing a burst of smoke to explode from it. Aizawa drops the kid and begins to cough as the smoke fills his lung, his vision now obscured by the fog. He tries to look for the kid, tapping into his senses to find him. When the smoke finally clears, the kid is gone.

“Hey, old man!” someone shouts from the ceiling. Aizawa looks up and finds the kid hanging from the ceiling with his webbed feet. “Shit!” he growls, but he’s not quick enough. The kid jumps from the ceiling with a shout and lands on Aizawa’s shoulders.

“Perfect distraction,” he snickers. “Now you can say this “kid” is the reason to meet your end. Goodnight, Eraserhead.” Before Aizawa can try to rip him off, the kid wraps his arms and legs around his neck and begins to squeeze hard. Suddenly, Aizawa can’t breathe. He grunts, trying in vain to rip the kid off of him, but he has a fucking koala grip on him.

‘Air,’ Aizawa thinks. ‘I…need…air!’ He drops to his knees, desperate to get some air in his burning lungs.

But the kid just keeps on squeezing, desperate to kill the pro. Aizawa can feel his eyes fluttering shut, the darkness beginning to eat at his vision.

Suddenly, the strangling sensation stops and the kid lets out a grunt as he falls from Aizawa’s back. Aizawa sputters and coughs, gulping down as much air as possible. “That could’ve ended very badly,” an unfamiliar voice says behind him.

He turns, finding someone equally as unfamiliar to him. She stands above the now-unconscious kid, an All Might paperweight from the museum’s gift shop in her hand.

Aizawa’s eyes trail over her form, beginning at her black knee-high boots to her black bodysuit, the leather and slashes of glittered silver glinting in the flashing lights overhead. The black mask she wears over her head obscures the top half of her face from him, only showing him her nose and her glossy, plump lips where he just sees two fangs jutting out. Her braids hang at her waist where her hands are, placed confidently on her hips. Aizawa notices the same glittering, claw-like slashes there too along with some across her thighs he knows could crush someone’s head.

He wouldn’t mind being in between them himself.

He continues to gape at her for a moment, wondering where the fuck she came from. “You alright?” she asks, concern in her voice. She puts a gloved hand out to him where he can see long, makeshift claws attached to the tips of her fingers. Snapping back to reality, he refuses her hand.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, standing. “Who the fuck are you?”

The stranger blinks at him with those yellow, feline-like eyes. “Well, nice to meet you too,” she scoffs. “I thought you would’ve already seen me in the newspapers, but I suppose cameras can only work so well in the dark.” She juts a hand out, giving him a fanged smile. “Night Claw. Nice to meet you, Eraserhead.”

Aizawa blinks at her. Her name sounds familiar to him. “You know me?” he questions, raising a brow at her. Night Claw giggles, moving her braids behind her shoulder. “You’re kiddin’, right? Anyone who’s anyone knows you.”

His eyes trail up to her mask, noticing the two pointed ears poking out of it. Now he knows why her name sounded so familiar. “I know you too,” he says, earning a wide-eyed stare from her. “You’re the new vigilante who’s been going around at night fighting street crime. I’ve seen your name pop up on Twitter.”

Night Claw grins with pride. “I’m her, exactly,” she chirps. “I was around, so I figured I’d stroll the streets. Then I came across the museum and saw them tryna make a hustle out of a steal.” She nods at the kid and his three partners. “The hostages okay?” she asks worriedly. “I couldn’t get to ‘em fast enough. Needed to make sure these dumbfucks didn’t steal nothin’ else.”

“Yeah,” he grumbles, still sizing her up. Who is this girl? Where did she come from? “You know, I would’ve handled that myself. And them.” He nods at the robbers.

Night Claw just laughs, irritating him. “Oh, yeah,” she replies sarcastically, “‘cause it looked like you were doin’ a great job, to begin with. Ya know, being that I saved your narrow behind, I think I’m deserving of a thank you.” She crosses her arms over her ample chest that Aizawa has to force himself to look away from.

Aizawa clenches his fists, feeling incredibly pissed that she’s mocking him and that she ruined his mission. This was his arrest, not hers. And he certainly didn’t need any help from someone who isn’t even an official hero. He despises nothing more than people who feel like just because they have quirks, they have every right to become a hero without putting in the blood, sweat, and tears to do so.

But he doesn’t say all that. He only looks at the bright-eyed vigilante and sucks his teeth at her. “You’re not gettin’ one,” he growls. “And my ass isn’t narrow.”

Night Claw just smiles at him, almost taunting him. “I’m guessin’ you don’t have a license for this?” he asks, shoving his hands in his pockets. Night Claw’s smile doesn’t falter. “A girl never tells her secrets,” she hums, which he takes as a no.

“You know, I have every reason to take you into custody and hand you over to the cops for impersonating a hero,” he cooly states, fixing the vigilante with a hard stare. But even with the possibility of going to jail, Night Claw’s confidence never wavers.

She instead raises her chin and looks at him through the eye slits of her mask. “Are you though?” she purrs.

The air around them grows tense and thicker than fog. Before either of them can say anything more, the sound of police sirens begins to fill the air. Night Claw looks startled all of the sudden, but quickly bounces back and gives Aizawa a playful smile. “Guess that’s my cue to leave,” she announces briskly. “They’re all yours.”

Aizawa watches in silence as the vigilante turns towards the front doors of the museum, her ass looking way too good in her bodysuit. As if forcing him to be a good person, his throat burns from the kid’s attempt on his life. “Hey, Night Claw,” he says in his deep, baritone voice.

Night Claw stops and turns to him, the moonlight illuminating her skin and braids, making them appear like twined silver. Aizawa swallows down the strange lump in his throat at the sight of her. “Nice boots,” he mutters.

She gives him a joyful smile. “You’re welcome,” she giggles. “I’ll be seein’ you around, Eraser.”

Then, without another word, she struts out of the museum and into the darkness, leaving Eraserhead alone, confused, and very, very aroused.

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