#my bad though I did not intend to dip like that

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 20: Standing Fast

Summary: If she really thinks about it, it’s kind of like D-Day – just not in any of the ways that count. A/N: When I said that the last chapter felt like the beginning of an intermission, I did not intend to disappear for a week - my bad! But now I'm back from a (much needed) vacation, and I'm excited to work on this fic for the rest of the summer :) Warnings: mentions of war, mentions of alcohol, improper binding Taglist: @liebgotts-lovergirl @lady-cheeky @latibvles @lieutenant-speirs @mrs-murder-daddy @ithinkabouttzu

France, 1944

A few nights later, a bunch of sergeants get drunk during a poker game and wreck the barracks. Bunks are torn piece from piece. From what she hears of it later, fists and sharp words both fly as they take out their tension on each other. Based on the damage Bill and Shifty (one of Easy Company’s newly appointed sergeants) describe to her later, it’s a night they’ll pay for dearly.

Except there’s no time for that.

The order reaches them first thing the next morning. “After breakfast, stand fast.”

“What’dya reckon they mean by that?” Popeye asks as they make their way from the barracks.

“Nothing good,” McClung sighs.

Zenie is just sitting down with her food at breakfast when a hand on her shoulder practically drags her off the bench. Eugene’s brows are furrowed and his lips are pressed into a severe line. For once, his attitude is as dark as his hair – something Zenie never would have thought possible, even after what she’s overheard about his response to Winters and Welsh when they didn’t know how to help Captain Heyliger after he was shot.

“How many bandages you got?” He asks in a low voice when they’ve stepped out of everyone’s earshot.

Zenie blinks, trying to comprehend the suddenness of his question. “Huh?”

“Bandages. How many you got? And health sponges, too. You been usin’ ‘em?”

“I haven’t needed any in a while. And I think I have one role left. Why?”

“Here, take these.” Angling himself so that no one can see the transaction, he presses a role of bandages into Zenie’s hand. She quickly shoves them into her jacket. As soon as it’s over, Eugene is firing more questions at her. “You gone to the bathroom this mornin’?”

Doc Roe might know quite a bit about Zenie and her situation, but getting so many rapid-fire personal questions at such an early hour still takes her aback. When she doesn’t answer, he repeats the question with more pressure.

“You better go now,” he warns. “While no one’s around.”

“But my breakfast – “

“I’ll guard it for you. Hurry. You ain’t got much time, and you won’t be able to be alone for a while.”

“Why? Gene, what’s going on?”

There’s limited time and Eugene has told her as much. Still, he lets out a short sigh through his nose and leans in further, just in case.

“Don’t tell anyone, comprenez vous?” She doesn’t speak French, but she gets the gist. “They just told the medics that we’re movin’ out after breakfast. Lots of travelin’ ahead.”

“To where?”

Gene’s eyes dance around the room as he replies, “I dunno yet. But they’re talkin’ like it’s pretty far.”

Not willing to waste any more time, Zenie rushes to the latrine and back, ignoring the wondering looks her friends give her when she returns and takes her seat, which Roe has been occupying, as promised, hunched over her plate. Babe frowns as Gene vacates her seat and heads off again, on the move. She brushes off their questions and bolts her breakfast, leaving her coffee untouched and not even daring to think about water as a just in case.  

They all finish their meal. Nothing happens. Stand fast. Nothing new. Hurry up and wait.

With nowhere to go, they clean the barracks. Zenie can feel someone’s eyes on her the entire time. Babe throws her a strange look every now and then, his brow furrowed and his expression thoughtful as they waste time. Under her friend’s watchful gaze, she has to be extra careful as she stashes her new roll of bandages in her belongings.

Something pokes her finger as she shoves the roll into the bottom of her bag. Careful to keep the bandages covered, she grabs the sharp edge and tugs it out; her postcard from the Eiffel Tower. She smiles at the memories, smiles at the thought of beating Marilyn to the landmark.

Unless, she realizes, her sister has beat her there. Travelling with the Red Cross, there’s no telling where Marilyn has been. And it’s not like Zenie would know.

It’s a bad idea, she knows as she takes a pen from her bag and scrawls on the card. She shouldn’t do it because it’s risky, she tells herself as she slaps on a stamp. But, she reasons, if she sends the card home, her mother will get it and know that she’s okay – and then her small brag will reach her sister.

When no one is looking, Zenie slips the postcard into a bag of mail that’s due to go out soon. Hopefully no one will read too much into “Dear Marilyn, Think I beat you here. – Z.”

There’s a movie playing. Zenie’s seen it before. She takes a seat toward the back of the room and smiles when Shifty seats himself in the chair beside her. When the lights go down, he moves his hand so that it rests on his leg between their chairs. Zenie does the same and smiles into the darkness when he curls his pinky finger around hers.

This is more than pressing their knees together in foxholes. This is better.

“What do you think is going on?” she whispers as the movie’s score soars over the opening credits.

From the corner of her eye, she can see him bite his bottom lip as he considers the possibilities.

“I don’t know,” he says finally. “But interruptin’ R and R like this?” He shakes his head. “I doubt it’s good.”

“They can’t send us back. We have no gear. What do they want us to do?”

There’s a commotion from the front of the room.

“Shut up!” Joe insists, turning around to face Luz. “I’m trying to watch!”

Other men shush them. Zenie waits for the noise to die down before she whispers again.

“At least we got to go to Paris first. No more wondering and avoiding.”

Shifty tightens his finger around hers. “No more,” he agrees.

“I love this part!” Luz exclaims from the front of the room. Even with his back to her, Zenie can picture the expression he uses for this particular impression – one that he’s very proud of. In a low, sultry voice he begins asking, enunciating a different word every time, “Got a penny? Got a penny? Got a penny?!”

“Got a penny?” The movie asks, making George erupt into laughter. He’s so loud that she thinks Joe might spin around and knock his lights out.

Whatever he’s planning, he doesn’t get the chance. With no warning, the doors at the back of the room fly open. Zenie and Shifty jump apart as if electrocuted while footsteps, hard and fast, march past them and to the front of the room. “Quiet!” A voice booms before anyone has the chance to properly protest.

The lights come up and the movie sputters to a stop. Now the men begin to protest. Booing and cries of “Awe, come on!” join the cacophony of Zenie’s pounding heart. Surely no one saw them, even though they were taken by surprise. She can only hope.

“I said quiet!” The order is repeated. This time, the crowd falls silent. Just in time to hear the announcement of, “Elements of the 1st and the 6th SS Panzer Divisions have broken through in the Ardennes Forest.”

Through the crowd, Zenie can see Luz throw his head back – a telltale sign that he’s giving a dramatic eye roll. Though other men are hanging their heads in disappointment, George’s reaction is what they all surely feel as the realizations set in: no more passes to Paris; no more movies; no more Rest and Relaxation. It’s back to the line for Easy Company.

Mutters break out before the announcement is properly finished as people start speculating about what it all means, how it will all play out. After all, there’s nothing for them to fight with, they’re keen to remind each other. Although the people sending them off should know that.

They file out of the theater, lips pressed into thin lines that are more severe than when the order of the day was simply “stand fast.”

“Favorite movie and I didn’t even get to finish it,” Luz complains.

Joe sighs. “Luz, you weren’t even watching the damn thing.”

“No but I was enjoying it, and that’s what matters.”

“Probably won’t be enjoyin’ anything for a while now,” Popeye muses.

“Yeah,” Zenie agrees. “Not if it’s like Holland – just sitting around in foxholes and waiting.”

Amongst the choir of muttered protests from the clumps of soldiers, one question rings out loud and clear: where the hell is Bastogne?

If she really thinks about it, it’s kind of like D-Day – just not in any of the ways that count.

Like that night in June, they pat their friends on the back and wish each other well. Except this time there’s no ice cream, no specific knowledge of where they’re going, no plan for when they get there. More importantly, they have precious little equipment. And hardly a chance to say goodbye.

Zenie’s fingers tingle with the memory of Shifty quickly intertwining their fingers together before boarding the planes. There’s no chance for anything like that now, with everyone rushing around, trying to figure out what’s going on. Instead, she has to settle for flashing him a smile while Popeye offers her a smack on the shoulder when they go their separate ways.

The effort that it took to help load their fellow soldiers into the C-47s is missing as well. Rumbling engines tear through the velvety black night, the truck’s floors shaking as they jump into the backs with what little gear they have. The planes had been solemn and filled with excitement and prayers. These trucks are packed full of people who huddle for warmth, and air gauzy with cigarette smoke in their pitiful attempts to warm themselves up and pass the time.

For the hundredth time in this war, Zenie thanks God for Gene. If he hadn’t warned her, she would have been crammed into the back of this truck with no warning. And as they rumble along in their endless journey, he begins to feel more and more like some sort of guardian angel.

“I just wanna know where they’re sendin’ us,” Babe says as they bounce along. “What the hell are we gonna do with no ammo?”

Over all the noise, from where she sits, Zenie can hear the drivers of their truck pause their conversation when they hear Babe’s question. Their part of the Red Ball Express. She remembers seeing articles in the papers about them after the jump back in June. If anyone knows anything about where they’re going, surely it will be them. She shifts towards them.

“Have y’all been to where we’re going?” Her question startles them.

The driver and the man in the passenger seat share a weary look. Not a good sign.

“Yes,” the driver finally answers.

“That bad, huh?”

“Oh yeah, you could say that,” the man in the passenger seat agrees. “That’s why you guys have to walk the last leg of the journey.”

“Why?” The words have no sooner left her mouth when the truck shakes, followed by a loud, booming sound that reminds her of summer thunderstorms shaking the house at night.

“That’s why,” the driver says. “Besides, we have more men to move.”

These drivers have a job to do, same as the paratroopers. War is a machine, and every outfit is a small piece that operates in it. That much has become obvious after successful operations, like Overlord, and not so successful ones, like Market Garden.

“You need four pairs of socks, minimum!” Skip Muck calls over the sounds of the truck. He’s lounging on the floor of the truck bed, which is the only place where there was space left for him. In his cramped position, he frees one of his hands to count on his fingers as he lectures one of the replacements traveling with them. “Feet, hands, neck, balls.”

“Extra socks warms ‘em all,” the rest of the men finish in unison.

“Yay, we all remember that one!” Muck exclaims. “But no one remembered the socks.”

The trucks begin growling to a stop as the booming of explosions and the cracking of gunfire draw closer. Men attempt to stand as tail gates are lowered, and then they’re hopping to the ground on numb legs – a jump from nowhere near as spectacular heights as on D-Day. Someone makes a joke about a tailgate jump.

“Thanks, y’all.” Zenie taps the edge of her helmet and nods to her drivers as she moves to leave the truck.

“You’re southern, too,” her driver notes. “Where from?”

Too, he had said. It’s been so rare to find men who aren’t taken aback by y’all.

“North Carolina. The mountains. What about you?”

The driver grins. “North Carolina – the piedmont!” They laugh over their shared geography.

“Seems like everyone else is from Pennsylvania.”

The man in the passenger seat waves. “That would be me.”

It’s Zenie’s turn now to exit the truck. Before she does, she flashes them both a smile. “Well, I’ll see y’all back at home.” She leaves the truck feeling a little better than when she climbed into it.

The biting cold threatens to dispel any warmth that has entered into her heart, though. Around her, men all step around some parked trucks to relieve themselves after the long ride. Others bustle through the crowd with gasoline containers which they dump into pits in the ground. Tall flames blaze to life when a book of matches is tossed onto them, and men eagerly gather around them for warmth, drawn in like moths to a flame.

Footsteps approach. More men coming to get warm –

“Christ,” Babe mutters around his cigarette.

Columns of men appear, but they aren’t heading for the fires. Darkness cannot hide the grim and fearful expressions that haunt their features as they trudge past. Zenie and Babe gawk at them. The passing men won’t meet their eyes.

“Bill! Bill, Joe, look at this!” Babe exclaims.

Their friends appear beside them, adding to the onlookers.

Bill has never looked more confused in his life. “Hey, you’re goin’ the wrong way!”

From the corner of her eye, Zenie catches a flash of familiar movement; McClung and Popeye passing by. She steps away and follows them to one of the fires. Falling into place beside Earl, she stretches her hands towards the open flames, trying to catch the warmth while she can.

“What’s that all about?” Earl asks, nodding towards the lines of men leaving the very place that Easy Company has just been ordered into. No one asks the real question: what they hell are they sending us into now?

They don’t have to wonder for long. The men leaving Bastogne begin handing over any spare gear and ammo that they can. Easy Company men load themselves down until their hands are full, and then try to find someone else to hand off extra supplies to. Zenie finds herself weighed down with three bandoliers and a knife. She hands off some grenades to Joe and pockets half a pack of cigarettes that one retreating man presses into her hands.

The parade has hardly ended when Easy Company receives the word to keep moving. With whatever borrowed weapons and ammunition that they can carry, they start off in the opposite direction of the retreating soldiers. The world shakes with gunfire as they push through the darkness, following the road.

“Huh, would you look at that.” Bill nods up at a sign that stands on the road. It’s got arrows pointing every which way, giving every sprawling road before them a name. “It really is a crossroads.”

Without looking back, they gather their courage and follow the arrow pointing towards a place labeled Bastogne.    

#was going through something and felt unable to write anything good because of all the negativity it gave me #my bad though I did not intend to dip like that #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers x ofc #band of brothers x oc #shifty powers x original female character #shifty powers x ofc #shifty powers #my writing #oc zenie mcglamery #like a girl (like a man)

[gimmethatagustd]

gang shit | knj

Your daughter's classmate has a really hot dad. Apparently, you're his arch-nemesis.

○ Pairing: Dilf!Namjoon x Single Parent!Reader

○ Rating: Sfw

○ Genre: Kidfic, strangers/romantic interest, an attempt at humor

○ 1 / 100 Drabble Challenge (Single Parent)

○ Word Count: 1204

○ Warnings: Shockingly none!! aside from my terrible sense of humor, jokes about Crime!!, and also Namjoon's dimples

○ Notes: Inspired by this tweet. I hope you enjoy the first drabble of my 100 Drabble Challenge I'm doing with @sailoryooons - Please check out Hali's drabbles throughout 2024, too! Happy New Year, besties! ✨

○ Post Date: January 1, 2024

○ Masterlist | Send me ur thots

○ What was Jai listening to? GOAT - Number_i

“I don’t make the rules to this gang shit. I just play my role.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you cock your head to the side in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Namjoon adjusts his black baseball cap. His bicep bulges out of his short sleeve when he lifts his arm. 

You’re too old to be thirsting for a man like this. In all honesty, you’ve been acting childish all day – literally. It’s the last day of school before summer break, and your daughter’s preschool teacher invited parents to an end-of-the-year celebration. Having the privilege of working a hybrid schedule means it’s relatively easy for you to swing by the school with primary-colored cupcakes in hand. They’re the disgusting ones kids love that’ll stain their fingers and mouths bright blue. Oh, to be a four-year-old. So easy to please. 

Unlike little Yuna’s father, who has a stick shoved up his ass, and for what?

“What are you even talking about?” you ask with your arms crossed against your chest. 

You’d said literally five words to the guy, intending to start a pleasant conversation while the kids ran around the playground and the other parents mingled at the picnic tables outside. 

“Hi, I’m Y/N, Brooklyn’s parent.”

Apparently, that was offensive.

Namjoon’s sharp eyes drag up and down your body, and you try not to let his heavy gaze affect you – and fail when you feel your stomach dip. 

“Brooklyn said Yuna dresses weird,” Namjoon finally says with a pout that shouldn’t look so cute on a grown-ass man. 

“Did she?” 

“Are you calling Yuna a liar?”

“No!” This man is so volatile. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. We’ve been practicing using kind words, but, well, you know how kids are…” 

Namjoon doesn’t look convinced. 

You feel antsy under his gaze, unsure what to say or do. Are you supposed to apologize? Maybe that’s the mature thing to do. You’re still new to this whole “I’m suddenly responsible for an entire human being even though I barely even know how to take care of myself” thing. It’s a little bit unbelievable, actually! 

“I’m sorry for Brooklyn’s judgmental behavior. What kind of weird-, what kind of clothes-” you stumble through what you already know is a shit apology, “Which one is Yuna?” 

“That’s her.” Namjoon nods in Yuna’s direction.

You look across the playground to the swing set, where a little girl is lying on the swing on her stomach and spinning around with her arms and legs hanging limp. She’s wearing her hair in asymmetrical pigtails, one higher on her head than the other. Her sneakers are mismatched, as are her colorful knee-high socks. Her pants are polka-dotted, her shirt striped, and she’s got a bright purple cape tied around her neck. 

“She’s adorable,” you say softly. 

“She’s weird as shit.” 

Your mouth hangs open when Namjoon shrugs. 

“What? She’s my kid; I’m allowed to say that.” 

“Fair enough,” you concede with a smile, “So, we got beef now?”

“Yup.” 

Namjoon crosses his arms against his chest to match your stance. You tell yourself it’s very inappropriate to be eyeing your new enemy’s boobs when you’re in the middle of a showdown. 

“I’m not gonna lie, I don’t think I’m down for going to war for Brooklyn. Usually, I just like to blame her bad behavior on her dad,” you say with a barking laugh. You cover your mouth with your hand when you snort. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.” 

“You’re good,” Namjoon finally cracks a smile, and, wow, it’s breathtaking. His eyes crinkle at the corners, his teeth are big and bright, and he has dimples… “Yuna’s mother doesn’t let her dress how she likes, so when I have her, I let her do what she wants. Self-expression is important, y’know?” 

You nod because he’s right. Kids should be kids. 

“Plus, I like being the fun parent.” 

“Right! Who wants the parent with all the stupid rules?” You perk up, taking a step closer because now you’re partners in crime rather than enemies. Maybe. You’ll work on it. He’s too cute not to get up to some parental crime with—gang members, not rivals. 

“Not cool parents like us,” Namjoon lightly elbows you. 

“Yeah, they can’t ride with our gang.” 

Namjoon makes a face the moment the words come out of your mouth. He bites both lips, rolling them in and hollowing his cheeks, eyebrows raised. 

“What? What!” you gasp, knowing when you’re being made fun of, even if it’s in silence. 

“Don’t ever say anything like that ever again.” 

With a huff, you give him a tiny punch to the arm and tell yourself that it isn’t because you want to feel how tight his muscles are. 

“You’re the one who–” 

“HEY! NO HITTING!” 

Groaning, you throw your head back as a tiny blur of pink collides with your body. Brooklyn tugs on the hem of your shirt, repeatedly chanting, “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” until you crouch to meet her at her level. Taking her little hands in yours, you hold them to your lips to give her knuckles a quick peck. 

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have done that to Mr. Kim,” you admit, “I should apologize, shouldn’t I?”

Brooklyn nods, and the bulbous beaded hair ties at the end of her pigtail braids swing like a deadly game of tetherball. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kim,” you say as you look up at Namjoon. He taps his finger against his chin in mock thought, and you can’t help but think that you’ll actually punch him if he fucks up this teaching moment by pretending not to accept your apology. 

“I forgive you,” he says with another grin that makes you feel like a silly teenager. 

“Y’know, Brooklyn, Mr. Kim told me something about you and Yuna…” Brooklyn immediately ducks her chin to her chest. No one has ever looked guiltier. “It’s not very nice to talk about how people look, love. I think you should apologize to Yuna, don’t you agree?”

It takes very little convincing for Brooklyn to run off toward the swings. She flops on her stomach in the swing beside Yuna, and then, after a bit of talking, both girls spin around. 

“If Brooklyn throws up from doing that, it’s your fault,” you mutter to Namjoon. 

“Real aggressive coming from someone who just physically attacked me.” 

“Okay, Mr. Gang Shit,” you quip back, catching Namjoon’s widening grin out of the corner of your eye. 

“Listen,” Namjoon touches your elbow, his fingers lingering just long enough for you to give him your attention. Heat spreads along your forearm and makes your fingers tingle. “I don’t really accept either of your apologies. You might need to try a little harder to get me to forgive you.”

“Oh.” You feel your stomach twist. 

“Might want to start with getting dinner with me, and then we can see where it goes?” 

Oh.

“I mean, if you think it wouldn’t hurt my street cred being seen with the likes of you, then, yeah.” 

Namjoon grabs his baseball cap bill and pulls it down until his hat covers his face. “Don’t make me rescind this offer because I’ll do it.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see how it goes.”

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories. 

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

#bts x reader #namjoon x reader #bts fanfic #namjoon fanfic #jai writes #gimmethatagustd #gang shit #100 drabble challenge

[goldsainz]

TALK IT OUT — one shot.

pairing: mick schumacher x reader

2K CELEBRATION. MASTERLIST.

taglist: @lorarri @lpab @whatthefuckerr @noncannonships @lunnnix

summary: misunderstandings are never fun, especially when others are involved.

request: “can we have an angst prompt? i personally want to see mick cry because nobody did write him crying yet - lmk if someone did please ❛ why are you avoiding me? ❜ + mick schumacher”

warnings: mentions of cheating, angst to comfort, the ending is rushed im sorry.

NOTE: first mick fic ever… kinda nervous, kinda excited about it. also hope i did your idea justice, i actually struggled to write sad mick bc he should never be sad as far as i’m concerned😭 that is my golden boy and i will fight for him if needed. (this is like 800 words longer than intended it to)

[ word count: 1,6k ]

Tabloids always lied. You knew this, yet there was a small part of you that knew that beneath all those lies a little bit of the truth always shone from beneath them. 

You trusted Mick with your whole heart, something that was essential considering he could be gone for several weeks or even months. It wasn’t that you lacked trust in him, you didn’t trust your own overthinking and negative thoughts.

But this time was different, something in your gut told you that this time was different. Something about the way the photo was taken and the way he was smiling, it just didn't make sense. Especially knowing he had told he had no plans of going out. But there he was, smiling down at a girl who looked nothing like you while you waited for him to come back from working abroad.

Suddenly, all the emotions and excitement you had about him coming home turned into pure dread as you figured out what the hell you were going to do. There was a chance that Mick didn’t cheat on you, but the chance felt too foreign for your broken heart to even consider. If Mick was the man you thought he was, he wasn’t someone who would betray you like that, but the situation was too bad to think straight.

It was late at night when your boyfriend arrived, you heard the door open and close all while clutching your pillow tightly. You hoped he would just see your form and assume you’re asleep, leaving you and your thoughts alone. You hoped he wouldn’t take notice of the tears that damped the pillow, the way your breath stuttered a little from all the crying.

The rustle from his bags didn’t stir you. He didn’t call your name like he usually did when he arrived home late from a weeks-long trip. You assumed he didn’t call for you because he saw your “sleeping” form and chose to leave you alone, probably because he knew how much you loved to sleep and knew better than to wake you up. 

After a while, the bed dipped as Mick made himself comfortable beneath the bed sheets. He settled next to you, moving around as he draped an arm around your waist. For a moment you relaxed slightly from his touch, like all the worries in the world could be erased simply because he touched you. In all honesty, his absence has made you slightly touch-starved and you let yourself have this moment of peace because you had craved it for weeks. It didn’t take long for reality to settle in though. The reminder of his actions haunted you, it had since you saw the tabloid just mere hours ago.

You fell eventually asleep, albeit late and with a struggle. The heat of Mick’s body had killed you to sleep and the tiredness of being sad had your body calling it a night. 

Waking up wasn’t easy. You wanted to pretend the day before had occurred, and in your head if you were asleep forever then you didn’t have to confront whatever happened. A part of you knew that if Mick didn’t do what the article suggested he did, then your relationship could either go on like it was or it would never be the same. You knew yourself, you knew that a small part of you would always have the nagging thought of “what if”, a thought that would follow you around forever.

You stretched as you got out of bed, feeling your boyfriend's sleeping form not shift in the slightest. You brushed your teeth and did your morning routine like usual, just this time with a terrible feeling at the pit of your stomach.

It wasn’t long after that Mick woke up, his eyes tired and his blonde hair a mess. You had your back turned to him as you prepared breakfast, this time instead of making it for the both of you, you just did two toasts and a glass of juice for yourself. 

“Hey, how are you?” He said, his voice raspy from just waking up. You just took a bite of your toast and ignored his words, almost acting as if he wasn’t standing near you.

If Mick found your acting strange, he didn’t outright mention it. Instead, he leaned down and went to press a kiss to your lips, just for you to turn your head sideways as you pretended to grab the glass of juice. His lips met your cheek, and while he would never complain about how he kissed you, Mick had been longing to kiss you ever since he left you. It was something he always looked forward to doing whenever he had to leave for long periods of time, or even short ones.

“I missed you.” His voice is unsure now. Unsure about your actions and if you will respond to him. Your humming to his words does little to console the feeling he gets from you ignoring him.

You place the used dishware in the sink, the clattering of the plates disturbs the uncomfortable silence that surrounds you both. 

Usually Mick knows how to keep his negative emotions in check pretty well. He never shouts when he’s mad, or cries when he’s upset, he just tries his best to talk out whatever is happening. But right now, having his girlfriend avoid him when he’s come back from an exhausting trip, is just too much for him to comprehend.

You haven’t even done much to get him teary-eyed, it’s just the simple fact that he craves your attention and you’re not giving it to him. He doesn’t even know why you can’t be bothered to give him the time of day, or why you seem so uncomfortable around him.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Mick asks you after some time goes by, watching as you do everything around the room except look at him. Something in you cracks at the way his voice breaks while asking the question, you know that if you look up at him and see his glossy eyes you will crumble under them. You will throw any anger you have towards him out the window, and as much as you want to, you need more than that to forgive or even forget whatever happened.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” “If I knew why you were avoiding me I wouldn’t be asking.”

“What were you doing Thursday night?” His face is one of confusion, his brows furrowing and nose slightly scrunching up as he assesses your question.

“What?”

“What were you doing Thursday night?” You repeat, this time your voice cracks as you ask him the one question you dread to hear the answer from.

“I worked at the factory till late at night.”

“That’s all? So, you didn’t go out at all?”

Mick’s face is one of pure frustration. Frustration because he can’t believe how oblivious he had been to your feelings, how he went out and you didn’t mention anything about it. Frustration because he should’ve known that the media would get to him and by relation, in between the two of you.

“I did.” He admits, “But it was with a couple of friends, whatever it is that you saw is not what it looks like. I swear.” 

“You just coincidentally had a girl all up on you, and you just smiled down at her?” 

“I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/N. I wished I could say I did, but honestly, if there was a girl next to me I can assure you I wasn’t smiling because of her or to her, for that matter.” 

An unshed tear falls down his cheek at the assumption you're making. The notion that you would ever think he would be unfaithful to you breaks his heart into a million little pieces, like he knows yours did the moment the idea that he cheated on you settled in. 

“I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel like I would cheat on you.” Mick approaches you slowly, wary of the way you might react. He doesn't think he would bear it if you pulled away from his touch, but he would understand. “But I would never ever do that. I need you to know that.”

When your boyfriend finally reaches you, you can't help but lean into his touch. The hug he gives you is almost crushing, likes he's scared you will run away from him at any given moment. It is just as comforting as it is devastating the way he is holding you, a part of you is grateful that he is so honest and raw with you, but there is a part of you that cant help and question if his words hold any truth, if he is not like many of the other men you've known through the course of your life. 

“I want to believe you.” You whisper against him, “I really do, Mick.”

His chin is pressed to the top of your head and you feel him shift to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to, schatz, and that's a promise.” There is something about the way he says that, something about the sincerity his words hold that makes you believe him. It wipes away the worries you had and replaces them with pure love, in your heart of hearts you know that Mick would never intentionally hurt you, and if he could help it, ever. 

You know just by his words that you’ll be alright.

No matter the tabloids or the drama that follows you, you'll be alright. 

#*ੈ✩༄ my works ! #── my 2k celly #mick schumacher #mick schumacher x reader #mick shumacher imagine #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher angst #mick schumacher fanfiction #mick schumacher one shot #mick schumacher fic #mick schumacher au #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 x female reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x female reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 fluff

[boredwrites]

Albert Wesker x gn reader

A little something for @mrs-m-wesker. Just a list of small scenarios.

Please keep in mind that I am not familiar with the Resident Evil game series. Most of what I'm going off of is from Dead by Daylight. Plus maybe a little modern au stuff.

Masterlist

~~~

Sometimes Albert would come home so late in the night that you would already be asleep. And on these nights, he would find you on his side of the bed which is the side closest to the bedroom door. After he finishes his nighttime routine, he would slide in bed behind you, wrapping his arms around your body and squeezing just enough to wake you up.

"You're on the wrong side of the bed," he would say. He would then turn over, taking you with him so then his back was facing the door and you were facing the wall.

Albert would claim that it's just a preference, but really, he does it because he's protective. If anything should happen in the middle of the night, he will be closest to the door and fastest to take action and keep you safe.

~~~

While it's sometimes difficult for him to show it, Albert is a very romantic person when he's with the right one. He has his own way of showing his love.

Whenever you're working on something, or just standing, he loves coming up behind you and kissing your hair, getting a good whiff of it while doing so. Sometimes his arms stay hanging by his side, only his lips and nose touching you. But sometimes he places a hand or two on your waist, his pinky going under your shirt just to get the slightest touch of your skin.

Sometimes, when he's in the right mood, he dips his head a bit lower to your neck. Soft kisses litter your neck, along with a few little nips here and there. Nothing too extravagant. He prefers the more intimate acts to remain in the bedroom.

~~~

Though he may seem disinterested, Albert loves it when you talk about your interests. Whether that be a TV show, a video game, or your favorite animal. He loves the way you brighten up whenever you can talk about it. He also remembers almost every detail because it's, y'know, you.

"Yes, dear, I'm listening," he would let you know, and then prove that he was listening. "You said that you went against the least played killers in the game, which happens to be your friend's favorite characters. Did you tell her this happened?"

He just loves hearing your voice and he pays attention, even though it may not seem like it. He's starting to teach himself the habit of nodding and humming to your rantings to let you know he's listening.

~~~

Albert doesn't compliment you all the time, but when he does, it's one you will remember.

"The universe is envious of your beauty."

"Those garments are a painting on you, my love."

"Darling, you put the light from the stars to shame."

He is very romantic with his compliments and he intends on leaving you flustered after every one.

~~~

Albert loves kissing you. Your lips, forehead, hair, hands, neck. Anywhere he can reach. He's a gentleman, so his favorite place to kiss you when you're in public is the back of your hand, along with the occasional peck or two on the lips. But in private, he's everywhere where you'll let him. Especially insecurities.

He will always kiss your insecurities away, no matter how much it will take. He will never tolerate you being insecure or self conscious of any part of your body. If he hears you talking bad about yourself or sees you looking at yourself in the mirror with unhappiness, he will be at his knees. Literally.

"Please, my darling. Please see yourself the way I see you. You're more beautiful than a thousand moons."

#albert wesker #wesker #albert wesker x reader #wesker x reader

[holybibly]

Object of Desire | OT8 |

Pairing: otx8 x reader

Genre: sugar daddy au, dark romance, smut, vampire au,

Word Count: 9.2 k

Summary: Caught in a web of deceit and forbidden pleasures, Nabi quickly learns that some obsessions can be deadly and love can bite.

WARNING: only!18+ Blood drinking, blood kink, obsessive behavior, voice kink, daddy kink, master/pet game, pet names, explicit sexual content, explicit language, emotional manipulation, possessive behavior, seduction, BDSM, polyamory, mirror sex, marking, voyeurism, power play, and more.

Disclaimer: I do not support themes of violence, obsession, possessiveness, or emotional or psychological manipulation. This book is intended for entertainment purposes only.

A/N: I honestly didn't expect so much interest in this story and I'm so happy to see these cute 'hearts' popping up in my notifications all the time. I'm an emotional mess. And so, even though I know I should be concentrating on "The Divine Rosa", there are too many other ideas in my head that I can't (won't) ignore, so here we go. "Object of Desire" will be different in style, so I hope you'll love it as much as my main work "The Divine Rosa". A promised bonus for everyone who voted for Seonghwa in the poll will be released this weekend. I'll try to release Woosan next week, the preview will be out this weekend. Comments are welcome, I really appreciate your reactions. If you'd like to be added to the tag list for this or future updates, let me know in the comments. Divider @saradika

Part 1. Do you want to make a deal with the Devil?

Now going out of town in the middle of the night with Yeonjun seemed like a bad idea.

A very bad one, I thought.

God, what was I thinking when I agreed to do this? Yesterday, this whole venture seemed like a great way to solve my problems, but now the prospect was not so rosy.

Sometimes I feel like a complete idiot, and this is one of those times.

Outside the window the dark landscape was sweeping by at high speed; the bare trees were shrouded in an ominous gloom, and only the dim light of the tall street lamps over the road was the only source of illumination to guide us in the darkness.

It seemed that the darkness around us did not stop Yeonjun from driving. His posture was relaxed and his hand was sure as he turned the wheel in the right direction, the diamond bracelet on his thin wrist sparkling with starlight. One of the many family jewels that Yeonjun treated with special affection.

In contrast to him, I couldn't relax and kept fidgeting on the leather seat made of black Iberian leather, no less.

Every part of my body was begging me to stop and come home before it was too late.  Not so, I had imagined that we were going to an elite club. I knew that we would be there late at night, but the fact that the club was way out of town came as an unpleasant surprise.

At the moment it's an hour's drive from Seoul and more than an hour and a half to the destination on the GPS.

The whole thing was strange and made me dizzy, or was it the thick smell of Yeonjun's perfume? It was a dense, smoky scent with a hint of vanilla. Powerful enough to draw the eyes of everyone around to its source, and sexy enough to make you want to kiss the naked skin of the wearer of this tantalising scent.

It would be several days before I was able to wash off the remnants of his perfume after our meeting, so much of it had eaten its way into my skin.

I glanced at Yeonjun; a stray yellowish-white light from the lantern momentarily illuminated his face, and a shadow of long velvet eyelashes fell on his pale cheeks. His black raven hair was streaked with flashes of platinum and gold. He looked otherworldly - I would even say demonic.

I felt a palpable shiver run through my body, as if someone had just dipped my heart into a bucket of icy water.

"Jun." My voice was terribly uncertain. "I don't think I can do this." I said as my fingers pulled down the hem of a short dress. The expensive material looked luxurious in a perfect shade of white and was decorated with a sprinkling of crystals. Yeonjun insisted that I wear it tonight and said that I would be grateful for it as soon as we got to the club. I don't think I'd ever choose something like that for myself, and not just because of its crazy cost; Jun's fashion preferences were so different from mine. He was a fan of overt sexuality and bold lines; I, on the other hand, preferred neutrals and comfort. "I have changed my mind; this proposal does not suit me at all. Maybe we can go back..."

Yeonjun smiled softly as he turned to me, but in the darkness of the drawing room the smile was more ominous than reassuring, his lips the most breathtaking shade of red I had ever seen.

Warning bells began to ring in my head. There are times when you can sense danger even before you are faced with it.

"Nabi, my dear, there is nothing for you to be worried about. We have already discussed this. Remember?" His hand was cold as he laid it on my knee. "I will take care of everything. You're my guest tonight, which means you're under my protection." The long fingers shrank a little, a kind of confirmation of his words. His fingernails were painted glossy black, and his fingers were adorned with several silver rings.

I would like to believe that nothing is going to happen to me, but my insides are tied up in a tight knot of fear.

Miss Kim Seoyun's words echoed in my head like thunder: "Humble yourself and surrender to destiny; you are where you are supposed to be.

When did I start believing all this? This is no time to panic, Nabi.

Everything will be fine.

To be honest, Yeonjun was never my first choice when I needed help, and I always tried to keep a certain distance from him for a number of reasons. There was something so predatory about him, almost animalistic, that lit up the red lights of danger, but I was desperate; student loans, rent, insurance and food were starting to pile up. I was in desperate need of money, and preferably a lot of it, fast.

The threat of being left out on the streets and being thrown out of university has never been as real as it is now.

The only thing that gave me the slightest bit of confidence was Jimin's assurance that I could trust Yeonjun completely and how carefree he was.

Damn, Jun looked like we were going on a spontaneous romantic trip instead of a closed elite club outside the city in the middle of the night.

I asked myself again, "Why did I agree to this?" Oh yes, money. A lot of money.

A few days ago, Yeonjun contacted me and offered to help me with my money problem. Of course, Park Jimin couldn't keep his big mouth shut and told him about my problems. He told me that one of his friends at the private club had a good deal for me. I could make a lot of money out of it.

The income was enough to pay off all my debts and the number of zeros on offer was enough to turn my head.

It was an unequivocal and desperate "YES" and at that moment I did not think at all about the consequences or the characteristics of this proposal.

Jun also promised me a lot of fun but after I signed the NDA and read the multi-page contract with its veiled meaning and rather vague wording of some specific points, doubts blossomed in my chest, and I began to understand what kind of fun was being discussed.

Looks like I made a deal with the Devil.

The dress was delivered on the eve of our trip, a few hours before Yeonjun's chic Ferrari pulled up outside my dorm room. The all-white gown, richly embroidered with blue topaz and opal, was incredible. The plunging neckline of the corsage barely covered the lace bralet of the same colour as the dress.

I have never seen my breasts look so full and so soft. I would even call it seductive. Everything I moved had to be clean and graceful; if I moved too sharply, the soft pink halos of my nipples would start to show. This was beyond the limits of my modesty. At one point, I could even feel Yeonjun's searing gaze resting on my cleavage. It was a carnal look with a shadow of hidden lust in the depths of the dark, shining pupils. It was the first time in the several years of our dubiously friendly communication that he had shown such a desire for me.

The dress and underwear came with four-inch heels. Of course, if my life had been in danger and I had tried to escape, there would have been no chance of success. Incidentally, I'm a terrible runner; I bet I couldn't have run more than ten meters before I collapsed with breathlessness. I should have gone to the gym when Jimin offered it to me.

Oh my God, Nabi, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?

Jun's silky voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

"You have such a tense look on your face, my darling." He purred. "We'll be there soon, Nabi. Try to relax; you're going to love "Crescent", I'm sure."

Why did it have such a sinister ring to it? "Crescent" - the name was sweet enough, I would say poetic, but the way Yeonjun rolled the word over his tongue as if he could feel its taste - thick and viscous - made the name something forbidden and sinful. Well, the idea of the cult was not so absurd to me. And that stupid prophecy never left my mind.

"You're where you should be..."

In the reflection of the small mirror in the car, I met my gaze. My pupils were dilated like those of a hunted prey. And though I tried to calm down, I could feel the cold, predatory touch of Yeonjun's hand all too well. Baby, it looks like you're going to get caught.

I ask myself again. Why did I find myself in this situation?

Dressed in the most luxurious designer clothes, like a real doll. Ready to become an exclusive blood donor for a very wealthy private community whose clients needed this kind of service, accompanied by one of Seoul's wealthiest heirs.

Now I can say: "Hey, Nabi, you really screwed up."

❤︎❤︎❤︎

A few days before the visit to "Crescent"

I looked again at the envelope lying on my bed. It had been delivered early in the morning, when the whole city was in a half-awake haze and the streets were not yet filled with coffee and fresh pastries from charming little cafes. The envelope was just left on the door, as if it were something unwanted, without bothering to deliver it to the to the addressee.

Why do we even pay for a delivery service?

He's been there for a couple of hours with the overdue bills and some flyers. I found him on my way to get a life-saving coffee, which had to be postponed due to the unexpected arrival of this mysterious object.

And that didn't make me feel any happier at all.

The thick, dark purple paper looked regal and too expensive to be mediocre; usually such envelopes contained bad news or invitations to a private bohemian reception, but it was too fancy for the former and impossible for the latter. Poor students can't get into high society unless they spread their legs in front of someone's wrinkled dick. And I wasn't inclined to do that.

I took the envelope back to my room and put it on the bed. It looked impossibly ridiculous—I would even say vulgar—surrounded by fluffy pink pillows and a variety of stuffed animals—a small army, as Jimin liked to put it. The envelope was a perfect match for its sender—luxurious, vulgar, and obscenely expensive—the very embodiment of Yeonjun's tastes. Judging by the ten missed phone calls and a whole bunch of messages, Jun wanted to make sure that the envelope had been delivered. He even linked it to Jimin, which almost offended me.

I still remember how, on a stupid whim, I had to dye his hair pink in the middle of the night while his sweet, high-pitched voice babbled something like, "Make me look like the Sugar Plum Fairy." After that, you swore to be absolutely loyal to me, Jimin.

All men do is lie.

I didn't have the strength to play in peepers with purple paper. It was giving me a headache. I also had to give an answer to one of the culprits in this situation; otherwise, the scale of the drama would reach the dimensions of the universe.

Come on, Nabi. It's just an envelope. It won't bite you.

After I had settled down comfortably on the bed, I decided to begin to reply to Yeonjun's message.

"I've received the envelope with the documents you told me about, Jun. I'm so grateful for your help." Okay, that was nice, maybe. Or at least I wanted it to be that way. I'm definitely not going to text him to say that I've been deliberately ignoring his texts and calls. Anyway, we had a pretty interesting relationship with Yeonjun. They were never very sweet. The second one was for Jimin, and as my fingers were hovering over the letters with the first apologies, the phone started to vibrate.

Our photo with Jimin flashed on the screen. We were on a trip to Pusan, his hometown. The golden beach in the purple sunset, smiling Chim and Taehyung—his gorgeous boyfriend-and me with a grimace, burnt shoulders and one shoe in hand, the other lost in an unequal battle with tidal waves. When you look at this photo, you can immediately say that it is summer, my least favourite season. I don't even know why it was necessary for them to drag me along on this trip. Most of the time I was on my own. While Chimin tried to lick Te's tonsils or fought off the frat boys who thought buying a sugary-sweet cocktail would magically open my legs. So that was how two weeks of my "fun" summer holiday went by.

And here we are again, back to the lie. Let's go; it'll be fun, they said.

How this photo ended up on Jimin's contact screen is still a mystery to me. But that's not the point now. I took a deep breath and picked up the phone:

"Hi baby."

"Oh! Did you really answer my call instead of ignoring it as usual? How can you treat me like this? I am your soul mate. The only light in your dark world; you don't love me at all?" There was the sound of a fake sob on the other side of the phone. "I've never been ignoring you, Chim." I didn't get to finish because I was interrupted.

"I've called you a lot—eighteen times to be exact. And you, my dear butterfly, haven't answered a single call. You're making me nervous, Nabi, and that's making Taehyung nervous."

"If you'd let me finish, then you'd know how much I love you and how impossible it is to ignore you." He couldn't see my smile. But I'm sure he could feel it in my words. "You are the only light in my boring life; will you forgive me? And please apologise to Tae. I know my sunlight can be quite unbearable sometimes. So why did you call me?"

"First of all, I wanted to know if you'd received an envelope from Yeonjun; you don't answer when he calls, so he called me. More importantly, have you opened it, Nabi?" He asked, sounding genuinely interested as he spoke.

"Yes, Chim, I got the envelope." I ran my fingers over the dark purple paper in a thoughtful manner. "And no, I didn't open it yet. I'm not sure I even wanna. Is this a good idea, Jimin? All of it?"

"You're being too dramatic, in my opinion. Jun wants to help you. All you have to do, my beautiful butterfly, is relax and accept his help. Sometimes sweet little girls like you just need someone who can solve all of their problems for them." Jimin told me in a patronizing way. In a way, I had to agree with him, but hey! I'm not a damsel in distress or a sugar baby; even though I was in trouble, it wasn't as bad as it looked. Jimin's a bit of an exaggerator. "It's not that hard. You go to the club with Yeonjun, have fun, and in the morning you have a few thousand dollars in your account. How does that sound for you?" Park Jimin had a very annoying way of being right all the time. It really wasn't that hard to accept Yeonjun's offer, earn enough to pay off your debts, and take a little time out of the eternal race for money. In the end, I have to think about myself sometimes.

"Okay, I'll listen to you and try to relax. One last question, though: Are you trusting Yeonjun?" And this question made me feel much more uncomfortable than the secret clubs, the elite society, and the complete financial crisis.

"Absolutely." Now his voice sounded confident and serious. "Nabi, Yeonjun and I have been friends for years. I'm sure you'll be safe around him. Jun wants the best for you, and so do I, and if you'll let us, we'll give it to you. You do know that you can ask me for anything, right?" The warmth and care that I could hear in every single word that he said to me warmed my heart. "I am not going to ask you for money."

"You're a stubborn, willful, and terribly categorical bitch, and now I can understand why you haven't had sex for so long. Can't you just let me and Tae look after you? Say the word, and you'll have the whole world to yourself. Sometimes I honestly don't understand how I can love you with such intensity. Given your utter inability to take advantage of opportunities. We're the best package deal ever. Do you know that? Where else are you going to find such a good dick and a black card as a bonus?" He asked.

"Jesus, Jimin! You can stop this. We're not fucking, is that clear? And I'm not going to take your money, even if you try to put your credit card in my hand every time. I can handle this on my own. "I shouted in a huff.

"OK, don't be uptight." He was such a bitch sometimes. He really enjoyed irritating me. "But I'm right. Aren't I? It's been a long time since you've been scolded. Go on, say I'm right. Come on, Nabi, tell me everything. Are you playing with yourself, dirty girl, or do you need to be taught a lesson? I want details."

There were times when I couldn't understand why God was punishing me in this way, but I guess it was the reckoning for the sins of my ancestors that could come in the form of the pink-headed Park Jimin.

"I hate you. I wasn't serious.

"I know." Chimin said cheekily. "By the way, to calm your nerves a bit, I'll tell you. I personally know some members of the club you and Yeonjun are going to. They are Taehyung's friends, so have no fear. But the best thing about these clubs are the men. Nabi, there are men there who make me believe in the existence of Greek gods and fallen angels." Jimin said it dreamily. "God, I would show them how flexible I can be if I didn't go out with Tae."

"All right, stop with that. I get it." I wasn't in the mood to listen to the dirty fantasies of my best friend right now. Especially when you consider the fact that he was absolutely right about my sexual life. I'd been single for a long time.

"Okay, nun, I won't corrupt you; otherwise, you'll have a desire for sex."

"Park Jimin!" I squealed.

Jimin just laughed out loud on the other side of the phone.

"I won't do it again. I promise." Actually, I didn't call you in the first place because of Yeonjun or your arrangement, but I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go somewhere with me.

"Where exactly do you have it in mind?"

"Do you have any idea about Paradigm?" "That fancy spiritualist boutique on Instagram everyone's talking about? I've had a bit of a hearing about it." Why would Jimin want to go to Paradigm? It was a place that was just as private and secret as the one that I had to go to with Yeonjun. "I have to pick up some packages for Taehyung; you know he's obsessed with all kinds of mystical stuff, and this damn boutique only gives out packages—no deliveries—can you imagine that? It feels like the Holy Grail, not a silly amulet."

"As defined by your style with Tae, it sounds terribly stilted and expensive. Sure, I'll go. Give me an hour or so; I need some time to pack."

"Fine, I'll pick you up. Wait for me, my love."

"Please, just pick something a little more simple than your Porsche.

"I love my Porsche; what's wrong with my car?"

"It's too much attention. Last time, everyone at the university talked about it for a whole week. There were even questions about whether you were my sugar daddy or not.

"I definitely love it. It is the universe's way of telling you that there is no need for resistance. I am going to take care of you, my little butterfly. And I am definitely going to come and pick you up in a Porsche. See you in one hour, baby."

"Jimin, just not in a Porsche!" I shouted, but it was too late; I only heard beeping.

As always, it was Park Jimin who had the last word.

I was happy to be able to postpone opening the purple envelope for a while because of this unexpected trip. Even though an occult boutique or something like that wasn't the best prospect.

Anyway, it's time to pack.

Jimin has a strict rule. He's never late.

Exactly one hour later, Jimin's Porsche picked me up from the dorm, and to all my indignation, the only response he gave was a mocking giggle.

There was good traffic on the roads. After twenty minutes, we stopped at the glass door with the silver star engraving. The exquisite sign above the door read as follows: Paradigm is a boutique of spiritualism." The phases of the moon, from New Moon to Descending Moon, were written on the board below the sign.

"Let's go, Nabi. Pick up the package, and I'll take you home. I know you still need to get Yeonjun registered." Chim wrapped his hands around my forearm and literally dragged me into the boutique as we entered.

As we walked in, the bells above the door began to ring, but the sound was not familiar to me; it looked more like glass than metal. When I looked up, I understood the reason for the sound. There were crystal bells hanging above the door, with long strings of pearls and little silver crescents. It was a very beautiful sight. While I had my eyes on the bells, Jimin was already in conversation with the girl behind the counter. She was tall, with a cascade of long, golden hair. Her features were large and expressive. The girl looked more like a model than a soothsayer or spiritualist, although in the age of Instagram, maybe that's what modern wizards and witches should look like.

I couldn't hear the whole of the conversation, just bits and pieces of it: "It's a parcel for Kim Taehyung. "Yes, it concerns the Kim family." "Please deliver it as soon as possible."

While they were talking, I thought I'd take a look around the shop.

The common room was not large; the shape of the room was round, probably because of some mystical meaning. The walls were covered with velvet curtains, behind which a number of doors were concealed. On metal shelves were various objects: crystal balls, shards of precious stones, heavy tomes on voodoo and fortune-telling, ancient talismans in forged frames, hare legs—a symbol of good luck—and other magical items. There was something macabre about this place—a thick, dense air in which the scent of frankincense and myrtle was vivid—and the heavy, lingering presence of something otherworldly, like a ghostly footprint—a very evil footprint. In all other respects, it was the same luxurious, new-fangled boutique for the chosen rich or the mystical amateur.

My attention was drawn to a crown. It lay on a velvet cushion on one of the many shelves. There were nine black diamonds at the center of the crown. They were surrounded by rubies, so deep in scarlet that they cast a black glow, and pearls to match. The lines of the metal were twisted. They were like snakes wrapped around jewels. The cut of the diamonds was not typical; it was something extremely rare for this kind of gemstone—the Empress.

I was drawn to this crown as if it were a magnet. This feeling of inescapable attraction that you can't resist—I have a feeling like this crown has always belonged to me. Now we are finally reunited. I reached out to touch it, to feel the coolness of the dark, glittering diamonds under my fingers, and I almost did when someone's hand fell on my shoulder.

"You shouldn't touch that, dear."

I gave a frightened jerk, either at the touch of someone else or at the low voice that had come so close to me.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I was just attracted to this crown, and I..." I had no idea how to explain the fact that I'd literally had a call from a piece of metal. Even for a place like this, it might have sounded crazy.

As I turned, I saw a woman in her 40s. Like the girl at the counter, she was more like a modern socialite on Instagram than an occult shop worker.

"All right, darling, the important thing is that you stopped it in time. This thing has a bad reputation; every one of its owners has ended up committing suicide. Anyway, my name is Kim Seoyun, owner of Paradigm. What brings you here today?"

"I'm here with a friend who needs to pick up a package for his boyfriend."

"A young man with pink hair, right? He's in the office with JaYoung; they're in charge of the registration," Seoyun said.

Even the names of the two were breathtakingly beautiful and meaningful. Sometimes the universe invests more in some than others. Seoyun frowned for a moment, as if she had read my thoughts. Then her face cleared, and she smiled softly.

"You're a beautiful girl, Nabi."

"Thank you." I sounded terribly stupid; sometimes I act like a complete fool, but I couldn't think of a more witty response. There was an uncomfortable silence between us. Until it was broken by SeoYun, who asked me a question.

"Do you want me to tell you what your fate is going to be like? My clients are of the opinion that I'm very precise in my predictions."

"Oh no, you don't have to do that." I waved away. "I don't really have a lot of faith in destiny and omens."

"You don't believe in destiny?" She arched her eyebrow in a skeptical manner. "Or don't you want to believe in it?"

"I'm a realist; I can't imagine believing in a destiny and hoping for some mystical higher power to intervene."

"Hmm, this is quite interesting. Come on, let's play," she said, picking up a Taro deck and opening it like a fan. She handed it to me. "You choose five cards; two of them are about love, two of them are about the future, and the last card is about the inevitable destiny, something that's been foretold since your birth."

I won't lie, I was so curious, even though I had no faith in the cards in my hand. My hand reached out for a pack of cards, my fingers hovering over the smooth, flickering surface as if I were trying to feel the ones I needed.

Fatum—the word had a scary ring to it.

AfterI had quickly decided on the four cards, I solemnly drew the last card and handed it over to Miss Kim.

Seoyun took the cards from me with a knowing smile. She began to turn them over one by one and started to explain what each meant.

"You are going to love like it is hard to imagine." She said. Feelings carried threatening limits. Crazy, wild, and burning love—this is a card that comes up very rarely, but it has a very strong meaning. It is the Queen of Cups. For someone who really loves you, you are going to be a true queen, a goddess; everything will be done for you; everything you want will be fulfilled; but if you get too caught up in this feeling, you will be too easily controlled. As strong as this love is, so strong is the destructiveness of it. You should be more careful with it.

The next card was turned over by Seoyun.

"The star is a bright omen for you. You have a choice in front of you that will change everything. Follow the star, and it will show you the path, but remember, no star shines without darkness. This is a map that will lead you to where you need to be. In search of that guiding star, it looks like I'm going to have to look up in the sky some more. Perhaps I should also follow the spiders in order to find the Chamber of Secrets as well.

I treated them with absolute skepticism.

"Death: everything has a cycle, and when death appears, it means you're nearing the end of one. The appearance of death is the end of one cycle and the beginning of another. It may have something to do with the love that awaits you. Your loneliness is about to end."

"The Five Cups is a situation in which you are stuck and can't move forward. This card is about your problems and the need for change in your life. This is the same kind of magical kick that is followed by heavy and dramatic events. The Fives indicate that this is only the second act of the great play; there is still much to come, but the finale promises to be happy if you accept your destiny. Otherwise, it can always end in tragedy. This card tells you: Accept yourself and surrender."

I didn't have a bit of faith in her words. If Jimin or Lia had been in my place, they would have been on a shopping spree for amulets and shamans; their belief in the afterlife was absurdly high.

Before I turned the last card, Seoyun took my hand. She looked me in the eyes seriously and asked:

"Are you sure that you want to know what fate has meant for you, because sometimes it's hard to deal with it?"

"Yes, I do. I'd like to hear it." Isn't that the whole point of a fortune telling?

It's just a deck of cards and some vague words from a pseudo fortune-teller. What could possibly go wrong?

When Miss Kim turned over the last card, her face went pale, and she let the palm of her hand slip out of hers as if it had been burned.

"Go away." sounded like undisguised horror in Seoyun's voice. "Leave immediately. JaYoung, accompany her to the exit, now." She turned away from me, clutching the card in her hand.

I never had a chance to have a look at what was on it.

"What is going on? Why are you kickin' us outta here? What did you see on that card? "In complete disregard for my questions, Miss Kim hurried to the office door, hiding behind the curtains.

Just then, JaYoung and Jimin came out of the other room with a small black box tied with a gold ribbon. It must have been a parcel for Taehyung to take.

"Nabi, are you all right?" Jimin asked me in a worried tone.

No, it wasn't all right; the lady looked at me as if I were one of the bad omens of the biblical coming.

What was it about this card that was able to frighten her to such an extent?

"JaYoung, take her to the exit and close the boutique; we will not be working any more today."

I grabbed the woman's hand before she could turn the doorknob and disappear into the darkness of the room.

"What's the meaning of the last card? Tell me; I'm not going to leave here until you tell me."

"Death is closer to you than you think. It's already on its way to you." Her whole body began to shivered as if it were cold, but the shop was warm. I would say stuffy.

"Who's comin'? What are you talkin' about?" I insisted on it.

Seoyun suddenly turned to me and pushed a crumpled tarot card into my hand. There was There was madness in her dark eyes, and her pupils were so dilated that they were almost the thick green of her iris.

"The Devil."

After that, she practically pushed me to the exit, where I met a worried and confused Jimin. We came out of the boutique, and the door behind us clicked in a characteristic way.

This was not how I had imagined a trip to Paradigm.

"What the hell just happened?"

"You'll believe me when I say I have no idea." Jimin and I looked at each other.

"Next time Taehyung will pick up his stupid packages themselves, I will not go to places like that again. Nabi, I saw someone's canned heart in a jar and bat carcasses. Did you know they have such tiny, sharp teeth? I could swear that I've never seen anything so disgusting in all my life." He said.

"No more occult boutiques, I totally agree with you. Let's go home, I still have to send the paperwork over to Jun."

"I must have something to drink first, and the stronger the better. Let's go to 'Salvatore' and then go home."

I took one last look at the sign, which was now shimmering faintly in the setting sun. I crumpled the card into a small ball and threw it in the rubbish bin next to me.

The Devil, of course. I'm not going to believe the words of this crazy fortune teller. Maybe I should scatter the salt at the entrance, or then he will suddenly knock on my door.

Two hours later, after a big margarita for two and a few glasses of red wine, Jimin took me home, and I was in the same position as before the whole stupid trip to Paradigm.

Sitting on my bed, hypnotised by a dark purple envelope with documents from Yeonjun. There was no point in putting it off any longer.

Instead of pulling a millimeter at a time, I need to learn how to rip off a plaster in one move. Maybe deep down I'm a masochist if I prefer this method, but right now I don't have the time to sort out my hidden sexual desires.

I picked up the envelope; it was surprisingly heavy and pleasantly soft to the touch. The paper had a pleasant odor of powder and velvet, a reminder of the Victorian era in England. Unrequited love letters must have smelled like that.

The envelope was sealed by a wax seal with a monogram cast in an antique shade of gold. When I opened it, the thin wax cracked under my fingers, leaving a glistening particle on them. Inside were a number of documents tied together: a non-disclosure agreement, a handwritten note, and a velour jewellery bag bound with silk ribbons and embroidered with opals and sapphires. I'm sure this little thing was worth twice what I'd been paid in six months, and what lay inside cost much more.

My first choice was a piece of paper. Yeonjun had always written in an incredibly beautiful way - calligraphed, like a fountain pen, with little curls at the end of the letters.

"My lovely Nabi, I look forward to seeing you this Saturday. I am so glad that you have agreed to take me up on my offer. A treasure like you deserves the best in the world, and I'm overjoyed to give it to you. In case you change your mind and decide to back out of your contract with ”Crescent,” I will be the one to pay all of your bills and your tuition fees in the future. We have already discussed this with Jimin. Despite your stubborn refusal to accept any financial help from us, I will do it anyway."

Sometimes I think that all of my friends have a sugar daddy complex; their desperate desire to pay for everything in my life is taken to the extreme. Of course, if you grew up with a "golden spoon" in your mouth, a few thousand dollars, it was absolutely nothing. But for me, it was an exorbitant burden, and yet I wanted to handle it myself.

As dubious as it sounds, I didn't want to say no.

"There's a confidentiality agreement in the envelope, and you need to sign it until tomorrow night. Your session is scheduled for Saturday night. We have to be at ”Crescent” by 23:00, after which Seulgi, the main administrator, will pick up a perfectly compatible client for you to donate blood. Before you meet her, I want to make sure that all the paperwork is in order. There are also two versions of the contract that you should have a look at.”

The ”Crescent” allows donors to choose whether they want to work with them for a year or for one night. Accordingly, there are two types of contracts: annual and one-off.

”I've picked out an outfit for you to wear when we go to ”Crescent”; it'll arrive on Friday with everything you need. You'll look gorgeous, and I'm sure you'll thank me afterwards. Personally, I think you could do with showing a little more of your skin and accentuating the sexy lines of your body. For my taste, you're too modest.”

I squeezed my eyes shut in annoyance. If my buttocks weren't pressed up against the skirt and my breasts weren't protruding, I'd certainly be too modest. The more skin on display, the better. Jun's preference was something I was well aware of. A nice outfit was to be forgotten, and if my underwear was even a little bit covered, I would consider myself lucky. I was sure there would be no thanks on my part.

"The club's owners give all new donors a thank-you gift. It's inside an envelope. Accept it with all sincerity, because you are giving them your life's resources, and this is the least they can do for you. It is also their request that you wear it on your arrival at the “Crescent.”

My dear Nabi, it will be a night you'll never forget. I can assure you of that.

All my love, Yeonjun. "

I was very excited about the prospect of Saturday night. There was a feeling that there was some hidden meaning in the whole situation that I was missing out on. My brain was sending me distress and danger signals, just like Yeonjun. Be careful. The storm is coming.

In any case, sometimes it is better to be at ease and just go with the flow. Like Jimin said, I should be less dramatic.

I signed the NDA contract right away. I'll definitely forget it if I don't do it now. Checking Yeonjun's words against the remaining documents in the envelope, there were two versions of the contract: a one-off and an annual one. I decided to save the gift from the owners of the 'Crescent' for the very end. My first choice was the one-off contract. There were fewer pages, and it was clearer and easier to read.

The first item on the contract was the NDA. There was a long explanation of why it was so important and necessary.

"All "Crescent" clients are people of high social status and position. Their privacy is of the utmost priority to us. Especially with regard to their "special" conditions and specific needs, we want to guarantee our clients complete privacy. Each donor undertakes to sign a confidentiality agreement prior to the first session. Otherwise, the contract between the donor and our client will not be concluded." Guests of the club, hereinafter referred to as "donors," are obliged to keep confidential all the information obtained during personal meetings as well as everything that happens during the blood transfusion, hereinafter referred to as "sessions."

Well, it sounded a bit strange, but I could understand why "Crescent" insisted on signing a contract of this kind. In today's world, it is difficult to keep things secret. And when you are dealing with powerful and wealthy people, it is even more difficult. Paparazzi lurk around every corner, and tabloids are ready to start a scandal with the slightest spark, especially in South Korea.

Who in their right mind would want to survive the criticism, the judgment, and the airing of dirty laundry?

The donor's responsibilities and the client's expectations were the next point in the contract.

In short, you become an exclusive blood donor for one or more clients of the club after signing the contract. This is what Yeonjun told me as well. This form of contract required a single "session."

They didn't give any details, just that the service was linked to a certain type of genetics in their clients and was urgently needed. They did not say how the transfusion process would take place.

"The donor agrees to give their blood and receives financial compensation from the club after a successful procedure. The whole process is strictly controlled by "Crescent" staff. They also act as intermediaries between the donor and the client. Their job is to carry out a compatibility test that will guarantee a better result in the transfusion."

Point three is called "testing for compatibility."

Each donor was tested for compatibility before the "session," and the club administrators—as I learned from Yeonjun's note, my administrator's name is Seulgi—took a blood sample and compared it with the most suitable partner or partners. It was not only the blood that was important, but the members of the club also had a long list of preferences and wishes that the donor had to match. Looks were not the least of these. Height, weight, hair colour, body type, nationality, and age—the list seemed endless. There was even a clause about the type of voice and the food preferences of the donor. Let's just say: "Crescent" customers were very spoiled and had a personal view of the blood donation process. Partner - It sounded a little too intimate to me for this kind of situation, and it clearly had a double meaning.

The most pleasant of all—financial compensation—was point number four.

"For voluntarily donating their life resources, all donors receive financial compensation from "Crescent," ranging from $1,000 to $3,000. The amount paid varies according to the amount of blood donated and the status of the client with whom the donor was matched".

It was a fabulous amount of money. It was a very quick income, but it wasn't that easy. I felt it in my gut. The work was flawless; there was just no such thing.

I've reached the last point in the contract - the completion of the agreement.

Here are the details of the beginning and end of the 'session', how the money was paid, how the donors returned home, and other details. The start of each 'session' was exactly midnight, but the donor had to be at the club two hours before for preparation. The 'session' ended at 8am the next day. In general, the whole process took up to eight hours. The transfusion took place in private rooms, the doors of which were locked from the beginning to the end of the "session." Inside the rooms, there was a "panic button" in case of unforeseen situations.

The transfusion process itself is only revealed on arrival at the "Crescent," as the paragraph indicates: "is not standard." The donors were taken home by the club staff at the end of the "session." If there was a request from the client for the donor to be taken home in person, there was no objection to this.

And that's all. The one-off contract was over. A few thousand dollars have been added to your bank account.

I won't lie, it sounded fabulous. But there was a lot that made me feel confused and want to know.

Some of the clauses in the contract left me scratching my head with their veiled meaning and ambiguous choice of words.

So I moved on to the second version of the contract - the one for the year.With lots of footnotes and sub-paragraphs, it was twice as long.

It had the same beginnings: the NDA agreement, the donation, and the compatibility test, but then everything changed dramatically.

Gone was the faceless "client." In its place came the "patron." Now it sounded as if there was a contract between the patron and the donor. In addition to this new word, there were also new points to be included in the contract.

Medical care, diet, sports with a private trainer, spa treatments, and even specific items such as painting, dancing, and music lessons. From the signing of the annual contract, which included renting accommodation, paying bills and school fees, giving gifts, traveling, and so on, the patrons were fully responsible for the welfare and comfort of their exclusive donor.

They promised to keep the donor happy and satisfied and to see to whatever needed to get done. It was now that the ambiguity of the word 'partner' began to make sense to me. In this contract, it was clearly stated that the business relationship could continue between the sheets.

"The sexual or romantic relationship between the donor and the patron is their personal affair and is welcome if both parties are interested in and attracted to each other. All intimate details, including details of the sexual act, remain strictly confidential between donor and client. A list of the sexual practices as well as the permissible kinks will be discussed in advance. The donor is entitled to determine the acceptable boundaries of sexual contact, its intensity, and the degree of emotional "subspace" involved. A stop word is chosen in advance, or the clients can always use the color system: green - yellow - red.

Donors have the right to appeal to the management of the club if, at any time, their rights have been violated and they have been subjected to emotional, physical, or sexual coercion. The owners of "Crescent" have an obligation to provide the donor with a safe place and appropriate specialists for the assessment of the donor's condition. The contract is suspended. Further details are awaited. The issue can be resolved peacefully. In the worst case, the contract will be terminated immediately, and the donor will be compensated for a period of five years." That was certainly not my expectation. I will have to ask Yeonjun if he has any knowledge of such cases, if they have happened, or if anyone has ever had an early termination of a contract.

In addition, it was stated that such a relationship was not obligatory and that if the donor did not want to have sexual relations with the patron, he could refuse, and the patron would have no insistence.

But I don't think many donors would refuse, considering that even Jimin, who is dating an absolutely perfect and insanely attractive man named Taehyung, talked about the beauty of “Crescent's“ clients. It's a very tempting offer, even though it sounds like a twisted version of sugar daddy with a bloody kink.

There have also been some changes to the point about the financial compensation. It is now a compulsory monthly allowance. Depending on the status of the patron, it could range from $30,000 to $90,000 a year. The more he or she could afford to pay, the higher the amount of the benefit. The money was divided into equal parts. It was paid over the duration of the contract. Always on the first Monday of the month.

I can't imagine that anyone would be willing to pay that kind of money for your blood. Obviously, for the members of the “Crescent“, this was an acute question, as the amount in the contract had several zeros.

One of the most important points in the contract was the exclusivity clause.

This was unacceptable for an annual contract, unlike a one-off contract, which allowed the donor to contract with different clients each time. To put it bluntly: Your blood belonged to the sponsor. In this respect, there were so many requirements and so many details written down that were important to the patron. In addition, the one-year contract was only available to donors who had knowledge of the club's clients or staff. Yeonjun was one of them. So I received two versions of the contract instead of one.

At the end, there was the same information about the terms and conditions of the 'meeting' and a few paragraphs about the expiry of the one-year contract.

Having read the contracts, I felt like we were in a strange combined version of 50 Shades of Gray and True Blood.

With a heavy sigh, I leaned back on the pillows, putting the papers to one side, and pressed my cheek against the fluffy, soft toy. It felt good against my skin, the soft purple velour. It was a weird variation on 'Princess of the Bumpy Space' from 'Adventure Time'. Minho had given it to me after another drunken debacle. How he came into possession of this toy is still a complete mystery to all of us.

I had a couple of thoughts about my options. On the one hand, I could make a one-off deal with them and then forget about what had happened the next morning. The amount they offered to compensate me would have been enough to make me feel good for a while, but certainly not enough to pay off all the debts and put some aside just in case.

On the other hand, there was a contract for one year with regular payments and various bonuses, but this also involved a mysterious and demanding patron. One year, and I can say goodbye to all the debts I owe. There was also the chance, without a boring, monotonous job in a bookshop, a tiny room in a student dormitory, or a permanent pit of debt, to see the world, enjoy art, and simply live and be happy.

All this was offered to me on a silver platter. But somehow I thought it was a deal with the devil rather than a blessing from an angel.

In that tempting sentence, there was too much 'but'.

All my thoughts had me on the verge of tears and screams at the same time.

I looked around my little room: dim, mousy grey painted walls; scattered notes and piles of textbooks on the table; picture frames; toys; piles of crumpled blankets on the floor; and a black Balmain velvet jacket that once belonged to Minho, but which he is absolutely certain makes me look better than him. In addition to my things, there were a few of Lia's dresses and Yeonjun's leather jacket, which he left me after one of our many meetings, in my wardrobe, which was tiny by Jimin and Minho's standards. The contrast between their clothes and mine was unbelievable - brand labels, monograms, and distinctive prints - all screaming about their high cost and inaccessibility. I could never have that kind of money, but I had the desire. I really wanted to have it.

This sense of accessibility was something I was curious about.

There was a thick twilight beyond the window. A scattering of purple light poured into the room, turning the whole room a mystical shade of purple. As it danced along the walls, the colour dripped down to the floor, making it look like dark purple water. You could see the first stars begin to appear in the rapidly darkening sky, their broken light sparking off a sapphire embroidered ribbon on a small jewellery bag. I had completely forgotten all about this so-called gift. The cobalt blue sapphires mirrored each other and looked like the eyes of a big cat. That's how I'd always imagined the eyes of a predator - shining in that mystical blue. I took the pouch in my hand and shook it lightly in an attempt to determine what was inside, but the contents did not make a sound.

The silk ribbon came undone with ease. I stared at the contents of the bag with unblinking eyes. Inside was a delicate ornament made of white gold. Thin lines were woven into a star shape. It was inlaid with sapphires and diamonds. It was mesmerizing to look at. Whoever made this necklace obviously put a great deal of love into it. The shape of the ornament itself was not standard; it was more like a guide star in the center of the compass.

I was reminded of what Miss Kim had said to me today as my fingers gently traced the pattern of the necklace.

"Follow the stars, and they will show you the way. A star is a bright omen."

Could it just be a coincidence that the piece of jewelry I was holding in my hand was nothing less than a guiding star?

Either way, I'll definitely be wearing it Saturday—not just because the owners asked me to, but because it is my wish. Perhaps this star will indeed show me the way, but one thing I was sure of was that it was the most beautiful piece of jewelry I'd ever seen.

I thought I'd put the jewelry back in my bag and do some paperwork for Yeonjun. I've had enough mystical prophecies and rich patrons for one day, so I've left the contract selection for Saturday. I'm going to spend the evening resting and relaxing. I'll have a long, hot bath with butter and pink salt, which Jiminy brought me from Paris. I will read a book or listen to a meditation course and call upon my inner "I" to harmonise.

Meditation and soul-searching have become very popular with Lia lately. As a result, I have a whole bookshelf in my room that is dedicated to books of this kind and various CDs with meditation and breathing exercises. Last month, she even gave me a decorative fountain, which was supposed to be calming and relaxing but in fact made me feel more nervous and annoyed than soothed. I looked at the jewelry bag containing the necklace again after gathering all the documents.

"The star will show the way..."

And it's only now that I realise that I've never said my name, Miss Kim, and I don't know how she came to know it.

"You're a beautiful girl, Nabi."

For a moment, I thought that maybe her words weren't made up or lying, but rather a warning, but it was only for a second.

I decided not to give it much thought, shaking my head as if to drive the thought away. If it were a sign of my destiny, it'd be my meeting with her on Saturday. I looked out the window again. As if mocking me, the crescent moon shone brightly through the thick midnight clouds. One thing I was absolutely sure of: a visit to 'Сrescent' would change my life forever.

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez yandere #ateez x reader #kpop smut #ateez fanfic #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez ot8 #ateez imagines #seonghwa smut #ateez san #san smut #hongjoong smut #ateez wooyoung #yunho smut

[stressfulsloth]

In regards to your post “and now I'm. Just thinking about the loneliness that is SO pervasive through Elysium.”…

I have one thing to offer, or perhaps nitpick if you’d prefer it that way.

I don’t think it’s entirely fair to say the Sunday Friend isn’t a real friend. The Smoker On The Balcony believes him to be a real friend, even if he isn’t going to be there come Monday morn. But isn’t that enough? A friend on Sunday is still a friend, even if it makes waking up Monday all the worse.

Perhaps I’m biased though! Now that I think about it, most of my friends would fit the description. “Fair weather friend” feels to cold, but “sunday friend” is good enough.

And of course none of this is to say your post is at all wrong. It’s lovely and true. I just felt the need to quarrel publicly with that little detail.

To conclude, since I really just did not make myself very clear here; you are utterly correct to include the Sunday Friend in a post about loneliness but I take slight issue with saying he’s not a real friend. And so I wrote you a very long ask. And now as I reach it’s end I’m realising this was a very silly undertaking. But I’ve come this far so I’m going to grow a pair and hit “ask”.

Thank you for taking the time to read this, I hope it isn’t too desperately obnoxious.

Peace out ✌️

Ahh man I'm sorry anon but I'm going to have to disagree with you pretty strongly here 😅 tbh I was a little too easy on him in the original post. It's not necessarily the temporary nature of their acquaintance that makes the Sunday Friend's friendship questionable on its own, although it doesn't help.

The Sunday Friend is quite literally not a friend. "Friend" in his title is a euphemism; he's not coming to visit the Smoker because he's his friend. He's coming to visit the smoker to do a bit of poverty tourism, to admire the crumbling place that his beliefs have helped to destroy, and a bit of heavily implied sex tourism too. A "first world" tourist, a bureaucrat from the international government, visiting one of the most impoverished districts of Revachol to spend his nights with a student. He's not the Smoker's friend, he's a client. They're using 'friend' as a stand-in for his actual role, which is a) as a part of the moralist bureaucratic system repressing the revolution and keeping the city as a whole trapped in a laissez faire purgatory easily exploited by foreign capitalists and ultraliberals, while still maintaining a friendly respectable face, and b) as the Smoker's customer, exploiting the poverty of Martinaise's residents to get what he wants for cheap and using the easy mobility that his money and status give him. Imo he's intended narratively as a parallel for the moralist coalition government; he views from a distance, focused on money and *ze price stabilité* but entirely divorced from the poverty and consequence of his work. Happy to dip his toe in and make use of exploitable populations in Revachol, but always ready to leave too. When asked how he became 'friends' with the smoker, his response is literally to describe the coalition occupying Revachol.

He knows so little about the Smoker beyond him being there to study art, but what kind? "Perhaps graphic design? Printmaking? Who knows?" As to your point about the Smoker thinking he's a real friend, the Smoker is under no illusions about who the Sunday Friend is. An injection of money. Someone with power, someone with the mobility afforded to him by ownership of a non-Revacholian passport, someone content to watch the place decay and do nothing but indulge himself in pet projects and worry about bureaucracy. Someone with the freedom to leave when things get bad; a freedom that is narratively only assigned to a rare few extremely bourgeois characters. Dora, on her flight to Mirova, Joyce and her boat, Trant and his academic travels, and the Sunday Friend who will be out of Martinaise like a shot the moment things start to kick off despite being a part of the overarching structure that is responsible for Revachol's subjugation and rising political tensions. The Sunday Friend will use the Smoker's labour, use the vulnerability of Revachol's precarious situation to his advantage, then once it becomes too precarious or he gets bored, he'll withdraw. In answer to your question, no, I don't think that's enough. Again I probably oversimplified in my last post but the loneliness all throughout DE is not just an emotional state but a political one. Alienation is a major theme. As is the impossibility of building community in the face of capitalism relentlessly subsuming anything in its path, in the face of shallow relationships dictated by the need for survival. The Sunday Friend embodies that concept perfectly. He is exquisitely shallow in conversation, a perfect moralist who at all times strives to remain impartial and distant.

Anyway. Tldr; my point is that the relationship between the Smoker and the Sunday Friend is far more transactional, and far more exploitative, than you seem to believe. "Friend" is not being used literally but euphemistically. A 'fairweather friend' is better than none, sure, but that's entirely inapplicable to this situation. Sorry for the long post and I hope it's not too rambling- I'm surviving on very little sleep right now but I hope it clears up for you a bit why I referred to the Sunday friend in that way initially.

#disco elysium #sunday friend #long post #sorry this is such a long reply- there is so much more that i could add but i am cutting myself off or I'd carry on forever

[giggly-bun]

Oh Archons {ChiLi}

A/N [WARNING THIS IS A TICKLE FIC] if you don’t like it, don’t read it. Sorry for any mistakes that i’ve made but i hope if you read this I hope you enjoy it. i was going to post this for tickletober but i decided to convert them into fics instead but i hope you enjoy it all the same :D - bunny 🔮

“My, my, Zhongli, I didn’t realise an archon could be so ticklish.” Childe hummed. Below him, Zhongli barely had the strength to form any words, coherent words that is, as Childe was currently drilling his thumbs into the former archon’s hips.

“CHIHIHIHILDE!” He cried, bucking his hips up and inevitably pushing himself further into the tickles. Childe just chuckled at the situation.

“Yes, my dear, what can I do for you?”

“STAHAHA- STAHAP! CHAHAHANGE PLACES!” Though his laugh was being broken up by low chuckles, Zhongli was borderline hysteric at this point. His face was flushed, head tossing this way and that to escape the sensations. The feeling was jarring, almost maddening- the harbinger’s dull nails would occasionally scratch at the thin bit of skin, thumbs pressing right in the divot of his hips, the feeling only intensifying because of the way Zhongli had been stretched taut. Childe did an exaggerated thinking face, fingers still toggling with the hypersensitive muscles exposed.

“I don’t know, Zhongli, you’re laughing so much I must assume that you like this spot?” He said, switching to scribbling along with his blunt nails. Zhongli shook his head vehemently. This was meant to be a relaxing afternoon, the elder had prepared them some jasmine tea, intending to have a peaceful chat and spend some quality time together, something they hadn’t had in quite a while. Had he known that Childe would be in one of his more playful moods, perhaps he would’ve worn more layers of protection. Alas, the thin shirt he was clad in wasn’t offering him much help, not that any protection was guaranteed to make him feel any better. The man was just far too sensitive in that one spot.

“No?”

“nohohoHOHOHO! ihihihit’s terrIHIHIble GAH-!” The ginger smirked at the answer. He would switch between poking, prodding and toggling at the spot. Zhongli arched his back before abruptly slamming it back down, only once he realised he was practically offering his tickle spots up to his devious boyfriend’s fingers. Childe couldn’t help but smirk.

“Oh, well if you don’t find it funny, I suppose I’ll stop when you stop laughing. That sound fair, love?” How unbelievably cruel!

“chihihihiHIHIHIHILDE! i-ihihihi HEHEHE! i-i cahahan’t!” Zhongli cried, his face bright red.

“You can’t? Well, why can’t you? Surely a man of your power and status can simply keep a straight face for a little longer, right, Mr Zhongli?” He teased. He punctuated his sentence by pinching Zhongli’s hips, causing the man to let out an involuntary snort. Childe snickered. “It can’t be that bad, can it? You aren’t that ticklish, are you, love?”

He was.

Terribly so.

Every other word he tried to speak came off with a squeal or giggle. He was deeply embarrassed by the noises he was making, trying to cover them up by turning his head to the side. Childe was absolutely infatuated with how his lover looked right now. Adorned in a deep blush that spread to his ears, and a grin that outshone the sun itself. He smiled fondly at his cackling boyfriend.

“Gods above, Zhongli, I could just eat you up right now. Oh, that’s not a bad idea actually.” He stated, a new glimmer in his eye. Maybe if the other wasn’t in hysterics, he would’ve seen the way Childe’s eyes lit up.

“w-whahahat dohohoho y-yohou me-EEEEEK CHIHIHIHIHILDE! S-STAHAHAHAP!” An unhinged shriek ripped from his throat, loud bouts of laughter following straight after. With speed that rivalled a top harbinger, the younger had dipped his head down, using his teeth to nibble at Zhongli’s hips with precision. It was enough to drive anyone mad.

He hummed against his skin. “Mmm, you taste so sweet, I could do this all day, Zhongli.” He mused. Zhongli drummed his feet against the arm of the chair, screeching with every bite.

“NOHOHOHO! NOHOHO MOHOHOHOHOHORE- IHIHIHI GIHIHIHIVE!” He cried.

“Already? But we’ve barely gotten started. I can’t just leave the other side lonely, that wouldn’t be fair now, would it?” Said the ginger. He quickly moved his head to nibble at the other side of his hips and Zhongli saw stars. It was like ticklish shocks were being sent through his nervous system and he went wild.

“C-CHIHIHIL- ohohohoho p-pleheheHEHEASE AJAX!” That got his attention. “AJAHAHAHAHAX NOHOHOHO MOHORE!” Childe lifted his head at the call of his name, moving his hands and mouth. Zhongli’s body went limp against the couch, catching up on his breathing but still letting laughter slip out. Ajax smiled and sat up, beginning to rub gently at his boyfriend’s sensitive skin.

“You don’t call me that very often, Zhongli.” He smiled.

“Yehehes w-wehehell, I needed a w-wahahay out.” He giggled out. After a few minutes, Zhongli sat up, shooting daggers at Childe, though the effect was lost as he still had that bright eyed smile etched on his face.

“You can glare at me all you want, I know you still love me.” Childe laughed. Zhongli glanced at him momentarily before humming.

“Perhaps that is true, but do you know one thing I love more than your childish antics?” He said.

“What’s that, Mr Zhongli?”

“Revenge.”

“wha- no no no NOHOHO!”

#tickle fic #tickling #genshin tickle #lee!zhongli #ler!childe

[whatthefishh]

Sativa

Rydal Keener x f!reader

Part of the Oxford Comma series

Warnings: drug use (weed), studying excessively, oral (f receiving), mentions of p in v sex, baby cow eyes.

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: this took me way longer than I intended to write, it’s been a really difficult time in my mind for me and to those who are waiting for requests / chapters of other fics ily for being patient with me ❤️ huge thanks to my lovely mutuals who helped me, especially @xbellaxcarolinax for reading it over several times 🌹 love you

The room was slowly filling with the distinct smell of marijuana, little puffs of air spilling from Rydal’s lips as he took yet another drag of his joint before he tried to proposition you again.

“Wanna take a break now? It’s not like you can absorb the information by just staring at the textbook. Doesn’t work that way.”

You only sigh in response.

“A little smoke might make all those theories seem a little less… theoretical, yknow?” He laughs at the end of his quip like he finds himself extremely amusing.

“Oh, you think me finally giving in to your bad influence will help me pass this exam? You really think that’s the best way to study right now? Really?”

“Not a bad influence, princess, just wanna help you relax,” Rydal says while pushing your hair over your shoulder from where he was lying on his side next to you.

Smacking his hand away, you huff in annoyance. This wasn’t the first time he’s offered it to you, and it was never pressuring. He offered because he offered everything to you, and this was just another one of those things. You didn’t mind the smell. It was just irritating when you were trying to study and were very clearly stressed.

Rydal had learned these concepts from childhood, the topics of discussion in class were the same ones he’d have with his family at dinner, with his father over drinks at the early age of 14 back when he was obsessed with being just like him. The books on the syllabus were his summer readings as a child, the younger version of him desperate to impress with big words and bigger ideas, learning the hows and why’s of socialism when all his peers were riding their bicycles around the neighborhood. He didn’t have to focus as much as you did at this moment. And right now? Your brain was at its limit, barely digesting the words on the pages in front of you.

You lowered the textbook into your lap, turning to look down at him. His head was on the pillow next to you, eyes boring into yours calmly.

You felt your resolve slipping.

“None of this makes sense anymore.”

“What doesn’t?” He asked quietly, changing his teasing tone to match your somber one.

“It’s like, it’s like I’m reading the same thing over and over but I know—“

“You already know everything, you’re overthinking—“

“No, that’s what you think, but the last time I talked to your dad and he full-on tested me—“

“—wasn’t testing you, it came up organically so that doesn’t count—“

“Yes! Yes, he was! Who casually asks someone what their opinion on direct versus indirect democracies is over lunch? Like, what the fuck was I supposed to say?” Your voice is bordering on shrill, the memory of Lawrence’s unimpressed gaze and your face heating up in embarrassment as you struggled for words flashing through your mind.

“I’m sure he’d love hearing your rehearsed opinion next time. For now, though, I’d love to hear your opinion on something else.”

“Does it have to do with our actual reading material or does it have something to do with getting lost in a cloud of smoke with you?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“I just wanna make you feel better, baby, is that so wrong?” Rydal is looking up at you, unwavering, moving to finger the edge of the sweater you had on before dipping his hand underneath to rest on your back.

Looking at him with those eyes, the intense deep stare he held; his pink lips and their slight upturn, gentle and playful all at once —you made up your mind.

Propping your hand to take the joint from him, he doesn’t give it but instead, he sits up to guide it to your lips himself, his other hand clutching your waist. Rydal rests the tip of it against your lips, his eyes watching the way you wrap them around it delicately and you swear you could see his pupils dilate and hear his breathing slow down.

“Take it nice and slow, deep breath,” he murmurs, eyes locked on your mouth as you inhale, “hold it, that’s it. Good girl. Now slowly exhale.”

You did as you were told, feeling the smoke fill up your lungs and burn slightly as you held it, and then exhaled straight into Rydal’s face.

“Oh god, sorry I didn’t realize how close—“

Before you could finish speaking, he took a deep drag of the joint and hungrily pressed his lips against yours, inadvertently blowing the smoke into your mouth while doing so. You could feel his warm breath mixing with yours, your hearts beating in unison as his lips worked yours. The almost sweet and earthy taste of the weed seeps into your lungs as his tongue claims your mouth. Everything was overwhelming and thrilling and arousing and beautiful and he felt so good right then that you wanted to claw your way into his lap and stay there, burrow into his chest until you were warm and safe.

Rydal would keep you safe, with him. He would.

Pulling apart for air, you don’t remember who moved first but he was tossing your textbook on the floor while you were peeling your sweater off, the room becoming instantly warmer, the need to be closer to him making you antsy. Needy.

The effects of the smoke kicked in sometime between kissing Rydal stupid and him taking off your bottoms, his eyes stripping you faster than his hands could. You were clutching his shoulders, desperate to keep him close especially once the weight settled over you and your limbs felt heavier.

He had to stay close, you couldn’t let him leave you at this moment. Your arousal mixed with the slight paranoia that came with the high resulted in a very strong desire to stay as close as you could to Rydal, needing him more than you could put into words. You hoped he understood from how tight you were holding him, from how much you were whining when he dragged a finger down your soaked panties.

You flopped back against his pillows and despite being naked, you didn’t feel cold, your eyes and nipples pointed to the ceiling as he kissed his way down your tummy. He already laved your breasts with his mouth, the traces of saliva he left behind from wrapping his mouth around your peaks now making them pebble in the evening air. Rydal’s hands were everywhere, his tongue dipping out every few seconds to taste your skin. The effects of the high made you hypersensitive to the maelstrom of sensations, his touches feeling ten times more powerful and intimate than usual.

You didn’t realize it, but you were making all the pretty and perfect noises for him, breathy moans louder than usual while he explored your soft skin, harshly panting and voice wavering on little moans. You were driving him up the wall, his hips softly grinding into his blanket for some relief while he mouthed over the top of your underwear.

Rydal’s mouth wrapped around your clothed clit, letting his drool soak the material until he could suck it and hear your shocked squeal of pleasure. You buried your hands in his soft hair, strands slipping through like gossamer.

He lifted his mouth an inch just to hook a finger around the gusset and plant an open mouth kiss on the very core of you. He was sweet like that.

Apparently, your panties were too much of an obstruction for him as they were ripped from your legs a moment later so that he could spread you open with his fingers. Licking a stripe up your dripping cunt, Rydal dived in, eyes closed, his nose gently nudging your clit while he tongued at your opening. He continued to tongue fuck you, slowly moving in and out of your little hole leaving you gasping and moaning lowly, tugging on his hair. He continued this little routine; licking up your peeled-back core, tonguing inside your cunt, and then to rile you up that much more, he would let his teeth graze your clit.

Rydal’s fingers were stuck gripping your thighs, leaving indents from how tight he had to hold you down just so you’d stop squirming. You were so restless from him edging you, almost cumming several times but he’d pull back, blowing cool air on your core just to take you all the way again. Occasionally, he would moan into you, swirling his tongue around your clit just to suckle on it sweetly as if it were honey he was drinking on. You were whining pathetically as you buck your hips up into his mouth, the synthetic dose of dopamine only serving to heighten your pleasure. Your limbs felt heavy, you could’ve been 10 feet underground, plunged deep within the earth itself, body like lead, and the only thing you could focus on was the way Rydal’s mouth lapped at you, slurping obscenely as he made you choke on a moan.

This time around, he didn’t let up, his tongue working double time as he stared up at you, his hands pushing your thighs further apart to give him the space to fuck you with his tongue with purpose. He was intent on making you cum, fucking finally. You tried to ask, tried to form the words to beg him – maybe you did, maybe you were begging him more than you usually did, maybe that’s why he was finally giving in to you, you really couldn’t remember what you were saying – but it seemed he wasn’t stopping. Reaching up with one hand to entwine his fingers with yours and resting it on your tummy, he groaned, almost as if giving you the permission you were waiting for to let go, that it was okay, that he’d take care of you, catch you when you inevitably fall.

And fall you did. Hard.

Eyes shutting, head thrown back, floating and sinking simultaneously, his mattress was soaked not only with your release but with sweat, your body feeling seven different emotions at once as you finally came into his eagerly awaiting mouth. Rydal was there just as he promised, made you feel good – brilliant, intoxicated, euphoric – true to his word.

The comedown was… interesting.

Rydal was still holding your hand, thumb rubbing the back of your palm while he nuzzled your thigh, resting his head and blinking up at you while you caught your breath. He was a sight to behold, his gorgeous hair mussed from your restless hands, lips shiny and swollen from use and his eyes, so fucking deep and loving and still hungry.

The giggling started, hazy thoughts from the high making it hard to stop, taking the weight off your chest as it continued. Thinking about how you were aggressively pushing his hands away from you just moments before letting you wreck his comforter had you covering your face, releasing another peal of laughter. Rydal’s lazy half-smile while watching you only made it worse, knowing he thought you were a lightweight and would definitely tease you about it later. Kissing his way back up your body, pressing his mouth lovingly on your soft parts, he met you at his pillow, smiling down at you prettily. You sigh after the last little laugh leaves your chest, eyes sparkling up at him and suddenly feeling bashful.

“Never heard you beg so nicely before,” he says, smiling, kissing the corner of your mouth before snickering at your embarrassed groan. “‘Pleasepleaseplease, oh GOD–’”

“Ssshhhhhhutthefuckup oh my god, I did not sound like that,” you shoved your hands on his face, hastily trying to cover his mouth from speaking and imitating you again. Your cheeks burned. You didn’t sound like that, right?

“Mmmph, yeah actually, you’re right. It was much worse,” he managed, despite your fingers slipping into (his?) mouth. After gently removing them, he held them down against the bed before leaning forward to hover right above your lips, “it’s okay, baby, I liked it. Can you do it again for me?”

And then he held your gaze, like a fucking siren, knowing exactly the effect he had on you and your now achingly empty pussy, the muscles clenching around nothing as he let his breath mingle with yours. Rydal didn’t kiss you, just stared at you with his eyelids low waiting for you to beg him.

“Are you gonna let me take care of you? Gonna ask me nicely?” He was so close but kept himself away until the only thing you could focus on was syncing up the movement of your lungs. His denial only made you want him more, desperation bleeding out from you.

“Mhmm,” you whimpered.

“Yeah? That the best you can do?”

“P-please.”

“There it is,” he mumbled, gripping his length in one hand, lining himself up to slowly push himself in, the fat tip of him stealing your breath.

Rydal never got enough of the way your sweet pussy gripped him, and made sure to pull as many soft pleas out of you as he could for the rest of the night.

#rydal keener #Rydal keener fanfiction #Rydal keener smut #Oxford comma series #yes this is about Rydal keener #rydal keener x reader #Rydal keener x f!reader #the two faces of january #oscar isaac fandom #oscar isaac fanfiction

[fountainpenguin]

"Pretend to be sweet! Speak with a smile... Even if you're mad, play it cool for a while..." (x)

---

New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 15 - “Scald (Ren, Jimmy, Scar)”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

---

While Impulse prowls in search of Bdubs, life goes on. Ren, Joel, Jimmy, Tango, and Cleo get along in their respective spheres. And Scar? ... Well, since Etho never showed up for Session 2, Scar's teamed with a bunch of other explorers to tackle a cave adventure. With a group that large, it's only a matter of time before hunters turn on quarries...

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

---

Renthedog - Chicken

Quarry: ZombieCleo

Hunter: Smajor1995

Allegiance: Unaffiliated

💚  💛  ❤️

"Hey." Is that a weird thing to say to a guy you haven't seen since his particles dissolved? He looks better now, standing with his hands in his hoodie pockets. In traditional Joel fashion, he got a new outfit for Session 2. The hoodie's sky blue. Puffy pastel letters spell out Glitch Survivor down the front, surrounded by four hearts, several azaleas, and little sparkles.

Skizzleman stole the traits of Tropical Fish

Actually, the whole thing looks glittery. It's childish and goofy and he looks snug and content, like Ren didn't catch him staring at his reflection for a little too long while they changed in the shower house. Ren has questions (which will go unanswered) regarding what went on between Joel's boss and the skin designers in the community mere days ago.

Not that I'm one to talk. I'm going all-in on the farmer's aesthetic this time around. It just sort of happened to him. Honestly? Can't complain, dude. The flannel shirt is comfy, the jeans aren't so bad, and the whole vibe fits his familiar suspenders pretty well. He's half worried he'll overheat, so he keeps rolling the sleeves back to his elbows.

If he were to put it into words, he's playing into that vibe of all the world in chaos while he serves smiles and escapism in his pretty little garden. In fact, Ren gets up from the muck, taking out a handkerchief to wipe dirt form his hands, and walks over to join Joel by the fence. He leans against it. Joel tilts his head. He's got little panda ears.

"'Hey' yourself, Ren. Ooh, look at you working hard in the chaos game."

"Thanks, man. You're looking good on green again; nice, nice- A+ material."

Skizzleman stole the traits of Salmon

"Yeah, Grian kicked me back up since, y'know… the whole 'creeper glitch' wasn't meant to happen and I did get my proper quarry kill." Joel points two thumbs at the bubbly text across his chest. "He'd better watch his ruddy little backend, though, because I intend to hit purple before I see yellow again. This order is tall, but so am I." His eyes roam behind Ren, wandering the other side of the fence. His fingers tap together inside his hoodie pocket. "Got quite a bit of wheat there, haven't you?"

"Wheat?" He keeps his tone light and friendly, but repeats the word 'wheat' to make it undeniable what he's referring to. "Take a bit if you like; leave something if you want. It's my community garden. This, my friend, is a safe space." He glances left and right, then leans forward, dipping his voice. He even lifts one hand to catch his words, though no one seems to be around eavesdropping. "Seems to me like you're less likely to get sniped off if your would-be murderer knows you'll respawn a few blocks away to have your revenge! And lay waste to them completely where they stand!"

Joel lifts both brows, curious but flat-mouthed. "Eeeh… Not the most exciting content for you, is it? I mean… You could achieve the same thing by lurking near your base. Or plopping your bed down anytime you anticipate a fight, if you wanna be some sort of freak… Also, I'm pretty sure you can't strike your hunter back if you drop from green life to yellow? You're still yellow, right? That's a passive color."

bigbst4tz2 stole the traits of Creeper Skizzleman stole the traits of Turtle

"… Look, it's cool, okay? Spawn's cool." Ren gestures sideways, flapping the handkerchief. "I'm in my peaceful arc right now. Spawn shall be the most beautiful place to rest one's head!"

Joel looks around, skeptic impatience dancing on his lips. Spawn isn't technically a peninsula, but it stands on a raised, flat bit of land overlooking the rushing river. The wind's gusty up here, bamboo and jungle trees swishing. Ren's got his hidden chickens and pigs.

Thus far, his play session consists mostly of bartering with Scott and Skizz for the right to breed their sheep. They helped him lead the sheep back in return for the right to take two chickens, and the haughty stare in Scott's gaze warned Ren that he wouldn't hesitate to kill every animal in his underground hidey-hole, regardless of what killing so many and swapping traits that many times in a row would do to his stomach. He needs to move them. The Sushi Boys know where they are right now and that's not a good strat.

GoodTimesWithScar stole the traits of Enderman

"Peaceful, yeah," Joel says. He leans against the fencepost, cupping his cheek in one hand. Well, one panda paw. "Say… Any chance I could pull you away from your work for a couple hours, mate? Promise it'll be worth your while."

"Oh?"

"You got shovels?" Joel summons his own to his hand with a flick of the wrist. It's stone, unimpressive, but he taps it against the edge of the fence like it's made of netherite. "I'm thinking we go about digging up sand. It won't be a monopoly, but Grian always makes a grab at it, and I think yoinking it before he tries will be the best strat."

"… Seems like he'll come after you once he realizes you've got it."

"Hope he does. I want him-" Joel makes a shhhhluck! sound, gliding the shovel scoop across his own throat. "You get me? Come on; we'll make a game of it."

Ren frowns, one ear twitching like he's got a flea. He tries not to glance at the place he hid his animals, though that means jerking his eyes back to Joel as they start to drift sideways. "Well… It sounds like you might be luring me away for a bit of thievery-"

"Oh, like you've got better plans today. You and your smelly little farm, your smelly little livestock…"

So he's already aware of them. He's not trying to fake me out. Ren lifts his hands. "All right; you've convinced me. Let's have ourselves a dig, my friend." For the sake of content creation. For the sake of getting out of his own head, too… Apart from his visit to Scott and Skizz, he's pretty much been gardening all day long. He's got an inventory full of bread and a back-up chest to boot.

And I know I'm not his quarry…

[Full chapter on AO3 - Link at top]

#trafficblr #GoodTimesWithScar #Joel Smallishbeans #Renthedog #Team Rancher #Jimmy Solidarity #TangoTek #ZombieCleo #impulseSV #MumboJumbo #bigbst4tz2 #Lizzie LDShadowLady #Scott Smajor #mcyt #apparently art #traffic life smp #ridwriting #Dog's Life #fic announcement #Dog's Life art #BigB

[taeskooksbin]

WISH YOU WERE SOBER ; jjk

→ 𝖲𝖴𝖬𝖬𝖠𝖱𝖸 . jeon jungkook has always been your best friend, supporting you throughout everything, even boyfriends or love interests, but what if he is the reason why you're holding back in the first place?

→ 𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦 . bestfriend!jungkook (male lead) × bestfriend!reader (female lead)

→ 𝖦𝖤𝖭𝖱𝖤 . best friend au, slight fwb?

→ 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 . lowercase intended, angst, based on the song, best friends.

→ 𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖧𝖮𝖱'𝖲 𝖭𝖮𝖳𝖤 . birthday present from me ! yes i'm fishing for some birthday wishes :))

→ 𝖱𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖭𝖦 .  none unless you hate angst.

𝖬𝖠𝖲𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳 𖤐 𓈒࣪  ᭡ ˖ 𝖳𝖠𝖦𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳 𖤐 𓈒࣪  ᭡ ˖ 𝖯𝖫𝖠𝖸𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳 𖤐 𓈒࣪  ᭡ ˖ 𝖯𝖨𝖭𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖳

“This party’s shit, wish we could dip

go anywhere but here”

“Are you sure it's fine though? You look extremely uncomfortable” He said while concern lacing off his words, “I’m good, don't worry, it's just that the music is too loud” I spoke while forcing a smile at him, I noticed all the stares he got, it made me uncomfortable but well, who was I to feel uncomfortable? his best friend. That's it, nothing more.

“Don’t take a hit, don't kiss my lips

and please don't drink more beer”

He held onto my neck while kissing me deeply, angling his face slightly to be more comfortable. My hand tugged at his fluffy locks softly while his other hand was resting on my waist, I could taste the cigarettes and alcohol off his lips and I bet he could too.

“I’ma crawl outta the window now

'Cause I don't like anyone around”

I uncomfortably shifted on the bar stool while looking around, way too nervous and anxious to speak to anyone, I swirled the glass cup of alcohol. These people annoyed me, well not these, but every human annoyed me, of course except him.

“Kinda hope you're following' me out

But this is definitely not my crowd”

I looked around for him over the whole club, he was nowhere, perhaps it was a bad idea to visit the club at this time with your best friend, especially if your best friend is an idiot who drowns his whole soul in the alcohol and most importantly, because you absolutely love him as well.

“Nineteen, but you act twenty-five now

Knees weak, but you talk pretty fly, wow”

My best friend, Jeon Jungkook, that softie who appeared to be an asshole, was my biggest support in life but at the same time, the one who always holds me back. Not that he intends to, but, let's just say, he's extremely mature for his own age because of which his ‘father instincts’ turn on.

“Ripped jeans and a cup that you just downed

Take me where the music ain't too loud”

There he was, in his signature form, ripped jeans, leather jacket and a white tank top underneath. He was holding a plastic cup empty, perhaps the one he just downed. “The music is loud, isn’t there some quiet place h—”

“Trade drinks, but you don't even know her

Save me 'til the party is over”

There he goes once again, behind some girl and trading drinks with her, they did kissed, and of course I watched it with a hammering pain in my heart, no darling it's not a disease and you're not receiving any post twist of me having heart cancer, it's just the pain of heartbreak.

“Kiss me in the seat of your Rover

Real sweet, but I wish you were sober”

He caressed my cheeks with a soft smile as he kissed me softly, with the same lips with which he kissed her. “You’re so pretty” He whispered while looking at me with sparkling eyes, with love? no. intoxication? yes. “So sweet but I wish you were sober” I smiled while patting his head which was now laying on my lap as he snored softly.

“Trip down the road, walking you home

You kiss me at your door”

I carried this heavy man while supporting his arms around my shoulder as I walked to his doorstep, stumbling on my steps many times. When we reached he held my wrist, pulled me close and kissed me, at his doorstep.

“Pullin' me close, beg me, "Stay over"

But I'm over this roller-coaster”

His grip tightened on my wrist, pulling me even closer, “Please..” he started, “stay over” he whispered but I was already over it, the night already went horrible, then seeing him kissing that girl and once again getting used to him, over and over again. I was done.

“I'ma crawl outta the window now

Getting good at saying, "Gotta bounce”

If it were a few months ago or so then I would have agreed almost immediately, not even caring about my pride but now? I don't think so. It had been many times to the point that I’ve finally learnt to say no, “Sorry, gotta bounce”

“Honestly, you always let me down

And I know we're not just hangin' out”

That night, like always, I walked back home with glossy eyes with intoxication? no. perhaps a bit, but sadness? oh hell yeah. I was tired of getting walked over again and again, to me, we’re not hanging out. It means a lot to me but I really don't know about him anymore, perhaps it really should end now before it fucks me up badly.

# ask jungkook

# ask y/n

#bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #best friends #fwb #jungkook × reader #yn #bts jk #wish you were sober #angst #no happy ending

[no-light-left-on]

1k words of pure, self indulgent corvosider fluff post-doto, early into their relationship

The mattress dips as Corvo crawls on the bed behind the Outsider – he does little as Corvo wraps an arm around his waist and presses a kiss to his hair, far too preoccupied with the text of the novel. He turns the page, smiling as Corvo presses closer, his broad chest against the Outsider’s back, and kisses down the back of his neck until he can bury his face into his shoulder. He pulls the Outsider closer until there is no space left, his hand large enough to cover his stomach, and he rubs little circles into his side. His hand does not stay long, though, restless as fingers catch on pearl buttons and the Outsider pauses.

Corvo’s hand dips under the silk fabric, trailing lower and lower until he reaches the belt.

“Corvo,” the Outsider says, somewhere between a plea and a warning as his hand shoots to Corvo’s. The hold around him eases and the Outsider curses himself as Corvo’s warmth gets further.

“I’m sorry.” Corvo rolls away, his weight no longer on top of the Outsider’s, though the Outsider is quick to follow as he rolls on his back to face him.

The Outsider kisses his shoulder, a chaste little peace offering. “No, no- it’s okay. No need to apologise.”

Still, Corvo remains tense, propped up on his elbow. There is too much distance between them now.

The Outsider reaches out, pressing his thumb between Corvo’s brows to smooth his wrinkles out. They sit heavy over his forehead, and while most would read them as the lord protector’s stern gaze, the Outsider knows them for what they are. Anxiety.

“You did nothing wrong,” he assures, but something else sits atop the worry. An old vulnerability of Corvo’s, and a new one, too.

“You’re always so skittish when we get physical,” Corvo states. He does not pose a question next, knows he doesn’t need to. The Outsider reads him like an open book.

Am I too old? Is it the age? Or is it me?

The Outsider cups his cheek, his beard prickling his palm, and as he brushes his thumb over an old scar on Corvo’s cheek, Corvo’s breath catches.

Are you repulsed by what you might find under?

The Outsider takes a deep breath, screws his eyes shut as he feels his stomach drop. His core feels like it is being swallowed by the Void as he speaks. “Corvo, I’m just not interested.”

He knows the words he chose were wrong the moment they leave his mouth.

“In me?” Corvo asks, tentative and cautious.

“In sex.”

Oh. Oh.

“Oh,” Corvo says with all the eloquence of a noble and the father of the empress. The tension dissipates out of his muscles.

“Yeah.”

“At all?”

“At all.”

Corvo laughs, startled and relieved, then buries his face back in the Outsider’s shoulder.

“That was a horrid way to phrase it,” he mutters into the silks as the Outsider combs his fingers through his hair.

“I’ve never been known to speak with other people’s emotions in mind,” the Outsider says as an apology. It is not one, but it will do.

“One day you’ll be the death of me,” Corvo whispers.

“I am honoured that you wish to keep me around for that long.”

They fall silent, with Corvo’s head resting on the Outsider’s chest, lulled by the beating of his painfully human heart.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“What for?” the Outsider asks.

“For trying to get physical.” Corvo shifts, suddenly far too aware of the thinness of the Outsider’s shirt, of his own hand on his belly, their intertwined legs. “It didn’t even cross my mind that you-”

The Outsider catches his face, cupping both cheeks in his cold hands, their eyes meeting. “Corvo.” The sound of his name stops Corvo’s rambling, intent and captivating the same way it was during the bad old days at the shrines. “You didn’t know. I never told you. I didn’t even intend on telling you this soon. Most humans don’t feel this way, and you had no way of simply figuring it out, not with how close I let you. Please, do not feel bad.” He takes a deep breath. His stomach turns, empty yet heavy like he’s drank the cold water of the Wrenhaven. “This is- I do not know where to begin explaining this. But take it as… it is just another odd quirk of mine. I don’t know.”

“Mio,” Corvo coos. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“I feel like I have to,” the Outsider admits. “We both know that I am voidawful at this whole being human business. I only ever had the opportunity to watch, but there is so very little I remember of how to feel, and experience, and live, and all that I seem to do now is so very other to how humans have been for all those centuries I spent watching. And this is no different, I suppose. But this time it involves you, too.”

Corvo opens his mouth to argue, stops. “I don’t mind that you feel different about these things,” he settles on. “I’m just glad you told me.”

“I had to.” For you and for myself, both. The thought of it is too raw. The Outsider grins and instead says: “You always looked like a kicked pup when I smacked your hand away.”

Corvo gapes and the Outsider smiles wider.

“Or like a wolfhound that just got scolded for trying to eat without permission,” he teases.

“Mio-”

“Whenever I told you off you looked at me like a wolfhound begging for a piece of steak.”

“Mio!”

The Outsider bursts out laughing as blood rushes into Corvo’s cheeks. “Oh, feared Lord Protector, if only the nobles of Dunwall saw how easily you melt for me-” He yelps as Corvo buries his face into the crook of his neck, his beard prickling the tender skin, and the sensation makes him laugh harder. Corvo holds him down, pinning him into the pillows as the Outsider kicks out, struggling and giggling and pushing at Corvo’s shoulders as Corvo kisses the bare skin and nuzzles his collarbone.

This, he could get used to.

#dishonored #dh #corvosider #corvo attano #the outsider #writing #I am dumping all my weird complicated feelings on the outsider dont come after me I might cry #there was gonna be more but then I sidetracked by a ton #dont ask me what this is I have no idea #inspired by tags by icedjuiceboxes actually they got me thinking about expressing all these weirdass thoughts and feelings #anyways uh. yeah. #take this from me before i chicken out #whale song au #(technically) #writing tag

[it-happened-one-fic]

Polka - Fireproof - Strictly NRC Dancing

Author Notes: I never knew until know, but Polka's are actually quite fascinating and even have there own vocabulary verbs that pertain to the action of dancing the Polka. This was written to “Feuerfest! Polka francaise, Op. 269” by Joseph Strauss and the dance was inspired by the Bohemian National Polka which is danced in a ring with multiple people. A 2019 performance of this classic dance can be seen on Youtube. The performance took place in Ufa, Russia. Just like the rest of this AU/series the reader is female for this fic. I hope you enjoy!

If you would like to read more this AU/series, the fics can be found here: Strictly NRC Dancing AU Master-List

Type: Dance AU/ female reader/ fluff/ can be taken as platonic or romantic

Word count: 1294

I joined Idia in the middle of our makeshift ballroom, taking up my spot next to him before glancing his way. He already looked nervous in the impressive ring of students that made up our polka group. 

Across the ring from us stood Trey and Ace, both of whom waved at me. Ace throwing me a thumbs up from across the room, that Trey seemed to very strongly doubt. 

Even during the practice session, there had been some very… Interesting motions coming from Ace.

At the very least, polkaing with them ought to be amusing.

Not as amusing as watching the two leaders of the polka ring, who were intended to keep everyone in time, would be though. 

Sam and Trein both stood at the forefront of our ring. The older of the two already looking considerably more unhappy with his situation than his partner.

Normally, a polka wouldn’t have leaders. But Crewel and Trein had both already stated that, after practice, they could stand no more of people stomping their feet off beat, and since no one could seem to stay in time with each other, our polka would receive a leader pair. Sam and Trein just ended up being the lucky, or perhaps unlucky, duo.

Judging from their positions, Sam was going to be the follower in this sequence, which somehow made the situation all the more delightful. The very thought of Sam getting to sashay daintily around the history teacher was enough to put a smile on my face.

I leaned over, whispering quietly to Idia, “You and Ortho did practice the Bohemian National Polka, right?”

Yellow eyes snapped over to me, and for a brief second, there was only mild annoyance on Idia’s face rather than the anxiety that a crowd such as this and performing typically brought him, “Of course we did.”

He twisted to face me and inclined his head like a perfect gentleman as the music began, and I curtsied in response as he continued to whisper his words to me, “Now pipe down before someone hears you. Ortho downloading your motions and practicing with me definitely counts as cheating.”

I fought the urge to make a face at him as we began to skip forward step by step, “You’re the one who said ‘cheating,’ not me.”

It was almost funny to begin twisting along our considerably large circle. Changing into an odd half-open, half-closed position where he had one hand on my back with the other on his hip, we began to swirl around the floor, occasionally dipping into the middle of our ring and then back out right back out as the entire group polkaed around and around like an odd little carousel. 

Idia was painfully awkward the whole time, muttering what seemed to be the steps we were doing to himself even as we were dancing. No doubt in an attempt to both calm and distract himself from the group that we danced with and the crowd that watched us via recitation. 

But even with his nerves, Idia had thus far managed to time each foot stomp perfectly, which was more than I could say for a large number of the other leads.

Idia wasn’t the only one I felt bad for though. After all, there were also Trey and Trein. 

Trey, who was stuck with Ace, was having to do his very best to ignore whatever it was that the red-haired first year was doing.

 Trein, on the other hand, was having to put up with the all-too-pleased-looking Sam, who I could tell, even from a distance, was persistently harassing the older teacher.

My view of the other couples was broken when I was released to twirl freely, with Idia mirroring my motions perfectly. When I completed my twirl and was facing him once more, I was able to confirm that yes, this poor awkward boy was indeed mouthing the steps of the polka to himself.

“Idia,” I whispered his name, as the music’s tempo greatly increased and strange bell-like chimes filtered their way into the tune. From the way his eyes darted to my face in a questioning fashion, I got the distinct feeling he’d barely heard me, despite our close proximity, which, now that I thought about it, probably wasn't helping with his nerves. 

I had to do something. He was going to end up going into a full-blown panic attack at this rate if I didn’t.

And what better way to distract someone than by teasing? At the very least, I knew the flighty housewarden of Ignihyde could handle that, “Don’t you think it’s kind of funny we're dancing to a song called Feuerfest?”

The confusion on his face was obvious as he released his hold on me and put his hands on his hips, lightly stepping forward as I danced backwards with my hands out and flat at my sides like I was acting coy. A single glance to the side showed a very done-looking Trein and an absolutely elated Sam.

“It’s German for fire-proof Idia,” My comment came when we swept back into hold and began polkaing once more.

His eyes widened as he spun me around, causing my skirt to swing wildly out to the side simply due to the sheer speed of our motions. I’d successfully gotten his attention off our fellow dancers, though. 

“I shouldn’t have taken this class… It’s like a whole huge joke directed solely at me,” I cringed in sympathy because I knew exactly what he was talking about. Especially since I was the one that brought it up.

 His swathe of fiery blue hair that was currently pulled back in a style not unlike what he wore during the ghost bride fiasco was definitely an interesting match for our song.

Idia released me, skipping sideways into the center as I went the other way. We met back up in the middle, with him beginning to clap as I twirled to the beat and calmly continued to speak to him, “I don’t know, I think it’s kind of fun.”

I grinned at him as we skipped back away from one another, “It’s not everyday I get to dance with you. And Ortho is so enjoying filming us.”

The lament in Idia’s voice was clear when he responded as he began walking alongside me as I spun freely with him clapping  as he followed along behind me yet again, “I told him not to film this….”

I let myself laugh as Idia was forced to rapidly kneel, perfectly matching Trein’s timing, so I could skip gaily around him, “Embarrassed?”

He stood, accepting me back into hold as he all but scowled at me. Totally at odds with the cheerful music and dancing, “More like mortified, dancing isn’t my thing. Especially not social dancing….”

I couldn’t keep the grin off my face as we re-entered the far calmer section of the dancing, with us just skipping in a simple little ring along with everyone else, “But I thought you held the high score on Boogie Boogie Riot?”

Idia’s mouth twitched into the wide grin of his as he led me into the center of our ring, stomped his foot, and marched me back out, “That’s a little different, Y/n.”

“But maybe it’s why you’re so good at timing those stomps,” My comment was accentuated by yet another resounding foot stomp that was belatedly echoed throughout the room.

He stayed silent this time, but I could still see the slight smirk on his face. 

If nothing else I’d learned that pretty much everyone in this school liked to be praised. And that included the socially anxious hermit who was surprisingly good at dancing, that was Idia.

Luckily, that dancing prowess showed in his passing grade.

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#Twisted wonderland imagines #Twisted wonderland x reader #Idia Shroud #Idia x reader #Ignihyde #TWST #Disney TW #Polka #Strictly NRC Dancing #Dance AU #female reader #fluff #platonic or romantic #take it how you will #Twisted wonderland x you #Twisted wonderland x yln #twst x reader #twst x you #twst x y/n #Idia x you #Idia x y/n #idia shroud x reader #mywritings #fanfiction #Disney fanfiction #fanfic #fic #Joseph Strauss #Bohemian National Polka

[miseries-mistress]

ᴅᴀʏ 4: ʟᴏᴠᴇʟɪɢʜᴛ | ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴏʟꜰꜰᴇ ʰᵒˡⁱᵈᵃʸ ᵉᵛᵉⁿᵗ ²⁰²²

⋆꙳·❅*‧ BAKING COOKIES ‧*❆ ₊⋆

warnings: afab reader, spicy, very spicy, no smut but…it was close, wolffe being in a bad mood, but when is he not???, i promise i didn't intend for this to be so spicy, but wolffe's hot, so it's okay. w/c: 1033

notes: this is pretty ass, sorry about that

event masterlist ❄︎ star wars masterlist

"Wolffe, can you hand me the flour?" you inquire, looking up from the holopad while Wolffe leans nonchalantly against the countertop, his arms crossed over his imposing figure. He rolls his eyes, pushing off the counter to grab the bag as he stops beside you. 

"I could think of more than enough things we could be doing with my free time instead of baking cookies," Wolffe says bitterly, his hand coming to rest on the counter while you look up at him exasperated. 

"I told you already, we are going to do something besides fucking each other for the rest of the night, and I need to bake cookies, so quit whining and help me." You huff, turning back toward the rest of your ingredients. You can practically feel the tension rolling off him in waves of displeasure. Before you know it, his hands wrap around your waist, your back harshly colliding with the wall of muscle that is Wolffe. 

"Can't you keep it in your pants for an hour so I can make some goddamn cookies?" you insist while your frustration begins its dangerous climb. 

"Not when I'm around you, mesh'la," Wolffe huffs, his hands mapping their way across your waist before wandering to the valleys of your torso. His hands are warm and calloused as they glide effortlessly under your shirt and over the plush of your skin. They trace the outline of different dips as if his hands have memorized this path thousands of times. 

"Fuck," his words are a gravelly whisper, the undertone of want poking through. You're not about to lie and say the husky plea in his voice doesn't reduce you to a puddle of unsteady limbs, but that's far from the point. His hands dip lower, halting above your dripping sex, waiting. A needy whine falls from your lips before you can stop it as you grab the counter to regain some sense of stability. 

"You like that, don't you? Tell me what you need, pretty girl, my needy girl." 

"Fucking hell Wolffe, the cookies–"

"-can wait," he finishes with a growl, pressing himself against you. It's sinful how easily you crumble under your desire, how skillfully he can make you compliant and needy, and with your mind clouded over in the familiar haze of lust, you can't find it within yourself to care. 

You catch a glimpse of the flour as though it was mocking you for your joke of resolve to make cookies tonight. The cookies needed to be done by morning for Life Day, you promised your friend. Stupid cookies, you wordlessly grumble as You sigh and back away from his touch. 

Wolffe's hands fall to his side, his eye gleaming with unbridled lust meshed with his sexual frustration he couldn't seem to tame. 

"Cookies first," you declare, throwing your desire to the side while fixing your shirt, returning to the holopad. Wolffe would have admired your resolve and determination if he wasn't so restless. Of course, it was mainly because it was so fun to break, but now he's standing in the kitchen like an idiot with a hard-on pressed against the pants you had loaned him, he felt anything but admiration. 

The process of making cookies was reasonably straightforward, for the ingredients were simple with even easier steps, but with Wolffe's intense staring, every moment felt like a lifetime. 

But as time passed and you asked him to do something, he did so without complaining or rolling his eyes. He just remained uncharacteristically quiet and complacent. It was clear that he wanted something from you, but what? You didn't know the answer to that yet. 

With Wolffe's help, making the dough went faster than you anticipated. Then, with the cookies spread over a pan ready to be put in the oven, you began to clean up. That was until you were putting away the flour. You didn't know how it happened; you were just trying to close the bag when flour flew everywhere and hit a special someone: Wolffe. 

You both froze, neither moving as flour paints Wolffe's bare chest and face. It takes a moment for him to even register what has transpired as he stares wide-eyed at you before they turn black, darkened by something- annoyance, irritation- really anything besides gentle. His lips curl into a snarl wiping the white powder from his features with painstaking slowness. As if with each swipe of the powder, his irritability festers over your mistake. 

Your heart pounds against your ribcage, fast and furious, and the fear of what comes next is a cold, deadly brush, but you can't move. No matter how much you craved to put space between you and Wolffe, your feet betray you, defiantly rooted in their spot. 

"I'm sorry–" you didn't even begin to finish when Wolffe's hand reaches into the bag and hurls a handful of flour at you. The flour hits you roughly in the chest, spraying everywhere. You gape at Wolffe's smug face with a dumbfounded expression and parted lips in stunned surprise. His scowl travels with unnerving thoroughness over your form. All the while, his eyes still harbor the same darkness as before, except you can detect something wolfish carried in his stare that most definitely wasn't there earlier. It is enough to make a shiver run down the length of your spine, goosebumps prickling against your skin.

Finally, he takes a step forward, and your breath quickens. He notices it. He always catches the subtle changes in the air, in you, and how to use it to his advantage in his game of pride; to make you beg so sweetly for gratification is a thrill he could never slake. You can only imagine his every inflated ego growing over your subordination.

He stops in front of you. His presence is ever intimidating. Broad shoulders, dark eye brimming with carnal desire, and the intense silver of his cybernetic one are enough to make everyone question their next move when they are stared down by the burly commander, and you're no exception. 

"Filthy girl," Wolffe lewdly spits, his gaze turning predatory. "Making a mess of yourself." 

The cookies didn't even make it into the oven.

#commander wolffe x you #commander wolffe x reader #commander wolffe #the clone wars #wolffe x reader #wolffe x you #star wars wolffe #commander wolffe x female reader #star wars #x female reader #spicy writing #tcw wolffe #making cookies #christmas event #christmas fic #christmas cookies #winter event #holiday fic #winter cooking #christmas baking #winterevent22

[quiveringdeer]

so I took a nap with my cat, but since I woke up I haven't been able to get the above observation outta my head. And dunno how to make it into a character post so figured I'd just share here. 

This started as a long-winded scene idea I was typing up in dms to @marleysfinest after they commented about reading about Reiner cursing in that silly incorrect quote post I made where Pock pushed him down the stairs--just hit real different. And I couldn't agree more.

But instead of becoming the filthy smut I was originally trying to get at, my weird as fuck brain created this spiral of I don't even know what! It's highly self indulgent self insert as Reader. (I mean isn't that what we all write these as?) Though I did try to curb some of my more ridiculous dialogue options I initially intended to use.

Anywho, before the fluff and silliness have some meta musings:

Definitely see Reiner growing up with his mom being the type that doesn't allow bad language in the house. So he's careful about not cussing. And he definitely does, more so in high school and college when he joins a few sports teams because teen boys and all that jazz. But he tries to even outside of that or just hanging with friends because Gabi's been born and he wants to be a good example and such. 

But so I was thinkin about dating Rei and never really noticing that he tends not to curse until finally hearing him curse for one of the first times. And because it's the number one cause for yelling expletives, it happens when you're having movie night at your place. There isn't a lamp near the couch --cause who can afford a lamp in THIS economy! (okay maybe you just moved in and things are still in boxes but you both have a standing date night that moving was not going to interrupt I dunno! I dunno why my brain insists on giving convoluted scenarios that really are unneeded 🙃)--

Reiner x Reader

Anywho, no lamp. So of course you do rock paper scissors to figure out who has to get up from the snuggly warm spots on the couch to go turn off the overhead light and he loses. And after turning off the lights, in a rush to get back to the warm snuggling on the couch, he stubbs his poor bare toes on a sturdy box. "Shit!"

No, like reeeally hard. "SHIT MOTHERFU-!" Perfect. So yes. He stubs his toe so hard it throws off his generally great balance and as he's trying not to land on anything important he falls to the floor with a big thud! "Fuck!" 

And the whole thing happens in a number of seconds. 

You've launched yourself over to the side of the couch closest to him now. Peering down in the dim light of the DVD Title Menu screen, "Rei, honey you good?" 

He's sitting up by this point, groaning and muttering as he squeezes his poor, traumatized toe. "Yeah. 'M good." Casting those warm amber eyes over to you, Reiner tries for a grin but manages more of a grimace as he starts to pick himself up. "Too eager to get back to cuddling you." 

Settling back into your previous spot on the couch you notice him not putting his assaulted foot fully on the floor. "Aww, sweet baby." 

His large body sinks gingerly onto the sofa beside you. He's not trying to sustain any more injuries just dropping himself heavy onto the cushions like he wants to. 

"You sure you're good? Don't think I've ever heard you swear like that before." 

Reiner dips his head, masking his face in shadow as he feels his cheeks heat. Not that you could see it in the minimal lighting anyway. "Sorry. Didn't mean to. But yeah. I'm okay." To prove his point he lifts up both his legs and wiggles his toes, back-lit by the TV screen. "All in working order." 

A tiny amused huff of air puffs past your lips at the endearing little gesture. "Okay." While patting around the fleece blanket with one hand for the remote, your other arm lifts to rest across his broad shoulders. Your fingers curve around the top of his head, sinking into the soft blond strands as you begin massaging gently. It's an unconscious action at this point. You've argued before that running your fingers through his hair feels just as nice to you as it does for him. 

Reiner's neck is tilted back, by the time you finally locate the remote beneath the folds of endless fleece. Eyes closed, completely content to just listen to the movie he's forgotten the title of already. 

"Also, you didn't have to apologize. For cursing." He turns his head just slightly to see you looking at him with a fond smile. "I don't mind. I honestly can't believe this is literally the first time I've ever heard you do it. And we've been dating for months." 

You settle the remote on your lap and keep your eyes on his face. There's a short silence as you watch Reiner's mouth twitch. His brows pull down slightly like he's sifting for the right words. 

"My mom always said it was a vulgar habit. So I grew up making sure I didn't slip up at home or in front of strangers." 

You laugh and have to quickly follow it with words when you notice Reiner's face go tense. "Sorry, was just laughing cause I'm happy to know after three months of dating you no longer see me as a stranger." 

Immediately Reiner starts to sit up straighter, eyes going wide as he angles his large body toward you. "That's not what I–" 

One of your fingers presses to his lips, silencing his rebuttal. The hand that'd been occupied in his hair now lays comfortably on his shoulder. "I know honey. Relax. I'm just teasing." 

Grin still present from your earlier laughter, you lean in for a slow, tender kiss that has Reiner melting further toward you. Your foreheads rest together as you part from his lips. You have to bit your bottom lip to seal in another delighted chuckle when your eyes open to see his, closed. Honey blond lashes fanned against his cheeks and pretty, wet lips still slightly puckered for more kisses. It never ceased to charm you how such a large, handsome and objectively intimidating man could simultaneously produce the most adorable mannerisms. 

"I hope you can feel comfortable enough to do it more in the future. If the urge strikes. Liiiike another lost battle against a box. Or anything really. Whatever. You don't have to hold any part of yourself back from me, Reiner. Okay?" 

His eyes had fluttered open as soon as you began to speak. His head nods a bit. A slight up and down motion you feel more than see, with your foreheads still touching. Reiner's eyes close again as he presses forward for another kiss. 

You pull back, increasing the distance between your faces as both your hands move to cup his cheeks. "I mean it." 

Finally his mouth quirks up in a smile, "I got it." 

"Good." Index fingers from both of your hands twiddle the short hairs just above his ears. "So you get that also means if the urge strikes to curse in a positive way?"

"Positive way?" Rei's brows knit together as he tilts his head just a smidge to the left. "Maybe I don't, got it." 

Another short burst of laughter leads your response, "Yeah. Positive way. Like overcome with such positive feelings the only words that can truuuly harness the euphoria are curses."

His head cants further at an angle before things click in place. "Oooh. Really?" 

"Mmmhm. Actually, if you wanna be more vocal in general, I'd like that. I love the sound of your moans, but the right words can really hit different." 

"Oh. I can try to talk more, if you like that." 

"Ideally, you'll like it too."

"Mhm." 

You can tell by that short response that he's getting caught up in his head. "Reiner?" Your palms squish in his cheeks gently. "Are you trying to think of what things you'd say?"

"Uh. Maybe. I feel like it'll be awkward. No one's ever asked me to talk more during sex. Didn't know it was a thing, to be honest."

Pulling your hands from his face you mute the TV. The DVD Title Menu music was becoming a bit overestimating for this conversation. With the repetitive sounds silenced you maneuvered your body to more comfortably talk with Rei. One leg tucked up between you both, other still situated over the front of the couch. Soft, fluffy blanket redistributed over both of your lower halves.

Reiner, resettled himself in a more comfy position too. Elbow resting against the back of the couch so he could lean his cheek on his knuckles. It wasn't uncommon for conversations to bloom up and distract you both from previously set plans. While it had been a bit unsettling at first, he really relished them now. He was unused to people asking questions and genuinely wanting to hear his thoughts. Okay, that wasn't entirely true. Bertholdt had always been an active listener. So was Pieck. But they'd known each other since elementary school and were close friends.  

Maybe that's what it was. He wasn't used to these kinds of conversations happening so frequently with a romantic partner. None of them had ever been so curious to ask and he'd never gotten around to offering up the information freely. Perhaps that was something he should bring up in his next therapy session. 

"Hmm, do you think it's awkward when I talk while we're having sex?" 

There's quiet confidence paired alongside genuine curiosity situated in your tone. And while it's been many years since he's been a virgin, this simple straightforward question has the tip of his ears flushing hot. 

Reiner forces himself to meet your gaze as he responds, "No. I just figured…I don't know. Just never thought about it."

"Not that anyone should use them as any kind of blueprint for real sex, but is there no dirty talk in the porn you watch? Like, the dudes. Do they not say anything?"

If he'd been eating or drinking, he would've certainly choked. Mark this down for another topic he's never discussed with a partner before. "Uh, no? Maybe? Like you said, I don't really watch to pick up tips or tricks." Okay. Maybe that wasn't fully the truth. Some videos had certainly sparked fantasies he's put into motion once or twice. 

"Okay, fair." Lifting up the blanket, you move the leg you've had extended over the front of the couch, across Reiner's lap. "Hmm…We'll have to find you more memorable porn, babe." 

You snort out a laugh and the sounds eases the tension of embarrassment coiling in his gut. His free arm slips beneath the blanket to hug your leg close to his body. The heat from his palm is distinct as he smooths his hand up and down the outward side of your leg. "You've got to be the first girl I've ever met that wants their boyfriend to watch more porn." 

"I'm most definitely not. You just haven't reached that stage of information security clearance with other women yet. And I'll have you know, I was implying you need to watch better porn, not necessarily, more." A giant grin stretches across your face after putting on a mockingly serious voice for that last sentence. Obviously, you're in a very playful mood tonight and the energy is infectious. 

"Ah. Forgive me, that's a very important difference right there."

"Damn right it is!" 

Reiner can't help but shake his head at the ridiculous exclamation even has laughter rumbles out through his lips.

#was gonna keep this in my hoogle docs #but i just spent over two hrs on this probs so its getting jetted into the internet ether #hopefully it's entertaining for others #and you can donate some comments of your thoughts below? 👉🏽👈🏽 #reiner x reader #nat writes #aot x reader #aot meta #reiner braun #there is so much conjecture in the top meta rambling #but it's for my plot so meh #there also coulda been more but again this wasnt even supposed to be all this #and my brain is tired 🥲

[disorganizedkitten]

Bursting Bubbles of Bad Luck Chapter 3

Miraculous Ladybug | 2019 | 602 | Ao3 | Prev | Masterlist | Next

Marinette’s heart stopped. Something jolted through her, leaving a slimy coating under her skin and on her muscles and up her throat and- she took a breath, heaving air into lungs that didn’t feel right anymore.

 She scrambled to sit up, breaths coming in short gasps that went from pat-pat-pat to pat to nothing for seconds and then another set of heaving because she did need air, and forgetting to breath helped nothing.

 Marinette waited until the pattern died off, even though she still felt wrong. Violated. As her breathing slowly returned to something even, the headache stayed. Something was wrong. Marinette pushed forward, towards the ladder from her bed. In her rush, she knocked it over.

 Another deep breath. She found one of her bedposts and pushed magic to it, intending to reform it for the moment.

 Marinette didn’t get that far.

 As she tried to push magic through her hand, it started stinging heavily, like she had dipped it in a fryer with breading and now the breading was burning her skin while the oil and breading weighed her down.

 She shrieked.

 Something was wrong with her magic. That… that didn’t happen. Not without a very strong curse or-

 Oh no.

 Marinette grit her teeth, reaching in the dark for another bauble she kept near her at all times. She used her other hand to try again, just to turn the gnome into an arrow. It hurt nearly as much. Marinette dropped the object and realized she had stopped breathing again. She started the pattern, fast fast fast, normal, stop, fast fast fast, normal, stop, for the second time that night, tears streaming down her face.

 That hurt. Physically. And worse. Her skin was only getting more slimy and painful, and she hated it.

 She hadn’t done anything yesterday! Or even last week! The only way someone could have cursed her would be if they targeted her, which was a very, very scary notion.

***

Mage inc. Discord chat - Channel #General

  Rough-glamor: Any other @Changlings feeling completely whack tonight? I woke up in a cold sweat and it hurts to use my magic.

  Goldie The Queen Of France: Nope, but my brother is. He’s also had his trail change colors, did that happen to you too?

  Rough-glamor: Lemme check

 Yep.

 WTC?

  Flutetastic: That’s really weird.

 Sometimes it can act up if our physical states need help (I once had such severe sleep deprivation that the ringing in my ears became audible to everyone in the vicinity. Not fun to explain) but it’s p weird to see it happen in multiple cases at once.

  Le Chien adores la chatte: Um, it’s kinda viral? Here in America anyway. People are collapsing and at least one exploded. The entire street turned into a victorian-era clothing store. I don’t know if they’ll play this off, or leave it like they do Pride.

Flutetastic: That’s… not a coincidence.

  Rough-glamor: ‘bout to sound rlly crazy here, but like… does anyone know the state of our heart? I heard that Destruction mages had a really bad week in 2009, and then there was that one guy claiming he’d stolen the heart and cursed it.

  Goldie The Queen Of France: Oh I really hope not. Corrupted hearts have really, really bad side-effects.

***

 Gabriel watched the gem flicker, changing colors. The kwami that came with it was shaking like a leaf, but he didn’t care.

 He finally had a way. He just needed to get enough attention.

 Starting tomorrow, Emilie would be well on her way to healing.

***

 Marinette threw up. She wasn’t the only one.

#BBoBL #Bursting Bubbles Of Bad Luck #Miraculous Ladybug #Felix #Felinette #ml fanfic #jaymeow writes #old writing #Felix July 2019 #Felix July 2020 #Timeline what timeline #Crossposting spam #Friday update

[pastelwitchling]

Hello there! If you’re still taking prompts are you able to please write one about Alex being cranky with Bonnie because a) she kissed Michael and made him uncomfortable because he had been very upfront about having a boyfriend and b) she kissed him with the intention of taking his powers away even though he’d been nothing but lovely and helpful towards her..? I just love protective Alex!

***

Alex didn’t really go out of his way to talk to people. In his mind, and with the way he’d grown up and how his career had gone, he’d always thought that if it wasn’t life and death, it could wait.

Except with Michael, but then Michael had always been his exception.

That was why, when a knock came at the door, Alex was unsurprised to find Bonnie on the other side.

“Hi, Alex,” she waved, and he smiled, stepping aside to let her in.

“Hey.”

“You wanted to talk to me?”

“Yeah, I did,” he said, gesturing at the sofa for her to take a seat. “Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee?”

“Tea please.”

“Okay,” Alex said, unplugging the water heater and pouring into a mug with a bag of chamomile leaves. “Michael’s not here, by the way. He and Sanders are readying for the annual Roswell Garden Competition.”

“Oh okay,” she laughed. “So it’s just going to be us?”

“Mhm. There you go.”

She took the mug with both hands. “Thank you. So what’s going on?”

“Well, to be honest,” Alex sat down with a slight groan. He’d been on his leg a bit too much these days. “I wanted to talk to you about that kiss you and Michael had.”

Her smile faltered. “Kiss?”

“Yeah, while I was gone,” Alex’s smile widened, even as his eyes narrowed. “I realized we never talked about it after we got back from the liminal space.”

Bonnie searched Alex’s face, her own the epitome of worry. “Are you . . . mad?”

“That you kissed him?” he leaned back in his armchair, softly dipping his bag in and out of the water. “No. That you did it to take his powers away? Well, let’s just say that it’s a good thing he got them back.”

“Alex—”

“Although,” Alex tilted his head. “I did hear he got pretty sick afterwards. When I wasn’t even here to look after him. I really don’t appreciate that.”

“Are you going to kill me?” she whispered, eyes wide and frightened. “Like . . . with your Deep Sky stuff?”

“No.”

“Air Force?” she gasped. “M-Maria told me about them. She said you were military. She said they were bad!”

“Bonnie,” he sighed. “Take a deep breath. And stop listening to Maria where I’m concerned, would you? I guarantee there’s no one in Roswell who knows me less.”

Her shoulders slowly fell. “So . . . you’re not going to kill me?”

“What do you think?” he said wearily.

She looked down and murmured. “Sorry.”

“Look,” he set the mug down. “Michael is my life. He’s everything to me. You didn’t know he had me when you kissed him, so that’s fine. But his powers are part of who he is and you stole that.” He held up his hand when Bonnie opened her mouth. “I don’t care about what you intended, Bonnie. You hurt him. That’s all I care about.”

“I’m sorry,” she said at once. “I’m so sorry.”

Alex softened. “I know. I just hate that he was sick without me to protect him. And I know you were a different person then.” He stood, setting his mug down. Maybe it was the years of captaining, but his shoulders instinctively straightened and he looked down at Bonnie. “But I have to make my stance on Michael clear here. No matter what your reasoning, hurting him means picking a battle with me. And I always win my battles.”

Bonnie clenched her jaw and stood so quickly that she almost spilled some of her tea. “I’d never let anything happen to him, Alex. I promise. I’ve changed, I’ll—I’ll look after him. After both of you, because you’re everything to him, too.”

Alex considered her, then he smiled. He nudged his chin at her mug. “You want some cake with that?”

She exhaled shakily, deflating, her courage giving way to the fear underneath. Alex thought he liked her most then, when she was truly brave. “Do you have anything with chocolate?” she whimpered.

Alex nodded, and patted her shoulder as he moved past her.

***

Happy Malex Monday ❤

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis