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#n also need to find my way of doing it artistic language etc etc

green-alien-turdz · 4 months

Note

Art tips for beginners? :3

I'm gonna try n be helpful here, but please keep in mind that I've been drawing my whole life, so I can't give you the perspective of someone who is just startin out.

1: Don't give up. Cheesy as fuck, I know. But you are gonna get pissed n fuckin angry when somethin doesn't turn out how you wanted it to. Don't let this discourage you! Use your mistakes and errors to keep on improving. There's no need to tear up drawings or delete anything that you aren't 100% satisfied with because you are growing in your abilities. AND TRUST that it is so rewarding to see your progress over time.

2: Challenge yourself n expect to hate it. Try all sorts of styles (cartoon, realism, or even just photo studies), do few details, do loads of details, do timed drawings, etc. Test the limits of what you can do. Similar to the previous advice, you need to allow yourself to be angry n hate the product that comes from this because you will eventually start finding your own creative style n process.

3: Don't pressure yourself beyond belief. You will not be an 'amazing' or 'visually appealing' artist from the get-go. If you are gettin burned out, allow yourself to take a break from time to time. With this though, once you start gettin more comfortable, even when you're burnt out creatively- I HEAVILY encourage you to keep doing small drawings OR other creative things to keep your mind going.

4: Experiment wit different mediums n shit like that! Explore! There is so many different forms of art to fuckin enjoy. Digital, traditional, watercolour, acrylic, clay, fuckin anything. When you get into non-digital mediums, keep cost in mind, but there are plenty of cheap alternatives that are great when you're startin out (also once you get 'better', you can control these much better, n they don't look like the initial cheap product). I personally use a lot of dollar tree shit n I used to steal from the art class in my school (but that was more out of necessity, if you can avoid it, please do. You can get in HUGE trouble if you're caught). But the main message is to experiment n try new things because there's so many different mediums out there.

5: Take in the world around you. Look at everything n think about how you could portray that in art. Really study the world. The faces people make when they don't think they're makin any, the grime that most people ignore building up on everyday objects, how people's body language says a LOT about how they feel, the way light casts in obscure ways, etc. Instead of just viewing the things around you, really look and take in the experience of bein human. Even impressionistic art holds these intricate details. You just have to be open to the experience.

6: Appreciate, but don't compare. I cannot stress dis shit enough, your art is your own, it is no one else's, so there's no need to harp on "oh this person draws x,y,and z better than me" n blah blah blah STOP! Dawg, you are doin your own shit, don't worry about if you're not on the same 'level' as others, or don't have the same 'capabilities' as some mfs. When you see other people's art, appreciate the things that they can do, but appreciate what you can do too! Especially when you're first really gettin your foot in the whole art shit, it is important to not judge your abilities compared to others who may have a lot more experience under their belt. I think it's totally okay to look at art n be like "oh that's super cool, I'd definitely like to improve on things like that", but never use it to put down your own art. This shit is subjective bro, you'll get to where you want to be. It takes a lot of time, it's not linear, but you WILL. It may not be how you expected it to look at first, but that's okay! Give yourself grace. Art is for you, at the end of the day.

You are gonna fight with yourself n the art itself, but that's totally normal! Art is one of the best forms of expression n I really hope the best for you. I know I was vague as shit n this isn't no tutorial on how to draw a realistic portrait or some shit- but that's because there's no right way to do this. Go balls to the walls or just dip your fuckin toes in. Approach it how you want, there's no right or wrong way to do art. I hope that this was somewhat helpful n I wasn't just spewin shit outta my ass n I truly wish you a good art journey

#asks

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loganlermanstanaccount · 10 months

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Omg I recently found your Miguel and Joel fics and your writing is so good!! I have to ask, as an aspiring fic writer, do you have any tips on how to write/improve fanfic or find your writing own style? I have so many docs files worth of half-finished fics (since I suffer from not-good-enough syndrome), and I try to learn as much as can from those I admire. If this ends up being answered, thank you so much!!

hey! thank you for the ask and it's taken me a while to answer cuz I had to think long and hard to give you something useful lmfao... and it means a lot that people enjoy my writing enough to even ask me for advice!! thank you anon, and I hope this helps :D

a/n: I'm not an expert, not even a little bit, but I like writing on here and I'm writing a book! so those are my (lack of) credentials - just a heads up

gonna split my advice into parts: before writing, during, and after; and also give some tips on writer's block / "not-good-enough-syndrome" (very very valid, btw)

Before writing

- Planning is not always necessary but I find it helps! it doesn't even have to be a really detailed one, like mapping out every story beat - but writing rough notes can help you guide it along better. And if you're not actively planning, thinking about the fic in more detail can act as a plan.

- Unironically, all my fics start off as vivid daydreams, which I then jot down notes, and start writing. If you think of your plan as guidelines rather than something rigid, it can help with flow. I.e. if when you start writing you're finding it hard to hit a certain beat, there's no need to force it in that direction.

- It can help to emulate the writing styles of writer's you like - like an artist study but with fics/literature you like. Take a couple of fics you really really like and jot down what you enjoy about it, and specificity is key. What about their language do you enjoy? Is it their use of metaphors, is it the way they describe actions, or the little character details they include? It can help to have this list on hand when you actually start writing.

- Similarly, you can try little writing exercises to get you thinking about that kind of thing. It think I saw this in a youtube vid, but a thing I've done in the past is take a scene from a movie or book and try to emulate in one of two ways, or both: first, as best you can remember, as close to the style of the original work as possible. And second, in your own words, trying to hit certain plot beats as best you can, leaving the rest up to you. For example, I always did it with the opening of the hunger game's first chapter, because it was something really distinctive to me and a property I enjoy. The important thing here is to not have the reference in front of you. The aim isn't to copy exactly, but to imitate / get your brain thinking about the way in which the author / filmmaker / etc portrays the story.

Whilst writing

There is a lot of very valid general writing advice in terms of language and actually writing, so I'll list some general ones below, (idk if this was quite your question tho):

- vary sentence length and structure. it adds rhythm and texture to your writing. but also be wary and try to align it to the context: i.e. a more fast-paced action scene would benefit from short, staccato sentences, but a scene describing characters falling in love (hazy, romantic, etc) might be better with longer, multi-claused sentences to drag out pace.

- focus less on stuffing in adjectives (i am very guilty of this, icl) but rely on the specificity of your nouns to portray information I.e. instead of 'spindly, thin and wire-framed glasses' using 'spectacles' is both more efficient and sounds a bit nicer.

- depends on the writer, but try to work backwards from images and motifs for characters, places, etc rather than the other way round. I.e. if your character is as fierce as a lion, instead of stating that as a simple simile, imply the metaphor with description: "her flowing mane (note specificity of noun, mane, not hair) cascades around her maw - spit-slick and eyes wild. Carnal, she was a killer; and God help those caught between her claws." (<< this is corny asf, lmfao, my bad. but u get the gist), and then you can pepper your text with callbacks to the motif - like little easter eggs for your reader.

- similar to above, adverbs often break up the flow of text, so choose the verbs carefully. Instead of "Hurriedly, he ran" even more info can be given with "tumbled" or "stuttered" etc etc

- break up dialogue with action rather than the usual alternatives for "said" .

- also also, "said" and other simple words are not bad to use at all!! sometimes they work better in the text than every dialogue word being "whispered" or "crooned" or whatever. you can repeat words without reaching for a thesaurus every time, cuz often its alternatives are more jarring and noticeable to read.

- honestly, above all the 'feel' of the text trumps everything else, or at least it does for me. There is no point using a super complex metaphor if it comes out of nowhere, or breaks up the tension of a scene. These aren't hard rules, and if it serves your story more to 'break' them, then you absolutely should! Definitely read aloud where you can (ik it's a little embarassing with fics, sometimes). In terms of my specific style, I'm a big fan of poetry so i like to pay careful attention to the way words and sentences sound! I love using fricatives or plosives or words that sound the way they feel (if that makes any sense), sentences that have rhythm due to placement of commas and semicolons - I think it makes for a more enjoyable read.

- don't be afraid to jump around when writing. Often, the issue is with starting out, so chop and change where necessary and jump around the fic. If there's a specific scene you're really excited about writing, write that first! and then once you're in more of a flow, the rest should be a bit easier.

- I can't really help with grammar cuz I know my grammar fucking sucks; there's probably an editor out there that has a heart attack everytime I overuse a semi-colon lmfao.

After writing

- For me, editing is the most important part of writing. Due to the way I write it's where a fic can really be elevated or fucked. A lot of the stuff I write initially is gibberish, and then is improved massively in the first edit.

- so with that, don't be afraid to shift things around: sentences, words, whole passages if need be. If you're writing in a word processor, take advantage of it's features. if it helps, make a copy of your fic and really 'fuck' it up: move shit around, get rid of wonky words, etc. be ruthless lmfao - cuz it's only the copy. if you tend to over describe (like me), I promise you that backspace button is your best friend.

- depends on how long it is, but take it in chunks (this is with both editing and writing) focus on the chunks and then expand out into the whole.

- it's important to be reflective. if you get through the process, or hit a slump and you're unsatisfied; be specific about why. where exactly did it stop working for you? is it the way you've described a scene? does it feel slow? too fast? do your characters feel flat? no stakes? be specific, and if you can, highlight where it went wrong. the comment feature on docs is my favourite to use because of this reason

- also, please remember to give yourself your flowers! where it works, no matter how small, make sure to highlight it and say, "I really like this bit, because of xyz". the 'because' is important, as it helps you do this again in later fics.

writer's block / not-good-enough-syndrome

- first off, remember that 9 times out of ten, you are your own worst critic. I guarantee that the things you don't like about your writing, someone will read and very much enjoy it! humans aren't great at being objective, so give yourself some grace and leeway to learn and improve.

- second, best way to overcome this is exposure therapy, imo. Tumblr is a great place for this: you can make a side blog and dump all the fics you think are a bit shit on there. It may gain some traction, it may not; but the most important part is that you've put yourself out there, and nothing exploded. and because there are no stakes, you can get rid of the blog as you see fit, with little to no consequences, and never have to think about it again.

- if you do end up posting, please don't get bogged down by the metrics! it can suck when something you've worked really hard on doesn't do very well. the great thing about fanfic, is that it's a really easy way to improve quickly. if you like something enough to want to write fanfic - you're more likely to write. More writing = more improvement, and you get to enjoy fucking around with the canon or a self insert or writing smut or whatever.

in terms of overcoming writer's block / having lots of half finished fics you can approach it a couple of ways:

- you can brute force finish a fic, no matter how shitty you think it is, and try to salvage what you can in the edit.

- lower the stakes! if you can't write a thousand words, leave it at 500! often when you move the goalposts closer, there's less of a mental block, and you end up bringing it to it's natural conclusion anyway.

- if you've got multiple unfinished fics, frankenstein that bitch lmfao. cut and paste and stick the best bits together. You like that one interaction? cool, stick it onto a bit from another fic. You've come up with a great piece of dialogue? great, stick it in the middle of that fic. Because you're not necessarily coming up with new content, just repurposing old bits and bobs, often you find you're writing the inbetween-y bits anyways and you've got a full fic.

- take a break! leave stuff unfinished, sleep on it; come back in a day, a week, a month. fresh eyes can make all the difference when you've been staring at it too long.

finding your writing style:

- read, read, read, read. other fics, books, even consuming media generally to find a voice. You can be reflective and specific, like I mentioned in the other points to help yourself along, but expanding your horizons will do wonders for your writing.

- e.g. my favourite book is Lolita and I'm in loooove with the writing style: it's a beautiful balance of poetic with a strong narrative voice. I love poetry (Ocean Vuong you will always be famous!), and gorgeous, existential films filled to the brim with subtext (Blade Runner 2049, Howl's moving castle, Moonlight, etc). You probably can't notice that explicitly in my writing but it does show up: I love wistful rambling, heavy imagery, strong thematic motifs... all things I've connected with in other media, and emulated in my writing.

Your "voice" comes later, I think - something that happens without you actively looking for it. Who you are, your experiences, your connections with other people: it's pretty hard to keep that out of your writing. So don't stress! The page is like a block of wood; it scratches, it dents, it erodes - chips away into something new, entirely. Your writing remembers, and it doesn't stop being yours when you walk away from it.

Hope this wasn't pretentious or annoying or anything! best of luck anon and feel free to dm me cuz I'd love to read whatever you come up with (no pressure, ofc).

If anyone has any other writing tips I will do my best to reblog them, thanks <33

#x reader #writing #writing advice #fic writing #miguel o'hara x reader #joel miller x reader #fandom things #x reader fics #fanfic

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befriending · 23 days

Text

╰ ☆ ◞ gracie abrams / ciswoman / she/her ——— no way is that DYLAN WEBB? you know they’re TWENTY FIVE years old and they’ve been in los angeles for ALL HER LIFE. they’re chillin’ as a SINGER / MUSICIAN. oh and they’re notoriously known for being ALOOF but there are some people who have seen them be QUIRKY. i heard they’re a part of a SOLO ACT called DYLAN WEBB, yeah they’re a VOCALIST / GUITARIST. to be honest they sound a lot like GRACIE ABRAMS / OLIVIA RODRIGO / MAISIE PETERS. they’re actually FAMOUS.

BASIC INFORMATION:

full name: dylan elizabeth webb

nickname(s): dyl / d

age: twenty-five

date of birth: 7th september 1999

place of birth: los angeles, california

gender: ciswoman

pronouns: she / her

orientation: pansexual

language(s) spoken: american english

neighbourhood: downtown la (previously eastdale)

living arrangements: living in a downtown la loft, with a roommate.

FAMILY TIES:

mother: elizabeth webb (retired musician)

father: adam webb (movie director)

siblings: stella webb (younger sister) & alex webb (younger brother)

spouse / partner: n/a (very single!)

children: n/a

pets: french bulldog called, milo

OCCUPATIONAL INFORMATION:

occupation: solo artist / pop star

skillset or specialisation (if applicable): singer/guitarist

name of their act: dylan webb

so they play instruments? if so what?: guitar / piano / little bit of drums

how long have they been a part of the act?: all her life!

artist influences: taylor swift, olivia rodrigo, maisie peters, chappell roan, beabadoobee, nell mescal, dodie, laufey

current monthly spotify/apple music listens on average: 2,538,556 listeners

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE:

face claim: gracie abrams

hair color: dark brown

eye color: brown

height: 5"7

tattoos: small lightning bolt on her left wrist

piercings: both ears pierced, used to have a nose piercing at one point but took it out.

clothing style: mum jeans, cosy jumpers, white / band tees, red lipstick, flannel shirts, converse, big hoodies, hair bows, wearing running shorts casually, dad caps.

distinguishing characteristics: she's got a scar on her knee, from where she fell off her bike as kid! also, she's almost always wearing a bow in her hair!

PERSONALITY:

positive traits: caring, hardworking, intelligent, observant, quirky.

negative traits: disorganized, critical, impatient, forgetful, stubborn

hobbies: learning how to play musical instruments, writing songs / music, going out dancing, drinking iced coffee, hanging out with her dog milo.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

best-friends: dylan has lived in la her whole life, i'd love to see her have a group of close-knit friends, that do EVERYTHING together!

roommate: she's recently moved out of her parent's home, got her own place in downtown la with a roommate, do they get on? do they hate each other? we can talk about that!

current hook-ups / fwbs etc: u know the vibe, dylan is dating very very very causally at the moment, for fun more than anything!!

exes: she needs some people that she can write songs about, PLEASE!! we can discuss if they ended badly or not!! thank u!!

QUESTIONNAIRE:

"start at the beginning, who are you and why are you important?" "oh yikes! you're not holding back are you?" dylan laughs awkwardly, "i'm dylan, i'm twenty five and uh --- well i like to sing".

"how long have you been making music?" "god, this is very cheesy, but i've been making music since i was a teenager, if you look hard enough on youtube, you'll find a channel i posted my awful covers on".

"how would you describe the kind of music you make?" "again with the tough questions! i'd say, it's kinda poppy, fun, and vibey but also, sometimes, it can be super dramatic, sad, mope around your bedroom music just depends on what kinda mood i'm in". "who are some of your biggest musical influences?" "my mum, obviously, stevie nicks, dolly parton, taylor swift". "what is the first record you ever bought?" "ohmygod! i think it was a one direction vinyl, don't judge me". "what has working in the music industry meant to you thus far in your career?"

"everything! music is the only thing i've EVER wanted to do, so i'm very thankful that i can do that".

"what are some stand out moments from your career so far?" "ooh, i've done so many brilliant things, but i'd have to say recording some of my mum's older songs with her, was a dream". "how would you describe your style of performance? what makes your shows worth seeing?" "it's a big experience, some songs are just me and my guitar, other times, it's me and my band. i like to put on a show for people, i make things as fun as i can by interacting with the crowd a lot, my fans make the show! recently they've started handing out friendship bracelets at my shows, i LOVE THAT" "what are you still hoping to achieve in your career?" "i've already done so much, i'd really like to record something for a film soundtrack, that'd be great" "what’s next for you?" "dude, i've got no idea, but i can't wait for it"

if you’d like to plot with dylan, then please feel free to like this post and i’ll message you or feel free to message me on discord @ radcorrie!! thank you!!

#sonicfm:intro #yes! she's a nepo baby

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snackhobi · 3 years

Text

min yoongi is the best shot in the business. you’re the best gunsmith in the city and the only person he trusts to programme his tech; to make his gear.

he likes your work. it’s a shame, then, that he doesn’t like you.

pairing: yoongi x f!reader / word count: 14.3k / genre + rating: NSFW (18+), cyberpunk!au, smut, frenemies (?) to lovers

warnings/etc: hitman!yoongi. black market dealer/gunsmith!reader. cursing/explicit language. whole lotta tension, sexual and otherwise. mentions of injury/violence. minor character death (no one important, don’t worry, this isn’t an angst fic). brief hurt/comfort. reader has tattoos. sexually explicit content. oral; fingering; multiple orgasms; overstimulation (f). unprotected sex (please take the necessary precautions irl). rough sex?. choking. creampie. brief mention of aftercare. I think that’s everything but please lmk if I missed any!

a/n: thank you SO MUCH to both @hobi-gif and @morndas for beta reading this and being so supportive, ily both so much and I owe you my life 🤧💕 as always what was meant to be a short fic turned into a huge one. also this is technically for my 1.1k milestone but it’s a billion years late, oops!

Yoongi really doesn’t like you.

You’re loud. Cocky. Arrogant. You needle him all the time, dig your fingernails in and squeeze, revelling in the way he sets his jaw, the muted spark of irritation in his eyes. You bat your eyelashes and tilt your head, throw it back whenever you laugh and reveal the easing column of your throat, dragging each interaction out with a kind of sadistic pleasure that has him gritting his teeth. Because you love annoying him, getting under his skin, tapping your fingers against the soft swell of your bottom lip as you eye him up, taking your time before you speak.

Infuriating. You’re infuriating and you know it.

It’s unfortunate, really, because you’re unavoidable.

Jungkook had asked, once, why Yoongi doesn’t just go elsewhere. They’re more than familiar with the underbelly of this heaving city, underneath all the neon lights and shimmering holograms and towering skyscrapers and legal tech; the scuttling seams of back alley traders and illegal goods, tech or otherwise. There are plenty of black market dealers, after all, plenty of other vendors he could go to to get the equipment he wants. Plenty of other skilled crafters, artificers, artisans, people who would be more than happy to create the things that Yoongi asks for, that he needs. People who can get their hands on anything you want. For a price.

Yoongi’s answer had been short and succinct.

“She’s the best there is,” he’d said, and that had been that.

Because it’s true. You might be exasperating, maddening, laughing in Yoongi’s face where others might cower or genuflect, but no one is as good as you. All of Yoongi’s gear has been crafted by you; each and every single one of his weapons, his tech, the headpiece that fits so perfectly around the back of his skull that Yoongi often forgets that it’s there, hidden in his hair, unfolding across his eyes whenever he lines up a shot to make the kill—there’s evidence of your work across every inch of his body, hidden away under his clothes, day in, day out. Even when he’s not on a contract Yoongi never leaves anything to chance.

(A walking armoury, Namjoon had called him once.)

(You’d phrased it differently.

You’re always packing, hmm? you’d hummed, rapping your fingernails in a steady beat as you’d leaned back in your chair, smiling with teeth. There was laughter in your words and your gaze, no attempt made to hide your amusement, but after your goading you’d made him a collapsible sword anyway. It’s a beautiful thing, this folding blade, bristling with plasma and energy if Yoongi needs it, lethal and deadly. One of his most prized possessions, something that’s gotten him out of multiple corners, and he owes it—you—his life.)

There’s no one on par with you. You’re a Renaissance woman, a fiercely talented polymath who doesn’t need to rely on anyone else to create the things you create. Low-tech, high-tech, no tech—you make everything from scratch, programme things yourself, hunched over each project in your own workshop with nothing but your mind and your own two hands.

It’s the only reason he puts up with you and your antics, the sharp jibes, the shameless flirting; you’re the most infuriating person he knows, but there’s no one else he would trust with the work that you do.

Unfortunately.

Which is why Yoongi finds himself here, again and again, as familiar with this studio as you are—he watches you work, sometimes, watches you sketch up blueprints and drag your fingers across your array of displays, your world cast in shifting shades of cyan and electric blue from all the tech in here, humming and alive. He likes to see how his equipment is made, after all. It can mean the difference between life and death. He takes this seriously.

It’s the one time you might be quiet. Might be quiet, because you still talk even when you work; flick your gaze between Yoongi and whatever’s set in front of you, that ever present smile spread across your lips, smug and amused. You’re only silent during the hardest jobs. Like right now, you’re intense and focused, a furrow dug between your brows as you survey his sniper rifle—almost shorn in two. (It had been the only thing to hand when he’d had to block a blow from a guard he’d somehow overlooked, no time to draw any other weapons before they’d started to brawl.)

You’d been unimpressed. You’d raised your eyebrows with all the severity of a disappointed mother, bitten words out at him with molten snideness, dripping heat and snark.

“It’s a gun, Yoongi. A gun. You know, something you shoot with? Pew pew? Blammo? I’m not sure what sort of shields and body armour you’ve seen in the past but this isn’t either of those things. Do you want me to sketch some diagrams up for you? Or maybe I could write you a book. Baby’s First Arsenal, Chapter One: The Difference Between Things That Are Guns And Things That Aren’t. Would that be helpful?”

No one else talks to Yoongi like that. No one else would dare. It’s only a rare few that know his birth name and it’s not often that he hears it, more used to the sound of Agust D falling off people’s lips. But that had been part of your price, part of the agreement when he’d first met you and asked for your services: his real name.

Yoongi had let it wash over him, had endured your tongue-lashing before putting the gun down with a heavy finality and thrust it over at you, tired of all your talk.

“Just fix it,” he’d demanded.

You’d laughed in his face.

“As always, your bedside manner leaves something to be desired,” you’d said, taking the rifle from him.

The D-2 Shadow isn’t just a weapon. It’s a piece of art, clean edges and slick lines, and Yoongi is grateful to have it back in his hands. There’s no other sniper rifle like it, made of super lightweight alloy and easy to handle; thermal scope, enhanced stabilisers for accuracy; superior kinetic coils for better shot penetration. Yoongi had asked for the best and you’d delivered. Gone above and beyond, crafted a weapon the likes of which no one else possesses, modified in ways other people can’t even fathom.

And you’d fixed it when he'd almost let it get destroyed. Made it better than new, even, layered it in more alloy to make it stronger without making it heavier, a new material of your own design. If he hadn’t known you as well as he does he’d have worried that it was beyond repair, knows that other gunsmiths would have taken one look at its crumpled body and shaken their heads, but you hadn’t.

Of course you hadn’t. You never do.

You charge him a pretty penny for your work, make him pay through the nose for everything he asks of you, but Yoongi is more than willing to do so. More than capable of paying, coffers lined with more money than he might need, one of the best contract killers there is—the real price he pays is with his sanity, worn away each time you open your mouth. He can’t help but rise to your bait, as derisive as you are; it’s only the smallest things, a sharpness to his otherwise even tone, an angry spark in his eyes, but you pick up on it all.

He’s not your only customer. You don’t extend your services to many, only to the people you want to—Yoongi’s not sure what set of harebrained criteria you have that lets you choose who you’ll sell to and who you won’t but he can’t make heads nor tails of it. He knows he’s not part of your clientele because he’s got the credits to pay, nor is it because he’s one of the most highly regarded hitmen in his line of business.

You don’t just choose people who can afford to pay or people who have a level of power and influence in this dark underworld you inhabit. You really don’t care about those things. You just pick and choose on a whim.

(Once, back when he’d first met you, Yoongi had discovered that you’d concocted an entirely new security system—practically incapable of being hacked, crawling with tech, a level of complexity even the richest elites could barely afford—for some small artist who’d worried that their paintings might get stolen. He was an unknown at the time, this V, squirrelled away in one of the dark corners in the lowest levels of the city, and you’d all but given him some of the best work you’d ever done, undercharged him something chronic.

You’d shrugged when Yoongi had asked why.

“He makes me laugh,” you’d replied.)

Yoongi isn’t your only customer but he’s certainly the only one you seem to treat the way you do. There’s a level of irreverence in everything you do, self-confidence settled across every inch of you like the obnoxious stench of a teenage boy’s body spray, but you seem to take particular pleasure in Yoongi’s displeasure. He’d brought Namjoon along, once, inquiring after an imitation greenhouse, how someone might set up the tech to raise tropical plants that wouldn’t survive otherwise (mostly above board, even; Namjoon might grow illicit plants, poisonous and prohibited, but he likes pretty flowers, too). And there had been none of the mocking that Yoongi receives. None of the wind ups. You’d been pleasant, despite your incessant snark, agreeing to take the job with a smile on your face that Yoongi never gets given.

(It had been infuriating, to know that you’re capable of not being an ass, but you just choose not to be. For fun.)

Yoongi really, really doesn’t like you, but he respects your work. Respects you, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

You keep your word. You don’t supply his competitors, although you claim it’s not loyalty to him and it’s only because they can’t pay as well as he does—winnings go to the highest bidder, you’d said sagely, as obtuse and irritating as always.

But Yoongi knows other sellers will provide anyone who’s willing to pay, freelancers who peddle their wares regardless of affiliation or alliances. You’re beholden to no one and yet Yoongi knows you would never double cross him. Never supply anyone who challenges his work, even if they have the money, even if he’s on good terms with them (it’s not personal, it’s business; Yoongi has no issue with other hired killers as long as they stay out of his way). He knows he can rely on you, which is something to be treasured in these back-crossing back-stabbing backstreets.

So when he makes his way to your door, the details of a new contract still fresh in his mind, he instantly comes to a stop.

There’s something off. He can tell immediately, years of instinct causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise, every part of him on edge. Everything looks normal, is normal, but there’s a burning in his gut that has Yoongi’s finger itching for the trigger even though there’s nothing to shoot.

You’ve granted him the privilege of access to your workshop, to the other rooms, entered the scans of his hand and eye and voice into the security systems, keep him updated on the varying passwords you cycle through, so he can enter whenever he needs to.

(He’s woken you up on more than one occasion, roused you from sleep for last minute supplies before he leaves for another contract, appearing in the dead of night like a spectre of death, clothing dark and eyes darker, overflowing with weaponry. A looming silhouette edged in strokes of cyan and magenta from the ever present, low-level neon light in your room, so much darker than the bright lights of your workshop. Intimidating.

And you always just roll your eyes and sigh and tell him to keep a better eye on his cache of equipment and climb out of bed for him. You’re so at odds to him in your sleep rumpled clothing and mussed hair, still unafraid even when he’s fully geared and ready to kill; shirt slipping off your shoulder, swathes of bare skin in the place of Yoongi's all-encompassing outfit, shimmering black light tattoos visible on your legs and arms and bare skin of your collarbones, geometric lines in the palest of blues and greens. You hand over whatever he needs and tell him the creds he owes you.

“I’ve already given you a key to my apartment and you haven’t even taken me for dinner once,” you sigh—dramatic and melodramatic—even as you hand over a bundle of crossbow bolts. The synthesised toxin inside the darts is your own concoction, of course, courtesy of the plant matter provided from Namjoon’s greenhouse.

“I’d literally rather be shot in the head than willingly spend time with you,” he replies.

“You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid,” you say, and just laugh in the face of his unimpressed deadpan. As insufferable as always.)

So he doesn’t need your permission to enter. He’s silent, light-footed as he makes his way inside, scanning each inch of this familiar interior; nothing’s wrong, not yet, but Yoongi can sense something in the air. Something heavy, settled bitter on his tongue, coating the back of his throat.

And then he walks into your workshop.

You’re meticulous. Even when you’re overrun with gear, with parts that have yet to be used, everything has its place. You prefer paper over datapads, too, tack sheets of designs and notes up on the wall, have clipboards and stacks of sheets set neatly in their place, a throwback to a time before tech ruled everything. Yoongi knows the layout of this room as well as he knows his own home, a mental map of straight lines and unwavering coordinates with you in the centre of it all.

Upheaval. Those neat lines of organised cartography have been pulled apart. Ham-handed work, to be sure, more of a statement than anything else; intent to instil fear rather than to destroy (although, Yoongi sees now that one of the monitors has been smashed, display sparking white and blue as it bleeds out electricity.). Even in the darkness of the room—overhead lights off and only emergency lighting on, painting things in shades of dark crimson and pink—Yoongi can tell that whichever interlopers have done this are already gone. The room is empty.

Then the sound of a clatter breaks the silence and Yoongi’s already got his pistol out, drawn without a thought as he approaches the sound that comes from the back room, fleet-footed and silent as he raises the gun and rounds the corner—

And sees you at the end of the barrel.

There’s a first aid kit on the floor. Packs of medi-gel and rolls of bandages and other supplies scattered around your feet. You haven’t even spotted Yoongi yet, in despair at the mess in front of you; he’s never seen you like this, never seen anything other than your veneer of enraging smugness and never-ending energy.

“Y/n?”

You flinch even as your head snaps around, eyes wide—but the second you see Yoongi you visibly relax, even though he’s still holding a gun in your direction.

There’s a bruise blossoming across your left cheek.

“Ah, Yoongi.” The smile that paints itself across your lips is almost convincing despite the dark flower that’s unfolding on your skin, blood rising to the surface and painting it in hues of pain; you wince, a little, when the smile makes your wound ache. Soldier onwards as you act as though nothing is wrong. “I know you’re always desperate for my attention but do you mind giving me a second? I’m kind of indisposed at the moment.”

Yoongi’s lips are set in a thin line. He only has one question on his mind.

“Who did this to you?”

Your gaze flickers before you break eye contact, staring at the first aid supplies on the floor. “What, this? Have you never dropped something before?”

Yoongi ignores your deflection. It only takes a few moments to reholster the pistol, to step over to you, to grasp your chin and tilt your face towards him.

“Who did this to you?”

Yoongi’s tone is quiet and low, firm and undeniable. For the first time since he’s met you it seems as though you’re lost for words, lips parted around a silent sound of surprise as you’re subjected to the full force of Yoongi’s gaze, cutting through you; past every layer of self-inflated narcissism you put on, past every deflection you might make.

There's a beat of silence.

And then you slowly but irrevocably fold underneath the weight of his stare.

You let him lead you, sit you down, bowing to his hands and his directions. You’re silent throughout, lips an unfamiliar shape as they’re pulled down into the slightest of frowns. He’s only ever seen you smile, seen you laugh, self-assured. Never like this.

You seem surprised, startled when he sits across from you and cracks open a pack of medi-gel. Yoongi’s surprised too, although he doesn’t show it, lets his instincts take over and settles into auto-pilot as he reaches for your face. He’s never seen your eyes so round, so wide, watching the hand that descends on your cheek with all the single-minded intent of a man about to fillet a fish—careful and practiced but menacing, maybe. (He doesn’t like you but you don’t deserve to have been hurt and Yoongi can’t just stand by and not help.)

And you don’t shy away. You stare at him as he stares at his fingers, layers the gel evenly across the pain of your bruise, cool and soothing.

It’s only when he’s reached for more medi-gel and touched your cheek for the second time that you finally speak.

“It was one of the Tang cousins.”

Yoongi goes still, fingers resting across your skin, slick with purple gel.

“One of the cousins?”

Yoongi doesn’t like you. But—and God knows what he did wrong in a previous life for this to be true—you’re one of his inner circle, one of the very, very few people he trusts. You’re not friends and he doesn’t like you, but he owes you, owes you a hundred times over, owes you for every successful kill, every silent infiltration, every averted detection. All thanks to your tech and the work you put into it for him. He’s indebted to you.

Yoongi always pays his debts.

“I didn’t even catch his name.” You sound dismissive. Normally you’d laugh, deride the person you’re speaking about, but instead you just sound tired. “One of the low down ones. New kid on the block; someone I didn’t recognise, with some lackeys or similar. Trying to make a name for himself, I think. He demanded that I build weapons for him. I said no.”

The Tang family is a big one, a criminal empire that has its tendrils dug in everywhere. You don’t deal with them, have no interest throwing your lot in with them intentionally or not; it’s a big, formidable family, but it’s not the only one around. You’d be dumb to get involved in that mess of generational, cross-family conflict. You’ll sell things to the highest bidder, shift illicit high-tech stock, build generic modifications that people can buy—but you don’t make bespoke weaponry for just anyone.

You don’t even sell to the heads of the Tang family directly, let alone to some back-alley sewer rat who probably barely has the faintest ties to the family, a single vein of Tang blood in his body, just enough to give him an in.

Whoever this cousin was he must be really fucking stupid to not know that. Stupid to think he could demand anything from you. Stupid to think he could hurt you when you laughed in his face and said no. Anyone with half a brain-cell should know not to fuck with you, know that it’s an honour to even be allowed inside your workshop, that to be told ‘no’ by you is a privilege.

Stupid to think that he wasn’t going to pay for that stupidity.

The pack of medi-gel is empty, the deflated pouch forgotten on Yoongi’s knee as he stares at you. The flecks of biomatter in the gel catch the light, sparkling like glitter in the lavender that’s seeping into your skin; all the surprise is gone from your eyes and instead you’re just watching him, stolid and steady. Analytical.

(You’re smart. Yoongi knows you are. For all that you talk shit and play foolish, he never forgets about that fierce intelligence. Never underestimates you or how perceptive you are. He only wonders what’s on your mind right now; what it is that you see in front of you.)

“Next time don’t let someone in unless you’re certain you’re going to sell to them.”

You scoff in his face. “Alright, Dad. Do you want to update my curfew while you’re at it? Make it ten p.m. instead of eleven?”

Yoongi blinks slowly. You’ve got both eyebrows raised, surveying him with a mixture of amusement and disbelief that he’s trying to tell you what to do (because no one tells you what to do; they wouldn't dare). But you don’t pull away, your knees still touching his, body bowed towards him from when he’d coaxed you closer so he could reach your face—so he knows you don’t mind. Not really.

(Knows you don’t care about anyone’s opinions or rules, only sticking to your own. The fact you’d been shaken from that place of confidence by some thug—even for a moment—doesn’t sit right in Yoongi’s belly. That bitter taste is back in his throat and it’s ice cold, icicles prickling through his blood.)

(He doesn’t like you but you’re one of his people and no one fucks with Yoongi’s people.)

The bruise is still there days later, after you’ve rearranged your workshop back to the way it was, sourced a new monitor to replace the one that was broken. You’re back to smirking, already ready for his request, more bullets for his weapons and super-charged plasma to recharge his sword, but the bruise is a stark reminder of what you’ve been through. So is, too, the new blueprint he spies half finished on your open displays: an automated security system that scans thermal signatures, guns unfolding from the ceiling whenever aggressive movement is detected from an unfamiliar person. Anyone who’s not listed as familiar in the security logs.

(Yoongi used to wonder about that. Why you didn’t have security mechs set in place, programming their AI to protect you, but you don’t like to use mechs. Don’t like to use them, even if you could afford to build them, because you compare it to forced servitude. You’ve never needed them before now, anyway. Safe in your reputation, knowing that you’re in a position of power, that people come here because they know you’re the best of the best.)

(But it seems like you don’t trust that any more. Don’t feel safe.)

Yoongi keeps as silent as always, bites his tongue when you cut him off mid-sentence with nothing more than a raised finger.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut, wagging the finger back and forth like the slow pendulum of a grandfather clock. “No more crafting requests. I’m still working on the concentration mod you asked for and I’ll let you know when it’s ready. I don't rush for anyone. Patience is a virtue, baby. Did no one ever tell you that?”

“Don’t call me baby.”

“Okay, handsome.” Your reply is instant, unruffled, and Yoongi grits his teeth.

But still. For all that you’re acting like normal, workshop set back into place, white lighting shining overhead, as neat and presentable as always—Yoongi can read uncertainty in the way you move. Discomfort. You don’t feel safe in your own space and it’s obvious, even if you don’t realise it.

“Come back any time,” you say coyly, and Yoongi, as always, ignores you. Transfers the creds he owes you in silence before he takes one last look at the bruise that’s still painted across your skin, dark eyes touching yours for the briefest moment before he turns and leaves.

For the first time since you met, Yoongi buys from someone who isn’t you.

It’s not bad. Well made, decent tech, Predator pistol sitting easy in his hands when he brings it to the light and watches it unfold from its holstered state, the way plasma bursts to life in the barrel; weaker than bullets but easier to reload in the field. It’s no surprise that the Yeom family gets their stuff sourced from here. The body armour, too, isn’t bad, engraved with the family crest and cast in their colours.

It’s not bad, but it’s not as good as it could be. Not as good as Yoongi needs his tech to be, demands it to be—but quality doesn’t matter. Not today. He has a job to do.

It’s easy to find his mark. Scum gathers in stagnant water, in the dirtiest and dankest places, and this is where Yoongi finds Tang Lee. Finds him spilling beer and money in the backroom of some grimy strip club where the holograms flicker from age and the strippers are tired, trying their best to scrape a living from the seething riverbed of filth that runs underneath the bright neon lights of the skyscrapers in the levels above.

Lee isn’t alone but it’s so easy to take them out it’s laughable, men drunk from cheap alcohol; Yoongi catches one in a chokehold, smashes another’s face into the glass table with enough force it shatters, faces Lee once they’re the only two standing. The music outside is too loud and the room is sound proofed for privacy and so Yoongi isn’t interrupted as he brings Lee to his knees, thrusting his face into a smear of blood that drips from his now-broken nose, courtesy of a quick jab of Yoongi’s right fist.

It’s not a quick kill. It could be. Yoongi could have ended this in moments, caught Lee off guard and ended his miserable life almost effortlessly—but he doesn’t. He takes his time, makes it count, teaches him a lesson, has Lee on his hands and knees as he sobs out apologies and snivels for mercy before he takes the pistol and blows his brains out. Yoongi doesn’t feel sorry for the man, eyes the body impassively, not even worth his disgust—he only feels sorry for whoever finds the chaos of the room and the bodies inside, the distinct plasma burns he purposefully leaves in the wall with the Predator pistol, the entire scene he’s created here: a scuffle gone wrong, fast.

You’re not the only person Tang Lee has crossed but you’ll be the last. Yoongi checks the pulses of the other two men, finds one dead and the other still alive, barely, just like he’d planned—and his work is done. It’s the Yeom family’s problem now, any fall out from Lee’s death pointed at them, a repayment of a slight Lee had made to a Yeom supplier only a few weeks ago. (Yoongi wagers that neither family will care, will draw a veil over this moment and let this settle without raising arms, no one important enough to go to war over.)

He discards the pistol and armour once he’s done, incinerates it all, no interest in keeping subpar equipment. It’s not even worth dismantling for parts. Hoseok finds him in their basement, eyeing the blue flames that lick their way around the discarded armaments; he just watches Yoongi, inscrutable and calm as he eyes the blood on the clothing before it bursts into flames.

“Not a contract,” Hoseok says. (It’s not a question.)

“A job.” Yoongi replies, watches the cloth turn to ash through the thrumming display of the incinerator. “Something that needed to be done.”

He doesn’t tell anyone what he’s done. There’s no point in it. Yoongi decides something needs to be done and he’ll do it, whether that’s building a new chair for Jungkook after he broke his old one or killing a man who hurt you.

The next time he sees you your bruise is practically gone, faded into your skin. You’re intent on something on a monitor but when you notice him you turn, swivelling in your chair in one smooth motion as you lean back and put your hands behind your head, cross one leg over the other, dripping self-satisfaction, your smile sharp and full of teeth.

“Ah, Yoongi.” You look so smug that Yoongi has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Welcome, once again, to my laboratory. Is this visit for business or pleasure? Either way, you know I'm happy to oblige.”

“I’m here for the mod you promised me,” he says bluntly, and you just keep smiling, even as you hold out a hand for the sniper rifle, handling the D-2 Shadow with as much reverence as Yoongi does as you affix the mod.

It’s perfect, of course. All that Yoongi asked for and more. The software links with his eyepiece, biometric sensors that help him find his target, software to adjust to his pulse and breathing.

“You can even change the colour of the HUD,” you say, as if it’s some sort of buy-one-get-one-free offer, some fun little feature, rather than another helpful piece of software that you’ve created. Dismissive. An afterthought.

(You act like you take nothing seriously. Yoongi is your stark opposite, weighing everything in his hands and treating it with the level of attention it deserves, intent and focused.)

He’s staring down the scope when you speak once more. Light and easy, for once, rather than loud with your usual exaggerated exuberance or silken with unnecessary suggestiveness.

“I hear that they found a Tang family member dead.”

Yoongi just hums in response. Keeps his eye on the scope, wills the colour from dark green to white using the affinity link he has synced with his headpiece, watches the lines of the heads up display of the scope repaint themselves without even a single flicker, transition smooth and effortless. (Perfection.)

“It seems like the Yeom family did it,” you say, tone still conversational.

“Is that so.” Yoongi sounds disinterested, face impassive as he draws the gun away from his face, eye piece automatically folding away from his eyes. “Can I ask about other mods now that this one is finished?”

One of your brows rises, a perfect curve of discontent. “Say thank you first, Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s eyes cut into yours but you don’t back down, watch his blank face as he eventually says: “Thank you. Now I need more mods.”

You throw your head back as you laugh. “You’re insatiable,” you say, but you don’t say no. “What do you want now?”

(It’s not that you never say no to Yoongi. Because you have, and you do, and you will. But never because you can’t make what he asks for—and only because you refuse to make things that might endanger his safety, illicit bio-mods that other hired hitmen use, things that degrade the body from the inside out.)

Yoongi’s just holstered the Shadow, ready to go, when you speak one final time.

“Yoongi?”

He’s never heard you say his name like that, soft and quiet.

“Thanks.” You’re staring at him, regarding him steadily, solemn in a way that he’s never seen. You’re smiling, as always, but the expression is lightyears away from what Yoongi is used to—just the barest hint of an upturn to your lips.

Yoongi stares back at you. “I don’t know what you’re thanking me for.”

Your smile grows, a warm thing, unfurling like a flower. Almost affectionate. “Sure,” you say. “Of course. Silly me. Slip of the tongue.” And then, as if your brain’s only just caught up with what you just said, the smile turns salacious. “On the note of slipping the tongue—”

“Bye.”

Your cascading laughter follows him on his way out, cutting and shining with amusement.

Yoongi’s been getting more contracts. He’s finally buckled under Jungkook’s insistent whining and has agreed to get gear for him, too, to train him how to shoot. Hoseok has more than enough contacts in the underworld to get jobs for them both—he’s the most powerful information broker around, after all, sitting in the centre of a web he’s woven after years of work, all that sharpness and darkness hidden behind his deceptively bright smile.

(Yoongi’s lucky to consider him a friend and not an enemy.)

So that’s why he’s here with increasing frequency. That’s why he finds himself at your door more often than not. To get those orders in place, to make sure they’re progressing as fast as they need to.

You never react when Yoongi steps into your workshop. Well, you do, you lean into your hand and smirk at him, pursing your lips around each snide remark, each suggestive comment—but you never question his appearance. You just go with the flow, unbothered by his presence, even when there are other people there—other customers who eye him with unveiled curiosity and confusion (some Yoongi recognises, some he doesn’t, well-known faces and unknowns alike; none of them know who he is, though, unrecognisable as Agust D without his battle gear on). Yoongi keeps a close eye on their stances, any unchecked aggression or hostility towards you. Keeps a watch on the tension of your shoulders and spine, because of… habit. Battle instinct. Nothing else.

“You know my policy, Yoongi.” You’re analysing something in your hand. It looks like an antique spyglass, something from the decades before technology overtook the world, but it’s jammed full of tech; it doesn’t just magnify to a terrifying degree, it also amplifies sound, connected to an earpiece that’s sleek and easy to overlook. ‘A small project’, you’d called it, as if it isn’t something that people would pay a fortune to own. “If I’m making something for someone I have to meet them first. If you want me to make anything for this ‘JK’ then it’s not happening until you bring him here. Just like with your friend RM.”

Yoongi is lolling by your monitors, half-asleep in your chair (which had moulded to the shape of his body the second he sat in it, designed to be too comfortable for its own good).

“I know you can’t pull yourself away from me,” you continue, glancing up from the scope. “But you have to spend time with your friends sometimes. I know they’re not as pleasing to look at as me—”

“Stop.”

You shift the spyglass to one hand and lean your chin on the other, regarding him with sharp eyes and an amused quirk to your lips. “I love that you think you can tell me what to do.”

Yoongi resists the urge to make a noise at the back of his throat, opting to keep mum instead.

He’s too tired to argue with you. He’d come straight after a contract, blood still on the edge of his sleeves (not his), watched the way your eyebrows had risen when you’d casually taken in the state of him before offering to wash his jacket. You know the reality of this world you both inhabit, operating in the shadows, survival paid for in blood; you might not be on the high ground, lining the shot up to take the kill, but you craft the trigger that Yoongi pulls.

(You might be aware of this reality but you’re far removed from it, shaken by violence on your own door. You never should have been faced with it. You’re an inventor; a creator. Not a killer. Not like Yoongi is. He’s not going to let that happen again. He doesn’t like you but you shouldn’t have been subject to pain—shouldn’t still have your motions edged with a held breath, as if you’re waiting for it to repeat itself.

No matter how well you hide it, Yoongi knows that there's a part of you that's still scared.)

“I know you think you’re too important to need to remember things, but we’ve worked together for long enough that you know that I’d ask to meet JK first, Yoongi,” you say. “Did you really have to come straight after murking someone just to be reminded about that? Not complaining—you know I love seeing that pretty scowl of yours—but I just figured you’d rather be resting right now. Don't tell me the infamous Agust D missed me and decided to come here instead.”

“You were on the way.”

(He’d circled around, taken a longer route, descended into the familiar maze of the lower city. To throw off the scent of any potential pursuers. You just happened to be nearby, pure coincidence and convenience.)

You retract the spyglass, collapsing it in your hands. “Either you leave right now and go to your own place to sleep, or you’re going to sleep in my bed. Your choice.”

(If Yoongi took the time to think about it, really think about it, he’d notice that the words aren’t shrouded in suggestion or insinuation. Your brows are raised and you’re looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to decide what he’s going to do—unimpressed at how tired he is, how he’s come here instead of sliding into his own bed for the rest he so clearly needs.)

Of course, Yoongi leaves. He returns home without his jacket, strips his shirt off as soon as he’s in this safe place, this base, sheds pieces of his body armour as easy as anything (you’d designed it to be lightweight and easy to don and doff, the perfect defence for someone who relied on stealth and speed); he’s just removing the last greave when Hoseok appears, rapping his knuckles against the open door.

“You’re finally back.”

Yoongi looks up. Hoseok is dressed for work, Hope Broker persona in place, tailored suit that sits perfectly with the lines of his body, handsome and stylish and entirely put together. He oozes poise and power. Elegance.

“Yeah.” Yoongi lets the greave drop, silent as it falls to the floor. “Job’s done.”

Hoseok smiles. It’s a genuine one because it’s for Yoongi. “I know,” he says, even though scarcely any time has passed since Yoongi put a bullet in the back of the target’s skull. Nothing happens in this world of theirs without Hoseok finding out about it, always sooner rather than later. “Just wanted to check in and make sure you were okay.”

“All good.”

“Good.” Hoseok is used to Yoongi’s blunt nature, his short responses when he’s tired. “Get some sleep.”

Hoseok’s elegant even as he adjusts his cufflinks. It’s just the briefest of moments, the crisp edge of his perfectly white sleeve contrasting with the shining silver, the design inlaid in them—but Yoongi recognises that design immediately.

Because it’s yours.

It’s the same emblem on each piece of his gear, small and understated, hidden away, easy to miss—but Yoongi knows it intimately. He doesn’t say anything. Lets Hoseok leave without a word. Each one of the men that Yoongi considers family, the tiny collection of people that stay in this same home as him, know that he only gets equipment sourced from you—but Hoseok had never mentioned that he’s been in contact with you, too.

It’s not important. Hoseok might be his friend and a staunch ally but there’s plenty that he gets up to that none of the others are privy to, trading information to the highest bidders, head of a huge network that Yoongi can use to his advantage but isn’t technically a part of. The people Hoseok deals with—buys his information and resources from, keeps perfectly balanced in comparison to his own power—is his own business and not Yoongi’s.

Yoongi moves to gather his armour, the hardsuit he wears like a second skin, and spots that insignia that he knows so well branded into it. To have Hoseok wearing it at his wrist—the Hope Broker, renowned trader of secrets—is a statement. You could have made the cufflinks plain and unadorned. But you hadn’t.

When Yoongi climbs into bed that night, he finds that his sleep is restless.

The smile on your face fades. “You know I don’t talk about business with other customers.”

Yoongi’s staring at you across your workbench, the light from its surface going dim as you take your hands off it, disassembled stun mine forgotten.

No one knows about his genuine friendship with Hoseok, but they do know that Agust D and the Hope Broker have an agreement; a professional working relationship. “I know the Hope Broker,” Yoongi says.

Your eyebrows rise so far they seem to threaten to ascend into your hairline, you’re so incredulous. “Everyone does. What’s your point? Do you expect me to give you information about everyone you ask about? I get paid to keep people’s privacy, Yoongi. Do you think I sell the information of your equipment, how to dissemble every defence you have? Do you think I give your name out to everyone who asks?”

There’s no touch of amusement to the line of your lips, no sparkling irreverence in your eyes. You’re genuinely displeased.

“He’s wearing your symbol.”

You scoff. “You wear my symbol too. Why, are you jealous? Your armour has exactly the same technology. Better, even, because I can fit more tech in there.”

The cufflinks generate a kinetic barrier, then, a layer of invisible shielding that lays just atop Hoseok’s skin. But no one sees Yoongi’s armour; no one sees the workmanship of your weapons, no one except him. Your insignia isn’t emblazoned on his wrist for all to see.

Yoongi isn’t jealous.

“Hope is a powerful man,” you continue. “Everyone knows that. Even people who haven’t met him know that. Even people who aren’t sure he exists know that. If I want to sell to him then that’s my business.”

Everyone who’s anyone recognises your logo, no matter how rare it is to spot it (you only craft for a select few, after all). And Hoseok’s influence is far reaching and powerful; no one would dare cross him, dare to cross anyone who’s associated with him.

“I’m looking for a new workshop.” You rise, moving away from your workbench to your monitors, touching a display with your fingers to bring it to life. Ignoring Yoongi’s presence, not even looking at him. “I haven’t got the space to modify the systems in this one as much as I want to. The walls are already full enough as it is. Do you know how hard it is to find somewhere with the specifications I need?”

Yoongi realises, then, why you’re doing this. The bruise is long gone and your skin is unmarred but you still don’t feel safe. You’ve always worked alone. Until now. Now you’re making moves to settle down, settle in, make a statement of allegiance to someone who can offer you a level of protection with their influence.

Someone who can offer you somewhere new, away from this inadequate place you’ve outgrown.

Hoseok laughs lightly when Yoongi asks about it, mentions it in passing as the two of them drink soju side by side, Hoseok in his suit and Yoongi girded in the armour under his unassuming clothes, both in the upper city for work; they stare down at the myriads of tall buildings and huge holo-boards and rainbow array of neon lights, far above the place they call home.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, utterly relaxed (and faintly amused). “I know you respect her work so I thought I’d reach out. I’m surprised she can make the things she does in that tiny workshop. You’re right; she’s very good.”

You are. The next time you meet, you give Yoongi his usual shipment and more besides, more than he’d ordered, reflected in the amount of creds he has to pay—because he won’t be able to just drop in for a while, your workshop dismantled and scraped empty in preparation for the move. Where to, he doesn’t know, but you say you’ll pass on the information once everything is up and running again.

“If you break any of your gear while I’m gone then you’re on your own,” you say. “I’m not shipping anything before my new workshop is finished.”

Two days later, Yoongi spies a new watch on Hoseok’s wrist. It looks low-tech, old style, metal strap and round clock face—but he sees the silhouette of your logo under those ticking hands and knows there’s more tech in there that meets the eye.

He looks away.

It takes a week for the message to appear, encrypted: your new location. Levels above your former workshop, one of the higher strata of the lower city—still hidden and out of the way but away from the dirt and darkness.

Yoongi goes. He finds the door panel, scans his palm, leans forward for the light to flit across his eye, murmurs a word, watches the door slide open. He’s already programmed in. New workshop, new security system, but he’s still allowed in, still one of the people you consider familiar, trustworthy.

(He doesn’t know of anyone else who fits that category. Has only ever seen you manually allow people inside, granting your permission each time, rather than giving them free run of the place. No one has as many complex orders as he does, he’s certain. It’s for ease and practicality’s sake.)

He’s unfamiliar with the layout of this new building, first corridor already longer than he’s used to; he pauses for a moment but then hears something, faint—your laughter. Follows that sound, makes his way forward, through polished corridors with lines of light underfoot, leading him down some stairs and towards the sound of you.

Your new workshop is beautiful. There’s enough room in here for everything, no need for a backroom: a central worktable, benches lining the walls, tech displays built in, everything edged with lighting, dark surfaces shining bright, large floor panels underfoot emitting a low glow. Your former home had been that underground workshop and a locked door to a ladder to your micro apartment up top, tiny kitchen and single bed in a small room with a shower cubicle in the corner. Yoongi already knows that this building is far, far bigger, and you have more space than you’ve ever had before; you’d never been discontent with your smaller home, comfort from familiarity, until that comfort had been stripped from you.

You’re smiling. The snark woven into your words that Yoongi is used to is muted, light comment falling from your lips as you sit on that central table, perched on its edge. And Hoseok, he laughs, grinning so widely his teeth are on show—he’s wearing a suit but his jacket is resting on his shoulders, tie undone and cast around his neck. A stance of relaxation, one Yoongi’s never seen from him, not when he’s working. Not when he’s The Hope Broker and not Hoseok.

He’s still smiling when he notices Yoongi, the two of you looking over when the hitman speaks.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Hoseok.”

That ever-present smirk freezes on your face for a split second, eyes widening at the sound of Hope’s real name. Hoseok just takes it in stride, his smile not dimming even for a second.

“Hey, Yoongi.” His greeting is as warm as it always is. “Just checking in. Have to make sure everything is up to scratch. What’s the verdict?”

You’ve hidden your surprise, wiped it off your face, eyes on Hoseok as you answer him. “It’s perfect.” A pause. “I take it you two know each other?”

“Sure. Yoongi is an old friend of mine.” Hoseok is still smiling, looking at Yoongi with creased eyes. Unafraid of revealing this information to you, still at ease despite the tension that’s bubbling in the air, Yoongi’s impassive face. Hoseok is always an unshaken pillar of positivity. “I didn’t realise he was coming. Am I interrupting an appointment?”

You stare at Yoongi. “No, you’re not. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

(You’d sent the message less than an hour ago. Yoongi had taken one look at the address, memorised it, pulled on his jacket and headed out; clearly you hadn’t anticipated how fast his arrival would be.)

“A happy coincidence, then.” Hoseok sounds like he genuinely means it, is pleased to see Yoongi here, his smile unwavering. There’s a languid set to his body, the easing line of his spine, hands in his pockets. A glittering in his eyes. (No one ever gets the drop on Hoseok, never surprises him, catches him off guard, no matter what they do.) “But I’ll let you conduct your business and we can catch up another time.”

He takes a hand out of his pocket as he walks past Yoongi, pats his shoulder amicably. His palm is relaxed against the tense set of Yoongi’s shoulders before he ascends the stairs and disappears out of sight, the sound of his polished shoes fading until he’s gone, one of the monitors on the wall flickering to indicate the front door is shut once more.

You’re still staring at Yoongi. The atmosphere had been heavy, even with Hoseok there—and now that he’s gone there’s nothing to alleviate that pressure, nothing to dissolve the strange twist to the air.

“Who,” you start, measured but sharp, “do you think you are?”

Yoongi returns your stare, looks back at you with his dark eyes. Doesn’t respond to your question; an unnecessary, unprompted thing, razor-edged for a reason he can’t discern.

“Can’t you hear me?” You slide off the table, stalk towards him. “I said—” you raise a hand— “who? Do? You? Think? You? Are?”

You emphasise each word with a sharp jab to Yoongi’s chest, driving your finger forward with so much force it must hurt. You keep it in place, keep it dug into the centre of his ribcage. There’s no laughter hidden in the corner of your lips. He’s annoyed you again, somehow, a familiar guest turned unwelcome interloper.

“You say that you know Hope and yet I just watched you treat him like dirt.” Your eyes are piercing, cutting through the soft frame of your curled lashes, boring straight into him. “You come into my workshop as if you’re meant to be here; like there’s something you’re owed. Do you want me to treat you like a child, send you to your room? Not let you back in here? Because I will.”

“You sent me your address,” Yoongi points out.

You let out a bark of laughter. “Please.” Your hand drops back to your side and you turn, stepping away. “I’ve sent this address to all my business associates. I can’t sell or buy unless people can find me. You’re the only one who’s taken this as an invitation to just turn up and waltz in. At least when Hope turns up he warns me beforehand. Oh, and he doesn’t say stuff like he’d rather blow his own brains out than be forced to see me. I know you just love being contrary but has it ever occurred to you to be more polite to people? You’d make a terrible waiter. You’d get fired on your first day.”

You’re in front of one of your cabinets. You reach inside for something, hefting it in your hands before returning, handling it in a way that’s completely unceremonious, dropping it to the bench at his side like you want to be rid of it. Like you don’t even want to hand it directly to him, to interact with him. “There. Nothing but a pleasure doing business with you, Yoongi, even if your customer service still needs improving.”

It looks like a flat, hexagonal panel, the same colour and material as his armour. Something to be locked into it, wired in, trailing veins of unattached tech spilling from it. He’s seen you working on this for a while, seen you draw up blueprints with a bruise fresh on your cheek, seen it turned in your hands as that mark had faded and left your skin.

It’s not something he ordered.

“What is this?”

You wave a dismissive hand. “Auto medi-gel distributor. It syncs with your armour and senses when you’ve been hurt and disperses gel in the affected area. Your armour’s always been too lightweight to have extra mods on but I’ve been working on this for a while.”

It’s an astonishing piece of tech. Usually one that’s reserved for heavier armour, restricting and hard to move in but easier to mod—but this thing is slim, compact, the same technology crammed into a smaller package without losing any of its punch. He doesn’t know what materials you’ve had to use to circumvent this, the level of tech you’ve layered into this, the amount of time and thought you’ve put into this.

“How much is it?”

The wrong thing to say. The smile that spreads itself across your lips is an echo of its usual curve, brittle and flaking around the edges, a baring of teeth.

“It’s a gift, Yoongi. Usually when someone does something for you, you return the favour.” Your lips are still upturned but your eyes are unsmiling even when your tone seems whimsical and light. You’ve got on your usual flippant façade, but there’s a pointed undercurrent to it. “You know, I don’t understand you at all. You remind me that you don’t like me but then you always hang around. You kill someone who threatened me and pretend that you didn’t do it. You say you don’t like me, but I thought you at least respected me, and yet here you are. Lying to me and treating me like I'm a fool.”

“I do respect you,” Yoongi says.

(Because he does, and as much as he would hate to inflate your ego, he doesn’t shy away from telling the truth.)

“Sure you do.” An unimpressed eye-roll, cutting under his words, knocking his feet out from underneath him. You don’t care to believe him. “This is my fault for not treating you the same as all my other business associates. Next time you come in you’ll have to have an appointment, just like everyone else. It’ll minimise the amount of time we have to spend together.”

Yoongi doesn’t like you. He finds, though, that he likes the sound of this even less; finds it pulling at his brows, his mouth, impassive expression turned to one of disapproval.

And his mouth opens. The word falls from his lips before he has a chance to think—years of battle intuition, years of following instinct, moving as he needs to in the moment.

“No.”

A raise of the brows. A purse of the lips. Incredulous. “No?” you parrot it back, mocking. “Oh, okay, sure. Never mind. You’re welcome to come in whenever you want and act like you have free rein of the place. There’s nothing I enjoy more than your scowling presence.”

Sharp tongued, sharp eyed, narrowed at him: a confrontation. For all that you needle him you never mean it, really (even if it’s still infuriating, aggravating). But right now? Right now each of your words is barbed, your sarcasm a defence, an offence. You’re running your mouth not just to rile him, but to ward him away.

“You’re really not as smart as you think you are, Min Yoongi.” You wield his name like a weapon. “You tell me right now why I should listen to you. What do you come here for? And don’t say it’s for my work because it stopped being just that a long time ago. And if it is just for my work then take it and go. Then I’ll take you off the security system and we’ll only see each other as much as is strictly necessary. In fact, you could pass your orders along via Hope—then we won’t have to even see each other at all. ”

“And then he’ll be the only one allowed free rein?”

It comes out before he’s even really thought about what he’s saying, which isn’t like him at all. Yoongi is two parts: pure, honed instinct, and careful, wary vigilance. He’s not like you, saying the first thing that comes to mind—not normally, anyway—but the words jump from his lips, from some near-silent part of him that balks at the idea. Of Hoseok stepping into your space the way that Yoongi does, appearing without warning, to be greeted with a curled smirk and glittering eyes.

“You’re a fucking idiot if you think that you’re not the only person with security clearance. My God. You’re infuriating. Seriously? I didn’t realise you were genuinely this dense. You’re the only one I’ve ever allowed in without prior agreement.” You emphasise this statement with another jab to his chest, your finger a sharp knife that cuts into him as you stab it forwards.

He catches your wrist. His grasp is firm but there’s no pressure to it; doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t tighten his fingers, just holds you in place. You’re staring at him with a challenge in your eyes, one that he finds himself rising to match, never one to back down.

“Is that so?”

Your hand unfurls, fingers splayed across his chest; he’s still holding your wrist, shifting with your movement. “Don’t be obtuse.” An irritated exhale. “Normally you complain whenever I talk and now you’re trying to get me to repeat myself. Again with the inconsistency, Yoongi. Make up your mind.”

He could do what you do whenever you’re feeling particularly aggravating. Play dumb, ask more questions, drag out the interaction until you’re bordering on snapping—but he doesn’t. He looks at the set of your jaw, the way you’re staring at him. Unflinching. You’ve never been scared of him, and you aren’t now, not with how he’s got a hold of you, how close he is to you.

He toes the line. Shifts closer. Notes the way your pupils dilate, how the tips of your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt; how the air grows heavier, a frisson of electricity crackling through it. Yoongi doesn’t like you, but he likes that feeling—how the tension in the air shivers from indignation into something different.

Because you’re still staring at him, and there’s still that hard set to your jaw, but there’s not just anger in your eyes. There’s that warm thing he’s grown used to seeing, smouldering in near silence until he’d coaxed it to full flame, thrown gasoline onto the coals when he’d shot plasma into the back of Tang Lee’s skull. He’d protected you even though he hadn’t needed to, doesn’t need to, but does anyway—because he trusts you and there’s no one else he trusts to keep you safe.

And there’s no one else you trust, either.

“You talk too much,” Yoongi says, like he so often does—but there’s no irritation in it, touched instead with a simmering heat, the faintest edge of a bite.

You tilt your head. There’s a provocation etched into the twist of your mouth, the way your lips lift. Because no matter how much you needle him, dig your fingernails into every crack of his armour and twist—no matter how annoying you are, how angry you make him—you know that he’s not mad. Not really. Not in a way that makes you afraid, but in a way that thrills you, makes you want to see him snap, to wipe away that level facade he maintains.

“Maybe you should shut me up, then,” you reply, a murmur. A challenge.

A beat. Yoongi’s fingers tighten around your wrist. A warning.

And in response?

You just smile.

The way your eyes widen just seconds later is delicious, though, when Yoongi lets go of your wrist—because he’s moving faster than you expected. Your surprise melts into delight, a spark of glee that says you’ve gotten exactly what you want when Yoongi threads his fingers in your hair, tilting your head back to bare the column of your throat. He holds you firmly in place, crowds you back against the workbench so hard its edge must be digging almost painfully into your back but not once does that glee dim, written over every line of your smile, eyes bright and teeth sharp.

Yoongi likes to take things slow. There’s the part of him that never steps into a situation without knowing every angle, every escape route, each one of his kills planned meticulously. But, he thinks, the two of you have been waiting long enough, and he’s never been patient around you—has found his composure worn thin faster than anywhere else, by anyone else. It’s this part of him, frayed into non-existence by you, that rises to the surface now, makes him move as quick as he does.

And you respond just the way he knew you would. When he presses his mouth to yours you kiss him back like you have a point to make (you always do), fast and almost reckless, all lips and teeth and tongue. There’s no finesse to it. When he presses his tongue into your mouth you part your lips so prettily, let him take his fill, slide your tongue against his and tilt your head to get even deeper—and just like always, you're vocal, letting out small noises that are caught and muffled in the kiss, lust filled. But when you try to nip at his lip with the edge of your teeth Yoongi tightens his grip in your hair and swallows down your gasp before he pulls away, holding you in place so you can’t chase after his mouth. Your lips are kiss swollen and under the bright lights above they shine, slightly parted, pupils blown as you stare at him.

(You look good like this.)

Your eyes slide shut when Yoongi lowers his lips to your neck, across your throat. There’s nothing gentle about it. He moves with single-minded intent, lips and teeth harsh against your sensitive skin—and you take it all, little sounds falling from your lips as Yoongi drags his teeth towards the hollow of your neck. And when he takes his hand from your hair, takes both hands and digs his fingers into your waist and lifts you, you go so easily; a mimicry of your earlier position when he’d stepped in, perched on the edge of the table. Legs spread so Yoongi can stand between them. He’d be surprised at how pliant you are if it wasn’t so obvious that this is exactly what you want: lifting your hips so he can strip your lower half bare.

Your bare thighs press against the surface of the workbench, tech displays coming alive under your body heat. You’ve shrugged your cropped jacket off and you’re just reaching for your top when Yoongi stops you; splays a hand in the centre of your chest and presses you back, slow but undeniable. You’re not the one setting the pace. He is. He’s the one in control, with you spread out in front of him, only a thin layer of fabric keeping you from being completely bare—thin cotton underwear, dark and damp between your legs, betraying your arousal.

“Wet,” Yoongi murmurs.

Your retort stutters on your lips when he drags his fingers upwards over your slit, barely dulled by the material in the way. “No shit,” you say, and then suck in a breath when he presses the pad of his thumb across your clit.

It’s no good, the fact you’re still talking. But that’s okay. Yoongi’s planning on changing that.

It’s lewd, the way your legs are spread, parting further at the urging of his hands. Your hands slide across the bench, papers scattering, palms flat on the work surface and white light shimmering on dark blue in reaction to your touch; an unnecessary distraction that you both ignore. There’s nothing graceful about this, the peel of underwear away from your core, already slick even with the barest of attentions; he drags his fingers down the inside of your thighs, all that soft skin, and then under, urging your hips up and towards his mouth. No foreplay to this foreplay, no dragging out this moment—he bites at that soft skin of your inner thigh, sinks his teeth into it and listens to the way you gasp in surprise—and before you have a moment to ground yourself, he presses his mouth to your cunt.

You’re wet and warm under his tongue and the smell of you surrounds him, musky and heavy, and he feels how your entire body goes tense as you arch your back. He’d normally take his time with this, have you strung out and begging, but he has different plans today—knows exactly what he wants from this, sucking your clit between his lips and feeling your thighs tighten around his head, legs slung over his shoulders as he listens to the way you moan. Each sound shudders out from your mouth like you tried so desperately to keep it in but couldn’t help it. Yoongi loves eating pussy anyway but this is even better, the way all your witty ripostes die in your throat before you can shape them on your lips, turned into breathy gasps instead.

The taste of you fills his mouth and it’s so fucking good. You’ve been watching him, how his head moves between your legs, but he can tell you’re close; you’ve given up, eyes shut as you lean into the sensation building up in you, and Yoongi thinks he likes you better like this. Forced into speechlessness under his hands and tongue. Your pretty mouth softened from sharpness into urging noises of pleasure. He slides one arm across your stomach and holds you in place, a hard line that you can’t overpower and you’re left squirming in place, hips trying to kick up each time he draws his tongue over your slit, every part of you sloppy with your own arousal and Yoongi’s spit, flushed and lovely. One of your hands is in his hair and you’re pulling, pulling hard, unaware of how tight your grip is as you try to buck your hips and sob.

You’re so sensitive, and it only takes one, two fingers pressing into you and curling just right as Yoongi slides his tongue over your clit before you’re cumming, hot around his fingers as you come apart all wet and messy. He’s never seen you so undone, back arched as you ride out your orgasm, hair swept away from your forehead as you throw your head back. Keeps his mouth open on you, feels you under his tongue, until you’re flopped on your back and your chest is heaving, legs untensed and loose over his shoulders.

You shift an arm. Your fingers barely brush the medi-gel mod you’d made him, a loose sheet of paper sliding away and joining the others on the floor.

“Just moved in and it’s already a mess,” Yoongi says, and he doesn’t just mean the paper; fingers and chin and mouth covered in your slick, your core soaked. He’s still knuckle deep and when he curls his fingers again your entire body jolts, your mouth parting almost wantonly before you seem to struggle back to reality, surfacing from a haze of arousal and post orgasmic bliss.

“That’s your fault,” you say, voice weaker than usual. “I’ll send you the cleaning bill.”

“Mm. Not my fault you’re a messy girl.”

“Fuck you.” The blunt words are softened by your breathlessness, your bonelessness; the way your breath catches in your throat when he calls you a messy girl, even if you try to hide it. Trying not to let him in on exactly how much power he holds in this moment.

“I was planning on it,” Yoongi says, as calm as ever, even if arousal is simmering through his veins and gathering in his gut—has been this entire time, the taste of you on his tongue and the heat of you under his lips and the sound of you in his ears. “Want to make your workshop even messier?”

You dig your balls of your feet into his back, legs still over his shoulders. His fingers shift inside you and you shiver. “I don’t think so,” you say. “Bedroom.”

“So you’re giving me a tour, then?”

You don’t dignify him with a response, although the noise you make when he finally pulls his fingers out of you is more than enough to satisfy him. He’s still fully dressed and you’re only half so, and it would be comical if the sight of your bare legs and slick on your inner thighs wasn’t so hot, barefoot on the glowing and pristine (papers notwithstanding) floors as you reach for his hand and lift it to your lips, sucking his fingers into your mouth and licking your arousal off his fingers with your tongue, warm and wet, before you grab his wrist and pull.

He watches the movement of your hips as you lead him, your bare ass. Shameless as ever. Confident in yourself, even now. It’s not until you’ve stepped over the threshold and into your new bedroom that your tattoos become visible, as bright as the low lights in the room, those geometric lines and stylised circuitry on your legs shifting as you step forwards.

Even with the relative darkness Yoongi immediately notices something. Cast over the back of a chair near the bed, there’s his jacket, blood stains at the edge of the sleeves gone. Cleaned. Yoongi shifts his hand so you don’t have your fingers wrapped around his wrist any more. Instead he’s the one shackling you, holding you in place as you look over your shoulder.

“Were you ever going to return that to me?” He tilts his head at the chair.

You pause. Glance over. Look back at him, all amusement and provocation, recovered from your earlier breathlessness. “But Yoongi, I get so cold.”

There’s something about the idea of you in his clothes, clothes that you know he’s worn when he’s been getting his hands dirty—he ignores the curl to your lips and moves you towards the bed, ignoring the sound of your self satisfied laughter when he reaches for your shirt and pulls, with you lifting your arms to help him, grinning at him the whole time. Even when he’s thrown your bra aside and kicked his boots off and pushed you onto the mattress, trapped you underneath him, completely naked against his completely clothed body you’re still smiling, like the cat who got the cream.

You’re stunning. There’s no doubt about it. You always have been, annoyingly so, even when Yoongi’s wanted to wring your neck; not just because you’re pretty but because you’re intelligent and confident and in control, staring up at him without a lick of fear or concern, even now. Never with him, never. He can see your tattoos in all their glory, nothing hidden away from his gaze; he sees one he hasn’t been able to see before, a sunflower bursting across your ribcage, curved under the swell of your breast, glowing red and orange in the midst of all your other cyan and teal lines, glowing in the black light. He’s pressing you down, trapped under his body, and you’re just waiting. Waiting and still smiling, smirking, letting him take you in, preening under his attention.

He wants to eat you alive.

So he does just that. Shifts back down the mattress on his knees, keeping his hands on you, pulling his hands down the easing lines of your ribs and waist and hips, before a firm tug has you lifting up—your smug facade shakes when you’re left with only your shoulders and head against the bed, the rest of your body pulled towards Yoongi’s waiting mouth once more, held in place with fingers that dig into your hips, thighs soft against his ears, your hands scrabbling at the linen underneath you when Yoongi’s lips press into the crease of your thigh, off balance.

“Safeword?” He murmurs into your skin, and you pause.

“Hoseok,” you answer, and Yoongi responds by biting into your thigh again, soothing it with his tongue when you squeal.

“Shameless.”

You’re still wet from before, slick with cum, and Yoongi doesn’t hesitate before he dives back in. He can hear more than he can see the way your fingers curl into your sheets and rumple them in your hands, anchored helplessly into place by Yoongi’s mouth and the fingers cupped under your ass, digging into the soft skin, undignified and at his mercy.

“Yoongi!” You gasp, almost a whimper as a breath gets caught in your throat. “Y-Yoongi—”

You’re so helpless like this. It’s a little hard for Yoongi to breathe, your legs tightening around him, but it’s worth it for the way he can see you shaking apart. He presses his tongue as deep into you as he can, sucks your swollen pearl between his lips and circles it with his tongue, notices the way you jolt at those wet kisses, still sensitive from before, and he doesn’t let up. Keeps going and going and going until you’re gasping for air, sensations rippling through your body as you buck and writhe; you’re trying to keep yourself together, he can tell, but you’re unravelling, smirk wiped off your face and your mouth in a pretty little circle whenever you choke out oh, oh.

You cum faster than he expects, shoulders lifting away from the mattress as you arch your back so far it must hurt and tighten your legs and he feels the way your pussy throbs under his tongue, practically gushing when you reach your peak. Your eyes are unfocused when they flutter back open but you’re reaching for him, for the waistband of his trousers, trying to touch the hard length of his cock—he’s been ignoring it, how he’s leaked so much precum he can feel how wet it is in his boxer-briefs.

He keeps ignoring it now. He catches your hands, stops you in place, stares you down with an unimpressed tilt to his brows.

“What,” he says levelly, “do you think you’re doing?”

“Want you in my mouth,” you say. You seem almost desperate for it, fingers flexing in his hold, letting your tongue linger against your lips longer than necessary. “I want your cock in my mouth, Yoongi.”

He tightens his grip around your wrists. And then, for the first time all night, he smiles.

“No.”

You look stunned. Just for a moment. Then you’re squirming in his hold, but you’re trapped, nowhere to go. “What do you mean, no?”

Yoongi’s still smiling, mirroring the self satisfaction that had been written all over your face earlier. “I mean no. You don’t get what you want. You get what you’re given.”

There’s nothing he’d like more than to sink into that wet heat, to see your smart mouth put to good use, lips spread over his cock, but this is better. Seeing the genuine frustration and disbelief written across your features.

He doesn’t give you time to line up another angered retort on your tongue. Doesn’t give you time to breathe before he’s flipping you over, the wings of your shoulder blades and curve of your spine emphasised by the lines that are traced symmetrically and shining across your skin. They shift when you move, hips lifted from the mattress by Yoongi’s hands, on your hands and knees as he fumbles his waistband and zipper and pulls his cock free. He’s painfully hard, flushed head with precum that beads at the tip, and when he tugs you back he watches the way the head drags across the curve of your ass, leaving a shining line of wetness on your skin.

And when he sinks into you he barely gives you time to adjust, barely has time to adjust himself, to all this hot tight wetness after his cock’s gotten no attention at all—you let out a moan that almost sounds like you’re singing, long and high with pleasure, the slide eased from all your cum.

You take it so well, always so good to him no matter how irritating you are, so lost in the sensations that you don’t say anything about the hard edges of Yoongi’s clothes whenever he drives his hips forward and it presses into the soft skin of your thighs. It’s messy and choppy and fast and you slump onto your elbows, entire body shaking as you take everything Yoongi is giving you. Caged underneath him when he follows you forwards, presses his front to your back, feels the way the sweat on your skin is caught against the fabric of his clothes. Grinds his hips deep and feels the way you gasp, sucking in a shaking breath, your entire body lost in it. He bites his lip and keeps his own sounds caught behind his teeth, not letting you know how you’re pulling him towards his own edge.

He’s not done with you yet.

Your clit is slick under his touch when he lifts his fingers to touch you, to layer another sensation on top of the cock inside you, and you’re sobbing. You don’t ask him to stop, never know when to quit, face every challenge thrown at you—and Yoongi can tell that you love it even if your body is crying out, that you love this oversensitivity, pulled taut and strung out. You’re beyond speech, words slurred, barely recognisable as his name and pleas of more, please, more. He can feel when you’ve crested the wave of too much sensation and fallen back into that rippling sea of pleasure, and when you cum it’s with a soundless moan, mouth wide open but no noise escaping. No more sharp retorts, no smart words, fucked into incoherency, trembling and quivering as you go tight around him and Yoongi struggles not to lose himself then and there, in your scorching, wet cunt, fluttering around him.

The noise when he pulls out is slick and lewd, just like all the other noises that have been filling the room, the slap of skin on skin temporarily halted when Yoongi rolls you onto your back. There’s sweat beading on your skin, shimmering, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes and glistening like tiny jewels in the multi-coloured low light of this room. Your lips are parted and your gaze is bleary and you’re everything Yoongi has never seen from you before, fuzzy and quiet, entirely pliant. When he reaches for you again, runs his hands over the rise of your hipbones and down the side of your thighs, you whimper.

“One more,” Yoongi says. “One more, you can give me one more.”

You’ve never known when to quit, and now is no different, even if you’re on the verge of being entirely fucked dumb. Those tears pool in your eyes and stream down towards your hairline, but you let Yoongi move you, try to help by lifting your hips but almost too gone to move at all. Yoongi almost cums when he sinks into you, your willing body; he thinks you’ve never looked better than you do now, smelling like sweat and sex and so soft under his hands, taking his cock like you were made for it, and you’re so gorgeous when you’re falling apart.

The attitude you wear normally—the one that chafes at Yoongi’s nerve-endings—has been entirely wiped away, forced out of you by mindless pleasure. But still, you know what you want, even now, even when you’re barely coherent—Yoongi feels your hand slide across his and pull weakly, guiding it across your chest and up, circling his fingers around your neck.

He swears. Snaps his hips forward hard, watches the way your eyes roll back when he gives an experimental squeeze around your throat. Yoongi’s choked people before, knows exactly how much pressure to give, how much it takes to cut someone’s airways completely or how to just leave them reeling; he lets you linger on the edge of breathlessness, feels the way you go tight around him. When you orgasm it rips through you, your thighs tightening around Yoongi’s hips as you hit your peak and cum hard, and the feeling of it has Yoongi cursing and bending forwards to shove his face in your neck and kiss the salt-sweat taste he finds there as he falls off the edge. He cums wet inside you, keeps rolling his hips through it all, lets his cum mix with yours and watches the way you just keep taking it, even when your whole body is trembling from how much it is.

And when Yoongi calls you a good girl, you don’t snap back like you normally would, don’t deride his praise. You bask in it, as tired as you are, letting out a soft noise when he pulls his softening cock out of you, unbothered by the wet patches on your sheets and how the whole room stinks of sex. When he moves to lift you, to get you clean, you go easily and without argument, every one of your honed edges dulled, and you make no move to sharpen them again, to drag them over Yoongi in the way he’s so familiar with by now. Even when you’ve lifted out of your haze and you’re back in the moment, the way you watch Yoongi is no less calm than normal, but still different.

“Stay.”

He’s in the middle of reaching for his boots, discarded on the floor, a discordant note on the clear floor. You’re wearing clean underwear and a loose t-shirt and you’re looking at him with something verging on surprise, like you hadn’t expected to see him moving to pull his shoes back on to leave.

He hadn’t been planning to.

“Just moving them out of the way,” says Yoongi, putting them upright by the base of your chair, and then he makes his way back to you. You don’t attempt to hide your pleasure that he’s listened to you, pulling him onto the bed despite the fact he’s still dressed.

“I don’t cuddle,” he says, even as you tuck yourself into the crook of his arm, and he shifts to make it more comfortable for you.

You press your face into the hollow of his neck, touch your nose against his throat, breathing in the smell of sweat that still lingers—because you’re shower soft and fresh but he isn’t, and weirdly enough, you seem to enjoy it. Seem to enjoy that contrast, the one that’s always existed between you, Yoongi immersed in blood and sweat and tears while you’re away from it, one degree of separation from it all. “You know, I like it when you do things for me.”

Normally he’d protest, say that he doesn’t do things for you, but the truth is that he does, even if he’s only just admitting it to himself.

“Like that time you killed someone for me,” you say, and Yoongi’s fingers tighten, soft skin of your waist yielding under his touch.

“I kill a lot of people.”

You let out a laugh against his skin, quietly amused. “Just admit it. You like me, Min Yoongi.”

A pause.

Then: “Against my better judgement, I do.”

And he does. Even if you’re irritating and maddening, he does like you, and not just because of the work you do for him. He thinks that even if you weren’t so good at your job that he’d find himself here anyway, caught in this push and pull you have, magnetised.

“No need to sound so begrudging,” you say, but there’s no real annoyance behind your words.

Yoongi finds that he likes that note in your voice, like you’re indulging him and his stubbornness and you’re unmoved by it. He hums in response. Feels the way you shift back, lean on your elbows to look down at him, lips curled up at the corners.

“Kiss me.”

Not a question. A demand. Yoongi stares you down, just for a second, before he lifts a hand and weaves a hand back into your hair, tilting your mouth against his. He can feel your self satisfied smile against his lips and he doesn’t mind it at all, sees it spread across your face when you eventually pull back, all flushed lips and warm eyes.

You’re still sharp, a weapon in your own right, but you willingly hand yourself over to be held in his skilled hands, let yourself be worn smooth by his touch. He weaves his fingers between your own, your palm soft and warm against his, and he likes this. That you’re unafraid of what he is, that the fact he’s a killer isn’t something that scares you or thrills you.

Yoongi likes your work. He likes that he knows he can trust you. He likes that he knows of your loyalty, to the people you choose and to yourself, your unwavering principles, as unpredictable as they might seem. He likes that you’re unashamed to be yourself and to be confident, no matter how people react to that cockiness.

What he likes even better than all that is this, though: the way you’re pressed against his side, evidence of his touch written into your skin. The feeling of your hand in his. Despite all the odds, all the months of drawn out and simmering exasperation and tension coming to a head like this, Yoongi likes you.

“I’m not going to give you a discount, you know,” you say suddenly, and for the first time since you met, Yoongi allows himself to laugh at you.

“I’d be offended if you did.”

(You’re loud. Cocky. Arrogant. You love to irritate him just for the hell of it, because you think it’s funny and you love knowing that you can rile him up—but he can rile you up too, and you both know it.

Yeah. Yoongi likes you.)

tagging: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove @gyukult @swinginpicklesuitcaseapricot @kpopheart2 @loveyoongles @muzikabijou @katbonv @jaxx-7 @yeojaa

#btswritingcafe #houseofddaeng #magicshopnet #btswriterscollective #btsguild #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #yoongi x you #bts #bts x reader #yoongi #yoongi scenario #yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist #let's see if this appears in the tags this time! fingers crossed!#wow can you believe I wrote like 4k words of smut or something close to that

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cannibalizedyke · 2 years

Text

Almost as Much as I Love You

Leo Valdez x Artistic!Reader

Gender: Female

Warnings: A bit of language

Word Count: 1,026

Request: I was so torn by your requests when I saw both Leo and Jesper! But I'm gonna have to go with my favorite funky Latino boy. Can you perhaps do a fic where Leo's s/o is an artistic person, but not only the painting etc., also a lot with sculpting and clay? Leo usually sees the progress of what they're making, but lately he isn't allowed to see anything. And then one day he walks into Bunker 9 and he sees a little clay sculpture of Festus? Like, what would his reaction be? Take your time writing this, and don't feel pressured at all! I'm very excited to see what you make of it, so let me know when it's done ❤

Requested By: @luna-says-stuff

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I really hope you like it :) and feel free to request something for Jesper too, there's no need to choose!

Leo Valdez loves you more than anything. He loves your compassionate nature, your shy affection, your cluttered way of living - everything about you. Most of all, though, he loves your ability to create something out of basically nothing. A lump of clay becomes a carefully-made sculpture in your hands. A blank canvas becomes a gorgeous sunset with colorful strokes from your brush. A blank sheet of paper becomes a detailed portrait with the precise markings of your pencil. Everything you touch you turn into something beautiful, and Leo can’t get enough of it.

Which is why he’s very, very angry at you. Well, not really. He could never be truly mad at you, but right now, he’s as close to mad as he can get. You always let him see what you’re working on. He’s always there, beginning to end, watching your projects go from practically nothing to the most beautiful pieces of art he’s ever seen. Recently, though, it’s been different. And he has no idea why.

“(Y/N/N), please!” Leo whines, trying again in vain to open your cabin’s locked door. “You always let me see what you’re working on!”

“Not this time, Fire Boy,” comes your reply from inside. “You’ll see it when I’m finished.”

He groans, lightly banging his head on the wood. “I am going to burn this door down.”

You laugh. “Go ahead. I’d love to see you try to explain that to Chiron.”

Leo kicks the door in frustration, but his hands remain a normal temperature. “I am absolutely furious at you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“I can deal with that,” you reply, your tone still playful. “Now shoo, Valdez.”

Leo huffs. “Fine. But you better have a good reason for locking me out, (Y/L/N).” He walks away, off to find Piper and complain.

He pounds on the Aphrodite Cabin door. A young girl opens the door with a bewildered look on her face.

“Where’s Piper, Lacy?” Leo asks, annoyed.

“I’m right here, dumbass.” Piper’s sitting on her bed, reading a book. “Stop harassing my sister.”

Lacy lets him in and Leo marches over to his friend, plopping down next to her with a frustrated sigh.

“(Y/N) still not letting you see what she’s working on?” Piper guesses, keeping her eyes on her book.

“Nope,” Leo replies, peeved. “I don’t get it. Why won’t she let me watch? I always get to see what she’s working on, Piper, always. What makes this time any different?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she’s making it for you. Maybe she won’t let you see cause she wants it to be a surprise.”

Leo blinks. He hadn’t considered that. “Maybe… I don’t wanna jump to conclusions. Maybe she just doesn’t like me anymore.”

Piper sets her book down, rolling her eyes. “Oh, come on, Leo, there is no way that’s true. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, that girl is head over heels.”

Leo’s face reddens, and he smirks a bit. “That’s so embarrassing for her.”

Piper smacks him. “If you’re gonna be a little shit, I’ll take it back.”

“Ow!” Leo whines, rubbing his arm. “Okay, sorry, sorry. Thanks, Pipes.”

“Any time,” is Piper’s disinterested response, already back to her book.

Leo leaves the Aphrodite Cabin and decides to head to Bunker 9; he’s sure there’s something he can do to Festus while he waits for you to finish whatever he’s not allowed to see. He pulls the door open and stops abruptly. A small sculpture is sitting on his tool table, accompanied by a note. He walks over and discovers the sculpture is of Festus, made so intricately he glances at the real mechanical dragon to make sure someone didn’t shrink him. He picks up the note.

Leo, I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark the past week. I know how much you love watching me work, so it honestly killed me to keep you away. I wanted this one to be a surprise, though. I’m sure you’ve already gathered this, but I made you a little sculpture of Festus! I’m sure it’s not perfect, but I did my best, and I really hope you like it. I love you. -(Y/N)

Something drips onto the paper, and Leo realizes he’s crying. “It’s perfect,” he whispers, tucking the note in his pocket. He picks up the sculpture and runs out of the bunker, not stopping till he reaches the Apollo Cabin. He raps on the door, panting, and you answer with a shy smile. He sets the sculpture on the floor and grabs your face, pulling you into a kiss.

“I love you,” he says when you break apart.

You giggle. “I’m assuming you liked the sculpture.”

“It’s amazing,” he replies, picking it up and following you into the cabin. He sits down next to you on your bed. “Gods, I’m so sorry I was pissed at you earlier. This is the most incredible thing I’ve ever received.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “You didn’t know what I was doing. Which was the point, I suppose.”

He kisses you again, pulling you onto his lap as you tangle your hands in his hair. “I love you so much,” he murmurs against your lips

“I love you, too,” you reply.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue entering your mouth when the door opens. You lurch away from each other, flushed. Your brother Will walks in, eyebrows raised. “Hey, (Y/N), Leo. What’re you up to?” He smirks.

“I- um, we were just, uh…” Leo stammers.

“Relax, I’m kidding. I’ll be out in a sec, just need to get my jacket. Have fun, kids.” He grabs his jacket and walks out, then peeks back in. “Not too much fun, though.”

“Will!” you groan.

“Just teasing!” He leaves, for real this time.

“Sorry about him,” you murmur, climbing back into Leo’s lap.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Thanks again for the sculpture, by the way.”

You smile. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it,” he says, pecking you on the lips and pressing his forehead to yours. “Almost as much as I love you.” He kisses you again.

#leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x you #leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez one shot #leo valdez imagine #leo valdez fluff #leo valdez fanfiction #leo valdez fanfic #leo valdez

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write-orflight · 3 years

Text

The Fraction of Innocence.

**Gif Not Mine**

Anon Requested: 10, 16, and 25 for the smutty prompts thing!!!

10: “were you just touching yourself?” ‘yeah, what are you donna do about it?’

16: “the only way you are gonna get off is on my thigh.”

25: “she may be all lollipops and candy bars, but I bet behind closed doors she’s hand cuffs and gags.”

Pairings: SpencerXReader

Rating: M, (This is very explicit.)

Words: 4K

Warnings: NSFW!!! 18+ (Dom!Spencer, BDSM overtones, sexual conduct, fingering, bondage, etc.)

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Spencer thinks Y/N is an innocent, naive girl until a case reveals her extracurricular activities.

Spencer had been back from jail for 2 months when he first met her.

At first he didn’t think anything of her, other than the faint smell of vanilla and daisy as she walked past him in the bullpen and the bright smile that seemed to take up half her face. She was carrying files close to her chest like a schoolgirl late to class and the skirt of her white dress bellowed softly behind her as she made her way to Emily’s office.

“Who is that?” He had asked.

Luke looked up to where Spencer’s gaze was. “Oh, that’s Y/N, she's a tech analyst helping Penelope out right now. She’s sweet, you’ll like her.”

It doesn’t take Spencer long after that to decide he, in fact, does not like you. There was nothing wrong with you. Luke was right, you were sweet, almost sickeningly so. It was like you had no concept of reality. You lived in this world of all sunshine and good things despite the horror that crossed your screen daily. And while Penelope was the same, she at the very least knew how bad the world could be and chose to see the good in it. You didn’t, it was like you’d never had a single bad thing happen to you. And Spencer, who had been dealt the bad hand so many times in life hated that.

It also didn’t help that you were gorgeous too. You looked like an artist sculpted you himself to make the perfect woman. Real People weren’t supposed to look like that. Real people were supposed to have flaws and blisters. Real people were supposed to look tired so early in the morning not fully awake and smiling while handing everyone in the office a coffee. He didn’t understand how you could be real.

“Here you go, Spencer. Americano lots of sugar.” You said, placing the coffee on his desk.

“Thank you.” He mumbles.

“We have a case, by the way.” You giggle, going off to hand Luke his coffee before walking away to the conference room. Spencer was barely able to keep his eye roll at bay.

Luke sees that and laughs, clapping Spencer on the back. “Come on, kid. Play nice.”

“She’s giggling about a murder case.” Spencer grumbles before following him into the conference room.

“3 women have been murdered in Queens. Judging by the scars, they were all bound and strangled before finally being dumped in an alley.” Garcia says, as she goes through the slides, showing the crime scenes. “Police need our help finding the connection between these three women because right now, it looks like there is none.”

“I’d say.” Tara speaks up. “We have a waitress/student, a doctor, and a paralegal. All living in different areas of the city with virtually no reason to interact.”

Spencer looks down at his file, examining the picture when he notices something. Just as he opens his mouth to say something, you clear your throat.

“Umm, Emily?” You say from your seat right across from Spencer. Emily looks up inquisitively at you. “I think I know what connects them.”

“What’s that, Y/N?” Emily asks, raising a brow at her.

You clear your throat again. “Victim #2, Rebecca Belfront, has a Padlock collar necklace on in her second picture. That’s typically used to indicate she’s a submissive with a committed dominant partner. But she wasn’t wearing it when her body was found which makes me think that that relationship recently ended. That made me look at the marks on their arms. While there are some new ones from the murders, they all have faded marks around the wrist and body as well. Leads me to believe the bounding was er-... consensual. We should probably look into New York’s BDSM scene.” You close, smiling awkwardly.

Spencer looks at you in shock. He, of course, had come to the same conclusion you did and had been about to say that but he, at least, knew why he knew that. Why did you know that?

Emily hummed thoughtfully. “It’s worth looking into. Do you mind coming to NY with us? Your insight might be needed.”

You look kind of shocked at that but nod. “Of course, whatever I can do to help.” You say, softly.

“Great, Wheels up in 30.” She says, getting up, effectively ending the meet. Spencer watches you speed after her, files in hand to ask some more questions. Spencer’s walking back to his desk when Luke catches up with him.

“Y/N has a dark side. Who knew?” He says, smirking.

“Probably not.” Spencer muses. “She could’ve just known that. I mean, I just know stuff sometimes too.”

“Nah, I don’t think so. Her body language gave her away. She was flushing and stuttering sure, but she was confident in what she was saying. Almost as if, she was speaking from experience.” Luke laughs. “She may be all lollipops and candy bars here, but I bet behind closed doors, she’s handcuffs and gags.”

Spencer hums. “Maybe.” He says looking up to watch you walk back across the catwalk from Prentiss’ office. Luke was right though, your body language did give you completely away that you were talking from experience. Spencer couldn’t help but wonder just how much.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

When you arrive in New York, You head straight from the jet to the Police Station in Queens. You fiddle with your thumbs a bit, you are nervous.

“You ok?” Spencer says, from his spot in front of the bulletin board he was setting up. You were supposed to be helping him but you knew Spencer was particular about some things so you let him do it. In fact, there were a lot of things you’d let Spencer do. With you, to you, you weren’t picky. The man was gorgeous enough to make you nervous. With his lean muscles, long, fluffy hair, and large hands, he looked like something that walked right out of a wet dream of yours. Which sometimes, he was just that. You weren’t stupid though, you knew Spencer didn’t think of you that way. In fact, you didn’t think Spencer thought of you in any way. He seemed to ignore you anyway he could.

You look up from your laptop. “Oh yea, I’m fine. I’m just...nervous. I’ve never been in the field.”

“Chances are you won’t be, Emily will probably keep you in the Station if she can help it.” Spencer provides.

“I know, it’s just-- you know what I mean.” You say, Spencer nods before returning to the bulletin board. You stand to look at the map with him. “So, from what I was able to find there’s only 3 BDSM clubs in Queens but there’s only one in the middle of where the three women were found. Place called Cat’s Cradle.”

Spencer hums. “How complicated and unpredictable the machinery of life really is.” You look up at the man, recognizing the quote.

“There is love enough in this world for everybody, if people will just look.” You say back, shrugging.

“You read Vonnegut?” He asks.

“You said that like you’re more surprised that I can read than what I read being Vonnegut.” You say, Spencer shrugs not even denying it. God, he was such a dick sometimes. A hot dick, but a dick nonetheless.

The two of you turn when you hear a knock at the door to see the lead detective coming in to check on you guys. “Just wanted to see how things were coming along. Also see if you guys needed anything?” Though he only directed the question at you with a sly smirk on his face. Men were so obvious sometimes.

“Nope, we’re fine.” You smile although you didn’t want to. “We’ve narrowed down to a couple BDSM clubs so hopefully we’ll catch our guy soon.”

“Wait, you think these girls were…” He trails off. You nod, knowing what he was thinking. “Well, it probably serves them right.”

“Excuse me?” You say.

“Listen, I know what kind of girls go into those kinds of clubs. If they want to be sexual deviants, they can’t be surprised when shit like this happens to them.” He gestures to the board.

“Actually more women are into Dominant/Submissive as well as BDSM relationships than you would think, statistically 85%.” Spencer cuts him off. “These clubs are just commonplace for them to meet like minded people just like you would do in any other club and they should be put on trial after their deaths for trusting the wrong person. If you don’t mind, we’d like to get back to work, Detective.” He says, turning back towards the board. The man nods and leaves shortly after that.

“Thank you.” You say, softly.

“What for?” Spencer asks.

“Come on, I work with profilers and I’m not stupid. I know you guys know about me so thank you for defending me just now.”

“I wasn’t defending you.” Spencer says. “He was making inappropriate comments about victims and we don’t need that outdated way of thinking working on this case. Besides…” He says, eyes flickering down to your lips and back to your eyes. “You’re not the only one with… unconventional extracurriculars.” He turns and walks out after that leaving you watching after him.

What?

------------------------------------------------------------------

After delivering the profile, you find the Unsub, a man named Ivan Parke. The only thing left to do was find the best way to snuff him out. When the team is discussing the next best course of action. It’s then Luke comes up with the idea.

“We should send Y/N undercover.” He says. “She knows the profile and knows the most about the scene.”

Emily nods. “Is that something you’re comfortable with, Y/N.”

You look up. “Oh, um yea. I’d have to find a different outfit but you have to send someone with me.” You say, everyone looks at you confused so you sigh and explain yourself. “If you send me into a club like this, in a foreign place with no Dom, the Unsub isn’t going to be my only worry. Someone’s going to have to play my dominant.”

“I’ll do it.” Spencer speaks up. Your eyes widened, you were not expecting Spencer to agree to it, you assumed you’d be stuck with Luke. Now you’re going to have to spend the night with the man you’d been crushing on since you started working with the BAU as his submissive. Like that wasn’t a dream come true.

“Great.” Emily says, dismissing everyone and handing you an expense credit card for an outfit. You take it and leave immediately, ignoring the sly look Spencer gives you.

You ended with a short, low-cut black leather dress with tank-like sleeves that showed off your curves and left very little to the imagination. As well as a clear pair of platform heels. You pulled your hair back into a sleek ponytail and you topped the look with your own personal leather choker with a large circle knob in the center. It was one of your favorite pieces to wear though you never really got a chance to wear it unless you were going to clubs, which you didn’t do as often these days. It was an expensive piece sure, but so worth it when you got to wear it. You were doing your makeup a little darker then you usually do in the bathroom when Spencer comes in.

“Is this how you typically look on the weekends?” He asks, standing behind you in the mirror. You look up to look him in the eyes through it.

“If I have the time.” You shrug.

“It’s very different. You’re very different from how I thought you were.”

“And how did you think I was, Spencer?”

“Naive...innocent.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have assumed anything about me.” You say, turning towards the man.

“Maybe you’re right… That’s an expensive piece.” He points out pointing to your choker. “Emily’s going to have fun explaining that at the next budgetary hearing.”

“I didn’t buy it today.” You explain. “It’s mine.”

Spencer hums for a moment before lifting his hand to turn your jaw, examining the piece. You can’t help the way your breath hitches at the contact. Spencer was already so close to you and now he was touching you, it was already starting to be too much. Soon, Spencer is hooking two fingers into the circle knob of your choker and he yanks it. Involuntarily, a whimper falls from your lips, prompting a smirk from the man across from you.

“Tonight’s going to be fun.” He says before leaving you in the bathroom in a state of shock.

--------------------------------------------------------

After getting your comms set up by Luke, who tried to avert his eyes from your frame as much as possible, you and Spencer walk into the Cat’s Cradle. Typically you didn’t like the club scene, but you sometimes liked to venture out when looking for a new partner. Cat’s Cradle was definitely different than the other places you had been. Sure it still had the private rooms and the main stage where a scene was happening in front of you but it was a lot more laid back than the ones you went to in DC. Spencer was really enjoying his role too. Probably hamming it up too much because he knew there was a part of you that actually wanted him to. In the end, finding Ivan Parke was easy. He took the bait almost instantly and you were arresting him just as fast.

“Great work tonight guys.” Emily says, when you reach the hotel lobby. “Jet’s leaving at 7AM so make sure to get some rest.” She says, dismissing you.

Now begged a tricky situation because you had almost forgotten you and Spencer were rooming together. As you walked back to the room together the air was thick but both of you were silent. The tension had been building between the two of you since he yanked your choker in the station bathroom. You knew it was a matter of time. The dam had to break.

“You can shower first.” Spencer says. You nod, taking off your choker and grabbing clothes before taking solace in the bathroom. You wanted Spencer and you knew you needed to expedite this. After a much needed shower, you change into your pajama shorts and tank combo. Spencer steps into the shower almost as soon as you leave it. It’s then that you think of the perfect plan. You lay on the bed and spread your legs before slipping a hand down your shorts. You tease yourself at first, rubbing your clit through your underwear while you thought about the events of the night. How Spencer had been so authoritative. How his hand slid to the small of your back and sometimes ghosted your ass as the two of you walked around the club. How he had been so close in the bathroom. The way he yanked you closer. A small moan escaped you as you slid your hand in your underwear. Soon you hear the bathroom door open. Spencer stops short, watching you before leaning on the frame.

“Were you just touching yourself?”

“Yes.” You answer. “Are you gonna to do something about it?”

“Should I? Instead of telling me what you want you decide to act like a brat and do this.”

Spencer moves closer to the bed but doesn’t do anything, just continues to watch you so you decide to give him a show. Moaning loudly as you slide a digit inside of you. Spencer looks at you with hooded eyes. You can’t help the small laugh that leaves you.

“I think you’re going to give me what I want.” You say, smirking.

“And why’s that?” He says.

“You’re already weak.” You say.

“I’m weak, pretty girl?” He asks, incredulously. Before you know it, he’s ripping your hand out of your pants and crowding in the space between your legs forcing you to sit up and look at him. “You’re in here touching yourself to the thought of me like a horny teenager and I’m the one who’s weak? Ok.” He sits back and pulls you by your hips to sit on top of his lap, your legs straddling one of his thighs. “The only way you’re getting off is on my thigh, ok?” He tells you, starting to move your hips. You moan, nodding your head as the friction makes its way through your core. Spencer lifts your shirt off you and smirks when his eyes land on your bare breast. He leans forward to catch your left nipple in his mouth. Your back arches as you grind harder against his thigh. Your hands fly up to start unbuttoning his shirt when he stops you.

“Did I say you could touch yet, princess?” He asks.

“N-No, sir.” You stutter.

“Then keep your hands to yourself.” He says, putting your hands back to your side. He does indulge you by taking his shirt off himself. But that doesn’t help you keep your hands to yourself. You saw the lean muscle and craved to mark it up with your nails. Your hands go up to touch him again but he stops you.

“If I have to ask you again, I’m going to tie you up, Princess. Just be good, baby.”

You were already close before but now with Spencer’s hands and mouth everywhere and constant friction on your sex it was damn near pushing you off the edge.

“I’m gonna come.” You tell him, he grips your hips tighter, lifting his leg slightly so he was only rubbing against your clit. That makes you moan out loudly.

“Go ahead, Princess. Cum for me.” He says, and that was all you needed to fall right over the edge. Your legs shake and convulse as Spencer grips your hips help you ride it out. Soon you come down panting and he’s kissing into your neck. He pulls back and grips your jaw.

“Still think I’m weak, Princess?” He asks.

You knew it was unwise. In fact, you tried to stop yourself before you did it but it was too late. You reared your hand back and slapped Spencer across the cheek. Not hard enough to be seen as anything malicious but sharp enough to throw him off, like he couldn’t believe you had done it.

“Yes I do.” You say looking him in the eyes after. Something like a switch went off because there was no other way to describe the look he gave you other than feral and fully primitive. He pushes you off him.

“Get on your hands and knees, now.” He says, menacingly. You scramble and run to get into the position. Once in, Spencer forces your knees further apart. He angrily takes his belt off his pants before fashioning them into a makeshift cuff and pulling your wrist so they’re tied behind your back, leaving you face down into the mattress. He slides your shorts and underwear off in one go. You yelp loudly when the first slap comes to your behind. When the second and third slap comes, you try to squeeze your legs together to get some form of friction but Spencer forces your knees further apart. You moan out when you feel a digit slide against your folds. You try to push back on it but Spencer holds your hips in place.

“P-Please.” you stutter.

“What do you want, Princess?” He says, sliding a second digit inside you making you cry out more.

“Please, fuck me, Spencer.” You say, and you really didn’t have to ask twice because almost as soon as you ask Spencer’s hands leave you to finish unbuckling his pants. There’s a brief moment of calm, so calm that you almost think Spencer wasn’t going to give you what you want but that calm is interrupted by Spencer slamming into, no warning. You scream out but that’s only rewarded with your head being shoved more into the mattress to muffle your cries. Spencer’s hands are pulling on your cuffs so he is almost impossibly deep inside you. You moans start to get louder and louder. Suddenly, Spencer is pulling you up so you’re both sitting up, your back against his chest. One of his hands slides to grip around your neck while the other is moving to circle your clit. The hand around your neck tilts your jaw back so you’re looking up at the man behind you.

“Fuck, you feel so good. Open your mouth, Princess.” He orders, which you do instantly sticking your tongue out. Spencer leans forward and spits into your waiting mouth before locking his mouth with yours. His hand squeezes your neck tighter as you moan into his mouth as he starts fucking you faster, his dick hitting your g-spot almost every thrust. It’s not long before you’re just babbling, not even able to string a coherent sentence together.

“You gonna come for me, Princess?” He asks. You nod, moaning loudly. At this point, you knew there was no way the person in the room next to you guys didn’t hear you. You could only hope that it wasn’t one of the team. “Go ahead for me, baby. Be a good girl and come on my cock.” After that, it doesn’t take long before you’re falling over the edge, shaking all the while. Spencer fucks you through it before tightening his grip on your hips to bend you back forwards so your face is back on the mattress. He fucks you hard and fast before falling over the edge himself, moaning your name.

The two of you say nothing as he unties you. When he does, you instantly flop down on your back, breathing heavily. Spencer wordlessly gets up and goes to the bathroom. For a moment you think he’s just leaving you like this, that you were foolish to think Spencer cared anything about you but in that moment he comes back with a wet cloth and ointment. He says nothing as he wipes between your legs before tossing the towel aside. You watch him with a smirk on your face as he rubs the ointment on the red marks the red cuffs made on you.

He looks you in the eye. “What, Y/N?”

“What happened to Princess?” You say, Spencer just looks at you with a bored expression which only makes you smile more. “Now’s probably a good time for you to ask me to dinner.”

Spencer chuckles lightly at that. “You don’t want to go to dinner with me.”

“I’m almost positive I do. Why would you say that?” You ask.

Spencer looks you in the eyes at that moment. “I’m not-Y/N, I’m not like you.”

“Like me?”

“I’m not able to be cheery and smiley. I can’t float into rooms. I can’t be happy like you are, too much has happened to me. You deserve someone happy.”

“Spencer.” You say, looking him in the eyes. “You are not broken. You can be happy, it’s going to take time sure but I’m willing to be with you through that. If you want that.” You say.

Spencer nods. “Ok, Y/N.” he smiles.

“So….?”

He rolls his eyes at that. “What’re you doing next sunday?”

You smile, brightly. “Absolutely nothing.”

Perm. Taglist: @moonshinerbynight @crimeshowtrash

#spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer x you #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #bau x reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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visbiscuit · 2 years

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𝐿𝑒𝑡 𝑎 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐹𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝐵𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑚 (saga masterlist)

Floriography is a language, the language of flowers. Floriography is an art that only true artists know how to embrace. Floriography has always been a lover's best friend and the power it holds can be far greater than the one of words. When furtive glances, lips raised in embarrassed smiles, and intertwined hands aren't enough, there's always a petal to act as a messenger to two young lovers. The challenge is to understand the message and live to receive another or perish in the desire to escape it.

MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR! Hello everyone and welcome to "Let a Thousand Flowers Bloom" a.k.a. the Bridgerton x Marvel crossover nobody needed. This is an idea that has been consuming me for weeks now and I decided to give it a try. In this Masterlist, you'll find various stories featuring some Marvel Men x Fem!Reader insert. They are all in the same Universe, so you'll find some easter eggs in them. You do not have to read every story in order to understand them all but if you do, you'll be able to get some insight on the main characters here. There is Lady Whistledown, but it's not who is in the series and books, I've got a nice surprise planned! This masterlist is under continuous updates and I plan to have a lot of stories here. Hopefully, this all comes together the way I've imagined it. Thank you for being interested in this project and happy reading!

DISCLAIMER! I am NOT responsible for your media consumption. This blog is intended for a mature audience as are the stories on it. So if you are not at least 18, I suggest you read something else. If you recognize any name or characters, that means that I have no copyright on them, but their actions in this work of fiction are mine as is the plot. This is a no-profit written work and I don't condone republishing it or copying it. Please, if you want to support me, reblog/like or comment.

GENERAL WARNINGS! I am not an English native speaker. All stories contain the following: angst, fluff, smut (18+ !), sexist ideas, external links to pinterest, spotify, youtube, etc. These stories do not wish to be historically correct in any way. There are no description of ethnicity and body type, the images used are just for aesthetics and the best I found to fulfill my purpose. If you notice any physical description that implies a certain body type or/and ethnicity, please underline them to me and I'll correct them ASAP!

The Friends to Lovers trope.

(1) PERUVIAN LILY.

Alstroemeria, or Peruvian Lily, symbolizes devotion, a gift for a friend who has remained supportive through the ups and downs.

Lady Y/N Maximoff was afraid of what her past held. That's why she always looked to the future, running away from the memories that obliterated her mind at night. She was looking for a safe place to curl up and try to move forward. She would never look back again. Viscount Steve Rogers lived as a function of his past. Every action, every thought, every slightest change of opinion was due to what he tried to hide in his shattered heart. Lady Y/N only wanted a friend by her side who would not judge her and who would turn a blind eye to her pain. Lord Steve just wanted someone who would love him wholeheartedly, someone who would also love his past.

pairing: Viscount!Steve Rogers x Dowager(Mom)FemReader general warnings: heavy angst, death, sexist behavior, fluff, smut, pietro maximoff is dead, wanda is younger than pietro, pregnancy

The Enemies to Lovers trope.

(2) CAPE JASMINE. [ unpublished ]

Gardenia, or Cape Jasmine, holds various meanings. Perhaps, the most fitting is the one of "secret love", along with "purity"

Duke James Barnes was deeply bored. Bored with everything around him. Even the companies that had supported him for years were starting to get to him. The magic of love had captured all of his closest friends and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His only goal was to find something to keep him going and not die in his own adrenaline craving. Y/N Y/L/N was a simple woman with an unconditional love of high class and a keen talent for writing. Mixed with a bit of curiosity, the one desire she had in her life was to write a book, inspired by the strong women of her time, including Lady Whistledown. The only way she could find material to include in her writing was to crash the endless balls that would occur during that social season. How to do it and what would have happened if she had succeeded?

pairing: Duke!James Barnes x Lower Class!FemReader general warnings: angst, sexist behavior, love/hate relationship, smut, fluff, fluffy-haired bucky, comedy

The Beauty and The Beast trope. ( partial plot thanks to @loving-barnes )

(3) HONEYSUCKLE. ( unpublished )

Lonicera, or Honeysuckle, represents devoted affection, bonds of unprecedented love.

The Honourable Y/N Fury had always lived in the shadows of every member of her family. Her mother had been a perfect dancer, she seemed to have two left feet. Her father had been a man who was always dedicated to his work, she always had her head somewhere else. And her twin sister, oh her sister Nicolette, was just…incredibly and annoyingly flawless. Everything she did came across as graceful and genuine, from a simple smile to a twirl. Once they entered society, Y/N knew she would always be second best and would certainly not find a husband when she debuted. Part of her hoped that someone would look in her direction and not get trapped in Nicolette's magnetic eyes, but it was a pipe dream and, more importantly, unattainable. At least that's what she believed. Then, one look caressed her entire figure and Y/N burned.

pairing: Prince!Loki Odinson x The Honourable!Fem Reader general warnings: heavy heavy heavy angst, slowest burn ever, death, shameless smut, fluff, sexist behaviour

MORE STORIES COMING SOON!!! IF YOU WISH TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST, LEAVE A COMMENT!

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chromatic-lamina · 2 years

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kidlaw vs lawbin, chapter 1031 spoilers (a few official panels added)

Like, y’know, you ask your man to die for you

And he does back Kid up and how. I mean, it works for both of them. Then Kid demands that Law uses his powers to get him out of the falling girders and metal stuff he’s attracted to Big Mom and which collapse on top of her.

And Law does.

And Law asks a pretty pertinent question, especially considering they’re meant to be using their powers in tandem

The official release is a little softer, and I know it’s official, but they leave out a lot of nuance at time. Anyway:

And maybe it’s better in the official release, but Kid’s still basically: you share your powers, and let me know about them ‘n all, and I’ll keep my info to myself, thanks. Ugh. I mean, I know they’re both pirates, and Law isn’t any nicer a lot of the time, but sometimes I don’t get this ship (even though I generally like it).

I think Law’s face above is surprise at Big Mom stirring rather than at Kid’s words, and I love the way he ends up sitting once he gets his breath back (kind of. He’s still panting). He has the best yoga poses. Anyway. So. The Robin side of the story.

Below is a screen cap from Dressrosa, and Law seems to be as knowledgable and also wary of CP0 as Robin is.

And this is who she’s currently facing, and we know it’s bad news due to the message from Rob Lucci a week or two ago telling them to capture her.

And then back from chapter 996 it was revealed that Law and Robin had a chat about the initial D. and also about the Road Poneglyph, and we know from way back in Sabaody that Robin’s got a keen interest in the Will of D in addition to, or as part of the True History, or the Void Century, etc.

That’s from chapter 507, but she also apparently asks Luffy about it in Alabasta. And we know that she and Law had this exchange, and that Law cut a swathe through the fighting to beeline to where the poneglyph might be in Kaidou’s castle in an effort to find clue to the meaning of his middle initial, or the meaning behind the expression and impression of people who have it.

And his cute little bear hoodie, shirt thing! And so then we get this reveal with Big Mom (or strengthening of his resolve):

I’ll try to put a link to the colouring artist’s twitter in the comments. Kid’s back to “we’re” again. And he doesn’t care what it costs, but it seems that Law’s part of that we’re (which he’ll need to be if they’re going to win). But it’d sit a bit better if he lost some of the bluster. But then, Kid wouldn’t be Kid, right? But I wouldn’t be able to handle that kind of push me/pull me. Anyhoo, any shipping is speculative of course. And here’s the official. Again softer, and including the both of them.

Japanese is a pro-drop language, in that sentences are grammatical without a subject, but it can become vague as to which subject is intended in a sentence. So I’m betting that’s what happened. However, the official gets the official input, so I’m assuming Kid was talking about the two of them, as shown in the panel above. I’m still sure Law said something like the “true history” though.

But yeah, Law and Robin’s paths are aligning, even if he’s fighting with Kid at the mo. I mean, Law goes well with so many.

And regarding CPO, Brook’s helping Robin at the moment, but remember this look from last week?

Hmm. I’ll do the Sanji stuff in another post. The angst was delicious.

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strawberry-nugget · 3 years

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Oddly specific bnha headcanons

Characters: Deku, Bakugo, Kirishima, Kaminari, Jirou, All Might, Endeavor, Hawks, Dabi

A/N: I'm finally back from my mini hiatus and I finally finished a part of my never ending cursed head canons and I also hit a new milestone so I feel like you all deserve this attempt of mine at comedy for the love I've been getting...I'm also sorry, this is a wild ride, and as you're reading you might wonder why did I make these? And the answer is, simply, because I can 😭, no lol though true... I'm soft so if these made you laugh and you leave an LMAO comment I'll think about it forever uwu. I've talked about most of these with my dear friend @aichiin, who is an amazing artist whom should support in all platforms uwu bye

Warnings: some of this content is NSFW, 18+, so if you're under 18 DO NOT INTERACT

Disclaimer: everyone is at least of 18 years of age

• I can't explain why, and we've seen Endeavor texting shoto in canon but... I feel like probably his texts look like this: …..shoto why aren't you Answering your phone…

….tell fuyumi to make you soba… .

… ……are you still friends with that rude boy from school..

…I don't want any take out dont get any for me tell natsuo that I'm sorry and try to ask him if he's changed his mind about forgiving me.…

• All might opens a Facebook account a month before the beloved class graduates as his way to keep on touch with everyone after they're off to fight crime and lives his life as the ultimate Facebook mom and thinks he's texting people but apparently posting on your Facebook wall isn't texting. He has probably made a thousand posts asking midoriya how it works until people just, they just, accept it, I guess, there's nothing else they can do. He uses the Facebook mom tulip emoji and writes in all cap. Give him credit for being so sweet tho.

And probably it goes like this: "💞🥰🌷🤣WHAT AN AMAZING SUNDAY. GOOD MORNING YOUNG MIDORIYA HOW HAVE YOU BEEN" Ofc he will not hesitate to use all these emojis unironically, in fact, he doesn't know that is the ironic use of an emoji, leave him alone

(Comments on the post most probably go like this: Bakugo: I EXIST TOO YOU OLD HAG, FUCK YOU DEKU, I DIDN'T BRING YOU TO THIS WORLD BUT I SURE WILL TAKE YOU OUT. MOTHERFUCKER.

Denki: mister al mght do we have english tomorrow ?

Momo: @denki, no but we have literature, hello mister all might sir, have a nice day too

All might: YOUNG BAKUGO PLEASE WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE 🤣 YOUNG KAMINARI, AS YOUNG YAOYOROZU SAID YOU HAVE LITERATURE AFTER MY CLASS📜 HAVE A BEAUTIFUL EVENING YOUNG YAOYOROZU🌷

• I'm sorry for this but.... Midoriya, Denki and Kirishima probably lick their finger after they absolutely drill it in their noses but here's the deal

Midoriya inspects what he fished out like thoroughly, Denki dissociates while staring at it, and Kirishima does so straight out of his nose

• Someone told Shoto that Saiki K is based on true events and he genuinely believes it and tries to find Saiki K, claiming that he is the answer to all of his problems. Is very subtle about it tho.

• I think that in part one of these atrocious head canons we established that Keigo would willingly put effort to find the clit, right? Listen he probably asks what's the concept of the clit, like why is it outside and not inside- wait you have another spot inside, yeah? He's is so confused and for what? Won't stop for it mid sex but he searches reproduction organ anatomy later on on google because he brought some questions in his brain that need answers. On the clit. You heard me right.

• Dabi looks like he once had a break up that was so rough that he opened a Twitter just to drag the other person down. For once, I won't go into detail and will let your imaginations run wild.

• I have to do a a cursed one for Bakugo right? Well yeah uhm, he probably was caught flexing his muscles in the mirror during vacation, totally naked too, by one of his friends in his group and screamed in a high pitched voice and picked up that little hotel room fridge to cover himself up and chased them around the hotel room until he just crushed the poor item. To the floor? Because he tried to use it as a cover up and it just slipped... It's even worse if the friend was a potential s/o. He'll scream like one of the screaming/simping TikTok sounds.

• Bakugo also really hates chairs. Idk why I have this headcanon, but I know it in my heart that this man, as an adult, only has those round weird- ish IKEA stools around the kitchen table that's all. No more chairs. Nothing.

• this is too self indulgent but Kirishima and Deku look like the people who, while washing forks, spoons etc they create whole stories about them and treat them like characters, and others would just look at them so confused as to why it takes 16 minutes to wash off a spoon and why are they also crying but you wouldn't understand. This spoon is Cinderella. Back off and let. them. finish. their. stories.

• I feel like Jirou has phases where she only wants to wear black but then she sees a nice pair of jeans and buys it, and then buys some more and then she gets mad about having blue jeans and she dyes them, but then she grows out of that phase for a few months and she tries to find ways to make the fabric paint fade away

• I also think that she, after spending a little time with Momo, spends money on a lot of clothes, and it's not like Momo buys too many clothes, but Jirou always wants to upgrade her wardrobe and ends up feeling lost on what she wants to wear

• Denki and Kirishima turn into the same person a little more every single time they hang out together. You'll listen to Denki say 'manly' all the time and Kirishima starts trying to find leather jackets that look cool on him, and just adopts Dennis speaking habits.

#bnha #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha fanfiction #denki kaminari #kirishima x reader #eijirou kirishima #momo yaoyozoru #endeavor #dabi x reader #dabi #all might #mha #bnha fan fiction #bnha cursed heacanons

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jjuzoir · 3 years

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Homare Arisugawa General HCS

request: “Hi Sora! I never see any art/writing for my boy Homare from A3! (Maybe because his dialogue is so ridiculous.) Would you mind writing something for him?” from tlali

a/n: ahhh i don’t think i’ve ever taken so long in a request jdjdndnd but i just wanted to make it right because i love homare so much❕ he deserves everything and more i just HDHSJJA we need more homare love 🤬 his dialogue is hilarious and i feel like we need to appreciate his style more no more homare slander 🙅

word count: 1667

- He smells like earl gray tea. No one knows why since he uses unscented soaps, he says it’s probably because he spends most of his time drinking or around tea.

- He’s very particular about his hair, he uses very specific shampoos and conditioners that he will absolutely not share or change unless he notices his hair needs it. Talking about his hair, it’s naturally kind of dry so he uses a lot of hydrating products which leaves him with the softest, most fluffy hair ever. It’s like touching a cloud.

- One of his favorite gifts given to him is a tie given to him as a birthday gift by his members. Everyone pitched it, including Izumi, and Azuma picked it out. It’s black, much like his everyday tie, but it’s got a small embroidered snowflake.

- He’s got three main pairs of glasses; his everyday ones he keeps at hand when he goes out, his at home ones which are (according to him) less flattering, and his driving ones. Keep in mind he can’t drive, he doesn’t even own a car.

- He can speak french and latin, and he’s super loud about it too. He’ll sometimes slip in french phrases and no one will understand other than Chikage and it’s just a mess - Muku is always so amazed that he knows two other languages too and probably asks him to teach him sometime.

- Definitely has the prettiest handwriting when it comes to the roman alphabet, he writes in ink and with fancy pens that cost more than Banri’s tuition.

- Absolutely has a bunch of business cards printed out, each with its own quote made by him. Sakyo thought it was such a waste printing them until he realized that no matter how many Homare took when he went to run errands he always gave them all, to whom? No one knows.

- He’s very well respected in the literary community, which still shocks pretty much everyone. He gets stopped often by fans or people who’ve read his work, it happens at least once a day and Izumi really doesn’t… she doesn’t understand, poor girl.

- He’s not that good with phone calls, he’s not bad but he definitely prefers texting or just talking face to face. To him there’s just a certain level of discontent he doesn’t like that doesn’t exist in other mediums.

- His favorite shows are either comedies or heavy hitting detective shows, there is no inbetween. You’ll walk in on him watching a sitcom leave the room and walk in on a serial killer chase down.

- About his love for detective shows, his favorite pastime is trying to solve the mysteries with the main character. He’ll rewatch the episode so many times to try and pick up clues, he’ll take notes and come to a conclusion and he loves the feeling of getting it right.

- In the same spirit as the statement above, absolutely got Tsumugi and Sakyo hooked on some of his favorites and they hang out to talk about the latest episodes and the overarching mystery. The conversations can tend to get kind of heavy very quick, more than once Muku thought they were investigating a real crime and almost fainted.

- He looks like he’s probably allergic to wool sweaters, they make his skin itch and he always needs to use a shirt underneath them - so he tends to buy those expensive anti-allergic ones that need to be washed in a very specific way that could probably pay Tsuzuru’s whole college debt and it takes a lot of restraint from the playwright not to steal one and sell in the black market.

- Talking about Tsuzuru, he often gives him writing advice. Said advice tends to be very useful, like keeping a pen and notebook on him in case anything comes to mind during the day or writing daily to help ease him into a style, etc. Homare genuinely wants him to bloom into a writer and is willing to beta-read anything Minagi needs, be it a script or a sleep deprived rambling about the gay subtext in Nocturnity.

- Arisugawa sets himself reading goals each month, he likes to read at least one book. He prefers poetry books or classic english literature, but he also likes to read romance books or really bizarre dystopian novels.

- Has read more books than most people in the company and can give very detailed recommendations if you give him like a day.

- Sings operas in the shower, unless stopped he will keep going until the second act. Surprisingly good falsetto, but one time Tenma thought it was a Banshee for a second and almost cried into Juza’s chest.

- He’s not only an overly emotional drunk but also a loud drunk, he’s already quite loud but when he’s downed half a bottle of wine and a shot of vodka he’s louder than the Summer Troupe combined. Because of this, Izumi tends to restrict his alcohol intake when they’re at the dorm.

- I can see him being very big into musicals, not all musicals but a very specific niche; classic horror novels turned into musicals. He’s a very big fan of both the German and Korean versions of Dracula, his favorite song is probably “Zu Ende” or the Korean version of “It’s Over”. He also likes the Frankenstein musical too, but overall he finds Junsu’s Dracula more interesting thus his preference.

- He will talk your ear off if you mention any musical though, be it a classic like Phantom or something newer like Heathers.

- A very big fan of Ghibli movies, he told me so himself today. He really likes Spirited Away though, it’s a movie he’s watched so many times but he’s still completely enamoured by it; he probably has made the Winter Troupe watch it at least once and Hisoka definitely knows the beginning of the movie by heart now.

- Homare is also really good at drawing, not like Kazunari but he’s probably the second best. He learned by analyzing and looking at artists he admired and picking up on their techniques. A true Renaissance Man™️.

- I feel like he’d also have a bunch of skills that are kind of, useless? He can probably carve wood and make candles, he also took a course in glass blowing probably. Arisugawa just wants to try everything at least once, his motto is probably to explore and learn as much as possible, not just about art but the world (he can be surprisingly smart if you have a dictionary at hand).

- Very observant, just in general. Which can be both good and bad, it’s good because it helps him understand the situation in ways others might not but it leads to him to sometimes overthinking things and behaving in manners which may annoy or hurt others.

- He also has a hard time trying to react to social cues, as seen in game, with certain people. While he’s worked it out with the Winter troupe and the Mankai company he still struggles when it comes to new people.

- Will make little tunes he sings in the shower that kind of become a little daily song, each day there’s a new one he’ll hum.

- He also canonly makes music and he makes contemporary electro-pop, you cannot change my mind. He probably also mixes opera and classical music into his tunes, which can go from 1 minute to 10, so you end up with a very cool mix of orchestra and techno-pop - it’s not everyone’s cup of tea but he’s probably got his own niche group.

- Now, into more romantic HCs...

- He’s a good flirt, a very good flirt. They may sound weird looking back at it, but his pickup lines work and they work well.

- He knows when to stop pursuing someone too. He senses even a bit of discomfort and he’s backing away, won’t ask anything. Very big on consent and unless stated absolutely explicitly he’ll keep his distance.

- A true gentleman, please - he’ll never let his dates pay, always open the doors for them, will even do the “walk on the inside of the sidewalk” when he’s walking you home.

- His favorite dates tend to be ones where you get to know more about each other, not always necessarily by talking though. Being able to go into a bookstore and look at the books, seeing the ones you pick, what you pick at a cafe or restaurant, it all helps him draw a better picture of who you are and he likes to think it helps you get to know him better too.

- He’s very in tune with his S/O’s feelings but is afraid of overstepping any boundaries which may lead to some miscommunication at the beginning of the relationship. But it’s workable and it wouldn’t be that big an issue in the long run as long as his partner is willing to help him understand them.

- Not big on PDA, thinks certain things should remain inside - not to say he wouldn’t talk for hours about his partner to anyone who listens but things like kissing or hugs tend to be behind closed doors. He’s okay with hand holding and maybe a kiss on the cheek though!

- Likes wearing matching outfits with his S/O, thinks it shows how they’re “one in spirit, heart, and mind” and will not stop pointing it out to the point even married couples feel single as they hear him ramble on about the subtle coordination in your color schemes to create a perfect contrast.

- Notices the smallest things like how much sugar you like in your drinks, the telltale signs of when you’re lying or uncomfortable, how you act when you’re too cold or too hot, and learns it by heart.

- Homare is also the kind of boyfriend who’d confront the waiter if they get your order wrong, he’s not ashamed of it either.

- He kind of just wants to make sure you’re doing well and happy, he’s a gentleman.

- Damn… I love him so much

#—🎀 a3!#a3!#a3 #act! addict! actors!#act addict actors #homare arisugawa #homare arisugawa x reader #a3 homare #a3! homare #a3 homare x reader #a3! homare x reader #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #a3! fanfiction #arisugawa x reader #winter troupe #—✒️ sora’s scripts

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ransprang · 2 years

Note

Hello! This is my first time asking for a romantic matchup ( OHSHC & Hunter x Hunter )! I'm a little nervous haha...

I go by the name Prince and my pronouns are : He/They. I'm an INFP and a 4'10" Pisces.

I have black, curly hair that ends above my shoulders with the left side shaved. I have brown eyes and a slightly tanned skin. I am Pilipino. I usually wear hoodies/jackets and shorts/jogging pants but I tend to wear elaborate androgynous clothing for occasions. My ears are pierced and I have a lot of scars on both my legs and arms due to skin asthma.

I'm a total introvert who would not leave the house unless necessary, and I tend to avoid large crowds and people since I have social anxiety. I'm quite distant, cold and awkward when I first meet people but I get really weird ( ahem, shameless.) and outgoing once I warm up to someone. I'm a worrywart and prone to have pessimistic/intrusive thoughts. My humor is dark and inappropriate, and very sexual. Although, I'm panromantic asexual. My love language are physical affection ( back hugs, cuddles, face peppering, playing with your hands, hand holding, & arm over the shoulder. ), and cheesy/corny flirts. I'm also a psychology student, an artist, a cosplayer, and a creative makeup artist. I enjoy horror films and historical novels. I like playing pranks on others, listening to all kinds of music, and dancing. I dream to be a full-time cosplayer or a psychologist. I like to travel the world as well, take photos, and, of course, watch anime and read manga! I like hanging out in a dimly lit bedroom, watching movies, or at an abandoned area ( parking lot, building, etc. ) I enjoy solitude and the dark. Oh! I'm scared of butterflies and allergic to dust.

My ideal type is someone who are understanding, accepting and patient. Someone who understands that I need space in order to recharge my energy to socialize again. Supportive, honest, and loyal. Perhaps someone who can love me just as much or much more as I love them. I'm a total sap and an affectionate person to the person I love. I'm the type to wake up every morning and message them, "Good morning, hun!" and I also check up on them if they're feeling well. Someone who isn't afraid to be themselves around me and can open their heart to me. That's the biggest trust they can give to me. Loving, caring, and perceptive.

Apart from that, I also like someone who can be submissive towards me. I find them to be cute and it makes me wanna bully them more for being so adorable :") ( Will spoil them to bits after ). I may be short but I do not enjoy being the little spoon/submissive partner.

SFW & NSFW

Hi Prince thanks for the request!

we love your personality you seem hella cool. admin san is very happy to have found someone shorter than her (she's 4'11") anyways for OHSHC we thought the best character for you would be................

USA CHAN

SFW

usa chan is perfect for you because you can do anything with it! it is very versatile! usa chan is down to walk around abandoned buildings, watch movies or dancing anytime, anywhere!

need some alone time? shove usa chan into a closet and you're done! it's that simple!

N/SFW

oh you want a sub? well guess what, usa chan cant fucking talk or do anything so it'll be your lil bitch

We even chose a runner up for you and that is...................

MORI SENPAI

SFW

Mori senpai may come across as a dom due to his height but worry not, our man is the perfect sub. In fact he's literally Honey senpai's subordinate for the whole show.

He would show affection in more understated ways such as remembering your birthday and every little thing you tell him. If you mentioned a manga or movie you like a few months ago he'd get you a physical copy of it.

He would also be super in tune with your feelings and try to accommodate to your needs for physical affection as much as he can

In terms of solitude and and staying inside Mori senpai would be the ideal cuddle partner for nights in watching movies

He would also protect you from all the butterflies in the world

The height difference would be no trouble to Mori either. You and Honey Senpai are basically the same height after all. Get used to having a tall subby lover following you around

Mori isn't the most fun to play a prank on, but he would be a great accessory for playing pranks on the rest of the club

N/SFW

You like to climb him like a tree and push him down on the bed. then have your way with him (whichever way that may be)

your dark and sexual humor may not outwardly get a response from Mori but you can tell by the blood flowing to his ears and nether regions that he is enjoying himself. he is a naughty boy shhhh

he'd be happy to receive all of your physical affection and give you some back as well

If you keep him up long enough by dancing and watching movies, he'll eventually grow sleepy. AND THATS WHEN THE (subby) BEAST AWAKENS BABYYYYYY. he's WAY more physically affectionate and flirtatious

And now for HxH to suit your affinity for music we chose........................................

MELODY

SFW

Any time you get nervous or have pessimistic thoughts she would play her flute to calm you down. If you allow her to, she's also willing to play the flute for when you get nervous in crowds or around strangers.

You and her could spend hours watching movies together with her commenting on the music of all the films you show her. Can't wait to make her listen those Hans Zimmer tracks

She would also enjoy hanging out with you in parks, maybe play you a gentle melody while y'all take in the night sky and peaceful atmosphere

She would also totally get your dark humor and wouldn't misconstrue it as a negative quality since she'll always know that the sound of your heart is pure and you are just joking

Physical affection would probably make her pretty flustered so you can always bully her about that. But she's pretty mature and will love you and shower you with affection in her own way.

N/SFW

In the bedroom she likes to start off by playing her flute at the frequency which makes your piercings vibrate, getting you in the mood.

Although at first she would be shy with kisses/bedroom stuff and blush beautifully when you tease her. She would slowly warm up to you once you really got going and would lap up all the pampering and love you shower her with afterwards

Your knowledge of sigmund freud's theories mixed with your skills at cosplay would allow you to present her with the perfect father daughter roleplay scenarios melody never thought she wanted

Melody's deft fingers would be proficient at getting herself off especially when she knows you're watching :)

Your Princesses, Admin Sar & Admin San

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shrinkyclinksfest · 3 years

Text

That's a wrap!

Thank you all so much for another successful run of Shrinkyclinks Fest! Altogether the works add up to 150K words of new Shrinkyclinks content and six new artworks! We want to thank all our wonderful writers, artists, promoters, promoters, readers, and supporters. We will see you all next year!

Without further ado, the Masterlist:

Title: Nazi Punks Fuck Off [Shrinkyclinks AU] Creator: bleedxblack Medium (fic, art, podfic, etc.): digital art Rating: G Prompt #: 22 Warnings: N/A Summary: Local punk Steve Rogers goes to see his hardcore vocalist boyfriend, Bucky, perform with his band, Widow. Friend and guitarist Natasha took the first photo of them after the band had finished their set. Steve took the following photo himself while he watched his friends and lover play on stage.

Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33271081

Title: Steve has hot guy problems Creator: HeyBoy Medium (fic, art, podfic, etc.): digital art Rating: T Prompt #: 33 Warnings: N/A Summary: For the ShrinkyClinks Fest prompt: Meet-cute at the gym! Smol Steve is determined to work on his cardio and fitness. He reluctantly goes to the gym, feeling intimidated but ready to spit fire at anyone who so much as looks at him twice. He is going to get a good workout, damnit. Ignore the clunkheads. Ignore the gym rats. Ignore the super hot guy with long hair and stormy eyes who always seems to be using the equipment near Steve. That wasn't so bad! Now we can shower and go home. Wait, hot guy is also in the shower and… he's singing. WAIT hot guy just exited the shower and now he knows that I know he was singing!.

Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33271468

Title: asthma attacks, fire escapes, and chai Creator: beemotionpicture Medium: fic Rating: gen Wordcount: 6,657 Prompt #: 9 Warnings: none Summary: It happens because of his asthma of all things.

As soon as he feels short of breath he starts rooting through his messenger bag for his inhaler. Steve has a moment to think aha!and then fuck,before he’s losing his grip on the thing and it’s skidding across the pavement and into an alleyway.

He freezes when he realizes he’s not alone.

Steve hears a muffled sound coming from behind the dumpster, but that’s not what makes him look; no, it’s the metallic scent in the air which, with a creeping feeling of dread, he hopes isn’t blood. He looks. It’s blood.

And there’s a man sitting right in a puddle of it, leaning heavily against the brick wall and clutching his side with a metal hand.

How Steve finds an injured Bucky, nurses him back to health, and takes down a HYDRA agent while he’s at it. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33272239

Title: Highway Ghost Creator: Neonbat Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 15820 Prompt #: 31 Warnings: Usual WS Bucky warnings Summary: Steve hated long drives, it was too easy to zone out, especially when you’re full of cook-out food and good times. Having someone fall out of nowhere right in front of his car wasn’t exactly something he’d ever consider a possibility. He had enough excitement already from his job as an ER Nurse. Except, where most people would have been laid out on the asphalt, the man dressed in black got up without a scratch and insisted medical care wasn’t needed. The fuck was his life? Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33283738

Title: He "Accidently" Picked A Hot Roommate Creator: rufferto Medium: digital art Rating: G Prompt #: 48 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve needs a roommate. He thinks he will never find one but then he meets Winter Soldier Bucky who needs a place to stay while he recovers. Steve offers him the room immediately and it turns out Bucky is a great roommate. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33279370

Title: special delivery Creator: @glim / glim Medium: fic Rating: Teen + Wordcount: ~6,000 words Prompt #: 30 Warnings: n/a Summary: Written for shrinkyclinksfest, Prompt #30: Steve Rogers has always been prone to sickness, but summer colds are the absolute worst. What he wants is a huge bowl of chicken noodle soup and some ice cream. What he gets is a food delivery guy who’s so built and hot Steve chokes on his tongue. That’s why he keeps ordering long after he’s recovered and how he finally gets Bucky Barnes into his apartment and his bed. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33343828

Title: When the Pool Closes Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy Fic Rating: T Wordcount : 1858 Prompt #: 36 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve just wants to enjoy a day out in the sun by himself. That’s not too much to ask. Except it is, apparently. With such fair skin, sunscreen is a must, and there’s no way he can reach his entire back. He’s just going to have to find someone to help him apply it, and if the guy is ripped… Well, it’s not Steve’s fault that he’s got good taste. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33341596

Title: To the Future and the Past Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy Fic Rating: T Wordcount : 1465 Prompt #: 40 Warnings: Major character death Summary: Maybe a funeral isn’t the right time to admit to a gay love story, but Bucky doesn’t care. That’s what Steve wanted, and Bucky’s never been able to say no to the love of his life. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33358726

Title: A Shot Across The Bow Creator: Author: Becassine Artist: Call_me_kayyyyy Art Rating: G Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 18382 Prompt #: 52 Warnings: Blood/Injury, Implied/Reference Abuse, Reference Slave Trade Summary: Bucky Barnes is a Pirate Captain, and one accustomed to getting his own way. When fate drops Steve Rogers in his path one lonely evening in Tortuga, his life is forever turned upside down. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33265450/chapters/82597747

Title: Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet Creator: Girl_Back_There Medium: Fic Rating: Mature Wordcount: 6214 Prompt #: 45 Warnings: Some Homophobic Language, Instances of Sexual Harassment against women Summary:Bucky doesn’t know how his mother managed to Jedi mind trick him into dropping off Becca at summer camp this year, but she somehow did it. Despite his grumpiness at the unreasonable hour in which he was wrenched from his nice and cozy bed, Bucky is glad for this time with his little sister. Becca spends their time talking about the activities she got to do last summer that she hopes will be back again this year, all of which was organized by Steve Rogers. After she came home from Camp Marvel last year, all Becca could talk about was Steve Rogers, one of the counselors for her team, The Howlies. Steve Rogers was an amazing artist. Steve Rogers participates in all of the competitions despite his asthma, scoliosis, heart arrhythmia, and various other medical issues. Steve Rogers totally drinks his respect women juice. Bucky would be worried about his sister may be developing a crush on this Steve guy, but after meeting him, Bucky is more preoccupied with the crush he's developing on Steve. So preoccupied in fact, he ends up signing on to be a camp counselor for the summer. Link to work:https://archiveofourown.org/works/33339220

Title: The Way To A Man’s Heart Creator: Author: HaniTrash Artist: Kocuria_visuals Art Rating: T Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 11852 Prompt #: 53 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve Rogers, skinny Brooklynite, is a college student who makes old recipes and posts videos of them on tiktok. When Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier and Avenger, sees one, he's instantly hooked and becomes Steve's biggest fan. What follows next is a story of food, flirting, and a very unlikely pairing. But much like Steve’s unusual recipes, what shouldn’t work often does… Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33312223/chapters/82722664#workskin

Title: Maybe A Muse Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy Medium (fic, art, podfic, etc.): fic Rating: M Wordcount: 2871 Prompt #: 28 Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: When Bucky Barnes needs extra money, he’s appalled that his best friends think he should become a model for the art department on campus. Shy, nerdy, and socially awkward, he’s not sure that’s something he feels comfortable doing. Still, he needs money, and he likes the idea of becoming someone’s muse. The problem is he had no idea two things would happen. First, one of the students in the class is exactly his type; second, he has to model nude. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33393928

Title: Be My Breath Creator: Goosenik and clarkestetler Medium: Fic Rating: Teen and Up Wordcount: 44,575 Prompt #: 48 Warnings: N/A Summary: For the Shrinkyclinks Fest 2021 prompt: Steve needs a roommate. He thinks he will never find one but then he meets Winter Soldier Bucky who needs a place to stay while he recovers. Steve offers him the room immediately and it turns out Bucky is a great roommate.

Basically: Bucky moves in with Steve after he escapes from Hydra, and Steve begins the long process of helping Bucky remember how to be human again. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33275848/chapters/82626394

Title: Tap-Tap Into Your Heart Creator: huntress79 Medium: Fic Rating: T Wordcount: 5k Prompt #: 6 Warnings: none, except for one blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mention of animal death Summary: When HYDRA finally fell, the Soldier was lost, in more than one meaning. And for the next several months, he, more or less, drifted from one former safehouse to the other, always avoiding to stay too long in one place. Until he comes to Brooklyn - and finds a new purpose, again in more than one meaning… Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33416524

Title: I'd be selfish but never with you Creator: Lacunalady on Ao3 Medium: Fic Rating: E Wordcount: 20k Prompt #: 32 Warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Prompted with: "Arranged marriage AU. Steve is a prince and Bucky is a newly crowned king of the neighboring country having conquered/overtaken the last ruler. In order to keep the peace between their countries, Steve's father decides for them to wed. Steve is reluctant for several reasons but mainly because he wants to marry for love and the fact that Bucky has a reputation for being exceedingly ruthless in battle (aka the winter solider)" by Bangyababy on Tumblr! Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33424936

Title: Just Peachy Creator: Erosanderis Fic Rating: N/A Wordcount : 1266 Prompt #: 34 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve Rogers was not looking forward to meeting his soulmate. Ever since the day he was born, he had the worst possible words on his forearm. So of course he would meet them at work. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33412060

Title: Knocking Boots with Sugar Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 4095 Prompt #: 29 Warnings: N/A Summary: In between summers at college, Steve Rogers wants a new adventure beyond his lonely life in Brooklyn. He ends up in West Texas working on a dude ranch where Bucky Barnes is a long-time employee. When Bucky offers to buy Steve a drink, they end up drunk on tequila and making out in public. For the rest of the summer, they're inseparable. As the summer draws to a close, Steve realizes he doesn't want to leave. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33499603

#shrinkyclinks fest 2021 #masterpost 2021 #shrinkyclinks #stucky #stucky fic #stucky fanart

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cryptidfumikage · 3 years

Text

tokoyami comfort headcanons (1/?)

having a rough time atm, thought i would share some personal hcs for my comfort character ✨

gender neutral (y/n); all sfw hcs; he/they pronouns for dark shadow (note: i'm not used to using these in full sentences and paragraphs, so if you have any recommendations for using he/they pronouns more naturally, i will gladly take advice!) if you have any requests just let me know and i'll get to them as soon as i can

TW: brief food mentions

if you and tokoyami are friends, he will pick up on your emotions pretty easily. even if you’re not as vocal about what’s going on, he will sense a change in your body language, the way you talk, etc. he may not pry but dark shadow has no shame and will (politely) ask if everything’s okay. they will both give you time and space but if you’re open to talking about it, they’ll be there and will be super supportive.

if you’re in a relationship with each other, there’s definitely no fooling him 💀 he will be a little more direct and might actually sit you down and properly ask what’s wrong. he will still respect ur privacy but if something really bad is going on, he will pick up on it and be very protective of you. he doesn’t want to smother you but he worries… since dark shadow is a manifestation of some of his deeper rooted emotions, they might reach out more than tokoyami will. both of them will be there to support you, though.

“fumikage, something’s going on with (y/n)…”

*sigh* “i know, dark shadow… but there’s not much i can do. i’m here if they need someone to talk to, but i respect their privacy too much to pry.”

*taking tokoyami’s phone* “uh huh….”

“w- dark shadow what are you doing?”

“i’m texting (y/n) to see if they wanna come over and watch (your comfort movie/show) together!”

“that’s not… please don’t bother them. they might need their space-”

“they said yes and they’re coming over in an hour. let’s go to the store and buy (your favorite food/snack/drink), it’s their favorite!”

“…” *grabs wallet and keys* “alright then, let’s go.”

yeah whether you’re in a romantic relationship or not, they both know you like the back of their hand.

if you’re comfortable with it, tokoyami would love to cuddle! he may be a little awkward at first but i think deep down, he is sort of touch starved 😭 his hands are strong and cool, and they will hold you just tightly enough to make you feel secure

dark shadow may come out to cuddle you too! they will feel like a cool breeze (like casper the friendly ghost! if anybody remembers that movie lmao). during the summertime it’s really nice, but in the winter/colder seasons it could help to have a couple blankets. they're basically like a cat and will cuddle in between you and tokoyami. sometimes he might hog you, and tokoyami can’t help but get a little jealous. they both just wanna spoil you.

they also both HATE when you cry. dark shadow will coo and whisper sweet nothings to soothe you. tokoyami will hold you until you stop crying, and even then letting you go will take him a while. don’t be surprised if one of you falls asleep after a while.

if it’s you, he will stroke you gently with the pad of his thumb and might even hum to you. the sound of his voice is deep and rumbly and just 🥺🤧

if HE falls asleep, his grip on you might tighten subconsciously. if it gets too tight, don’t be afraid to wake him up!! he wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable. he doesn't mind readjusting so that you're comfy.

when you’re ready to talk about what’s bothering you, tokoyami will listen intently. dark shadow might make comments in between, but will try not to be rude - they just get defensive over you. if you ask for advice, tokoyami is rational and will try to be as comforting but realistic as possible. he doesn’t mind just listening to you vent, though. in fact, he appreciates that you trust him so much! he lets you know it, too.

“i admire your ability to vocalize all this. you know how difficult it is for me to express my emotions, so i deeply admire your ability to express your own… i especially appreciate you expressing them to me.”

“ahem!”

“i mean us, of course.”

more fun stuff! tokoyami loves to play cards and other table top games, a couple of his favorites are chess and mancala. he might recommend playing for a bit to take your mind off things! he might kick ur ass because he’s gotten really good playing with dark shadow, but don’t think he won’t let you win a round or two. if you happen to be as good as him or better, he’ll be so excited!! loves a good challenge, and really loves you, so you challenging him makes him really happy. tokoyami also doesn’t mind teaching you a thing or two, he’s extremely patient and is grateful you’re willing to learn from him.

what’s your favorite movie? get ready for dark shadow to quote it with you randomly. your favorite series? tokoyami will buy you merch whenever he finds it online or while out shopping. they both love to have marathons with you where you all get cozy, grab some snacks, and just chill.

tokoyami is a bit old-fashioned and will occasionally buy you flowers/chocolates, but if you’re feeling low he will go all out. do you have a favorite food? he will stay up learning how to cook it with the perfect recipe to the way you like it. dark shadow will hand you tokoyami’s phone with a shopping app opened and basically tell you to go nuts and buy whatever you want. tokoyami might give you a reasonable budget, but not without dark shadow protesting. they both want to spoil you, but dark shadow wants to spoil you a little too much sometimes.

depending on how close you are, tokoyami might share a song he wrote for you on his guitar…. he’ll say it’s the first one but he’s written over a dozen songs for you that he’s been too nervous to share. baby steps, okay? as an artist, he’s a bit fragile 🥲 he will also sing your favorite song to you, and if you’re willing he would LOVE for you to sing with him!!! he thinks your voice is beautiful.

#bnha #bnha hcs #mha tokoyami #tokoyami hcs #tokoyami x y/n

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peachfaeryy · 3 years

Text

Hi 🌙

It's my birthday right now. I'm 26 now.

1. What is my fondest childhood memory?

My fondest childhood memories definitely consist of the lovely people who I grew up with and derived my sense of humor/silliness from: my cousins Anna & Emily, Savannah -- my childhood best friend, and Kaleb, my eternal crush. These memories consist of them in elementary school, camp, and my grandma's house in San Antonio.

2. What is my favorite comfort food?

Probably nachos/chips/chips & queso.

3. What’s my favorite way to exercise?

Uh...DANCE.

4. Am I a morning person or a night owl?

I lean more towards night owl but I try to avoid both.

5. If I could have any superpower, what would it be?

The currency of youth.

6. Do I prefer cooking, baking, or neither?

I love both cooking and baking :) I find both extremely rewarding and cathartic.

7. Am I an introvert or an extrovert?

Ambivert strongly introvert-leaning.

8. What superhero do I find most relatable?

None, I detest all superheroes.

9. What is my favorite season of the year — and what do I love most about it?

Winter because it provides me with the most amount of physical comfort. I love sleeping in a very cold room, opening my windows with no AC on. Sitting in my car listening to music/eating with engine off. Less humidity. Food is tastier. Style is better.

10. Do I believe in the existence of angels?

Not particularly? Well, yes but I believe they have absolutely no role or effect on our world.

11. What are my favorite TV series?

American Crime Story (OJ & Versace), Fleabag, Atlanta...90 Day Fiance, Game of Thrones

12. What was the last movie I watched (or the last movie I enjoyed)?

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest (let's gooOoo)

13. Am I a tidy person or a messy one?

I used to be very messy but not I'd consider myself pretty tidy. My nature is messy though.

14. Am I afraid of the dark?

Nah.

15. Am I more of a coffee person or a tea person?

Mostly coffee.

16. What talents do I possess that I’m proud of?

I don't have any natural-born talents but I suppose my ability to teach myself a new skill over time.

17. Do (or did) I like school?

I loved school and literally work at a school.

18. Did I go to the prom?

Unfortunately, yes.

19. What is my idea of a perfect date?

Definitely grabbing pizza at a nice restaurant.

20. Do I enjoy DIY or crafts?

Not at all, sounds awful, lol.

21. Do I forgive others easily?

Yes. But not so much anymore now that I'm older and more experienced. My instinct/nature is very forgiving.

22. Do I have a nickname — or did I ever have one?

None.

23. Do I have any phobias?

I'm scared of most anything anything everything...I'd say my daily fear is mistaking my razor for my toothbrush in the shower.

24. Have I ever met one of my heroes? If yes, who was it, and how did it go?

No?

25. Do I speak any other languages?

No, but I told myself I would learn Spanish before I die.

26. Have I ever traveled outside my native country?

Yes! I have been the Mexico and Ireland.

27. If money were no object, what would I want for my next birthday?

Maybe a trip to South Korea/Germany/Rhode Island

28. Have I ever been addicted to something?

Yes. But as far as substances? I'm addicted to Nsaid.

29. When I was a kid, what did I want to be when I grew up?

I wanted to be a wildlife photographer when I was a kid-kid.

30. Have I ever won something?

$75 with scratch offs

31. Have I ever narrowly escaped death (or serious injury)?

I'd say so, yes.

32. Do I prefer baths or showers?

Showers.

33. How am I feeling right now?

Changed.

34. Have I ever played any sports?

Soccer, Basketball, and cross-country

35. Do I prefer the beach or the mountains?

Beach, but I feel connected to both.

36. Do I prefer a Mac or a PC?

Uh...PC?

37. Do I prefer dogs or cats (or some other pet)?

Cats...I honestly do not like dogs at all.

38. Do I have any piercings or tattoos? Would I like to get any?

I have three tattoos: three rune, a sword, and a butterfly. All of which are on my arms.

39. Do I have kids?

Not right now.

40. Do I have siblings?

None.

41. What do I do on a typical Friday night?

Same thing I usually do: practice dance/choreo for a couple of hours. Read, cook, watch Youtube. If I’m going out, I’ll maybe grab dinner/hang with my friends. I MAY go to ~the club~ in a blue moon.

42. If I could go anywhere in the world with unlimited funds, where would I go?

SOUTH KOREA

43. What do I do to relax?

Shower, listen to music. Do my makeup for fun.

44. What do I do to wake up or boost my energy levels?

Blast Stray Kids

45. Would I rather have unlimited energy or unlimited money?

Unlimited money

46. Am I a collector of anything? If yes, how big is my collection?

I collect Kpop bullshit...(albums, photo cards, posters, etc.) essentially merch from my favorite artists.

47. What sort of gift would I want from my significant other on Valentine’s Day or on my birthday?

JUST flowers. All I care about it getting flowers on both of those days.

48. Which would I rather avoid — excess heat or extreme cold?

Excess heat.

49. Would movie genre would I rather watch: action, romance, fantasy, or horror?

Of those choices: horror. I also like a solid journey story.

50. Have I ever been on a diet? If yes, how did it go?

More like a mini eating disorder, lol? I went through phases where I only consumed 1500 calories.

51. If I could live anywhere for a month with whomever I choose, where would that be?

Greece with I suppose...someone I get along with.

52. Have I ever gone camping? Or do you look at a tent and think, “I feel like that’s the wonton wrapper, and I’m the filling.”

Yes, several times. I actually thoroughly enjoy camping.

53. What’s the last song I listened to?

Ribs -- Lorde

54. What’s my current obsession, and how much have I spent on it?

Anything kpop...hours. I’m talking hours and hours.

55. What’s a favorite book of mine?

We Need to Talk About Kevin

56. What should I be doing right now?

Sleeping.

57. What’s my best feature?

Physically? Boobs.

Personality? I would say kindness but that’s basic. Witty? Self-discipline.

58. What’s the most expensive article of clothing (or shoes) that I own?

Damn...shoes...? $100?

59. What is one thing I could not live without?

Music. My one coping mechanism and literally the reason I’m alive and functional.

60. What’s one thing I can’t leave the house without (other than keys and my wallet)?

Phone... BC packet?

61. What’s one of my pet peeves?

Slow walkers

62. What wild animal would I love to have for a pet (as long as it didn’t eat anyone)?

Maybe like...a toucan?

63. What’s my favorite drink?

An ICE COLD fizzy SODA boiii

64. What’s my spirit animal, and do I own anything featuring that animal?

I guess I’m very cat-like. I used to have a lot of cat stuff, but not anymore...

65. What’s my favorite restaurant, and what’s my favorite splurge order?

I like basically any fast food joint. I’m also a sucker for Chili’s. I’m really basic. A splurge order for me would be ordering a margarita with my meal.

66. What’s my favorite movie — or the best one I’ve seen in the last three years?

I’ve been obsessed with We Need to Talk About Kevin, Pirates of the Caribbean...I’ve been wanting to rewatch Little Miss Sunshine

67. What’s a favorite hobby of mine?

Dancing :)

68. What’s my favorite go-to snack?

Health-wise: apples and peanut butter. But if I don’t care: chips

69. What are my must-haves for watching a movie in a theater?

True interest in the film

70. What’s my favorite kind of competition to watch (sports, cooking, etc.)?

Not really into competition shows.

71. Would I rather get an electric shock or get an intramuscular shot (tetanus, etc.)?

Electric shock?

72. What’s my dream car?

Bella’s shitty red truck let’s gooooo

73. What are the must-haves in the home of my dreams?

LOTS of open space, sunlight, heated bathroom floor

74. What’s my favorite sandwich?

Chicken salad, BLT, plain peanut butter

75. What’s my favorite kind of dinner? (comfort food, four-course, take-out Chinese…)

Comfort food

76. If I could change my eye and hair color, what color/s would I choose?

I would DEF change my eye color to a warm brown and my hair to very dark brown. I’m growing my natural hair out. I’m going dye-free right now.

77. Who is my favorite fictional character (or one of them)?

Jack Sparrow

78. What’s my longest relationship so far (other than family)?

4 years...

79. What is my star sign — or do I usually avoid that question?

I DO NOT care about this but I’m a Leo

80. What is my lucky number, or what is a favorite number of mine?

Uh? N/A

81. What city do I live in now, and what’s my favorite thing about it?

I still live in Denton and I detest it.

82. What state do I live in now, and what do I love about it?

Texas, its diversity.

83. If I had to move to a different state, where would I rather go?

New Mexico

84. Have I ever colored my hair? If yes, what’s my favorite hair color experiment so far?

Yes, most of my teen and adult life. But my “crazy” hair experiment right now is going dye-free and wearing my natural color.

85. Whom do I miss right now?

My 14-year-old self

86. Have I ever made a mistake that someone else refused to forgive me for?

Apparently.

87. Do I have a celebrity crush? If yes, who is it?

JOHNNY DEPP and all of Stray Kids lol. Jungkook?

88. If I could meet any celebrity for coffee/tea and a chat, who would it be?

Marina Diamandis

89. As desserts go, would I rather have ice cream or cheesecake?

Ice Cream

90. Would I rather live in a house or an apartment, and why?

A small house.

91. Would I rather live in a treehouse, a cave, or a submarine?

Treehouse

92. What is one big goal that I want to accomplish this year?

Move out of D*nton.

93. What do I want to do for a living?

I’m happy being a teacher, but ultimately I’d like to counsel kids.

94. When I feel sick, where do I usually feel it first or most noticeably?

My head.

95. What sort of smartphone do I use, and what made me choose it?

Uh? Android?

96. What’s one movie that I’ve watched repeatedly? What do I love about it?

I watch signs pretty frequently. Midsommar? I connect with its characters because they seem like real actual people? I’ve been wanting to rewatch the Lovely Bones.

100. If I could afford one, would I rather hire a chef, a personal assistant, or a housekeeper?

Housekeeper!

97. What is one food that I refuse to eat?

Liver

98. What exotic food would I be willing to try?

I’d be open to trying most any food.

99. What is one item on my bucket list, and what made me choose it?

I’m kind of working on it now. I want to put a few years in while I’m young and able to become a very good dancer. I know that to obtain that it IS going to take years. It’s something that’s really important to me because I’ve always wanted that for myself but never made actual steps to obtain/execute it. And ultimately, I want it because it allows me to feel like my true self.

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lihikainanea · 4 years

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it's raunchy hours here in the twilight zone so allow me to indulge you with a thought— bill practicing a sex scene for one of his upcoming roles on tiger. him in full character, would tiger get excited if for example bill was practicing a sex scene as roman / henry / etc?

or as THE BRAND NeW SWEDISH GANGSTER? Babe you sent this to me ages ago, and I didn’t get to it. And now I know why.

God I’ll bet he sets the scene, doesn’t he? Of course he does. I don’t know much about Clark Olofsson and I’m pretty sure this is wildly inaccurate but like...John Joseph Gotti, right? One of them gentlemen gangsters. Feared, cruel, even son of a bitch--but one that dressed real well and knew how to treat a lady.

And he’s seen the way tiger is eyeing him on set, eating him up in his costume and his accent and the whole bit. Let’s not forget--tiger loves it when Bill gets a little mean. So when he’s a dapper gentlemen in a scene and then gets all ruthless and mad as hell, tiger is just d y i n g. And Bill knows. He remembers her little Merkel kink that he indulged for her some time ago.

So listen, Bill has a real early call time one morning. He kisses her in her sleep, squeezes her a little tighter, and then he leaves--but he leaves a nice dress, a real nice dress, in a dry cleaning bag strewn neatly across the chair. A pair of high heels--very high heels, higher than she’d ever wear--on the floor in front of it. A note saying that she better be looking real good for dinner with his clients tonight. A hairdresser will come by the room at 4, the make up artist at 5. He leaves the tube of her dark, crimson lipstick--the one he loves on her--beside the note, and the unwritten message is clear. Wear it.

Tiger wakes up and stretches, makes her way to the coffee machine, and she sees the whole kit. She snickers a little, but then she reads the note and...oh. Oh my. A little thrill runs through her, and she texts her big dude. Asks him what the hell the deal is.

She gets a text back in return.

Mr. Olofsson is currently unavailable. He’s tending to business matters.

Oh.

And a second one a minute later:

But he implores you to mind your language when addressing him, Mrs. Olofsson.

Oh, my.

She texts him sporadically out the day, but is always met with some variation of it--his messages sometimes a tad annoyed, a tad warning, a tad mean the more she picks at him--until his assistant texts her, and tiger can read the confusion in the message.

He said...pineapple applies? Does that mean anything to you?

Tiger smiles.

And sure enough, at 4 o’clock the hairdresser knocks on the door. Tiger lets her in, but as she goes to close it, the girl stops her.

“My assistant is coming, ma’am. She just needs to get her kit from the car.”

“Her...kit?”

“For your nails, ma’am.”

“Right,” tiger eyes her, “Okay then.”

So they set tiger up, push her into a comfy chair, and the manicurist gets to work on her hands. Tiger leans over, tries to peek into her bag.

“Can I see some of your colours?” she asks. The girl bites her lip.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she says, “But Mr. Olofsson already chose the colour. I only brought that one.”

“Of course he did,” tiger smirked, and then gestured to her hair, “I suppose he also told you what he wanted, here?”

“He did, Mrs. Olofsson.”

“Right then.”

And they doll her up to the nines. To the nines. Her hair is soft and shiny, big waves and loose curls just how he likes. Her nails are polished in crimson--identical to the lipstick that the make up artist swiped on her. Her make up is dramatic, deep feline-flicked eyeliner and everything is sultry and mysterious and...dangerous. They help her get dressed, do up all the straps on her dress and help her teeter on her heels and then the doorbell rings again--and this time, it’s a chauffeur in a crisply pressed tuxedo. Tiger squeaks a little, has to stop herself from running to the gigantic blacked-out, shiny SUV. And that’s when she sees it--Bill. Only it’s not Bill. This dude is tall and handsome but he’s dangerous, his hair curling loosely on his forehead, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips, black striped slacks and a button up shirt rolled to his elbows and--oh god--suspenders. A bow tie hung undone around his neck.

Tiger walks to him--allbeit a little slowly--in her heels.

“You are out of your goddamn mind, you know that?” she mutters incredulously to him. But the grin is wiped off her face when his goes stern, and she sees his jaw clench. Oh my. This is definitely not her Bill.

“You are going to watch your goddamn mouth with me, Mrs. Olofsson” he snaps, “No lady of mine will be caught dead swearing. ‘Specially not at me.”

Tiger squeaks a little, her eyes widening.

“Now apologize, get in the car, and mind your fucking manners tonight.”

She mumbles out an apology and he throws his cigarette to the ground, blowing the smoke out to the side before climbing in the car with her.

And listen, Bill doesn’t let up the entire night. Not for a second. he’s so dapper, so gentlemanly, so mannered. Tiger is wetter than a fire hose, fidgeting in her seat, but it’s clear the night is only over when Bill--er, Mr. Olofsson determines it is. And just uunnnf the sex would be so hot because Clark is a ladies man in that real bad boy way that I hate myself for finding so irresistible? He’s fucking filthy. It’s so dirty, the shit he’s muttering in her ear. He’s got her all tied up and trussed up and gasping for him, and he’s all dominating and taunting and god, tiger is in absolute pieces by the end of it. He probably disappears after too--because you know bad boys don’t stick around. They don’t spend the night, they don’t cuddle--he has clients to get to, associates to exact revenge on, an empire to steal. So instead he swats her ass, leaves her all tied up, tells her she can probably find her way out of it--and then he disappears.

And he probably disappears for a good 20 minutes. Tiger’s pretty sure she blacked out during that time. But when he comes back, he’s...he’s Bill again. Her Bill. His hair is wet from a shower, in a t-shirt and lounge pants, and he has a dopey, soft smile on his face. He smells like soap, like clean and comfort, and he leans over to brush a gentle finger down her cheek.

“Looks like you got yourself into some trouble tonight,” he smiles softly at her.

Tiger still can’t breathe.

#BFF!Bill #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabbles

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