#next time just call him a masochistic fucking freak

[foxglves]

intermission panel being like "tkachuks a little sick and twisted he probably enjoys being hit" 🤨 save it for ao3 boys

#hockeyposting #panthers lb #????????? #next time just call him a masochistic fucking freak #now they're talking about leather and gag balls... someone make these senile old men stop talking right neow!!!!!!!

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

II. of niceties and awkward second meetings.

parts: previously / next plot: bruce makes an offer you actually can refuse... at first. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, bruce wayne is still a masochist, bruce wayne is ALSO reckless :). words: 3.5k. edited: 2/28/24.

After every surgery—good or not so good—when you’re rinsing off and getting patted on the back for a job well done, you elect to feel hope. And then you hurry to lock yourself in your office and try to catch your breath.

The weight of a life on your hands follows you from room to room, from work to bed, from daydreams to night terrors. Even when it’s good, it rarely ever feels good. Questions bloat your brain: what if there’s something you missed? What if, despite it all, it’s not enough? Is the blood on your hands, then? Is the life yours to save or the patient’s to endure?

There was no solid answer. All you could do was wait for full recovery and try not to let it consume you.

Maybe tonight was a night for Thai. Maybe you’d call up your old roommates and get together at your place. Maybe you could finally tell them about the night Batman broke into your house, and how you stitched up his bullet wound, and then fell asleep 20 feet away because you had to meet Bruce fucking Wayne the very next morning and God help you if you embarrassed your boss by being late. So far, the only person who’d heard about it was the old lady who lived in the apartment below you, and all she’d done is pray for you.

You’d assured her you were fine, but she’d insisted on anointing your doors and windows before you left for work. The “demon of Gotham” she’d called him, herald of vengeance. The fact that you’d saved his life meant that you’d be spared in the reckoning... or whatever little old ladies learned in Sunday school.

Whatever she believed, you had no reason to think you’d be struck by lightning twice. Batman would not be returning to your home any time soon.

The thought almost made you sad.

There was no reason for him to return. Batman probably had a team of doctors waiting to tend to him if his arsenal of weaponry was any indicator of wealth. He wasn’t just any ol’ run of the mill vigilante, that was for certain.

You were just a blip. A freak accident. A glitch in the matrix. The chance that you’d been in the right place at the right time when Batman needed you most was just that: chance. And you were no gambler, but you could bet on your license that that man would never darken your doorstep (or window sill) again.

Maybe you’d stop by the liquor store too on your way home.

You’re rounding the corner when you collide with your boss, frantic as usual.

“Oh! Finally, there you are,” he grips your upper arms like a vice, eyes frenzied as they look you over, “why do you look like that?”

You imagine he’s referencing the dew of sweat on your skin and your scrubs out of whack. “I finished an operation fifteen minutes ago.” You answer, unimpressed. “I was just heading back to my office.”

Your attempt to sidestep him—to free yourself of the shackles that were his hands—proves useless. He spins to keep you in his grip, “You can’t! Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“You have a visitor.”

You frown, “A patient? No one’s on my schedule.”

“I’d like you to make an exception for this one.” His voice drops to a whisper. He readjusts your shirt sleeves as if dressing you up, prettying you for the highest bidder, and that sets you on edge, “Just trust me.”

You almost (almost) flinch away when he pushes you to your office door—now, a looming boulder instead of a gateway to your safe haven. Before you can even ask just who is waiting for you on the other side, your boss is rushing off down the hallway to do God knows what.

As if disarming a bomb, you slowly open the door to peek inside.

It scares the both of you, clearly, if the wide-eyed look he gives you says anything.

It’s like it hasn’t been a week since you’d last seen him. Bruce Wayne is wearing what looks like the same suit he’d worn last time, tie and collar stiff, jacket open underneath his billowy coat. But he looks awkward standing in your modest little office. He looks like he’s not supposed to be here, or at least not without his right hand man and the fanfare to follow.

He keeps his hands in front of him to show you he means no harm, “Your boss said it was okay to wait here for you.”

You’re still bracing yourself against the door, trying to figure out what he could possibly be doing in your office, what he’d possibly be waiting around for you for.

You think about the last time you’d seen him, when you’d grabbed him out of nowhere and his companion (Alfred, was it?) looked like he would have no problem breaking your spine if you dared manhandle him again. Oh God, he wasn’t going to sue, was he?

You swallow, “Uh, right. Can I help you?”

Bruce straightens up. His hands fall to his sides. You search his face to predict his next move but you’re puzzled to find that he’s just as clueless as you.

You didn’t know much about Bruce Wayne, that much had been established. What little you did know was some amorphous figure of nobility, the “prince of Gotham” as the press dubbed him.

Yet, standing before you in your simple little office, Bruce Wayne feels less like nobility and more like a stranger in foreign land. He keeps his hands in front of him and you’re able to make out purple dusting his knuckles. Bruised. Not bloody. Not recently. This piques your interest.

“How long have you been a surgeon?” Is his first question.

You slink into the room and debate on shutting the door, deciding to leave it open a crack; whether it is so you can escape or for him to feel unwelcome, you’re not entirely sure. “Four years. Not including the 12 years of school and residency.”

Bruce perks up just a tad to your bewilderment. “Did you study here in Gotham?”

“I did. I considered Metropolis.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Cheaper tuition.”

“Do you like it here in Gotham?”

“I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Wayne,” your voice comes out clipped—nervous—all the same, “I just got out of a surgery and I didn’t even know you’d be here so I haven’t got the faintest clue what you want-”

“I’m sorry.” Bruce apologizes, “I can come back another time.”

Come back? You assess his face once more, double checking for any sign of where this conversation is going, “Come back for what?”

For the first time since you entered the room, Bruce takes a step forward. A few, actually, ‘til he’s standing only a foot away and his whole deer-in-headlights deal is on full display. “A proposition.” Your head swims with big ideas. You’re thankful you’re still standing still. “I’d like to hire you.”

If Em could see you, she’d be laughing her head off at the look on your face. The emotions you're hit with are akin to blunt force trauma.

Bruce catches onto your distress and begins to explain, glancing away from your eyes to give you room to breathe, “Due to the nature of my job and the... events that transpired last November, I’m careful about my position in the public eye. I’ve decided to have a doctor on call, someone I can rely on in the event that something drastic happens again. It would be more menial work, but you would, of course, be greatly compensated: full benefits, triple your salary here. Nothing is out of the question.”

As the last word melts in the air, he finally locks eyes with you. Less deer-in-headlights now, more spotlight. More "I eagerly await your response".

You couldn’t even fathom the price point: triple your salary? You already made good money here, any more would be excessive. And then there’s the reality of the situation. You would be employed, solely, by Bruce Wayne. At his beck and call—perhaps moved into a nicer place within chauffeur distance of Wayne Tower—the support staff of the upper echelon.

Your mom wouldn’t bug you about moving out of Gotham ever again.

This all felt too good to be true. So good that your intuitive pendulum swung violently in warning. Bruce awaits your reply, wringing his hands before him and those glaring purple knuckles catch your attention again. How a CEO had managed those was a question you hesitated to entertain. Something else was going on here.

You knew Gotham was a corrupt city. It festered with crime in every aspect, that much the Riddler had made clear last Halloween. The late mayor, the DA, the police commissioner... and amongst his targets, Bruce Wayne had survived. Something else was definitely going on here.

“...I serve the public, Mr. Wayne. I reserve my skill for the citizens of Gotham without the... ability to seek better. I’m flattered you would consider me and I would be more than happy to point one of my talented colleagues your way in my stead. But I’m sorry, I can’t accept your offer.”

Bruce’s face falls for just a second. After all, if he were to wear his emotions on his face all the time, you doubted he’d be much of a successful businessman.

You’re thankful that he takes a step out of your personal space and doesn’t fuss, doesn’t try to shove a wad of cash at you, doesn’t throw more offers at you until you concede. “I appreciate your consideration, but that won’t be necessary. I should let you return to your work. Thank you for your time.”

You nod a little dumbly, the weight of what has just transpired starting to settle fully on you. Em would be far too angry at you to laugh, now.

With the grace of his pedigree, Bruce Wayne nods silently to you and leaves.

You notice once the muscles in your shoulders stop shaking that there’s something in your office that wasn’t there before. There, on the loveseat where Bruce Wayne had waited for you, was a business card.

You shakily approach the seat and collapse beside it, reaching out to read what adorns the back of the Wayne Enterprises logo.

Bruce Wayne CEO P: 212-XXX-XXXX

It takes the clatter of ceramic to pull you out of your reverie.

Beside you, Em hovers, “And here I thought you weren’t a fan.”

At the puzzled look you give her, Em jerks her head toward where your eyes had been focusing, mindlessly stirring in the events of the afternoon. At some point, the TV’s channel had changed from Days of our Lives to the Gotham News. They were running a story on a charity event downtown. Bruce Wayne was shaking hands on camera, the tagline “Bruce Wayne makes dazzling appearance alongside controversial mayor”. How fitting.

“‘m not,” you grumble, pushing your lunch around in yellowed Tupperware, “just thinking.”

“About?”

You glance at Em. Too little too late, your boss had clambered into your office shortly after Bruce left, pestering you about the conversation you’d had, disappointed when you’d told him you’d turned down the offer. “Imagine the press we’d get, one of our very own working for the CEO of Wayne Enterprises,” he’d argued, “you’ve got to reconsider.”

You hesitated to tell your tale again, fearful that you’d suffer the same reaction, but Em was not your boss. She would never let the topic rest. And it wasn’t like you signed an NDA, a truth that had only hit you hours after the fact, “I got a job offer today.”

Em’s eyebrows shoot up, “From West Mercy? Arkham?”

The very thought of working in Arkham Asylum had you abandoning your lunch altogether, “God, no. It was more like... on-demand. Concierge. A very rich patient wanted to hire me as their private doctor.”

“Wow... was it one of your patients?”

“No, I’ve never examined him in my life.”

“Him?” You recognized that tone of voice. A slew of questions were on the way if you didn’t elaborate fast enough.

Besides yourself and Em huddled in a corner, the break room was relatively empty. One of the ER nurses was napping, another engrossed in a game of Sudoku on their phone. You doubted they would hear even if you raised your voice above a whisper.

Quietly, because you clam up at the thought of saying his name out loud, you fish out his business card and slide it across the table to her.

It takes her but a moment to process. First a deep inhale, then her hand slaps the table (the Sudoku nurse glances up at you both and then changes his mind), then she’s gripping at your scrubs and shaking you violently in your chair, “Shut the front door! Please tell me you said yes!”

You frown, “No, I didn’t.”

“Why the hell not? I know you don’t keep up with the times in this city, but this guy is loaded!”

“I do keep up with the times. I just don’t give a rat’s ass about Bruce Wayne. A crime punishable by death, apparently.”

“But why in the world would you want to keep working here when you could be... having lunch on a terrace? Discussing lab results over Pinot Grigio? Jetting off to the Bahamas to check his vitals on vacation?”

You snort, “Exactly what I told him: I serve the public. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Could always do both.”

You tried to imagine it, for Em’s sake. The terrace lunches, the Pinot Grigio. You imagined the nice apartment from before and the esteem that your boss was sure you could bring the hospital.

And you imagined Bruce Wayne, with a limp. With bruised knuckles. Always looking at you with those big eyes that somehow told you everything and nothing at the same time. Like an open book in a dead language. You thought about the night that Wayne Tower caught fire and the world that had been crumbling down in Gotham had started to feel truly broken. Politicians die all the time, but the uber rich? Even you had watched the sky in horror.

And now that same man had asked you—you, of all people—to be there in case there was a next time.

You thought about the Batman. Would you say yes if he asked you the exact same question?

You hadn’t considered both.

You’re unaware that Em is leaving until her chair scoots loudly across the laminate, “Think on it. Seriously. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.” Her hand brushes your shoulder fleetingly. Then she’s leaving and you’re left to think again.

It was a bit ironic that his next visit took place as you were perusing apartment listings.

You hadn't seen him get inside your home the first time. He’d just been there, as if he’d always been there and you just never noticed. This time, he doesn’t have the urgency to break in. He waits at your window… staring in at you. No knocking. Not even a muffled “Can I come in?”

You don’t know how he expects anyone to invite him inside their home with those kinds of manners. You set your laptop aside and walk over to the curtains, his figure becoming clearer, more menacing as eyes silently follow you. By the time you reach the window, your heart is beating at an unhealthy pace. You had been able to get that adrenaline down before. How did you manage that again?

Batman waits patiently. Your hand presses to the glass, the warmth of it leaving behind a visible print as you push up on the glass, “Don’t tell me,” his head cocks to the side as you begin, “another bullet?”

If he is suffering from a wound like the last, he doesn’t look it. He’s crouched on your fire escape with his cape billowing behind him and the light of your apartment giving off just enough of an ominous glow.

After last time, you’d sneaked some extra supplies back to your place under the paranoia that something might happen again. And, let’s be honest, no one would raise a brow at having everything you need to clean a gunshot wound in this city. You couldn’t say it was entirely just for him, though.

The silence goes on uncomfortably long. You start to wonder if he even heard you, the way he stares you down, unmoving. He resembles a stray caught stealing from a trashcan, seconds from sprinting in the opposite direction to avoid being caught.

Eventually, your heartbeat spikes again. What had he told you last time? To run if someone tried to break in? Maybe he had wanted you to sprint the second you saw a human looming on your fire escape, regardless of their vague bat shape. Was he angry? He kind of always looked angry.

“Have you noticed anyone following you?” His question causes just the briefest alarm.

Living on the not-greatest side of Gotham, you had learned how to keep your head down but your eyes everywhere. If some mugger were looking to jump you as you got out of your car, you’d know. You shake your head, palms beginning to sweat.

Batman assesses you for a bit longer. You can’t tell if he’s reading you for a lie or if his instincts are just telling him otherwise, but eventually, he accepts your answer.

And begins to leave.

“Wait,” you stutter out against your better judgement, when he’s already stood to his full height, one boot positioned on the railing to propel himself below. He looks over his shoulder at you very slowly, “how’s your... side? Wound heal okay?

He looks down to where you’d stitched him, where his armor had been mended. “It’s better.”

You sigh, relieved. “You’ve gotten it looked at, then.”

“Someone looked at it.”

His wording gives you pause. “What about your stitches? Did you get them redone?” He hesitates. “You... did get them redone, right? Better. Preferably by someone who wasn’t worried about you dying on their living room floor.” Your skin prickles when you see his guilty look. “Batman, if you’ve been fighting crime every night for the past week with the same stitches I put in you days ago-”

“I’ve been through worse.”

“So you keep saying.” You really don’t mean to grit your teeth at him, practically stomping your foot because you’d, at the very least, expected him to be a bit smart about a bullet wound.

But, then again, you were talking to a man dressed as a bat.

You crawl out onto the fire escape, chilly and biting and unforgiving as the night may be, and watch Batman turn halfway toward you. You have to resist the urge to brush your hand against his side, an act far too intimate with Kevlar in the way. You look up at him, “Don’t suppose you’d let me take another look at it?”

The first time, sure, he let you because he was close to dying. With a motto of “I’ve been through worse” at his disposal, you doubted he would let you do it again unless the circumstances were dire.

Sure enough, he moves defensively away from you. You take heart in that it seems less like he distrusts you and more like he’s got a bravado issue. Not great, but better. Easier to fix.

You think of the medical supplies in your apartment and wonder if you’ve got what it takes to coax him inside. “I thought that you might not come again. Guy like you fighting crime every night must have people on hand for stuff like this, right? You’re not just any vigilante. Couldn’t be.” His unsettling glare makes the cold seep into you just a little bit more, “You don’t. Do you?”

He doesn’t answer you. His eyes shift from yours to the cityscape. Looking for a way out, maybe.

But if he wanted to leave, he would leave. Why would he hesitate?

“I just want to look. Make sure it’s not infected. No poking or prodding, I promise.”

“It’s not. I had someone look at it.”

“A doctor?”

“...No.”

“Someone who knows what they’re looking at, at least?”

He looks down at you. There’s something there that he’s keeping close to his chest, too much information for a stranger (even one who’s saved his life). You wait to see what his decision will be. “You work at Gotham General.” Batman states, matter-of-factly.

“...I know you were bleeding to death when I told you, but you’ve got to keep up in this city.” You see a hint of a smile on his mouth that is just as easily written off as a scowl. “What about it?”

Again, that look.

Just as you’re certain that you’re about to break through to something, a siren goes off in the distance. Sure enough, when the both of you look to the sky, his emblem is carved out in the clouds, beckoning him down to the streets once more. Your heart sinks. You were so close.

Batman waits a beat, positioning himself on the railing again. His eyes find yours over his shoulder, cape fluttering with the promise of taking flight, “They’re lucky to have you.”

He leaves. It feels even colder when he does.

taglist: @yikes-buddy​ @alexxavicry​ @moonlightreader649​ @maryx0107  @vainillasmil157​

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman scenarios #batman imagine #batman fic #the batman #battinson x reader #battinson #dc #mjwrites

[heartfullofleeches]

Erin 100% would ogle reader during biology practice dissecting a frog or some shit. He's a freak like that I think

(Tw: masochistic themes, dead animal mention)

The tray sits between you and Erin, scalpel pushed your way. Due to the small misfortune of him sitting next to you, you were lab partners for the year. When you were informed of what today's task would be he didn't hesitate when he told you that you would be the one to do it, and wouldn't take no for answer.

You pick up the knife as your teacher tells you to begin, Erin's breath catching in his throat. He's been watching at you this whole time; stare burning a hole in your head. You glance at the amphibian on the desk.

"Do.. I really have to be the one to do this?"

He rolls his eyes. "I'm scared of knives or something just fucking do it."

You know that to be false since he carved his name in your desk, but his groan of frustration made you decide to just get it over with. Gripping your wrist for support, you inch towards the frog's stomach; hands shaking the close you get. Being so unsteady would cause an uneasy cut. Erin can feel the sweat rolling down the back of his neck.

The knife enters the frog's belly, slowly sliding down the abdomen as you cut it open. Erin's eyes trail down the blade as it enters the flesh. He shutters. You lift the knife to look at the open wound; disgust clear on on your face. Fuck. If you looked at him like that - he doesn't know he'd do.

You pick up the clips meant to hold the frog's skin open. Just then the teacher calls his name.

"Mr. Hart?"

Erin hesitantly pulls his gaze away from you. "What?"

"Is everything alright? You're looking flushed."

"Yeah." He clears his throat. His face was beet red and sweaty. "I'm fine."

"If you weren't able to handle the lesson you should have said so before. Go stand outside for a minute."

Erin kicks his chair to the side as he walks to the door. He looks back at you one more time as he leaves. Standing in the empty corridor, his lungs are finally allowed to take in air. He tries to calm himself down, but the imagine of you welding the knife keeps flashing in his mind. He places his hand over his chest, nails scrapping the skin for release; imagine they're the scalpel and his arm is yours. Carving him. Marking him.

He groans- another student walking out the room at the same time. He and Erin stare at each other silently for a moment.

"The fuck are you looking at?"

#yandere bully #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere insert #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #male yandere #yandere oc imagine #yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere blurb #yandere drabble

[onyourhyuck]

🎮 Hate The Game, Not The Player. | l.hc (m)

synopsis; you are a game obsessed freak and so is your frenemy, lee haechan. he struck a deal with you but you end up losing, leaving him to be the winner. now you have to do everything he says.

warning; enemies to lovers, haechan is actually whipped for y/n but shows it in a mean way, y/n is a brat, hyuck dominates y/n, detailed makeouts, minor spanking, hair pulling, oral receiving (m). begging, hyuck is a sadist, y/n is a masochist.

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“oh my god lee haechan you suck at this game.” you would provoke with intentions to make him lose his cool and eventually, make him lose the round in the game. but, he is neck to neck with your score.

the boy next to y/n stays focused but laughs cockily, “yeah? focus on yourself, you might need to open your eyes and see who the real game master here is.” you mentally cursed him with the smart comebacks he has to say all the time.

the room was silent apart from the constant clicking of the controllers, rough finger tapping, deep breathing and silent curses under the breathe when they miss a point. hyuck would sometimes pull the edge of his hair back away from his face, deeply sighing. whilst you would tap your thighs around nervously and slap them in frustration.

“you’re such a bitch.” hyuck would spat when your avatar sucker punched his. you grinned feeling so proud of yourself. “you’re lucky i don’t beat women.” you roll your eyes at his statement.

“you can’t even beat a man, jeno throws you like a ragdoll.” you state and hear jeno on the other line of the voice call laugh. hyuck rolls the tongue in his cheeks, annoyed now. haechan, with real anger now was able to score a point leaving you stunned.

the point went to lee haechan, and you lost by one. you end the game and the call with it, looking at the boy who darkly sets his eyes on you. the cocky grin that screamed to you ‘you are so dead’.

you would be gripped forward and pinned on the bed as he crawls above you. y/n gentle yelps, glared at haechan. “sorry what did you say about me? i suck at the game? i can’t beat jeno? oh, that i’m a ragdoll?” he has a list of words you call him, sometimes it hits his pride, sometimes it actually hurts him but you never apologised to him ever. he won’t lie he said some pretty mean things to you before but never to the point of comparing you to other people.

you nod bluntly speaking. “yeah, so what?” he laughs grabbing a hold of your neck, lifting your face forward towards him. “we made a deal. get to sucking, whore.”

the name unleashed some unholiness under your stomach because when he flips himself over on the bed you were crawling to the ground on your knees. taking in everything he gave you. at first it was hard to contain, he heard small protests coming from you which only made him glare at you down and scoff with an insult.

“can’t even suck properly, you must really be shit at everything Hm?” hyuck leans his head back watching you work your way in him. it started to feel good for him the way your warmth embraces him because his lips trembling for a hot minute.

something about your friend trembling under your gaze felt empowering. you took him even deeper in the mouth, and hyuck flinches forward with now a groan coming out. “ah fuck, you learned fast.” he was still very keen on degrading you it seems.

he was sure that he won’t last that long anyways, the way you look from the way you work your mouth amazed him in a stunned manner. it seems you aren’t just amazing by running your mouth with his name, but you can actually put it into good use for once.

you continue doing this in faster pace where hyuck finally closes his eyes shut, terrified at what’s about to come. he tried to tell you, but failed at a moan of release.

your wide eyes glance up as he then rubs back your long hair into a ponytail in his hands. “swallow. All. Of. It.” he darkly demands slowly, watching your throat gulp it all in one go. A satisfied grin was shown on his face, he pulls you upwards on the bed then flips you where he is on top.

he presses lips against yours in a rushing manner that left your tongue feeling weak, defenceless and timid. he roams you as much as he wishes, not breaking it for you to have a breather of fresh air. he wasn’t giving you a break, hell no, you lost fair and square.

when he pulls away temporarily, he felt the taste of himself on you. his lips rub along your bottom abused lip that was swollen, red and had small amount of bite marks from his lip biting previously. your features were beautiful, he admired up close for a bit but the wholesomeness and romance will die quick. after all this is a deal, not some love confession— on his part he saw it like this however.

you made the deal and he made sure to make you regret it. however in some ways, you were feeling blessed when his lips went back to yours again, just to form a saliva string connecting you both and then twisted you around with a spank on your thick thighs. it left you to gasp with trembling doe- eyes at him.

“what? are your thighs sensitive, slut.” you furrow your eyebrows groaning. “don’t tease me like this, hyuck.” he smirks at the nickname, that’s a new one from you. “hmmm, you picked up on the nickname my friends call me.” he teased.

“however you can’t call me that.” he replies after, watching you look away from him quick. “instead, stick to annoying me and see what else i have waiting for you.” It sounded petty and it was. hyuck is very petty when it comes to people insulting him.

you lean your head back, his hands under your ass and head buried between your stomach area that he strips soon. “take your jeans off.” y/n would oblige and the moment he saw your legs, he pulled you by your ankles and started kissing the thighs area.

everything about your thighs were so hot to him. he wasn’t sure if it was the thickness of it, or how soft they felt and looked. everytime you wore shorts or skirts, it was hard to contain himself and his thoughts of urge. he wasn’t going to lie, he does like you, but your personality was something he never found in someone before.

you were loud just like him, extroverted, cocky, slightly annoying to him and you were incredibly intelligent which he admired about you. he heard y/n moan and squirm the thighs together, he smirks against your sweet thighs, biting in.

teeth sinking in the skin, tickling at the same time making you feel butterflies in your stomach and enough to make you bite your lip. “i hate you.”

It was half truth half lie on your part. you hated him when he got his ways, but you also liked him a lot at times. he was understanding, he can be very empathic when he is not trying to get under your skin to piss you off. if anything you hang around him more than any dream member.

hyuck would glance up, showing the toothy smirk as he saw the begging expression of you being now unable to take anymore of this slow and painful teasing. he for once, saw how much you wanted him. as much as he wanted you. haechan rubs the inner part beside the minor teeth marks, digging forth the fingertips in your skin, before speaking aloud as he traces every area of your body as if it were his small, harmless prey under him.

“hate the game, not the player, y/n.”

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@onyourhyuck please refer from translating, copy righting, plagiarising my work!

reblog, vote, follow me to see future content like this! don’t be afraid to comment your prompts or ideas for me to take upon.

#nct fanfiction #haechan smut #nct smut #nct x reader

[lutawolf]

Love In the Air Ep 12 Review & Running Commentary

Previous reviews and commentary can be found here.

Are we ready for the pain people?? No! Well, me either, but still. I'm going to put myself through it. Masochist. That's what we all are.

We start off cute with dork boy getting a paper cut and Sky freaking out. Yes, I'm aware it wasn't actually a paper cut, but it wasn't much more than that either. It twas a mere flesh wound. The coconut is enjoying being fawned over a bit much. "Why are you smiling." "The pain makes me go crazy." 🤣🤣🤣 Nope, not worried all. Omg, I bout fell off the bed laughing when he scared him. Dead. I'm soaking up all this joy while I can. "Worried about me? I think it will heal faster if you kiss it." Did he really ask him to kiss it one more time. This boy is a simp. Is he gonna keep the band aid too. He can't help it your honor. The boy's cuteness drove him insane. It was a very long drive but none the less.

Omg, the brother is a dipshit, but I love him. Who are you to call someone silly! Ha! Are they seriously arguing over the type of dog. Are you really locker room talking. I am dying here. "He is a delicate and lonely boy who wants to be loved." Tell me Pai doesn't understand Sky. He gets him. I love how he is rambling on about his boy, and they are just listening. Soft teasing but actually very supportive. Seriously though, you notice how much attention he is giving to Sky. He knows him now.

Don't go to the party! Ha! Text from boyfriend asking him to shop with him. Party is less important. And off on the date they go. Couples' shirts! They are so stupid but look how Sky is smiling. HA! Look at Pai calling his boy out. I love it. Seriously though shit is always cheaper at a mall compared to a university.

He chose this place because he remembered you saying that you love barbecue. Oh! They brought it up. He's feeding him. So cute. I'm fucking dying you guys. And don't come in my comments talking about how you didn't like the wife comment. This was fucking hilarious. He wasn't using it to demean the female race or his partner. He was mocking him. Like bitch, you can accept being called boyfriend or they can know just how intimate we are. 🤣🤣🤣 The fuck boy has turned into a much better flirt.

Ah, the condo. The infamous condo where they first did the deed. Sky smacking him. These bitches are for sure switches. Ahh, assuring him that he is the only one. "When you snarl at me, I want you to do it again." The honest flirting is the best. See, Sky makes Pai a better person and he won't even deny it. He lays himself bare, with no qualms at being vulnerable.

That kiss was so sweet but now the heat is coming. I love it. Pai is like, screw the birthday party. That whine in his voice says it all, lol. Oh! Did you guys catch the "I'm yours, all yours."

Uh, I wanted to see it! I'm gonna whine. Fine. We are at the party now. Fucking, stupid party. You said it because you meant it. You are all his. This is not going to go well. He is like, I don't know who you are cayote ugly.

From this point on, I'm going to fill in some of the gaps with words by @akitbeast Cause my ass isn't going to risk a flashback while my two babies are sick. Depending on the trigger or flashback, I could push through to be there for my kids, but it wouldn't be great. So, to be safe, here is her commentary. Meet you at the next section.

TW: Sky watches party boy drapes himself over Prapai, and he's beginning to spiral. The lights, music and all are getting to him. He runs back to the car. He's flashbacking in red while he weeps in the car. "It's happening again"

TW: Back to the party. Party boy is interrogating Prapai, who is talking highly of Sky. Party boy makes a move, Prapai turns him down.Party boy looks like he's not done. Prapai walks out and is seen by someone.

Sky pretends to be asleep in the car when Prapai comes back. Prapai is worried but understanding that he's tired.

TW: Guy, who saw Prapai walk out calls Gun, lets him know he's just seen Sky, and he was with Prapai. He reminisces about Gun allowing him to do to Sky (verbally, no images). Gun is interested, wonders if Sky still remembers what he taught him. 🤢🤮🤮

I'm back! Okay, so we are at the point in which Sky is making excuses not to see him. Pai isn't stupid, not when it's important to him. He knows he has done something but doesn't know what. Still, he isn't giving up. Look, guys. We have a female coconut! Pai is hot. He doesn't know what is going on and doesn't know how to find Sky to fix it.

Sky answered to a number he didn't know. Notice that the first concern for Pai is that he is worried. Oh, baby boy, you are saying everything you expect him to say to you. The pain! I'm gutted! So is Pai.

Remember, Pai knows Sky better than he knows himself. He is just up in his feelings right now. See, he is starting to think. He knows better. Knows something is up. See why having such a determined person is important.

Sig is so perceptive. Total coconut but perceptive as hell. If he doesn't get a series, I'm gonna cry. Maybe it's just better to cry.

The sunflowers. He feels him everywhere. Sees him everywhere. Suprise, he is there! He might know, but he is pissed. Oh, you are killing me softly with your words. Strumming your pain. Damn. Poor Sky. He isn't even reading. He knows it line by line. He is killing me. Damn Pai, you need to hug him. Damn this love confession got me dead. I'm not crying. You're crying. Fine! I'm crying, but you know damn well that you are too. The begging is half gutting me and half a turn on. Don't judge.

Yup, this all started because you hugged someone else. How about you not do that. Kid, you are still worried about that. This man hid in a dark room, waiting lawd knows how long, for you to come back. Look at Pai reassuring him. Sky opened up about his ex. I hate that dude. A fucking wanna be dom his ex was. "I see nothing at all, cause love makes me blind." 🤣🤣🤣 "Then I'm permanently blind." "I guess we're both blind."

Rain, adorable white crayon. Pai is laying his claim all over the place. Wouldn't it be easier to just pee on him. Damn. These buffalos. Just Mark Your Territory Already! They are cute now. Their room! Damn!

That's all, folks. Hope you enjoyed it. 💜💜💜 Next week is gonna be rough, so remember to buddy watch! Wish you all the best.

#lita #love in the air series #love in the air the series #love in the air #coconuts mafia

[edie-baby]

baby girls - chapter two | lando norris

Chapter Two: Perhaps

summary: What's the best way to tell the guy you like that you have a kid? Well, lying about it and making him think you're cheating isn't the best tactic, Mila's about to find that out the hard way.

word count: 1650

warnings: swearing, absentee father (the asshole ex has evolved)

last chapter

Dreaming of a perfect man while on a perfect vacation in the perfect scenery was, well, perfect. Until the dream ended, and Mila was forced back into reality by the wails of her daughter coming from the next room, the heartbreaking sound kicked Mila’s motherly instincts into high gear, her sleep-addled brain coming into a laser sharp focus within a split second.

“Hey baby girl, what’s going on?” Mila spoke, scooping Mahri into her arms with practiced ease. Mahri’s sobs quieted almost instantaneously, her tears still tracking down her face with a vengeance. Mila tried wiping the tears away, but they were replaced just as quickly.

“It’s okay, just breathe bubs. Whatever’s making you upset, we can fix. It’s all good.” Mila whispered, bouncing Mahri around the room as it had calmed her down when she was just a baby.

“I want Daddy.” Mahri cried, and Mila could have collapsed at the weight of the words the toddler had said. There was a large hole in both of their lives in the exact shape and size of Mahri’s father. Once high school sweethearts, now sworn enemies.

As much as Mila tried to block out all thoughts and feelings related to Mahri’s dad, she couldn’t blame the kid for missing a man Mila herself found missing sometimes. Matyas was Mila’s first love, her boyfriend since 8th grade, and her best friend since kindergarten. They had grown up side by side, acknowledging they had crushes on each other in their second year of high school, and having a baby together by the second last.

Matyas and Mila, contrary to most’s predictions, had stayed together through her pregnancy, and even for a while after Mahri was born. Matyas would bring all of Mila’s schoolwork home and help her work through assessments while she was pregnant, and once Mahri was born, they alternated taking days off school to babysit when members of their family couldn’t.

But something Mila had never admitted to others was that Matyas was an asshole, only kicking into higher gear once they had both finished school. Mila had an acceptance letter for university and a part time job lined up, whilst Matyas hadn’t even bothered looking, preferring to use the excuse of ‘I have a child’ to stop him from venturing into the adult world. Despite this, cooking, cleaning, and looking after the baby was Mila’s job, obviously because she was the woman, the mother.

When Mila finally decided to end her toxic relationship with her lifelong best friend, she was villainized for it. Her parents and friends blamed her for tearing her own family apart, whilst her older siblings were more than supportive, having accidentally witnessed Matyas’ less than desirable traits. Up until about six months ago, Matyas would visit regularly, taking Mahri for her swimming classes, and playing with her at the park, occasionally taking her for the day to save Mila some money on daycare.

However, much like any tale of a teenager, Matyas was single and lonely, and a barrier to being in a relationship was the fact that he had become a father at seventeen. It wasn’t exactly a big check mark next to his name, so when he had told Mila he needed to move on, find someone special, she didn’t anticipate that meant moving on from his daughter. Six months with no contact was the longest Mahri had ever gone without seeing her father, and it was the longest Mila had ever gone without seeing him. Mila didn’t have the heart to tell Mahri, who looked at Matyas as though he hung the stars, that her father wanted nothing to do with her anymore. Yet as the days turned to weeks, and the weeks turned to months, Mahri’s cries for her dad became all the more heartbreaking.

“I know, baby girl. But he’s on holiday, remember? He’s having lots of fun in Limbo.” Mila lied, continuing to rock her daughter in her arms, heart feeling heavy as stone at the blatant lies she was forced to tell her daughter just because her ex-boyfriend was a coward.

“I want a new daddy.” Mahri whispered, giving up on keeping her head up, preferring to let it fall heavily onto her mum’s shoulder. Mila couldn’t help but chuckle silently, the unfiltered, mumbled by age, words that her daughter came out with sometimes were what kept Mila going. With a few more bounces, Mila was sure her daughter had fallen back into a deep slumber and moved to lay her back in the small bed, covered with pillows, blankets and stuffed animals.

Mahri’s words echoed in Mila’s head, and as she reached for her phone to send yet another unanswered text to Matyas, Lando’s face appeared on her screen, an incoming FaceTime call that was as daunting as it was exciting. Mila looked over her shoulder, listening for any movement from Mahri before she answered the call, setting her phone against the toaster on the kitchen counter as she began brewing some coffee. It was nearing five in the morning, and knowing she would be usually waking up in an hour and a half meant it was going to be a caffeine fueled day.

“Hey baby boy.” Mila spoke a moment after the call had connected, looking down at the phone to see Lando’s tired face, snuggled up in bed with a small smile on his face. His smile only growing when he heard the fond nickname fall from Mila’s lips.

“Hi love. Why are you making coffee? It’s so late.” Lando mumbled, squinting to get a better look at what Mila was doing in front of him. His eyes devoured her figure, a large tshirt covering the tops of her thighs, and from what he could see, or lack thereof, she wasn’t wearing pants.

“Actually, it’s early. It’s a bit past five at the moment.” Mila replied, giggling at the way Lando seemed entranced by the view of her bare skin, smiling fondly when he snapped out of the trance at the sound of her joy.

“What the fuck are you doing up so early?” Lando almost shrieked, the volume of it causing Mila to startle forward, pressing incessantly at the buttons on her phone to lower the sound, checking over her shoulder paranoid that the gorgeous Brit had woken her barely sleeping baby.

“Oh, sorry. Do you have someone over?” Lando mumbled, looking crestfallen as he recognised the anxious look on Mila’s face. He couldn’t have been so naive to think that a woman as gorgeous as her wouldn’t have company on a Friday night - Saturday morning for her - and it had been about four days since they had spoken, he should have known.

“Uh, kind of. But no, but yes. Fuck.” Mila cursed, trying to find the right way to tell Lando that, yes, indeed she was worried he had woken someone up, but no, it wasn’t the kind of someone he was thinking of. She watched as Lando gulped, his mind spiralling with images of Mila with someone else, and although he had seen it in Austria, it hurt to know that their week together hadn’t meant as much to her as it did him.

“That’s alright. I’ll, um, let you get back to that, I guess. I’m sorry I called.” Lando muttered, moving to end the call when Mila panicked, the thought of hurting the man she was falling in love with had overridden her fears of him freaking out over the fact that she came with a lot more baggage than initially thought.

“I’ll call you later, baby boy, I promise. I want to talk to you, now just isn’t really a good time. I’m sorry.” Mila’s voice was trembling, she could see Lando’s want to get out of the conversation and never speak to her again, and it was the very last thing she wanted.

“It’s fine, you have your own life. We’ll talk soon. Bye.” Lando finished, his voice curt and clipped, but Mila could very clearly see the hurt hidden beneath the thin veil. She felt a piece of her heart break at the sight, knowing she was not only lying to him, but also causing him pain whilst she did so made her question whether it was really worth it hiding the little ball of energy in the next room.

Before Mila could reply, the call cut out, and she was left staring at the photo of herself, Victoria, and the twitch quartet on her lockscreen, something she had changed to remind herself of the amazing week she spent with some new lifelong friends.

Mila unlocked her phone, desperate to get away from the look she and Lando gave each other, preferring to admire her home screen, a photo from hers and Mahri’s most recent adventure to the park, Mahri laughing her ass off at Mila, who was very scaredly looking at the flock of geese running toward them while she took the photo.

Of course she had to give birth to a sadist, and if she was honest, she’d take that over the obvious masochistic trait she had been born with. The conversation with Lando replayed in her mind a million times, part of her wondering why she couldn’t just own the fuck up and tell him she had a kid. It wasn’t like she was telling him she wanted kids with him, or that he already had a kid, fuck if he didn’t want to, she probably wouldn’t introduce him to Mahri for years.

Yes, Mahri was her number one priority, but she couldn’t live her entire life for her child. She was nineteen, a gorgeous woman, and she deserved to be loved. Perhaps she could live her life with her child, and perhaps with someone else too.

But after today? She wasn’t sure she’d get the chance to even try.

#lando norris #Lando Norris fluff #Lando Norris fanfiction #Lando Norris fanfic #Lando Norris x oc #Lando Norris imagine #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #ln4

[seeuonadarknite]

freak — yandere oikawa tooru x f. reader

warnings: noncon, bullying, degradation, creampie, hickeys, exhibitionism

Milk bread? Check. Coffee? Got it. Gum?

"Shit!" The sound of your school loafers pattering against the sidewalk resonated throughout the desolate road as you hastily detoured back to the gas station. You were probably the store's first customer of the day, and here you were ever so graciously returning because you forgot something as minimal as chewing gum.

Any sane person would forget the gum and continue their journey towards the school. But you were far from that. You had to have a few screws loose if you willingly took time out of your day to cater to your high school bully and buy him a few of his favorite snacks. Hell, his friends have even dubbed you as his little admirer due to your obedient nature.

But you weren't catering to his needs like some sort of servant because you wanted to impress him. The only thing that kept you from smacking him across the face and calling him a stuck up jerk was pure fear. You're not some masochist that enjoys being taken advantage of by someone with a power imbalance over you all because of his stupid social status, but your options are limited.

It's either play along with his brutal torment for the rest of the last semester, or try and defend yourself and place a giant target on your back for his vicious fan girls. And even if you tried fighting him back, you wouldn't even need to be outnumbered by his friends to lose. We're talking about the Grand King here. He'd take you down by himself in a matter of seconds.

As hard as it was being seen as a freak that embraced Oikawa's torment, you'd much rather lose your dignity rather than your own safety. If Oikawa told those girls that you tried laying a pretty little finger on him, he'd be throwing you into a pit of rabid wolves to shred you apart and eat you alive.

Plus, you weren't as bad as everyone made you out to be. If there was anything Oikawa was better at other than playing volleyball, it was lying. He could spread a rumor about you robbing a damn bank and not a single person would bat an eye at his impossible claim. The fact that he has the entire school body in the palm of his hand is more than unsettling. Saying you weren't interested in testing his immeasurable power was an understatement.

Sprinting over to the spot behind the school that Oikawa was oh so keen on meeting you at, your heavy pants soon turned into wheezes. God, you were only three minutes late but you were shaking like a leaf. If anything positive came out of this situation, it was that you learned that it'd be a good idea to bring a grocery list next time, and maybe some water.

"You're late, [y/n]. Care to explain?" It wasn't hard to miss the irritation that laced the normally cheerful male's tone. Lo and behold, Oikawa was already stood at your regular spot, looking as cocky and smug as ever. There was nothing that excited him more than watching your face visibly drop at the sight of his presence. What, did you really think you'd get by with being even a second late? Time was precious, and you weren't going to get away with wasting his.

Oikawa basked in the way you powerlessly trembled as he made his way towards you. You didn't even bother trying to cower away, it was priceless! Placing a hand on your chin, he forcefully tilted your head upwards and rubbed a thumb over your lower lip. "I-I'm sorry! I.. I forgot the gum.." He shot you a glare. "B-But I went back and got it! That's why I'm a little late.." You could barely even muster up a coherent response, you were so nervous.

Judging by the way he ripped the grocery bag out of your hand and began rummaging through the contents of the bag, he was not buying your excuse. Picking up the can of cold coffee you had specifically picked out for him, his eyes narrowed in disgust. "You got me the kind with creamer. Are you trying ruin my perfect body image?"

Diverting his gaze from the coffee to you, he sent you an expectant look. If you didn't come up with a reasonable excuse within the course of a few seconds, Oikawa would make you regret waking up this morning. "This was the last one left! I'm sorry—" Lies. You cut yourself off as you felt a cold, sticky substance run down your chest and seep through your school uniform.

He was pouring the coffee you had paid for all over your chest, wearing a sickeningly sweet smile while doing so. You couldn't tell what was more discomforting, the feeling of ice cold coffee sticking to your skin, dripping all the way down to your bellybutton, or the unsettlingly lustful gaze Oikawa held on your figure. He had to be joking. Sure, he was a jerk that got off on making your life a living hell, but he never took it to such perverse extents.

"Aww, you look so cute with your tits covered in coffee. You must be freezing! I'll warm you up." Somehow the idea of him warming you up sent chills running up your spine. There was no way in hell he was about to do something thoughtful like giving you his jacket or helping you clean up the mess he deliberately made.

Forcefully grabbing you by the shoulders, Oikawa shoved you onto the cement with ease, watching your face contort into a cringe. You could already feel the rough texture of the ground scraping at your skin through the thin fabric of your uniform. Was he about to beat the shit out of you? Why was he looking down at you like a starved carnivore?

Instead of answering the questions rapidly flowing through your head, Oikawa straddled your waist with both lanky legs. However, instead of trying to fight him back, you stare at him with a dejected look in hopes of him hurrying up whatever the hell he planned on doing.

"Now, I'm sure you're not big on getting attacked by my loyal fans. So do me a massive favor and be quiet, alright?" You wanted to wipe the stupid smirk right off of his face as he basically threatened you. This man was about to use you for his own personal pleasure and there was nothing you could do about it.

Glancing down at your glossy eyes one last time, Oikawa basks in the fearful expression that adorns your face. Making quick work of your coffee stained uniform, he popped open the buttons, giving himself a clear frontal view of your sticky cleavage.

A small smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced down at the lacy bra that adorned your body. "Not only have you decided to wear such a lewd piece of clothing, but you wore the kind that snaps open in the front? Ahh, you must want me to fuck you."

Oikawa wasted no time in snapping open your bra, allowing your breasts to spring free. Both of your tits were on perfect display for the setter's hungry eyes to gaze at. You felt powerless and small under his primal stare. It couldn't possibly get any more worse than this.

Maybe the rumors were right, maybe you were a tad bit unhinged. Any sane person would've seen this coming from a fucking psychopath like Oikawa. "P-Please.. don't do this.." You gave pleading one last shot as you stared pathetically into his chocolate brown eyes that gleamed with amusement.

Unfortunately for you, your doe eyes only seemed to egg the cocky brunette on as he roughly clasped your breasts with each hand. Although the uncomfortable, yucky feeling of coffee sticking to your skin still lingered, the only thing you could zero in on was your tormentor's working hands as he squeezed your hardened nipples in between his slender fingers.

He was squeezing and fondling your sensitive mounds like stress balls. Did he forget that you were a human just like him? Has he really amounted you to a mere plaything for him to toy with whenever he pleased? With the way that his hands kneaded and pulled at your breasts like dough, you were beginning to think that your theories were correct.

His half lidded eyes flicker up to yours for a split second, allowing him to witness the deliciously mortified expression you wore. Within a fluid movement, Oikawa leans down and traps your lips in a ferocious kiss. It started off with just Oikawa forcefully merging his lips onto yours, but with the squeeze of your breast you regretfully gasped, allowing passageway for his wet appendage.

It's hard to decipher what's more uncomfortable; the feeling of Oikawa's tongue swishing around yours, rendering it nearly impossible to breathe or the obvious hard on he has rubbing up against your skin. When he finally pulls away, his breaths are heavy and uneven.

Hooking his fingers under the waistbands of your skirt and panties, Oikawa tugs the elastics down, watching as your slick strings down along with your panties. Crimson shaded your cheeks as you averted your gaze from Oikawa's. If there was any possible way of coping with the mortifying situation at hand, it'd be closing your eyes and pretending to be anywhere but where you were.

Unfortunately for you, sight wasn't your only sense. Shutting your eyes wouldn't stop you from hearing the sound of Oikawa's belt buckle clinking, and it wouldn't prevent you from feeling his hardened cock running across your thigh. Opening your eyes, you couldn't help the audible gasp that escaped your lips as you gazed at his cock. It was as big in girth and in length as all of his fan girls had claimed. You really hoped that they had been bluffing.

Oikawa seemed to appreciate your unwavering eyes, as he prodded the tip of his cock at your hole. "Wait! Please, don't.. At least use a rubber." You pleaded, trying your hardest not to let any lewd noises to escape your mouth as he began easing his head into the walls of your cunt. However, all your pleading did was evoke an amused chuckle from the man top of you.

"Aww, that's all you're worried about? Don't worry, I'll pull out," He coos, grabbing the curves of your hips to steady himself as he pushes himself further inside of your pulsating hole. As uncomfortable as the foreign feeling of Oikawa's massive cock pushing your walls apart was, you felt a small wave of relief wash over you upon hearing his response.

He seemed to notice the look of relief taking over your features, because he sent you an ear to ear grin that put the cheshire cat to shame. With a forceful thrust that would surely leave you sore, Oikawa finally pushes the rest of his length into the constricting walls of your cunt. "..after I cum inside of you!" He grabs onto your legs and folds them into your chest within a fluid movement, making it easier for his cock to reach spots your measly fingers would never be able to find.

He either didn't notice or decided to ignore the the way your body physically tensed at his response. He was joking. Right? Sure, he obviously knew no boundaries and had no problem using and abusing your body, but you assumed he had the smallest bit of self control. Maybe you were thinking too highly of him.

Rearing his hips back a fraction, Oikawa thrusts back into you, already kissing the tip of your cervix with the head of his cock. His pace starts off slow and steady, allowing your insides to memorize each and every curve and vein on his cock. If you weren't so upset with him for doing this against your will, you would've been appreciative of his benign thrusts.

Glancing up at the clock that hung from the back of the school, Oikawa cringed. He had to make this quick. His comfortable, languid pace quickens as soon as you can relax. The once quiet spot behind the school is soon filled with sounds of grunts, moans, and ear deafening slaps. Any regard for your personal comfort is gone out the window, as he thrusts in and out of you at a rapid, unrhythmic pace.

He nestles his head into the crook of your neck, running his lips over the sensitive skin whilst his hips smack against yours at what feels like one hundred miles per hour. "Maybe I'll mark you. Nobody else will be allowed to fuck you like this, only me.." If your mind wasn't zeroed in on the feeling of his balls slapping your rear at full speed, you would of picked up on the hint of possessiveness in his tone.

Eyes trained on the skin of your neck, Oikawa began sucking and nibbling, leaving a trail of purple bruises starting from your neck and ending at your chest. It was a mystery how he managed to create love bites and brutally fuck your hole at the same time.

Just the twitch of his cock causes your insides to squeeze at his length like a snake constricting around its victim. "Fuck, you're really tight, huh?" He grunted in your ear, basking in the way your insides devoured his throbbing cock with each and every thrust.

As Oikawa somehow managed to fasten his pace, he moved his hand down south, placing the pads of his fingers onto your swollen nub. If you weren't close before, you definitely were now. With the pressure of his fingers working absolute wonders on your clit, and his throbbing cock desperately pushing at your cervix, your body begged you for release. A small knot formed in your abdomen as his movements quickened, and your plushy walls began clamping down on Oikawa's cock.

With one last harsh hit to your cervix, you come undone, gushing your juices all over his twitching cock. As soon as you reach your well awaited climax, your vision begins to spot and your brain starts to fog. You were far too dazed to focus in on Oikawa hooking his arms over your thighs and slamming himself into your aching hole at a ferocious pace. "Aw, what a little baby! You came so fast." He taunted in your ear, half lidded eyes trained on your figure as he pummeled into you with hostile thrusts.

Although he teased you for releasing so fast, he felt his own climax arise with the way your innards hugged his cock. All it took was one last final thrust into the milking clutch of your cunt before he reached his end, hitting your swollen cervix one last time to shoot his load into your womb with a drawn out groan. God, he didn't regret ditching his condom for a second. Seeing his hot, thick fluids seep from your quivering hole boosted his already inflated ego. Only he was capable of leaving you like this.

Sliding his cock out of your dripping cunt, Oikawa watched as you sat up from your spot on the cement and began buttoning up your shirt. Cute, now coffee wasn't the only sticky substance splattered all over your skin.

After pulling his pants back up and fixing his disheveled hair, he helped you up from the ground. It would've been a kind gesture, if he hadn't followed it by forcefully tugging your panties back up with a condescending grin. "Don't go to the bathroom or wash up. If you do, I'll fuck you again and cum inside of you twice. Don't forget, I have eyes everywhere." His voice was disturbingly cheerful for the unsettling words that came from his mouth.

Sending you one last signature grin, he flashed a peace sign at you like you were one of his fan girls asking for a picture. It baffled you how two faced he could be at times. "See you later, slut!" He giggled before leaving you alone at the scene, drenched in all kinds of different liquids.

Whoever told you that high school was going to be easy was lying through their teeth.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #xreader #yandere drabble #tw noncon #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu #hq #yandere hq #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere tooru oikawa #yandere oikawa #yandere tooru #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #yandere tooru oikawa x reader #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere tooru x reader #oikawa #tooru #oikawa tooru #tooru oikawa #oikawa x reader #tooru x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #tooru oikawa x reader

[odetojeons]

Can u please do scoups biggest kinks? Please <3

OMG OKAY OKAY I WILL pls I’m already nervous as fuck.

Daddy Kink — LMFAO of course I would start with this. I’m not into daddy kink at all, but when it comes to him I just suddenly am obsessed with it?? It’s Choi Seungcheol after all. Choi Fucking Seungcheol. There’s just something about the way that he’s always taking care of the members that gives me the impression of him being into daddy kink, loves when you call him that, it drives him absolutely insane.

Shibari — I didn’t put bondage in general because I think he’s so much more into shibari than other types of body restriction practices. Seungcheol likes to tie you up, watch the pretty press of the ropes on your skin just so he could get himself worked up to fuck you later. I also would like to pinpoint that there’s a dark side of him who likes to see the red marks of the ropes on your skin later, the beautiful patterns drawing on it likes it’s its personal canvas.

Verbal Humiliation — Would you be surprised if I said I think he’s into you verbal humiliating him? Hear me out fam, Seungcheol would be so turned on when you tell him how pathetically desperate he is, how he couldn’t even hold himself back from jerking off like a horny teenager to the thought of you. And he would get off especially when you call him a whore. Yes. A whore. Why this particular name I don’t know, he just gives me the vibes of someone who loves to be called a whore. But at the same time Seungcheol would also want to tease you in a condescending way, but won’t do as much name-calling as he likes to be done with him.

Studio Sex — Okay I know sometimes I put something that it’s not a kink but I think we can all agree about this one. Like when Seungcheol’s working on the studio, he would like to bend you over his desk and just fuck all of his frustrations on you. Maybe even record your moans to be his fap material later (with your consent, of course).

Choking — Hello???? Seungcheol and choking are my biggest ship. He would absolutely love wrapping his hands around your neck, squeeze at it softly to see you try and gasp for air, and then orgasm harder than you ever had with a spinning mind. But not without safety instructions first, I just know this man worries sick about your health and takes care of you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

Semi-Public Sex — Aha. Ahaha. Y’all notice how I’m freaking out while I do this stuff. Like Seungcheol and semi-public sex?? Such a match. Please, this man would love to fuck you in places that you weren’t actually supposed to fuck, just so he could tease you about your sounds and tell you that if you stay quiet he will give you a reward later. Or put a vibrator inside you and make you both go on a date as he has the control on his hands and kicks it up a notch only to see your surprised yelp as your body falls forward on the desk.

Group Sex — Damn, okay. Let me get this straight. Unlike Jeonghan, Seungcheol would rather people pleasing him than him just watching people please you. It comes with how sometimes he just wants to be babied and cared for, wants to be able to lay down on the bed and let people have his way with him until he’s a moaning mess and putty into your hands.

Blowjobs — Not an actual kink but I think Seungcheol would be lowkey obsessed with your mouth on his cock. He would love to grab on the base of it, slap against your tongue where it rests waiting for him, and push you down on the length until you’re choking on it. It’s something about your lips wrapped around his thickness, your mouth and face dirty with cum when he orgasms all over you.

Hair Pulling — Oh yes. Seungcheol would fist your hair tightly and pull at it when he’s having his way with you on all fours. Or even to bare your neck for him to suck some hickeys and bite everywhere, or when he’s fucking your face until your voice gets rough. Just. His hand on your hair. He would absolutely love that. And also your hand on his hair too, pulling the strands when he hits your sweet spot just right and fingernails scratching all over his back. Which brings me to the next kink:

Sadomasochism — Well, Seungcheol is into both. Both being a sadist, likes to see you flinch when he causes you the pain you beg him to, and also being a masochist, likes when you make him flinch with pain. Can be anything, from the scratch of your nails on his skin to him spanking your ass. OH YES.

Spanking — This. THIS. Seungcheol wants to leave his handprints on your ass and thighs so he can admire his work later on. Likes how you squeeze tighter around him when he does so. Or even the red mark of his hips hitting you when he fucks up almost brutally. Just him being the dirty motherfucker he is.

THE END. I hope you liked it!! Feel free to tell me your opinion about his kinks too if you want 💗 thank you for the ask!!

#seventeen smut #seventeen imagine #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #svt smut #scoups smut #scoups imagine #scoups x reader #seungcheol smut #seungcheol imagine #seungcheol x reader

[charincharge]

I Don’t Want To Wait, seven

rowaelin high school bff au masterlist

Based on the prompt:

Sharing is caring. Now, give me the hoodie!

“I’m never drinking again,” Aelin moaned as she rolled over on Lysandra’s bed, shoving her head under the pillow. She knew Rowan had censored himself filling in the gaps of her night. Saying she was an angry drunk, though accurate, was not quite specific enough.

Apparently, she and Rowan had had a screaming match in the kitchen that he failed to mention, and Aelin had zero recollection of.

“The entire kitchen cleared out,” Lysandra explained, “Lyria included. But you were… pretty loud.”

Aelin groaned into the pillow.

“Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

Lysandra patted Aelin’s foot, trying to be comforting, but Aelin didn’t want to be comforted right now. She kicked Lysandra’s hand away.

“This is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Lysandra snorted and poked her bare foot. “At least he thought you were talking about someone else?”

Aelin peeked out from beneath the pillow and frowned again. “That is so much worse. Now he thinks I’m mad at him for not letting me kiss NOX OWEN.”

“What else was he supposed to think? You can’t exactly blame him. You smacked his drink out of his hand and started screeching about how he ruined your kissing plans.”  

“As if I’d ever have a chance with Nox. I barely even have a chance with Rowan, and he’s been my best friend since we were eight.” Aelin sighed loudly. “Whatever. Everything is ruined now. He’s going to prom with Lyria.”

Lysandra frowned, the pity evident in her bright green eyes as she flopped down next to Aelin on her comforter. “I’m sorry, boo.”

“Tell me one more time,” Aelin sighed. “Exactly what we both said. Every word.”

“In the kitchen?”

Aelin nodded.

“You stared at Lyria’s hand for like… a full ten seconds. Then you smacked the drink out of Rowan’s hand, and screamed – Where’s my drink, bitch? And he very calmly said, What the fuck, Aelin? Because… you know. The drink spilled all over the floor. Then you screamed at the top of your lungs, I NEEDED ANOTHER DRINK, AND YOU RUINED EVERYTHING. And he did that eyebrow thing you hate and asked, What did I ruin? And then you screamed back KISSING PLANS. That’s when the kitchen started emptying out.” Aelin groaned.

“It’s so much worse hearing it again.”

Lysandra paused. “Do you want me to repeat the rest?” And Aelin nodded tentatively. It was masochistic, but she needed to hear it all again.

Lysandra sighed loudly, knowing the worst was about to happen. “You fucking raged, Aelin. You incoherently started screaming – I HAD KISSING PLANS. AMAZING REAL FIRST KISS PLANS AND YOU RUINED THEM BY GETTING DISTRACTED.” She crinkled her nose at that. “And it looked like Rowan was going to say something, but you just kept going on and on about your ruined kissing plans. You called him an idiot….” Aelin cringed. She couldn’t believe how belligerent she was. “And then you screamed, YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO COME BACK WITH MY DRINK. THE DRINK WAS INTEGRAL TO MY KISSING PLAN. Which, by the way, nice SAT vocab drop while you were blackout drunk. That was impressive.”

Aelin couldn’t do anything more than flick off her friend. She was too busy berating herself for all the stupid things she didn’t remember saying when she was drunk. She’d been this close to telling Rowan she’d planned to kiss him. And she’d said FIRST KISS. It wasn’t like she hadn’t kissed anyone before – she totally had. There’d been several games of truth or dare which included kisses and a braces-filled makeout session at Camp Terrasen in eighth grade. She’d just meant their first kiss. She wanted to die.

“Then he got really mad himself and screamed back at you that you should have told him about your kissing plans, so he didn’t ruin your night. And you screamed back it didn’t matter since it was already ruined and clearly you could get your own drink.”

“I think that’s when he realized you’d had a little too much to drink that he’d clearly missed. And he sought out Nox, who explained the drink chugging, and while that happened, you literally chugged another drink and then launched yourself at Salvaterre.”

“I have to apologize,” Aelin said, but Lysandra shook her head.

“He didn’t bring it up for a reason.” Lysandra softened her eyes, running her hand through Aelin’s freshly showered hair. “I think once you punched Lorcan he chocked everything up to wasted nonsense.”

Aelin shoved her face into Lysandra’s pillow and let out a low laugh. What a nightmare. “I’m just grateful you and Elide were there to change me,” she said. “I can’t even imagine my embarrassment if Rowan had to peel me out of puke-covered clothes.”

“Yeah, you owe us for that one.”

Aelin’s mouth dropped in shock. “You left me to sleep on the bathroom floor!”

Lysandra laughed. “Only because you scissor kicked Rowan in the knee when he and Wes tried to take you up the stairs.” She looked at Aelin. “He’s not mad at you, Ace. He was going to let you sleep in his bed. Puke-covered and all.”

Aelin rolled onto her back. “But he’s going to prom with Lyria,” Aelin repeated again.

“She’s nice,” Lysandra quipped, causing Aelin to glare at her. “But she’s not you.” Aelin’s lips quirked upward at that. “He’ll figure it out eventually,” she said, letting Aelin breathe a sigh of relief. She really hoped Lysandra’s assessment was true. “Or he won’t, and you’ll spend the rest of your life pining away.”

Aelin snorted loudly. “Gee, thanks.”

“Welcome, bitch.”

Lysandra paused, her green eyes soft and nervous instead of holding their usual brash confidence as she continued. “I know you and Rowan are special best friends with, like, a special best friend song and everything.”

“We do not have a special best friend song?” Aelin interrupted, causing Lysandra to laugh and boop her nose softly.

“You do. It’s ‘Dancing In The Moonlight,’ which is adorable, but not my point.”

“And that is…?”

“I know I’ll never be Rowan, but I’m still a best friend, and if you need to talk about things… you can tell me. Especially if they’re Rowan things.”

Aelin bit her lip and breathed nervously. “I’m glad you know.”

“Oh, babe,” Lysandra laughed, rubbing Aelin’s shoulder softly. “I’ve known about your feelings for years. I’m just glad you finally told me.”

Aelin groaned and shoved her head under the pillow again.

~*~

Dear journal,

I don’t know who else to talk about this with. I know Lysandra KNOWS now, but I just need to vent to someone impartial, okay? Things with Rowan are so weird… because they’re not weird at all. After Lys told me what I screamed at him, I was sure he’d finally come out and clear the air, but it’s been a WHOLE WEEK, and he hasn’t said anythingggg. Everything is just…. normal??? He even let me keep the lacrosse sweatshirt Lys and El put me in. I tried to give it back, but he told me it was mine now. What the hell is THAT about? What does it mean?

I want to tell him I know about the fight, but then I’d have to explain I was screaming about kissing him, and I don’t know if he wants to hear that anymore.

All I know is that every time I look at him I feel like I’m about to explode. Not to mention I’m about to go suit shopping with him for ~PROM~ and I’m kind of freaking out. What is Rowan in a TUX going to do to my body? I might just combust there on the spot. Maybe he’s right. I should ask Lys to teach me how to … you know (masturbate). I tried to watch a video (I KNOW), but I got a million pop ups and got too nervous and shut my laptop off. Maybe I should look on my phone next time. Do phones get pop ups?

UGH OKAY. HE’S HERE. WISH ME LUCK.

Xo, Aelin

5/21/20 – age 16

Aelin slammed her journal shut and shoved it under her stack of decoy notebooks in her nightstand just before Rowan appeared in her doorway.

“Ready to go, Ace?”

She nodded and stretched her arms above her head, shaking out her hand, which was cramped from writing so neatly in her journals.

“Don’t you want to bring a jacket?” Rowan asked, looking at Aelin’s bared stomach pointedly.

“It’s almost June, Buzzard, don’t be such a prude,” she answered, her arms self-consciously crossing over the chest of her cropped t-shirt.

He rolled his eyes, leading them back downstairs, and Aelin grabbed her purse and followed. “Don’t come complaining to me when you’re too cold.”

“I would never,” she gasped, feigning shock. “And don’t forget you owe me post-shopping ice cream.”

“Oh, bring me back a pint of chocolate peanut butter,” Rhoe called out from the kitchen, his blue eyes peering out from behind the giant pages of the Orynth Times.

“Sure thing, Dad,” Aelin called out, passing by the kitchen with a wave.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Aelin doubled back and peered into the kitchen where her exhausted looking dad sat. “Rowan is taking you shopping? Has hell frozen over? Rowan, how did you get conned into this?”

Aelin looked up at Rowan, who scratched his head uncomfortably. “She’s actually taking me shopping. I need a tux for prom…” Rowan trailed off, his cheeks turning slightly pink as Rhoe returned a surprised look at the child who was practically his surrogate son.

“Ae, do you need a dress?” he asked, suddenly looking worried. Her dad would give her the moon if he could, but supporting a daughter on a firefighter’s single salary was often more than he could manage.

“Oh, no,” Aelin shook her head, carefully concealing her hurt feelings with a devilish smirk. “Rowan got asked to junior prom.”

Rhoe’s eyes widened, flickering between his daughter and Rowan rapidly, before smiling softly. “An older woman, eh?”

“It’s not like that…” Rowan grumbled, his cheeks flushing slightly as he looked down at the ground at his well-worn running sneakers. “I barely know her. I just said yes to be polite…”

“Sure, Buzzard,” Aelin said, poking Rowan’s side. He frowned at her unhappily, flicking her finger away.

Rhoe barked out a loud laugh. “Have fun, you two.” He fixed Aelin with a serious stare. “Make sure he picks out something really embarrassing, kiddo.” His stare broke as he winked, sending them off on their way, Rowan rushing out of the house as fast as his feet could carry him.

“Oh yeah,” Aelin laughed. “I’m putting him in blue ruffles first.”

“You are not!” Rowan called from outside, already starting up the jeep.

Aelin waved goodbye to her dad and hopped into the passenger seat, cranking up her mix, which was still playing in Rowan’s car.

~*~

“I look stupid,” Rowan whined, shoving his hands into the pockets of the umpteenth different styled tux the shop attendant had pulled for him. This one was black, again, but some kind of shiny material, and the pants had a stripe up the side.

Aelin couldn’t help the small frown that tugged at her lips at how picky her best friend was being. She honestly assumed the boy who mostly lived in athletic shorts and t-shirts would be fine with the first suit he tried on, but he was being finnicky and far too particular for someone who “just said yes to be polite.” And it was starting to get on her nerves. What she thought was going to be an exercise in sexual restraint was actually just trying her patience.

“Shiny, no good!” the salesman agreed, his accent curling thickly around his criticism.

Rowan sighed and turned to look at Aelin, who did her hardest to neutralize her facial expression before he saw her frown, but it was too late.

“I knew it,” Rowan grumbled, peeling the jacket off and handing it to the salesman, who cleared out the full dressing room again, and Aelin gnawed at her lip, trying to think of something comforting to say.

“It’s not bad…”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Ace.”

“Language!” the salesman snapped, and Rowan’s mood lifted for a brief second as he laughed in shock, his eyes going straight to Aelin, as if to say Can you believe this guy? She shook her head in agreement, and she was relieved to see a smile on his face for the first time in two hours.

Aelin pushed herself off the small chair in the communal dressing room space and approached Rowan. She cocked her head to the side and let her eyes shamelessly trail his form. He was right about this particular suit. It did look stupid. But none of the suits, all in differing shades and cuts of black, had looked right. As her gaze trailed back up to his face, his breath held, patiently waiting for her conclusion, Aelin had a stroke of genius.

“Black isn’t your color, Ro. It’s washing you out.” Rowan’s face scrunched at her assessment, clearly unpleased. But the stark contrast between the white and black, combined with his pale hair was doing something to his usually tanned and glowing skin, and it wasn’t good.

“I refuse to wear a light blue suit,” he said, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Not something bright. Just… subtle color,” Aelin explained, and the salesman started nodding rapidly.

“Ah, yes, the Bellissima is correct. Color. Yes, color! COLOR!”

He excitedly ran back into the shop and returned with suits in various dark shades of navy and emerald and maroon slung over his shoulder. Aelin watched in amusement as he shoved Rowan back into the dressing room, telling him to try the green first.

Aelin stood impatiently, arms crossed and leaning against one of the 360 mirrors, hoping against all hopes that her assessment was correct. She wasn’t sure she could endure another two hours of this. Another five minutes would be bad enough, to be honest.

When Rowan walked out to the small platform, she knew she’d nailed itt. Her pulse thrummed loudly, and she could feel her lips part, inhaling a large gasp into her drying mouth. Rowan looked…

“Wow,” Aelin whispered at the same time Rowan said, “Huh,” peering into the mirror.

Aelin stood up straighter, pushing herself up and getting a closer view of the striking boy in front of her. The green was so dark, it just barely contrasted with the black lapels and trim of the suit, but the color brough a warmth to his face that had been missing, the green of his irises prominent beneath his long blonde lashes. Those bright eyes peered over at Aelin, searching for her reaction, and she couldn’t help the soft blush that appeared across her skin as they locked with hers.

Rowan cleared his throat, coughing lightly as he smoothed the jacket out, pulling the lapels gently. “Uh, yeah. Good call, Ace.”

Aelin lifted her long hair into a high bun, needing something to do with herself besides stare and to allow the breeze of the store fan to cool the back of her neck.

“The one!” the salesman cooed, running his hands across Rowan’s broad shoulders proudly. “We did it!”

When Aelin looked back up, she was surprised to see Rowan’s eyes still on her, gauging her reaction with curiosity. He raised a blonde brow in her direction, and Aelin was afraid for a second that she was going to launch herself at him right there and kiss his face.

Instead swallowed loudly and clapped her hands, shaking off the intensity of his gaze and smiled broadly. “About time, Buzzard. Now, let’s go get me some ice cream.”

The moment was broken as Rowan rolled his eyes and made his way back into the changing room, slinging the suit over the door as Aelin exhaled and slumped back into the chair for a brief reprieve.

“Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream,” Aelin chanted as Rowan paid for the tux rental.

Rowan slung his arm over Aelin’s shoulders and smiled down at her. “Fine. You earned it.”

“Hell yeah, I did,” Aelin said, as the salesperson shouted, “Language!” at them again, as they ran out of the store, both giggling.

By the time they reached their favorite ice cream spot, the sun had set, and the swift down current breeze of the Staghorn Mountains had started up, cooling the temperature significantly from the balmy afternoon Aelin had dressed for.

She looked out at the dark water, shivering slightly as she took her first bite of mint chocolate chip. Rowan bit back a smile as he wrapped his hoodie around himself tighter, keeping the winds out, happily eating his cookie dough without danger of freezing to death.

On her third bite, Aelin finally broke. “Oh come on, Buzzard, sharing is caring. Now, give me the hoodie.”

“I told you to bring your jacket!” Rowan laughed just as a particularly strong gust cut against Aelin’s exposed skin, making her shudder. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” he snorted, opening up the hoodie and nodding to her. “Get in here.”

“Really?” she asked, teeth chattering.

“You’re the worst,” he joked as he unzipped his hoodie and held it open, and Aelin practically raced into it. Rowan’s smile grew as he zipped the hoodie back up, which shockingly stretched large enough to fit them both. Just barely. Aelin pressed her cheek against his chest, soaking in his warmth as his free hand rubbed her back. She shivered again, but this time having nothing to do with the cold, warmth and desire radiating through her body as she felt every twitch of his muscles, every shallow breath.

“Better?” he asked, and she nodded, smiling happily into her next bite of ice cream. She savored each bite, not wanting the moment to end too soon. Each bite tasting better than the last, surrounded in Rowan’s grasp and heat. She breathed in, his heady scent filling her head, his embrace feeling so perfect around her. Her stomach calmed, everything suddenly feeling so right.

“Thanks, Ace,” he said quietly, resting his chin on her head. “I know that’s not how you wanted to spend your Saturday.”

Aelin finished her last bite and leaned harder into his warm chest. “I don’t care how we spend our Saturdays,” Aelin admitted. “As long as we’re hanging out.”

“Cool,” Rowan said, sounding so lame that Aelin couldn’t help but laugh, and she could feel him hiding his own smile in her hair. “Okay, we have to get back into the car,” he laughed outright, his hands rubbing circles onto her back, and Aelin shook her head into his shirt. No, she wanted to stay just like this forever.

“I’ll freeze to death!” she countered instead.

“We’ll just have to make a run for it. I don’t plan on losing you tonight, Ace.” Aelin groaned, but Rowan knew he’d won. “On the count of three,” he warned her. “One… two…” On three, he unzipped the hoodie, and Aelin screeched, her voice raising to glass shattering levels as she sprinted towards the jeep, wind whipping through her thin t-shirt and cutting against her warmed skin like ice.

Rowan unlocked the jeep as they ran, and they both launched themselves into their seats simultaneously, joyful laughter bubbling up in both of them and filling the car.

Aelin watched Rowan as he turned the car on, and immediately cranked up the heat. Her stomach fluttered again, and she crossed her legs to quell the ache of desire that had begun to take over her body.

As stealthily as she could, she pulled out her phone and texted Lysandra again.

I need some help.

Her phone lit up with Lysandra’s returning message almost immediately. XYZ kind of help???

Aelin snorted at the use of Rowan’s code name. Lysandra had suggested if Aelin ever wanted to talk about Rowan in text, she probably shouldn’t use his name. Just in case he ever saw. Aelin had immediately suggested his initials, RW, but Lysandra smartly pointed out he was the only RW they knew. Lysandra cackled, suggesting XYZ – because it came right after W. And with any luck, Aelin would be coming soon.

Aelin’s cheeks flushed as she texted back. Can you teach me/instruct me/explain how to masturbate?

OMG!!!!! MY BABY BUTTERFLY, YES YES YES GIRLLLLL!!!

Aelin laughed softly, and Rowan looked at her curiously, from her cheeks to the phone lit up in her hand.

“Who could you possibly be texting right now?” he asked, and if Aelin didn’t know better she would have thought he maybe sounded slightly put out.

“Lysandra,” she answered, a little too quickly, but her heart was beating too fast at the inappropriate back and forth she and Lys were having, especially since she wanted to fantasize about the person sitting right next to her while she… learned.

“What about?” Rowan asked, curious.

Aelin bit her lip. “You were right,” she said, her face probably beet red. She was grateful he couldn’t entirely see the color in the dark.

“About what?” he asked. “I mean, I’m often right about a lot of things,” he added cheekily.

“Masturbation,” Aelin replied as confidently as she could, while feeling like her skin was going to burn her alive. The car swerved slightly as Rowan snapped his head to look in her direction.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice sounding strained and high.

“Lysandra’s going to teach me.”

Aelin could feel her best friend’s gaze puncturing holes into her flaming cheeks as he searched for something to say. But when she looked up, she couldn’t speak fast enough.

“ROWAN!” she shouted as the jeep crashed straight into the taillights of the car in front of them.

~*~*~*~

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#rowaelin #high school au #i don't want to wait au #charincharge writes

[thoushallnotfall]

God Bless the Children of the Beast - Part 1

Masterlist

Pairing: The Dirt!Tommy Lee x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Notes: Back at it again at Krispy Kreme. ✌️ Okay so I’m a freaking masochist and apparently couldn’t write unless it was starting another long ass series? I guess?? (Press f to pay respects) Sorry it’s for a whole different fandom, but for my followers I’ll still be writing for The Lost Boys I promise! 🥺

If you read my last series and this set-up seems familiar congratulations! You caught me! I really enjoy writing sibling relationships and exploring the complex dynamics in different family settings! So sue me. (It’s also just an easy way to to fit the reader into the story, and it works really well in this case. I can’t help it!)

Also, I know the movie doesn’t follow their lives 100% accurately, but I’m basing this on the movie characters, not the real life Motley Crue.

Y/B/N = Your birth name. Like Nikkie, the reader changes her name when he does. 👍

Warning: Technically a very brief self harm at the beginning (it’s in the movie), and for this fic as a whole there will eventually have mention of abuse, assault, heavy drug use, alcohol abuse, and panic attacks so be forewarned. It’s Motley Crue, it was never gonna be PG, but it will get much darker than my usual stuff so just be aware.

1973

Frankie smiles at you as he pulls over the tonearm of the record player, T. Rex’s “Solid Gold Easy Action” instantly blaring to life from the speakers. He punches his fists in the air in time with the singer’s shouts, playing along on his new guitar. You smile up at him from your place on his bed, banging your head along with the music just like he does. You hear your mother bang on the door, telling him to turn the music down. Your fall on your side laughing as your brother flips off the door, before cranking the volume up.

Your mother bursts in the room, marching past your brother to remove the tonearm from the record player.

“What’s that?” She ask as she points to Frankie’s new guitar. Her voice was angry and slurred from who knows how many drinks, including the one still in her hand.

“What’s it look like?” Frankie shoots back.

“It’s just a guitar mom.” You reply, hoping to defuse the situation.

“No shit y/b/n, I’m not fucking stupid.” She snaps at you. You wilt under her burning gaze. She looks back at Frankie “Where’d you get it?”

“He probably stole it.” A man you had never seen before leaned against your mother, eyeing your brother with contempt.

“Who the fuck is this guy?” Frank asks, glaring back at the man.

“You think I don’t know where you got all this shit?” Your mother spat, picking up one of Frankie’s records and throwing it. You flinch away from the action on instinct even from your seat on the bed.

“So you noticed something I did, for once.” Frankie snaps.

“Don’t you talk to your mother like that you little prick.” The stranger says, looking high as a kite.

“Seriously who the fuck are you?” Frankie asks. Before the man can respond, Frankie cuts him off, “You know what? I don’t even care. Gonna be another you tomorrow anyways.”

The guy rolls his eyes at Frankie, heading towards the door. Your mother and brother are too busy arguing to notice the long, pointed stare he gives you as he stands in the doorway. You pull your legs up, hugging your knees against you chest as you feel a shiver run down your spine.

“You wanna know who this is? He’s another man in my life that you’re gonna drive away. Just like you did your fucking father, and y/b/n’s father.” Your mom says, every word dripping with venom.

“I was two years old you bitch! He left you!” Frankie shouts back. You look out over your knees, tears welling up in your eyes as they dart back and forth between the two of them.

“Then how come he never tried to call you then Frankie?” She says calmly, leaning down to smooth back a piece of his hair.

“Fuck you!” Frankie screams, taking off his guitar and smashing it against the wall. “Get the fuck out of here!” He yells, slamming the door in her face.

He begins wrecking his room in a fit of rage. You sit on his bed, tears spilling down cheeks. You hear your mother shouting as she bangs on the door, demanding to be let in. Frankie looks over at you, hatred still clear in his eyes. Seeing your tears, he stops. A look of guilt spreads across his face, before it’s quickly replaced by one of determination. He comes over to kneel in front of you.

“It’s gonna be okay y/b/n.” He says, giving you a quick hug. You lean into his shoulder, holding him like your life depends on it before you’re forced to let him go. “Now, get off the bed.” He orders. You sniffle, trying to pull yourself together and act brave. If Frankie says it would be okay, than it would be.

You wipe your face on your sleeve and stand. Frankie flips the mattress, revealing a switchblade hidden between the mattress and box spring. Your eyes widened.

“Frankie?” Your voice was small and shaky.

“I’m getting us the Hell out of here.” He says, looking back at you, eyes filled with resolve.

“Wha-” Before you have the chance to ask, he’s flung open the door, switchblade out. Your mother looks on horror as he digs the knife deep into his own arm.

—

You hold Frankie’s free hand as you watch the paramedics place the bandage on his freshly stitched arm. You sob quietly, and he squeezes your hand tighter and stares into the kitchen, silently assuring you it’s alright. You hear your mother’s voice as she argues with the officers, but you don’t look at her, never taking your eyes off Frankie.

Now that your brother was all patched up, an officer approaches you to speak.

“So, you’re sticking to your story: She attacked you with a knife.” The officer asks Frankie, clearly not convinced.

“Yup.” Frankie replies, not looking up at the officer.

“And you y/b/n? You saw this too?” The officer asked you. Frankie finally glances away from your mother to give you a stern look. You’re scared to lie to the police, but if Frankie is saying it, you know you should too.

“Yeah, that’s what happened.” You confirm. Frankie smiles at you, giving your hand another squeeze under the table where the officer can’t see, before turning back to stare at your mother. The officer sighs, sitting down.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen kids. If we take her away the state is gonna put you two in a juvenal home until Frankie’s 18. Is that what you want?” She asks. The silence stretches on, you look over at Frankie.

You’ll do whatever Frankie thinks is best. Frankie always knows the right thing to do.

—

“I’m gonna give you a moment with your kids, so behave yourself.” The officer says, dragging your mother out in handcuffs to sit next to you as you huddled next to Frankie on the couch. As soon as the three of you are alone, she starts in on the two of you.

“Come on, why are you two doing this? I’m your mother!” She pleads.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Frankie says, shooting up, pulling you up along with him. You clung to his side, your hand in his as he glares daggers at your mother. “We wanted a mom, but you only care about yourself and all of your stupid boyfriends!”

“Listen to me–” She begs.

“No you listen to me okay? We’re not gonna see you, we’re not gonna answer to you. You’re just gonna leave us alone, Deanna.” The ice in his voice when he said your mother’s name sent a chill down your spine. He turns, leading you away towards his room.

“Kids?” Your mother’s voice had never sounded so small. Frankie stopped, turning to look at her. “Fine. Do what you want.” She said, voice void of emotion. The two of you looked at her, sitting there handcuffed on the couch, and you realize it may be the last time you ever see her.

You didn’t want to feel sad–you shouldn’t feel sad, she didn’t deserve that–but a part of you did. You couldn’t help it. Frankie would say it too later, you just wanted her to love you, and no matter how much that never happened, there was always some stupid small part of you that still tried to love her. She was the worst part of your life and she didn’t deserve any of your love, not even the sliver she got; but something in your biology was still there telling you to reach out to her now despite everything she’d done.

Of course, you knew better than that.

Because no matter what had happened, the only person who had always been there for you was Frankie. Your brother was the only person on the planet you truly cared about, and who actually gave a damn about you. He was the only person you could trust. You were young, but you learned early you can’t trust anyone in this world. And you didn’t. Except Frankie.

Frankie would make a promise that day to look out for you no matter what. It’s something he’d always done anyway; he was your big brother, and growing up the way you did he felt it was his job to take care if you. You knew he felt guilty, because he hadn’t always been able to protect you from your mom or her boyfriend’s. But things were about to change, and for better or worse he wanted you to know he’d keep you safe, regardless of where the two of you might end up.

But it was always the two of you against the world, so you promised to look out for him too. You were a team: you would take care of each other, until the bitter end.

—

1981

You sat in the small diner booth, back to the wall with you legs drapped over Nikki’s lap as you held his chin firmly in one hand. Turning Nikki’s face towards you, you use your free hand to dab a napkin under his bloody nose.

“Ow, fuck y/n!” He whines, trying to pull his head away. You smirk.

“Stop being such a fucking baby Nikki.” You laugh.

“Hey that was badass dude.” A tall, lanky boy in leopard print pants comes up to you, looking at Nikki like an excited puppy. You let go of Nikki’s chin and the two of you give the boy matching stares. “The show not the nose, but that was pretty badass too.” He adds with a wide smile.

“The singer’s an asshole.” Nikki says taking the napkin from your hand to put under his nose.

“That’s the understatement of the century.” You scoff.

“I know I saw, but hey fuck him he deserved it.” The guy says, eager to agree with Nikki. He must be a fan, you think. “I got your poster on my bedroom wall.” The boy blurts out, almost as if spurred on by your last thought.

You instantly start cracking up, throwing your arms around Nikki’s shoulders as you laugh.

“Oh Nikki,” You say as you cackle, “Looks like you’ve got a fan.”

The boy’s cheeks flush bright pink under his chestnut locks.

“I can’t believe I just said that.” He mumbles to himself as he looks away from you. You almost felt mean teasing the older boy; he seemed sweet, if not a little dumb. But he looked like he could handle it; surely if he’s walking around wearing those pants, he could handle a little criticism.

“Take the fucking poster down man, London’s over.” Nikki said, not in the mood for your games.

“Anything else I can get you?” Dottie asks.

“Could you get me a Jack and Coke?” Nikki asks with a smirk, knowing full well that wasn’t on the menu.

“I’ll have french toast please Dottie, thank you.” You say leaning back in the booth as you smile up at her.

“And for you hun?” She asks the guy who’s made himself comfortable sitting across from you at the other side of the booth.

“Blueberry pancakes, please.” He asks her politely.

“My new band is gonna be something no one has ever fucking seen before.” Nikki says, looking through ads in the Recycler.

“Oh, that one looks fun!” You say, pointing to one with a smirk.

Loud rude aggressive lead guitarist sks working band. Xlnt equip, record credit and vocal ability- Call Mick. 555-0121

Nikki circles the ad in red marker.

“Yeah, that dude looks pretty cool.” The new guy agrees, pointing with his drumstick.

“Do you carry those with you everywhere?” Nikki asks, looking at the drumstick.

“Yeah!” He answers enthusiastically, spinning the drumstick around in his fingers.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” You ask, watching him twirl the drumstick with ease in his long, nimble fingers. He stops.

“High School marching band.” He says, looking down; clearly embarrassed by his answer. He quickly looks back up. “But hey, I rock too!” Just then, Dottie comes up with Nikki’s Jack and Coke.

“Thank you Dottie.” Nikki says sweetly.

“Only for you.” She replies with a wink. You take the Coke as Nikki goes straight for the mini bottle of Jack Daniels. He opens the lid and shoots the whole thing in one go, staring the new guy down.

“Wow.” He says, watching Nikki shoot the Jack Daniels. Nikki watches the guy spin his drumstick, a smirk spreads across his face. Oh, I know that look.

“What’s your name?” Nikki ask.

“Tommy. Tommy Bass.” He says, sticking out his hand to Nikki. You suppress a laugh as Nikki stares at his outstretched hand. He finally decided to takes Tommy’s hand, shaking it firmly.

“Nikki Sixx.” He introduces himself, though it’s obvious Tommy already knows who he is. “And this is my little sister, y/n Sixx.” He says, tilting his head in your direction.

“Hey.” You smile at him.

“Wait, she’s your sister? I thought she was, uh-” He stammers.

“Gross, get your mind right Bass.” You say, rolling your eyes and throwing a handful of sugar packets at him. “Might want to work on that name by the way; doesn’t exactly scream Rock and Roll, does it?” You add, taking a long drink from your Coke.

“Fuck you’re mean.” He says with a laugh. “Is she always this mean?”

“Yes.” Nikki replies, smirking.

“It’s been brought to my attention.” You shrug. “Personally I don’t see the problem.” Nikki scoffs.

“You wouldn’t.” He jokes, and you respond by punching his bicep. He laughs, because of course it didn’t hurt him, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“Anyway Tommy, you say you can rock?” Nikki asks, looking back at the drummer.

“Yeah man!” The tall boy perks up, spinning the stick in his fingers so fast you think it might take off.

“Why don’t you show me what you can do?” Nikki asks.

“What, like an audition?” Tommy asks, eyes gleaming.

“Tomorrow, our place. You bring your kit. Show me what you got and maybe I’ll let you be my drummer; sound good?” He offers.

“Hell yeah dude!” Tommy exclaims. “Oh dude you are not gonna regret this, I promise!”

“Uh huh.” Nikki says, rolling his eyes at Tommy’s youthful enthusiasm.

Dottie brings your food over and you and Tommy dig in, you splitting your french toast with Nikkie. The rest of the night spend talking between the three of you about details for the band Nikki envisioned. Tommy hung on every word, and you couldn’t help but be curious about him. He was goofy and sweet, and he was just as taken with Nikki’s scheming and dreaming as you were. You had never really cared who Nikki was in a band with before, but you found yourself almost rooting for him to do well at his audition the next day.

That was new.

You had never really cared much one way or another for Nikki’s bandmates. They were all disposable in your mind. Just extra bodies that existed in a void, walking in and out of your life just like everyone else did. The only people that really mattered in the world were you and Nikki. That was the only constant truth. The idea that you might ever trust anyone else, might ever have other people you really, truly cared for, had never occurred to you. You didn’t have friends, you didn’t have have a family; you had Nikki, and that was all. That’s how it had always been since the day you were born, and that’s how it always would be. That’s what you’d always thought.

But you were wrong.

#the dirt x reader #tommy lee x reader #the dirt!tommy lee x reader #mgk!tommy lee x reader #tommy lee #the dirt

[darkdevasofdestruction]

When They Meet Your Ex

Risotto Nero

Risotto would crush your ex’s head between his goth gf tiddies if he ever tries to get anywhere close to you.

You were on a park date on a late evening, not wanting to attract attention, but Risotto’s hat bells seemed to attract all the attention from passer-bys...

And by that, I mean cute little stray kittens would tried climbing up his pants to reach the bells.

Seeing you giggle at that, he only sighed and with the ghost of a smile, he suggested you sit down by the tree and play with the kittens.

It was all super cute at the beginning, seeing your lovely smile made his heart go WRYYYY with happiness, but that was rather short lived.

“Huuh? Y/N, that you? What are you doing with that weird looking clown? And why do you look like you’re wearing his way too large and washed out Metallica Tshirt?” hearing that familiar voice, you gasped and looked up, only to see the irritating face of your ex. “Honestly...Can’t I get a nice and quiet night without you around? Actually, why did you even stop? Come on, go away! I don��t feel like killing my braincells speaking to you again.” you humphed, looking away from him. “Awe, don’t be so hostile with me, babe! You definitely weren’t like that some time ago.” he smirked, as your eye twitched in annoyance. “Don’t call me that! It’s disgusting hearing that coming from your filthy mouth! You lost that privilege long ago!” your voice was lower, dripping with poison with each word. “I don’t think you should be speaking to me like that, considering how much you downgraded. Were you that desperate that you just forced yourself on the first person you saw?” he asked in a patronising voice. “I’m not you to force myself on people who don’t like me.” your voice even harsher now, but your big tiddy goth gf decided to step in. “To think that someone like you would speak like that about my girlfriend in front of me...You sure are a dumb fuck.” Risotto’s deep and dark voice echoed through the park as he stood down, towering over your ex. “Y-You’re not that scary, y’know?” your ex stuttered out those words, but that only made your boyfriend smirk. “Is that so...? Y/N, do I have your permission to teach this shrimp a lesson? No Stand needed, just my fists.” he asked, cracking his knuckles. “Permission granted. Just give me a good view of his blood flying around and I’ll be happy. I’ve been dreaming for this guy to get beat up for so long!” you giggled, leaning down on the tree with a relaxed look, with kittens all over you, as you enjoyed the show, your sweet boyfriend cursing the bastard over and over again, with each punch.

By the end of it, after making sure there’s no more blood on his hands and the jerk ran away, you called him to put his head on your lap, and kissed him tenderly, a smirk on your face.

“Who’d have thought that the best revenge is served bloody.” you chuckled, playing with his beautiful silver hair. “I would know.” he said simply, letting out a calm exhale.

---

Bruno Buccellati

You were at the restaurant with the team, as Bruno was away on a little errand and asked you to make sure the gang doesn’t destroy the restaurant, which wouldn’t really be a surprise, to say the least, but still.

“Okay, Narancia, I know you can do it. This is pretty easy, but you have to focus and take it one step at a time. What is 5 x 6? Take your time.” you asked sweetly, as you stood behind Narancia’s chair, your arms around his neck, your chin resting on the top of his head as he kept thinking and trying to count on his fingers. “Uh....30! Right? Right?” he asked energetically. “Yes, that’s right, congrats! And now, how much is 9 x 7? I know it’s a bit more difficult, but take you time and you’ll get it right!” I tried to hype him up, which made Mista and Fugo chuckle. “I honestly don’t have a clue how you can have so much patience with that braindead idiot.” Fugo complained, leaning back on his chair. “OI! WHO’RE YA CALLING A BRAINDEAD IDIOT?!” Naracia jumped on his feet as if electrocuted, which made me gasp and throw my arms around his torso, trying my best to keep him from fighting with Fugo. “Guys, settle down already! You don’t want to give Bruno trouble, do you?” I tried to reason, but they were long gone in their own word, while Mista was laughing, Giorno was pretending he didn’t know them and Abbacchio was ignoring us by listening to music. “Woaw...You’re a mess as always. Who are these guys anyway? Your groupies? Nah, these 2 seem way too young for that...They couldn’t be your kids, could they?!” a weirdly familiar voice called out from the entrance of the private space where we ate our meals, which made everyone stop what they were doing, snapping their heads towards the new person. “Oh...It’s you. Great, my day can’t get any worse, can it?” I dragged my hand down my face in aggravation. “So they ARE your children! What the hell, you said you didn’t want any children! I begged you so much, and you still denied me! And now?! What the hell, Y/N?!” he shouted, his eyes wide with shock. “These guys are 15 and 17, so if you can come up with a viable explanation on how I, at Y/A years old, could possibly have them as children, then congratulations, you win. Otherwise, I have to say, you’re the most braindead person I’ve ever met...Which wouldn’t be a surprise, considering everything.” I sighed, walking in front of him, staring him down, despite the height difference. “And who do you think you are, speaking to me like that, you little bitch?!” he screamed in your face. “Oi, Y/N, need a little help beating up this guy?” Abbacchio’s low voice called out, but you merely shook your head. “Nah, this is more personal. Listen, idiot, you aren’t allowed here. Restaurant’s rules. This place is reserved only for us, so get your sorry ass away from here before I kick you...Not that you wouldn’t like it, seeing how much of a masochistic freak you are.” you growled, pushing your finger into his chest repeatedly, to make him step way, but he grabbed your wrists tightly. “I think I’ll be leaving this place with you-” he began to speak, before a hand grasped his shoulder from behind so hard that he yelped in shock and pain.

“Now, now, I think mia bella told you already that this is a private place and you should leave. Unfortunately for you, you were stupid enough to touch her, so now you must suffer the consequences for your actions.” Bruno, glaring at the jerk, grabbed him by the shirt and threw him out of the restaurant, before talking to someone on the phone and returning to you, kissing your temple and holding his arm around you protectively, as he guided you back to the table. “Are you my guardian angel, Bruno? You always come to my aid when I need it the most, yet least expect it.” you chuckle, leaning your elbow on the table and gazing at him with a tender look. “I’d say it’s the other way around, but I won’t complain either way. Don’t worry about him, he won’t bother you again, I made sure of that.” he held your hand, intertwining your fingers together, before leaning on his chair, smirking at the others. “How did they behave today?” “On their best behaviour, of course! They are always little angels, and look! Narancia’s getting better at multiplying!” I clap in glee, showing him the new pages in his notebook. “Great job, Narancia, well done! And you, Fugo, for not getting angry at him.” Bruno praised them, but the two only shared a look of unease, as they laughed awkwardly, nodding.

--- Abbacchio Leone

You and Abbacchio were enjoying your day off together at a little cafe in town, knowing very well that none of the guys would bother you the whole day, so you were both pretty happy with that.

Your hand was over his, on the table, as you discussed random bands and were hyped about upcoming concerts in Italy that you were definitely going to together and would buy matching merch that you could wear and flaunt off how cool the two of you were together.

The problem is, however, when someone suddenly put their hands on your shoulders, making you jolt in your seat in surprise, before twisting behind to see who it was -

Only to have the misfortune of seeing your ex.

“Oh great, just what I needed. I got rid of the gang’s annoying antics, but I have to see another, much worse...Argh, whatever, I won’t even bother. Just leave, I don’t want to deal with you.” you roll my eyes, turning back to Abbacchio, obviously with a dramatic hair flip. “Awww, come on, admit that you missed me. I mean, what is this? Your new goth girlfriend, or what? I know I’m irreplaceable in your heart, but come on, no need to pretend that you don’t miss me.” he smirks, sitting on the empty chair next to you. “Oh, bother...” you facepalmed, looking at your boyfriend with an exasperated look. “Your tea is ready, sir, madam. Cherry Vanilla with extra Cinnamon.” the waiter put the teapot on the table, along with two cute little purple cups. “I am sorry, I thought it would be only the two of you. Should I bring another cup for the new sir?” the waiter asked politely, and while you were ready to deny, but Leone was faster than you. “Yes, please.” he answered simply, making you widen your eyes at him, but seeing his mischievous smirk, you realised his plan, which made you put your hand over your mouth to stifle your giggles. “You are very polite, dear Leone. More polite than I could ever be, I must confess.” you confessed, which earned a condescending laugh from your ex. “Well, you were never that much of a kind girl to begin with, Y/N, but that’s why I love you! We complete each other so well! I’m the good one, you’re the bad one...!” he trailed on, until the waiter brought the 3rd cup, and your ex tried to reach for the tea cup, but you slapped his hand away. “Go wash your hands! You can’t sit at the table with dirty hands! I don’t really care if you do it when you’re by yourself, but you should know by now that I’m hygene-obsessed!”  you tried to reason without drawing suspicion to yourself. “Jeez...Can’t believe I stayed with a nagging bitch like you for so long...” he muttered under his breath, but got up and left for the bathroom anyway. “This is gonna be fun.” you giggled, as you poured the tea for for you and Leone, before putting the teapot back. “Now’s my part.” he smirked, as you looked away, giggling, not even able to stop as you imagined how funny it’d be. “I’m back now, babe! Did you miss me~?” he asked in what seemed to be a very failed smooth act, which made you scoff. “You wish.” you snorted, looking away. “Ah...You didn’t pour me tea too, how rude. Well, nevermind, it’s not like you ever had any initiative anyway.” he got the teapot and poured himself a cup, as you and Abbacchio sipped at the same time. “How do you like it?” you giggle, looking at him as he took a big sip from his cup, before gulping and choking. “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?! IT TASTES HORRIBLE!” he yelled at you, as you could barely stop yourselves from laughing. “It’s tea, what else could it be?” you smirked, watching his angry expression, as he tried to leap towards you, but Abbacchio was much faster, taking him by the scruff of his blouse and kicking him out, getting him banned from the cafe, before turning back and sitting with a large smirk on his face. “That was such a great success.” you laughed, high-fiving your smug boyfriend. “Nobody messes with my girlfriend...And honestly, this trick didn’t work with Giorno, so it just had to work with this idiot.” he chuckled lowly, before throwing away the remaining piss-tea and ordering another kind of hot beverage. “We’re the perfect duo, baby.” you kissed his lips while giggling slightly, before getting back to your seat and continuing your conversation from where you left it.

---

Kujo Jotaro

Today had been a very nice and peaceful day for Jotaro, and he intended on keeping it that way.

His mother didn’t annoy him too much with her goodbye kiss, the groupie that kept following him everywhere was rather tame today, not clinging on him as much, the teachers didn’t annoy him, the weather was fine, you promised to meet him in the park after school, with a bento prepared for the both of you, while helping him with some studies.

All went so well so far.

You were happy, and your bright smile managed to even put a smile on his face, and you two sat at the base of a very large and old oak tree, as you fed him the bento you cooked, and after that, you let him put his hat on your head, something he absolutely adored and made his heart beat faster, as he’d put his head on your lap and would let you stroke his hair, as you’d chat randomly and watch the clouds.

Everything was so perfect...

Or so Jotaro hoped.

But there just can’t be a perfect day without something bad happening.

Just as you leaned down to plant a soft kiss on Jotaro’s forehead, some people started approaching you. At first, neither of you thought anything of it, thinking it was just random people passing by, but that was far from the truth.

“Oi, oi! Who’s that over there? It that Kujo? With a girl?” the obnoxious voice echoed through the park, and while Jotaro was merely annoyed, you unintentionally remembered the voice, and flinched in annoyance. “Great, just what I needed today.” you grumbled, tipping the front of your hat, a habit you took from your boyfriend. “Yare Yare Daze...Do you know them?” Jotaro asked in a low voice, getting up and glaring at the 3 boys walking over. “Yeah...That bastard in the middle is my ex. Kill me now.” you sighed, hiding your face completely with the hat that was already extra large on you. “Ah! No way, is that you? Really? Y/N? What the hell? Didn’t you keep preaching how you wanted a smart boyfriend? Tsk...I knew it. You really aren’t as smart as you think you are.” he shook his head, whisking away the hat, making you immediately jolt to your feet, trying to get the hat away. “Get that back! Come on, don’t be a jerk! It’s not even mine, you have no right to take it away! Just give me the hat and go away, I really didn’t want to see you again!” you reached up, trying to get the hat, but it was out of your reach. “Only if you give me a kiss. Come one, Y/N, you broke up with me in such bad terms, why not make it better?” he tried to reach his hand towards you, but you slapped it away hard. “Don’t even think of touching me, you jerk! You don’t deserve anything!” you stepped back, glaring at him, but you didn’t realise you bumped into someone, until you looked up and noticed it was Jotaro. “You have 3 seconds to give back my hat and run away.” he threatened, but your ex was having none of it. “And who the hell do you think you are? Her little play toy? Don’t you know? He loves to play around until she gets bored! And then she’ll just throw you away like garbage! Come on, man, I’m looking out for a bro here!” your ex tried to reason, but Jotaro was having none of it. “I don’t appreciate trash like you talking like that about my girlfriend. You have 2 more seconds before you’re dead.” Jotaro glared threateningly at them, putting you behind him protectively. “E/N, man, you don’t know him? He’s Kujo Jotaro, he’s known in the whole city for beating everyone up, even teachers. He never lost a fight! I wouldn’t go against him!” one of his friends explained, backing away from him, not wanting to get caught up in this mess. “One...” Jotaro stepped forward, grasping the front of your ex’s shirt. “Fine, whatever, here’s your stupid hat, now let me go!” your ex threw the hat at him, which he grabbed with his other hand and gave it to you. “Time’s up.” Jotaro smirked slightly, cracking his fists. “What?! You said you’d let me go!” your ex seemed to have fear flashing in his eyes as he tried to step back. “I said you have 3 seconds to return the hat AND run away.” and with that, Jotaro unleashed a barrage of ORAs at your filthy ex, rendering him barely able to walk as he got away by his 2 minions. “Well, that was surely satisfying to watch.” you chuckled slightly, before returning to your spot at the base of the tree. “Thank you for that. It was a pretty fine revenge, to be fair.” you smirked softly, taking out your notebooks from your bag. “Yare Yare Daze...Only cowards these days.” he shook his head before smiling, seeing you with his hat back on your head. “I can’t deny that. But doesn’t matter, you’re the best anyway. There’s nobody who can replace you in my heart.” you put your hands on his face before stealing a quick kiss from him. “Come on now, dolphin boy, let’s see what you want to revise for the Entrance exam.” you grinned, lifting up the hat so you could see a bit. “That’s my girl.” the ghost of a smile plastered on his face, as he put his arm around you, leaning back the tree and having you leaning on his chest, relaxing with the notebooks in your lap.

#risotto nero x reader #risotto nero imagine #risotto nero #bruno buccellati x reader #bruno buccellati imagine #bruno buccellati #leone abbacchio #leone abbacchio x reader #leone abbacchio imagine #abbacchio x reader #abbacchio imagine #abbacchio #narancia ghirga #fugo pannacotta #mista guido #jotaro kujo #Jotaro x reader #jotaro imagine #jotaro #kujo jotaro x reader #kujo jotaro imagine #jojo imagine #jojo x reader #jojo #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure part 3 #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure imagine #vento aureo #vento aureo x reader

[doorsclosingslowly]

From Each According to Their Ability, To Each According to Their Need

A good relationship is just teamwork: everyone has their strengths and some things they can’t or won’t do, and the trick is fitting everything together. Jesper has the charm, the shamelessness, the beauty, and the reckless disregard for his heart and self-preservation, so he’ll be the crumple zone in-between Inej’s morals and Kaz’ cold reticence. He’ll get them through this fight. He’ll make this relationship work.

10k | Jesper/Kaz/Inej | Sun Summoner Jesper AU | content note: explicit sex

Jesper has a good reason for why he’s been sitting inside Kaz’ office while Kaz does paperwork and Inej sharpens her knives. A great, important reason. He’s not a masochist for boring himself to death. Okay, so he’s also miserably bored and jittery and it’s been an hour and he’s already tired of un- and reloading his guns over and over so the motions become as fast as possible. The minutes are crawling like ants under his skin. If he was anywhere else, he’d have left in search for a card table a long time ago, but those busy eyes will focus on his back the second he gets up, and they’ll know exactly where he’s headed, and—maybe he doesn’t want to give them another reason to talk about him when he can’t defend himself. It isn’t spite that keeps him rooted down here, but… close enough.

So if putting his cards to their intended use is out, why not… On the first try, though, the stack of cards that was supposed to take the loose shape of the Crow Club collapses when he’s at the third layer. Fucking ants. Kaz doesn’t even look up from his paperwork, only grits his teeth and viciously swipes away the three of hearts that landed right on the last word he’s written. The word’s smudged, and the card’s back has an ink blot on it. Marked. Ruined.

Before Kaz can get in the customary insult about his lack of work ethic, Jesper huffs, “I’m finetuning my dexterity.” Kaz doesn’t even bother with the easy follow-up insult (“If that’s supposed to be dexterity, you’d better write your will before I send you on the next job. Except you can’t even bequeath anything but your ugly shirt. How long did it take you to lose the last kruge I paid you? Forget dexterity, practice winning a single card game sometime.” But why is Jesper doing all of Kaz’ work for him when he doesn’t even care enough to look up?!)

Either he’s genuinely too busy or still angry from whatever fight he had with Inej two days ago that they stopped the instant Jesper opened the door—and still taking it out on Jesper, who wasn’t even there—or he’s decided that scattering playing cards all over his table is still better than the next form of fidgeting Jesper might come up with. Either way, Kaz leaves him alone to try again. It only barely helps. There’s no thrill in playing with himself—at least this way, but even wanking’s no fun when the only two faces he wants to imagine above him right now are angry and keeping secrets.

No, they need to talk first. That’s why he’s here. Why he’s enduring this agony.

He’s waiting for the tension to burst. He just didn’t expect it to take hours. Kaz and Inej, though, are both some sort of hyper-patient freaks. Utterly devoid of mercy. Trust Jesper to fall for the strangest, worst, cruellest amazing people in all of Ketterdam. They’re not going to make the first move. And Jesper doesn’t want to, either.

It was going so well in the beginning. He had Kaz coming undone—coming, from his hand, in his arms, and passing out from how great the sex was, and then the next day him and Inej and Kaz had a conversation that went incredibly well, too. “Yesterday was so good and I think you liked being able to touch me when I’m glowing, so let’s do it again sometime? And I like Inej as well as you and she likes me too and she adores you, and you love her, so—let’s try this as the three of us?” or however it went in detail, Jesper was honestly too nervous at the time to really remember anything but the way Kaz frowned until his blotchy red cheeks betrayed him and he nodded and Inej said something moving and clever that Jesper wishes he could recall. They agreed, though, he’s sure of it. They agreed to give it a try.

So after that he’s been going up to Kaz’ bedroom in the night sometimes and practicing “unleashing the sun” as he now calls it (no not his dick), and complimenting Inej and kissing her hand like she’s a lady from a penny play, the way he’d usually do anyway but it’s more, now, since they’ve both agreed it can mean something different. It makes her laugh at him, anyway, careless and bright, which is what matters. Calling her darling and love and dearheart. Buying her snacks. And he’s made himself scarce occasionally when Kaz and Inej are together, but they probably didn’t notice neither his exit nor his presence in the first place, caught up in some silent conversation.

Anyway. It went great. Jesper spent weeks almost bursting with joy. He got sent out to intimidate a guy from the Liddies and terrified him into submission just on the strength of how widely he was grinning. He’s happy. Inej was happy. Even Kaz was vituperating failing Dregs with less hatred than usual, and it was all because they’re together now, together as more than a quasi-Barrel Boss and his favoured stooges, which honestly is a rush much bigger than gambling, bigger than alcohol, bigger than going supernova (Reverse order of fun there. Lighting up is the most intense thing Jesper’s ever felt, blotting out every other desire, the only time outside a gun battle when he can’t even remember what gambling feels like, but he does not like it).

And then, a two days ago, the fight. He interrupted something that wasn’t meant for him—that was about him, though, he’s sure, if the way Kaz’ dark eyes back then bored bloody holes into his chest were anything to go by—he saw them and they shut him out and later, Inej materialized in front of him and asked Jesper whether he was okay, for reasons he cannot understand. When he went back up to Kaz’ bedroom Kaz hissed at him to leave, because he ‘just wanted to sleep’. He looked tired, too, but not the exhaustion of work but emotional turmoil, loathing, dread, that Jesper could have helped him forget. Except he didn’t want Jesper to try. He didn’t want Jesper. He’s been avoiding Jesper like the Queen’s Lady, not even assigning him work, and he’s been even more grumpy than usual, too. Vicious, brutal, with everyone. Even Inej.

So now Jesper’s stubbornly sitting in a room with a man who suddenly hates him and a woman who won’t explain, enduring the torture of quiet parallel work until someone cracks, and maybe it won’t even be him.

If it’s not working out, it’s, well—not fine, Jesper’s going to be absolutely heartbroken, but he’s broken up before with people he might not have adored as much, and didn’t work for besides, people who weren’t the terrors of the Ketterdam underworld, but it was okay. He got over it. He’s not a child.

He’d just like to know it’s over before he makes an absolute fool of himself. No. Makes more of an absolute fool of himself. Thanks, imaginary insulting Kaz, but that one was pretty weak. Jesper’s even losing his Kaz imitation skills now, and it’s only been two days of complete disregard and freeze-out. What if he can’t solve this? What if it’s forever?

The cards scatter across Jesper’s corner of Kaz’s working table—one landing right next to Kaz’ pen, again—and they spread out all over the floor and, ignoring Kaz’ hateful glare and Inej’s concerned one, he quickly dives under the desk to pick them up. Kaz’ good leg is tensing rhythmically, as if he wants to tap it, wants to run—except Jesper’s wrong there, because Kaz never runs away—and his bad one looks miserably taut. Yet another thing the Sun Summoner could help him with, if Mr Dirtyhands Bastard of the Barrel Brekker, terror of Ketterdam, inspiration for the sexiest creep in all of dirt cheap fiction, gang leader in all but name, would deign to speak to him. It’s the only thing Jesper’s power is good for. No use, though. Jesper comes back up and sits down with a baleful sigh and expertly shuffles his cards. Shuffles them again. He could invent a few new tricks, but… he checks the pockets of the coat he’s slung over his chair, and he doesn’t have a marked deck in there. He’s stuck with the genuine article. He doesn’t usually play with marked cards after all: if Jesper’s in control of what’s going to happen, it’s not gambling anymore, just work.

It’s just, if Jesper messed it up again, he’d like the chance to make amends. Apologize. Work it out, maybe, if that’s on the cards, get screamed at, or find a place on a boat if it’s so irreparable Kaz just wants him gone. If it’s something in Kaz’ or Inej’s past, he can’t do anything, since Inej barely trusts him with the clean-picked bones of what was done to her at the Menagerie and Kaz doesn’t trust him at all, so. Fuck.

Whatever it is, Jesper didn’t notice because he’s an idiot. He was floating on what he thought was requited love, and the sudden safety of Kaz hiding his identity as the Sun Summoner, and how well they all fit together. Kaz, the miserable bastard, opening up slightly and allowing himself to feel good; Inej being safe and cherished and in control; and beside them, Jesper, laying the world and his heart at their feet. He thought.

But now everything’s fucked, and Kaz and Inej still haven’t cracked. They’re working as normal, if without any of the little exchanges that Jesper’s come to cherish. Still: he’s almost bursting out of his skin with the need to run, to gamble, to fight and maybe even lose, get worked over a little (if he’s lucky, at least Inej will worry about his bruises), and his paramours are both just at work. They’re both okay. It’s not fair. Jesper’s wanted for more money he’s ever seen in every country he can name because he’s the fucking Sun Summoner, but honestly? He’s normal compared to those two. How are they still sitting still? How is anything they do now up to their own exacting standards? Don’t they feel the tension? Can’t they feel Jesper’s agony?

Card houses are boring; shuffling is excruciating. Shooting cards in mid-air? But Kaz will definitely complain if the office smells like gun powder, let alone the potential damage to his precious stolen décor. He’ll complain, which means he’ll look at Jesper. Insult him. Eviscerate him. Order him to fuck off even, probably, and Jesper’s already got his gun out and ready but—it’s no use. It’s not what will scratch this bleeding itch. He can’t bear this anymore.

Someone has to throw themselves on this kindled bomb before it explodes, so it might as well be Jesper. He’s got the least dignity to lose.

He pulls on his most devil-may-care smile, and then he says, “You’re both breaking up with me, right?”

“Jes…” Inej looks up, shocked.

Kaz doesn’t say anything. His face hardens, and he looks back down at his paperwork. Not writing anything, though, so Jesper knows at least he’s paying attention. At least he’s vaguely interested.

“You can tell me. It’s fine.” I should have expected it, Jesper bites back. This is bad enough already. He doesn’t need to look more of a sad idiot than necessary, but they’re just staring up (Inej) and down (Kaz), giving him more time to think: more time to make mistakes, with cruelty so well-aimed it might almost be intentional, time to be to be impulsive, maudlin. I was pretty sure you’re in love with each other even before this started. Fuck, I was great playing third wheel before, and I’m pathetic enough I’ll cheerfully go back to it. I love you. I want you to be happy. The itching under Jesper’s skin is still there, and he needs a gamble, a fight, a—he needs to stop. He won’t hurt them. “Just tell me, please?”

“Jesper, no—”

“You’re both tense and angry, and you haven’t talked to me in two days.” He looks at Inej, who’s furrowing her brow, ready to argue, but— “You asked me how I was doing but you didn’t talk. Kaz won’t even look at me. You won’t even give me work, boss, and I know you don’t tolerate freeloaders. And you shied away when I tried to hug you, Inej. You didn’t do that before. I saw you arguing, and I know it was about me, and—I’m sorry. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. I’ll go, if you want.”

There. It’s out. He’s done his part. Fighting this would be more humiliating, and if there’s anything that gambling has taught him, it’s how to take a loss on the chin and keep on going. The itching under his skin’s receding, but he doesn’t feel any better. Just tired.

“No, Jesper. Why do you assume—” Earlier, Inej turned her whole body towards Jesper, arranged in a careful pose of openness that couldn’t disguise her nerves and that made Jesper feel more exposed but less alone, at least, but now her body turns as her eyes flicker over to Kaz. They stare at each other, another silent fight, and then he glares back down at his paperwork. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

This time, Kaz should say here, and doesn’t. Fuck, Jesper misses his mockery.

“We’re worried it’s not reciprocal,” Inej says.

“Not reciprocal? What do you mean? That’s ridic—” except Da used to tell Jesper he’s overwhelming in his enthusiasm, just like a whirlwind, when Jesper cried to him about some neighbour kid or other not coming shooting with him even though she’d agreed; that when he got into something it was hard to say no to him even if—fuck. Fuck. And now, Inej had to protect Kaz from—

“No, Jes, not that,” Inej cuts in quickly, shocked by his bare-faced horror. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“What do you mean, then?” Jesper can’t keep himself from glowering, still bruised from the implication.

“You pleasure Kaz and then you leave. You don’t have to do that. You’re not a servant. Not a sla—” She bites off her words, but Inej’s said enough. Jesper knows what she means.

“Something reminded you of the Menagerie, didn’t it?” he asks softly. In the corner of his eyes, he can see Kaz—flinch, as if Jesper had struck him, as if he’d touched him, and he doesn’t know what it means. What it means for them, for the relationship with Kaz that Jesper still wishes he could have. What it means, that Kaz acts as if Jesper can hurt him.

He still doesn’t understand the fight, Kaz’ reaction, but he does know what Inej’s afraid of. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine. I really like it, actually.”

“Even so—” Inej looks dubious, and Jesper’s got to move ‘world-class actor’ way up to the front of his truly extensive list of skills, if he’s somehow managed to fool her into missing the torch he’s carried for Kaz for pretty much the entire time they’ve known each other—“you’re vulnerable, Jesper. No, Jes, listen to me—” because of course she’s anticipated his grimace— “you don’t have any control in this situation. The Dregs. The Sun Summoning. The kruge you owe. Kaz has far too much power over you.”

“Kaz is our boss. He’s ordering both of us around.”

“And there are things I won’t do for him. Can you say the same? What if you want to stop one day? Could you?”

“I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it.” Jesper chances a look over at Kaz. He’s blank, not even angry, completely still except for the muscle jumping in his jaw. But he’s watching Jesper. Finally, finally, he’s meeting Jesper’s eyes.

“Jesper—”

“Look at me,” Jesper says, and since they’re already watching him more intently than any fat-walleted Pigeon already, he stretches his arms over his head—gratifyingly, despite the tension, both Kaz’ and Inej’s eyes trace the strong lines of his jaw and neck. He pulls his shoulders back when he drops his arms so the open collar of his lush pale green shirt reveals as much of his chest as possible. “Look at me again. I’m the most handsome guy in Ketterdam. The funniest. The best lay. I slept with plenty of people before I started this thing with you, and I could pick anyone if it ends. There were cries of despair all over the Barrel when they realized I was off the market.”

“Stop blowing smoke up your own ass and get to the point.” Kaz, as intended, looks disgusted at Jesper’s ego, but no longer miserably vicious. Viciously miserable. And he’s talking. Inej loses a little of her worry to involuntary amusement, too.

“The point is: I’m here instead. So clearly, I want to be here. I want this, I want you—” Inej wears a tiny smile— “and if you keep questioning me, what you’re really impugning is my incredible beauty and sexual magnetism and superb taste, and honestly, that’s offensive.” Even Kaz snorts, so score… let’s say, five, for Jesper. “Also, really, you should have stalked me back to my bedroom after. The images I get are more than enough for some quality time with my hand.”

(Kaz, flushed and stunned and staring straight into Jesper’s eyes.)

(Inej’s lips on his cheek and on his neck.)

“I’m good. Don’t worry about me. I’ll follow you whenever, whyever, wherever. That’s my job, right?”

“That’s the problem, Jes.” Inej’s rolling her eyes, but she looks much less apprehensive now. Just fond.

“We both know you couldn’t… well, obviously you could make me do something I don’t want to, you do it all the time. I don’t like bouncer duty, especially if no fight breaks out. I don’t like watching card games when I’m not allowed to play. I don’t like sniping in the middle of the night. You think I lucked into a face like this without guarding my beauty sleep? But that’s it, right? I’d be complaining the whole time. I’m not complaining here. I’m an enthusiastic participant.”

“You will kill Mark Heener, even if you have to stay up all night for a month. That’s an order,“ Kaz rasps, and really? That’s what he got out of Jesper (almost) baring his heart?

“I feel safe with you.” He looks at Inej, who’s actually fucking interested. Inej, who’s starting to look less afraid now, and because he’s always going to feed his own heart to hungry dogs to make her happy, he adds, “I like you. Both. That should be obvious.”

Inej glows. Jesper keeps his eyes trained on her, because he really doesn’t need Kaz’ derision, he doesn’t, even though he’s curious—oh yeah, he’s already looked. And Kaz doesn’t look happy exactly at Jesper’s dangerously-close-to-a-confession, but there’s none of the contempt or revulsion that Jesper forced himself not to be afraid of that made him keep his feelings quiet, more—fear. Confusion. As if the problem isn’t that Jesper hopes that Kaz loves him back. But that Jesper loves him.

“Oh, seriously, Kaz, I was never subtle about finding you attractive.”

“There is a vast difference between lust and… this. I can’t give you what you want. I will never touch you. I’m the Bastard of the Barrel. Dirtyhands.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “I’ve never actually cared—”

“I know three channels by which to contact the Little Palace,” Kaz hisses. “Five ways to lure you there without you catching on, and at least fifteen to subdue you should you resist. All your fears. Your secrets. Your addictions and abject weaknesses. Should I ever need the money—”

“And yet, I’m still here,” Jesper cuts in, before Kaz can say something that really hurts. “You saved my life more times than I can count. Three million kruge wasn’t enough for you to sell me out. And two weeks ago, you bullied me into promising I’ll only gamble at Dregs establishments because—”

“I’m tired of paying you wages only to watch everything disappear into the Dime Lions’ coffers. You’re the pigeonest pigeon in all of Ketterdam, and I want those fat stacks of money you lose every night to go to me exclusively.”

Jesper grins at him. It won’t help his case much to continue the argument about how only gambling in Dregs’ houses means Kaz can cut Jesper off, or make sure he won’t get beat up by those he owes money to, or that Kaz actually explained his contingency plans for when Jesper’s revealed as the Sun Summoner to Jesper, in person, only a few weeks ago. Kaz knows what Jesper suspects, and Jesper knows that Kaz knows he does, and Kaz knows what Jesper thinks about the fact that Kaz knows Jesper suspects he secretly does like him, and so fucking on and so fucking forth, and Inej does too, probably, even though she doesn’t enjoy the dance, the paper chase for affection, even half as much as Jesper does. Anyway.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Kaz,” Jesper purrs. The way you look at me when I’m touching your dick, like you want to burn my face you’re your brain. “You’re not as good a liar as you think. You want me too. You both want me. I can’t blame you, I’m gorgeous.”

“I can’t give you what you want. I will never touch you, Jesper. Never.”

He’s so focused on that, as if Jesper hadn’t told him—three times, probably, already that those words won’t hurt him, won’t scare him off. “That’s a fairy tale view of sex,” Jesper says. “The idea that there’s one true way of sleeping with people. That everything must be symmetrical—that within the confines of anatomical possibilities, everyone has to act out their role or it’s not true love, and that it’s penetrative, and naked, and kissing, and with the lights on. Out. I don’t really care.”

Kaz bristles, though Jesper hopes it’s more because he called an aspect of Kaz’ worldview fairy tale than because Kaz actually believes some of that horseshit. He can’t quite read Inej. Impressed, worried, sorry? He ploughs on..

“I’ve never planned a decent heist before. I can’t disappear into thin air like a fucking ghost. Not that good with knives, but neither of you can actually handle a gun—not that well, boss, or you wouldn’t send me out to play sniper. I can’t look at a bleeding wound, but you can. Et fucking cetera. We do different things, and that’s what makes us a lethal team. Sex is just another heist.”

“An interesting philosophy,” Kaz rasps. “Simplified to the point of complete incoherence.”

Fuck him. Jesper’s put thought into this, okay? “There are far more ways to have sex that don’t involve touch. That don’t involve the guy sticking his dick somewhere and rutting until he gets off. It’s only fun when you’re doing it with your partners, not acting to a script.” Jesper smiles at Inej, Kaz, Inej again, open and friendly. Trying not to let his heart betray how desperate he is for them to believe them, for this to work. “You have to trust me, though. Trust me when I say that something gets me going. Trust me when I say I’ll stop you if I don’t like it. You don’t have to understand, it doesn’t have to be something that arouses you, but if I say I like it, I do. And if you don’t like it, if it brings back memories you don’t want or you just don’t want to do it, we’ll stop, of course, but that’s for you. Don’t make my choices for me.”

“I hope this plan of yours is better than the last one you came up with,” Kaz rasps.

“We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” Jesper grins widely. Gently. He’s so close now to everything he’s ever dreamed of. “I promise I’ll stop this when I’m unhappy, if you promise the same thing.” Then he offers his hand for Kaz to shake, and Kaz actually takes it. “The deal is the deal.”

He repeats the ritual with Inej, and then watches her and Kaz shake, even though she’s not Kerch enough to put much trust into the oath and also too clever to really need it. This is for Kaz, though: so he can believe he’s not forcing anyone because they’ll veto, and for Inej to see that Kaz sees this as the terms of the deal. Watching the reflections of shadows, et cetera.

His guns, Jesper leaves on top of Kaz’ paperwork next to his scattered deck and his holster.

Then, he saunters into the pitch-black bedroom. It’s probably best the curtains stay closed. Jesper has negative amounts of control over his power at the best of times, and when he’s getting lucky—well it didn’t used to happen, but then, he didn’t used to sleep with Kaz Brekker and Inej Ghafa either. Kaz lights a candle before he closes the door, and that’s better, anyway. Whatever the situation may warrant—and there’s conflicting opinions, perhaps, because Kaz would laugh if he heard but—it looks romantic.

Jesper undresses slowly. One by one, he pushes the shirt buttons through their holes with deft, deliberate movements. It’s not nerves. He’s not shy about his body: he knows he’s gorgeous, has undressed for others often enough though he’s never had the chance to take his time like this, and even before he tried talking it out with Kaz and Inej today he knew they found him attractive. That, at least, was assured. His body is the one thing he’s always been sure of, and he isn’t baring himself now, not like he did earlier. There are no painful, invisible scars on his skin, not like those his lovers bear. The lines and holes on his belly are from battle or clumsiness. What you see is what you get. And what you see is…

He grips the right cuff of his gorgeous pale green ruffled shirt—worn especially for Kaz today, because Kaz hates it—and then he pulls his arm out before he swings the empty sleeve over his head, stretching, showing off the taut long line of his torso, and then he lets the shirt drop to the floor. He doesn’t look at either of them. He doesn’t need it. He’s not that insecure.

Besides, the utter silence in the room, apart from the ticking wall-clock, is answer enough. No rustling of minuscule movement, no words, no breath. Like awe. Like fear. And so—

“You know, this is usually when the applause starts.”

Two voices in unison. “Shut up, Jesper.”

And that’s what Jesper’s been missing. If he makes this fun, exasperating, ridiculous, then maybe he can steal the tension from their backs. He’ll convince them he likes it. Them. It’s lucky, then, that Jesper’s as exceedingly talented at being a jokesmith as he is as a gunslinger and a lover. They’d never get through this without him.

Jesper bends down to unbuckle his boots. He doesn’t bother with graceful this time, and then he says, “We should hire DeKappel.” A beat so Kaz can start formulating various schemes Jesper might be proposing, and then, “Jurda fields are nice and all, but if he’s trying to capture true beauty… Well, he’s not going to, not until he paints one of me undressing.”

“DeKappel is dead, Jesper,” Kaz rasps drily, and Jesper throws his boots into a random corner.

“I thought you were a criminal genius. You’ll find a way to hire him anyway, for this ass,” Jesper shoots back, and then he pulls his trousers and underwear down with a single, suave movement. Unfortunately, he’s trying too hard to be cool: never a good look, and so uncharacteristic for Jesper who usually does not put any effort to enhance his natural amazingness—he doesn’t need it, but he might be a little nervous—but anyway, he fails getting them off in one fell swoop and tangles up his legs somehow. He hops around the room, trying not to fall. It wasn’t even planned, and Inej’s laughing. Unburdened, bellydeep delight in his misfortune: music in Jesper’s ears. Kaz is scowling, either because of the chaos Jesper brought to his once-pristine bedroom, or because he’s trying not to join her. Definitely the second. Jesper’s lost count of how much he scored already in the private game of putting Kaz at ease.

Inej strips down to her quilted undershirt and her underpants efficiently. No flourish, no stumbling: the master showing how it’s done right, which Jesper tells her, and is rewarded with another huff of laughter.

Jesper preens. Stretches, showing off his half-hard dick, and realizes he’s still wearing his striped socks.

“Leave them,” Inej orders.

And who is Jesper to deny his lady her wishes?

Kaz is still standing by the door. Awkward gloved fingers picking at the collar of his shirt. His eyes meet Inej’s for some time while he loosens his tie, and then Jesper’s. Jesper quickly looks away, before Kaz can get angry at him for seeing something he shouldn’t. Still. “Should I…?”

“If you feel better wearing your clothes, keep them on,” Jesper tells him as confidently as he can with his heart beating against his throat. “Like I said, there are no rules. No implications. No meanings. Sit down on your chair, if you like. Pull it over here, so you can get a good view,” and without even a complaint, with gratifying haste, Kaz obeys. “You’ve never met a rule you didn’t break, creatively, viciously, for enormous profit. We’re thieves. Gangsters. And I like your suit, it makes you look hot.”

Kaz glowers at him, but his cheeks are red.

Jesper grins back. “Very sleek. Modern. I know you’re dressing as a mercher, but honestly, none of them come close to looking anything as good as you, so I’m sorry to say. Failure. You’re too handsome to be a mercher. Have you seen them?”

It’s fun, complimenting Kaz, and it’s even more fun having both of them stare at the way he marches over to the bed and languidly stretches out, lies down, cock bobbing slightly, their eyes tracing up and down his body, but… “Not that you’re not really stroking my ego right now—stroking it hard, wet, twist at the end, just how I like it,” Jesper does his best lustful leer, and nearly ends up laughing at himself because he’s trying (too hard? Not enough? Trying to sabotage it before it even starts?), “but you do know I’m not good at laying still? I’m going to fidget unless we do something.”

“If I minded your need for movement, I’d have gotten rid of you years ago,” Kaz rasps. “These are your rules. I thought you were all about breaking them. If you want to move, move.”

And Jesper hates to admit it, but once again, Kaz is right. “I guess that’s why you’re the boss, boss,” and blissfully, Jesper braces his feet against the footboard, arching his back, dangling the left foot over the edge and then changing his mind, tapping his heel against the wood in an offbeat rhythm.

Kaz is watching him, eyes gone even darker with arousal, and yeah—from his vantage point, he’s probably got a really decent view of Jesper’s ass right now.

“Inej—what do you want to do? Or if you haven’t decided yet. if you’re comfortable, on the bed with me, I just want to lay my head in your lap.”

And then, Inej’s suddenly next to him. Jesper still doesn’t know how she manages it. He was looking at her! Only glancing back over to Kaz to find out how he took the suggestion, and then the next instant Inej’s pushing Jesper up by his shoulders and sliding under him. Jesper lets his head plop down. “You’re such a weird fucking miracle, you know that?”

Inej, grinning, pets his face.

“Hey! I mean it. You’re the weirdest person in this room. The nicest, and you do know we’re all gangsters, so nice is weird. Not the most beautiful, though—I’m afraid that adjective was created just for me,” because if he doesn’t make a joke now he’ll only get sappier, and then Jesper starts lightly touching his own skin, running his hands over his nipples and his stomach and the burls and snarls of long-healed wounds. Inej’s generous hands touch his mouth, and from behind the foot of the bed Kaz’s heated stare completes the tableau. They mocked him for it, but this is safe. This is nearer than heaven. This— “I like this one.”

“You nearly bled out. And when that wasn’t enough, you burned up,” Kaz hisses.

“But I didn’t. Inej got me back to the Slat, and you refused to even look at me for the week I spent in bed until she found a healer. You were so angry. I thought you were going to kill me if the sepsis didn’t.” You were angry because I was showing off and it nearly got me killed, Jesper doesn’t say. Because you wanted me to live. That’s when I found out you care.

Kaz, though, looks far too uncomfortable, and Inej’s stopped petting Jesper. That’s what happens when he gets too distracted. Too comfortable with them. “You don’t have to say it,” he soothes. “I know why. But this is getting boring, so, tell me what you want me to do. What you’d like to do to me. This is a judgment free zone. Except for Kaz judging me, I think I’ve developed a fetish. At this point I don’t even know whether I could get off without a rasped insult or two.”

Kaz scowls at him.

“I could pretend to be deeply embarassed, if you like.”

Kaz scowls.

“I did actually mean it when I said, ‘tell me your fantasies’.”

Kaz keeps scowling. Then, after a while, while Inej slowly grows bolder exploring Jesper’s face, pushing her fingers into his mouth and asking him to suck, he whispers, “I would touch your face first, Inej. Pull you toward me and kiss you, and feel your breasts against my body. Slide down, lick it, while Jesper kisses my neck.”

He speaks clearly, without hesitation, but something keeps Jesper from sinking along into the fantasy. Kaz, naked, caressing Inej and licking her tits, while Jesper sucks bruises into his neck… something feels off, wrong, and Kaz is smiling confidently but then, he’s a great actor when the heist calls for it. He’s a great actor. He’s acting. Kaz, naked… This isn’t him, or if it is his genuine fantasy: this is him wishing he wasn’t himself.

He’s sharing his fantasies but—

“How about something a little more practical. Inventive. We don’t need to skip straight to touching. I have plenty of fantasies where you’re not touching anyone at all, or not touching me with anything but your gloves or your boots or your cane. A letter-opener. The Crow Club’s expense filings. I’m not picky.”

Torn between disbelief and—intrigue, Kaz looks intrigued, and that’s going to fuel so many nights now, that cane head trailing down Jesper’s naked chest, the idea that Kaz might actually want…

“You can use a lot of things to touch people. You do it all the time, Kaz. It’s not a power thing,” because he doesn’t want to worry Inej right now, and if the idea of Jesper stroking Kaz off reminded her of bad experience he might need to talk to her in private before he expands on this. If only the two of them actually trusted him and told him, out loud, what fucked them up and how Jesper can reconcile both of their issues. He’s running blind, though, and the only safe territory is jokes. “Not always, anyway, and not right now. Right now, object insertion’s called being practical.”

But Kaz has fixated on something else entirely. “Expense filings? How the fuck would I use paper to get you off?”

Jesper just threw it in there for fun, but actually, “Paper bends. You could wrap your dick in it, get a layer between yourself and my lips, and I bet it’ll feel at least as weird as getting touched by the sun. You could make an entire paper suit, too, it’s thinner and stiffer than cloth so it’ll distort the sensation of Inej’s hands. With a nice paper tie, too, and maybe a paper hat.” He’s really getting into this, now. Kaz, stripping down, and then slowly building up a new armour just so Inej and Jesper can touch him… “In solidarity, both Inej and me have donned paper suits as well. Inej doesn’t even rustle when she moves because she’s ridiculous, and mine has strategic cut-outs. Wouldn’t want to deprive you of all this beauty. It really makes a dent in Kaz’ paperwork, anyway—at least halves the amount of things he has to read tonight, so he has much more time to spend with us. Which is good, because it takes hours to construct all our suits.”

Kaz looks sincerely disturbed. Inej’s hiding her face in her hands. She groans in despair, and the sound goes straight to Jesper’s dick. At least one out of the three of them’s getting off on his hard creative work.

“Oh, come on! At least half of Kaz’ schemes are more convoluted and incomprehensible than this. And yet, they always work. I really think I deserve the benefit of the doubt here. I’d really like to wrap my lips around a roll of those dull reports you read while you’re ignoring me. Slick them up with my tongue. Bleed the ink. Lick all the way down to the signatures…”

“Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not, boss. But improvising a million plans with whatever’s available is your job, boss. I’m just thinking out loud.”

“Stick to your strengths, Jesper. Thinking clearly isn’t it.” A beat. Kaz looks both impatient and strangely, uncharacteristically unsure. “You don’t mind? Not that. Using gloves?”

That’s what spurs Jesper into honesty. Overcompensating with humour keeps him safe, but if one of them must be embarrassed here—well, it’s just wrong when it’s Kaz. He flushes. “The leather’s hot, Kaz. It’s what makes it special. They’re a part of you, and I wonder what it would feel like, those gloves on my body. The cane’s you, too. And I think about you, not some person you could have been. You, and if that’s feeling your gloves… I’ve imagined it.”

“So that’s what you like,” Kaz rasps. “Being fondled by a cripple.”

“Kaz—”

“The last person who said something far less insulting about my boss, I shot in the head,” Jesper snipes back. “You should know, I don’t tolerate anyone dismissing Kaz Brekker like that.”

Inej looks angry, but now that she can see Kaz’ quick incredulous flush, far less angry than she was back then. They’d both gone out for pastries, and in the queue a couple of patrons had been talking about the Dregs’ recent expansion into Liddies territory and the woman had made the unwise choice of talking about the Dregs’ de-facto leader in front of Jesper. Inej had tried to pull him home quickly after they bought their gemberbolussen but Jesper’d waited for the woman outside the shop, and—

Kaz, though, swallows what might have been pleasure. He probably doesn’t like being defended, or being seen to like being defended, or… Anyway, he hisses, “Are you ashamed of the monster I am? We should end this farce now, then. The idea that I might become anyone but Dirtyhands, just for you, is illusory.”

Inej hides her face in her hands. It’s impossible to tell whether it’s exasperation or an attempt to hide her laughter.

Jesper, at least, is hiding both. “Kaz, I just said I kill people for mocking you. I meant—well, most of what I said about using objects. I’m not claiming the moral high ground. And you know I don’t mind Dirtyhands—I even found Matz Drescher hot and he was way more of a dick than you. Sorry, he was a much smaller dick,” he says, when Kaz starts scowling. “I meant to say—he had a much smaller dick.”

Kaz still looks hilariously offended—or offended again for a new reason—and so does Inej, who’d complained to Jesper at length after Pim brought The Misfortunes of Virtue to the Slat’s eating room and then explained to her what it was about. Jesper couldn’t really understand then whether she disliked the impropriety of reading pornography in a common room or the blasphemy more, or how funny Pim found the Kaz caricature, but he didn’t care: he went out and bought it the same day.

“But Kaz. I don’t mind a single thing about who you are,” Jesper spells out, because Kaz is a genius, but if he’s still hung up on the idea that Jesper’s not totally in love with him, he’s also the stupidest man alive. “I’m game for whatever you need. Gloves, no contact, dickishness, whatever. What either of you need. I’ll be the crumple zone. I’m committed to figuring this thing out.”

Then, because Kaz is still just staring, surprise, want, grief and so much more flickering over his face: and Jesper hadn’t dropped out of university he’d probably be ready to write a monograph or two about his chosen field, Kaz-expression-ology, now… Because Jesper could watch him forever and it still wouldn’t tell him any more than he knows right now, he hides his face against Inej’s quilted undershirt.

And quickly emerges again, because Jesper doesn’t hide from his feelings. Often. More than once a minute, at least, but he’ll force himself to make this one of the occasions. Because if he doesn’t, if everything grinds to a halt here, they’ll realize what lies below what he just said, the abject love, and so he puts cheer in his voice and says, “But anyway. Back to business. We were in the process of having sex.”

Inej’s still watching Jesper far too keenly.

“How about I eat you out?” Jesper allows his eyes a quick dart to Kaz—who looks hungry, no problems there right now—before he stretches his head back as far as it’ll go, looking up at upside-down Inej now grinning down at him. “I think you might like it. I’m very, very good. What do you think, o invisible silent Wraith, robber of all Ketterdam’s secrets? Ready to find out why every nonnevot is so incredibly lucky to be devoured by me?” He raises his left hand with pointer and middle finger spread, and licks, slowly, all the way up from the v to the tips and down again, while giving his best, most intense smoulder to Inej. Inej, who’s giggling at him again.

“Stop, stop,” she begs, hiding her face in her hands.

“I thought you were supposed to be good at this,” Kaz rasps, sounding fond and just as amused as Jesper wants him.

“Sorry.” Jesper licks his lips and drops his voice even lower, a suave rumble he can’t hold for long until he’ll have to gasp for breath. “I forgot to mention. The Jesper Fahey Seduction Experience is limited to Crows who haven’t already agreed to go out with me. You get the leftovers.”

“Fair.” Inej shimmies out of her underpants as well and drops them off the side of the bed. She pats the blanket in-between her thighs when Jesper, stunned into silence, doesn’t react for a second. “As long as you only wildly exaggerated the skills of your tongue in terms of talking. Not… Come here, Jes.”

She laughs at him again when he crawls slowly closer like the caricature of a hunting cat and when he softly caresses her right leg, then pulls it up and deposits the thigh atop his shoulder.

He licks a slow stripe up along the outer seam of her cunt, then again, focusing on the trembling in her thighs and the laughter and the shy hand that settles in his hair, just trying to get a feel for it. Not the act itself, but Inej’s reactions. In his eagerness he’s chosen a tactically stupid beginning: he can’t monitor Inej’s minute expressions from down here with his face buried in her sex. If he could completely trust she’ll stop him when it gets too much, or, alternately, if he could trust this will never hurt her at all, he could lose himself, but so… She’s wet already, and that’s good. Jesper doesn’t know what Kaz is doing at all, either, except for the drag of the chair that may be him finding a better place to watch.

He pulls one arm up slowly—and maybe Jesper’s overthinking this, but these are the most important people in his life: he needs to protect them, and his mind won’t shut up—slowly, he reaches for her, I’m not restraining you don’t worry, and starts toying with Inej’s lips, not penetrating, while he laps at her clit. Gently, at first, while he learns the way she squirms—while he guesses what might mean too much pressure and no, here please and anything she’s not saying, because Inej’s far too quiet, and only her hands digging into his hair and pushing him down give him the certainty to not try and look at her face for clues.

Carefully, he puts his hand into service. One finger, then two, curling towards the front, massaging, matching the movement of his mouth, and again and again until Inej’s body curls all around him when she comes. Silent, of course.

Kaz is utterly silent as well. Maybe he’s not even there. Maybe he went back to work, and Jesper turns, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and— “So you are enjoying the show!”

His arms are hanging down straight and his hands are balled into fists, and Kaz is hunched forward, but still—those trousers are bulged a little more than usual. (It probably says things that Jesper’s got a yardstick for ‘usual’ here. But—)

“Why don’t you take care of this? For me… us?” Inej, asking gently somewhere above Jesper’s head.

“It’s easier when you do it.”

Jesper can’t help it. He snickers at the way Kaz glares-pleads at him, and apologizes, and tries hard not to crow with delight but— “Kaz Brekker, admitting I’m better than him?! Don’t be ashamed. You can’t excel at every single thing, and hand jobs happen to be one of my areas of expertise.”

“You’re scrubbing the floor in my office tomorrow, Jesper.”

“Is that what Inej meant with the dangerous power—“ Jesper bites his tongue. Just in time. Kaz looks pissed, but neither Kaz nor Inej have stormed out yet, though they might if he gives them time to process… “Give me a pillow, Inej.”

She pulls it out from under her back, somehow making that appear dignified, and Jesper throws it at Kaz’ face. Kaz, unfairly, catches it.

“We’re practicing a new trick today. It’s a shame, I’d love to watch that erection but it might not be enough to get you off. Hold it against your crotch and hump it. More friction.”

A beat. Kaz just sits there, clutching the pillow against his lap, and then— “You said after you finish getting me off, you touch yourself thinking about us. Show me.” His voice is even hoarser now. It’s unfair.

Jesper was so focused on him and Inej and making sure neither of them got hurt, all along, that he almost forgot he had a body. Now, though—now, with Inej still slick on his lips and Kaz’ rough voice and the knowledge he wants to watch Jesper—wants to watch Jesper jerking off, it all bleeds back with a vengeance. He’s close already. He’s so close. He squeezes the root of his dick tightly, staving off the end, thinking about wounds, open, bleeding, full of pus—squeezes, lies there, eyes closed, breathing, breathing, and listens to the soft rhythmic rustling of a pillow. Which doesn’t help.

“You’re in the right position,” Jesper whispers, when he dares softly trail his hand up and down his prick again. “Look at me. That’s how I imagine it, usually. I’m on my back in my room, and you’re both watching. With interest.”

Kaz laughs at him. It sounds more than a little breathless. “I should have known you get off on being the centre of attention, you egotistical asshole.”

Jesper doesn’t look across at him, or up at Inej. It would be over too soon. He can’t stop feeling the heat of Inej’s thighs underneath his head, though, and that… Kaz could mock him, for how incredibly turned on he is right now, for the certainty that if anyone was to touch Jesper’s too-sensitive skin now it would be over—but Kaz doesn’t know shit about sex. Point, Jesper. Instead, blindly, he starts needling, “You’re doing well, boss.”

“Fuck you.” Kaz can’t even muster his normal bloodlust. He sounds vaguely humiliated, and shouldn’t.

“No, you’re fucking you.”

Inej actually slaps Jesper’s head, and Kaz groans—and the smack and the sound travel down to Jesper’s dick, better than anything he could imagine, so he’s down a couple of points again, or up? It’s hard to tell now. It’s hard to tell, because his hand’s sped up without giving Jesper notice, and he can still smell Inej, all around his head, on his face, and Kaz is breathing audibly now, moaning, then not, because he’s biting either his glove or his cheek again Jesper thinks and honestly, either—and the pillow’s still thwacking, thwacking away and—thwack, a groan, a word that’s definitely not Jesper but still it’s—

And Jesper bites his own lip bloody when he comes because any word he might say can and will be used against him.

Inej starts petting his head.

Before Jesper even has his breath back, he can hear the quiet scratch of Kaz’ chair: can hear the cane and the limp, coming closer to the bed, a drawer pulled open and then shut again. Movement towards another corner.

“Kaz,” Inej says. She sounds neutral. Carefully neutral. Viciously neutral. Not like she’s sounded the rest of the night.

“You interrupted me before I finished reading my reports,” Kaz rasps. “I need to get back to work. Stay here.”

Inej shifts under Jesper’s head, jostling him off. She’s about to go after Kaz. Jesper touches her arm: turning the grab into a telegraphing move just in time, showing his intent to pull her back into bed without actually doing it. “Leave it,” he says—pleads, probably, he doesn’t have his shell fully back, and then he shouts after Kaz with as much obnoxious enthusiasm as he can muster, “That was fun, right? I had a great time. Let’s do this again!”

The door shuts.

Jesper burrows his head back into Inej’s lap, and then he says softly, “Let’s give him a little time to calm down. We all have our troubles.”

“I don’t know how you can do this,” Inej replies, stroking his hair. She sounds sad now: the last thing he wants for her, and Jesper doesn’t know how to make it better. “How you’re so reckless with your heart.”

“It’s nothing.” He’s laid out far more tonight than he’s ever intended, and that’s probably the answer. Jesper just doesn’t know when he should shut up. He gambles with everything. He’s only here because he gambled away the kruge he would have needed to escape Ketterdam, and because he carelessly lost his heart, too. Why not give everything else away when he’s not paying attention? He’s tried, Ghezen knows; he’s been watching Kaz and Inej for signs and made jokes and he weathered this pretty well for someone who doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, who isn’t even trusted with their demons, but at the same time, when he’s trying to disguise and reveal so many things at once, something real’s bound to slip through. He whispers into Inej’s soft thigh, “Someone had to do it. That’s the point of partnerships: finding the person who can do what you can’t, and forcing them to do it.”

“Let me up for a second.”

Jesper doesn’t know what he’s going to do when Inej leaves too. Find another card game at the Crow Club, probably. Maybe even the Kaelish Prince, to really piss Kaz off. But Inej just pulls the duvet out from under him and gets onto the mattress again, spreading it over both of them. She puts her head on his shoulder and lies awkwardly half on top of him, the ribbing of her undershirt balancing out the mattress spring digging into his back, wrapping her arms around him. It’s almost too much.

This, more than anything that’s happened tonight, is too much. Jesper turns his head to the side. He rests his hands loosely on Inej’s back, then starts tracing random shapes.

“I’m sorry,” Inej says suddenly.

It takes a moment for Jesper to catch up. “For being concerned I was letting Kaz have his sordid way with me?”

Inej pokes him in the ribs, hard.

“You’re looking out for me, that’s good. I’m glad we talked. But I’m not as weak as I look, right? I know what I was getting into. I know how to take risks. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Jes, you’re the worst risk-taker I know. You don’t make many good choices. I’ve never seen as much money as you’ve gambled away. Don’t just gamble away your heart. You’ll get hurt,” Inej whispers.

Jesper, bravely, pretends to have suddenly fallen asleep.

+

Jesper’s hand is tangled in Inej’s hair. He uncurls it and then, his whole body, stretching out his arms and legs and the neck that’s aching from a severe lack of pillows. He uncurls, and regrets it immediately. Those long dark strands were the only thing that’s comfortable here: Inej must have moved a lot during the night, fighting for her place, and now she’s with her back to Jesper taking up more than half of the already narrow lumpy mattress, and she’s also wrapped up tight in Kaz’ thin duvet. The only duvet. Kaz could surely afford more, and Jesper doesn’t ever sleep with fewer than two blankets and a duvet and his old throw from home, not in the dank Ketterdam nights, but Kaz is an austere bastard who luxuriates in suffering, other people’s and his own, apparently, and even if he had another duvet then Inej would have stolen that one as well.

The bed smells of sweat: Inej’s, faintly, Jesper’s own, but below it, the soft sour odour of a certain someone not changing his bedclothes often enough after—knowing him, unpleasant dreams.

At least Jesper’s feet are still warm. Unlike everything else about him, because he’s still lying buck naked except for his socks in Kaz Brekker’s bed after getting him and Inej off and also singlehandedly solving everyone’s relationship troubles. His feet are nicely toasty and the rest is an icicle, goosebumped and shivering and he’s so lucky the room is pitch-black thanks to the curtains and Inej’s asleep and Kaz is gone, because roosting on top of the Slat may be a power thing on Kaz’ part but it’s also far draftier up here than down in Jesper’s room, so frigid that Jesper’s dick’s probably shrivelled back into his body. Not that it matters, and given the stuff they’ve been doing… Not that it matters, probably, to anyone but him. But hey, there’s value in being a little vain about your beauty. It got him into this bed, after all.

If Jesper let his teeth clatter so loud it woke up Inej, that would be pretty funny. She’d be mortified about hogging most of the mattress and the entire duvet. She’s also the one who had to do actual work the past two days, though, and probably even more than usual because Jesper was on his non-consensual vacation, so it all depends on how much of an asshole Jesper is. She was pretty sweet to him this night, so—

Jesper’s pulse jumps when a thin stripe of light appears on him, growing thicker, and then he closes his eyes and starts feigning sleep. A heartrender would call his bluff immediately, because his pulse is still racing: but a heartrender would know he’s awake even when he’s calm, most likely, though he’s never actually asked one about their powers. Maybe he should. At least find out whether it’s possible to force the light back under his skin when it’s started glowing out. But the only place where he’s gonna learn that is the Little Palace, and that’s the last place Jesper’ll ever go to.

If a heartrender got into this room, they’d have much bigger problems than whether Jesper can convincingly pretend to be asleep, though. It’s Kaz’ bedroom. No-one’s supposed to come in here uninvited. Except for Inej. Also, the door didn’t squeal when it opened. Someone knows those hinges intimately.

The quiet limping gait and the cane seal the deal. It’s Kaz. No reason for Jesper’s heart to gallop with terror, and at the same time—the best reason. What’s Kaz doing in here? Apart from this being his bedroom, and him probably needing to sleep too. Time to kick Jesper out, probably. Thanks, until next time, by the way why haven’t you sniped the Liddies’ treasurer yet. Should Jesper have gotten up as soon as he realized he was awake? But Inej’s here too, and Kaz wouldn’t just kick her out of bed.

He wouldn’t… this close, Jesper can hear the faint creaking of his leather gloves somewhere over his head. Somewhere to the left of him, where Inej’s sleeping, roughly where her head should be. Jesper doesn’t dare open his eyes, but he’d bet a thousand kruge Kaz is very softly petting her hair. He’s not jealous. He’s not hurt. He isn’t. He always knew what Kaz feels for Inej. Besides, Kaz is already hiding him and giving up a lot of money to keep his secret. Asking for anything more would be far too greedy, the kind of greed that costs everything: and Jesper doesn’t mind losing that much when it’s gambling, but Kaz… So he’s definitely not jealous.

He's opened his eyes, though, to confirm his suspicion, and sees Kaz pull back his hand and raise the tips of his gloved fingers to his lips. It’s too intimate. Jesper was never supposed to see Kaz like this, and he screws his eyes shut again, keeping his breathing free and even.

Fingertips ghost against the corner of Jesper’s mouth, so hesitant he almost misses them.

He might have, if he was still asleep; but those fingers are warmer than the air, and the rich earthy smell of leather tinged with the iron of old blood—the odour and sensation burn into him like the dark spots on his retinas when he once looked at the sun, and though he can’t taste any wetness, any spittle, he imagines them anyway. The glove touched Kaz’ lips before Jesper’s. He never imagined that Kaz would kiss him. Kiss Jesper. He licks his lips, because if these are the only traces of Kaz he’ll ever have inside him then—

“You’re awake,” Kaz hisses, still quietly enough not to wake Inej. “Get up.”

Jesper’s never managed to deny Kaz anything. The bed’s uncomfortable anyway.

He tiptoes quietly out into the office after his boss.

Kaz is proffering Jesper’s holstered guns, when Jesper turns around from trying to close the bedroom door as quietly as possible. It still made a tiny screech, but maybe, if Kaz lets him spend more time here then he’ll learn it well enough to…

“It’s a little past three bells. Mark Heener of the Liddies tends to leave his house at four to visit Lispet at the Sweet Shop so his wife won’t notice. It’s a good opportunity, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yeah, boss,” Jesper mumbles, still too mellowed by the scent of leather and old blood to come up with a decent riposte. “You got it. Anything you want.”

“Change the socks first, though,” Kaz rasps, and lets his eyes trail slowly up from Jesper’s feet to—yeah, Jesper’s still as good as naked.

“You know enough about anatomy to be aware that dicks shrink when it’s freezing, right?” Jesper means for it to come out more teasing and less self-conscious than it does, but Kaz is just staring at him. And not at his face, either. “You’re basically the Dregs’ boss. You can afford more than one duvet. In fact, I insist, and more pillows and a new mattress as well. When we’re doing this again I want to be actually comfortable.”

Kaz’ ears are slowly pinking up. It’ll have to be answer enough, because instead of reacting to Jesper’s unspoken question, the bastard just rasps, “It’s fifteen past now. You might need to hurry if you want to catch Heener before he gets to the Sweet Shop. And get to your room before anyone in the Slat wakes up, because I’ve already sent yesterday’s clothes to the laundry, so you can’t even slink to your room in my cast-offs.”

“I could protect my modesty with one of those gorgeous sweaty socks.” Jesper waggles his toes. In the green-and-yellow stripes, his feet look almost like grotesquely distended caterpillars. Sometimes he really misses the farm.

Kaz scowls.

“Don’t worry, boss.” Jesper buckles his holsters around his hips and winks at Kaz again. He’s too off-balance for a mock-seductive pose, but this will have to do. “This is all yours.”

#behold: the jesper character study pretending to be a pwp #jesper fahey #kaz brekker #inej ghaja #kaz x jesper #kaz x inej #jesper x inej #kaz x inej x jesper #sun summoner jesper au #dimtraces makes things #shadow & bone #shadow and bone

[the-acid-pear]

Tumblr refuses to let me reblog the post again, so this is the second part of me reading the second btg book! ☺️

Still Chapter 211

Son on son violence

Chapter 212

This dude pretty cute ngl

Shit, rip

AAWW HIGH 5 🥺🥺

It's almost like they are a regular father and son 😭🥺💔

Chapter 213

Look how thigh those shirts are hehehoho 🥴

OYXITSITDITDLTD

Ooooh there goes my man Jyaku ready to kick some ASS

🥺😭💞

Baki really just forgot his mom eh, thought you were getting stronger for HER smh

Oh Jyaku vs Retsu? Nvm Jyaku i can only hope Retsu is nice w you

I like how most are like, confused over who to cheer for lmao

I know he won't make it but I'm cheering for Jyaku btw i like him more <33

Chapter 214

Love that title, can't believe Jyaku is gonna ask Retsu out 😍 /j

He really is just honest Igari

I love that he apologizes

Chapter 215

OJFOYDITDISTOTDG

HIS FACEEE THIS FUCKING CLOWN 😭😭😭

THIS IS JUST SO FUCKING FUNNY

Chapter 216

Burgir

GHZJDUDDRHD THEY ARE SOOO MAD

That smile so cute...

Jyaku is a king

Love it when Retsu throws that pose, though y'all know why

HDGSSGSGF you are coming to Japan wether you like it or not 🔫

Chapter 217

Finally Jyaku got serious too

WITH HIS TOES 😭

King is just obsessed i luv him

HEHE HAIRY LEGS

It does seem like Jyaku is trynna confess his love jfnshdshdf

Chapter 218

I remember i almost laugh cry with my dad when we saw this

His damn beard... 💔

THE HAND OF THE TRAITOR

He has a good point

They be calling my man Jyaku a masochist noooo yfjdhdgs

Chapter 219

Okay seems kinda into it <:/

Old man? He doesn't look that old Baki :/

That was so smart 🥺

Chapter 220

Retsu calm down please you are gonna break his back

Oh my god Retsu, oh my god.

He did apologize at least

Chapter 221

Damn dude be a little more gentle with him

Oh, get was picking him up, okay

FR FR

🥺🥺🥺

FARHDHDYFTH THE KINGGG

Chapter 222

I love how everyone completed him (except Yujiro but not surprising), these warriors are such a good team

I want to eat an apple too now

That was fast

I got distracted watching a vsauce react video sorry

Okay I'm glad a comment actually mentioned Sik

Chapter 223

Had to take a uh idk 5 hour break bc lights went out :/

Feet be fuming lmao

Ohhh that's a cool analysis

Chapter 224

What a good punch

That "please",,,

Poor Li man, having to see his brother DIE /j

No, Viêt Long, i have not been hit by a truck before.

Chapter 225

It's so funny how Jyaku lost bc he fought a main charac and only those win

Sad day for the Chinese citizens

Mf got tits in his back

This is gonna be so goodddd

Chapter 226

Look at the size of his tits, the slut

INSTAGRAM INFLUENCER POSE WOOO

These two are cool fighters

Chapter 227

Old man showing skin

His smile is so fucked up lmao

Chapter 228

Baki what the FUCK are you wearing?

I just remembered when Hana did a flip, that was so good

Retsu babey 🥺

I love how confused Yujiro looks

Chapter 229

Hey, i recognize that name...

Kaku just too op

Yujiro you are gonna pop your testicles if you do that with your leg

Chapter 230

God that's such a good threat

Love Retsu's confusion

Damn bitch you saying we gotta keep up w this whore cuz you were too slow? Ffs Kaku 😢

I love when you can tell someone is still hanging around just quietly by seeing their response in a comment

Chapter 231

God this just feels so good, to see Yujiro actually scared 😍

YOOO THAT'S POG

Chapter 232

I wanna finish this book and start the next one grrr

This fight is so satisfying

That last bit is so cringe but whatever that's okay

Fight so controversial comments were deactivated

Chapter 233

Itagaki hincha de boquita el más grande? 😳 /j

Okay yeah it IS just rude

Hohoooo shit getting nice

Chapter 234

This asshole lmao

Yuji-chan really went "how many times do i have to teach you this lesson, old man?!"

Mfs be doing Jojo references in the comments lol

Chapter 235

GTFO WITH THAT LOGIC RETSU IM SORRY CHINA IS LOSING BUT GET LOSTTTT AJSGAJGS

Ffs Kaku you are doomed 😢💔

Yujiro so strong my mouse disconnected

Chapter 236

Abs in his back...

Crying and shaking that is NOT true

DON'T FEED HIS EGO, KAKU

LIONS CAN BE KILLED BY TIGERS TOO!!!!

I thought Yujiro was bleeding for a second there smh

Chapter 237

OKAY YEAH IT IS HIS BLOOD ITS COMING OUT OF HIS NOSE ITS NOT MUCH BUT HE BLED

THE HEAD APPLAUSE

HE'S SO UPSET LMAOOO

Yujiro surprised is good shit

GSJDUFTHSTD

KAKU YOU LEGEND LMAO

Kaku has boyboss energy

Chapter 239

This cover almost gives me a stroke

I love how they all just shat their pants

These minor Chinese characters were so good tbh, sadly i don't think they will ever return

Don't worry Retsu, we the viewers have seen a man revive before

King i don't think any of us understands

It really is

CAN MEN IN THIS FRANCHISE JUST OPEN BOTTLES REGULARLY?!

Oh my god i though Yujiro was sitting on the air for a second i almost cry 😭

Coca cola must have paid Itagaki /j

Chapter 240

Oh so the Kaioh part takes the name, not the surname

...is Yujiro wearing a floral shirt? 😭

I LOVE THAT ENDING SO MUCH 🥺😭

Jyaku has his eyes fixated on Retsu eh, proud of having him come to Japan lmao

Chapter 241

HORRIBLE fit Baki

CHILDHOOD SAGA PART 2? 😰

Jk though i do miss Yuri 🥺

Oh hey Jr

You gonna fuck his girl, bro?

Chapter 242

So straight forward lmao

I'm starting to appreciate Baki's feminist ass every day even more

AAAA GRANDPAAA 🥺🥺💞

This page didn't allow me to call two mfs virgins smh, 1984

Chapter 243

Grandpa they shrunk you

Chapter 244

Kings idc about this

Okay true but also he's 70 dude pls... Though idk if this guy will go thru worse than Jack lmao

Such a nice lad

Chapter 245

Baki being such a feminist icon is so meaningful considering how his parents were,,,

MY MAN IS BACKKK AND AS DAPPER AS EVER

Doppo he's called Ali Jr how are you surprised?

OH MY GOD I JUST REALIZED HIS EYE PATCH HAS A PATTERN THAT'S SO COOL 🥺🥺😢💞

These men love throwing their glasses eh

Chapter 246

If only Igari and Toba had done this lol

OKAY THATS COOL I LIKE THAT

Me lo re devaluaron a mí pelado eh

HEHE OOOOH NICE 😳

Scenes that give me a boner

CHU...

Such a good callback...

Chapter 247

My man got serious, sweet

Doppo has been trying out his luck a bit too much like he's been betting with his life an uncomfortable lot like king do you need to talk? Are you okay? First asking Gouki to kill him now this like, is everything alright Doppo?

YEAH A BIT FUCKED UP TO THINK ABOUT

I love that blocking technique

OSHWOWHIWWH "gay ass Orochi, out of option so he touching dick" SHUT UPPP 😭😭💀

I really wish he got kicked in the nuts again see if he's still using his technique

Chapter 248

Poor guys thought he was bout to get murdered

A kiss? 😏 /j

When i saw this in the anime i actually thought Orochi was going to die, i was gonna get sooo angry

Chapter 249

What a way to cockblock em

Feminist icon

Jack is that the only sweater you own?

Chapter 250

I have been thinking of that scene of him eating the whole steak a lot

Jr like 🥺

Imagine being stupid enough to tease Jack like, i get he defeated two masters but they are NOTHING compared to this monster

Imagine jack just smoked some weed right there lmao

Jack needs to bite people more

Chapter 251

My shitty ass son gave me parkinson's

Jack that's not how human anatomy works what the fuck did Kureha do to your body spine?

Chapter 252

DAMN JR WHAT A FAT ASS

Looked like Jack was going for a handful

Those techniques must fuck your neck up so bad

Okay Jack you are going a bit far now don't cha think?

Chapter 253

You are tempting your luck sunny boy

Look at that, you pissed him off!

You cannot just know out jack hanma bro

HHH

This was so stupid yet, unironically, iconic

Chapter 254

Bruh i thought it said Pog 😭, ain't manslaughter poggers Mr Hanma?

OKAY THANKS JACK

Such a simp he downed that coffee cup

Grandpa put here cockblocking

Chapter 255

"no he didn't >:/"

These two masters are a pair of fucking idiots like understand this i love my grandpa and i love my man but mfs have to take the L for this one time sksgwjgshgw

Gouki bro my senses gonna shut down if you put your sucks against the dirt again OUGH sensory hell 😭

FOR FUCKING REAL JR

STOP ENABLING THE OLD MAN!! WKSGKSGSJSHDD for once I'm on Viêt's side 😭

Chapter 256

Hoho Gouki out here getting a panty shot 😳

Grandpa i love you but this was unnecessary

Chapter 257

Kozue should wear a Korn tshirt

GET HIS ASS KOZUE

OWHWLWGISGSJWG 😭😭 MF JUST STANDING THERE LIKE A FREAK I LOVE HIM BUT I HATE HIM SM!!!

Love how consistently round his hands are, king got no knuckles

HEY DONT CALL MY MAN A FREAK KOZUE

King hasn't changed his clothes ever since i see

His shoes look so nice...

OKAY OKAY HE HAS A POINT AT LEAST, HE AT LEAST ACCEPTED HE LOST BUT HE'S STILL BUTTHURT FROM IT SKSGAJGS BUT HE ADMITS IT!!

Doppo i love you but shut UPPP you lost get over it!! You are just going for the rematch bc you have the higher ground against a injured guy!!! Like Shibukawa didn't have time but you were already getting serious!! Hhhgrrrrrr doppo i love you but I'm going to bark

Hehe nvm he still hella fine... keep talking king 🥴

This was so mean of him sjsgwjwg

Chapter 258

Low-key starting to believe these two mfs plotted against Jr sjshsj

THAT FACE AKSGWJGS just 😐

If i didn't know you would get your ass handed in a plate i would be a lil mad he's planning on being that savage

He has been thru worse, sunny boy

Niceee

Tbh. I don't care anymore. Doppo is in the wrong, but GOD I'm a simp and i love seeing him fight 😍😍🥴

Yeah a comment mentioned it, we all were on Jr side until he threatened to kill Doppo Orochi like, even if not everyone here is as horny as me we all like an og fella

I also love how the prisoners really changed them all, the scars (both physical and mental) those 5 left will be remembered lol

#luly talks #btg #i ran out of space but that's good cuz im sleepy and have 3% of battery lol #i wanted to reach chapter 260 but this works #14 last episodes for tomorrow woo #baki liveblog

[trashcankitty12]

Layla Headcanons:

Everyone, meet Princess Layla Poole of Andros. 

She’s the best surfer this side of the Magical Dimension and an excellent escape artist. (Do you have any idea how hard it is to escape from a castle to go out and just breathe without someone watching over you? It’s pretty freaking hard.)

Layla’s probably one of the few voices of reason within the Winx group, and one of the more mature ones. 

(All headcanons relate to my main “Balance/Company of Light” verse and my “Left” verse.)

-Believe it or not, Layla can breathe for a set amount of time underwater/hold her breath for long periods of time. She is sort of half-merperson after all. (Her father, Teredor, is what they call a ‘land-walker’ merperson. He mastered the spell that the merpeople can use to turn their tails into feet. He was actually next in line for the MerKingdom’s throne, but he fell in love with Niobe and managed to leave his own throne for his younger brother Neptune and take to the ‘land throne’ with Niobe.)

-Layla’s body can actually form scales if she’s in the water for a long enough period of time. (Like how most people start getting pruney-like when in the water? Layla starts to scale. Hers are a lovely seafoam color and shine brighter than Stella’s favorite necklace.)

-Growing up, she was close to her cousins. Nereus and Tritannus acted like her older brothers and taught her so much about the underwater world as well as life in general. And she and Tressa were practically sisters. (This changed after they all became teenagers, especially when it started becoming apparent that Tritannus and his father were falling out.)

-Layla wasn’t always so sheltered. She used to be able to go on trips with her parents to other realms and used to be allowed to explore around the MerKingdom with her cousins without any repercussions.

-That changed after Layla turned 7. Rumors of remaining Coven members being spotted around Andros made her parents wary and then there was an attempted kidnapping of Layla by a group of sirens who had been known to work closely with Tharma happened… After that, Layla became a bit of a prisoner in her own home because her parents were so afraid of something happening to her.

-Layla was early to get her powers (5), and early to gain her first fairy form (12). Niobe and her most trusted court members took to training her in her fairy magic, wanting her to be able to believe in her own abilities as a fairy. (And hope it would translate into her abilities as a princess and a queen.)

-When she was younger, Layla used to ask for a younger sibling. Her parents had to explain that it was hard enough for them to have her, that they were afraid of risking trying to have another. (Even land-walkers and ‘humans’ have issues with fertility. Layla had been such a blessing to them, their last attempt to have a “natural” child.)

-Layla has already had her Princess Ball, but it was vastly different from Stella’s. She had little-to-no say in what happened as her parents were going for a strictly traditional Androsian Ball. The only upside was her cake and that Tressa was there with her.

-Anne was her first friend after she’d been put into ‘lockdown’ by her parents. (And was sort of her first crush. But it’s nice knowing they’ll be close again after Anne married Nabu’s older sister.)

-Layla’s favorite activity/sport may be dancing, but she has many others she’s in love with. Swimming. Water polo. Surfing. Tide Bombing. Androsian Wave Skiing. Water Races. Synchronized Swimming. (Basically, she loves all the water sports. And is pretty decent at them, if she does say so herself.)

-She’s currently really into a few Earth sports right now too. Tennis, volleyball, and MMA.

-She’s also working on her leaf surfing skills and her abilities as a swordswoman. (She’s great at the agility part and keeping on her toes, but she still needs to work on her timing when attacking and trying to defend herself.)

-Layla discovered the pixies and befriended them before her lockdown happened. She’d been with her parents in Magix. They had been on an important meeting with the Council and she was supposed to be with her nanny/Fairy Godmother. But Layla wanted adventure and snuck off into the forest. She ended up running into Queen Ninfea and finding Pixie Village. (And meeting Piff.) Needless to say, she made friends for life.

-And Layla knew when the pixies went missing. She could feel something deep inside of her was wrong when she couldn’t connect to Piff and hadn’t heard from Chatta or Tune in a few days. (The pixies had been allowed to visit with her and write to her after her mother’s own pixie, Ariella, vouched that they were real pixies from Pixie Village and not some sort of imposters.)

-Anyway, Layla did what she usually did to escape from the Androsian Palace, leaving when the guards changed shifts and while her parents were busy holding court. From there she managed to get to Pixie Village and talk Ninfea into helping her create a teleportation spell into ShadowHaunt. (We all know what happened after.)

-Layla and her parents had a very long and awkward conversation after Layla woke up in good condition at Alfea. They had been so worried and had been so relieved that Faragonda had been the one to find and house their daughter… But after hearing what she’d gone through and how she managed to do so much and still survive… It made them realize that Layla is growing up and that she is a powerful and capable fairy. (Which is how she managed to convince them to let her stay at Alfea, though it didn’t hurt that she mentioned who her new friends were and who her friends’ parents were/are.)

-(Layla still has nightmares regarding ShadowHaunt and the pixies, but after the realm was returned to its true nature, the nightmares started dying down… Until Nabu almost died that is.)

-She used to be so against marriage because she knew about the whole ‘arranged marriage’ ideas her realm had. And when her parents tried to force her into one, it really struck a nerve because of the hypocrisy. After all, they chose their own partners, why couldn’t she?! (Which prompted another conversation with her parents. One that required both parties to open their minds and hearts.)

-(Thankfully, she and Nabu did end up choosing each other… Though she wishes her dad didn’t get along so well with Nabu and that her mother didn’t try to show him baby pictures of her. Honestly, the audacity of her parents.)

-Layla may like seafood (because seafood is a staple of Androsian society), but after being with the other Winx girls, she’s found she really loves the varieties of veggie meals from Linphea. Especially the wraps. (She threatened to marry Flora when the other girl introduced them to her. She was so in love.)

-She and Musa love to jam out together (especially since Layla got her drum set). They actually sound really lovely together and it gets even better when they can talk Tecna into joining in with her keyboard.

-Layla absolutely loves to ride the Sea Hodeaas her uncle Neptune and aunt Ligea have stabled up. It’s the best way to travel underwater and the animals are so majestic. (And yes, they are a breed of seahorse, but a seahorse mixed with those sea dragon things on earth. Just imagine that merger and imagine them to be the equivalent size of a normal horse. Just underwater.)

-No. Layla cannot talk to sea creatures. Not without a spell in place. Please stop asking. (Dammit if you want to talk to animals, Roxy is right fucking there.)

-Layla isn’t thin either. She’s muscular. And she looks fabulous in ballgowns. Eat shit haters.

-If Stella is the snacker of the group, Layla is the one always reminding people to stay hydrated and has like ten water bottles on her at any given time.

-Layla is the friend that if you wanna go do something potentially stupid just to see if you can do it, she’d be down for it. (Granted, she’ll tell you all the ways this could probably go wrong and you all end up dead, but she’s all for seeing what her body can handle. No, she’s not a masochist. She’s just curious.)

-She can sing. But she doesn’t do it often because if she hits a certain pitch, it could be almost… Hypnotic… (Which isn’t fun to explain.)

-Layla may wear heels to formal events, but she’d rather wear her sneakers or flip-flops any day of the week. Seriously, please just let her wear her comfy shit.

-We all know Layla is competitive in sports… She’s also competitive in video games and in board games. (The other girls have a constantly updating list of games Layla and Tecna are no longer allowed to play together.)

-Layla was the most excited about their Earth adventure to find Roxy. It gave her an excuse to be away from Andros for a bit and just be her. (That summer had been a bit, intense. As the Crown Princess and an adult, her parents had been bringing her in more and more on the business aspect of being a Princess.)

-(She loves her crown and her title, and she loves her people and her world… But sometimes it seems like an overwhelming job to be queen and she’s so terrified of doing something wrong that will endanger everyone she cares about or that she’ll end up accidentally offending an important socialite/delegate/ambassador.)

-Stella is good at the people-aspect of being a princess, so she’s been great at helping Layla get over her nerves on the subject and how to be herself while still being princess. And Layla has helped Stella better understand the more political/tactical portions of being a princess. (And together they’ve helped Bloom become more okay with being a princess.)

-Layla has her major fear of being alone and of failure (which we’ve seen when she gained her Charmix), but she has a few minor things… Like she’s a bit claustrophobic thanks to her time in ‘lockdown’ and she has a thing about being late to important events. She’s also working on her public speaking issues… It’s a work in progress.

-Her favorite classes in Alfea involved flying and physical education. Flying always made her feel free and graceful, and almost as powerful as if she were underwater. And the physical classes helped her get rid of her nearly endless energy.

-Layla is a bit hot-headed for an Androsian (who are known for being cool and go-with-the-flow), but she just feels things so deeply and it rocks her to core. (Part of it may be due to the pressures of being a princess and having to try and always do and say the right thing, part of it may be due to being watched so carefully as a child, but she just can’t let things go sometimes and rather than nurse a grudge, she’d rather just have it out and be done.)

-Her goal is to be a great queen when her time to rule comes. But she doesn’t want to necessarily be queen like her mother who tended to rule out of fear. (Layla gets why, she does. She’s met members of the Coven and knows why her mother and father were terrified, but she refuses to be someone who lets it make all of her decisions.) She’ll listen to her fears, sure, and try to rule accordingly, but she doesn’t ever want it to hinder her from making great decisions about Andros or her future children. (If she has any. She and Nabu are still trying to figure out if they want them or if they’d rather wait awhile and adopt.)

#winx club #winx club au #winx club headcanons #winx club layla #winx club layla headcanons #ocean queen #glimmering seas

[blossom-hwa]

Fall [Rise] - MARK |Swing!|

No more spoilers for MCU movies, I believe :) Enjoy your spoiler-free but angst-filled chapter! Once again, thank you @deathbykpopboys​ for inspiring this series :)

Pairing: Mark x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, Spiderman!au

Triggers: a lot of cursing, violence, PANIC ATTACKS IN THIS CHAPTER (I in no way meant to romanticize these triggers. If you feel I did, please let me know and I will fix it.)

Word Count: 7.5k

Somewhere, somehow, amidst the chaos of existence, you and Mark remember that you’re not alone.

Arc { 1 - Drifting Apart | 2 - Coming Home } >> Fall { 1 - Spiral | 2 - Rise } >> Release 

NCT Masterlist | Swing!

Mark knows you aren’t okay. He can see it in the bags under your eyes (which are somehow worse than his), the tired, slightly haunted way you look at everything, and how you’re speaking less. And when you do talk, it’s a lot quieter than before.

He just doesn’t know how to broach the topic. Every time he asks if you’re all right, you just smile and say you’re fine.

So you keep going on patrols with him, even though he knows you shouldn’t. Mark feels guilty, knowing that his increased patrol time is probably part of why you look so terrible, but he can’t stop. And if he doesn’t stop, you won’t either.

Because who’s going to help the little guy if he isn’t there? If you aren’t there?

He still reads the articles. He’s just gotten better at hiding it. He knows what people say about you two – the Daily Bugle, the New York Times, sometimes even the Wall Street Journal. And the articles just keep coming as the two of you stay out longer and longer to fight crime. No matter how many criminals you help put behind bars, people just want you to keep doing more and more and more.

Mark is exhausted the night he gets shot. A physics test earlier in the day took a lot out of him mentally, while he spent a good part of the afternoon hauling supplies from Professor Tuan’s truck to the lab. By the time he climbs onto the roof to meet you, his brain feels a little mushy.

You don’t look much better. Your voice is slightly hoarse – not in a sick way, but in a way that tells him you’ve been crying – but you deny everything he throws at you and just start swinging away.

(He’s a hypocrite. He keeps telling you to knock off patrolling if you’re feeling bad, but he won’t take nights off for himself. He wants to take care of you, but he won’t take care of himself.)

The gunmen you two fight tonight are trained, much better shots than most of the amateur muggers and criminals you’ve fought before. It takes a long time to subdue all of them.

Well, you and Mark think it’s all of them. In the space of his muddled brain, Mark thinks there were only five when you started.

Apparently, there were six.

In the darkness of night, Mark sees the outline of the bullet hurtling toward your exposed back. Your danger sense kicks in, he can tell by your widened eyes and your beginning attempt to dodge, but he’s already there before he knows it, shoving you away and taking the bullet into his shoulder.

Fuck. He didn’t mean for that to happen. He meant to push you away and get himself away, too, but he was too unprepared. Too tired. 

Too slow.

Mark doesn’t remember much of what happens immediately after. There’s pain, a lot of it. He remembers you calling someone – probably Mr. Stark, now that he thinks of it – and cleaning the wound as best as you can. There’s something gold and red that carries him off, which, in hindsight, was also probably Mr. Stark in his Iron Man suit.

It’s the last Sunday before winter break ends. Mark wakes up groggy and confused in a bed at Stark Tower with Mr. Stark bending over him and cleaning the wound on his shoulder. Then he passes out again.

Later, Mr. Stark will tell Mark that he’s lucky that a) the bullet flew right through his shoulder, b) the wound isn’t as serious as others he’s seen, and c) you used to read a lot of crime novels and therefore know more or less how to clean a bullet wound.

Mark feels lucky for the third part. He’s always been lucky to have you there.

The first and second parts? Not so much. This thing hurts.

He spends most of the day in Stark Tower, with Mr. Stark fussing around bandages and giving Mark really strong painkillers that knock him out. You appear at some point but disappear sometime before he falls unconscious again, which isn’t nice. He wants you here. He wants to hold your hand.

When he wakes up again, he gets his wish. It’s four in the afternoon and the pain in his shoulder has dwindled significantly. You’re passed out on a chair next to his bed, his hand limply held in yours.

Bright afternoon light streams in from the window, illuminating your sleeping face. Mark sits up in bed, pleasantly surprised that his shoulder barely hurts even when he moves it. Perks of speedy healing. For a moment, he just drinks in the sight of your face, for once calm.

He took a bullet for you, he thinks. Still, though, he didn’t mean to take the bullet at all.

Would he have pushed you away, even if he knew he was going to get shot? Would he have pushed you away, even if he knew the bullet was going to hit someplace more lethal?

Mark’s heart thumps as his fingers curl around yours protectively.

Yes, he thinks. He still would have. He wouldn’t have changed a thing he did.

You begin to stir, probably from the added pressure of his hand in yours. As your eyes flutter open, still glazed over with sleep, Mark realizes.

He likes you. Much more than he ever liked Lia. He’s liked you for a long time, he just never realized it.

Maybe he even loves you.

It explains why he didn’t like thinking about you and Lia together. It wasn’t because you were his best friend and she was his crush. It was because while he liked Lia, he loved you much more. But because he’d felt that way towards you for so long, he just thought it was because you were his best friend.

He never loved Lia, though. Not the way he thinks he loves you.

When you realize where you are, you immediately sit up straight on the chair and fix him with a glare. “Don’t ever do that again!” you snap, and for a second, Mark gets a glimpse of your old, fiery self.

And then because he’s still as awkward and stupid as before, all he says is, “What?”

“Don’t fucking get shot!” you yell. “Don’t jump in front of bullets for me! Just –” you sigh, pulling at your hair with trembling hands – “Don’t scare me like that ever again!”

Mark just smiles as you continue yelling, berating him for being stupid and getting injured and freaking you out and all. After so many weeks of watching you fade into silence, it’s refreshing to see you so worked up and snappy again.

Call him a masochist. But he loves it.

Just as he loves you.

. . . . .

Mark took a bullet for you, and you honestly don’t know what to do with yourself. You have never, not once in your life, wanted your best friend to get injured and nearly die for you.

Okay, maybe you’re exaggerating. According to Mr. Stark, Mark probably wasn’t going to die from the wound in his shoulder. But what if the bullet had hit somewhere else? What if Mei and Johnny had found out? Well, they didn’t because you and Mark usually leave the house before they even wake up on Sunday Stark days, but still.

Thoughts like these are the reason why the second you get home, you walk into your room and start hyperventilating.

You’re tired of the panic attacks. You hate them. They’re terrifying, they hurt, and they exhaust you to the point that you can barely get out of bed after one of them. You would definitely try avoiding things that caused them if you even knew what was causing them.

Some triggers are easy to pinpoint. Loud noises. Small, confined spaces. Avoiding them is the problem. You can maybe stay away from claustrophobic areas, but loud noises could be anywhere. A locker slammed too loudly. A textbook dropped on the floor. Explosions in the lab.

But then there are the times when you’re not doing anything at all and your chest closes up. Maybe you’re lying on your bed. Maybe you’re studying at your desk. The shortness of breath comes up quickly and without warning, and then you’re hugging your knees to your chest on the floor.

Mark has had three obvious brushes with death – the confrontation at the university, the abandoned industrial park, and now the bullet. He seems to be doing fine.

Meanwhile, you startle at loud noises and feel like death half the time.

Deep inside of the depths of your mind, you want someone for comfort. Johnny or Mark, preferably, or Mei or Mr. Stark, even. But Mark’s got the same workload as you on his plate. Mei’s always working at the hospital. Mr. Stark’s too important to deal with your shit. Johnny works day and night just to take care of you. He dropped out of university for you. Also, you’re still not talking.

All of them are so strong and confident and brave all the time – how can you even think of burdening them with your stupid baggage?

Thoughts swirl around your mind as you take off your suit. All you really want to do at the moment is curl up under your blanket and close your eyes for several years.

That’s a coma, your brain helpfully supplies.

Yeah. That’s the point.

But you have a calculus test, a French quiz, and an English paper to turn in tomorrow. Professor Wang thinks he’s on the verge of a breakthrough with one of his experiments, so he wants you in the lab as well. You need to edit your research paper for a competition to submit by Friday, there’s an AcaDec regional competition on Sunday, and you have to patrol.

You don’t notice the tears have started slipping down your face until one of them drops onto the calculus textbook in front of you. With a firm sigh and a deep breath, you force the remaining tears away, settling your eyes on the page.

There’s no time for crying. You have to study.

That’s how Johnny finds you later, hunched over at three a.m., nearly falling asleep over of your old laptop. He literally picks you up and carries you two feet to your bed before tucking you in and kissing your forehead like Mom used to when you were five.

You start crying, mumbling incoherent apologies and swearing you never thought of Stark as a replacement for him or Dad or Mom, that nothing can ever replace the three of them. Between tears, you beg for his forgiveness, promising you’ll tell the truth sometime soon, you swear.

Johnny shakes slightly as he holds you close, his own tears dripping onto your shoulder as he gives his own apologies for being pig-headed and rude, for feeling insecure and upset that you can’t trust him. He promises to wait, to just trust in you until you can tell him everything.

Everyone’s always taking care of you, you think when Johnny leaves. Everyone’s always helping you, giving you support, giving up things to care for you.

What have you ever done for them besides cause more problems?

With that happy thought, your brain shuts down and you fall asleep.

. . . . .

Mark doesn’t know how you do it. He doesn’t know how you take everything the world throws at you and still come out at the top with perfect grades.

Of course, he knows that grades aren’t the most important thing in life. But in this moment, as he stares at the bright red F circled at the top of his Spanish worksheet, it feels like they are.

There’s no scribbled “see me!” below the large letter grade he doesn’t want to look at, which Mark is thankful for. This is the first time he’s gotten such a low grade in this class. It’s just that he didn’t pay much attention to the lesson, too tired from patrolling late into the night (or was it the morning?).

Priorities are the problem. Mark has a lot of things going on in his life and he’s always been bad at prioritizing because he always wants to do everything perfectly and right. AcaDec? He always tries hard to be the top physics guy. School? He’s competing with you for valedictorian. Lab? He’s leading multiple projects, several of which have won prizes at research competitions. Patrolling? What more can he do with that other than swing around Queens even later into the night?

Mark doesn’t know what to prioritize first.

But clearly, school has unconsciously taken a backseat to everything else. Now that he thinks about it, he’s been taking less time to study for certain classes, like Spanish and English. He could justify it with the fact that he plans to be a STEM major and those subjects won’t be of as much use to him as calculus and physics and biology, but he feels like nothing can justify the red F staring up at him.

It’s just a worksheet. Mark knows it isn’t worth a large part of his grade – barely anything, in fact. But it’s a wakeup call.

I have to do better.

How, though? Everything academia-related takes up most of his normal waking hours. Patrolling takes up his ungodly waking hours.

The obvious answer is to cut back on patrol time. But how can he do that? How can he possibly value his grades over someone’s life?

Mark sighs, putting the worksheet into his Spanish folder. He’ll just have to add some more ungodly waking hours to his study schedule.

“You good?” you ask later that day. The two of you are on the train back home after AcaDec practice, and he guesses the dejection from earlier is still showing on his face. You lean carefully against side, careful not to disturb his wound, and squeeze his hand.

Fuck. It’s in moments like this where it hits Mark just how far he’s fallen for you. Your confidence, your kindness, your bravery, your unwillingness to settle for life’s shit. Everything about you, Mark thinks, even your quick temper and sharp tongue and your countless other flaws, is something beautiful to him.

How did he never realize it before?

“I’m fine,” he replies, trying for a smile. Then, because he can’t lie to you: “Just got an F on a Spanish worksheet.”

He tries to laugh it off in the moment, but you don’t smile or even make a joke. “We can cut down patrol time if you need to study,” you say seriously.

Mark wants to say yes. He really does. It’s like he’s a candle, and fire is burning at him from both ends. He doesn’t know if he can keep this up.

But if you can deal with it, why can’t he? He shakes his head. “I’m fine, honestly.” He squeezes your hand. “I promise.”

It’s a lie. You know it’s a lie and he does too. But it’s one of those lies that’s just too difficult to call out, so you just lean into his shoulder as the subway lurches, letting him feel your warmth by his side.

“You can tell me anything, you know?” you say over the clatter of the train car.

Mark’s heart clenches. “I know.”

. . . . .

There’s another brand of article that’s really pissing you off. It’s the kind that praises Spiderman while pointing out all the flaws in Silk.

You don’t remember exactly when you find the first one. You’re just kind of scrolling through an op-ed in the Daily Bugle that’s describing the disturbingly positive correlation between Spiderman and Silk’s appearances and the crime rate, and the link pops up as something suggested.

Well, you’re already in a shitty mood, you think. Might as well take it a bit further.

It’s laughable, most of it. There’s a lot of blatant sexism that you can brush away quickly. But one thing that hits you really hard is the fact that you like to talk shit during your fights.

While the article lauds Mark for being silent and serious during fights, it bashes your inability to shut up as you throw punches. It then goes into detail about how you clearly don’t take crime-fighting seriously, that you’re just like a stupid little kid (well, not in those words, but pretty much the same thing), and that “Silk should leave the handling of criminals to good, upstanding citizens who won’t embarrass Queens as much as her loud mouth does.”

The first thought that pops into your mind is, which fucking assholes are the ones blabbing about me cursing all the time? You didn’t know criminals were such tattletales.

Then you remember several of your recent, more public fights with the weirdest people ever (seriously? Doc Ock? What even was that?), and you remember the spitfire that your mouth was in those moments.

Do I really curse too much?

It makes you self-conscious. You know there are several teachers and students at school who dislike you for your loud mouth (cough, Ms. Wilson), but you never really took them seriously.

But now that people online are noticing it too…

For the first few days, you try to ignore the article. But every time you open your mouth to snap back something funny or curse someone out, it’s like the article just slams into your mind with full force and you snap your mouth shut.

God, it’s something like having a parent next to you while you’re trying to talk with your friends. Just as a curse builds up on your tongue, the article comes to mind and you shut up.

And then when you start falling silent, it becomes apparent just how much you really curse. It honestly surprises you a little bit – you didn’t realize that “fuck” was such a huge part of your vocabulary until now.

So, slowly, bit by bit, you stop talking as much. If you don’t talk, you won’t curse. You won’t bother anyone. Because if a few fucks and shits are that annoying to people on the Internet, who knows how much they annoy people in real life?

No one really notices, you think. People just carry on the conversation like you’re not even there, only turning around when they want to ask something specifically to you. You won’t lie – it hurts a little. It makes you realize just how easily replaceable you are in some people’s lives.

A couple of people do notice. You’ll always be thankful for your immediate friend group, you think. Haechan and Mark deliberately engage you in conversation when you fall silent. Jihyo often comes over then too, and sometimes Yeri.

But only one actually reaches out to you, asks why you aren’t talking so much.

Mark startles you a bit when he asks. He’s often asked if you’re all right, if you’re feeling fine because you look a little tired, but this time, he pinpoints it exactly. “Why don’t you talk anymore?” he asks as the two of you walk from the university labs to the train station.

“I’m talking right now, Mark,” you reply quickly, though you feel slightly off kilter.

“You know what I mean.” He stops walking. “You’re not as… loud? You don’t talk unless someone else explicitly talks to you, and even then, you don’t, like, curse. Or laugh. Or anything.” He pauses. “You don’t yell when we patrol, either.”

Silence falls between the two of you as you try to digest his words. A huge wave of emotion that you can’t even begin to decipher makes tears prick at your eyes, but you will them away. “Do you…” You chew your lip, then decide to just go for it. “Do you think it’s annoying when I curse? Or that it pisses people off?”

“What?” Now Mark looks confused. “Where did you get that from?” His eyes narrow. “Was it another article?”

Your wince tells him everything. “Y/N,” he groans, slapping his face. “I thought you stopped reading those!”

“Well, it’s not like you stopped either!” you snap defensively.

Mark’s shoulders sag. “Fair. But… Jesus.” He shakes his head. “Whatever article even mentioned that is stupid as fuck.”

“A lot of things are stupid,” you mumble. “Doesn’t stop them from getting at us.”

A short silence follows.

“Let me see the article,” Mark says.

It doesn’t take long for you to bring it up on your phone. As he scrolls through, his eyebrows rise higher and higher on his forehead until he’s finished. There’s a disgusted, yet slightly amused look on his face as he hands the phone back to you. “You know this is, like, blatantly sexist, right?” he says.

“Yeah, I know.” You shove the phone into your pocket. “But it’s just… after I read that, I realized just how much I do curse every day. And if people online were getting annoyed by it, why wouldn’t people in real life be annoyed too?”

Mark just gathers you into a hug, crushing you against his chest. You relax into his warmth. “Don’t listen to them,” he murmurs into your ear. “I think you’re hilarious. Your cursing is funny as fuck. I always wish I had your ability to come up with insults on the fly. Remember Doc Ock?”

You snort, voice muffled against his shirt. “How could I forget?”

“Yeah, and do you think I’m ever going to forget you calling him a ‘fucking nightmare straight out of a tentacle porn horror flick’?” Mark pulls back a little to look you in the face. He’s smiling broadly. “The only reason I’m quiet during fights is because I can’t think of anything worth saying that’s funny. That’s your job, and I won’t let you quit.”

A short laugh bubbles out of your chest. “Fine.”

“Now can we both make a pact to stop reading those stupid articles?” Mark asks, fully letting you go. You miss the warmth of his touch around your shoulders. “They’re shortening my lifespan, but the only way I’ll be able to stop reading them is if you promise not to read them either.”

“You make it sound like we’re going cold turkey from drugs,” you retort. “But fine. I do need to stop.”

“Pinky promise?” Mark holds out his pinky like the two of you are six again, promising not to tell each other’s guardians that you played in the dirt again (like they couldn’t already tell from the brown spots all over your clothes). His eyes sparkle.

An unknown emotion builds in your chest, so strong and powerful it almost knocks you over. You link your pinky with his and press your thumbs together, smiling widely for the first time in what feels like a lifetime.

“Pinky promise.”

. . . . .

Mark has had panic attacks before. He used to have them several times a month after Uncle Ben died, but after almost ten years, they haven’t resurfaced.

Then one day, several months after Germany, he’s walking through the university halls to Tuan’s lab when he feels the familiar, yet unfamiliar sensation of choking on his own breath.

It’s never been like this before, he thinks after he’s pulled himself out of that dizzying haze of pain. There always used to be a cause that he could pinpoint. Something black that looked like a gun. A man’s bald head that looked like the murderer’s. A spot of blood on a white sidewalk.

This time, he’s just walking down a hall. There’s nothing he can really see that would trigger an attack. Hell, nothing in the university even really reminds him of his uncle’s death. Guns stopped triggering him a while ago (thank God, or he couldn’t be fighting crime at night). He hasn’t been fazed by blood in several years.

So what’s wrong with him?

Maybe it’s just stress, he postulates, standing up on shaky legs. He’s got a lot to deal with this year, what with preparing for competitions and college applications and all. It’ll get better soon. This is probably just a one-time thing.

Except it isn’t.

He has another panic attack at home as he’s lying in bed, then another while he’s trying to cook something in the kitchen. After almost burning himself while turning off the stove, he just lies down on the kitchen floor, not caring how gross this position is, and starts reevaluating his life.

God, he’d forgotten how much these things hurt. 

His old therapist told him a lot about panic attacks, how they could be brought on by many things like trauma and stress. Mark knows his trauma isn’t fully gone, but most of his triggers have faded. It’s probably stress, and now that he thinks of it, he has a lot to be stressed about.

So he knows what’s going on. Telling someone would probably help, but it’s not like Aunt Mei could afford a therapist again, so what’s the point? His only option is to keep going.

So he forges on through life. The fear of another attack keeps him on edge, but he’s learned from his younger years that he can’t really avoid them. He just has to keep going. Keep living. There’s no point in telling anyone.

Until he walks into you suffering an attack of your own.

He literally almost walks into you. He’s just opened the door to your apartment – he has a spare key, and you weren’t letting him in – and you’re crouched just inside the door, trembling and sweating, breathing far too quickly and shallowly to be normal.

Mark’s heart seizes. A sort of sick sense of relief floods his mind when he realizes what’s going on – he isn’t alone.

Then he feels totally, utterly ashamed. Under no circumstance would he ever want someone to undergo a panic attack like him.

He racks his mind for the tips his doctor gave Mei to help get him through his own episodes. Keep calm. Short, simple sentences. Avoid surprises. Slow their breathing.

“Y/N, I’m here,” Mark hears himself say. He sits down a short distance away, keeping a steady countenance even though he’s freaking out on the inside. “Can I hold your hand?”

You don’t say anything, just weakly raise an arm. Your breath is just as fast as before.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking it. His thumb starts soothing patterns over your palm. “Okay. I’m going to start tracing squares onto your hand. If you can, follow my tracing with your breath. Each corner is one breath, okay?”

There’s the slightest nod. He starts tracing.

Mark doesn’t know how long he sits there, helping calm you down from your panic. Aunt Mei told him his panic attacks would last around fifteen minutes, but they never felt that short. He just keeps tracing your palm, offering small encouragements every now and then, and eventually, your breathing starts to slow until it’s back to normal.

He scoots closer, bringing your head to his chest. You just lean against him limply, like a rag doll, breathing heavily.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mark finally murmurs, all thoughts of your group project gone. The only thing he’s focused on right now is making sure you’re okay. “Actually, are you tired? We don’t have to talk right now.”

“It’s fine. Not too exhausted. Just… didn’t want to worry anyone,” you mumble into his shirt. Another heavy breath. “Weak. You didn’t look like you were having problems, but –” you gasp – “stupid stuff. Kept setting me off. Loud noises, small spaces…”

Mark’s heart sinks. “How long?” he asks.

“First one was the day Mr. Stark came over,” you answer.

Jesus Christ. You’ve been having these panic attacks for months already, and you never told anyone. Mark feels a little like crying. “What happened then?”

“Explosion in the lab,” you gasp. “Wang messed something up, it exploded. I started hyperventilating but Yuta pulled me out before I spiraled.”

A memory surfaces in Mark’s mind. “So that day you ran to the bathroom at school…” he trails off, feeling sick.

How did he not notice before?

“Someone banged a locker too loudly,” you mumble. “Sounded like an explosion. Something crashing.”

Trauma. There’s no doubt about it. “Were you remembering… homecoming? When the building got dropped on us?” Mark presses gently.

You nod against his chest.

Oh, God. “I wish you’d told somebody,” he whispers, more to himself than to you.

“I wanted to.” Your breath is back, but you sound close to tears. “It just felt like you were handling it so much better than I was. You were going through school fine, but I was panicking over just fucking loud noises, and then I also started panicking over nothing at all.” You heave a deep breath. “I thought I was dying.”

Mark shifts you in his arms into a more comfortable position. “I used to have panic attacks after Uncle Ben died,” he states.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Anything that looked remotely like a gun used to set me off. Black staplers, hole punchers, stuff like that. Blood, too. Once, a bald man sent me spiraling. This was mostly before we met, so I didn’t think you’d know.”

“I didn’t,” you say, lifting your head to stare up at him. “Mark…”

“I started having panic attacks again about a month ago.” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face. “The first once just came out of nowhere. I was walking down one of the halls to the lab. My old therapist told me attacks can come randomly, just out of stress. So, nothing to be ashamed about there.”

You sit up, though you still hold Mark’s hand for strength. “If you say so, how come you didn’t tell me?”

He laughs slightly. You’re feeling better, if you can be as snappy as this. “Same reason as you, I guess.” Mark smiles ruefully. “I thought you were handling things really well. You looked like you were sailing through school, even when I got that F in Spanish. So… I don’t know. I didn’t want to burden you.”

“Burden me?” You scoff. “Shut up. You’re never a burden. Not to me.”

Something in Mark’s heart blossoms. “Y/N,” he starts, but he can’t say anything more.

“Am I a burden to you?” you ask, voice smaller. It’s almost as if you’re scared of the answer, but it’s already on the tip of Mark’s tongue before you even finish the question.

“Of course not!” he snaps. “Never,” he adds, more gently.

“Good.” You smile. It’s wobbly and a little forced, but it’s a real smile. “If I’m not a burden to you, you’re not a burden to me. Tell me things, all right? And I’ll tell you.” You squeeze his chest between your arms.

Mark breathes a soft sigh as you close your eyes, pressing your head against his chest again. “All right,” he murmurs. “Are you going to tell Johnny?”

At that, you freeze. “N… no,” you finally reply, sounding choked. “Not… not yet.”

“You should,” Mark reprimands slightly.

“Then you should tell Mei,” you retort.

Stalemate. Mark sighs. “All right. At least I know now. But if it gets worse, I’ll tell him myself,” Mark warns.

“Fine. Same goes for you,” you say.

“Fine.” He pats your head and you wrinkle your nose like a bunny. Mark almost coos at the sight. “Let’s rest. Group project can get done later.”

“I like the way you think,” you say, stumbling on your way up.

Mark catches you, puts you upright, and smiles. “I’m glad you do.”

. . . . .

It’s one of those unusually slow days where you just want the day to end. The snow outside isn’t exciting anymore – in fact, it’s more slush than snow, which is gross – school is boring, and Wang isn’t in the lab today. Mark still has stuff to do for Tuan, though, so you end up walking home from the train station alone. You’re not patrolling today because neither Mei nor Johnny have late shifts tonight. Also, you’re really tired.

All of this gives you too much time to think, especially about the person who should be walking home right next to you.

Mark has always been someone easy to figure out, at least for you. He doesn’t talk as much as you, but when he does, he’s very sweet. He wears his emotions on his sleeve but in a subtler way than most. A lot of people can detect a change in his mood, but they can’t exactly pinpoint what mood he’s in.

You can, though. On day one, when the two of you met, you just clicked. You immediately understood each other. After almost ten years, none of that has changed.

Until now.

You sigh, taking your shoes off at the door. Johnny isn’t home yet, but he will be soon. You walk into your room and throw yourself on the bed to wait, staring blankly at the ceiling.

It’s totally Mark’s fault, you think wryly. He’s become confusing. How are you supposed to comprehend the swells of emotion you feel when he does something kind, or sweet, or just plain comforting?

Well, that doesn’t make sense. Mark’s been doing those things ever since you two were children in elementary school. So maybe not understanding him isn’t his fault. Maybe it’s yours.

Your thoughts turn to the time he found you during a panic attack, the comfort of his fingers tracing simple squares into the palm of your hand. It could have been a lot worse, you think, if he hadn’t been there. If he hadn’t held your hand and helped you through.

A rush of emotion fills your throat. You’re too tired to fight it, so you just let it wash through your mind. It feels… confusing, yes, because there’s too many strands of feelings to pick out of the wave, but it also feels nice. Gentle. Caressing, soft.

It feels like how Mark’s hand felt, loosely gripping yours.

That was just the last time you felt like this, you remember. There were other times, too. As you run through the memories, you realize those moments aren’t as few and far between as you originally thought. Laughing as you walk home from the train station. Awkwardly stuttering while stealing Captain America’s shield in Germany. The hug and the pinky promise from a few weeks ago.

Maybe this is just what best friends do. Maybe this is just what happens when you’ve known someone for so long they’re basically a part of you.

But the title “best friend” doesn’t feel like it’s enough anymore. Yeah, Mark is your best friend and he’ll always have that title in his arsenal. It doesn’t encompass everything, though.

No, best friend is far from covering it all.

You like him. You like Mark.

As something much more than a best friend.

Your throat constricts as your mind races. For so long, you’ve ignored every sign that your feelings towards Mark might be something more than platonic.

Then you remember the night you thought Mark died underneath the abandoned building. The half-finished, panicky thoughts from that terrifying moment rush back so quickly you feel like you’re having vertigo.

Please, please help me find my best friend, I can’t live without him, I’m sorry for everything I said to him these past few weeks, I love him and I want him back, please –

You sit up straight with the realization, trying to breathe.

I love him.

You love Mark. You’ve probably loved him for a long time, you just didn’t realize it. Or maybe you just didn’t want to, because what if he doesn’t feel the same way?

Mark took a bullet for you, your brain whispers. Then the last conversation you had with Lia comes to mind.

“I thought he might’ve actually liked me, but… it’s pretty clear who he really does.”

“Lia, I promise you that he really did like you.”

“Maybe. Just not as much as he or I thought he did. Take care of him.”

“I will.”

Maybe he does.

Your throat constricts again. You feel the (now familiar) sensation of your chest closing up as thoughts and memories rattle around your mind.

Am I seriously going to have a panic attack over Mark liking or not liking me? is your last coherent thought.

You almost don’t hear Johnny calling your name as he walks through the door. Even when you do, you can’t respond. His voice gets more worried as he gets closer, and you see his eyes widen when he opens the door to your room.

It’s like you blink, and then he’s next to you. Vaguely, you hear him ask if he can hold your hand. When you nod briefly, he doesn’t trace patterns into your palm, but he holds it gently, quietly talking you through the episode until your gasping turns to heaving that turns to normal breath.

For a long time, you just lie on your bed, feeling Johnny’s hand ground you to the earth. “How did you know what to do?” you finally ask, voice slightly raspy.

“One of my roommates at university used to have panic attacks,” your brother replies quietly. “He taught us what to do in case we ever had one or encountered someone having one.” He sucks in a breath. “How long have you been having these?”

Well, there’s no point in hiding it. “A few months,” you admit.

Johnny sighs. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to worry.” You try to keep your voice flat, but it trembles anyway. “You already have to work just to let the two of us survive, while I’m just going around and doing things that don’t matter. I don’t make money. I just take up space. I don’t help. You had enough to deal with.”

Your bed dips and then Johnny’s putting you into a very light chokehold. “Excuse me?” he says teasingly, though you can hear an undercurrent of sadness in his voice. “Did you just say that you don’t matter? Because you do. Very much.”

“But –”

“Nope, my turn.” He lets you out of the chokehold but keeps a gentle hand on your arm. “I will tell you something right now. If you weren’t here, I would no longer have anything to live for.”

You shut up.

“I make enough for us to live, don’t I?” Johnny looks down at you. “And don’t you technically make a lot of money for us each year, keeping your academic scholarship?”

“Well…” You swallow. “I mean, I guess?”

“So you’re not allowed to say you’re a waste of space.” Johnny turns you around to look right into his eyes. “You’re my younger sister. I love you far more than you can imagine, and I want to worry about you. It’s my duty as your older brother. I want you to be able to talk to me. Trust me, you not telling me things stresses me out more than you telling me everything.”

A ping of regret hits your heart. There’s so much more you haven’t told him, so much more that you can’t tell him just yet.

Well, he knows this now, at least.

“What causes your panic attacks?” Johnny asks gently, rubbing soothing circles onto the top of your hand.

You can’t tell him about the loud noises, but small spaces is reasonable. So is stress. “I’m not completely sure,” you begin slowly, “but I think it’s stress. Small spaces, too. Most of the time, they happen out of nowhere.”

Johnny sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” You look up at him, confused.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice earlier.” He hangs his head.

“Oh, no. No.” You punch his shoulder. “If I can’t blame myself, you can’t blame yourself.”

“Caught by my own logic,” Johnny groans, rubbing the spot you hit. “Fine. What caused this one?”

Man, you just promised yourself you’d start telling Johnny things, and then he goes asking something like this. You swallow. “Stress,” you say truthfully. Your voice gets smaller. “I also think I’m… I think I like Mark.”

Whatever you thought was going to happen, you didn’t expect him to laugh. “Johnny?”

Your brother thankfully calms down, though a smile stays on his face. “Congratulations, you’re officially the last one to know.”

“… What.”

“Y/N. My oblivious younger sister. Listen to me.” Johnny stares you straight in the eye. “There are many cases where best friends just remain best friends forever. However, you and Mark definitely do not fall in that category. Anyone who’s seen you two interact can tell.”

You have no clue to what to say to that.

“It’s obvious you two like each other,” your brother finally says, smiling even wider. “I’m just happy you figured it out.”

“This is so embarrassing,” you mutter, pulling away to flop onto your bed. “You think he likes me back?”

Johnny snorts. “I know he likes you back.”

Silence falls in the darkening room. “Go for it, Y/N,” Johnny finally says. “You’re brave. You can do it.”

Lia’s words come to mind again. “I thought he might’ve actually liked me, but… it’s pretty clear who he really does.”

“Maybe,” you say, even though you think you already know what you’ll do. “Maybe I will.”

. . . . .

Mark doesn’t live in Florida. Nor does he live in Texas. No, he lives in New York, where the weather can still be shitty, but it’s more or less predictable.

He didn’t sign up for this.

The day starts out nice enough. Gray light streaks through the sky as the two of you start out for Stark Tower, suits in hand. The sun is fully up in the sky by the time the you reach the tower, and it only shines brighter as Mr. Stark teaches the two of you to fix up more of the nanotech.

Somehow, the two of you hadn’t managed to fuck up your suits that badly that week, so Mr. Stark lets you go early. The sun is still shining brightly at that point – it’s probably two or three in the afternoon – so you suggest going to Central Park to work on your research papers in the shade.

One hour passes in quiet bliss, then two. You ask him to read over a paragraph and he asks you to check over the diagrams in his appendix. All the while you two are working, the sun is shining brightly, making you thankful for the shade the trees provide.

Then the clouds start coming in.

Mark doesn’t react to it at first, just welcomes the extra cover from the intense sun. It’s only just started getting warmer so there’s still a cool breeze, but after months of freezing snow, the heat isn’t entirely welcome yet.

But the clouds keep coming to the point where they’ve all but blocked the sun. You look up with a frown. “We should go,” you say, shutting your laptop. “I think it might rain.”

“Really?” Mark can see why you’d think that, given the heavy clouds, but the sun was shining so brightly just an hour ago. The weather probably wouldn’t change that fast.

You shrug. “Better safe than sorry. Plus, it’s already five. We’d be going soon, anyway.”

You turn out to be right. It starts drizzling by the time you reach the subway station, and he can hear the rain start pouring as the train takes them back home.

“This isn’t Florida,” he complains. “I thought it wouldn’t start raining until, like, next month.”

“We love our favorite global issue, climate change!” You make jazz hands while rolling your eyes. Mark laughs.

He’s so in love with you it doesn’t even make sense to him anymore. Is this how Mei and Ben felt? Is this how his parents felt? If so, how did he not realize it earlier, if you make him feel like this all the time?

The rain is still pouring down in sheets by the time you two emerge from the subway station. “Let’s wait for a bit,” Mark says, unwilling to get soaked to the bone. The apartment isn’t too far away, but in this weather, it might as well be a mile.

However, the minutes pass, and the rain doesn’t seem to be letting up at all. In the end, you just put your jackets on and run for it.

Mark hasn’t run through the rain in a long time. Physically, it isn’t pleasant. Water soaks his hair and his clothes, and he can only hope that it won’t ruin his laptop, too.

But a smile still blooms on his face as you run next to him, eyes squeezed almost shut to block out the rain, water running through your hair, mouth open in a laugh that sounds like music to his ears. Somewhere along the way, you grab his hand, pulling him along faster as your shoes squelch through puddles.

You drag him under a shop awning about halfway back to the apartment to catch your breath. Despite the cold rain, your cheeks are glowing with contagious warmth and excitement that makes Mark let out a breathless laugh.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, gasping for breath, listening to the sheets of rain pouring onto the awning. Water drips down your faces and into puddles on the ground, and Mark privately thinks you shouldn’t look this beautiful, but you do.

“Hey, Mark?” Your voice jerks him out of a rose-colored daze.

“Mhm?” he replies.

A flash of uncertainty passes through your eyes, but steely fire quickly replaces it. “Can I kiss you?”

The world comes to a standstill. It’s like he’s frozen in time, listening to those four simple words play over and over in his ears.

Can I kiss you?

“Mark?” Your voice is smaller this time, but you still gaze at him with a look that he recognizes – not just from your face, but from his aunt’s, too, when she looked at Uncle Ben. It’s a look that must be mirrored on his face right now.

It’s love.

He nods once, twice, then breathes out a little “yes” that even he can barely hear through the crashing rain, but he knows you heard it when your smile turns blindingly bright and you loop your arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss.

It’s messy, a bit cold, and your noses bump into each other the first time your lips press together, but Mark just laughs and you just smile and then he’s leaning in for a second one, a bit more practiced this time, cold lips turning warm as Mark holds you close, hands encircling your waist, just reveling in the feeling of your body pressed against his.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed by the time you two break apart, skin chilled but faces warm, smiling shyly but broadly, eyes sparkling. “You’re beautiful,” Mark breathes, then immediately goes tomato red.

You laugh, loudly but – you’re so cute – shyly as well. “So are you,” you reply.

The two of you race home after that, laughter unaffected by the gray clouds and pouring rain. And as Mark stands, kissing you in the apartment lobby as water drips off of him into puddles on the floor, he feels nothing but bliss.

His life’s been flipped upside down, ever since that spider bite. So many things have gone wrong.

But this?

Mark smiles against your lips.

This is one thing that’s gone right.

#starryktown #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #nct mark #nct scenarios #nct mark scenarios #mark #nct 127 scenarios #nct dream scenarios #nct u #nct u scenarios #fluff #angst #triggers #violence #panic attacks #cursing #spiderman!au #swing! #fall #fall - rise #scriptura-delirus

[dai-ou-sama]

Atsuhina; fluff fic. (Pt 1?)

Atsumu playing it off like he didn’t develop the biggest fucking crush on Hinata ever since the first day he saw him during Nationals, until he comes back from Brazil two years later and joins the black jackals, and really, he’s just helpless.

(So...my fingers slipped and this (which was based on this) turned into a pseudo-fic of Astumu falling in love with Hinata.)

((This is really just a fluff vomit.))

Atsumu’s first experience with a certain type of helplessness began with casual curiosity -  completely unbidden, and later, deeply regretted: “And also...who is that?”. In the grand scheme of things, in other words his twenty-two years of living, that can be considered an extremely miniscule moment, inconsequential almost, but really, that was the last moment he’d been free from years of confused pining and emotions his brain and pea-sized emotional range could barely comprehend. What came after, was the first ever match he played against Karasuno, and boy, did that roundhouse-kick him down the rabbit hole of feelings™.

Now, Atsumu had rarely given thought to things as trivial as feelings before Hinata, in fact, he had rarely given thought to anything at all. His thoughts had mostly consisted of: volleyball, how good playing volleyball felt, how good being a setter felt, how hungry he felt and how he could possibly fast-forward time to the next time he played good volleyball. When anything other than volleyball and hunger had cross his mind, like feelings, he had taken them in stride - because he was god damn Miya Atsumu - worldwide hotshot, mr-steal-yo-girl-and-guy, mr-anybody-who-can’t-hit-my-sets-suck-that’s-all-there-is-to-it. 

Exactly. Feelings were beneath him.

That is, until a certain ‘Shouyo-kun’ came along and hurled that routine cleanly out the window. 

That single match in his second year of high school had engraved the memory of Hinata into his mind, and like an idiot who didn’t understand what crushing on someone big-time felt like, he’d declared, “Shouyo-kun, I’ll toss to ‘ya one of these days.” A little promise more to himself than Hinata perhaps.

Yeah well, that went well. The year following that, he’d spent much of his volleyball and non-volleyball time thinking about how mesmerizing Hinata and Kageyama’s play had been. He’d been impressed - and annoyed - by the sheer improvement Kageyama had made in a matter of weeks since the training camp. There was even a certain level of admiration involved. His thoughts in training often returned to the bar the freak-pair had set, and it wasn’t false to say that they inspired him to push his limits with Osamu further; faster, freer, wilder.

But then, his thoughts often wandered off to wondering what it’d be like to have Shouyo-kun as his partner too. (He couldn’t really help it. After nationals, thinking about volleyball had always led to thinking about Hinata, and he was always thinking about volleyball.) He thought that about how fun it would be to jerk his opponents around on court using the monster that was Hinata. He thought about how fun it would be to have to keep up with someone else other than Osamu for once; that maybe that over-energetic ball of sunshine would drag him way beyond his current limits as a setter too; maybe he would force him to play volleyball ‘till he was sick of it, just so he could feel the thrill of falling in love with it all over again. (Was that a little masochistic?) If it was even possible, Hinata made his love for good volleyball burn even brighter. His passion had touched him; he had captivated him. 

Atsumu thought his heart raced every time he thought of Hinata because of the prospect of being able to play volleyball on a whole new level - the idiot.

But then Hinata had walked through the doors of the stadium for the Black Jackals tryouts three years later (after disappearing for two years and crushing Atsumu’s surprisingly fragile heart because he thought he’d never see Hinata again, causing him a lot of confused sleepless nights thinking about how he’d wished he’d gone to ask Hinata to play with him before he’d left) and you could say Atsumu had choked on his own breath. You could also say he was so stunned he’d frozen mid-step and dropped the ball he’d been tossing around, and froze for so long, Bokuto actually had enough time to bend in front him to ask if he had just been to Antartica. What would ‘ya have it, his spur of the moment declaration had proven true. He was going to toss to Hinata. Atsumu stared straight at the ground without looking up after that because his heart was beating abnormally fast and for some reason, he had lost control of his lips - he couldn’t stop them from pulling into a smile.

And my god, was it fun playing with Hinata. The months of training that followed after that fateful day made Atsumu feel as good as he had expected it to, even better in fact, because while he’d thought about all the new and experimental sets he would be able to make with Hinata, he hadn’t really thought about the wide smiles he would get in return for the good sets he made; or the excited high-fives they would have after each play; or the liberty he now had to bask in the warmth of Hinata’s body whenever he threw an arm over his shoulders and held him a little closer than he would have Bokuto or Sakusa (not that the latter ever let him close enough to really touch him at all).

It wasn’t just that too. Even if it wasn’t about his tosses, about how good it felt to have the little monster Hinata under his command, just watching him made his breath catch. How did anyone make him go crazy over volleyball more than he already did? Or maybe, he was just going crazy now.

Alright, so maybe he really liked the way “Atsumu-san” sounded from Hinata, and he almost always had an arm around his shoulders or waist when they were walking, and he called out “Shouyo” more than necessary just so Hinata would turn to meet his eyes in question with his head tilted, but that wasn’t really out of the ordinary for him. He was just more drawn to Hinata because he made his sets feel real good, and that made him feel good around him. Always.

Besides, lots of people were drawn to Hinata the same way he was. He was always surrounded by people - god knows where and how he became friends with all of them - and he was always laughing. They were always laughing because he was laughing. Even Sakusa tolerated his presence enough to take off his mask when he’s with him after training sometimes. And that’s exactly what Atsumu believed in, until Bokuto spoke up one day after practice when they’d been alone in the locker room.

“Man, for all the talk you have about us dancin’ to your tune, you sure are wrapped around Hinata’s little finger.”

Atsumu shrugged and continued packing his bag. “Well, Shouyo-kun is one scary little spiker.”

Bokuto shook his head. “Nah man, I’m not talkin’ about spiking. He’s got the ability to control the entire court to his liking if that’s what we’re talking about. I’m talking about you outside’a court.”

Atsumu’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Bo-kun, would’ja mind talkin’ with a little more sense? I don’t understand what’cha trying to say.”

“You see! That’s exactly what I mean!” Bokuto jumped up and pointed at Atsumu from the other side of the bench. “With all of us, you always talk like such a snotty brat, and you look like you want to die half the time-”

“-Ouch, okay dude, that kinda hurts-”

“-but when you talk to Hinata- no, scratch that. Even when you’re just looking at him, it’s like you’re seeing stars. You drop that snobby smile you’re always wearin’ and it turns all...uhhh...mushy! Then there’s also the way you’re always calling out to him, and you just sound like you really like saying his name; and the way you’re always staring whenever Hinata laughs even though you’re, like, across the room. And I mean, you’re always talking like you’re all that hot stuff, but sometimes, you have lapses of silence where you just sit and watch Hinata talk. Oh! And do I really need to talk about how he’s always hanging off your back when we’re resting in-” 

“-OKAY. THAT’S ENOUGH!” Atsumu shouted, covering his face with his arms. “What are ‘ya, Bo-kun? A freak? Why do you know all that? Have ya been stalking me? And who said I did all that? There’s just no way I did all’a that. That’s so embarrassing. There’s no way I did all that.”

“You’ve repeated that twice now, Tsum-tsum!”

“...Just shut up, Bo-kun.”

“I didn’t stalk you. It’s been pretty obvious at trainings, and it’s been going on for months. Omi-kun thinks so too!”

“...Oh no.” How bad must it have been for Bokuto to be able to give him an in-depth run down on what a mess he’d been like? There was just no way. Miya Atsumu, the Miya Atsumu, national volleyball heart-throb, MSBY setter number 1, acting like an idiot in front of- of Shouyo-kun. 

And why? 

He paused to think about that, and memories flashed through his mind without much prompting: sunlit smiles; light, tinkling laughter; spontaneous high-fives; the warmth of Hinata’s chest against his back and his warm, breathy laughs against his ear whenever Hinata had been amused by what Atsumu scrolled through on instagram. 

Well, damn. And as if the rate of his heartbeat wasn’t evidence enough, Bokuto’s following “Woah, bro. Your face is totally scarlet!” really drove home the understanding that Miya Atsumu was absolutely gone.

Here’s part 2!

#haikyuu #haikyu #haikyu!! #atsuhina #atsuhina fluff #atsuhina headcanons #miya atsumu #hinata shoyo #atsumu x hinata #msby black jackals #my writing ew