#now while i may not have anything underneath my belt

[cherryjuiceblues]

Coming home from a date night and things starting to become hot and heavy between y/n and mbrry. They're still in the car and harry can see that y/n wants to say something but she's getting shy so he knows it's something naughty because they've been together for a while now. He makes her say it and she just begs him to be mean with her and give her a facial. Harry has to summon all the self control in him not to give it to her right there in the car. He doesn't say anything so y/n thinks he may be angry with her and she starts apologizing but harry just kisses her and it's really needy and he moans. Then, he tells her to go inside and wait for him naked in his room. Y/n obliges except she keeps her clothes on just to tease him and when he arrives in the room, she knows she's in for a treat.

✰ dom!harry sexual content. m receiving oral. facial. degradation. daddy kink. minors dni. 𝑤𝑐 2.3k ッ mutually beneficial masterlist

“That’s how many times now?”

Y/N ignores Harry from the comfort of the passenger seat, pretending to find something extraordinarily interesting in the darkness out of her window.

Harry reaches over and squeezes a palm over her knee. “Come on, darlin’, asked you a question. That’s how many times?”

It is entirely irrelevant. Why put an arbitrary number on such a futile turn of events? Y/N certainly isn't keeping count, but of course Harry is—another win under his very heavy belt of success.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, teeth pulling her bottom lip between them. She looks to Harry, his teasing expression somehow always soft around the edges. “Two, three?”

“More like five or six,” he smiles back, nudging his index finger under her chin in a silent gesture. We both know I’m right.

Five or six dishes that Harry has now convinced Y/N to try, despite her insisting she didn’t like them—without ever previously tasting them, of course—and five or six dishes that Y/N now subsequently thoroughly enjoys. So what? Who cares?

“Maybe,” she trails off, never sure how to play properly with words. Not that she yearns to learn. She doesn’t vocalise how much she loves their power imbalance but Harry knows.

“So… what do you say, baby?”

Y/N fidgets, “Sorry?” she tries.

“Look at me,” his palm pushes into the underneath of her jaw. “What do you say… when someone does something nice for you?”

“Th—thank you.”

He hums, swiping his thumb across her chin, “You’re welcome.”

It doesn’t take much for Y/N to get all fuzzy and soft and Harry can see that now—the way her eyes have rounded out and are darting across the plains of his face, her fingers twitching to be held, her breaths shallow and unconsumed.

So he leans forward to console her lonely mouth, palm slipping underneath hers with ease, squeezing her digits as they rest in her lap. Their noses bump and her eyelids twitch closed as Harry whispers, “Kiss me, baby.”

Y/N falls against his lips, whimper squeezing from her throat as their mouths mould together. It’s slow but it’s heavy—gentle but filthy—as Harry’s tongue eases inside, rolling against her own in a relieved reunion. He takes his other hand and smooths it against her cheek, urgently holding her to his face. They kiss and Y/N falls further and further under with each pass of his lips across hers. The smell of his aftershave tingling through her nerves, brain buzzing with each desperate inhale—every sense that he encompasses only makes her need him more.

When Harry pulls away, he watches her face. Watches the way her eyes stay closed and her pout softens. She looks like a moment in time—like the clocks have stilled with the closing of her eyelids.

He thumbs over her bottom lip, ducking down to kiss along the line of her throat, relishing in the tiny exhales and whines—the way her body jolts from the sensitivity of it all. She can smell his hair and feel the soft strands stroking along her skin.

“I think,” she starts, voice small—body rigid with nerves, “I need…reminding…of my manners.”

Harry’s heart pounds, a seed of pride flowering inside his chest. “Y’do, do you? Tell me how you want reminding, darlin’.”

“I want—I want…” Her fingers twist and tangle into the front of his suit.

Kisses trail up to her ear, “Come on. Be brave,” taking the lobe between his teeth.

Goosebumps dance along her arms, taunting her as she finally whispers, “Want you to come… on my—face.”

Harry surges to kiss her, deftly avoiding the clashing of noses, noises tumbling past eager lips as he takes her mouth again. “There we go,” the words muffled into flesh. The image behind his eyelids is one of pure depravity, low grumbles vibrating into Y/N’s mouth and down between her tightening thighs.

“Sweet girl wants to be degraded, hm?” he asks between sponges and smacks, faces brushing, breaths mingling. “Wants to be put in her place—dirtied—used? Like a little plaything?” 

Y/N nods desperately, “Please.”

“Seems like your manners are just fine.”

“No,” she shakes her head and their foreheads bump. “They’re bad.”

Harry lets out an exaggerated gasp, “You’re bad are you? My bad girl?” It sounds like a curse as he says it. A damnation—a promise of hell on Earth for the rest of eternity. “You don’t like that, sweetheart, I know you don’t. W’na be m’good girl.” 

“Yeah,” she says, quietly. 

“You want to be. But you’re not?”

“Let me be good.”

He pecks her. “You will be…you will be.”

She can’t sit still.

It’s just impossible. Aside from the waiting—the treacherous waiting—the understanding that she’s being a little bit bad makes her stomach churn with anticipation.

He’d sponged kisses along her neck, her jaw, her mouth—whispering—ordering her to undress and wait for him on his bed. It had been hard enough for Harry to not simply force her into the footwell of his car and fill her mouth.

And as Y/N waits, still fully clothed, her fingers coil around themselves nervously. He’s taking his time on purpose and she almost regrets asking to be bad.

She doesn’t do it… ever. It’s never a thought that occurs—to disobey Harry. But there’s a craving that needs satiating every now and then. One that can only be fulfilled by actions of anger and words of malice.

The door opens and Y/N watches as Harry’s dress shoes make a compelling appearance. Then her eyes dart up to his own—stormy at the realisation of her state of undress—or lack thereof.

“Stand up.” She does. Immediately. She can’t defy him to his face. “What did I ask of you, darling?”

“To undress.”

“Then why are you not naked?”

“Thought you’d like to do that bit—Sir,” she remembers.

“Well, I wouldn’t.” Normally, yes. Today, no. “This—” he sighs, fingertips reaching up to dance along the side of her neck—Y/N tenses up, waiting for them to wrap around her throat but they never do, “—is why you do as I say. Dumb girls can’t make decisions.”

Shame and arousal bubble and mix together in her chest. Insults have never had such an effect. They never will—not outside of this context. The heat lowers, swirling in Y/N’s abdomen, thick and heavy. “Sorry, Sir.”

“Mm,” he hums, circling her body. Like a vulture. Like he’s sizing her up, ready to eat. “Sorry. Sir. What a stupid lie. You’re not sorry, sweetheart. Not yet.”

He does undress her. But only because Y/N takes too long.

There’s no patience—not when Harry has her timid voice replaying over and over in his head—her sweet request to be defiled. To have his come on her cheeks, her lips, her tongue.

So when her shaky fingers lift up her top and the fabric gets caught; twisted in her limbs and chin jutting, Harry tuts. He tuts and he fixes her with gentle hands, removing the inconvenience and dropping it to the floor. She looks up at him with such a sweet gaze that he has to remove her skirt hastily, too sure that he might slip back into a softer demeanour if she keeps her melting eyes on him.

He pushes her naked body to the floor, fingers coming up to scratch at her scalp and pull cute, little hums from her mouth. “S’nice like this, isn’t it? Below me.”

“Yes, Sir,” she agrees, palms resting atop her thighs like a good girl.

Then he fucks her mouth. Slacks loosened just enough to rest under his ass and boxers shoved with them as his hand pats her cheek once, twice, and then slides himself along her tongue. He’s half-hard but not for long. Not when the thought of Y/N on her knees is enough to chub him up, let alone the actual sight. She’s always so eager, so keen, to make him feel good. It’s arousing like little else to Harry.

“That’s it—” he grunts, hands holding onto either side of her head—not pushing but stabilising—when her tongue stops laving and her lips suction as her head starts to bob, “—that’s a pretty fucking mouth.”

He thinks about teasing her a bit. Lord knows he’s done it before—every fucking time—but the desperation takes over, Y/N’s lacking technique irrelevant to Harry when her nose brushes his abdomen. How hard she is trying. How her throat contracts and choked noises threaten to echo out around them. He knows she can do it, it’s why he says, “Don’t fucking gag—keep your hands down—don’t gag.”

Y/N whines—Harry’s deep, gruff, strict tone of voice stoking the fire in her belly. Her underwear is uncomfortably wet—and cold—when she shuffles. Her fingernails dig into her thighs to stop her instincts. Harry’s own thighs tempt her, encourage her to reach out and ground herself. But his terse instruction overrules.

“Swallow around it—like tha’—there’s a good girl. Swallow, swallow.” She tries and he watches as she does—attempting to dismiss the gag, convincing it to accept the intrusion in her throat. Harry’s face stays remarkably calm. If it wasn’t for a jumping vein in his neck and the tightening of fingers on the top of her head, Y/N would be unable to interpret his emotions. 

“Just like that. See?” he tugs her forward slightly by her hair, grunting when she swallows and saliva drips down in front of her knees. “This is what a good girl does.” His thumb swipes along the jut of her bottom lip, meeting where it envelops his cock, and smears her spit down and around her chin. This has his teeth showing in a slow, sadistic smile—eyelashes fluttering too. “Drooling all over y’self, look at that. You love it, don’t you?”

“Mhm,” Y/N hums, nestling her mouth slightly in an attempt to take more in. She does love it. She feels dirty—and powerful despite possessing none.

“I take you to dinner and you choke on my cock. That’s an even trade, don’t you think, baby?” And she hums again, head twitching in a pathetic show of a nod. Y/N thinks she’d be happy without going for dinner. That choking on Harry’s cock is just as good for her as it is for him.

And when he moves his hips, she doesn’t think, she knows. As he rips thick, wet sounds from her protesting throat. Thrust after thrust, swallow after swallow. His encompassing palms consuming her skull, keeping her still as he uses her the way he likes. 

Harry becomes blurry above Y/N—a frosted image—as tears swim in her waterline. They fall over the edge whenever he fills her mouth. Pulling out to let her breathe just to block her airways again. His noises grow louder, and less reserved—losing control. Every muscle growing tight, every thwack of his balls against her chin and her throat around his tip making his stomach roll tighter, and tighter.

But just as he feels his orgasm teetering, he rips away from Y/N, fingers curling on top of her head once again. “You wanted to learn manners. So beg. Beg for it. Beg for my come.”

Y/N’s heaving, oxygen ripping through her as she tries to breathe and talk simultaneously. “Please—” her hands lift and fists form when she realises. “Please, ple—ase, pl—ease—” her lungs wail and her voice scratches. Tears stain her skin and all other words evade her. “Pl— Pl— Sir.” Panic overwhelms her and more tears fall—not forced but naturally forming—fat drops searing her cheeks.

“Shh, shh,” Harry whispers, tilting her head up with both hands. “You know the words, take a breath.”

She listens, nodding jerkily. Inhaling through her nose, “Please—” a heavy exhalation and another inhalation, “please come on my face, Sir.”

The pleading makes him smile again. “There’s a good girl, such—good—manners,” he praises, gripping himself once again and thudding against her closed lips. They fall open so easily. “Such a pretty, little thing. God.” His fingers curl tighter, wrist twisting as he builds himself back up quickly. It would be a dishonour not to with his beautiful girl waiting for him so patiently. His free hand slides to the back of her head, holding, securing her in place as his knuckles brush her tongue with every stroke.

“Fuck, fuck fu—ck,” veins exaggerated as his head falls back on his neck. His balls tighten and his hand hastens, chin falling forward again to rest on his chest as he stares down into Y/N’s eyes. She’s blinking up at him—her eyes are so delicate—but he urges her to close them, praises her when she does.

“That’s it, that’s—it, g’na come, baby. Gonna come,” breaths tighter, words whinier, grunts and groans tingling down Y/N’s spine. “You’re so fucking pretty, m’perfect—fucking—girl.” She whines, the breath from her nose hitting Harry—and her sounds carry him over the edge, white spurts painting her dewy face.

She whimpers at the first feel, warmth landing on the bridge of her nose, her cheeks, her lips, her chin. That warmth spreads throughout her face, down her neck and into her bones. Her bones tingle and her muscles mollify. Harry’s moans, that she can only hear, get quieter and quieter until he is only panting—admiring the state he’s left Y/N in. 

“Open your eyes,” he murmurs, thumb wiping just under her eye where he narrowly missed her lashes. Her pupils are blown, and a small, giddy smile graces her lips. “Now say ‘thank you, Daddy’.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” she giggles a little, face buzzing as Harry wipes his release around and smears it onto the thick of her tongue.

“Good girl,” he smiles too. And then he leans down to kiss her, uncaring of the taste in her mouth, or the come that transfers to his chin. “My good girl.”

#mutually beneficial #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles blurbs #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shots #harry styles imagines #anon #writing #domrry #dom!harry #concept

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-one of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

“Sure,” Tim says in a mostly-reasonable imitation of a normal person who is not in a good ten feet over their head, taking the seat Kon left him. Kon flashes him another grin and unzips his jeans. He is still wearing his suit underneath them. It still does not even slightly matter to Tim’s stupid idiot hormones. 

He tries not to stare at Kon stripping off his boots and jeans, but absolutely, undeniably fails. The situation is not improved when Kon turns his back towards him and smirks back over his shoulder at him. 

“Unzip me?” he asks, the bastard. Tim does not in any way believe he needs the help unzipping his suit, but also Tim is a stupid idiot with stupid idiot hormones and he does, in fact, lean forward on the bench and reach up to do so. He pulls Kon’s zipper down his spine and, miraculously, does not spontaneously combust in the process. 

New information: Kon doesn’t wear any kind of underlayer under his suit. At least not over his torso, anyway. Which Tim supposes shouldn’t be a surprise, but certainly is something he’s noticing right now. 

He can’t even decide if he’s hoping for him to be wearing underwear or not. He should be hoping for him to be wearing it, given they’re here to try on clothes and that’s therefore kind of necessary, but . . . 

Kon strips the rest of his suit off. He is, unfortunately, wearing boxer briefs. Very small and very tight boxer briefs, but boxer briefs all the same. Tim tries not to stare at Kon’s ass and then immediately encounters the larger problem of accidentally looking at Kon’s reflection in the changing room mirror, which offers the opportunity to stare at other things that belong to Kon. Like his chest. And his abs. And his Adonis belt and–

Fuck his life, Tim thinks feelingly, barely resisting the urge to cover his eyes before he can embarrass himself. He’s already embarrassing himself; it is way too damn late for anything like that to help. 

“What should I try on first?” Kon asks. Tim, in mute panic, grabs the first thing off the top of the pile and shoves it at him. Kon, unfortunately, accepts it. 

More unfortunately, it turns out to be a very clingy black T-shirt with a very deep V-neck. Kon doesn't have actual cleavage, obviously, but that T-shirt has not gotten the memo. 

And apparently neither have his pecs. 

Fuck, Tim thinks with great feeling, still barely resisting the urge to cover his eyes. Fuuuuuck. 

“Hmmm,” Kon says, tugging at the dip of the V-neck with a finger. “What do you think? My color or naw?” 

Tim is suffering. There is a hell and he is currently in it, right here and now. 

“Black isn’t a particularly daring color choice, most people look good in it,” he says, clearing his throat. “The fit’s nice, though.” 

“Fair enough,” Kon says, plucking at the collar again and then stripping the shirt off. While facing Tim. Directly. So Tim therefore has a front-row seat to his bare abs stretching and flexing and–

Jesus. Just–Jesus. 

“Next?” Kon asks, holding out an expectant hand and smirking at him. 

Bastard. 

Tim, in vengeance, hands over the leather pants. It immediately backfires, because Kon just smirks wider and steps right into them, and in fact the process of watching Kon get into leather pants is . . . well, it's a fucking process, alright. And then Tim is alone in a changing room with a shirtless Kon in very tight leather pants and absolutely no one else around to interrupt. Not a single convenient supervillain attack to be seen. 

Fuck, Tim reflects with great feeling. 

“Guess this still isn’t a very daring color choice, huh?” Kon asks, tugging casually at his own waistband. Tim's teeth would also like to do that, please. Like. He has never done that to anyone's waistband in his life, but he would like to start. Right now, ideally. “Maybe I should've gone for something else.” 

“They look alright,” Tim says, desperately trying not to choke and die. He may or may not have had to put one of the shopping bags in his lap. Kon seems unconcerned and just twists to check out his ass in the mirror. His ass which is in very tight black leather. With belts. And buckles. 

And straps. 

Tim is disproportionately fixated on the straps, maybe. 

“Take a picture, it'll last longer,” Kon tells him with a smug grin. 

“I . . . kinda want to?” Tim admits helplessly, then winces at himself. Oh, that was the literal opposite of smooth. Kon laughs anyway, though.

“Oh do you now,” he purrs teasingly. “Is that why you were so concerned about getting me a phone with a good camera, pretty boy?” 

“. . . technically it only matters if my phone has a good camera in that situation,” Tim points out, and Kon actually pouts at him. It’s clearly a put-on, since he’s still half-smirking, but it’s a pout all the same. 

“Aw, you don't want me to send you any pics, Tim?” he asks. 

Tim might be, like, dead now. That might be a thing. He might just be dead. 

“Uh,” he says, blinking rapidly a few times in a desperate attempt to make his brain do literally anything but go down that particular avenue.

“These are a little tight, though,” Kon muses casually as he looks back down to the pants in the mirror, and then smooths a hand down his thigh because he apparently wants Tim to die. The bright fluorescent lights glint across his earring and make those inhumanly blue eyes even more undeniably inhumanly blue, and also make all his muscle definition all very, very visible. 

Technically, Kon has muscles like these because he's a genetically-enhanced half-alien who's all jacked up on solar power. Tim is perfectly aware of that fact. A normal unenhanced human being built like this would probably need an assist from steroids and a ridiculously-specialized diet and to basically never leave the gym. And also probably they'd be at least a little bit dehydrated, to look this cut. 

Tim can tell himself all that all that he likes, but Kon still looks like the bodybuilder edition of Playgirl right now. 

“Since when do you mind tight?” he asks. 

“I don't,” Kon says, sparing him another smirk. “But if I didn't make sure to keep my TTK on them 24/7, they'd probably rip. Leather's a little less forgiving than spandex, you know?” 

Tim is fairly sure Kon said some words after “rip”, but fuck if he could tell anyone. He couldn't tell anyone with a gun to his head. He couldn't tell Batman. 

Fucking hell. 

“Then I'll buy you another pair,” he says reflexively. Kon laughs, ducking his head. He is still shirtless. Very, very shirtless. 

“Man, I don't care what you think you owe me, you cannot possibly wanna buy me this much stuff,” he says. 

Tim tries to figure out how to say “you're my teammate and ally and you deserve to be somewhere safe and taken care of and have everything you need” without actually saying “you're my teammate and ally and you deserve to be somewhere safe and taken care of and have everything you need”. It's difficult, mostly because the alternate and equally true answer is “I think I'm kind of getting off on this, actually”. Which is actually kind of weird and questionable of him even if Kon is flirting with him and acting kind of–

Yeah, he really needs to stop being weird about this. 

“I have the money,” he says reasonably. “It’s not any harder for me than using your powers is for you. And I like doing it.” 

“You like doing it?” Kon says, tilting his head. Possibly Tim should’ve phrased that differently. Or just not said it at all, more like. 

“Yeah,” he says, then quickly changes the subject in self-defense. “And you did me a favor. I want to pay it back.” 

“There’s ‘paying it back’ and there’s ‘signing a lease’, man,” Kon says, raising an eyebrow at him. “Like, you offered me an apartment.” 

“If you’d let me I’d give you a fully-furnished apartment, bills and expenses, and an allowance,” Tim says wryly, and belatedly realizes that last one maybe sounds a little bit patronizing or weird when Kon–pauses.

“An allowance?” he repeats, just barely frowning. 

“Yes,” Tim says, because fuck it, he’s committed now and trying to backtrack would just make it more awkward. If he acts like that was a normal offer to make, maybe Kon will buy it. It’s not like he doesn’t know his initial socialization and education came from a bunch of weird nerds in a lab. “You know, rent and bills and groceries and a little extra, so you don’t have to call me up every time you want something.” 

“Because I saved your life?” Kon says, fidgeting with the button of his pants for a moment. Tim pretends not to notice. Pretends very hard not to notice. It’s . . . arguably a success. Maybe. 

“Yes,” Tim lies. Kon’s saved his life plenty of times; it’s really not relevant to wanting to see him actually properly taken care of and not just ditched in a lab without any damn windows in it. 

Seriously. Kon is solar-powered and Cadmus is underground. What advantage-taking idiots thought he belonged there? 

“Just that?” Kon asks, biting his lip. Tim . . . pauses. 

That’s a weird question, he thinks. It is, right? 

He’s not sure how to answer it. He lies to Batman, so that’s not a concern, but . . .

But. 

“Not just that,” he says after a moment, and just . . . doesn’t elaborate. Kon reddens a little, and then, weirdly, smiles a little. Tim does his damnedest to deal with the sight of him half-in civilian clothes and looking very, very touchable. Just–very close and touchable. He could just . . . reach right out. And touch him. 

Kon’s just . . . very close right now, is all. Like . . . very, very close. 

Fuck. 

“Hi,” Kon says with a little smile, then steps forward right in-between Tim’s knees still half-dressed in black leather and belts and buckles and straps. Tim almost falls off the bench. 

“Hi?” he tries. He very suddenly feels like he might be cooking in his own skin and maybe needs a couple decades to recover before he actually does die here. Because he definitely feels like he's about to die right now, oh god. Did Ivy pollen the mall? Maybe Ivy pollened the mall. Maybe–

Kon leans down over him and into his personal space, and Tim ends up with his back pressed against the changing room wall. 

Nope, never mind. This is all him. This is exclusively a Tim problem. All Tim all the way. All Tim all the time. 

Fuuuuuck.

“Uh,” he chokes in mortification, feeling his face absolutely burn. Kon braces a hand against the wall and very literally bats his eyes at him, the fucking bastard. He is . . . so attractive. So, so attractive. Like every kind of attractive Tim can currently envision and then some. Why is he so attractive? Why is he this far up in Tim’s space? Why is he–

Oh, fuck, Tim thinks. 

“Oh my god, I in no way meant to make you think this was, like, a condition or–!” he starts to sputter in horror, and Kon cuts him off by putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing him up tighter against the wall with a very, very pleased smirk. 

“Shut up and kiss me, you weird little nerd,” he says, and then leans in close enough to be kissed, his eyes soft and half-lidded and mouth still curved into that same pleased smirk. Tim’s brain shorts out entirely. Tim’s brain effectively electrocutes itself, actually. 

Oh god, he thinks feebly. 

He can’t kiss Kon, obviously. That would be a very stupid thing to actually do. Flirting and joking around is one thing, but actually kissing him . . . 

Kon bites his lip, a little flicker of uncertainty reflecting in his eyes. Tim has been in literal death traps that were less upsetting than that little flicker. 

“Okay,” he manages, useless and breathless, and then–like an idiot–kisses him.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #young just us #young justice #long post #rinfic #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

tags: satoru gojo x f!reader, bridgerton!au, reader and gojo are acquaintances, brief mention of satoru's mom passing when he was young. also please don't come at me if I got the garter belt/stocking thing wrong (I did a quick google search) so may not be historically accurate. (this could be a part two to this story that is also bridgerton gojo based).

“my lord,"

"please," he says, "gojo is fine."

"mr. gojo," you say, because frankly gojo feels too personal though it had been the last name his friends, such as lord nanami, have refered to him by. he stands at a respectable distance from you, watching over as you sit on a stone bench around the garden of lord kusakabe's home. your family visit had served to wish him congratulations after recuperating from a terrible cold this past winter. now, lord kusakabe stands as he used to, laughs as he holds a cigar between his lips as guests enjoy tea and play outdoor games.

though a lady like you, having a wardrobe malfunction, thinks it's best to hide behind a maze as you fail to adjust the garter belt that pulls up your warm stockings that keep the cold air from entering your skin. lord gojo stands at a respectable distance, towards your right as he attempts to look over your shoulder. your cling onto your left garter, saving any decency you can maintain.

you had met gojo through the first spring dance of the season, right after you had danced with higuruma. taken aback by his intial comments on how lord higuruma was a terrible choice for a satoru, and by your naivety by speaking your mind (respectably, of course) in front of someone so.... well of. regarded as royalty by even the queen herself. lord gojo did not hold your behavior against you, and to that you were partially thankful of. your honor must remain impeccable as your mother's. everyone has a standard to uphold, no?

what set you apart, nearly three weeks into the season from most, was lady whistledown's kind and praiseful remarks during the ball. it would be later made aware that perhaps you could be the diamond of the season. who knew as meeting the queen was only a week away.

so you had to keep your reputation as clean as possible.

"my lady, are you alright?" your jaw tightened at his words. you guessed perhaps your body tightened as well since the man approaches you carefully, slowly. waiting to see if you put a stop to him.

"yes, quite alright thank you." you laugh nervously, "just... a bit worn out from today's activities." he noticies you hold your leg.

"is your... leg alright?" he asks. you don't know how you do it, but when he suggests to get help, you stop him. it would be far worse for him to get help from others while you're here, with an intimate wardrobe malfunction.

"no! just... leave me be," he eyes you.

"I can assure you, leaving a lady in distress goes against my honor code. tell me, is there anything I can do?"

you hesitantly bite your bottom lip.

"it's... it's a wardrobe, malfunction, my lord." your eyes don't meet his as your cheeks burn under the sun. he looks at your figure, not sensing anything wrong at first glance.

"underneath."

"oh," he remains quiet for several seconds. "may I... may I know what it is?"

"my garter belt."

"what do you need to do?"

"I need to hook the end of the belt to the opening of the stocking, but..." you sigh, "it won't work."

"may I have a glance?" he asks, and you guess he senses the panic in your eyes and silence as he holds his hands up. "I promise I won't do anything, in fact, I'm sure your family might suspect your absence relatively soon if you don't return." but that isn't what worries you.

"I can't have a man that isn't my husband to do something like that," you try your best to not snap, "if anyone were to see or hear about this, my reputation would be ruined."

"not with me it won't." he says, "if you allow me to help, neither one would speak of this, and we can return back to the estate as if nothing happened. I don't wish to ruin the life of someone so...."

"so....?"

"someone honorary," he swallows, "respectable. most women your age enjoy ruining other people's lives, spreading misinformation to cause harm, and do anything as selfish as one can imagine."

"how would you know that?" you question almost bluntly, "you... you don't know me."

"I'm afraid you yourself aren't quite aware of the impression you have made on others, miss." he says as he slowly approaches, getting as far as to his knees to assist. "now please, allow me to assist you."

your lungs paused for what felt like an eternity. you didn't know what was more intimate, either his soft spoken words or his delicate fingers on your belt, causing your heart to beat loudly it would possibly errupt from your chest.

"how do you know how to do this?" you find yourself whispering. the lord looks up at you for what you can finally see up close are mesmerizing blue eyes, bluer than anything you've seen or dreamed of before he says.

"I used to watch my mother dress herself when I was a boy," he clarifies, "she passed before I turned 7."

#okay I needed to get this out of my system goodbye #gojo #gojo satoru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen #satoru #gojo headcanons #jjk x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo sensei #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo satoru x oc #jujutsu kaisen gojo satoru #satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen satoru #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you

[adelarsims]

"mercury shine" tutorial

i didn't know you guys @occultradio and @aliengirl would want a tutorial on what was a genuine fuckup on my part, but i love how excited it got you, so here you go! your tutorial! you can now make alien clothes and funky face details!

1. by default, the mask (the right black and white one) is based exactly on your texture, so just export it and edit the part that doesn't say mask. if the item you want to edit doesn't have it, you can click on make blank to generate it (the specular itself will be empty).

2. for your own convenience, resize the diffuse texture (any swatch where you can see elements of the texture very well) and put it under your specular map while you work on it, because the placement of elements on specular map correlates with the main texture, and if you make patterns and standing out elements with your specular, like shiny buttons or leather belts or anything, you want to see where they are on the texture. 3. so as you may know, the specular texture depends on the color (like metallic shine for accessories will be yellowish, leather shine will be purple-pinkish, bigger opacity = stronger shine). make areas you want to have the "mercury shine" pure white (#ffffff)! 4. the opacity of white in this case seems to not matter, 100% and 10% opacity white yielded the same result when i tested it. so if your clothes are supposed to have mercury parts and non-mercury parts, i guess the easiest way to make a specular texture would be just slapping solid white parts/patterns on top of your usual specular if you use any. this way, if it's solid, you won't need to erase parts of non-mercury specular underneath, which makes for less dirt and loose pixels on the final thing. 5. WARNING! if parts of your specular go outside of the white area on the mask, next time you'll use the item in cas, this mask will be rewritten based on your specular map, and you'll have shining blotches on sim's skin and anywhere you don't need them, so don't forget to erase everything else. just put the mask png on top of the specular you've made (it's the same size anyway), select all black areas and then delete the selection on your specular.

you can check this test file if you want to disassemble it and take a look at the specular, just notice that studio doesn't show the shine, you'll need to open cas to see the result of your work.

#sims 4 tutorial #simblr #the sims 4 #ts4

[susanpike-author]

Willing to sacrifice myself for you Love continues

The nurse came, we are taking her to surgery. There's a waiting room up there. Surgery went well. David stayed by my side, in the room they put me in. He sent everyone else back to the hotel. David held my hand again; he fell asleep after a while. I opened my eyes. Seen him sleeping. Was happy he was okay. Felt pain in my right side. Grabbed David’s hand. He woke up. Seeing I was awake. He got up and kissed my cheek. You need anything luv. I tried to say, ice chips. My throat was dry. I was in the hospital a week. I sent David back to the hotel a few times to shower and change his clothes. The band members went on the buses. The kept a room for David. The doctor told us now I have to take time to recover and gain my strength back. I asked if I could recover on the bus. I told David I didn't want him to miss anymore of his tour dates. I would go with him on the bus. After a week some of strength started returning. Also, David was driving me crazy stripping in front of me. I grabbed him when he was in his underwear. Feeling his cock, he laid down on the bed. I licked and sucked him. Placing my finger, lightly massaging underneath his balls. He moaned. Came shortly after. I couldn't have sex yet, but I was going to keep him happy. I asked him to come back to bed as he was not going to hurt me. He had been sleeping on the couch. That night he joined me in bed, kissing me and cuddling with me. We both slept much better. I started attending his performances, needed to start walking around more. We started going out to dinner. Instead of David either fixing something or bringing me something. Went and got my stitches out, had to carry my medical records with me. About two more weeks later, David had a whole week at a casino resort hotel. We were looking forward to a nice big room. They gave him a suite. Big whirlpool tub and walk in shower. I went into town to a clinic for a checkup. They told me I could resume normal activities. Does that include sex I inquired. That night after the Show, I had a surprise planned for David., He had his own dressing room., put on my garter belt and nylons with the snap underwear underneath my dress. After his performance, he came into the dressing room. I locked the door behind him. I kissed him, placing my hand on his cock., rubbing it. Then started stripping his clothes off. Then lift my dress so he could see my garters, took my dress off. Was playing with him again. Unsnapped my underwear took them off. He used his hand to make me hot and wet. I backed up to the counter placing half of myself on it, spreading my legs for him. He entered me, gently at first. Then thrusting harder. I orgasmed, he went deeper and harder, till he came. We were both moaning a lot loudly. The band members and Sam were sitting at a table having beers, when over the speakers comes moaning and heavy breathing. Listen one of the guys said, then more moaning, then I let out a loud cry, few minutes later David moaned and cried out. That a boy David, he said. As we are coming out afterwards, David whispers, does this mean I can get my gift now. I smiled. Paul said, Hey David, next time you may want to turn your microphone off first. My cheeks turn a bit red. David laughed. David couldn't wait to get to our room. He had not had his gift since the first night we were together. I gave him an extra special gift that night. Took him 15 minutes to calm down.

David and I did discuss the possibility of him going to Branson, Missouri and doing a season there. He talked with his manager, and she informed the theater owners that he was interested in doing a season next year in Branson. It started a war between the theater owners to get him in their theater. They knew he would be a big draw with his fans already and the tourists. David went over the offers, which included having his own band there also. He took the best deal, generous salary plus 25% of the ticket sales. The theater had 4,000 seats. He also got 75% of all merchandize sales. I was really happy for him.

I had to go back to Chicago to the Doctor and the medical section. I knew I was not ready to return to work yet. Wearing a 20 lbs belt around my waist. What I didn't know was, they news media there had carried the story about me saving David. The police Department had requests from the media for interviews. I had to go to the Doctor for a follow-up checkup. I did notice I didn't get my period for over 3 months, figured the shooting trauma had messed it up. The Doctor did a scan seeing how I was healing. He scanned my stomach also. He said, you do know you're pregnant, don't you. What! No, I didn't know. Thought my tubes were blocked. He showed me the scan. Looks to be about 3 months. The trauma from the shooting may have unblocked one of your tubes. I told the Doctor I had sexual relations a lot the night before the shooting. Sperm can stay alive up to 48 hours after sex. He said. I was a bit shocked. Oh boy! How am I going to tell David. The Doctor also had to report my pregnancy to. The Department. Now I really cannot work. David had gone to his farm for a few weeks. Had some local weekend appearances too! His children were also coming to visit him too! I was planning to meet him there after airing out my apartment and paying a few months' rent in advance. Prepaid the electric bill and phone bills tool I was not sure what the future was. David loved his gift and sex with me. We got along great and had many things in common. We very rarely disagreed. I also knew I loved him and missed him. He had been rarely drinking because he wanted the special gift more. His children noticed the difference in him also. He wasn't getting in his depression moods or was lonely. David called me, did you get your check-up lov? Yes, I'm still on extended medical leave. I’ll be leaving tomorrow afternoon. Can you pick me up at the airport? Yes, what time? I think we land around 3pm. I’ll be there, he said. He’s farm was very nice. Two of his children met us outside. He introduced us. They both kissed my cheek, thanking me for saving their father's life. David took my suitcase to his bedroom. His oldest daughter was planning to cook dinner. David asked me if I wanted to lay down a bit, I know it was a long flight. We had been apart for three weeks. Had a feeling he didn't want to nap. He led me upstairs. As soon as we got into his bedroom, he started kissing me passionately, I missed you luv. I missed you too! I said. We stripped each other's clothes off. Then made passionate love. Laying my head on his shoulder. I said, remember I told you I have never been pregnant, because I had problems. Yes, he said, well seems you did the impossible. You're pregnant? Yes, three months., Seems I got pregnant the first night we were together. I’m going to be a father again at 52, he laughs. I brought the pictures. He said, we will just have to get married then. I said David, that's not a very romantic proposal. I said. I’ll give you romantic. He started sucking on my nipples. Then started licking his way down my body. Licking that special spot till I started squirming. He held my hips down till I orgasmed. Then he entered me. Thrusting hard and deep. You're going to say yes, luv! I moaned yes! He moaned and came again. We both got dressed after taking a shower. Headed downstairs for dinner. Over dinner He announced that we are getting married. Congratulations they said. His oldest daughter said, jokingly and when is the baby due? David said, 6 months. You're not kidding Dad? No, he said. Will you be our witnesses, next week? They agreed. The following week we got married at the county courthouse. I wore a white dress with blue trim. David wore a blue suit. We were planning to go to Branson for our honeymoon. Checking out houses to rent. We would need a bigger place to live with a baby on the way. We would have to hire movers, once we found a place. Going back to Chicago and packing and moving. David wanted me to resign my job of course. On our honeymoon night he got his gift. Right before I teased him, say you love me, David. He moaned, okay! I do love

#david jones #davy jones #the monkees #sexy content #romance #writers on tumblr

[gimmethatagustd]

cosmic collision (1) | myg + jjk

A responsible weedman, Yoongi always tests out new marijuana strains before selling them to his customers. When his supplier offers him a new strain, Cosmic Collision, Yoongi is eager to try it. What he doesn't expect is the alien that comes with it.

↳ pairing: weedman!yoongi x alien!jungkook

↳ genre: BTS | 18+ | supernatural | strangers to lovers | slow burn | crack | fluff | smut

↳ wc/date: 6.8k | april 2023

↳ warnings: marijuana | yoongi blacks out from being too high, but i promise nothing bad happens to him | jungkook is so precious you might not survive | yoongi is TRYING HIS BEST

↳ notes: welcome to this silly lil world of galactic mysteries 👽 i hope you enjoy the journey. pls keep your arms, hands, legs, feet, and head inside the spacecraft at all times

↳ main masterlist // series masterlist

↳ what was jai listening to? know yourself - drake

✨ complete this form to be added to the taglist ✨

“What’s this one called again?” As Namjoon speaks, a thick cloud of white smoke rushes out of his mouth. 

Hoseok is quick with a response, answering before Yoongi has a chance. “DJ Short Flo,” he reads the piece of masking tape stuck to the top of the glass jar on their coffee table. The name is scribbled in blue Sharpie. 

Namjoon repeats the name to himself in a low and scratchy tone. He clears his throat a few times more than is really necessary. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” 

Yoongi’s not sure the names of marijuana strains really need to mean anything, but he’s not part of the conversation. He’s too busy counting a rather fat wad of cash as he stands in the entryway of his apartment. 

Suddenly, the chill vibes playlist Namjoon so artfully crafted for the group’s weekly Friday night smoke sesh pauses. He flashes a glare at Taehyung spread out on Yoongi’s bean bag as he passes the blunt off to Hoseok, who is now making grabby hands next to him on the couch. 

“This is that nasty flow!” Taehyung belts the Drake lyrics prematurely, using his phone to switch from Namjoon’s playlist to the song that has seemingly popped into his head at the mention of Flo. 

Hoseok’s eyes widen as he lifts the blunt to his lips. He takes a drag from it while his head leans over the back of the couch. “Hey, wasn’t that Yoongi’s rapper name in college? Or was it DJ Short Glow?” 

“Top boy in this shit, I’m so international!” 

Yoongi slams his foot into his dirty red Vans. He has to bend over slightly to hook his finger in the back of the shoe to pull it out from underneath his heel. Life would be much easier if he just untied his shoes and put them on correctly. 

“It was Gloss.” 

“Reps up is in here, got P Reign and Chubby and TJ and Winnie and whoa!” Taehyung’s voice cracks as he chokes out the lyrics, and smoke simultaneously puffs out of his nose and mouth. 

“DJ Short Gloss?” Hoseok asks. 

“Yeah, and you know how that should go!” 

“Man, shut the fuck up.” Yoongi throws his middle finger up at whoever may be looking. “I’m not even short.” With his shoes on, Yoongi shrugs into a light windbreaker and stuffs the money into one of the pockets. He has to wiggle the pocket’s zipper a few times before it fully zips closed. “I’ma be back in probably two hours, okay?” 

Hoseok and Taehyung are now belting an Ariana Grande song, so only Namjoon acknowledges Yoongi’s announcement. He throws his friend a thumbs up as smoke unfurls around the blunt squeezed between his lips. 

“Have fun, bro. Tell Jin he better respond to my message on Discord. We got games to play.” 

Yoongi gives the front door a sharp kick before he yanks it open. He reminds himself to figure out how to fix it from getting stuck constantly. The paint on the bottom corner is starting to crack from the number of toes that have jammed into it. 

“Yeah, yeah. I got you, Joon.” 

Seokjin is notoriously difficult to get ahold of. Yoongi can’t text him, which is understandable, even if using other apps like Discord to communicate is annoying. It always goes back to not wanting his real phone number associated with their conversations. Yoongi never feels like pointing out that a Discord account - like literally everything else - can be traced back to Seokjin’s phone. It’s a losing battle, and Yoongi isn’t the type to argue. 

So he shoots WWHandsome#7451 a quick “omw” and drives the thirty minutes to Seokjin’s brother’s house. Or was it his cousin? Best friend? Yoongi can’t remember. All he knows is the guy is cute, and that is enough to make Yoongi not want to go to his house. 

It’s a small house tucked away in the culs-de-sac of a modest but nice-looking suburb. Yoongi always feels dirty as he parks on the curb in his 2001 Honda Accord. The car has wires sticking out where the spoiler was once connected in the back (accidentally ripped off by Taehyung, who closed the trunk too hard). The metal below his front left headlight is dented and stitched together with black zip ties after Yoongi idiotically let Namjoon drive and his friend hit a mailbox.  

The feeling of being out of place typically intensifies as Yoongi trudges up the walkway to the front door. He feels frumpy in his dad hat with a frayed bill, eccentrically-patterned pink button-up shirt over a white graphic tee, and forest-green joggers. He never cared about fashion; throwing on whatever’s clean is enough for him. But when Seokjin’s friend (Yoongi is now remembering they are just friends) flings the door open and lets his eyes roam over Yoongi’s frame, he wishes he’d at least ironed his shirt. 

“Hello,” the man purs. He brushes blue-grey hair away from eyes that are sharp and heavy as he looks up at Yoongi through his bangs. Yoongi tries not to pay attention. “Jinnie’s in the basement.” 

The basement is really just one giant gaming room with a spot off to the side dedicated to Seokjin’s rather impressive inventory of marijuana. He’s exceptionally organized, which Yoongi appreciates, with each glass jar and drawer stuffed with green buds neatly labeled. It makes the exchange quick and easy. Yoongi would prefer not to linger. 

It’s not that Seokjin has ever done anything wrong. In all honesty, Yoongi can’t quite put a name to the feeling he gets in the elder’s presence. He just knows something about Seokjin makes him uneasy. 

“Yoongi-ya, good to see you, my friend.” Seokjin’s hand clamps over Yoongi’s shoulder and his fingers dig into his clavicle. 

“Good seeing you, too,” Yoongi mumbles. He shrugs off his backpack and holds it against his chest like a shield. However, it doesn’t protect him for long because Seokjin almost immediately pries it from Yoongi’s grasp. He watches as the older man tosses the empty bag onto the coffee table in front of a large TV, making the glass rattle. 

“Sit.” 

Yoongi plops onto the couch. Halo Infinite is paused on the TV. He knows nothing about video games, but he’s sure Namjoon would squeal over Seokjin’s setup. Yoongi makes a note to never tell him about it. 

“Want your usual, right?” Seokjin asks though he’s obviously not in any rush to get Yoongi his supply when he settles beside him on the couch. He tilts his black bucket hat back, pulling the brim away from his eyes to expose dark eyebrows. 

Seokjin wears clothes similar to Yoongi’s usual attire: comfortable graphic tees and joggers. He always manages to look better, though. Sleek and expensive, with logos of brands Yoongi doesn’t even know stitched into the fabric, all monochrome rather than the patterned clothing that makes Yoongi look like a rainbow threw up on him. 

“Mhm,” Yoongi hums. “Chem Valley Kush, XJ-13, and DJ Short Flo sold really well.” 

Seokjin’s eyes crinkle as he grins. In the dim lighting of the room, Yoongi swears his teeth look sharp. “XJ-13 put your ass in gear, didn’t it?” 

This Yoongi has to smile at. “The most productive I’ve been in my life,” he laughs. “That tangerine aroma, too? Fuckin’ beautiful.” 

Seokjin reaches for the clear glass bong atop the coffee table. He brings it to his lips, pausing momentarily to say, “It’s the Jack Herer in it.” 

Yoongi watches the smoke furl through the intricately curled tubing. He’s always been more of a bowl kind of guy, but he doesn’t say no when Seokjin passes him the bong and a lime green lighter.

“I’ve got enough of all three, but try out this one.” Seokjin watches expectantly as Yoongi inhales and doesn’t continue talking until he blows a thick cloud toward the ceiling. “It’s called Cosmic Collision. Totally brand new strain, an experimental hybrid. Nobody’s got this on the street except me.” 

“Cosmic Collision?” Yoongi runs his tongue across his teeth, then the inside of his cheeks, like he’s gathering the taste in his mouth. It’s fruity and went down so smooth it almost felt more like vaping or hookah than weed. “Tastes like cereal.” 

“Good, right? Shit’ll take you somewhere otherworldly.”

Describing the strain as experimental and otherworldly is relatively accurate, Yoongi muses as he takes a few more hits from the bong. Each pull is smooth and surprisingly kind to his throat as he breathes it down. Weed like this is hard to come by on the streets. Most are harsh, perhaps from being doused in pesticides or growing in shoddy environments. Seokjin has never let Yoongi down, though. Everything he provides is always high quality, to the extent that Yoongi wonders if the man grows it himself or if he’s got the hookup with someone professional. 

Before long, Yoongi sinks into the couch and forgets his promise of returning home after two hours. His phone buzzes in his pocket with text messages he can’t seem to find the desire to check. He doesn’t hear the notifications, only feels the vibration against his thigh. The sensation warms him to the point that the way his body tingles is a little embarrassing. 

Something else buzzes in his ear, something he can hear as a muffled squeak that pulses against his eardrums. It’s rather annoying. Yoongi’s face twists into a slight grimace that quickly melts away when he feels something poke his cheek. 

“Yoongi-ya!” 

His head is almost too heavy to turn, but he manages. Seokjin’s image is blurry initially. It takes a few blinks for Yoongi to adjust, and only then does he realize his eyes have been closed for a good while. 

“Hm?” Like his head, his tongue feels heavy to lift. His mouth tastes like Froot Loops. A small smile stretches his lips against his teeth. God, he’s so fucking high. 

“Jimin and I need to leave; I’m sorry,” Seokjin gives him a sheepish look. 

Yoongi blinks a few more times and wills his arms to lift up. He stretches his back with a groan. “Shit, sorry. Didn’t realize how long it’s been.” 

His phone tells him it’s been nearly four hours since he arrived. His brain struggles to comprehend this new information, just like it struggles to accept that he has somehow migrated upstairs and is now sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of water in front of him. When the fuck had he moved? 

Seokjin gives him a knowing smile. “Drink more water when you get home. And drive safely!” 

Nodding his head, Yoongi slings his backpack over his shoulder and follows Seokjin to the front door. The bag is heavy with what Yoongi assumes is weed - the whole reason why he came to the house in the first place. But he has no recollection of Seokjin giving it to him. 

“That’s some strong shit,” Yoongi mumbles mostly to himself as he says his final goodbyes. 

There’s the knowing smile again, though Yoongi doesn’t know what Seokjin knows that he doesn’t know. “Like I said, otherworldly. Have a good night, my friend. I’ll see you around.” 

As he returns to his car, Yoongi decides that Seokjin most definitely gives him the creeps. A twinge of guilt accompanies the thought because Yoongi knows Seokjin hasn’t actually done anything to deserve such judgment, but he can’t help it. Knowing that he completely blacked out for hours with the guy sends a shiver down Yoongi’s spine. Smoking has never affected him like that before. 

The car ride home is frigid and quiet. Yoongi leans forward against the steering wheel, grasping it with both hands and straining his eyes to see into the dark. Driving while high is a skill Yoongi has perfected over many years of smoking, but tonight he finds himself struggling to stay focused. His eyes keep flicking up to check the rearview mirror. He knows this means he’s so high that paranoia starts kicking in. He usually cuts himself off before that point, but tonight got away from him. Checking for cops in the rearview mirror is one of those paranoid habits of his. At least the sense of self-preservation isn’t too ridiculous. Driving while under the influence of marijuana is illegal, after all. 

To his horror, the next time he looks into the mirror, the empty street isn’t what greets him. Instead, Yoongi stares into two large, bright eyes. 

There’s a motherfucking person in his backseat. 

“What the fuck?!” 

Yoongi stomps on the brakes. The abruptness violently lurches the guy forward, making him smack his face into the back of the passenger’s seat. 

The guy groans loudly and cups his hand over his nose. “Owww.” When he meets Yoongi’s eyes through the rearview mirror again, they’re shiny and wet. “You hurt me.” 

“Who the fuck are you?!” 

It doesn’t matter that he’s stopped in the middle of the street. Yoongi puts the car into park and twists in his seat to see the person behind him better. Any feeling of intoxication has swiftly left his body. He doesn’t think he has sobered up so quickly in his entire life. 

The guy appears to be a few years younger than Yoongi. His shaggy black hair falls into his eyes, though most of his face is obscured by the large hood of his mossy-green sweatshirt. Looking down, Yoongi sees that he’s in a pair of black basketball shorts that are inappropriate for the cool autumn weather. Tattoos of strange symbols litter his hands and creep up his arms, from what Yoongi can tell. The thought that his teeth look sharp like Seokjin’s do flashes in Yoongi’s mind, but he’s too freaked out to linger on that. Imagined sharp teeth are nothing compared to how the younger man’s eyes glow with a turquoise ring around his black irises. 

Despite the fear those eyes strike in Yoongi’s body, he can’t help but admire how beautiful the man is. Something about him feels… otherworldly, Seokjin’s voice sounds in Yoongi’s head. 

“My name is-” 

Whatever the man says is lost to Yoongi. His supposed name is nothing Yoongi has ever heard before, sounding more like strange clicks and whistles instead of a real language. 

Apparently sensing Yoongi’s confusion by his mouth hanging open, the man gives him a nervous smile. “You may call me Jungkook if that is easier for you to pronounce,” he whispers hardly loud enough for Yoongi to hear. “When I am in this realm, that is the name I go by. Elder Seokjin gave it to me.” 

Realm? Elder? 

Yoongi shakes his head while his palms press into his eyes. Maybe if he slowly counts backward from ten and focuses on his breathing, the marijuana-induced hallucination will disappear. 

Silently, he mouths the numbers until he finishes his ten seconds of attempted meditation. To his chagrin, he opens his eyes to see the strange man sitting on the edge of the backseat with his hands clasped between his thighs. He watches Yoongi in earnest. 

“I can tell that you are upset.” He speaks slowly as if he thinks Yoongi may not be able to understand him. “There was nothing else that I could do, sir. Elder Jimin and Elder Seokjin closed the portal when they left after they assumed I had returned home without them. But I was in the garden! I do not like the smell of marijuana. It hurts my head so badly. I needed to get fresh air until you left.”

The man waits rather impatiently for Yoongi to respond. He fidgets in his seat, though he keeps his eyes locked with Yoongi’s. His gaze is so intense that Yoongi has to look away. 

It’s too much. 

Before any more bullshit can spew from the guy’s mouth, Yoongi flings the door open, snatching the keys before slamming the door shut behind him. His hand shakes as he presses the button to lock the doors, leaving him standing outside and the younger man inside. 

He looks up at Yoongi through the back window with confusion. Yoongi could swear that the turquoise rings around his eyes dim. 

Turning his back to the car so he doesn’t have to look at the man anymore, Yoongi finally takes out his phone. It takes Namjoon three calls to pick up, but Yoongi can’t be mad; he’s just grateful his friend picked up at all. 

“Yoong. It’s three-thirty in the morning. Hobi said you never came home.”

There was a reason why he called Namjoon instead of his roommate. Hoseok is such a heavy sleeper, Yoongi knows it would have been pointless to try. 

“I need you to come get me. I don’t really know where I am, but there’s a guy in my car.” 

Silence on the other end of the line makes Yoongi grow antsy. He lets out a loud huff, then another to indicate the sense of urgency he needs his friend to share with him. 

“What?” 

“I’m not kidding, man. There’s some random fucking dude in the backseat of my car.” 

Yoongi takes a peek over his shoulder. The guy has crawled halfway into the front seats and is pushing the buttons on Yoongi’s radio. Probably fucking up all his saved stations. Yoongi lets out a hiss. 

“Bro, you’re tweaking.” 

“Fuck you, I’m serious.” 

“Tweeeeeaking,” Namjoon drawls. There’s a giggle in the background, the soft deepness of the sound unmistakable. 

“Give Taehyung the phone.” 

For a few seconds, Yoongi only hears more giggling and some rustling. He tries to respect his friends’ privacy and not ask why they are still together so late at night. 

Eventually, Taehyung murmurs a greeting. “Hey, boss man.” 

“Come pick me up right now. This dude is refusing to get out of my car.” 

“What if he hotwires it, and when you go back in the morning, it’s gone?” Taehyung raises a valid concern, but Yoongi isn’t in the right mind to think with common sense. 

“Then it’s fucking gone! It’s a piece of shit car anyway!” 

Taehyung gasps. “Don’t talk about Mary Jane like that!” 

Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe he is tweaking. The universe must agree since he turns around to see an empty car. 

“Yoongi?” Taehyung’s voice is small and distant. 

Yoongi holds his phone a few inches away from his ear and stares at his car in disbelief. He slowly approaches it, peering into the windows to inspect the backseat. There’s nothing. 

“Uhh… nevermind. I’ll be fine. Make sure Joon drinks some water, okay?” He hangs up before Taehyung has the chance to question him further. 

With trembling hands, Yoongi unlocks the car and slides behind the wheel. Another quick look around confirms that he’s again the only person in the car. How was it possible for the other guy to get out? Yoongi knows that he locked the doors when he got out. But perhaps he unlocked them from the inside, and the alarm didn’t go off? Yoongi can’t think straight, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. His car is empty. 

It remains empty for the rest of the drive. Yoongi is on edge the entire time, but he has calmed down considerably by the time he parks on the street near his apartment.

However, Yoongi doesn’t feel true security until he’s in bed, after showering away the smell of weed and the tingling feeling of his skin. The marijuana is put away, although he hides Cosmic Collision in his closet. He doesn’t know why, but something tells him to keep the odd strain to himself for now. 

With how droopy the weed made him and the stress of the ride home, Yoongi quickly falls asleep to his Pink Noise playlist and tries not to dream of turquoise-ringed eyes. 

Yoongi loves autumn Saturday mornings. He loves snuggling into his blankets while the sun gently kisses his skin. He loves tilting his head to see red and gold leaves glowing in the sunlight outside his window. He loves knowing there’s nothing that needs to be done, that he has a day to slowly move through the kitchen in his pajamas with a cup of coffee and a blunt with nowhere he needs to be. He loves gentle days. 

Today, he does not have the pleasure of enjoying a gentle day. 

Rather than the sun waking him, it’s his roommate. Hoseok squeezes Yoongi’s shoulders a bit too tightly as he shakes the older man awake. 

“Yoongi,” he whisper-yells. “Yoongi, you didn’t tell me you had someone over. He’s really fucking hot, I get it, but you have to tell me! I just walked out of my bedroom naked, which I should be able to do since it’s my apartment, and I knew you wouldn’t be up yet, and surprise! Some gorgeous man is sitting on the couch, eating my chocolate chip cookies, by the way, staring at my dick! Do you know how embarrassing that is?!” 

With squinted eyes and a scrunched nose, Yoongi stares up at Hoseok. To be perfectly honest, all he heard was hot, naked, cookies, dick. Which… Is not what one expects to talk about before their eyes have even adjusted to the daylight. 

“Wha-what, Hoba, what?” Yoongi forces himself into a sitting position. 

Hoseok flaps his arms at his side and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Your hookup is still here. And he saw me naked. And he’s eating my food. That is what I’m trying to tell you.” 

“My hookup?” 

“Yes, fuck. He’s really sexy in an adorable kind of way. I was shocked. Not really your usual type, but an improvement, honestly,” Hoseok rambles.  

Ignoring the subtle dig at his taste in men, Yoongi tries to focus on the meaning behind his roommate’s words. He is no stranger to casual sex but seldom brings people over out of respect for Hoseok. It’s a situation precisely like this that he tries to avoid. 

“But I came home straight from Jin’s… Didn’t I?” Yoongi wracks his brain, desperately searching for some kind of missing link. “I swear on my life, Hoba. I swear on my life I went to Seokjin’s and came straight home. You can ask Joon and Tae. I called them after I left because-” 

Hoseok leaps back as Yoongi rips the blankets off of his body. “Fuck!” He flies out of his bedroom, feet barely touching the ground. 

He’s breathing hard when he bursts into the living room. 

The man from the night before - Jungkook - is cuddled up on the couch. He’s wearing the same outfit, though his hood is lowered now. Yoongi can see just how disarmingly beautiful the man is without the fabric obstructing his view. His face is round with flawless skin that practically glows in the daylight. His bangs are sticking out in all directions, hair mused in what Yoongi assumes is bedhead. Yoongi can’t help but find him kind of adorable, especially when his cheeks are puffy from stuffing so many chocolate chip cookies in his mouth. 

Except he shouldn’t be fucking real! Or in his apartment!

As Yoongi steps closer, he notices the turquoise rings around Jungkook’s irises. Fear that Yoongi can only describe as primal tickles the base of his spine. It’s impossible to stamp down, no matter how many deep breaths he takes. 

“You.” He points an accusatory finger. “You.” 

Not his most intelligent moment, but his brain doesn’t know how to function anymore. A cookie-covered smile makes Yoongi falter, but he does his best to maintain a stern expression. 

“Good morning, Yoongi! Your apartment is kind of dirty, but it feels cozy. I like it.” Jungkook places the now empty container of cookies on the coffee table. The action draws Yoongi’s attention to the stack of other empty food containers, beer bottles, weed residue, and game controllers littering the table’s surface. Maybe he is dirty. 

Nah, fuck that. This is not what’s important right now. 

Yoongi shakes his head, his shaggy blonde hair falling into his eyes. “Why are you here? How did you get here?” 

Hoseok makes an odd sound that Yoongi desperately tries to ignore. But then he feels the press of a warm hand against the nape of his neck, and he can’t brush him off from how tightly Hoseok is digging into his skin. 

“Yoongi…” He sounds like he’s about to scold him. 

Before he can start, Jungkook hops up from the couch. Both strangely-tattooed hands lift upward, about chest-high, and he twists them to hold his palms out. 

“It is my fault, Mr. Hoseok.” 

“Just Hobi.” 

Jungkook nods. “I did not explain the situation well. Elder Jimin and Elder Seokjin told me never to speak to humans about this, but I don’t know what else to do. No one else from our team is here, and they must wait until the next cosmic collision for the portal to reopen.” 

His voice trembles as he speaks, and Yoongi worries the guy is about to start crying. He tugs at the many hoops adorning his earlobe and rocks on the balls of his feet, much like children do to comfort themselves. 

Maybe he’s a dick, but Yoongi would prefer not to deal with a stranger crying in the middle of his living room. 

“Cosmic collision? Like the weed?” He understands all the individual words Jungkook uses, but none of them in how he has strung them together. 

The man bites his lip. His teeth wiggle as they dig into the pink flesh. At night they had appeared sharp, but in the daylight, they are blunt and almost too big for his face. 

“Not the weed,” he says without further explanation. 

Hoseok’s grip on Yoongi’s neck tightens until he turns to look at him. Human? He mouths not so subtly. 

Yoongi shakes his head. Nothing about any of this makes sense. With a sigh, he runs his hands down his face and grimaces at how oily his skin feels. 

“Look,” he starts, furrowing his eyebrows in Jungkook’s direction. “I’m gonna take a shower. And then I’m gonna drink a cup of coffee. By that point, I expect you to have called Jin or Jimin, fuck, I don’t care who, to take you home. Okay?” 

Jungkook opens his mouth, likely to protest, but Yoongi tuts his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Nope. I said what I said.” 

“Yoongi-ya,” Hoseok protests on behalf of the bewildered man. He follows Yoongi back into his bedroom, awkwardly wringing his hands as he watches him look for clean clothes to wear. “He seems genuine…” 

“Genuine?” Yoongi scoffs. 

Hoseok shoots him a glare. “Yes.” 

“Did you not hear him, Hoba? Humans? Cosmic collisions? Portals? Last night he said he goes by ‘Jungkook’ when he’s in this realm and made some weird ass clicking sounds like The Predator, like that was supposed to be his fucking name.” 

“Okay… that is a bit strange… But I think you’re being harsh. Clearly, the guy is confused, and if he’s a friend of Jin, I think you should be nicer to him.” 

“Jin gives me the creeps, too.” 

“Yoongi!” Hoseok untangles his fingers to wave them around. “Just, just take your shower. I will get all of us coffee, and we will sort this out.” 

They do not sort this out. 

While Yoongi showered, Hoseok probed Jungkook a bit further. It was all more or less the same, though. Utter nonsense. 

He discovered that Jungkook didn’t know what coffee was, didn’t seem to understand why Hoseok had initially been upset that he’d seen him naked because “nudity is the natural state of all humans,” and seemed shocked that Hoseok could “alter” his features - pointing at the deep orange he had recently dyed his hair. As if to explain his thought process about the hair observation, Hoseok watched with thinly-veiled horror as Jungkook’s hair turned a deep purple right before his eyes. 

Needless to say, as Yoongi inches his way into the kitchen after a shower that should have been refreshing but only left him feeling cold, he does not expect to see Hoseok leaning across the kitchen table to stare unblinking at their odd guest. Their odd guest whose previously-dark hair is an icy blue. 

“Umm?” 

Hoseok lifts his eyes to Yoongi. They’re bright and full of wonder, so shiny Yoongi worries he might be on the verge of tears. Out of sadness or something else, he’s not sure. 

“He’s magic.” 

Jungkook giggles at Hoseok’s declaration. However, one look at Yoongi’s narrowed eyes makes him clap his hand over his mouth. 

“Excuse me?” 

“He can change his hair color. And his eyes! See, look. Show him, Jungkookie.” 

Jungkookie? In the time it took Yoongi to shower, they’d gotten on nickname-level? 

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Yoongi forgets about his previous threat to kick Jungkook out. Instead, he sits at the table, lets the mug warm his hands, and tries to tell himself that the wave of heat burning down his body is from the coffee and not the intensity of Jungkook’s stare. 

A stare that glows brighter the longer Yoongi looks at him until he watches the turquoise rings turn a deep pink. When Yoongi finally pulls his gaze from his eyes, he sees that Jungkook’s hair compliments his new eyes. 

“What in the actual fuck?” 

“I can change other parts of my body, too!” Jungkook beams. He shakes his head, and his hair returns to its original black. His eyes’ turquoise rings replace the pink. “It takes a lot of energy to change big things, like my facial structure. Hair and eyes are the easiest. I made myself taller when I first got to Earth, though. I like being tall.” 

Yoongi slumps in his seat. If Hoseok wasn’t here witnessing this, he would assume that the weed Seokjin gave him was fucking with him harder than he could have imagined. But Hoseok is entirely sober and untainted by Cosmic Collision. 

That means only one thing. 

This shit is real. Whatever the fuck this is.

“Where were you before you came to Earth?” Hoseok is too willing to go along with this. But, on the other hand, Yoongi feels like everyone is playing a game he doesn’t know the rules to. 

Jungkook’s nervous lip-biting returns, but he seems to push through his feelings. “Our planet is called Zephipra.” He shoots a quick look at Yoongi. “It is further into the universe than you humans have visited. Your scientists do not know about us.” 

“So you’re an alien?” It comes out like a challenge without Yoongi meaning for it to. He feels a tiny bit bad when Jungkook deflates, closing in on himself as he draws his shoulders inward. 

“We don’t like that term.” 

Hoseok reaches an arm across the table. He flips his palm upward as though offering it to Jungkook to hold. 

“What is a better term for you?” he asks softly, and Yoongi envies his roommate’s ability to be unconditionally kind. 

It takes a few minutes of silence before Jungkook hesitantly squeezes Hoseok’s hand. 

“I suppose extraterrestrial, but my people are called Zephi. That is also the language we speak.”

The gulp of coffee Yoongi takes is scalding. He should have waited for it to cool, knows this means his tastebuds and throat are burnt to shit and nothing will taste good for days. But he needs something to do as Jungkook rambles on about the history of aliens like this is all real.  

Hoseok hums along, asking a few follow-up questions when something Jungkook says confuses him. Yoongi finds it all confusing, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“So,” Hoseok claps his hands together and startles Yoongi out of his thoughts. “You said you’re stuck here until some kind of space phenomenon happens?” 

Jungkook nods. 

“And there’s absolutely no other way to get home?” 

Another nod.

“Hmm…” 

Yoongi accidentally catches Jungkook’s eyes once again. He knows his cheeks burn, but he doesn’t understand why. The heat only dissipates once Jungkook averts his gaze. 

“How long does it take, usually?” 

Jungkook draws the coffee Hoseok fixed for him closer. He peers down at the dark liquid and gives the light steam radiating off the surface a few sniffs. Yoongi doesn’t want to find how he scrunches his nose adorable, but he can’t stop the thoughts once they start. 

“Hmm, usually a few weeks.” He looks at Yoongi again, and Yoongi really wishes he’d stop doing that. “Sometimes a month or two, right?” 

Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up into his bangs. “How would I know?” 

“Well, how often do you purchase marijuana from Elder Seokjin?” When Yoongi doesn’t respond, Jungkook sighs. It’s the first time he looks genuinely upset. “I have never been here alone.” 

By the time what Jungkook has said clicks in Yoongi’s head, he and Hoseok have migrated back to the living room. Yoongi scrambles after them as he pulls up Discord on his phone. No new messages from WWHandsome#7451. 

Scrolling through their history, he finds that there is a pattern to how often Yoongi buys from him. Once he sorts through stoner memes and news articles about the legalization of marijuana at the federal level, he can see that each conversation about picking up a new order occurs around every four to five weeks. Yoongi rarely initiates the conversation; he doesn’t have to. Seokjin will let him know he has a new supply, and Yoongi suddenly realizes that, yeah, he’s almost out. He mentally joked with himself about how astute Seokjin is, that he must have some sort of supernatural sense to know when Yoongi is running low. 

Now Yoongi wonders if there’s more to it than that.  

“Are you not supposed to be here on your own?” Hoseok drapes a blanket around Jungkook’s shoulders and tucks him into the corner of the couch where the cushions are the comfiest. With Jungkook taken care of, he flops onto the couch beside him, leaving Yoongi room on the opposite end. 

Although Yoongi considers himself to be a pretty reliable guy, Hoseok’s ability to take control of an emotionally-charged situation is Yoongi’s saving grace. Unfortunately, he’s not the best when it comes to emotional shit.  

Jungkook tugs at his earrings once again. His other hand curls into a fist he repeatedly hits on the top of his thigh. It’s not hard or aggressive, but it’s distracting. 

“No. I am an… intern? I believe that is the correct term. Only researchers are allowed on Earth alone. Interns must stay with their research mentor. Mine is Elder Seokjin.”

Hoseok lets out an understanding hum. He peeks at Yoongi out of the corner of his eye, but Yoongi doesn’t think he gives Hoseok much to go off of. Yoongi still has no idea what to think about all this; his brain won’t let him. 

The three men are silent for what feels like forever. The air is full of tension, although Yoongi wonders if he’s the only one who notices it. Jungkook simply looks worried, his fist still thumping against his thigh and his fingers playing with his earrings. Hosoek is almost completely relaxed. Yoongi knows his roommate well enough to tell from how his shoulders sag, and that he’s reaching for the pre-rolls and lighter resting on the coffee table. 

“Is this the 93 Boyz?” 

Yoongi shakes his head, amazed that his friend can casually light up a joint as if this is just a normal day. “Chem Valley Kush.” 

“Nice,” Hoseok speaks out of the corner of his mouth before inhaling as he brings the lighter to the tip of the joint. 

Jungkook makes a small noise, perhaps a cough, when Hoseok exhales. His cute little nose wrinkles up, and Yoongi remembers that he doesn’t like the smell of weed. 

“Want some, kiddo?” Hoseok hands the joint to Jungkook, who hesitantly pinches it between his fingers like a snake ready to lunge at him. 

With furrowed eyebrows, he brings the joint to his lips and sucks in the smoke. Yoongi averts his eyes when Jungkook looks up at him through his lashes, cheeks pink and hollowed. There’s something about the guy that makes Yoongi’s skin crawl. 

Despite his dislike of the smell of weed, Jungkook takes a few hits of the joint like a champ, only coughing once, and even then, the sound was dainty and soft. 

Yoongi accepts the joint from Hoseok when Jungkook passes it over. He tries not to think about how Jungkook’s lips had just wrapped around the end of the joint, the same place Yoongi is about to put his lips. He keeps the hit quick and deep, passing it on to Hoseok before he’s barely inhaled fresh air to push the smoke further into his lungs. 

Only after Hoseok starts the second round of the rotation does he say, “Well, you’ll just have to stay here until the collision or whatever happens.” 

Yoongi’s heart drops into the pit of his stomach while a blinding smile blooms across Jungkook’s face. “Whoa, wait a second. Why can’t he go back to their house?” 

“We can’t leave him alone!” Hoseok chastizes him as though this is the most obvious solution to their dilemma. 

“Hoba, where is he going to sleep?” 

“Your room.” 

Yoongi scoffs. If it’s Hoseok’s bright idea, it should be him giving up his bedroom. “Then where am I sleeping?” 

“The couch.” Hoseok shrugs and passes the joint to a still-hesitant Jungkook. “Or with him, if you’re gonna be a little bitch about the couch. Do you care, Jungkookie?” 

Jungkook inhales too deeply and sputters a rough “No, of course not” in between coughs that sound painful. 

There’s no way in fuck Yoongi’s going to sleep in the same bed as an alien. “Do ali- I mean, Zephi, even need to sleep?” 

Smoke rushes out of Jungkook’s nostrils. The rigid set of his jaw makes him look older and more angular. The masculine aggression of it makes Yoongi’s stomach twist - which he ignores. 

“Yes,” Jungkook hisses. “We are not freaks.”

“No one said you were, kiddo.” Hoseok lightly flicks Jungkook under the chin before shoving the joint in Yoongi’s face with a grimace. “You, behave.” 

With that, Hoseok rises from the couch. He places his hands on his hips and looks between the two men. Yoongi hates when he gets like this, calculating. Usually, whatever that over-imaginative brain cooks up is never good for Yoongi. 

“Is there anything at your house you need while you stay with us?” Hoseok asks with his head tilted to the side as he examines Jungkook. 

The alien - Zephi - chews on his bottom lip. His cheeks are still pink, as are his eyes. Except this time, it’s from being high rather than being some supernatural oddity. 

“They took all my things when they returned home,” Jungkook admits after a long pause. He stares at his hands in his lap, lacing and unlacing his fingers to the point that Yoongi wants to grab his wrists and force them to his sides. “I don’t require much, though. I do not want to be a bother.” 

At that, he steals a shy glance at Yoongi. Yoongi feels heat spread over his cheeks, so he opts to look at Hoseok instead. Which is a mistake because his roommate is glowering at him. 

“Jungkookie, no matter how much of a dick Yoongi is, I promise you are not a bother,” he speaks to Jungkook but keeps his eyes on Yoongi. 

“I’mnotadick,” Yoongi grumbles. He folds his arms against his chest and stares at his reflection in the TV. It’s not a clear reflection, but it’s enough to tell that his hair is, rather unfortunately, sticking straight up on his head. 

“Anyway, I’ll let you borrow some of my clothes. I tend to wear them baggy, so they should fit you fine. I have to go to work soon - I’m a hairstylist. Fucked up, working on the weekends, right? Ahh, but anyway, you can stay with Yoongi.” 

Jungkook merely nods with bright, round eyes gazing up at Hoseok as though the man is divulging his most remarkable secrets. 

“And if he’s mean to you, you can, I don’t know, shoot him with lasers out of your eyes or whatever scary things you’re capable of.”

“Oh, I would never do that,” Jungkook quickly disagrees, turning those beautiful eyes to Yoongi. 

“You can do that?” 

“Yes, but I promise I wouldn’t do that to you. I promise.”

Yoongi throws his head back against the couch and groans. His body starts to slip down the cushions, but he does nothing to stop himself from falling onto the floor. 

“You cannot leave me with him, Hoba.” 

“Oh, hush.” Hoseok swats the back of Yoongi’s head as he makes his way to his bedroom to get ready. “You’ll be besties in no time.” 

all rights reserved © gimmethatagustd on tumblr & AO3

do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work

#yoongi x jungkook #jungkook x yoongi #yoonkook au #min yoongi #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #bts fluff #bts smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #cosmic collision #jai writes #gimmethatagustd

[wackulart]

May I get some jealous Belos x male reader a silly man is starving for some kicking his feet and twirling his hair

shaking ur hand, my good man

for this ur a scout in the emperor's coven but have been dating belos for a while at this point

Jealous!Belos x Male!Reader

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

At first you could chalk it up to the Emperor simply doing his job. When he adjusted your schedule around his hours and you happened to catch him more often in the halls, it was a nice coincidence. Even when he asked you to join him for lunch rather than going to the cafeteria with the other scouts, you could tell he was doing it so you two could spend more time together.

Then you began to feel something off when he started waiting for you after missions, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, leading you beside him. He even made a show of bringing you gifts during your shifts, which consisted of large bouquets of flowers to expensive decorations for your staff. It wasn't that the attention bothered you or anything, it was just that he wasn't usually so openly affectionate. He preferred to kiss you only when you two were alone, hold you in your shared bed, listening to your heartbeat against his ear as he fell asleep. Belos had always been a rather secluded person when it came to your relationship.

You had finally been able to put together what was going on with him when you were walking down the halls of the palace to meet with him in his throne room. He had called you personally which most likely meant he was in need of some company after a long day of meetings. On the way there you ran into one of the other coven scouts, a rather good friend of yours. Unintentionally, you struck up conversation and got distracted discussing some of the insane things that had occurred on your last mission. It was already too late before you realized you had been talking for ten minutes straight and the sound of someone clearing their throat had come from beside you two. The both of you turn to see Emperor Belos, arms hidden underneath his cloak as he looks down with the blank yet intimidating expression of his golden mask. The other scout jumped and whispered to you. “See you later, man.” Before they bowed in a panic and shuffled off quickly. Belos kept his eye on them as they left only to look back and to you as you stared back with a tilted head. “Couldn’t wait to see me?” You teased, knowing Belos didn’t tend to come check on delays himself. He folded his arms and you could hear him huff underneath his mask. “I certainly hope I wasn’t interrupting your important conversation.” Despite how frustrated he sounded, he still held out his hand for you to take.

You snickered and took his hand, walking along side him. “Can you honestly say that you called me for something detrimental and not just to cuddle on your throne?”

There was a long pause before he let out another grumble, embarrassed that you had seen through him. No one knew him better than you did which made it near impossible to hide things from you.

Not that he usually would.

“Perhaps you might enjoy that scout’s company. Seems like you two have been getting along rather well lately.” He muttered as he pushed open the door to the throne room and let go of your hand, only to place down his mask on a nearby desk.

You locked the door and stopped for a moment.

“Belos, are you jealous?” You asked as you placed your own mask on your hip, attaching it to your belt.

He turned back to you quickly, his face flushed as he found himself unable to look you in the eye. Belos immediately looked away from you, now rushing to his throne as he let out a stuttered response. “That’s p-preposterous!”

The second he sat down on his throne and saw the look on your face, he only grew more embarrassed. He turned from you, leaning his head on his hand and staring at one of the walls like a guilty dog. You melted at the sight and ran up to meet him at his throne. You stood above him and took his face in your hands, even then he tried to focus anywhere but your eyes. Who knew the Emperor of the Boiling Isles, the most powerful and feared wish could get jealous? You leaned in closer to his face, the second your foreheads touched was when he finally made eye contact with you.

“Belos.” You sang. “Were you getting jealous over little ol’ me?”

He pouted as his hands went to hold onto your hips, his fingers fidgeting with the sides of your uniform. “And how could I not?”

“Perhaps it would be best to be more official about this relationship. The world should know you’re mine.” Belos added.

Your eyes softened as you sat into his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck. “We can do that if you want, but you know you don’t have to worry about me.”

You took a strand of his hair in between your fingers and twirled it. “You know I love you.”

He couldn’t fight the gentle smile on his face as you kissed his nose and he let out a chuckle. “And I you, my dear.”

#oh man my first writing post #me: coming back to edit this post 237213 times #i never usually get to write belos so soft #belos x reader #philip wittebane x reader #emperor belos x reader #toh x reader #the owl house x reader #the owl house writing #philip wittebane #emperor belos #belos #anon ask #anon request #toh belos #toh emperor belos #toh philip wittebane #the owl house belos #the owl house emperor belos #the owl house philip #the owl house philip wittebane #writing #my writing

[jeonqkooks]

might as well | kth

Taehyung makes sure the two of you two live up to your tardy reputation.

pairing: taehyung x reader

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff if you squint, smut (pwp), just a lil quickie, protected sex, big dicc!tae, dirty talk

word count: 1.4k

note: this has been sitting in my drafts for over a month now. i said i’d post it like 4 weeks ago and i just.. didn’t lol. again, not very edited sooo if you see any mistakes, you absolutely did not!

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

You’re adding the final touches to your makeup and finishing it off with a setting spray when two strong arms wrap around you from behind in a warm embrace.

“Hi,” you greet your boyfriend, turning your head to the side to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Hi, baby,” he says as he examines the material of your dress between his fingers. 

When he pulls you closer and holds your body flushed against his, you feel his intention before he voices it.

“Taehyung, no,” you chastise him like a puppy. “We promised we’d be on time for once!”

“Come on, baby,” he pouts adorably, however what his hips are doing is anything but innocent. He’s rutting his erection against your ass, breath hitching with every shallow thrust like he’s a horny teenager again though you’re not sure if he ever really grew out of that phase.

He doesn’t wait for you to respond before he’s slipping a hand under your dress to cup you through your lace panties. “Tae!” you gasp and instinctively grind down on his hand. This is how you know it’s a losing battle. He does this every time and it always works on you.

When he feels your panties start to dampen, he smirks as he rubs your clothed clit. “I’m hard and you’re wet,” he states, kissing your neck to further persuade you. “We might as well just fuck, y’know?”

“Tae…” you sigh, your resolve hanging by a thread with every stroke of his fingers. The more you grind against his hand, the more your ass unintentionally brushes his dick. “He’s gonna be mad,” you whine in vain.

“Let him,” he shrugs indifferently. He turns your body around to face him and presses a peck to your lips with a sweet smile. “I’ll be quick, I promise. Fifteen minutes, hmm?”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. It’s never fifteen minutes; he’ll just want to fuck you longer once he’s inside and you’ll be too lost in pleasure to protest.

“Fine. But seriously, be quick.”

Taehyung practically drags you to the bed and pushes you down before he fumbles with his belt for a minute. As you wait for him to step out of his slacks and pull his cock out of his boxers, you quickly slide your panties down your legs and lie back, ready for him whenever he is.

When his fingers slide under the dress again and come into contact with your bare and slickening pussy, he lets out a stupidly attractive groan that sends a rush of arousal straight through your body.

You stop him when his fingers start to circle your entrance, ready to stretch you out. “It’s okay. Just fuck me.”

“You sure?” he asks.

You give him a hum of confirmation and bunch the skirt around your waist, revealing your cunt to him and grinding against his bare cock. The feeling of your wet folds makes Taehyung groan in anticipation while he fumbles with his wallet in search of a condom. When he finally pulls one out, he throws the wallet to the ground carelessly, all of his focus directed at tearing into the tinfoil and wrapping the rubber around his member.

Fuck, you’re a sight to see—laid underneath him all flushed and needy, legs spread widely to give him the best view of your glistening pussy. How he wishes he could just ditch this dinner and have his way with you till you can’t walk anymore, but Seokjin will most likely have his head if he doesn’t show up to the one event that the older man has been planning for weeks.

“I’m gonna take my time with you later, sweetheart,” Taehyung grunts as he gives himself a few experimental pumps. “Right now, I just need to feel you cream on my cock.”

His tip teases your entrance before he pushes in, making both of your breaths hitch as you finally connect. He doesn’t stop until he’s fully sheathed inside your velvet walls, but he doesn’t move just yet to let you adjust to his size. “Ah, Tae…” you whimper as his cock stretches your pussy a little uncomfortably.

“I know, baby,” he kisses your neck and squeezes your hips apologetically, though it’s not really his fault that he was blessed with such a generous package. You gasp when he rubs your clit to help you relax and open up more. Soon, your natural slick starts to ooze from your widening hole, coating his condom-clad member and his fingers that are still stimulating your bundle of nerves. 

“Ah…” you mewl, beginning to grow needy, “fuck me, Tae.”

Immediately pulling his hips back, you both moan when he pushes forward again, gliding his hard cock along your wet walls. Taehyung repeats the movements over, and over, and over again, until your mouth is hanging open with incoherent cries as you feel your climax approaching.

When he leans down for a kiss, you put a hand on his chest to stop him. “No,” you breathe, “you’ll ruin my makeup.”

He rolls his eyes half-heartedly before ducking down to press soft kisses to the skin of your neck. He doesn’t dare suck hickeys into your delicate canvas, knowing you’ll scold him later if you have to scramble to cover up the marks. 

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he coos, shifting his hips slightly to fuck you harder. “This pretty pussy is made for my cock, yeah?”

“Only for you,” you moan brokenly, body shifting up the bed slightly whenever he thrusts into you. The sounds of his balls slapping against your ass echo around the room and make you even wetter than you already are. “Ah fuck, Tae!” a particularly sharp thrust has you crying out and clutching his shoulders. “Faster, please… I wanna cum on your cock so bad… You always fuck me so good, baby.”

“Fuck,” he grunts, a hand landing on your chest to paw at one of your tits through your clothes. Your sweet moans in his ears, your supple breast in his palm, your tight cunt sucking him in whenever he pulls back. “Are you almost there?” his voice is strained as he tries to keep his orgasm at bay.

Ironically, his phone suddenly buzzes to life somewhere across the room, maybe on your vanity table, with a call from whom he’s sure must be Seokjin. The sounds of the device vibrating harshly against the wood startle you, your pussy clamping down unexpectedly hard on his cock and it almost makes him cum in the process. 

“Almost,” you mumble weakly, trying to focus on your impending release and ignoring the annoying buzzing, which thankfully ceases after a moment. “So close…”

Taehyung picks up the pace to help you get there, fucking you faster and rougher than before, the base of his cock rubs against your clit with every thrust. “Come on, come on,” he chants quietly, “wanna feel you cum for me.”

Your body obliges, your walls contracting around him as you come apart from the pleasure. “T–Taehyung…” when his name keeps falling from your lips while he fucks you through your high, he can’t help but let his body succumb too.

“Ah, fuck!” His warm seed fills the condom and you wish that he was shooting his cum into you instead. Your pussy squeezes his cock to help him prolong his orgasm and milk him of everything. “Fuck, sweetheart, I love you…”

“Love you too,” you whisper and pull him down for a peck, still careful to not ruin your makeup. He stays inside of you for a few more moments, grinning lazily above you and only pulling out when his dick starts to soften and his cum starts to spill from the condom.

As Taehyung gets up to throw the used rubber in the trash, you just lay there, legs still spread and pussy still glistening with your release, too tired to move. 

“Why do you always get horny whenever we have to go out?” you ask accusingly.

“It’s not my fault!” he raises his hands in mock defense, returning to your side and wiping at your messy pussy with a wet towel. “You only wear dresses when we attend something and y’know, it gets me going.”

(When you show up at Seokjin’s apartment forty five minutes after the agreed upon time, he only gives you two a look and shakes his head. “I’m disappointed, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”)

— all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means.

#btsgoldnet #btswritingcafe #btshoneyhive #bangtaninn #52hertz #clubzerooclock #btscarnivalnet #taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #taehyung smut #bts fic #bts fluff #bts smut #bts x reader #bts scenarios #kim taehyung #might as well

[library-of-ohara]

anon asked: Hello, may I please request a filthy af, dirty as u can get this, zoro x reader with fem body where they do it in public? It doesn’t have to be but just an example is like maybe their all eating dinner while zoro fingers reader under the table while all the Strawhats are there unaware or vice versa and reader gets him off under the table. It can be modern AU or canon. Just two specifics dirtier then hell and public. Thank you 🖤💚

➪ a/n: oh dear I read doing it in public and absolutely ran with the idea, may or may not have gotten out of hand bc this ended up being absolutely filthy. am I somewhat ashamed? definitely! :,D so take this with what you will, hopefully someone will enjoy where my dirty mind sometimes goes lol - maxx (@sugxrslushy)

➪ details: NSFW//Zoro x afab!reader//w.c: 1.7k //warnings: NSFW MINORS DNI, afab!reader (pussy/cunt used), BORDERS ON DUBCON AT FIRST (there's hesitation by the reader but ultimately consent is given), exhibitionism, fingering, degradation ("whore" + "slut"), alcohol, panties, pussyjob, creampie, technically being caught

Wild flames flickered in front of your face, the bonfire emitting its warmth on all of those sitting close, lighting up their faces in its orangish glow and dancing slowly. Your face was already a fire on its own, the heat from your blush burning against the skin of your hand pressed to your face. You gnaw at your finger as you survey the faces of your crewmates.

A sloppy kiss is pressed to your neck, Zoro had become rather handsy after his last drink. He’d wracked up a new record this night it almost seemed, the liquor finally getting to him and washing away any previous inhibitions he held. Each touch grew dangerously closer to places you wouldn’t be caught dead letting him touch in public. But you were turning to mush underneath desperate kisses and his heavy breaths in your ear.

“Get a fucking room,” The cook hisses as he collects the empty glass bottle strewn at your feet. Your heart jumps in your chest, head snapping up to look around if Sanji had brought anyone with him. The hand scaling your rib cage only lowers by an inch, Zoro resting his chin on your shoulder to catch the irritated glance of Sanji. 

“Shut it love cook, not like you wouldn’t be doing the same if a girl actually liked you. Too bad all your stupid pervy fantasies only live in your head.” He may have been borderline drunk but his tongue was still sharp as a blade, his irritation towards the cook never dying down. “M’ not even doing anything.”

Sanji sputters in annoyance, a retort dying on his lips when Nami calls him over to refill her drink accompanied by Luffy’s starving cries for more food. He spares you both one last glance then leaves, leaving you in the arms of Zoro who was hungry for something entirely different.

The blanket sprawled across your lap is light, used for nothing more than a little cover on chillier nights. It feels entirely too revealing, too light and see through as Zoro hooks his fingers in the belt loops of your pants and works them down your legs. Your eyes widen in terror when the pants slip past your ass, the sound of your friends around your entirely too loud in your ears. 

“What are you doing?” You hiss, trying to seem inconspicuous as you chew him out under your breath. “You said you weren’t even doing anything.”

“I did, and I was.” Holding your breath, you can feel his fingers ghosting against the now bare skin of your thighs, drifting further up as if on a mission. “But I’m curious…” The bitter smell of alcohol is heavy in his breath, hot against your ear and making you shiver. His fingers running along your skin feel like bugs skittering across your skin, you sit in his lap tensed and resisting the urge to swat them away, your curiosity taking over concern.

His heavy palm cupping your warmth, the feeling of your satin lingerie panties is soft against his hand. You can feel the manic smile against your shoulder. “Why’d you dress like such a fucking slut if you didn’t want me to fuck you?”

Your heart skips a beat and you fight the urge to rub your thighs together, the sharp bite in his tone setting your skin aflame. Was it wrong to be getting excited over this, with the lingering eyes of others passing over you and the way Zoro gripped you so harshly, so meanly. The idea of being fucked right now was enticing, but another shout of your friends singing to the song reminded you that now may not be the best time.

Relaxing against his chest, you face him with eyes wide and full of faux innocence, enough to fool an idiot or possibly a half drunk one. “We’re not doing this here, right?” Zoro doesn’t spare you an answer, the glow of the flame barely lights up his face but you catch his silvery eye scanning the crewmates seated dangerously close to you both. “Right?” You ask again, voice cracking with a genuine unsureness.

The tearing sound of your panties is impossibly loud to you, reverberating in your ears as if it was the sound of your now arrived doom. No one else seemed to hear it. Brooks' singing and guitar was loud enough to be heard from miles away but all you could hear was your own thundering heartbeat in your ears as your anxiety picked up.

“We aren’t doing this here.” You make a pathetic grab for his hand diving down between your legs. All you can muster up is a panicked look, unsure of what to do. A sick part of you was excited, becoming utterly turned on at the thought.

“Oh, we aren’t?” Zoro’s tone is mocking. He doesn’t make a move, testing your boundaries without words and finding yourself giving in, slipping and falling into his trap as you loosen your grip on his hand in a lust driven curiosity. “That’s what I fucking thought.” Gliding his digits through soaked folds, your cheeks are stained dark with the embarrassment of what he’s doing. You couldn’t tell what was worse, him feeling you up in front of all your friends or the fact you were dripping wet over it.

A finger breaches your entrance harshly, just one big enough to sate some of your desire as your thighs shiver and you bite your tongue to cut off a moan. There’s no mercy as he starts thrusting his finger in and out of you without giving you a moment to recover or breathe. The filthy squelching sound quickly becomes all you can hear, blocking out the sounds of anything else.

“Y/n, Zoro. Is everything alright over there?” You swore you felt the drop of your heart into the pit of your stomach. Robin is seated merely a few feet from the two of you, a clear concern written on her face. “It seemed to me you both were arguing.”

Your veins run with anxiety and Zoro plays a drunk fool, giving her nothing but a meaningless grunt in response. His finger is still buried to the knuckle and he’s working another in, fully aware of just what he’s doing. Your mind is crying out with panic, the wet feeling between your thighs and gooey pleasure becoming all you could think about.

“Y-yeah, we’re fine-” You manage to bite out, back to chewing on your lip to try to keep any other voices from spilling out. “Just too much to drink I guess- ah!” You’re shouting every imaginable curse inside your head while Zoro slides his two fingers impossibly deep inside of you, your own wetness spilling out onto his lap. 

Robin’s eyebrows knit together in concern but Zoro is still, thankfully, playing dumb. “S-sorry. Luffy was doing something d-dumb and I panicked.” Sticking the blame on the reckless captain, Robin seems to relax almost instantaneously. She tips her head and walks away talking about leaving water for you two in the morning, but her words are drowned out by the erratic thrusting of Zoro’s digits inside you.

It’s humiliating how turned on you are, mewling softly and bucking your hips against his hand to bury him deeper inside you as he smears your juices over your lips. Zoro doesn’t miss it at all. “What a whore, getting all wet cause we almost got caught. Does that turn ya on, having people watching you get your pussy stuffed full? You like it don’t you?”

You shake your head, a blatant lie you were clinging onto like it would get you anywhere. You would clench around him so tightly even when someone’s eye merely passed over the two of you, it was a damn wonder you didn’t come right there when Robin came over.

“Fucking liar.” He spits aggressively and tears his fingers out from inside of you, leaving you empty and whining to be filled again. Fumbling under the blanket, he carefully turns you to your side and leans against your back, spooning you. “I should make you fuck yourself on me just for saying that, show everyone what a slut you really are. And you’d like it, probably would come so fast all over my cock.” His voice is low, bordering on dangerous.

His throbbing cock smacks against his ass, you hadn’t even noticed him taking off his pants, much less his underwear. You can’t get a word in nor a question, as quick as his cock had been taken out it’s guided between your thigh. Your hopes rise when the cockhead nudges your slick pussy, then drops when there’s no press against your entrance. He slips his cock between your dripping folds, nestled between your pussy lips and merely nudging your clit.

Drawing his hips back, he spares the deck full of your crewmates one final glance then thrusts in. Your entangle your fingers in the blankets, holding on for dear life as Zoro fucks you with quick but shallow thrusts, his cock slipping through your wetness and hitting your clit. Juices smear against your legs, making them sticky and wet but he doesn’t give a damn about the mess, only chasing his own high.

Sparks explode across your skin with every nudge of your clit, your own knot in your stomach becoming tighter much like his. The clap of his hips against your ass is muted from the blanket but you can’t help but feel the rush of it possibly being heard, of your crewmates sneaking glances at the two of you getting off against each other right in front of them. The fire has died down, the edges of the light just manages to reach you both.

Zoro’s balls draw tight, his orgasm unfurling at the seams and with a final thrust he presses the head of his cock inside of your entrance, milky white seed dripping out around his cock slick with your juices. You barely manage to hold in a sob when his fingers move to your clit, rubbing harsh circles till you come undone in a wet mess. The blanket covering you both is dirtied, becoming a reminder of what you had just done.

Zoro presses kisses to your shoulder, rubbing a large palm over your shaking thighs in an attempt to bring you down from your ogasm. To your surprise, no one had noticed. The party was still going strong and the sounds of singing have only become louder, most definitely drowning the two of you out.

Relief floods your veins and you relax against Zoro’s touch, allowing your eyelids to grow heavy till you hear the flick of a lighter from the upper deck, right above the two of you.

#roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #one piece fic #one piece x reader #n/sfw #maxx writes #zoro x you #roronoa zoro smut #one piece #one piece x reader insert

[karahalloway]

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: I've Been Waiting for You Comic

I may not have been writing for the past month of so, but I've been busy with requesting commissions! 😆

I've been wanting to get this scene from Chapter 2 of (Less Than) Noble Intentions done for over a year, and after seeing the amazing work that @rosefuckinggenius magiced up for some other authors here on Tumblr, I knew she'd be able to do this scene justice, and I couldn't be happier with the result! 😍

Artwork underneath the cut

Extract from Chapter 2: I've Been Waiting For You

With a possessive growl, he pulls me into him, his lips locking onto mine in a savage kiss.

My mouth opens in surprise, and he takes full advantage of the implied invitation with his tongue. A moan escapes me as my fingers tangle themselves into his hair while his hands rake down my back.

I lose myself in his kiss, a part of me wondering how we had managed to keep ourselves from ripping the clothes off each other every time we found ourselves alone after that first steamy kiss at the beach party...

...where he also told me that we couldn't do this...

Tearing my mouth away from him, I blurt, "But I thought you said—"

"Fuck what I said," he snarls. "I'm done pandering to him and everyone else."

Grabbing my backside with both hands, he lifts me up against him and my legs wrap instinctually around his waist. Trailing hot kisses down the side of my neck, he kicks his duffle into the room. Striding into the room after it, he slams the door shut behind us. Pushing me up against the wall, he loosens his hold on me and I slide down his hard body.

"Drake," I gasp as his hands fasten around the curve of my waist underneath my t-shirt. "Are you sure?"

His sudden fervour was in stark contrast to the past month where he had always been the one to pull back. But as much as I wanted him to not stop, I also didn't want him to brashly jump into something that he would later regret.

"Damn sure," he replies gruffly, his mocha eyes meeting mine with conviction. "I don't want to wait anymore... I can't wait anymore."

He seizes my mouth roughly, his fingers digging into my hips.

"Are you?" he asks, breaking off the kiss to look at me again. "Because if we do this, there's no going back..."

"I'm sure," I confirm with a smile, grabbing onto his belt to pull him closer. "I was done waiting weeks ago."

"Thank fuck for that..." he breathes, cupping my face in his hands and capturing my mouth again.

I sigh blissfully.

Finally — finally! — we could kiss each other in the way both of us had wanted to... no, needed to since that first kiss — thoroughly, deeply, uninhibitedly, instead of the desperate, hurriedly stolen moments that we've been having to make do with until now.

Without easing up his demands on my lips, Drake's hands skim down my neck. His palms brush over my breasts and I bite his bottom lip with a moan, the thin material of my t-shirt doing nothing to dampen the heat of his touch.

He makes a low sound in the back of his throat that sends heat licking through my core as he grabs the hem of my top and yanks it up.

I lift my arms up in anticipation of him pulling the t-shirt off completely, but instead, I feel him twist the material around my hands, binding them together in a vice. Immobilising my wrists against the wall with one hand, he uses the other to trail his fingers down my arm, over my neck and down the valley of my breasts to my stomach.

I try desperately to pull my wrists out of their restraints, itching to grab the lapels of his jacket, to tangle my fingers into his hair... anything to feel him under my hands, but his hold on me immovable.

Permatags

@twinkleallnight @lovingchoices14 @kingliam2019 @petiteboheme @angelasscribbles @aussiegurl1234 @nestledonthaveone @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @tessa-liam @alyshak92 @secretaryunpaid @princessleac1 @walkerdrakewalker @tinkie1973 @twinkle-320 @knaussal @nikkis1983 @lunaseasblog @ficloverevie @indiana-jr @differenttyphoonwerewolf @kristinamae093 @eversoaringqueen12 @peonierose @3pawandme @alexabeta @veebug8 @fangirling12566 @queenmiarys @lancelotsimp @coco-lina-s @lolablackwrites @ivyflowers13 @persephone13 @hollygirl1269 @adri-ja-96 @harleybeaumont @katedrakeohd @uneravine @alj4890 @drake-walker-appreciation @choicesficwriterscreations

#harper gale #drake walker #the royal romance #trr fanfic #less than noble intentions #comic

[lestatslestits]

You May Have My Precious Bones On My Return

Finishing @flashfictionfridayofficial with literally one minute to spare. I cannot overemphasize how un-proofread this is.

The prayer is taken from the Anglican Book of Prayer

Anyways.

After having Jocelyn Knight make up his will for him, Alec Hardy makes one more stop before going home.

Prompt:

By the time he reaches the vicarage he is so short of breath that he has to lean against the doorframe while he waits for his knock to be answered. Reverend Paul Coates is still hastily tying the belt on his robe when he opens the door. His hair is a nearly-blond cloud atop his head. He’s clearly been asleep.

To be fair, it’s two in the morning.

“Alec! What are you—bloody hell, you look wrecked.”

“Language,” Alec Hardy breathes the word out, unable to keep a hint of amusement from his voice. His knees start to give way underneath him and he feels his face tighten into an involuntary grimace. He’s dizzy, astoundingly so, but he hopes he’s got enough proprioception to keep from banging his head against the floor when he goes down.

Instead of hitting the ground, he’s caught in an ungainly manner by a pair of arms around his ribcage. This doesn’t make it easier to breathe.

“I’ve got you,” says a voice that sounds far too close. He feels the arms that are keeping him upright renegotiate their grip on him. Then he doesn’t feel anything.

*

He feels something cool against his left temple. When Alec forces his eyelids open, there’s a solemn and worried face peering down at him. Paul is sponging his face down with a damp cloth. “Are you with me again?”

“How long was I out?” Alec asks. He’s lying on a sofa inside of the vicarage. He makes an attempt to sit up but is forced back down with a hand on his shoulder.

“About three minutes. I’m going to ring for an ambulance.”

“No!” This tiny outburst is enough to leave him gasping for breath. He’s not making a strong argument for himself, he knows. “No ambulances. No hospital. I’m going in soon enough either way, but not tonight.”

“I think you ought to get checked over. Has this happened before?”

‘All the time’ is not an encouraging answer, so instead Alec says, “It’s chronic, yeah. Heart’s gone bad. Got an operation scheduled, got loose ends to tie up first.”

“Loose ends?” Paul is clearly unimpressed. Then he seems to process the intent behind those words and frowns. “You mean—“

“Will’s sorted. I’ve given evidence at the trial, said my piece. Couple more things to take care of, and then it won’t matter what happens.”

Paul looks like he wants to argue, but can’t think of anything to say. So instead he asks, “Does Ellie know?”

“I can’t tell her now. Not with the trial ongoing. She’ll worry, or worse: want to be there. She’s got enough on as it is.”

The reverend heaves an enormous sigh, but seems to understand that his hands are tied: he’ll have to hold this in strict confidence, whether he likes it or not. Alec thinks maybe it’s why he’s come all this way—the walk from Jocelyn’s house had felt like a death march, even with frequent stops in order to try to fill his lungs with enough air to keep up the pace. But Paul will feel obligated not to pass the information on, and he needs someone to know.

This probably isn’t what they mean by “confession.”

“Have you—um—“ the reverend trips over an inquiry that he has no tactful way to voice, “Have you come for absolution before…?”

He considers the question, unasked though it is. “Not really. With luck I’ll have absolved myself of my only regret by the time I go in. Suppose I just needed to say it all out loud. Jocelyn Knight’s done my will. She doesn’t know why. If something—well, just thought somebody ought to know.”

“Ellie ought to know.”

“She’ll find out afterwards. If not from me, then from someone.”

“Christ, you’re stubborn.”

“Are you allowed to say that?”

“I think the Almighty will make an exception when it comes to dealing with you,” Paul says. But he says it with the barest hint of a kind smile, then adds, “Listen, can I pray for you?”

Now it’s Alec’s turn to sigh. “Not sure I believe in it.”

“You don’t have to: I’m good at believing.”

“Alright then.” He watches as Paul bows his head and closes his eyes. He does not mirror the action, just studies the reverend with curiosity as he prays out loud, a supplication he’s clearly committed to memory.

“Almighty God, our heavenly Father, graciously comfort your servant Alec in his suffering, and bless the means used for his cure. Though at times he may be afraid, fill his heart with confidence that he may yet put his trust in you; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” Alec repeats without really meaning to. He bobs his head in silent gratitude as Paul looks up at him. “I should be on my way,” he says, and tries again to rise.

“Absolutely not. If you won’t let me call an ambulance, the least you can do is rest here until daylight. Then I’ll drive you back. I can’t let you wander off, it will keep me from sleeping. And as you know, I’ve already got insomnia.”

Alec agrees to these terms. Paul fetches him a blanket and a glass of water. He says to give a shout if he needs anything. Left alone in the dark and silence, the words of the reverend’s prayer ricochet in his brain and make him uneasy. When he can’t lie still any longer he gets up and paces the floor like a caged animal as minutes tick into hours.

*

When Reverend Paul Coates awakens several hours later, he finds that Alec Hardy has already slipped out of the vicarage and towards whatever awaits him in the coming days. He sighs, lifts another prayer up to Heaven, and prepares to begin his day.

#flashfictionfridayofficial #flash fiction friday #broadchurch #alec hardy #paul coates

[yeslieutenant]

Ok!!! I've always wanted to request this, but I never exactly knew who to ask. But you are the perfect person to write this one. My request is a breeding kink one. The reader and Jason are married, and they are trying for a baby, and Jason realizes that he has a kink for it while they are going at it, and then he just goes wild!!! 😍 (Maybe there can be some Daddy calling too... 👀)

Am I the one to go to for breeding kinks now? 😂😂 If so, I am so okay with this. I hope this is what you were looking for Kassie! I'm not great at writing from Jason's POV so I hope its okay that its from the readers POV.

A/N: I looked into the best ways to get pregnant, so some of the things in this story were brought over straight from the internet. Also a couple of joke-y things near the end. 😂

Warnings: Smut (p in v), daddy calling, breeding kink, a bit of cum play, language, bit of tease Jason until he loses his shit. (This may be the filthiest thing I have ever written 😅)

“Darlin’! I’m home!” His voice echos through the house and I rush over to the radio, turning it down to a more reasonable level.

“In the kitchen!” I call out in response, making my way back to the sizzling stovetop. The chicken smells much better than I thought it would at this point, and as I bend over to check on the potatoes in the oven I hear a whistle pierce the air around me. I stand up quickly, looking at the man blatantly staring at my ass.

“You know, they say catcalling is rude,” I mumble, turning back to dinner.

“It’s not catcalling if it’s my wife.” Jason says the word with a light chuckle and I feel his arms snake around my waist, dancing over my exposed thighs. Maybe wearing just his shirt and a pair of panties wasn’t the smartest choice. His rough fingertips trace over the lines of my panties under his shirt as his lips land on the crook of my neck and shoulder, laving it with kisses before his tongue darts out, tasting the skin there.

“Jase, I’m in the middle of making dinner,” I stutter out, my breath already hitching at his ministrations.

“How about you wait on that, and we make something else together?” His words are drawled out against my sensitive flesh, and a shiver runs down my spine. Jason notices this, smiling against my neck as his hands move inward, landing on that space between my thighs, finding my clit over my underwear. He works me over in slow, drawn out circles, and I lean forward, white-knuckling the handle of the oven. “You did promise me that I could start trying to put a baby in you today.”

I feel my knees wobble underneath me as Jason moves his hands away, gripping my hips and twisting to bring us face to face. He slides his palms under my thighs, lifting me effortlessly and walking us to the bedroom.

“I gotta turn the stove off, hon,” I mumble against his neck. Jason lets out a deep rumbling sigh before dramatically throwing me into our bed, my body bouncing with the motion. I watch as the marine tugs on the hem of his own shirt, tugging it over his head and exposing his toned abs and miles of creamy skin before turning and walking out the door. I sit there in confused silence for a minute before he appears as quickly as he disappeared.

“Stove is off. Anything else before I put a baby in you?” He asks, already toying with his belt. I shyly shake my head no. “Good.” His belt is open in seconds, along with the button and zipper on his jeans, exposing a flash of his tight boxers and accompanying bulge. Jason leans down, his arm resting on the duvet next to my head, his soft pink lips just barely grazing mine. I surge forward, trying to capture his mouth, only to have him back up, a shit eating grin plastered to his face, his dimples prominent.

“Jase,” I whine, but this only serves to make him chuckle.

“So needy for me, doll,” He says lowly, his accent thick with his teasing tone. The rough pads of his fingertips graze my thighs again before I feel his oversized shirt lift off my chest. I sit up, allowing the fabric to slide over my head, hiding my husband from my view for a brief moment. The shirt quickly joins the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

“Jason, please,” the words leave my lips unbiden, giving away how desperately I craved his touch. It was almost impossible for me to focus all day after our conversation last night. The one where we decided we were ready to have kids. All day, my mind was wandering to how it would feel being filled up by him,  how he would hold me, where he would kiss and touch. All. Day.

Jason slides his hands into my panties, no doubt feeling the wet heat pooling there.

“Damn baby, you really want this. Were you thinking about me pumpin’ you full? I debated comin’ home on my lunch break just to fuck you into the couch,” His lips are right next to my ear, and I clench around nothing as his fingers slide through my slick, another dangerous chuckle leaving his throat at my movements. “You had enough teasin’, doll?” I nod quickly, desperately, as my nails find purchase on his shoulders, no doubt leaving small crescent indents in the skin. His lips finally land on mine, and I part my lips immediately, his tongue snaking out to tangle deliciously with my own. I feel the fabric around my hips being pushed down, and I release the man’s back, my hands landing on the tops of his jeans and dragging them down as well. I try to get his boxers down too, but they are tight, and I let out a groan of frustration. Jason smiles, almost adoringly, standing to his full height before hooking his thumbs in the waistband and tugging. The black cotton falls down his legs as his erection springs up, all but hitting him in the stomach, and I feel my muscles contract, once again, around nothing.

Jason rests his arms next to my head, caging me between the soft bed and his deep woodsy scent. I gingerly bring my legs up, wrapping them around his hips. He senses my hesitation immediately, bringing his face close to mine.

“You sure you’re alright, baby?” His deep brown eyes are focused entirely on me, despite his cock resting patiently at my entrance. I nod. “Nope. I gotta hear it, doll.”

“Yeah, I’m ready,” I say, albeit quieter than I intended.

“Yes, what?” The smirk he is wearing is dangerous, and the harsh blush latches itself onto my cheeks in embarrassment.

“Yes, I’m ready, daddy,” the word spills from my lips as I watch the young lieutenant’s eyes blow wide, his eyebrows shooting up, practically into his hairline as growl rumbles in his chest. He drops his head, a groan falling from his lips. When his brown eyes land on me again, he chuckles.

“I was expecting you to say Lieutenant.”

“But if I get pregnant, won’t you be a dadd-” I begin to mumble, but I am interrupted as Jason presses in, his length sliding home in one stroke. A gasp breaks free from my throat, and I feel Jason shift, grabbing a pillow from the top of the bed. His tattood arm slides under my lower back, lifting me easily as he slides the pillow under it.

“If you want me to blow my load way too fast, you keep calling me that,” He  mutters in my ear before pulling slowly out, allowing me to feel every inch of him. He pauses, resting just his tip inside, his hands brushing a piece of hair from my face as he thrusts back in.

“Daddy,” the moan rips from my throat before I can stop it, and another groan leaves his lips. That’s when all hell breaks loose.

Jason leans up, resting his weight on his hands before snapping his hips forward, over and over. His name falls from my lips like a chant, his tip nudging my cervix on every re-entry. The gasps leaving my throat do nothing to bring in the air I need, and I find myself out of breath in moments as he practically forces the air out of my lungs on each thrust. My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging the soft dark strands. A groan surfaces from his chest and he leans back down, his face buried in my neck, his words mumbled and moaned to the point where it sounds like he could just be saying nonsense. His hips snap at an uncontrollable pace, and he quickly leans in.

“I’m gonna fill you up. Please, I need you to come for me, I can’t hold it, doll,” his voice is wrecked, begging and pleading for me to release around him, to squeeze him.

“Fill me up, daddy,” I moan, my voice rising in pitch, and I feel Jason tense above me, his tip hitting my cervix one final time before he comes. The groans and growls come out, his body losing strength as he comes down from the high. I run my hands through his hair, allowing him time to cool off and get his bearings before I hold his face between my hands, laving his face with kisses. He smiles sleepily as he pulls out, watching as some of his cum falls from my opening.

“You didn’t come,” Jason says, matter-of-factly.

“I don’t need to, hon. I’m fin-” His fingers run down my cunt, collecting the spilled semen before pressing his fingers back into my pussy, curling them to rub tenderly against my g-spot as his thumb circles over my clit. My back arches, a high pitched squeak leaving my throat at the motion, the flare of heat spreading from the tips of my toes all the way up, fogging my brain as his fingers continue to work magic over my body. He leans down, nibbling gently my pebbled nipple with his tongue until I clench tightly around his fingers and a breathless “daddy” leaves my lips, as if my brain only remembered him and him alone.

I come down from my high and notice Jason’s eyes still trained on me, a dope-y grin on his face, his smile contagious.

“Think it’ll take?” He asks, hopeful and bright.

“If not, we can always go again,” I say with a wink. His hands find the backs of my thighs, lifting them so the crease of my knees rests on his shoulders, my calves dangling behind his back lazily. I am practically upside down and I giggle. “Jase, what are you-”

I am rudely interrupted when Jason pulls away from the bed, his palms holding my thighs tightly, and I am completely upside down, my hair dangling below me as I let out a shriek. Jason laughs, a full bodied laugh that I can feel vibrate in his chest as I am pressed against his front.

“Gotta make sure it takes!” He says, his laughter making me laugh in response. He wiggles me gently, swaying me from side to side before lifting me up to drop me down an inch or two.

“Jason this is not going to help!” I all but yell, giggles breaking free between my words as he sways me before dropping me unceremoniously onto the bed. We are both breathless from laughing as he leans down, planting his lips on my own.

“I love you, and I can’t wait for our little family to grow, darlin’.”

Tags: @kawaiiwitch224 @yellowroseskolchek @house-of-kolchek @lorebite @buttermykolchek @katsufairies @kassiekolchek22

#jason kolchek smut #jason kolchek #house of ashes #jason kolchek x reader #jason kolchek fanfiction #house of ashes fanfic

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Hah, I forgot I wrote this. Trying to clean out my hard drive and found this tucked away. Enjoy. 😁

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

WC: 1603

Summary: Jules is 'suffering' the consequences of her misdeeds. And apparently being bored out of her mind while being forced to wait in café for her ride is one of the consequences. Good thing she's got someone she can easily annoy in the meantime.

“Why did you come to me, Hansel?” I asked, tipping my head slightly as I stared at him. He glanced up at me for a second then back down at his coffee, continuing to scribble.

“I was on assignment,” he answered. “I told you that.”

I shook my head, letting my fingers hover over the steam wafting into the air. “That’s not it, darling, and we both know it by now. Let’s not play games.”

With a sigh, he set his pen down, folded his hands, and looked back up at me over the rims of his glasses. “Alright. Let’s talk true. Why were you down in the Keeper archives?”

I blinked, only mildly taken off-guard. “I tore off the doors and descended to the file room. Only an idiot could think I wasn’t after information.”

“Call me an idiot then,” he said with a short smile. “You could have gotten that information someplace else, from someone else. You didn’t need to raid the Sanctuary for it...and you certainly didn’t need to announce your presence by starting a riot.”

A smile creased the side of my mouth. I wrapped a hand around the edge of the mug and leaned ever so slightly forward. “You know, I can’t tell if you’re very smart or very dumb.”

“Cheeky,” he answered. “Some people would call me cheeky.” He gave a short shrug. “Not now, of course, and not you. But others have called me that and worse.”

“I notice you still didn’t answer.” I gave him time to consider through a sip of the black bean-water humans love, his eyes rolling over words for a moment.

“Well,” he finally sighed, adjusting his glasses, “tit for tat. You don’t answer my questions and I won’t answer yours.” With that he flashed me a little smile and picked up his pen. The little scritch-scritch-scritch of the tip scarring ink into the paper filled the space in the same energy as a loudly-clicking clock, despite the hum of human activity buzzing around us.

I shifted slightly enough to get an eye on the iron shackle subtly wrapped around my ankle, a thin silver chain leading from the cuff to a copper loop around his belt. Hanging underneath the loop was a small signet depicting two golden scales inset into a copper circle; a sign of his station in life, apparently. As if the white robe-like jacket wasn’t enough of a tip-off, the signet was supposed to mark his ill-gotten authority over non-human lives, those who dubbed themselves “Keepers” as in ‘Keepers-of-the-law-we-made-up-to-separate-humans-and- non-humans-forever-and-ever-more’.

Of course, in this case ‘non-human’ basically was anything magical and/or non-terran...like me.

I let my finger carelessly and annoying tap on the edge of the warm mug as I looked around; the ‘cafe’ wasn’t much to look at, honestly, which may be why he picked this spot for us to take our little vacation. We had been holed up in a shack somewhere in Spain, just until the heat died down on a few of my little...misadventures. Turns out we didn’t need to hide for very long. Someone killed a very big name in a very short amount of time, and I had nothing to do with it. My Keeper-friend had decided to be all noble then, caught me with the iron cuff and told me he was turning me in.

To be honest, he had a terrible poker face. This was a farce, and so I leaned back to take in the scenery and wait for the other shoe to drop.

Humans milled around and barely noticed us. The air was dry but pleasant. The sun shone out the windows and the birds sung somewhere off in the distance. It was all very...muted. Domestic.

Boring.

This is taking too long, a voice whispered in my mind. Something is wrong.

Relax, mother, I tried to sooth her agitation despite my own wonderings. He wouldn’t turn on us after working hard to save us.

This isn’t right Jules, and you know it.

She wouldn’t stop fidgeting, the agitation echoing down my arm and into an increased tempo drumming out my fingertips. He glanced back up at my mug for a second, the pen-scratching hesitating as he cleared his throat.

“Oh dear,” I said as innocently as I could. “Is my agitation bothering you?”

“Mildly,” he said with a shrug, looking back up at me. “Is there anything in particular you’re allergic to?”

“Iron shackles, peanuts, and bad liars.”

He thought for a moment before returning to his paper, muttering about peanuts. “Alright, then. Do you have anything to say for yourself regarding your attack on the Keeper Sanctuary?”

“Plenty, darling, but I’m not going to say it to you.” I tapped the edge of his paper to indicate why.

“So...silence on the matter,” he muttered, glancing down and checking off a box. “Any relatives you care to mention?”

I flashed him a thin smile. “All dead,” I lied. “Some missing, several killed by over-enthusiastic rule-followers.”

This isn’t a game anymore, Jules, the voice whispered again. He’s taking notes to turn us in.

He wouldn’t do that, I insisted. Humans aren’t that complicated in nature.

Humans aren’t phae, she insisted back. And this one isn’t as stupid as you think.

My fingertips beat out a faster rhythm.

He glanced up, then around. Something shifted in the environment, very subtly and softly. I wasn’t quite sure what it was, but someone or something magical had just noticed us and was trying to make its way here.

The edge of the pen joined my irritated tapping as he turned back to me. “Final talks, then. Are you sick in any way that you know of?” I shook my head. He didn’t write it down. “No disease or illness you’re aware of?” Again, a shake of my head. The pen continued to tap. “What planet do you come from?”

I tipped my head. “Why?”

“Do you know?”

“I do,” I answered, cocking an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Another pulse of some magic, transportational I think. It rippled through reality like a snake through water, heading right for us. His pen tapped faster.

“Jules,” he said, eyebrows and mouth pressed downward into a serious expression, “why are you here on Earth?”

“I was trapped here,” I said, forcing myself into nonchalance. His agitation was matching my own, his pen replacing the rhythm of my fingertips on the tabletop. “Through decisions and forces that were not my own. I don’t want to be here anymore than anyone wants me to be here.”

He leaned forward, pen pressed flat between his hand and the table. “What if I told you that’s not the whole truth?” he said, lowering his voice. “What if I told you there’s a way in and out of this world?”

I laughed. He stayed serious, leaning in. I stopped.

Is he serious?

I can’t tell.

We sat there for a moment, staring at each other. Something magical landed nearby with a whomp, causing the table and all the glasses around to shake. The humans glanced around and towards the front windows, looking for the cause out in the street. The Keeper and I looked to the back of the cafe, where we knew the origin to be.

He glanced back at me, crumpling the paper in his hand and shoving it in his pocket as he stood. His other hand was held out to me. I gave him a look, shrugged, and allowed him to help me up. I preferred to not be dragged towards our destination by my boot.

We stayed in step with each other, arm in arm to disguise the chain linking us, my skirt brushing up against his jacket as we made our way down the short hall leading to the bathrooms. He hesitated for a moment, glancing at each before selecting the one with the biggest magical aura. He pushed the door open and started through, with me on his heels.

The mood changed in a flash. I stepped out of a small cafe somewhere between Spain and France with open windows and soft music to a blue-lit bar, glittering bottles of alien drinks, and a jazz band set up on a stage at the back of the wide lobby. I glanced back at the door we had come through only to watch it swing closed and disappear, a wood-paneled wall taking over the space.

I glanced at Hansel who kept his eyes forwards, shoulders relaxing a hair as he sort of slumped into the person I had come to know instead of the straight-laced Keeper. He waited a few beats of the jazzy music before turning back to me with a short crooked smile, reaffirming his elbow-on-elbow grip and leading me forwards.

This is Sting’s bar, mother whispered. Why are we in Sting’s bar?

Dear sweet mother-Raven, I thought back, life would be less fun if we knew absolutely everything.

You can say that freely, she thought back bitterly, as you are not mere consciousness trapped in someone else’s shell.

As you say. I turned my attention back to Hansel as he wove us around a collection of eclectic round tables, past the throng of enthusiastic dancers, down the side of the bar and into a small curtained-off area. Only once the music began to fade through the curtains and the padded walls did we stop, facing a dark-wood door embellished with gold and bronze trimmings. Hansel knocked once and the door opened.

I flashed a smile at our host and said simply, “hello again, friend of a friend.”

#my work #writeblr #Random drafts #hard drive cleanout #snippets #Jules #Hansel

[theycallme-thejackal]

“My problems are mine, I don’t want to be a burden on you.”

Pairing: Lenny Bruce & Midge Maisel Rated T Warnings: Mentions of Drug Use

"Okay, first things first," says Midge, brushing past him into his very blue room.

"Uh, hi?" He looks at her with a furrowed brow as she sheds her coat and drapes it over a chair.

"Hi," she replies quickly. "First things first. I stopped by Susie's office. I'm taking all gigs from now on - only a couple clubs are off the list because, well, fuck those guys."

He furrows his brow as she continues, "Susie and I are calling Tony Bennett's people in the morning. I'm going to apologize for having my head up my ass, and we're going to try to work something out even if it's not the Copa. I have it on very good authority that he's one of the nicest men in the world, so hopefully he'll be understanding of the situation."

She strides over to his bed, feeling underneath it. "Aha!" She pulls something out from under the bed that he quickly recognizes as her garter belt. "Unless you want to keep it," she says, "but I have much more scandalous lingerie I can leave in your various hotel rooms in the future if you're really that attached to my undergarments."

She tosses it onto the chair on top of her coat before heading into the bathroom. "Uh, Midge..."

She comes out a moment later with his toiletry bag. "This has to go. You're a father. And while it's perfectly fine for your daughter to live with her grandmother while you're on tour or whatever, you need to be there for her. And you can't if you're on...whatever this is."

"Midge - "

"I heard what you said the other night."

His brows lift as he looks at her. "What - "

"You thought I was asleep," she tells him, her voice softening. "And I played along because... that morning outside my apartment, you freaked out about seeing my life. You made it very clear you didn't want to talk about feelings or...anything personal really. So when you said it, I just..."

Lenny rubs his hand over his jaw. "Got it," he replies quietly.

"I don't know if it was just a post-sex haze or if you really meant it, but - "

"No, I meant it," he says quietly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

He realizes she's still holding the bag in her hands, and she starts to turn it in her hands. He doesn't think he's ever seen her fidget before. She looks up at him nervously. "I love you too, you know," she says quietly.

He reaches for her then, gently pulling the bag from her hands. "You don't know me well enough to love me," he murmurs.

"Lenny." Midge looks at him tearfully.

He shakes his head. "My problems are mine," he tells her. "I don't want to be a burden to you. You have...so much ahead of you, and I'm just - "

"Stop talking."

"I'm not - "

"Stop. Talking," she says more firmly. She wipes a tear from her cheek before straightening her back and tilting her chin up at him. "You don't get to tell me how I feel, Lenny. And I may not know your daughter's name or who your best friend is or your favorite comic, but I know you."

She reaches for him, wrapping delicate fingers around his forearm where he's rolled up the sleeves. "I know you make me laugh. I know you have this bad boy persona but you're actually a gentleman. I know your favorite color is blue and you like jazz music and you chose supporting my career over having sex with me tonight.

"I know that when I'm with you, the world slows down. I don't have to be on all the time. You're one of only two people in my life who doesn't expect me to be perfect - who doesn't want me to be perfect."

Lenny exhales through this nose. "You deserve someone who can take care of you, Midge."

"You take care of me. In the only ways that really matter. I don't need a loaded bank account or a huge apartment. All I need is someone who understands me and loves me." She lifts her hand to cup his jaw and then grins. "And who lets me joke about his penis on stage."

He laughs despite himself. "It is quite amusing."

"Oh, I know. I've already filled an entire notebook with jokes about Lenny Bruce's penis."

He smiles softly at her before remembering the bag in his hand. "Midge, this" - he lifts the bag - "doesn't just go away. It's not like I quit and stop being a..." He swallows the words.

"I don't care. I just want to be with you," she breathes.

"I've tried quitting before, and it...it never sticks."

With a gentle smile, she brushes her fingers through the hair at his temple. "You're not alone, Lenny. I'll be with you through all of it."

Lenny pulls his hand from his pocket, tangling his fingers with hers. "My daughter's name is Kitty," he says. "She's five, and I miss her every day. I don't have a best friend. Just a bunch of close friends who trade the honor of posting my bail. I like jazz music, but my favorite records are blues records. And my favorite comic is Mrs. Maisel."

Midge blushes lightly at that before pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He drops the bag to the floor in favor of unzipping her dress.

He only picks it up again in the morning to throw it out.

#midgelenny #midge x lenny #midgexlenny #tmmm fanfic #marvelous mrs. maisel fanfic #writing prompt #otp: more important than god #jackal fics #answers #angst #sweet #love confessions

[mapsareforbraindeads]

@unofficial-deathnotetober day 31: halloween

(unofficial) DEATHNOTETOBER IS OVER! i had so much fun writing all of these one shots this year! let's hope next year is even better!

sidenote: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, L! i needed to write a little birthday fic for him <3

(also i'm really sorry for clogging up the death note tag all month).

“I… fell asleep?”

L sat up in his and Light’s shared bed. They had captured Higuchi a couple days ago, and the Task Force seemed to be much more relaxed than usual because of Kira “being gone”. L was skeptical.

Over the last month, L had overlooked the tiny detail of Light being 98% Kira, and fallen for him. Hard.

Now, that was beginning to bite him in the arse.

The door creaked open, revealing his partner.

“Happy birthday, L,” Light quickly pecked him on the cheek.

L blinked away the grogginess, looking Light up and down.

Light wore a deep red suit jacket and pants with a black dress shirt underneath and tucked in, the top button undone. On his head were a pair of devil horns, and he wore a belt to allude to a tail. They were both free from their handcuffs.

Light blushed, “It’s Halloween, so there’s a party happening with the Task Force. I didn’t want to be the only one not in costume.”

L got up out of bed, “I haven’t slept that peacefully in years, you didn’t add anything to that tea you gave me last night, did you? Also, how did you obtain the key for the handcuffs?”

Light crossed his arms, “It wasn’t just me. Watari helped a little. You deserve to feel well-rested today. Also, I had Watari unlock the handcuffs so we wouldn’t wake you up.”

If it was anyone else, L would be pissed. But this was his partner, and he simply smiled at his gesture. Sure, he was Kira. But he could enjoy one day without the killer ruining everything, right?

“Thank you, Light.”

Light walked over to L, adjusting his costume, “Are you going to be dressing up as anything today?”

L hummed, “Maybe Sherlock Holmes, as basic as it may be,” he smiled, “Or I could be the angel to your devil?”

Light uncharacteristically snorted, “You’re far from an angel.”

“And you’re the epitome of the devil?” L smirked.

Light rolled his eyes, “We’ll get you whatever you need for your Sherlock costume.”

He began to lead L outside, but the latter planted his feet into the ground.

“Can we stay in here for a little while longer?”

Light moved back inside their room, “Of course. I’ll ask Watari to bring up your cake.”

L’s eyes lit up, “Cake?”

Light nodded as he messaged Watari, “Yeah, of course. It’s your birthday, after all.”

Barely three minutes later, Watari arrived with the cake on a large plate. It had about five layers, with strawberries lining each one.

“Thank you, Watari.”

L looked up at the ginormous cake in pure delight, to which Light could barely stifle a laugh.

“How are you going to eat all of that?” Light asked while Watari left the room.

“Pure determination.”

L quickly began to grab a slice of the cake, handing some to Light, who shook his head, and L took the piece for himself.

L savored the taste of the birthday cake.

Hm, this had to be one of Watari’s best.

He turned to Light, only to see him spacing out.

L tugged on the chain to no avail. Light wouldn’t budge.

Sensing no other option, L grabbed a forkful of the fluffy cake and shoved it into his partner’s mouth.

Light’s eyes widened as he gulped down the dessert, “What the hell?”

“You were zoning out again.”

Light sighed, “Sorry,” he licked his lips, getting some of the frosting off, “Hm, it’s actually really good.”

L smirked at his little victory, watching Light grab a slice of his own.

“Here, I’ll help you eat this layer, we can save the rest.”

“What happened to my diet being horribly unhealthy?”

Light smiled, “It’s your birthday, you have every excuse.”

And he gave him a small kiss on the forehead.

L would never admit that his Kira percentage went down by 4%.

#merlin writes #death note #unofficialdeathnotetober #lawlight #l lawliet #light yagami #quillsh wammy

[jerzwriter]

9, 17, 29 and 34 from "make me admit stuff" please! For any ship of your choice (ofc I'm a sucker for some Tobias and Casey action!)

And get well soon Elsa! Sending you positivity in this hour! 💜 💜

Hey Mads! Thanks so much for the asks and the good wishes! 💖

Hon, after being away due to work and staycationing, I miss my Tobias & Casey SO much. I'm more than happy to chat aimlessly about them now! lol

Make Me Admit Stuff

9. Is confidence cute?

Neither Tobias nor Casey thinks confidence is cute, but they both think it is sexy as hell. We all know Tobias is the kind of cocky, and while that may not be appealing to some, Casey just loved that about him... within reason... lol She DID need to take him down a peg or two. When they first met, Tobias loved her confidence, but they fell in love post-chemical attack when her confidence was pretty low. Still, he knew it was still underneath there, she just needed to find it again.

17. Who do they feel most comfortable talking to about anything?

Each other. Communication is the cornerstone of their relationship, and they are comfortable discussing anything together. Of course, they both have friends and family they can talk to as well, but they tend to be each other's go-to.

29. Do they really, truly miss someone right now?

Tobias will always miss his father; he'll always wish he could get the time they wasted back. While Casey misses some people, it's nothing that is a constant presence at this point in her life.

34. What are they listening to?

So, Casey is a Hozier girl, and Unreal Unearth has been playing on repeat since its release. Other songs she's been listening to lately include Sweet Nothings/Taylor Swift, Uptown Funk/Mark Ronson, Bruno Mars, and Yellow/Coldplay.

Tobias is longing for new Frank Ocean, and since it doesn't look like he's getting any, he's been listening to Blonde and Channel Orange frequently. The Weekend and Beyonce have also been on his replay lists, as well as Monaco/Bad Bunny and Dial Drunk by Noah (because Casey totally turned him into a Noah Girlie).

Together, they're listening to lots of Motown (as always), and they're still belting out "I'm Just Ken" too.

Thanks so much for asking, Mads! :)

#make me admit stuff #tobias carrick #tobias x casey #asks answered #thanks mads!