#pls wear a mask and wear it proper pls and thanks

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

thank you

kieran is a decent shot but is terrifying with a knife (people are not that different to fish). 110% he would win a 1v1 knife fight every time and thanks to army training he's pretty decent at disarming people in hand on hand combat. would take a knife to a gun fight and have a chance of winning

probably taller than 90% of the gang if he actually corrected his posture

his parents died when he was a proper baby only 8 or 9 and he pick-pocketed to survive along with a bunch of other urchins like the saint denis gang. he's still pretty good at it and is really good at being stealthy/light on his feet despite his stature (helpful for not getting noticed by the crueler VDLs)

he also became a pretty good liar and con artist as part of living on the street and getting out of trouble when caught (this is heavily inspired by how differently he treats gang members, happily tells karen he is a baby to get sympathy, people-pleasing 'whatever you say miss with mary-beth, needles arthur back a bit when they go fishing)

probably has a touch of the old imposter syndrome because he never really had the chance to figure out who he was he's just been focused on survival since since day 1. he loves horses because he doesn't have to worry about what mask he has to wear with them

he's frankly not sure how old he is on account of how young he was when his parents died. he enlisted for the army when he looked old enough, in reality he was probs only 17 and barely got in based on his facial hair, which he had never shaved a day in his life since it started growing (hc late 20s/early 30s in game)

he was in the infantry division. consistent food and routine after a decade of fighting for scraps and being spit on? he loved it. very upstanding, attentive, kept his uniform clean and sharp. was there years before he saw active combat. then he fucking hated it. refused to follow orders. was not dying over land. was not shooting at unarmed people. dishonorably discharged. would have deserted if they didn't.

looks like an absolute fucking baby without facial hair and would sooner bite someone than be clean shaven because he hates it

gets very irritable when he hasn't had a cigarette for a while. has picked cigarette butts of the ground for a quick hit. would have broken faster about six point cabin if they offered him a cigarette.

lying through his teeth about his time with the o'driscolls. he was probably with them closer to a year, and a little higher than bottom-rung. got to pick and choose what missions he went on, talk to colm directly, most knew his name ect. i cannot see him having the balls to argue with colm o'driscoll himself unless he had some level of protection/seniority within the gang esp given the circumstances of how he joined. he was trusted enough to ride off on his own without running off?

in saying that. he was definitely considering running off in colter. at no point does he try to fight arthur. no way he wasn't armed. just oh no i am being abducted this is v bad. don't give me food for weeks? still like you more than colm can i stay with you pls

AHHH!!! I READ THIS THE DAY YOU SENT IT BUT I DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO RESPOND BECAUSE I WASN’T REALLY EXPECTING PEOPLE TO ACTUALLY SEND IN THEIR HEADCANONS, THANK YOU THESE ARE WONDERFUL!

:D You explained these all beautifully and I feel like I couldn’t say much more, but I’ll try to “yes and…” everything you said because I feel it is worth exploring these ideas you proposed. Long HC ramble under the divider.

1) I don’t know much about 1800’s military training but I can see Kieran being a knife guy like you said. He has a custom knife in game (at the very least he has a custom pistol). Him being good with a knife makes me think of how he comes off as unarmed from a distance but harbors a wicked knife up close. I am sure he mainly uses his knife for cutting fishing line or whittling sticks in his free time. He used it for cutting up animals he hunted while with his past gang. That knife has gotten him through a lot, it’s practically an heirloom at this point; it kept him alive and is one of the few things he fully owns and kept from his youth.

2+3+4) lanky scary guy is stealthy!! Yes!! I would like to mention how no one in the VDL gang noticed Kieran wandering off and getting a gun belt from a corpse during the firefight in A Social Call Mission. He did all of that AND was swift enough to save Arthur. I agree that he was very young when his parents died. I more so think 11-13 in my HC but that’s just because I feel like the stables would rather kick out a tween/teen than a little kid. This blends into your 4th point about being a con artist. Kieran knows his strengths and weaknesses. He knows that people see a scrawny little boy before they see him as a thief. Squirming and squabbling can be enough of a distraction to get away with things.

I don’t have a good explanation for how Kieran did this since he can’t leave camp, but while I was playing, I saw Kieran donated a jewel necklace to the camp funds (and not to brag on his behalf, but he donated WAY MORE $$ than the other members 🤭). Kieran still can pull his weight in pickpocketing, even in game. I imagine he does it without straying too far from camp by pretending he is sick or hungry and thirsty on the side of well traveled paths and getting close enough to strangers to swipe something. It’s subtle enough to not draw attention to camp, yet effective enough to be worth it in the long run.

5+6) I agree on imposter syndrome! One hc I have is that Kieran was raised an only child while traveling westward to California with his parents meaning he had no consistent kids his age to be with. Even in the military (where he SHOULD be surrounded by his peers) he never really connected in a genuine way. Being roughened up by being an outlaw after that just made it harder to emotionally connect since so much required not breaking down if a group member dies. It’s odd; Kieran is unwilling to be vulnerable, but he isn’t this stoic wall. Instead he has this decoy vulnerability?… he’d rather people see him as a weak guy if it gets him out of a physical hurt yet he won’t be vulnerable if it means running the risk of being emotionally hurt.

7) I know very little about 1800’s military (and my cursory research has been shallow thus far) but I imagine it was better than being homeless and orphaned! Food, shelter and routine, like you said. I imagine Kieran was an obedient and hard working kid; helped his family with horses, fishing and hunting. Pre-outlaw Kieran felt conflicted about killing people. I mean… he joined the army so he isn’t clueless that he had to kill, but killing on paper vs actually killing is very different, plus he was a puny teen without a fully developed brain when he enlisted.

Once Kieran became an outlaw, he had to make some sort of peace / find some silver lining to killing. You have to have morally dubious ways of coping with being an outlaw or else you go mad. One way was him (guiltily or not) finding some thrill in gunfights or knife fights. Made him feel good for once about being an easy to underestimate guy. He got to taunt, shout, and watch his enemies faces contort in pain and horror.

8) the facial hair stuff!! I agree that Kieran likely looks like an exhausted young adult under all the scruff. I imagine Kieran has put value into his unkempt looks. He does care for hygiene (source: he says it in cut audio) but he can’t bring himself to trim his facial or head hair because he feels it is the only thing making him a man. Like you said, imposter syndrome, he doesn’t feel like he’s an actual adult who has his life together. I’m sure Kieran has some out-dated ideas of what makes a man (out-dated by modern day standards). Stuff like being strong, a provider, hairy, deep voiced, etc. Kieran isn’t many of those things. Having a snaggly beard is his tiny grasp on meeting what he wishes he could be. I also think he hasn’t cut his hair that much because of a lack of salons while being an outlaw.

9) I honestly forget most of the characters in RDR2 smoke… but I agree! Growing up with a smoker as a parent who tried to quite cold turkey a few times, I know how hellish withdrawal is on a person. While in Colter, tied up, Kieran was the most bellicose because of withdrawals peaking (upon other things). I feel like some point between his parent’s dying and him joining the outlaws was when he took up smoking.

10+11) Kieran was DEFINITELY lying about how involved he was with the O’Drisc, agreed. I see him as being with them for likely 6 months to a year. Maaayyybe more but I feel like Kieran ran with his prior gang for most of his adult life. To me, Kieran is fibbing a half truth when he says he wasn’t close with Colm and he was merely a stable boy. He WAS that, but with being an obedient, hardworking chore boy, he was kept around long enough to make it up little by little till he was on missions out of camp collecting supplies or defending territory/camp. Kieran was always a pawn, never someone Colm actually cared for. Kieran was just the least-annoying gang goon Colm could bring into the mountains to watch the horses in the cold stables. The fact Kieran was even spotted by the VDL gang was bad luck.

I don’t know why he is riding out of the camp solo before Arthur catches him ;-; my best guess would be Kieran was going to meet up with other members but when a fight with the O’Drisc vs VDL broke out in camp, Kieran took it as his chance to get the fuck out of there.

On the topic of getting the fuck out, Kieran didn’t fight as much as he could when Arthur got him, I agree. When his life depends on it, he will fight like a cornered animal, all knife slashing and wild-eyed. Whether Kieran fights or goes limp and pleads pathetically depends on the situation. When Kieran fled from the O’Drisc camp firefight, he knew he wouldn’t last out there unless he got off the mountain. Being snatched and dragged to an enemy camp was better than dying of exposure. I mean… everything in his life sucks. Kieran gets no easy options. Sometimes he just has to go limp and be tied up and see where life brings him.

His relationship with Colm is interesting. I don’t think Colm cares very much about Kieran (keep in mind I don’t actually know Colm’s character well since I haven’t finished the game). From what Kieran describes of him, I feel it was all things Kieran observed or eavesdropped on while doing chores or sitting around the camp. Who knows tho! I am open to the idea that Kieran was of higher rank and indeed had more reasons to talk with Colm directly. I don’t know much about the O’Driscoll gang inner workings.

Ah!! Once again, thank you so much :) I love all your headcanons and it was a blast brainstorming about your ideas.

#meeks rambles #asks #meek’s headcanons #rdr text post #rdr2 kieran #rdr2 headcanons #red dead redemption fandom #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #kieran duffy #rdr2 spoilers #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 community #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 #ask

[thenamesmobu]

"New Snow Level"

ARRIIIGHTT so this is the short fic that'll lead onto what's heppening in my DTIYS. I wrote this for just fun at first, but then I thought that this would also be good for promoting my little event. The dtiys is linked on the bottom of this post. I'd appreciate it if you read through this first so that the art would feel much better to look at. Anyways, enjoy✨️

==========

"Alright, Stanley. Here's the snow level that I've been working on for the past few weeks"

William simply stood in one place as his surroundings changed to that of a town that was in winter. The floating Hand beside him seems nonchalant. He looked up and saw that Devin had made the time settings to nighttime. A gust of wind flew by him and it sent chills down his spine, literally.

"Ah, apologize. Here's your new winter model"

Another Hand appeared and it made a quick snap! to equip Will's warm clothing. William rubbed his head, and noticed that he was wearing a beanie now. Looking down, he took a keen interest to his new outfit. The scarf was soft and cozy and his new jacket was warm and comfy.

"William, I'd like for you to take a look on the surroundings. Tell me your thoughts on this new area"

"[Not unless you join me first]"

"What?"

Devin was... taken aback by this request. Sure he had taken a look on his own creations himself, but rarely does he ever walk through the place in person. Normally he'd just summon a Hand and lets it become like somewhat of a drone with a camera on it.

"William, you know that's not necessary" The Hand that eas beside William looked annoyed with its one eye that conveyed his emotion.

"[Then I'm not going to take a look]"

"William."

Devin was getting annoyed.

"William, go and take a look around"

"[No]"

William crossed his arms and looked away.

Devin raised his fist, but refrains himself from slamming it onto his desk.

"You want me to join? Then fine."

A doorway appeared and the Narrator stepped out.

"There, I'm here. Happy now?"

"[Hmm... you're not wearing the proper clothing]"

Devin sneered in annoyance. But well, he can't do anything to the guy whom he loved is the only one who can play test his creations.

"Sigh... Fine, give me a moment"

He turned around and several yellow hologramic screens popped up around him. It looked like he was picking some clothing. A few moments later, he snapped one of his modded Hands and his clothes changed to that befitting of a winter setting.

"There, are you satisfied?"

"[Juuust one more thing]"

Devin grumbled in annoyance. "What is it now?"

"[Hold my hand as we go]"

"What?"

Devin looked at him, confused.

"[You heard me, hold my hand. And then I'll go. Well, we]"

He reached out his arm for him to grab.

"Sigh... Alright, alright"

Reluctantly, he took the offer. Thank god he gave himself a black face mask that covered half of his face. He could feel his face turn orange.

"Could we go now?"

"[Yes]"

William views himself to be quite victorious as he made a satisfied smile.

===============

Here's the DTIYS

#the stanley parable #tsp narrator #tsp stanley #tsp the narrator #the stanley parable ultra deluxe #tspud narrator #tspud the narrator #tspud stanley #stanley x narrator #stannarator #mobu speaks #mobu's writings #WAH #tsp fanfic

[yeojaa]

( DEVIL IN A NEW SUIT. )

Money’s something that makes the world go around.  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with securing the bag.  You don’t shame anyone for doing what they need to do.  

That is, until you come face to face with the poor guy that’s being suckered out of both his heart and cash.  You simply can’t let it go on.

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  idiots to lovers.  fluff, angst, smut.  the holy trifecta, babies!  explicit, obviously.  

tags / warnings.  mentions of infidelity, kook being adorable and sad, reader being a bit of a tactless butthole, a satin playsuit (very nsfw), kook does a 180, smut in the form of: a slight oral fixation, too much spit, overstimulation, pussy slapping, unprotected sex (pls don’t be irresponsible).

wc.  12.2k of nonsense.  pure nonsense, i tells ya. 

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ did what she always does aka read through this and made me a better writer and @yeoldontknow​ dealt with my big dumbass and let me cry about my pea brain to her.  i love you both sm!!!  ✨💜

author note.  the long-awaited fic is here!!  i really hope you enjoy it.  if you do, please maybe leave a comment or something?  i swung back and forth between loving and hating this so it’d really, really mean a lot.  anyway, thanks as always for reading and i adore you!  stay safe and happy and healthy!

He’s a sucker.  That’s what you think of him, despite the fact you’ve never met him.  It’d be impossible not to, given what you’ve heard. 

His girlfriend - or something - is in every other week, flashing his black card like she has something to prove.  Sometimes, she’s by herself;  often, she’s with another gaggle of girls that fawn all over themselves and shriek a little too loudly for your taste.  They’re vapid, snooty in a way that makes you cringe every time they step into the boutique.  Still, you’re nice because this is your job and you have to be.  You can’t exactly tell a paying customer to get lost - even if you think it at least six times each visit. 

“He has no idea.”  It’s always the same thing, a story that pulls at your heartstrings yet has you scoffing in equal parts.  “I told him we were doing a girls’ trip but Hyunjin’s going to meet me on his way back and we’re spending the week at the Ritz.”

How can he possibly be this dumb, you wonder.  How can’t he see past the pretty pink lipstick and perfectly coiffed blonde hair?  It isn’t even that nice of a colour job - too icy and reminiscent of Malibu Barbie. 

(She’d bragged about it once - how she’d gotten an appointment at one of the most coveted salons in the city, spending hours in the stylist’s chair to get this “perfect shade”.  Her words, not yours.)

You figure he must be some lonely schmuck, some poor old sap who can’t possibly get what he’s looking for anywhere else.  Maybe he had some weird spoiling kink - if so, where was your man like that - or he just wanted companionship and found it in the arms of girls who paid him any sort of attention.  Truthfully, you thought a lot of things about him.  Kind of had to, given how often his girlfriend was in, rambling about her exploits and snickering behind his back.

You’d never expected him to be like this.

Jeon Jungkook shows up on a Sunday afternoon, shortly after lunch and with the dopiest smile on his face. 

Your colleague notices him first, nudging you to attention because you, unlike her, actually do productive things while you’re at work like go through layaways and make sure items aren’t sitting in the back gathering dust.

“He’s cute,”  she very poorly whispers, voice carrying because it always does.  She’s a younger girl - maybe a few years your junior, who’d gotten her job through pure nepotism - but she’s sweet enough.  Zero tact, though.  Never notices when she’s being just a little too forceful with her sales but her sweet smile and full rack seem to keep her from getting into any trouble.  You consider her a vaguely annoying sister, someone you love even when you don’t necessarily like her.

You glance up from the iPad balanced in your hands, disinterested.  “Who?”

There’s an older couple striding past the entrance, hand-in-hand with three Hermes bags.  (God, what awful taste.)  There’s another couple standing at the mouth of the Louis Vuitton boutique, bickering about which belt will best match the boyfriend’s tux best.  (The answer is neither, because those belts do not belong with a classic black tux.)

“Him.”

Yejin all but points him out, jerking her chin in his direction.  You don’t know how you hadn’t really clocked him in the first place.  Maybe because he’s so unassuming that you’d just brushed over him, noting his outfit before moving on.  When you look at him - really look at him - you can’t look away.

You think he’s handsome in that off-kilter kind of way, too-big teeth and too-wide eyes.  He’s terribly innocent looking, despite the fact that he’s wearing a gleaming gold Rolex and sleek black boots you recognise from Prada’s 2019 RTW.  Everything he wears is tailored, fitting him to the point you wonder who his seamstress  is.  

But then he speaks, and it’s not the suave, sultry voice you’d expect.  It’s featherlight and almost shy, bashful in its delivery.  

“I’m here to pick up a bag for my girlfriend?”  He upspeaks.  It’s stupidly adorable.

Bless her soul, Yejin throws a glance in your direction first.  A silent ‘yours or mine?’ that’s answered when you step forward, blindingly bright customer service smile in full effect.  “What’s the item and the name it’s under?”  You keep in mind he’s said girlfriend very clearly, even as you can’t help but trail your stare over his shoulders, the dimple that digs itself into his cheek when he speaks again.

“Oh, it’s under mine.  Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.” 

You’re floored.  This is Jeon Jungkook?  This specimen draped in leather and fine Japanese silk is the poor idiot wrapped around Barbie’s finger?  You’ve got to be kidding.

You wonder whether the surprise is evident on your face.  It must be, given how quickly Yejin interrupts, piping up in that saccharine sweet voice of hers.  “I’ll grab it!  The Box bag in cloud, right?”

Jungkook can only nod dumbly.  He has no idea what he’s there to pick up - only that he needs to because his girlfriend is away on a trip with her two best female friends.  He tells you as much, chuckling at his own ignorance.  It’d be cute if it weren’t so sad, his eyes twinkling like the jewels set in your ears.  There’s so much love in his eyes it’s frankly sickening.  

It comes before you can help it, snapping off your tongue - an oil spill ready to drag him to the depths of hell.

“Oh - you’re Kiko’s boyfriend?  I thought you’d left for Hong Kong already.”  Your head tilts - the picture of innocence as you continue to spew things you shouldn’t, staining the innocence of his expression with each word that drops off.  “She said she was leaving on Friday.”  Even while you’re tearing this poor man’s life apart, you’re racking your brain for the off-handed comments she’d made.  “She kept going on and on about how she was so excited to be staying at the Ritz.”

It’s almost like you gain some sick sort of satisfaction in watching his face fall.  You’ve never seen someone crumble so quickly, every ounce of affection swept up and spat out in the time it takes you to take a solid, proper breath.  

You do feel bad.  Not for saying it, but for being the person to do this.  For hurting this stranger.  (At least he knew?)

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”  Gone is the sunny friendliness, the blissful geniality.  He’s very much uncertain, bunny teeth digging into the full swell of his bottom lip.  He’s pigeon-toed and round-shouldered, thick brows drawn neatly over his stare as he focuses on some indeterminate point somewhere by his feet. 

If Yejin were on the floor with you, she’d tell you to knock it off.  Chastise you for getting involved in something you had no business being in.  (She’d be right, but you’ve always been an advocate for tough love.)  As it stands, she’s still in the back finding that stupid girl’s bag and you’re here, shaking your head, weakening Jungkook’s resolve with the edge of your teeth.  “No, she definitely said she was going away with her boyfriend.  Did you maybe give us the wrong name?”

Maybe if he weren’t so upset, he’d be more offended by the insinuation he’s stupid.  Instead, he only falters further, head mimicking yours.  Poor guy.

“I—I think there’s been a mistake.”

Yeah, you dating that gold-digger, you want to say.  Instead, you meet his stare like you haven’t just dug a thousand holes in his foundation.  “Oh, maybe.  I’m sorry.”  The apology is honest, even if the meaning behind it isn’t.  That’s a thing, right?  Apologising to make someone feel better, even when you don’t necessarily agree with it?  

God, you’re an altruist. 

“It’s fine.”  When he stutters, adorable lisp coming out to play, you know it’s not.  You applaud him for his brave face, even if it’s very poorly offered - a makeshift mask you think you could tear off with just another well-aimed word.  (You won’t.)

“Here it is!”  Yejin’s back, bouncing out from behind the counter with the giant white bag in her hands.  If she notices the atmosphere, she says nothing.  You remind yourself to tell her good job once Jungkook leaves - and you know he’ll leave the moment he’s got those silk handles in his hand.  He looks about ready to cry - or ready to fight, you’re not sure.

Once the purchase is passed over, he nods his head furiously and you swear you see a tear go flying.  You don’t have time to ask before he’s hoofing it out of the store.  

He doesn’t even notice he’s left his wallet on the counter.

By the time you snatch it up and round the corner, he’s nowhere to be found.  Probably because running in stilettos is next to impossible and he’s gotten an embarrassed head start.  Well then.

“I guess we’ll have to call him,”  you hum, turning the Prada bi-fold over and over in your hands.  It’s practically brand new, stuffed with large bills, his driver’s license, and few credit cards, including a Hyundai black card.  The same one on file that his girlfriend - maybe soon-to-be ex-girlfriend? - uses shamelessly.

Yejin’s watching you carefully, silently.  You’re counting down how long it’ll be until she asks - because you can see the curiosity swimming in her eyes, practically bulging her cheeks with the effort of keeping her questions caged behind her teeth.

Finally, after a good three minutes, she’s at your side, bony point of her chin digging a grave into your shoulder.  It’s probably not the most appropriate thing but she’s never much been one for decorum.  (You either, but still.) 

“So… what was that about?”

You don’t bother to turn when you speak, back to running through order details and matching them with customers.  “What?”

“You know— that!”  She waves her wrist in a circle, gesturing toward the space Jungkook had occupied not five minutes ago.  “He ran out of here like he was scared for his life.”

“Scared of the truth,”  you correct. 

You hadn’t thought it was possible for her to get more pale - she’s already fine porcelain, perpetually slathered in sunscreen - but she somehow does, balking at your response.  There it is. 

“What?”  There’s a reproachful edge to her words, an uncertainty that tells more than the single syllable. 

“What?”  It’s mimicry and a challenge all in one, meeting her stare from the corner of your periphery.  You can read every emotion that runs through her expression:  shock, displeasure, confusion.  

She retreats a step, bottom lip caught between her teeth.  (She really does remind you of your little sister.)  “So, you told him?”

You shrug, a noncommittal gesture that disrupts the curtain of silk that falls over your shoulder.  You hadn’t laid it out for him but surely he had an idea now.  There was no way he didn’t. 

“I pointed out a few conflicting facts.  That’s all.”  You’re not ashamed about what you’ve done.  You’d want to know if you were him.  Consider it an act of goodwill. 

The silence that meets your ears isn’t surprising but you don’t pay it any further mind.  What’s done is done.  Now he knows, or something close to it.  The chips would simply fall where they were meant to. 

You have to admit - you’re rooting for him. 

Whatever Yejin’s thinking, she keeps it to herself for the rest of the shift.  She knows better than to berate you about something like this, not that she would anyway.  Obnoxious as she can be, you have an understanding.  It strengthens your not-quite-close-friends-but-more-than-colleagues relationship. 

It’s only at the end of your shift that she brings it up again, drifting over to you as you complete your cash count for the evening. 

She holds Jungkook’s wallet in her hand, mouth pursed thoughtfully as she taps it against the edge of the counter.  “You have to call him.”

You almost lose your count, finishing with a pinched expression.  “Whoever works tomorrow morning can call him.”  You’re not brushing off the responsibility - you really could care less - but simply passing it along to the next person.  Sensible. 

As it turns out, you’re the person who works the next morning, called in because another associate has come down with a cold.  

You’re two lattes deep when you remember the wallet, tucked neatly behind the counter with a yellow sticky note posted to the front.  You suppose it’s your responsibility now.  You know if Yejin comes in tomorrow and sees it, she’ll give you her childish brand of hell. 

The line rings twice before it picks up, that oddly familiar voice crackling through the speaker.  “Hello?”

“Jungkook?”  

There’s a beat of silence followed by a careful confirmation. “Yes, that’s me?”  Upspeaking again. How cute. 

“I’m calling from the CELINE boutique.”  You can practically imagine the look on his face, eyes as wide as saucers as he recalls the awful-to-him encounter.  “You left your wallet here and I wanted to make sure you got it back.”

“O-oh, uh—“  It’s like encountering a baby bunny - or deer or something equally adorable and vulnerable.  “Thanks.  I didn’t even notice.  Um, I can come pick it up today?”  There’s another pause, the sound of fingers over a screen, and then he’s back.  “Is that okay?”

Leave it to him to have lost his wallet and yet be worried about putting someone else out.  He truly was a sucker. 

“That’s fine.  We’re open until six tonight.”  

“I’ll be there before dinner.”  As if realizing how vague that is, he continues, words running headlong into each other like he can’t get them out fast enough.  “Before six, I mean.  Um, is around five-thirty okay?” 

You want to tell him to just come whenever, that it really doesn’t matter to you, but that probably isn’t going to help the situation.  Instead, you hum a quiet sound of confirmation.  “Of course.  We’ll see you then.” 

He hangs up immediately. 

The second time you meet Jeon Jungkook, he’s just as endearing as the last.  It’s actually surprising, if you’re being honest.  You’d thought he’d be resentful or mean or any other emotion better fitting someone whose entire world had turned upside-down.

As it stands, he’s just the right-side of anxious, a hundred little sparks of uncertainty flaring beneath his skin and lighting him up in neon.  You can see him from a mile away he’s lit up so bright, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin.

Your heart aches for him - and then it skips, almost trips over its own two feet when he wanders into the store with his hands dug deep into the pocket of his pants.

How he looks tonight is nothing like how he’d looked yesterday.  Somehow, you like it more.  The undone head-to-toe Balenciaga, the unruly curl of his dark hair.  It’s effortlessly chic - though you think it might have something to do with the fact that he’s just an attractive person.  (Good-looking people could get away with anything - even god-awful fashion faux pas.)

At the sight of you, he seems to further lose steam, eyes widening to such an extent you briefly worry for him.  Surely they’ll fall out of their sockets one day.  

“O-oh.  It’s you.”  The moment the words come, he’s blushing the colour of your red-soled shoes, horrified.  “I m-mean, just—”  He takes a deep breath, finds his footing and tries again.  “You’re the girl that helped me yesterday.”  Spoken like you, the exact girl who helped him yesterday, wouldn’t remember that fact yourself.  

“That’s right,”  you say evenly, expression neutral.  It’s almost as if that surprises him more - as if he’d expected you to shy away from the knowledge.  

The two of you stare at each other for longer than is strictly speaking necessary.  Well, you stare at him and he kind of bounces his eyes around the room.  You know he can’t be that interested in the croc stamp Belt bag behind your head or the selection of small leather goods in the glass case.  

He’s so awkward.

(You did kind of ruin his day though, so you can’t blame him.)

“So, um, my wallet?”  He’s made barely any headway, still lingering awkwardly by the front of the store.  You can’t help your smile - it’s more of a smirk - as you raise the item in question.  

“Right here.”

Jungkook glances from it to your face, then back again.  He makes the same trip twice more.  “Can I have it?”  To your surprise, he’s taken two whole steps toward you, brow furrowed.  He’s still terribly soft, rounded edges and innocent eyes, but he’s making progress.  Good job, you think.

“Of course.”  You mirror him, moving out from behind the counter.  Somehow, that’s not the right move, because his features are breaking and rearranging, big bunny teeth worrying a hole straight through his bottom lip.  You’d think he’d be more confident, more demanding, more… everything.  (You quite like that he isn’t - a complete anomaly - but you also imagine it’s also to his detriment.  Too much honey, not enough vinegar.)

This time, he closes the distance with three long strides.  It hadn’t escaped you how tall he was, the length of his gait - after all, you’d tried to run after him - but you’re still a little surprised when he’s in front of you, not a foot away, arm extended.  Palm out, he asks again, all while refusing eye contact.  “May I have it, please?” 

You hand it over with a soft laugh, pressing the grained leather into his hand.  You expect him to retreat immediately and he does - but then he turns and his expression is inscrutable.  Is he going to say thank you?  Berate you for what you’d done yesterday?

Neither, it seems.  “Why did you do it?”  There’s no anger, just an abiding sadness that laces his words, turns them the saddest shade of blue.

“Do it?”  You know what he means.  You ask anyway.

“Why did you tell me?”  Jungkook’s doing that thing again, alternating between biting his tongue and chewing his cheek as he stares at you.  You can practically see the melancholy rolling off him;  it shines dark on the depths of his irises, how his fist trembles just barely at his side.  For all his good looks and leisurely charm, you can see the effort it takes to hold himself together now.

Guilt ascends, starts somewhere deep in your stomach and turns stomach acid to butterflies.  It creeps higher and higher over your spine, locking each vertebrae until you’re immobile, unable to tear your gaze from his.  “I thought you deserved to know.”

“But why?” 

“What do you mean?”  

It’s almost comical, how both your expressions descend into bewilderment - like looking into a fun house mirror.  He’s trying to wrap his mind around your actions and you’re just trying to make sense of his confusion.  

You anticipate a response - can see it tittering on the tip of his tongue - but he seems to think better of it, shaking his head.  It dislodges a wayward curl from behind his ear, silver twinkling with the movement.  

“Thank you” is all he offers before speed-walking away.

You don’t expect to see Jeon Jungkook for a third time.  

He’s waiting for you when you end your shift on Thursday, standing somewhere between the two boutiques, loitering like some kind of gremlin.  (Except he’s dressed exceptionally well, slick black jeans and a Balenciaga tee shirt that rivals the cost of your shoes.  Of course he’d get away with hanging out in the store without being told off.)

“Excuse me.”  For once, he doesn’t sutter.  The lisp doesn’t present itself, either.  Was this the same Jungkook?  You’re not sure until you meet his stare - or try, his own skipping away the moment you make contact.

There he is.

“Yes, Jungkook?”  He flinches, as if he isn’t expecting you to know or say his name.  How can someone so big, so broad across the shoulders with a face that belongs on billboards, look like such a terrified rabbit?  It makes no sense to you.

“Can we talk?”  The stare he levels you with is unfair, too sweet and coaxing for you to even consider saying no.  You’ll still mess with him a bit though.

“We are talking.”

He sputters at that, hacks out a cough that makes you snicker openly.  It’s just so easy with him, like taking candy from a baby.  

“I mean like— talk talk.”  The set of his jaw gives away the whisper of frustration, the fleeting touch of exasperation that doesn’t allow itself to live anywhere else.  His eyes are still soft, round and glossy beneath the fluorescent storelight.  

“Sure, we can talk talk.”  

“Did you, um, want to grab dinner?”

You don’t mean to mock him (at least, not really) but he just makes everything so easy. You hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way.  “Are you asking me on a date?”  

“W-what?  No!”  Despite the immediacy of his response - the look of utter shock that cracks the careful facade - he’s burning bright, cheeks aflame with colour that licks up and over his ears.  “I just— I thought you’d want to talk somewhere else—”

“I’m kidding.  Let’s go.”

You move first, stepping past him and onto the elevator without a backwards glance.  He scampers after you, trails like a lost puppy in the wake of your shadow.  Even while you stand in the corner, waiting for the lift to meet the main floor, he keeps a careful distance, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.  

“So, what do you want to talk about?”  It seems you have to take the initiative, throwing him a curious stare as the floor number ticks down.  His gaze is trained on neon digits, unmoving.  You repeat yourself, glancing up at him, half-tempted to nudge him out of his reverie.  It’s almost like talking to a really hot brick wall.  “Jungkook?”

He tears out of his thoughts like a wayward bullet, head swivelling wildly.  “Huh?”  

“What did you want to talk about?”  

“Um—”  He hesitates, not as if he doesn’t know the answer, but rather that he’s hesitant to speak it into existence.  There’s a tidal wave in the depth of his stare, a cresting wave that looks on the edge of breaking.  “—m-me?”

Brows furrow then amusement spills out.  “You want to talk about… you?”  

“That sounds bad.”  The shape of his grow prominent over his bottom lip, his mouth pulling and pursing with whatever maelstrom exists inside that pretty skull of his.  

“It’s fine.  We’ll talk at dinner.”  

He nods.  You think it means thank you.

Sitting across from each other in the Michelin-starred restaurant - a sought after spot that takes reservations weeks in advance - it’s easy to imagine Jungkook is just another guy.  Another bachelor with too much money and not enough sense, eager to sink his teeth into his next victim.  

It’s hilarious how far that is from the truth.

“What did you want to eat?”  He’s speaking into the pages of the leatherbound menu, half his face hidden.  Whether it’s a defense mechanism or just how he woos pretty girls, you’re not sure.  (You have a feeling it’s the former.)

“Whatever.”  Everything here is incredible.  You really don’t mind.

Jungkook’s face falls, folds in on itself like wet paper and you sigh a sound that further breaks apart the pillars keeping his composure in place.  His right cheek is hollowed, interior being shredded by enamel.  You take pity on him then, flipping open the menu with a great flourish. 

When the waitress - a lovely little thing whose gaze lingers on your dining partner for too long to just be polite - comes to take your order, you rattle off your usual order, doubling certain selections.  Soft-spoken as he might be, you have a feeling the size of his stomach makes up for all the mumbling and half-hearted glances.

“So?”  You level him with a stare over the rim of your glass, lavender and lemonade bursting across your tongue.  

He echoes you, wide-eyed and Bambi-like and stupidly cute.  “So?”  

“What did you want to talk about?”  If you’d had a worse day, if you were a lesser person, you might be irritated by having to repeat yourself so often.  As it stands, you’re only curious, your inquisitive nature outweighing your naturally short temper. 

“Oh.”  Poor boy looks like he’s been asked an impossible question, like what’s the meaning of life or the secret to eternal youth.  He fumbles with the edge of his sleeve, turns the plaid over and over in his fingers as if it were a puzzle.  You stare at him the whole time, unflinching, unrelenting.  He’d asked you here so you damn well expect an answer.

You’re about ready to repeat yourself - fourth time’s the charm? - when he finally finds his voice.

“I wanted to say thank you.”

It’s not the answer you’d expected.  It whacks you in the face, smacking your usual confidence out of place and shooting your carefully threaded eyebrows into your hairline.  “What?” 

He’s terribly uncomfortable, unhappy with being on the spot.  You watch the flicker of emotions through his face, the ones that creep into the delicate skin beneath his eyes, the wobble of his bottom lip.  Try as he might, he can’t keep the light from his eyes - twinkling stars that bloom like newly minted stars.

“Thank you.”  It’s just that much harder when he repeats himself, edges he builds with his bare hands and a clearing of his throat.

You’re silent for a long while - long enough for the first few plates to be set before you.  You gather up shredded radish and perfectly charred beef with your chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully on the morsel.  Jungkook doesn’t move - doesn’t even reach for his chopsticks - and simply stares at you.  You might find it off-putting if it were anyone but him.

You get through half the bowl of green beans, well on your way to finishing it, when he finally begins eating, deftly transferring little bites to his bowl.

The only sound is crunching - king oyster mushroom tempura, ice from your cocktail - and you’re pleasantly surprised to find it’s not uncomfortable.  A little different, sure, but altogether nice.  Like dining with an old friend.

You finally answer when half the plates are gone, another three laid out in their wake.  You’re careful not to speak with your mouth open - you notice Jungkook doesn’t either - and take a long sip of your water.  “You’re welcome, I guess.”  

Something tells you you’re always surprising him - whether intentionally or not.  His eyebrows have a tendency to shoot up, making him look even more shocked than he normally does.  (Seriously, how big are his eyes?)  You find that funny but don’t comment on it, opting to pop a silken piece of black cod into your mouth.  Your stare never falters, trained on his face as you chew thoughtfully.

“What?”  He’s had enough of your quiet observation, apples of his cheeks reminiscent of the tree in your parents’ backyard.  

“What?”  You parrot back, shameless, dark eyes twinkling at him.

“Y-you’re staring at me.”  

“You’re sitting in front of me.”

The line of his mouth hardens then, tongue rolling against his cheek in a gesture that stands out.  It’s the first glimpse of something rude, something not doe-eyed and innocent.  Oh?

“You don’t have to stare.”  Said with a speared piece of sashimi, the end of his chopsticks assaulting the poor piece of bluefin tuna like it has personally offended him.  

You reach for the same place, knock ornate wood against his, and quirk a brow when he meets your stare.  “Does it bother you, Mr. Jeon?”  The inflection is drawn out, almost mocking, only softened by the smile you offer.  

“That’s not my name.”  The bite disappears past his teeth.  You expect him to continue three chews later but he only goes for another, filling his plate and then his mouth.

“Sorry— Jungkook.  Does my staring bother you?”

It feels a little like playing with fire - holding your hand too close to a flickering flame, curious what it’ll do.  Juvenile in a way but enticing in another.  You’ve never met anyone quite like Jeon Jungkook.

“It’s rude,”  he reasons, glossy eyes meeting yours for perhaps the fifth time that evening.

“Maybe I’m just rude.”

He shakes his head then - dislodges untamed strands from behind his silver-lined ears - and sets his chopsticks down.  (Perfectly matched up, propped against the provided rest.)  “You’re not.”

You can’t keep the surprise away, the emotion threading through your brows to tie them into a little knot of consternation.  He says it so readily, as if he knows you and this isn’t one of a handful of very short, very unexpected conversations.  He’s not even looking away, meeting your stare with a confidence that surprises you.  

It lasts for all of five more seconds before he clears his throat and sips at his tea.  Anything to busy his hands, you think.

“You don’t know that,”  you finally return, after what seems like too long.

“I do.”  He nods - almost to himself - and continues, matter-of-fact.  “You care about people.  You’re… hard around the edges but you don’t mean to hurt anyone.  You want to do what’s right.  Sometimes it means you have to do things that aren’t easy.”

For once, you’re at a loss for words.  Really and truly silenced, unable to articulate anything that might beat back the kindness he’s offering.  

How the tables have turned.

He likes waffles with chocolate syrup rather than honey.  He doesn’t like whipped cream or citrus-flavoured desserts.  He has a tailor he’s gone to since he was a child, the same elderly woman he sometimes calls halmoni because she’s watched him grow up.  He decorates his apartment with the most random things:  limited edition KAWs figurines and the guitars he still hasn’t had the most practice with, one of a kind paintings from the gallery one of his best friends curates.  He buys the most expensive bottles of wine at any given restaurant not because his palate is so evolved it matters, but because it’s what he’s been taught to do.

He’s been in four serious relationships in his twenty-five years.  All of them have ended poorly, though his latest with Malibu Barbie is the first where he’d been cheated on.  (Somehow, you doubt that but you don’t voice this disbelief.)  He tends to lean towards long-term relationships with women who baby him (your words, not his).  He scoffs when you call him a serial monogamist, insists he isn’t even as you list out all the facts pointing otherwise.

“I just… don’t like wasting my time,”  he insists from behind his coffee cup.  

“You mean you don’t like the potential to be hurt.”  

Jungkook blinks at you then, Bambi eyes so big and bright you almost want to laugh.  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”  He seems confused - as if his reasoning is solid, irrefutable. 

“High risk, high reward, Jungkookie.”  It’s something your father had taught you years ago, the crazy old sap.  It’s probably why he’s had three divorces since you were seven years old, but you suppose it’s worked out for him now.  He’s been happily married for the last ten years - the longest relationship he’s ever had.  Youngin is good for him, though.  You like her - even if you sometimes wish she weren’t young enough to be your older sister and not his wife.

“You say that a lot.”

“I mean it when I say it.”

He’s quiet then, shoving a corner of his croissant past his lips.  When he speaks - starts to, anyway - his mouth is still full and you level him with a look that silences him until all traces of the pastry are gone.  “Girls are scary.”

You laugh.  Cackle, really.  You can’t help it.  He says it with a pout, the expression so utterly at odds with the offensively revealing shirt he wears, the smooth unblemished skin of his chest almost too much for such a quiet afternoon.  He glares at you across the table, shoves another piece of the flaky golden treat into his mouth, and waits for you to speak.  He knows you’re going to give him a piece of your mind because you always do, rebuffing 99% of the things he says.  (Sometimes for fun, often with good intentions.)

“Heights are scary.  Death is scary.  Leaving your wallet at home when you’re low on gas is scary—”

“Don’t you have Apple Pa—”

“Don’t interrupt.”  He clamps his lips shut, folding his arms across his chest.  From anyone else, it’d be a defensive gesture;  from him, it’s patient.  “Girls aren’t scary.  Having real feelings for people is scary, but that doesn’t mean you should just stay with people who don’t deserve you.” 

“Not all of us have cheater-sniffing noses.”  

You suppose he’s right but the fact still remains that he’s too nice for his own good.  Too trusting, too lenient, too blind to all the red flags.  Like he’s living life in greyscale. 

“Well, that’s what you have me for.”

The look Jungkook gives you then is incredulous, screwing his pretty face up as if he’s about to sneeze.  Instead, he laughs.  “I’m not hopeless.”

“Oh, but you are.”  You’re adamant, insistent.  He’s more comfortable with you now - sometimes teases you in a way you’d never have expected weeks ago - but he’s still so soft.  An absolute marshmallow dressed in designer duds, a heart of gold wrapped up in a bubble gum package.  

You want to protect him, teach him to fly.  Be his wingwoman until he’s soaring the skies on his own.  

You know it’s not his pride that keeps him from saying yes.  He doesn’t have an abundance of that, far too gracious to ever deny help when he really needs it.  He’s just shy, doesn’t know what he wants until it’s staring him right in the face.  

“Fine,”  he agrees after you’ve stared at him for too long.  It’s one of his weaknesses - his inability to handle attention when it’s laser-focused.  It makes him sweat, prompts his nervous habit of chewing at his bottom lip, long fingers picking at the peach fuzz on his cheeks.

“You won’t regret it.”

Jeon Jungkook has gone on six dates over the last ten days.  You know, because you’ve helped him pick out outfits for each of them, seated at the edge of his bed with your knees folded and a bag of white cheddar popcorn in your grubby little paws.

It’s not that he isn’t stylish - you both know he is - but there’s a certain finesse to dressing for dates, to knowing the likes and dislikes of your potential partner and playing to those.  

He, to no one's surprise, does not have this finesse.  If it were up to him, he’d wear his favourite clothes every day, different jeans and joggers in medium-wash denim and impossibly soft cotton.  He’d swap his Balenciaga separates in and out and stick with the finely tailored Gucci suit he calls his lucky ticket (ew).  He’d live in those stupid two-toned sneakers and barely do his hair, allowing it to become a powder puff reminiscent of old Hollywood movies.

The girls would probably still love it.  (It’s easy to love him.)

“What do you think?”  It’s low-cut black, relaxed in the shoulders and flattering in the torso.  It holds him just right, hugging the muscle that threads across his shoulders like armour, coils around his upper arms and makes his tattoos stand in stark relief where the sleeves end, mid-forearm. 

It looks good— but then again, a lot of things look good on him.  He wants great.

You answer honestly, because that’s what you do and that’s what he has you there for.  To knock him down when his (admittedly small) ego gets a little too big, remind him of his hubris like the summer sun upon his candle wax wings.  “Not bad…”

You don’t even need to finish the thought for him to be tugging the shirt over his head, back flexed, ink-strewn fingers gripping the hem.  

Not for the first time, you’re reminded of just how unfair life is. 

How had Jungkook - bona fide dork, certifiable shy guy - been gifted one of the best bodies in human existence?  (You wish you were joking.)  It was utterly absurd, a complete waste on someone who’d only learnt to utilise his good looks in the last five months you’d known him.  

“This one?”  He’s grabbing another hanger, all but thrusting it into your face.  Medium-weight cashmere.  Probably too hot for a night like tonight but you’ve seen it on him before and it hugs him like a lover, displaying his best assets (titties) and drawing attention to the narrow shape of his waist.  It’s the equivalent of a little black dress.

“Look at you go,”  you tease, mouth full of mirth and popcorn kernels.  “Throw that Juun.J trench you have overtop and you’ll be set.”

Jungkook nods sagely, as if your word is law.  You suppose it is.

“Thanks, ____,.”  He says it in that sweet way of his, eyes lost to the weight of his gratitude.  

Your response is a shrug.  “Bring me back some dessert and we’ll be even.”  You don’t know where he’s going tonight but you figure it’s one of the many restaurants you’d recommended earlier in the week when he’d started lining up his various dates.  You know there’ll be something good on the menu.  

He promises he will as he slides the turtleneck on, tucking it into the dark trousers he’d picked up days ago, and redoes the slim black Rag & Bone belt around his waist.  You have to admit - you’ve done another great job of styling him.  Simple yet painstakingly attractive, playing at all the little bits of Jungkook’s best qualities without outlining them in bright red ink.  Understated but elegant, effortless yet seriously hot.  

Maybe you should quit your day job and become the female Hitch.  That was a viable plan, right?

You’re mulling it over when you realise your walking Ken doll is making toward his bedroom door, wallet clasped in one hand and phone in the other.  “Hey!  You’re leaving already?”  It’s polite surprise that colours your words, stare drawn to the screen of your iPhone.  It’s only 6 PM and the reservation isn’t for another hour.

There’s a sheepish look creeping over his features, painting itself in delicate strokes that you spy past the line of his smile, how the skin crinkles around his eyes.  For a moment, he’s the shy Jungkook you’d met in your store and not the one that now bleeds careful confidence, filling his little black book (read: phone contacts) with names as easily as he breathes.  “I was, uh, going to stop and get f-flowers.”  A silver-lined hand scrubs across his nape, dislodges the carefully styled waves he’s settled for.

Flowers, huh?  Well, that’s certainly something new.  Good for him, you think. 

“Jeon Jungkook, going all out.”  It’s heavy on the teasing, playful mockery lending a warmth to your words.  “She’s special.”

Which you’d figured, given he was seeing her.  Repeats were rare for him now that he’d learned how to weed out the bad seeds, held his hand a little closer to his heart (at least, sometimes).  Since he’d started dating again, this would be the first time he’d be going on a second date.  It’s a big deal. 

“Yeah—“  Nervousness sparks across his face, lights up his stare like the stars in the night sky.  “I guess she is.”

You smile fondly, like a proud mother.  “Go get ‘em, tiger.”  

“I will,”  he promises, looking so giddy it makes your heart swell ten sizes.  

You don’t even think anything of it as you follow him out of his room, bag of popcorn neatly rolled under your arm and your socks slid back into place.  It’s only when he levels you with a strange stare, pauses in the shrugging on of his coat, that you return his look.  “What?”

“Where are you going?”

“Leaving?”  

“Why?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question?  

You don’t normally leave, usually waiting here at home for him until he returns to give you a rundown of his date (and the promised appetizer/dessert/whatever).  It feels somehow wrong to stay, though, as if you’re taking up space that doesn’t belong to you.  He’s going on a second date, after all.  Soon enough, he won’t need your help picking out clothes or deciding on a restaurant.  You won’t get to curl up on your usual corner of his sectional, wrapped up in the obnoxiously soft blanket you’d convinced him to buy one night while online shopping.

But it’s fine.  Totally, one hundred and ten percent fine.  The two of you are friends.  You’d always expected - anticipated, hoped - this day would come.  Baby boy was growing up. 

“Y’know.”  You answer a second too late and he’s still wearing that odd expression, handsome face flooded with something that looks like disappointment.  It flickers in the bits of his stare you can make out past his fringe, partially concealed by the dark silk that you know feels as soft as it looks.

“I know?”  He never tries to read your mind - knows it’s utterly useless.  

You wiggle your hand dismissively.  “Second date and all that.”  

Jungkook giggles - the same deceptively sweet sound he always makes - and finishes tugging his jacket on.  It fits him so well it should be illegal, falling to his knees and ending just shy of the intricate laces of his boots.  “Just stick around.  I’ll drive you home when I get back.”

It’s something he always does - his way of saying thank you for putting up with all of his first date jitters, his outfit changes, his worrying over how to first approach a girl on Tinder - so you don’t doubt him.  “Fine.  I’ll stay.”

He beams, caught halfway out the door.  “Tell me to break a leg.”

“Go break her back,”  you retort to the sound of his laughter.

You’re almost asleep when your phone starts going off, the vibrations jolting you awake.  It rattles across the glass table, won’t shut the hell up until you’re slamming your hand atop it, glaring at the screen as it lights up with notifications.

It’s almost 2 AM and they’re from Jungkook.  This can only mean one thing.

from jeon jungkook:  Hey. from jeon jungkook:  I’m really sorry but I won’t be home tonight. from jeon jungkook:  If you want to stay over, I can drive you back in the morning. from jeon jungkook:  Please don’t be mad.

Leave it to him to apologise for getting his dick wet - to feel bad about having a successful second date.  It makes you laugh as you stare down at the texts, tap a quick response you know will have his heart racing.  (Even after months of friendship, it’s hard not to tease him just a little bit.)

to jeon jungkook:  i officially hate you

The typing notification gives him away immediately, but the moment you do the same, he stops.  Of course.  He hates confrontation - would rather leap off a cliff-face than deal with negative emotions.  (He’d told you that once, over a night of beer and fried tteok.)

to jeon jungkook:  it’s fine!  have fun! to jeon jungkook:  turn her world upside down 😏

He doesn’t answer after that but the read receipt pops up.  Good, you think.  About time he finds someone nice.  You wonder what she’ll be like when you meet her.  

Jungkook’s third date comes with another third - you.

He drags you along to dinner, insisting there’s nothing at all weird about the fact.  He has to repeat it at least four times during the drive there, head nodding like a plastic bobblehead as he weaves in and out of traffic. 

“I want you to meet her,”  he mumbles, like that makes it better.  As if bringing a friend along to a date with that reasoning means it’s totally acceptable and not on the list of Hard No’s When Dating.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?”  He’s too focused on changing lanes to answer you, signalling before seamlessly drifting over.  (He’s an impressively responsible driver, but that’s unsurprising.)  You repeat yourself.

“It’s not… weird.”  But you have a feeling that he knows how odd the request is.  Knows and doesn’t care, unfortunately.  “She wants to meet you too.”

(When had Jungkook turned into this person who argued with you?)

You somehow highly doubt that.  No girl in her right mind would leap at the chance to meet her potential beau’s wingwoman.  It’s something reserved for official status, when the foundation is set.  Still, you play into his hand, level him with a stare he should recognise.  It’s the one you throw his way any time he’s too nice, gives a mile when he shouldn’t even offer an inch.  (It doesn’t come as often anymore, but it still makes appearances once in a while.)  

“What does she even know about me?”

“That we’re friends.”  His vague response speaks volumes.  The look changes - grows into a glare that has him furtively peeking at you from the corner of his periphery.  When he speaks, it feels like a dead giveaway.  “That I really value your opinion.”

You groan, a noise so loud it rattles around in the car and interrupts the ballad playing through the speakers.

“She’s trying to figure out if I’m competition or not!”  Of course.  It’s obvious.  She wants to know what she’s getting into it before things get too serious, determine if her Prince Charming is really all that.  (He is.)  “I’m not coming to dinner.”  

“You’re already in the car,”  he reasons.  

You note he doesn’t deny your first statement, mouth rounding into a pout that should crush your resolve.  Instead, it drives you mad, irritation bubbling in your throat.

“I just won’t go in.”

“____,.”  When he says it like that, it’s hard to deny him.  Jungkook might not utilise his charms often but when he does, it’s lethal.  Undeniable with those dumb Bambi eyes of his.

“No.”

“____,,”  he repeats, almost pleading.  You can’t look at him.  You won’t.  The moment you do, you’ll be sucked into the swirling vortex that makes up his stare - a million pretty little lights caught in the brown of his iris, so many possibilities you’d lose yourself trying to explore them all.

You last a whole ten seconds before his staring becomes too much, those round eyes tracking you in the rearview mirror until you’re relenting, softening in the way that only he can cause. 

“Fine.”  You hate how it sounds rolling off your tongue, terse and a little pissed off.  You’re not actually mad.  Just worried.  You’ve seen situations like this play out - not that you’ve been in this position before - but female friends and potential girlfriends just don’t go hand-in-hand.  It takes a very special kind of person to facilitate a meeting this early and you are not that person.  You’re ragged edges, uneven temperament, distrust that you can’t help.

Jungkook knows that.  Should, anyway.  You’ve grown close over the last nearly half a year.  

When he mumbles a quiet sorry, turns to rest his chin against his knuckles as he drives, you know he means it.  He’d never put you in this position if it didn’t mean a lot to him - if his own happiness wasn’t somehow also on the line.  (Truthfully, it’s your fault.  All that self-love encouragement was coming back to bite you in the ass.)

You grumble an obligatory acceptance as the streetlights fly by.  You’ve got a reputation to uphold. 

“You’re paying for my dinner.”

“Of course.”

How many times have you pictured this same situation, watched it unfold on your television screen as the protagonist gasps wildly, hand at their throat?  How many times have you laughed at the exchange, snickering into your palm as the romantic interest makes some wild declaration of love and wins the protagonist’s heart?

Answer:  you’ve lost count.

Still, it doesn’t prepare you to be thrust beneath the spotlight, half-dreaming and terribly confused.  

“What’re you doing here?”  At any other time, it might be as reproachful as you want, full of disapproval and sleepiness.  Here and now, it’s slurred speech and the lines of your pillow dug into the softness of your cheek, lashes dusted with sleep and breath freshly minted.

Jungkook’s oddly surprised, considering he’s appeared unannounced at your doorstep at the crack of dawn (not really).  “C-can I come in?”

You don’t budge.  It’s not because you’re about to say no, but because you’re still really tired.  So tired you stare at him for a moment too long, zoning out as you drink in his appearance.  He’s wearing the clothes from last night - the same animal-print silk shirt that hangs obscenely low and reveals too much skin.  You recognise it because you’d picked it out for his date.  

(The one where he was supposed to ask Jiwon to be his girlfriend, you fail to note.)  

You repeat yourself around a yawn, ignoring the way your vowels crash into each other and barely make it to the light of day.  “What’re you doing, Jungkookie?”

“Please let me in,”  the doe-eyed prince at your door mumbles, gaze bouncing somewhere beyond your shoulder, over your face, to the wayward strands that’re the result of sleeping too well.  Everywhere but your eyes.

“Fine,”  you huff, stepping back to allow him over the threshold.  You don’t miss the way he smells - his signature cologne and something else.  If you had to guess, it’s her perfume.  It’s distinctly floral, drawing you into a garden of roses.  You don’t know if you like it.

Without a second glance, you’re shuffling away from him, dragging your slippered feet into the kitchen.  

You move on autopilot, spooning coffee grounds into the Chemex filter.  You don’t bother asking whether your surprise guest wants any - assume he does, because the fiend somehow lives on caffeine - and settle against the counter as you wait for your kettle to whistle.

You’re still so tired you feel like you might fall asleep standing up but you think you do a good enough job of levelling Jungkook with a solid stare.  “So?”

“W-what?”  

It’s been so long since you’ve last heard his stutter that it surprises you, recentres your attention from your own exhaustion and has you frowning.  Something’s happened.  Must have.  There’s no other explanation for it - for how he looks at you, so uncertain like all those months ago when you’d smashed his glass house to pieces.

“What’s going on?”  You’re demanding, full to the brim with concern as you round on him.  He flinches away as if your words have burnt him, leaning into the stainless steel side of your fridge.  

(Silly Jungkook - that won’t protect you.)

“What do you mean?”

The early hour has, luckily, dampened your usual aggression.  He’s stalling, you can tell.  You hate when he does this.  You tell him as much, glowering at him as he tries to shrink his nearly six foot frame into something small.  “You’ve showed up at my house unannounced.  What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?”

He looks as if he’s on the brink of repeating himself, biting it back behind his neat white teeth when your expression grows darker, more frustrated.

It’s impossible to stay dressed in red, lethargy swathing you up like a cocoon and softening your edges.  You sigh heavily - perhaps a little overdramatically - and go about completing your coffee ritual.  Patience works best with Jungkook, you’ve learned.  (Though, he sorely tests your own sometimes.)

With a steaming mug in your hand and the other passed over to him, you gesture toward your living room.

He nods once - a small up and down of his head.  

“So.”  You try again, softer this time, warmed by the heat that permeates ceramic and settles your sleep-ravaged nerves.  You’re seated cross-legged on your couch, facing him with your back pressed to the arm rest.  He’s half-turned to you, coffee cup slotted between his thighs.  Feet turned in, mouth wobbling with the intensity of how hard he’s chewing into his bottom lip.

“I couldn’t do it.”  The words rush out too fast, tumble into each other in such a way you have to take a second to comprehend what he’s said.  Couldn’t do… it?

You stare at each other for a long while, you trying to understand and him refusing to meet your stare.  

When realisation dawns on you, you can only imagine how you look.  It must be terrifying by how Jungkook practically tries to crawl into the cushions of your couch, shoulders rising around his ears like a turtle.

“You didn’t ask her?”  It explodes out, a question that demands an answer. 

He’s staring past your head, unblinking.  You’d almost worry he was a robot if his voice weren’t so damned human, full of melancholy and rounded by his lisp.  “I c-couldn’t.  It was just…”  The shrug he offers is half-assed at best, not nearly good enough to excuse him.

“Just what?”  

“Just—”  There’s the wiggly hand gesture you do that he’s adopted, his ink-strewn hand waving through the air like a floppy chicken foot.  He thinks it’ll earn him a pass but your unrelenting glare indicates otherwise.  He deflates, hand falling back to his lap, clutching his mug like it's a makeshift security blanket.  “It didn’t feel right.”

What did that even mean?  Feel right?  

Love didn’t just appear, fully-formed and complete.  It took work and dedication and the understanding it could all come crashing down.  Didn’t he understand that?  Hadn’t you drilled that into his head?

You exhale through gritted teeth, push breath past enamel that acts like a solid steel gate.  

“Jungkook, it’s not going to just ‘feel right.’”  You’re air quoting, all tact thrown out the window.  “You like her, don’t you?”

You expect him to nod immediately.  He doesn’t. 

“Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” 

“You like her, right?”  

“I think so.”

You want to tear your own hair out.  Instead, you press the pads of your fingers into your temple - apply pressure in hopes of alleviating the tension that settles there.  “So, you like her.”  It feels a bit bad, condescending in a way;  you don’t mean it in any way but supportive.  You just want him to be happy.  “But you couldn’t ask her out because it didn’t feel right?”

“She’s not you.”  

He’s looking at you now, looks like he might have a heart attack if he does so any longer.  But he doesn’t tear his gaze away when you meet it, entire expression warped into something you don’t recognise.  Hope, maybe?  Fear?   

“What?”  You wish it were hard rather than feather light, almost lost to the cacophony in your head.

The hollow of his cheek is thrown into stark relief, the line of his jaw clenched tight.  He repeats himself even as you’re the one looking away, shaking your head as if that might will away the irksome answer.  (It won’t.)

“Don’t say things like that.”  

It’s hurt that flashes through his expression and strikes you right in the centre of your chest.  His face crumbles, brows knit together beneath his mop of shiny hair.  He looks so terribly sad - a kicked puppy, an abandoned deer.  Bambi, through and through.

“You asked why I didn’t do it,”  he reasons in a voice far more solid than he looks.

“I didn’t think you’d say something so ridiculous.”  It’s cruel.  “You’re making a bad choice.  You’re into this girl.  Don’t be dumb.”

His features rearrange, then so do his limbs, entire body lifting from his seat in jerky, disjointed movements.  “I’m not dumb.”  There’s a reproachful quality to his words, a distaste he doesn’t bother to mask.  It’s not something you’ve ever faced, surprising you enough to draw your eyes to his face.  

He doesn’t look like the Jungkook you know.  

When he leaves - sets his cup in the sink and storms out the way he’d come before you have time to stop him - you wonder if you ever knew him at all.

“Okay.  Spill.”

Yejin’s tired of your abrasiveness, tired of having her head bitten off every time she tries to approach you with a question.  You can’t blame her.  You’ve felt like shit the last week, sleep-deprived and generally pissed off.  

All because of a doe-eyed idiot.  

“What?”  It’s less snark, more sigh.  You’re counting down the minutes until you’re free, until you can curl back up in your bed and try to sleep like you’ve done the last four days.  

“What’s going on with you?”  

“Nothing.”  

“Bullshit,”  she hums, trailing after you as you move behind the counter.  “You’ve been in a bad mood all week.  I’ve never seen you this upset like, ever.”  She’s right, of course.  You’ve always been very careful to keep business separate, pushing the customer service agenda no matter what.  “Did something happen?”  

You grit your teeth.  An expletive careens off your tongue when you slam the tip of your finger within the drawer you’d just shut.

“____,”  she tries again, concerned.  

“Nothing happened.”

“See, I don’t believe that because like, look at you!”  She gesticulates wildly, adorned wrists clinking loudly.  “You look like hell—”

“Thanks.”

“—and you’re being clumsy and like, I think I know you well enough.  So just tell me?”

You hate that she’s right.  It doesn’t mean you’ll relent, too caught up in your own strange brand of strength to unload.  (Maybe it’d be helpful.  Probably.  But you’ve never found comfort in other people.  At least, not like this.)

“Yejin.”  Her name stops her in her tracks, hurried and insistent as you pull your coat on.  “It’s fine.  Really.”  You’re swallowing your pride - practically choking on it - as you offer what you hope is a reassuring smile.  “I just need to get some sleep.”  And figure out what the hell to do about Jungkook, but that’s a can of worms you refuse to open and certainly not here.

Maybe at home, over a glass of wine, fueled by liquid courage.  

The bottle of Côtes du Rhône has aided you more than you’d hoped, offered an armour that slinks over your shoulders and drives your fingers to action.  It’s prompted something - started the ball rolling.

(Idly, you think that might not have been a very good idea, but it’s too late to care now.)

“You’re here.”  You being him and him being Jeon Jungkook, hair damp and imposing frame draped in an oversized sweater.  He looks terribly uncomfortable standing in your doorway - more so than he had days ago - hands shoved into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie, dumb sneakers pigeon-toed as if he’s ready to take flight.

“Y-you asked,”  he mutters, refusing to meet your stare.  At least, you think he’s refusing.  It’s a little hard to focus when there’s this fine film turning everything hazy, the bitter taste of wine heavy on your tongue.  

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy then, though he never quite meets your eyes.  It’s a smart tactic - level you with a look then immediately bounce it away.  It has you coming back for more, eager to refocus his fretful gaze until it’s locked with your own.

“Will you come in?”  You sidestep, give him enough space that he can enter without feeling suffocated.  He still hesitates, takes a second too long in deciding.  “I won’t bite.”

You don’t miss the better promise that comes under his breath.

“So.”  This feels oddly familiar, him backed into the corner of your couch again while you settle across from him.  He hums a noise but offers nothing further.  

This is how it’ll be then.  Fine.  If he wants to be this way.

“You like me.”

He sputters - doesn’t mean to, by how big his eyes go.  He hadn’t expected it to come barreling out of your mouth.  “I—  I don’t—  I didn’t say that.” 

If it were anyone but him, you’d take his reticence as rudeness.  

“Tell me why.”

The poor boy blinks, stares at you full on now.  Can’t look away, locked in the intensity of your stare.  

“W-what?”

“Tell me.”  You sip carefully at the liquid in your glass, swirl it ‘round and ‘round.  “You said that girl wasn’t me but you haven’t made a case as to why that matters.  What have I got that she doesn’t?”  

“You’re serious?”  

“As a heart attack, Jungkookie.”

The brunet swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion.  You think he might say no, outright refuse.  You don’t expect him to start rattling things off like the list lives in his head, answers printed against the darks of his eyelids.  

“You’re funny.  You’re honest.  You speak your mind.”  You don’t mean to scoff but his reasons are so shallow - so easily found in other people.  He must read the doubt in your expression, pushing on to cut you off from doing the same to him.  “Y-you care about people even when you pretend like you don’t.  You’re just as scared of being hurt as I am.”  

For the first time in a long time - in years and years - you feel seen.  As if he’s pulled back the cover of your unpublished draft, memorised the redlines and notes in the margins.  

“I don’t—”

“You have this face you make when you’re proud of me.”  He’s turning his own fingers over in his lap, knuckles white from the strain of locking them together and undoing them again.  “When I do something you approve of or when I make you laugh.”  

There’s something thick in your throat.  

“You make me want to try.”  He clears his own, speaks so softly you have to strain to hear it.  “Y-you make things not so scary.”  

It grows heavier, harder to breathe as you stare at the man sitting across from you.  He’s focused wholly on his hands, too caught up in his words to help the way he plucks at his skin, fiddles with the silver chain that loops around his wrist.

“You know what I need, even before I know myself.  You make me laugh.”  He laughs, an almost choked sound that fizzles and rattles bashfully. “You look really, really good in your work skirt.”  You know the one he means - all black, pencil-fit.  Makes your legs look a mile long, despite the fact that they aren’t.  

You can’t help but join him, a little breathless, with a strange sensation behind your ribs.  Like sunshine on a cold day, filtering past the walls you’ve put up, streaming through the windows that’d replaced drywall when Jungkook had waltzed into your life with his fluffy hair and boyish laugh.

When you speak, you don’t even believe your own words.  They come of their own accord - a defense mechanism.  “I can’t.”

As if he knows - as if he’s got a polygraph going, Jungkook shakes his head, meets your eyes and holds you there with the intensity of his attention.  “Can’t or won’t?”

“I—”

“I’m not asking for the world here.  Just a chance.”  He’s got a peculiar look on his face.  “Don’t you think you owe it to me?”

“Excuse me?” 

All of a sudden, he’s close.  Closer than you’d expect, far closer than he should be.  There’s nothing beyond his expression, the way his eyes twinkle under the dimmed apartment lights as he stares you down.  The scent of his cologne is cloying now, the fading nectarine hint of his shampoo making your mouth water.  

“You kind of ruined my life.  I think this makes us fair.”

You sputter, gasp, make sounds that careen off your tongue and fill the air with nonsense.  You’d ruined his life?  (You’d made it better - made him see the light, you thought.)  You’re working to find your voice, ready to tear into him for this abrupt accusation.

Then he’s giggling, nose scrunched and delight filtering past his teeth.  

“I’m kidding.”  

It feels like whiplash.  You’ve created a monster.  

“But you do owe me, I think.  So why not?”

You only have yourself to blame when you say yes, conceding to his pretty eyes and sweet smile.

Dating Jungkook is easy - as effortless as breathing.  He’s a bona fide dreamboat plucked from your wildest dreams. 

He texts when he says he will and picks you up every night, stamping a kiss to your cheek the moment you’ve clocked out.  He holds your hand and refuses to let go, rubbing soothing circles over your wrist when you’re tired or stressed or annoyed.  He brings flowers to every date - insists on them even when you tell him they’re a waste of money.  He knows your coffee order, has learned the art of the pour over when he wakes up before you.  

You understand now, why he’d stayed with women who were terrible for him (to him).  If you were them, you wouldn’t have let him go either.  Would lock him up in an old tower like your own personal Rapunzel.

(You say that because you’ve been on a Disney movie binge.  He is, unsurprisingly, very into these sorts of things.)

“Open it,”  he pleads, pushing the luxurious pink box towards you.

You stare down at the lid, the Agent Provocateur label glaring back at you.  You can’t help how you laugh, sound bouncing around his bedroom.  “Are you trying to tell me something, Jungkookie?”

Your lover - not boyfriend, because you haven’t had the talk and it’s still new and you’ve never been this careful before - rolls his eyes, pushes the box closer with a huff.  It’s adorable.  

“Just open it.”

You finger the soft bow strapped across the top, play with the neatly cut ends.  You can feel the impatience radiating off Jungkook, feel those pretty doe eyes boring holes into the top of your head.  You take your time even more now, unravelling the ribbon with slow, measured twists of your wrist.  

Whatever you’d expected to find nestled among the tissue paper, this isn’t it.  

You’d imagined he’d be into something feminine, all pristine white lace and scalloped cups.  Something he could brush his cheek against, run his fingers over.  

Tucked within the box is something that doesn’t even earn the title of lingerie, a few flimsy straps bonded together.  Blush pink satin and dressed with buckles, you turn it over in your hands, trying to make sense of the way it all connects.  Surely there’s more to this.  Surely, darling innocent Jeon Jungkook doesn’t expect you to wear just this?

“Do you like it?”  You can sense the eagerness in his voice, that desire he has to please that seems to never go away.  

“What is it?”

“It’s a playsuit.”  

“A playsuit?”  You’re no stranger to experimenting in the bedroom but this— this looks like it’s meant to harness a dog in.  Would it even fit?  Soft as it is, it seems terribly restrictive, made for someone with model proportions and no body fat at all.

He nods, round eyes so bright, so hopeful, you can’t voice your concerns.  “Will you wear it?”

It fits you better than you’d expected.  Or at least, you think it does.  If Jungkook’s reaction was any indication, it’s heaven sent - the perfect gift wrapping for a present he’s been dying to claim. 

The buckles you’d studied earlier - that had taken you too long to strap together - dig into the tender flesh of your hips, the shape of his fingers imprinted along the metal.  He grips you so tight you think you might bruise, left with a reminder of his love for weeks.

“S-so wet,”  he groans, sound dropping into an almost whine as the swollen mushroom head of his cock brushes through your folds.  The satin of the playsuit has been long since tugged aside, stained with your arousal as it cuts into the softness of your thighs.  He repeats the motion once, twice, coats your clit in pre-cum that leaks out of the slit and adds another layer of slick.  “So ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod dumbly, drool around the two fingers he’s got slotted against your cheek, ring finger pressed down over your tongue.  

“Use your words, gorgeous.”  As if you can, as if you’re not riding the high of your last orgasm and about to come apart beneath his playful teasing.

The palm of his hand meets your overstimulated clit with a sharp smack, the cold of his teeth bared against your neck.  He doesn’t like when you don’t answer - much prefers to make an effort even if it’s indiscernible.

“What did I say?”  

Something garbled comes, a plea as much as a sob.  Another hit lands, just shy of the pearl that throbs with need and pain, landing instead on the sensitive, already red skin of your inner thigh.  He soothes it this time around, massages your own wetness into the roses that bloom beneath his touch.

When he speaks again, it’s so utterly sweet, tender as can be.  The Jungkook you’ve known for months and not the devil in disguise.  

“You like this, don’t you?”  His kisses are searing, laced with reverence that feels at odds with the way he forces your gag reflex, taps his curved cock against your pussy.  “You like what I’m doing?”

“Y-yes,”  you cry, spit pooling past the sides of your mouth, dripping lewdly across your breasts.  The hand cradling your chin is all but drenched, dark ink thrown into stark relief by the way it slides over his skin.  Jungkook hums against your cheek, licks a fat stripe from shoulder to ear.  

“Good girl.”  Two fingers spread across over your heat, pointer and index sliding over your lips.  You’re spread obscenely - can see it in the mirror that rests against the far wall.  Can see how the head of his cock peeks between your thighs, runs the same path over and over with each languid, slow roll of his hips.  “Such a good girl for me.  My perfect girl.”

Your shoulders shake with the effort you put into nodding, throat clenching on reflex when the three fingers in your mouth flatten over your tongue, hold you steady in place.

“Pretty girl wants more, doesn’t she?  Wants me to fill her up?”

He’s teasing you, the bastard.  Dragging his aching erection against your cunt as you writhe against him, desperate.  It’s amusing to him - you can read the delight in the reflection, see it shining bright like a beacon when he pulls his hand away and recentres it across your chest.  Digits tease at the already pebbled buds, swollen and sensitive from how hard he’d sucked them into his mouth earlier.

“Say it.  Say you want me.”

You do, without hesitation, without fear.  You know he’ll catch you.  “I want you.”  

He sinks into you the same instant the words fall, holds you tight against him when your entire body begins buzzing and threatens to do the same.  Your walls feel like a vice grip around him, greedily sucking in his cock as he slams home, ruts into you like a wild animal.  

Strong as he is, he’s weak to the noises you make - the broken sobs that spill off your tongue and make up the prettiest sound he’s ever heard - and how you feel absolutely perfect, wet and warm.  The muscle in his thighs strain, pleasure vibrating up the notches of his spine, setting every nerve ending alight with its ascent.

“B-be mine,”  he returns, practically begging as he spreads you wide, making you take everything he has to offer.  Heart and soul and stupidly huge, perfect cock.

“I am.  I am.  I am,”  you chant, tears welling along your lash line.  They fall when his rhythm stutters, when the heat overwhelms and you’re coming for the third time that night, crying his name like it’s the only word you know.  

They continue to pour, carve trails down your reddened cheeks as you reach nirvana, wait for moment he’s right there with you.  It doesn’t take long - a few more punishing thrusts into your fluttering heat - and then he’s found his bliss, crying into the silk of your hair, spilling inside you. 

It doesn’t happen how you thought it would - a shy question poised over dinner, sealed with a sweet kiss on the way to the car - but it means just as much.  Breaks you apart as it rebuilds you, fills you up as it splits your seams.

You’re his and he’s always been yours. 

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @shaybtsforever @we-found-wonderland-in-1989 @justanothergirlfromeurope @jalexad @bonnyskies @coffeeismylife28 @haeilove @purplespaceymermaid @sunsetsnsirens-blog @beingbeings​ @veronawrites​ @notmontae97​ @papillonsgf​ i’m really hoping i didn’t miss anyone e___e

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[gubler-me-up]

Let it Rain (MGG Request)

Request: mgg smut request! you and matthew are having sex and he makes you squirt for the first time. at first you are embarrassed and go to apologize. matthew stops you and says you are going to keep do squirting until he says to stop. yall have rough sex and you end up squirting like 4 times. afterwards he is AMAZED by you even more than before. he tells you that his mission in life is to fuck you so good you squirt everytime.

A/N: Thanks for the request, anon! Here I am once again posting requests in the A.M. hours omg i cannot with myself. If I hadn’t taken a nap this would have been published waaaaay earlier, so pls forgive my tardiness. Hope this is everything you’ve ever wanted and more from a smut ❤️ Happy reading!

Couple: MGG/Fem!reader

Category: Smut

Content warning: Swearing, rough sex, penetrative sex, overstimulation, squirting, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, slapping

Word count: 1.7k

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

A Saturday night inside spent with Matthew was your favourite way to spend the night. What made it even better was being in bed with him, cuddled up and making out. The best part was his hands caressing your leg up and down with a sense of need in his touch. You had your hand desperately clung around his neck to keep his head in place, so he wouldn’t dare part his lips from yours.

He turned you on your back. He continued to kiss you feverishly as his hands were up to no good. He slid his hand up your thigh and slipped his hands up the back of your shorts. He squeezed your ass which made you arch your back and free yourself from his lips as you let out a soft gasp. He went in to kiss your neck and you could feel his smile forming.

“Someone’s already excited,” he said.

“How could I not be?” You said.

He chuckled and removed his hand from your shorts. He leaned up from your neck, so he could look at your keen face. He licked his lips as you felt his hands slip under your shorts and pulled them off along with your drenched underwear. He tossed them aside and didn’t hesitate to feel just how wet you were. He glided his fingers up and down your folds as he watched your breathing become more urgent.

“You like when I do that?” He asked.

“I love it,” you said.

You then felt him stick his finger in you. You bit your lip as he slowly fingered you. He kissed you on the cheek before his lips found their way to your ear.

“How about that?” He asked

“Yes,” you moaned.

“Do you want another finger in you?” He asked.

“Yes, I do,” you said.

He stuck another finger in you. When he did his pace also increased. Your laboured breathing turned into deep moans. He grabbed your neck to pull you closer to your face. You looked at him and saw how wide his eyes were with a strong sense of yearning.

“Tell me you want a third finger in you,” he demanded.

“I want a third finger in me,” you said.

He gripped your neck tighter. “Beg for it.”

“Please, put a third finger in me,” you begged.

He stuck a third finger in you. You let out a yelp as he started to move his fingers in a ‘come here’ motion inside of you. He didn’t stop there though. He switched between doing that and taking a few seconds to pump in and out of you. You closed your eyes as you continued to moan at his fingers doing the most for you.

“You like that?” He asked.

“I fucking love it,” you squeaked.

As he started curling his fingers on your g-spot again, you felt yourself squirt. Your eyes shot open to see Matthew looking at your squirt come out of you. You stayed wide-eyed and silent as you had never squirted before. He took his fingers out of you and you could feel the overbearing feeling of embarrassment. He looked back at you with shock on his face which only worsened your embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry. I-”

He pulled your head closer to his face. He planted a rough, tongue heavy kiss on you before pulling your head back. He no longer looked shocked at you. He looked intrigued, almost crazy looking.

“You’re going to keep squirting until I say stop. Okay?” He said.

You nodded your head. “Okay.”

He let go of your neck, so he could take off your shirt. You weren’t wearing any form of bra because Matthew loved to play with your breasts in bed. As expected he grabbed them and touched them roughly to get a reaction from you. You tilted your head back and let out soft yelps.

He then changed his position by sliding his arm under you, so you were close against his body he went back to roughing up your breast as he leaned in to make out with you. He kissed you with such a hunger and need which drove you crazy. What drove you even more crazy was the touch of his fingers from his other hand vigorously circling your clit.

At a certain point you had to stop kissing him because you couldn’t contain your loud moans any longer. He took the opportunity to leave little bites along the side of your neck. You grabbed his upper arm and squeezed it tight trying your best not to squirt so soon again. Too bad for you your body had a mind of its own. You let out a huge gasp as you once again squirted all over Matthew’s hand.

He moved his hand from your clit and grabbed your jaw. He roughly jerked it to look at him. His eyes were dark with lust now. He leaned into your face enough for his lips to brush against yours but not touch.

“I felt you holding back. Don’t you dare fucking hold back again. Understand?” He asked.

He shook your head for you as you let out a small, weak ‘yes.’ He removed his hands from underneath your body and let go of your face. He took a pillow and lifted your legs, so he could stuff it right under your ass. He went in front of you. You looked up at him and watched anxiously as he stared down at you.

“Can you squirt a third time for me?” He asked.

“Yes,” you said.

He slapped your right breast before grabbing it roughly. You arched your back as you let out a shriek. You looked back up at him to see him smirking but quickly bit his lip to mask his excitement. He removed his hand from your breast to take off his boxers. When you saw his dick spring out, you felt your body temperature rise.

His hands grabbed the sides of your hips to inch you closer to his dick. You watched as he slowly slid it in you. You gasped and tilted your head back once it was all inside you. You don’t ever think you’d get over how much he filled you. As if the feeling of his dick wasn’t enough, he started to use his thumb to circle your clit.

“Fuck,” you moaned.

You peeping a word was motivation enough for him to go faster, harder and rougher on you. You could feel your legs shaking from the overstimulation he was enforcing on you. You reached your hand towards him as a weak attempt to slow him down. He immediately used his free hand to pin your arm down. He leaned into you, so he could be closer to your face as he continued to fuck you at his own pace.

“What did I say about holding back?” He asked.

“Not to do it,” you squeaked.

He slapped you on your cheek. “That’s fucking right. What aren’t you going to do again?”

“Hold back,” you squeaked.

He slapped you on your cheek again. “That’s fucking right.”

He then grabbed your neck to hold you still, so he could fuck you in peace. You couldn’t help keep your mouth agape as he toyed with your clit and fucked you relentlessly. He wasn’t looking at you anymore but was focused on watching to see when you were going to squirt. You didn’t have him waiting long because you squirted on him again. He looked back up at you amazed by the sight he just witnessed.

“You’re fucking amazing,” he said.

“I want to squirt for you a fourth time,” you said.

His eyes instantly lit up when you said that. He pulled you up by your neck to give you another mouthful of a kiss. He grabbed the back of your hair as he yanked you away from him. He panted heavily as he looked at you with those same crazy eyes.

“Tell me you want to squirt for me again,” he said.

“I want to squirt for you again,” you said.

He yanked your hair. “Again.”

“I want to fucking squirt for you again.”

He yanked  your hair. “Again.”

“I want to fucking squirt for you again.”

He yanked you down on the bed by your hair before turning you over onto your stomach. He grabbed onto your hips and jerked you back towards him. His dick instantly slipped into you as you let out a shriek from the feeling of him slamming into your overstimulated pussy. No surprise though, he used his hand to circle your pussy. He had found a nice, sure-fire way to get you to squirt fast.

You couldn’t even catch a proper breath as he did everything in his power to make you squirt. The way your legs were quivering with a tingling feeling running through your body made you believe he was going to get more than squirting from you.

He used his free hand to grab a bundle of your hair as he continued to pound into you. You could hear his cool, collected tone wear off as he was now breathing inconsistently. You could tell he was about to cum himself. You beat him to the chase as you let out a shriek as you squirted and came at the same time.

You heard Matthew gasp as you orgasmed, but you didn’t know whether it was from amazement at you or if he came himself. The way he was still fucking you though was answer enough. You weakly kept yourself balanced as you let him fuck you until he came.

You moaned as you felt him cum in you before he pulled out. As soon as he pulled out, you collapsed on the bed. You laid there with no ounce of strength left in your body. All the excitement and overstimulation had worn you completely out. It was worth it though to know Matthew was happy with the newfound talent you had.

He crawled onto of you, gently kissing your shoulder. You turned your head to the side to look at him. He had a huge smile on his face which made you smile back. He kissed you on your lips and tucked your hair behind your ear.

“I think my new mission in life is to fuck you so good you squirt every time,” he whispered.

“I’d love that,” you said.

-----

Tagged: @shadyladyperfection​, @slutforthegubes​, @pinkdiamond1016​, @spencerreidsthings​, @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​, @slutforsr​

MASTERLIST

#mgg #mgg imagine #mgg fanfiction #mgg fic #mgg request #mgg smut #mgg x reader #mgg x y/n #Matthew Gray Gubler #matthew gray gubler request #matthew gray gubler smut #smut #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler x you #matthew gray gubler x y/n #spencer reid #Criminal Minds

[carltonlassie]

Guh Chicago was so fun I miss living in a proper city! (I don’t, living in a city is always so stressful lmao) It was just so nice to walk around. Walkable places!!! Public transit!!! Cute lil shops to drop in and check out!!!! People actually wearing masks!!!!

We did go to the Ukrainian village to get some pastries, but it turns out the bakery is actually attached to a grocery store gjfjfjdj so that was fun/unexpected. Everyone there was Ukrainian (or adjacent) so we looked very out of place lol. They were live streaming a ukranian news source on the giant TVs they had, and it seemed p tense in there.. the rest of the villages too donned the flags and printed statements that said we stand with our neighbors. Flyers with protest dates and location. Strange time to be there. A lot of the pastries were wiped out though, like the blueberry ones were all out, so I ended up getting a prune doughnut and a croissant and a giant cherry turnover. Looked and tasted v good!!

We walked around some more (thank god it was above freezing) and found this big record store and I wanted to take a lot of time to peruse through all the collections and get a couple of records, but we had our dog so one of us had to stay outside so i felt bad taking time to do that :( also I was real hungry lol next time..... next time!

We walked some more to find a place to eat and ended up going to a pet store too, where we bought bunch of fish snacks for my dog lmaooo he was real cold and hungry and appreciated the fish chips before heading back outside.....which led to this gyro place that said "taste of Lebanon" idk how true it was bc it was a standard gyro but the portions were So generous like I had trouble finishing all the meat!! And more people peeping to say hi to my dog hdjdjdj

Took the cta around and got talking with an old lady who was sitting in front of us, she said her cat Ramsey (short for Ramses like the pharaoh bc the cat is an Egyptian cat) sleeps in the hood of her jacket ggjfhfh so my dog was sniffing it!! But she was real excited about all the restaurants that the bus passed by. Nice to just get talking with random people! Also the bus drivers were so nice about my dog lol one of them was like 'is that a service dog?' And we were like uhhh, no :/ and he was like 'just say it's a service dog ;) and tag once more for the dog no jk, don't actually do it' lol'

We ended up leaving p late but it was fun. ended up taking the toll roads blegh but one of the exit we took to get gas took us to the hometown of Ronald Regan lmaooo we got our boy to poop n pee there so there was that.

We really didn't do much other than just kinda walk, but that's how I used to hang out with people when I lived in big cities, so. That was fun. The past few times I visited Chicago was in the downtown area with the bean and that wasn't as charming as this visit! I loved going to different neighborhoods by just walking (and lol u could tell which ones were gentrified by the Ramen restaurants and crossfit gyms) and seeing people and shops and OH GOD. we walked past the first NFT gallery in Chicago apparently and I was like nooo.......pls.............noo.....................

Oh yeah, voting. Voting itself was good. I went to the voting location and there was a p huge line, but it moved fairly quickly. They checked my temperature and sent me in, showed them my ID and they checked online whether to see I was a citizen and was eligible to vote (awesome, like I don't understand why in the US u HAVe to register to vote bc we're automatically registered to vote) they knew my district and all automatically, printed the ballot in front of me and sent me into the booth to vote! I checked off the ballot quickly like I was pulling off a bandaid bc it pains me to vote for the lesser of two evils when there's a perfectly good candidate but she doesn't stand much of chance and it's more important to stop the trump-like tyrant so. There was that. My first voting experience was so hopeful bc we were voting out a corrupt lady and voting in this democratic guy who's been real awesome...... But this time around I was so defeated, limp wristed about this whole thing bc the choices SUCKED. it reminded me of the Biden v Trump and people rallying with the slogan settle for biden. Grjfjdjhshfhf. But I did my dues and hopefully it comes out to be something. I'd be so upset if the insane guy won but........ not much u can do about that.

Next time tho I do wanna visit without my dog so I can go into places to eat / shops to peruse thru etc

#log

[tennessoui]

34. meeting at a masquerade ball au pls ✪ ω ✪

oh boy oh boy oh boy!!! did you know i cannot write snippets/short fics?? did you know i just wrote 1200 words for this ? strap in

34. meeting at a masquerade ball:

“I thought the point of these things is for rich people to give us money,” Anakin grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. He wants to reach up and adjust his mask but he can’t because last time he had, Padme had slapped his hands away and spent five minutes yelling at him under her breath about him ruining all of her hard work.

“It is,” Padme responds, smiling pleasantly at someone walking past. “The museum relies on these events to keep departments like yours funded well enough so that you can afford to go cavorting around the globe, exploring unstable ruins and giving me stress ulcers.”

“But don’t you think these guys won’t want to give us money if we can’t see their faces? I mean half the reason they do it is for the recognition.”

“Would it kill you to not think the worst of everyone, all the time?” she asks with a sigh as she turns to give him what he knows is a very judgmental stare from under her mask.

“I guess we’ll never know,” he responds immediately, uncrossing his arms just so he can reach up and fiddle with his mask. He keeps forgetting that he’s wearing it, it’s so light on his face. The black lace is sort of itchy, and it’s not really doing anything to actually hide his identity, but Padme had insisted. Padme had insisted on a lot of things tonight, most infuriating of them being that Anakin show up.

“I did not dress you in gold and black just so you could stand in the corner and complain, Anakin Skywalker. If I don’t see you out on the floor, making nice with potential donors in the next five minutes, I’m pulling your Peru trip.”

“Padme!” Anakin yelps. “You know that’s not--” but she’s gone in a whirl of blue fabric and Anakin is left alone to sulk. He snags a flute of champagne off of a passing tray and downs it in two swallows. Liquid courage as he moves out of his little alcove and into the main floor of the museum, turned into a proper ballroom for the evening.

He’d wanted to stay in tonight and do research for his next trip. He still needs to brush up on the language and customs, as well as relisten to audio clips one of his field interns had sent him yesterday. He’d had plans, Padme, and they did not involve being stuffed into a very stiff outfit that exposed more of his chest than he was comfortable exposing around his coworkers, Padme.

He smiles painfully at the coworkers he recognizes and wonders if he can just talk to them instead, if Padme would notice. She probably would. And with the Peru trip on the line, he can’t afford to play around here.

One more champagne flute. And then he’ll talk to a stranger. Is he getting paid to be here?

He looks around despairingly for a waiter, but they all seem to have unanimously decided to leave him high and dry, emphasis on the dry.

“Ah, good evening,” a voice says to his right and Anakin temporarily abandons his search in order to have what is going to be a very tedious and hopefully brief conversation.

Plans, Padme. He’d had plans.

And they had most certainly not involved impeccably groomed older men dressed in dark navy three-piece suits, holding out a glass of champagne to him. The man’s mask cut diagonally across his face, exposing one steel blue eye, a defined cheekbone and a jawline almost entirely hidden by a neatly trimmed beard.

Anakin accepts the flute almost as if in a dream. “Hi,” he says dazedly.

“You seemed to be looking for one of these,” the man says in a crisp British accent, gesturing with his own glass to the one in Anakin’s hand.

“I--yeah. Yes. Thank you.”

The man smiles at him as if charmed. Maybe the man has terribly low standards in conversational partners.

“I like your. Outfit.” Anakin says, which sounds very stilted but it’s also much better than what he first thought of saying, which is that he liked the way that the man’s shirt was unbuttoned just far enough to expose his collarbone to Anakin’s very greedy eyes.

“I wish I had had something in my wardrobe more worthy of the compliment,” the man responds, falling to stand next to him casually, as if settling in for a long chat.

Anakin’s plans for the night are rapidly shifting and changing before his very eyes. He’s not even mad about it anymore.

“You don’t work here,” he means to ask, but it comes out sounding much more like a statement. He takes a sip of his drink to fortify himself.

“Do I look so out of place?” The man, thankfully, laughs.

“No, no,” Anakin says quickly, and then even faster, “I just would have remembered you.”

One eyebrow raises in something like amusement, and Anakin wants to die. “Oh, you would have, would you?”

He’s not going to answer that. He’s already said enough. More than enough. Too much.

“You’re right, of course. I’m a writer. But I do spend much of my free time here.”

“A writer?”

“Oh yes, science fiction mostly but I’ve found the best science fiction novels take inspiration from our own world.”

“Anything I’ve heard?”

“Quite possibly,” the man nods, taking a sip of his own champagne. “I like to think I’ve done well for myself.”

Oh, so this man’s a donor. He almost wants to look around for Padme, to make sure she’s paying attention to him, but that would mean looking away from the man in front of him, and he doesn’t want to do that at all.

“And you?” the man asks.

“I’m an archaeologist. And archivist with the museum,” Anakin says, trying to think about how to phrase what he does without boring the man. It’s happened too often before with people Anakin’s interested in: they’ll ask him about his job and he’ll talk for so long that by the end of it, he’s single-handedly killed any hopes for a second date.

Not that this is a date or anything remotely like a date. But the principle is the same.

The man’s eyes have lit up, however. “That sounds absolutely fascinating. I would love to hear more.”

“You--you would?” Anakin asks, wrong-footed.

“Absolutely, darling,” the man says, the endearment gliding off of his tongue.

“It’s Anakin,” Anakin says, blushing a furiously bright red.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep by call--”

“It’s fine! That was fine, don’t apologize, please. Just. In case you wanted to know. My name.”

The man smiles then, and it’s beautiful. “It just so happens that I did want to know your name, Ahna-kin. And mine is Obi-Wan, but why should we stop at names? There’s so much more I’d like to know about you.”

“Yeah?” Anakin asks, feeling brave enough to put his hand on Obi-Wan’s--Obi-Wan’s--arm gently. “Like what?”

Obi-Wan covers his hand with his own. His fingertips are rough, or maybe Anakin’s feeling particularly sensitive at the moment. “Everything.”

#my fics #writing #this has NOT been read over or edited in any way the definition of hot off the press WHOOPS #i love masquerade balls as a plot device #use my body was ALMOST a masquerade ball and i cant remember why it wasn't honestly #asks #tomicaleto #thank you for the ask!!! loved this kinda wanna continue RIP #prompt fill

[scarecrow-supremacy]

Arranged Love | Pt 4

Thank you to Mrs. Hatake for requesting this prompt to me!

In which: f!reader is interested in being in a fwb like relationship, but is forced into an arranged marriage with the one and only, Hatake Kakashi. Both (y/n) and Kakashi only agree to marry for the sake of convivence. (y/n) with her needs, and Kakashi with his wish to revive his clan.

AO3 Chapter

Lime/Smut warning 

*Lime, but the next chapter will probably be smut ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)*

Infinite things I could hate about you

The way you walk

The way you talk

The way you capture my mind

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick...

You counted the soft noises of the clock, knowing full well that your alarm clock was bound to go off at any moment now. You could have gotten up to start your day early, but you, quite frankly, lack the motivation to do so. Anyways, it was your day off. Being productive is highly overrated... You mentally uttered. Why get out of bed when you could cuddle with your plush lavender body-sized pillow all morning? You groaned, your actions making your further realize how friggen lonely you felt within. If only the pillow could have been a person...

You glared daggers at the rose gold engagement ring upon your finger. Technically, you really weren't lonely. Hell, there was a part of you that would have preferred to be alone again. Why him?! Annoyed thoughts swarmed your mind, keeping you from attaining proper relaxation. Of all people...Why him? You pulled your pillow closer to your chest, burying your face into the cool silken cover and squeezing it tightly. Why, why, why? Your mind paced. It wasn't that you were thinking about him, Hatake Kakashi, so much. It was how you thought about him that filled you up with despair.

New feelings...shining in a new light.

What is wrong with me?!

Your eyes traveled to your stomach, your diary still opened up to the page you were writing last night. The whole diary idea was Kurenai's, back when you were made jonin, around the age of 14. She knew you weren't the best with opening up to people. So to let out your pains, she had recommended writing about them. And in honesty, you were glad that you had decided to take her advice. Writing did make you feel better. Ranting out all of your troubles without any worries of being judged. As of these days, most of your entries were about Kakashi or how you wanted to relieve yourself. It's almost concerned you that you wrote about him so damn much. Just shove him aside!

"Urg!" Your groaned, gathering the willpower to get up from your blanket cocoon and take a nice and warm shower, "Sulking won't do any good..." With a sigh, you entered your kitchen, telling yourself that you'd shower after grabbing something to replenish your hunger. It was glaringly obvious that cooking wasn't your forte. In fact, you were absolutely horrendous at it. Honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if you somehow managed to burn water while trying to boil it.  You, the woman dubbed Ibara-hime, the Thorn Princess, could not cook if your life depended on it.

After contemplating what you could make without burning your kitchen down, you simply made yourself a cup of your favorite herbal tea to energize your body. It wasn't much, but it helped wake you up.

Ding dong, the bell to your apartment rang. "Gimme a sec!" You called out the person, throwing on your flak jacket just for formalities. "Oh..." Your face fell, yet your stomach fluttered, "It's you–"

"Yeah, it's me," one Hatake Kakashi mocked the tone you had greeted him with, running his fingers through his silvery hair. You didn't want to think much of it, but his hair just looked so soft...

"What do ya want, Hatake?" You put your hands on your hips and pouted.

Kakashi groaned as he made himself welcome inside your quaint home, "I'm bored," He simply told you, plopping himself right in the middle of your couch. What a dick, you muttered, having to sit on a chair instead of the sofa. "Wahh..?" You whispered as Kakashi's eyes took in ever single bit of you. Your skin started to burn, although his gaze wasn't exactly giving off a positive vibe. "Stop eyeing me like that, Hatake." You mustered up the courage to spit out.

"Oi, it's not my fault," Kakashi sassed, "Take a look at what you're wearing, yariman." Slut, his deep and rich voice had called you.

Anger stirred up inside of you, along with embarrassment, causing your skin to feel as if it was on fire. You felt yourself get flustered as you looked down at your short skirt, which had rid up your legs, and lacy dark green bra that had been reveled by your unzipped vest. "O-oh!" You breathed, your hand going to zip up your flak jacket, yet was slapped away before you could. "What the hell, Hatake?" You flashed him a bewildered look.

Kakashi chuckled smugly, the smirk under his mask apparent, "Don't... I kinda like you dressed like this." He stated matter-of-factly.

"But you j-just," You stuttered out, "called me a..." you trailed off, averting you eyes. Urg, the audacity of this pervert, your inner self spoke. "Perverted idiot."

"Call me what you want," Kakashi grabbed your hand, "I'm your perverted idiot, forever." He laughed softly. Woah, he never acts like this...

"Did somebody drug you?" you sweat-dropped, unintentionally blurted out your thoughts, "You normally don't act like this."

Kakashi sent you a wary look, but you could tell he felt slightly hurt by your remark, "No..." he replied cautiously, "I just thought...it would be good to loosen up."

Your expression softened ever so slightly, "Oh..." the two of you sat in pin drop silence.

"You know," Kakashi ventured, "dark green is my favorite color."

"Hatake!" You yelped, instinctively covering your chest, "I'm going to take a shower!" You turned you back to your dreaded fiancé, stomping out of the room to go bathe.

"I might as well join you then," Kakashi shrugged, causing you to stop dead in your tracks.

"I'm sorry what?!" you exclaimed

"I haven't showered yet today."

"Urg..!" He's drugged, I'm sure of it... you thought, finally giving in to Kakashi. "Kitanai yarō!"

 "Well," Kakashi tapped his foot, carefully placing his flak jacket upon the silken sheets of your bed, "aren't you going to strip down?" He asked as he started to remove the cloth bindings from his thigh and ankles.

"Y-yeah..." you flushed softly, "J-just gimme a second." You dashed off, tossing my clothes into your basket of dirty laundry and grabbing a towel to wrap around your bare body, "Okay..." you mumbled, peaking your head out from the bathroom. The tension in the room was heavy and hot, almost uncomfortable. It was...something you had never felt. Hence, you couldn't put your finger on a way properly to describe the situation. Yet heat rushed to your core, even the tiniest smidge of arousal turning on your mind. You felt like your every movement was being recorded in Kakashi's mind. His gaze digging into your soul like a kunai in delicate flesh. Like his– No, no, no, no! No pervy thoughts, (y/n)! Stay classy, you ordered your mind, preventing it from trailing off. We have a dignity, remember?

You hesitantly got into the shower, testing the waters for the proper temperature. "Ahhh," you moaned ever so slightly, the raining down of the water slipping down your body and rejuvenating your sores from the previous night's round of nightmares. "Oi..." Kakashi started to speak as he entered the shower from behind you, ending up grunting incoherently. You shook your head, sighing in disapproval whilst rubbing from body wash into your soft (s/t) skin. You felt a pair of hands brush past your hair, reaching for the hair conditioner, "Rose and sandalwood, eh? No wonder you smell like a garden and incense shop." Kakashi breathed down your neck.

You tried your best not to look back at him, your heart racing for reasons you tried to reject. Nope! We can't be falling for him! You let out a slight gasp as Kakashi's hands found their way to your hips, tracing the gracefully toned muscles of your stomach. "Kakashi...what are you doing?" You whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the running water.

"I read your diary," you could practically heard the smirk on Kakashi's face, "I think I can help you with your needs..." Kakashi licked the helix of your ear. A shudder went down your spine, a foreign though crossing your mind. Maybe, just maybe, we could make this work... your mind ventured. "Kami, I've been having some problems myself, big problems..." Kakashi told you, his voice velvety coffee as he nipped at your neck. His hardening length pressing against your round ass. You could feel your walls start to clench; you were surprised that your body was reacting to Kakashi's touch like this.

No disturbance could get in the way of this exhilarating moment, right?

"(Y/N)! RAIDŌ ASKED ME OUT! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT!" The voice of Mitarashi Anko screeched, she wandered into your bathroom, "YESS!"

"Anko..." You cringed, clenching your fists, "W-wrong t-time..." You moaned as Kakashi's finger teased your clit.

"What?" Anko called out, "I can't hear you over the water. Could ya speak up."

Kakashi pumped faster, "You heard her, louder." His intentions directing towards your moans, blessed music to his ears.

You sucked your breath, "N-never m-mind, Anko!" You managed to force out, trying your absolute hardest to not moan.

"Wait...Is that..." Anko's voice trailed off, "Kakashi's mask, and his..."

"A-anko! Pl-pleas j-just..." you bit your tongue, "go. Ju-just tell me l-later!" You begged her, turning to look at Kakashi with pleading eyes. Not now, Kakashi, you tried to convey with your widened (e/c) eyes.

"OH HELL NO! SORRY!" Anko cried out, causing Kakashi to pull his fingers out of you with a let down sigh. The smoke of Anko's hasty teleportation jutsu lingering for a few moments.

The mood had officially been broken. Thanks a lot, Anko, you mentally swore. But holy hell, you were about to get laid. Shamefully, you looked at the floor as Kakashi rinsed our your hair. "I–" you tried to speak, yet your voice faltered as you took a moment to observe Kakashi's face.

"Are you still in for it?" Kakashi raised his eyebrow; his left eye lidded.

"Oh! Uh..." your heart suddenly fluttered, "Y-yeah." You told him shyly.

Kakashi flashed you a smirk, "How about we just dry off, then..." He winked at you.

Yep, I'm convinced he's drugged... There's no other explanation...

Infinite things I try to love about you

They way you walk

The way you talk

The way you capture my mind

#kakashi x y/n #kakashi x reader #kakashi #kakashi hatake #hatake #naruto character x reader #lime #tention #consent #reader x character #sub! reader #suggestive #bathroom smut #shower smut #arranged marriage au #arranged marriage fic #forced love #forced marriage #enemies to lovers #veggie_chan11 #Veggie #prompts #anko mitarashi #i swear the next chapter will be a lemon...maybe #interruption #bruh moment #i suck at writing #help he's so cute #ooc #idk it feels like he is drugged

[bratzkoo]

doré | minjoon | part one

Author: bratzkoo  | Credits to: @jintherapper​​ for the banner Pairing: crown prince! namjoon x pirate! jimin Genre: fluff, angst, more angst Rating: 18+ Word count: 2.1k Warnings/note: cursing, mentions of death and killing, revenge, no proper pov TT, homophobic piece of shit king, bisexual jimin x bisexual namjoon... just saying, idiots to lovers?, jin being the best brother out there, jungkook is an impulsive boy and stupidly brilliant, yoongi had enough haha, it’s my first time writing a pirate! au and i do not know what i’m doing. to @chimknj​ for @thebtswritersclub​ . thank you for being patient with me, gina! 🥺

summary: jimin’s quest on clearing his name after he was framed for murder consists of making the crown prince fall in love with him. 

taglist: TT i can’t find my taglist, pls hit me up if you wanna be added.

As far as everyone is concern, Crown Prince Namjoon is the perfect heir to the throne. Even before the King announced him as the heir, the second prince does his duties very well. He obeys his father. He loves his mother and other siblings.

No one can find any fault in him. Many have tried. The moment he became the Crown Prince, a lot of enemies has risen to overthrow him.

Many have tried, and so, Many have failed.

That is, until now.

Because as far as everyone is concern, The Crown Prince is going to enjoy drinking his morning tea on his bedroom's terrace before going to work, and yet the third prince, Taehyung, stares wide-eyed as a group of pirates kidnaps his older brother.

"I'm borrowing your brother for a while." The man in the middle carrying his brother's unconscious body says. "Top of the morning to you, Prince Taehyung." and he's gone.

-

"D-did you say the Crown Prince got kidnapped?" Yoongi looks at Taehyung with pleading eyes. Please let it be another one of the sick pranks he pulls.

Taehyung walks into his office this morning eating a blueberry muffin and casually saying, "Joonie got kidnapped." before sitting at a chair telling him what happened. Yoongi, out of his mind, tries to process what Taehyung is saying.

Yoongi prays it's all a joke.

But Taehyung looks at him seriously, "In front of me, yes."

"The knights?" Yoongi asks. If they aren't all dead, they will be once I found out why they let pirates kidnapped the Crown Prince.

"The pirates dropped some sort of sleeping gas, I was about to prank Joon with fart ones myself, so I'm wearing a gas mask. They're only sleeping. I checked their pulses before going here."

Yoongi sends someone to check Prince Namjoon's room. His shock made him forget to do it in the first place. We protected Prince Namjoon from attempted assassinations since he became Crown Prince, yet they managed to kidnap him in his own fucking room.

"I'm fucked. The King will want my head in a plate."

Taehyung nods in agreement, "Indeed, you are. Indeed, he will. That's why it's best to keep this a secret." Taehyung puts his index finger on his mouth.

"Why would you do that? We failed to protect your brother, your majesty."

"I'm very nice, Yoonie."

"Weren't you planning to prank the Crown Prince before his kidnapping?"

Taehyung shrugs, "Tomato-tomato."

Yoongi wants to comment that Taehyung pronounced both the same way when someone knocks on his office, and he sighs.

"You may now go back to your quarters, your majesty. I'll send extra protection in case the pirates come back for you."

Taehyung shakes his head, "Thank you but no need. I don't think they'll come back for me."What made you think so?" Yoongi curiously asks.

"J-- I mean, He clearly only wants Joonie."

"Do you know who kidnapped the Crown Prince, your majesty?"

Taehyung ignores his question, "Goodbye, Yoonie!" He says in a sing-song, hopping out of Yoongi's office.

"Your majesty! Who is he?!" Yoongi shouts, but he's too late. Taehyung is already out the door. Yoongi doubts he will go back to his room as the 3rd Prince likes to play as the jester out of his brothers.

-

Jimin reacted calmly when the first bad news came. They have run out of purified water miles away before they arrive at their next stop to refill. They did what they had to do and drink the seawater with rum and life; the crews and Jimin didn't mind.

The second bad news did piss him off a bit, but in his defense, who wouldn't? He trusts Jungkook, his first mate, wouldn't do something this crazy. A crew member reported that Jungkook got himself arrested with two other crew members because the guards caught them stealing food when Jimin knows they had enough money to pay for them. Jimin had a headache boarding the ship and having to go back for Jungkook because he couldn't just leave him alone.

'Just one more bad news. One more and that miracle-like good news will come in no time.' is what he thought before going to sleep. He always loves when it's time to sleep; this is when he is at peace.

That's why he's annoyed to the bone when the last bad news came in the middle of his sleep.

"Jimin! Wake up, we're about to be attacked!" Jimin stirs awake from his sleep, hearing a voice shouting outside, and then his bedroom door opens. He squints to see who it is—Minhyuk, his second mate, who is now his temporary first mate until Jungkook comes back.

"Tell them to come back in the morning." Jimin sleepily tells him, then he goes back to sleep like nothing is happening.

Minhyuk rolls his eyes and shakes Jimin awake, "I'm serious!"

"Fuck, why can't they attack in the morning?" Jimin curses when he groggily wakes up, grabs his pistol and knives. "Tell them to prepare the cannons," he instructed Minhyuk.

"Prepare the cannons!" Minhyuk yells.

The crews prepare for the worst as they prepare for battle, the ship nearing theirs about to hit them.

"Do not let anyone survive!" Jimin says, thinking whoever decided to attack them in the middle of his sleep shouldn't be allowed to be alive.

The crews all nodded.

"We can do this!" Everyone cheers.

Jimin holds out his telescope to look at the ship approaching them, checking if who's nuts enough to do this. Minhyuk stands beside him, waiting for his next command.

"What do you think Jungkook's doing right now?" Minhyuk suddenly asked.

Jimin suddenly smiles, and his eyes sparkle.

Jimin gives Minhyuk the telescope, "Look and find out for yourself."

Minhyuk looks from the telescope and sees Jungkook and the two other crews who are supposed to be in jail but are now in the other ship nearing them.

"What is that son of a bitch up to again?"

-

Jungkook likes it better if Jimin would have just beat him up instead of his reaction. Once Jungkook and the other two crew members step foot in the ship, Jimin hugs him tight and drags him inside a cabin to bombard him with questions.

"You son of a bitch, why would you ruin my good sleep for this nonsense?" Jimin asked. Jungkook's not surprised with Jimin's cursing, and it's natural for him to react like that.

"It's the only time I can steal the ship I stole," Jungkook explains.

"Why would you steal a ship? Where are the ship's crews?"

"They stop to get supplies. The ones who stayed on the ship are dead. I threw their body to the ocean."

"Did you escape from prison?"

"I wasn't in prison in the first place, just told Jooheon to tell you that."

"Then why steal a ship?!"

"I don't need the ship if that's why you're thinking. I need someone who's inside the ship."

"Aren't they all dead?"

"Except for one."

"Who's the one?"

Instead of answering, Jungkook leads him to a bedroom where a man is sleeping.

Jimin realizing who he is, looks at Jungkook questioningly, "Is that the crown prince?"

Jungkook nods, noticing the shift of expression from Jimin.

-

"It hurts, Jimin!" Jimin didn't care about Jungkook's complaining and dragged the younger boy outside not to wake the sleeping prince tied up inside his bedroom accidentally.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" Jimin asks him once they're outside; the tired crew out goes inside to avoid them.

Jimin remembers telling Jungkook his plans one drunken night, and the younger boy seems to have made another impulsive and irrational decision...to kidnap a prince for his stead.

"I was thinking if we kidnapped the Crown Prince, we could easily clear all our crimes, and you can move on with your life," Jungkook says.

"I know that! But do we actually have a plan after kidnapping him?"

Jungkook shakes his head, "No. Thought you have a plan, you always have a plan. We can just bring him back?"

"We can't just bring him back!" Jimin said. "The Emperor will have our heads in silver plates."

Jungkook scrunches his face in disgust, "That was disgusting, surely he has other options."

"Head in a plate or not, we're dead if we give him back now."

"Why not tell the Emperor you have the Crown Prince and exchange he will pardon you from all crimes?"

"Smart move, but the Emperor would never let me enter the Palace again after that. I need to be inside the Palace."

They stare at each other for a long time before Jungkook looks at him, smiling.

"We could try the other way." He says cheekily. Jimin knows his plan will be stupid, but Jungkook says some brilliantly stupid plan all the time. That's why he trusts him to be the first mate.

"What way?" Jimin raises an eyebrow.

"Former Prince Seokjin way." Jungkook slowly says, emphasizing his every word.

"That's--" Jimin stops himself from telling Jungkook it's stupid and think. Former Prince Seokjin's way? If it perfectly works, he will be inside the Palace in no time, if it doesn't? Blackmail the Crown Prince in helping him.

"That's what?" Jungkook asks.

"Brilliant," Jimin smirks. "Why didn't we think of that sooner?"

"You don't think it's stupid?"

Jimin shakes his head no.

"Don't tell anyone this plan," Jimin instructs him.

"You're really going to do that?"

"I just might."

"Aye aye, captain."

-

While the castle goes crazy (mostly Yoongi) in finding the missing crown prince and hiding the fact that he's gone to the Emperor, Namjoon finally wakes up from his sleep. In a bed, inside a ship, and tied up with a rope on his wrists.

"You're finally up," someone says, Namjoon looks up to see who it is. He quickly recognizes him as the Archduke's disgraced son, Park Jimin. He's holding a glass of what seems to be water and hands him to him.

"What's this?" Namjoon asks when he accepts the glass, looking at it weirdly.

"Purified water." Jimin answers.

"You have purified water in the ship?" Namjoon questions, still skeptical about the clear liquid presented to him.

"We're not animals," Jimin says in an offended tone.

"That's not—" Namjoon quickly tries to explain himself, but Jimin stops him.

"Just drink it."

Namjoon takes a sip first. Then, when he realizes it tastes like clean water, he gulps it from thirst.

"Thank you."

"We kidnapped you, and it's the least we could do."

"For what reason exactly did you kidnapped me?" Namjoon asks curiously.

"Jungkook kidnapped you, apparently to help clear my name."

"You do realize you kidnapped me," Namjoon points at himself. "The Crown Prince of the Empire. You committed a crime, and now you want me to help you clear your name?"

"I didn't say he's smart." Jimin points out. "Look, All I want is to be cleared from my past crimes."

"As the Crown Prince, all I can do is ask about it to the King. He is still the authority," Namjoon explains. He looks at Jimin's saddened expression.

"I'll do my best to help! Father is a huge obstacle, but nothing is impossible." Namjoon quickly rambles from the panic of seeing someone sad.

"It's okay, your highness. We'll drop you off at your palace in 3 days, and you can forget this even happened. We're sorry for giving you this huge inconvenience." Jimin's tone is so sad that Namjoon panics more.

"No-No! I'll help you, I'll do anything to help you!" Namjoon has said it, it's too late to back out now.

-

"-I'll do anything to help you!" He said it.

Jimin wants to laugh at how easy it is to manipulate the crown prince into helping him with his emotions. He learned about him through the people he knows working in the castle, The Crown Prince hates seeing people looking helpless. He would do anything to help out.

Namjoon hates when he sees someone lost hope and Jimin will use that against him.

with a different shine in his eyes, Jimin asks, "Really?"

"Really, but remove this rope from." Namjoon shows his tied-up wrists. Jimin apologizes and removes the rope with a knife. "That's better."

"What's the plan?" Namjoon asks as he sits up straight in the bed.

"The plan is you'll vouch for my innocence when we arrive at the palace in three days."

"Exactly how?"

"That's your problem."

"For someone who's asking for help, you give me too many problems."

"Are you really the crown prince or were you possess by a demon when I removed the rope?" Jimin asks, surprised by the sudden change of the Crown Prince in his behavior.

Namjoon smiles cheekily at him and shrugs his shoulders, "I don't know what you're talking about."

They laugh together. Jimin offers his hand for Namjoon to take.

Jimin knows there is a connection formed between them, he just needs to make it enough for his plan to work.

He needs to make Namjoon fall in love with him in 3 days.

#thebtswritersclub #bangtanarmynet #bangtaninn #bts fic #pjm #knj #kim namjoon #park jimin #minjoon au #minjoon fic #pirates! au #prince! au #pirate! jimin #crown prince! namjoon #bts #kim namjoon writing #park jimin writing #seokjin #yoongi #hoseok #taehyung #jungkook

[izukuwus]

Rest (and Other Things You Force On Your Boyfriend)

A/N: So this is technically a sequel to Bunny Eyes but it can be read completely standalone. There’s no real reason for him to be a bunny in this other than I Wanted Him To Be, and honestly, what else do you even NEED?

man I just wanna snuggle with nearly every iteration of this bunny boi. send cuddles pls.

Summary: In which your bunny boyfriend catches your flu and now you’re taking care of him. (sick!bunny!Izuku x reader)

Warnings: issa sickfic, izu has the flu. no emetophobia, not even in passing, mostly just fever and discussion of taking meds

Word Count: 2000-ish

~

Oh, you wish you could find the strength within yourself to not feel guilty.

It's his fault! You told Izuku not to kiss you and tried to push him away and now he's got the flu and you're the one taking extra-good notes to teach him the information after class while he's pretending to rest all day!

And yet. And yet. You still feel guilty about letting him get sick.

"If I'd only been stronger," you wail dramatically as you walk back from shopping with Ochaco and Tsuyu. They'd gone with you to help you purchase proper boyfriend-doting supplies, which definitely didn't include proper soup ingredients or a cute new dress that happens to look like a fashionable version of scrubs so you could act as his nurse proper.

Ochaco pats your shoulder in solidarity. "You tried your best, [name]-chan. It was only a matter of time before Deku-kun got sick, too."

Tsuyu places a thoughtful finger to her chin. "He was pretty stubborn about taking care of you when you were still sick, kero. Did he even wear a mask when he was taking care of you?"

"No," you groan. "I insisted, but he's an idiot."

Ochaco rolls her eyes as she opens the door for your poor arms-full self. You smile and curtsy before walking through to enter the dorm's common area, where you promptly drop your shopping bags. "Izuku!"

"Oh no," comes the quiet response as green rabbit ears snap to attention, followed by a (thankfully muffled) sneeze. Izuku appears to have dragged himself downstairs to study, a medical mask over his mouth and nose as he pores over an open notebook. At his side, having just been lowered in defeat on sight of you, is a hand weight. "I-I thought you were going to be gone all day?" he tries sheepishly.

You stomp across the room to him, not coming to a stop when you reach him. Instead, you scoop him up off the couch, eliciting a surprised yelp as he clings to you. "[N-name!]" he whines. His drawn-out complaint is cut off by his own racking coughs, and you're careful to tighten your bridal carry until his body stops shaking.

"You're going to rest," you demand when his coughs have calmed. "Honestly, how did you even get down here? When I was still sick I could hardly make it to the bathroom in my room!"

"I'm on a lower floor than you?" he says, though it sounds more like a question than an answer. You raise an unimpressed eyebrow. "...fine. I came downstairs to take my trash out and couldn't make it back up myself, so I sent Shouji-kun up to my room with my key so I at least had something to do while I recovered."

"Unbelievable," you mutter. "You're supposed to be resting. I told you I'd do all that for you when I got back from shopping, didn't I?"

"B-but I'm tired of resting," he complains.

You turn and glance over your shoulder at your very amused girl friends. "Sorry, can I ask you girls to take my shopping up to my room for me? It looks like I've got some nurse duties to handle—"

"I-I can handle myself at least while you—" Izuku begins to protest weakly, struggling a bit in your arms.

You sigh and cut him off. "Izuku, I love you, but if you don't be quiet and let me carry you to bed so you can get some rest and then actually get some rest, I will literally call your mom."

He lets out a squeak, hiding his face in your chest. "Got your key with you?"

He nods. "In my pocket," he mumbles.

You bump the elevator button and carry him up to his room, humming gently as you approach his door. You're careful to fish out his room key and unlock his door, and then more careful not to break said door down when you wrench it open with one foot.

"Alright, health check, bunny boy," you say sweetly after dropping him on his bed. "Cooperate honestly and I'll reward you, alright?"

He nods, pulling his medical mask off to reveal his pout and twitchy nose. "What kind of reward?"

"Depends on how well you cooperate with me, Zu-kun," you chirp as you set about getting the stuff you need and shutting (and locking, just in case) his door. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Dunno."

"How's your appetite?"

"Bad."

"Can I convince you to eat a few crackers?" you ask. Izuku groans at the question, about to complain, but you don't give him the chance. "Reward, Zu-kun," you remind him gently.

"I-I might be able to stomach a few."

"Don't worry, I'll make it worth it," you hum, reaching for the sleeve of crackers and taking one between your teeth, careful not to bite down as you cross the room to him. You waggle your eyebrows at him suggestively as you sit down, leaning in close. It's hard not to laugh when his already surely fever-flushed face goes even redder when he realizes what you're suggesting, and even harder not to squeal when he takes the opposite corner of the cracker in his teeth and pulls it away from you.

It'd be seductive if only he didn't look so pathetic right now, which you mean in the most loving way possible. He's still your adorable muscly bunny boy, but he's also visibly ill and very carefully nibbling on a saltine cracker held in both hands.

When he's forced down the whole thing, you press a slow kiss to his forehead, frowning when you realize just how hot he feels. "Izu, honey, I'm going to take your temperature," you say, grabbing the thermometer from the kit.

Sure enough, his temperature reads feverish, at a concerning 100.6 degrees. You worry your lip, glancing between him and the thermometer.

"How is it?" he croaks. You shove a water bottle towards him with a meaningful look and reach for your phone. Luckily, you have Recovery Girl's number after you got sick, so calling her won't be an issue. 

"You're fine, honey," you say gently, ruffling his hair. "You should lay down. I'm going to get your medicine and your things from downstairs, okay?"

The absolute angel doesn't suspect a thing, letting you guide him to lay down. He refuses the blanket, which is fair.

"When I'm back, I'll have you take your meds and then we can cuddle for a bit, alright, 'Zu-kun?"

He nods.

"Okay, do you want the fan on?"

Another nod. You flip the switch for his ceiling fan on your way out, careful not to lock yourself out, and wait until you're out of the elevator on the bottom floor to make the call.

You tangle one hand through your hair as Recovery Girl answers with one of her trademark sighs. "Please tell me he hasn't broken something while he has the flu."

"He hasn't!" you say as you set about gathering his things. Bakugo glares at you (for some reason) as he pointedly drowns the room in disinfectant spray. "No, no broken bones. I'm calling because his fever's gotten worse."

"How bad is 'worse', exactly?" 

"You told me to call if he got above 100.4."

"And?"

You nervously thumb the thermometer in your pocket. "100.9. He's mostly acting calm and going along with treatment, but apparently he came downstairs earlier while I was out and couldn't make it back to the elevator, and honestly, he's so stubborn that actually listening to me is almost more concerning, and I—"

"Calm down, sweetheart. I'm on my way over. You know the drill, make sure he's not dehydrated and in bed, and give him a Tylenol."

"Yes ma'am. He hasn't taken his regular medication yet, I'm about to give it to him once I get back upstairs with his things. Thank you, I'll do all that right away."

"See you as soon as I've finished handling this student, dear," she says, and you're answered with a click as she hangs up. You pocket your phone, scoop up the last of his things, and scurry back up the stairs to your hopefully resting boyfriend.

When you return to him, he's laid down on his bed, facing the wall with his phone in his hand. You're not sure whether to be annoyed that he isn't asleep yet or glad you don't have to wake him to get him to choke down his own disgusting flu medicine.

A single ear turns in your direction when you enter, and you note with amusement that his tail also twitches at your arrival. "Recovery Girl is on her way over," you say gently. "I've got your regular medicine and some Tylenol to kick your fever down. I'm sorry I called her, but you're running a bit too high for comfort and I don't know what else I can do so..."

Izuku makes a noncommittal hum. You suppose he's only half awake, so you set down his things and lean over him, waggling both bottles of medicine within his line of sight. "Come on, up and at 'em for just a moment longer, okay?"

"I thought you wanted me to rest," he whines weakly, slowly sitting up with a pout.

You sit where he'd been laying. "Flu medicine and Tylenol first. We gotta deal with your fever, 'Zu-kun." 

He whines, but lets you give him the right doses of each and set the bottles of medicine aside. Before you can get up, though, he's laid back down, arms wrapped around your waist as he rests his head on your lap. "C-can I sleep here?" he mumbles, not looking up at you.

"I promised you a reward for cooperating with me, right?" you hum, winding fingers through his hair to gently scratch his scalp. "Rest as long as you need to, baby."

"Thank y'. Lo'you." His words turn to slurred speech as he snuggles up close, and as you play with his hair, you rest your head against the wall. It's not long before your eyes drift closed and your fingers still in his hair, resting at the base of his ears.

When you wake up next, you're still sat there with Izuku snuggled up to your stomach. He opens one eye to look up at you blearily before wordlessly yanking you down so you're lying next to him. Before you can respond, he's laid on top of you, his face buried in your chest as his ears tickle your face.

"'Zuzu—" you start, wriggling in his vice grip.

"You already had this flu strain, so you're safe," he mumbles back.

"Get your ears out of my face before I bite them." Despite your words, you press a kiss to the space between his ears.

"Mm, what if I'd like that? You should know by now that I—owww..."

You snort, releasing his ear from your teeth and pressing a kiss to the spot you'd just bit. "Love you~"

You can actively feel him pouting against your chest, grumbling something suspiciously similar to "I guess I love you too". You giggle, nuzzling the top of his head as he flattens his ears back.

"I'll make it up to you when you're feeling better, Izuku," you promise before the both of you fall back asleep. He doesn't respond, but his tail and ears both twitch at your words. You coax him back to sleep with soft kisses, noting out of the corner of your eye that there's a note tacked carefully on the headboard. You snatch it up, careful not to disturb the bunny as you read.

It's a note from Recovery Girl. Apparently, she came by while you were still asleep. She's just chiding you for both being asleep when she arrived, and left you a few instructions. You let the note fall , deciding it's best to address it later. For now, you've got a nap with your sick boyfriend to deal with, and if he rests better with you in his arms, well, who are you to deny him?

Taglist: @zylith-imagines-and-fics​ @tooloudarts​ @sapid-rose​ @xxangelpridexx​ @birds-have-teeth​ @icythotsenpai​ @hypercriticals @warmchoccymilk​ @wesparklebitch​ @izoodles​ @fujimoribaby​ @my-bnha-things​

#midoriya izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #bunny!izuku #deku x reader #bnha x reader #my fics #mha x reader

[charincharge]

jealous rowan pls that's all I have to say

I Don’t Want To Wait, Part 2

rowaelin high school bff AU masterlist

There was one day of the year that Aelin was a complete control freak about – and that was her birthday party. She spent most of the year scheming and planning for her next big bash; Aelin’s birthdays were like prom and a wedding combined into one. This year’s theme was a masquerade ball, and Aelin was not skimping at all.

So it was no surprise that she was running late, trying to micromanage everyone.

“No, that streamer needs to be lowered one inch more,” Aelin groaned at Rowan, who stood with his arms awkwardly above his head, trying to accommodate his best friend’s wishes.

“Ace, it’s perfect where it is,” Rowan insisted, his arms tired from holding up decorations and taping them to the wall. “And don’t you need to finish getting dressed?” Rowan nodded at Aelin, whose hair was still in large curlers and wearing a sweatshirt and leggings.

Rowan’s Aunt Maeve came bustling out of the kitchen, her hair tied back in an elegant chignon and examined her restaurant, which had been transformed by her nephew and his best friend. The restaurant patio was glittering with curtains of twinkle lights, looking like stars. They’d cleared out the tables to make room for a dance floor, and red and purple streamers hung in long strands, connecting the heat lamps dotting the corners of the room.

“Oh, Aelin, it looks magical out here,” she said, sweeping Aelin into a giant hug. Aelin smiled, proud of her hard work on display. “But Rowan’s right. You need to finish getting ready.”

Maeve ushered Aelin to the large powder room where Aelin’s perfect dress was waiting. She’d saved up all her babysitting money to afford the gorgeous deep violet ballgown. She let Maeve help her put it on, stepping into the strapless contraption and arranging the large skirt so it flared all around her. Maeve tied up the corset laces in the back of the dress tightly. That was Aelin’s favorite part. Mostly because when it was all properly done up, it made her look like she had some boob to spare, rather than her usual barely there curves.

She pulled the rollers from her hair as Maeve helped her apply a light dusting of makeup. She examined herself in the mirror. Aelin didn’t usually think of herself as beautiful, but tonight…

“Wow,” Rowan called from the doorway.

Aelin blushed as his dark green eyes perused her dress, pausing just slightly on her unusually ample chest.

He raised an eyebrow and motioned to his own chest, back and forth. “Those are new.”

Maeve had the decency to smack her nephew’s arm as she made her way out of the bathroom, departing with a loaded glare. He rubbed his arm and pouted.

“What are you doing in here, Buzzard?” Aelin was planning a grand entrance to the party, and no one was supposed to see her until she decided she was good and ready.

Rowan grinned roguishly. “I need your phone. To connect to the speakers. Unless you want me to play my music…”

“Don’t you dare,” she warned him, going through her bag and handing him her phone.

“See you on the dance floor,” he said with a wink, and disappeared again. Aelin sat and combed her fingers through her golden waves, pinning the top half up, and finally put on the piece de resistance, the gorgeous black lace mask she’d ordered.

Perfect.

The night moved along just as Aelin had planned – she got her dramatic entrance with lots of ooohs and ahhhs, people milled around the patio, looking stunning in their formal wear and masks, and the playlist was the perfect mix of up-tempo and slow songs to dance to. Aelin had greeted as many people as she could, but every time she took a few steps, she was stopped by yet another person, thanking her for the invite. This is what she got for inviting the whole sophomore class, she supposed.

She kept looking over her shoulder at the small table of her friends, who’d congregated together. Mostly, she couldn’t take her eyes off of Rowan, who despite being thoroughly annoyed with her birthday extravaganza, had still dressed up in a suit and silver mask.

With a slow song playing overhead, Aelin finally thought it was time to take a break and join him, when a hand tapped her on the shoulder.

Despite the elaborate green mask covering his face, Aelin would know Chaol Westfall’s shining copper-brown eyes anywhere. She sat next to them in almost every class this year.

“Chaol!” Aelin greeted him with a warm hug. “Thank you for coming.”

He smiled in return and held out his hand. “I was hoping you would dance with your favorite lab partner.”

Aelin looked around. “Oh, is Dorian here already?”

“Ha ha,” Chaol deadpanned, and Aelin couldn’t help but laugh softly.

Aelin nervously accepted his hand, and let him walk her out onto the dance floor. Chaol awkwardly placed one hand onto her side and kept the other lifted between them. A proper dance carriage. Aelin was impressed as he led them in a waltz, in time with the music.

Aelin’s lips formed a small ‘o’ as he blushed. “My mom put me in dance lessons when I was little,” he admitted. “I rarely have a reason to use them.”

“Color me impressed,” Aelin said, and Chaol lowered her into a low dip, smiling widely. As he lifted her back up, Aelin giggled in a way so unlike her she couldn’t believe the noise came out of her mouth. She sounded so girly.

Chaol moved them effortlessly across the floor, gliding from spot to spot, and Aelin couldn’t believe her own feet. She had no knowledge of the waltz herself, but she just followed his lead. As the song came to a finish, Chaol bowed slightly and pressed his lips to her hand.

“M’lady,” he said, thanking her for the dance. Aelin turned, finally ready to join her friends, when she crashed into a solid body with an oomph.  

She looked up too see a frowning Rowan, his eyes dark with displeasure. But he wasn’t looking at Aelin, he was glaring across the floor at Chaol. Aelin poked his side, trying to get his attention, but Rowan didn’t even crack a smile.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Aelin asked, and Rowan shrugged, clearly annoyed by something.

“Just wanted to see if you needed help.”

“With what?” Aelin asked, confused. She looked over her shoulder at where Rowan was still glaring and put it together. “Oh, with Chaol? No, he’s nice. And who knew that he could dance so well?”

“I can dance,” Rowan muttered, and Aelin quirked her head at her best friend. In the twelve years she’d known Rowan she didn’t think she’d seen him dance once. Not even at his cousin’s wedding after sneaking two glasses of champagne.

“Do you want to…” Aelin asked, nodding her head towards the dance floor, expecting him to turn her down immediately. But he surprised her and nodded stiffly. “Okay…”

Aelin wanted to tell him he was being super weird, but she held it in. Instead, her nervous heart beat faster as she led Rowan onto the dance floor. Her palm was sweaty in his, and she realized that everyone would be looking at them. Rowan seemed to sense her nerves and finally took the lead. He wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her close, and she lifted her arms to rest on his wide shoulders. It was a far cry from the formal hold Chaol danced with her in. As Aelin exhaled a shaky breath, Rowan’s grasp on her tightened, as if he were pulling her into a hug. Except they’d never hugged for this long before.

They swayed, side to side, as the music continued, until Rowan finally broke the silence.

“Did Chaol get you a present?”

Aelin had no idea. She hadn’t gone through the tall stack of presents on the side table yet.

“I’m sure whatever he got me isn’t nearly as good as my breakfast cake,” Aelin said with a smile, and that finally got a small smirk out of Rowan.

“That’s because I know you best,” Rowan said resolutely, and Aelin tipped her head back and craned her neck to look at her best friend’s face. She lifted her hand and poked his cheek, turning his frown back into a smile.

“You do, weirdo.”

“Happy birthday, Ace,” Rowan whispered, and Aelin shivered as his breath ghosted across her ear. Rowan disappeared off the dance floor and held court as his table for the rest of the night with the rest of his cadre, but Aelin rode the high of that dance until she was crawling into bed that night.

She touched her ear where Rowan’s lips had almost touched and smiled into the dark.

~*~*~*~

tags: @hizqueen4life @df3ndyr @keshavomit @aknymph

#rowaelin #aelin x rowan #high school au #charincharge writes

[stxrrywildflower]

safe

pairing - spencer reid x reader

summary - after being kidnapped by the unsub, you must race to escape the labyrinth you are imprisoned in while the team receives a shocking video reguarding your safety. (summary is kinda bad :( pls read though)

warnings - kidnapping, mentions of possible rape, blood and injuries, slight curing

word count - ?

you creeped into the house after hearing a large crash from inside. originally, hotch had sent you to a suspects house to investiagte. it was only 10 minutes away and the suspect wasn’t likely to be the unsub which is why you are allowed to go alone. however, you currently found yourself gun drawn, creeping through the house.

despite the crash, it was eerily quiet. almost too quiet. you thought you heard a creek from behind you but once spinning around you were met with nothing. you sighed and placed your gun back in your holster on your hip with the intention of picking up one of the papers on the table.

instead, you heard a sickening crack and felt nothing but pain in the back of your head. seconds later, everything went dark.

meanwhile, back at the police station, hotch paced back in forth as he listened to morgan, rossi, and emily debate theories. reid and j.j. were at the morgue examining the past victims bodies.

“how long has y/n been gone?” hotch asked, gaining the attention of his fellow agents.

“about an hour i would say, why?” rossi responded.

hotch opened his mouth to respond but stopped when one of the police officers knocked on the door of the conference room. he walked over to open the door and accepted the package that was given. “what’s that?” morgan asked as he moved next to hotch who shrugged. the package was light and looked official.

after opening, he let out a frustrated sigh. inside was y/n’s badge and gun. “no, no, no,” emily spoke as she immediately went to grab her phone to call reid and j.j., presumably telling them to get back as soon as possible. meanwhile, hotch was on the phone calling garcia.

you woke up with a throbbing pain in your skull. you would be shocked if you didn’t have a concussion. you tried to examine your surroundings but you were only in a long grey hallway with four doors on the surrounding sides, nothing else. suddenly, one of the doors opened and your presumed captor walked in. he had on a full black outfit including a mask, preventing you from seeing your face.

“ah agent y/n, welcome!” the unsub spoke.

you groaned and went to pull against the ropes tying your hands back. “what the hell do you want,” you practically growled out. that only made the unsub last.

“i want to play a game. both with you and your team. first things first, i’m going to take off the restraints and then your shirt. if you try anything i will put a bullet in your brain. do you understand?” he asked. you nodded slightly as the tears started flowing once thinking of the possible scenarios the could happen. the only two were that he wanted you to feel exposed or the fact that he could potentially rape you.

the ropes tying your hands back were suddenly cut leaving you free. the unsub then pulled your shirt off and began to slowly walk away but not before re-tying your hands. “by the way agent y/n, if your team does find where we are located, there’s a slim chance that they will actually find you. and if you do make it out of this room, try not to go insane when you get lost,” he said with a grin before fully exited the room clutching your shirt. you glanced down at your exposed torso. you were left in your black jean pants, combat boots, and sports bra. you could work with that.

decided to try something you saw in a movie, you stood up as much as you could and the slammed down on the floor as hard as you could. the wooden chair broke underneath you, allowing for you to slip out of the restraints and stand up. it took a couple tries for you to regain your balance, even then you had to hold on to a wall. but once reaching the closet door you used all your strength in an attempt to pry it oppen. thankfully after a few minutes, the door opened just enough for you to slip out. once out of the room, you realized just want the unsub meant. you were in a labyrinth with at least 12 different paths in front of you.

“alright, i need to get back to the team. i need to get back to spencer,” you mumbled softly to yourself as you picked one of the paths.

spencer and j.j. rushed into the police station and into the room they were set up in. morgan let j.j. through but shut the door once reid reached them. “morgan what the hell is going on!” reid shouted. morgan gripped his arm and led him to a different room, glancing at hotch on the way who simply nodded.

“reid, y/n has been taken by the unsub. he sent her badge and gun in a package to hotch a few minutes ago,” morgan spoke softly.

spencer shot up. “y/n? no, she couldn’t have been. i should have been with her,” he rushed out. morgan walked over and placed his arms on reid’s shoulders. “hey pretty boy, i need you to take a deep breath and look to me,” morgan started before picking up once reid did just that. “i know you love her and are obviously taking this hard but we need your head in this. we will get her back reid.”

spencer nodded before being led out of the room and into the other by morgan. the room, however, went silent when he stepped in. “spence,” j.j. spoke softly. “can we please just get back to the case?” he mumbled. hotch glanced around before calling garcia back.

“anything?” he asks.

“nothing yet, the profile is giving me too many results. i need more info-” garcia started but cut off when her attention went to something else.

“what garcia?” emily sputtered out.

“oh my god, you need to see this,” she gasped. suddenly a live video feed was displayed on the tv. it was a long grey hallway, unknown to the team it was just like the one you were in earlier. at the end, just out of view to get a good look of the face was a women in a chair. she had your color hair and the same shirt you were wearing.

“that’s her shirt,” reid struggles to get out.

everyone turned back to look at the screen. a figure appeared in the room, presumably the unsub, and pulled out a gun. the room went silent as a gunshot echoed through. the women fell back in the chair, dead from the bullet through her forehead.

from that moment on, the teams expressions changed. garcia hung up and attempted to track the signal. reid rushed out of the room and down the hallway, tears already appearing on his cheeks. j.j. followed him, ready to comfort him at loosing his girlfriend but could not help but begin crying herself. emily was shocked and stood still for a moment before derek brought her in a hug. hotch and rossi delt with the fact that you could be dead the best. they kept straight faces and turned to each other.

“she could still be alive,” hotch started. “hotch-” rossi started but was cut off by hotch again. “we couldn’t make out the female in the image. yes, she did look like y/n but we can’t be sure of that. we need to finish the profile,” he stated before turning back to the board.

“wait!” rossi exclaimed. “y/n was only taken a little over an hour ago. how did the unsub manage to package, get the proper stamps and confirmation, and send it to us in the short time.”

“he’s a mailman,” emily stated once she stepped away from morgan. she then pulled out her phone to call garcia before handing it to hotch.

“garcia, we concluded that the house y/n was out was an old address and no one lived there,” hotch spoke resulting in garcia nodding. “how many mailmen are there in this town?” garcia typed for a minute. “8,” she spoke.

“this guy would have a history of medical issues regarding ocd and possible bipolar disorder. he’s mid 30s-40s and needs to have owned a big area of land,” rossi adds to the profile.

“one sir. aiden o’riley. he owns a 30 acre property just outside of the city. i just sent the address to your phones.”

“let’s go. assume y/n is alive and be careful,” hotch ordered. j.j. and reid were alerted and ran to an suv alongside everyone else.

once arriving to the property with the other police officers, they moved in the building which led to the underground. they then all realized that it was a maze. after receiving further orders from hotch, morgan took of running down one of the straight hallways.

he turned a few corners, deeming each clear and moving on. suddenly, after spinning around in the dark hallway, his body collided with someone. he immediately pointed his gun and flashlight at the figure.

you glanced into morgan’s light despite the pain it brought you. “y/n,” he breathed out. “morgan i’m okay, i’m okay i promise,” you rushed. he pulled you into a tight hug after retracting his gun and cradled the back of your head with his hand.

“we thought you were dead,” morgan revealed. you glanced up confusingly, desperately trying to ignore the pain in your head.

“what?” you went to ask but we’re cut off by the piercing sound of the intercome morgan was using. you gasped and lowered yourself to the ground, just then feeling the true pain of your injuries.

“we got o’riley!” the voice called.

you groaned as morgan spoke back. you heard your name through the radio system but couldn’t make out what they were saying. you shut your eyes and tried to focus on what morgan was then saying to you. it was something along the lines of ‘i’m going to get you out of here’. your body was lifted by morgan and you burrowed yourself into his shoulder, thankful for your practically older brother at that point.

once reaching the exit, morgan set you down on your feet after you claimed you could walk. he kept an arm firmly around you as you were guided out onto the grass. the first one to notice you was hotch who had exited closest to you. he ran over and shrugged off his fbi jacket. you just sobbed slightly and hugged him which he greatfully accepted. the jacket was then wrapped around you to cover you up as you were guided around the building to the ambulance that was waiting.

you sat in the back of the ambulance, not on the gurney yet, with hotch and morgan next to you. the emt’s voices became mumbled as you noticed a tall skinny man and a blonde woman emerge from the building.

“spencer?” you called out softly. morgan glanced down confused and then up at spencer who’s line of vision was where you were. the two of you made eye contact. at that moment you didn’t care about your injuries.

you shrugged off the emt’s and ripped out the iv i’m your arm. after stumbling down and out of morgan and hotch’s grip, you took off running to where spencer was. it obviously took you a little while to do, due to your injuries including your leg but the time was cut in half when spencer met you half way.

he pulled you into a tight hug. your arms went around his back and you burrowed your head in his chest. he just gasped slightly and hid his face in your shoulder.

“we all thought you were dead. the unsub sent us a video of him shooting someone who looks exactly like you,” spencer mumbled into your head.

you pulled away softly. “that explains why he took my shirt. but hey, i’m here now and i’m alive and i’m not going anywhere. that’s all that matters,” you spoke, moving your hand up to his cheek. he smiled at you before leading you back towards the ambulance where a smiling hotch and grinning morgan stood.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x oc #derek morgan

[mindofharry]

let’s not pretend anymore: harry’s breaking all the rules. pls follow the covid guidelines, they’re there for a reason! and pls wear a proper mask, they protect you and the people you surround yourself with :) thank you <3

#harry styles

[revasserium]

hinata + 26

haikyuu requests currently: closed 

although, if you have a hinata-request. send it in bc. chances are i’ll write it because i am #biased 

26. the length of daylighthinata ; 2,651 words 

a/n: i know i never post authors notes usually, but wow uh – i really liked writing this? and i think this might be one of the best things I’ve written on this blog to date. idk man. i just. really really liked this. u__u pls give hinata some love he deserves the world. 

five hundred, twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes – you hadn’t seen him in so long. it’d been three years – three times five hundred, twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes – that’s way too many minutes, and yet here he is, standing on your doorstep with a smile that you’d be crazy not to remember. 

you stare at him, and wonder where to even begin – he’s taller, that’s for sure, and tanner, so much tanner – well obviously, brazil is a sunny place. 

“hey.” 

you open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. instead, you just stand and gape at him like he’d somehow stolen your voice from your chest (like ursula the sea-witch, and you don’t know how, after so long, he still seems to hold this kind of magic over you – can you call it a curse if you’ve missed it? the way it shifts the very fabric of your reality until you’re living in his). 

he scuffs his feet against the welcome mat and you can breathe again; he glances down at his shoes, scratching at the back of his head. 

“you’re… taller.” 

he laughs. the self-same open, melodious, uproarious thing you remember from three years before; he still laughs with his entire body, lets it shake him from core to shoulders, his eyes squinting shut. when he calms down enough to look back at you, there’s a pleased flush high in his cheeks. 

“yeah, guess so.” 

when you step aside to let him in, he grins wide enough to split his face, leaping over the half-step into your apartment, immediately crowding into your space till you’re pressed almost chest to chest. 

“oh-ho~!” he holds a hand up from the top of his head and moves it slowly over yours, “you’re right! i did get taller! maybe i even grew a little since i got back!” 

you lick your lips and try to swallow your heart back down your throat from where it’s beating against your voicebox. close, close, way too close. 

he smells nice, you realize – no, remember. but it’s different than before. he no longer smells of citrus shampoo and the slight dampness of sweat; now he smells vaguely of salt and suntan lotion. you allow yourself a grin as you look up, your eyes searching his face for the traces of him you still remember, are trying to hold onto. they’re still there – the light his eyes, the ease of his smile. 

freckles… that wasn’t there before. 

you stand there for a moment, chests almost pressed in your doorway, him now tall enough to tower (just a bit) over you, before he realizes and jumps back, almost stumbling over his own feet as his back meets the opposite wall, stuttering out something like an apology. 

at least that hasn’t changed. 

“s-sorry! i didn’t mean to – i mean – was that too close – it totally was – i just got so excited to see you again – it was like – mmm – that woooshhh feeling in my chest like – you know? i won’t do it again! i mean – not unless you want me to –” 

“shouyou.” 

he cuts clean off at the sound of his name on your lips. it’s different too, than what he remembers. he swallows, unsure of what’ll happen next. but you smile, leaning towards him (he notices that your hair is longer, way longer than when he left – right, three years is a really long time – he likes it longer; he wonders if it still smells just as nice as it did before; it probably does) with a spark in your eyes and he knows he’s gone. 

three years across the world, and you’d think it would’ve stamped out this childish crush of his, one that he has no idea you harbored for him as well (your friends all wonder when on earth the pair of you will realize). it hasn’t. if anything, distance really does make the heart grow fonder, and shit – you’re saying something and all he can focus on is the way your lips still look way too soft – and is that lipgloss you’re wearing? you didn’t used to do that before. 

“… not listening, are you?” 

“huh? ah – i – uh – no… sorry i zoned out –” 

he flashes you a sheepish grin, scratching at the back of his head as he pushes himself back up from where he’d fallen against the wall. you huff and flicking a strand of hair over your shoulder. 

“i asked if you wanted coffee or anything. i was about to make some anyway.” 

“sure! yeah! i love coffee – that sounds – that sounds great!” 

he follows you into the living room, looking around at all the things that had changed, but noticing all the things that stayed the same. you still had your graduation picture hung up, right next to the picture of the team. you had short hair then – he liked short hair on you too. hell, he figures, letting his eyes wander across the walls of your living room, he’d probably still like you bald. the thought almost makes him laugh; he shakes his head. nah, he likes you better with hair for sure. 

“milk? sugar?” 

“hm? yeah – uh – whatever you think is good.” 

you quirk an eyebrow and he realizes belatedly that he must’ve said something wrong. 

“uh… milk… and sugar, both – please!” he grins, settling into a chair at the table, “thank you!” 

so you make coffee, he tells you about brazil, about the stretches of beaches that never seem to end, about the skies so blue it hurts to look too hard, about the way there’s always something that smells delicious in the air, always chatter and music in the streets. you tell him about how you’ve been, how college is great because you could finally drop math classes, but how it’s also kind of a nightmare because morning lectures are the freaking worst. 

you tell him about the upperclassman who really liked you, and kept on asking you out till he graduated. 

“i never said yes, though,” you say, nursing your cooling coffee mug. 

hinata quirks his head, “why not? wasn’t he –” he waves a hand through the air, before saying rather dumbly, “nice?” 

you smile, “yeah, he was nice. but… he wasn’t really my type.” 

hinata licks his lips, “you… have a type now?” 

you roll your eyes, “i’ve always had a type.” and you don’t have to look up to hear the pout in his voice. 

“i never knew about it.” 

you toss a bit of crumpled napkin at him across the table, “you never asked.” 

“oh.” and then after a second, “so… what is your type?” 

you hum, tapping your lips in mock contemplation. a single glance tells you that he’s watching you, and the realization shouldn’t make your stomach twist the way it does, but – it does. he’s watching you with those eyes of his, almost completely devoid of light, like tiny black holes, depthless, with enough gravity to swallow the entire world whole – to swallow you whole. 

“someone tall,” he visibly deflates, “but not too tall,” you continue, and he brightens up again, almost immediately. you grin, leaning back in your chair, your eyes flickering over him, “someone who’s really good at one thing –” you cast about, “like an instrument,” he crinkles his nose to disguise a huff, “or a sport,” he grins to himself, nodding as if checking off mental boxes, you wonder how long you can drag this out for before he realizes you’re not talking so much about a type of person so much as one single person. 

“they should be really driven, and passionate about what they do, y’know?” you watch as he nods enthusiastically, hanging onto your every word. you grin. 

“and… hm, i like guys who speak more than one language. that’s a nice skill.” 

“yeah! uh-huh!” 

“and… hm… someone who’s good at making friends, that’s important too.” 

you watch as hintata considers this, mumbling to himself – i guess i’m not bad at that – i make friends alright – yeah. 

you prop your chin on the heel of your hand. 

“someone who plays volleyball,” you say, wondering if it’s about time to start giving proper hints. 

“uwah! yeah! cause i mean – you like volleyball, so it’d be nice, right?” 

you laugh, nodding along, “yeah – and y’know, and i kinda have a thing for gingers.” 

“yeah, yeah! it’s a nice hair colo –” he stops dead in his tracks as realization dawns over his face and his pleased smile morphs into an expression of sheer disbelief. 

you heave a loud sigh, pushing yourself up from the table, “yeah, if only a guy like that existed.” 

hintata opens his mouth, shooting to his feet, but even as he opens his mouth to say i do! i’m right here! another realization blooms in his chest. 

i’ve always had a type. 

oh. oh. 

he blinks at you from across the table, his own prolonged ignorance finally cracking over his shoulders – all those years – all of highschool. all these years too. 

“shit.” 

he collapses back into the chair, a helpless laugh on his lips as he cards a hand through his hair, mussing it up as he stares into the dregs of his now-cold coffee. 

“did you want another cup?” you ask casually from the sink, where you're rinsing out your own mug. once upon a time, you might’ve been angry, or upset, or any manner of things. but you’d realized somewhere along the way that loving hinata shouyou was never going to be a linear thing. and maybe it’ll take him a while to realize, but being best friends with him has taught you more than anything all the ways he says i love you – and it was a bit easier after that. 

“i – crap,” he chews on his lips, fumbling for words to say. 

you smile, “bathrooms down the hall to the right still. that hasn’t changed.” 

you turn just in time to see him flush to the roots of his hair, “that’s not what i meant.” 

“then…?” you lean back against the counter, watching as he struggles with his own tangle of emotions till he looks up again, his face a mask of determination. 

“go out with me.” 

you raise your eyebrows, a small smile playing at your lips, “sure, to where?” 

hinata groans, shaking his head, “i mean like – not outside – out like – like –” his cheeks are almost red enough to match his hair, “like – out!” 

you laugh, your entire body shaking with the sound, and it’s this more than anything that seems to ground hinata enough for him to stop stuttering. 

“properly – i mean. be – be my girlfriend.” 

you nod, biting down the swell of elation cresting in your chest, “okay.” 

“oh – okay?” he blinks. 

“yeah,” you say, “okay.” 

“oh – okay! yay! ah – this is great! waaaahhhh!” he leaps out of the chair, both hands raised over his head. it takes him all of three seconds to bound across the living room to the sink, both his hands raised as if asking for a high-ten. you laugh, raising your own hands. 

how entirely hinata-like – to high-five someone after asking them out. 

he claps his hands against yours, laughing, but his laughter fades as you don’t pull away, instead slipping your fingers between his. his eyes widen at the sensation of your pressed palms, and he almost hiccups at how his entire body shivers. 

and suddenly, he’s tugging you towards him, as if on raw instinct, as if all he wants is to be closer, just a bit closer, and you find yourself stumbling into his chest, gasping but never doubting that he’d catch you. so he does, his hands finding purchase around your waist, your hands against his chest – so solid from years and years of relentless workouts and practice. 

“uh – uhm – i uh –” he swallows, glancing from your eyes to your mouth, his mind seemingly short-circuiting somewhere between the two. 

“shouyou,” you say, leaning up onto your tip-toes (you remember when the pair of you used to be only two inches apart). 

he nods once. 

“kiss me.” 

he nods again, before leaning in, and the first kiss a little strange – the both of you still not quite sure of where your own lips are supposed to go, what the whole situation with the teeth is supposed to be like (credit where credit is due, both of you have watched enough romance – and the occasional porno – to know how it’s supposed to look but given everything that’s happened, practical application is still a bit rusty). the second kiss is better, and you can feel hinata’s confidence surge when he presses in closer, tilting his head to slot your lips better, the friction between you making you gasp. 

the third kiss, he’s already caught onto the rhythm. 

the fourth, you wonder if it’s quite fair for someone to be such a fast learner, your fingers fisting in the front of his shirt, all awkward, fumbling newness gone from his movements as he pushes you back against the counter, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks, thumb running along your jaw to tilt your head the way he likes. 

the fifth, you stop counting. you don’t have the capacity to anymore. 

after what feels like an eternity of kissing (and who knows, it might’ve been – maybe outside, years have already passed by, or maybe it was just a few, breath-stealing seconds), he pulls back, the both of you panting, eyes a little glazed over, lips slick and kiss-swollen. 

he grins, a wide, satisfied kind of thing, and you can almost imagine him purring in his chest. 

“hey.” 

you laugh, quirking your head as you watch him preen under this new truth – the two of you being together – finally, finally. 

“you really have gotten taller.” 

you push up to give him another peck. he whines in the back of his throat, leaning down to try and follow your lips but you twist your head so his mouth lands somewhere on your cheek, and he decides that that’s alright too. he gives you a loud, smacking kiss, grinning into your skin. 

you glance at the clock. 

“well. now that we’re going out-out. properly,” you tease, “do you wanna order in takeout for dinner?” 

hinata laughs, the sound perfect and warm, rumbling through his chest, resonating into yours. 

“yeah – you know i worked as a delivery boy in brazil?” 

you nod, “yeah, i remember – you texted me pictures of your bike, remember?” 

“oh! oh yeah,” he grins cheekily as you try to wriggle out of his grasp to reach your phone. he holds on tighter. you sigh, reaching into his back pocket for his phone and swiping it open only to find a picture of yourself smiling back at you from his lockscreen. 

“hey!” 

he tries to grab the phone from you, but you duck out of his grasp. 

“i’m just trying to seamless!” you laugh, dancing out of his reach as he tries half-heartedly to retrieve his phone. when finally, the both of you are laughing and collapsed on the couch, he hooks his chin over your shoulder. 

“next time, i’ll take you on a real date.” 

you smile, “sure. we can go to one of those fancy restaurants.” 

“uh-huh,” he nods, determined to meet your expectations. 

“and we can order all the most expensive things on the menu,” you tease, grinning wide. 

hinata sucks in a breath and you can almost feel him steeling himself not to deny you. 

“yeah – that’s fine – well, maybe we should look up the menu first, so we can see what we like.” 

you nod, “sounds like a plan.” 

“it’s a date.” 

you smile, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder. 

“yep, it sure will be.” 

#hinata shouyou #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyuu scenarios #hinata x reader #hinata #ya'll highkey i think this is the ffavorite thing ive written on this entire blog to date. #no lie #wow. #WOW HELLO usually i am quite okay with just posting and i dont mind too much if people read or dont read but uhm #PLEASE READ THIS??? IDK I JUST REALLY LIKED IT OKAY #PROBABLY BC I ADORE HINATA #he is MY FAV like i have favs but he is my FAV FAV. #haiCUTIES

[reddeaddenial]

doll, blood and candle for that ask thingy pls 😊

Doll- do you collect anything?

Yes! I collect tarot and oracle decks! I’m wiccan and prior to that, i’ve always had a fascination with tarot, and the art and passion people have put into creation beautiful decks. Basically i collect anything i resonate with or find aesthetically pleasing lol. So far i have...5 tarot decks and 2 oracle decks. I have three with me at my familys home while quarantining, the rest are back at my apartment lol. Tho my next goal is to acquire this goooorgeous gold foiled tarot deck i found a few weeks ago, but after that i need to save up my money for my move to a new house xD

Blood- What is the worst injury you’ve gotten?

Aaaah tw: seizures???

Hmmm, well it wasnt bloody or anything. But i was spray painting some armor for a cosplay in the garage, i had the door outside open but it was windy and i wasnt wearing a protective mask. Long story short, i inhaled too many fumes, and when i went upstairs for dinner, those stairs got me s u p e r out of breath??? And i felt like i ran a marathon and i neeeeded a glass of water. But as i was pouring a glass i sudden felt super tired. Like so tired, you dont give a shot where you close your eyes. And i closed my eyes, and i felt like i was having a very blury and rushed dream, yknow the kind where you don’t remember what the dream was but have vague flashes? Well apparently that was me, passing out, falling, hitting my head just right and according to the doctor ‘having a seizure like event’. We went to the hospital and i was checked over and i was fine, no lasting injuries, just a big bump on my head lol. Long story short: wear proper ventilation protection when dealing with paints and fumes. Dont be my dumb ass lol

Candle- what is your favorite scent?

Lavender and vanilla!!! Those combined too is just -chefs kiss-

We have a local lavender farm on island town my family lives on, driving by the fields in the summer is stunning and the scent is heavenly 💕💕💕😊 they use their lavender in a lot of products they sell to old downtown shops! Like lavender soap bars, lotions, oils, those lil satchets and rice bags you can heat up and put on your neck etc. As for vanilla, ive always just adored the smell. I think it comes from my love of baking and the smell of vanilla extract lmao

Thank you so much for these asks, they were super fun to write!!! 💕💕💕

Heres the Ask Promt is anyone’s curious!

#littlestarofthewest #ask #maddy talk #ty again for the ask!!!

[tauruscookie]

Please...Don’t Take My Sunshine Away

I made this art...decided to write about it. Let's cause some tears! Also, Smoke's daughter is named Charlie, change my mind. Thank you for participating in my TedTalk.

As the rain clouds cried pitiful tears, puddles were immediately propelled into the air as tires sped rapidly along the wet streets.

Rushing to reach their designated destination, bodies each remained alert and panicked as a specific individual was skeptical, if not terrified at the situation that was going to commence.

A school was suddenly targeted. But not just any school, one where someone dearest to Smoke was being housed.

Fairfield High School, home of the elite teenagers amongst his daughter's level. But what made him fearful the most was that it was a hostage situation.

And his daughter was one of the very few who got captured. Hoping she played her cards correctly, he positioned his mask along his face as the vehicle came to a screeching halt due to the hydroplaning but it did little to nothing at stopping the operators who each escaped their designated vehicle.

A strike of thunder echoed across the land sending the ground shaking slightly but not enough to take the trained professional off their feet.

    "What do we have?" Ash murmured removing the rainwater from her glasses in order to analyze the world properly

    "It's a hostage situation. A group of students couldn't escape in time causing them to be prime targets for the Terrorist. About twenty...mostly upstairs but some are waiting in the front doors and are armed and prepared to shoot anyone who is not negotiating the proper amount of money"

An officer acknowledged to her allowing her to gain some insight on the mission at hand.  Yet as she continued to gather her intel, Smoke remained off to the side.

Terrified and frustrated that he couldn't barge into the room. He knew the risks of doing such an act but his parental skills are kicking into full gear. Sending him ballistic and panicked beyond imaginable.

     "Calm down laddie, we'll git tae her...you just need tae be patient right noo" Sledge murmured trying to calm his anxious partner who was close to tugging his hair directly from his head

     "Don't yeh think I'm doing that right now?!" Smoke snapped slightly irritated and annoyed at his friend's antics. But no one could really blame him. He was taping into his parental instincts and they were kicking hard.

     "We'll get to her, we just need a battle plan" Thatcher notified as he turned to face him.

Smoke remained silent as he removed Sledge's hand that was positioned softly along his shoulder.

As the plan was close to being delivered, a massive explosion went off above triggering each operator into full action.

    "Charlie!" Smoke as he ran directly towards the building.

As he removed a gas grenade, he kicked the doors down before detonating it upon being thrown.

Creating a poisonous cloud, he easily ran through it before emerging out as he noticed the terrorist were retreating due to the toxic chemicals but few weren't able to escape.

Collapsing due to the hideous fumes filling their lungs, Smoke squinted down the hallway as he saw only three escaping up the stairs.

    "That's where thou snakes r hiding..." Smoke grumbled as he silently walked up the stairs.

Hiding along the corner of a wall, he inhaled softly as he could hear their footsteps approaching him.

Bullets went flying before one penetrated his shoulder causing him to buckle down in pain. Wincing slightly, he heard them progressing as their voices and movement grew closer.

Removing his grenade, he spun it around before taking out the remote. But before he could toss it, concussion grenades were launched into the small horde of White Mask causing each one to become dazed and perplexed.

Walking out from a corridor further down from Smoke, Zofia released bullet into each of the terrorist heads causing them to drop to the sound of the thunder strike outside.

Once the unit was wiped she jogged over towards Smoke before giving him a hand to which he took as he was helped to his feet.

     "I got you Przyjaciel, I know how it must feel...and I want to help" Zofia notified nodding her head making Smoke give a brief smile beneath his mask

     "Then let's take these bastards out" He snickered

    "Tak" She nodded before they both began their journey to their designated location.

Removing terrorists one after the other, until finally, they reached the location where the hostage room of students are said to be held.

Zofia threw a drone before surveillance the area as she noticed C4's were aligned along the walls meaning that entrance without being careful would be suicide.

But it was a risk Smoke was willing to take. Looking at Zofia, he nodded as she was close to giving the signal.

     "Disabling electronics" Smoke was appalled as he saw the device rolling before noticing Thatcher who nodded his head signaling for Smoke and Zofia to ready themselves to engage.

     "Breach Charge set"

Notifying through the coms, Blitz adjusted his shield as he waited with Ela and Lesion who were along the walls waiting to enter the site.

Smoke couldn't stifle his smile as the Emp went off allowing the room to become dark as the explosives were disabled.

    "Giving you eyes on the hostiles" Lion launched his drone before Clash came forth with her shield as she stood in the doorway. As it was bashed down before her shield was extended.

    "Follow me and yeh r in good company" She murmured as she entered first before activating her voltage on those selective few who stood in her way.

Highlighting the moving targets, Blitz snickered as he detonated his breaching charge before exploding into the room with such speeds.

Lesion and Ela followed behind as they both began to discharge bullets into the enemy. Releasing concussion grenades into the enemy, Zofia switched to her primary once she saw a chance presenting itself.

The attack was flawless with barely any or minimal injuries possible. Smoke released a breath of air he's been holding in but the moment he saw the hostages, something about the sight didn't feel right.

     "Smoke? What's wrong?" Lesion asked approaching his friend but the gut feeling arose further as he heard screams outside.

Approaching the window, his air was suddenly caught in his throat as he saw the terrifying sight before him.

Struggling and screaming, a woman with dark chocolate skin was being forcibly held by her secured ponytail.

     "Charlie!" Smoke shouted as he removed himself from the window before rushing out of the room

    "Wait! Smoke!" Lion roared but his words fell on deaf ears.

Running hectically, Smoke practically jumped off the stairs as he reached the bottom level where the doors were wide opened. Revealing the sight of those adoring sapphire blue orbs as they held painful tears.

'No! Pl-please...'

He cried internally hoping for some miracle that this was just a dream. Just an illusion that his brain was refusing to render in.

Running with chaotically, he made it past the school's front doors as he felt his lungs failing him as he removed his mask.

'Not her'

The tears spilled as he ran down the steps wanting to reach her but, he was too late.

With the trigger releasing with the sounds of the thunder, Smoke's world shattered into pieces the moment he noticed the expel of blood. Her tears ceased to render as the blood flew from her lips.

Smoke was oblivious to the terrorist being suddenly pinned and detained, his only concerns was the teen who suddenly made contact with the liquid concrete beneath her.

    "Charlie!" Smoke cried sliding to her position as he immediately lifted her body into his fingers.

Ignoring the blood that seeped into his palms, he frantically removed the strands of hair from her face as he tried to better observe her weaken sight.

    "D-dad?"

Coughing weakly, Charlie expelled clots of blood making Smoke breathing hitch further as he felt his palms shaking the more he held her corpse

     "lassie! Please...please be okay. Keep fighting lad..." Smoke pleaded but he knew the look in her eyes as she was close to losing her fight

    "D-dad...I-I'm sorry" She coughed as her loving smile began to manifest sending Smoke into a painful fit of tears as he refused to deny them any longer.

With his puffy amber orbs, he tightly clung onto her body as his once neatly combed ebony black hair became soaked due to the rain clouds.

   "shut up! ye 're not going to die on me! Not now! Not ever!" He barked removing the tear that fell down from her eyes.

Yet Charlie knew she wouldn't be able to fight any longer. The bullet penetrated a vital organ that was necessary to her health.

Filling her lungs with fluids, blood began to spill from her lips and nose but she continued to wear that smile that brought Smoke so much life.

'Anyone but her'

     "I-I love yo-you dad" She spoke weakly caressing his face.

Smoke held onto her palm as he knew it was going to lose strength after a while. Crying weakly into her palm, he saw that loving face one last time as her body was eventually giving out.

    "I-I love ye too... lassie" Smoke whimpered as he held onto her hand before the distant sirens to the ambulance were coming into view.

What Smoke was close to believing was a miracle since he felt her pulse, her body suddenly fell limp in his grasp.

Choking on his sob, he looked down to notice the last breath she took with the remaining oxygen she had left.

With the fluids clogging up her lungs and spilling out causing internal bleeding, Smoke sat there, numb.

    "Doc...can't you do anything?" Pulse asked weakly facing the medic

    "She was lost the moment she was shot...even with my help..." Doc murmured weakly feeling useless due to his inability to save a life that was destined to meet her end.

He knew even if he tried and stabilize her, she wouldn't make it to the hospital anyway ways.

Smoke remained motionless as he didn't know what to do anymore. With more tears swelling up in his eyes, his lip began to quiver madly as he tightly clung onto her hand that he still held to his cheek.

Without noticing, he screamed painfully as his cries triggered more thunder roars and lightning strikes.

He held onto her corpse weakly with his screams echoing into the air as he felt a piece of his world-shattering.

'Pl-please...don't take my sunshine away'

[sparklecryptid]

someone pls talk about oceanus w/ me i’m dying over my boy also here is the prologue

also on ao3 here

Oceanus likes to start his day simply. He wakes, dresses in a way that is almost certainly liable to piss off his boss no matter what he wears, makes a quick breakfast of eggs and toast before heading out the door of his shabby apartment and down the stairs of the rundown apartment building he lives in that is almost certain is in violation of Insomnia’s building codes.

Then, after commuting from the refugee district of all places, Oceanus winds up at the staff door of the Citadel and slides a carefully crafted mask of indifference on as his both his peers and the highly esteemed Lord Leon sneer at him when he sits on at his desk and begins to check the messages for Leon.

Oceanus would rather like, at times, to punch Leon in the face.

But Lord Leon is his boss, and  Oceanus plasters on a smile so false it’s a wonder it doesn’t rot his teeth whenever he has to speak to the noble. The Lord’s stance on refugees isn’t kind, and Oceanus knows that he had been a diversity hire and that although he might hate his job it pays well enough that Oceanus doesn’t have to worry about rent, which costs more than it should for his area of town, or food.

So Oceanus smiles at his boss and wonders whether if today is going to be a good day. Then Leon, the nobleman that had oh so kindly given Oceanus a job puffs out his chest like a peacock and Oceanus decides that no.

A good day is, decidedly, off the table.

-

Oceanus contemplates homicide as he listens to Leon talk about how Galahdians are taking more than their fair share of jobs. About how proper Lucian’s are suffering because of the refugees clogging their fair city. Oceanus listens, and not for the first time, he yearns for the familiar feel of the brass knuckles he gave away when he came to Insomnia.

Everything Leon is saying is nothing but slander and Oceanus hates his boss, hates the fact the man signs his cheque so Oceanus can’t just push him out the window he’s beside it’d be so easy-

No. Bad Oceanus. Homicide is not the answer. What would Lyse say?

Lyse would have punched him in the face by now, Oceanus thinks, his grip on his pen nearly breaking the fragile piece of plastic, I would have too.

Things are different now, and Oceanus does not punch Leon in the face and when Leon asks his opinion on the ‘Galahdian Problem’ as Leon puts it, Oceanus smiles at him, false and sweet, and tells Leon that he has no strong opinion on the matter.

“Of course you don’t,” Leon scoffs, the sun lighting his red hair in a way that made it seem on fire, “You’re one of them.” The last words are said with such disdain that Oceanus nearly leaps from his desk to stab the noble in the face.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he keeps smiling and wonders how someone such as Leon came to sit on the Council.

(Leon reminds Oceanus of his adoptive father in all the worst ways.)

-

The next day Oceanus wakes up with no high hopes for the day. He gets ready, the same as always, and heads to the Citadel where he sits at his desk and files appointments and takes messages for Lord Leon Tempest, the same as always.

Bored with his tasks, and thankful that Lord Tempest is preparing to host an important visitor Oceanus only blinks when and raises his head from his computer when he hears the door open.

“Oh,” Oceanus says voice full of bland cheer, “Lord Scientia, you’re early. Lord Tempest has yet to finish his preparations for your arrival.”

Ignis nods, his good eye scanning Oceanus before his lips quirk in what Oceanus assumes is supposed to be a smile.

It looks too charming to be a sincere one.

Oceanus raises an eyebrow at the young advisor and is surprised when Ignis shakes his head and his smile turns more genuine.

“I’m sure what your Lord has prepared will more than suffice,” Ignis replies smoothly, “I’ve no intention of waiting on him.”

Oceanus holds back a positively unprofessional snort that he’s fairly certain Ignis picks up on anyway.

“I’ll be sure to let him know.”

-

Ignis is surprisingly pleasant when Oceanus informs him that Lord Tempest is not, in fact, going to meet with him early.

“I thought he wouldn’t,” Ignis says dryly, his mouth quirking upwards at the eye roll he gets from Oceanus,  “Still, it was worth the attempt. At any rate, I can blame Lord Tempest for making me late.”

Curious as to what Ignis would be late for, Oceanus barely refrains from asking about what is most certainly not his business.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Oceanus says, his mask in place, “But I’m afraid Lord Tempest won’t be budged.”

Something in Ignis’ gaze softens and were Oceanus less trained in concealing how he felt the other man’s gaze might have caused him to fidget.

“Nothing to worry about,” Ignis says, “I’ve accounted for these sort of things given your employers- notorious moods.” Ignis’ words bring a chuckle to Oceanus’ lips before Oceanus realizes what he’s doing and seals his lips shut.

“Regardless,” Oceanus says when the moment passes, “Is there anything I can get you while you wait?”

“Not at all,” Ignis says, “That is unless you’ve no other matters to attend to. I wouldn’t mind a bit of company while I wait.”

Oceanus raises an eyebrow. Ignis copies him, his smirk tugging at the scar tissue on the right side of his face.

Oceanus shakes his head, more than amused at Ignis.

“Five minutes is all you’re getting from me.”

“I assure you,” Ignis says, “That’s all I need.”

-

Ignis is a delightful conversationalist Oceanus finds, the other man’s wit is sharp and his dry humor makes Oceanus chuckle more than once.

(If Oceanus resists the urge to make a dirty joke more often than not it’s only because Ignis sets them up so neatly.)

When Lord Tempest comes to fetch Ignis. Oceanus places the mask that he let slip around Ignis back on.

Ignis cocks a brow at Oceanus.

Oceanus stares back impassionately. And for a moment, it feels like he’s stepped on the wrong foot of destiny, but then Lord Tempest commands the other nobles attention and Oceanus gets back to work.

Surely he’s just being foolish.

Surely.

#sea song verse