#this was 2 paragraphs a second ago

[exghul]

*randomly waits until he's home and sits in his bedroom with the lights off because she's mad he hasn't sent her any art recently.

these early days, he will one day realize, are the hardest of them all. these are the days where his hand is unguided by surety, these are the days that he sizes up his father with distrustful eyes & a swallowed sneer.

these days, he sizes up his own mother with the same distrust --- if she were to keep a good man from him, why? these are the days where she offers pretty words & a kiss to his forehead rather than an honest answer. she looks at him with such kindness, such gentle love. her eyes regard him as if he alone hung the sun in the sky & turned its dial to the evening to mark the passage of time.

that kindness corrodes against his faith now, leaving more questions in her wake than ever the answers she offered.

the door swings open on silent hinges, freshly bloody fingers leaving careless streaks down the wood. the butler will clean it later.

in that same kindness, she now perches at the edge of his bed. the warm light of the hall spills into the dark space, curling around the warrior woman in all her grace. her posture reeks of self-righteousness.

his nose wrinkles & that streak of blood falls free of the hardwood as damian moves further into his room. no pain flickers up his arm, this blood was never his.

but he does not acknowledge it, instead tilts his chin towards the easel propped against his locked balcony doors but she has less interest in the swirling fountain of colors on the thick canvas. she will fawn, she will dote -- in her way. nimble fingers comb through his hair, confirming no head injuries before those same cold fingers slide against his cheeks. then a kiss to his forehead & the boy cannot help the tug of a smile against his lips.

this is how we could stay forever, he decides in the moment, we could go home & never look back. mother & son, bathed in the manor's years of fracturing light as it dances from one reflective surface to another, lock eyes. she looks at him with that sweetness, that gentleness only a mother might offer as she asks after his health.

and there it is again, that bubbling unexplained frustration stains his tongue & he drops her gaze. the moment of forever encapsulated is gone, replaced with the reality that he stands in a bedroom given to him by a father that did not know of his existence, held by the mother that sent him to the billionaire's doorstep without so much as an explanation.

he had thought they were better than that, that she & damian would never have the one-sided darkened relationship that talia weathers with her own father. she PROMISED him honesty, had PROMISED that she would protect him from the cruel world past the borders of nanda parbat. she fucking PROMISED she would never abandon him.

then his twelfth birthday crested the dawn, his sword at her neck. that day ruined everything they had built, that day brought him into a world unknown and the only anchor the child had ever known left his side.

he can name that bitter taste in his mouth now, as he stares wordlessly up at her. that taste is betrayal.

the crinkle in his nasal bridge increases to a scowl as the thoughts shuffle into clear view. still, she looks at him with such unguarded eyes. how can she show such softness as if she did not uproot his entire life without more than a rushed apology?

a single finger lifts to address the canvas once more with its dazzling minutiae of stars. a painting from memory, to remind him of how the familiar sky looked without the suffocating smog of gotham city.

❝ that one --- is for you. ❞ she will leave soon, after collecting the bounty & a few teasing words to his father -- wherever he might be in the manor, talia will find him.

damian's eyes turn downcast. she should just leave without acknowledging him, for how little she must sincerely care.

lips press to his forehead again. she whispers words of encouragement & love against the wisps of coal black hair that sweep his cranium, the closest to a prayer the great talia al ghūl might get.

if he were childish, if he had the range of human emotion of a toddler, he might weep right here. he pulls away.

silent as the night winds that bow to her step, talia is gone when he finally lifts his gaze again. good, now his self-inflicted pity party can begin.

he crosses the threshold back towards the door, shoves it closed with too loud a slam & slides the singular lock into place. then the traps are placed, tight wires meant to rouse him from sleep at the first sign of disruption. room now secure, the boy walks to his easel & picks up the thickest of brushes. he squishes it between his fingers, the blood of gotham strangers mixing with the damp brush fresh from use hours prior. he tilts his head, listening for his mother's soft tinkling laughter.

only the silence & the faint ring of his eardrums greet him. @pitborn !

#ANS. #if this posts i will KERMIT this is a DRAFT. #pitborn #⊰ ℜ ⊱ ┊ midnight damn right; wound up too tight. ┊ TIMELINE: BOY WONDER. #WHEHEZES #ok now that this is no longer a draft #this was 2 paragraphs a second ago #anyway no proof read we die like illiterate men #<3 dis is for u bc ik u wanted Happiness and Joy but i simply cannot provide those HDHSFD

[mythvoiced]

-. last ooc post for today, i'm reading something new too (because i think i'm funny) and ifyky but 'Age of the C*ck'

#;ooc #;tbd #can't wait to see what else this thing will subject me to #just found out the fandom refers to it as '2.h.a' or 'e.r.h.a' so yeah that's the one #i'm crossing my fingers that it won't cause brainrot #homeboy seems like an asshole so far BUT YOU KNOW i've been lied to before #i met xu.e me.ng two seconds ago and it took him about five paragraphs to tell someone to go fuck themselVES VERY GOOD #AND WITH THAT! i bid your dashes far well~ ♥ thank you for indulging me ♥ #LMAO I POSTED THIS AND REALISED 'WAIT I NEVER USED THAT WORD ON HERE BEFORE' OOP

[mastersoftheair]

some now-deleted comments from a reddit thread about the MotA intro credits/music. get excited, musicheads!!

#HUGE disclaimer that no. i haven't seen a single second of the show (that hasn't been shown in a teaser or trailer #or blurry monitor screen spotted in saar klein's selfie from almost 2 years ago) #just wanna make that Abundantly Clear to any of the apple tv snipers out there before they shoot me like they shot this guy lol #fair enough i left out a couple of paragraphs that talk a Smidge more about a couple of scenes (which may be why the commenter got sniped) #but we're talking First part of the First episode. not even the whole thing. not a spoiler of any kind. and idk what else he saw! #i know nothing! i repeat (to the snipers): I KNOW NOTHING!!! #(if anyone is Really Itching to see what else the guy talked about. like if it's gonna keep you up at night #There Are (non-wayback machine) Ways to see old snapshots of webpages #not gonna say anything more than that so i can retain some measure of plausible deniability) #anyway! i still wanna know if blake neely is the Sole composer (like kamen in BoB) or if there's gonna be a collab (like in the pacific) #masters of the air #hbo war #music

[bookwyrminspiration]

sometimes when I answer an ask I know the exact answer to your question the moment I read it but sometimes I am making things up literally as I type so if you ever ask me a question there is a chance I am just trying to disguise the fact that I am learning my answer to this question at the same time you are. hope this helps <3

#kotlc #quil's unholy underworld #ask: what do you think of this thing? #me. has not thought of that ever before: I'm so glad you've asked here's three paragraphs I just came up with 2 seconds ago #this is also not about any specific ask or nonsie it happens fairly often #that's not to say I'm making my answers up or bsing just that sometimes I am figuring out my answers as I type them #and then pretending I knew what I was saying all along #this is also not in response to the ask i just got! you sent that in as I was writing this so if that was a concern then ur good nonsie <33

[f4y3w00d5]

This case is making me so fucking angry. theyre using common transphobic language, and also theyre not even HIDING their BLATANT FUCKING TRANSPHOBIA-

Wanna see the poster that made me aware of this current bullshit going on?

The second paragraph. 'Roxy Tickle is a man that wants to be a woman.' Okay, well a simple google search says shes transgender. Going a bit more in depth? She has done Three years of hormone therapy and gender reaffirmation surgery. Like this isnt a transgender woman who has done nothing to change her identity, she's got surgery and 3 years of hormone therapy! And looking more into it? She has said;

"I am now legally a woman.

“I am already allowed to have a female gendered passport thanks to the letter from my GP confirming that they are treating me.

“I only have one step left - to update my birth certificate to say that I’m female.

“I needed two medical specialists saying they have seen my genitals and they both needed to sign a form in the presence of a JP.

"These are the most extreme levels of identity proof I’ve ever come across – to have to show your genitals to an MD is embarrassing to prove who you are. The documentation has all now been completed and I will mail it this weekend."

That was all 4 years ago. 7 years of this shit now. (as of today, april 11th, 2024)

And the poster still refers to her as a he?

And thats the picture they use. Now heres a better one.

That was deliberate. They used an unflattering photo of her, and a very flattering one of Sall, just to try and tip people to Salls side. Common marketing ploy.

More research shows that she now has her birth certificate identifying her as female.

And this isnt enough?

By her logic, shouldnt a trans man be allowed on giggle, no matter how far through transitioning they are, purely because they were born female? I get the feeling that she would say no. This is simply blatant transphobia. Personally, I cant do anything, being a minor. I'm not sure how far this case is along, seeing as it started 2 days ago.

But I simply cant let this slide. When I saw it this afternoon it made me so fucking angry.

This case could change a lot of things. Make a lot of changes that make everything far worse for non cis gendered people, potentially influencing things world wide

#roxy tickle #roxanne tickle #giggles for girls #sall grover #transphobia #trans rights #australia #australia politics #tw transphobia

[dallasstarsdyke]

you, article writer for dazed! are you normal about disabled people?

#that one thats going around rn like 'we need to grow up' is so fucked lmao. same with the one about adhd a couple months ago #it really just speaks to a 'snot nosed minors' type worldview and complete ignorance of high support needs people #and a lot of the article + people in the notes were like 'people on this website are immature like this.' #hey chief i have bad news for you about tumblrs userbase #same with the original article where they were talking about twitter and tiktok #and i agree with that to an extent because algorithmic platforms incentivize relatability #so a lot of experiences have to be kind of dumbed down or collectivized at least. #i do agree with the point thats like 'no ethical consumption under capitalism has morphed into no unethical consumption' #thats really smart #but the stuff right after that is just bitching about capitalism #they come up with the points of 'teens are being adultified and young women are marketed to as kids' #AND 'for some reason theres all these immature adults' independently #there IS a correlation but the cause will shock you #anyway. coming back to the point about disabled people in the first paragraph #theres this line like 'the idea that adhd people have low object permanence and cant text back' #i mean its not because of object permanence but hey man? some of them cant #like genuinely im with special ed like 2 or 3 times a week this is fr #all my issues with it kind of come from taking things at face value #twitter nazis dont actually see themselves as 'frens.' thats far right ethnonationalist. #gay people dont actually think their 20s are 'a second adolescence.' thats a metaphor for self discovery #'smoking cigarettes on a swing' is something teenagers do. euphoria and john green books are what teenagers watch #tldr. 'guy who has only interacted with online teenagers seeing anyone else: getting real teenager vibes from this'

[ineffable-suffering]

The Jane Austen Ball and why it was never about Nina and Maggie

Otherwise known as (*takes a deep breath*): A completely inflated close-up look at various dialogues and events of Season 2 that prove that the Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeeper's Association Meeting Cotillion Ball was supposed to be Aziraphale's confession to Crowley

Look, the point's been made before but that's never kept me from making it myself again, still. In fact, even I made it before, at the end of one of my other metas. But I feel like it's absolutely worthy enough to get its own soppy, way-too-long post. And I do love it so very much to write ridiculously long essays on something that could easily be condensed into a short paragraph.

So, here we go! Snuggle up, get cozy, settle in and, most importantly:

(Word count: 3.177 | Reading time: ~13 minutes)

As I already said above, I laid out a similar case in my meta about why Aziraphale is somewhat of an unreliable narrator. I'll try and recycle it here briefly, so I can further make my point.

When Aziraphale arrives back in London from his Edinburgh journey, he seems oddly happy and giddy for the fact that he just had a rather odd and threatening encounter with Shax. I explain in my other meta that this is because he just spent the last hours of his drive reminiscing on the thrilling and romantic magic show adventure of 1941 and also the fact that he just found out that Crowley has been replaced by Shax and no longer works for Hell.

Ergo: We have a hopelessly lovesick Principality at our hands, who's practically swooning over his serpent who saved him, his books and his magic show all those years ago.

Ergo:

✨This✨

Realistically, Aziraphale should probably be a tad worried about the eery encounter with Shax, in which she definitely had the upper hand on him. But well, if you spend many-a hours driving across the serene countryside (Edinburgh is about an 8-hour drive from London), pondering on one of the craziest, sticky-sweet romantic adventures of your not-life life, well ... things tend to turn a little rosy around the edges. Head in the clouds and all that. Light shades of grey!

Alright, onwards: Once the angel, filled to the very brim with fond memories and butterflies, gets out of the Bentley, he's kindly met with a face full of verdant plants and a very in-character-grumpy Crowley.

Fhwack! Way to burst the rosy bubble.

Seriously, the absolute lightning speed with which Crowley storms out to vacate the bookshop the very second Aziraphale arrives makes me giggle every time.

Let's make a first small (who am I kidding) diversion into analysing the following conversation in unnecessary detail ...

... simply because I enjoy quoting dialogue as an accurate reference in my metas. I'll also highlight certain passages I want to comment on in individual colours so I can back up my thoughts with them below. Alright, their little chinwag goes as follows:

Crowley: "They you are! I was worried something might have happened to you." Aziraphale: "No, nothing happened to me. Very uneventful journey indeed. No strange things at all." Crowley: "Good. That's what we wanna hear." Aziraphale: "Um .. everything okay with- ah.." *nods to the bookshop* Crowley: "Oh, yeah, fine. He's singing to himself. I think he must have been asleep. I heard snoring coming from his bedroom–" Crowley, to the Bentley: "Did you miss me? I bet you did." Aziraphale: "... I'm sure it did." Crowley: "So, any more clues from the mystery of the missing archangel?" Aziraphale: "Not exactly. Or, if there are, I haven't yet cracked the case. But I'm certainly hot on the trail of something." Crowley: "I'm sure you are. Oh, by the way, the whole sudden rain and awning thing was a complete washout." Aziraphale: "Sorry?" Crowley: "You know, project making Nina fall in love with Maggie. I failed, it's your go." Aziraphale: "I see. Well then, Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeeper's Association Monthly Meeting, here we come!" Crowley: "You're really hosting the meeting?" Aziraphale: "Absolutely! And I can guarantee you, it will be a night to remember."

At first glance, this has little to do with the plot of this meta but actually, it folds into my point very nicely! However, it's not time for that yet, so we'll just state the facts as they are for now and then bring them back 'round later when we need them. That being said: For the love of Someone, will these two ever manage to simply tell each other the truth of what happened instead of thinking they can protect each other by lying about it all the time? Hrmpf. As a big fan of open communication myself, I'm close to developing a stomach ulcer with the amount of false truths being spewed here. (Then again – and yes, that is another, way larger meta I'm currently cooking up – it plays so very perfectly into the whole Jane-Austen-Pride-and-Prejudice tragic miscommunication theme that this entire Season has, so I understand the point of it.)

Very uneventful journey indeed, Aziraphale, except for the fact that you were ambushed by a demon who told you she was Crowley's successor, knows about the rumors of the two of you being an item as well as what went down in 1941 (that almost had both of you exposed) and also seems to have figured out where you and your demon boyfriend are hiding Gabriel, all in the span of about a minute. No strange things at all, nooo!

And Crowley's "Oh yeah, fine" is a total lie too. Again, we see him make an absolute run for it before Aziraphale can even enter the bookshop. After all, he just once again witnessed Jim have a Gabriel-flashback, speaking of the Second Coming, while Crowley was alone with him. As fumingly angry he is with the amnesiac archangel – he's also absolutely terrified of what might happen (to him and Aziraphale) should Jim regain his memories. So, no wonder he's quick to vacate the premises after witnessing Jim's rather eery memory flashback (and was, just like Aziraphale, threatened by Shax mere moments later, lol).

But no, nothing out of the ordinary happened to either of them. Tip-top. Absolutely tickety-fucking-boo.

Alright, let's get back on track with the actual topic of this meta. Certainly hot on the trail of something, hm? At first glance, it might seem like Aziraphale is talking about the fact that Gabriel was in company of someone whenever he went to the Resurrectionist Pub. (The clue!) However, I don't actually think he is talking about that. Why? Because, and this slipped my mind too at first, he never actually follows any of this information up, does he? Yes, sure, he went to Edinburgh, found the capital-c Clue and then returned to London. But what does he do with it? Nothing. He doesn't keep investigating this hot trail because that's not the important thing he realized during his journey. No, the more important clue Aziraphale found during his trip, is that Crowley no longer works for Hell and that he is also very much irrevocably in love with him and must confess this at the earliest given chance. (The latter part isn't necessarily a new discovery for Aziraphale, but it surely is fuelled by the fact that he just realized Crowley's out of a Hellish job and simply hasn't told him yet.)

This exchange just the perfect indicator for the fact that Aziraphale, at no point during his drive back, was thinking about the Maggie and Nina mission. He has no idea what Crowley is talking about once he mentions it and seems surprised, even, that he would. Even though they just talked about it on the phone when Aziraphale was still at the graveyard. Which is another important piece of evidence because it means that the last status update Aziraphale got of Mission Lovebirds, was that Crowley had sensed an opportunity to make them fall in love – and had then hung up on him. Why is this important? Because it means that until that very point of their conversation, Aziraphale did not know that Crowley's attempt had failed! There would have been just as much of a chance of Crowley's weather miracle actually working out and Maggie and Nina already having skipped into the sunset happily ever after.

So, riddle me this:

Why would Aziraphale spend the entire ride back from Edinburgh plotting "a night to remember" (because clearly, he already had the entire Ball planned out down to a T in his head since he goes into action right away after arriving) if he didn't even know yet that Crowley's attempt had failed?

To be very clear here: We're not talking about Aziraphale driving on the M1 to London, having a silly little idea for putting on some good music, miracle-ing Nina and Maggie to dance to it and watch them confess their love–

No.

He planned an entire actual Cotillion Ball with very particular location design that involves re-arranging the entire bookshop, specifically designed individual outfits for (almost) every single attendee, topped off with a live band, hors-d'œuvre, drinks and an actual choreographed group dance.

During one car ride.

Where's the party planner Aziraphale AU? I'm waiting!

Now, sure, we know that it's still quite important for Aziraphale to convince Heaven of the faux-reason they gave for their accidental ✨25-Lazarii miracle✨. But if we're all honest, this all seems to be a tad much just to make two random humans fall in love, even for that.

Glittery ball gowns and suits? Red and gold wall curtains? A modified language filter? Bloody vol-au-vents?

Talk about over the top ...

Once we start S2E5, Crowley is still surprised at the mere fact that Aziraphale is actually planning to organize the Monthly Meeting – and he doesn't even know yet that it's gonna be the most extravagant ball-boogaloo that the Whickber Street Community has ever seen! Aziraphale wanting to organize the meeting alone, is enough to render Crowley incredulous, because Aziraphale never mingles with the other shopkeepers. He usually actively avoids them and any sort of social encounters as much as he can because he doesn't care about the bloody Christmas lights, alright?

These things seem mundane and uninteresting to him, obviously, since all he really cares about is hoarding his book collection in peace like the little hedonist he is and drawing as little attention as possible to his none-business business.

Oh, right, speaking of books:

Let's take another unnecessarily detailed look at the whole Whickber Street invitation scene:

Aziraphale realizes very quickly that he's not the only one who's quite unenthusiastic about the blessed Chritsmas lights. And despite his very persuasive methods of temptation ...

... he has to take some more drastic measurements. And those are?

That's right: Giving away his books.

I'll repeat it again, slowly: Aziraphale is willingly (!) giving away or lending his books to pretty much complete strangers to, allegedly, make two other humans strangers fall in love.

Seriously, who is that angel and what has he done with our prim, fussy, hedonistic Aziraphale that protects his books with the vice grip of an eagle carrying his precious prey?

Believe in the importance of Mission Lovebirds as much as you will, but we're talking about Mr. A.Z. Fell here who, over the past millennia, has pretty much spent every day actively working out methods to stop people from purchasing as much as a single paperback from his holy shelves.

And yet: the 1965 September Dr. Who Annual? Given away. The first edition of Expert at the Card Table that was S. W. Erdnase's personal copy? Lent away to grubby human hands to fondle around with.

Let's do another coloured dialogue diversion (don't worry, it's not as extensive as the last one):

Crowley: "You just did what I think you did?" Aziraphale: "I'm not prepared to talk about it." Crowley: "You gave away a book." Aziraphale: "I had to! Maggie and Nina are depending on me. They just don't know it yet."

Crowley backs up my point: This is a huge deal. Aziraphale does not sell his books – let alone give them away for free. We're all shocked! Flabbergasted!

And the explanation Crowley and us get just ... doesn't satisfy. Something and someone sure is depending on this Ball and doesn't know it yet. But it's most definitely not Maggie and Nina, folks.

You know for whom Aziraphale would give away his books in the blink of an eye, though?

Mhm, that's right.

This pretty old serpent.

I want to take a minute to show you the reaction again that Aziraphale has upon entering the very same magic shop him and Crowley went to in 1941 to acquire the Bullet Catch:

You ... you need a minute there, angel? You're sure looking a little ... affected.

And I mean, well, no wonder. He reminisced about that very memory four hours last night. To him, this shop is where the most turbulent, ecstatic, adrenaline-fuelled and romantic night of his life began. And it shows.

I've made my point in my other meta series about how Aziraphale is an incredibly nostalgic character. He romanticizes so many things in his memories – especially the parts that feature Crowley. So, it doesn't surprise me in the slightest that he's once again willing to loosen the tight grip he has on his book collection to get the successor of Will Goldstone's Magic Shop, the shop that started it all for him, to come to his fancy Ball.

As we watch Aziraphale and his little lap dog demon pat around Soho, I'd like to take another second to point out that he goes to seven or more establishments before he even invites Nina.

... and he only does so because she starts talking to them on the street. Almost like he'd forgotten about it. Why not ask her at the very beginning? To establish whether or not he'd have to book-blackmail her too?

"Perfectly ordinary invitation with no hidden agenda of any kind", except that he's using you and Maggie as a pretence to resolve his own clusterfuck of a relationship-miscommunication Jane-Austen-style so that he can then hopefully confess his undying love to his demon not-boyfriend boyfriend.

Marvellous!

You'll forgive me another short diversion but my God, the whole exchange at the Marguerite's restaurant with Crowley literally cat-call-whistling Aziraphale over to him (and Aziraphale checking if he meant someone else first, I–)? I am weak. So, so weak and

However, this is also when we get a snippet of Crowley finally revealing the truth in place of his "Oh, he's fine"-lie earlier and telling Aziraphale that he's actually pretty scared Jim might turn back into Gabriel and smite him altogether. And Aziraphale's response is, in a cosmic sense, (remember the pink paragraph now) so hilarious:

"Have you thought of just talking to him?"

Yeah, have you? Have any of the two of you? Just thought about talking? To each other? About anything?

'pparently not. But hey, it's all good because remember what the ultimate remedy for star-crossed lovers simply misunderstanding each other is?

Bish, bash, bosh, problem solved!

Back at the ballroom bookshop, Aziraphale sends Crowley to invite Maggie in order to, in my opinion, not spoil the Ball-y surprise for him. (Inviting Maggie only now?! Wouldn't she be one of the only two guests who really should attend? Why the short notice? If she's really that important for the Ball you're planning, hm?)

On top of this, we see Nina almost not attending the Ball meeting after her partner broke up with her and Crowley being the one who coincidentally runs into her and ushers her into the bookshop before Shax and her "legion" of demons start creeping up on them. Again, if this hadn't happened by pure coincidence, Nina would have left to go home and this whole Ball would have taken place without her, rendering the apparent sole purpose of making her fall in love with Maggie useless.

Why doesn't Aziraphale care more for both of them to attend and be there? Why is he instead busy fussing over everything looking perfect and wonderful and doesn't even seem to notice that both Nina and Maggie are really late to the meeting?

Well. Well.

The answer's in the title, babes.

Alas, Crowley safely gets Maggie and Nina to join them, Mr. Brown is the only one who doesn't get a miracled outfit (fussy, petty angel, you just don't like him, do you?), Jimbriel stuns with glamour and flirt (and whatever sexually suggestive thing he does with his cheeks) and the Whickber Street Ball is a-go!

Sorry, I just had to chuck this in again because Crowley's face here absolutely kills me every time. He looks so confused, I am hollering.

And the heart eyes Aziraphale is making at Nina and Maggie now that they're actually here?

Oh, bless it, angel.

He's all like "Oh look, it's working! Jane was right! It's all going to be resolved, all the misunderstanding and quarrels! Crowley, where's Crowley–"

Ah yes, there he is.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is an angel who is not listening to a single word being said right now. No, in his head, Aziraphale is already down on one knee, pouring his heart out to Crowley after they just danced the night away.

Oh, yes, right. The dancing.

Parallel much?

But well, as marvellous and beautifully romantic as her stories tend to be, it turns out that Jane Austen isn't always right after all. Because before we know it, the perfect night shatters into many-a tiny pieces (literally).

And once again, fhwack:

... the rosy bubble bursts.

Let's take one more deep breath so I can make my final point:

In S2E2, Aziraphale explains to us very exactly what Jane's Balls (hrhr) used to be about: Solving miscommunication and confessing love to one another.

During his car journey back from Edinburgh, Aziraphale:

doesn't know Crowley's Mission Lovebirds had failed

remembers 1941 and just how badly he's in love with Crowley

and also realizes that they seem to have been wildly miscommunicating for quite some time now. (Crowley didn't even tell him he basically got let go!)

So, what does maddeningly strong love plus a want to resolve all the miscommunication equal? That's right: A night to remember! A Ball to change it all! A dance, a vol-au-vent, a confession. And, ideally, a happy ever after. Because:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man angel in possession of a good fortune Jane Austen collection, must be in want of a wife demon husband.”

The Ball was never for Nina and Maggie. As a byproduct, maybe, yes. But the whole rest of the glimmer and glamour, the careful, romantic planning and set up of it all, the book-bating the other shopkeepers– that was for Crowley and Crowley only.

And oh, if only it were as easy as in the books.

*whispers* I'm sorry, I had to.

***

Your honour, the tinfoil-hat crackpot defence rests. Feel free to share thoughts (and prayers) if you want to!

Au revoir! 💗

#good omens season 2 #good omens #gos2 #go2 #good omens 2 #good omens meta #good omens s2 #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #my own meta #the bloody vol-au-vents made me do it #aziraphale has balls #truly #jaune austen ball #it is a truth universally acknowledged that this show is going to drive me out of my mind #azi just wanted his silly little love confession #but then he had to surrender the angle #bummer

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡Morning Voice｡⋆.

König x plus size reader

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x plus size reader

Just imagine their morning voices

Warnings: Lou is thirsty again, implied smut, secret relationship, mutual pinning, injuries, fluff, little angst, itty bitty bit of smut, might be ooc König, mention of stitches

WC: 970

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

König

It was the voices that woke you up. They were muffled behind the door to your private room but just loud enough to rouse you from a surprisingly restful sleep. You blinked your eyes open but the warmth that surrounded you and the heavy weight across your soft stomach urged you back to sleep.

Just as your eyelids fluttered shut once more, a thought occurred to you. You shuffled backwards just slightly and your ass came into contact with something hard and teasingly hot. There came a deep groan from above your head and the weight around your stomach tightened, drawing you even further back into them.

“Stop moving, liebling.” (darling) His voice rumbled through you like an earthquake, shaking you down to your core. It was breathy but not weak, no, you could hear its power waiting just below the surface. The German rolled off his tongue in a way that made your eyes roll back into your head.

“König.” You whimpered. “You have to go, they’ll find out.” But you made no effort to pull away from his protective hold, in fact you snuggled back into the colonel, putting your right hand on top of his own much larger one. 

He laughed softly into your hair before planting a kiss to the crown of your head. “I think you would rather me stay spatzi.” (little sparrow) Long fingers danced down your plump stomach, drawing closer and closer to your core. “I think you need me right here.” 

You gasped as he finally cupped your mound, the butt of his hand brushing against your overworked clit. “König.” You bit your lip, trying to keep your voice down.

“That seems to be all you can say this morning.” He teased and rolled his hips into your ass, forcing his hardening length between her cheeks. “How about I make you scream it?”

Ghost

The words on the report in front of you had stopped making sense about 2 paragraphs ago but you continued your attempt at reading the action report just to distract from the sight only a few feet away from you. The room was silent save for the quiet beeping of the heart monitor and the almost deafening sound of your own breathing.

With a groan, you threw the folder of papers onto your cluttered desk and looked back up to the bed in front of you. 

He was only wearing a tight black shirt and tan cargo pants but you had insisted that the old skull balaclava remain firmly on his head. His wide chest rose and fell consistently, giving you peace of mind even as your hands still burned from stitching up so much of his body and the smell of blood still overpowered that hospital smell you had grown so used to.

He looked so small laying on the infirmary cot, his normally overwhelming presence now dwindling down to an ember and it broke your heart. Not because you were in love with the man! You cared out of professional obligation given you were the only doctor for the 141. 

As the clock struck 3 am, you stood up from your desk and approached the bed. You told yourself that you were just going to check his stitches but you never even touched his bandages. Instead you sat on the rickety folding chair that Gaz had found in one of the broom closets. 

Simon’s hand was devastatingly cold as you took it into your own. You cradled his palm, tracing over the various silvery lines of scars with your fingertips. Exhaustion hit you all at once and you couldn’t help but slump over the huge man, your head coming to rest on his thick thigh. “Only for a second,” You muttered, “Just need to rest my eyes.”

His whole body ached as Simon slowly slipped back into consciousness. His mouth was dry and parts of his skin felt stretched to its limits. But as he opened his eyes, all of that faded away. You were dead asleep on his lap, holding his hand as small snores escaped your lips.

He tutted at the huge dark bags beneath your eyes and he vaguely wondered how long you had been awake for. With his other hand, he cupped your head, marvelling at the way that he almost covered your whole head. You grunted softly and nuzzled into his touch.

Simon would love to let you keep sleeping especially since you were using him as a pillow but your neck was at a weird angle and he didn’t imagine that the metal folding chair you were sitting on was particularly comfortable. 

So with a considerable amount of hesitation, he spoke up. “Doc.” His voice was broken and husky, just barely louder than the machines attached to him. Your brows scrunched and you burrowed further into his thigh, clutching his left hand even tighter.

He smiled beneath his balaclava. 

Pain ripped through his body as Simon bent forward. He slipped his hand from your hold carefully in order to slip them both under your armpits. You were a dead weight in his arms, exacerbating the tight stitches on his sides but he still pulled you up easily, laying your soft body down between his legs. 

Your head fell to his shoulder, nose immediately pushing against his throat. “Si?” You asked sleepily, attempting to sit up but a hand on your shoulder and another one on your wide hip prevented you from moving. 

“Go back to sleep doc, I’ll still be hurt in the morning.” Heat crawled up your neck with the deepness of his voice and you found yourself unable to disagree, even though you were probably causing him even more pain. You nodded against his skin and Simon squeezed your hip gently. “That’s my good girl.” He purred.

MW2 Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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[luvfy0dor]

“And My Daddy Tells Me I Light Up His World ♡” Dad!Bsd Drabbles ੈ✩‧₊˚

╰┈➤ Chuuya Nakahara, Osamu Dazai, Fyodor Dostoevsky

Warnings; Line breaks between indented paragraphs mean new scenarios, girl dads, d/n- daughters name, s/n-sons name, p/t-parental title for reader

Description; a couple different scenarios, 2 for Fyodor, 1 for Dazai, 1 for Chuuya

A/n; just so u guys do know I giggle every single time I type out d/n, also also I've got a req still about dad Fyodor in my inbox but I don't know why it's so hard for me to write it 3: I'll get it out ong, im so sorry dad fyodor anon </3 consider this tribute to you 3: also next post's gonna be for the event! Had to rewrite it.

Fyodor Dostoevsky ★

Fyodor stood in the kitchen, accompanied by his young daughter sitting at the dining table. In his hand was a letter to Nikolai, written a week ago that he had finally decided to mail. He grabs an envelope before rummaging through drawers while his daughter colors idly across the room. She peers up at him from her spot and hops out of her chair, coloring paper in hand. "what're you looking for, papa?" She asks, looking up at him with her e/c eyes, the ones that matched yours perfectly. He smiled at her and closed the drawer he was looking through. "Just a pen, malyshka. Do you know where I could find one?" He asks her, looking down at her. She nods and fetches one of the pens from her big bag of coloring supplies, digging through it for a quick second before returning to him with her arm outstretched and a glittery pink gel pen in her small hands. "This is okay, right, papa? Who's the letter going to?" He takes it appreciatively and writes out Nikolais name and address. "Uncle Kolya, and any pen you give me will do, sweetheart." He gives the pen back to her and ruffles her hair. "Oh, uncle Kolya will just love it, then! I'm pretty sure his favorite color is pink. I'm gonna color this for him so that the next time he comes over he'll have a present from me!" She says with excitement, skipping back over to her seat at the table to resume her coloring. "Oh, ofcourse, d/n." After Fyodor mailed the letter, he soon got a response from Nikolai expressing his disappointment over the letter not being fully written in pink gel pen, which was backed up by his daughter as well.

You stood in yours and your husbands bedroom, buttoning his shirt for him while he watched the numbers flicker and change on the alarm clock on your nightstand. Your daughters school was hosting a daddy-daughter dance and your daughter insisted on Fyodor taking her. He agreed obviously, but he felt unfamiliar with such things, after all, he'd never experienced a daddy-daughter dance in his childhood. You gave him a smile once you buttoned his shirt and grabbed the only tie he owned off the dresser. "You look so good, Fedya. Like a prince." You said with a smile, leaning in to kiss the corner of his lips. He hummed and guided your chin with his fingers to kiss his lips completely. "Just a prince? Not a king?" His eyes were half lidded as always and you could make out a small smile on his face. "Alright, fine, a king." You finished tying his tie for him and left it slightly loose around his neck, knowing he was never really fond of how tight they could be. "Perfect, that would make d/n our little princess." Almost as if summoned, her footsteps are heard pattering down the hallway in her cute little flats that you got for her. The dress that she wore was adorned with puffy, mesh layers on the skirt and some gemstones on the top. "Papa, are you ready to go yet? " she asks, walking over to his side and examining his outfit thoroughly and gasping excitedly. "Papa, your tie matches my dress!" She says, pointing out the same colored material. "It does." He picks her up with a smile. "Do I look pretty?" She asks, a big, toothy grin on her face. He laughs and nods.

"Absolutely, now go say goodbye to p/t." He says, putting her down onto the ground so she could hug you and bid you a goodbye. "Bye, p/t!!" She says, squeezing you quite tightly. You hug her back and kiss her head, looking down at her. "Bye, sweetheart, I love you. Oh- wait! Before you go I want a picture of you and papa." You fish your phone from your back pocket and open the camera app as she backs up and hugs her papa just as tightly as she held you. Fyodor places his hand on her back while they both smile for the photo, but wince all of a sudden as your phones flash goes off. "Oh- whoops, I forgot to turn the flash off- for real this time." They both pose again, d/n giggling at your small mistake. You snapped it and then examined it on the phone before your daughter started pleading to see it. Fyodors smile was as charming as always, both in person and in the photo, and your daughter looked absolutely adorable in her poofy dress. Once you had shown her and she was satisfied, she quickly made her way out of the room, holding the skirt of her dress by the handfuls. Fyodor laughed at her under his breath before he leaned in to kiss you once more before he left, letting his hand linger on your hip like his taste did on your lips. "Bye, Fedya, I love you, have fun." You grin, to which he lets out a sigh. "I will, I love you too, Moya Lyubov." He pulls away and follows the young girl out of the bedroom. You smiled to yourself as you heard him call from down the hallway, "Wait, malyshka, don't go out the door so fast", followed by the prompt creeking and closing of the door.

Osamu Dazai ★

No one got the memo that it was apparently 'bring your kid to work's day', but everyone had to adjust rather quickly when Dazai pulled up to the Ada with a young child on his hip, oogling at any shiny object in its sight. Kunikida was the first to ask about it. "Is this another orphan that you've decided to pick up off the streets? It's too young for a job here." Dazai rolled his eyes. "For your information, this is my son. His babysitter has come down with the flu." He clarifies, walking past everyone to his desk and sitting the one year old on his lap. The baby leans towards him and reaches for the tassels of his bolo tie, grabbing and pulling on them to his mouth. Dazai laughs and gently pulls them out of the little boys grasp. "No, s/n, you can't chew on those." His son pouts and coos out some baby nonsense, starting to look around for some other entertainment, only to find nothing that interests him. He looks up at his dad with his big brown eyes and pouts, huffing and gripping his long jacket in his chubby fists. "Papa, 'ome." He babbles, missing the comfort of yours and Dazais house and preferring to be there over the agency. "I know, s/n, believe me. I'd rather be at home than sitting here with these people." He says, sighing and shaking his head. "Just keep him from crying." Kunikida says exasperatedly while writing a report from the last case he worked on for Fukuzawa. Dazai hums in acknowledgement and turns the baby to face away from him, keeping him sat on his lap. "My boy doesn't cry, he's nothin' like those other babies." He says with a grin, grabbing a pen and wrapping his son's hand around it and helping him drag it acrossed the closest paper on Dazais desk. "Yeah, just get a feel for holding the pen and as soon as you can write on your own, daddy's never doin' his own reports again." He grins. "Your son isn't doing any paperwork for the agency until he joins. And that still doesn't mean he'll be doing yours." Kunikida says from his desk. Dazai shakes his head and lets go of his sons arm. "Ugh, whatever... Kunikida doesn't gotta know if I bring it home though." He whispers to the boy, evoking an unaware giggle. Kunikida let out a knowing huff and gave up on trying.

Chuuya Nakahara ★

After his little girl had asked him on numerous occasions for a trip to the fair, he was finally able to get some time off and go with you and her. He weaved through the crowds with her on his shoulders and his hand in yours while trying to decide on one final game for your daughter to play before you left.. "Papa, look! They have fish!" D/n exclaimed, pointing at the booth that ran the famous goldfish game that parents never want their kids to see. Not Chuuya though. He's nothin' like y'all. Chuuya didn't mind the idea of having a fish for his daughter, even if it was him who had to feed it every day and clean it's tank regularly. He smiled and looked over at you with eyes that asked you if you were in mutual agreement of letting her try to win a goldfish. You smiled back at him and nodded, noticing your daughter watching the two of you exchange your glances. "Alright sweetheart, let's go get ya one of them fish." He walks over to the stand with you, lifting her off of his shoulders while you handed the carnie a $5 bill for a basket of ten ping pong balls. Chuuya watched d/n try to toss the first five into one of the colorful mini-fishbowls and miss every single one, so he grabbed a ball and tossed it, getting it into one of them. The man running the game cheers and heads to get d/n her fish, but she ends up getting two of the last four balls in on her own, nearly shrieking in excitement. "Daddy, that means I get three fishes, right?" She excitedly asks, her hair bouncing in the pigtail style it was pulled into. "Yup, that's right." He smiles at the carnie when he hands the fish to him and mutters an appreciative thank you, patting his daughters back and telling her to do the same. "Thank you! P/t, can we get them a tank at home?" She asks, still super hyper from her triple win. You laugh and nod, holding two of the fish so Chuuya doesn't have to hold all three and your daughter if she chooses she's too tired to walk to the car. "Yeah, we'll stop at the pet store to get you a nice tank for them." You tell her, nodding for her to follow you and Chuuya grabbing her hand so she doesn't get lost. "What do you say to daddy? He got you one of those." You say with a small laugh and she looks up at her dad with big, adoring eyes. "Thank you, daddy! Ahh, I'm so excited for my fishes!" Her misunderstanding of the plural version of fish also makes you giggle a little. "You're welcome, princess. Y'gonna take real good care of them? Remind me to feed 'em every day?" He says, guiding you guys through the parked cars towards your own. "Yup! Every single morning! But what're we gonna do when I'm at school and you and p/t are working? What about their lunch?" She frowns. "Fish don't need lunch, don't worry." He reassures her and hands you the third bagged fish for a moment while buckling d/n into her seat. "Good, I don't want them to starve!" She says. Chuuya laughs under his breath and closes the backseat door, pulling out a cigarette to smoke before taking the sorta-long drive to the pet store and home. Now he had three more responsibilities, but it made his baby happy, so he really didn't mind having to take care of three more animals in addition to his original one.

A/n; yawns speed ran these, wrote Chuuyas in like,, 12 minutes, it's not proofread (js Chuuyas) but hopefully it works (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧ also I'd like to come out and say ion proofread my own stuff, I have my friends do it (I love you guys MWAH)

#bungo stray dogs #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd fanfic #bsd headcanons #fanfic #fanfiction #bsd fyodor #fyodor x reader #bungo stray dogs fyodor #bungou stray dogs fyodor #fyodor bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor #fyodor x you #bungo stray dogs chuuya #chuuya x reader #bsd chuuya #bungou stray dogs chuuya #chuuya nakahara #bsd chuuya nakahara #chuuya x y/n #bsd dazai osamu #dazai bungou stray dogs #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs dazai #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x reader

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Michael Redgrave (The Lady Vanishes)—my beautiful bisexual hot linguist geek dandy nerd. I'm specifically nominating him for "The Lady Vanishes," but how can you not love him in this—it's a strikingly modern performance, not a whiff of old school macho masculinity; he starts the movie as a bit of a cad, thoughtless and self-absorbed, but the second our heroine's in trouble he's attentive, he's helpful, he's running around speaking languages and helping her with international spycraft shenanigans and just being so funny and warm and JOYOUS. (and again. he is SO bisexual. see the picture [attached below]). he's hot in the debate club twink kinda way and i've never wanted to smooch an idiot more

Cary Grant (The Philadelphia Story, His Girl Friday, Bringing Up Baby, Charade)—My Golden Age of Hollywood professor, who was very outwardly gay himself, put it this way: Even though Grant's sexuality was kind of an open secret in Hollywood, the public couldn't know in any real way. But anybody could see that there was a queerness about him, so he was casted for roles where he physically embodies his masculinity in a non-explicit but queer way. Bringing Up Baby is famous for the scene where Grant wears a frilly robe (pictured below, but what people don't always realise is that he plays kind of an awkward nerd in that movie. He's a hot awkward scientist in a grand robe!!! Hot!!! In The Philadelphia Story, one of my famous movies of all time, he plays C. K. Dexter Haven, a rich, sarcastic, supposedly abusive guy. And yet, what we see is this laid back, dandy-ish figure, who absolutely does not feel threatened when a woman he supposedly loves (Katharine Hepburn) starts having feelings for, and hooks up with another guy (James Stewart). He lets a drunk Stewart into his office and helps him get his job back! Obviously that is the script and not the actor, but the whole film, and that scene in particular, shows him having this very queer attitude of openness toward Hepburn and Stewart, which is only amplified by the casting of Grant and his portrayal of the character. Anyway, this is not an essay arguing for The Philadelphia Story to be considered a queer film, all I will say is: he's super hot in it.

This is round 3 of the bracket. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage man.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Michael Redgrave propaganda:

"BISEXUAL."

"It feels unjust to submit the entirety of The Lady Vanishes as propaganda, so I'd just like to very politely point everyone to 56:30 of this link, where we get a very nice view of Michael Redgrave's ass I MEAN his lilting, fine-tuned twinkish beauty"

Cary Grant propaganda:

The link to the above mentioned frilly robe scene from Bringing Up Baby: "I just went gay all of a sudden!"

last minute cary grant propaganda: the last few paragraphs of that new vanity fair article about him and randolph scott that just came out 2 days ago on cary's birthday where he calls it "gravity collapse" and "love at first sight" and says their souls touched and and and i'm actually sharing this mostly because it makes me emotional but also because a vote for archibald is a vote for love. this is my message. apologies for sounding mildly insane.

#cary grant #michael redgrave #fuck that old man #hotvintagepoll #round 3 #polls that pick me up and fling me out the window

[j4ygyu]

all i want is you | pjs

pairing: loverboy!jay x reader

genre: angst, fluff

summary: idk how to summarize this🙏🏻

<a/n> little women reference used cope w it 🤣

you hear it, the teasing glances and the whispers as you walk around the school. it’s been like this ever since jay, the popular guy at school had asked you out about 2 months ago during valentines. 

“hey look it’s your girlfriend” you hear it very clearly, but you know what they want, they want a reaction out of you. 

you still turn your head to the side to look and jay seems.. embarrassed? sad? you weren’t good at reading people so you never tried that hard either. 

there wasn’t anything negative about you or your looks, it was just the people around you who did not value you. but sometimes you did tend to forget and let your emotions control you.

same way, 2 months ago when jay had asked you out, private proposal. it was pretty unusal to you, you thought it was some kind of prank, you still do, like some kind of bet. 

so you just stared into his soul that day, without responding you nervously just bowed at him and excused yourself. 

few other students saw and reported it to their friends and slowlt by the next day, the rumor spread like a wildfire.

yes jay’s ego was hurt, you expected him to look down at you after that day but later on he just showed up with “i will win you.”

maybe he watched a movie and got motivated off it? 

you did like him back, no doubt in that but all your life you’ve felt like you were in a competition and always losing it so you just let things be. 

there was someone else who wanted him, some other of your classmate, yunjin.

so you just did not want to be in all this drama, yunjin already despised you, you did not want to make things worse. 

you head back to class as soon as recess is over, ignoring all the whispers and the look of envy you recieve from yunjin.

“what is going on?” wincing in pain as yunjin pushes you onto some wall with a sudden question.

“what the fuck do you want?” you ask back as she laughs at your face “i thought i told you to stay away from jay?” you could’ve fought back to get out of her grip, but come on she had two girls behind her making sure nobody sees. 

“i did, we haven’t spoken in a while” you say as you grab her hand harshly and pull it away “and, don’t touch me.” 

the sternness in your voice intimidated her, you could tell by the way she was gulping, even though you appeared weak you still were strong enough to fight back so they could not do much.

“then why the fuck is a rumor about jay dropping all his friends for you going on?” she says as you look at her, not even surprised cause you were already done with this school and it’s rumors. 

she steps back “god have you like casted a spell on him? why the fuck does he even want you?” looking at you in disbelief if you have caused it.

shrugging, “don’t know and don’t care” you say as yunjin tries to trap you between her and the wall again but the teacher calls out

‘what are you girls doing? get to class right now’

she gives you the dirtiest smirk known to man kind as you stare into her soul back with a poker face, not feeding onto her little trick. 

deciding to talk it out with jay, during second break you visit him near the playground area.

“why would you choose me when you can have her? i mean she has everything i don’t” oh the way jay could answer this in a paragraph.

“she has everything but she is not you okay? she is a piece of shit who goes around and bullies people, just like she has bullied you your entire life at school” you can audibly hear breaths leaving his mouth, desperation of wanting you really evident now.

your gazes piecered each other’s souls, staring deeply, somewhere deep down you knew there was some spark as your chest tightened oh how bad i want you jay.

“you’re what everyone wants jay. i am someone they spit on and walk past. nobody wants us together.” you confessed absentmindedly. 

“why do you care about what they think?” he asked, “its always been like that, you were a bystander too before you liked me” he lowers his head out of embarrassment.

knowing there is nothing more to add in to the arguement, you slide your hands in the pockets of your uniform skirt and walk away.

little did you both know, yunjin was eavesdropping everything and rage of jealousy filled her making her undereye twitch.

class dismissed.

it is finally the end of the day, the bell rings as the sounds of everyone packing their bags fill your ears. 

jay’s class was right infront of yours, but unfortunately yunjin was still in your class so you just couldn’t avoid her for some reason, knowing you’re under her sight almost all the time. 

she walks out first as you go extra slow, too tired for anything. 

out of luck, no body stops you to tease you today, everyone annoying out of your sight. 

walking down the alley as everyone else, it was almost empty and not crowded as usual, as you realise you came out late. shit what was i dreaming about.

something captures your eyes, but you were captured someone’s eyes way long before you noticed, it was yunjin, she saw you walking back home to school and grabbed the opportunity out of her luck that jay was walking back too at the same time. 

“oh- jayie” she calls out for him as he diverts his attnetion to her now raising his eyebrows, “can i have some water.” she asks faking tiredness.

jay cringes at her but still reaches for his side pockets of his bag. 

as he is doing that, yunjin watches carefully as you walk closer, minding ur own business.

thats it as soon as jay looks back up yunjin pushes him to the nearest wall holding him by his tie and kisses him. 

she kisses him so hungrily, ignoring his pushes, finally jay gives her one sudden push that makes her lose her balance and fall over “dude what the fuck?”

“did she see it?” she thinks to herself directly looking back at you as she sees you standing there, amused and disappointed. 

jay looks at yunjin but realizes that she is looking somewhere else, his gaze follows her as his mind freezes for a short second. 

you slowly meet his eyes, he could feel the rage in your eyes, your face completely showing numb as turn your eyes back to your path and continue walking. 

you walked as fast as you could avoiding him calling out your name, running behind you. 

jay thought to himself, this is the most of my desperation i can show. mix of anger, love and worry on his face. 

“just stop jay.” 

both of you stop in your tracks as he pants swiping his sweat off, bending down taking supporting of his knee. 

he uses all his energy to keep his head high, it was like your and his eyes were magnets, once attached you could physically feel the burden of breaking it. 

“why don’t you get it? just leave me!” you scream from a distance at the top of your lungs, catching your breath as soon as you were done with your words. 

your feet faces back to your path as you continue walking fast, you could hear his footsteps fastening again, you did not quit either as you start running back

“i have loved you ever since i’ve known you y/n why dont you get it”his voice ringed in your ears as you cried after each word, eyes getting teary and blurry. 

that’s when you gave up and lost it all, crying right there on the spot. “what jay?” you ask as you shut close your eyes, your lips trembling and so were the words.

he didn’t stop, continued to approach you and close the distance, shaking you by the shoulder, even though the action seemed harsh it felt so soft, “why don’t you just accept this? why don’t you just accept me? what do i lack?”

what do i lack. 

someone so perfect like him had feelings like that too, about a total complete loser like you? after all he was just a person, just like you. 

you opened your eyes, your eyes met his as the world went quiet, his narrowed eyes staring at you, the tension in the air mixed with all your emotions crashing with each other. 

both of you taking deep breaths and panting hard, feeling the heat radiating off each other, “i gave up everything you didn’t like, cant you see? i’m happy i did its fine and i waited and i will wait and i never complained..

and i-“

you kiss his lips to shut him up, the sensation in his heart goes crazy as you feel his muscles go loose, knees bucking as sense of weakness. 

you hold his face, sharp bones of his jawline and cheekbones right in contact with your palm, he was so warm. his lips were like pillows, so soft.

his head spins around, incapable of coping with the moment. you pull back

“you know i figured you’d love me y/n.” he says without thinking as if he was on auto pilot 

“oh god how much i love you” you kiss his lips once again grabbing his collar to pull him closer.

you couldn’t hold onto it any longer maybe this is what everythings meant to be. 

#enhypen fluff #park jongseong #enhypen x reader #enha #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen #jay fluff

[mxdarling]

[“put that down! you’ll hurt yourself with that.” / “you’re so pretty when you smile.”]

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

ೃ⁀➷: summary: idia bought a new multiplayer game, and he wants to play it with his player one, you.

ೃ⁀➷: word count: 2.3k (2334)

ೃ⁀➷: reference/Inspiration: playlist

ೃ⁀➷: event: [200 followers event]

[author's note:] JDJDKD MORE IDIA CONTENT WOOHOOO this was supposed to be his belated birthday gift from me but uhh cough cough writer block hit me like a bitch soo.. didn't finish before new years, and it's now like- 4 months late??? anyways, thank you anon for requesting idia with dialogue #3 and #7!! my last yandere idia work had him a little creepy so i made him cute this time loll i hope it's to your satisfaction anon!

[warnings:] lowercase, yandere behavior, more fluff than yandere, established relationship, reader is a gamer, cuddling, kisses, reader is ticklish, poor explanation of game mechanics, mentions of fear for judgement, reader is portrayed as a crybaby, one paragraph mentions idia being a creep, game is a rip-off of minecraft (fantasy version), toxic teammates.

[note:] If there is anything else triggering here that I didn’t list in the warnings section, please tell me. i don’t condone this type of behavior, this is merely just for entertaining purposes and some sort of coping mechanism for me. if you continue to read beyond this point, ignoring my warnings, i am not responsible for your actions from here on out.

[GN reader]

IDIA SHROUD seemed to be in a good mood today, at least according to what you've seen so far. probably because his latest purchase is the cause of his being in such an upbeat mood. not that you're complaining; it was rather cute seeing him all excited and giddy when he found a new game to play. it's like a whole new, different side of him comes out whenever he starts to ramble about the features of the game and why he should absolutely play it right now. of course, as his player one, you're automatically going to be the first person he's going to play with. not that you mind, really. playing with idia was always a fun experience; it reminded you a lot of how you would spend your free time back in your world.

(those days of laziness, those days of unproductivity where you did nothing but lay down on your bed and do nothing—no school work to do, no club activities to do, no studying for an upcoming exam—just pure idleness. then when you're bored, you could just use your phone, PC, or iPad to entertain you as the day goes by, playing nonstop until late hours in the evening. god, you miss those days.)

you often wondered what genre of video games this new world had to offer. you knew that it wouldn't be so different from your own world, but you weren't sure just how many of your friends were affiliated with gaming entertainment. out of fear that judgement would be placed upon you if you shared this interest of yours, your love for video games has been hidden—so to find someone else (with that someone else being idia) that likes video games and is very well versed in them is a dream come true. it was a long process to get him to play with you, let alone consider you a friend and not try to avoid you every 2 seconds—still, it was a feat you were proud of because now you get to experience many, many different sides of idia that you would have never known 9 months ago.

(you once heard idia curse like at least twenty times in one breathe when one of his teammates was being shitty and a prick, he sounded so angry and scary that you backed into a corner to avoid getting burnt by his scorching, bright red hair that grew the more angrier he got. the only reason he stopped was when he heard quiet sobs in the corner of his room and turned around away from his computer to see you huddled in the corner of his room. quickly he went over there, completely abandoning his game and comforting you. he hates seeing his cute prefect cry, especially because of him, he's not the great at comforting but when he hugged you so tightly, your quiet sobs turned into silence. right then and there he swore to never be the reason you're crying and when you do, he'll be right there with you.)

you are currently cross-sitting in his very comfy bed, watching as idia set up two controllers and plugged in the PCs to turn them on (you're still surprised he's got more than 2 PCs, which, if you really think about it, his family background makes it make sense). after waiting for the PCs to turn on, he then connects the controllers to the PCs and opens up the game on both screens. you would insist on helping him set up, but due to you literally being isekai'd into this unknown world of twisted wonderland, you aren't too familiar with many things besides the whole magic stuff—plus, you aren't too keen on breaking any of idia's stuff because of your lack of knowledge on how to do technology.

(technology in general is so extremely confusing, you would argue wholeheartedly all day and all night, and idia would agree with you and low-key flex on how knowledgeable he is in the field of technology, just to impress you and show how reliable he is. secretly, he likes it when he's useful to you.)

"sorry! it took a while to set up..." in slightly shaking hands, he hands over the controller to you while holding the other in his free hand. he looked rather nervous when he faced you to give the controller, like he's worried he wasted your time waiting for him. it reminded you of a puppy looking up to its owner apologetically when they did something wrong, so cute, you thought, adorable even, you added.

"haha! it's okay! you didn't take that long anyway." you gave him a reassuring look, a soft smile, and bright eyes, showing him that you weren't bothered by having to wait a bit as he set up for you two to play.

both screens show the in-game loading screen, and the bar quickly fills up due to the fast internet speed (one you're quite envious of). slowly it fades to the starting screen, where a big text is bouncing 'tap to start' in both of your faces. Idia presses to start immediately, wanting to get into gameplay as fast as he can while you take a moment to admire the visual aspects and effects of the game in silent awe. you always had a thing for the visual stuff that was shown in-game. by slowly pressing the button on your control, you enter the game and begin a fantastical journey with idia.

“put that down! you’ll hurt yourself with that.” he says worriedly as he watches you damage your avatar's HP bar this early in gameplay. usually he gets really annoyed when he plays with noobs and normies; they stink at comprehending basic knowledge, do dumb things in-game, ask too many questions, and ruin the whole gameplay experience for him. 'ugh, how annoying.' is his usual reaction to such—of course he wouldn't think of that towards you! never ever would he ever think this way towards you; even if you do things noobs and normies usually do, he can't bring himself to be annoyed—you were too cute in his eyes. he would never admit this to your face, though, and he still gets red just at the thought of him thinking you are cute. It's true though; don't get him wrong, but... the embarrassment that comes with thinking about these thoughts is just too much for his poor little heart! honestly, he's for sure that one day you'll be the death of him, does he care though? not really; in fact, he would probably love that.

(he blushes so hard whenever he thinks of you in his clothes; it's the way your natural scent clings onto his shirts, the way his shirts made you even cuter than you already are—one of the only reasons he doesn't wash his clothes immediately because he wants to savor your smell to memory. he's a creep, yes, but he's one devoted creep.)

"whoops! sorry didn't see that, haha..." nervously laughing at your mistake, you eat whatever consumable you have in your inventory to try and restore as much health as you lost. as your avatar munches on the food in its hand, from the corner of your screen, you can see idia's avatar walking towards you. once it's near enough to your avatar, you can see the animation of a bunch of items being dropped and your inventory picking up due to the proximity between the items and your avatar. you opened your inventory, curious about what he just gave you since it looked like quite a lot of items, and confused about why he was giving you so many items in the first place. your eyes widen in shock as the items he's given you are one stack of steak, every weapon in-game (sword, axe, pickaxe, shovel, hoe), but in steel, and a full set of steel armor.

your mouth continues to gape open as you put on the armor set on your avatar. how did he get so much stuff this fast? it hasn't even been an hour yet! "where.. did you get so much stuff!?" you ask naively, following idia around as you don't want to get lost, die, and lose all your stuff. "stole half of those from villages, some from mining, and a few from trading" he says so casually as he continues to walk in an unknown direction, like this was a regular thing for him, not to mention this was a hard difficulty! he's playing this game like it's not easy mode! "could've gotten more if it weren't for those stingy mobs..." furrowing his eyebrows, he let out a small huff of frustration, pressing slightly harder on the buttons on his controller, not noticing how your mouth dropped down even further at his passing comment. as she presses on, walking in an unknown direction, you're hit with the hundredth reminder that he's on a whole other level than you when it comes to gaming.

three hours in, and you guys decided to play on public servers, where you'll get to play different game modes other than the usual story and survival modes. once the two of you picked a game to play, the room quickly filled with laughter, shouting, incoherent grumbling, screams of terror, and many more in between. you two decided to save a team game as last since idia wasn't enthusiastic about playing together with other players because he just wanted to play with you, and there was an underlying fear that you would encounter toxic teammates. but since you were practically begging him to just try it at least once, he couldn't help but give in to your pleas.

it was fun, he supposed. it wasn't as annoying or infuriating as he thought it would be, but he still had to keep up not making really snarky remarks when certain players were interacting with you. he'd hate to have you see such a mean, ugly, and disgusting side of him. other than that, it was an okay experience. he thinks it would've been better if it was just him and you on a team; wouldn't it be kind of romantic? you and him against everyone else?

then what he feared most would happen actually happened. suddenly some fucking jerk is screaming insults at you for not being good enough, and before that teammate got two more words in, he exploded on them. curses upon curses spit out his mouth in rapid speed, and the voices of that said teammate slowly but surely die down as their ego and pride go down with them. in the midst of anger and chaos between him and the teammate, you could feel tears building up inside you; everything around you started to blur, and the sounds that filled your ears were starting to get tuned out. you couldn't even hear that idia stopped screaming curses, turned off both PCs, and went to take the controller from your hand, lift you up into his lap, and slowly wrap his arms around you.

once he had you fully in his grasp, he tightened his grip, making sure not to let you get away from him. he wasn't good at words, especially when trying to comfort someone, but seeing you cry was making him cry too. he did, after all, swear to always be with you when you cry. raising one of his hands, he placed it at the back of your head and gently pushed towards his neck. then his hand went down to rub your back, up and down, up and down, at a slow pace. letting you cry it all out in peace while also letting you know he's there with you.

a few minutes have passed, and your sobs have gone silent. your eyes have become droopy and sleepy, and it feels almost impossible to keep them open. suddenly, a hand lifts your chin, and you feel a pair of lips come into contact with your forehead. it wasn't like a quick kiss; no, the kiss lasted for at least a few seconds before pulling away. even then, upon pulling away, you feel another kiss on your cheek, this time a little quicker than the forehead kiss. then another kiss on your other cheek, then another on your nose, another on your jawline, another on your earlobes, and finally, his lips hovered over your own lips.

you could feel the hesitation when he let out a nervous breath; the thought of your lips on his always sends him into an electrifying and drunken daze. he can't think straight when he's this close to you, but even then, it gives him an unusual feeling of contentment and confidence. the luck he has to be able to snag such an adorable, cute, amazing, and beautiful person like you in his life. he almost can't believe it. swallowing his own nervousness for your comfort, he presses against your soft lips delicately. soon after making physical contact with your lips, he feels a smile form on your face—a small smile, yet it was enough for him. any smile from you is enough for him, because seeing you happy is the best view he could ever lay his eyes on.

feeling out of breath, he's the first to let go but also the first to frown at the loss of touch. i want to stay like this forever, he thought as he watched you emit a giggle after the kiss. fire burns brightly in his heart, and he starts to wonder if you being the death of him will really come true. his cheeks burn that ever-warm red that he knows you've seen many, many times before, but he can't help it. when you pull him into a world through rose-tinted glasses, no way could he be immune to such an effect.

"i really can’t take it when you cry like that… smile for me, alright? you’re so pretty when you smile."

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

PLEASE DO NOT COPY, REPOST, SHARE, TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO OTHER SITES WITHOUT MY PERMISSION + REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED.

#event💌 #200 followers💌 #200 followers event💌 #Yandere event💌 #200 followers yandere event💌 #Yandere twisted wonderland #Yandere twst #Twisted wonderland #Twst #Yandere twisted wonderland x reader #Yandere twst x reader #Twisted wonderland x reader #Twst x reader #Twisted wonderland Idia Shroud #Yandere twisted wonderland Idia Shroud #Twst Idia shroud #Yandere twst Idia Shroud #Twisted wonderland Idia Shroud x reader #Yandere twisted wonderland Idia Shroud x reader #Twst Idia Shrouad x reader #Yandere twst Idia Shroud x reader #Idia Shroud x reader #Idia x reader #Yandere Idia Shroud x reader #Yandere Idia x reader #┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ Yandere #⭒❃.✮:▹One-shot #gender neutral reader

[multifandomgirl08]

Me Against Him - M.V. #1

Max Verstappen x Younger Verstappen Sister!Reader (Platonic), Unnamed Male Character x Younger Verstappen Sister!Reader (Romantic)

Summary: You never wanted to be on the sidelines watching your brother compete, you wanted to be out there with him fighting for a championship.

Warning(s): Dual POVs (Reader and Max), Jos Verstappen (on page), Kelly Piquet (mention). I’m warning for Kelly as a precaution to those who aren’t a fan of her, she was in the request so I’m only writing about her because of that. She will be brought up in part 2.

A/N: Taken from this Request by @fordlita. I had to work with what I felt was important vs. fitting everything that was given to me in the request. That is why it has taken so long to work on this request. Most of this is just set up for part 2, which I've already started working on. I have no plans on extending this further than that.

Words: 1.8k

→ Next Part Formula 1 Masterlist

From the moment that you started karting, you knew that it would never be easy. Being one of the few girls striving to drive in Formula 1 and get a seat. It had always been tough especially since your brother was also working for a Formula 1 seat.

Racing and competing had always come easy to Max, even when you were both karting, your father Jos had always made Max the priority. He would finish working on Max's kart first, he would give Max the more expensive parts. You would put the same time and effort into competing and somehow it was never enough.

Once you had finally made it to F1 Academy and were racing with some of the other top women in the sport things seemed to feel like they were easier for you.

In the eyes of the media, Max was still the prodigal child of Jos Verstappen, and you were just Max's youngest sister, Victoria's twin, and Sophie Kumpen's karting legacy.

You loved your mother, she was the one who encouraged you to give karting a real try, not just because of your father or Max but because you really loved it and racing had made you happy.

Over the two years that you had been in F1 Academy, you had managed to win a championship and eventually, your agent had gotten a call from McLaren to be their reserve driver. You weren’t happy with being their reserve driver. You wanted to be driving for the team. And then you finally got your opportunity.

Six weeks later you had gotten another call from your agent telling you that McLaren wanted to sign you to be their second driver for the upcoming season.

It was everything that you had worked for all your life. You had called your mom and Victoria and shared the news with them. Victoria insisted that she should fly out to celebrate but instead, you offered to fly home to Holland and spend time with her given that she had your nephew Lio a few months ago.

When you had told Max, he had been excited for you and said he couldn’t wait to see you around the paddock all the time, and Max’s girlfriend Kelly even seemed happy for you.

Your father however didn’t have much to say when he heard from Raymond that you ended up signing with the team that you did. It was like you being the first woman to gain a seat in F1 meant nothing to him.

Over the next few years, Max won championship after championship. Your father was forever proud of Max and his achievements. With each championship win, it was like the media had also started to pay more attention to Max. It went from headlines like, “Brother and sister duo Max and Y/N Verstappen take P1 and P2 in Monza” to “Max Verstappen ahead of the rest of the field”. You had read that article. Every driver got at least a good paragraph about that race in Singapore, while you got a single sentence. Y/N Verstappen, younger sister of Max Verstappen started in qualifying P9 before dropping down to P15 during the race because of gearbox issues.

You never wanted to be on the sidelines watching your brother compete, you wanted to be out there with him fighting for a championship.

When the season started again you made a promise to yourself, you weren’t going to focus on Max or your father. Focus on what’s going on on the track, and don’t worry about the rest of the grid. You could still be friendly with Lando when you needed to but it would be easier if you avoided Max altogether. You needed people to see that you were much more than just Max Verstappen's baby sister.

So after the first race of the season, you stopped going to Max and congratulating him after races. Stopped visiting him, Kelly, and P when you weren’t with your fiancé. You didn’t talk to Victoria as often and barely called your mom when things felt like they were too much. You had barely made the effort to talk to your father after his second divorce went through and only spent time with your half-sister when you needed to.

It was just easier to shut them all out. The media couldn’t say anything if there was nothing to talk about.

"This is outrageous, my sister won't talk to me," Max yelled as he stood in his mother’s living room.

Victoria was sitting on the couch while his mother was sitting in the armchair, his father looked stoic. Aside from his father, they were all concerned about Y/N, she didn’t talk to anyone unless it was for birthdays or holidays.

Max was genuinely concerned for his little sister, they had always been close, even closer than Y/N and Victoria had been growing up because while Max and Jos were off in some part of Europe for a karting race Y/N would be with them, offering to help Max without Jos around or wanting Max’s advice on the way that something in her kart wasn’t working right. What she could do to make it better for her and the type of feedback to give their father as he was working on both of their karts.

He had been so proud of Y/N when she signed her contract with McLaren, even if it wasn’t Red Bull or Mercedes. Being able to share podiums with her meant so much since they ended up in different junior categories before they both got to F1. He always wanted her to succeed.

“It's fine Max, she’ll get over it.” His father said leaning back in his chair.

He just glared at him. His father didn’t care that Y/N wasn’t talking to him, he said that it was good for her. She was finally getting podiums and had ended up getting engaged in the last few months. Jos said that it was good, she would keep driving in F1 until she was married and then end up giving up the sport when she was ready to have kids.

Max knew that it was a lie that Y/N had told Jos to shut him up. Y/N wasn’t going to retire until she knew that she had a real chance at winning a WDC, she wanted to be the first woman to accomplish that feat.

At the next race, Max walked by the McLaren garage to try to talk to Y/N but he didn't see her so he ended up looking for Lando instead. He saw him talking with some guy in a suit.

"Yeah, she's a great teammate. A little intense at times, but Max can get like that too." He heard Lando say.

"Do you know why she doesn't talk to them anymore?" He heard the suit guy ask. "From how she brings it up, it's as if they did something. We've been together a long time and I've never even met her family."

"Honestly man, I don't know. That doesn't seem like how I know Max or any of Y/N's family. Maybe talk to Max." Max saw Lando point in his direction. "He is standing, just over there."

At first, Max didn’t recognize the guy in the suit. He was taller than you for sure, and he looked a little too comfortable around the paddock to just be a fan or celebrity. As he got closer Max started to recognize him, he was the man you were engaged to. Max did wonder how you ended up engaged to a real estate broker who was from the States. It seemed so strange to him.

Max walked closer to him, pointing himself towards Lando so the men would think that he wasn't paying him any mind. He didn't want to insult his sister's fiancé, just make the other guy aware that he didn't know who he was.

"Hey, Max, right?" He heard from the guy.

Max turned towards him, looking at the man in the suit. He was a little overdressed for a Formula 1 race.

"Yes, do I know you?" It was a fair thing to ask. Max didn't know him and this guy didn't know Max.

"No, but I know your sister." He offered before stretching his hand out to Max's to shake. "We're together."

That wasn't much of an explanation. He didn't even know if Y/N had told this guy that their family knew that she was getting married but none of them had met him before.

"So you're my baby sister's fiancé." He bit out not taking this guy's hand.

Max wasn't normally rude to anyone. When he was younger, Jos would have ripped him a new one for something like this.

Max could see that the guy was shocked hearing this from him.

"Yeah, I am." He answered.

Part of Max wanted to walk away from him, the part that was angry that his sister wouldn't talk to him and had stopped confiding in him over this last year.

"I just wanted to talk to you about her." He started to say. "She's been different and as her family, I would think that you would want to keep being in her life."

Max immediately wanted to stop this guy from finishing his sentence. This guy had no idea what his relationship with his younger sister was like, and he didn't need this guy to tell him.

Max was quick to look around the room, trying to see if there were reports or cameras around. He didn't need any of those people giving opinions about his family. Luckily all of them weren't in the garage.

"I want to keep being in her life, it's hard to when she's pushed me out of it," Max said cutting him off.

This guy's shoulders instantly dropped a little. He had no idea that it was Y/N who had pulled away from her family and left them in the dark for the last year. This guy was just as clueless as he was.

"I um... I had no idea." Max looked at him and could tell that he felt awkward.

"Yes, well she hasn't been talking to quite a few people lately." Max couldn't help but fire at him. He shouldn't be angry at this guy, but he can't help it. Y/N had been the one to pull away from all of them, and Max knew that the media was to blame for all of it.

He just wanted his baby sister back in his life.

"Maybe we can help each other," His sister's fiancé suggested. "You want your sister back in your life, and I would like to see my fiancée happy again."

Max wanted to think this over. He didn't just want to agree with the guy out of nowhere but he could try to hear him out.

"You have something in mind?" He asked. The man before him nodded.

They agreed to swap numbers and would find a time and place to talk.

F1 Taglist: @mindless-rock, @cixrosie, @taylorslovesswifties13, @konsti081, @thatsusbitch

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #formula 1 imagine #mv1 imagine #f1 imagine #mv33 imagine #mv33 x reader #mv1 x reader

[ikigaisvt]

dirty dancing

in which you get a little too excited about seeing your boyfriend on stage.

pairing: idol!chan x reader words count: 2.4k content: smut, idol au warnings: kinda switch!chan x switch/brat!reader, semi-public sex (they don't get caught but it's implied everyone ends up knowing), talk of jealousy, kissing, begging, swearing, dirty talk (m giving), hair pulling, teasing, edging (m receiving), blowjob, orgasm (m receiving), petnames (for reader: babe, baby, vixen, whore) pls lemme know if i forgot anything :) note: haiii! this is inspired by dirty dancing (new kids on the block ft. dino, dokyeom, vernon) so credits to them/the writers for the lyrics i used (in italic between each paragraphs). this is absolutely not inspired by the title of the song so don't expect someone to dance/do a strip tease for someone else 😭 also had to include idubily chan (go look for pics in case u don't know Him) in this someway, somehow,, minors/ageless blogs dont interact or i'll hard block u. hope everyone enjoy!

Roll that body, feel the energy

Chan has always been made for the stage and that’s something he knew from a young age. His love for dancing, for being cheered on and noticed has always been the biggest driving force of his life. His fans, too, have always been the most supportive towards their music and their stages. Here he is, performing in front of his fans for one of their Japan concerts of the Follow tour. He just went through Highlight’s routine with his Performance Team members before starting to perform I Don’t Understand But I Luv U, one of their newer songs. He puts his all in, trying to concentrate on giving his best – and he does – but his mind keeps going back to you and how you’re waiting for him backstage. Chan loves his fans and he is the most grateful for them; they gave him a chance to make his dreams come true. But despite being loved by so many people, Chan really awaits only your praises to know he did well on whatever he’s working on. Ever since you two started dating 2 years ago, your opinion has been the most important; he would hate to disappoint you, in any way. As his body keeps moving naturally through the moves – despite his mind being elsewhere – he realizes him and his team are nearing the end of the song. He tries harder for the last minute, you on his mind as his biggest strength to do his best; to always do his best.

I know that lingo, I think that she’s into me

Him and his three brothers stand still for a few seconds after doing the last move as the crowd cheers so hard he can hear it through his in-ears. The lights go out and they start to exit the stage as the screams never stop; it feeds into that feeling that settles in Chan’s stomach – a fire, something burning. He feels it overtake his thoughts as he finds himself backstage, in-ears off, searching for your eyes in the crowd of staff. He finds you, sat down on a chair in the corner – you probably chose this spot to watch the performances on the TV without being in the way. However, when he sees you, your eyes are already on him, as you take in his outfit, how his hair fall down on his forehead and the way you can feel the passion overflow from him. What he doesn’t notice is how much you want him; seeing him perform on stage made your belly ache with desire, made you want to please him. He slowly walks up to you but you don’t have the patience to wait a few more seconds; you almost run up to him, immediately taking a hold of his hand, not even answering his pleas, before dragging him through a series of corridors to the small – unoccupied – dressing room.

“Babe, what’s happening?” he says as he stops abruptly, closing the door behind him, “Are you okay?”

“I-” you start, not knowing how to explain you’re horny without him making fun – at least a little bit ­– of you, “Fuck,” you whisper as you take a hold of his face and kiss him fervidly. Your hands roam on his chest, to the opening of his shirt, working another button open as Chan gets lost in the kiss, in your scent, in the way your hands play with his outfit, his hair, lighting his skin on fire.

“Baby,” Chan mumbles in your mouth, trying to break free from your hold on him, “Fuck, baby, we can’t- I have to go up on stage,” he says under his breath after breaking the kiss, your forehead resting against his.

“Please,” you already beg even though he hasn’t even touched you yet, “Just let me suck you off,” you whisper, playing with his shirt’s buttons as his fingers tighten on your hips. That’s when you know he wants it; he thinks it’s a bad, bad idea, he knows he’ll get in trouble – no matter how good you are, he won’t be able to come in time. But when he sees your pleading eyes, lips slightly jutting out, as you grab down at his shirt, his determination breaks down. You can see the change of answer – and behavior – in his eyes as you sink down on your knees, his hand finding rest on top of your head as his cock twitches in his pants.

You’ll get me in a whole lot of trouble

“Was I that hot, up there?” he teases you as he brushes back your hair, your hands working his pants open.

“Hm, yeah,” you sigh in pleasure at the way his hand feels in your hair – and at the sight of his hard-on, “You’re lucky I’m not the jealous type because I can bet there are people in this crowd who wants you as much as I do,” you tease him back as you rub his cock through his briefs.

“You, not jealous? You should have seen your face when I showed some of the DMs I got on Instagram,” he sneers, blood instantly going to your face as you remember vividly some of the texts – and the jealousy you felt.

“So what?” you say, ticked off, as you rub his dick harder in your hand, precum oozing at the tip, leaving a wet spot on his underwear, “Should have told you to flirt back with your lovely fans? To give them what they want?”

“Enough about them,” he breaths out, leaning his head back as pleasure builds up stronger, faster, hotter in his body, “Come on, baby,” he whispers as he looks back at you, taking a hold of your hair and bringing your head closer to his hips, “You wanted to suck me off, didn’t you?”

You roll your eyes at his comment – knowing you’ll get pay back for this later, before getting his briefs down and holding his cock in your hand, jerking him off slowly just to tease him. You see his patience wearing off as seconds tick by, his jaw clenching, his eyes turning darker, his hand tightening in your hair. You can read what he thinks off his face; when he’s had enough, when he decides to come into action and make you take it and just as he’s about to speak, you take his tip in your mouth which he answers to with a guttural moan.

“Fuck, baby- Fucking finally,” he swears which makes a giggle erupt in your throat as you take him deeper, resting your hands on his thighs.

You don’t linger on the way you suck him off; you don’t stop taking him faster, rougher, deeper, always trying to get him closer to his release. You look up at him, his hands tightening against your skull as low moans come out of his mouth constantly, his eyes almost rolling back but he holds it off, trying to look at you through it all.

Feel the bass, feel the boom, feel the rubble

“Babe, can you hear that?” he asks through moans, as you stop sucking him to stroke him instead, “We can hear the music from there,” he whispers getting a hold of your face as you kiss the tip of his thumb.

“Hm,” you answer him as he plays with your lower lip before sinking his thumb in your mouth which makes him shudder. You two stay like this for a few seconds before he quivers, feeling the pleasure build up almost too much. As the first song comes to an end, you both start to hear different sounds but the one who stands out the most is the sound of someone walking down the corridor leading to this dressing room. Chan realizes after you, still in that pleasure-filled haze, his eyes widening and he starts to put distance between the two of you before stopping him.

“Don’t worry,” you reassure him, “I locked the door,” you whisper, your thumb rubbing his tip as you can hear a new song playing in the dome, the walls and the floor vibrating with the notes.

“Fuck, baby-” he moans lowly at the feeling of your hand on him, “you’re a little vixen, aren’t you?” he starts again as the sound making him tense get further away. You giggle, proud of how you got him to be, and stay, with you.

“You’re getting me in trouble, you know?” he sneers, hand feeling heavier on the top of your head as you smile innocently up at him, precum still dripping out of his tip, getting on your fingers.

“I know,” you say with a smirk, “but you’re loving this trouble,” you chuckle as you lick your own fingers coated with his pre-cum.

Caught up in the daze, caught up in the maze

His eyes get darker at the sight, thoughts running wild – your innocent mouth usually saying sweet words but now here you are, licking him off you – as you beam up at him, guessing how hot he thinks you are.

“Get to work, whore,” he tells you, pulling at your hair as you take him back into your mouth, moaning around him at the taste and the heaviness of him, “You’re loving this, aren’t you? Bet I’m getting you dripping right now,” he groans, as you feel him twitch in your mouth, “And I’m not even touching you.” He can feel the pleasure build stronger, his fingers tingling with want for more as he loudly moans, your hand pinching at the sensitive skin on his thighs.

“Fuck- I’m so close,” he mumbles, gripping at you harder as you suck at his head harsher before slowing down, always trying to build his want even higher, and letting go of him to take a breath.

Time is standin’ still, but I’m already late

“Baby- We gotta be quick,” he tells you, pushing back some hair out of your face, “Come here,” he says as he brings your face closer to his hips with a hand on your cheeks. He holds his cock in one hand as you open your mouth to let him push his cock into you, “Fuck- You feel even better than a second ago,” he moans, his bliss building higher and higher – waiting to come crashing down.

Before he can come, he hears sounds outside the door – he can almost hear voices calling out to him but his brain quickly focuses on you – you are everywhere; your hands rubbing at his thighs and abs, your sounds as you take him in – as you drown in his scent, in who he is, your eyes, looking up at him with a universe shining in your pupils, filling with tears as his hips bucks, faster, harder.

“Fuck, I think the song is over,” he mumbles under his breath, “Come on, make me cum, make me cum,” he urges you, voice breaking, as you take him deeper, not needing to keep stroking the rest of him – you choke on him, on his scent, on his heaviness.

Imma need an alibi

He knows, deep down, behind the pleasure you’re giving him, he’s fucked. Completely, utterly fucked. He’ll get out this room and will have probably a minute to make up something, a reason as to why his panting, his eyes and cheeks reddened and his pants wrinkled. He tries so hard to buy himself time, to make something up right now but you’re so much, he’s losing all coherent thoughts. You’re the one who has him in your mouth and yet he can taste you on his mouth – he moans at the memory of your taste, of your moans when he pleases you – oh, how much he wishes he could have you right now.

I’m tryna think of something, I can’t concentrate

“Fuck, my little vixen,” he groans, as you feel him twitch in your mouth, as he chases his orgasm, “I can��t even think of anything but you and your sweet, sweet mouth,” he mumbles, his hips bucking again, “I’m so close,” he says again, gripping your hair harder, “Don’t stop, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans before cumming down your throat.

If before was getting burned, then this is fucking hell; his eyes rolling back as his head tilts backwards, his hand holding you still as his hips work himself through his bliss, bruising your throat. You feel him everywhere, all the way down to your belly. It’s when he starts to feel sensitive that he slows down, until coming to a stop and pulling out of your mouth. You’re proudly looking up at him, Chan still in the post orgasm haze to realize he needs to run.

He looks down at you before gently patting your head; “How are you feeling?” he asks you, your eyes still shining a little and your cheeks reddened.

“I’m okay,” you whisper, your voice coming out huskier than usual – you know you’ll need a lot of water after this, “I really am,” you reassure him after seeing how worried he got at the sound of your voice. You get up, Chan cleaning himself up and pulling up his pants, before you cross your arms behind his neck as you kiss softly.

“You did really well, by the way,” you smile after your kiss, looking at him oh so sweetly.

“Thank you, baby,” he blushes before kissing you again, one of his hands resting on your cheek, “You did, too,” he whispers against the shell of your ear.

“Thank you,” you giggle, “So, when are you leaving me?” you ask him, knowing he forgot where he was and what he needs to do.

“What-” he starts, confused of your question, before realizing he is late for his show, “Fuck! Fuck, baby, okay,” he says as he lets go of you, walking to the door, “I need to go! I’ll talk to you later, okay? Don’t go anywhere,” he tells you after opening the door – as soon as he gets out, he runs down the corridor, not even waiting for your answer.

“I won’t!” you scream behind him as you watch him get to his stage, “Love you!” you say before he disappears in the corner. A few seconds after, you hear him answer with a screamed “Love you too!” before you get back in the dressing room, smiling to yourself.

Chan, apologetic as ever, but more energized than before, gets back on stage a little later than planned – he gets disapproved looks from his members and he knows he’ll get scold after the concert. But he’ll always like a little trouble with you – and a little dirty dancing.

thank you so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it 🫶 do leave a like/comment/reblog if you liked it and i'll love u forever 🫶

#seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen #seventeen reactions #svt #dino #dino x reader #dino smut #dino imagines #dino scenarios #sammy's works #chan x reader #chan scenarios #chan imagines #chan smut

[mingirn]

tell me it's love

mark lee x reader

genre: smut, some angst and fluff

warnings: dry humping, cumming untouched, childhood best friends to fuck buddies, unrequited love, hidden feelings

word count: 3.6k

notes: first nct fic kinda nervous. there will be a part 2 to this i already have most of it written i just got scared it’d be too long LMFAO

”Do you like it better like this? Or, wait- like this?”

Mark is sitting on his floor in front of the full-length mirror he’d demanded help from both you and Johnny to put up. He’s messing with his hair, it’s been a while since he’s gotten a haircut and this is a new routine. He’ll sit in front of the mirror, arranging his bangs to lay across his forehead, or pushing them back, parting his hair in the middle and on each side, asking for your opinions.

”Mark,” you sigh. ”You keep asking this, but then you still wear your hair like you always do anyways.”

”Yeah, but… it looks stupid, doesn’t it?”

You haven’t even bothered to look up at him. You don’t need to in order to predict what he’ll look like, it’s the 4th night in a row now and you’ve seen it all. Instead, you keep your eyes on your book.

”If it bothers you so much, why don’t you cut it?” you ask.

”And ask Yuta again? After last time? It took me three months to grow that tragedy out, no way!” He breathes out something between a sigh and a groan and slumps down on the floor with a thud.

”Then stop complaining.”

Mark protests with an overblown sigh, but offers no rebuttal. Your focus shifts back to your book now, getting lost in the plot while Mark lies in silence on the floor. His dorm room is nicely lit, glowing warmly from his night lamp and a few fairy lights he’s got set up. The campus has that usual 10 pm quiet, and you know you should drag yourself back to your own dorm room soon but Marks bed is just so nice and soft, and your book is just getting good, and it is Friday.

”You got any space for me up there?” Mark asks, already making his way up and without waiting for your answer he’s climbing onto the bed.

You huff a little from the sudden disruption, but this is also pretty much routine, and Mark quickly finds a resting spot for his head on your shoulder.

”Still the same one?” he asks, as if it isn’t obvious.

”Yeah. If you’d stop distracting me, I might actually be able to finish it sometime.”

It’s Marks turn to huff now. He lays in silence next to you for a while, though it's all but peaceful. Mark always fidgets, he just always seems to be buzzing with something. There are these pressures and expectations packed tightly under his skin and a brain that never seems to shut off. It's Friday, he's got two days of rest ahead of him, yet you know he's probably already going through the schedule for next week in his head.

"Mark," you say, softly and silently.

"Mm?"

"You're squirming."

"Oh, sorry," he apologizes, sounding more like he's sighing. He runs his hand over his face, as if to reset, then sighs again.

You ponder for a moment. Then you speak, "Remember when we got drunk like two weeks ago? I threw up in your bathroom and afterward you read to me to keep me from freaking out."

Mark hums.

"What if- do you want to lay in my lap? You could read to me, and I'll play with your hair. Maybe it'll relax you," you suggest.

"Mhm, yeah, that'd be nice.." he murmurs. He lets you scoot yourself up to make space for him, with the way you're sat against the wall. He lays the side of his head down on your thigh, grabbing your book and bracing it against your leg so that he can easily turn the pages.

"Should I just start here?" he asks.

"At the second paragraph," you tell him.

He clears his throat and starts reading. The back of his head is turned towards you, like this you can brush your fingers through the thick of his hair. Mark sounds sleepy, his voice is low and warm, sounding very soft as he reads out loud. If his hair didn't feel so nice in your hands you think you could fall asleep right here, lulled by only his voice.

His hair really has gotten long. It's been a long time since he's dyed it too, there's some brown left at the tips but most of it is his natural color by now. You card your fingers through it, pressing at his scalp and feeling him melt in your hands.

This is what you like best, you think. Times like these, when it's quiet around you and it feels like no one exists but you and Mark. Like this, like the warmth of his cheek against your leg, the soft strands of hair between your fingers, the sound of his voice filling your head.

Your eyes start to drift a little, first following the sight of his dark hair falling from your hands, then down to his neck, then over the expanse of his shoulders. You rarely let yourself do this, to just look at him. You've convinced yourself that letting your eyes linger on him for more than a few seconds would tell on you. Like he'd be able to look into your eyes and little confessions would float in your irises, that he'd know just from looking that you're in love with him. With his back against you like this you feel shielded, you can let yourself look.

He’s wearing a thin shirt with a wide neckline, it almost hangs off of his shoulders and you’re struck with the need to just touch him. It's like a silent bet, you dare yourself to move your hand down just a little. The tips of your fingers ghost down the back of his neck where his skin is fully exposed. Mark twitches, and you get scared for just a moment, wanting to pull back, worrying that his body is alarmed at your touch. But you keep your hand in place, and he lets you.

His skin is warm under your hand, and there’s still a sliver of bare skin underneath your hand, so you trail your fingers down, all the way to where the hem of his shirt is hanging.

Something in the room shifts. Marks voice stutters and he sucks in a deep breath of air. You can hear it hitch in his throat, and you expect him to ask you what you're doing, for the illusion to break. But he does nothing, just squares his shoulders to lean into your touch.

You keep it light, dragging your fingertips up and down his back, staying outside of his shirt. It's thin enough that you can still feel the heat of his body through the fabric. You can also feel the way his ribs rise and fall with each breath he takes, how it's becoming faster.

Suddenly, Mark stops reading. He draws another deep breath, and from what you can see of his face you notice his eyes fluttering shut. There's a long silent moment where it feels like time stands still. The only thing that is happening, the single action taking place while the rest of the universe stops is Mark turning towards you.

And surely he must know, then. He's looking into your eyes, and doing nothing to avert from them. In absolute silence, he grabs your hand and lays it on his chest. You wonder if the universe has resumed moving yet, or if time is still only yours and Marks.

Mark closes his eyes again, and he squeezes your hand. His instruction is wordless, but you understand it nonetheless. Touch me, he urges.

You gather the courage to move your hand down, coming over the muscles that make up his chest. He’s almost feverishly warm, and you can feel his chest move with every labored breath. You've never touched him like this before, flattening your hand over his stomach and moving over every little inch of his torso. You're really taking him in, learning what he feels like, how defined his muscles are, how broad his chest is.

Marks mouth falls open, and he lets out a low, quiet moan. It heats you, like this hot flash that shoots through your body and makes your chest tighten. It's so bright and hot that it knocks the wind out of you.

Moving solely on instinct, just this thoughtless and desperate urge, the sight of his parted lips has you trailing your hand up his chest, and then along the column of his neck to end up at his mouth. You tap the pad of your pointer finger against his lips once, to test the waters. Mark pouts, chasing your touch. You abide, tracing your finger over his bottom lip and feeling his hot breath against your finger.

”You’re so pretty, Mark,” you tell him. You're not even thinking. Your hands move on their own and so does your mouth.

His eyes open again, so heavily lidded, and for a moment you think he’s about to say something. That maybe his eyes will sharpen and he's going to snap out of this illusion. Instead, he sits up. His gaze is focused on you and there still isn't a hint of hesitation or distress in his eyes.

”Please,” he pleas, only that.

You pat his shoulder, ”What, please? What do you want?”

”I want to kiss you.”

Mark blinks, looking down at your lips as he says it. You should probably stop to ask him if he means it, if it’s just a heat of the moment thing, but he’s so beautiful, and so eager, and his eyes still have not left your mouth. You just lean forward, connecting your lips with his and Mark kisses you back in an instant.

Whatever first kisses are supposed to be, you're sure this isn't it. In the books you read they describe the fireworks, the instant passion and how their lips just meld together. With Mark it's clumsy, he makes contact with the corner of your mouth and pulls back too quickly, then kisses you again before you've regained your breath. You can feel your heart pound in your chest and you swear Mark can hear it, and you wonder if his heart is doing the same. The very tips of your fingers feel cold, your entire body is filled with a heat so warm it's paralyzing and all you can think about is the fact that Mark is still kissing you.

He's not pulling away. He kisses you, again, and again, and again. It makes your heart surge, the fact that he isn't scared off by how awkward it is at first. The possibility of what that means rushes through you like a wave but you forbid yourself to ruminate on it now.

Whatever first kisses are, this isn't it, but it's infinitely better.

Marks hands come up to your neck, curling around the back of it so that he can pull you impossibly close as he parts his lips, swiping his tongue along yours. You have to part for air but he hardly lets you, with the way he keeps his lips just close enough to be ghosting yours.

"Touch me," he whispers into the kiss.

You’re not exactly sure where he wants you, but he releases a satisfactory hum when you trace your hands down over his chest. He leans his forehead against yours and you can feel his breath come out hot and short against your mouth. Spurred on by the moment, you trail your hands even lower to lift the hem of his shirt to touch his bare hips. He gasps at the contact, and a whine builds in the back of his throat, so quiet that you’d be unable to catch it if he wasn’t so close.

He's right above you, closer than he's ever been before and he guides you to lie down. He's laying on top of you now, pressed against you so that you can feel him everywhere. Your hands are frantic under his shirt, rushing to feel every inch of him. Quiet moans continue to slip past his lips the more you touch him, and you wish to swallow them all up.

”Take my shirt off,” he mumbles, barely parting from your lips to speak. It's already hiked up his torso, all you need to do is bring it over his head and your hands tremble when he sits back to let you take it off.

You watch him, breathless, as he sits shirtless in front of you. His hair is messy, ruffled by the shirt and he shakes his head to get it to fall pretty again. Mark leaves little time for you to take in the sight of him bare before he's kissing you again, this time far more passionately.

Somewhere in the haze of it all you've spread your legs, and Mark has positioned himself between them. His hands are as rushed as yours, moving over your thighs and the side of your ass, squeezing at your hips, feeling you everywhere he can. Mark whines, letting out these desperate sounds into your mouth that only quiet down when you wrap your legs around his hips and press him against your body.

Everything about it is needy, neither of you can get enough. Marks hands are everywhere, tangling his fingers into your hair, caressing your face, cradling your jaw, wrapped around your neck. It's like you're making up for all the time you haven't had each other like this. A million touches laced into this one hand on his naked torso, so many words spoken in this total silence.

Mark pulls away, moving to trail kisses over your jaw. A spot in the junction of your ear and jaw makes you gasp once he kisses it, and Mark smiles. He lets out this satisfied chuckle, and there's still a smile on his lips when he puts his mouth on your neck again. He sucks your skin into his mouth, letting his teeth grace ever so slightly against your neck. His mouth feels so good on you, it has little gasps and moans spilling from your mouth. Embarrassment makes you silence them as best you can, but Mark seems dedicated to making you even louder.

He starts to leave open-mouthed kisses down your neck, stopping sometimes to suck your skin into his mouth. He falters by a spot right above your collarbone, just where your shoulder starts, where he sinks his teeth into the flesh. Your body just melts, and you feel weightless, only whispering out his name under hushed breaths.

"Hm, you okay?" he asks, breaking away from the kiss. He comes up to your face again, close like before, where his breath tickles your mouth.

"What?" you ask, before you realize where his concern has come from. "Oh, yeah, yeah. More than okay. You?"

"Me? I'm okay," he laughs. Your heart is beating out of your chest, and your fingertips have still not returned to their normal temperature. It's still the same Mark looking back at you right now, the one you knew as a child, the Mark you've spent every milestone of a lifetime with.

The way he looks at you is new though. His eyes flit from your eyes to your mouth, it makes him look dazed in a way.

"Do you.. do you want to?" He doesn't finish the question. He moves towards you ever so slightly, still focused on your lips. He barely waits for the little time it takes you to rush out a 'yeah, yeah, please' until his lips are back on yours and his hands return to your body.

Something inside of you clicks, bringing you back to reality instead of the swimming fantasy in your head. You become aware of the weight of him above you, and the fact that his lips taste like buttercream chapstick. You can feel his hands on you, fingertips chancing to go underneath your shirt. It has taken until now for you to realize that his hips are pressed against your own, and with your legs wrapped around him, he's so close, so fucking close that through all the layers of clothing, you can still feel that he's hard.

Just the feeling of it has your legs squeezing around him, without really meaning to you push yourself against him. Your stomach swirls and tightens and your own arousal builds as Mark starts grinding himself against you.

”Oh my god, what the fuck," his breath shudders, words spoken into a kiss.

He's not even making direct contact with you but it still feels so fucking good. Marks hand is under your shirt now, his soft fingers tracing your naked skin. His touch feels so good on your body, and he's starting to angle his hips in just the right way, so you can feel his dick right where it feels good.

His voice is hushed and strained, pulling away from you to rest his head in the crook of your neck while he moans your name. You're probably making too much noise, the walls are thin and you worry that anyone walking by would be able to hear the noise inside Marks room. It's only a fleeting thought, easily silenced by Mark groaning, deep and low, so that you can feel the vibrations in his chest.

"Mark, Mark," you whine. He lifts his head and looks at you, but his hips keep moving. "Kiss me, please."

He leans in for a clumsy kiss, his mouth clashing with yours. It's messy, all tongue and teeth, but you can hardly care when his hips rut against yours and his breathing is becoming more jagged. You wish he'd keep kissing you, but when he pulls back and only looks at you, it doesn't matter. You're too enamored by him, watching every microexpression on his face and reveling in his beauty, and what that means for your friendship is something you’re not willing to unpack now.

It feels almost infinite, cosmic in a way, this very second that Mark stares into your eyes. His lips are parted and his eyes are still heavily lidded, there's a blush dusting his cheeks that's spreading all the way down his neck and chest.

"Baby," he gasps, leaning his forehead against yours. His hips stutter, getting faster and needier. He stutters, "Fuck, I'm- I'm gonna cum."

Words shouldn't do this much. His voice shouldn't be enough to make you feel like you could cum untouched but it is, and he keeps mumbling your name the closer he gets.

It's all a haze, your head is just filled with Mark, Mark, Mark and his voice seems to fill every space within you. You can't tell if you cum first or if he does, it's only moments before you're both grabbing onto each other and it feels like there isn't enough air in the world with how breathless you both become. Mark puts his lips to yours, too distracted to kiss but desperate enough that he needs you close.

You feel it out to your very fingertips, and it takes a second for the ringing in your ears to stop and for the air to return to your lungs. Mark is slowing his hips down, riding it out, and he finally kisses you.

The kiss is far too tender and careful for a moment like this. He’s so gentle, just brushing against your lips at first. His hand comes up to the back of your head, burying in your hair as he pulls you in even closer. You drag your hands along the sides of his torso, then curling around his shoulders in a hug.

"Mark," you try to say, muffled by his kiss.

"Mm, what?"

"We have to get cleaned up," you speak, sort of quietly. Part of you somehow believes that there's a barrier to be broken, like if you raise your voice something will exit the room and take this moment with it.

Mark lets out an exaggerated groan as he rolls off of you. The room is still dimly lit, just like before, the sky is still dark outside and you don't understand how everything is exactly the same when you aren't.

"Hm," he thinks for a moment. "Are you.. staying here, or?"

You suck in a breath. Something about the way he asks it feels kind of loaded. You've slept here before, next to him in this very bed, but something about the tone of his voice makes this feel different.

"Why?" you ask.

"Just cause, like, you'd need to borrow something to sleep in."

"Are you saying you'd make me walk to my room like this if I didn't want to sleep here?" you ask, faking upsetness. "This isn't only my cum, you know."

He looks over at you, at the little wet spot on your sweatpants that matches the one on his own.

"Jesus, yeah, sorry!" he laughs breathily, throwing his arm over his face. The whine in his voice is gone by now, but he's still being playful. Nothing in his tone conveys that he's upset, or that regret has set in. You need to stop dwelling on it though, or the deepest parts of your mind will find something to latch onto to ruin this. You can't think about it, any of it, it’s going to mess you up and you know it.

There's a moment of silence where your eyes fix on the ceiling. You steal little glances to the side, at Marks bare skin. You had just been touching him, your fingertips must be imprinted on some parts of his skin. Right now, the only part of him that is touching you is his pinky against yours. He moves it, just a little, like a twitch, and strokes it over your finger.

"So.. you're staying?" he asks.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm staying."

#queueing this to post while i sleep #mark lee x reader #nct x reader #nct smut #nct imagines #mark lee smut #nct scenarios #[🗒] mine #[📎] mark

[hai7ani]

橘 (TACHIBANA/JÚ) haitani rindou

nsfw (no smut), complicated relationships, canon-typical violence, mentions of blood, wounds & abuse please proceed with caution

thank you for 300 followers! i thought i might as well upload this today ^^

masterlist | playlist

part iii / your lips, my lips; apocalypse

2004

Rindou had experienced true homesickness when he was 16.

Middle of December when the snow had just started falling in Tokyo, and he is home alone, disassociating to some Mozart playing at max volume along some other things (or thoughts) while laying flat on his bed. If Ran was home to hear the kind of music he is currently playing, he'd be a dead man by then.

But he doesn't care about Ran, no. He cares about you. You're the one who's been plaguing his mind -- so sticky and frustrating -- after he'd left your pouty figure back home in Kanagawa with kiss-swollen lips 5 months ago. You and your stupid, pretty lips that has taken his first kiss, your laugh that feels a lot more effective than those pills his Mother tells him to swallow for his migraine, your soft, shaky hands when they reached up to cup his cheeks as you open your mouth wider to allow his tongue in . . .

Requiem in D Minor reaches its peak, and he finally finds it in him to turn the volume down with a click of his tongue -- he's to become a madman if he continues this any further.

It's been 2 years since the boy's moved up to Tokyo alone with his brother. Rindou doesn't think he's struggled much in adapting to the lifestyle -- in fact, it suits him a lot more than he's expected it to. He likes to think he's adapted to it sooner than Ran, although the older seems to be much more put together than he is -- judging from the listening habits and different lifestyles both brothers have chosen to adopt in this big city as two young teenagers -- because Ran is actually doing something useful right now: staying back at school for extra Physics lessons and then attending his Track and Field club meeting after class, and Rindou is here: still dressed in his uniform, still not yet finished his McDonald's that he'd abandoned at the dining table before retreating back into his room to sulk because he's been missing a certain somebody a little too much.

He admits that things are more fun in the city -- the nightlife that he finds himself getting excited to when walking past the centre of Roppongi to get back home after night class, easily accessible skate parks that he frequents with a few friends after school in his half-buttoned uniform, the drifting culture he's taken up after spending most of his savings on a second-hand MX-5 to drift illegally on weekends where he doesn't have to get up early . . . It is all so different and fresh, and Rindou thinks he hasn't felt this good while having fun before.

But you wrote him a letter 2 months ago for his birthday and he still hasn't replied to it yet.

I still think about our kiss in summer. I also miss you a whole lot. See you next summer, and again, happy 16th, 竜胆.

You'd wrote it in the ending paragraph of your lengthy four-paged letter -- all the things you wished he was there back home to experience together with you, your stupid little thoughts flashing by your head while laying flat in bed at 3 in the morning, your already-planned new year resolutions that he knows you're never going to finish despite your sudden burst of motivation, recent hobbies that you've started picking up due to extreme boredom now that December is here and everything outside is cold and slippery -- and Rindou finds himself thinking about you and you and you over and over again.

Summer of 2004 -- when he finished his can of beer and crushed it in his hands as he silently admired you through the curtains of his eyelashes. When you caught his eyes and bit your lip before shifting closer to him on the floor while fixing the loose strap of your tank top. When he inched closer to your face and smirked, before puffing out a small, warm air that smells like beer with a hint of peppermint over your cupid's bow.

When you blushed and decided to be bold by placing both hands on his sturdy chest as you knocked your forehead against his very warm and red cheek. When he looked you in the eye one last time before pressing his dry, boyish lips tight against yours that tasted a lot like your favourite honeydew flavoured lip balm and he'd smiled into it.

Sweet, peachy, and the kiss wasn't perfect; it was merely just a quick peck, but it was so lovely that he finds himself growing warm at the memory of your eyelids fluttering open when he pulled away, only to lean back in and peck at your lips once or twice more before shoving in a tongue and getting you all worked up in the process, because he just couldn't help it -- you were so addictive. You were so pretty.

You are so pretty.

The boy sits back up in one swift motion and looks out the window to his right. He stares down at the bustling, happening city below from the comfort of his high rise.

A train passes by through the underground tunnels of Roppongi. Pristine, white snowflakes falls heavily from the sky and lands on the ground before slowly piling up on the sidewalk as a young child happily tugs on her mother's hand while pointing at it. The yolk of the sun is hidden behind thick clouds, but it is still bright outside.

The wires connect. Stars align. Clouds fade away.

He blushes.

Rindou wants to kiss you again.

He glances at your crumpled letters still splayed across his desk for the past 2 months, and the boy comes to a realisation.

Things are fun in Tokyo.

Life isn't.

And the next thing he knows, he is shoving a bunch of winter clothes and a few bags of expensive taiyaki into his black Jansport, before leaving a quick note on a yellow Post-it to Ran on the coffee table while finishing up his leftover McDonald's.

Going back home for Xmas *a badly drawn Christmas tree*

Will be back before the new years... or not

Depends on my mood. C u

🖕 - ur 弟

He throws the pen down, not before doodling yet another huge, ugly and messily drawn middle finger on the remaining space in the Post-It, and he slaps it on the table.

Rindou leaves for Kanagawa in the earliest train at 5 in the evening with your letters folded, safely tucked into the left pocket of his puffer jacket with a bag of warm chocolate chip muffins placed into the confines of his jacket to keep warm on the ride home. An elderly lady sitting beside him points it out with a teasing laugh and a silly pat to his forearm.

"Who are these for?"

He says it with a lopsided smile.

"My girlfriend."

Three more days to Christmas and Rindou is standing outside of your school gate.

He'd came straight after he arrived, not bothering to phone his parents or inform his brother of his safe arrival back home. Seeing you seemed to weigh far heavier to him, judging from how he's waiting patiently in the cold for you to get out of night class. Rindou knows of your schedule well -- he's memorised it ever since you showed it to him the last time he visited home.

"Fuck," he cusses, nose growing redder and patience growing thinner with each passing moment that you don't appear at the entrance. "Did I get the wrong time?" He murmurs to himself and pulls out his phone to check. Did he perhaps be smart that day and snapped a photo of your timetable? But he's sure you finish at 8 on Tuesdays, with Math being the last period -- he remembers you complaining about it because you have always been one to hate Math, while him on the other hand, is an absolute beast at it.

White snow slowly covers his two-toned hair as he shuffles his weight from one foot to another, and a deep crease forms between his brows after realising that his stupid ass did not, in fact, be smart that day and snap a photo of your timetable.

Rindou clicks his tongue. He's contemplating on leaving -- to turn around and just go over to your house right now. Maybe you are actually home this whole time as he's stuck here pondering his thoughts and you're getting bored out of your mind.

He thinks he cannot waste another moment to see you.

And after a few more analysing and breaking down on what would be the best option to do, a voice calls out for his name. A girl's voice -- smooth and filled with so much excitement, it seems -- and he turns around to look at her.

Himeko approaches him from the entrance -- dressed in her cozy uniform and a heavy book bag is slung over her shoulder. "Rindou, you're home." She jogs up to him, leg warmers falling off her calves as she runs and stops just right in front of him. There's a wide grin stretched across her face as she stares up at the much taller boy and doe eyes squints a little from the lamppost shining down into them. Light snowflakes cover her eyelashes and she simply dusts them away with a little smile.

"Oh, hey." Rindou blinks. He then turns on his heel to head towards your house and Himeko follows along with a finger hooked onto a strap of his Jansport. "Why are you back home? It's not Summer." She states, and she soon realises that the last sentence had sounded a little stupid -- so she attempts to make it less awkward for her by asking more questions and attempting to converse with Rindou, to which the boy doesn't oppose on answering.

"It's the last week before winter break." She states while picking up her pace behind him to catch up with the boy's wider steps.

"I know. How's school?" He asks, his vacant hand shoving down into the pocket of his jacket to keep warm but Himeko nudges his elbow. He looks down and sees that she is handing him her book bag.

Rindou fishes the hand out to get a hold of the strap and he slings it over his shoulder -- just as habit allows. Himeko seems delighted at this, as she crosses her hands behind her body and starts skipping beside him on the sidewalk. But a brown bag hanging off his left hand catches her attention and curious hands starts inching towards it without him knowing.

"Just fine. It's been a little boring though, even the teachers are getting ready for the holidays." She replies. Rindou simply hums at it. He's never been great at conversations -- always the listener with you as his speaker.

And he feels a sudden jolt at the bag in his hand. He snatches it back quick, eyes sharp and movements turning defensive as he stares at the girl who is clearly shocked at his behaviour over a bag of chocolate chip muffins.

". . . What?" He clears his throat and stops in his tracks. He's getting irritated. Himeko tilts her head to the side. She points at the bag of muffins with a pointer, "Are those for me? I like muffins."

"'S for Mom. She wanted me to buy 'em before coming back." And with that, Rindou hands Himeko back her own bag to take. He doesn't say anything further, and he shoves its strap back into her hands, the weight pushing her arms down and she furrows her brows at his suddenness.

It's so awkward. But she is Himeko -- always the peacemaker of the group -- and she decides to clear the atmosphere with a change of topic.

"Ran didn’t come home with you?"

Rindou remains quiet for a while -- obviously feeling a little pissed, but ultimately, he decides to reply to her anyway.

"Nah, he's still in Tokyo. I came back without him."

"Why’d you come home then?"

"I just missed Mom's cooking, 's all." He shrugs. A lie, but Himeko doesn't need to know that. Though she beams at his response, "I went to your house for dinner yesterday. Your Mom's cooking is way too good." My house, dinner?

"Did Y/N go, too?" He asks a little too quickly, the steady beat of his chest growing quicker at the thought of you most probably sitting on his chair at his dining table while enjoying his mother's cooking before finding ways to sneak up to his room and mess with his DJ set that he'd purposely left home for you to play with. He smiles a little at the possible scene playing in his head.

The smile on Himeko's face falters a little at his sudden burst of emotion with the mention of you, but she fixes herself fast and shoots back a response just as fast.

"No, her father came home on Sunday. I haven't seen her since."

Rindou turns his head to look at the shorter girl beside with a worried expression -- a total contrast to all that he's felt just now. He stops in his tracks, and Himeko stops too -- just two steps ahead of him -- with the smile on her face completely gone now.

"What's wrong?" She asks, face full of genuine concern.

"What do you mean?" Rindou frowns.

Himeko tilts her head to the left, trying to grasp what exactly that he's asking, so she repeats her words from earlier by talking slower.

"Y/N's dad came home on Sunday . . . ? She hasn't attended classes today or yesterday. I haven't seen her since she left to pick her father up from the airport. That was Sunday. But we know how it is. Her dad's probably just looking for some family bonding time with her."

Rindou scowls at it.

No, you don't.

Though she doesn't notice it, she shifts a little awkwardly at Rindou's visible shift in mood.

"Bye." He bids curtly and he leaves Himeko behind. The boy quickens his steps and turns into the road that leads straight to your house. He can see the building from a distance and Rindou can faintly make out that the lights are on.

You must be home.

"Rindou? Where are you-" Himeko calls out, but she pauses after realising the road that he's taking. He hears faint footsteps behind him but he doesn't reply -- his beating heart way too frantic for him to say anything at this point, let alone actually think for a response.

Her words play in his head over and over again, and it gets so overwhelming to the point that he has to take a breather and fix his unruly hair that's starting to block his vision.

Your dad is home.

A step closer to your house. Snow crunches beneath his sneakers.

Your dad is home.

The gate is open. He sees the quick wagging of a fluffy tail just beside the metal.

Your dad is home.

Inu-sama sits by the gate and upon sensing his owner's childhood friend's arrival, it barks at him. And it doesn't stop barking despite Rindou being someone who it has grown so familiar with over the years of your childhood and Inu-sama's place in your family.

"Hey, bud." He reaches down to pat your old Shiba, combing down its fur and giving it a few belly rubs before reaching into the pocket of his Jansport to fish out a little treat for your dog. He's not forgotten its treats despite leaving the house in a rush. "Where's 姉さん?" He asks -- as if Inu-sama could speak -- and it can, actually. It barks again to the door after his question and Rindou takes it as a hint that you are probably inside.

But the gate is open. Weird.

So he kicks off his shoes by the entrance and brings a nervous knuckle up to knock on the door. His hearts thumps fast in his chest, breath stuttering in his throat -- not because the thought of you possibly opening the door for him makes him giddy, but because the thought of your father possibly opening the door for him makes him weak. Scared.

Rindou is scared.

Everyone is afraid of your father. Even Ran who is known to have no fear towards anyone in his life -- not even his elders -- is scared of your father. But everyone except Himeko, though. Somehow through her rose-tinted eyes she still holds on to the idea that your father is just like any other: a man who leads and a man who brings structure. But you can't blame her, for she hasn't seen your father in ages. She hasn't seen the man he has become.

And Rindou knocks again, but still, no response, so he tries his luck by twisting the knob. It's unlocked and he pushes it open. Perhaps it'll earn him a black eye for attempting to enter your house without your father's approval, but he'll risk it just this once.

"Y/N?"

He's half-expected the house to be empty -- from the state of your unlocked door and gate to the awfully quiet and icy cold atmosphere of your house. Rindou doesn't think there's anyone in the house.

That is until he looks down at the sound of a sob.

The monster has done it again.

You're crouching on the floor, surrounded by what seems to be broken shards of glass and a few blood stains tainting the marble white of your floor.

He bolts towards you in an instant, not before throwing off his bag by the foot of the door and stepping over the sharp glass to reach over to you on his sock-clad feet. They cut into his flesh and he hisses a little at the sting, but he ignores the pain, and he diverts his attention back all on you.

You're not moving from your position, but he can tell that you're crying. You're hurt -- the cuts and dark bruises that's starting to swell on your arms and legs cracks his heart at the sight, and you're cold -- God, you're so, so cold when he scoops your frail body up and into his arms, away from the wrecked floor.

Weak, shaky hands immediately move to grip on his shoulder, nails sinking into the flesh as you suck in a deep breath upon realising that there's someone holding you -- someone is touching you. You panic a little, a whine escaping your throat and you try pushing him away with all the strength that you can muster. You hadn't realised that it is Rindou. You hadn't realised that he has entered the house. It doesn't hit you that Rindou is back home in the middle of December. You continue fighting against in his arms with more tears springing up to your bloodshot eyes.

"Stop, Dad. Please. It hurts."

That alone sends the boy into a shaking mess.

But he gathers himself, and he attempts to ground you by sitting you both on the couch and pressing your cold body into his warm chest. He buries his nose in your neck and kisses the skin gently, feeling the quick pulse of your heartbeat against his lips while rubbing warm circles on your upper back -- a means to soothe you, a means to tell you that he's here. "'S me, babe. It's me." He says it so softly -- right next to your ear, only meant for you to hear, meant for you to listen.

You shudder a little at the sudden warmth invading your skin and into your bones, and it then strikes you that the person holding you is Rindou. Rindou is home. The peppermint of his smell that you've long grown to love makes its way in grounding your senses and you eventually relax in his secure hold.

You're safe now.

Rindou is home. You are not alone anymore.

And then you start crying again.

"Where's the bastard? Your mom too." He asks, tone rough but he's gentle when cleaning away the blood on your lips from being busted by no doubt a harsh strike and he wipes it off on his jacket. You hold the other hand of his on your cheek to kiss the palm. "The airport. He says he's going back to the States. Just after a day." Your voice is shaky as you try your hardest to explain to him clearly amidst your choked sobs, "Mom is still in Osaka." And he doesn't make you speak any further after that -- he simply nods at your reply and opting to hug you close to his chest and calm your cries instead.

Rindou sighs angrily at your answer, a deep breath escaping his nose. You only bury yourself closer to him at it.

So your father did actually leave you in here all alone like this and went back to continuing his career. He wonders just how long you have been staying like this, in this state.

He looks around the house to make sure the man is actually gone and his purple eyes don’t miss the heavy stacks of medical textbooks and printed samples of medical reports scattered all over the coffee table. Your test paper -- Math, Tachibana Y/N, Fail -- sits atop of the books, the papers crumpled and a little torn at the sides. The large frames that hangs on the walls of your living room -- none of them are yours, all are his -- are all displaying professional photos of him attached with the many titles and prizes awarded to him.

Doctor Tachibana Hiroji, PhD in Oncology.

Doctor Tachibana Hiroji, board member of Harvard Medical School.

Doctor Tachibana Hiroji.

Doctor Tachibana Hiroji.

Tachibana Hiroji.

What a man of noble character and high intellect, but is such a monster behind closed doors to his only daughter, his family.

Rindou turns his head back, and he’s gentle with you - soft hands wiping away the free-flowing tears and light bloodstains off your face.

And he decides that he doesn’t want to see you like this anymore.

Rindou presses his forehead to yours.

"I'll kill him, you know?"

"No, don't. You'll-"

"I'll kill him. I promise.”

Himeko stands behind the two of you -- scared behind the couch -- with eyes so wide and a heart pumping blood so fast underneath the bones of her chest that she thinks she might die.

But a broken sob from you on the couch breaks her out of her bubble.

She looks around the house.

She looks at your state.

She takes it all in.

"But we know how it is. Her dad's probably just looking for some family bonding time with her."

Oh.

tags: @nana-osakii

this took so long omg but i had time today to finish it so here it is ^^

reblogs are appreciated! thank you for reading :3

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