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moonnue · 7 months

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Cheeky Little Pup

Astarion x Tav / Astarion x Reader (2nd Person POV)

Rated M! Contains use of a certain dog collar, a hint of electrostimulation, and begging (but as a "joke")

Word Count: ~2k

Summary:

Why the Hells did you dig up that grave? For fun? Because all you did was disturb the resting place of a very nice dog named Myrna. And then you took the poor creature's collar. And THEN you SULLIED it, using it to get your sick kicks with your vampire fwb! Are you happy? Are you proud of yourself? 'Cuz I am.

Notes:

yes i mention pavlov's dog this is FANTASY pavlov and his FANTASY dog. just like how this is FANTASY costco, where all your dreams come true (got a deal for you! it's astarion in a dog collar woof)

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You don't know what possessed you to dig up that grave. Grave digging wasn't a hobby of yours, much less was it even a guilty pleasure that poked at the corner of your mind every now and then. So why you should think it, and give in to that feeling, is beyond you. Perhaps it was just the mystery of it. The great Arcane Tower looming over you, coupled with the unassuming nature of the grave that was so lovingly marked. There must be treasures to be found here, right?

Unfortunately, all you dug up was the skeletal remains of a very large dog and an equally large dog collar that now hung loosely from its bony neck. You took the collar to examine it, finding runes inscribed into the leather. It also held a tag, the name 'Myrna' carved delicately into it. While at first you were charmed by the thing, smiling at the love this beast must have had in its lifetime, it did not take long for a devilish idea to pop into your head. With a snicker, you bounded over to the vampire in your party.

"Try it on!" You cheer as you hold the collar aloft to Astarion.

"I'm not some pet." He spits, but that doesn't deter your enthusiasm.

"Of course you're not!" You assure him as you jingle it again. "But look how lovely it is. I think you'd look so dashing!"

He narrows his eyes at you, and behind the annoyance is the tell-tale sign of the man giving in. Traveling this long with him has given you an advantage. You know just how to butter him up; you even couple your words with a few blinks of your big, round eyes. When he still doesn't say anything, you press further, "Just for a little while? Please, Astarion?"

It's the begging that gets to him, finally relenting with a click of his tongue. "Fine, give it here." You squeal with delight, practically skipping behind him to fasten the thing about this throat. You do it just tight enough to be a proper accessory.

"I was right!" You say as you come around to face him again. "You are dashing!" The actual word that comes to mind is 'cute,' but you don't think that's the proper term to use if you wish to make him buckle. He seems happy enough by this choice of word, posing ever so slightly as a hand bobs his short curls.

"I'm always dashing, darling."

Astarion keeps his word, wearing it as your party explores the tower. Along the way, you cannot help but steal glances at him. It's something he notices (and something you wanted him to notice) because he grins and flashes his collared neck at you from time to time.

Eventually, you find yourselves on a floor that looks particularly lived in. Or, at least, once was, considering the deterioration of the building. There is a bed, moth-chewed, and next to it, a crumbling bookcase. In the corner is a rickety table, covered in yellowed papers and long dried-out pens. And by the window, within arms reach of the old chair, is a rather plain-looking button.

It has obviously not been pressed in a very long time. It is dusty, rusted around the edges where it meets the wall. You look it over curiously, and once more are possessed by something that makes you act instead of think. Using but one little finger, the button depresses.

"Ah!" Comes a shocked moan from behind you. You're turning your head, shocked yourself, to look at Astarion as he says, "I don't know what you did, but it made my neck piece vibrate."

There's a moment of silence that stretches between the members of your party as you look at each other. He notices the button then, and with wide eyes, meets your gaze again. You motion to it with a nod, glancing quickly between him, the button, then back to him as you wiggle the criminalistic finger. Astarion catches your drift with a smirk.

"Go on." He says.

Watching him eagerly now, you press the button once more. Once more, he moans-- a bit over the top this time, but that wrinkle in his furrowed brow is one you recognize as sign enough that he's truly enjoying himself. A wicked smile splits your cheeks as you move to press it again.

"Can you two not do this?" interrupts Shadowheart, who is an unfortunate and unwilling participant in your game. "We don't have the time for you to just... flirt."

"Yeah." Karlach agrees. Her hand rubs awkwardly at the back of her neck. "You two are adorable, don't get me wrong. But this? It's a bit much."

Your smile does not falter as you speak to your other companions. Your tone is light, all in good fun. "You guys don't have to be here for this. There are plenty of other floors for you to explore."

"May I reiterate: we do not have time." Shadowheart urges. Her hands are placed squarely on her hips while she chastises you. "We have better things to do."

"I cannot think of anything better to do than this." Astarion disagrees. When he looks at you, there's a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. One that convinces you to give the button another press.

He moans again, louder this time, the sound much more depraved. He makes a big show of it as he stretches his arms out to the ceiling. The performance makes both Shadowheart and Karlach grimace, which only makes you laugh.

"Like I said. Plenty of other floors." "Five minutes." Shadowheart hisses as she shows you her palm. "Five. No more. That's all you're getting, and you're done." With that, she turns on her heel and trudges towards the staircase.

Karlach only says, "Have fun, you two!" before she follows after the girl. Once the two are out of sight, you beckon Astarion over, who quickly obliges.

"What a curious device." He muses aloud, studying it. The two of you are sitting together on the floor before it. Astarion asks, "Whatever is it for?"

"I think it's a food dispenser." You point to the evidence-- a nearby dog bowl with dried up bits of chow placed beneath a pipe. This makes Astarion's eyebrows shoot up.

"And it vibrates because...?"

"Classic Pavlov's dog. Dog gets shocked, dog gets hungry. Dog eats!"

"Hm..." he seems to be considering your explanation seriously. "I don't think I'm getting it. Why don't you press that button again, see if it can't get my brain juices flowing?"

"Yeah, sure, if you think it will help." You say just as nonchalantly, in spite of your twitching lips. When you press the button yet again, his reaction this time is much more subdued. There is but a hint of a rumble in his throat as you watch his lashes flutter.

"Oh, love. You simply must try this." He's already reaching up to undo the clasp. You laugh heartily, wiggling with excitement.

"Yes! Please, Master!" In a playful high-pitched voice, posing silly like a dog, you're only joking. You even add a little bark for good measure, laughing just after. But when he doesn't react right away, your skin prickles with uncertainty. You blink at him, trying to gauge his reaction through his blank expression. "Sorry, too much?" You chuckle, feeling slightly embarrassed that you got ahead of yourself.

It's still a moment before he responds, staring at the ground as though deep in thought. He finally responds in a shuddering breath, "Actually? Strange as it is, that's actually doing something for me."

You roar with laughter, leaning back on your heels, clapping your hands. "Why am I not surprised!" You bellow, amusement echoing off the cracking walls around you. Once you're calm again, you say, "Put that collar on me and we can see how far this goes."

He does just that, tightening the leather about your throat, perhaps slightly tighter than you had set for him. You look up at him with one raised eyebrow, and he simply responds with a smirk. "There." He retracts his hands, leaning with a thumb to the button. "And now..."

The thing about your neck vibrates. It’s the barest touch of an electric shock stinging at your nerves. It's more the surprise of it that gets you, makes you flinch and squeak out a little, "Ah!" Your hands reach instinctively for your throat, fingers gently grazing the leather and its carvings. You shiver ever so slightly.

"And?" says Astarion after a pause, letting you catch your wits. "Thoughts?"

"Oh, it's delightful." You breathe, more joking than serious. You bat your lashes at him just as you had earlier and plead, "Another, master?"

He laughs as he leans an elbow on the window sill. He regards you lazily, looking you up and down. "That's a dangerous trick you've picked up there. I'm a little frightened."

"Aw, come on!" You laugh too, and strike some ridiculous pose. "I'm just a sweet little thing! Wouldn't hurt a fly!"

"Is that so?" He sets a cheek to his fist as he stares you down. "If that's the case, give me another. Beg like the cheeky little pup you are."

He's only joking-- or, at least, you think he's joking, considering the fun you two are having. But the words, coupled with the natural husk of his tone, send a buzz through you that is definitely not from the collar. It snakes through your system, striking like lightning between your hips. The physical reaction you show is subdued, but it's enough. He grins widely once he realizes.

"Oh! So it's like that, then!" He chirps, positively delighted by the discovery.

"Wait!" You show your palms in mercy. Your cheeks are burning. "Sorry, I didn't think--! I mean, I didn't mean to--!"

"It's quite alright, sweetheart." He assures you. "We can't always help what turns us on." Astarion gives his shoulders a little shake, settling into his seat by the window. "Speaking of, I'd love to hear you beg again."

Well, now you're embarrassed. Before it was all fun and games, but it got a little too real a little too fast. He's got you squirming.

"Come now," he whines, but there's a bit of playfulness returning to his voice that makes you perk up. "Just one more? For me?" It's his turn to bat his lashes at you, and the sight makes you giggle. "Make it a good one. Make it count."

He knows just how to butter you up, making you smile and only slightly forget the heat pooling between your thighs. You know giving in to his demand is only going to make it worse, but you can't resist playing with him. Oh well, you think. You're here for a good time, not a long time!

You curl your fingers, wrists going limp and becoming feigned paws. Already he's laughing as you bring them to your chin. You're happy to further break the tension, but most of all, it pleases you to make him smile. To hear him laugh. All of it, in the end, is worth it just for that alone.

"Please, master? Make me feel good again."

You swear you can see just the faintest dusting of pink on his pale cheeks. You chew at your lip to suppress a chuckle. Still, that look he's giving you isn't one of shame. He's loving the little show you're putting on for him.

"Very good." He praises, and then presses the button.

The vibration is nothing but a tickle, yet the sensation that jolts down your spine is enough to give you a full-body shiver. It makes the both of you laugh.

"Alright, enough fun." You say, working to remove the collar from your neck.

"Boo." Is all he says, but stands up in agreement.

You place the collar down upon the old desk, giving it a light tap as you leave it there. Astarion and you head towards the stairs, and as you descend, you call out to tease your compatriots waiting somewhere down below: "You guys making out?!"

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #my writing

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skz-streamer · 9 months

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Prince Charming

Pairing: Changbin (skz) x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: just brain rot fluff :)

Notes: Thank you so much for recommending this fic idea @mixtape-racha I had so much fun writing this!!!! The ask

Summary: Changbin will always be your prince charming, and you will always be his princess.

-please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people

Word count ~1.2k ;)

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You wake up with a smile, feeling excited as you pick up your phone to invite Binnie over for a cute date night. You send him a sweet message, "Hey Binnie! How about a cozy Disney princess movie marathon at my place tonight? I'll order our favorite takeout, and we can snuggle together all evening. What do you think? 🎥🍿"

Binnie responds with a smiley face and an enthusiastic "Yes, please! I'd love that, princess."

As the evening approached, you felt a flutter of excitement in your chest. The thought of spending a cozy date night with Binnie was enough to fill your heart with joy. You tidied up your place meticulously, making sure everything was perfect for the night ahead. You created a comfortable nest of blankets and pillows on the couch, envisioning how lovely it would be to snuggle up together under their soft embrace.

When the doorbell finally rang, you practically skipped to answer it, eagerly anticipating Binnie's arrival. As soon as you opened the door and saw him standing there with his curly black hair nipped over his eyes and that warm smile on his face, your heart melted. He was every bit as charming as you had imagined.

"Welcome, my prince charming! Come on in," you said with a grin, feeling a little bashful under his affectionate gaze.

He stepped inside, giving you a gentle kiss on the cheek, "Hello, my lovely princess. Your place looks amazing."

Your cheeks flushed with happiness at his compliment, and you offered him the takeout menu, "What do you feel like eating tonight? Pizza, sushi, or maybe some burgers?"

"Hmm, how about some sushi? I know you love it too!" he replied with a playful glint in his eyes.

"Perfect choice!" you exclaimed, glad that he knew you so well. You ordered your favorite sushi rolls, secretly thrilled that you would get to share this delightful meal with him.

As the takeout arrived and you settled down on the couch, you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort and excitement in the air. The Disney princess movie marathon was about to begin, and you were excited to share this special night with Binnie.

"Let's start with your all-time favorite. I bet it's Beauty and the Beast, right?" Binnie whispered playfully as he leaned closer to you.

You nodded with a grin, "You know me so well! Beauty and the Beast it is!"

As the movie started, you snuggled up against Binnie, feeling his arm around your shoulders, making you feel safe and loved. Throughout the movie, you couldn't resist commenting on how charming the prince was or how adorable some scenes were, and Binnie joined in with playful banter.

"You see, I'm just as charming as the prince!" he teased, and you couldn't help but giggle.

"Oh! You're my real-life prince charming, Binnie," you replied, gazing affectionately into his eyes.

The night continued with lots of laughter and cuddles. As you watched the movies, you playfully compared some princes to Binnie, and he would pretend to pose like the prince in question, making you laugh even harder. When Frozen came out you and him both burst out singing, the warmth and love between you grew with every passing moment. You felt incredibly grateful to have Binnie in your life.

As the Disney princess movie marathon continued, the clock struck 2:00 am, and you found yourself still wide awake despite the late hour. Changbin was dozing in and out of sleep, his broad figure snuggled up next to your small frame. His soft personality had always been something you adored about him, and it made moments like this even more special.

You couldn't help but smile as you embraced him tightly, feeling the warmth of his presence. The soft glow of the TV illuminated the room, casting a gentle light on the two of you, creating a cozy atmosphere that felt like a dream.

In this moment of serenity, you reminisced about the movies you watched together earlier in the night. The Disney princesses and their magical stories seemed to have brought you even closer, strengthening the bond between you and Changbin.

As you lay there, you noticed Changbin's steady breathing and the way his curly hair fell gently on his face. His peaceful expression made your heart flutter, and you couldn't resist planting a soft kiss on his forehead, expressing your love for him.

Feeling the affection, Changbin stirred slightly in his sleep, his arms instinctively wrapping around you, pulling you closer. His sleepy mumble sounded like sweet music to your ears, and you couldn't help but giggle.

"I love you," you whispered, hoping he could hear your words even in his slumber. You felt grateful for this precious moment, cherishing every second you spent together.

The next morning, you woke up with a soft smile as the first rays of morning light peeked through the curtains. Changbin was still peacefully sleeping next to you, and you couldn't resist running your fingers through his curly black hair. He stirred slightly, and you held your breath, hoping not to wake him.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," you whispered, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Morning… I could get used to waking up like this," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

You giggled softly, "I bet you could. You're so cuddly, Changbin. I love it."

"Only for you, my love," he replied, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours with a tender gaze.

The two of you spent a few more moments in each other's arms, enjoying the peacefulness of the morning. Eventually, you decided to get up and prepare some breakfast together.

"I'll make us some pancakes. How do you like them?" you asked.

"As long as you're making them, I'm sure they'll be delicious," Changbin replied, his smile never leaving his face.

Blushing at his sweet compliment, you headed to the kitchen, and he followed you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you cooked. You enjoyed a cozy breakfast together, stealing kisses and sharing laughter.

After breakfast, you both decided to spend the day relaxing at home, enjoying each other's company. You snuggled up on the couch, watching more movies, occasionally pausing to talk about your favorite scenes or share your thoughts on the different princesses' journeys.

"You know, I feel so lucky to have you in my life. You make everything better," Changbin said, his voice filled with sincerity.

"And I feel the same about you, Changbin. You're my rock, my comfort, and my joy," you replied, intertwining your fingers with his.

With a sweet peck on the lips, Changbin whispers “You're my world."

And just as he pulled his head away to take a look at you, part of your world played.

“You’re so cringy!!!” you say while pushing him away

“Why you don’t think i’m Aladdin worthy?” he teases back

“Well… do you have a magic carpet?

“Ahh no, I don’t,” he says giggling back.

“Hmm how will you make it up to me,” you say, hoping that his response is a kiss, but instead he gets up from the couch and picks you up

“Will a piggyback ride do?”

Permanent tag list: @eee5533 @mixtape-racha @ot8skz-wifey

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azure-blaze92 · 6 months

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🕯️A little snippet of AYCF: Ch 14🪶

When the music hits you just right, and you write a single scene, but you still have writer's block for the other two parts left lol, enjoy a little snippet of Ch 14 :3 ( Also, yes, I am a huge Disney fan, and this song is catchy. )

~ 🐦🕯️✨ ~

...As they got to the square, Caleb and Evelyn's ears picked up on the sound of lively and upbeat music. As they looked toward the center of town, they noticed a group of bards playing. Evelyn felt a smile creep onto her face. “Wanna dance?”

“Dance?”

“Yeah, you know, dance to music?” Evelyn said, striking a pose.

“Oh, no, I don’t know how,” Caleb admitted. Evelyn just looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I can teach you,” Evelyn smirked.

“Haha, no, I would be more than happy to watch, though,” Caleb said nervously.

“Fine, then prepared to be wowed, Caleb Wittebane,” Evelyn said, letting go of his hand and walking into the center of the square. Feeling the music in her feet, she began to dance, her movements a fluid blend of grace and energy that seemed to captivate the very air around her. Caleb stood back, his eyes following her every step, every twirl. The rhythm was infectious. Caleb felt a warmth spread through him, his own feet tapping to the beat. Soon, he noticed a small crowd of demons and witches gathered, clapping and cheering, drawn in by the spectacle of her joyous expression. The bards noticed the crowd starting to form along with Evelyn dancing and quickened the beat of the song, Evelyn followed suit, her dance becoming more lively, each step more elegant than the last.

“She's amazing, isn't she?" A witch beside him remarked, her eyes sparkling with delight.

“She really is,” Caleb said, utterly enchanted. The way Evelyn moved, it was as if she was a part of the music itself, each note guiding her in a dance. He felt a smile reach his eyes as he watched her. As the song reached its climax, the crowd erupted into applause, and Evelyn finished with a flourish that drew whistles and cheers. Breathless and laughing, she bowed to her audience, her eyes meeting Caleb's, who was standing there clapping. Evelyn walked back over to him after tossing a few snails to the bards.

“So what did you think? Dancing looks fun, right? You were even getting into it a bit.” She said gleefully.

“It was stunning, Evie,"

“Thank you,” Evelyn responded, trying to hide her blush, “ So, want to join me next time?”

“Maybe,” Caleb said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, okay, I will take the answer for now.” Evelyn teased.

“ So where to next?” Caleb asked...

#caleb wittebane #evelyn clawthorne #the owl house #a young candles flame #fanfiction #wittecouple #toh evelyn #toh caleb #i love them so much #Spotify

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justfangirlstuffs · 1 year

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Imagine DLA reader forcing moon and Monty getting along and the reader just forces monty to give moon flowers thinking it would be sweet while moon and sun is just trying to progress the whole thing

This got away from me a little bit, but it was fun to write.

A side adventure for my Little Assistant fic. Very Monty heavy. Like way more than I was expecting.

Making Amends

You x Monty (bonding)

It was one of those days when Elliot invited you as a tag-a-long for his maintenance duties. Only, this time he seemed to have an ulterior motive. He explained to your mom that he needed to help repair Montgomery Gator's room and that Monty seemed to be more behaved when there were kids around. Your mom was understandably concerned, but you assured her that you met Monty once before and he treated you fine.

“Sun, are you okay if I go help Elliot for a bit?” you asked him.

Sun sighed dramatically, placing a hand on his forehead in a very woe-is-me pose. “I suppose I'll survive. My little assistant abandoning me in my waning hours when I am most bereft and in need.”

“Cool, I knew you'd understand,” you said, giving him the thumbs up and turning to walk away. Sun made a squawk of surprise and you snickered, turning back and giving him a hug around his middle. “I'll spend a little extra time on your post-shift wipe-down to make it up to you. How does that sound?”

He rubbed your head through your uniform cap. “That sounds delightful. Have fun, Starshine.”

You went with Elliot to Rockstar Row, and you noticed immediately that Monty's curtains were drawn. Again. This was a regular occurrence you were noticing. You winced when you heard a large bang coming from inside the room.

Elliot rubbed his neck, sweating pinballs. “If anything happens, get behind me or leave the room as fast as you can, alright?”

“Okay,” you agreed.

Elliot led you to the door of Monty's green room. He knocked, then called out, “Monty, I'm coming in!” and then used his badge to open the door. This wasn't your first visit to Monty's room, nor was it the first time you'd caught Monty in the middle of 'blowing off steam' as he had called it. Even still, seeing a bulky animatronic gator standing in the middle of a scene of destruction was not the most comforting of sights.

As soon as the door opened, Monty's head jerked towards the two of you. “Howdy there, Monty,” Elliot greeted, using a very cordial tone that contradicted his earlier tension.

A low growl rumbled from Monty and though he was wearing shades, you saw his snout twitch lower so that his face was more directed at you peeking out from behind the handyman. “You brought a kid? Autograph sessions are over.”

“They're my friend's kid. They're just here to observe,” Elliot explained, keeping his tone measured.

Monty glared at you, his face leaning in an inch or two before suddenly drawing back. “Wait a second, I remember you.”

“I remember you too,” you answered, daring to step out from behind Elliot's figure. “Thanks again, by the way.”

Monty glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn't do nuthin',” he mumbled.

Elliot breathed out a sigh of utter relief. “Alright, welp, I'm just gonna assess the damages. Don't mind me.”

He began wandering the green room, taking note of what was broken and needed to be replaced. Monty shot him a glare but made to move to stop him. It was clear though that the gator was barely tolerating the man's presence.

You edged up to Monty and he stiffened looking down at you. “You don't like people In your room, do you?”

Monty snorted, a hissing sound strongly reminiscent of the noises you'd hear in his gator golf attraction. “Would you enjoy people just letting themselves into your space uninvited?”

You shook your head, feeling guilty. “Sorry... and sorry again about the time before.”

Monty wordlessly turned and stomped over to the couch which was definitely gonna need replacing. The green upholstery had been shredded and the insides were littered around the place. Even so, Monty sat down on it and looked at you. “Well? Don't just stand there gawkin'. Have a seat.”

“Oh, okay,” you said and shuffled over to the couch, sitting down on one of the cushions that wasn't completely mangled. You noticed Elliot was keeping a close eye on you between his note-taking. “So, bad day?”

“What?” Monty asked, looking at you.

It was hard not to be intimidated by the teeth, but you did your best not to think about how sharp they might be. “Did you have a bad day?” you asked, gesturing to the room. “You obviously were blowing off some steam. You wanna talk about it?”

“No!” Monty barked.

“Okay, sorry,” you mumbled, picking at a wad of couch stuffing that was poking out right beside you.

An awkward silence followed for a few beats, only filled by the shuffling of Elliot's shoes as he tried to navigate through the debris. In that time, Monty's crossed his legs, uncrossed them, and then crossed them again. It was like he couldn't get comfortable. He let out another snorting hiss that made you jump a little.

“I was hosting a birthday party, and I brought out the cake. But then the parents start yelling at me that it was the wrong cake. Like it's my fault. I don't make the cakes I just deliver what's given to me, you know?”

You nodded emphatically, letting him know he had your full attention.

“So, this parent is screaming at me that I ruined the kid's birthday party, and the kid starts crying, and all the other kids start screaming because they want cake. And I'm trying to tell this woman to just let me go get a different cake and then one of the kids throws their soda and gets it all over me. Then in walks Mister Congeniality himself...”

“I'm sorry, who?” you asked.

“Who else? Freddy Fazbear.” His hands curled into fists as he says the name. “He just walks up to the parents and apologizes for the inconvenience and basically hijacks the entire party and tells me to leave so I can go clean up and relax. Can you believe that?”

“I mean, yeah, people totally suck sometimes,” you murmured. “Oh, sorry. I'm not supposed to use that word, right?”

Monty snorted. “I don't care. Do you know how many curses I hear in a single day?”

Okay, so he didn't have an anti-swear protocol like Sun and Moon. Neat. “But it sounds like Freddy was just trying to be helpful?”

“I never asked for his help. Him coming in there and taking over, it's like he thinks I can't handle a simple birthday party.”

“Do you like handling birthday parties?”

“What does THAT matter?” Monty asked you. “It don't matter if I like 'em or not, it's part of my job.” He rubbed at his shoulder. “'Sides... I don't mind entertaining kids. Kids are fine, and birthdays are important to 'em. It wasn't even my fault the party was ruined and I wasn't even given a chance to fix it.” Monty hunched forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Now that he was finished venting, he just seemed tired.

You waited for a few beats before asking, “You need a hug?”

Monty's head jerked to look at you. “What?”

“Sunny always gives me hugs when I'm feeling down. He says hugs are magical and make people feel better and that everyone needs a hug once in a while.”

“That sounds like something he would say.” Based on Monty's tone, he was not saying it as a compliment.

Immediately feeling defensive on Sun's behalf, you puffed yourself up. “Sunny is my best friend and I will fight you.”

Monty stared down at you for a beat and snorted, his hand patting your head, surprisingly gentle for his bulk. “You're alright, kid.” He at his shoulder again, glancing away. “I don't need a hug... but if you were wanting one, then... I guess I could humor you.”

You grinned and took him up on the offer, leaning over and hugging him around the torso. Unlike Sun and Moon, you could not get your hands full around him for how bulky he was. However, one of his hands patted your back and you swore you felt his body relax under your touch. You could faintly hear the hum of his inner workings, though it sounded different from the noises you were used to hearing from Sun and Moon.

“Hey, kiddo. Come along, I gotta go grab some equipment to start cleaning up this mess,” Elliot called out.

“I wanna stay with Monty,” you said, before glancing up at the gator. “Er, if that's okay with you?”

You couldn't fully tell, but you thought he looked a little surprised behind his shades. “Yeah, fine by me.”

“Okay.” Elliot looked a little apprehensive, however, glancing between the pair of you, he relented. “I'll be back in a jiffy.” Then he exited the room.

Once he was gone, Monty made a grumbling noise, like clearing his throat. “So, uh, kid... since I did you a favor, think you could do me one?”

You looked up at him. “I thought you said, and I quote 'I didn't do nuthin'.” You only waited for a beat to let that joke hang before saying, “I'm kidding. What do you need?”

“I feel like after what happened, Moon's been avoiding me. I think he's mad about... you know, and since you're so chummy with them, thought maybe you could put in a good word?”

“Why not give him a gift to show your sorry,” you suggested. “Like flowers. Used to, whenever my mom was upset, my dad would bring her flowers or something and they usually made up.”

“Where am I supposed to get flowers?” he asked you pointedly.

“Hmm, okay. Well, why not draw them? Sun and Moon love getting art.”

Monty scratched at his hair. “I... don't really know what flowers look like. Haven't really seen many of 'em around here.”

“I can help with that!” you answered brightly, now fully on board with helping Monty make a gift for Moon.

From your Bonnie backpack -which you took almost everywhere with you- you pulled out some paper and markers. You saw Monty eyeing your backpack and wondered if that was still a sore subject for him.

“Life with the band treating you okay?” you asked tentatively.

“Fine,” he muttered, but you sensed it was not 'fine'.

“I can't say I know what you're going through, but I know what it's like to be the new kid, and I know what it's like to be put somewhere you don't wanna be. It really sucks, and you hate it cuz like, you didn't choose this so why are you getting punished for it? But... sometimes... things end up working out, and then it's not so bad.” You noticed he was staring at you and you flushed, quickly shaking your head. “Sorry, I know I talk too much sometimes.”

“S'fine,” Monty murmured. He awkwardly picked up one of your markers between his claws. “So... um... what flowers should I draw?”

You spent the next hour helping Monty draw a variety of flowers, along with a short apology note. Elliot was in and out with another staff member, doing cleaning while you worked. At one point, when it was just you and Monty, you heard Sun's voice coming from your watch.

“Starshine, are you almost done?”

“Yeah, I'll be back soon,” you answered. Looking up at Monty, you said, “I can take this to Moon if you want.”

“I'll come with you,” Monty said, getting up from the couch. “I'd rather it be in person from me, ya know?”

“I get that.” You shoved your stuff back into your bag and shouldered it. “Are you allowed to leave Rockstar row?'

“Under certain conditions, like escorting a kid back to their parent.”

So, when Elliot came back, you let him know Monty would be taking you back to the daycare. He seemed rather enthused about this, maybe because it meant he and the other staff member could clean without worrying about getting in Monty's way. On the way, you made small talk, asking Monty about things he enjoyed doing in his free time. You learned he actually did enjoy mini golf and asked you if you've ever played at his golf course. You admitted you tried a couple times, but the sound effects were so scary and jarring that you had a hard time focusing on golfing, but the overall design was really neat. Monty then offered you should come golfing when he was hosting and he'd make it not so scary. It was a nice gesture, you felt.

When you arrived back at the daycare, Sun was there to welcome you with open arms. “Oh, I missed you,” he cooed, snuggling you in his arms.

You giggled. “I wasn't gone for that long.”

“It felt like an eternity,” he bemoaned. Shifting you to one arm, he raised the other in a friendly wave. “Hey there, Montgomery! Thank you for bringing our Starshine back to us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Monty grumbled, clutching the handmade card in his hand. “I got something for ya to give to Moon.”

“Wait, you gotta read it,” you told him.

“Now?” Monty demanded.

“Yes! Moon will hear it, right?” you asked Sun.

“He sure will.”

Monty grumbled but opened the card carefully so as not to tear it. “To Moon, sorry 'bout what happened. Please take these flowers, and this joke: What do you...” He paused, groaning.

“Come on,” you urged gently.

He let out a low, hissing sigh, but he continued. “What do you call an alligator with a compass?”

“I don't know, Monty,” Moon said from your watch. “What?”

“A... navi-gator.”

Sun made a few snorting giggles before breaking down into full-on hysterics, clutching you tightly so that he didn't accidentally drop you. Monty, for his part, looked so thoroughly not amused. “What a delightful joke!” Sun walked over, plucking the card from Monty's hands. “This is definitely going up on the wall.”

“That ain't necessary,” Monty said gruffly.

“Oh, I insist!” Sun said cheerfully. “Consider all forgiven, Monty.”

“Agreed,” Moon said from the watch. “I'll swing by your room later tonight.”

Monty seemed a little relieved to hear this. “Great. I mean, fine. If you want. I don't care.” There was an awkward pause before he said, “I gotta go.” Then he turned and exited the daycare.

“He's such a nice fellow,” Sun commented.

“He is,” you agreed.

Your mom, who had been relaxing at her desk watching the whole thing, sighed. “I love working here.”

#saranootnoot #tdala #the daycare attendant's little assistant #sun and moon #fnaf sundrop #fnaf moondrop #montgomery gator #dca drabble #tdala snippet #justfangirlwritings #sun x y/n #sun x reader #moon x reader #moon x y/n #monty x y/n #monty x reader #fnaf security breach #the daycare attendant

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fourseasonsfigs · 7 months

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Long Feiye Motioning his Guard Forward

I was so happy to see this fig get put up for sale! As you might know, I've been trying to get through some of Zhehan's and Gong Jun's back catalog of shows for some time. I've made it up to Episode 13 on the Legend of Yunxi and have stayed there for uh, about six months.

I kept telling myself (and you, actually, if you've been following this blog!) that this was because I was just too busy, but that proved to be a big fake as soon as The Legend of Anle dropped and I blew through that at the fastest speed possible.

Now, to be fair, Anle started off exciting and stayed exciting for a while, AND benefited from gorgeous costuming and and makeup. The Word of Honor costumes were my gateway merch item into SHL merch buying madness, so costumes are a big deal for me in a show. It also had lots and lots of Gong Jun in it.

Poor Legend of Yunxi is less fun, fairly slow, and I find the costuming uninspired with questionable fabric choices. Don't even get me started on the makeup, it's bad. All the parts with Zhehan are enjoyable of course, but there's not nearly enough parts with him in it. So no wonder I am very (VERY) slowly making my way through it.

But! It does have white-haired gu-zombie Zhehan, who I really really enjoyed (please see my beloved fig set Tianshu Beichen - Dog's Blood Drama), and it also has the delightful little scene that inspired this fig.

So, here we are in Episode 2, with our noble Prince Qin being stopped at the entrance to the Poison Valley. This scene is so much fun because our frosty, domineering Prince is out of patience and SO OVER IT. He is not here to let any one stop him.

How does she get driven back towards the Poison Valley and then end up back by Long Feiye? Nobody knows. But, I'm glad she did, since we end up with this great pose:

I was so pleased when I saw this fig because I was like, oh, I wasn't the only one that was delighted by that scene!

Look at him! The fig maker nailed this entire look. As you know, I'm weak for this particular fig expression in general, but the smirk on his face here is particularly excellent.

This fig almost didn't happen! It didn't meet minimum ordering quantities, so the fig maker luckily decided to shrink down the group size and make it a little more expensive in lieu of canceling it. And by a little more expensive, like an extra buck or so. Totally worth it.

One of the fun things about this fig is that his overcloak thing moves around. It's a totally separate piece that they dropped on over his torso before they glued his head on.

As you can see, this fig stands just fine on his own. Which is great, since that meant I didn't have to glue him onto a fig stand, I could use fig stickers to semi-permanently stick him down.

We have the tiniest bit of movement in the bottom of his cape and robes here, no doubt blown by a gentle spring breeze wafting past into the poison valley.

You can see a little better here how the overcloak is a separate piece.

I know the Prince is going incognito in these rough clothes, but I do like how the overcloak adds a bit more interest!

Ahhhh he's so cute, look at those rosy cheeks!

His hair is really an exact match - the fig maker did a great job with this fig!

Here's a closeup under some brighter lights so you can see the detail.

I'm just so charmed by this fig. I was so happy when the fig maker decided to press on with making it. It's unfortunately more common these days that fig runs are getting smaller and smaller. People are just running out of space!

Long Feiye's more severe hairstyle isn't my favorite, but I like this no-guan incognito look he's got going on. No one would know he's a prince!

Look at that cutie. The text there is just his name, Long Feiye. The official name of this fig escapes me - I think it was something that was badly lost in the MTL at the time. So, we've ended up with my descriptive but non-poetic title of Long Feiye Motioning his Guard Forward. It works, right?

Material: Resin

Fig Count: 468

Scene Count: 31

Rating: Princely even in disguise!

[link back to Master Fig Index for more posts]

#long feiye #the legend of yunxi #zhang zhehan #word of honor cast #shl cast #figthusiast

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headoverhiddles · 2 years

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Gut Für Dich - Part II - Oli x Reader x Schneider [Rammstein]

Daddy kink, dirty talk, rough groupie sex, threesome. By commission for @bloodandglittertastessobitter! HAVE FUN SEEING THE BOYS THIS WEEKEND BABE!!!!!!!!

Your phone buzzes, and you know who it is even before you look down.

Oli Reidel sent a photo.

Unable to keep the stupid grin off your face, you swipe and open whatever he's sent. It's a photo of him with one hand smoothing over his head, out for a run on the beach in Italy, where they're playing right now. You still can't believe you got the number of Rammstein's bassist, but the more you think about it, the more sense it makes-- you did give those two the night of their lives. That changes your smile a little to a dreamier one as you think of the man you're not in as close contact with: Schneider. He pops into your thoughts now and then when you're thinking of that night, and it never fails to light a fire inside you.

But, you're not about to ignore the prime bachelor on the screen in your hands either. Paying special attention to noting Oli's clothes, you see he's got a tight shirt, hoodie, and grey sweatpants on. Fuck. Grey sweatpants.

You're dressed for winter, you tease him back by text.

It's cold by the beach, he writes back almost immediately.

A few seconds later, a snowman emoji comes in. You shake your head, giggling.

Well, I enjoy the view of your [eggplant emoji] in those sweatpants.

You don't get a response this time-- you assume he's blushing, tucking his phone away, and finishing his run. An idea creeps into your mind as you get up and peel your clothes off. You had just come home from work, and it felt good to strip. Wouldn't Oli like to see? It's only fair, if he got to tease you.

You snap a quick photo, making it look like an effortless pose. It exposes your cleavage in your bra (a little more skin than Oli had showed you) but it would be effective. You send it off, biting your lip, and laugh as you get an immediate response back.

Scheiße.

-You like?

Mhm.

-Have some more.

You take another photo of your hair swept back, bra strap falling down your shoulder. To your delight, Oli finally indulges you with a photo back. You nearly moan. He's holding the outline of his cock through those sweatpants, in public.

Have to find a cafe to cool down from the run, he texts.

From the run, you think with a smirk, sure. You wait a few minutes, and get another text from him.

Send another?

This time, you're a little more daring. You send a picture from the side, thumb barely covering your nipple. Five minutes, and you haven't heard anything back. You continue to undress for your shower, figuring he's probably grabbing a shakerato or something and settling in. Then you get a video notification. Eagerly opening it, your breath catches. Oli's got his cock in his hand, stroking slowly. It's filmed from above, so you can see his face as he licks his lips and furtively looks around to make sure no one is watching.

He's still on the beach in the video, and he rocks back and forth from his heels to his toes in the sand. Your pussy clenches as he jerks a little faster, getting a pace going. His eyes close, and that normally stoic face of his screws up a bit. His mouth falls open, and he seems to be mouthing 'bitte' as he tugs his long cock.

Finally, he bites his bottom lip hard and brings the camera down to catch the cum shot, which spills onto his hand and the sand. His deep breathing and groaning suddenly remind you that you're close just from watching the video, and realize you'd started rubbing yourself through your panties. Oli's finger comes up to catch the last few drips of cum, and you feel a short and sweet orgasm wash over you, quickly replaced by a deep yearning to see the bassist again.

You get a picture not long after, interrupting your shock. Oli is looking at the camera over a cup of coffee.

I am at the cafe now. Enjoy?

You type back.

If I could call you right now, you could hear how much I enjoyed.

Ah, yes. The long distance. Expensive.

He sends back a crying face, which you have to laugh at. You take a photo of your fingers slipping down into your panties, and write:

They're drenched, daddy.

Good, he writes back, and you raise your eyebrows. You would have never guessed the quiet man would have such a dirty, dominant side.

All for you.

-I should hope so.

You bite your lip.

Also Schneider.

A pause.

You miss the two of us at once, don't you schatze? Greedy, greedy.

You exhale shakily, and try to steer the conversation back to relatively innocent territory-- you have to save some action for the next time you see the tall bassist.

How is he? You text.

Keeping busy. Out seeing the city, I think. He likes to sightsee with Paul.

Hm. You imagine what Christoph is wearing today. He's got long hair now, and he probably puts it up on hot days. You think about putting your own hair up, then think of the reason for doing it.

I can't wait to taste you, you write back, going straight for the gut punch.

Planning to soon?

-You never know who you'll find in Deutschland ;)

You look over your shoulder, where your plane and concert ticket are to see the boys in Munich next week. You slip your legs beneath you on the bed, sighing coyly. It's going to be hard keeping this one a secret.

There are Rammstein advertisements everywhere. Billboards in Deutsch remind you of the show you're going to, and you understand the language enough to know they're talking about those who you've become particularly acquainted with. It also helps that this is close to their home, (relatively, even though Berlin is much farther north) but even just being in Germany, you can sense the pride and buzzing excitement around the upcoming show. You feed off of these feelings, excited to see them in person again after keeping in touch for so long.

The show is tonight, so you have to get ready. Checking into your hotel, you get into the bathroom and shower, do your makeup, get dressed just how you like, and pull out your phone.

- Where are you?

Oli writes back immediately. Because of this, you know he's bored. Aimlessly playing soccer behind the stadium before the show starts in 4 hours. Why?

-Have a car come pick me up?

His excitement is palpable even through the response you get, and soon, you're in the car sent by the band's security. When you get there, you're issued a complimentary pass by the Theaterkasse, and escorted backstage. Oli grabs you when he sees you, leaning down to bury his face in your shoulder. Leaving a kiss there where no one can see, he pulls back, and introduces you to a few of the roadies wondering what the hell is going on, and who the hell you are.

"A close friend," he introduces you with that stoic smile of his, and you're just fine with that. At this point, the show is getting close to starting.

"Where are the others?" you ask, still a little intimidated being backstage at a huge stadium in a foreign country. Oli cocks his head, and puts you at ease with an arm around your waist.

"Paul went out to greet the Feuerzone, twenty minutes ago. Till is in his trailer with girls, Flake is still getting ready because he leaves everything to the last minute, Richard is on the computer making music, and Schneider is probably tapping away practicing in the artist area."

"Wow," you nod. "Didn't expect such a well estimated answer." Oli cracks a smile.

"We have done this together as brothers and bandmates for a couple of decades now. I think we all know each other's comfortable routines." He looks at the watch on his wrist, comparing it to the giant hanging industrial clock everyone seems to be referencing back here. "I have to go. The cart will be coming, and the others will be coming by car soon to go up on stage." He takes your hands. "I will see you later, yes?"

You smile up at him. "You didn't think I'd come all this way and not put out, did you?" You actually manage to pull a surprised laugh out of the tall man as he bounds away to find his other bandmates.

You get caught up talking to another roadie for a while, the conversation putting you more at ease backstage, until you hear the sound of deep, booming laughter. Turning, you see a golf cart with all 6 of the boys piled onto it. Till is gesturing heartily and shouting in German, and Paul is giggling at whatever he's saying. Ever the perfectionist, Richard is plucking at his guitar strings and making sure the roadies tuned it right, and Flake is bopping his head to imaginary music that only he can hear in his head. That's when the two of you lock eyes.

Schneider looks stunned to see you. His lips part momentarily as he takes you in, before he's ripped away, the cart driving past you. Till gives a little wave, recognizing you, but Christoph can't move. You can only describe that intense gaze he had given you as one blunt, uncouth word that comes to mind: horny.

Though it's hard to do through the distance and front most members of the band on the stage, you make eye contact with Schneider most of the show. Every time he beats that drum, you remember him in the hotel room with you and Oli. Side stage, beer is available by the keg, and you take advantage of it. It's a paradox: the more you drink, the thirstier you become.

Each song plunges you deeper into relative discomfort, constantly rotating your hips as if it would give you some relief. You hadn't been this close to both of them at once since the hottest night of your life, and of course, your body remembers. It's a sexually charged performance tonight no doubt, and they couldn't look more sexy.

Besides the fact that you're itching to feel two pairs of hands all over you, you manage to thoroughly enjoy your favorite band as a whole. A few songs before the end of the show, you feel a hand on your arm. Jolted out of your awe as if it was the first time, you turn to see a security guard waiting for you. He offers his arm to you, and you follow through the dark.

"Oliver will meet you back at the artist zone," the guard informs you, and his stern manner is the direct opposite of the elation you feel. After being shuttled to the zone where the band's trailers are, you're invited in to wait in the grassy area to sit and relax while the boys take their showers in their respective trailers.

"It feels like it has been a long time."

You turn, and find Christoph, dressed in some black slacks without a shirt. He's drying off his chest with a towel still, shoulder length curls soaked. You tear your eyes off of his body and look up into his blue eyes.

"I thought of you," you tell him. A smirk morphs into a chuckle.

"I thought of you too." He runs a hand through his hair. "More than once." Paul walks out of his trailer in a comfortable hoodie and jeans, and looks between you two. Nodding once, he takes a seat on a sofa between you and relaxes back.

"Ahhh. Would anyone like herbal tea and biscuits?"

"Herbal tea?" Christoph laughs. "Have you become so comfortable in your twilight years that you no longer drink?"

"Twilight years?" Paul giggles. "Are you planning to murder me?"

Schneider mutters a "ja, tee danke" and you sit down opposite the two of them. That's when Oli comes out of his own trailer. The sound of Till's private party going on in his own trailer at the end of the zone makes for comfortable background noise as you, Oli and Schneider look at one another. Paul is humming to himself as he busies himself making tea, completely oblivious. Or so you think.

"Hm. I can feel the staring," Paul murmurs, not looking up from his task. "I know I am short, so thankfully, you are staring over me." The three of you barely hear him, Oli slightly adjusting in his seat and shifting his posture. Christoph's breath catches. Your exhale is audible. "Aha," Paul finally speaks, pouring his drink and standing. "Here is the tea, serve yourselves, alles gut, guten nacht. I am going to disappear now. Bye!"

He waves obnoxiously in front of Schneider's face, who finally breaks his stare and bats the arm away in annoyance. A giggle from the little gremlin later, and he's gone back into his trailer to leave you three to your sexual tension. Left alone, Christoph pats both of his thighs, straightening up his back.

"Komm mit. Sit in daddy's lap." Oli watches closely as you get up. Swinging your hips, you climb over the table and give the two men a good view of your ass in shorts as you do, and finally come to sit on Schneider's knee. His left hand comes up to gently stroke up your stomach, cupping your breast from beneath and squeezing. Your head falls back into

"I wanted to do this all show," he whispers in your ear, cutting off into a groan. "I was desperate to feel you, fuck--" He bites his bottom lip, pressing an open kiss to your jaw. "Schatze, I could feel the thrum of the beat down below... when I was seeing you... I... I am..." he takes a deep breath, squeezing your breast again. He's forgetting his English, so you can tell how aroused he is. Oli shifts again, and you notice the heel of his hand digging into his own lap.

"It's okay," you murmur, "You don't have to tell me. Just show me?" You bite your lip. "Please show me how horny I made you, daddy." Schneider bumps you on his knee gently, sliding you back to fit against him. His arms wrap all the way around you this time, and he kisses your cheek in fevered bursts, rocking you down.

"Feel it, little one?"

"Ja," you giggle.

"Such a good girl," Oli says, licking his bottom lip. "I want to see what you've been hiding beneath that shirt."

"You mean these?" you ask, slowly lifting your shirt. Schneider is lost in his own world of touch as you distract Oli with a little strip tease. His eyelids droop as you finally expose all of them, squeezing your full breasts together. Schneider's hands come up to grope them properly, and Oli's chest heaves at the sight.

"Your tits," the bassist nods. "They are amazing. I could see them..." he swallows, his train of thought momentarily derailing, "I could see them bouncing beneath the shirt. I was hoping, when Till asked all the women to lift their shirts..."

"You were hoping I would listen?" you smirk. Schneider growls in your ear, nipping your earlobe.

"No. Till gets enough pussy. You belong to us." Your moan bites through the night air.

"What is going on out there?!" a disgruntled Flake shouts from his corner trailer. "Wie ein gottverdammter Porno! Till fucking in his stupid trailer, you two fucking out here on the couch. Ich kann nicht entkommen!! Scheisse, ficken aus!!"

"I don't think we should do this here," the drummer finally says, following this outburst.

"Nein," Oli breathes out in arousal, rubbing a hand over his head. With a tipsy laugh, you get up, Schneider holding your hand and Oli steadying you from behind. They lead you to one of the large security detail SUVs just outside the zone, and help you in, one on either side of you.

"To my hotel, bitte," Christoph instructs the driver. "More appropriate I think, than the trailer."

"More romantic," Oli nods, "Ja, ja."

"Here you are looking for romance," you tease, laughing, "I'm just out here looking to get fucked." Schneider groans, and grabs something from the minibar. He distributes three small bottles of expensive looking vodka. You all prost, clink your tiny bottles, and down them. This goes straight to your head, just enough to completely clear your inhibitions-- if you possessed any before. Your hands find their laps, and you start to rub one on each side. Oli starts to kiss up your neck, and Christoph puts his hand overtop of yours, guiding you on him.

"Touch daddy's cock," Christoph tells you.

"Little slut," Oli breathes.

"Please, daddy," you moan.

"Which one?" Oli asks.

"I want both of you inside of me."

"Be realistic," Christoph says.

"Why?" you whine.

"We are German, we are realists," he groans, squeezing your hand on his tip.

"Fine. I want you to eat my pussy while Oli's balls deep in me."

"Oh, god," Oli moans.

"You'll get what you want, baby girl," Schneider promises. "I am swearing it."

The driver lets you off in front of a ritzy hotel that you don't pay attention to the name of. You walk in with a man on each arm, heels extending your legs from those tiny denim booty shorts. You can feel eyes on you, but Schneider's jealousy protects all your best features from getting ogled too hard-- he whisks you away into the elevator, Oli slotting himself behind you. You grind back against the taller of the two, Oli's hands coming to rest on your ass as he pulls you back and works you against him.

"What the hell are you waiting for, slut?" Schneider spits. "Get on your knees." You fall down and do as he says, ignoring the pain spreading across your kneecaps. Further scraping them, you inch forward closer to them, and Oli looks at the elevator button.

"We've got 22 floors to go. Hurry up." Hurried but never sloppy, you make use of your remaining motor skills to unzip both at the same time. You dig into Oli's boxers with your right hand, and let out a small gasp when your left hand comes in contact with warm skin. You glance up at Christoph.

"You think I'd wear anything when I know it's going to come off?" he sneers.

"Whatever happened to the art of the tease?" you smile, wiggling your ass a little before you sit back on your feet. He scoffs.

"Forget teasing. Suck my cock." Grinding down, you take him all the way out. Both men are hard in your hands. You make eye contact with Oli as you give him a quick suck, reveling in the feeling of his dick in your mouth again after all this time. You pop off, kitten licking his tip.

"That good, daddy?"

"Daddy likes that," Oli nods, threading his fingers through your hair. "Mm. Less talk. Get back to work." He shoves your mouth back on his cock, and you focus on breathing through your nose as it touches his lower stomach. Christoph grabs your hair and yanks you back over to him, barely giving you time to breathe before jamming his cock down your throat. You try to continue jerking Oli as Schneider works you up and down himself, swearing and grunting.

"Take it," he snaps, "Take it down your throat, yeah? Good little fraulein." He pulls you off to look at you, and your eyes open blearily, lips parted and swollen with a line of saliva connecting you to his wet cock. "Look at her."

"Gorgeous," Oli whispers.

"I want all your cum all over my face," you blurt, dizzy as hell and loving every second, "I wanna be covered in it."

"Stand up," Christoph says, and you realize the elevator has dinged. Looking back in confusion, you find that the elevator has stopped at floor 19. You quickly wobble to your knees, and Schneider is fast enough to tuck himself back in. Oli isn't as fortunate; he resorts to covering his open fly with both hands clasped in front of him as the door opens and an elderly tourist couple get in.

"Excuse me young man," the lady says to Oli. He looks startled that he's being spoken to, but politely meets her eyes-- if not a little desperately.

"Mhmm?"

"Do you know if the restaurant on the top floor is still open?"

Oli stammers for a moment. "I... I think so, ja."

"I told you it was open, Earl," she mutters to her husband, wagging a wrinkled finger in his face, and her husband cups his ear.

"WHAT DID HE SAY, HELEN?!"

"Open! The restaurant is OPEN!" the old woman practically yells.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY, YOUNG MAN?" the old man yells at Oli. Oli stares straight ahead with burning red cheeks, wishing the elevator would drop to the ground floor and put him out of his misery. Schneider puts a hand on the man's shoulder, mimics eating, and gives two thumbs up.

"I TOLD YOU IT WAS OPEN, HELEN!" You stifle a snorted laugh.

Finally floor 22 comes up, and the three of you make your exit. Oli's hands are on you immediately, as Schneider tugs you in for a messy kiss.

"Why can't we do that with your friend Bill?" Helen asks as the doors close.

"WHAT?!"

Schneider fumbles with the key card at the door, slapping it against the pad nearly 5 times before it finally lights up green. You burst into the room, unable to tell whose hands are whose. Articles of clothing come off, go flying, pool at your feet. When you're sure everyone has undressed, the three of you somehow find your way to the shower, a huge stand-up tiled space with glass walls. Oli hoists you up against Christoph, where you wrap your legs around him in front. Schneider rests back against the wall behind you, pressing kisses down the back of your neck. Oli reaches down, and you feel his fingers slip inside of you, filling you up.

"Such a wet little bitch," he muses, and gently prods your lips open, sliding his fingers into your mouth. You dutifully suck them clean, and Oli fucks your mouth with his fingers for a couple of minutes before reaching down to position himself. When he pounds in, Schneider groans behind you. His own cock is trapped between your back and his stomach, and by the way he's rutting, you can tell he's dying to get inside you.

"Tell Oli what a nice cock he has," Schneider growls in your ear. "Say it, slut."

"Your cock is so big," you mumble, eyes rolling back. Oli draws back then pounds back in, starting up a pace.

"I'm going to fill you with my cum," Oli heaves. He fucks deeper, and Schneider wraps one hand around your neck from behind, biting into your shoulder. You cry out, pain mixing with pleasure, and he squeezes his hand a little tighter around your throat.

"Take my cum," Oli groans, finally holding still deep inside you. "Take it--" He crashes his lips into yours as you feel warmth fill you. Schneider lets you go, instantly taking Oli's place once he takes himself out of your sloppy hole. You nearly scream as Schneider begins to fuck into you mercilessly from behind you.

"You like it when daddy fucks you?" he rasps.

"Yeah!"

"Say it. Tell daddy how full you feel." You let out a moan, and he picks up his bruising pace even more, skin slapping against skin filling the shower space. Oli licks a stripe down your chest from in front, taking a nipple into his mouth and suckling.

"I think, it is no use. She's too much of a whore," Oli tells Schneider. "Can only think of getting pounded in that pretty cunt."

"Is that true?" Schneider asks, reaching around to grab your chin. "Hm?" He gives you a sharp slap, and grabs your chin again. "Speak."

"I need to cu--u--um," you whine. "Please!" This earns you another slap, though you're not certain it's for a good or bad reason.

"Pretty little girl. Tell all of Germany who's fucking you, hm? Scream it out!" Oli continues playing with your breasts as you get louder on command, suckling the other nipple now.

"I'm going to fill you up even more," Schneider growls. "You'd like that? Fill your cunt so nice and full, so you can feel our pleasure dripping out of you later."

"Yeah," is all you can say, and reach back to grab onto the drummer.

"Finish like a good girl," Oli encourages you. He holds your other hand as Schneider stills inside you, adding to the mess as you grind down and finish hard. When Schneider slips out, the three of you slide down to lay on the tiled shower floor. Thankfully, it's large enough for all of you to fit in your sweaty heap of afterglow. Oli makes a feeble swipe at the nozzle, and manages to turn it on, bringing hot water cascading down over you. You let it wash away the filth of the night, feeling right at home between the two men who know exactly how to make you scream.

The hotel staff had upgraded Schneider to a king room based on the sole fact that he was touring with a famous band, so three people were easily able to fit.

"I miss the days of sleeping on the tour bus," Schneider mentions off-handedly. His arm is around you, and your hand is resting against his slowly rising and falling chest.

"Mm," Oli agrees. His hand is stroking hair out of your face on the other side of the bed.

"Isn't this more comfortable?" you ask softly. A laugh comes from beside you.

"A little suffering is good for you," Schneider says, and you can't help but feel a rogue thrill of arousal from that. Oli pats his chest, and you switch to rest your head on his. Schneider slots his knee between your legs, and you sigh. Perfect sandwich.

"Can you cum one more time?" Christoph asks, starting to rub his knee up. "For us?"

"Of course she can," Oli purrs. "She missed us so much. She could cum again and again for us, on command."

"Show us."

You whimper, dragging yourself back against Schneider's knee. You can feel the wet patch you're leaving behind, but you have a feeling he loves it. Oli's fingers come down, touching until they find your clit. You suck a breath in, and the oversensitivity catches up with you. Your orgasm washes over you like a short, refreshing wave, but Oli doesn't stop. This launches you into one more orgasm, the best you've ever had, until you're shaking and your head is spinning. The smell of sex hangs heavy in the air, but it's pleasant. It's a reminder of the dirty night you'd had, finally reuniting with your favorite germans.

"How was that, meine fraulein?" Schneider asks.

"Gut?" Oli asks.

"I never want tonight to end," you smile in satisfaction, and Oli kisses your forehead.

"As far as we are concerned, it doesn't have to meine liebe."

#rammstein #rammstein fanfiction #christoph schneider #christoph schneider x reader #oliver reidel #oli reidel #oliver reidel x reader #rammstein x reader #rammstein imagine

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imnobodyuknow · 3 months

Text

"All right, it's time! Here's ImNobodyUKnow to tell you all about his..."

"Er..."

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

"...Seriously?"

*snort* Hmm? What? ...Oh! Oh, yeah. I guess I should do this part myself. So sorry! *AHEM*

So! What sort of antics do you think would take place if the Forger family decided to go on a family "ooting" to the countryside of Asahigaoka, whether for a vacation or a mission disguised as a vacation, and visit the Miyauchi family? I bet I could write volumes on the subject (and given the chance, I probably would), but we'll just focus on one possibility for now -- I can easily imagine Anya getting along well with Renge and her friends, even though they live in very different worlds (very, very different, in fact), but what sort of things would they do together? I don't know about you, but one of the first things that came to my mind was this: Renge and Shiori inducting Anya into their secret organization!

Which secret organization am I referring to, you may wonder?

I hope they don't mind me blabbing about it. 😅 See this video for the (mostly) full context.

So with that idea in mind, allow me to introduce the complete crew with its newest member from Ostania!

As you can see, the grown-ups with them are thrilled to see them proudly representing the forces of good! ...Well, at least the women are. 😏

Shiori and Renge were relatively easy to draw -- as you can see, they're wearing the same outfits and expressions as they are in the screenshot and making the same poses:

Anya might be their newest member, but she's a natural at making the same pose!

She might believe the Cosmos Detectives are a real organization, knowing her. 😄

Since she's never actually made this pose (as far as I know, anyway), I did my best to duplicate it for her, using some official art for her expression (changing her eyes a bit to make her look more assertive) and a figurine picture for her outfit:

I'll be darned if that summer outfit doesn't have some crazy detail. 😳

Meanwhile, Loid's wearing a simple green shirt and a "What are they doing?" sort of expression:

For him, I used a screenshot of his profile and rotated it a bit:

The ladies, on the other hand, are delighted by the girls' enthusiasm.

For Yor's face, I used a screenshot of her profile and one of her smiling.

As you may have noticed, her outfit (or at least what you can see of it), is identical to the one in the second screenshot, but with a more summery-looking headband.

Kazuho's pose, expression, and outfit also came from a screenshot:

Both of the ladies were rotated as well, as you can see. I'm not entirely sure, but I think I might be getting a little better at drawing perspective. I'll let y'all decide that one, I guess. 😊

And finally, the environment is largely based on the one in the screenshot of Shiori and Renge. I definitely could've done the trees in the far background a little better, but that kind of shading is a little tricky to do with colored pencils (and not something you can undo if you mess it up). It was tricky for me, anyway, so I guess that's something I'll want to work on that. (Or at least I could sharpen them a little more next time. 🙄)

But overall, I'm pretty pleased with how this picture came out. I'm not surprised, considering how adorable the characters in it are, plus the idea was a fun one to illustrate. 😊 Again, I'd probably go wild with ideas about these two families meeting one another (or rather, this family and this pseudo-family meeting one another), but I'll save that idea for another time. Besides, a glimpse is better than nothing, right?

And with that, Operation Spy x Family x Non Non Biyori Drawing is complete!

...G'night. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

#outcore #lumi #non non biyori #shiori #renge miyauchi #kazuho miyauchi #spy x family #loid forger #yor forger #anya forger #pencil art #colored pencil art #“Nee-nee?” “Yes Ren-chon?” “What's a pistol with a silencer?”

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wordynerdygurl · 2 years

Text

A Bit of Both

Author’s Note: This story was an anonymous request - one for gender fluid Loki and the reader. As a cis-het woman with bi-wife energy, of a certain age, I hope that I have handled this subject matter appropriately, as I don’t take gender politics or the struggles of LGBTQIA+ people lightly. In the event that I haven’t met this goal, please reach out to me. We only get better when we are willing to learn and I am happy to have the needed conversations. Pairing: Gender Fluid Loki x Female Reader

Summary: When you notice Loki’s attachment to an old friend, it starts a conversation. Warnings: Mentions of smut, Gender Fluid Loki, Lady Loki and frank talk about sexy times. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Are you having fun?” It was a loaded question when it came out of the sensuous mouth of Loki Odinson, his lush lips licking over the tendon of your neck as his hands explored further south. Nodding with a little laugh, safely snuggled in the space between Loki’s spread thighs, you were delighted at the spectacle before you. The Warriors Three, Lady Sif and Prince Thor were putting on a mighty reenactment of some battle or another and laying on the silliness pretty thick. Playing into the calling crowd, Fandral’s voice rose above the others, “I think we need a volunteer, don’t you?”

Searching the faces that filled the seats so close to the stage, you gasped when Loki stiffened behind you, his hands digging into your thighs. Fandral, his knowing eyes locked on Loki’s, offered the dark prince a smirk, jabbing, “Loki! Your highness, will you do me the honor?”

Whatever awkwardness you felt passing between the pair of old friends was almost immediately vanquished by Loki’s valiant reply, “For the fair Fandral, I would do that and more.”

Leaning into you a bit, Loki took advantage of the closeness and husked, “I’ll be back, darling.” Pushing himself to his feet, he stepped around you and joined the players in the center of the mock arena, turning to blow a kiss your way. Around you the people cheered wildly, absolutely absorbed in the playful banter of your man and his old friends, a thing that you found entirely endearing. Together Fandral, Hogun, Volstagg, Sif, Thor and now Loki, pretended to battle on Vannaheim some long gone eon ago. It felt as though you were there, an onlooker whose head swung left and right as the troop of fighters became a troupe of actors, leaping and jumping over each other. With a groaning grunt, Fandral swung his sword around, miming at maiming an extra who posed as an evil elf. Loki, balletic and swift, dodged a widely thrown punch, landing gracefully. Offering Fandral a hand, he easily hoisted the fair fighter into an aerial somersault allowing him to catch Thor’s thrown hammer for a ride across the makeshift battlefield where he nimbly rejoined the other defenders. With determined steps, all of the demonstrators fell in line, advancing on the poor person picked to play their enemy. It was Thor who shouted loud enough for all to hear, “For Asgard!” This chant was soon picked up by all assembled until the very ground was ringing from the noise. One by one the warriors took their bows as all those in attendance jumped to their feet, clapping and stomping their appreciation. Beaming, your loving gaze followed Loki’s movements as he waved to the crowd, charming everyone even at a remove. Hugging his brother, you watched the older Odinson clap Loki on the back before moving onto Lady Sif. Volstagg was showing off for a gaggle of young ladies while Hogun was actively ignoring everyone. You joined the stream of Asgardians as they spilled forward, ready to offer their heroes turned performers accolades as they passed. In the thickening throng, you lost sight of Loki for a minute, your line of sight blocked by the crush of bodies. From the corner of your eye you spotted that familiar flash of green, more than a bit separated from the others, and made your way in that direction. Fandral, with his arm around Loki’s shoulder, had said something funny because your man was chuckling. Flushed pink, Loki’s cheeks were reddened by whatever his comrade in arms was telling him, something that made him look even more adorable, in your opinion. Whatever Fandral was saying had enraptured your beau and you could see that he stood with his head tilted, listening intently to the fair haired Fandral. “They’re close.” Thor announced, surfacing from the sea of the bodies and bumping into you with his brawny hip playfully. Shrugging, as if you hadn’t noticed, your smile overly wide, “Friends are important. Everyone needs at least one good one!” Bending low enough to rest his chin on your shoulder, Thor pointed at the two men at a distance, “There’s friendship and then there is whatever you call Fandral and Loki.” Had they moved closer together? Loki’s slender fingers were resting on the strong forearm of his friend while Fandral’s hand was nowhere to be seen. It was almost like they were dancing, each one moving in tandem to the other. It felt like you were witnessing something private, something intimate and a feeling akin to jealousy rose up inside of you. Swallowing hard, you faced the strong man, striving for calm but failing, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Loki and I are very happy.” Surrendering to the venom in your snappy response, Thor raised both hands, taking a large step back, “Of course you are. I know that. So does Loki. It’s just-” swiveling his head around to ensure that no one else was listening in, “-Loki, he likes to change things up. Try on different faces. He’s a hard one to pin down.” “I haven’t found it that difficult.” That made the beefy blonde laugh, drawing a few stares your way, “He likes you, wants to impress you. But, my dear lady, you are not the first person to find themself drawn to the silver tongued flattery my brother is famous for.” And before you could verbalize a reply, Thor had joined the mass of people moving towards the palace and the feast that awaited. All through dinner it consumed you. Every stray glance that Fandral shot in Loki's direction, every time Loki laughed at a joke or smiled, all of it was suspicious now. The idea that there was something unexpected between Loki and Fandral, as Thor had intimated, was overwhelming. In truth, Loki’s brother had given you a lot to think about, too much actually. It wasn’t as if you expected your Loki to be naive or inexperienced. As a matter of fact, it was his world-wise know-how which added to the allure of belonging to him. You never had to tell Loki where to put his hands or how to hold you. Instinctively, your long legged lothario could sense when your body required more attention from his nimble lips, peppering you with kisses or nibbling your sensitive spots. Also, he knew when to stop. And start. And stop again. It was a delicious whirling dervish and you loved every single second. But Thor’s words were intrusive. Now you were thinking of how many lovers it had taken for Loki to acquire such refined skill, such knowledgeable intelligence. You had never really considered the life that Loki had led before the two of you met but seeing at the way Fandral and Loki were weaving around each other, an idea, unbidden, rose up in your mind. Hours later, you and Loki were more than half drunk, but finally alone in his chambers. Flopping onto the overly large bed, amorous intent visible in his piercing look, he patted the spot next to him, “Join me, won’t you?” Almost shy now, your suspicions having run wild, from over your shoulder you offered, “Um, in a minute, alright?” Something in your tone triggered Loki who sat up quickly, worry tinting his tone, “What’s wrong? I can spot deception at twenty paces, you know.” Biting into your lip, a habit that gave away your thoughts, you inhaled slowly. Raising your chin, you steeled yourself for a chat that you weren’t entirely sure you were ready for, “I saw you with Fandral.” Sinking back against the cushions, his shoulders dropping a bit, Loki didn’t answer with words. Tilting his head, actively listening the way a pensive animal does when it senses danger, his clever gaze was cautious but curious. Wary and waiting, Loki sacrificed time that could have been spent enjoying your body in order to provide you with his uninterrupted attention. If you needed peace of mind, Loki was kind of enough to indulge you. Yet, you weren’t exactly sure how to begin, how to give voice to the feelings that had kept you on edge most of the day. The way you saw things your only option was to be brutally honest, so starting in a rush, you blurted, “I saw you two- uh, you two talking and well-” pausing to make sure you said it the right way, “-You seem close. Closer than friends.” “Ah. And you want to know…?” His cheshire smile answered you, playful and teasing. “If it’s true.” That grin of his, the one that whispered half truths so easily, slide across his face, “Darling, I have-” Raising a hand, you silenced the fast talker, “I also have a bullshit detector, Loki. Don’t play with me. Tell me the truth. Did you… were you and Frandral-” “A couple?” Rising from the bed, Loki made for the table holding the carafe of wine, pouring out a glass for each of you, “Let’s sit, have a drink and talk, shall we?” Slugging down his glass a bit too quickly, he refilled it, watching as you crossed the floor. When you declined the spirits he offered, Loki sat back in his chair, “I have lived a long life, dearest.” Waiting, the clock ticked away seconds and still Loki didn’t elaborate. It wasn’t often that your lover was lost for words but that was the impression his silence created. You didn’t dare move, you refused to speak. If you had to wait him out, you would. “I have lived a long life-” Frustrated, you cut him off, needing him to get on with it, “You said that already.” Chuckling at your sass, a feature he most admired in you, Loki clicked his tongue, “I did. I know. It’s just difficult to explain to someone.” “Loki, I need you to try.” “You’re right. Of course you are. As I said, I have lived a long time and I have experienced quite a bit.” He was fiddling with the goblet stem and refusing to look your way. Green and growling, jealousy clutched at your belly at the insinuation he made. It took all your composure to ask, “Women? How many?” “How many stars are there?” “Really? That many?” Speaking with those fascinating hands, Loki shrugged, “I’m a prince! People often find that alone irresistible.” “People.” It was a specific word with a specifically ambiguous meaning. You knew it. Loki did too. His eyes searched yours, “Yes. People. Men and Women alike. I have known many lovers, darling, just as I have known many warriors and kings.” Crossing your arms, you knew it was absurd to feel so upset by his admission, but the sting was not lessened by Loki’s honesty. Without further prodding on your part, he volunteered, “But what you really want to know is if there is a history… a history between Fandral and I.” Feeling like you were getting somewhere, you urged him on, answering tartly, “I know that you fought together many times.” “We did. We have. But-” “But you were more than friends.” It was easy to finish the sentence, even if it made your heart heavier. “Once upon a time, my sweetling,” And the strangest expression filtered over Loki’s face. Lost to memory, his eyes looked past you, through you, into a time that you could never know. Smiling sadly, Loki’s rumbling tone began, “Many decades ago when I was wild and testing, I would follow my brother blindly into danger. “I was not alone in my devotion. Sif, she was always there, providing guidance and much needed strength. The warriors three, clinging to Thor, trailed him across the realms in search of glory and renown. “We were an inseparable team. Young, strong and beautiful, which is a heady combination for a mischief maker who had learned magic at his mother’s side. I had no limits, you see? No restraint. “If we needed a distraction, I could conjure one at will; deception was an easy tool to use and I wielded it well.” Licking his lips, Loki gripped the wine jug roughly, another draft easily consumed and you didn’t blame him. The liquid courage was doing its own kind of magic; loosening Loki’s tongue. Tapping one long finger on the table, his eyes sought for and found your own, “It was a joke. At least at first. And I think Thor was the one who suggested it, but who can remember now? “With a few simple spells I changed my body in subtle ways. Fuller hips, softened shoulders, hair so long that Sif would be envious-” swallowing hard, Loki exhaled shakily, “-a woman’s body. My body. “The line between fantasy and reality was blurry at best so when I arrived at Fandral’s door draped in an emerald gown and, of course, my golden crown, I thought he would immediately recognize me. See through my illusion. Call my bluff. Only-” “He didn’t, did he?” Shaking his head no, Loki leaned across the wooden expanse between you, “Fandral, he pulled me into his chambers and when the door was shut his body pressed into my own feminine one. I won’t lie, sweetling. It made my heart race in a way that was both foreign and familiar. “Until this moment I had believed with all my mind that I was just like the men around me. Strong, hardy, and frankly, tough. Even though I did things in my own, very Loki way, there had been little doubt about my finding a princess, adding to the royal bloodline and in general following in the footsteps of my forebears. “But something about the rough, calloused hands of Fandral along the smoothed skin of my back, the sensitive tickle of his jagged nails on the underside of my arm, even the way his coarse beard dragged over my jaw-” As he spoke, Loki traced the reimagined path of Fandral’s passion in gentle caresses to his cheek, his neck. You realized that he was excited by the memory, that revisiting the encounter with Fandral was awakening a fiery passion whose embers had long gone cold, “-He, well, he removed my dress with a hard tear. It proved that he, Fandral, was in command regardless of my status or position outside his chambers. “Moving me, my womanly body, in the ways that best suited both of our pleasure, I never once called out for him to stop. I did, however, call out to the Gods. Who could blame me? Fandral knew how to touch a woman, even a deceptive one, and he wasted no time in showing me all the ways his full lips, firm fingers and uh, rigid masculinity could seduce someone like me. “Hours later, weak limbed and exhausted but exhilarated, I stumbled for the door, wordlessly. I didn’t know what to say and was afraid that if Fandral realized who I was, really, there would be trouble. And I was always getting into trouble, it seemed. So, gathering up my torn dress, I was ready to leave when Fandral stirred enough to say, ‘Goodnight Loki’.” Silence stretched then as you weren’t entirely sure how to respond or really, how to feel about all that Loki had told you. Laying his hands flat on the table, as if he was showing you all his cards, Loki continued, “Don’t you see? He knew. Fandral knew it was me the entire time, regardless of my enchantments and clever wizardry. He knew and he didn’t hesitate to make me his lover.” Your own cheeks were on fire from the heat of Loki’s remembered experience. The way he spoke, the things he relayed, were parallel to your own erotic encounters with the trickster God, which is why you had to ask, in a breathless whisper, “Fandral taught you, didn’t he?” “To please and be pleased? Oh yes, love. I haven’t forgotten how it felt to be under his command. Or-” pausing, Loki brushed his thumb over his bottom lip, “-how my woman’s body reacted to even the smallest of his touches. I remember how much I enjoyed certain, uh, actions and I know that you’ve expressed your appreciation on more than one occasion.” He was right. The physical chemistry between you and Loki had been undeniable from the start. But now, thinking about Loki, your Loki, who had mastered the art of self control being at the mercy of someone else was more than intriguing. It was enticing. If Loki noticed how affected you were, the way your breath kept catching with every syllable he uttered, or how your skin was radiating warmth, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, watching the way his wine swirled, Loki continued, “Fandral and I, we met in secret more times than I can count. Every time it was the same. Lady Loki, as he liked to call me, would arrive, ready and eager. “Sometimes he would be fiercely dominant. In control of every breath, every move, every orgasm that I would be allowed. Giving myself to him freely, wanting Fandral to take my pleasure by force, bent to his will was, well, a new sensual experience to delight in.” Squirming, your seat slick from the sexual scenes Loki was describing, you couldn’t avoid asking, “Other times?” Diverting his gaze, almost shy, Loki replied quietly, “Other nights Fandral would welcome me like this only paramour. Soft and, uh, tender. As though there were only the two of us in all of the galaxy.” “So you loved each other?” For some reason, you needed to hear it, have it affirmed. “Can you share so much of yourself and not be in love? I think that is a question you could ask. But to be in love, true, mad, deep love, you must first be free to be your most authentic self. Your realest self. “There is a reason why I no longer appear as Lady Loki, dearest. That is not my true nature, at least not entirely. She is a part of me, an important part, and one that I should have shared with you long before now.” Reaching for your hand, Loki wrapped both of his around yours, squeezing slightly to reinforce his point, “But at my core, I am a man who loves people. Not a conjured version of a woman. A man. At this moment, I love a woman, and-” his grip on you never wavered even as his tone became more intense, “-perhaps one day that will change, but right here and right now, this is me and I am enough as I am.” Lifting his fingers to your lips, you pressed a small kiss there, reaffirming your support. Listening so intently, you had heard what you needed to: an affirmation of his affection for you. It made you lighter, so you risked ribbing him, “Am I the woman who you love at this moment?” Laughing outright, Loki’s relief was palpable, “Norns, yes. You’re the only one I want to be with, dearest.” “And Fandral?” Releasing your hand, Loki raked one through his hair, sighing, “He likes to tease when we are alone. That is all.” “Can I ask why-”

“Why he and I are no longer, ah, entwined? It’s simple, I’m afraid. When I told him that I was tired of stealth and secrecy, he did not… could not agree. Fandral, above all else, is still faithful to the old ways of thinking. To be with me as Loki was not acceptable and I could not-” leveling you with his piercing stare, “-I would not live my life as Lady Loki just for his comfort.” Sensing the bitterness of unreturned affection, a feeling even you could empathize with, you offered your unburdened partner a smile, joking lightly, “Lucky for me, you learned to love again.” Like the flipping of a switch, Loki’s mood shifted and the mercurial mischief maker lounged back in his seat, smiling wickedly. Patting his parted thigh, troublemaking on his mind, “Come here and I’ll show you just how lucky you are, little one.” Wasting no time, you settled onto the offered perch, snuggling against Loki’s broad chest. There was something very powerful in the trust he had shown while sharing so much of his past and you were grateful. It made the connection you shared stronger somehow, and that was all the reassurance you needed. Tilting your head up, Loki brushed his lips over yours, sweetly stealing a kiss. Pivoting into him, your fingers tangled in his long locks, deepening the kiss as your tongue slid along Loki’s. Grinding against him, you felt his hands move from your hips to the swell of your bottom, his grip strong and demanding. You may have thought that Loki would want to prove his masculinity after showing you his softer side, but your man had never been one to bow to expectation. Giving up his forceful bravado, Loki gave you unspoken permission to enjoy his physical form as you saw fit, savoring the sugar sweet sweep of your tongue and the delightful dancing of each digit. And when he could no longer sit still, grabbing you to him, Loki lifted you into his arms before falling into bed beside you. Giggling now, you brushed a raven dark strand of hair from his face, “Loki, I, I want to thank you.” His proud nose nuzzled into your neck, asking, “Thank me? For what?” “For telling me about Fandral… for being honest… and,” you cupped his chin, turning his face to yours, “For being you.” When you kissed Loki this time it was not the passionate frenzy of lust or the rushed intimacy of need. This was a kiss of caring, of compassion, of open hearts and open minds. It was a kiss of acceptance, of belonging. Early morning sunlight filtered through the gossamer sheers. You were seated at the same table where last night’s conversation had occurred, a pen in your hand. Roused by your absence and the quick scratching of your quill, Loki flopped an arm over his eyes, “It’s too early for whatever it is you are doing. Come back to bed. Your prince commands it.” “Just a second! I’m almost done.” Sitting up, his hair sticking up wildly, “Done? Are you writing a letter? At this hour?” Tucking the smooth paper inside, you licked along the fold to seal up your message, “A thank you note needed to be sent out, immediately.” Crawling under the overfilled coverlet, Loki wrapped his arms around you, pushing a sleepy kiss to your forehead, “Who could you possibly need to write a thank you letter to?” “Fandral.” That woke him up. You found yourself caged under the body of your no longer drowsy dark haired man, “Fandral?” Biting your lip, you nodded, “Yes. I felt like I should thank him for teaching you so well.” Realization dawned on Loki, drawing that cheshire grin to his face, “For showing me how to-” Your fingers dusted over Loki’s taunt shoulders, pulling him closer, “Uh huh. In fact, I think you should give me another demonstration of your skills.” And that’s exactly what Loki did. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My Minxes: @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @vodka-and-some-sass-deactivated @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote @toomanystoriessolittletime @roguewraith @that-one-person @jenjen8675309 @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @caffiend-queen @jamielea81 @capcapcapsicle @lokislittlecorner @crystalizedcaramel @rorybutnotgilmore @alexakeyloveloki @ahintofkiwistrawberry @nonsensicalobsessions @shxdowofdarkness @procrastinatinglikeabitch @unadulteratedwizardlove @iluvsumbucky @jessiejunebug @wolfsmom1 @sammy-jo1977 @mizfit2 @iamverity @tamstrugglestowrite

#loki x reader #loki x you #gender fluid loki #genderfluid loki #loki smut #loki fanfic #mcu fanfic #loki request #loki reader insert #MCU fanfiction #hot loki

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pa-stella · 2 years

Text

Flufftober 2022 - 01.10

Prompts | @flufftober

Title: Emperor’s new clothes Fandom: Hypnosis Mic Pairing: Hifumi/Gentaro Prompt: Wearing Each Other's Clothes Words count: 583 Contents: G-rated, Hifumi's cute nicknames, fluff.

“Your clothes sure look comfy.”

Hifumi’s voice made his eyes leave the small bento in front of him. The cheerful host often stopped by one of Gentaro’s shelters just to drop a homemade meal, afraid the writer wouldn’t eat anything if he wasn’t there. The small apartment they were in that time was made of only one big room with closets hidden behind the walls. Being so busy with writing, Gentaro had forgotten to close one of the sliding doors and now Hifumi was observing his vintage clothes.

He sighed and smiled. “Oh? Weren’t you the one to describe them as antiquated?”

Hifumi giggled, getting up from the tatami to move closer to the wardrobe. “I’ve said they are outdated, not uncomfortable.” He touched a short hakama jacket. “You wouldn’t wear them otherwise, right?”

Gentaro nodded slowly until a thought appeared in his mind. “Do you want to try them on?”

Surprised by the question, Hifumi looked at him. “Eh?”

As the writer got up to join the other, he nodded again. “They’re not that different from a yukata you would wear during the summer festivals, but…”

“Yes! Yes!” The host interrupted him. “Last time I wore something traditional I was still in college!”

“Very well.”

Gentaro started to search inside the closet. There was a specific outfit he thought would suit Hifumi. A prototype made by Ramuda with colors a little too light for his taste. After a few minutes of research, he fished out a cape and hakama pants combo in pastel green. He handed them to Hifumi with a simple light blue kimono and a white shirt. Hifumi looked at the garments in awe before starting to strip in the middle of the room. Gentaro stared at him for a second and then moved back to his bento.

“Ah?! Are you not going to help me? Gentarocchi!”

He smiled at his protests. “What a demanding kid you are.”

“I’m older than you!”

While they both laughed, Gentaro helped the host by adjusting the kimono and fixing the hakama a little. As Hifumi was buttoning the cape, the writer noticed how the pastel colors suited the other man.

“Am I cute?” Hifumi asked playfully.

More than usual. “Look for yourself.” He replied as he forced him to turn to the mirror.

The host let out a surprised and delighted sound and began to make a few poses. “I do look cute!”

“So, are they comfortable?”

Hifumi nodded while pulling a little at the pants and cape. “Maybe a little impractical, but very comfortable!”

Finally, Gentaro came back to the low table in the center of the room. He observed how Hifumi kept giggling, posing and slowly spinning in front of the mirror. The writer was sure the other had worn traditional and complicated clothes after college too, but on his face he could only see an expression full of joy and childish fun. He slowly grabbed the ever present notebook and pen and wrote down a few sentences describing the scene before his eyes.

“Hey, we have a deal! You can’t go back to work before finishing your lunch!!”

“What are you talking about? I’m not writing.” Calmly, Gentaro closed the notebook before Hifumi could see anything.

“Liar! Yumeno Gentaro, you’re a liar!” He exclaimed and let himself fall against the other in a dramatic way.

As he was held in that messy hug, Gentaro wondered if Ramuda would get angry if he gave that outfit to Hifumi as a present.

#flufftober2022 #day 1 #hypnosis mic #hifumi izanami x gentaro yumeno #g rated #writing? in this economy?#hypmic #gentaro yumeno #hifumi izanami

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inkreservoir · 2 years

Text

The Devil’s Food

Chapter 1 | Sweet Dreams

Fandom: Ensemble Stars!

Characters: Eichi Tenshouin, Wataru Hibiki, Tori Himemiya, Yuzuru Fushimi

Relationships: Eichi Tenshouin/Wataru Hibiki, Wataru Hibiki & fine

Links: AO3 | Second Chapter

Summary: After a particularly difficult performance, fine celebrates with sundaes. Keito finds out and has an unexpected problem with it.

Status: Complete

Notes: The first chapter is fluff and the second is humour - enjoy!

"My dear friends, would it be imposing upon your busy high-class lives overmuch to suggest that we celebrate with sundaes?" Wataru swivels on his heel to face the rest of them, posing the question so quickly after the curtain fell that Eichi has to pause and replay the words in his mind before he understood them.

Tori had asked fine for help creating an original dance for one of his classes, and after a whirlwind of complex rehearsals that challenged all four of them to climb a steep learning curve, Tori passed the assignment with flying colours. Eichi made the executive decision to incorporate the dance into fine's actual routine, and tonight they performed it together on a true stage for fans for the first time.

"After all, tomorrow we start dance practices again to prepare for the midsummer festival," Wataru points out, and Eichi looks to Tori, surprised to see his eyes are shining.

"A sundae would be a perfect reward for me," he boasts, doing a little twirl. "After all, someone as sweet and delightful as me can't be caught eating something bitter, or sour, or bland -"

He stops abruptly, gaze falling halfheartedly on Wataru. "Uhh, not that I want to do anything Long Hair suggested," he disclaims.

"But it sounds like you do want to, little princess," Wataru raises his eyebrows and Tori grimaces.

"The young master's tastes are troubling as always," Yuzuru sighs. "No matter how lovingly and faithfully I prepare your meals, toiling for hours to ensure your nutrition needs are well met and your meals befitting one of your status, you would gladly trade away my blood and sweat for some cheap ice cream..."

"Who says it has to be cheap?" Eichi chimes in at last before Tori can quip that Yuzuru should spend more time trying to meet his taste needs. "I can cover it, if Wataru knows a place." Eichi beams at him. "As always, you're full of exciting ideas for how our unit can pass the time. I think sundaes would be splendid."

Wataru bows. "I am always delighted by my Emperor's low threshold for amusement," he grins at Eichi, and Eichi raises an eyebrow at him. "Bonding activities which are standard routine for other units become magical and grand festivities among the members of Yumenosaki Acadamy's crown jewel - the ever-impressive and incomparable fine, of course!"

"Your talent for giving backhanded compliments is something to behold as well," Eichi intones, but Wataru's smile doesn't budge, which makes Eichi smile back a little for some reason only God can know.

It turns out Wataru does know a place (of course). By now it's quite late at night, and Eichi's heart thuds in his chest as Wataru takes the four of them downtown and into a place with an unassuming frontier - a plain black storefront with characters in white for the title - into a quaint restaurant with pink walls and delicate white metal tables that remind Eichi of Yumenosaki Academy's garden terrace. Art lines the walls - illustrations of ice cream, of course, and colourful lamps hanging from the ceiling illuminate the room without conflicting too sharply with the dark scenery outside.

Basically, it looks fun, and that means Eichi definitely isn't allowed to be here.

"... just my presence at this establishment would be enough to raise my family's ire," he confesses once they've sat down and everyone else has decided what to order. Eichi doesn't know the first thing about sundaes; he's expressly forbidden from eating most desserts, and now the others are looking to him expectantly. "I honestly don't know where to begin with choosing something for myself..."

"This shop does seem high class," Yuzuru comments, poring over the menu. He'd tried to raise concern about Eichi's dessert-banned status during the cab ride here, but Eichi pointedly changed the subject. Yuzuru's smart enough to know when not to press and start looking for alternatives instead. "I'm sure I can find something suitably healthful for you, President."

"There is no need for that, Sir Butler," Wataru chirps, and with a wave of his arm Yuzuru's menu disappears into his sleeve. He raises his hand for the waiter to approach their table, and promptly instructs him to bring over the strawberry special, a matcha ice cream with red bean, and a hot fudge brownie sundae. "For our illustrious leader," he says, pointing a finger toward Eichi as if he's a volunteer in the audience of a magic show.

The waiter nods, scribbling down Wataru's words before marching off.

"The service here is very efficient," Eichi comments, but Tori's eyes are wide.

"A hot fudge brownie sundae?" he asks. "Is - is that really okay for the President?"

"I don't have any food related disorders or allergies," Eichi says defensively. "It's true that it's important to eat well when you're ill, but my family overdoes it with the concern, they honestly do."

If Tori weren't here, he'd complain about how none of it is really about his health anyway and more about image and propriety, but that's not appropriate table discussion for nouveau-riche.

Eichi pauses. "It's true, though, Wataru has made a felon out of me. How exciting, dodging my chauffeur by taking the taxi and then eating in a forbidden ice cream shop~"

Wataru's eyes are wide as if with concern, but they're gleaming. "What would happen if the Emperor were caught committing such a grievous violation?" he asks, then drops his jaw and smacks his hand against his cheek like he's just heard a juicy scandal. "Perhaps we should disguise you, Eichi? For your safety, of course!"

"Oh? What sort of disguise?" Eichi leans forward toward Wataru too, folding his hands under his chin.

"No way, we can't disguise the President!" Tori exclaims before Wataru can respond, crossing his arms in front of his chest in the shape of a big X. "This is the first time I've ever been seen with him casually in public!"

Eichi tilts his head. "Is it really the first time?"

Wataru nods vigorously. "Indeed, it seems in all our preoccupation with elegance and perfection, we've overlooked one of the most sacred components of teamwork... frivolous outings, of course!"

The words feel strange coming out of Wataru’s mouth. Yuzuru seems to agree, because he frowns, eyebrow quirked skeptically, but doesn’t say anything.

When after a few moments Wataru’s smile hasn’t faltered, Eichi voices what everyone's thinking. “… I thought you were something of a loner, Wataru? I had no idea you valued ‘team bonding exercises’ so much.”

“Not to mention that you’re fine’s enemy,” Tori narrows his eyes. “You can say whatever you like, Long Hair, but you can’t fool me into getting all buddy buddy with you.”

Eichi feels bad for his irritation. It’s not like it isn’t his own fault Tori hates Wataru this way, but they’ve been working together for nearly five months now - even longer than Tori’s worked with Eichi, since he was in the hospital at the start of the year. He doesn’t deserve to escape reminders of all the awful things he did to Wataru and other innocents last year, but the fact Wataru still has to deal with the consequences of it in his own unit…

He pushes a hair behind his ear. “Tori, I wish you wouldn’t speak to our dear Wataru that way. He’s not fine’s enemy, he’s its greatest weapon.”

“An enemy, a weapon…” Wataru muses, a smile playing on his lips but not quite reaching his eyes, and Eichi instantly regrets his word choice. “So many potential roles to play, for a regular person it would be difficult to choose! But of course, this Wataru Hibiki can play them all, if the audience wishes it. For your wish is my command, and I belong to everyone!”

Why do you always have to say that? Not that Eichi has the right to contradict him, but Wataru’s ‘belong to everyone’ thing is insufferable.

“And what’s your wish, Hibiki?” Yuzuru asks, rousing Eichi from his annoyed daze and reminding him with startling intensity just how sexy that mole on his cheek is. “If you don’t mind me asking,” he follows up with his usual politesse, and Eichi feels like he could kiss him.

“Ah, the butler asks intriguing questions,” Wataru beams at Yuzuru.

“You’re right, it is intriguing,” Eichi agrees before Wataru can somehow change the subject. “What role do you want to play, Wataru?”

But Wataru’s eyes are on the waiter returning to their table. What terrible timing … but he can’t linger on the thought when a giant frosted glass shaped like a strawberry is placed in front of him, a bed of chocolate brownies lining the inside and three scoops of French vanilla ice cream piled on top. Chocolate syrup spills paths over the deluxe hills, pooling like molten lava at the bottom of the glass.

He stares at Wataru, eyes wide in astonishment. “I’m meant to eat all of this?” he asks in disbelief.

“This looks so goooooooooood~!” Tori squeals, and Eichi tears his eyes away from his veritable mountain to survey the other boy's order. It looks like something out of a movie, precisely piled strawberries, whipped cream, and a neat slice of waffle sticking out of it like the sail of a ship. Yuzuru’s cup is smaller by comparison, red bean flanking a neat scoop of green, and Wataru …

Hm.

“Where’s yours?” Eichi asks. He finds he can't remember what Wataru ordered for himself. Ah! He must be about to magic something ridiculous from thin air. Eichi scans the shop eagerly, looking for hints around the room as to what it might be…

“Ah, well, as the humble left hand of the Emperor, whose weak appetite for sweets is legendary,” Wataru begins explaining, and Eichi turns back to him quizzically. “I thought I would lend you my services!”

Oh?

“You’re going to share with him?!” Tori screeches.

Eichi can feel red sketching itself across his cheeks, so instead of answering, he sticks his tongue with a spoonful of - ah!

Heaven!

Eichi closes his eyes as the hot thick chocolate mingles with creamy vanilla in his mouth. The juxtaposing temperatures accompany one another like a well-played harmony, with flavours rich and well-rounded, warm brownie melting on his tongue…

He's startled from his trance by the clink of another spoon against his glass. Wataru’s eyes sparkle, and he tosses blue hair casually over his shoulder.

“I take it you like it~?” he asks.

"Mm, Wataru, it's a dish fit for an angel..." Eichi sighs.

"They do call chocolate the devil's food," Wataru grins at him, and Eichi spoons up another bite, settling comfortably in his seat to watch Wataru help himself to his bowl. Somehow seeing Wataru eat always feels like peeking at the man behind the curtain, like someone so marvellous and sublime beyond human capacity shouldn’t need to go through the kinds of routine system maintenance everyone else does.

After a few silent moments of appreciation for the concerts happening in their mouths, Tori speaks up. “You never answered Yuzuru’s question, Long Hair.”

Wataru takes his time sucking on his spoon, then points it at Tori with a wink. “I’m flattered the princess is so curious about me~” he says.

“Hmph,” Tori crosses his arms, but quickly uncrosses them to catch a drop of ice cream melting down the side of his bowl.

“We’re all dying to know, Wataru,” Eichi says in his humblest, most flattering voice. “Indulge us, won’t you?”

“Hmm,” Wataru taps the side of the glass, sending quiet chimes dancing across the table. “I suppose it’s a role I haven’t quite mastered yet, if it truly isn’t clear to you all which I have chosen to play…”

“Haven’t mastered?” Eichi repeats incredulously. “ You ? Impossible.”

“Even the most talented magicians begin as novices,” Wataru laments, and Tori taps his foot impatiently.

“Can you just spit it out already?”

“I’m not sure my heart can take much more of this suspense, Wataru,” Eichi agrees.

Wataru sighs, then snaps a finger and his hair arranges itself into a pile on its head, twisting itself secure into a bun.

“Eww,” Tori breathes, and Wataru digs his spoon into one of the brownies, twirling it into the ice cream mountain and then coating it in the hot fudge pool.

Once it’s disappeared into his mouth, he puts down his spoon.. “… Was it not ever so obvious that I’m trying to play the role of a friend?”

#ensemble stars #enstars #eichi tenshouin #wataru hibiki #tori himemiya #yuzuru fushimi #fine enstars #fanfiction #ao3 #enstars fanfic #enstars fan fiction #eiwata #wataei #My writing #ramblings

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venisontransmission · 3 months

Note

I dont usually follow rp (rp adjacent?) blogs but your vibes and accuracy of Alastor's character is quite delightful! It's fun seeing how much you've fleshed out little details without reworking him or making him feel like a variation instead of the original.

Idk if Alastor tasks questions (and if not, ignore this! This is purely curiousity!), but if so could I ask his opinion on steak? Would he prefer rare or blue rare (or, considering that demons likely don't face food poisoning) raw? Thick or thin? (Would he enjoy ribs or would that be too "animalistic" and not "proper"?)

Have a good week :)

Hi there! Thanks so much for the ask (and the really nice words <3 I really appreciate your compliments) Yes, Alastor takes asks from anyone- personal, or otherwise. In fact I actually urge people to bug him if you have questions! Now, to answer your question...

"I must say the question you've posed has left me a tad famished! Ah, preferences- while I had some during my lifetime, the beauty of the afterlife is the chance to explore cuisine of any kind! I prefer most meals raw- it's simply better that way- I am not particular about the thickness of the meat or where it comes from either."

#♛ ;; on air || ic #anonymous #♛ ;; feedback || answered

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twdsunshine · 2 years

Text

“I ain't gonna hurt ya. Ya gotta calm down, girl.” (Daryl x Reader)

Requested by Anon.

You were surrounded. Actually, that wasn’t technically true. There were only two of them, but the size of them, the broad shoulders of the men and their height made it feel as though every avenue of escape was cut off as they closed in on you. The apparent eldest wore a chilling smirk as he looked you up and down, the feeling of his gaze raking over your body turning your stomach and making your skin crawl, whilst the other, when you glanced back his way, was concentrating on your face, his eyes narrowed as though he was trying to get a read on you. Your breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, every muscle tensed as you prepared to fight, your knife clutched tightly in your fist as you hovered on the balls of your feet.

“Well, looky what we have here,” the older man drawled, his rifle raised and angled towards the centre of your chest. “We got a live one, little brother. Reckon we could have some fun with her, whaddya think?”

“Shuttit, Merle,” the younger one snarled, and the crossbow that he’d had poised and ready to fire dropped a little as he decided that you posed no immediate threat, though his finger was still resting over the trigger. “Hey.” His voice was a rough rasp as he addressed you, his drawl distinctively Southern so you knew he must be a local. “S’alright. Ya on your own?”

“Tell me ya got a sister somewhere round here,” Merle cut in before you could respond. “Ain’t like I’m opposed to sharin’, but it sure does make it easier if we got one a piece.”

“Merle!” the younger brother snapped again, and you found yourself edging closer to him and away from the leering redneck with the gun, figuring he may just be the lesser of two evils. Your hand was shaking, your knife slipping in the grip of your sweaty palm, and you scanned the forest that bordered the road, wondering if you might be able to make a break for it. Before you could so much as take a step though, a guttural groan drifted out from between the trees, and a corpse staggered out of the shadows, drawn by your voices. It had only been a few days since your hometown had been overrun by the shuffling dead, and the sight of its snapping jaws and yellowed eyes still had terror coursing through you. “Ya wanna get that, man?”

“On it.” Merle backed off then, pacing towards the biter, preparing to take a shot, and you turned your attention back to the bowman, who was approaching you with one hand outstretched.

You lashed out without thinking, your mounting panic and the adrenaline thrumming through your bloodstream sending you headfirst into fight mode, when it seemed flight wasn’t an option.

“Hey! I ain’t gonna hurt ya! Ya gotta calm down, girl!” He retreated hurriedly, watching you with caution as he waited to see if you’d attack again. “M’Daryl. That’s my brother, Merle.” He gestured over towards the trees where Merle had ditched his gun in favour of a vicious looking blade which he sunk into the skull of the corpse, crowing in morbid delight when it dropped. “Ya from round here? Ya got people with ya?”

As he spoke, he let his bow fall to his side, and you found your gaze locked onto the piercing blue of his eyes, finding nothing there but curiosity and uncertainty which you were sure matched your own. There was something grounding about his intensity, and you kept your focus on him even as his brother swaggered back towards the road to join you once again. “No. It’s just me. I’m a student at GSU. I was… I’m trying to get back home, find my parents, but I got turned around, and now… I’m not even sure where I am.”

“Where’s home?” he asked, his brow creasing with a frown, and you knew he was probably avoiding saying what you already knew in your heart to be true. The chances were that there was nothing left for you to go home to. All broadcasts had stopped. There was no news coming out of any state, it seemed, and that could only mean that the undead were everywhere, decimating the population until there was barely anyone left. It was only through sheer luck that you were still standing yourself.

“Charleston.”

“Shit, ya kiddin’ me? That’s over three hundred miles from here.”

“Yep.” You nodded as if you were confident in your decision to try to survive the journey alone, but, in reality, you knew you would never make it. You just didn’t know where else to go. “So, if you could just tell me where we are and point me in the right direction, I should really keep moving.”

“Just outside a’Westbridge. How long since ya left the city?”

“A couple of days. Why?”

“Ya made it twenty miles, give or take,” Daryl told you with an apologetic shrug, and you knew then that it was hopeless. At your current pace, you would be looking at over two weeks of hard walking, and you knew you’d only slow as food and water became an issue. Plus, you’d have to try to dodge the corpses as much as possible, and try to find your way, which you obviously sucked at. You let out a sigh, rubbing your hand over your face, unable to even consider what else to do now. A part of you wished that Merle, who was watching your exchange with amusement quirking his lips, would just put a bullet in your head and end it all. “Look, we’re gonna head up into the hills, camp out, hunt… Ya can join us. Ain’t the best company, but s’gotta be better than facin’ it out here on yer own.”

“Speak for yourself, baby brother,” Merle muttered, but he was shut down with a sharp look.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” The words had left your lips before you were even really aware of it, and you felt a sense of relief wash over you as the bowman nodded. You weren’t really sure why, but, as you hefted your pack up on your shoulder, turning to fall into step beside him and his brother as they continued on their way, you had a feeling that Daryl might just look out for you, and he was right: having someone to watch your back was a million times better than facing this new world on your own.

#the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #twd #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon drabbles #the walking dead drabbles #twd drabbles #daryl dixon x reader

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lucenties · 3 years

Note

I found your blog today 😳🌟 can you order hcds from the bucci gang, with a crush artist? Normally you will see me drawing nonsense in my notebook or on loose sheets, I am also a huge art supplies nerd🤙😎

with an artistic s/o

I added some short scenarios to each so this one is a little long :0

requests are also open for a limited time. thank you to everyone for supporting my works!

⤷ team bucciarati ; gn!reader

— GIORNO GIOVANNA

♡ Giorno uses Gold Experience to create plants for all your paint-related needs. From flowers to berries to herbs, he’s got you covered for any kind of tint you could want.

♡ From common marigolds to the elusive middlemist red, he frequently uses his stand to get you all sorts of pigments. Even when you don’t ask him for materials, Giorno often tries out making new species just for fun. The leftovers are gifts; yummy berries for dessert toppings, flavorful spices for your favorite dishes, and stunning bouquets dressed in white bows.

♡ Although harming any life form created by Gold Experience would usually revert the “attack”, Giorno specifically generates his creations for the purpose of grinding them up for artistic use, rendering them perfectly safe.

“GioGio, these are wonderful!” Soil-covered hands reach out to examine the petals of Giorno’s newest creation, taking note of their small size. It’ll take more than a couple of them to make the paint. You’ve never even heard of Japanese indigo before, but seeing its bright purple flowers illuminated by Gold Experience’s ability confirms your notion that Giorno really knows what he’s doing. “You’re amazing!”

The sound of stone stroking stone falters for a moment before resuming again. Giorno bends down next to you, still grinding down petals with the mortar and pestle. He takes notice of the nice contrast between the flower and its foliage and tucks away the idea of suggesting you replicate the sight using the very watercolors that will soon be produced.

“They’re very pretty,” he agrees. “I’m excited to see what they look like on paper.”

“It’ll be more blue, right?” Giorno mutters in agreement before standing back up. You look up as he offers a hand and despite the blazing sun rays obscuring your vision, you can make out his soft smile.

“This batch is ready. Would you like to pour the water on it?”

Giorno sees your face light up in excitement as you scramble back inside for the boiling kettle. He enjoys this routine more and more each time, seeing you preserve the beauty of his creations in the beginnings of yours. It’s… comforting.

— GUIDO MISTA

♡ As soon as he sees you whip out your sketchpad, Mista is absolutely delighted. In an instant, he is beside you begging to be your next project. He demonstrates a few poses, switching between badass and silly. Sometimes, he keeps it up until late in the evening, going about his usual routine while sprinkling a few dramatic poses just to elicit sweet laughter from you.

♡ He’ll try to pass it off as a joke, but the truth is that Mista wants to be your one and only muse. He knows that you have a passion for art and he wants to be a part of that passion. In his mind, inserting himself into your art will make you fall even more for him by association.

♡ Mista loves the faces you make in sync with the movements of your pencil. Out of frustration or delight, it doesn’t matter. It’s a different side of you, more candid and almost vulnerable as you concentrate on sketching your latest creation.

“Please, please, please, [Y/N]. I just want a small peek! Lemme see what it is!” Your boyfriend is on his knees, pleading his case wholeheartedly to the point you can’t help but laugh at his antics.

“I already told you, I’ll show you when I’m done.” You try to be stern but Mista’s “puppy dog” expression, an awkward contortion of facial muscles, draws out laughter instead of mercy.

“But you said it was for me and I wanna see it already! I don’t wanna rush you to finish so let me look at what you’ve got so far and I’ll leave you alone.” You mentally curse yourself for mentioning it prematurely, knowing his reaction is to be expected of him.

“Then stop distracting me so I can finish faster.” Mista is left with a defeated look on his face and a boop on his nose with the pencil’s eraser as you go back to sketching out lines. It made your heart soar knowing that Mista was this wound up over a silly little drawing. As you make the finishing touches, Mista hovers closely over your form, patience having run thin long ago.

“Finally,” he draws the last syllable out. Heat rises to your face as you hand over the piece of paper, but you feel better when you see Mista still, awe spread out all across his face. Contrary to his actions a second ago, he is still as his lips curve upwards. It’s him and his Sex Pistols, gun proudly held up to his face mid-fight. Your admiration translates onto the paper. He can practically feel the care you put into the lines he traces with his fingers.

Mista is so lucky to have you.

— LEONE ABBACCHIO

♡ Abbacchio mostly lets you do your thing, choosing to give you space while the ink from your pen flows across the paper. He likes giving you “me time” so you can fully focus on your work.

♡ Other times, when he’s either run out of things to distract himself with or when he feels the passage of time is too slow for his liking, he pulls up a chair beside you. He doesn’t opt for much conversation. Abbacchio is content with simply being at your side and watching you.

♡ He feels at peace. You and your drawings are just so… mundane, in a good way. They offer a direct contrast to his chaos-filled job as a gangster, which often gets to a point that frustrates Abbacchio. Watching you enjoy pursuing your artistic endeavors reminds him that you are his anchor, the wonderful part of his life that is refreshingly normal.

It’s been twenty minutes since Abbacchio heard your frustrated groan and the shuffling of paper, ten minutes since he heard the screeching of your chair against the floor, and seven minutes since you settled back on the kitchen table. He glances up from his place at the fridge and sees an assortment of pages sprawled around you, some left completely disregarded away from arm’s length. Should he even ask?

“Leone, I hate doing paperwork. It’s so unnecessarily complicated.” You huff and scowl and scribble away your frustrations. “And they expect me to pay to process this? I legally have to fill it out.”

Abbacchio walks towards you and notices that the very paperwork you complain about is the one across the table and you are, instead, drawing on a loose leaf sheet of paper.

“You know, you’re gonna rip that if you keep pressing so hard,” he teases, standing beside you.

“I know, I know. I’m just really annoyed. I thought maybe sketching would help me blow off some steam.”

It takes Abbacchio four minutes to silently take a seat next to you. He’s quite amused with your sketches. He knows you’re not putting your full effort onto them, but he thinks they’re cute.

Fragments of your pink eraser are wiped away, discarded on the floor. The sharpie in your hand makes faint noises as it is dragged across the page and Abbacchio takes it all in. Your face has softened by now, growing expectant when you show him your work and content when he mutters in praise.

It doesn’t take any longer for Abbacchio to become aware of your relaxing effect on him, a soft smile displaying itself at the feeling.

— PANNACOTTA FUGO

♡ Similar to Abbacchio, Fugo likes to watch you draw from time to time. He does, however, develop an interest in creating art so the two of you can share a common hobby.

♡ He picks up a couple of art books, from the ones that show basic pencil strokes and shading techniques to the step by step children’s guides. He fills them all out and practices when he’s alone (he’s too embarrassed to admit what he’s doing) which leads to many crumpled wads of paper littering his desk.

♡ One day, Fugo pulls out a loose sheet of paper and doodles a quick little animal. He nudges it in your direction and despite his nonchalant exterior, you can tell by the way he avoids meeting your eyes that he hopes it has gained your approval.

Your boyfriend absolutely loves Friday evenings.

As soon as he hears the jingling of your keys and the creaking of the front door, Fugo is at your side offering to take your bag for you. Dinner is already made and the table is set, all that’s left is for the both of you to enjoy your meals. Fugo listens to your work stories, letting you ramble on about your day. He actively pays attention and contributes quips here and there even though he's been waiting all day to show you what he can do.

While you offer to wash up the remaining dishes, Fugo sets both sketchbooks and an array of colored pencils down on the dinner table for your weekly "art night". It's almost embarrassing how excited he is to show you how much he's improved; he feels like a child presenting a macaroni necklace to their parents. He just hopes it comes out right and doesn't piss him off.

"What are you making tonight?" You have already taken a seat across from him and have begun mindlessly dragging a pencil across the page.

"Not sure yet." Fugo shrugs nonchalantly and tries to hide the fact that he's been practicing this specific drawing of your favorite animal. Maybe you hadn't noticed the crumpled up papers hidden in the trash bin.

Fugo is almost done, except for the stupid eyes that just don't look right. He knows he's followed the book's directions, he has them memorized word for word, but he just can't make his hands do it. By now you've noticed his frustrated face and excessive erasing.

"Let me take a look, Fugo."

Before he can even say no, his work is now in your hands.

"It's not even that good, you know." He looks away cool, pretending not to care but the blush rising to his face betrays him. He hates disappointing you.

But instead of a grimace, Fugo sees a wide smile on your face that he swears will be the end of him. "It looks great! You're such a quick learner, babe. It looks like it has a lazy eye, but I think it makes it even cuter!"

Fugo strives for perfection in nearly all of his work, but if lopsided eyes will make your smile widen just a little bit more, he will gladly mess up any drawing for you.

— NARANCIA GHIRGA

♡ Narancia is fascinated with your talent. How are you so good at making all those drawings? You make it look so easy that he can’t help but shout out compliments.

♡ He’s the type of person who asks you to draw things for him. Not complicated pieces; Narancia is content with literally anything as long as you make it for him. He just likes your drawings and wants to see everything in your style!

♡ You made a little sketch of him once and presented it as a gift. You shyly insisted it wasn’t your best work and that it was just a little something you whipped up as a warm up, but it made Narancia tear up. He’s kept it in his wallet ever since.

There was nothing quite as frustrating as having all your supplies out and ready to use only to realize you have no idea what to make. It’s so frustrating that even Narancia took immediate notice of your slouched form and furrowed brow, coming to the oh-so-elusive conclusion that something was bothering you.

“What’s wrong, cutie? Why the long face?” He pulls up a stool next to you expecting to see another one of your beautiful works only to find you staring holes into a blank piece of paper.

“I just… I don’t know what to draw,” you sigh, running a hand over your face. “I got a sudden burst of motivation to make something but I don’t know how to start, I guess.”

Of all the reactions he could have made, you weren’t expecting him to laugh. His small giggles are teasing and even though it’s at your expense, you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face as you try to glare at him.

“It’s not funny, you know,” you pout.

“I’m sorry, you're just so silly. You can draw anything, why are you struggling to pick? Just draw Aerosmith.” He looks at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’ve drawn Aerosmith too much. I wanna make something different.”

“Not enough! Never enough!” He’s jumped out of his seat by now and you can see the faint glow of the little bomber plane manifesting behind Narancia. He quickly maneuvers the stand around the room, mimicking shooting noises along with the movements of the plane. It’s incredible how much he reminds you of a little kid just having fun.

There’s no way you can deny him his request, so the next hour or so is spent making little sketches of Aerosmith in action.

— BRUNO BUCCIARATI

♡ Bucciarati is your #1 supporter! His compliments are so sweet and welcoming that you find yourself trailing behind him as soon as you finish a piece so you can hear how proud he is of how it turned out.

♡ Whether or not you sell your art is irrelevant to him; he constantly asks for commissions. He requests specific details (“Make it monochrome”, “Add some flowers somewhere, please”, “I’d like a sunset”) but leaves lots of creative freedom to you. Despite your insistence to not charge him, claiming that you were unhappy with the results or that you simply wished to gift it to him, he does not falter and pays you a hefty rate for your work.

♡ Bucciarati buys you art supplies from all over the world. He uses his extensive connections to get you all kinds of materials, from French easels to Japanese stationery, nothing is enough for his precious s/o. He definitely gets you the best drawing tablet on the market to give you a hand with digital art.

Dates with Bucciarati are some of your favorite moments in the world because of how amazingly caring he is. He is a traditional gentleman, showing up at your place with a bouquet of flowers, opening the car door for you, and extending an arm for you to hold on to while you walk through the streets of Venice. He pays for your meals when you go out to eat and a smug smile adorns his face when he sees your overwhelmed expression when you realize the bill was in the triple digits for the night. Bucciarati loves that expression.

Bucciarati also loves spoiling you. On one of these dates, you notice a medium-sized box laying on the front passenger seat, your usual spot. It is wrapped in minimalistic white paper and topped with a cute golden bow and you can’t help but pick it up to examine. “What’s this?”

“It's a gift, darling. For you.” Bucciarati smiles at your curious face before stepping inside the car. He pats the seat beside him, motioning you to accompany him. “You can open it right now if you’d like.”

You give him a lovingly wary look; it was not uncommon for his gifts to be expensive and it made you feel bad sometimes that he invested his money into you. Curiosity got the better of you, however, and after some hesitation, the white paper was carefully discarded onto the car floor. Once you take a good look at the gift, your eyes go wide.

“They’re oil paints,” Bucciarati states. “I especially commissioned them from Belgium. They were made with the finest ingredients they had to offer, so make sure to make a special masterpiece with them.” Arms are flung to envelop Bucciarati into a tight hug, with some Thank you, thank you! being thrown around in a loving shout.

394 notes · View notes

wwilloww · 3 years

Text

sh. | ot7 | chapter five

PAIRING ot7 x reader

RATING Explicit.

GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers.

SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?

WC 8k

WARNINGS AND TAGS protected sex. friends with benefits relationship. dirty talk. power play dynamics. angst. semi-public nudity. mentions of open relationship. sexting. reckoning with feelings. talk of alcohol use.

AN: One million bazillion thanks to the best beta and geologist out there, @hesperantha. Everyday I think to myself, how the fuck would this series exist without this magical lady? And every day I am thankful for her beautiful existence.

Also, if you haven’t seen /the trailer, you might wanna check it out. Just because I had a lot of fun making it and it was super fun to visualize the characters and their tiny little world.

Going forward, you can read with they/them pronouns by navigating to the series m.list and reading from there.

That said, LETS JUMP IN!

← || series m.list || →

©️ wwilloww do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

chapter five

January 2020

What is left when you’re not sure where to turn?

You know there’s Yoongi. Dependable, familiar, predictable Yoongi. Predictable in the sense that you know, unabashedly, that no matter what, you can always count on him to draw a short term — but important — curtain over whatever notion, anxiety, or complication that happens to be singing in your mind that day. Erase it, temporarily, with those long fingers, gliding over your skin in expert patterns, drawing you and your pleasure exactly where he wants it to be.

And predictable in the sense that you know you will be perfectly and endlessly satisfied at the end of the night, no matter what.

See, Yoongi doesn’t mess around. He doesn’t tease you. Doesn’t draw you out and dangle you over your own pleasure. He gives it to you. Over and over and over and over again. Extends his palm and pulls as many orgasms from you as you can physically muster and then lets you collapse in his arms. Dependable, see? Dependable, always.

Once you’re settled in his lap, Yoongi lets you grind on him for a bit as he undresses you expertly, long fingers slipping under the fabric of your clothes before tugging them off gracefully and tossing them across the room. This, this he did love to do. Loved to scatter your clothes around and then watch you from the bed as you tried to piece some semblance of an outfit back together after he fucked you senseless.

“Don’t throw my bra behind the furniture again,” you murmur as you kiss down his neck. “I know you thought it was a great tactic to get me to rearrange your room the last time — but I’m not moving a hundred pound dresser to get my very expensive bra back again.”

He chuckles. Murmurs, “As you wish.” And then throws your bra someplace you can’t see.

Now that you’re topless, he lets his long fingers skate up the skin of your back, tracing the flesh of your hips and with such delicacy it almost tickles. That is, delicate until his hand weaves itself up your neck. His grip tightens at the root of your hair, tugging your head back in a swift motion and exposing your neck to him.

“How do you want me to fuck you tonight?” His voice is deep and it raises goosebumps on your skin. He lets his teeth trace a line up the sensitive skin of your neck until he reaches your ear and bites down hard.

“Fuck,” you breathe as a shiver runs through your body. Yoongi always took particular care to curate a library of knowledge about your ticks, turn ons, and vices. And then he played them out for you in an expertly coordinated hand.

“Yes, that’s in the cards. But tell me specifically how you want it.”

Behind him, the large bedroom is equipped with enough musical equipment to run a fully functioning studio. Instruments hang on the walls and a large black bed rests in the center of the room. The dark tones of the wood and sheets make the otherwise sparse room feel warm and dark. Compared to the shabby little apartment that you share with Namjoon, this is luxury. Your gaze rests on the large wall of glass that looks out over the city.

“The window,” you say.

He grins.

The glass is cold against your bare skin when he presses you to it. The difference in temperature between the fired heat of your skin and the iced window slices right through you, makes you gasp as his hands run over your body, taking you in as you are: bare and ready for him.

You watch as he strips off his clothes, gracefully and swiftly. First the shirt, then his pants. It’s no surprise to you that he’s not wearing any undergarments at all. Delight lights in his eye when he notices how greedily you watch him.

“Do you want me to—” He begins to lean down, but you stop him and pull him up.

“Just fuck me.”

He turns you around in one movement, your hands flying up to stop the impact, your chest — and your nipples — pressing to the glass. The sensation overwhelms you as he slides two fingers between your folds, collecting the slickness that has gathered there.

“You’re already so wet for me.”

A smile spreads across your face as you hear the condom packet rip and he slots his cock against your cunt, coating himself in your arousal.

“Don’t tease me,” you say, a hint of a whine slipping into your voice.

“Don’t worry. I have no patience for that tonight.” And he pushes in. “How’s that?” he says, the lilting tease in his tone cutting sharp against your ear as his dick sinks into you, inch by delightful inch.

It feels like you have to catch your breath to speak. “Is it always this good?”

“Baby, if it isn’t, you should ask for a refund.” He punctuates the last word of his sentence with a harsh thrust that rams your chest up against the glass.

“Fuck—” you hiss.

Memory whitens like it’s been covered in a blanket of snow as he begins a punishing pace, hips rutting up into you before drawing almost all the way back, tip barely inside of you before thrusting back into you, all the way to the hilt. Sensation overtakes thought. The slicing coldness of the glass against your nipples paints a stark contrast to the softness of lips pressed to yours, softness of a hand cupping your cheek—

You should be thinking of anything but that.

And it’s easy to do, in this moment. To focus on Yoongi, his commanding presence, the way he plays your body like one of the carefully polished instruments that hangs on his wall.

You cry out when he hits a particularly soft spot within you, and he pauses his movements, drinking in the sound of you.

“God, you sound so fucking good.”

He pulls out of you, turns you around, and pushes your back against the glass.

“Hop up,” he says, and you frown in confusion before realizing what he’s referring to. You wrap your arms around his neck and with a jump, wrap your legs around his waist.

“Fuck—” With a grunt of effort, he holds you up while slotting himself against your folds and pushing inside again.

The most you can do in this position is tilt your pelvis and grind down on him — while holding onto dear life — and you do, rotating it against his waist, drawing the most delicious sounds from his lips. Your hips begin to move in tandem, each pushing closer to the pleasure that you both so desperately desire.

This is better. This is worse.

See, the two of you have fallen into patterns in your hookups. Rules, even, although no one but you thought of them as such. But the habit — and therefore the lines — were clear to you:

You didn’t kiss. You didn’t confess your love. Hookups only, and breakfast together the morning after. Usually he takes you from behind, because, as he once commented to you, “the ass cheeks are the eyes of the heart.” Which to you, made no sense at all, but you still obliged him. Plus, at the end of the day it was all a little more impersonal that way, anyways. Easier to separate from the rest of your relationship.

But looking into his face, pressed so close — there’s something there. A warmth. An understanding. Too much.

Your head falls to his shoulder and his grip tightens on your thighs as he fucks up into you. Several heavy breaths before you bite gently at the sensitive skin of his neck and he hisses.

“You’re too sensitive,” you chide, although the teasing lilt of your tone is broken up by him fucking into your body — and you both know you love the way he lets you know he likes things done.

“And you’re too shy,” he cuts back. “Why don’t you look at me when I fuck you?” It’s posed as a question but you know it’s a command.

Slowly, you draw your head back and look at him. His eyes are deep and dark, his hair tousled and face lined with pleasure.

“That’s a good little pet,” he whispers. It falls too softly.

It makes you want to kiss him. All you want to do is —

You press your lips to his. Just a peck — the smallest, lightest of pecks.

But the plush of his lips, the way they part so slightly when your lips meet... it leaves you wanting more. So you kiss him again, pressing yourself to him, chasing the feeling of his softness.

He responds, opening his mouth to yours, his tongue darting out to meet yours. His pace doesn’t falter as he continues to fuck up into you. His lips move against yours, fierce, needy, demanding. And it’s then that your stomach drops. It’s as if the winter chill that lays just beyond the door at your back slices through your veins.

You pull back.

“No,” he says, and pulls you back to him. “Stop running.” He brings your face close enough to yours but doesn’t kiss you, just waits.

And you meet him in the middle, kissing him again, afraid of losing the warmth you sparked between you. He groans against you as your hips swivel around his cock, and bites down on your lip.

“Fuck,” you hiss.

With one arm wrapped around his shoulders, you let your other hand press against the nape of his neck, nails digging in just the way you know he likes it. You both have always been in rhythm, in tune with one another, but now with him kissing you — something new sparks between you. Something new, something terrifyingly warm.

When you pull back he smiles.

“Shit,” you whisper, your eyes widening. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Yoongi says, an edge in his voice, his hips still circling against yours as he presses your back to the window. “You have nothing to apologize for.

“I shouldn’t have—”

“Shh... stop. It’s okay. It was good.” He punctuates his meaning with a thrust, a small groan slipping from his throat. You want to swallow the sound of his pleasure whole, but still. You let the guilt in your chest rise to your throat.

“No, no, it’s not,” you say, though the coil that’s winding tighter and tighter in your belly makes it difficult to speak. You take a shuddering breath in as he hits your g-spot, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Yes. It is,” he grunts, and you can tell he’s close too. “You fuck better when you kiss. You feel it. You get into it.” Your brow purses at his words. “Now be good for me, forget it, and cum on this cock.”

You nod.

“Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I’ll forget it, be good for you, and cum on your cock.”

“Good,” he smiles.

Each thrust brings you a step closer. He kisses you, again waiting for you to meet his lips, and together you move like dancing partners closer and closer to the edge.

You cum, clenching around his cock and crying his name into his mouth.

The two of you breathe heavily, foreheads resting together for a moment that stretches long enough for you to call it a distance.

“Fuck—” Yoongi says, pulling out of you and smiling gently as he lets you down. “I’ve never heard you come like that before.”

Heat rises to your cheeks.

“Hold on, let me get you a towel or something,” Yoongi says, pressing his thumb to your forehead and wiping away a bead of sweat. You watch as he shuffles about his room, looking for anything to give you. “One second, I think there’s clean ones in the dryer.”

He wanders out of the room wearing absolutely nothing at all.

When you turn back to the outside world, the glass is fogged and the world feels a million miles away. The tension that rises up in your chest feels like a wrought iron ball and you need out, out, now.

There’s a fuzzy blanket on the dresser next to you and you snatch it, wrap yourself up tightly and push open the glass door to the tiny balcony. With a held breath, you step out. The cold concrete sends a chill through your body as you step out. Blue washes through you, shocking the pleasure-numbed nerves in your body back to life.

When you suck in a deep breath of snow-cold air, it feels as if clarity settles into you. You take a second, but shuddering, breath as you realize with a lucid sharp pain the reality of your situation.

Yoongi didn’t erase tonight from your mind. Sex didn’t remove Hobi’s kiss from your lips. An orgasm didn’t ease the unnamable want in your chest. If anything, it all just burns a little brighter.

This thing with Yoongi — it’s not supposed to be a distraction for you, or a means to make you feel something else. It’s supposed to be its own thing, a compartmentalized friends with benefits situation that has always been clear and defined between the two of you. But as soon as you showed up on his door with an ulterior motive other than sex, it became something else. As soon as you kissed him, you made it something else.

Fuck.

Around you, fat flurries drift down from the dark sky. They melt as they land on your bare skin. There’s no escaping this thing inside you. But the intensity of the cold seems like it keeps you here, grounded, in Yoongi’s home and facing actuality. As if any form of warmth would leave you wandering into the sickly sweet honeytrap of the what if’s that already threaten on the edge of your mind.

“Come to bed,” Yoongi calls from inside. When you don’t, he comes out onto the tiny balcony and wraps himself around you from behind, his head notching on your shoulder. “Christ, you’re freezing.”

“It feels good,” you say, nuzzing your body back against his.

“I know I didn’t work you up that much that you need to stand in the snow to cool down. Come to bed.”

Still wrapped around you, he waddles you inside, earning a giggle from you as you tumble into bed and he slams the door closed with a bit of a shiver.

“Here,” he says softly, wrapping you in a blanket before settling beside you.

He’s close. Wildly close. His breath brushes softly against your face as you look at each other. You take in the flushed pink of his face, the way his hair is tousled into a gorgeous mess from the effort of your intimacy.

You could kiss him again, you think and a shock runs through your body at the thought. Christ, his cock’s been inside you a million times and yet you balk at the thought of kissing him, of pulling him right where you want him, where he fits so perfectly, where he feels so warm —

“What are you thinking?” Yoongi says softly.

“What are you thinking?” you cut back, just a little too quickly.

Yoongi chuckles. “I’m thinking that you keep yourself so tightly together.”

You smile tightly. “I don’t know what that means.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

You bite down on your lip.

“You’re thinking so loud I can almost hear it,” Yoongi says. “Just tell me. You know there’s nothing you could say that would upset me.” When you don’t say anything, he continues. “For god’s sake, I’ve seen your asshole. It doesn’t get much more personal than that.”

“Fine,” you say.

“Fine,” he grins.

“Maybe we should…” You trail off and bite the inside of your cheek.

Yoongi rolls onto his side, propping his head up with one hand.

“Maybe we should…?” He prompts. “Join a sex dungeon?”

You laugh, the thought of going to one with Yoongi is one that sends a thrill through you. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, but that’s not what I was going to say.”

“What were you going to say?”

You take a deep breath. “That maybe we should… stop. This.”

He doesn’t ask what you mean. He knows. “That, my dear, sounds like quite the antithesis to going to a sex dungeon with me.”

You laugh. “I can’t believe you’re making jokes when I am friends with benefits breaking up with you.”

“What? Were you expecting me to be angry?”

“I mean I expected a little bit of a fight. Or at least… I don’t know. Questions.”

“Do you want questions?”

You look at him.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. Well. Why are you ending things.”

You flop onto your back. Look at the ceiling. The way the lights of the city reflect paley onto the white surface. They look like ghosts.

“I don’t really know.”

He pulls you to him, rolling you onto your side and tangling your hands together. “Okay.”

And then the two of you just lie there, staring at the ceiling in silence, the weight of your decision, of this ending, settling over you with a concrete taste. There’s something uncomfortable in this kind of silence. But it’s not him, it’s not an awkwardness, or the building of tension or resentment. None of that lies between you. It’s the fact that within the silence the answers rise up in you, and you find the words spilling from your mouth.

“I don’t want it to be complicated, Yoongi.”

He waits a moment before responding. “Is it complicated?”

“Well.” You sigh. “No. Not with us. Us is easy. I feel like I can tell you what I need or what I want and I trust you to be able to either give me that or set a boundary.”

Yoongi hums. “I feel the same. So then if it’s not us...?”

“I made a mistake tonight. Crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed.”

His brow furrows. “Not with me you didn’t. I don’t underst—”

“Not you. It’s me. It’s — it’s always me. I don’t want things to spin out of control. And I feel like they’re about to.”

Yoongi is silent for a long moment.

“I don’t want you to feel that way.” He pulls you closer to him, his grip tightening on your hip. “Really.” You stare down at your intertwined hands. “Look at me.” He waits until you do, summoning an inner strength you didn’t know you needed to look at your friend. “There’s a part of me that wonders how much of this is you punishing yourself for something that you don’t have any reason to be punishing yourself for.”

You can’t help the nervous laugh that shoots from your chest.

“What!? Are you laughing at me!?”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “Just… I don’t know what it is, but if anyone were to look right through me and see everything that’s going on, it’s you.”

He smiles softly.

“Do you want to stay tonight?”

Do you want your friend to wrap himself around you? Pull you in tight to his warm chest? Remind you of the summer that lies on the other side of this long, long winter?

“No,” you say slowly. “I think I need some space. To… process.”

He nods. “Well, as my newest friends with benefits ex, I agree, you should probably leave. You know. So it doesn’t get awkward.” He grins.

“Yeesh, you’re so quick to kick me out.”

“I know. I guess I just need some space. You know. To process, too. Grieve.” He paints a fake frown on his face and does a dramatic rendition of a very gross sniffle.

You giggle.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Together you get out of bed, Yoongi — for once — rifling through his room in search of your clothes. With every piece of clothing you put on, you feel like you take another step backwards. Away from Yoongi, away from the vulnerability in you that feels like it tears open everytime he looks at you. His comfort. Each new piece of fabric is another wall resurrected. But when you go to hook your bra behind your back, he steps behind you, taking the straps from your hands and gently hooking the clips together.

“Here.”

When he’s done, his fingers linger on your skin just a moment too long.

“Thanks,” you say softly, turning back to him.

His eyes are still blown wide, his hair perfectly disastrous. There’s something so deadly soft about him. He looks just as he did when you marched into his bedroom earlier in the night. And yet, on the other side of this night, you feel like a totally different person. As if the stranger inside of you has finally stepped forward and introduced herself.

You turn away hastily, heading to the living room. He follows and pulls your jacket from the couch and helps you into it.

Shoes on, jacket on, you’re all ready to walk out the door. And still you linger. Yoongi glances at his watch.

“Well, I’d say six hours is a proper mourning period. Breakfast tomorrow?”

“How about brunch? I’m not getting up at 9am for eggs.”

“Oh and I’m the one who needs space huh?” He smiles softly. “11am. You’ll get up at 11am and I’ll buy you a breakup brunch.”

“Yeah,” you smile up at him. Even as you taste the edge of fear — of anxiety — on your tongue, there is still a kind of undeniable warmth that blossoms in your chest every single time you look at him.

You broaden your smile. Push it down.

There’s one last thing.

“And—”

But he already knows what you’re asking. He steps forward, taking your head between his hands and pressing a kiss to your forehead. The shock that runs through you is quick and cold.

“I know,” he says. “This’ll still be our little secret.”

When he steps back, there’s something soft in his gaze — too soft, you can’t help but think. Tenderness, surrounded by acceptance and strength. All the things that make Yoongi, well, Yoongi. And yet it feels like too much to handle. Too much to be looked at, to be seen, to be understood when you can barely wrap your mind around what’s going on.

“Sleep well, buttercup.”

Different taxi, different driver, different route.

“Home,” you tell the woman at the wheel when you give her your address, her over-bleached and curly hair forming a kind of halo around her in the seat.

“You got it,” she says smacking her gum and throwing you a wayward smile.

As the car pulls away from the curb and picks up speed, you feel a kind of numbness wash over you.

It was the right decision to end things with Yoongi, you remind yourself, even as you feel a kind of twinge in your chest. You haven’t lost a friend. In fact, you’ve probably preserved your friendship. Saved it from wandering into the brambly bushes of complication and ultimate destruction. Even if it means the loss of killer sex.

You phone dings, and you instinctively brush a hand over your body to make sure you left with all the clothes you arrived in.

When you look at your phone, it’s not who you imagine. It’s not what you imagine.

tae: I forgot how loud you are when you orgasm.

You choke, hand snapping up quickly to cover your mouth.

“You alright, hun?” the driver asks.

“Yeah, yeah, just fine,” you say, but your voice is strained. You immediately type out your response.

you: fuck. i’m so sorry. you: it won’t happen again.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, embarrassment and confusion tightening around your throat. How much more can you really take tonight? Hobi, then Yoongi — now this? You tap your foot as you wait for the response, which takes just a minute to pop up on your phone.

tae: oh… well that’s too bad. I actually didn’t mind it all that much.

Oh.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re typing out your response — and turning down the brightness as if it will hide the loudness of your message from the world.

you: is that right?

tae: i said it didn’t i? ive always been a man of my word. brings me back to the old days, in a way.

you: oh?

tae: you know…

you: do i?

tae: you do.

you: it’s been a while. why don’t you remind me?

tae: you’re playing coy tonight. two very loud orgasms and you’re still not done playing?

you: i’d send that shrugging emoji but i can’t find it you: what can i say? I can be needy

tae: should i remind you tae: when we used to park behind the grocery store tae: there was never anyone around but you’d still get so shy and embarrassed tae: and try to cum without a sound tae: but i didn’t hear a single note of shame or restraint tonight tae: shamelessness looks good on you tae: **sounds good on you

you: you were always quite shameless yourself

tae: it gets me far in life

You blink down at your phone, not really sure what to say. Taehyung’s hearty banter is something you’re used to. Even after all these years, your quick back and forth was still twinged with the smallest teasing edge of sexual interest. But you had always kept it within strict boundaries, never returning to your previous relationship, never suggesting—

tae: but my question is how far will it get me with you?

Your breath freezes in your throat. Never suggesting that you return to anything of the past.

tae: jk tae: unless…?

Taehyung’s sexually laced messages have your head spinning round and round on its pedestal. It’s not as if you had never thought about it, never considered it. But there was a line there, was there not? A line you shouldn’t cross, shouldn’t even think of crossing, no matter how you wanted to. With a deep breath, you respond.

you: i don’t know if we should be having this conversation right now?

tae: why? because you’re my ex? or because of Jin?

Before you can even manage to type out the long list of reasons why you shouldn’t be dipping your toes into the perilous waters of sexting your very happily taken ex, the screen is lighting up again.

tae: if it’s the latter, don’t worry. he’s here too. tae: he says to tell u you’re hot tae: which is news to me tae: not that you’re not hot, but that he thinks that tae: and he says hes “sorry he missed the show earlier”

you: tbh that was NOT the response i was expecting to get.

tae: we’re very open about these things. he’s quite… encouraging actually

As if this is the opening, you walk through it.

you: in what way?

tae: he likes visibility in a specific way. he likes to watch. likes to be watched and… the attention, especially when its directed at me, especially when he knows that at the end of the day i’m crawling back into his bed

Your heart races in your chest.

tae: sorry, maybe that’s tmi.

you: don’t apologize. i don’t mind tmi

tae: then i won’t apologize.

you: good.

tae: good 😂 tae: you know, i liked it.

you: sorry, liked what?

tae: hearing it tae: hearing you cum

you: did you?

tae: more than i expected

you: more than you should?

tae: that’s not what i said

you: well, like i mentioned, it won’t happen again

tae: why not? You finally get me to admit i didn’t mind it and now you’re telling me i won’t get more? :(

You chew on your bottom lip before responding.

you: it’s complicated.

tae: an orgasm is never complicated.

you: …

tae: but you know what is complicated? tae: feelings. tae: you’re having feelings. tae: oh my god you’re in love with yoongi

you: i am nOT in love with yoongi you: surprisingly it has very little to do with yoongi

Even as you send the text, you know that’s not entirely true.

tae: okay, then what’s going on??? pls don’t play cryptic with me, it’s too late for that shit

you: i don’t even know what’s going on.

tae: oh. tae: so we’re talking big boy emotions

you: i don’t have *emotions*

tae: you’re a fucking liar

you: hey you: language

tae: alright then let me rephrase it tae: what are you so afraid of will happen if you let yourself feel?

Your heart catches in your throat. Oh.

“We’re here,” the taxi driver says, and your head snaps up from the light of your phone to see your apartment complex towering high and familiar above you.

“Oh!” You blink yourself from your reverie and hand the woman the cash for the ride. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks,” she says, twisting around to look at you as you skootch across the backseat. “Hey—” You pause, looking at her. The orange glow of the streetlights rings like a halo around her head. “You take care of yourself, alright?”

“Alright,” you smile and nod.

A haze settles around your body as you climb out of the taxi. The hard edge of soberness and the sharpness of the winter air mixes and shocks life back into you as his question rings around your head. What are you so afraid of will happen if you let yourself feel?

Your breath feels strained as you climb the echoing stairs to your home. The sound of the key fitting into the lock rings with a harsh click, but it brings you back into your body, to the little marks where Yoongi’s hands dug into you, to the confusion that rattles around your mind, and finally, and most devastatingly, the warmth that has sunk deep and inextricably into your heart.

The apartment is dark when you enter.

“Namjoon?” you call out.

No one answers. You don’t bother to flick on the lights as you feel your way blindly through the darkness, hand brushing against the soft fabric of your sofa, the bumpy texture of the wall, and finally the cold knob of your door. Instead of pushing the door open though, you lean against it, taking what feels like the first full breath of the night.

You look at the screen of your phone, Tae’s question, his voice, spiraling around your head. With a shaky breath you respond, fingers flying across the blue light of the screen.

you: something feels off. I don’t… i don’t want to mess anything up. I feel like the only way to keep things in order is to keep myself out of it all.

tae: can i call you?

you: yeah. Joon’s not home.

You finally press into your room. All that silver light from the city reflects off of the white flakes that flutter softly down from the sky. It spills onto your bed like a pool of molten silver, waiting, chilled and cold for you. You flop down onto it, your breath coming out in a long huff.

When your phone rings, there’s a second of hesitation before you hit the answer button.

“Hello?” your voice is shakier than you expected.

“One second.”

You hear the rustling sound of Tae getting out of bed and the door shutting.

“If I can hear you orgasming, Yoongi sure as hell can hear a phone call,” Tae whispers, a slight chuckle to his voice. “Unless you’re just always unreasonably loud.” You can imagine the sly smile that plays across his lips right now. Another door opened and shut and he sighs. “There. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I…”

You trail off. You don’t know what to say. Don’t know what there is to say.

He says your name softly into the phone, the syllables forming such a familiar shape on his tongue. “Are you okay?”

“I...I don’t think so. I don’t feel great.”

“You’re home? Safe?”

“Yeah. I’m home.” You look around your room. Art on the walls, your little desk the messiest place in the room, stacked high with papers and photos and plants.

“Good.” Taehyung takes a long breath. “So. Tell me what’s going on.”

You want to. But your voice freezes in your throat and you can feel the way your silence falls around him.

After breaking up at nineteen, you and Taehyung had always remained friends. The truth was that even though you loved each other, you were so caught up in the physicality of it all that the rest of your relationship — and your relationships outside of that — began to deteriorate. No more sex, you both had decided. And at the time, that meant no more romance. There weren’t lingering feelings of resentment, but you did know — because you both talked about it — that you were both plagued with the lingering question of what if. What if…. But the answer was simple. You both needed more than what the other could offer.

Best friend turned lover turned best friend. If the lingering sexual tension was the only consequence of that, you could handle that. And if you were honest with yourself, you enjoyed it, in a safe, flattering kind of way.

But the reality was that the consequence of your relationship wasn’t limited to just a couple of sex dreams here and there or comments about your former sex life thrown about as jokes. The truth was that there was a permafrost of cautiousness that sat like a layer of ice beneath all of your interactions; one that only thawed away after midnight or a second drink.

Right now, the clock on the wall reads: 3:12am.

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“No — I want to.” You shake your head. “I should… I should talk to someone about this.” You take a deep breath as the sharp images of tonight’s events spiral around your mind. When you speak, it comes out a whisper. “I kissed Hobi tonight.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“Or he kissed me. I don’t really — don’t really understand what happened, we were just standing there and had both had some drinks and suddenly it was happening and I should have kept everything within the normal boundaries, I shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have overstepped our friendship, but we kissed and I…” Your voice trails off.

“And you liked it,” Taehyung finishes for you.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I did.”

“And it scared you.”

“Yeah.”

“And then you both ran away from it.”

“Yeah.”

“And your way of running away from it was to go fuck Yoongi again, huh.”

“Goddamnit, Tae,” you huff, annoyed by how right he is.

Taehyung chuckles. “Babe, I’ve known you way too long for me to not pick up on these kinds of things. These kinds of patterns.”

“Patterns?”

Taehyung sighs through the phone. “I love you, dude, but… yeah. Yeah. It’s a pattern.”

As you let his words sink into you, you realize. It is a pattern.

“Can I be honest with you?” he asks. “Do you really want to know what’s going on here?”

You laugh softly, even as fear nibbles at your heart. There’s a part of you that wants to turn into blindness. That wants to shield your heart from the reality of the situation. From the reality of yourself.

But there’s also something about facing into the truth — clear and cold like the night waiting just beyond your window. You want the shock of truth through your body, glaring and sharpened like ice. Because at the end of the day, you’ve had enough of this numbed ignorance.

“Yeah. Go for it.”

“This might be out of the blue. And you might not want to hear it. I could be totally off—”

“Tae, it’s okay. I want to hear it.”

He takes a deep breath. “But maybe… just maybe, it’s time to think about the way you push people away.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you whisper, although the reality of what he’s saying is already dawning on you, even if it’s at a glacial pace.

“How you let people in just long enough, just far enough, to let them see something authentic of you. But you don’t really let them take any real stake in your life.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“And that’s okay!” He adds quickly. “At least, it has been okay. We do what we need to do to keep ourselves safe, but… I think you’re past that all now.” You take a shuddering breath and he pauses. “That place in your life where you need to keep the walls and the rules so strict for fear of falling. You’re not there anymore, babe. Maybe it’s time to start looking at the wall that you’ve built and considering letting yourself tear it apart.” And then, so softly you think his voice might be made of something as delicate as a flower petal: “You know, maybe it’s time to think about how you want to start letting love in again. Because you deserve it.”

It’s not until you brush your hand against your cheeks that you realize they’re wet. You look down at your fingertips, glistening with fallen tears, shining silver in the snowlight.

“Fuck, Tae.”

Taehyung lets loose a light, but pained, chuckle.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You sniffle. “Goddamn it.”

Silence settles between the two of you. Tears slip silently down your face as you hold the phone to your ear. You can hear him breathing softly on the other end, but Taehyung doesn’t say anything. It’s as if he knows you need a minute to process.

His words slide right under your skin. Directed straight at the thing that has felt so heavy in your chest all night now, it’s as if the whole thing has been broken open within you. Suddenly, you can see it all.

The past years, this game of cat and mouse with your own vulnerability. This façade of carefully curated openness and faux vulnerability. All of the things that you kept as reminders of your freeness, your unlocked heart — the hookups, the fast and furious romances that ended in nothing but silence, the friendships you kept so carefully defined — were actually all just markers of the opposite:

A deep and abiding fear that if you let someone love you, a fear that if you let them close enough to really, truly see you, they might see something they won’t like.

Better to keep things clearly organized. Clearly marked and known and understood. That way you’d know exactly when things were spinning out of control and when someone was just about to get too close.

“You know, there are so many ways to love,” Taehyung says. “It doesn’t just have to be in that one way of fucking and falling in love and then a big white marriage, tada! the end. And, uh, it’s okay to want love. It’s really, really okay, actually. In whatever weird way love shows up for you, even if it’s not the traditional way. It’s even more okay to let yourself have that love, even if you don’t know what it is — don’t know what to call it.”

When your breath comes out shaky and ridden with tears, you can hear a soft oh echo through the phone.

“Hey,” Taehyung says with all the love in the world laced so delicately through his voice. “It’s okay. It might not feel like that right now. But opening up again — if, you know, if that’s what you want — that’s something you can do. It can be done.”

“I-I do, Tae. I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want to keep fighting this.”

It’s as if you can hear his smile through the receiver.

“That makes me really happy to hear,” he says.

“Where do I even begin?” It comes out a whisper, your voice cracked from the tears that have begun to slow. You’re half afraid to even hear the answer. Half afraid to walk down the path riddled with your greatest fear.

“I think you begin by going to sleep. And in the morning I’ll call you. And I’ll keep calling you. And we’ll work through this together. You know, this isn’t something that you have to do alone.”

You’re silent.

“You’re in bed?” crackles through the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Go put on some pjs and go to sleep. You don’t have to do this all in one night.”

You nod, wiping the rest of the tears from your face and sniffling. “Yeah.”

“Alright. I love you to the moon and back, no matter what. You know that. Right?”

You close your eyes. For a second you imagine accepting that it’s true. It fills your chest with a new kind of warmth. One you want to sink into.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you too, Tae.”

“Get some rest then. Goodnight.”

“G’night.”

The dial tone clicks and the room falls into complete silence. Only the sound of your breath breaks through, too loud and uncomfortable amidst the darkness. But still, you climb out of bed, dump some water on a towel and wipe at your face, and change into the largest t-shirt you can find in your drawer.

Tonight, you dream the first dream of many in a line that will haunt you — and spark you back to life. It’s Yoongi, his body pushing you up against the ice cold glass, his hands in your hair, his lips whispering, over and over and over again: Is it complicated?

In the morning, you lay awake, just feeling the way your breath falls heavily in your chest. You text Yoongi to tell him you can’t meet up. You look outside.

The world is covered in a blanket of snow. Unrecognizable. Beautiful. Washed clean.

Something hopeful flutters in your chest.

When you look down, your hands are clutching the collar of your sleep shirt. With a deep breath, you wrap your arms around your torso in a hug.

“I don’t really know how to do anything else other than this,” you admit to Tae one day over the phone, flourishing a hand you know he can’t see to emphasize the point you know he already understands.

“Well. I don’t know how much of it is really choosing to be different. Instead, maybe you ought to try looking at it like an undoing. Whenever you match up against that impulse to run, think about sitting with it. Feeling it. And then choosing to move in another direction. Yeah,” he says, and you can tell he’s nodding on the other end of the phone. “An undoing.”

What does this kind of undoing look like? you wonder.

When the world comes to a screeching halt around you, you don’t expect to find your answer. The reality of the pandemic and quarantine — the emptiness of it, the long, drawn out days that feel long and drawn out when you’re in them but that then seem to blend together into one long, monotonous, anxiety riddled day and leave you wondering and wishing for the end — it’s hard. It’s hard in that quiet way that’s easy to ignore and push off, and hard in the way that there’s a big ache in your chest every time you go to sleep, one that crawls straight into your throat and sits there until the morning. It’s hard, and you learn to live with it. It’s hard, but somehow it brings you what you need. When distance seems to be the defining feature of your life, you don’t expect to find clarity. But you do. As you sink into the new routine of quarantine and pandemic life, and as life begins in a new rhythm with new rules and new realities — slowly and wildly new and sometimes horrific — it becomes clear to you.

What does this kind of undoing look like?

It looks a lot like feeling the emptiness in your home when Namjoon is away. Silence louder, space smaller. You find yourself reflected back to yourself, as if you are staring in a mirror.

It looks a lot like distraction. Emotional exhaustion turning into physical. You do distract — and it’s good — with a new drama or a new hobby. Exercising in your room until your cheeks are flushed. Cooking something new and delicious every night. Or sometimes just letting the small rectangle of light in your hand absorb you until the lingering discomfort is numbed, until you’re ready to fall asleep.

It looks like listening to your thoughts, really, truly listening, for the first time. Hearing the stories that you’ve built up in your head over the ears and how deeply they’ve sunk into your reality. It looks like noticing them, and wanting them to change. It looks like standing in the empty hallway of your apartment, feeling it all, and deciding to do something about it.

It looks like weird-ass sex dreams. Once dreamless nights are repopulated with strange and specific sexual fantasies featuring none other than your seven gorgeous friends in various states of undress and revelry.

It looks like letting people in again. Laughing on the phone until tears well up in your eyes. Building up the courage to tell Jimin about your vivid, even pornographic dreams. Writing letters when facetime just doesn’t do it anymore. Telling your friends just how much they mean to you, even when that voice warns you that you ought to keep your feelings held tight to your chest.

It looks like falling asleep one night, the traffic of the city now quieted by reduced travel, and the silence offering you a new kind of truth:

Love can be without limitation.

Love can be without limitation. It is allowed to flow from you without doubt or embarrassment. It is allowed to exist in the world — and in you — without needing to be reciprocated or validated. And you are allowed to ask for it. To demand it from life, even if, at times, it feels like the only place it pours forth from is from that great gaping space in your chest.

The phone rings a couple of times before it’s cut off in the middle of a digital brrng. You’re ready to hear the familiar buzz of a robotic voice reading: the caller you are trying to reach is not available—

But instead, the deep, heady voice you’re so familiar with comes over the speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hoseok?” His name feels foreign on your tongue. After all this time, pushing it away, pushing him away, welcoming his name back into your body feels almost like a fresh rain, washing away the dust on your skin.

“The one and only,” he chuckles. “What’s up?”

A ball of emotion wells up in your throat and the phone line hangs in silence as you try to glue together what you want to say, what you had practiced to say, what you should say. But it feels as if it’s all disappeared.

“I thought—”

“Did I mess up?” he blurts.

You blink in confusion. “What? No, I—”

“That night, I had so much to drink, I’m worried that… I messed up, that— ”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Hoseok.”

You can hear the breath release from his lungs and shudder through the phone. “Oh.” It’s silent for a moment. “Oh. Okay.”

“I just…” You close your eyes. Take a deep breath. “I just miss you.”

“I miss you like there’s an ocean between us,” he says, laughter mixed with sincerity threading through his voice.

“It feels like there’s ocean between us,” you sigh.

“I know,” he says, too quickly for him to realize the meaning behind your words. “But I promise this will all be over soon, babe. How long can something like this really last? In no time it’ll all be done with and I’ll be right back beside you. Right?”

You smile. “Right.”

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